#but no!!! the job application system is fucking BROKEN!!

[galaxae]

feeling very violent over job applications today

i am 22 CREDITS AWAY from completing my bachelor's degree (which requires 120 credits total), and all of the requirements for my english writing major specifically are complete! and yet, because of an error my parents or i may have made on the fafsa, and because i am broke as shit and can't just cough up thousands and thousands of dollars out of nowhere (and my parents say they can't either, but even if they could they're unwilling 100% at this point to offer that help), i am not eligible for a shit ton of jobs that i NEED to. you know. pay rent throughout my gap semester this spring. i don't want to lie and say i do have a college degree, because i don't wanna deal with any potential consequences. especially since i'm only 20 and most people don't expect me to have finished college by that age. but then a lot of job postings specify a bachelor's degree minimum, and 2+ years of work experience or whatever. and i'm like, ok, well, i DO have 2+ years of work experience. i've been a tutor since i was like 16, and i've done a shit ton of different jobs at my university during my semesters here so far. and i've finished all the requirements for an english major. i may be young but I Fucking Know My Stuff, rest assured. and then. well. i submitted an app just now that not only asked for my resume but also had me fill out a bunch of other info manually (like it asked me to select my degree, if i graduated etc) and all of 2 minutes after i submitted it, i got an automated email saying, "hey, sorry, you don't meet the minimum qualifications so we're not even gonna give you a look." the worst part is it was an APPLICANT POOL not even for a specific job!! it was just a pool!! and it DIDN'T SAY A BACHELOR'S WAS REQUIRED ANYWHERE IN THE POSTING!!! please for the love of god. i just want to survive the spring. i'm gonna fucking cry

#adrian posts #i could look for other jobs that aren't in my field of interest #like. yknow. retail or restaurant jobs or whatever. #except i'm disabled #the amount of standing/walking/moving those jobs would require would be genuinely too much for me to handle #like i straight up could not do those jobs. lmao #and especially for restaurant jobs i have food allergies and can't touch some stuff because of that #i'm a DAMN GOOD WRITER let's get that straight. #i'm damn good at pr stuff and phrasing things properly and all the stuff adjacent to that. #if i get to be remote or i work in an office space that doesn't require much physical activity at all?? #i'd be fucking set. i'd kick ass! #i HAVE been kicking ass at my current and past jobs!! #but no!!! the job application system is fucking BROKEN!! #''nobody wants to work boo hoo'' I WANT TO!!! TAKE ME!!! #:/

[max--phillips]

Do you think the reason you can’t find a job is because you have no sought after skillsets?

Haha wow anon! :) what an insightful take! And certainly not one that I've been thinking about constantly for years of my life even when I am employed! :)

Definitely not something that's been haunting me after I dropped out of college three (3) times, especially after I went through the gifted and talented programs in grade school where I was told I would be able to go to any college I wanted, and then get any job under the sun! :) Which I totally don't beat myself up about regularly because I never lived up to those expectations, and now work an hourly job knowing full well a huge portion of my peers are now doctoral students or otherwise have flourishing careers! :) (Which, side note, just to break character here, I'm super jazzed for them for that. Seriously. I do not hold any of this against them. I hold all of this against the very broken system I was in. Add on top of that I had ADHD the whole time and didn't get diagnosed until I was 20... yeah.)

And certainly the reason I haven't found a job has nothing to do with the fact that I started this job search barely two weeks ago because that's when I found out the company I work for currently is shutting down, or the fact I've applied to maybe a dozen jobs in total since then. Certainly not.

But yeah, I know for sure that seven years in customer service, thriving in high-pressure fast-paced environments, a wide array of computer and other technology skills, data analysis, route optimization, attention to detail, effective communication, automotive knowledge, and being a very quick learner aren't at all sought after skills. Neither is a CompTIA A+ certification, which I'm working on getting ASAP.

So I guess I should just totally give up and cease to exist, huh anon? :)

Literally what the hell is wrong with you? No sought after skills. Eat my ass. The reason I haven't found a job yet is because I've barely been looking, because I still work for my current employer for another two weeks. Add on top of that the fact that employers love to just post jobs and not actually respond to any applicants, then cry about how "no one wants to work," I know full well this is going to take some time. I hope when you find yourself in this situation at some point in your life, you have the sought after skills to find a job in less than two weeks. Fuck off.

#max answers questions #tori answers questions #anonymous

[darkthingshappen]

Poster Child: Chapter 2

So, as some of you know, I held a poll for which of my stories would get a continuation. Far exceeding every other story, was the story about Connor and his Pet Lib parents. So, without further adieu, I'd like to introduce you all to Connor's family as they try to find their missing son. This will be a multi-chapter story, most of it from Connor's perspective.

Also, @ashintheairlikesnow is the creator of Karen Renford, who appears with her permission.

This story will contain noncon, but it will be clearly marked when it happens.

TW for this chapter: HEAVY use of ethnic slurs - Connor's handler is a racist bastard. Also, there is HEAVY and frank threats of future noncon.

General warnings for BBU and WRU - Institutionalized Slavery.

As always, I'd like to thank my amazing beta, @whumpcereal for always doing an amazing job and pushing for more detail and depth of my characters.

Tags List: @oddsconvert @sparrowsage @castielamigos-whump-side-blog

Connor Lightfoot could be a little shit.  He hoped his handler was figuring that out.  It had been two weeks since he’d first woken up in the horrible white room, though he didn’t actually know that. He just knew it had been a while. Long enough that his handlers were not impressed with him. He’d refused to cooperate.  It was another thing his parents had drilled into his head.  Don’t obey.  Don’t sign anything.  Don’t give in.  Don’t give up – keep fighting. 

And he had, but God, he was so tired and hungry and sore.  Everything fucking hurt.  He had no way of knowing how much weight he’d lost, but he could tell it was quite a bit.  His arms were thin, the muscled definition all but gone.  He’d been given water through a forced feeding tube.  It wasn’t that he would have refused the water, they just wanted to hurt him. 

He’d been force fed food as well, but only a handful of times.  Enough to keep him alive and that was it. 

It was getting harder though.  Connor was tired of being shocked, tired of everything about this place.  And fuck! He was tired of looking at nothing but white.  Damn it! 

He’d started to wonder what might happen if he cooperated and just pretended that he was broken?  Could he do that?  Connor knew the system was meant to be manipulative.  And one of the first things they would try to make him do would be to sign his life away.  He would not do that.  So, cooperating was out of the question. 

He wondered, though: since it was illegal for WRU to take or accept an application from a Native American, would his signature be legally binding?  Connor didn’t think so, but fuck if anyone around here cared. 

He thought back to one of those first few days.  They’d cut his fucking hair.  He’d cried, but it had been tears of fury.  Anger so bone-crushingly deep he didn’t know what to do other than cry hot, livid tears.  He’d raged and screamed and thrashed.  Now, instead of his long straight black hair, it was cropped short – just long enough to grab onto and drag him around, which they seemed to love doing. 

His long hair had been such a part of his proud Navajo identity.  He wore it well and loved the way he looked.  He loved the way it made him so visibly Native American.   There was no denying who he was, and he loved that.  Even if his last name was Lightfoot, which wasn’t actually Native American.  It was an English or some other European name, one that had filtered into his family through some weird adoption way back in the 1800’s on his dad’s side.  But it was his name.  His family.  And it made him no less Navajo.  Connor was proud of his family history.  

And now the fucking WRU were trying to steal it from him bit by bit.  If nothing changed, they would succeed.  But Connor was determined to not be a part of their success in turning him into one of their box boys.  He would not cooperate in becoming someone’s custom order, someone’s little Indian pet to be shown off at parties.  

Connor tried to flex his muscles from where he knelt on the floor.  If he changed positions, then they would shock him.  Most days when he was just done with their shit, he keeled over and let them shock him unconscious.  It sucked, but at least he got to sleep, and he decided when he was done being tortured. 

The door opened and his handler walked in.  

“Hey there, 787266.”

My name is Connor Lightfoot.  I grew up in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I am a member of the Navajo Nation.  My parents are Daniel and Kai Lightfoot. I am twenty years old.  I attend New Mexico State University.  Connor repeated this mantra every time they called him by his number.  I am not a number.  I am a person, not a pet.  I am a hostage, not a slave.  I am not a box boy.  I will not sign. 

When he did not acknowledge his handler, his collar jolted to life and he screamed into his muzzle.  God, he fucking hated it here. 

“I said, hey there, 787266.”

My name is Connor Lightfoot.  I grew up in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I am a member of the Navajo Nation.  My parents are Daniel and Kai Lightfoot.  I am twenty years old.  I attend New Mexico State University.  I am not a number.  I am a person, not a pet.  I am a hostage, not a slave.  I am not a box boy.  I will not sign…  No fuck off you stupid bastard.

Connor rocked back and forth where he lay on the floor. 

“This is exactly why you’re being transferred, 787266.”

That got his attention. He stopped rocking and looked up at his handler, eyebrows knit together with a question he couldn’t ask.

“So, you do understand us.”

Of course I understand you, you fucking dumbass.  Connor rolled his eyes and then writhed through another jolt of electricity. 

He was so weak and tired, he didn’t even try to move as the aftershocks rolled through him.  He simply glared at the handler, body twitching. 

“You’re being moved to a facility that still does things the… old school way.  It’s smaller and they only handle tough cases.  Your continued lack of cooperation and defiance won’t be tolerated.”

The handler gave him another shock of electricity, just because he could.  “You make me look bad, 787266.”

My name is Connor Lightfoot.  I grew up in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I am a member of the Navajo Nation.  My parents are Daniel and Kai Lightfoot.  I am twenty years old.  I attend New Mexico State University.  I am not a number.  I am a person, not a pet.  I am a hostage, not a slave.  I am not a box boy.  I will not sign. 

The handler came over to him and squatted next to Connor.  He ran the back of his fingers along Connor’s cheek as he spoke.  “It’s the drip for you, Indian boy.  All your defiance is going to be washed away in a drug induced haze.  You’ll cease to be you.  You’ll do as you're told.  You’ll sign your paperwork.  And then you’ll be turned into a good little cock-sucking fuck-toy like every other romantic pet out there.”

Connor’s eyes were wide with terror.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, terrified him more than the drip.  And if they’d known that, they probably could have broken him sooner.  He shook his head, entire body trembling at the thought of being wiped away. 

“Oooh, does that scare you?”

Connor didn’t answer, but he’s sure the handler can see his chest heaving and his breath coming in short, staccato gasps.  Yes.  Yes it scares him. 

“They’re gonna put a needle in your arm and pop that Injun rebelliousness right out of your head.  Doesn’t that sound great, little Brave?” 

Connor felt his cheeks heat up with fury over the slurs and mocking of his culture.  You’re an ass.  A fucking ignorant ass.  Backward piece of shit.  Connor’s eyes blazed with rage.

“Hang on to that rage, little Brave.  You have about two more days before it’s gone forever.  I wonder… can you get to the happy hunting grounds if you don’t even remember that you believed in them?”

The door opened and a second handler came in.  Connor was pulled back into a kneeling position and made to watch as they sat and ate their food.  It smelled amazing, and he was so damn hungry.  Fucking piping hot chicken enchiladas, and was that calabacitas? Bastards.  It was!  He could smell the corn and the squash.  Connor’s mouth watered. 

“Smell something you like, 787266?”  His handler stared at him with a villainous grin.  “I had this flown in special, just for you.  It’s a shame you’ll forget all about this in the next few days.”

