#assigning the 30+ results was fucking exhausting

[callisteios]

Would you like to find out what you would be the god of? Take my new uqiz to find out

#uquiz #have fun with it please #assigning the 30+ results was fucking exhausting #you can get #spins wheel #mascots #emojis #longing #microelectronics #and so many more! #quiz #tag game #etc #mine #callisteios #i will add more answers. when I have inspiration and or energy #muted

[copperbadge]

Hi, I have started a new office job! It's good, I like the people I work with and the work itself but it's sooo different from what I'm used to? I don't always feel I have enough to do, which is partly b/c of the time of year and cause I'm still new, only 30 days, but is this normal-ish? I am trying to be self directed and going thru my responsibilities but somedays, there's just not a lot? Have you ever found that in any of your jobs?

Yeah, a lot of office jobs are like this -- mine have almost all had a great deal of empty space in them. It's not universal for sure, but it's not at all unusual. The only time I've had an office job where I really didn't have any time free during the average week was right at the end of my last job when we were heavily downstaffed and I was doing about three peoples' worth of jobs. Even then, my schedule had some flex to it.

Especially as a newbie you're going to have a lot of downtime because people are giving you time to settle in, or they're trying to work out what they can assign to you, or they're waiting until you're fully trained to start assigning you more responsibility. And you may have less work at this time of year because a lot of people are out of office or for other reasons (this is actually a busy time for me and my crew, because we get a lot of end-of-year donations, but a ton of nonprofit work is backwards to the rhythms of normal for-profit office work).

I recommend never, ever telling anyone at work that you are not busy, however. For one, most people in any given office know that we aren't working at 100% for 100% of the time, because if we were we'd all be exhausted. Two, it means you'll be given more work. :D Which, okay, some of that is "Why work when you don't have to" but some of it is also that it is GOOD to have slack built into your schedule. It means you can ramp up when needed, and also that you get periods of brain rest, and also that you have time to work on independent projects should you wish, whether those are for work or, say, fanfic. I actually at this point tend to lower expectations by waiting to submit work -- I'll finish a project a day early and submit it the day it's due regardless.

In one job, I had to process documents being converted from PDF to Word, then pass them on to our proofer; he could only proof about four documents a day, but I could process about 20. So on Monday I'd process all 20 documents, and send him four of them -- and the rest of the week I'd send him four a day, and write fanfic for hours on end. Occasionally they gave me other jobs to do, but at that job I was essentially paid full time to work one day a week and show up to do nothing the other four.

The average office worker only works four hours a day. In some jobs I've literally booked out those four hours and fucked around the rest of the time. When I needed to, I'd break into Fuck Around Time in order to do more work, but otherwise -- they're paying me for results, not for sweat. As a front-desk receptionist it was baked in, actually; they said to me "There's going to be long periods of time where you are doing nothing. Your job at those times is to entertain yourself in ways that don't make it look like you're goofing off if someone important walks in." I wrote a lot of fanfic and novels, read a lot of books, did a shitload of origami. I loved that job; if it paid better I probably never would have left it.

Eventually, too, you will learn the rhythms of your job and workplace, and figure out when you're most likely to have empty time, so that you can build around it. For instance, on Fridays I get a data document that I have to evaluate and present to my colleagues the following Wednesday. Friday and Monday are therefore my busy days; Tuesday and Wednesday are for work I might have put off during the busy days. Thursday is generally just an open day; I can do long-term work projects, or I can spend the whole day dicking around. If a rush job comes in, I can push work into Thursday to get the rush job done, regardless of when it arrives.

In any case, you have a couple of options for continuing to look busy even when you aren't. If you can read on a computer screen, queue up some books or fanfic (be careful what you access on company internet, of course; I have more free range than most and am not monitored because my job is researched-based and I have to go to some weird shit places). Read newspapers you might have access to, or work on your own writing/creative endeavors on cloud-based apps. A couple of times a year I'd dedicate the empty space in a week to going through old files and organizing them, or cleaning out my email inboxes.

You can also, if you desire, work on independent projects for your actual employer. In my spare time I've built several tools to make my life easier, some of which I've shown to my bosses to impress them. Some just make my work go faster and my bosses don't know that, and don't have to. Again: they are paying for results, not for me to sit there like a booby doing work I don't have to do. If there are ways to streamline processes, you can use the time to think about implementing them (although ask other people they may impact, first). The other day I was giving a mailing list one last scroll-through before sending it to my boss, and idly realized there was a fantastic opportunity to do a little data visualization, so I whipped that up and added it to the email I was sending, like "Hey I also noticed this, see what you think."

For a while, in my last job, I had enough lee time in my schedule that most days I could work my second job as a transcriptionist while at my primary job. That can get perilous and I don't recommend it, but it can be done...

Anyway, be at ease, this is supposed to be the case and it's a great bonus when it actually does happen :D Do your work competently and efficiently and don't worry too much about the empty spots, just take breaks and keep yourself entertained.

#sam works #office work

[space-blue]

🖊 pls talk more about your oc with the synthetic kuru!

Thank you for asking!! And for your patience! I've been riding a wave of exhaustion and I finally have the time and headspace to answer...

Eyre is simply the evil/toxic agender representation I never got to play with yet. A friend (@chelbizzaro) started working on an AU for an avatar longfic that is a delightful sandbox to make OCs for. It'll be called Simulacra AU, keep an eye out for it!

In this AU the link beds were originally devised to 'drive' other humans with psychic powers (and using them for blackops style missions across the world). That entire gimmick gets exported to Pandora in secret, working to undermine Eywa and prepare the world for humanity's future. 

While most of these espers (called psychers) are unwilling, puppetted, and end up being turned into replicants for Pandora (with adaptations like breathing the air and having a weird neural queue, which go inside the synthetic sheath!), Eyre is different in that they are eager and willing! 

They were picked up as a child by the Big Bad :™:  (an increasingly mechanical android called Balcom) and brought to his "institute". While others took to that poorly, or rebelled against the way they were being used, Eyre leaned into it. Eyre's scars come from one of their parents trying to scratch their eye out (they won't tell which, and anyway by the time they were found only their dad remained, and Balcom killed him. 

Eyre is just grateful, and their parental issues make them lean into any affection/approval they receive. Balcom is careful to ensure that's coming from him only, as Eyre grows into their powers. 

Think flavours of Arcane Jinx, except without the mental issues Jinx has, and with far more dedication towards the father figure's "cause". 

By the time they're on Pandora, Eyre has travelled there in cryo, has been operational the entire time, and is ready to cause Trouble with a capital T. They're in their mid-30s, though cocktails of anti ageing drugs and others have boosted their height (192) and kept them gangly. 

Their power is sight/spying related. They can see through the eyes of people in a certain radius around them, broadcast/relay vision, or alter it. 

Example : They can give you vertigo. They can confuse your sight so you trip and fall. They can show you what they see (and maybe what they see is the torture they're inflicting on one of your loved ones? Maybe you're trying to flee, and you're desperately looking for your way out, and they see everything you see. 

It's hard to hide from them. And once they have a grip on you, it's game over. 

As a result Eyre has a very fucked up understanding of boundaries. You can't convince them to feel bad about spying on people, because they do it like breathing, forever relying on others' sight to complement their own spatial perception. 

They're blind in their left eye, and I've played with the idea of them having blindfolds/helmets to be worn to limit the scope of their power. It only dampens them. If you give them inhibitors like the other psychers, they become a very miserable one-eyed kicked puppy. 

Eyre prizes their freedom highly (freedom compared to less willing psychers) and any show of displeasure from Big Daddy Balcom feels like the end of the fucking world. 

Which is why, after a big fuck up on their part, they take extremely poorly to having a recom assigned as their 'security detail'. They see Erik as a glorified babysitter. Takes them a long time to warm up to him.

More about Erik right here! I'm so happy, because his smug face seems to have inspired some friends, and he's getting art that has me folded in a pretzel! 

PS: forgot to mention the cybernetics on their face! It's a mix of helping with the migraines straining their powers causes, and a micro computer database, that helps them draw conclusions on what they observe. By definition, 80% of Eyre's training is recognising things at a glance. No use in spying on people if you can't ID what you're seeing. But sometimes they'll see 3 types of plants, and will need the computer's help to figure out the are all 3 plants are grouped together, if that makes sense? It helps them refine any analysis they need to do on the go and in the field.

#sorry again for the delay!! #ask #eyre #avatar au #simulacra AU #my oc #friend's au

[pheemuru]

I want to get a little personal for a sec

Below the cut I'm going to talk about my struggle with art, energy, time management, and trying to be an artist in the current social media climate while having a full time job in an unrelated field

In august 2023, i moved out of my parents home for the first time--I moved out of state and got a full time job. this is a good thing and a super positive life event for me! I'm now living with my partner of nearly 7 years and my best friend of 5.

However my relationship with art since before I even moved out... has been really rocky. My job now occupies my time for 6 hours a day 5 days a week. I work from 6:45 am - 10 am (im including travel time here because its still my time thats occupied by work...) and then I have a break until 2 pm. Then I work 2 - 6 pm, and depending on where I'm working at, I get home anywhere from 6-7 pm. I go to bed at 11 pm (This is a very big struggle mentally for me since my jobs schedule is very much opposite of how my body functions. I'm a night owl and not at all an early bird.) This is my monday thru friday.

By the time the weekend comes, I have other household chores to keep up with before I feel like I'm "allowed" to waste my time basically. I also use my time just... recovering for the next week. Every night I get home from work I take a couple edibles to wind down and relax, which is possibly the best part of my day when I finally get to turn my brain off from having to mask and wrangle 30 something kids throughout the day. (daycare aide moment)

How this relates to my art is that I really have zero drive to do any kind of art. I have no ideas. I see stuff online and think "wow I want to do that, I wish I thought of it". Creativity doesn't come naturally to me if it isn't the result of a college assignment or a commission. I struggle a LOT with concepting and sketching. I genuinely don't know how to doodle anymore either

In 2024 I want to focus a lot more on what's going to make me feel satisfied in a career, and so far the only option I have for that is making art my full time gig. However, anyone that is trying that or has tried that knows how difficult that is and how unrealistic it is to just be able to do that with no build up.

Here's where my struggle comes in; I have no fucking energy for anything anymore. I got diagnosed with adhd and autism last year, or just about last year. My job is insanely socially heavy (I'm around 30+ kids and have to manage them) so by the time that I get home, I just want to get stoned and watch movies. I don't want to create. I don't want to do anything. not even shit i like to do.

drawing has become so fucking hard for me. it takes me so goddamn long to finish a piece, I get overwhelmed by current trends, and it doesnt help that the fact of the matter is, social media has moved onto video formats. This means I will have to keep up with video trends to get any kind of eyes on my work. But how do you keep up with video trends when you don't even have any art to show to begin with, nonetheless ones that fit with the theme of the trends going around?

So now I need to make supplementary/filler recordings to fill out content if I want to be serious about my social media presence. On top of the fact I actually have to create art. On top of the fact that there's dishes in my sink every day and laundry that has to be done every week and groceries that have to be shopped for and a job that has to be attended to five days a week. I know 30 hours a week truly is not as much as others work to be full time but my god is it exhausting? All this shit on top of itself makes me feel like I regret moving out a little bit. Overall I don't, because I don't have to live with my parents and I can relax around my partner, but like. oh my god?

literally how does anyone live like this and not want to kill themselves. I had to get a zoloft script because i kept having mental breakdowns every sunday because I have to go back to fucking work and I never feel like I have enough time to do anything meaningful. by the time my brain is like, "ready" to work, its 9 pm and i have to get ready for bed in 2 hours.

I've contemplated getting my masters in teaching to be an art teacher, but I really wouldn't.. want to do that for the rest of my life? you don't really get days off if you need it, youre obligated to work outside of work hours just to get anything done, parents right now kind of suck, school admins also suck, curriculums are cutting art programs, and kids are also becoming so much more disengaged with art at younger ages.

with the state of everything I find it really hard not to just spiral into a depressive episode. I don't know what my future holds. Sure, I have my parents as a safety net now, but theyre approaching their 70s and arent going to be around for the majority of the rest of my life. what happens then? what happens when theyre gone and i have literally no other support beyond the little life i made for myself right now? i already feel like im not allowed to prioritize myself at the moment given my position in the household (full time consistent job that pays somewhat decent ((Decent being $16.75/hour lol)) for the area im in, im the one that can drive, im the one with the largest paycheck and most consistent hours). I can't really get days off at work if I wake up having a panic attack or even physical sickness. I'm supposed to just deal with it and clock in because we dont have enough people to cover last minute like that. And I'm someone with (honestly) debilitating stomach issues. I had to have an upper endoscopy and tests done which only yield so much if you don't follow up with an allergist, which I still have yet to do...

Currently I'm supposed to set up appointments for my dentist, an allergist, a cardiologist, and I need to contact my psych because my pharmacy told me my zoloft cant be refilled (second month on it btw lol).

so like. when the fuck am i supposed to have any kind of every to dedicate to a second part time job, my own fucking art business? the thing i want to be the most passionate about, i have no energy left for. I feel so wildly unsatisfied in my life right now because of this. I'm struggling. I'm struggling a lot and I wish i didn't have to work at all. I wish I could just have my art be my full time thing, but I dont have the audience nor the social media prowess to make that happen so quickly.

I'm tired. I'm fucking tired. everyone keeps saying "take care of yourself" or "self care" but jesus christ how am i supposed to when i cant even just work 4 days a week consistently because for whatever reason I'm the only person at my job that can do what i do? how am i supposed to practice self care when that self care would mean i quit my fucking job lol. i'm at such a loss and i feel like im just letting the time pass by like grains of sand in an hourglass. being torn between wanting to die and wanting to push through is a fucking insane feeling. all we do in life is struggle until we die and I'm finding it harder and harder to get over that kind of mental hurdle. every time i drive i have to fight the genuine intrusive thoughts of yanking the steering wheel to put myself in a ditch with my car just to give myself a couple weeks of a break.

I'm tired. And there's nothing i can do about it. how long can one weather a storm before getting lost at sea

#vent post #anyone else. anyone else at all #burnout #like i dont even know how to job hunt anymore #everything on linkedin is either shitty or not real #same with indeed #how does anyone find a work from home job like seriously #all i want is some stupid wfh job #i want a job behind the scenes. i dont want to talk to people all day #i have zero applicable skills for any modern job

[tanniesjeom]

when the camellia blooms | pjm

park jimin x kim! reader | 1 | 2

sypnosis: diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options - accept a deathly fate, or never love again. 

genre: au, angst, fluff, humor, friends to lovers? maybe.

warnings: many talks of death and dying, minor character death, pain, unrequited love, swearing, talks of past sexual experience while intoxicated, pining, longing, really sad reader, and lots of angst.

word count: 7.2 k

"you would die for her, for him."

"You're dying."

The two words escape past his lips steadily and breathily as your widening eyes linger on the way his hands fiddle with one another out of habit. He sighs deeply and resists the urge to avoid screaming at you and maintain eye contact out of professionalism, pushing back his slipping glasses.

"At this rate, you won't have any more than a month. Had you told me this sooner, y/n, the results wouldn't have been as scarce. But because you waited after almost a year of this, I'm afraid there's not much to do." He pushes his desk lightly to pull away from it, creating a mere distance between himself and the papers which finalized your future's passing. Reaching his collar, he tugs on his tie to loosen it before unbuttoning the first stitch as he looks at you with seemingly stray and angered eyes mixed with sympathy.

Suddenly, his sight wanders the room as he shakes his head repeatedly, scoffing in disbelief. He then smiles, dimples prominent, lip tightened, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes broken, piercing straight at its target - that being you.

Standing up, he takes off his glasses and slams his fist onto the chair's arm rest before running a hand across his hair, softly hissing.

The professionalism is now out of the drain, "You're an idiot, y/n."

"Fucking stupid. How could you not- I mean- how could you not tell me? I'm your brother! We're family. Blood. We're supposed to- we're supposed to tell each other these things and you just fucking- you kept it to yourself all these months! Ten months! And now I'm sitting here being the one to tell you that you're dying? That you're leaving me? I would've done something. I would've helped you, I- I would've killed whoever this person you're in love with is. y/n, please- I just-"

You don't know why, but you felt exhausted.

The ringing in your ears is deafening. Truthfully, you hadn't heard a single thing the minute you received news that you'll be, well, passing away. Not to mention, within 30 days time.

It's not as if you didn't already know about your condition, of course you did. Coughing soft pink camellia flowers every time you see the man that's brought you here is not exactly something that just simply passes a blind eye. You sense it, you feel it, and it hurts.

It really, really hurts.

You also felt awful for your brother. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You didn't mean to not tell him. You didn't want your assigned doctor to suddenly call in sick and have your brother temporarily take his place. You didn't mean for him to find out this way - such a twisted, horrible fucking way, but here you are.

"I'm sorry, Joon. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to go this far. I just-"

"Were you ever even going to tell me?" He cuts you off, voice low and steady, almost afraid of your coming response.

Your eyes locate his across the cramped room, and one could clearly tell that it's striving its hardest to fight against desperate tears.

"I- yes, Joon. I was. Of course I was. I was gonna do it after this check in actually, but I guess God wanted you to find out sooner than I intended, though He could've just waited a little while longer and it would've been fine." You joke whisperingly, the heavy weight of your heart lightening just a small bit when you notice the corners of his lips twitch and his eyes faintly soften.

Regrettably, that was a lie. You didn’t plan on telling him, not today at least. Maybe not even ever.

The softening air lasts for only a second as his following question makes you hold back the urge to cough up another camellia flower slowly blooming its way to your throat.

"Who is it?"

Genuine, concerned, curious. These were all that he was.

But noticing the way your body went entirely rigid at his words and the way your hand clutched your clothed chest in attempt to shut down what you know will happen next, Namjoon's brotherly instincts causes him to naturally make his way towards you softly, taking small and careful strides towards your fragile state.

