#AND i have a fucking appointment with the therapy service tomorrow just for them to tell me it'll be a year until i can see anyone probably

[lovelaceisntdead]

jinxed myself earlier by saying at least I'm not ill this year and now I feel fucking awful

[bomberqueen17]

realizations

this is just me having medical realizations and again wishing I had someone to help me coordinate my medical care. I hear rumors some people use primary care physicians for this but mine doesn't do that kind of thing, so I'm writing things out here instead.

physical therapy:

shit got so busy last week that i fell off the wagon for the first time. I've only ever missed a single day of the thrice-weekly physical therapy exercises since I was first prescribed them in January; on two occasions I think I've wound up doing them only twice in a week. But last Tuesday, I woke up and did a few of them and then ran out of time, and then worked three twelve-hour days in a row, and a fourth day I worked six hours and then drove four more. And then I was visiting friends and had horrible menstrual cramps. So I just didn't climb back onto the wagon.

I haven't had bad sciatic nerve pain at any point during any of that. Sure, toward the end of the long days on my feet I was taking any opportunity to sit, and I was doing some of the pt stretches, and it's not that the sciatic nerve didn't hurt at all. But it didn't keep me up. And I now am back to a normal level of physical activity, and I slept in a bad position last night and am experiencing no consequences today.

I'll go back to them-- need to figure out today if I have an appointment tomorrow or Thursday first-- and I'm sure not saying the exercises caused the sciatic nerve pain-- but it sure is a fucking data point isn't it.

ADHD meds:

I have managed to take two doses of Ritalin about four times in the last two weeks. It used to be that I would at least really notice the first dose, but I've been faithful enough with it that at this point my body doesn't seem to react to it at all. I can't tell whether I've taken it, most days, and that means I don't notice it wearing off and I don't think to take the second one. I know it shouldn't work like that but it definitely doesn't. There have been days I've forgotten both doses, though, and there's no real difference in those days. And that time I tried to sew those bike shorts was one of my most obvious two-dose days.

I don't need help focusing my attention, which seems to be what the stimulants do. My manifestation of ADHD is not distraction. I have always been able to focus on a task. What I cannot do is initiate a task, change a task, or perform a sequence of tasks that depend on one another, beyond a very simple list structure. Last night I had to entirely admit defeat because coordinating a sequence of tasks was beyond me. It was an embarrassingly simple sequence of tasks: I had to drop my car off for service, and get dinner, and the hardest part was that I had to coordinate a person accompanying me in a second vehicle so I could get a ride home. And there was a time constraint, and I could not do any of it because I could not initiate the task of looking up which takeout restaurants were nearby. "Solve one thing at a time," Dude said, and proceeded to help me, but I said "i can't solve one thing at a time, because if I solve one thing I will not then be able to initiate the solving of the second thing, and then the second problem will derail the rest of my night."

On my own I would not have been able to feed myself dinner, I think. I would have had to abandon that very simple task as unsolvable. I simply could not hold two things in my mind long enough to consider it. It was absolutely stupid.

Relatedly I was trying to figure out how to calculate the sale price of an item, and it was 60% off the listed price, and I know to get 60% of something you multiply it by .6, so I was trying to do that and then subtract the number I got from the original number, and I tried it literally nine times without being able to remember the .6 result long enough to then type it back into the calculator. Yes, I know you can just times it by .4 instead now, and I also know that at any moment I could have gotten up and gotten a piece of paper, or gotten a second calculator, or taken a screenshot, but all of those solutions were so cumbersome and involved me abandoning my initial task that I could not figure out how to use them. I finally asked someone else and they told me the answer and also how to use the times .4 method, which I had considered but wasn't confident enough in.

All of this is related, I think, to me having basically no working memory. I cannot hold a thing in my mind while I contemplate a second thing. And I don't know if any ADHD medication would ever help with that. That is the root of almost all of my problems: I know, from long experience, that I have to continually maintain the single thing I am focused on in my mind, and if I try to think of any second thing, I either can't, or if I succeed, will lose the first thing irrevocably. So i can't use most of the problem-solving skills I know fine well how to use. I can't get fucking anything done. (I give amazing advice, always have, because I've spent a ton of time figuring out how to solve problems and then discovering that I can't actually use any of those methods successfully.) And, I can pretty conclusively state after these several months of experimentation: ADHD stimulant meds have zero effect on this problem.

I don't know if any meds have any effect on this problem. It may well be that there is nothing to be done for my condition, medication-wise. I guess I'm glad I was able to try medication, since it is such a miracle for so many people. I guess I'm just sad it wasn't a miracle for me. But it hasn't addressed any of my problems so I don't see a point in continuing it.

Possibly what I need is some other kind of therapy, some kind of like behavioral therapy or life coaching or something, I don't know. It would help me enormously, I think, to have a lifestyle with a predictable routine and very little dislocation, but that's not possible for me with my current job and life situation. And I don't know how to discover what kind of therapies even exist, and I know the psych provider I've been seeing will not be able to recommend anything in the three minutes we get per meeting. So I might just be out of options, now. But I guess I'm glad at least I tried.

I really wish I had some kind of doctor overseeing all of my medical care I could consult about this, but I don't, I only have the individual specialists. So I'm on my own and I'm just trying to work around my severe memory problems by writing things out, I guess.

Currently I am just going to have to accept that there's literally no way I'm going to be able to figure out how to get to Rochester and back this week, so I'm going to give up on retrieving my critical personal electronics and just wait until I head back to the farm to get them on my way through. Which sucks and I am sad about but I just don't know how to coordinate the logistics and incorporate that into my life, so I'm going to stop worrying about it. This is how I get through things: I just let almost everything go, and live with whatever I can pick up in the aftermath. C'est la vie!

Oh huh you can't add more tags onto posts once you've stopped adding them huh. Fascinating choice, Tumblr.

[timetofigureitout]

I never really made a graduation post or got pictures taken or anything and I’m coming to realize it’s because I wasn’t proud of what I did. My professional paper at the end was bullshit but I had done so much work on it at that point that nobody was going to tell me to turn around. I used to think I could change the world, change politics, change our systems…but now I can barely keep myself alive and each day is a waste. It’s been a year since I graduated and I have literally nothing to show for it. All I’ve done is get more and more depressed. And the thing is, I really don’t think any amount of mental health help or therapy is going to fix this. What’s going to fix it is just all of my life situations changing completely which isn’t going to happen overnight, let alone reasonably within the next few years. I can’t hold down a job if I can even get one, I’ve stopped applying because I feel so defeated, and honestly I’m too tired to work more than 4 days a week so I just want to cry and sleep all the time. I can’t remember anything about my daily life and I can’t remember what people tell me to do and it just makes them upset and ashamed with me. That’s all I really am - a shame and an embarrassment. Because even the people who I used to look down on in my family, the ones just doing food service or delivery driving…at least they’re actually doing something. I can’t do anything. I’m too tired. I can’t focus. My memory is shot. Everything makes me want to cry or shut out the world. I’ve seen too much shit and I’m tired. I want to live in another city, I want to work 4 days a week, I want to take care of my cat, I want to take care of myself, that’s the thing. I can name and list and describe all these things I love and care about but when it comes down to actually doing them…I just freeze and I end up being too tired to do anything. And now I’m about to go into this therapy (?) appointment that I don’t even really know if it’s therapy or what we talked about last time or why I’m even supposed to be here. I just can’t remember anything. It feels like life is too slow and too traumatic for me to function properly. And when the chance comes for me to change things I’m too tired and it just makes me sad again. It’s an endless loop and I want to break out of it, but I am not at a point where I can. Not emotionally, but definitely not financially. And I’m sorry but fuck off with the “money cant buy happiness” bullshit. Of course it does. If I had money to move I would do it tomorrow. If I had the money to find a part time job only I would do it. But here we are again, back on the same shit. Can’t believe I’ll even have to start worrying about student loans soon…just wish I was doing something cool with my life instead of pretending I’m okay.

[dzpenumbra]

12/8/22

Today was tricky. I don't have good words for it honestly.

I woke up late, meaning I slept in and caught up on sleep. Not gonna beat myself up over that, not healthy. I called the vet, they wouldn't prescribe the sedative for my cat until after my first visit... and my first visit was supposed to be a blood draw... but they were actually super nice about it and worked with me. I should get a call from my old vet tomorrow about this, hopefully they can call in a prescription, otherwise I'll have to bring her in for a routine visit and then do the blood draw at a different date. Either way, I'll get it worked out.

It was just a bit emotionally difficult because Max actually puked this morning. Not sure why, I'm afraid it's because she was really hungry because I was late feeding her, because I slept in. But I'm not a doctor. I just told myself that reasoning to protect myself from thinking about her potentially being sick. She looks fine and healthy, just... cats don't normally vomit, not like dogs. So yeah. That was a difficult start to the day. I'll mention it on my appointment.

I got one of my dumb chores out of the way - putting a label in my mailbox so that they know who lives here now. It was really easy and I got it done quick, while strolling through the hallways in a wife-beater, barefoot, smelling like exotic essential oils, eating an apple, in fucking mid-December. Because I'm totally a normal human being like all of you, I promise.

After that, I learned how to tune my djembe. I have never taken the time to do that, and that poor thing is ancient and has like... been out in the rain and left in cars and shit, I'm shocked it's in as good condition as it is. I tightened the skin a bit and I think it sounds better, I just don't really feel comfortable playing it to test it, I'm still nervous about upsetting neighbors.

This was my lead-in to working on a musical arrangement. I was really inspired to do an acoustic cover of an After the Burial song. I love their rhythmic grooves and I think they'd translate over to acoustic hand-drums pretty well. At least I hope, only way to tell is to try. I put a few hours into arrangement, splitting the drums into djembe, taiko and etc cymbals (still haven't gotten that figured out fully). Then arranged it for 2 acoustic guitars in Open C# and a bass. So... if all goes according to plan... I should be able to cover this myself, even if I have to do electric drums.

I got a decent chunk done, then I had to do my therapy appointment. And it was regrettably the first bad therapy appointment I've had with this guy. Not to his fault, he's great and he meant well the entire time. He was overwhelmed, and was very upfront about it. We got onto a topic that was difficult for me (but that I had brought up several days ago after the giant fight with my parents): work and money. It triggered me. And I didn't express it out loud. I just rode the wave, I guess. Tried to navigate the emotional rapids. I started tearing up like halfway through, which is like... really embarrassing to be a grown man who starts crying because he's afraid he's just not competent or well-equipped enough for another form of work other than what he currently does. Like... I'm sorry, I have years of experience here. I have been rejected for every single application I've put in, and most of them because I'm too creative, too emotionally in-touch or too overqualified. Ambition Snowskates (a dream job), a writing job for a company where they review places that you can bring your pets, an animal shelter, the list goes on and on.

Really what gets me is like... I go to people in social services, right? The sector of social work that focuses on helping people get the resources they need to make their life functional. At least, that's my understanding. I've gone to therapists, I've gone to life coaches, I've gone to vocational rehabilitation. All with a very clear vision of what I want to do. It's a very broad range of things I want to do - music, art, poetry, video, animation, podcasts, crafts, whatever creatively inspires me - but it's very clear that I want to have an environment where I am free to strike when the inspiration iron is hot. All I need help with is figuring out how to translate this into money. Because I do not care. Money fucking bores me, it stresses me out, it gets in the way, it's a barrier, not a goal for me. Not only does money not motivate me, it actually immobilizes me. It makes me freak out, it emotionally overwhelms me, which obfuscates my creative focus and puts me in a state where I actually have to take time away from work to recover. It's really detrimental. And my life has really been fucked because of this cycle. I think about money, and I freak out and get emotionally overwhelmed, then I get in a stupid fight about how I'm not making enough money, then I have to take time to emotionally recover, then I open my eyes and a week and a half have gone by and I've done no work, I'm not streaming anymore, the dishes are stacked up chest-high in the kitchen and my beard is 2 feet long. That last part is an exaggeration but you get my point.