Connor watched the two ignorant pigs eat the food until there was nothing left on the plates.  The whole white room was full of the smell of New Mexican cuisine.  They left their empty plates for him to stare at when they were done.  Connor was given nothing.  Again. 

For two days Connor saw no one.  Long hours passed kneeling and chained to the loop in the floor.  His stomach ached with hunger so much so that he was violently nauseated.  His tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth, like it was swollen.  He had no energy at all.  And eventually, he could no longer kneel. 

When the door opened and three handlers came in with a force-feeding chair, Connor didn’t fight.  He was almost relieved.  They lifted him up and slammed his frail body into the chair.  The muzzle was taken off, but he was too weak to try and be a smart ass. 

“You’re leaving us today, 787266.  We wouldn’t want you passing out before they administer the drip at the new facility.”

Connor whimpered.  He didn’t want to be erased.  It was illegal.  They weren’t supposed to do it anymore.  They couldn’t do this to him!

Connor did nothing as his head was strapped into place and his mouth forced open.  He tried desperately not to cry as the feeding tube was jammed down his throat, but he was so weak and the tube was so uncomfortable.  His eyes watered, and then the tears wouldn’t stop. 

His handler patted his cheek.  “I told you on that first day here that you would sign, one way or another.  All the trainees sign.  You’re not special.  You’re just stubborn.  You think it was bad here, just wait until you’re at the new facility for troublesome cases and you don’t even know who you are.” 

Connor choked on a sob, his mind spinning.  My name is Connor Lightfoot.  I grew up in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I am a member of the Navajo Nation.  My parents are Daniel and Kai Lightfoot.  I attend New Mexico State University.  I am not a number.  I am a person, not a pet.  I am a hostage, not a slave.  I am not a box boy.  I will not sign.  My name is Connor Lightfoot.  I grew up in Shiprock, New Mexico.  I am a member of the Navajo Nation.  My parents are Daniel and Kai Lightfoot.  I attend New Mexico State University.  I am not a number.  I am a person not a pet.  I am a hostage, not a slave.  I am not a box boy.  I will not sign…

He didn’t know what else to do as he desperately tried to hold on to himself, to hope. 

Connor screamed around the tube in sheer terror when they came at him with a needle.  No!  Not yet!  I’m not ready!  I don’t wanna be wiped.  Please!  No! 

The handler laughed.  “You think one injection and done?  No, 787266.  No, it’s not that easy.  It takes days.  You’ll be whimpering and writhing while your mind shuts down.  And probably puking your guts out.  We haven’t done it at this facility for a while, but I remember.  It’s a sight to behold – to watch all the fight and personality drain out of someone.  I’ve already asked your new handler to take pictures and video every day so I can watch you disappear.”

The handler smiles as he pushes the needle into Connor’s neck.  “This is just going to stop any resistance you might give us.  Don’t worry, you won’t even lose consciousness.  You’ll be fully aware for the entirety of your transportation to the new facility.”  He chuckled.  “I say new.  It’s actually quite old.  It’s off the books now, listed as decommissioned.”  He patted Connor’s face.  “I’m sure you’re going to love it there.  And after you’ve been wiped and learned the basics, they're gonna ship you right back here for your romantic training.  So, this isn’t even goodbye.  I’ll see you again when you’re ready to learn how to properly fuck and suck.  You won’t remember me, but I’ll remember you.”

Tears rolled down Connor’s cheeks, but the meds had started to take effect.  He could feel everything.  But he couldn’t move.  The tube was yanked from his mouth and his throat burned where it had been.  His mouth was still dry.  Why couldn’t they have let him have a taste of water, instead of just pumping it into him?  Right!  Because they’re fucking bastards. 

A stretcher was brought into the room and Connor was lifted onto it.  He was strapped down and he didn’t miss the way his handler let his touch linger too long on his thigh, moving up slowly over his groin before securing his chest strap.  Connor wished the creep would try something in a fair fight.  He’d fucking tear his privates off.  But none of this was fair.  The system was stacked against him.  It’s why his parents were in hiding and monsters like the handler roamed free. 

The muzzle was secured back onto his face.  Hmmph.  At least I’ll get to see something other than this damn white room, Connor thought bitterly. 

FUCKERS!  They strapped a fucking blindfold over his eyes.  From white to black instantaneously.  Connor would have sobbed had he not been paralyzed. 

Connor heard his handler laughing.  “They always think they’ll get something other than a white room.  No such luck, Brave Little Injun.  The next thing you see will be the white room at your new facility.”  His handler kissed his forehead.  “Until you return, my little brave.”

Connor wanted to scream, to rage.  And he did, in his head.  But even he knew it was a show.  Connor Lightfoot wasn’t scared, he was terrified.

#poster child #connor lightfoot #kidnapping #captivity #WRU #BBU #box boy universe #whump #whump community #whump writer #Heavy warning for ethnic slurs #ethnic slurs #Connor's handler is an ignorant racist bastard #frank threats of future noncon

[deaf-sakura]

I’m doing something I never thought I could stomach, entering the private sector.

I am a full supporter of public education. I see it as a god given right to all, and it should be a fucking given for any nation that wants to call themselves “free.”

But I’m so burnt out y’all. The public system is broken, its infrastructure (both metaphorically and literally) is cracking under the weight of the mistakes unqualified leaders have made over the past 3 decades. And when I say ‘leaders,’ don’t just think of head honchos like Betsy fucking DeVos or Miguel Cardona or the legislators or the president. 

At the state level with regressive governors, at the city level with money grubbing school boards, and even corrupt, egotistical principals in the schools themselves. Even teachers leading their own classroom are a hit or miss, and many of us play into this fucked up system whether we want to admit it or not.

These mistakes roll down the sides of the pyramid structure and make everyone below them suffer. This year, shitty staffing and poor decision making had me doing the work of three people every single day. The leaders above me could have made it better but they didn’t. They let me suffer. I’ve been assaulted and sent to the ER on more than one occasion, and my pleas for more structure and support were met with implied accusations that I’m a ‘hysterical woman.’ Eventually I gave up actual teaching so I could ensure I got my kids everything else they needed; diaper changes, meals, g-tube feeding, getting out of their wheelchairs, everything they’re entitled to as human beings. And on times where I couldn’t get them what they needed, they went without. On multiple occasions. And because those were the decisions I made as a classroom leader, good, bad, or too much gray area to decide, my students’ education suffered.

I threw my application out into the world, at almost any job with the word “disability” in their description. In June, a recruiter from a private school system offered me an interview. I nailed it.

The school is designed for students with autism and learning disabilities that weren’t succeeding back in the public school system. It has no religious or social class affiliation, which for me, is good. They follow all the same legislation and procedures that public schools need to when it comes to disabled students’ rights and education. The salary is competitive, the benefits are there, and the sign on bonus is...big, to say the least.

It may be better and it may be worse. But the thought of going back into the old classroom makes me feel...lifeless. Like I’m trapped in a loop. I wouldn’t even call it fear or dread. More like I’m just submitting myself to a terrible fate without even trying to fight back. Like learned helplessness.

I want to try. I want to at least try to make a better life for myself. Like I said, it could be a thousand times worse, but I’m strong and capable, with good morals and work ethic. I think I’ll take the offer.

#educhums #special education #autism #autistic teacher #american school system #american schools #teacher #third year teacher #also fun fact: ive literally been at the district im working at now since i was 5 #started kindergarten there and graduated #did all my observations and student teaching there #became a teacher's aide there #and now ive done my first 2 years teaching there #like maybe it REALLY IS FUCKING TIME FOR A CHANGE

[dittolicous]

i think im having my midlife crisis. cuz time is passing so fast and im just... so tired. so tired of spending everyday miserable and stressed and hoping tomorrow will be better, when it never is.

i dont want to have to struggle for another 10 years just to get a simple little home that isnt infested with roaches or has rats in the walls. i want to be able to get up in the morning to drink coffee and watch the news. see kids walking to school. learn to sew. go fishing every now and again. own a car. be able to sleep without fretting over which bill to pay before cutoff.

i. i dont feel like ill ever escape. the community around me doesn't care because im not homeless of suffering enough, because i can still work even if im a husk of a human. because everyone has to work or die. work or die.

ive spent thr last few days pouring over applications, loan possibilities, houses, financial aid, bills, etc. no jobs have reached back to me except scams or ones that are basically downgrades from what i already do. i look and i look and i look, i used that suggested google jobs thing, but all the good jobs are off the island, require 10000 years experience, have no benefits, or are all work that i utterly despise. i dont qualify for loans and make too much for financial aid.

and they always say the same thing. get rid of your pets (as if rehoming is even cheap or easy), get rid of internet, make sacrifises sacrifices and more sacrifices. get up at 4am to wait in food bank lines for old meat, leftover produce, and stale cake. constantly plead to strangers and justify your life. because thats just life! your not allowed to have nice things when youre poor, dont you know? if you do, then thats wasting money and we wont help you. you deserve what you get because happiness comes with money.

i just want out. and i guess jokes on them. if i rehome my pets, well, that would mean id finally be free to off myself. because im sorry to say, but theyre the only thing that holds me back. i hate this world. i wasnt built to survive here. i dont have any passions or drive or... anything.

i dont know why im here. just to suffer and be miserable until im too old and weak to work, to die alibe in a ditch.... i dont have anything worth anything.

and what makes me fucking laugh! is that the last time i went to my psych appointment i was like. i cant do this! im tired of being tired! and they pushed me to try their therapy again and that theyd get a case worker to call me and to think of all things i can change instead of what i cant... i agreed but was open with how i didn't have much faith in the system. how they failed me in the past and that makes me wary.

that was two weeks ago.

case worker never called me. therapist never called me. i cant change anything.

all because of stupid fucking bills and checks and jobs and money because no one deserves to live happy!

ill never escape. ill never have a live worth living. i dont have anyone to go to the movies or amusement parks with, no one who would drop by for coffee and a chat, no one to go to cons with. im just a little icon on a blue website. if i died tomorrow, if my queue ended... no one would mourn me not really. no one would cry. because im just broken and incapable of making genuine connections. id just be another quiet blog, a blip in the radar.

#ditto rambles #negative / #not becayse people here arent great but cuz im fucking nothing #im an a void in flesh #i am an empty flask #suicide ideation /// #i guess #whatever #im tired #long post #cant remember how to read mre #i hate everything i hate my job i hate my life i hate that im not good enougb to reach out and build bonds #i wish i was more broken more trash so at least theyrd understand how i feel! #but instead ill just #work until i die alone

[luka-was-here]

The education system is broken. It is a dungeon with knowledge crammed into every crack it can find. Now, don’t get me wrong – I love learning. I love the pursuit of wisdom and the lessons that come with it, but I hate the education system. It swept us up as children with the promise of everything we could ever hope for, but in the end, all it did was rip away my desire for knowledge, and for that I despise it.

It must be said that it is disturbing and sadistic that students who fall asleep in class are deemed as ‘lazy’, rather than realising that the education system has overworked these young minds to the point that they cannot keep themselves awake anymore. What’s more: this system actively traumatises both the students that it deems less capable by treating them like idiots, and those that it considers ‘gifted’ by treating them like their brain is the only thing that determines their worth. I so desperately want to learn, but I want to travel and figure things out as I go, instead of being tested so rigorously at every twist and turn. We are told not to get tattoos because they are permanent whilst being handed university applications that could very well determine the careers that we will have for the rest of our lives. We have been taught, effectively since we can remember, that our grades and our test scores should be put above all else. Above our morals. Above our health, both mental and physical. Above our individuality. Above ourselves. So, in conclusion, the education system is not broken. It was built that way. It was built to shit on our dreams and shoves us into bleak nine-to-five office jobs. It was built to squash every last shred of hope we so desperately cling to. It was built to keep us in line and teach us our places. The education system is not broken. It was built that way and we are fucked.