And once he's finally reached you, he gets on his knees gently in order for him to be of nearing same height level as you're sitting down, his hands rubbing the back of your hand in a comforting manner.

He does this all before pulling the trigger.

"Who are you in love with, y/n?"

two years back

"Jimin!"

You call out your brother's best friend loudly, who is currently in the midst of doing a one-man stage play in front of the mirror, "Joon's saying you guys need to get going now. Says he has a patient in two hours and wants to go over all sorts of documents before treating her."

Turning around, you scan the living room and dining room for the keys of your friend's car as your brother also asked you to hand them to him since the two always end up on forgetting it until they've already reached the car parked across your apartment's block.

You hear Jimin shuffle behind you, "Really? He wants to go over documents at- 9 AM in the morning?"

Smiling at his attempts of complaint, you nod your head softly in order to play along and answer his rhetorical question, "He really needs to learn how to drive doesn't he? Since he's dragging you along everywhere he goes."

Jimin laughs at your statement, which being an opinion, your brother would argue, 'driving isn't a necessary aspect of life.' But who really thinks like that? Oh right, non-drivers.

“I guess he’s getting too caught up in learning medicine that he forgot to learn how to officially become an adult.” Reaching above the kitchen top, you finally found sight of Jimin's car keys.

How did it even get up there? You think to yourself. It's really high up, so Namjoon must've been the one to leave it as to where it is.

You groan slightly, "Joon, can you get over here! I found Chim's keys but it's too far up high so I can't reach it. Hell I don't even think he can reach this-"

You are cut off when you feel a hand sneak around your waist, making you flinch and suddenly spin cautiously.

Eyes widened. Lips parted. Breath hitched. You let out an inaudible gasp as you come to the realization that Jimin is now in front of you, head tilted with an amused smile on his face, "Excuse you? I can very much reach this." He says, all the while reaching up behind you, inchly leaning forward. At this point, your body is being pressed up against the kitchen counter and his oh-so-very toned front.

This small action is enough to instigate a flaming abyss inside of you as you very much attempt to calm your alarmed heart.

You can feel the cuts and lines of his abs against your chest as he is now standing on his tippy toes, desperately trying to reach the keys on the kitchen top. Anyone that could see his posture would call him adorable, but your body is currently being sandwiched and by all that is high and mighty your mind can't even really process a single thing. Wait, what were you thinking just now?

"See? Got it." Jimin falls back in place as he jiggles his car keys in front of your stone-cold face, smile wide as he giggles softly, "Piece of cake, y/n."

He then proceeds to move on with his life like he didn't just do what the fuck he just did.

Clearing your throat, you blink about a million times in order to gather your thoughts. Your heartbeat is racing faster than the speed of light and your lips have become as dry as a desert. If you had gone standing on your tippy toes just as he did, you would've been a baby hair away from lips touching. The thought is enough to make you grow weak.

Yet as if something inside of you is suddenly turned on, no pun intended, you remind yourself that these thoughts are wrong. You can't be having these apprehensions, they aren't right. Because not only is he your brother's best friend, he also has a-

"y/n?" Jimin's soft voice calls out your name.

Breaking out of your trance, you turn to see him sitting down on the dining table, head tilted downwards with a small smile on his face. The sun escapes your pastel curtains as it slips past the window sill, reasoning with the current ray of golden yellow that has found its home on Jimin’s plump cheek, shining on the left side of his luminous face.

It's absolutely senseless how he can look as beautiful as he does simply by existing, and it makes perfect sense that your finding yourself to liking him more and more.

Just look at him.

You are broken out of your enchanted daze once more as dreaded words leave his smiling lips, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

Only then were you brought back to your inadequate reality.

“W- what?” You attempt to speak, but you notice the way your voice has suddenly become noticeably hoarse.

Jimin looks up at you with a smile, the kind that has his eyes almost disappearing.

“Sung. I’m gonna ask her to marry me tonight.”

silence.

silence.

and more silence.

Like a coward, that was all what you could muster to respond with.

And only then did you notice the velvet box on his hands, upon which he is tenderly caressing. Only then did you recognize the questionable romantic script of his one-man stage just moments earlier. Only then did you realize that the reason behind his growing smile are because of her, not you. Not because of what had just taken place.

Only then did you remember that no, you can't be having these apprehensions - they aren't right.

Because not only is he your brother's best friend,

he also has a, now upcoming, fiancé.

present time

"I already loved him then, Joon."

By this time, your brother has stood up and begun pacing back and forth the modest office, murmurs of curses towards his friend escaping past his lips, "-that small son of a bitch."

Smiling softly, you look down in reminiscence of the moments you have spent falling for Jimin. "I guess I've always been infatuated with him ever since our first meeting, but my God Joonie," you pause, inhaling a short breath in attempt to stop tears threatening to spill. "-ever since that day, when he told me that he was going to propose to her, I finally realized that like was the wrong term to use. I realized that I loved him and I just- I lost sight of everything." You cry, small sobs coming from you as you blinkingly look up to try to contain the waters forming in your eyes.

It was true. That day, when he told you about his plans to ask her to marry him, you've never felt more indignant.

Of course you faked it at first, congratulated him and consoled him into truthfully believing that she will undoubtedly say yes. But the minute he and Namjoon left your apartment, you collapsed on your carpeted floors, sobbing loudly and hitting your chest repetitively all the while cursing yourself in your head for ever even considering the tiniest of possibilities that you and Jimin could ever happen.

You also went out that night, got drunk, found a guy, slept with him, and never looked back.

Sure, this may seem like a regular night out for many, but not being the type to kiss and sleep, sex meant a lot to you.

Nothing wrong with one night stands, that just wasn't your particular chosen lifestyle. But you were wasted. You were intoxicated. You didn't know what you were doing. Had you been sober, you wouldn't have done what you did, especially with the person you did it with. So when you woke up in the middle of the night naked in bed next to a familiar face and realized what you've done, you rushingly stood up, got dressed, and left, ignoring the calls of the man you had just been with.

You went straight home and washed yourself for hours, feeling dirty and sloppy and disgusting. You can easily recollect sitting down in the showers, head tucked underneath and in between your legs, sobbing and crying loudly as the steam surrounding you from the warm water kept on worsening.

You hated what you did, and you most definitely despised the reason for what you did, - to simply get over someone else. You felt guilty. You felt ashamed. What would Jimin think? You thought to yourself. And though that truly didn't really matter, the ache in your heart kept on making you believe otherwise.

You didn't notice how your tears have fallen and stained your newly-bought jeans until Namjoon's hands holding a napkin comes within your perception.

Mumbling a small 'sorry Joonie,' you accept his offer and wipe the tears still continuously streaming down your now reddened, warm, and puffy face. As you do this, you furthermore catch sight of your brother's shadow rubbing his face in frustration, matching the groans that you also hear release from him in the background. And without meaning so, you deflate in insecurity.

Hearing the sound of air being released from a pulling force, you look up to see that Namjoon has sat back down, his elbows resting on the desk while his chin rest on his hands. "Does he know about this, y/n?"

You sigh, "No."

"Are you going to tell him?" You hear him ask once more.

Closing your eyes and sniffing lightly, you inhale a steady breath as you answer him for the second time, "I don't know, Joon."

Namjoon looks at you, eyes full of worry and concern. You don't know?

You're his sister, and he loves you. He would do anything for you. If he could shower you with all the love that you lack from Jimin, he would. And he would do it in a heartbeat. But you're dying. You're leaving him. And he doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what to do. So how could you not know? How could you sit here, in front of him, after keeping this shit for ten months to yourself, tell him that you just don't know?

He feels frustrated. Frustrated over the clearing fact that if you don't know the answer to that simple yes or no question, then how more could you know the answer to when he asks you to make the choice?

The choice - to love or to die.

A very careful, unprecedented surgery that has been performed by professionals only a few times, yet each one has been successful. This seems easy, yeah. A surgery to save your life? Of course you'll do it! But there's a reason as to why this has been done only by a certain small count.

To perform the surgery and live, the price is not the expense, but rather the loneliness that shall come as you spend the rest of your life void of emotions. The surgery doesn't get rid of love on its own, it gets rid of everything that comes with it - happiness, sadness, trust, pain, pretty much everything that one can possibly feel. The only emotion left is indifference, yet even indifference lacks its self-sustainability.

Who would want to live like that?

Who would want to live a life where you just simply exist and nothing more?

He knows that the day will come eventually - when he offers you the choice, the chance to save your life, and he knows it will come soon. But right now, he has chosen to prioritize being a brother over a doctor. Right now, the only thing in his mind is comforting you.

"Okay." Your brother nods, making your eyes widen slightly in shock.

Okay? No scolding? No 'how could you not know?!' older brother reprimands? But then you remember, oh yeah. You're dying. And who could possibly scold their dying little sister?

"I'm sorry Joonie-" You try to apologize once more before he cuts you off again.

"No, don't apologize, y/n. It's not like you could've possibly wanted for any of this to happen, yeah?" He offers you a smile, but you could easily see past its fabricated purpose, "But instead let me ask you this. And I need you, in our deceased parent's name, to be completely honest with me."

You only nod, completely submissive and understanding of his seriousness the moment that he mentioned your passed parents.

"What you just told me, when you first fell in love with him, that was two years ago." He starts, making you nod again in agreement.

"But you were diagnosed only ten months ago."

Your heart drops, and you don't nod again.

"The Hanahaki Disease is not something that gradually begins and comes to existence over the course of time. It is an illness that is triggered. It could be by a sudden forthcoming realization or proclamation of love, or by an event that triggers the heart to completely shut down in overwhelmth. Either way, basing on the timing of what you've said, you should've been diagnosed with the Hanahaki two years ago. But you weren't."

Namjoon eyes you questioningly, but not too much to the extent that you feel uncomfortable, only just enough to remind you of the importance of this conversation, "You were only diagnosed ten months ago, y/n. Why?"

You sit still, not wanting to move, as if your stone figure would somehow make him think that you're not real or that you're a simple figment of his messed up imagination.

"y/n, what happened ten months ago?"

He finishes his question and you swallow harshly only to realize that you're parched, your throat completely dry. You then tilt your head to steal a gaze at your brother, making you catch the way his eyes suddenly widened as if he just realized something of high importance. As if he had just realized the answer to his own question. And that didn't work with you.

Clearing your throat, you are about to answer him in order to cut off his thoughts until the door swings open and you feel your throat compact, - the coughs of a camellia flower slipping its way to visibility -because there he is,

the man of the hour.

"y/n." He noticeably breathes a sigh of relief before making his way to you, engulfing you in a giant embrace. "I was so worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you had the Hanahaki? How could you not let me know? How long have you had it? Who is it? I swear I'm going to murder whoever this piece of shit is that he dared ever making yo-"

"Jimin this is a professional space between a doctor and his patient." The two of you pull away almost exactly the same time as soon as Namjoon speaks up, Jimin's eyebrows furrowing, "Get out."

"What?" Jimin barely gather the voice to ask him as he is completely caught off guard of his friend's erupting vulgar attitude.

"I said-" Namjoon speaks before getting caught off again.

"No trust me, I heard what you said. But what?" Jimin repeats himself, "So you're telling me you're not prioritizing being y/n's brother right now? You're still caught up in this Doctor Kim bullshit? Like you're a real one?"

"Jimin-" You attempt to budge in, sensing that a certain trouble may suddenly come knocking.

"No, y/n. Listen hyung-"

"No, YOU listen. You small piece of shit." Your brother raises his voice, "-don't come barging in here like you own the place or like you have any authority over her. She is MY sister and this is a family matter. So it's best you stay out of it and keep in your lane."

At this point, Namjoon is in front of Jimin, a short distance separating the two of them, "And don't you ever dare speak to me in that tone again. I know you're my friend, but remember to treat me with respect. Not only am I your superior, but I'm also your hyung." He finishes with a serious voice, tone low, and message deep. His earnest eyes piercing through his friend's pained ones.

Jimin, mouth slightly agape being at loss for words and clearly confused at his close friend's unreasonable anger, storms out of the room.

But not before he drags you along with him.

Namjoon is quick to act as he tries to reach for you, but you turn back and look at him pleadingly, signaling him that it's okay and to not worry. And him being the understanding brother that he is, pulls back and holds himself steady.

You can handle him. You’re a Kim. You’re strong.

Strong enough to survive through this.

You’ll be okay.

And as he watches the two of you leave, the door closing shut right in front of him, only then does reality hit Namjoon as his legs tremble abruptly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

Falling down the floor, he reaches onto the desk for assistance as he slides his back down the wooden wall, hands painfully fisted and finding its way to cover his mouth in order to muffle the choked-in sobs perilously escaping him. He proceeds to blink away the tears and bite harshly on his lips, trying to diminish the flourishing grievance in his heart.

His sister is dying, and he doesn't know what to do.

“Doctor Kim? The next patient is ready to see you.” A knocking nurse distracts him and calls out from behind the door, “-shall I send them in?”

Namjoon sniffs heavily and sighs deeply, rushingly grabbing his glasses and adjusting his emotionally wrecked state, “One moment!”

He lets out a soft, shaky breath and reminds himself once more that you’re a Kim.

You’re strong.

You can beat this.

It'll be alright.

You'll be okay.

"IM NOT OKAY JIMIN-SHI!" You voicely whine out to your friend who is currently dragging you along the halls of the hospital and out the technologically advanced glass doors, "What is wrong with you?!" You pull your arm aggressively from his grasp as you bend down, hands resting on your knees while you hastily try to catch your breath. The camellia flower stuck just along the chords of your throat making it very difficult.

Jimin stares at you worryingly, having forgotten of your illness, "O- oh no. y/n, I'm sorry I forgot I- are you okay? Should we go back?" He stutters in concern before you hold up one finger, signaling him to shut the hell up. "-sorry."

Looking at you like this, tired and exhausted from having to put up with all his bullshit, Jimin feels a sudden urge to reach out and embrace you tightly, almost forgetting of his previous encounter with your brother.

And so that's exactly what he does.

You are caught off guard the moment you feel a hand grab your shoulder by means of pulling you closer all the while another rests just at your crook of spine, and although this first makes you stumble in a not-so-very prettily way, your destination is found to be in your friend's embrace, his fragile yet protective arms wrapped around you securely.

Not letting this moment simply pass by, you let yourself melt in his arms as you find the comfort meant to be found in his comforting hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slightly stand on your tippy toes. Somehow, your simple action makes him pull you even closer, one hand creeping behind your neck all the while his other is completely wrapped around your waist although this time is tighter than before.

As the two of you stay like this in the middle of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, crowds of unfamiliar voices passing by you and ambulances ringing endlessly against your ear, you let yourself submerge within the passion of your heart.

Amidst the chaos and cries of your nearingly counted days, you find consolation in the arms of the same man that has put you in front of death's door, and quite frankly, you wouldn't really want it any other way. You'll take what is given by the heavens above when it comes to Jimin, because well- you love him.

Unfortunately, that quick and simple thought is enough to make you lose control of your reminded disease.

"y-y/n what's- are you okay?" Jimin pulls away from you abruptly as you break into coughing fits, pastel pink camellia blossoms escaping your trembling lips.

The sight has caught the attention of many civilians, but both you and Jimin remain to be indifferent about them as you or more or less are occupied with your illness all the while Jimin specifically aims his attention on you alone.

"Alright that's it, screw your brother alright?" Jimin exclaims a bit louder than what you're comfortable with as this obviously did not benefit with the proceedingly growing public focus on the two of you, "-we're going back, y/n, it's my fault for bringing you outside so suddenly-"

"No chim, please-" You roughly attempt to speak out, your throat painfully extracting the feeling of abrasiveness, "Please just- let's just go."

"y/n.."

“Please chim,” you cut him off for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, coughing, “-please. I don’t want to be here any longer.”

Hesistant yet concerned, Jimin nods slowly as he assists your side, his hands finding its home around your waist and lower back while you both take short and careful strides. You destination is still unknown, but you didn’t mind. A journey a day with someone you love has never turned out for the worse.

At least that's what you think.

"Really?" You roll your eyes as you notice the familiar lane that Jimin's car just entered, "I asked you to get me out of the hospital area, I didn't ask for a sleepover, Jimin." You jokingly accuse him, but you can't help the smile that makes its way on your puffed-up face as you notice him smoothly take a side-glance at you with a knowing smirk.

"Well I thought that with all that bad hospital air, you might've wanted to breathe in a familiar scent," Jimin responds as the car comes to a stop.

You turn slightly to open the door and step out before you here a meek, "Jankkanman!" and perceive a 5'9 in height blondie come running around the bonnet in order to open the car door for you as a gentleman would. It is such a sweet and casual pantomime, yet an ill-patient diagnosed with an illness of the heart can never bring you any wins. Consequently, his actions only causes your throat to feel strained and compacted for the endless time.

God, how much did you love this man that such a simple gesture makes you want to cough out countless of fully bloomed flowers?

You thank the heavens above for your past endless experiences that allowed you to now be better in terms of hiding your pain as you attempt to smile genuinely, mumbling a small "thank you" in the process before making your way inside his home.

"So," Jimin starts as the two of you plop down his couch, his eyes seeking for yours as he tilts his head ever so lightly, "what should we do today... now that you're out of that hell hole?"

"Chim!" You scold him lightly, "my brother and your best friend just happens to be working in that hell hole, just in case you forgot, and- hey! You work there too, you ass." You accusingly point at him all the while hitting his arm playfully.

Jimin is was a nurse in that hospital. Your brother is a doctor.

He laughs and smiles widely, "Nope. I don't work there anymore, remember? But I did for a while, which is why I can most definitely testify that that place is indeed, a hell hole. And by the way, I'm kind of offended that you pretty much forgot my lost profession just then, y/n, like what the fuck?" He jokes endingly.

Your eyes soften slightly as he mentions his lack of job, yet you still stubbornly choose to ignore his last remark. "Well I sure hope that's not the case since I'll be most likely spending my last days there."

Oops.