No one has been able to help with this. And it's so goddamn hard for me to articulate why this is even a problem, or how it is, or like... how profoundly crippling it's been. But like... the worst part... I feel like I'm just whining. And they wouldn't say it to my face, but I guarantee a lot of people I've talked to about this want to say "wow, don't be so dramatic, just go get a fucking job." Like I'm making excuses to get out of my civic duty of being a laborer for someone else's company. Well, here's my chance to vent, so buckle up. Why the fuck do I want to be a laborer for someone else's company if that same person would not, under any circumstances, support my business even as a customer? Why do I owe it to someone else who decided to open a restaurant or something, who happened to have a social support system that actually believed in them... just because I was not so lucky. Because I have been surrounded by self-absorbed narcissists who don't give half a shit about my health or success, only what they can get out of me. Who just want free shit, or to show off, or to share their music that they like, or to get affirmations or compliments or reassurance, or to just have someone actually listen to them.

See, once I start pulling this money/work thread, I just start unravelling, it's just stitched into every fucking problem in my life. So I started emotionally breaking down during the session. He tried to help, he really did. He referred me to local art resources, pulled up the website and everything and I thanked him like he was on the fucking RMS Carpathia. I like... I know it's not in his job description. So... I just encouraged him to like... help me develop strategies to combat social anxiety so I'd be a little more confident and okay meeting people in my field.

I feel like I have the portfolio of someone fresh out of college or something. I'm 36. I've been working in multimedia art for over 15 years. I feel myself rabbit-holing, I don't need to do this. This, right here, this thought chain... this is impostor syndrome. So, this is me course correcting. I have a lot of diverse artistic talents, and a lot of knowledge from many, many diverse disciplines. Geology, mythology, ancient history, spirituality, music theory, illustration, painting, sculpture, animation, the list goes on and on. Because I have so many diverse influences and such a broad net of creative knowledge, it can make each specific part look... underdeveloped. Like... if I spent the past 15 years just playing guitar. 4 hours a day, every day, for 15 years. I'd be a phenomenal guitarist. But I spread that time out into different things. So that's why I feel like I don't have as much to show for it as others. But I need to remind myself that my diversity and perspective is my strength. It's what makes me unique, as a multimedia artist. But all of this can be hard to like... let someone know within the first 5 minutes of meeting them, and a lot of people want the TL;DR - and there really isn't one.

I've talked about this before and I honestly don't want to relive it right now. The big take-away here is that... I was so caught up in the emotional fog of this... that I didn't let him know that I had uncovered this ghost from my past. That I had unearthed my long-buried diagnosis with ADHD. Which I'm sure anyone who even glances at my MASSIVE several page journal entries would probably go "yeah dude, no shit you have ADHD", but in my eyes, it's still hard to fully process. And again, I still feel like an impostor. I still feel like I'm "tricking myself" into thinking I have ADHD, and I'm sorta like... method acting it. So frustrating.

So... I'm going to send him a message after this to clarify and pass that insight along, which may help him come up with some tools catered to helping someone with unmanaged ADHD regulate. It's a lot of the same tools as anxiety, from my understanding. Meditation, grounding, emotional regulation, but maybe brainstorming more executive functioning stuff. I've been coming up with some crafty life hacks that have been working pretty well, but I'd love to hear a professional's take on it, assuming he's well versed at all. Oh, also, probably a good tell that I have ADHD is that we go overtime like every fucking session because I'm talking the entire goddamn time and feeding him with that energy, and I have like zero perception of time, and he lets me lead. Might have something to do with it! XD

So yeah, after the meeting... I was super upset. Like... really emotional. And I called my mom, and warned her upfront that I was very emotional and it would be helpful if she could help process. She was very kind and did, and we talked about work stuff and she was very encouraging. She was very excited to see the piece I made for my sister-in-law, and to see the write-up I did with it too, telling that individual piece's story, and the science behind how smoky quartz gets smoky colored. I brainstormed doing videos documenting the process of my pieces - in short and long form, short for YouTube, long for Patreon - from finding sticks and stones in the woods to the final product, with me narrating the process and talking about all of the historic, geological, whatever context that goes behind it. To really show how fucking important these pieces are to me, how special they are. And to show my fascination, my obsession, my passion about all of the amazing things behind this.

The story that resonated with my mom was one I told her about a TEDx talk I watched the other day about one of the oldest ceremonial gravesites found in the world, it was like 35,000 years old. And they found like 4,000 carved mammoth tusk beads in there with the dude. And someone actually went through the process of recreating these beads from authentic mammoth ivory just to see how long it would take a skilled individual to make them, and it took him an hour each using primitive tools. Think about that. These were people who like... we don't even know if they had spoken language yet. And they sunk at least 4,000 hours into carving beads that were going to be buried in the ground. Like... That's absolutely fascinating to me. And it speaks to me about the power of making something for the sake of it being... precious. Valued. Sacred. None of these words seem right, and Holy seems really pompous... Special? I don't know, I can't find the right word. There is something so viscerally powerful to me about picking up a stick, carving it with unique designs (even if they aren't referentially meaningful, that's a bonus, honestly), and then... it's no longer "stick". It's "your stick". It's something engrained into our DNA at a primal level. It's something we have been doing for millennia before we were even painting on the walls of caves! And I am blessed to have the freedom to explore this.

Now, take someone who has the passion you just heard, the commitment to learn thousands of different techniques, the resiliency to fuck up a piece that I've sunk hundreds of hours into and to get back up and try again... and put that guy in a car delivering DoorDash for half the day instead of working on this stuff. Tell me that makes sense. Give me a reason that justifies that. Like... I should be teaching college-level classes. And the reason I need to put my time into "a job" to "make money"? So that I can pay my bills. So that I don't die. Not to better my future. Not to utilize my trained skills. So that I don't get evicted, and so that I have food in my cupboard. Call me melodramatic, but this seems like an egregious failing of social structure.

So... I'm gonna keep working on my art. I'm gonna try to get over my shit and post pictures on Instagram. And, most importantly (I think), I'm going to shop around for a mentor. I need to find an artist like me, a multimedia artist. I'm cool being an assistant or whatever. I just need someone connected to show me the ropes and help me find my place. That's really it, I think. I'm nervous, but I think it's excited nerves. Who cares if I fuck up somehow and embarrass myself, at least I tried, and I can try again.

I need to give Max her meds and my hand is actually sore from furiously typing this with no breaks. I need to go.

[shyocean]

Tomorrow is giving you the wrong advice for your suicidal friend.

Now look, don't misunderstand me, Joon-Woong is kind, Gu Ryeon is hot and well-meaning, and I want her and Joong-Gil to have every happiness. But it's clear that Jumadeung doesn't have even the most cursory mental health training, so let's do better.

I mentioned being bothered by this before, and I think people were concerned that I was personally triggered by the show. I'm not. I'm concerned that people will use this show as any kind of model for dealing with the people in their lives. I have taken three friends directly to the mental health emergency room, and they are all still alive. I have also survived decades of my own crises, and lots of lower level concerns that didn't require hospitalization.

Do not say, go ahead, do it, no one can stop you. That's fucking terrible. Gu Ryeon gets away with it because she has magic powers to catch them after they jump.

Don't invalidate their feelings, lessen their suffering, guilt them out, threaten then with hell, center your own hurt, or monologue.

Listen. Remind people that you love them, that you want to help them, that they are important to you, and that losing them will hurt you. Find out how serious it is--do they have a plan? Ask them to promise that they won't self harm. Ask if you can be with them now. Make plans for specific things they will enjoy tomorrow and in the next few days.

If someone is actively in a bad place, things like food, water, meds, exercise, and physical grounding are good. Ibuprofen or NSAIDS are good. Carbs are good. Avoid things that lower inhibitions or increase impulsiveness.

Don't think you are going to say something that fixes it forever. You're not. Don't think they are getting it over it because of you. Or because of a good cry. Or because they laughed and you were relieved. Or because of one week in-patient, or a few therapy appointments. On the other hand, recovery is possible.

Help them access professional help. Is the suicide hotline in their phone? Do they have a clinician? Do they need help locating and making an appointment? Do they need a ride to a mental health hospital? Try to get them help within what they consent to.

Are you in the USA? Don't just call 911. Cops will show up. Cops shoot disabled people at a terrifying rate, especially on mental health calls. Unless you are certain that there are specialized, trained, noncops on the other end, don't call emergency services.

And these can connect your friend with people who actually know what they are doing. Suicide Hotlines in The United States

Crisis Text Line Text HOME to 741741

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline1-800-273-8255

Trans Lifeline1-877-565-8860 (for the transgender community

)TrevorLifeline1-866-488-7386 (for LGBTQ youth)

Veterans Crisis Line1-800-273-8255, Press 1

Okay, that out of the way, let's enjoy the show.

[the1918]

Bespoke, Chapter 5 is taking me a stupid amount of time to finish, and I feel so bad about it that I’m going post post a teaser here :) This is about a quarter of the chapter. Hope you like it!

Teaser for Bespoke, Chapter 5

[Story No. 2 in the Compatibile A/B/O Universe]

Pairing: Shrunkyclunks (Cap Steve Rogers / Modern Bucky Barnes), of the bearded Alpha Steve and Omega twink!Bucky subvariety

Rating: Story Rated E for Explicit, this excerpt Rated T for Teen

Tags: A/B/O, sugar daddy!Steve

***

December 15

Thursday - 2:15 P.M.

Elevators in medical buildings always smelled like rubbing alcohol and iodine, which was definitely not Bucky’s favorite smell. He breathed through his mouth instead of his nose as the elevator descended the fourteen floors from Dr. Pete’s office suite, down to the ground floor.

Bucky had left work early that day to catch his monthly blood work appointment. Unpleasantly sterile smells aside, he was breathing especially easy that afternoon, for two reasons. First, he had finally wrapped up the enormous project he’d been working on in his lab for almost eight months, and he’d passed it off to the StarkTech testing department. Getting that load off his plate was a massive relief, and it came at the perfect time; he could now embark on his Vermont vacation (tomorrow!) with Steve and leave behind the weight of work on his shoulders. Second, the results of Bucky’s blood work had shown his hormone levels right where Dr. Pete had expected them to be, based on the Heat time-table they were anticipating. No early Heat.

Bucky was more stress-free than he could remember feeling in six months.

As he stepped out of the elevator to the ground floor, Bucky immediately felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out to find a text message from Steve.

 [2:15 P.M.] Stevie: Done at Pete’s yet?

 Instead of walking out onto the cold, winter-time city streets, Bucky found a bench in the lobby and sat down to respond.

 [2:16 P.M.] Sent: Yep, just finished.

[2:16 P.M.] Stevie: Great. Any surprises?

 Bucky knew Steve was referring to his blood work. He typed out his response knowing Steve would be relieved by the results, just as Bucky was.

 [2:17 P.M.] Sent: Nope. Everything was where Dr. P thought it would be.

[2:18 P.M.] Sent: He says I look on track for April, maybe February if it comes early.

 Bucky watched his phone. There was no response from Steve for a while, and Bucky worried that he may have spooked him with details about their time-table. The two hadn’t talked about Bucky’s next Heat much at all since their first and only therapy visit with Dr. Welsh, but Bucky knew it was hanging over their heads. If his Heat came within the conservative margin of error that Dr. Pete had estimated, they could theoretically be dealing with it in less than 60 days. With it would come Steve’s rut, and if they didn’t make any significant, tangible progress on the knotting issue before then, they could very well be dealing with something they weren’t ready for emotionally. The pressure, however silent, was there.

His phone vibrated again just as he was pulling out his gloves to head out onto the street.

 [2:22 P.M.] Stevie: Good to hear. You got any other plans this afternoon?

 Bucky frowned. He wondered if Steve was going to ask him for a late lunch, and he wished he hadn't already eaten.

 [2:23 P.M.] Sent: No. Was gonna come home for the day, help you out with the lighting installation.