#rant #education #the system is fucked #fuck the education system #the education system #luka's-whispers

[throwingwordsintoablackhole]

Today I was told my mother is going to die.

I also failed my driving test this morning.

And yesterday was a shitty day too (I felt like crap and my gm get pissed at me)

and now I can’t really drink it all away cause I have my period and I don’t wanna have pills and booze in my system at once.

I might drink later tonight once the pills have past through.

I’m going to loose her.

This is it.

She’s dying.

I mean-- I already lost her. Part of me still sees her in there, but just barely.

I know my mom, I can recognize her even through the grunts and groans.

Everyone is agreeing that it’d be best to just not let her suffer and let her go. Especially she’s not cognizant enough to know what’s going on.

I would if she knows she’s dying? I wonder how’d she be if she was still present? Would she be sad? Would she panic? Would she be afraid? Would she tell me she loved me? Would we actually get to say goodbye??

That’s the thing too.

I can’t even say goodbye. She’s going, she’s dying, I’m losing her, but I can’t even tell her goodbye.

Cause she left long before that.

Our last day together really was emblematic of how horrible it had gotten though.

It just sucks.

I mean I can tell her all these things. I can tell her I love her. And I can tell her goodbye. But I know think she’d even really understand.

and part of me doesn’t want her too.

God think of how fucking terrifying that would be? Like-- you’re only moments of clarity are realizing you’re fucking dying?? or worst, your LAST moment of clarity.

But no. I’m going to tell her that I love her and tell her goodbye like I always do.

Like I’m just heading home, or saying good night, and I’ll see her in the morning or on the next visit.

she won’t know what it means,but I will. And at least I will get to say goodbye in that way.

I don’t know if I want to be there when she passes.

side note; I really need fucking therapy.

I actually think I might sign up for it later today.

I also need to write that letter to fidelity and get on her thing so I can use whatever’s in her 401K to pay for all this.

god I need some therapy though.

And a drink.

I’ve been crying on and all for the last few hours.

I play a thing or watch a thing or think about a thing, and for a moment I’m not so consumed by the fact that my mother is dying.

But then there’s a moment of quiet, or a have a moment to think, and I can’t help but start to tear up.

I just sit there and let it sink in.

My mother is dying.

My mother is dying.

My mother is dying.

This is it. She is already gone and I don’t even get to say goodbye.

She’s going to be dead soon, and there’s nothing I can do to make it better.

I actually don’t want to act like she’s dying. Cause I really am scared that that moment of clarity will hit her and she’ll, even just briefly, realize she’s dying.

Honestly I think on some level she already knows.

I think maybe she’s know for a while.

But she also doesn’t know, ya know??

Like she has the pieces but she just can’t put them together.

That’s probably how it’s been for her for a while.

Actually, that’s definitely how that’s been for her for a while.

God I don’t know how I’m gonna coast through life over the next month or so.

I’m def gonna be pretending I wasn’t just briefly crying a lot lol

I sent the application into Ulta. That’s another thing I’m handling right now. Trying to like---------- fuckin---- figure out the job stuff.

I’m just so tired.

Tired and sad and a little bit heart broken and in and out of pain and def way too sober for all this.

I actually threw up this morning. Maybe it was all the salad, maybe it was the nerves-- I know it definitely wasn’t the alcohol cause I didn’t drink any cause I knew I had important stuff to do this morning.

But honestly maybe that’s why I did throw up though--- too many nerves on too full a stomach full of bad lettuce and nothing to help curb the anxiety or keep down the greens.

Even though I’m looking forward to my money stabilizing, and to going back to Ulta-- I’m still not ready to leave the pet store.

If for no other reason that I don’t want things to be over and I don’t wanna let it go.

But it is over, and I do need to let it go. I’m not gonna be able to live in 2022 anymore. I can’t go back to when everyone was still alive and things were less complicated.

....I mean they were still bad but they were at least less complicated.

I can’t go back to when the owl house was airing, or when I was able to ride high on that, or when my head was full of Huntlow and Alice and my jobs weren’t complicated and my money wasn’t complicated and my mom was still mostly there and also alive.

I mean she’s not dead yet but--- yeah...

I think the other thing is I go back and forth between things being relieving and soul crushingly ending.

where’s it’s like--- it’s almost over.

like--------

it’s still gonna be a rough few months, and I’m gonna have things to settle after the fact and things to pay off

but it’s almost over

I’m almost free.

but for right now, I’m stuck in the present.

Living through the here and now.

Because my mom is dying.

And there’s nothing I can do but wait for it to happen.

When this is all over. And I have my license and the car, I wanna go on a road trip.

I wanna take her ashes to champaign.

We talked about me spreading them there-- jokingly cause I don’t know if I can legally do that-- but I might. I’ll see how it is when I get there.

At the very least I wanna take her ashes out to Champaign.

One last road trip. Just me and her. Like it always was.

I know she’s not the spiritual type, and she’s not that sentimental either, but I think that would be nice.

Maybe I’ll get those old books on type to listen to while we drive, just like we used to listen to back when I was a kid.

Anne, and Emma and Pride and Prejudice.

I wanna find Susan. I want to let her know. She was kind of the only real friend my mother had, and her valentines card to my mother was the last piece of actual mail my mother ever got.

Not sure how to tell her my mom was already gone by that point.

I need to get it and her other things from Roxboro.

So I know where to go, know where to look, who to look for.

I think I also wanna take a day out in that garden at the hospital. Maybe that’ll be how I spend the day I lose her.

I’ve been at that fucking hospital so many times. In so many of those rooms.

I probably know that place better than some of the doctors. Definitely better than the new ones lol.

I don’t know how to end this

I’ve been typing for almost an hour.

I wanna go do all the things

but also none of the things

because my mom’s dying

and I’m so very tired and so very empty and so every sad

...end.

[onlyherefortheshowmances]

*disclaimer: this was originally a tweet thread, so if the transitions/etc. are weird, I apologize in advance

The state/county still hasn't approved my medical assistance and food stamps even though they have everything they said they needed. In 7 days it will be 30 days since my application which is all the state call center will ever tell me. "They have 30 days."

So, hopefully that means that next week, they will actually get around to doing their jobs. I know they have a large caseload; hire more caseworkers then; pay them better so people actually want to do the job. I just need to see the fucking doctor.

I had to cancel appointments with both of my most important specialists last week because of this. (Granted I want to find a new Rheumatologist anyway, so I'm less upset about that one.) Lord knows how far out I'm gonna have to schedule once I finally have the insurance.

I'm probably going to end up getting evicted next month, because there is no way I'm going to have the money to pay rent. Which is going to make it even more impossible to find housing later and I'll have no where to go in the mean time.

Because of my disabilities, my best option is going to be sleeping in my car probably, but it's going to get cold soon, so I don't know how long that's going to last.

Everywhere I look, trying to find assistance, they only want to provide assistance to pregnant women, families with children, or domestic violence victims. I'm none of those things. I'm just a chronically ill; disabled; neurodivergent; single woman with no resources.

I feel like I'm being punished for not being irresponsible enough to get pregnant with or have a child that I couldn't take care of financially, physically, or emotionally. That I'm being punished for having a body where, even if I were to get pregnant it would likely kill me.

I don't have family or friends to help me. I don't have someone with an extra bedroom (that I would feel comfortable and safe in). I don't have anyone that can help me. But yet, somehow I'm not disabled enough. I should just suck it up and get a job.

I should just magically not be in near constant debilitating amounts of pain. I should just magically not be autistic with ADHD. I should just magically have an immune system that functions like its supposed to. I'm sorry, but I don't have that capability.

I understand why the chronically ill in Canada are choosing physician assisted dignified death as their best option. If that were possible here, it's something I would consider, because everywhere I look, there is nothing and no one to help me.

I don't want to die, but I also literally cannot survive in my current situation.

Not to mention the fact that I feel literally invisible because any time I post/tweet/etc. anything remotely serious/personal, it's just radio silence. It makes me feel like I'm being used, honestly. Like the people I consider friends, are really just using me for my humor or my fanfic.

[adding here: If feels as if my mask is all anyone cares about and the real me, the disabled one, doesn’t actually matter. Hey, your ableism is showing again.]

Like, I'm aware yinz (my twitter/tumblr followers, people on fb) can't actually DO anything about any of it, but when there's just complete radio silence it leaves me wondering if any one even CARES at all. No one has asked if there's something they can do.

Maybe it's my brain being broken. Maybe it's my direct communication offending the neurotypicals again. Whatever it is, it feels insanely isolating and only makes this whole situation feel that much worse.

[adding here: I’ve spent the past couple hours crying as all of his has crashed down on me hard today because I was stupid enough to attempt to do a singular thing last night so my body is very angry with me. It my high school’s homecoming football game; it was alumni band night; I just wanted to see my friends and make music and be normal for a few hours, but I guess I'm not allowed to do that anymore.]

#disability #chronic illness #rheumatoid arthritis #osteoarthritis #fibromyalgia #adhd #autism #actually autistic #neurodivergent #the broken american health care system #the broken american welfare system

[rvspberry]

@ckhalloween prompt: space.

An Aliens-inspired AU.

~

Daniel LaRusso, owner of the deep space freighter the Bonsai, gets contracted by the Dynatox company to go on a deep space run with a military crew to check on an off-world colony that’s gone silent on their comms. And he has no idea what he’s got himself into.

He quickly butts heads with Sargent John Lawrence and his anti-mech superior, Captain John Kreese. Not to mention that there’s something off about the Dynatox “representative” Terry Silver that’s come to do assess the damage — least of which is his close friendship with Captain Kreese.

As strange creatures start to kill off the military crew one by one, and they find the last survivor of the colony, a woman named Jessica who has been surviving in the tunnels below the base, Daniel comes to realize that everything he thought to be true was a lie. Captain Kreese and Terry Silver, who turns out to be the owner of Dynatox, have come to the colony in order to bring back one of the aliens.

When Daniel teams up with Sargent Lawrence and his band of marines, the Cobra Kai, will they ever get back to the Bonsai, or will they perish along with the rest of the colony?

Daniel owns the Bonsai, a deep space freighter, and operates it with his best friend, an android named Mr. Miyagi. Most people find this strange, as they view androids as helpful machines and nothing more, but Daniel knows that Mr. Miyagi is different. He’s as compassionate and empathetic as any human Daniel’s ever met, with the humor to match. There’s a heavy bigotry against androids, since they’re not considered human. The Bonsai usually transports cargo, but can transport people if the contract pays.

And Dynatox, one of the biggest companies in galaxy, contracts the Bonsai to cart a troupe of military personnel and a Dynatox representative to some asteroid colony. Apparently, the colony has gone off-comms and hasn’t been heard of for weeks. The representative, Terry Silver, is an eccentric sort; he gives Daniel the creeps, but it’s all part of this incredibly well-paying job, so Daniel’s gotta suck it up. At least he has Mr. Miyagi to watch his back.

As they get closer to the asteroid and come out of Cryosleep, Daniel finds himself at odds with Captain John Kreese, the leader of this troupe of hardened (and hard-headed) marines. Captain Kreese has a strangely friendly relationship with Mr. Silver, and Daniel catches them more than once exchanging quiet whispers and knowing smiles. What are they up to?