The silence that ensues goes inevitably noticed by the two of you the moment those words escaped past your lips, but you paid no mind. That was the reason that you asked him to take you away anyways. You weren't hoping for some cliche romantic bullshit where the two of you simply elope and forget your real worries in your life, no. Instead you were here with the main purpose of facing it.

Besides, even if you did want to leave with him, you couldn't. Remember?

Jimin is the first to break the excessive blockade, "Don't say that y/n."

You sigh, "But it's true, chim."

"I don't give a shit if it's true or not."

"Chim.." You are slightly startled with his sudden outburst, caught off guard in the way his voice slightly raised as his attention and body language are now completely directed at you, "Wha- why are you getting mad?"

Jimin scoffs, almost irritated at your oblivious question, "Why? Because you're talking of dying like it's not a big deal, y/n!" His voice getting louder and louder by every word he spits out, "God, you know you can be so fucking insensitive sometimes. What, did you already forget the shit I suffered when I lost someone? Did you already forget all the fucking shit I suffered when death took her from me?"

At the mention of her, you pause. Speechless. Guilty. Hurt.

Of course you remember. How could you not? You remember the darkest of days as like it was just yesterday.

You remember getting that call in the middle of the night from the contact name of your brother as you slightly answered it in an irritated voice, "Joon I swear to God if you're asking me to drive you to work in the middle of the fucking night I will personally drag your ass right now to get a driver's liscenc-"

"y/n?"

You remember immediately stopping as you recognize the voice that most certainly did not belong to your brother, "Chim?"

"y- y/n."

You remember the outbreak of his sobs as you call out to him, his sniffles and cries becoming more and more prominent as you stumble on your feet, struggling with keeping your phone against and in between your ear and your shoulder as you hurryingly take off to grab a jacket and your keys, "Chim what's wrong, where the hell are you? W- where's Joon?"

You remember the way your heart dropped as your worst fear came to mind, the thought of losing your brother itself being enough to make you wobble in your feet, your heart clenching. He had your brother's phone, and he was crying.

"N-no, he- he's fine, y/n. It's not him, hyung's... hyung's fine."

You remember the way he struggled to find the right words; the way he sniffled and stuttered through forming such a simple sentence all the while you on the other side of the line breathe out a sigh of relief at the information of your brother's wellness, yet feeling slightly guilty that your emotions are in contrast with your friend's.

"It's Sung."

You remember Jimin's worst.

"It's Sung, y/n. Sh- she got in an accident on the way here to visit me during my off hours and- fuck! Some fucking demon pulled a hit and run on her. She was walking, y/n. She walked an hour here and got ran over by someone and.. they're doing an operation on her- hyung's assisting and he just- it's bad. It was really bad and she was bleeding all fucking over and- hyung, he- he left his phone and I didn't know what to do so I just called you- I didn't, they pushed me out of the room, y/n. I need you here. Please, please. Please come here because I'm losing my fucking mind and I need you here."

You remember driving to the hospital as careful as you can with the fear of the possibility of an accident occurring still in the midst of the back of your mind.

You remember reaching the doors of the emergency room and being greeted with a pair of reddened and exhausted eyes that looked up the moment you walked in, "Jin."

He stands up to greet you politely but you stop him, obviously seeing that his reaction upon seeing you is no more than a forced delight, "Let's not do this under these circumstances, okay? You're allowed to feel unwelcoming. It's okay, Jin."

He does no more than mumble a small 'thank you' before going back to his previous spot with you trudging along beside him.

You remember feeling the sorrow of the man beside you as you watch him lean his head back against the wall, fragile streaks of tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. You couldn't imagine his pain, the pain of such a situation where your sister's life is at stake. You wanted to comfort him, to softly rub his back and whisper sweet encouragements against his ear, little white lies that his sister is guaranteed to make it without a doubt. But you couldn't. You weren't here for him, regardless of your history. Regardless of the way you left him the morning after your supposed mistake.

"Uhm, have you seen Jimin?"

You remember the way his void eyes find yours and the way his lips lightly upturn as he gives you a forced smirk, trying to keep up with his image of being Kim Seokjin, Kim Sungkyung's handsome and cocky older brother, "And here I was thinking fate brought you here to me, y/n." He trails off, "-considering how you fucked me then dipped."

You gasp slightly and playfully hit his arm at the blunt mention of your regretted one night stand as you give him a small yet genuine smile, partly glad yet at the same time worried that he can make such remarks during a situation like this.

It was strange really, how everything in your life seemed to be connected. How on the day you felt your heart tore apart the time Jimin first mentioned his planned proposal, you went out and accidentally slept with the soon-to-be-bride's older brother.

Letting out a small sigh, Jin nods his head in the direction of a different waiting room, "He left when I came. Guess he was embarrassed of how fucked up he was but hey- I'm not doing any fucking better am I?" He tells you, subtly pointing at the very visible streaks of tears still falling down his now puffy face.

You get on your feet and turn to leave but not before giving one last glance at the man next to you, a hand softly reaching to rub his shoulder, "I'm so sorry, Jin. I wish I could stay, but-"

"It's okay, y/n. Go." Jin encourages you with a small yet noticeably forced smile, "He needs you."

And so you do, bidding him a soft goodbye before taking off, your eyes beginning to water out of the guilt of leaving a friend in that state.

You then remember being suffocated. Suffocated from the embrace that greeted you the moment Jimin entered your peripheral vision. You remember landing on your behind with a harsh thud from the struggle of Jimin's weight as he continues to seek your embrace for means of comfort, the two of you falling down the floor. You remember getting drenched from Jimin's tears as you cradle him as would a wailing child, rocking him back and forth all the while softly rubbing his back, whispering every bit of amenity that could make him feel better.

You remember feeling your heart physically ache as you fail to notice the tears that have fallen down your own eyes, blurring your sight.

To see Jimin in this state, so broken and hurt and scared, it tore you apart. You wanted him happy. You wanted him smiling. You wanted him. You loved him. And God forbid that you're admitting this in your own mind while his fiance is battling for her own life, but fuck.

You wanted nothing more than to lay down your own life for Sung so that she could continue in existence for him.

If you could, you would take here place.

You would die for her, for him.

You remember pushing back your thoughts as you put focusing on Jimin your first priority. You remember keeping him in a neverending tight embrace as he neverendingly sobs against your chest, his lips leaving prayers you could barely yet still tried to understand;

please don't let her die

don't take her away from me

i love her too much

i still have to marry her.

You then remember hearing a wail of anguish, putting a pause to both Jimin's silent pleas and your eavesdropping as the both of your heads turn to pinpoint from whom the noise came from.

You remember the way Jimin stilled.

"No."

You remember his whisper of such a small, two-lettered word, yet somehow it caused your heart to crumble.

"No no no no-"

You remember having to tackle Jimin slightly as he causes a mess of himself, punching the seats and harshly tugging on his hair all the while screaming wails of pain and suffering, "Jimin please-"

"No- get the fuck off of me! Sung?!"

You remember how Jimin lost sight of reality as he pushes you off of him, your body making in contact with the cold tiled ground.

"SUNG? SUNG! LET ME INSIDE-"

You remember seeing nurses and other staff pull the man you love back as he causes a scene, starting to become physical and violent with the people surrounding him, "PLEASE! Please- I just- I NEED TO SEE HER! SHES MY FIANCE-"

You remember seeing a man dressed in blue make his way near Jimin, a needle in his hand.

"H-hey, no!" You remember trying to catch up to the nurse, attempting to prevent them from giving whatever the shot was to Jimin, "Stop! Please-"

"y/n. D-don't."

You remember feeling a hand on your shoulder which makes you turn around instantly, only to find the culprit behind the anguished scream just moments prior Jimin's outburst.

"Jin." You start, "-they're going to sedate him. That- that's not okay."

"They have to, y/n." Another voice calls out from behind Jin, "I know how it seems and I don't like it either, b-but he's becoming violent. They have to sedate him."

"Joon." You whisper softly.

What a sick and twisted game that life is playing on you, that your brother, Jimin's best friend, Jimin's best man at the wedding being planned, is the one to give news of the bride's passing.

"Sung, is she really.." You trail off, not having the heart to finish your sentence.

It seems neither does he, as he responds with nothing but a simple avoidance of eye contact.

"HYUNG!"

You remember Jimin's faint and tired yet still firm voice as he calls out your brother, "Hyung, you saved her didn't you? You- you were part of the surgery. You saved her didn't you? Didn't you!?" Jimin is weak as he trails off his words as the effect of the syringe takes its course, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out to the three of you, "H-hyung. Tell me you saved her. P-please tell me you saved h-her."

Namjoon doesn't stop the tear that rolls down his hardened face as he only shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Jimin. We did our best. We really, really did. I'm so sorry-"

You remember the way Namjoon's voice trails off your hearing as your throat suddenly feels contracted. You remember the itching pain just within your chest as you find the struggle to breath, your hand clutching it harshly. You remember stumbling back just a little bit as you feel lightheaded, thinking that these were only from the overwhelming happenings in that moment.

But then you cough.

And you cough

and you cough

and you cough.

But no one notices you.

Not even yourself.

Your attention remains still at Jimin, who has now dropped completely to the floor, tears still continuously spilling out of his drowsy eyes. Short breaths are released from his trembling lips as he mumbles words that none of you can understand. He then begins to seemingly reach out for something, someone.

"P-please," He whispers.

And as you bend down almost immediately to attend to his calls, you cough.

And you cough

and you cough.

And still no one notices.

No one except him.

You cough as your eyes find his, barely open yet staring right at you from the lows of the floor.

You remember having to excuse yourself and run to the nearest restroom you can find, legs trembling and stumbling on your way there as you push against the winds of the almost empty halls, still coughing with every step you take. And just as you reach the doors of the restroom, you turn back slightly, just enough to catch Jimin's last sight while his body is being carried away to where you guess is a vacant patient's room, all this before his eyes ultimately close.

Eyes you found lastly staring at you.

You remember finally shutting the door and locking it, thanking God silently that you're in a family restroom hence there is no one else inside. You cough desperately, your throat beginning to feel exclusively sore and your lungs beginning to tighten from all the air being released as you cough and cough and cough again.

You reach out to the sink, gripping tightly onto the white metals as you cough and cough and cough again.

You then brushingly turn to the toilet, your eyes watering and lips numbing as you cough and you cough and you cough once more.

You practically clean the whole restroom, as disgusting as that sounds, from all the moving you made as you coughed anywhere and everywhere. You felt awful for the next person to come inside, now that your bacterium were practically in its every corner, side, and space. You cough again, this time harder, the worst one out of the previous.

You remember sensing a certain feeling rise up, something soft yet itchy, something light yet heavy.

And so you cough, and you cough, and you cough, and you cough,

and you bleed.

And amongst the red is a pink.

A single, individual pink petal from what you would soon find out is a camellia flower - the flower that is soon to be the latter symbolization of death chasing you, growing closer, inching nearer, just about to knock on your door.

So of course you remember Jimin's distraught. Of course you remember Sung's - his fiance's death.

Because her death was too, the ultimate beginning of yours.

taglist for part 2?

#jimin #jimin angst #bts fic #angst bts #bts #bts x reader #jimin x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #bts angst #bts unrequited love #unrequited love #hanahaki #park jimin #bts fanfction #bts one shot #jimin fantasy #bts sad #bts jimin #bts fluff #bts x reader angst #jimin x reader angst #namjoon #fanfiction #jin #seokjin #kim seokjin #hanahaki disease #park jimin angst

[mosshead-lover]

Fights lead to Confessions as Hate leads to Love.

Levi Ackerman x Reader

Summary: You go over to your Captain’s to submit the work late at night. Only to get caught in the most unexpected turn of events.

Warnings : NSFW, maybe lil wild?

When you woke up from your what was supposed to be a tiny nap, It was already 10:30 PM. You curse yourself for dozing off. Luckily you were almost done with the work. Even so, you knew you had to face the captain's wrath. Lately, he had been dumping an unbelievable amount of paperwork on you. That too, after a whole day of training. Today's combat training was extra hard for you as he made you combat him till your limbs fell apart and this was after a dozen of laps that ware meant as a punishment for being slow during the warm-ups. But then, how could you keep up with the squad? You stayed up late to finish the paperwork that was due the next morning. He had strictly asked you to finish today's work by dinner. Your stomach grumbled. You wish you woke up at least in time for dinner. You bundled the papers and set off to submit them to him.

"Captain Levi"

You call out for him before knocking.

There was no reply. You call out again. Still, there was none.

A ruffle of chill wind moved the door slightly, making you realise that it wasn't locked. You decided to let yourself in, for, you had forgotten to wear your coat and, the slim uniform shirt did no good. Moreover, you couldn't afford to get the bashing in front of everyone in the morning. Better face the consequences in private.

"Um. What are you doing here?"

It was him. He had just gotten out of the shower and wore nothing but a towel around his waist. The reminiscent water droplets on his torso only added to the sexiness of his abs. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. While you were at it, Levi's ice-cold eyes were set on your erect nipples which were the result of the weather(or not).

"Tch."

He let out an annoyed sigh. Immediately aware of what he was implying, you tried to cover your nipples with the suspenders. You were embarrassed. Though, ironically, he was the half-naked one. You quickly set down the file on the desk nearby and saluted.

"The work is done, sir."

"Good, Thought you were dead."

(What an ass!)

"I apologise for being late."

"Whatever. Kitchen duty every night for three weeks."

(Again!?)

You saluted and left. It took you everything you had to not smack him. After Levi shut the door behind you, You leaned back on his door and began thinking how exhausted you have been all these days. Physically and mentally. You didn't understand why he was so hostile towards you when, ever since you joined the cadet corps, all you ever tried to do was gain his appreciation. Heck, in fact, You joined the corps for him. Where did the captain that you had admired as a citizen within the walls go? Amidst all the chaos that went on in your head, You hated yourself for not being able to shake off the image of just-out-of-shower Levi.

Levi must have realised that you were still there. He opens the door without a warning and, you fall back into his arms. You quickly get up and stand straight.

"Were you fantasising having a piece of this, cadet?" He pointed at himself.

You were extremely embarrassed at his remark and couldn't take his shenanigans anymore.

"To me, it looks like the other way around, captain."

You smirked. You had had enough of him and, you spoke before thinking. Although, you immediately regretted it. Levi twisted your hand around and rammed you against the door, with your head sideways and left cheek pressing against the door. He positioned himself closer to your right ear.

"We are talking back now, aren't we?" He growled.

The words that escaped his mouth had nearly no impact on you compared to his breath against your skin.

"Should I punish you the old school way?"

A hint of naughty acquired his voice.

"Is that all you can do? So much for being The Levi Fucking Ackerman."

You kept your composure and pretended unintimidated when your inners went wild thinking of things that might happen.

"What did you just say to me?" He questioned in disbelief and utter shock.

"I SAID, LEVI FU..."

*Slam!* He slapped your buttocks hard.

"Come on, say it!"

He challenged you.

"FU..."

*Slaps you again*

You start taking deep breaths to calm your nerves down. And then your body reacts the way it shouldn't when he squeezes the part that was still hot from the slaps before. A jolt of pleasure passes through your body and, you let out a feeble moan in reflex.

Sufficed with his so called punishment,He lets your hand go and moves away.

"Leave."

He says in an indifferent tone. Although, the bump under his clean white towel was screaming something else. He immediately turns the other side and waits for you to obey him. But you weren't done.

You walk over to him furiously, grip his shoulder and forcefully turn him to face you. You push him against the table and position your dominant hand upon his groin as if to say, ’Move, and I will crush your jewels.'

Deep down, you knew Levi could easily turn the tables down without a scratch on his body. To your surprise, he gave in, resting his arms on the table and waiting for you to speak.

"Oh, Don't you dare imply this is one-sided."

You were perspiring from all the adrenaline rush and caught some breaths before continuing.

"Don't you think I know how you look at my back as I carry out the kitchen duty that you assign? Or when I bend over to clean the dust underneath the table, as you order me to?"

You were a tad satisfied as you began confronting your captain. Looked like he didn't want to take it anymore. He moved away from you in one swift move and used his leg to pull yours forward, making you lose balance and fall on the ground. He pinned you down and wasn't all that neutral anymore.

"It's a shame you think what I have for you is only physical. "

Before you could think, he tore your blouse with his strong arms, exposing more of your chest.

"Let me be what you think I am."

He affirms and holds you by the neck so you can't look away. He then bent down to devour you, as his other hand made its way down to your privates.

Your mind screamed ''It's wrong! Stop him" But, your body had already given in, swaying to the rhythm that his hand created down there. But, before he gained any more control over you, you had to say something. You push him away with all your might and sit up.

"It was you who portrayed my feelings as lust!" You almost scream in a teary voice. You take one deep breath and speak in a calmer tone.

"So, should I be what you see me as? "

You counter him and push him down as you throw his towel away. Levi lay bare naked. You sit on top and undo your remaining clothes, never once looking away. His eyes were locked to yours. You bend down, he meets you halfway and you both share one long kiss followed by several short ones. What started off slow gets hotter and furious with every second that pass. He runs his fingers down your torso as he sucks on your neck. You pull his head closer to your breasts as he began sucking and squeezing them. You lie back, throwing your arms on the ground as Levi pushes your legs apart. He seems proud at the sight of the flood that he solely caused. He resumes his work and goes down on you. This time you are not holding it back. You weren't fighting him anymore nor was he. You let out the most pleasant moans every time he hit the spots. His fingers and tongue worked magic on you. As he leads you to the peak, your legs are throbbing and urge to close down but he holds them away effortlessly. Finally, you release it and are in ecstasy, He trusts his hard rock sex into yours without giving you time to catch up. You didn't expect anything less.

"Oh! captain." You call him out on his move, followed by the sounds that could only be reactions to his thumping.

"Sssh, cadet y/n."