[2:23 P.M.] Sent: Why?

[2:24 P.M.] Stevie: Because you have plans now.

[2:24 P.M.] Stevie: [Blue Serenity Spa]  - You’ve Been Sent a Link on Google Maps!

His confused frown deepened as he clicked the link. It took him to the location of some sort of day spa in northwest Brooklyn, not far from their apartment. Before Bucky could text back a ‘???’, another text from Steve came through.

 [2:25 P.M.] Stevie: You have an open-ended appointment starting at 3:15 P.M. Any and all services you ask for. I got you scheduled for a massage already, but you can change that if you want.

[2:26 P.M.] Stevie: They have my card info. Don’t you dare to even think about looking at the price list.

[2:26 P.M.] Stevie: Better go catch the next train baby ;)

 Flabbergasted, thumbs paralyzed and seemingly unable to type out another text, Bucky decided to just hit the call button on Steve’s contact. He placed the phone to his ear and he suddenly felt antsy as he waited for Steve to pick up. There was no ‘hello’ when the ringing stopped, only Steve’s teasing voice.

“I thought I told you to head for the train?”

“Steve,” Bucky began, emphatically. “What is this? You booked me a spa appointment?”

Steve was silent on the other end of the line for a long moment, and Bucky wondered if it was because he was more nervous than his confident communication let on.

“Yeah, angel. I did. Look,” Steve sighed, “you really don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d like this, I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“Woah,” Bucky interjected. “Hang on, I never said I didn’t like it. I just… I guess I don’t know why you want — why you think I deserved—”

“—You don’t know why I think you deserved to be pampered, Buck?” Steve interrupted, incredulous. “Really? After you just worked your ass off at work for months to finish a project that no one else could have even dreamed of doing? The technology that Tony’s been yapping to me about since before I even knew you?”

“It’s still technically in R&D,” Bucky muttered, blushing. Steve had always been supportive and enthusiastic about Bucky’s engineering work, but it still never ceased to make him feel a little bashful when Steve got to actually raving about him and his skills.

“Yeah, and the finished product is going to be amazing, because Bucky fucking Barnes developed it.”

Bucky laughed and fiddled with a thread on his sweater.

“You… you’re sure? I’ve never really been to a spa like that before, and it looked really nice on Google…”

“And it will be nice for you, which is exactly what I want.”

“Stevie…” Bucky smiled to himself and shook his head, a little at a loss for words. “I really was going to come home and help, you know. It takes more than two hands to put up some of those bigger fixtures.”

“Doesn’t have to be your hands, though. That’s why Sam is here.” Sure enough, in the background of the phone call Bucky suddenly heard Sam’s voice, hollering something that sounded a lot like, ‘go get a fucking rub down, Barnes!’.

Steve chuckled, and then Bucky thought he could hear him walking away.

“Also…” Steve said, volume lower, “last night, you put a plug in your ass and begged me to nail you on Tony’s conference room table. I think treating my baby to a spa appointment is the least I can do when you’ve just fulfilled multiple fantasies I didn’t even know I had.”

Bucky barked out a laugh at that. He looked down at the clock on his new smart watch—another gift from Steve—and realized that he really did have to head for the train if he was actually going to do this. He stood up and grabbed his bag.

“Alright… alright,” he conceded. Steve’s smile was almost audible through the phone. “You’ve convinced me. Thank you, Stevie.”

“No thanks necessary, baby. I wish you would let me treat you like this all the time, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Finally walking out onto the cold and busy sidewalk, Bucky was just about to say his goodbye and hang up when Steve chimed in again.  

“By the way, I just put in a call to Tony. You’ll be hearing from him very soon.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. “Shit. Did he figure out what we did? I mean, cleanup was a bitch, and we definitely had to throw away that undershirt after using it as towel, but I think we did a pretty good job covering our tracks? God, I’m gonna be in such deep shit with him—”

“No, nothing like that,” Steve chuckled. “I mean, there’s no way he doesn’t know, but he also knows damn well that he better come to me first if he’s got a problem with it. Besides… He probably considers it payback.”

“Payback? For what?”

“A story for another time,” Steve promised. “Are you at the station yet?”

“I’m walking there right now.”

“Alright, I’ll let you go. Have a relaxing time, baby. You deserve it. And use your time there, okay? I don’t want to see you home before six. Hell— keep ‘em ‘till they close, if you can manage it.”

“Okay,” Bucky laughed. “Thank you, Steve. Seriously… and I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I really love you when you let me spoil you.” Bucky could practically hear Steve wink. “Bye, honey.”

 As Bucky walked the familiar route to the subway station, his phone dinged again, this time from Tony.

 [2:44 P.M.] Tiny Snark: I literally cannot look at your face after what you did to my conference room with your jackass boyfriend.

[2:44 P.M.] Tiny Snark: Do not come in tomorrow.

[2:45 P.M.] Tiny Snark: Consider it extra paid vacation, you disgusting pond scum.

[2:45 P.M.] Tiny Snark: Seriously. I better not see you or your vile beau again until January.

 Bucky probably looked like an idiot laughing so hard alone in public, but he didn’t care.

 [2:46 P.M.] Sent: Thanks Tony. Merry Christmas.

[2:47 P.M.] Tiny Snark: Yeah, and Happy fucking New Year.

 Bucky stuffed his phone in his pocket and abandoned himself to his thoughts as he jogged down the steps into the station, marveling at the wonder that was his boyfriend. Sometimes, he still could not believe that Steve was his. Steve—who had not only been a supportive partner to Bucky from the very beginning, but who was also a powerful and attentive lover, and—most importantly—the single greatest source of Bucky’s joy. By the time he reached the subway platform, waiting for the train, the sudden enormity of his gratitude for Steve had begun to bubble up and spread within the depths of Bucky’s chest, and he felt fit to combust with it. He had to remind himself just to breathe.

How had he gotten so lucky?

***

I hope you enjoyed this sneak peek! Their relationship is about to head in a very special direction, starting in this chapter.

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter ten)

pairings: reader/bang chan/han jisung, bang chan/han jisung side pairing: seo changbin/lee minho (referenced) rating: explicit | 18+ warnings (read please!): big fat warning for ambiguous HINTS of suicidal ideation, character deaths, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, profanity, use of firearms, graphic depictions of violence (fist fight, gunfight), blood, lots of smoking this chapter, mentions of sex, mentions of drug use, angst, drug dealer!au/organized crime!au. also, don’t drive this fast on the highway. word count: about 9,300 also on my ao3 here chapter/series navigation

chapter ten: je vois la fin avant le début | i see the end before it starts

recommended tracks: black swan by bts, can’t you see me? by tomorrow x together we go by stray kids, 777 by joji, the end/undead by hollywood undead and zero 9:36, simon says by nct 127, turn back time by wayv, begin by bts, tôt ou tard by eli rose, ew by joji, another day by stray kids. playlist can be found here.

note: I can’t believe this is almost done (thank god). I’m gonna warn you one more time: this story is dark as fuck and, if you thought chapter nine was bad, ten is also bad, and eleven is worse. eleven is going to have really triggering content (very explicitly labelled in several places) in it so please don’t hate me. I’m also turning off taglists for these last two chapters because I’m not comfortable tagging people due to the content.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

It would seem that, even though you’re back in the real world, returning to reality is proving to be difficult. Since returning to Christopher’s apartment, you’ve had a couple of panic attacks that you felt made both Christopher and Jisung questioned their relationship with you. Most of the time, things were fine, but there were moments and entire days where they treated you like you were a fragile piece of pottery with a big, neon warning label slapped on it that said “Danger! Will shatter if mishandled!” in fat, ugly, blocky, black characters.

After screaming and crying at your therapist for an hour and a half, you decided that you wanted to be alone and would take an alternative route home, sneaking out the back door so that Christopher didn’t see you as he waited out front in his car. You peeked through the glass front doors, seeing his car parked there, right on time. It was hard to make out details from so far away, but it looked like he was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling along.

Perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you turned away from the front door. The last time you were here, you recognized a service entrance towards the back of the building that appeared to be unlocked. Timidly, you make your way towards it and jiggle the handle. The door popped open with ease, and you walked through, quickly bolting through the alleyway and make your way towards the Mojeon bridge in Cheonggyecheon.

The walk to the bridge wasn’t very long, so you took the long way, weaving in and out of various backroads and alleyways. You loved taking in the environment of small shopping stalls and the scurrying of busy folk. What you had enjoyed the most was the ambient noises of the city life around you. It was night and day in comparison to the past five or so months had been like, trapped in the hospital, then trapped in Christopher’s apartment, leaving only to go to your thrice-weekly therapy appointments.

It made sense why you felt so lonely. Christopher had been keeping himself busy, constantly coming to bed not long before the sun came up. You knew he wasn’t purposefully avoiding you or Jisung, but something about it didn’t sit well with you, likely because it felt like he was just avoiding handling the loss of Changbin, now stuck with all of the stress of dealing with the family.

Jisung had to have been feeling it, too. Neither of them were going out on collection runs or handling deals; they had left it to Seungmin and Jeongin, as well as just sending jobs back to the hyung-nim. Jisung would occasionally spend a few late nights in the studio with Christopher, and he would always come back to bed more frustrated than he was before he went to go assist his superior.

There was one night a few weeks ago where you went to lay down early, settling into a book that you weren’t really committed to reading, but what the fuck else did you have to do, cramped up in this apartment? All three of you were tense from being cooped up inside, save for your therapy appointments. Jisung and Christopher were arguing about something, their voices travelling through the open studio door, bouncing around the open living room and kitchen, finally making its way in through the bedroom door.

It was impossible to completely make out what they were arguing about, but you really didn’t care at this point. Everything was all about hierarchy and other bureaucratic nonsense that had been completely upended with Changbin’s death. Jisung came angrily padding into the bedroom, a scowl on his face as he grumbled and flopped down on to the bed face-first. He let out a long, drawn out, frustrated groan into the blanket.

“You gonna be okay, Sungie?” You put your book on the nightstand, adjusting your position so that you’re able to run a calming hand through the younger man’s hair. “Sounded like you two were disagreeing about something again.”

Jisung huffs, then rolls over onto his back. “I'm never gonna be cut out to be a leader, am I?” He turns his head slightly to look up at you. “Chan-hyung has a hard enough time, and I never wanted to do this, but now I don’t have a choice.”

You roll your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and smile at him. “You would be a good leader if you wanted be, but I think this entire situation has been stressful on everyone.”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips as he turns to face you full-on. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“Go figure,” you sarcastically grumble as you roll your eyes.

“You’d be good at it,” Christopher’s voice travels through the doorway, startling both you and Jisung. He walks into the room and worms his way around both of you on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighs out, “I’ve been so stressed this week with all of the exchanges of power and sheer amount of work that needs to be done. Jisung,” he sits up on his heels, draping his face over his junior. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I was mad at you. There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour and I’m sorry.”

Jisung softly smiles, grabbing Christopher’s face with both of his hands. “You can be a real jerk sometimes,” he croons softly, “but I know you don’t mean it, that you’re not taking it out on me, y’know? It’s been a long, chaotic few months. We’ve all had our moments of panic, and you’re unfairly shouldered with handling the family almost completely by yourself. “

Christopher sighs, turning his head to look at you before he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into an embrace, both of you unceremoniously flopping onto your sides. “How about I ignore all of the stuff with the family tomorrow,” he says, pulling you up against him tightly with one arm, reaching out to Jisung with the other. “We can have a day with just the three of us. Get some bad takeout, watch horrible movies, just kind of have a lazy day around the house?”

“I like that idea,” Jisung excitedly nods, then turns to look at you. “What do you think, bunny?”

You were happy with the idea, but you couldn’t find yourself to share the same level of enthusiasm that Jisung did, like you would in the Before Time, as your therapist coined it. Before, you would have jumped at the thought, with both you and Jisung likely driving Christopher somewhat mad. But now, things were just muted and toned down. Mellowed down, like food you would eat when you had the stomach flu. Everything now just emotionally felt like lukewarm, runny juk, when you were used to explosions of flavour and texture on your emotional palette.