Even more annoying is Sargent John Lawrence. Johnny. He’s tall, he’s blonde, he’s muscled, he’s absolutely gorgeous - and he’s as pigheaded as any marine Daniel’s ever met. They immediately butt heads when Daniel befriends Ali, the troupe’s medic and Lawrence’s ex, fighting over everything from using mechs to move and unload cargo to how to pilot Daniel’s own freighter. Lawrence is irritating and antagonistic, and when he whispers into Daniel’s ear to meet him in the bathrooms after lights out, what’s Daniel supposed to do besides meet him there to fuck out some of that aggression?

From there, though, things get a little… crazy. Daniel leaves Mr. Miyagi on the freighter orbiting the asteroid to help off-load the cargo from the smaller military vessel. Silver and Kreese’s whispers go from shady to shadier as the marines split into two groups - one takes the base, where Daniel and Silver go along with Sargent Lawrence, while Captain Kreese takes another group to investigate one of the bunkers with signs of life. But Kreese’s group is attacked by something decidedly inhuman, and Daniel discovers a young woman his own age hiding out in the tunnels below the base’s floors. Her name is Jessica, and she’s the last known survivor of the colony.

As she tells the tale of the last days of the colonists, Daniel feels trepidation creeping up inside of him, the same pace as the slow smile that creeps across Silver’s mouth. What does this guy have planned?

Things come to a head when the aliens follow Kreese’s rover back to the base, and then they have no choice but to barricade themselves inside. Daniel tries to hail Mr. Miyagi upon the Bonsai, but the communication system inside the base is down. And there’s something else wrong…

Kreese stole one of the pods at the expense of his men’s lives. The glass tube he’d placed the pod in, however, is broken when they all enter the lab, but Silver and Kreese lock Daniel and Jessica inside in hopes that the facehugger will implant one of the aliens inside them so they can be transported back to Dynatox. Daniel nearly dies - he has the facehugger’s tail wrapped around his neck, it’s claws trying to grab hold of his head, but Johnny breaks down the door, storms in, and kills the thing with a well placed shot. Shaken, Daniel throws his arms around Johnny’s neck, and Johnny hugs him tightly back. For all that they irritate each other, they truly do care about each other.

And that’s when the truth comes out. Kreese and Silver are long time friends, and Silver isn’t just a representative for Dynatox - he owns the whole goddamn corrupt company. Silver came to the asteroid in hopes of procuring one of these aliens to research for military application, with Kreese’s help. Johnny and the rest of the Cobras who are still alive feel utterly betrayed, even more so when they’re confronted with an alien, and Kreese and Silver leave them all for dead inside the base.

They come up with a plan to get back to one of the rovers - if they can, then they can hail the Bonsai for an emergency ship. Jessica shows them a way out through the tunnels, but the aliens slowly pick off the remaining marines who give their lives to protect Jessica and Daniel. When they finally make it to the remaining rover, it’s down to Jessica, Daniel, Ali, Bobby, Jimmy, and Johnny. They hail the Bonsai and Mr. Miyagi tells them he hasn’t heard from Kreese and Silver. On their way to the military aircraft to return to the Bonsai, they see why — Kreese and Silver’s rover crashed. It’s torn apart, burnt… undoubtedly, they were attacked by the aliens.

They all make it back to the aircraft and Daniel straps in with Johnny to pilot them back to the freighter. But an alien has snuck on board. Jimmy and Bobby fight it off, losing their lives in the process, and a teary-eyed Johnny has to blow up the asteroid to ensure that the aliens don’t spread anywhere else in the galaxy.

Back aboard the Bonsai, the four remaining survivors prepare for Cryosleep to return to the nearest base. Daniel reaches over to clutch at Johnny’s hand, squeezing it carefully. “We made it, Johnny.”

Johnny looks over at Daniel and smiles sadly. “Yeah, Daniel. We made it.”

They kiss, and the screen fades to black.

#ckhalloween #lawrusso #lawrusso au #aliens au #space prompt #not an actual fic #more like headcanon-y ideas #in a prose format #I couldn’t focus enough to write #still will post this on AO3 when I get home #enjoy my shitty moodboard

[deniigi]

Hi Dr. Matt, I too am a college youth coming to you for advice, well actually more like concept. What does GPA actually mean, in terms of my ability to get jobs/go to grad school/etc. I grew up in a very "4.0" or bust household and while I've broken free (god that first B was freeing) I have less than 0 ability to actually add context to these numbers. Help?

Hi, anon!

So let’s start from the top and be real broad for you and other folks who might be in different circumstances:

GPA = Grade Point Average. Each institution may calculate this differently. I occasionally have to do them by hand, but why the fuck would you do that is the better question here.

GPA is usually a number between 0.00 and 4.00. Students who fall below a certain GPA at college/univ level (for many institutions in the USA, 2.0 is that number, which is a C average) go on something called Academic Probation

The reason Academic Probation is a problem is because if you are on Academic Probation for multiple semesters, you may be ‘Disqualified,’ I.e. Kicked out of your college/univ.

So in this sense, GPA functions as a way of demonstrating to the University and the people giving you Financial Aid that you are making satisfactory progress on your degree, and you are ‘worthy’ of continuing to receive subsidized education.

While that’s a shitty way of conceiving of humans and education, that’s the system we live in, and that’s essentially why it’s really important for people to be aware of their GPA.

It’s not that that number defines you or your intrinsic worth as a human, rather its that that number gives you access to other things.

Now, on that note, let’s talk about GPA in terms of social value, economic value, and social and academic mobility. It’s going to be a long conversation, so I’m putting it under the cut.

-------------

Depending on your field of career and study, average GPAs are going to vary.

Engineers, for example, go through such difficult classes that they have notoriously low GPAs. Like anything from a 2.0 to a 3.0 is solid and anything higher than like a 3.3 is considered by many in Engineering fields to be really good.

Many STEM fields are like this. Chemistry, Kinesiology, Physics, Math, Engineering, Biology, Bio-Chem, etc.

In many Social Science and Humanities fields, GPAs are less important than research and analytical abilities, writing strength, communication abilities, teamwork stuff -- transferable, “soft” skills essentially.

That being said, when you are trying to move up, academically or economically, GPA may become a factor that you start to think about--especially when you are applying to a type of specialized or graduate school (certification programs, nursing programs, teaching certificate, Masters degrees, PhDs, etc).

Many programs have GPA limits on their programs in order to thin out their application pools. Nursing programs may have a 3.0 minimum. Masters programs may ask you to have only gotten X number of Bs or Cs.

I want to emphasize here, however: GPA minimums depend on the program itself.

Prestige is one of the main driving factors behind demanding a certain GPA. Places with prestigious programs and jobs have the notoriety that brings them loads of applicants, which in turn gives them the ability to raise standards.

The top 10 schools in the US are going to be able to demand a 3.5 GPA or higher for admission.

The top firms in a city can say that you need X amount of experience in X area to be hired onto their team.

-----------------

When it comes to applying to graduate school stuff (law school, Masters programs, PhD programs), I would focus less on whether or not you have a freakishly high GPA and more on your extracurriculars, your publications, research opportunities, writing abilities, analytical skills, and the hard skills necessary for your chosen field (I.e. Knowing MatLab or Python or GIS).

The reason for that is that you don’t really choose a graduate school so much as you choose a supervisor at a graduate school.

So if you can connect with a potential supervisor and are able to demonstrate to them that you A) are an asset to their program and B) have the skills necessary to do the work, then they are often the ones who decide whether or not you get admitted.

Supervisors can often smooth over lumps and bumps when it comes to admission of graduate students because THEY will be the ones overseeing your work before the Univ/program is.

Example: When I applied to one of my schools, the potential supervisor I was working with coached me in how to structure my research statement. They also advocated for me in admissions, and I did, in fact, get into that school (even if I chose not to go). For my other choice, I worked with a different supervisor who helped me get funding to help me secure admission as well.

So in this way, it is far more important for you to impress a supervisor than to have the best GPA of all applicants.

--------------

Now for the rest of y’all who aren’t thinking about grad school or a certification program, you may be asking, “Will my GPA affect my ability to get a job in the future?”

And first off, I want to sort of break down the notion that your degree = your career. Only something like 30% of people end up working in the field they get their degree in, so that tells you already that GPA and choice of Major kind of doesn’t matter in terms of being able to make money.

But more to the point:

Generally speaking, most (like, 95% or something) jobs do NOT require you to list your GPA on your resume or any other application materials.

Some positions may ask you to demonstrate proficiency in a given area or hard skill. Some positions may ask you to provide proof that you completed your degree. But usually, this proof is given to a company AFTER you have applied and accepted an offer for the position.

Example: after I accepted my job, I was asked to submit proof of my Masters degree, because my offer was contingent on me having the credentials I said that I did.

Now, if you are fresh out of school and don’t have much experience, but you’ve got a bangin’ GPA, that may be something that you consider listing on your resume to demonstrate to employers that you are a smart cookie, simply lacking experience.

If you are a new graduate in a STEM field specifically, and you have a bangin’ GPA and are looking for work in STEM, then you may also list that on your resume.

But I want to emphasize that you don’t have to. It is your choice. And in this scenario, you would only do that if you were applying to a highly specific position where that mattered and if you felt that it would help you.

If you’re applying to anything that is not an internship or a STEM entry job (like a new engineer, a new lab assistant, etc) there is no reason for you to put your GPA on your resume. That should not affect your chances for a position.

------------

That’s probably plenty of food for thought for now. But anon, you can breathe. I got your other message and you are doing fantastically. Try to understand that the number isn’t as important as your competence and understanding in the material you are learning.

For right now, focus on building the skills. When it comes down to it, people would rather have a doctor who understands what to do to save their life than a doc who got a 4.0 in undergrad.