He bends down and kisses to shut you up while his other hand grabs your breasts. As the thumping picked up the phase, Levi groaned at every jerk against your tight walls. The wild noises that he let out only added to your pleasure. It was proof that he too had given in completely. He didn't worry about the thin walls of the camp anymore. You both take it to his bed and reach another climax, and three more before your mortal bundle of fleshes gave up. You stared at the ceiling wondering how tonight turned out. ’Tomorrow is uncertain’ You thought. Things could change or go back to normal. Either way, you will go back to being a superior and underling. This night could never happen again. You drifted to sleep with no expectations. Levi moved a strand of hair away from your face and looked at your peaceful resting face in admiration. He wondered why he was trying to push you away at all. He smiled at the thought of how this night could be the beginning of something new.

#levi attack on titan #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi x you #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #aot anime #aot fanfiction #aot fic

[oodlenoodleroodle]

My spouse is currently undergoing a course of electroconvulsive therapy aka shock treatment. They've had it four times and they have another four to go.

I've been using my extra balance hours at work to take off the days of their treatment, because the hospital don't like to let the patient go away alone and the patient shouldn't be alone on the day of the treatment, and while it could be arranged differently (like they'd have to wait on the ward until I get off work or smt) it's just nicer this way plus I manage to spend my extra balance finally.

People at work have been really good about it, really flexible and understanding, and sending good vibes and wishing well to us both but especially my spouse.

It's been a little bit funny even, because all the doctors and nurses involved in the process have been really good and explaining things thoroughly and doing their best to put us at ease - which they genuinely have. Like they bring up One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Next and say it's not like in the movies. But of course all these other people haven't had the same benefit, so when you mention ECT everyone's like "omg that's a big and scary thing omg!"

And the funny thing is that it is, but just not in that sense. Like we have to get a taxi there and a taxi back and in order to have the taxi trip covered by public health insurance (Kela), you have to book the taxi from a particular phone number and you have to get the specific taxi they assign you (despite there always being taxis galore at the hospital), so you have to wait (sometimes even an hour!) for the specific fucking taxi, and that is shitty and stressful. And also everything to do with Kela is shitty and stressful.

Or the fact that my spouse also has anxiety and having to take the taxi and having to go to the hospital and being on the ward with the other patients is all stuff that makes their anxiety worse and as a result they are absolutely exhausted by this regimen - not from the electricity but from the anxiety. And I am also extra stressed and tired and confused from the lack of normal routines.

Or like even with the procedure itself, the biggest problem has been the IV being super painful and leaving weird ginormous bruises on their hands. Which is nothing to do with the ECT itself and more with anesthesia nurses being fooled by the way my spouse's hand veins look (apparently the veins aren't big enough - but they look big on the surface?)

So like yes it's a big thing - but not in the way people think.

Here's some stuff that doctors and nurses have said about ECT:

It's basically an artificial, electricity-induced epileptic fit. They have no idea why epileptic fits lessen depression, but this effect was first observed in epileptic people with depression, which is where the idea for electricity treatment came from.

They all say it's not like the movies. The patient is under anesthesia, the "seizure" last like 20-30 seconds. This part is funny to me because the only movie with ECT I have seen is a Korean movie called I'm A Cyborg (And That's Okay) in which the ECT charges the cyborg's batteries, enabling her to then (in her delusions) shoot all the orderlies of the hospital. So it's not a horrible torturous experience like in Cuckoo's Nest nor will your toenails light up as an indication that your cyborg batteries are fully charged.

ECT has an absolutely bananas success rate. Something bonkers like 95% of people get relief to their depression from ECT, even depression that hasn't responded to anything else. The ECT doctor mentioned he was sad that still so many people go for ECT as a last resort, when if it was tried earlier people could save a lot of pain (and money) by skipping unsuccessful medicine attempts. The ECT nurse said that in his 18 years of working there, max 5 people have not been helped by ECT.

Your hair needs to be clean, otherwise the greasiness will interfere with the electricity. Same with face in case they need to put the stickies on your forehead (sticky placement depends on something, not sure what).

Some antidepressants will also interact with the electricity, making it stronger than is necessary, so you need to lower the dose of some meds before starting ECT.

Yes a possible side effect is some sort of effects on memory - but not like you'll forget your name or family or something. More like you might not remember that morning. And the memory usually comes back with time. My spouse has not had any memory related side effects so far.

#we have a system at work where you dont get paid for overtime they just build up in your excel #and then you can use them to take time off #so thats what extra balance hours are #my spouse is sitting next to me and im checking with them that this is all okay to tell #they feel very strongly about doing things to lessen the stigma of mental illnesses and ECT and such #so i wanted to post too to reach more people

[whitherliliesbloom]

weaving the present, illuminating the future

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #30 - abstracted ]

[ illya & friends ] ★ [ 2,849 words ]  ★ [ streamers au ]

modern / streamers / online celebrities au where the spud squad are all popular streamers who frequently collab together. centers around illya and kaye mainly, but briefly mentions a bunch of other friends and illyanaud.

abstracted- withdrawn in mind, inattentive to one's surroundings

the spud squad announce their indefinite hiatus right after releasing their one year anniversary single, and illya cannot help but to feel just a tad bit melancholic.

Illya hasn’t bothered checking her notifications, or looked at either her computer screen or mobile phone, really. The sounds of ping after ping on linkcord, text after text and the flood of new tweets mentioning the one tag she followed on twitter easily made her overwhelmed - and so she’d opted to switch her devices off entirely before burying herself under the covers for the evening, trying desperately to distract herself with a copy of a manhwa that she’d borrowed from Laurelis. 

But it was futile, her head is empty and heavy, yet swirling with a myriad of many emotions all at the same time. And after feebly reading and re-reading the same page over and over only to realize she hadn’t been paying attention to the contents of the book at all, she closed the manhwa shut with a heavy sigh before closing her eyes, praying to the heavens that exhaustion would lull her quickly to sleep.

Outsiders would merely assumed she was simply nervous from the release of their newest single, Ultramarine Hymn, a collaboration between the members of their massively popular streamer group made in celebration for their one year anniversary. They’d prepared for months, working together with a widely renowned music composer and even performing live on stage with a set of professional make up artists, producers and videographers to film their first ever music video.

For everyone barring Mint, it’d been their first time ever singing and dancing for a large audience online. While the experience had been undoubtedly fun, it was still their first real exposure doing anything of such professionalism and scale- and so her flat mate Kaye wasn’t surprised at all to find her shaking like a leaf as she sat next to him on the couch just several minutes prior to the premier of the video.

While the premier of their first music video was indeed a good half of the reason why Illya felt so out of sorts and nervous for the rest of the night up until sunrise, the true reason for the melancholy she bore in her heart came from the announcement that was posted right after the release of the music video, and it’d kept her awake for a good portion of the late night until she mercifully fell asleep, clutching the lavender purple ribbon she’d worn in the music video tightly in her hands.

The spud squad was going to go on an indefinite hiatus shortly after the release of Ultramarine Hymn - a result of an eight months long business trip Kaye had been assigned on as a professional programmer. Streaming and being something of an internet celebrity was never the man’s main source of income, so it’d be unwise of him to turn down the golden opportunity to further his career in favor of staying behind to continue streaming. 

Naturally, Lily was going to move overseas with him as well - and while she has made it clear to her audience that she will continue streaming whenever she could afford the free time to, the radically different time zones between Eorzea and Doma meant it’d be difficult to participate in anymore spud squad activities - at least until she and Kaye would return.

Mint too, announced that she’d been preoccupied with practicing for auditions into several professional idol management companies... and while Illya herself isn’t as busy as the other three, juggling between helping with business at her mother’s florist, studying for an entrance exam into a medical school and streaming on top of that has become quite a hectic endeavor. 

Thus with much reluctance, the six of them came to a consensus and decided to announce their indefinite hiatus, a news that they’d hoped would sit well with their impressively large audience of fans if it came with the release of a music video to remember them by.

Illya knew that it was a necessary change of process - that new doors are being opened for each of them and it was only right for them to seize the opportunity to chase their dreams. Deep inside, Illya truly did feel overjoyed for her friends, loved them all with of her heart so much that the hiatus was but a small fraction of the cost to pay in exchange for their happiness.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a hint of melancholy and bitter sweetness within that earnest joy and cause for celebration. None of the six of them knew when they’d next be able to work on something like this again, or if they’d even find the time in the future to work together again at all. It was perhaps because of their shared understanding - that unspoken sadness between all of them that they’d agreed to prepare something special to celebrate one year of their collaboration - a song that spoke of hope and a brighter future. 

‘The more you give up, the more regrets await you.’

By the time the sun rose, accompanied by the shining of morning light through her pastel pink curtains and the melodic chirping of birds nesting upon the wisteria tree just outside her window, her phone has been assaulted with a mountain of unchecked notifications that she dreaded to sort through. 

The girl knew she couldn’t possibly keep her phone locked and switched off forever, and so she’d booted it up after washing up in the shared bathroom, before walking out of her bedroom, staring down at her screen with a light frown.

The smell of fried bacon wafts through the apartment. The sound of sizzling oil intermingles with Hazel’s cheery singing, and Illya takes the time to open the latch of her enclosure, allowing the little sparrow to flutter about the living room until it settled peacefully next to the potted sunflowers that sat upon the window sills of the kitchen, watching the raven haired man flipping eggs effortlessly with a flick of the frypan. 

“Good morning, Kaye. Thank you for making breakfast, again.” Greeting with an ever bright smile, Illya sits herself down at her designated seat at the dining table upon a bright floral cushion, watching as the man turns his head back for a moment before returning his attention to the stove. 

“It’s Sunday, so it’s my turn. You don’t gotta thank me.” He walks over to the dining table to dump the steaming hot sunny side ups and crispy bacon onto their plates, cups of orange juice already poured and waiting, which Illya takes into her hand to take a quick sip out of.

“You checked eorzeatube and twitter yet?” The young man asks as he sets the frypan down, gesturing towards the phone in her hands.

“N-no... Is it urgent?”

“Not really, no.” Kaye raises an eyebrow, sitting himself down and jabbing a fork into his bacon. “But aren’t you curious about how the music video did?”

“I-I am... A little, I suppose... but-” 

Her stammer gives her away her listlessness, and Kaye shoots the girl a furrowed scowl and a frown. 

“Is somethin’ botherin’ you?” The man asks, and Illya’s lips curl upwards into a wide, deceptively warm smile.

“Just nervous is all.. What if the fans didn’t like it?” it wasn’t a complete lie, though not the total truth, but Illya was always exceptionally talented at hiding her negative emotions, and Kaye seems to buy it enough to slump back against the back rest of his chair and toss the bacon into his awaiting mouth, chewing quietly and swallowing before speaking.

“You won’t know till you see for yourself.” 

It’s an unfortunate reality that he’s right, and Illya finally gives in and taps onto the icon for the twitter app, waiting for the timeline feed to load before her star spangled violet eyes widen in complete disbelief.

99+ notifications, an equally unbearable amount of private messages in her inbox as well as the first tweet literally being about the music video - Moth’ir’s retweet of their short promotional video from their official spud squad twitter account, which has garnered over 40 thousand likes and 10 thousand retweets.

#spudsquad and #ultramarinehymn are trending, and Illya gives in to her curiosity enough to tap on the tags and scroll through the tweets.

cosplaycon2022 hype!!! @/oracleoflight  • 18h  my good friend illya and her friends #spudsquad just released #ultramarine hymn and it’s so so so good!!! please give it a watch!! 

EEEEEEEEEE @/driftinintiawind  • 18h @/academician you didn’t tell me your gf was an idol bro???? GOOD SHIT #ultramarinehymn

 pink is JUSTICE @/rosepinkcutie  • 17h OHHHHH I’m goihng to cwyg #ultramarinehymn made me cryuy. iT’S SO GOOD...... #spudsquad i LOVE YOU

Alphinaud @/academician  • 17h Do give your support to #spudsquad ‘s new music video, #ultramarinehymn ! They’ve worked very hard on it!

soliriii @/windupsunshine  • 17h thank you #spudsquad for all the joy you’ve given me for the past year!! what a way to celebrate <3 #ultramarinehymn

hien’s booty @/floortank   • 16h  HEY #ultramarinehymn IS SO LIT THOUGH????? WTF

thancredwaters @/gunbrkrs  • 16h #spudsquad Good job my daughter hasn’t stopped playing this song on repeat for the past 2 hours. 

Nyx @/underthebloodmoon  • 15h Sharing a good friend’s music video here. #ultramarinehymn #spudsquad

Nidhstinien @/azuredragoon  • 15h [youtube link] #ultramarinehymn nice

vergotohelldad @/reveilleur  • 14h only 4 hours after release and #ultramarinehymn is already trending. twitter has some fucking good tastes in music thank the twelve.

Lamittens! @/lalamitt  • 14h Oh to be spud squad long time fan :pleading: I’m so fed... #ultramarinehymn #spudsquad

nhelly @/blackestmage  • 13h I turn around and #spudsquad decided to drop an absolute banger. loving #ultramarinehymn !!

Aymeric de Borel @/officialborel  • 13h A wonderful song that elicits a sense of optimism and hope. #ultramarinehymn

kafuuchi @/cloudsysmile  • 13h hey is it just me or is kaye getting hotter :blush: still a kayelily simp tho!! #ultramarinehymn

KoKomi Komi @/sangopriestess   • 12h @/starblossoms Congratulations on the new MV!! It’s very catchy! #ultramarinehymn

The scroll is endless, timeline filled with a mixture of both familiar and unfamiliar twitter handles, yet all collectively singing praises and awe for the music video and the song. It’s hard to not be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of positive reception their hard work and efforts have received, and Illya tears her eyes away from the screen to look up at Kaye with a twinkle in her wide violet eyes, and the man looks back at her expectedly. 

“I-It...It seems to be very well received.”

“’Seems to be’? The video’s got over five hundred thousand views on eorzeatube from the past 18 hours.”

Illya almost chokes on her eggs, eyes blown wide as she swallows her food abruptly and her voice raises into a high, bewildered squeak.

“F-f-five... hundred thousand???” 

By the twelve, that’s far more than even their highest recorded number of viewers on their biggest stream - and it’s been less than a day since the release of the music video. She cannot imagine just how ecstatic Mint must be at having such a successful idol-esque debut. 

“Does that ease your worries now?” Kaye asks, snapping the girl out of her train of thoughts once more, and he is met with a smile and an affirmative nod in response. 

“It does... thank you, Kaye.” 

Knowing that weeks of preparation, practice and hard work has paid off and finally bore fruit was the biggest relief Illya’s experienced in a while, and the simple knowledge that the sentiment of their song got through to a good number of the fans warmed her heart.

But in the midst of the joy, there was yet an underlying somberness lingering in the air between the pair that was not lost to either of them, as silence quickly fills the atmosphere and quickly turns the space around them cold. 

Scrolling through the top tweets didn’t exactly help either - because while it had quickly eased Illya’s worries of the music video being negatively received, in between praises for the song came the posts of fans who were dejected by the hiatus announcement.

Most of them had been supportive, of course... Their audience has ever been so welcoming, understanding and wonderful to them. But that perhaps made the disappointment they felt even worse on Illya’s melancholy, as she once again quickly slips back into the depths of her own internal mind. 

Because as well received as the music video they’d released is, it still ends with them going their separate ways, and it fills Illya with a sense of already festering loneliness that she refuses to admit verbally to.

She never did like goodbyes. 

‘The time that flows in the blink of an eye. The fear of continuing to be as we are.’

Neither Kaye nor Illya particularly enjoyed talking about their troubles, not even to each other, and so while Kaye could make an educated guess on why Illya seemed so despondent, he makes no comment on it. He was never the best at comforting others anyway.

He lets the silence fester between them even after Illya sets her phone down to focus on her plate full of breakfast, fishing his own device out of his pants pocket and begins to type away at it. 

It isn’t until after a whole ten minutes has passed that he’d finally look up from the screen, expression unreadable yet his voice sounding a modicum more relaxed than it had been a while ago as he calls out to Illya as she was drinking the last of her orange juice. 

“Hey, you’re free tonight, right?” The raven haired man asks, and Illya sets her glass down with a quirk of her eyebrow, if there was even a hint of sorrow in her, she didn’t allow him to hear it.

“Um... I am. Why?”

A smile from Kaye is a rarity, let alone one that carries such gentleness and ease... but the one he’s wearing now is so warm that it blows away the storm clouds that she hadn’t even noticed hanging over her head. 

“Then, are you cool to do an Among us stream tonight? With the other four, of course.”

Sparkling lavender eyes widen, and Illya is silent for a brief moment before stuttering out in response.

“A-aren’t you going over to Lily’s place to help her pack though?? And... the others.. aren’t they-”

“I’ll only be there for the afternoon. We’re only gonna be flying next week so there’s no rush. As for the others, I already asked. You can even invite Alphinaud if you want, the more the merrier.”

“But didn’t we just announce that we’re going on hiatus? I don’t want to trouble the others if they’re too busy either-”

Her pink lips slightly part, voice timid and soft. Hesitation and uncertainty briefly flashing through her twinkling eyes as she averts her gaze from the man and hides them under the shadows of her pure white bangs. But it does little to keep the light red burn of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose from Kaye, who only rolls his eyes at her in response.

“Gods, stop being so nice. I said I already asked and they’re down for it.... well, mostly. Ichi said he wanted to sleep but I’ll drag him outta his bed if I have to. We may be on hiatus, but it’s not like we’re gonna stop hanging out together, right?”

Though Kaye’s tone is rough and his words are painfully honest, his tongue as sharp as the gaze of his midnight blue eyes, Illya knew there was kindness laced beneath his huff, and the tension in her body slowly begins to fade, making way for a brighter, far more honest and radiant smile that washed away the chill of the air like a spring breeze.

He’s right, as he often is. 

Even if they may go their separate ways in the future, they will still always remain connected as friends, holding the memories they made together close in their hearts. 