“You okay, baby?” Christopher sits up, turning to look down at you. The expressions on his face and Jisung’s face fall flat with concern and nervousness. “Are you going to that headspace again?”

Suddenly, you come back to your senses. You couldn’t have them worry about you, after all. There was already enough, much more important stuff for them to worry about. Honestly, you were just some woman who got strung along for a wild ride, and now had to deal with something a bit more difficult than a modelling shoot being cancelled. You could handle this.

“I’m fine,” you say with a fake smile plastered on your face. That was one good thing that came naturally to you because of modelling: faking emotions well enough, for a short period of time, faking it so well that anyone would believe you. “I just got distracted with thinking about what we could do.”

Jisung flushes, clearly misinterpreting your intention. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s been a while since the three of us…” his voice trails off as he alternates looking at you and Christopher, the blush on his face deepening as he awkwardly shifts around.

The blond-haired man rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, but,” he sighs, “that’s okay. It’ll happen naturally when we’re ready for it to happen, right?”

Luckily for you that night, the three of you were able to share an intimate moment together for the first time in literal months. It was fine and was fun, albeit muted like everything else lately, nowhere near how chaotic it was at the beginning of your relationship. At least you could get them off of your back for a little while longer.

As you reached the touristy area of Cheonggyecheon (when did you get here?), your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and pulled you from your hazy daydream. Nervously, you pull the phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick glance. Nearly all of the texts on your phone are from Christopher, unsurprisingly. There was nobody else, only Christopher and Jisung. Those were the only people you had now; everyone else either abandoned you, hated you, were outside of Korea, or had died.

16:47 | Running late? Figured you’d be done by now. 16:58 | Where are you? it's been a half hour 17:05 | seriously baby where are you?

His texts start to seem more panicked, his texting habits clearly more frantic.

17:12 | I’m gonna call you again if you dont respond in the next couple minutes 17:14 | ok I am legit worried 17:19 | what are you doing? 17:21 | baby where are you 17:24 | the office told me you already left 17:28 | this is not funny 17:28 | turn your gps back on 17:29 | jisung and i are out in dt seoul looking for you 17:31 | call me as soon as you see this 17:31 | i saw you read these 17:32 | baby please

It’s been over an hour since your appointment ended, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. You jam it back into your hoodie’s pocket and continue to ignore the barrage of calls from Christopher. He clearly got a hold of Jisung, because you’ve also started receiving texts and phone calls from him. A smirk creeps up on your face as you reach the Mojeon bridge. You quietly pace up to the middle of the bridge and poke your head over the railing.

It happens without even thinking. Almost mechanically, you take your phone out of your pocket and drop it down into the stream below you. It was almost ironic, honestly, that this was right above the spot where you got shot during Changbin’s funeral. It was a good area for your phone to die alongside where your sanity did.

You can’t help but cackle at yourself, earning some choice stares from passersby. There was no rhyme or reason to why you were doing this, but it felt good. The rushing water beneath the bridge was oddly calming as you stared at it over the railing. There was always something about the water that helped you feel grounded and calm. With all of this chaos around you, you needed something to stay constant.

As crazy as it sounded, the thought of jumping into the stream and letting it carry you out to the Han river did pass through your brain, but you managed to talk yourself out of it. “No,” you say aloud to yourself, “I couldn’t do that.”

The screeching of tires from the street adjacent to the walkway pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn your head towards the noise and see Christopher jump out of his car, haphazardly parked halfway on the sidewalk. He runs to you, yelling your name a couple of times, a horror-stricken expression on his face.

Your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you see him running at you. Part of your brain is telling you to run, but it would appear that your muscles have forgotten how to operate themselves.

Christopher slams into you, causing you to take a couple of steps back as you narrowly avoid being knocked down on to the concrete. His arms wrap around you so tightly, you’re afraid he’s going to pop your lungs. “Oh my god,” he cries out, “oh my god, where the hell have you been?” He puts a hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, lifting his head to kiss yours with several small pecks, and you can feel his body twitch as he starts to cry.

“A walk,” you manage to quietly squeak out, “I wanted to go for a walk.”

Christopher pulls back, releasing you from his embrace and taking a step backwards. “A walk?” His bloodshot, glossy eyes open wide, his face red as tears streak down his face, and he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have -“

“I’m smothered,” you flatly say, not really able to allow yourself to process any emotions. “You and Jisung both have both been treating me like I’m just going to fall apart if you even look at me.” Christopher stares at you in disbelief as the pedestrians around you pointedly avoid getting close.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A hushed whisper travels on the wind.

“Youth always out here with their petty drama,” another whisper follows.

You and Christopher stand there, staring at each other for a while. He eventually runs his hands through his hair, turning to look down the stream as he wipes the tears off of his face. “A walk,” he whispers, repeating back to himself. “Smothered.” He sighs heavily and turns back to you, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I thought you had been kidnapped, or that you ended up dead somewhere. Do you not understand that there are people out there that want us to suffer or, god forbid, kill us? You were shot right here the last time we were here, for fuck’s sake.” The tears continue to fall down his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. I don’t know how to help you with that, but,” he pauses, dropping his hands from his hips as he takes a step closer to you, “if I could take away all of your pain, I would do it in an instant, even if I had to take it all on myself.” He pulls you into his chest by your hips and wraps his arms around your waist, a bit more gently this time.

“I can’t do this without you. You, me, Jisung: we’ve all gone through so much shit in the past six months and we need each other.” His phone starts ringing, but both of you deliberately ignore it. “Once we’ve dealt with Minho and Hyunjin, Jisung and I are gonna leave the family. I’ve got some connections in Australia that would make it easy for us to move there. Nobody would know us. We can get out of all of this and leave this behind. How does that sound?”

A hint of a smile creeps up on the corner of your face. “It's a good idea, Christopher, but,” you say, staring at a confused police officer standing over Christopher’s car, “you’re about to get a ticket and you might wanna deal with that first.”

“What?” Christopher gasps, pulling away from your embrace as he grabs your wrist and turns to look at the scene unfolding. “Oh, goddammit,” he whines, pulling you along as he walks towards his car. “C’mon, let’s deal with this and go home.”

The encounter with the police officer is uneventful. Christopher uses his charming charisma to talk his way out of it, even name-dropping some high-level official that he knows. Once the two of you are back in the car, he makes his way to an open parking spot and parks, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a couple of times, and Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers of the car.

“Did you find her?” Jisung panics over the speaker, sounding as if he was nearly crying. “She isn’t answering my calls or my texts and I’m worried and I haven’t seen anything out here and I -“

“Sungie,” Christopher says, calmly, interrupting Jisung’s panicked word-vomiting, “I’ve got her, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say, not really sure if he can even hear you.

“Oh my god, bunny,” he exhales, “are you okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, but Christopher interjects. “She’ll be alright. Go back home, and we can talk about it when we get back. We’ve got some things we all need to discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says with a deep sigh. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too,” Christopher smiles as he says it. He presses a button on the steering wheel, hanging up the call, then turns to you. He embraces your hand with one hand and grabs your chin with the other. “Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, but if that changes,” he pulls you closer to him, and he rests his forehead against yours, “I need you to tell me. I can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise,” you speak with feigned confidence. Liar.

“Good,” he tilts your head up with his hand, then gently kisses you on the lips. A repetitive chime comes from the centre console of the car, startling both of you, and Christopher rolls his eyes, letting go of your jaw and reaching out to press another button on his steering wheel. “Jisung, I swear, we’re -“

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice comes through the car’s speakers, cutting Christopher off. “Minho-hyung knows where we are. I don’t know if he’s coming here, but he knows where we are and I know he’s found out about Hyunjin and he is beyond furious.”

“Shit.” Christopher’s expression instantaneously sours and his brows furrow. “Did you call the hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hyung. He’s the one that told me. Can’t spare any extra bodies to protect us, though.”

“Alright,” Christopher tightly grabs his face and runs his thumb against his jawline. “You’ve got enough gear there? I’ll pick up Jisung and bring Seungmin and Jeongin with. We’ll be there in a little over three hours.” He lets go of your hand to grasp the gear shift, shifting out of park and into drive, merging his way into traffic.

“I do.”

“Understood. Call me if he shows up before we get there. I know there’s another group connected to the family that’s somewhere in Daegu that can probably help you out, but it’ll be the nuclear option and I don’t want to do it unless we absolutely have to.” Christopher deeply sighs, looking into the rear view mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Hyung-nim’s already mad enough at us as is, but I’m not losing another brother today.”

“Will do,” Felix says with confidence, then cuts the line.

Christopher has a serious look on his face as he focuses on the traffic. He pushes yet another button on the steering wheel and tells the AI of his car to call Jisung. The trilling of the connecting line fills the car and everything feels tense.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers.

“We’ve got a problem with Felix and Hyunjin,” Christopher says calmly, but clearly concerned. “Minho knows they’re in Daegu and I’m assuming he’s on the way there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Christopher grits his teeth and exhales with force. “I’m on the way to pick you up. Call Seungmin or Jeongin. Have them both meet us at the apartment, alright?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t want her to come with, but,” you hear Jisung whispering to Christopher in the studio as Jeongin and Seungmin grab a few things from the studio and bring them out to the kitchen counter.

“She ran off, Jisung,” Christopher quietly bites back, “I can’t spare any of us to stay out of this just to watch her. You know that Minho is -“

Jeongin interrupts your eavesdropping as he sits down next to you on the couch. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Part of you is upset that you’re socially obligated to socialize now instead of eavesdropping, but at the same time, you didn’t want to know how much you were inconveniencing Jisung and Christopher.

“Yeah,” you honestly agree, turning your head to look out the window. “I’m not sure how Christopher managed to get a property out here, but it’s impressive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve chatted with each other.” Jeongin turns to look at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Hyung had mentioned you were having a hard time coming to terms with everything. I know we don’t really know each other well, but you can always reach out to either me or Seungmin if you need to talk to someone different for once.”

“It’s true,” Seungmin perks up from the kitchen, walking into the living room and popping a couple of grapes into his mouth before he sits on the chair opposite from you. “We’re more fun than them, anyways.”

You smile at their words, continuing to stare out at the skyline. How was it that they had gone through all of this and came out seemingly alright? Why was it just you that had difficulties coping with everything? Why did you have problems with every little thing lately, but everyone else was doing so much better than you?

Christopher and Jisung come out of the studio, both of them visibly frustrated, but Jisung at least tried to hide it as he walked into the living room. Christopher grumbles something under his breath, darting off through the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jisung awkwardly says as the door slams, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. “Are you all ready to go? We’re running a bit behind, so Chan-hyung is a little frustrated.” You knew that was a lie, that Jisung was just trying to keep the peace.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head towards Jisung. He smirks, almost like he wants to make some sort of comment, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.” He turns to look at both you and Jeongin, then looks back to Jisung. “Hyung gonna be alright, or…?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, you know how he gets. He’s just,” his eyes subconsciously dart to you, then to the floor as he stumbles over his words, “he’s got a lot to deal with right now. You know?”

Jeongin turns to look at you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “Are you ready?” You take a second to catch your breath, then timidly nod your head and he stands up. “Alright. I think we can get out of here.”

A loud clattering comes from Christopher’s room. The four of you exchange panicked glances with each other, and Jisung takes a step toward the bedroom, stopping as the door flies open. Christopher steps out of the room, now wearing a button up shirt and a thin tie, both in black. You notice he has black gloves on as he adjusts his necktie. There’s also an unlit cigarette in between his teeth, which you knew was a bad sign. He doesn’t bother looking at anyone before he grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen and making his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of black loafers. “Grab the shit and let’s go.”