#ask #life advice #academic advice #GPA #y'all can do this know that GPA is a small part of your overall credentials

[mencanbevictimstoo]

Men who suffer abuse usually do so in silence

Hello men! I work with a small non-profit providing --free-- online support groups for survivors of abuse and sexual trauma. We have two men's survivor support groups (1.5 hours once a week). In two weeks, one group will have to shut down due to there being nobody available to facilitate. We are 100% volunteer-run. As we all know, there are very few resources out there specifically for men. We have a long waitlist full of these guys who are finally reaching out for support after sexual abuse or trauma (including domestic violence & destructive family systems). They are still waiting because we don't have the male staff needed to run groups for them. The goal at this time is four men's only spaces (based on the waitlist), with plans to expand as registrations increase. This is where we need you. I know I'm preaching to the choir here, but this is a huge issue in today's society. Men are trained to be strong, to show no emotion. To never speak of the things which have hurt them. To basically deny they even have emotions, except anger. Vulnerability can equal humiliation. Feelings of shame and weakness silence them. They feel worthless and unlovable and unfixably flawed. Broken. They think it is their fault they are hurting. They think there is something wrong with them. One man said, "My wife and kids would rather see me die on that white horse than see me hit the ground." Men are more than protectors. They are more than heroes, or ATM's, or emotional punching bags. They are people. They have humanity. They are not unfeeling robots. The harm done to our fathers, brothers, sons, and friends is far more hidden and "shameful" in today's world. This is not to say women have it easy by any stretch of the imagination. They do, however, have a wide variety of programs available, while if you have the unfortunate luck of being both male and abused/neglected/assaulted/etc, you have very few options to speak about and process it. That's fucking wrong. These men's groups are one of the only places on the internet where they can safely share their struggles and growth, no matter their life circumstances or financial situation. Every group is secure, confidential, and private; and all emails are encrypted. At Hope Recovery we do NOT focus on what happened. The main goal is to discuss how it affected us and what we want to do (or are doing) about it. It is to process emotions, celebrate progress, and to share vulnerability with those who have been hurt as we have. I know some of you know exactly what I am talking about. You've been there. It's been dark. You've experienced things that fill you with shame, make you feel weak. There is pain buried within you that's never been spoken aloud. This is the place to do that. There is no judgment, only hope. No ridicule, but support. No shame, only sharing. The goal is to hold each other up when we aren't strong enough to do it ourselves, and then to learn to find that strength within. If you're struggling: please sign up for group and you'll be added to the waitlist. To volunteer: You don't have to be a survivor or in recovery. Your age, background, and education don't matter. The only requirements are empathy, communication skills, and a solid internet connection. https://www.hope4-recovery.org/volunteer.html I am asking from the bottom of my heart that if you have some love to give, please consider volunteering. It is only two hours a week and I've found that through my own work with them, my recovery and progress have made leaps forward. I don't think I've ever done something so fulfilling. Your job is basically to open a Zoom room and help guide the conversation topic for that group (1.5 hours each). You would do check-ins, ask questions, respond with empathy, and keep everyone civil and on-topic. Mostly the group manages itself without a ton of input required. There are two facilitators for every group so you'll never be on your own. That's it. That's all that's needed! There is first an application with two references required, then a live video interview to make sure

you're not obviously sketchy. After that there are ten hours of free training required, and a $19 background check. If you want to volunteer but the background check fee is a barrier, please PM me and I will cover the cost ---------- AS A HUGE SIDE NOTE: We are absolutely in need of more volunteers period, of any gender. We had five groups at the beginning of the pandemic, and now there are over 60 each week. This ask is specifically for men because I do NOT want to see the men's group(s) shut down. Most of the groups are mixed-gender and there are waitlists for all of them, with about 20 new survivors registering every day. --------- Thank you for reading, and an especially big thank you to those who are willing to reach out their hand to help pull another man up and out of his darkness, just a little closer to the sun. In extending your compassion, you may find it relieves some of your own suffering as well. Please PM me if you have any questions or maybe just want to talk about anything you've been through. I'm a survivor myself and this issue is really close to my heart. Thank you again! Take care and be well :) p.s. Hope Recovery is a Christian-based organization, but almost all of the groups are secular (including the men's). Many survivors have experienced religious or spiritual abuse and the goal is to be as inclusive as possible. Our group rules prohibit discussion of religion, politics, or any other potentially divisive topics (barring the faith-based groups). It know there may be some hesitancy so I want to make it clear that it's a non-issue. Hasn't come up since my interview when I was asked if I want to do faith-based or secular groups. Hope Recovery is a nonprofit, tax-exempt 501(c)(3) organization (Tax ID number 46-2919697)

#male victims #violence against men #trauma #complex ptsd #cptsdhealing #cptsd #developmental trauma #domestic violent relationships #mental illness #trauma recovery #support group #self growth #domesticviolence #narcissistic recovery #mental heath support #men #mentalhealthawareness #abuse

[idunnowatimdoin]

so you wanna know where I’ve been, huh?? welllll ~

you see, life decided to fuck me over this year. it was honestly hit after hit after hit. first my uncle got hospitalized and died from what we’re p sure was negligence. then my grandma had a stroke and ended up in the hospital. she got out for about a month or two, but I came home for my uncle’s funeral in april and my grandma was dead by the first week of may. so that happened. had to finish out the rest of my clinical year in missiissippi away from all my friends and family while I grieved. at first it wasn’t horrible bc my family had me spend days writing these arbitration papers bc we’re pretty sure my grandma died due to gross negligence on the hospital’s part bc she went in with complaints of new onset weakness and they immediately wrote it off, focusing on her shortness of breath and only treating her for COPD. which is why she ended up having a stroke that went untreated for long enough that by the time they found out she had a stroke she was out of the time window for any helpful treatment interventions. so... I was writing up arbitration papers so we could sue the hospital so maybe they’d think twice about treating others the way they treated my grandma... but then they told me to scrap it. which took away my distraction/feeling of purpose/feeling like even though I was separated from them, I was helping. fast forward a month or so and my dog of 11 years died in my arms. she’d had cancer and she was suffering so much and was in kidney failure and couldn’t even get up to eat she was in so much pain. but my mom couldn’t make the decision to put her down. so I had to. which of course prompted my dad to start teasing and taunting me, calling me heartless and asking if I would put him aand my mom down as easily as I put Delilah down and then telling me I put her down before she was ready. so... that was fun. did I mention all of this was happening while I had to go through applications for fourth year audition rotations? and while writing my personal statement and working on my application for residencies.

then I move back to cali and move into my cousin’s house. seemed awesome at first. but then things started getting complicated. my cousin rents from our grandpa and she and her boyfriend were in the process of buying this house. but then my shitty ass, money-grubbing aunt got involved and jacked the price up so that the house cost as much as condos in LA (we don’t live in as desirable location as LA, ok??). this house has ISSUES. they have flying and subterranean termites. the power shorts out if we plug into the wrong outlets. there’s no working heater. they had to replace the floors bc the carpet was molded and causing my nephew’s asthma to get so bad he could barely breathe. the front bathroom can’t be used bc there’s so much water damage to the shower wall that if you put any pressure on it, even just with your hand, it caves in entirely. everything is outdated af. the sprinikler system is broken and leaks constantly, driving our water bill up. there’s black widows all over the backyard. and many more things I can’t think of rn. the point is this house isn’t worth LA condo prices. it’s worth foreclosure/flipper house prices.  but they weren’t giving us that price. it got so bad that even the loan company my cousin was applying to told her she should seriously consider buying the house bc it didn’t seem like a good choice. the people whose job is to take your money told her to rethink her choice. well... now that my cousin told my grandpa she’s not buying the house he’s evicting us. so I had to scramnble and try to find an apartment that takes my dog and fits my budget. all while finalizing my residency applications and working an audition rotation with my number 1 program, which means I have to go above and beyond every day at work and by the time I get home I’m exhausted. 

thankfully, things are finally settling down a touch. residency apps are submitted and I’m just waiting to hear back about whether they wanna interview me or not. my parents agreed to clean out their storage room and let me live there rent free until I figure out where I’m going for residency in july. I’ve settled well into my audition rotation and don’t come home and immediately pass out from exhaustion. small things, but itt’s the best it’s been most of this year. soooo~ I’m back until life hits me with another curveball. and I’m taking advantage of the time I have here by writing my ass off. so. hopefully you all enjoy the stuff I start putting out soon. bc it took a lot for me to get back into this.  

tldr; 2021 fucked me up the ass with a 10 inch textured dildo and no lube. but I’m back for now. so enjoy my writing, dammit

#[ ;; THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD ;; ] #hahaha #fuck 2021

[cowboycostume]

continuation of the fic from @heller-jensen‘s prompt post. I actually am working this into a maybe 5k friends-to-lovers fic, so keep an eye on my AO3

part one 

It’s late when they leave the club; Cas drunk and exhausted, Bal sloppily making out with tonight’s hook up in the back seat of their shared uber. Cas has never been more grateful to see the facade of his apartment building. He slips the driver a twenty, silently apologizing for his friend’s behavior, before climbing out of the front seat and fishing his keys from his pocket.

Inside, he leans against the door, kicking his shoes vaguely the direction of his shoe rack. His head swims from the liquor, and he berates himself for letting Balthazar goad him into going out tonight. It always ends like this; Cas drunk and alone in his apartment, Bal going home with someone new. It’s not that he’s jealous, exactly, it’s more that he’s just so tired of feeling lonely; nothing twists that knife quite like seeing his ex pick up strangers with an ease Castiel’s never been able to manage. Even with Bal for a wingman, he’d struck out. (At least that’s what Cas told himself happened. That it definitely had nothing to do with any current hang-ups, as Bal had suggested.) 

His whole body feels gritty with dried sweat and spilled drinks, and as much as he wants to collapse into bed and sleep until his head stops spinning, he knows waking up like this will only serve to make the hangover worse. He forces himself to sober up enough to wash the night off, stepping into the spray while it’s still cold enough to shock his system. 

The cold water does its job too well — half an hour after his shower, he is still wide awake (and still very much inebriated). Two has come and gone, and Cas has been staring at the same tweet for the last ten minutes. It’s only four words long, but it elicits an almost embarrassing number of emotions.

Dean Winchester  @piechester67 · 15min

now accepting boyfriend applications

Before he can overthink it, he’s closing out Twitter and opening his messages. He types out the first message and sends it in a matter of seconds. It’s a simple reference to the tweet, easily written off as a joke. Cas’s heart has taken up what feels like permanent residence in his throat as he types out a much less innocuous follow up: “reasons I would be a good boyfriend:” Once it’s written out, the fear of fucking their friendship up has Cas hovering indecisively over the send button. In the end he isn’t sure what makes him hit that little arrow, but once he does more and more comes spilling out of him. 

He’s sent seven texts before he has a chance to think it through; the eighth, once typed out, is both too big to take back and too true to deny. Cas shifts on to his side, eyes heavy, and stares at the simple “I love you” shining at him from the message bar. Maybe it’s the alcohol blurring his judgement, maybe it’s the roll he’d got himself on, but the last thing he does before succumbing to sleep is hit send.

Morning comes too soon. Six hours is hardly enough sleep to recover from the night out, but his resolve to stay in bed is broken by the fuzzy, stale feeling of a hangover in his mouth. He’s halfway through brushing his teeth when he remembers. He almost chokes on toothpaste in his panic to retrieve his phone. Those last three words seem so much more damning now than they did last night. Flustered, he reacts with an urge to ignore the stream of messages he had sent. 

He takes a few seconds to steel himself. What’s done is done. He tries his best to put the (potentially catastrophic) admission out of his mind; he makes coffee and eats something, hoping to settle the churning feeling in his gut; he does the few dishes left in the sink; he stares at his phone on the counter. Every minute it stays silent feels longer than the last.

It’s less than an hour before he is sending an apology. It’s less than five minutes before his traitorous finger hits the ‘call’ button. It rings through to voicemail. Cas hangs up and sends yet another text, this time imploring Dean to call him back.

He can’t wait anymore, he needs to do something. He pulls up the message thread and screenshots it. He sends the picture to Charlie.

#m.fic #prompt fill kinda #spn fic #still tryna find a good title for this #but i am and have been working on it #loving the love fo the last one tho

[thetowerandthegrave]

     I am sure that we are not the only system to have experienced this, but I do not think I have ever seen it discussed openly -- having pre-existing alters take on the personas of outside people, real or fictional, because those people exhibit traits that would better help that alter execute their role within the system.

     As we have been working through therapy and getting to know each other better, I am finding that a lot of folks are much older than I originally thought. I thought that Alex had split off around 2018 in order to replace Mortimer as the main work part after the existential cluster-fuck that was leaving the funeral industry. Apparently, Alex has actually been around since we were in middle school, and had been the one going to classes from then up until we graduated with our degrees. Which explains why even do we did exceptionally well in school, I don’t remember most of it. I couldn’t tell you what it was like to be in class. The only things I really remember from undergrad are some of the fun things I did with my friends.