Her phone’s buzzing with notifications again, and she takes a peek down at the lit up screen, her heart warming at the equally excited messages from her beloved friends. From Mint who is spamming :mikurave: emotes, to Lily who was telling Ichi that no, a schedule with his bed isn’t a valid excuse and Nanami who was offering to set up the stream for the night... Things are all as it should be, right here and now where they are together - where they are home. 

“If everyone’s fine with it then... I’ll join too. Don’t raid Ichi’s flat, though!” 

Illya lets out a giggle that rings out like windchimes in a cool summer breeze, and Kaye clicks his tongue with a shrug of his shoulder.

“He gave me his keys for this exact reason, he doesn’t mind. How do you think he always makes it in time for our streams? All I need to wake him up is a fork and porcelain plate and-”

“Kaye! That’s... that’s so mean-”

‘I'll hug you with equal parts expectation and anxiety. You and I, weaving the present, illuminating the future.’

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #kiwisffxivwrite2021 #illya skawi #kaye #spud squad #streamer au #fanfic #mine #i had a vision but I think it went all over the place #and i didn't know how to write all my ideas and themes coherently #sorry ichi i don't have your appearance data #which is why he's not in the picture #big SOB #i wanted to include illyanaud more prominently in here somewhere but #it would always feel out of place so #its fine i like the concept so thats all that matters #the song referenced in the fic and title is ultramarine hymn by eve!! #which was written for proseka's 1st anniversary so

[joshslater]

The Reformatory

A rewrite of jd07201990′s swimmer story. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

T -1

Dear diary or however you are supposed to start.

So tomorrow is the big day. Dad and I are sleeping at a Holiday Inn at the other side of the state. Well, I'm obviously not sleeping. How could I? So I thought I should start a journal of some sort to document this experience.

Some background. Two months ago I was in a fight with Mark Samberg on the football team. It had gotten pretty bad between the football schmucks and us swimmers. The jockheads were constantly harassing us, calling us fags and prissy boys. It happened often and was getting boring. As the captain of the swim team I asked Mark to knock it off and get his players in line. Idiot as he is he tried to knock me out instead, and I lost it. In our scramble I managed to knock him down and was about to kick him in the shin when he shifted and instead I connected with his knee. Apparently it fractured. He'll be able to walk and even run, but he'll not be able to play again for years, so he lost his Scholarship.

His family sued everyone they could. Me, the school, the swim coach. In the end all the lawyers sat down in a room with a local judge and came up with something they all could agree to. Mark gets some study assistance to get his grades up, the school had this quickly brushed under the carpet, and could pretend I was never student there. Me not graduating wasn’t really a blow, as my college fund now went to pay for Mark’s education, as compensation. They were rich enough to afford it anyway, but they wanted to see punishment. I get the honor to spend the next 180 days at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where I will "participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs". They can tack on some extra days for bad behavior without going back to the judge, but essentially I get 6 months at bad boy camp for standing up to bullies.

What will I do there? No idea. The website talks a lot about work ethics and responsibility and working together with the local community. Sounds like labor camp to me. I'll guess we'll know tomorrow. But first we have to visit the hospital for a check up. My first day in prison will mostly not be in prison!

Day 1, Monday

We started with a checkup at the hospital, and man did they do a thorough job. Our appointment was at 10, but before that I had to fill out a form with 100 questions. The doctor spent more than 30 minutes doing the most extensive check I've ever had. Not only that, but after the check we had to go to the sample lab to draw blood, and finally I had a CT scan at noon. After that, and a quick lunch, we drove to the actual reformation center, which was in a smaller town 2 hours away.

It's an old boarding school building that they've turned into this "Reformation Center", and it clearly looks more like a prison than a school. Just a heap of two story brick and concrete buildings out in nowhere. Not much of security, but then everyone was there "voluntarily", meaning that we all had a proper punishment waiting for us if we left. I hugged dad goodbye and was shown to Mr. Kerwin’s office by the entrance guard.

Mr. Kerwin was a lean, ripped man in his forties that oozed military discipline. He explained that he was responsible for my rehabilitation and that he wouldn't start soft. He would give me a packed schedule, and if I didn't pull my weight he would add more days for "noncompliance". If I didn't like it I could run back to judge Stephenson and ask to start over in juvie.

Perhaps that would be better, because the schedule he showed me was totally insane.

4:30-5:00  Breakfast 5:00-8:00  Exercise pass 1 8:00-12:00 Work pass 1 12:00-12:30 Lunch 12:30-14:30 School 14:30-17:30 Work pass 2 17:30-18:00 Dinner 18:00-21:00 Exercise pass 2 21:30       Lights out

He explained that my breakfast, lunch and dinner would be pre-portioned and I was required to eat all of it. The exercise passes would be lead by himself or one of the assistants. Again, I would have to follow every instruction. The work passes were done at local businesses that wanted an extra hand, and changed depending on demand. The school passes were done as a group on whatever subject Mr. Reed selected.

Next he ordered me to get naked and place all my clothes on top of my bag and move to the other side of the room. Having done so he pointed at a stack of clothes on the table and told me to pick my size and get dressed. I quickly dressed in one of the track suits from the table. There was a baseball cap also, which confused me, but was told that it was instead of sunglasses when working outdoor.

With that I was given a rule book to study and was led by an assistant to my room where a dinner was waiting. Turkey, rice, water. I was reminded of lights out at 21:30 and wake up at 4:30. The assistant left and locked the door. 10 minutes later he came back with my journal book and pen, and told me that they'll keep the rest for now.

Having eaten the dinner and having three hours (I'm almost sure 21:30 is 9:30 PM) to kill before the lights go out I'm now summarizing the day. I'm sitting in something very similar to a prison cell. Bed, toilet, sink. Everything is clean, though somewhat worn. Looking into the mirror is kind of depressing though. I look like some jailed gang member.

It's kind of weird that I haven't met any of the other inmates, sorry students, here. I saw some of them while coming in, but perhaps this is their kind of hazing, or they do an official presentation tomorrow. Anyway, I should study the rule book and go to bed, since I didn't sleep much last night.

Day 2, Tuesday

So much to write about, so little time. I might have to split this into several entries since lights out is in 20 minutes.

I was awaken at 4:30 and given a tray with a large bowl of porridge and berries and some chalky smoothie or shake or whatever to drink. After that an assistant lead me to the gym room where we went over various machines, mainly for cardio. Elliptical, bike, treadmill. Weird thing was that it was only us two in the room during all three hours.

Sweaty and a bit tired I was then taken outside to a bus where some of the other boys where chilling. Apparently everyone else had breakfast between 7 and 8. They had no idea why I didn't join them there. The bus then drove around town and the driver announced who should exit where. My group of four people exited at a farm before town, only about 5 minutes away. I don't know exactly since I haven't been given my watch back.

There we spent hours just moving hay. Don't they know about tractors? Sweaty, itchy, tired and hungry we were then picked up and driven back. At lunch was the first time I saw the real common area. To my surprise there were more boys there than had been on the bus.

Everyone else could pick what they wanted from what was served, but I was given a ready tray with an heap of salmon and pasta. I was starving though, so it wasn't a problem to eat it all. I didn't have much time to talk, but the guys at my table were nice. Somewhat rough, as could be expected. Apparently you were chosen for the different work assignments, and if you were not picked you stayed at the center for sports or craft or similar things.

After Lunch followed a session with Mr. Reed. The first boring hour was on English grammar and the second boring hour on US geography. I aced the quizz getting all 50 states and state capitols right, so I didn't learn anything new after that. Then Mr. Reed announced who had work assignments, and I was again selected.

This time I and Troy were dropped off at a different farm where we spent almost three hours helping with fencing. Mainly carry posts and sawing them to length.

For dinner I had some meatballs with roasted sweet potatoes while everyone else had meatballs with tomato sauce. Mr. Kerwin picked me up and led me to the gym. Unlike the morning session this was all about weight training. Most of it was on finding my limits for different exercises while Mr. Kerwin pointed out how I could improve my form. You could tell that this was what he liked to do, and encouraged me to push a bit further. Once we were done I had a bottle of post workout mix of some sort and a very quick shower before rushing back to my room.

Here's the thing. My room is on a different floor than the other guys. Also, my schedule appears to be different and much more rigid than the rest of the guys. I also

Day 3, Wednesday

I couldn't finish the last entry before they cut the light. My entire body is in pain right now. I woke up like that, and it didn't go away all day. Same schedule as yesterday, but different tasks and different dishes. The assistant really pushed today during the morning session, so I was exhausted already at the bus. Planting bushes at the city park all morning didn't help. I got some rest during Reeds rehash of elementary math. Then back to doing fences, and top it all off with weight training. I asked Mr. Kerwin about the schedule and why it was so different from everyone else’s. He said that everyone's schedule is individual and that he'll adjust mine as needed.

One more weird thing before I fall to sleep. Everyone else is using their normal clothes. I haven't gotten mine back yet.

Day 4, Thursday

FUCK! I was back on moving hay today again, with Sam, Trevor and Rick. I'm still hurting like hell and Rick is one lazy motherfucker, so old fart Farmer Joe decided to complain. The end result is that I am getting 2 days added for noncompliance. Sam, Trevor and Rick got nothing. WTF!

Day 5, Friday

We were carrying merchandise all morning and Troy heckled me on how I got more days because of the piece of shit Rick. But he then said that it was a weird coincidence that every work shift I've been on has been the toughest one.

Instead of going to class I met with the doctor from the hospital who made a visit. He asked me about how I felt, where I was sore etc. Then he gave me an injection which he said would ease things for me. I didn't feel much different, but I was getting really sleepy getting back to Mr. Reeds class, but it might just be that everything he did was too simple and boring.

Apparently while I had a check up Troy had shared his theory about me being a work magnet, so there were some groans from the guys placed in my group. God damn fence work again.

Man, I'm tired. I was tired even before Mr. Kerwin gave me the toughest weight pass ever. Fuck, I'm tired.

Day 6, Saturday

So the weekend schedule is different. There is still a morning work pass, basically only used by the local farmers. But the afternoon is free both on Saturdays and Sundays. Conditions and terms applies, apparently. Since I haven't done any cleaning or dishes all week (how could I?), I'm assigned washing clothes, sheets etc. Man, how much better it is to carry laundry than hay. Best job assignment all week. Lots of downtime. Only real drawback is all the humidity. It’s steamy AF here.

Still fucking 3h workout pass in the morning and evening. The other boys were pretty vocal in mocking me on my way to the gym.

Day 7, Sunday

So the day started out as any other so far. Woke up sore. Breakfast alone and 3 hour gym session. There are no work passes outside LARC on Sundays, so I was hit with cleaning, together with Kyle G. and Rick. Rick ghosted after like three minutes, but KG did a solid work. It took us all the time til lunch though to finish it.

Then my first free couple of hours all week. It’s insane. The other guys were low key avoiding me, so I did what Mr. Kerwin had suggested and had a walk in the forest. It was actually kind of nice, and for some weird reason I didn’t feel like sitting still.

Day 8, Monday

Same shit again. Mr. Kerwin gave me a shot in the arm this evening. Apparently I’ll have one each Monday from now on. Whatever.

Also I found out today that the others don’t have formal lights out. I’m on my own floor so they can lock me up and cut the power. What the fuck?

Day 9, Tuesday

That fucker Rick slacked off again, taunting me about another two days. Ha! I got 10. Mostly for kicking him in the teeth. They locked me in my room, so I had lunch there and sat in this boring ass cell during class and work. Fuck, I don’t know what’s worse. I had to do some body weight exercises to keep sane. Fuck this shit.

Back again. I still got to have my evening workout. Kerwin was pushing harder than ever. The order of exercises was different too. Apparently to make the major muscles tired so smaller muscle groups then get to work. Or something. I don’t give a shit.

Day 11, Thursday

They fucking work now, don’t they the little shits. They know I ruined someones career to get here and another one for slacking off. They better pull there weight

Day 14, Sunday

I think I’ll stick to just write on Sundays. There is only half an hour from evening gym to lights out, so there isn’t much time for writing. I’ve even skipped shower a few times. It’s not like it matters when you start every fucking day getting soaked with cardio. Not like there are any girls around to impress either. Sunday has a different vibe tho. Cleaning, running in the forest and taking a long shower.

Starts and ends with fucking gym time though.

Day 21, Sunday

I really fucking like the forest runs. Its like you don’t have to think and can just run wherever and grab whatever and smash whatever. Fucking love it

Day 28, Sunday

Yay! A full fucking month!

It’s crazy though how much stronger I’m. I have gone up one size larger track suite and 2 sizes larger sneakers. Working hard to make me the best I guess.

Day 42, Sunday

guess i forgot about writing last week. i think the monday shots make me angry or something because last week fucked up someone else on tuesday. at least they all give me fucking respect at least.

Day 92, Monday

i dont give a shit abot reeds borin ass lessons and they fuckin repeat on a loop or some shit. today he was back on gramr and the states. i most time dont fill out his shit but wanted to do it again today. fucking aced most of the states. not so good on the capitols tho

Day 203, Sunday

only 2 weeks left tomorrow lol then im gonna yeet the fuck outta here !!!! adios motherfuckas

Mr. Kerwin enters the room, carrying a folder, and walks behind his desk, not even looking at me. I am sitting in his precious fucking antique chair I pulled from the corner. He’s sitting his ass down, rifles through the papers in the folder and starts to read from one of them.

“John Hamlin agrees to 180 days of rehabilitation training at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where he will participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs, with a possible extension of 30 days for noncompliance and a possible extension of 60 days for infractions as described by the Juvenile Rehabilitation Act (JuRA), section 1103 (b).”

He looks up at me. It sounded like easy shit when I said yes to it. I thought half a year in a bad boy summer camp, or worst case something like prison, but that would have been miles better than this fucking non-stop hard labor shit. And 180 days was a fucking joke. They never fucking intended that to be the actual time. Have someone else slack off and the slap another 2 days to the time. Kick a chair to pieces, 5 days. Punch a guy for being a cunt, 10 days. I’m close to having another fucking outburst again. It must be all that fucking shit they put in the food or shakes or whatever. I fight it. I don’t want to show any emotion in front of him. I don’t think he buys my shit.

“There is another document in the agreement that you haven’t heard. This one between Mark and judge Andrews.”

He pulls out another paper from the folder and read it.

“The state hereby directs Mark Samberg, or person(s) by him so designated, to design and oversee the rehabilitation program of John Hamlin to be administrated at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center. This includes physical exercises, physical therapy, education, consoling, dietary plan and medication, as long as it fulfills the positive development criteria (Appendix D), is within the available services at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center (Appendix A) and within the given budget (Appendix C). Additional services require external financing and approval from the Reformation Center management (Appendix B).”

That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the hell had the judge put Mark in charge of my schedule? I understand why he’d want to make the experience suck as much as fucking possible for me, by why had everyone agreed to it? Kerwin looks at me as if he can read an open book.

“You are wondering what has happened to you. What was the meaning of all this? Stand up.”

I jump to my feet. There are still weeks he can add to my time here, and I don’t want to give him any fucking reason to add some shit.

“Stand with your feet as close together as you can.”

He’s never asked me to do that before. I can easily tap me feet together, but I can’t really stand still with my feet right next to each other for long. What the fuck is this bullshit? My thighs are too massive for that.

“Sit down again.”

He leans back and watches me with a bemused smirk.

“Imagine that you’d been away from swimming half a year. Even if you kept in shape it would take you months to be back in good enough technique to clear the swim team tryouts. But you have not kept in shape, have you? You have a completely new shape.”

The blood is draining from my face. I understand where this is going.

“With your upper body build you can physically really only do butterfly strokes properly, but if you can’t bring your feet together the leg kick will just be a wild thrashing of water. You swimming medley would be a hilarious joke. We haven’t even talked about you almost doubling in weight, and how much more oxygen you would need to swim. Sure, you are much stronger now, but old you would swim circles around new you. And that is of course the point. If Mark couldn’t have his sports career, he didn’t want you to have yours either. And the judge agreed.”

I’m surprised that the chair doesn’t break, as hard as I’m squeezing it. I’m boiling with fucking rage. I have to really focus to not to act on it.

“Now the judge specifically set out that this transformation couldn’t be punishment in itself, but rather that you were trained in a way that just wasn’t optimal for swimming. We may have gone a bit overboard with the body building to leave you many options though. You’ll obviously never be competitive in anything with speed or agility, like football or boxing. The metabolic conditioning, hormone treatment and gene therapy have far to long lasting effects to change you back from where you are now. You could try wrestling or weight lifting though, unless you mind showing your erection through spandex.”

“What the fuck?”, I said, as much as a general question to all the things he’d said. What does metabolic conditioning mean? Gene therapy? Erections?

“The medical regimen that Marks family found for you kind of put the feet on both the gas and the break at the same time. It forces the body to grow a lot at the same time as we try to stop it, so it has to try even harder. By injecting stem cells with the right CRISPR-modified DNA we could get rapid, major and long lasting changes. Well, I say we, but all I did was to make sure you kept to the exercise regimen, for a little cash on the side… Surely you didn’t think you got larger feet and dick from eating much and working hard?”

I don’t understand exactly what they done to me, but the result is pretty fucking clear. There was no way I would swim competitively ever again, if I could even fucking swim at all now. I would come out of here looking like a fucking balloon animal muscle jock, and shedding the muscles back to where I were would take shitloads of years.

“The hormone treatment finished two weeks ago and last blood sample shows that your natural hormone levels will keep you muscled and pumped probably well into your forties. So this morning I also cut you off from all suppressive medication as well. That is going to spike your hormone levels and mess quite a bit with you, so we need to see just how badly fucked up you are before we can release you.”

“The good doctor say that you’ll be more irritable and have more excess energy than before. Both something you can work on with regular, hard exercise. But I want to see where you really are at now, so starting today you’ll have no required gym time and labor passes. You can wake up when you want, eat what you want and do what you want.”

“You said erections?”, I asked.