Christopher chain-smokes for nearly the entire way to Daegu. He specifically asked you to sit in the passenger seat next to him, and you believe it’s so he could anxiously hold your hand. For the first forty or so minutes, until you get past Icheon-si, the air is so tense, nobody says anything. The bright LED of the dashboard reflects on Christopher’s face, illuminating the panic he’s trying to suppress as he takes another drag off of his third cigarette.

152km/h. That’s what you see when you turn to look at the big, bold digital letters reflected on the console. It felt much faster than you anticipated, and now you knew why, since the speed limit was 100. “You’re speeding,” you quietly say without thinking.

“Felix needs us,” Christopher says, his voice terse. “I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. Nobody’s on the road right now.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung perks up from the back seat, pulling himself up with your seat to be in between you and Christopher, “you should probably slow down a little, at least. 150 is really fast.”

“Not happening.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin chimes in, “I don’t mean to overstep, but Jisung is right. We’re going to be no help if we -“

“Would all of you shut up?” Christopher shouts, letting go of your hand, flicking the end of his cigarette out of his window as he grabs another one from the open pack and the lighter in the cupholder. The speedometer slowly ticks up to 160 km/h, and the numbers change from blueish-white to yellow. “Nobody else is dying today, not if I can help it. We’ve lost too many people already. One person was enough. Changbin was enough.”

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and his hands tremble as he flicks the black lighter a couple of times before the flame comes to life. The cigarette smoke always smelled terrible at first, until you got used to it about a minute in, but it wasn’t something you were overly fond of. Maybe once all of this was over, you could convince Christopher to stop smoking for good.

His left hand takes the cigarette from his mouth and he leans his elbow against the door, nervously rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. There’s another awkward silence as you feel Jisung let go of your seat, relaxing back into his spot. Jeongin whispers something that you can’t quite make out, and Christopher holds down a button on his steering wheel. “Call Lee Felix,” he says as the AI chirps at him.

“Calling, please wait.” the AI responds.

175 km/h. The numbers are now orange.

Christopher grips the steering wheel harder and harder the longer it takes for the call to go through. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes nervously darting between the centre console display and the road. “Fucking pick up, Felix.”

180 km/h.

“Yes, hyung?” Felix’s voice fills the car and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, you picked up,” Christopher loosens his grip on the steering wheel just a bit, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag from it. “Any word yet?”

“Not yet, hyung.”

“Good,” he exhales, and a cloud of smoke leaves his lips and is violently pulled out of the car through the window. “We’re on the way there, just drove past Icheon-si.”

“Icheon-si? Hyung, that’s…” Felix starts to say with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been going a bit over the speed limit,” Christopher scoffs, “as it was kindly brought to my attention. Should be in Daegu in about two hours at this pace. Call me immediately if anything changes, understood?”

“Yes, hyung, but -“

“If you’re about to scold me, I highly advise against it.”

190 km/h.

There’s a momentary pause over the line. “Understood, hyung. My apologies for stepping out of line.” Felix’s voice sounds slightly dejected, but it’s barely noticeable.

“See you soon.” Christopher curtly ends the phone call by pressing the button on the steering wheel again.

200 km/h.

The display is bright red and there is a soft ding that brings Christopher’s attention to the dashboard. “Fucking shit,” he says, and the car slows back down as he moves his foot off the gas pedal. “I’ve never gone that fast before. Holy shit.”

You look at him, reaching a hand over to his hair, brushing it back behind his ear. It had gotten shaggier and curlier over the past few months, his dark roots starting to show more and more obviously as time went on, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, part of you was curious to see what his natural hair colour looked like.

“It’s going to be alright,” you softly whisper, rubbing your thumb against Christopher’s temple. He grabs your hand with his right hand and smiles.

“Thanks, baby,” he doesn’t look at you, but you know he genuinely appreciates the little ways you remind him that you care. He pulls your hand down from his face and gives it a quick kiss before he returns it to your lap, only letting go so he can hold the steering wheel when he ashes his cigarette.

145 km/h. That was tolerable.

It takes maybe an hour and a half to reach the safehouse in Daegu. The building is old, like it had been abandoned a while ago. Siding had started to peel off of the side of the building, making it look dilapidated.

“I recognize that vehicle,” Seungmin says with concern as Christopher parks the car.

“I do, too,” Jisung chimes in, and reaches for his phone. “Nothing. Have you heard from Felix?”

Christopher pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen as he turns the car off. “Shit,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “Minho just got here. Let’s go.” The five of you get out of the car, Christopher and Jisung out in front of you, hands on their pistols as Seungmin and Jeongin are on either side of you.

“Stay behind us,” Jeongin whispers as you go up the stairs of the building. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Minho gets violent very quickly. He’s unpredictable; not to mention, he’s got to be exceptionally angry, given the severity of the situation. Both he and Hyunjin are good shots, so try to stay out of the way.”

You approach the top of the stairs, the sounds of shouting coming through the slightly ajar front door. Christopher throws his hand behind him, and everyone stops moving. He cranes his head around the doorframe, then walks in.

“Minho,” he says, as Jisung follows him inside. “You need to step back.” Seungmin and Jeongin follow their superiors inside, and you can’t help but poke your head into the doorway.

“Oh, of course,” Minho turns around at the sound of Christopher’s voice, laughing sarcastically. “Channie has to show up and save the day. What a hero, right? Or is it that maybe you wanted to have a little revenge on Hyunjin for taking away our Changbin?”

The way that Minho spoke made your stomach turn. Something about it made you feel like you were watching a dark psychological thriller film, like you needed to take a shower.

“We decide together,” Christopher calmly says. “Trust me, I understand how angry you are at him, I really do.” Minho takes a couple of steps towards Christopher and his eyes widen, almost like he’s ready to throw a punch at his superior. The three men around Christopher take their pistols and aim them directly at Minho as Christopher tucks his pistol back into its holster and lifts his hands up. “Changbin was my best friend. I’ve known him for almost half my life at this point. Trust me, I get it.”

Christopher turns his head, looking at Hyunjin, who wavers a bit where he stands. “I’d want to make him suffer, too,” he turns back to Minho, “but you know that Changbin wouldn’t want that.”

Minho scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, tilting it down. “Yeah, I know. Changbin was always the level-headed one out of all of us when it came to the family.” He lifts his head back up and a dark expression covers his face. “Changbin isn’t here anymore, though. So, if you and the boys don’t mind,” he turns his head back towards Hyunjin, “I’m gonna get revenge with my fists.” He lifts one of his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot me, though, I’m just gonna beat some sense into him, mano a mano.”

Christopher sighs, turning his head a bit back towards the men behind him, waving his hand dismissively to indicate that the guys should holster their pistols. “Let him,” he simply says, then moves to adjust his necktie. “If it gets bad, we’ll step in.” A part of you didn’t believe that Christopher was being sincere. With how much he cared about Changbin, it was likely he wanted to see Hyunjin suffer, but didn’t want to be the one to deal with it.

“No the fuck you won’t,” Minho snaps as he walks towards Hyunjin. “Pretty boy is mine to deal with.” He grabs the collar of the younger man and shoves him up against the wall. Felix takes a couple of steps around the men, walking over to Christopher and whispering something unintelligible from this far away.

“You know this is your fault,” Hyunjin says with a cocky look on his face. “If you never fell for Changbin after Shanghai, you know we’d be at the top now.”

Minho takes one of his fists and brings it to Hyunjin’s cheek, it slamming against his cheekbone with a thump. “If you hadn’t gotten so goddamn cocky,” he grips the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt again, shoving him into the wall a little firmer, “we wouldn’t have fucked up that deal. The Triads were fucking pissed at you and that’s on you. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if it wasn’t for your shitty fucking bravado.”

Hyunjin scoffs, drawing his head back a bit and colliding it with Minho’s with a heavy thud. Minho lets go of Hyunjin’s collar and grabs his head, moaning out in pain. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles with a slight slur.

“You were such a coward. Still are,” Hyunjin says, grabbing his forehead as he knees Minho in the stomach. “Temporarily left the fucking family because your precious Binnie was so worried about you. You really thought you were just gonna leave, go somewhere and start a happy family?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if. No one makes it out of here sane or alive.”

Minho growls as he reorients himself upright. He draws his arm back and literally leaps at Hyunjin, his fist colliding against his face again. This time, however, they land on the floor and throw fists back and forth until their faces and knuckles are bloodied. “If you never got involved with that fucking Triad girl,” Minho spits blood down onto Hyunjin’s face in anger, “we would never be here. Changbin would still be alive, the two of us would be out, then you could have had it all. But you went and flew too close to the goddamn sun, you fucking traitor.” Minho pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his pistol.

A chill runs through the air as Hyunjin calmly stands up, drawing his pistol in response. “It’s not my fault,” he says coolly, then turns to glare at you. “If it wasn’t for her,” he nods in your direction, then turns back to Minho, “Changbin wouldn’t have died. All I wanted to do was to give him a little warning shot so Minji and I could get out of there. But, you know your precious Changbin. Always had to be the brave, strong hero.” He squints his eyes and cockily smirks. “You loved that about him and you know that.”

Christopher tenses, sensing the shift in tone, and he grabs his pistol, motioning for you to get back, but it’s clearly too late to intervene.

It happens in an instant, time slowing down like the time that Christopher got shot in front of you. You see Minho’s arms raise up, aiming his pistol at Hyunjin, who responds in kind by aiming his pistol at Minho. However, he’s a bit too slow.

Minho fires his gun once, square into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The younger man shrieks and recoils, but manages to fire a shot into Minho’s stomach before he collides into the ground. The older man falls forward, crashing into the floor like a rag doll. Blood flies everywhere, painting the room and the men in splatters of deep crimson.

Hyunjin weakly coughs a couple of times. “Idiot,” he groggily whispers before his head rolls away from you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Minho coughs out, thick blood coming up from his throat. Felix immediately moves towards Minho, but the older man shakes his head once. “Let me fucking die.” The younger man stops in his tracks, nods, then moves to Hyunjin. He pores over the long-haired man, reaching up to his throat, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Minho lazily rolls onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “I know you never would have wanted me to get revenge,” he scoffs, more blood coming up and spilling down his cheek, “but you knew me better than that. You were always the, ah,” he coughs a couple of times, “always the wiser one out of the two of us. I might have been older, but you were smarter.” He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. “I love you so much. You made me so much better. Sorry, baby. Hope you’re there on the other side. Heh. Hope there’s an other…”

A creaky groan comes from Minho, and that’s the last noise he makes. The room falls silent and nobody moves for a while. A few tears fall down your face. Minho may have been flighty and impossible to understand sometimes, but he showed you nothing but compassion and kindness when he first met you.

“Hi, I’m Lee Minho,” the memory of his introduction replays in your head. “Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” You remember the way he softly smiled as he offered a slight bow to you. The way he looked at Changbin while he was half-drunk and high off of ecstasy, the way he whined at Changbin and pulled him into an embrace when he was half-asleep the next day. “Cuddle me and make it better.” There was no way he was truly a bad person, not by all of his interactions with you. He just loved Changbin and didn’t know how to appropriately act about it at times.

Your knees painfully collided into the ground and you just started sobbing. Sure, Minho had moments where he was absolutely insane, but the memories you had with him physically hurt as they passed through your head.

Daegu. You were in Daegu. You probably weren’t far away from where he and Changbin were for the Colourful Daegu Festival a long time ago. How happy they must have been when they were tripping on acid and listening to music. God, how much they must have loved each other. All of the happy memories they had, only to end in pain and misery and literal fucking death.

“Don’t let Channie intimidate you,” you remember him telling you the day that Christopher came home from the hospital, not long before Changbin brought him home. You were both on the couch, aimlessly talking about life as Jisung took a nap in the bedroom.

“What do you mean?” You had asked, turning to look at Minho.

“He’s a little intense sometimes,” he continued, folding his hands together and bringing them to the back of his head. “but he cares. Once he gets close to someone, he gets protective and it’s endearing. It’s usually just a bit intense at the beginning. I mean, you saw how he got when he found out you and Sungie had been together, but he cares. and just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”

You cocked your head to the side and mumbled in agreement.