     But, back to the non-introject alters becoming introjects (I actually have an entire soap box to go off about the term introject and its applications, but that’s a talk for another day): We have an introject of T.arkin from St.ar W.ar.s. He is very much his own person, but is also very much “canon” Ta.rkin -- same appearance, same attitude, same name (though he did give himself his own unique middle name). If we were just to go off these topical traits, I had originally assumed that he split off around 2017 -- that was the starting peak of our S.tar W.ar.s obsession, and we were also under a lot of academic and career stress, on top of having to quickly figure out how to completely uproot our life in order to get out of/avoid a lot of shitty life situations. He is our argumentative and physical protector, and we were going through a lot of situations in which we really had to stand up for ourselves and push back at the bullshit that kept being thrown at us. 

     However, there is evidence of an alter of a very similar disposition going back to early elementary school, and possibly even pre-school. He has not revealed much, but he says that he has been watching over us for a very long time. I, the current host, often get misgendered by him because he had become so used to watching over the previous host(s). T.ark.in, the character, very much encapsulates the ideals qualities needed for that specific job in the system. Until official confirmation it’s still just my theory, but that is my best educated guess.

     We have a similar situation with an introject of Toby from the musical Sw.ee.ney To.dd. I think that he did come with the name Toby originally, since that was the name of a family pet who we were very bonded with an was a big comfort to us after undergoing one of our biggest Trauma with a capital T traumas. I know that when we first got into the musical, upon seeing his character there was something in us that was had this realization that this was the first time in partaking in a fictional story that there was a character that really was like us. (And don’t even get my started on the stupidly huge crush we had on the kid who played him in the Tim Burton version, which I am now realizing that that crush was just the single worst case of gender envy on the books.) He is a trauma holder, and though I don’t know all that he holds, I know that he’s been through things that far pre-date us getting into that musical.

     It’s been honestly a little scary sometimes to realize just how long a lot of these folks have been around. Excluding the not yet confirmed possible fragment that may have broken off from Alex within the past year whose literal only job is to do autopsies when that’s our work assignment, I’m the “youngest”, having split off around 2018-2019 due to a huge bunch of factors. Actually, if you want to get really nit-picky, I, in my current state, have only been around since August of this year since I underwent fusion with another part who was a true carbon-copy, cut n’ paste introject of someone we knew from where we grew up. (And boy howdy was that an incredibly illuminating, beautiful, sad, and joyful experience.)

     Sometimes a “new” alter isn’t exactly new -- they are just someone who has been around for awhile and has put on a new hat that better suits the current circumstances.

#dissociative identity disorder #actually dissociative #introject #ptsd #did #the tower.txt #ches

[anotheronechicagobog]

Bulletproofness and Playing God Jay Halstead x reader

written by: @anotheronechicagobog​

requested by @confusedpimp​, I hope you like it!

warnings: swearing, addiction, Hannah Asher is NOT porprayed well in this you have been warned, malpractice, emergency c-section complications, involves Chicago Med episode ‘Do No Harm’, police being idiots and assholes, warrants served incorrectly, drugs, drug dealers, bad neighbourhood created by systematic oppression and gentrification, Will is a prick with issues, and canon compliant violence

A/N: I am very sympathetic and supportive of people who have addictions because not only are there a tone of genetic factors that weigh in on it, but environmental factors that most people have very little to no control over. That being said, I am strongly against people with addictions working in healthcare, first responding, and/or law enforcement who spend most of their time with vulnerable people who don’t have much of a choice about whether to trust them or not. If someone works in an area where they have someone’s life in their hands they cannot be addicted to a substance that will control their ability to make judgements, affect how/their ability to work, and function as a whole.

In the past eight months, a warrant has been served to your apartment twenty-one times. You haven’t done anything wrong, the name on the warrants was always for your upstairs neighbour, did this make being woken up and the fucking crack of dawn and being interrogated (sometimes arrested) any easier? Not even a fucking bit. So you weren’t surprised when at 3:28 am, your door was busted open (again), heard shouts of “Chicago PD!” (again), and heard your house being “cleared” (again). You groaned and sat up, holding your hands up. Your bedroom door was thrown open with a bang. “I am unarmed, Marcus Evans lives in the apartment upstairs, and I have no association to him.” In the blandest voice possible, you recited the statement the legal aid at your university wrote you. “Uh... Sorry? Hey, Sarg, I think I’ve figured out why there were so many unsuccessful warrants on this place.” The blonde man was still pointing a gun at your head, but more members of his unit came to surround him.   

“Can I put my hands down now? I have documents that prove I am innocent, that the warrant was served to the wrong address, again, and that the only connection I have to Marcus Evans is that he is my annoying upstairs neighbour.”

They all sheepishly looked at you. The Latina woman spoke up, “the apartment is clear of anything even remotely illegal. Well, aside from the power lines attached to her box outside that show that her neighbours have been stealing power and internet from her.”

‘Sarg’, an older man with silver hair with a surprised look on his face nodded. “Alright, put ‘em down and get us the papers.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Despite all the evidence that the warrant wasn’t meant for you, they still insisted on taking you down to the station. You refused since they couldn’t arrest you and had no grounds to hold you on, and Sergeant Voight did not like that. “I’m too tired to give a shit about what you want. I have three jobs, student loans, and university to deal with. The only things of value in my apartment are my crappy laptop and internet access. The only time I am ever here is to sleep. You already disturbed what little sleep I was able to get, and I have work in... Forty-five minutes. Just great. Please leave, and can one of you, for the love of all things holy put a note in the system that this is NOT Marcus Evans’ apartment?!” Everyone flinched at your outburst, all looking both sympathetic and annoyed except for Detective Halstead, he just looked very sad for you. “Of course,” he said as he handed you a business card, “if you could call me when you have time, we have some pretty important questions.” Sargent Voight shot him a look, one that clearly said ‘what the fuck are you doing? That’s not your call.’ “Okay. Now seriously, please leave.” Irritated and muttering under their breath, barring Halstead who gave you a smirk and a wink, they all left stepping over the splinters of the door you replaced three weeks before.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day after entering your sparsely decorated apartment, dropping dead on your bed/couch, you heard the distinctive sounds of a door being broken down, followed by the police announcing themselves, and an apartment being searched... Above yours. They finally got the right apartment! Despite the ache in your muscles and bones, you jumped up and cheered. Complete and utter elation surrounded you and your soul. A few minutes into your dancing and celebrating there was a knock on the door. Smiling brighter than you had in years you answered the door. “Good morning detective!”

“Well, good morning to you too, Ms. Y/L/N. You’re in a much better mood.”

“To be fair, you guys busted into my apartment at three in the morning, again, and I just heard everything that happened upstairs, you guys finally got the right apartment!”

“Hey, we never served more than one warrant here.”

“Your unit only served one, but your brothers in blue served twenty-one. Destroying property, unlawful arrest, causing severe anxiety, and just general harassment for eight months. The only reason I didn’t move was because I couldn’t afford to. I’m just happy it’s over now, I’ll never have a  Marcus Evans warrant served at my apartment again!” Halstead looked happy when you opened the door and your conversation began, but when you finally took a breath you noticed how guilty he looked. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, looking like he was in physical pain, before he nodded at you and walked away, leaving you feeling incredibly confused.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two days later you returned from two ten-hour shifts to Jay Halstead in front of your door. “Detective?”

“Please, call me Jay.”

“Alright, Jay, what are you doing here? Is everything okay with Marcus’s arrest?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine with that. I came here because of this.” He handed you a large manilla envelope. “What’s this?”

“Compensation. For everything that happened over the last eight months. And apartment listings in better neighbourhoods. Seriously, you need to get out of here, it’s way too dangerous.”

“Thanks for the advice, and the compensation, I’ll think about it. But it just might not be doable for me.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You couldn’t afford to move, something that irked Jay to no end. So he came around often. Dropping by with coffee and Irish breakfasts. Sharing his Netflix password and watching B99 together. Driving you home from work or university when it was late. The days grew shorter, and your hours of work grew longer. Jay worried. About you. About the number of hours you worked. About how much university work you had. About your health, how much (or little, really) you slept and ate, how you didn’t see the doctor as often you should (ironic considering you were in med school), and about how you never took time to relax, always jumping from one task to the next. 

You slumped against the passenger seat of Jay’s truck, exhausted after working for thirty hours straight, ten at each of your jobs. “Okay, seriously, you can’t keep living like this. I have a spare room, I can get you a civilian job at my precinct. You are wearing yourself to the bone. Please, Y/N.”

“I get my residency assignment tomorrow. I quit today.”

“You did?”

“Yes.”

“All of them?”

“All three.”

“And you’ll move out of your apartment?”

“Nope.” Popping the ‘p’. Jay sighed and shook his head, before looking at your half-asleep form. “I’ll take you to the shithole you call a home.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

TWO YEARS LATER

Jumping up and down you waited for Jay to open the door. The envelopes sitting on his coffee table glaring at you. You flopped onto his couch (that didn’t also double as a bed) and huffed impatiently. Fidgeting.

The door opened and you jumped up, startling your best friend. His cop/ranger instincts taking over. He stiffly dropped his jacket and yanked out his gun before aiming it for your head. Panic coursed through you, tightening your chest. Reflexively you put up your hands, not able to control the words that bubbled out of your throat. “I’m bulletproof... But please don’t shoot me.” Jay lowered his gun, laughing. “‘Bulletproof’? Really?”

“Hey, I panicked, shut up.”

“What’re you doing here, anyway? I thought you were taking another shift?”

“I was, but then Sarah’s plans fell through so she decided to take her shift back, plus I got my fellowship applications back!”

“Where did you get accepted?!”

“I don’t know I was waiting for you to get back to open them!”

“Well I’m here now, so open them!” 

“Okay, okay, here we go; Honolulu general, accepted, Seattle Grace, no, but they had a bomb blow up there recently so I’m not heartbroken, Chicago med, yes, and Miami Dade Memorial, yes. Okay 3/4, that’s great! What do you think?”

“Well I’m biased, so Chicago Med, but it would be fun to visit you in Hawaii.” 

“Hawaii is so expensive though, I’d probably have to have a part-time job to make rent.”

“In a decent apartment this time.”

“Two part-time jobs, then. So Hawaii is out, now Miami... It is hot there, beaches, the ocean, the food, but Miami Dade Memorial isn’t very prominent in the research department and the crime rate is awful in the part I’d need to live and work in. I mean I know isn’t a whole lot better but... It would feel a bit like moving from bad to worse, especially on my budget.”

“So that leaves Chicago...”

“It does, but I think I need to find a new place that’s closer to Med and filled with less dug dealers.”

“Please tell me this was a subtle way of asking if you can move in with me.”

“It wasn’t, but now that you bring it up, would that be okay?”

“YES! Oh thank fuck, you’re finally moving out of that rat’s nest! C’mon, let’s go get your stuff now!”

“But Jay I just paid this month’s rent-“

“Let’s gooooooooooo!”

——————————————————————————————————-

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Because your apartment was in such a “great location” (in the same building as three drug dealers) your landlord was willing to give half of your rent back. It had only taken you twenty-something minutes to pack your things and leave. Now you were starting your surgical OB/GYN fellowship, excited to not be working multiple jobs at once for the first time since you were twelve. While Jay’s brother, Will, worked at Med as well he worked in the ED while you worked in the gynecology unit and you were thankful you only had to work together for consults or in an all hands on deck situation because he could be a fucking prick. When you first met him years ago he spent two hours quizzing your medical knowledge, and he got annoyed when you got everything right and he couldn’t correct you. So when you got a consult from him your first week there, you were apprehensive. “Hey Y/N, treatment room four.”