“Yeah, the suppression medication should have kept you limp. You haven’t jacked off while here, have you? Well, you heard what I said about gas and break and compensation. Your body has been pumping massive amounts of hormones into your blood, and will continue to do so. But now that you don’t have the suppressives anymore you should expect to be horny for the next decade or two. You’ll be nothing but a lumbering muscle dildo.”

There’s a crack somewhere inside the wood of the armrest. Fucking fourteen more days, I have to remind myself. Don’t fuck any shit up before then. If I let go of the chair I’m quite positive I will knock him the fuck out. Fourteen fucking more shit days.

[donnerpartyofone]

idk if you've talked about it, probably have. but if you don't mind to again, ketamine injections for depression? did it work? was it expensive? how long did it work for? ty.

dang, i never got a notification for this message. sorry! ketamine absolutely worked for the management of my depression, it was very expensive, and i think i would have needed more for it to become a longer term solution. i may still go back in the future if my lifestyle changes, but for right now, i can’t justify the cost--which is an insane thing to say when what i’m paying for is freedom from hurting myself, but, ya know, CAPITALISM. 

the whole story is, i’ve been severely depressed my whole entire life; i don’t have any memories that don’t involve feeling morbidly upset, and i can remember things pretty sharply from the time i was slightly younger than 2.* i took ketamine recreationally some years ago when i was around 30 (i wasn’t adventurous about substances until i reached about that age), and i was totally astounded by how it affected my depression both during, and for weeks after the experience. it seemed to distance me from the oppressively immediacy of my bad feelings, giving me space to actually THINK about what was really bothering me, what kind of control i could have over how i assign importance and authority to things that don’t serve me, and what i might like my life to be like in the future. so, when i found out that there were ketamine clinics in new york, i kind of freaked out. actually, i found out about it from a guy who i met on an ayahuasca retreat upstate (which is its own hilariously mortifying story that i’ve been trying to write down for years and it keeps turning into a big unwieldy novel), who had been through the entire gamut of treatments for major depressive disorder. he liked his ketamine experience, but admitted that it was prohibitively expensive to keep up.

this is the place i went, and i recommend it to anyone who can afford it:

nyketamine.com

they say that they accept patients selectively, if you have treatment-resistant depression. i don’t know how strict they are about that, because by the time i came to them, i was looking pretty treatment-resistant. i’d been in and out of a few shrinks’ offices, and i’m basically incapable of taking any of the usual antidepressants because of how they affect other conditions i have. the process was, i filled out a request form on their website, and in a day or two, a clinician called to interview me over the phone about the character of my depression, and to gather some other anecdotal information about my history and health. the person i spoke to was very kind, attentive, and reassuring. the following day, someone called to set my first appointment. the whole reason i was able to do this is because of some inheritance that i received at the time; it’s $450 a session, and they suggest (or insist? i’m not sure) that you begin with a minimum of 6 sessions, each of them 2 days apart. after that, you just kind of monitor yourself to see when you think you need pickup sessions; the effect is cumulative and long term. i have no idea if they have any type of sliding scale accommodation, it could be worth asking.

when i went in for my first session, i had a brief interview with the head doctor, a navy veteran and anesthesiologist who had been working with ketamine in various capacities for 50 years. he explained a lot of things that i had no idea about, that were great to learn. periods of prolonged stress, especially while your brain is still developing, can result in a deficit of the neural pathways that you need to experience a full range of emotion; essentially, being chronically depressed and anxious can kind of give you brain damage. if you have that type of problem, it doesn’t matter what you do to try to boost your serotonin or dopamine or whatever; it’s like if you’re trying to get somewhere in your car and you can’t, not because you’re out of gas, but because the bridge is out. for some reason, ketamine switches back on the function that builds those pathways, so with regular therapeutic applications, you can actually heal the structural problem around your mood centers that’s reducing your emotional range to anxiety and depression. if you’re over 60 or so and your brain is less plastic, your chances of success aren’t as good as when you’re younger, but there’s always a chance; also, for some reason, ketamine plays especially well with estrogen, so women have a bit of a leg up. anyway, the doctor was great, and i really liked everyone there; it felt like they all knew they were doing something meaningful.

the sessions themselves are pleasant. they put you in a private room in a big cushy medical chair with a blanket and a pillow, and you let them know if you want the lights on or off. they give you an IV drip that lasts roughly an hour, and they communicate with you to figure out the dosage. you basically just tell them what feels comfortable, if the dosage they start you on is too low to notice. you won’t get something that puts you in a K hole, but you should enter a gentle dissociative state where you feel a little numb and floaty, and you might have a lot of interesting abstract thoughts. the worst part of it is just how bad you have to pee by the time the drip is done, when you’re still feeling a little anesthetized; sometimes i wound up looking at the bag with my flashlight to check if i had finished, and then i’d just press the call button to get them to come unplug me before i pissed my pants.

you’re not supposed to necessarily notice a difference right away, but you should detect a change in mood after a few weeks. i did. the way my disorder works is, most days i just have a low level background radiation of sadness and exhaustion, even on a “good day” when things are working out or i’m distracted by things i enjoy. when i wake up in the morning and realize i’m conscious and the time for sleep is over, my first feeling is disappointment, 100% of the time. then, i’d say roughly once a month or once every couple of months, i have a complete nervous collapse where i’m in so much pain i can’t really do anything but like drool and cry and let my eyes go out of focus, for anywhere from 1-7 days. there will usually be an apparent trigger; i’m a fairly dysfunctional person, and i frequently lose things, break things, and fuck things up even though i like STUDIED to do them, took it slow, asked for help, gave myself extra time, etc. but the thing is, i think the “trigger” is arbitrary, this is just a cyclic psychic event that builds up and waits to happen. but after my first battery of ketamine treatments, i had a particular day when i could tell that normally, i would quickly wind up curled up at the bottom of my bathtub scream-crying until i couldn’t move--and this time, i managed to just push through. not only did i not break down, but i actually got a number of difficult chores done, that i had put off because they seemed too intimidating, or like i wouldn’t be able to mentally handle my inevitable failure. i noticed more and more of that, while i was in proximity to the treatments, an ability to just buckle down and keep going. so it’s not like i felt HAPPIER or something, but i felt much more capable of coping, which was like a miracle honestly.

it’s been about 3.5 months since i last went in, and i think i could use a booster appointment, but as i said i just can’t fit it in with my financial reality right now. so, that sucks. but, i definitely feel that it was worth doing, and i would recommend it to anyone who can shoulder the cost. hopefully in the future, ketamine will become a much more common psychiatric treatment, and it will become available to more and more patients.

*A friend of mine just told me he read somewhere that you don’t actually recall memories from like 20 years ago, you just remember the last time you recalled them--so like, i THINK i remember my parents struggling to give me drops for pink eye in our first apartment when i was about 1.5 years old, but in reality, i just remember the last time i remembered it, or the earliest time i’m able to remember remembering it. pretty interesting! and kind of disturbing, like the idea that star trek-type teleporters don’t actually transport a person, they just DESTROY the original person and rebuild a new one on the other end, a thought that REALLY BOTHERS ME.

[exoticbutterfucker]

So online school has been interesting...

Some Pros:

I don't feel exhausted by 2:30. I'm actually able to do homework later in the day which NEVER happens.

My work hasn't been super hard.

I don't have the constant feeling of not doing enough.

Comfortable clothes

I dyed my hair pink which isn't allowed at my school.

I'm eating better/more.

I get to work at my own pace fuck yeah!

Cons:

I miss my friends.

I miss my emotional support teachers.

I'm scared that the rest of the year will get canceled because that means I won't know when I'll see my favorite teacher (who I've known for 7 years) again.

My school play is probably going to get canceled if school is out for more than 2 weeks which it definitely will be.

My back kinda hurts from sitting in my bed. I can't do homework at the table for too long because my tortoise is in the dining room and he's constantly bumping into the sides of his aquarium and it drives me insane. This won't be problem at my dad's though.

I have misread the instructions on two assignments and both times have resulted in crying my eyes out. Both issues got results tho.

I feel like my life is nothing but doing homework and then taking breaks in between. This is kind of a pro and a con because I'm getting more work done than usual but I think I need to make a cut-off point at the end of the day for myself.

#idk why i felt the need to post this thought but oh well #online school #covid19 #covid2020 #corona #coronavirus

[moonlightchess]

On Lesser Ghosts, my perpetually in-progress novel, a cast of current characters:

Brandon Graham: 30 years old, police investigator for the Dorset Police Department of Dorset, Vermont. The sole survivor of serial killer Seth Morgan, active throughout the bulk of the 90s and all the way through 2003, when he was captured shortly after a 15-year-old Brandon escaped his nightmarish year of captivity in the Morgan house. Casually alcoholic, gay, entirely jaded and weary of the world, but stronger than he appears at first glance. Recently assigned to the case of Cora Tycho, a promising young physics student from the Lower Prince area of Vermont who has gone missing.

Dr. Casey Tycho: 30 years old, and Dorset PD’s newest medical examiner. A British expatriate originally hailing from north London, Casey is the antithesis to the human disaster of Brandon. Sharp, extensively educated, responsible and diligent, he wears silk-lined suit vests and ties to work and has been sleeping with Brandon for six months in an arrangement that Brandon refuses to acknowledge as any sort of relationship. He’s quietly accepted this, both out of respect for Brandon’s boundaries and because being black and openly gay in a small Vermont town may not be the most desirable situation. His sister Cora has gone missing, and he hates how little he wants Brandon on the case, but he knows better than anyone how unstable the man can be.

Sara Graham: Brandon’s younger sister at 27 years old, a folk musician and “crafty mess” by her own admission. Bright, curious, extroverted and warm, much of her life has been dedicated to worrying about her brother. She makes beaded jewelry and pottery on the weekends, collects coffee mugs, and is a driving force in Brandon’s life, though he occasionally wonders if she doesn’t resent him at least a little for the way his kidnapping and subsequent fame as Seth Morgan’s sole surviving victim dominated her younger years. The two are very close, and she’s determined to not allow him to lie down and give up on the Cora Tycho case, no matter how much tension and distance it’s created between he and Casey.

Sasha Prescott: Brandon’s boss, police chief of the DPD. Tough as nails, but she harbors a soft spot for Brandon in spite of his sporadic displays of instability and recklessness in the past. Especially protective of Casey, having long since come to the conclusion that Dorset’s black community is small at best and they have to stick together - the disappearance of Cora, a young black woman in her town, has been keeping her up at night. Her hawk’s stare and firm hand keep the entire department in line, but this also means that she has a constant target on her back.

Kris Alden: A mystery. Was with Cora Tycho on the night she went missing during a camping trip in the woods. Claims he went home early, a result of stomach problems. Not much intel on him yet.

Audrey and Stephen: The forensic lab techs, working directly under Casey. Odd, dreamy types, ensconced in their own little world much of the time. May know more than they’re letting on.

Read the first few pages below!

                                                   🔍🔍🔍

09.12.19:

A burning and industrious early-morning sun insisted upon bullying the pleasant warmth of Casey’s skin into something too harsh to ignore as Brandon groaned, rolling over onto his stomach in bed.  Beside him, Casey stretched, languid as an enormous cat, his sleep likely having been far more restful. Still, his smile was tender as he reached for him, and the scent of coffee brewing from the kitchen suggested that he’d already been up once to make it for him. The sweetness of the gesture hurt, and he curled away from his touch. “Too fucking hot.”

“It’s only going to be about seventy today.” Because of course Casey knew the day’s predicted weather already, of course he was as on top of it as he was everything else in his life. Casey, with his autumn-brown skin and gentle, fox-gold eyes like candlelit amber, of course he was ready with coffee brewing and the forecast on his phone. They were the same age, thirty, but Casey was one of those rare people who had been an adult since twelve. He’d probably delighted in collecting school supplies for a new year when none of his friends gave a shit, he was the type of person who always knew where his keys were. He had a set-in-stone laundry day, which had blown Brandon’s mind when he’d first learned of it. Even now, at six AM, he smelled like fresh fucking bread. Literally the worst human, Brandon had long since concluded, but the sex was fantastic.

Wordlessly, he rolled over for his first cigarette of the day, ignoring Casey’s softly disapproving sound behind him. He briefly considered reminding him of his total lack of access into his personal life, that whatever happened between them sexually meant ten kinds of nothing outside the bedroom, but Casey had never pushed or questioned his boundaries. He kept his distance as Brandon rolled naked out of bed, ambling to the window to shove it open before disappearing into the bathroom without further comment. He gave him time to shower before following, tapping his fingertips against the glass shower door with a quiet, “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Want company?”

“Oh, uh. No.”

There was a pause, and then Casey’s silhouette nodding silently, turning to go. He was unique in that Brandon never felt so much as a semblance of guilt about bluntly rejecting the affections of anyone but him, and now it felt sharp. The hot spray of water went needle-harsh against his skin, but he still ignored the coffee Casey had left on the counter for him, as well as the text blinking on his phone. Eat something. Don’t be too late for work, Sasha will have your ass. Even now, he did his best to take care of him as much as Brandon would allow, but he rationalized that he’d never promised the man a damn thing. In fact, he’d made his limitations abundantly clear on the first night they’d tumbled, panting, into bed together, roughly six months ago. The problem was, there was another man. He was persistent and jealous, and he was always around. He was sitting on the edge of his bed right now, in fact. Late forties, moon-pale skin and sleek, ink-black hair, his deceptive youthfulness undercut by the coldness lingering in his dark eyes.

Seth waited, silent, watching Brandon dress. The most attention he ever paid to his honey-blonde mess of hair was a quick tugging of his brush, and the woodsmoke cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year was left mostly unused on the dresser. His morning routine had long since boiled down to a quick shower, shave, and brushing of teeth and hair before throwing on whatever happened to be clean regardless of its fashionable implications. Today, Seth watched him button up a loose black Oxford over a pair of battered jeans, before embarking upon a ten-minute search for his keys because he wasn’t Casey and never would be.

A light drizzle began to dissolve the heat of the day like sugar in warm coffee once he was on the road, clouds going dense and dark with the sweet threat of a proper rain. Sasha had already texted him - 9:10, Graham. Late again. Casey had tried to warn him, but then he always did, and Brandon never listened. Elgar helped to swallow Sasha’s nearly tangible contempt for his time management skills as he drove, and beside him, Seth settled into the passenger’s seat to stare thoughtfully out at the increasingly heavy rain.

10.4.2003:

This far north into Vermont, where Seth’s house teetered on the border into Canada, winters descended early and lingered long. The ceiling-to-floor steel and rebar support pipe Brandon had been handcuffed to by the wrists for the past two weeks had absorbed the seeping chill, and Seth had only dressed him in a filthy, tattered wifebeater and a pair of old blue flannel pajama pants that smelled suffocatingly of mothballs. He woke every few hours with numb, stinging toes, shivering and dripping. The handcuffs Seth had restrained him with had to have been ordered from somewhere - there was no soft pink fur lining to suggest an intended use of foreplay, and instead they were solid in a deadly way, a way that thunked every time he slid them locked with a firm sense of finality. 

A fever burned through his bones overnight near the middle of October, and finally some part of Seth seemed to awaken to his basic human needs. He was provided a deeply itchy wool blanket that felt woven from canvas and sandpaper, but it did the job of keeping him warm. Every few nights, his worn boots would thud down the basement steps to offer him a plate of cold, congealed noodles that he’d clearly been keeping in the fridge. His wrists went raw and scabbed with the endless scrape of the cuffs, his knees cramping in their bent position. Stretching his legs was possible, but uncomfortable. The days began to melt together, the constant darkness of the basement transforming time into a static thing. He slept when the wave of exhaustion became too much to fight, he woke and watched the shadows when sleep eluded him. He lost all sense of night or day, the passage of hours.

Three weeks deep, the frantic hope that he’d be found began to fade. The basement began to feel like his place, and he began to forget what it felt like to not fall asleep hugging a metal pipe. Seth was strangely reassuring, an exponential effect that seemed to correlate with his slow acceptance of his situation. As time dissolved and desperation waned, Seth’s approval bloomed. Sometimes, now, the noodles were warm and slick from boiling water, fresh. His blanket was replaced with a less abrasive one, albeit filthy. At fourteen years old, Brandon learned that life began and ended here in his cold, dark basement. The memory of the day he’d been taken seemed irrelevant now, the faces of his parents to whom he’d clung so desperately in those early days.

“I know that you don’t understand.” Seth’s voice was soft, gentle more often than not, sedately erudite like a classics professor on vacation in the woods for the holidays. He was quite articulate, expressing himself fairly eloquently whenever he came into the basement to speak to him. “It sounds trite, like something Keats might have written, but believe me when I say that this is your chrysalis phase, Brandon. It’s tight and uncomfortable and emerging will be a painful struggle, but I want you to trust me. I know it’s asking a lot of you right now, but I also know that your eyes are open and you’ll get there. I trust you already.”

He wore a lot of high-collared fleece sweaters in earth tones and he kept his silky hair longish, framing his face in a soft sort of way that left him mild and relaxed to the eye. Brandon learned to crave him, the only human voice, presence, that he’d experienced in a month as the end of October approached. He couldn’t express this yet, but Seth would smile down at him, bending at the knees to wrap him in a new blanket or to offer him the day’s plate of noodles. Sometimes the blankets were splattered with fresh bloodstains and sometimes the noodles were wrapped around bullets of sausage that tasted blandly wrong, but he was there.

Once, shortly before Halloween, the burgeoning bond between them inspired him to blurt, “I wouldn’t say anything, you know. You could just let me go, you wouldn’t even have to drive me home. I’d never tell anyone, I understand your work here--” because Seth had often referenced his cryptic “work” without elaborating. “I won’t try to stop you, you could just--”

Seth’s open hand slammed into the side of his head, smacking his skull into the metal pipe with a gut-churning clang. The world exploded into white fire, his vision briefly going dark as his brain struggled to retain consciousness. A thick, hot ooze of dark blood began to gush from his nostrils, but he was too resigned at that point to so much as scream. Instead, he moaned softly, sagging forward as his head began to throb in time with his heartbeat. The agony was blinding, but he didn’t pass out, which came as something of a disappointment.