“I remember when he found out that Changbin and I were dating. Wow,” Minho sighed as he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. “Man, was he pissed. He yelled and yelled and totally reamed me. ‘First, you get shot for him,’ he said to me, ‘now you’re in love with him? With my best friend?’” Minho smiled at the memory. “That’s how I knew he really cared about Binnie. He wasn’t mad at me, he was just protective of his best friend.”

“Huh,” you mumbled out, then leaned back up against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with Minho.

“He gave me his blessing eventually,” Minho continued, “but he told me that if I ever broke Binnie’s heart, he’d break my kneecaps in two and make sure nobody found me at the bottom of the ocean.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at Minho in terror.

Minho tilted his head towards you and smiled. “Real charmer, ain’t he? Very endearing type. He falls fast. Probably loves you already, just doesn’t know how to say it. Be ready for it to come completely out of the blue.”

You run your hands through your hair, rocking back and forth as you sob so hard that your throat started to ache. Someone takes a few steps towards you, then bends down, pulling you into their arms. “It’s okay,” Jisung’s voice whispers in your ear, “it’s gonna be okay, bunny, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was a fucking liar.

“I’ll take care of this,” Felix quietly says to Christopher as you and Jisung sit on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t worry about it, hyung.”

“You sure?” Christopher flatly questions, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can call the hyung-nim and -“

“Hyung,” Felix presses. “Do you know how many bodies I’ve dealt with over the years? All the time in nursing school? It’s fine. It’s just another part of the job. Besides, the hyung-nim is still pretty miffed at us. Can’t imagine how happy he’s gonna be to hear that two more of us are gone.”

Christopher sighs, and you hear them slap each other on the back. “Thanks, Felix.”

“Not by blood,” Felix starts.

“By the code.” Christopher finishes their pact with a deep sigh. “I want you to come back up to Seoul when you’re, ah,” his breath hitches as he speaks, “when you’re done. Alright?”

“Understood, hyung.” Felix says. “You’re buying the drinks, though.”

Christopher lets out a strained chuckle as he comes down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah.” He slowly approaches you, sitting down on the stairs behind you and Jisung. “I’m sorry you both had to see this. I’m sorry this went so badly so fast.”

“Chan,” Jisung turns his head over his shoulder, looking up to Christopher. “Are you going to be alright driving back to Seoul tonight? There’s the other safehouse, or I can drive down to Busan; it’s only an hour or so from here.”

“No,” Christopher says, probably shaking his head like he did when he pretended he wasn’t bothered by something. “I don’t mind. Just gotta stop somewhere, get an energy drink and another pack of cigarettes and we’ll be fine.”

You lift your head up from your hands, staring off into the horizon as the sun starts to come up. It felt like you had been here for an eternity. A burning, gnawing sensation burned in your stomach as you mentally pictured Minho laying on the floor, blood spilling down his face. A cold sweat broke out over your skin and your body started to tingle everywhere.

Oh, shit.

You were going to be sick. You bolt up to your feet, running down the last couple stairs and prop yourself up against the railing as you spill the contents of your stomach on the pavement, painting the ground in a disgusting shade of green.

“Ah, baby,” Christopher whines, coming up behind you as he rubs his hand on your back, pulling your hair back in a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was fucking lying again.

Footsteps trail up the staircase, disappearing into the building as you hear Jisung say something to Felix. Your stomach retches again and searing acid comes up and splatters onto the ground, causing you to cough in a panic as it felt like your throat was closing. The cycle repeats itself a couple of times, and by the time you’re almost sure you’re done being sick, Jisung is on the other side of you, rubbing your lower back and handing you a cold bottle of water.

“It’s okay,” he lies, because everyone’s lying. Nothing was going to be fine. Nothing would ever be fine ever again. “When you can, take a drink of this. We can take as much time as you need.”

You snatch the bottle out of his hand with disgust, standing upright and breaking the seal of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents. The pH of stomach acid fluctuated between 1.5 and 3.5, you randomly remember from your university days. Water was neutral at 7. The way the water burned going down your throat made it feel like it was at a pH of 1.

Everything felt like battery acid. The way the stomach acid burned as it came up, the way the water felt as it went down, the way that everyone was lying to you, the way that life seemed to absolutely abhor your guts - literally and metaphorically. Even though you knew that Christopher and Jisung were doing their best at just trying to console you, their hands felt like battery acid burning into your back.

You sighed as you tilted your head up to look at the sky. The sun was coming up, but there was still a deep shade of violet far off in the distance, white spots spattered against the technicolour backdrop. A single red spot in the distance caught your eye. Huh. Wasn’t that supposed to be Mars if you saw a red star?

A red star. A red spot.

Wait a second.

Oh shit.

“Don’t we need to go to a convenience store?” You say, turning to Christopher, trying to sound as calm as possible as you do some mental calculations.

“Yeah, how come?” He responds, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’ll grab the stuff for you. I wanna grab a snack and some things to drink for the ride home.” You lie, a fake smile plastered on your face. “It’ll let you and the guys talk about family stuff for a minute without me, you know? Not like I can run away if you’re right in front of the store, right?”

Christopher’s face falls into a frown and he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fine. Jisung’s going with you, though.”

Shit.

“Chan,” Jisung says with a scoff, “I’ll just wait outside. She’ll be fine.”

Christopher glares at Jisung, then turns away, rolling his hands in the air. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, walking towards the car, “if she runs, you’re going after her.”

Jeongin gets off from the trunk of the car, shoving Seungmin’s shoulder and startling the poor man. Must’ve been nodding off. “C’mon, Seungmin,” he quietly says, “looks like we’re getting ready to go.”

“Is something wrong?” Jisung says as he steps in front of you, calculatedly avoiding your artistic addiction to the pavement. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s just a lot to process,” it’s a half-truth, really, “figured you guys could use a minute to yourselves and I could use a minute to myself.

“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Jisung sounds concerned as he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not, I promise.” For once today, you were telling the entire truth.

Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to you as you wander around inside the convenience store. You grab a couple of snack foods off the shelf, not really thinking or caring about what you grabbed, too busy focusing on the real reason you were there. You walk around the store until you reach the more household-like items. Nervously, you roll your eyes up, checking to see if Jisung was still staring off into space.

Luckily, he still wasn’t paying attention. You eye a box, snatching it off of the shelf, then spin on your heel and grab a few drinks from the cooler behind you. As you walk up to the counter, you ask the clerk for whatever stupid brand of cigarettes that Christopher smoked, trying to hide the box from Jisung’s line of vision.

The clerk eyes you with judgement and shakes her head. She rings up all of the items, saving the box for last, but you grab it from her before she can place it in the bag and you shove it in the pocket of your hoodie. She cocks her head in confusion, then decides it must be too early to really question anything. “₩21,050.” You pull out a few bills from your pocket and slip them to her. She hands you some change then asks, “need the washroom?”

You turn to look at Jisung, who’s staring at you now. “Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “lemme just give this stuff to my boyfriend real quick.”

“First door in the back, to your left. Good luck.” The clerk scoffs, then goes back to her coffee.

You take a couple steps to the door, opening it and passing the bag off to Jisung. “Gonna use the washroom, be back in a second.” He opens his mouth to say something, but follows you into the store.

“I trust you,” he lies, otherwise he wouldn’t be following you, “but you know that Chan would kill me if I didn’t follow you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tuck one of your hands into your front pocket and open the door. “I get it, just give me a minute.” You slip through the door as Jisung stares at you in confusion.

06:32. You make a mental note of the digital display as you get back into the car and slide your seatbelt on.

“You look a little pale, baby,” Christopher says as he rubs his finger on your face. “I know today has been a lot, but are you alright? You sure you wanna go back to Seoul today?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swallowing down some of your panic. Subconsciously, your eyes dart to the clock again. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long year.”

Jisung sighs from the back seat. “You can say that again.”

Christopher leans in to kiss your cheek, then unwraps the plastic from the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He pulls one out of the package, lifting it to his lips as he rolls down the window. “Everyone ready?”

Nobody really says anything, so Christopher shrugs his shoulders, lighting his cigarette before shifting the car into drive and making his way through the streets of Daegu. He takes in a long drag from his cigarette and lets out a sigh.

06:34.

“What a fucking year,” he says, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if something else happens to us. I just wanna get out of the family, you know?”

Jeongin chimes in, “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it quits, too. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in something. Be a productive member of society instead of whatever this is.”

Seungmin laughs. “I feel you on that. Kkangpae isn’t really a marketable skill on a resume, is it? Imagine how that interview would go. Yeah, I have some good business skills, sir, but you don’t wanna know how I learned them. I can tell you how much a single dose of molly will go for on the street, though. Did I get the job? When do I start?”

The guys laugh, but you offer a polite smirk as your keep your eyes trained on the clock. 06:36. Why was it that when you wanted time to pass faster, it always seemed to go slower? Why was life so paradoxically cruel sometimes?

“Chan-hyung and I are pretty good at music,” Jisung perks up, “maybe we could become some idols or something? I’ve got the face for it.”

Christopher snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. I don’t want that kind of life, sounds too busy. Besides,” he looks over at you, then back to the road, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the fact that I’m already dating not only one, but two, people. Really wouldn’t like the fact that one of them is another dude.”

06:38.

“Good point,” Jisung says, probably rolling his eyes. “Life is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t get it,” Seungmin says, “like, why is it anyone else’s business what people do in the space of their own homes? If it doesn’t hurt anyone, who cares?”

Jeongin scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want people to find out about your collection of -“

“Shut up!” Seungmin pleads with a whine, cutting off the younger man. “Why the hell do we live with each other again?”

06:40. Good enough.

You tilt your head to the side, pulling out the piece of plastic, pretending you’re looking at a piece of string. Your face falls when you eyes see a bright pink cross staring back at you, as if it were another way for life to slap you in the face.

“You alright?” Jisung’s voice startles you as you jam your hand back into your pocket.

“Y-yeah,” you sputter, “just thinking about how life really is cruel sometimes, you know?”

You were pregnant and you were definitely not okay with the idea of that.

“It’ll be okay, though,” you say as you stare out the window.

Everyone’s fucking lying.

a/n: surprise! i literally cried writing this chapter too. chapter eleven is probably about halfway done as i post this, so hopefully you won’t need to wait too long for it. just a heads up, there will be triggering content in the last chapter, and it will be clearly labelled. the epilogue, step out! see you in the next life will briefly cover part of the ending of chapter eleven if you’re curious but don’t want to read it. thanks for sticking around for this wild ride. can’t wait to see you next chapter.

edit: mano a mano means hand to hand, not man to man btw. just found that out lol.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Cherry Coke Special: Seven

In the dark of your bedroom, Bucky pulls you closer and kisses your forehead. It had been beautiful being between your thighs, pinning you to the bed. Everything he’d hoped for as you came apart again and again. You make a soft sleepy sound, and he smiles, “Such a good girl for me,” he praises, “Lettin’ me, take care of you.”

“I didn’t wanna ask,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes slowly, “Didn’t want to take things awkward if you turned me down.”

He chuckles softly and pets your stomach, leaning down to kiss the swell softly. “Darlin’,” he scolds affectionately, “I wanted to get you in bed since the night I first saw you.”

Your cheeks heat, and you card your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles your stomach. It feels nice. You didn’t think he’d be this soft in the afterglow. Of course, you also didn’t know he’d spend this much time with you. Especially now that you’re getting more obviously pregnant with your ex’s baby. “Oh,” you murmur, arching into his light touches with a sigh.

“So touch starved,” he murmured, “That’s not good.”

“Or I’m just needy,” you answer, stretching.

Bucky grins, “I like that better,” he says, “I think I like you needy.” It’s true. He really does. Because of how you’re needy. You need him. Not his money or influence. You have an impact of your own, even if you don’t have money. You never ask him for anything. Not really even his time, granted. He volunteers it. But still. It’s a nice change. He’d like to buy you pretty things. New clothes and some jewelry, but he knows you’d probably be uncomfortable. Still. He had a little list of baby things he was going to start buying. 