“Thanks, Maggie.” You pushed back the curtain and were met with the sight of a pregnant woman clearly in immense pain and a frustrating ginger. “Dr. Asher is her OB but we can’t find her anywhere. She was on-call but I, and a couple of nurses, and her secretary have been blowing up her phone and we’ve got nothing back. This is her patient Sienna. She’s in a lot of pain but is refusing painkillers, you’ve been working with her a lot lately-“ You snorted. His facial expression hardened. “Just come out and say it Y/L/N.”

“First of all it’s doctor Y/L/N, second of all, I haven’t been ‘working’ with her, I’ve been taking care of ‘her’ patients because she’s almost never at work. She just cancels the appointments short notice and since these women are kind of on a timeline their appointments get reassigned to other doctors. She’s listed as their doctor on all the forms but she’s never even met half of them. Sienna is the only patient that Dr. Asher has seen more than once.” 

“Don’t talk about her like that, you don’t know-“

“That she’s an addict? The entire OB floor knows we just don’t have enough proof to do anything about it. And don’t get me wrong, I know that there’s a lot of genetic components to addiction and I would be sympathetic if she wasn’t responsible for multiple lives at a time on a daily basis.” You turned on your heel and entered the room, done with Will Halstead and his bullshit. “Hi Sienna, my name is Dr. Y/N Y/L/N, and I’ll be filling in for Dr. Asher, I understand that you don’t want any drugs and while that’s fine, if your condition gets bad enough we may have to intervene but we’ll do everything we can for you and your baby, okay?”

“Where’s Dr. Asher? I need her here, she understands!”

“Okay, we’re still trying to find her okay?”

—————————————————————————————————

“So I heard that you and my brother locked horns today.”

“Your brother is a prick.”

“I know that he is, I’m just wondering what happened this time.”

“He’s doing this weird ethical-puppy love-guilt trippy-Romeo and Juliet level of doomed-unnecessary drama-thing going on and it’s completely affecting how he treats his patients. We already had one loose cannon we couldn’t disarm, now we have another. It’s come to the point that I’m genuinely worried about the patients that come into Med, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, I wish there was something I could do.”

“Just try not to antagonize Will, okay? He’s more on edge and that makes him erratic, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t make it worse.”

“Okay. I’ll leave him alone.”

“Thank you. I’m starving, what should we do for dinner?”

“Vietnamese is on the way.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are today?”

“Yes, but I would love to hear it again.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Asher’s medical negligence had finally caught up with her, and for once Will wasn’t even remotely involved. He and Asher were having one of their silent spats again when Asher dropped the ball, or baby rather, during an emergency c-section of a patient she misdiagnosed and mistreated because she was in need of a fix. The only reason the mother didn’t hemorrhage and baby didn’t crack his skull was because of your observations and quick reflexes. The baby was healthy and mom was recovering and you were fuming. After scrubbing out you approached the, understandably distressed, father and told him that on your best medical opinion he and his wife should file a malpractice suit for missing an easy and obvious diagnosis, screwing up a routine surgery, and almost killing his son seconds after he was born.

You met with him, his lawyer and Asher two days later in a conference room with Goodwin and Peter the Stressed Out Lawyer. You accused her of having an addiction. The father requested a drug test. Goodwin glared, you glared back. If she didn’t want it handled like this then she should have dealt with it months ago when you brought it up your second week at Med. She tried to approach you in the hall, condescension on the tip of her tongue when you levelled her with a glare so fierce it rivalled that of Godzilla. “You do not get to scold me like I am a child. I told you when I first got here that she has a problem. That she is a danger to everyone who comes into her care. That she is a danger to other doctors. That she is a liability. Do not bitch to me when I told a husband and father who almost his wife and son to her recklessness to sue. To get angry and fight back. Do not take that petty, catty, condescending tone with me because I went around you. You have absolutely no ground to stand on. Because. You. Were. Wrong.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were surprised you had a job to come back to the next day. So was a very pissed off and ‘heartbroken’ Will Halstead. He kept running around to your colleagues, badmouthing you, trying to get them to join in and turn on you, but that didn’t happen. They not only agreed with you but rallied around you. Doctors are not gods. They do not get to ignore a patient’s wishes or act like they don’t have restrictions and limitations. It came to the point that Will told Jay he didn’t approve of you and that he had to dump you... Despite the fact that you weren’t dating.

Jay had rolled his eyes and pushed Will out of the apartment before giving you a hug and made you pancakes for dinner. “I’m sorry that I messed up your relationship with Will.”

“Don’t be. We’re brothers, we fight from time to time, and sometimes those fights are bigger than others and that’s okay. Will, well Halsteads in general, are pretty good at torpedoing any and all romantic relationships.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“My parents only got married cause my mom got knocked up and fought non-stop, Will was and still is in love with Natalie but he was too controlling, secretive, and refused to tell her about Burke, and me... Lindsay and I were on a break before we left because my Vegas wife refused to divorce me and I didn’t tell her I had even been to Vegas.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little true, but it’s not because you’re bad people or  Even just saying ‘yes there’s something going on but I don’t feel ready to talk about it with you’ would go a long way. Cause all you Halstead guys say is that you’re fine but you never are and if you lie to yourself you lie to your partner.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And tell Will when his head is surgically removed from Asher’s ass. You’ve seen that he follows her around like a puppy, right?”

“Yup, everyone on the OB floor has been talking about it nonstop since he started his whatever it was with Asher.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Because of the suit, the hospital conducted an internal investigation in relation to Dr. Asher that pretty much everyone could confirm. Erratic behaviour and attendance, leaving other doctors to tend to her patients while keeping her name on the case files, and horrifying evidence of being high while working. Granted that had only happened twice and she literally just sat in her office staring at paperwork the whole time. Still, she was fired, the suit was settled, and Asher lost her license. You had destroyed her career and while there was a part of you that felt guilty, you knew that in the end she did the right thing. She refused help and kept carrying on in a way that would have been detrimental to more patients if other doctors hadn’t stepped in. Will still wasn’t talking to you and had started avoiding Jay recently because you two started dating.

Barring the tension from all the Will stuff, your relationship was doing well. You had great dates (both out and at the apartment), were radiating happiness together, and Jay was taking your words about communication to heart. Not once has the phrase ‘I’m fine’ dripped off of his lips. If he didn’t want to tell you something or was more comfortable talking about it with his therapist or Upton before you he’d let you know. Most times he would just talk about what was bothering him, even if it was only bullet points sometimes you both felt relieved that functional relationships were actually possible. 

You were on a date with Jay at your favourite Jamaican restaurant when you ran into Hannah Asher. She did not look pleased to see you and quite honestly you could have lived the rest of your life happily if you never had to see her again. After a few seconds of glaring at you and your boyfriend, an annoying ginger put his arm around her. “Hi Will. How are you?”

“My girlfriend and I are doing well Jacob.”

“Really Will? You’re using my whole name because my-”

“Okay, you know what? Let’s go our separate ways. It looked like you guys were just leaving, and we’re probably confusing our poor hostess. So let’s both just walk away.”

“You ruined my life.”

“Asher-”

“You took everything from me!”

“Do you have any idea how many patients you almost killed in your time at Med? Because I do, and it’s a triple-digit number. You shouldn’t have been practicing in your condition and you know it. So you need to drop the victim act and walk away.” You saw her face contort into complete and utter rage, then everything is hazy. There were lights, bright red ones, and screaming, you were pretty sure Jay was there, and there was... Copper? Why did your mouth feel like it was full of liquid pennies? There was gurgling, was there a baby? Were they okay? You tried to speak, get up, look around, but you were too tired. You were begging yourself to move, to do something, but it felt like your bones turned into melting iron.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t remember waking up, or falling asleep for that matter, you were just looking at the glass door and suddenly it came into focus. You didn’t even know how you got to the ED, what happened at the restaurant. Dr. Choi entered your room apprehensively. “Y/L/N? How are you feeling?”

“Like I was mauled by a tiger.”

“That’s... Actually pretty close to what happened, honey.”

“Jay?”

“Hey, I’m right here. So, what’s the prognosis Choi?”

“Multiple contusions on the right side of the abdomen, lower back and around your neck, multiple lacerations all over your abdomen, forearms, and two on your head. Your liver was also perforated, we couldn’t stop the bleeding so we had to remove half of it, which you know means it’ll take a couple of months to grow back and you won’t be able to drink for around a year. We’re going to need to monitor you and run some tests, so you’re gonna be here for a few days.”

“Well I should hope so. What? Why are you two looking at me like I have eight heads? I could’ve died.”

“... You actually want to stay in the hospital and be cared for by your colleagues?”

“I trust you, besides I’ll only make things worse if I check myself out AMA, doesn’t matter how good of a doctor I am. It’ll be hard and I’m not going to enjoy it, but I have to stay here and get treated regardless so I might as well be as positive as I can about it.”

“You are officially my favourite patient.”

“And I love you even more.”

“Thanks guys, I appreciate it.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What happened Jay? I don’t remember anything after telling her to walk away.”

“She went berserk. Attacked you. I tried to pull her off but Will lost his mind, telling me not to hurt her. I managed to toss him after a couple of seconds but I was too late. She’d already slashed you up and stabbed you twice. I grabbed her but she managed to get a bunch of kicks in while I was hauling her away from you all while screaming that she was going to kill you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t protect you. She’s sitting in a cell at the 21st right now with Platt breathing down her neck. We also did a drug test on her, she was high as all hell.”

“Please don’t feel bad Jay, I know that you reacted as fast and did as much as you could. And I know that Will did what he could to stop you. How is Will by the way?”

“He’s in the cell next to hers. He assaulted a police officer and was an accomplice in assault. Voight’s been asking if I want to drop the charges against him because he’s my brother. And I just don’t know, I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I don’t want to charge him. And I don’t want you to press charges either, but I won’t stop you if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want him to go to jail, I want him to go to therapy. He needs it.”

“I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but he really does. And I think you need to be the one to bring it up with him. We can do some research, too, and find psychiatrists that have their own practices so that it’s not connected to the hospital at all.”

“That sounds like a great idea, but I think you mean I do the research cause you are supposed to be resting and not doing any physically or mentally strenuous tasks.”

“Fine, fine. Just give Will a hug from me when you see him.”

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ONE YEAR LATER

The day of the trial had finally arrived and you were pissed off about it. The date of the trial was the same day as your due date. The defence had done everything they could to delay the trial, and when they finally settled on the worst possible day three weeks ago, you’d tried to have it delayed again because you didn’t want to give birth in a courtroom. The defence had convinced the judge to deny it, so here you were, sitting in a sweltering room that smelled like old wood and seventies carpet for five hours beside your husband behind the district attorney doing your best not to glare at the judge. “It’s going to be okay, honey, she won’t get away with anything, it’s cut and dry. The only real thing to do is to determine her sentence.” Jay kissed your forehead and placed his hand on top of yours on your protruding stomach. You winced. “She just kicked again, Jay.”

“That’s seven minutes apart.”

“I’m in labour, we need to go.” Jay nodded to your lawyer who motioned to the judge for permission to speak. “Your honour, my client is in labour, may we adjourn so that she and her husband can go to the hospital?”

“Objection your honour!”

“Ms. Asher, do not interrupt the prosecution. I’ve heard and seen more than enough evidence. Ms. Asher, you are hereby sentenced to twenty-five years in prison for aggravated assault and attempted murder. The court now is adjourned. Oh, and Dr. Y/L/N and detective Halstead? Congratulations.”