A month and a week passed.

09.12.19:

Dorset’s PD’s station was one of the lingering bastions of old-school police architecture, all museum-high ceilings and wooden desks arranged in rows. Brandon wove his way between them on his way to Sasha’s office, set high above the ground floor grunts and their ancient desktop computers. He’d always respected the way she’d left the glass panels that made up the front wall of her office intact, leaving her visible to her officers and techs alike. She was typing on her own laptop when he tapped his fingers against said glass, waving him inside. A still-steaming paper cup of Two Brews sat on her desk, littered with loose papers that themselves were littered with her scribbled notes. My office, whenever you decide to show up, she’d texted him.

Sasha Prescott was forty-four years old with dense, dark curls clipped short and precise. With her high cheekbones, full lips and velvet-dark skin, she could easily have been a model even in her middle age, dominating an industry obsessed with youth. And dominate it she would have - there was a carefully cultivated air of laser focus that she wore like armor wrapped around her, her narrow, jewel-black eyes piercing through lies and alibis like a hot knife through butter. She and Brandon’s mutual respect had led to a highly efficient and successful working relationship over the years, and they both appreciated that neither was in any way interested in developing any sort of personal friendship outside of work.

Now, he dropped into the Quaker chair in front of her desk and considered making an attempt for her coffee, which she didn’t appear to have started drinking yet. Her signature plum lipstick had not yet stained the rim, but she zeroed in on his intent with her standard razor perception and shook her head. “I will literally stab you,” she said casually, and he let his hand fall to his knee instead.

“What’s up?”

“First off, roll in here late again and I’ll write your ass up. Secondly, we have a delicate situation in our laps right now and I want some input on how to deal with it.”

Arching an eyebrow, Brandon kept his tone as nonplussed as possible. Too much visible interest might have convinced Sasha to change her mind, one of her stranger quirks. “I’m listening.”

“Cora Tycho is missing, as of somewhere around midnight last night.”

He nearly rose to his feet despite his resolve, an icy fist punching straight through his ribcage to seize his heart. “Casey’s sister?”

Sasha confirmed this with a short nod, her lips pressed tight. “She was out camping with a friend near the Lower Prince quarry. Her friend, Kris Alden, fell ill shortly after they ate dinner and decided to go home. Cora wanted to drive him, but there was no one available to take her back once he was home and he claims he felt guilty about making her miss some super-moon or whatever the hell it is, told her he could make it home on his own. She never came back from the woods, the Alden kid shared a class with her that she skipped this morning and no one has been able to reach her via call or text. It’s not enough to assume that she’s officially a ten-fifty-seven just yet, but people are starting to worry. She’s never been someone to just bail on everything like this, Kris described her as very thoughtful and responsible.”

“You’ve already sent someone out to talk to him? Does Casey know?”

“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted your input on - obviously he’s not getting anywhere near this case, but given the personal nature of your relationship with him what are your thoughts on his capability to handle the work environment in general as it’s investigated? Should I just send him on a vacation until this is cleared, or is he frosty enough to stay professional here at the station while his sister is missing? You know him better than any of us.”

Brandon’s brain reeled. “Personal nature? I don’t know what sort of relationship any of you are under the impression that we--not that any of you should have any impression of our relationship, I mean. Shit. We’re not in a relationship! I barely know him!” His voice was raising in pitch while he remained completely unaware, his knuckles going white around the armrests of the Quaker chair. Sasha exhaled sharply through her nose.

“Jesus. Do I need to send you on a vacation too? Get your shit together.”

“Fuck. Okay.” Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he exhaled. “Casey is one hundred percent able to handle working while this is being solved, but that doesn’t mean he should. I doubt he’ll let you send him on a vacation, but try anyway. He doesn’t deserve to be here all day, trying to focus on other shit while half of Dorset is trying to figure out if his sister’s body is rotting in the woods somewhere. He should be with his family.”

“I’ll do my best. I’m giving this girl until tonight to turn up, and then I’m issuing a gloves-off ten-fifty-seven.” Sasha’s voice went to iron, and it occurred to Brandon that she cared for Casey as much as anyone at the DPD did. He was the lifeblood of the forensics labs, their unflappable new medical examiner whose lingering British accent left over from a youth spent in west London had a way of soothing even the most panicked and horrified relative of one of his corpses. 

“I need you to go into far more detail about the supposed “nature” of my relationship with Casey, up to and including just how the hell you even knew about it at all. Not that it’s anything. At all.”

“Would you kindly climb off my dick, Graham? I’ve got enough shit on my plate right now.”

“Sasha.”

“Settle down. No one else knows anything, even though according to you there’s nothing to know. It’s just that a lifetime of police investigation have left me a highly observant person--”

“A lifetime? You’re in your forties, don’t start writing your memoirs yet you drama queen.”

“...And as such, I’ve noticed you two leaving work together occasionally, showing up around the same time in very deliberately separate cars but sometimes accidentally wearing each other’s shirts, things like that. Things only I would ever notice, I promise. No one else has mentioned anything to me, and you know they would if the rumor mill was running about it.”

“Fine. Whatever. Any more intel on Cora?”

Wordlessly, Sasha slid a manila envelope across her stately desk. Opening it, Brandon was confronted with a glossy photo of a beautiful young woman, all sparkling honey eyes and rich dark skin like a sunset’s sweet glow, thick black hair meticulously oiled and wrapped and beaded into immaculate dreadlocks that she’d pulled back with a sky-blue silk scarf for her senior high school photo, Cora wore her brother’s beauty as elegantly as he did. They shared the same royally rounded nose and high cheekbones, full lips and dimples. His chest ached, and he brushed his fingertips against the photo thoughtfully without realizing he was doing it. Sasha had compiled everything - her academic records, notes on her hobbies and habits, her generally expected whereabouts on any given day. She had no legal record to speak of, her profile speaking to a bright, clean-cut girl with a gleaming future in physics.

“She was a student at NVU,” Sasha supplied. “Is a student. Solid grades, a quiet type, well-liked by her peers but not known to be a partier. Close with her family, especially our Casey. Loved to cook, according to reports. She entered several baking competitions last year, even won a couple. Played the violin all throughout high school, but turned down a suggested spot on NVU’s student orchestra. Said she didn’t want it to interfere with her study time, according to the orchestra leader I called. She seemed laser-focused on her goal of working for NASA someday, had a whole vision board about it on Pinterest.”

“I’ll start with Kris Alden. I’ll head out to his place today.”

“Start with Casey. I don’t want him to hear about this on the news, and my official statement on the case is going live tomorrow morning.”

“Shit. Okay.” Scooping the file up under his arm, he rose to his feet. “I’ll go talk to him, he down in the forensics lab?”

“With Audrey and Stephen. See if you can get him alone, he won’t like his techs seeing him break down in front of them if he reacts poorly.”

“How the hell else do you expect him to react to the news that his sister is missing?”

“I’m just saying, let’s be conscious of how difficult this is going to be for him. You’re not exactly known for your tact, but you have the best shot at holding him together here. You know as well as I do that the longer we go without finding this girl, the less of a chance we have.”

Brandon paused at her office door. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Took me a year to get out of that basement.”

He hated the way her gaze softened, and so he made his way out without a goodbye to make a point, ignoring the irritating hiss of her compressed-air door mechanism that refused to let him leave with a satisfying slam. The forensics lab and department morgue was located in the basement of the station for obvious reasons, a narrow elevator depositing him into the DPD’s underground two minutes later. The temperature dropped by a few degrees once the doors slid open, the stone all around them cooling the air. He couldn’t hear the rain anymore, down here, and he found Audrey and Stephen hunched over a severed hand on a sleek chrome examination tray in the lab.

Audrey was tall and willowy, twenty-six with ice-blonde hair wound into a messy braid that she’d draped over one shoulder, so pale and slim that there was something ghostly about her, especially when taking into consideration her gray eyes so light and translucent they were nearly colorless, like a mirror or a deep-sea creature. She wore a white lab coat over a pair of black jeans and a loose, baggy gray sweater - she wore a lot of gray, black and white, and she always looked like a spectre, an overcast ocean. The selkies would have accepted her as one of theirs upon sight. Stephen was only barely as tall as her, with a much friendlier face, soft freckled cheeks and tanned skin suggesting a childhood spent outdoors working off baby fat. He had peanut-brown curls tumbling over his forehead and round, intelligent hazel eyes, a sharply defined mouth and an easily cheery demeanor. Oddly enough, he and Audrey were quite close.

“Hey guys. Anyone seen Casey?”

“Down in the morgue.” Audrey pointed to her feet, indicating the sub-level beneath them. “He left this hand with us and told us to collect data samples and disappeared. He’s been down there all morning.”

“Do you know whose hand it is?”

“Pretty sure it belongs to that wheat farmer who turned up in the hospital last week missing one. I mean, how many hands could there be unaccounted for in Vermont right now?” Stephen grinned, snapping his gum. He took a kind of morbid glee in his work, something Brandon had always suspected Audrey shared with him.

“Left hands, to boot,” Audrey added, shrugging. “How are you, Brandon?”

“I’m fine. I’d love to stay and um, look at the hand with you guys, but I’ve got to talk to Casey. Have...fun?”

Stephen’s grin widened. “Oh, we will, friend.”

“I hate the way you say things.”

Stephen’s laughter followed him back into the elevator, which delivered him to the bottomost floor of the DPD headquarters. Casey was there, bent over his own work, having forgone his stiff lab coat in favor of his neatly tucked-in dove-gray button-down, black silk tie, charcoal dress vest and matching creased slacks. His leftover British sensibilities were evident in his crisply classic style, always semi-formal and expensive even when he dressed “down” in Burberry cashmere sweaters and custom-tailored jeans. He looked so unflappable that Brandon’s faith in him was stirred anew, and he approached with more tenderness than was normal for him. His aura alerted Casey to something amiss upon impact, and he narrowed his eyes at him before saying a word. “Don’t see you down here often, love.” The last word slipped out before he could stop it, and Brandon watched him flinch minutely, almost imperceptibly.

#wip #nanowrimo #murder mystery #writing #gay #lgbt #mystery #cw: murder #cw: horror #cw: serial killers #forensics #my writing #lesser ghosts

[swampgallows]

...

my symptoms fluctuate so much that it’s really exhausting to even try to keep track of. i still haven’t slept very much and can only sleep in blocks of maybe 4 hours at a time, which I don’t like at all. and it’s not like 4 hours on/off, it’s like 4 hours and then up for 18, and then 2 hours here, then up for 6 more hours, then grab another 4 hours... it’s a mess

i’m trying to find ways to calm down and get rest but my mind still feels incredibly vigilant before it just gives way to fatigue, rather than becoming drowsy and falling asleep and becoming rested. 

i was previously up for about 24 hours before taking a nap for maybe 3 hours, then falling asleep again around 2 or 3am. today i woke up around 5 or 6am (so just a few hours of sleep) and took half of a xanax, then started reading a book to avoid looking at screens. my right eye has been bothering me as a whole and i think worrying about scheduling an eye appointment is the next thing on my mind. i’m sure everything is fine and it’s just me really getting down to the wire on getting a new pair of glasses/prescription but things like the migraines, the pressure behind my eyes, the throbbing, and the light/rainbow flashes when my eyes are closed makes me nervous. i just don’t want to lose my vision or do permanent damage.

i have to keep telling myself that it’s not the worst case scenario because the roadblock of time is becoming inevitable. and now i feel terrible because both of my parents have terrible colds and my mom has been having to ferry me back n forth to the hospital because i dont feel coordinated enough in my own body to drive, and i haven’t been active enough to know if i might have dizzy spells. so the more appointments i need to make, the more i have to be driven back n forth. i mean i could lyft but like. i dont really wanna get into the car w a stranger after something like a MRI lol

ultimately, it goes like this:

1. wait for spinal MRI results 2. once MRI results are in, discuss with both PCP and neurologist and go from there. 3. regardless of results, I still need new glasses and should see an ophthalmologist to check out my eyes, and then an optometrist to check out my vision. i got my vision checked last year but i honestly do not trust that facility anymore lmao. but if the MRI results have any bearing on vision issues that’s good to know before going in. 4. somewhere amidst all of this, i need to keep tabs with the mental health people and beat the shit out of them until i get assigned a therapist. the stress of everything is slowly taking over me and, if my physical state is any testament, is crumbling me to bits. i would definitely say i’m having a mental health crisis right now and i sincerely need to get some fucking care already. and, if i had to be forthcoming, i’d refer to my experiences at the county facility to be genuine malpractice and in fact harmful, and therefore only increasing the severity of my situation. that is, their “care” was so mismanaged and poor that it was a further hazard to my mental health. i would say it was the breaking point that resulted in my current crisis. bluntly, they fucked up so bad that shit put me in the fucking ER. 5. i also need to call the dentist sometime this week and schedule an appt with the primary dentist. the last 3 major fillings i got are unbearably sensitive, which makes it hard to eat, drink water, or even suck in air, so i dont want that other dentist working on me anymore. i want all my procedures to be done by the primary dentist from now on. my teeth are too fucked up to be guinea pigs or suffer any more shoddy work.

goals:

1. physical therapy 2. reduce anxiety through therapy and exercise (after physical therapy) 3. new glasses 4. fix teeth. again. forever 5. get back to baseline. ive fallen beyond rock bottom and i need to focus on physical and mental stability before i get wrapped up in trying to get a job again or moving out or anything else like that. right now i can barely stand upright or see clearly out of both eyes; i cant keep compounding my guilt and anxiety about my lack of independence when it’s physically incapacitating me like this. 

complaining here because i cant put it anywhere else. i’m not even 30 yet and i’m already falling apart.

#blathering

[tyrusquacks]

Misdirections- Chapter 1: Nice Stranger

Read it on AO3

Previous: Prologue

One year later

A sleep-deprived Cyrus reluctantly drags his feet to his last period class. He is clearly having a bad day today. And as if that wasn’t enough, he has chemistry last. The mere thought of having to watch Mr. Wright dryly explaining how to do a stoichiometry problem while he fiddles with his pencil sends an involuntary groan down his throat. Cyrus isn’t usually quick to judge people, but two weeks into his senior year, he’d already decided that Mr. Wright must be the most boring person on this planet and that at best, this class would be a total waste of his time.

That’s probably what annoys him the most whenever he sits there wanting to be anywhere else. Lately, Cyrus finds himself running out of time so often that he can’t afford to waste any. For example, today is Friday so he should theoretically feel comforted by the quickly approaching relief of the weekend. In reality, he is anything but, because today is SAT prep day. Most people had taken the test once in the spring of their junior year, and maybe a second time during the summer, which Cyrus also had done. And yet despite scoring in the 1500s both times, he was determined to take the test one last time in October to make he sure he got as close to a perfect 1600 as he could.

But now as he waits outside his chemistry class, leaning against the nearest locker, eyes closed, and running on a meager four hours of sleep, he begins to rethink his decision. Just as Cyrus begins to think that he might be able to take a nap standing up, Mr. Wright strolls into the classroom, no more excited to be there than his students. Cyrus senses the movement of his classmates going inside and switches to autopilot as he opens his eyes and follows everyone inside, hoping to get through the next 50 minutes without boring himself to death.

To make matters worse, chemistry was the only class he didn’t share with at least one of his best friends, Andi and Buffy. As he looks up to the clock for the 1000th time, slumped in his chair with his chin resting on his hand, Cyrus can’t help but think about how much less agonizing this class could be if he could even steal a glance to one of his friends to silently communicate his despair. Cyrus looks at the clock again. It’s only been maybe 30 seconds since the last time. Right when he decides that this couldn’t get any worse, his stomach rumbles impossibly loudly as to prove him wrong.

Of course he’s hungry. Because he stayed up late last night doing the practice problems his private SAT tutor had assigned him for today, he had missed his morning alarm and was late to school, not that he is normally a morning person anyway. Per the school’s strictly enforced lateness policy, this meant that he could not leave the building to buy his lunch, so he was stuck with questionable cafeteria food. Buffy was kind enough to sneak in some fries for him when she’d gotten back from lunch outside with Marty, but if the second growl he’s hearing from his stomach is any indication, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Already bored out of his mind, Cyrus sighs, seeing no additional harm in reminiscing the rest of this godawful day. Things had gone downhill after lunch. This year’s first bake sale for the student government was, to put it mildly, an epic fail. All because people can’t do the simple task of keeping their promises. As a result, they only brought about a quarter of the baked goods they said they would bring for the bake sale. To add insult to injury, two of the three people who had agreed to help Cyrus sell completely bailed.

Even then, he hadn’t given up and was still hoping that he’d be able to pull it off and sell the limited amount of cookies and cupcakes he had. Unfortunately, today was Friday which meant that the longer lunch period and the fact people had more money early in the school year had incentivized a significant amount of the student population to eat outside. He can’t believe he wasted his free period trying.

Cyrus looks at the clock one more time. Ten minutes left. Mr. Wright is done lecturing and the students are left to work independently on a few problems. Though he couldn’t care less, Cyrus pretends to be working diligently because he still has to keep up his “good student” reputation. While he scribbles random numbers on the worksheet, Cyrus mentally makes a list of what he’s gonna do as soon class dismissed, reminding himself that every minute should be accounted for.

First, he’d run—or more realistically walk briskly—to his locker and dump his chemistry textbook and shove all the notes he’ll need for the weekend into his bookbag. On his way out, he’d probably run into Andi and Buffy and shout a goodbye at them. Maybe a quick hug. Then he’d rush to the train station and cross his fingers that the trains are running on schedule so that his twenty-minute commute to the Upper West Side goes as smoothly as possible.

If all goes to plan, he’ll be able to get a snack before his tutor arrives. After the session, he’d work on his college essay until dinner. Finally, he would FaceTime Buffy and Andi and they’d take turns complaining about the stresses of senior year. The weekly Good Hair Crew video call was the only thing he looking forward too, except that sandwich he may or may not have time for. If he wasn’t completely exhausted by then, maybe he’d get a headstart on his history project. But if he is being honest with himself, that was highly unlikely.