“You say that until I start calling you, so you’ll come to cuddle,” you tease.

“Please do it,” he murmured, kissing your tummy again. Lots of soft, wet, hungry kisses that make you shiver. 

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling warmth spread through your chest.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “You’re my girl, remember?”

“You don’t let me forget it,” you answer.

“Damn right I don’t,” he grouses, sliding out of bed and pulling on his pants.

“Where are you going?” you ask, sitting up.

“To go heat up your dinner so you can eat it. Ya horn dog,” he says, smirking, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you,” you tell him, smiling a little. Now that you can think about anything but Bucky in his grey sweat pants, you are getting hungry. 

_______

Friday at noon, when you walked out of the building, Nat was sitting in a black car at the curb, and she rolled the window down. “Everything okay?” you ask, leaning on the door.

“Bucky sent me. Told me to tell you he got hung up in meetings,” she answered.

“Is that what actually happened?” you counter, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling. She liked you. You were smart. Smart enough to know when to ask direct questions and when to dance around. “I’m supposed to take you to your appointment, then take you home.”

“Okay,” you sigh, opening the door and sliding in. 

“Sorry,” she said, looking over her shoulder to back up, “Boss’ orders.”

“I know,” you snort, “He’s gonna be irritated at me, but I got an overnight to run tonight.”

“Overnight?”

You nod, yawning. You’re wrecked, and your day just barely started. “Audits are coming up. So I gotta get charts done right and make sure everything is all pretty and up to snuff for State, so we keep our accreditations.”

“Why you gotta do it at night, though?” she asked. 

You shrug, “I get more done on overnights. There are fewer interruptions and people needing stuff because aside from a handful of people that work nights, all my clients are in bed. And 3rd shift is basically just there to watch the desk and clean.”

Natasha nodded, smirking, “So much for a sleep schedule.”

“I mean, when the baby gets here, I’ll be sleep deprived anyway,” you point out.

She nodded, “That’s true,” she allowed, “But yeah, Bucky’s gonna be irritated.”

“Can’t be helped,” you tell her. “I still gotta look after my clients.”

Natasha grinned at you. You were definitely good for Bucky. It was good for him to have someone he couldn’t boss around, not that he wanted to do it anyway. He’d probably just fuss and be irritable. 

____________

A clean bill of health given and everything with the baby doing fine, Natasha drove you home and let you out in front of the building, trusting Bucky’s guys on the inside and his security to take care of you the rest of the way up to the apartment. 

You let yourself in and drop your bag by the door and kick your trainers into the closet. You had one thought. Bed. You just wanted to go back to bed and try and get some rest so you could get your work finished tonight. It was bad enough you weren’t getting overtime for it. 

So by the time you stripped out of your scrubs and dived naked under the covers, snuggling into your small mountain of pillows and blankets, you’re in heaven. 

At least until your alarm goes off to wake you back up to get ready. 

The one saving grace is that you can wear whatever you want. So as you pull on leggings and a thick hoodie to keep you comfortable while you’re up and down all night. Shoes on, hair up, you bend to pick up your bag and have to struggle for just a second to pick it up and sigh. Pack on the table, you remind yourself. But still, as you walk to your car, you feel okay. Just the grogginess that comes with waking up after a nap in the middle of the day. 

When you walked into the building, it was quiet. The retired hotel had been converted into efficiency apartments and offices. Horizons offered treatment, medication management, Therapy, and 24-hour staff supervision, and you managed all of it. Coordinated staff, services for clients, and events. It was all your purview. And you loved it as much as you hated all the mundane red tape. Still, as you settled in behind the desk with some tea and a stack of paperwork to do. It was gonna be a long night. But, it was going to be a good chance to get it all done.

_______

Bucky glared at Nat across the desk, “What do you mean she’s at work?”

“She’s at work,” Nat said, shrugging, “She pulled in as scheduled at 11:30.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, “How was her appointment?” he asked, taking a deep breath.

“Well. Going in was going to be awkward for both of us but a clean bill of health. No orders or prescriptions,” she answered, inspecting her nails.

He nodded slowly and exhaled, “Well, it looks like I’m headed across town.”

“She’s busy,” Nat said, rolling her eyes.

“I know,” he said, putting his jacket on, “But I’m still gonna get me a good night kiss.”

__________

When the side door opened, the metal locking mechanism echoing through the back hallway made you jerk upright. You half-turned to look at the security monitor and smiled a little. 

Bucky. 

You knew how he always knew where to find you. And why. What you didn’t know was how he always knew when you needed a pick me up. He either had a weirdly specific mutant power, or your security detail was more observant than you thought.

He walked around and leaned on the desk with a frown, “You’re supposed to be home in bed.”

“I already told her that,” Sharon yelled from the med room where she was putting away back stock. 

“And I told you I’ll sleep tomorrow,” you sigh, fighting a yawn.

“And I told you that if you don’t start taking care of yourself, I’m gonna knock your scrawny ass into next week,” she threatened cheerfully.

“Then I’ll kick your ass on Thursday... Now get your goddamn meds done and go home,” you say, taking a sip of tea.

Bucky liked visiting you at work, he decided, chuckling. Your people adored you. And you loved them right back. “Here,” you say, pulling out a desk chair for Bucky, “Sit. Collate. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can get home.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky said, taking the seat and the stack of papers you slid over to him. 

“How were your meetings,” you ask idly.

“Meetings,” he sighed, “So fucking long.”

You shake your head, “Can’t you just tell people to fuck off and do what you say?”

“Darlin’,” he says, laughing, “I been trying to do that with you for months. I’m the boss. Not a miracle worker.”

“I’m different,” you remind him.

“Oh?” he hums, kissing your cheek.

“I’m cute,” you say, tossing your hair.

Bucky shook his head but didn’t get a chance to respond. A client, a huge Hispanic man with his hair in a braid down his back, had loped into the commons with headphones on. Singing loudly. 

You stand you and give him a sort of helpless, confused “The fuck?” gesture, and he stops and looks around, snatching his headphones off.

“Oh shit,” he groaned, “Is it quiet hours?”

“Yeah, for like an hour now.”

Shit. Sorry.” he said, turning back towards the elevator. “Oh wait!” he says, switching back and hurrying to the desk, “Hey, Sparky?”

“ ‘Sup Chava?” you ask, settling back in your chair with a groan.

“Can you look at my HUD shit? Irina told me she ain’t know how to do it.”

“Yeah,” you tell him yawning, “You can bring it down here real quick or shove it under my office door for Monday.”

“Monday?”

“There’s no one in the office for HUD after five on Friday,” you remind, “But I’ll be here at 7am. We can get it in before State comes in if I hustle.”

“Sparky, all you do is hustle,” he snorted.

“Somebody gotta,” you shrug.

Bucky sat back and watched the exchange. He didn’t understand your job. Not really. There were a lot of moving pieces and parts. What the fuck is HUD? What the blistered, bleeding fuck was he putting staples in and why did it matter if you were accredited. 

It seemed to him like playing by the rules was more trouble than it was worth.

[diner-drama]

Cuddle Buddies (1/?)

"Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" are an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved. Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Bucky loves his job as a professional cuddler, providing non-romantic physical touch to people that need it, and when his new client turns out to be a pint-sized spitfire with a smile to die for, that's just a bonus.

Also on ao3.

"Rumlow, if I wake up tomorrow to find out that you've thrown my client on an airplane and deported her in the middle of the night I will have your ass in front of the bar association before you can blink," barked Steve into the phone held between his ear and shoulder, trying to get his keys out of his pocket one-handed. "You really think they're going to let this slide after last time?"

He paused for a second as the person on the other end of the line made a few abortive attempts at a response, then cut him off. "I'm turning off my phone now. If you still want to talk in the morning after considering my offer you can call me then, but if you pull any of your bullshit in the meantime, I will fucking ruin you."

Steve hung up the call with a flourish and shouldered his front door open, throwing his phone into a basket on an occasional table before closing the door behind him and leaning against it, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly. Being a hard-ass human rights lawyer was all very well and good during the work day, but by the time he got home Steve was more than ready to shed his tough persona and let himself be soft.

The suit jacket was the first to go, shrugged off his slim shoulders and slipped onto a hanger. Then, his smart, shiny shoes were slipped off and replaced with warm, thick socks. He swapped his starched shirt for an old, lived-in hoodie, and his neatly pressed slacks for sweatpants. His black briefcase found a home in the spare room he used as an office, and he shut the door after it, mentally shutting away his work life. He ran his hand through his smartly-combed hair to muss it up and rolled his shoulders back, taking a few deep breaths and letting the stress of his day roll off him.

He wandered around the living room, picking up a blanket from the steamer trunk by the window, drawing the curtains, and switching on the electric fireplace which filled the space with warmth and low, flickering light. He picked up his personal phone from the coffee table and sent a quick text to Sam to let him know he made it home safely, sent a thumbs up to Darcy in response to a terrible meme she'd sent him, and briefly considered video calling Peggy before remembering that she was in a conference in Singapore.

He flopped down onto the couch and wrapped himself up tight in the blanket, enjoying its weight on his shoulders. Opening his laptop, he coughed in embarrassment when the tab that he'd opened in a fit of loneliness last night popped up. "Cuddle Buddies: professional platonic cuddling therapy services for the busy modern professional" seemed to be an entirely legitimate organization serving the touch-starved, and they had excellent reviews.

Look, it's just been a long time since Steve's been in a relationship, and a guy has needs, you know? Sometimes after a long day of being a strong, hard-nosed solicitor, weathering insults and attacks from the opposing counsel and your own coworkers, you just want to have someone stroke your hair and tell you you're good. Steve did his best to keep his work and home lives separate, but lately it was getting difficult to switch off from his worries when he was lying in bed at night, going over details from his cases while he tossed and turned on his pillows.

He scrolled through the information on the website one more time, thinking about how it might feel to invite a stranger into his home to cuddle him. Would it be uncomfortable? Would they think he was pathetic?

Putting aside the laptop for a minute, he ambled back into the kitchen to re-heat some shepherd's pie and put on the kettle for a cup of tea, climbing on a step stool to reach the mugs. His fingers and toes still a little chilly from the crisp autumn evening outside, he decided to fill up a hot water bottle, tucking it carefully into its fluffy case and holding it under his arm as he brought his dinner and drink back to the table. After a couple of bites of the pie, he pulled out a neat little wicker basket from under the table and took out his evening medications. Tapping the pills into his hand, he swallowed them with a gulp of tea and took a couple of huffs of his steroid inhaler for good measure, before getting back to his meal.

Steve may have lost the genetic lottery when it came to his height and his abysmal health, but the gods had seen fit to bless him with more than his share of sheer, bloody-minded scrappiness, which he felt more than made up for it.

Once he'd cleared the plate away and made himself a second cuppa, he opened up a book on his e-reader and held the comforting, warm weight of the hot water bottle to his chest, wondering idly, not for the first time, whether he should get a cat. He was a couple of chapters into a mediocre romance novel when he started tapping his fingers, thinking.

After a brief moment of indecision, he grabbed the laptop with renewed certainty and began to type a request into the website.

Bucky was just waving goodbye to Nat as he walked away from their session when his phone chimed, alerting him that there was a new customer inquiry that the agency wanted him to look at.

Maria: 28 yo man in Red Hook interested in trying cuddle therapy to help with work stress. Would prefer male therapist. Due to asthma, no cologne or scented products, and non-smokers only.

He smiled, and shot off a quick affirmative response. Maria often sent him their new clients - there was something about him that reassured people if they felt a little unsure about the services. Bucky was perfectly happy with his chosen profession - non-romantic physical touch was, in his opinion, essential for a happy life, and he got to provide it to people that needed it. Bucky liked to observe people and through his job he'd met a wide array of curious characters, so the work was never boring.

Also, the pay was amazing and Alpine would only eat the expensive cat food, so there was that.