#One Chicago #Chicago PD #chicago med #jay halstead #jay halstead x reader #will halstead #Hannah Asher #sharon goodwin

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Zanzibar Marketplace Job

leverage 2.12

Hardison: Two weeks in Tokyo. We'd have a great time.

Parker: What are we stealing?

Hardison: We don't steal anything. We'd be tourists.

Parker: Not following you

hardison: BE DOMESTIC WITH ME PLS

- - - - -

Waitress (puts down beer): There you go.

Eliot: Ahh. Thank you, sweetheart.

Waitress: Anytime.

(Nate kicks Eliot under the table)

Eliot: What? Really? What, I can't have a friend?

Nate: Join a softball team

me whenever eliot flirts with someone other than parker or hardison

- - - - -

Tara: You know he's drinking again.

Eliot: I'm not an idiot, Tara.

Tara: I was told this was a problem.

Eliot: The drinking is not a problem. It's a symptom

this!!!

also eliot’s hair braids are adorable

- - - - -

(Sterling walks into the bar behind Eliot, approaches table)

Nate: Eliot, I'm gonna ask you not to do anything violent.

Eliot: What? What are you talking about? I only use violence As a - as a - as an appropriate response.

Sterling: Hello, Nate.

(Eliot’s face turns murderous and he turns to punch Sterling in the face, then proceeds to throw him down on a table and continue punching him. The bartender moves to call the police, but Hardison stops him by passing him money, Parker watches enthusiastically)

Tara: And this is?

Nate: James sterling. We used to work together. Insurance.

Tara: He seems to rub Eliot the wrong way.

Nate: You think?

(Nate walks over to where Eliot is still beating Sterling, and now has him by the throat)

parker and hardison literally have heart eyes for eliot in this scene ??? ot3 ???

hardison bribing the bartender not to call the police? parker watching like she’s being turned on or something? eliot’s face right before he hears sterling’s voice? sterling hitting eliot with a stick? CHAOTIC

- - - - -

Tara: Okay. Is there any chance she took the egg?

Parker: No. Maggie's the most honest person we know. But besides that, she's okay.

parker adores maggie

- - - - -

Sterling: You live and work here?

Nate: Yeah.

Sterling: I like the old place better.

Hardison: Do not mention the old offices.

people that have no rights: sterling

- - - - -

they had a legit P I L E of passports ready ??? SO MANY

- - - - -

Tara: Okay, you cannot out-bureaucrat a former Soviet Union bureaucrat. These guys gamed the most corrupt system on earth for 50 years. Paperwork's not gonna cut it. They're used to trading favors, not forms.

- - - - -

Nate: I just need some proof.

Parker: It was an inside job. Average keypad hack time is 1 minute, 9.3 seconds. Inner door access card takes at least 30 seconds for anybody but Hardison, and then the vault was an old Mark II Remington. In and out average - 7 minutes, 40 seconds. But these thieves, they did it in 5 minutes, 12 seconds. Maggie had the best access, so the real thieves only had to get her codes and badge. Yeah, only way they could pull it off that fast.

Sterling: How long has she been sitting..

sterling being utterly BAFFLED by parker is my aesthetic

+ she’s wearing a leather jacket AND a cute red flannel,,, the bi energy is strong

- - - - -

Parker: It's your first time being a fugitive, so I made you a bag..

Maggie: Thank you, Parker. It's not that I don't appreciate getting out of jail, I just can't live my life a fugitive.

Nate: But you're not a fugitive.

Parker: Passports, money, lock picks.

Nate: You were released, not broken out.

Parker: Toothpaste, explosives. Do not mix these up.

Maggie: Thank you, Parker.

+

Parker: This looks like gum. Not gum. Diamond-edged file blade.

Nate: Yeah, yeah. That's great.

Parker: She needs this stuff.

maggie is such a Mom™ rolling with parker’s antics and we love her for that

also PARKER IS TRYING SO HARD TO BE NICE BECAUSE SHE LIKES AND CARES ABOUT MAGGIE AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

Parker: So, I took your advice and did the whole touristy thing. Went to the museum, and it was amazing.

Hardison: You see?

Parker: Yeah. They have a guardian T-840 security system. I've only seen those things in books. And the motion detectors - ooh, gorgeous! Six digital receptors. Six!

Hardison: What about the paintings?

Parker: What about the paintings?

she reads about security systems in books? omg I love it

- - - - -

Parker: We meet on internet.

hi I’m sorry but the way she said it was hilarious

- - - - -

Hardison: Alexander's got a travel visa to the United Arab Emirates. He's also setting up accounts in the Caymans, Macau, and Switzerland.

Nate: Yes, countries with no extradition treaty, tax havens

- - - - -

Tara: I got this one.

Eliot: Really? What are you gonna say to him? 'cause we got no cover story. We got no background on this cat.

Tara: Okay. That's it, then. I won't say anything. Really. Not one word. Just when he turns around and looks at you, do that thing with your eyes that scares people.

Eliot: I don't... know what you're talking about.

Tara: Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

Eliot: Pffff.

(Tara sits down next to Chernov and grabs his lunch, taking a bite)

Chernov: What the... Who the hell are you? Do I know you? Did Samuels send you?

(Tara moves a little, still chewing Chernov’s lunch)

Chernov: I paid them off. I took care of it.

(Tara looks over her shoulder at Eliot, who is scowling)

Chernov: Oh, god. Please. Is this about the item?

(Tara throws up her hands)

Chernov: I didn't know. No one told me.

(Tara checks her watch and stands up)

Chernov: Wait! Here. This is all I have. (hands her envelope) I'll back out. I'm sorry.

(Tara gives Chernov back his lunch)

Chernov: Sorry! (walks away)

Tara (rejoins Eliot and gives him the envelope): What we imagine is always so much better than the reality.

Eliot: Like love?

this whole scene was iconic

- - - - -

Sophie: Well, the prospective buyers are invited by their black-market contacts. They show up, they verify the merchandise, and they make a sealed bid. Hey, um, shine an ultraviolet light on that card.

(Hardison pulls a light from a bag and shines in on the card)

Eliot: Seriously? You have one just laying around?

he had one on his keychain in The Ice Man Job and boy do I love continuity

- - - - -

Tara: Parker, double reverse on three.

(Tara places envelope on tray, Parker takes envelope and passes it to Eliot)

we LIVE for smooth hand-offs

+ eliot did the flip thing with the envelope

- - - - -

Sterling: You're welcome. I don't know how you people ever manage – (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Oh, I'm sorry, man. That just happens sometimes with the ear buds - You know, feedback.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: As I was saying, the method - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Sorry.

[Embassy Hallway]

Sterling: This isn't gonna stop until I - (flinches at feedback on com)

[Interior Van]

Hardison: Stop talking. Shh. Please

PARKER’S SMILE AT HARDISON FUCKING WITH STERLING? AMAZING

- - - - -

parker is wearing a flannel now :)

+ the leather jacket she wears over it a little later

- - - - -

(Sterling pulls phone from his pocket)

Eliot: What are you doing?

Sterling (dialing): Calling the police. They don't get to dictate to -

Eliot (grabs phone): We're not calling the cops. Two hostages means they can kill one to make a point. (throws phone down on table) All right, listen. There's three types of calls we can get next. One - amateur. Cash and a dump site. Number two - professional. That's wire transfers and multiple-location drop-offs. (glances at Sterling) And three - targeted.

Hardison: Targeted toward us?

Eliot: No. Towards a specific ransom demand - Not cash. (looks at Faberge Egg case)

Sterling: You're not risking a $9 million artifact...

Eliot: It might be the only chance.

Sterling: ...on a hunch! Let me run this. We track the calls, find out whoever it is, have the police surround -

Eliot (walks around table to stand with team): Sterling, I'm the retrieval specialist. That's my job.

Sterling: Your friends' lives hang in the balance, and you're gonna take your cues off a punch-up artist instead of me? (closes case and takes phone from table) Call me when you need me. 'cause you will need me. (leaves with case)

eliot being the focused, determined retrieval specialist that’s hell bent on getting everyone back safe? we love to see it

+ parker, hardison, and tara having 100% faith in him standing beside him

- - - - -

Eliot: He's angry. We took his payday. (phone rings) All right, all right. (pulls phone toward him and hits button for intercom) Go.

Distorted Voice: If you follow our instructions, your friends will be returned unharmed.

Eliot: We agree. Tell us what you want.

Distorted Voice: You owe me

(Hardison uses computer to remove distortion)

Alex: $9 million.

Hardison: It's Alex. It's Alexander.

[Embassy Hallway]

Alex: I still have a buyer for the egg. Return it, and I return your friends.

[I.Y.S. Insurance Offices]

Eliot: I want proof of life now.

Alex: Agreed

it’s cool to see how Retrieval Specialist™ eliot spencer actually works

- - - - -

Nate: Yeah. Yeah, I was lying to you for your own good.

Maggie: Quick little hint for your next marriage - that excuse does not fly with any woman on earth.

Nate: Oh, go- next marriage? That's really nice to say.

Maggie (hitting Nate with spray can): You know what? I've heard that one before.

Nate: Heard what before? What are you talking about?

Sam: Are you actually having this argument now?!

Nate: She started it.

Maggie: He started it

chaotic ex spouses

- - - - -

Eliot: Listen, listen - we know who's behind this, all right? We know what they want. We have the upper hand here. We do.

COMPETENCY!!! HE KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HES TALKING ABOUT AND WE LOVE TO SEE IT

- - - - -

they made a taser out of two ends of a live wire and a flamethrower with a match and an aerosol I love it

- - - - -

Sam: Give me that. The thing everyone screws up when they fake their own death - no body. Well, that can work, but it leaves no suspect for the police to chase.

Alex: You won't get away with this.

Sam: No, you will. Of course, I've left an evidence trail a mile wide, Visa applications, accounts in offshore banks.

Alex: You were my friend!

Sam: I was your employee. And thanks to your screw-ups, I was an employee with no pension, no savings, no nothing. That was really, really unacceptable to me.

Nate: Well, it's a good plan. What? I- I - listen, I spent 20 years chasing, you know, guys that faked their own death. I mean, this one - it's pretty well thought-out.

Sam: Exactly. Alexander Lundy, desperate for cash, turns to violence. And his poor assistant, Sam, loyal to the last, caught in the cross fire at a ransom drop gone bad.

that’s actually really smart

- - - - -

eliot’s sly grin right before the flashback revealing how they got away with it

- - - - -

(Alex vomiting into a barrel)

Parker (handing him a cloth): It's okay. First bomb's always the hardest (cringes)

- - - - -

Eliot: Was it because they wanted us to hear Sam's performance? It's 101, man. After that, (looks hardison up and down) you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.

Maggie: You know, people underestimate you, Eliot.

Nate: That's kind of the point

HE CONSIDERES HARDISON TO BE AKIN TO A ROCKET SCIENTIST

- - - - -

Reporter (on television): And that's not all. Today, based on his work recovering the priceless artifact, James Sterling was invited to join Interpol. He's a real-life Sherlock Holmes.

Parker: Interpol? Seriously?

Hardison: Sterling's career gets another boost off of our hard work.

Tara: We didn't even get paid.

Hardison: Nope.

Tara: I hate this guy.

Eliot (taps his beer bottle on Tara's): Now you're part of the team. (walks away)

THAT is what it takes lmfao

also eliot was wearing a flannel in that scene

#leverage 2.12 #leverage 2x12 #the zanzibar marketplace job #leverage #leverage season 2 #season 2 #notable moments #mine