In the midst of all this mental planning, the bell rings, indicating the end of the period and of a dreadful school day for Cyrus. Nearly everything goes to plan, and he even gets to be in a group hug with Andi and Buffy who were conveniently waiting for him at his locker, aware of their friend’s earlier misfortunes. As the girls’ basketball team captain, Buffy has a meeting with the coach about this year’s tryouts after school and Andi is doing community service by helping the AP Art teacher, so they say their goodbyes and Cyrus promptly heads towards the exit, relieved that something today is going right for once.

With his faith in the universe renewed, Cyrus walks in long strides towards the train station, fueled solely by the thought of a hypothetical sandwich. It was only a three-minute walk, but today Cyrus makes it in two. Since every member of the Good Hair Crew lives in a different part of the city and took a different train, Cyrus had gotten used to taking the train alone. He wastes no time in looking for his student MetroCard, having stored it in his wallet phone case which his friends jokingly teased him about whenever they got the chance. But he didn’t care because it did the job. Cyrus swipes his card and pushes against the turnstile in one swift motion. He looks up at the countdown clock. One minute until his train arrives.

Perfect. It looks like I’m having that sandwich after all.

He continues to walk along the platform towards the head of the train because he’d figured out a long time ago that the third subway car was closest to the exit when he got off at his stop. He’s almost there when he sees the train arriving. As he takes his last few steps, he notices a fairly group of teenage boys. Quite frankly, they’re being so loud that it’s hard to miss them. The boys are standing right in the area where Cyrus likes to board the train, causing him to roll his eyes when he realizes he’s about to be in an enclosed space with them. Still, he decides not to get any closer and positions himself to use the other door.

The train slows down to a stop and all the doors open. While waiting for the passengers to get off, Cyrus shot one more glance at the mob of testosterone who at least had the decency of splitting up so people could get through.

That’s when Cyrus recognizes him. Actually, he’d recognize that head of blond hair any day, anywhere, anytime. Turns out, these guys go to his school. And they’re friends with him. Friends with Reed.

Fuck.

Cyrus is not expecting to see him here. It’s easy enough to ignore a junior at school, but there aren’t that many people in the subway car at this time of the day. He can’t risk Reed seeing him. Who knows what he might do? Especially with his friends around…

In the meantime, people start to step into the train. Lost in his panic, Cyrus doesn’t realize that he’s blocking the way, but a quick shove from an impatient middle-aged woman pulls him out of his thoughts. A voice comes through the intercom: Stand clear of the closing doors, please. Cyrus’ body goes into flight mode. He was as determined to avoid Reed as he was to eat that sandwich today. So he runs to the first door of the closest car just as the doors close behind him.

For a moment, he thinks he’s escaped the worst. Cyrus goes to move forward because he hates standing in front of the doors, only to be yanked back by his backpack. He knows almost immediately what’s going on: his bag is stuck in between the doors. But before he even has time to struggle, someone steps directly in front of him and reaches over his head and pulls the double doors apart with both hands to force them open before taking a step back.

“Oh my God,” is the only thing that comes out of his mouth. He is about to say something else when the train starts moving abruptly, sending Cyrus, who wasn’t holding on to the pole, stumbling to the side. He thinks he’s going to start falling for sure, but and hand firmly grasps his arm and brings him back to balance.

“Woah there,” his savior says, and for the first time, Cyrus looks up at him. Woah, Cyrus thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Suddenly, he is very aware of the stranger’s lingering grip on his arm and the vague scent of citrus that was definitely not coming from him.

The boy in front of him clears his throat and Cyrus realizes that he’s staring but he can’t help it. His eyes are just so… so green, and he was standing so close. After a moment, however, he looks away and collects himself enough to grab the nearest pole and straighten his posture with the little bit of dignity he had left. The other boy lets go of his arm and moves a reasonable distance away.

“You okay?” he asks with genuine concern in his voice.

“Um yeah. I- I’m okay. Thanks for...you know, thanks for the help,” Cyrus responds, trying his hardest to smile in the least awkward way possible. He feels the heat of embarrassment rise to his cheek and stares at his feet.

“Yeah, no problem.” Cyrus doesn’t know what to respond, so he doesn’t.

At the next stop, a seat empties next to where the boy was standing. He nudges Cyrus and motions towards the seat with his head.

“You wanna sit?” he asks.

“Sure, thanks,” Cyrus replies before taking off his backpack and sliding into the seat. Now that it was clear to him that he wouldn’t be making conversation with the other boy, he pulls out his headphones from his pocket, plugs it into his phone, and puts Troye Sivan on shuffle. It actually isn’t that unusual. New Yorkers in public transportation are quite impersonal, and people tend to be on their phones, listening to music or playing games during their commute. In fact, it would have been weird he’d attempted to start a conversation. He is a stranger, after all. A nice one, but still a stranger.

After a few stops, the “nice stranger”, as Cyrus begins to call him in his mind, gets off the train. Cyrus feels his body relax immediately and he takes a deep breath. Somehow, this triggers another growl in his stomach which reminds him of everything that happened in the day before his most recent incident. Inevitably, he is reminded of Reed and his obnoxious friends.

How had he forgotten? Forgotten that Reed also takes this train? He then remembers that a lot had changed over the summer. He probably wasn’t paying attention to it before, but he definitely knew that Reed took this train too. It’s just that it hadn’t been a problem before.

But everything is different now and he knows that too. He also knows that he can’t allow a repeat of what happened today. Sure, it wasn’t a guarantee that Reed and his friends would catch the same train as him every time, but the very possibility of it happening made Cyrus’ palms sweaty. No way. He couldn’t afford it.

On his way home, Cyrus decides to stop getting into the third subway car altogether. There was no doubt in his mind that taking a few extra steps to the exit was worth reducing the risk of running into the blond to zero. And who knows? Maybe it would increase his chances of running into someone else.

#tyrus #Andi Mack #tyrus week #tyrus fanfic

[robbiwrites717]

Master list of my Davekat fic recs.( SFW LIST HERE ) I wanted to include my thoughts about each fic but it’s been well over a year since I read most of them and it would have been exhausting to read back through all of them so i just included the authors’ summaries instead. I have major respect for every fic and author on this list, seriously they’re amazing <3 Happy Reading !

All I Know Are Sad Songs - by ayyyy(RosaAquafire) - Alpha TImeline - Ch 36/?-  122731 words

The world is ending. Dave Strider can't tell if the bender he's on is because of that, or because of how bad stuff is fucked up with Rose, or just because his own bullshit has finally caught up to him. All he knows is that if the world DOES end today, maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing.Of course, he can't throw in the towel. His fate is already written. He raises a resistance. He duels the false presidents. He stands against the Empress herself. So maybe that's why Skaia allows a glitch that carries a consciousness across sessions that might save Dave's shitty life. (this is the only fic I’ll put my own notes on because it is absolutely and unequivocally my favorite fic ever. I almost didn’t read it because of the tags but the author handles every issue so seriously and beautifully, I can not stess enough how amazing this fic is!!!)

A wish upon a fountain or a falling start - by twofoldaxiom - Fantasy AU - Ch 25/25 - 51379 words

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you fell from the sky.You hadn't meant to; you were trying to make a wish by catching a fallen star by the tail. The star turned out to be stronger than you. Now, on Earth, alone and unsure of yourself, what can you do except find someone who might believe? And what do you do when you yourself start to question?

a fever you’re learning to live with - by callmearcturus - post sburb/sgrub - Ch 1/1 - 3974 words 

This feels like winning. You are learning to live with the feeling more and more, like building up a poison resistance.

A Stunning Tour De Force - by Rag - Earth C - Ch 1/1 - 5101 words

"A triumph."

-Dave Strider, about getting his dick sucked for the first time

All I Can Taste Is The Sugar In Your Hair - by LandofMistandSecrets - Earth C - Ch 1/1 - 13614

Trickster Dave is a god damn treasure and no one can tell me otherwise.Some scenes from the Rosemary wedding, but really, this is about Dave being high on cherub candy and really, really, really wanting his boyfriend to fuck him. (Not intended to be dubcon, but if you have issues with altered mental states or pushy partners in the context of an established relationship it might be not great for you! Take care.)

Alternia Shuffle - by Essynkardi & twofoldaxiom - 1950s/detective AU- Ch 2/? - 4646 words

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're a twenty-six year old detective working for the Alternia City Police Department as senior officer Pyrope's partner and occasional chewtoy. It's already a messy job, but it gets messier when you end up the sole witness to an assassination during an art exhibit.Now you have to simultaneously cover your ass and uncover all the clues to find out who did it and who could be next, and things only get more complicated when you have to face a few things you've been covering up yourself.

Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Guy With Slightly More Self-Esteem - by LandofMistandSecrets - Earth C- Ch 1/1 - 7347 words 

Dave is really attracted to his boyfriend, and determined to prove it.

Believe M When I Say Fuck - by Rag - earth c - Ch 1/1 - 4997 words

karkat goes and fucks himself

By the Letter (of the law) -  by Asuka Kureru(Askerian) - Ch 4/4 - 10582 words 

"No, but answer me this, do you want to invalidate this whole farce of a legal and religious joining of blah-di-fucking-blah? Because I have looked at your laws and if we don't consummate the union it's not valid!"

Anonymous asked: Davekat. Arranged marriage! The first time they are alone together is on their wedding night.

Now with actual sex, woo! Also several pages of Karkat and Dave being the dorkiest knights ever knighted.

Dave Strider Has Abs - by Miriage - High School AU (not explicit but i forgot to put it on my sfw list :/)

"Your name is Karkat Vantas and you’re mad.You’re really really really fucking mad.You’re mad because Dave-fucking-Strider has abs.Has serious abs.Has abs that you could grate shit on.Has abs that would make girls fall over and die.Has abs that gay men would weep for."

Dive in Deeper - by carnivorousBelvedere - Vacation AU - Ch 4/7 - 8298

Karkat is going on vacation during his birthday with Rose and Kanaya. They gift him a scuba certification class.The catch?Dave is taking it with him.

egg pun - by Rag - earth c - Ch 1/1 - 4518 words

dave and karkat explore the magical world of eggs

Flight Recorder From Viking 7 - by Royalrastafariannaynays - Space/Future/Pilots AU - Ch 7/7 - 31136 words

Dave Strider is a way-too-lonely transport pilot assigned to a high-pay low-stakes mission over the Christmas holiday. He's got a blistering hangover, a conscience full of nightmares, and an angry copilot. All he needs now is a nice bout of feeling worthless and-- well would ya look at that, he's got that, too. Time for takeoff, Houston, the water's just fine.Or: In which Dave Strider discovers a modicum of self worth while stuck on a trip through foreign space, with a short, irritable, and annoyingly attractive troll as his only conversational partner for the next two weeks.

Helter Skelter - by HexMeridan(myrainbowshoelaces) - post sburb-sgrub - Ch 1/1 - 6281 words

Dave gets a visit from Future Dave, and between the two of them, they give Karkat the night of his life. Over and over again.

Hit the Deck: A davekat fic- by awkwardfawn - restaurant AU - Ch 15/? - 68875 words

I present a story in which Karkat works at a restaurant where you're supposed to be rude to the customers. It's sort of the gimmick there. Normally he can handle what he's given at work and give it right back, but this just might be the straw that breaks the load. Little does our kitkat know that Dave can dish the shit better than anyone out there. Sarcastic adult boys will be sarcastic. I hope this will be as slow burning as I want it to be, but then again it probably won't.

Inveterate - by Rag - earth C - Ch 1/1 - 4441 words 

dave and karkat try bdsm

it goes well until it doesnt

Just A Thing We Do - by LandofMistandSecrets - Earth C - Ch 1/1 - 14941 words 

“Apparently, you inspired him to try initiating amorous… activities… over these stupid devices!” Karkat waved his phone at him, punctuating the accusation. “Do you actually just casually proposition Dirk while he’s busy with other people?!”Jake shot him a wide-eyed look, freezing halfway through shoveling a handful of popcorn in his mouth. He slowly lowered his hand, blinking rapidly, eyebrows furrowing behind his glasses. “I -- well, what’s that to any of you, exactly?”(Or, as I have been calling it, The DaveKat Sexting Fic. ENJOY)

Love Bites - by notwest - earth c - Ch 1/1 - 2366

What if hickeys were the first mark on Dave's body he liked?

Midnight on the Demon Patrol - by Asuka Kureru(Askerian) - Ch 30/? - 233688 words

Fighting fire with fire is okay in theory but Detective-Summoner Dave L. Strider figures trying to summon corporeal demons to the mortal plane to fight other demons is likely to backfire spectacularly. Sadly for him his inner Knight gets the vapors at the thought of letting anyone else play guinea pig.Yup, he is totally hogging the demon. What could go wrong? (Oh no, Dave, why did you have to think that.)

Red Converse - by MageofHeart - Humanstuck AU - Ch 16/16 - 26648 words

Due to a seizure, Karkat Vantas now has to learn how to live his life with two speech aphasia. He goes to therapy three times a week, suffers from awful headaches, and tries to avoid people as much as possible.Due to a traumatic experience, Dave Strider refuses to use his words, preferring to relay his snarky comments and witty banter through sign language and typing on his phone.They meet in a waiting room.

Sugar and Spice - by Dawngyocry - Humanstuck/Coming of Age Fic - Ch 2/2 - 44734 words

You remember the first time you really realized you were fucked up.You were five. First year of kindergarten, miserable as all fuck. The teacher told the boys to line up on one side of the room and the girls on the other. You don't even remember why. You just remember the result.

Sunday Morning - Nomisupernova - earth c - Ch 1/1 - 3561 words

“Hey Dave?” You rest your arm at your side, his hand finds yours and he entwines his fingers with yours. His ring clinks against your ring and it makes your heart skip a beat to think about it.He looks at you, blinking sleepily, “Yes Karkat?”“I love you.”He laughs softly, a beautiful sound to your ears, “I love you too, Kar.”

The Cold Never Bothered Me Anyway - by ectoBisexual - ski lodge AU - Ch 1/1 - 4128 words

During a trip to a ski lodge with their friends, Dave and Karkat end up stuck in an elevator. It sucks, but it's not the worst thing in the world. Until the power goes out and it starts to get really, really cold.

The Eurydice Suite - by callmearcturus - post sburb/sgrub - Ch 15/15 - 97103 words

Dream-sharing. A highly illegal little industry in which agents delve into people's dreams and unearth their deepest secrets and memories. And the Strider-Lalondes are the best in the business.Until Dirk Strider gets his fool ass trapped within the confines of his own subconscious, with his Auto-Responder playing malicious prison warden. To save him, it's going to take a team of the world's most talented dreamers to save him.Backed by the token rich friend, lead by the surliest extractor ever bribed out of retirement, haunted by the shade of the l8est and gr8est agent 

The Finer Points Of Plantsitting - by LandofMistandSecrets - Earth C - Ch 1/1 - 9323 words 

Jade & Davepeta are taking off on a presumably romantic weekend retreat. Dave and Karkat are left in charge of the plants.It's just one weekend. There's no way this goes wrong.Or, uh. Gets weird. Right???

The Sex Number - by ayyyy(RosaAquafire - earth c = Ch 1/1 - 3788 words

CG: IS OR IS THERE NOT ANY SOCIETAL OR CULTURAL SIGNIFICANCE TO THE NUMBER 69?

TT: Ah, yes.

TT: The sex number.

TT: This is where I slowly wink.

CG: OH, CHRIST. 

What To Do When You See Your Best Bro Naked - by Miriage - College/female kk AU - Ch 2/2 - 7464 words

"Still, when you walked out of the bathroom with a towel around your waist and a smaller one ruffling your black hair, you weren’t expecting him to be there and he wasn’t expecting you to be wearing sans almost nothing."A story in which Dave Strider falls in love after he sees Karkat Vantas naked.(Also, Karkat has AA boobs and Dave is into it.) 

#gonna do a dirkjake list next #fic recs #fic rec list #read responsibly lads #davekat #dave strider #karkat vantas #homestuck #i will definitely need to add more to these later

[noriannbraindripshere]

Pals, as I lay on my couch in a exhausted heap, I need to talk about the clinic I went in today for yet more medical exam, because i’m still fuming. I was scheduled at 11 am, no food since yesterday and no water since 6 am. My water from 6 am was to take a very dehydrating medecine. I went in, thankfully with my mother, at 10:15, so I could do the paperworks and hop right in. We got to the double room I was assigned to. Then I waited until 4:30 pm. In that time:

 - I had to wait in the clinic approuved paper gown  - no one ever came around to keep us updated on what was going on. My mother had to got into the nurses room and refuse to leave until they gave us answers.  - my blood sugar dropped from 1 to 0.87 in 15 min and that was deemed all right and dandy  - the very old ladies next doors send back their lunches untouched because, I quote, “the food is disgusting” and I saw the food and let me tell you, I wouldn’t have touched that and I was hungry af - my temporary roommate was ignored in her attempts to have someone look at the very obvious pressure ulcer on her foot, to the point that I had to keep the nurse from moving on to tell her that the woman foot is black do something for the love of fuck (and then the doctor never. fucking. showed up)  - they had only one dude to move people around the place, poor man was running himself ragged - I had a nurse rubs hydroalcoholic solution on my dehydrated and chapped skin, then stick adhesives tabs all over it - I woke up from anesthesia in a oxygen mask with blood all up my iv line and bruises all over my arms and was told it was normal - I had the doctor toss the print-out of my results in my face and told me that he found nothing - but he took eight samples anyways. Shout-out to the nurse who waved back at me like a dork when I was wheeled in and to the one who had to bite back a laugh when she asked me if I saw the doctor and I said he did pop up like an awful jack-in-the-box. They’re too good for that place.

#Noriann blab #health bullshit #medical abuse #I am never ever going back here