He continued on his journey, enjoying the changing leaves on the trees around him and the chill in the air. Just as he was about to step onto the subway, his phone buzzed again, and after he found a seat he saw that Maria had sent him the phone number for his new client. He sent off his standard greeting straight away, eager to get his schedule firmed up.

Bucky: Hi Steve, this is Bucky from the Cuddle Buddies agency. When works for you for our first meeting? Looking forward to working with you!

Steve: Thanks for getting back to me. Saturday evening would be best for my schedule. Can I pay the $80 fee via bank transfer? -Steven Grant Rogers, Shield Solicitors

The response came immediately, and was far more businesslike than his usual interactions with clients. Still, Bucky could be businesslike. He even owned a tie.

Bucky: You sure can - the agency should send you out a contract tonight with the bank details. I can do Saturday at 7 if that suits.

Steve: Saturday at 7 sounds fine. What are the terms of the contract?

Of course, Mr. Lawyer Man wanted to know about the contract.

Bucky: It lays out what to expect in our interactions - we provide purely non-sexual services - as well as how to deal with cancellations, how we protect your privacy, and the billing structure.

Steve: Thank you. I look forward to meeting you on Saturday.

Bucky shook his head, wondering how this stuffy, formal guy was going to act during their cuddle session.

Steve didn't have the opportunity to start feeling anxious about his cuddle appointment because the negotiations with the lawyers at the ICE detention center took up every moment of his time. He was wrapping up his conversation with a client via email in his home office when his alarm chimed to let him know that he had half an hour until Bucky arrived.

After stretching his arms over his head, wincing at the tightness of his shoulders after slouching all day, he stripped out of the pajamas he was still wearing and indulged in a long, hot shower, scrubbing away his stress and emerging pink-cheeked and fluffy-haired. In his bedroom, he changed into a soft blue flannel shirt and a pair of pants that looked like slacks but felt like sweatpants, and another pair of his warm, fuzzy socks.

Pacing around his living room, his nerves ramping up, he selected a different blanket to leave ready on the couch and checked twice on his selection of teas. He had just put the kettle on to boil when the buzzer sounded.

On opening the door, he was immediately reassured to see that Bucky had a friendly, engaging grin, and was wearing a soft, knitted sweater. He held out a hand to shake and then immediately felt like an idiot, but Bucky just grasped Steve's cold hand with his warm one and squeezed it.

"Hi, you must be Steve," said Bucky with a pleasant Brooklyn drawl. Without being asked, he pulled a Cuddle Buddies ID card out of his pocket and handed it over to Steve, who checked the details on it and handed it back.

"Nice to meet you," said Steve stiffly. "Please, come on in. I'm just making a cup of mint tea, do you want one?"

"That'd be perfect, Steve. Mind if I take my shoes off?"

"Go ahead," replied Steve with a thin smile, attending to the whistling kettle.

"Thanks," said Bucky when he accepted his cup of tea. Steve couldn't help but notice that Bucky was wearing mis-matched but co-ordinating socks, one with red stars on a white background, and the other with white stars on a red background. He ushered Bucky to take a seat on the couch and sat in the armchair opposite. Bucky's posture was loose and open, but Steve was sitting bolt upright and jiggling his leg nervously. Fortunately, Bucky chose to take the lead in the conversation.

"So, I usually start first sessions with clients by talking about what your goals are for therapy," he began with a reassuring smile. "For example, some clients are looking to feel more comfortable with physical touch, some want to get over a breakup, or reduce stress, and some are just looking for companionship."

"I guess the companionship and stress things," said Steve after thinking for a moment. "My job takes a lot out of me, so I don't really have the time to pursue a relationship, but I do miss that human touch."

Bucky smiled gently, as though what Steve had said wasn't anything out of the ordinary. "What do you do?"

"I'm a lawyer, I mostly represent people who are in danger of deportation," said Steve automatically.

"That sounds rewarding," replied Bucky encouragingly.

"It is," agreed Steve, "but it's incredibly draining. I have to be so hard and tough all the time. Sometimes I think it would be nice to just be..." He tailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

"Soft?" supplied Bucky.

Steve smiled, feeling more comfortable despite his misgivings. "Yeah."

"Thank you for being so open with me, Steve," said Bucky, reaching over to squeeze Steve's knee. "If you don't have a particular preference for how we start, how about you join me on the couch and I put my arms around you. Does that sound good?"

Suddenly shy, Steve nodded and moved to sit next to Bucky, who immediately wrapped his big arms around Steve's shoulders and pulled Steve into his broad chest. As requested, Bucky wasn't wearing any fragrance, but he still smelled good, like fresh laundry and crisp autumn air, with an undercurrent of clean skin.

As he relaxed into Bucky's embrace, Steve tried to remember the last time he'd been held so gently. He was a regular recipient of Sam's big bear hugs and Darcy's chest-crushing squeezes, but he hadn't had a long-term romantic partner since law school, and his career didn't leave him a lot of free time to look for one.

"How does that feel?" asked Bucky in a low, soothing voice, gently rubbing at Steve's shoulder.

"Really good," breathed Steve.

"I'm glad," said Bucky gently. "How about I lie down on my back here and you snuggle up to my chest?"

Steve nodded his assent and Bucky released him slowly, and then rolled over to lie along the couch, opening up his arms so that Steve could slot himself in to rest his head on Bucky's warm chest. The knit of his sweater was soft against Steve's face, and one of Bucky's big hands came up to cup the back of Steve's head, rubbing small circles at the base of his skull with his fingertips.

"Thanks for not wearing cologne," said Steve, sounding muffled.

"Pal, I think you sneezing in my face would be worse for me than for you," laughed Bucky, the sound rumbling through his chest.

"It's not my sexiest move," agreed Steve, burrowing deeper into the soft warmth of Bucky's body.

Steve hadn't expected that conversation would carry on easily while they were cuddling - he predicted awkward silences and a feeling of general embarrassment - but they continued chatting while Bucky carded his fingers through Steve's hair, and he felt himself dropping deeper and deeper into a calm state of relaxation.

"So why'd you become a lawyer?" asked Bucky in a low voice, barely breaking into the spell he was casting over Steve.

"Ma came over here from Ireland to work as a nurse," replied Steve drowsily, "and when my pa died, she ran into some trouble with some of her immigration paperwork. There was a lawyer who worked pro bono to stop her from getting deported... the guy really changed our lives."

"So now you help other people the same way."

"I try to. How'd you get into professional cuddling?"

"After I got out of the army, I used to go for counseling sessions at the VA. Took a couple of years, but eventually I started on a course to be a counselor myself. A lot of those guys are so touch-starved, you know? My friend got the idea to start up a cuddling service and I jumped at the chance. It's been my full-time job for three years now."

Digesting this information, Steve was silent for a moment. He wouldn't have pegged Bucky as a soldier given how open and relaxed he was, but Sam didn't seem like an air force pilot, so you never knew. He cast around for a follow-up question. "Are there a lot of cuddling agencies in the world?" he settled on eventually.

"Oh yeah, it's a real growth industry. There's even a book called the Cuddle Sutra."

Steve scoffed. "You're kidding me, people write books about this stuff?"

Bucky cuffed him gently on the back of the head. "Shut up, punk. That's my profession you're besmirching."

"Are you allowed to tell your clients to shut up?" smirked Steve, never happier than when he was being a little shit.

"Only if they're being a punk," grumbled Bucky, wrapping an arm around the back of Steve's shoulders to pull him closer.

Over the course of the next forty five minutes, Steve learned more about Bucky's family, his asshole cat, his collection of semi-dead succulent plants, and his opinions on the present administration of the country. Bucky managed to wheedle Steve into talking about the bullying he faced at work, the stress of not having as many resources as he needed to help everyone he worked with - and he very nearly managed to get him to disclose his mother's recipe for shepherd's pie, and was only stopped by the threat that the ghost of Sarah Rogers would haunt him until he died.

Between the cozy warmth of Bucky's body, the soothing cadence of his voice, and the way his minty breath ghosted over Steve's forehead when he chuckled, Steve was pretty much in heaven, wrapped up in comfort. When Bucky's phone started to vibrate in his pocket, they both let out a little noise of annoyance.

"'Fraid that's my alarm. How'd you enjoy your first session?" asked Bucky, still stroking lines down Steve's back.

Steve hummed contentedly. "Worth every penny," he replied, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head.

"I'm really glad," said Bucky sincerely, squeezing his shoulder before standing up and heading towards his shoes. "Same time next week?"

"That'd be perfect. Thanks, Bucky. For everything."

"No problem," he replied with a genuine grin, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Now I'd better call Maria before she gets the cops after me to make sure I haven't been murdered in a back alley somewhere."

"I'm glad they care so much about your safety."

"I love my job," laughed Bucky as he let himself out the front door, waving goodbye to Steve as he put the phone to his ear.

Steve spent some time smiling and waving like a goof until Bucky rounded the corner, at which point he finally shook himself awake and shut and locked his door. It was only eight PM but after a few nights of fractured sleep he was ready to follow his relaxed, sleepy feeling straight to bed.

After he pottered around the room, straightening up and putting things away, he brushed his teeth and jumped onto his big, comfortable bed, where he rolled himself up in his comforter like a burrito. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

[boundinshallows]

The ever wonderful @mintjamsblog asked for some of my favorite books, so in no particular order: 

1. Passing - Nella Larsen 

You know, it’s been years since I’ve read this novel/la, but it’s one that’s left an impression. Passing encapsulates the complexities of early 20th century race relations in America through Clare’s racial (and sexual?) passing. There’s a lot happening in such a short book. 

“Money's awfully nice to have. In fact, all things considered, I think, 'Rene, that it's even worth the price.” 

2. Call Me By Your Name - Andre Aciman 

I first read this back in 2011/2012, and I didn’t think it could ever be adequately adapted into a film. (I was wrong). Aciman has this incredible ability to articulate the most difficult to express emotions/yearnings, particularly those associated with young love. I also love the impossibility of it all (which the film as conveyed). Happy endings are great and all, but give me realism almost any day of the week tbh. I have fan fiction for the curtain fic. 

“Did I want him to act? Or would I prefer a lifetime of longing provided we both kept this little Ping-Pong game going: not knowing, not-not-knowing, not-not-not-knowing? Just be quiet, say nothing, and if you can't say "yes," don't say "no," say "later." Is this why people say "maybe" when they mean "yes," but hope you'll think it's "no" when all they really mean is, Please, just ask me once more, and once more after that?”

3. The Winternight Trilogy - Katherine Arden 

Technically three books, I suppose. Winternight is a great series for people who are uncertain about fantasy, but who are fans of historical fiction. The series features a lot of magic on the periphery of the real world, which is a trope I LOVE. And the magic isn’t high fantasy magic, but comes in the form of Russian folklore. The heroine is lovely and the romantic subplot satisfying. 

“All my life,” she said, “I have been told ‘go’ and ‘come.’ I am told how I will live, and I am told how I must die. I must be a man’s servant and a mare for his pleasure, or I must hide myself behind walls and surrender my flesh to a cold, silent god. I would walk into the jaws of hell itself, if it were a path of my own choosing. I would rather die tomorrow in the forest than live a hundred years of the life appointed me.”

4. The Book of the Ancestor Trilogy - Mark Lawrence 

Oof, THIS SERIES. This series is in the same vein as Harry Potter in terms of premise in some sense. However, instead of a wizarding school, our heroine goes to a nunnery where they train assassin nuns. Magical assassin nuns. LOOK, it’s just good, okay? The first two books were perfect. The final book could have been another 100 pages or so, but still felt like a solid conclusion. Also, girls in love. 

“IT IS IMPORTANT, when killing a nun, to ensure that you bring an army of sufficient size. For Sister Thorn of the Sweet Mercy Convent Lano Tacsis brought two hundred men.”

5. Mysterious Skin - Scott Heim 

This book is a trigger-palooza, so be warned. I mentioned this book at some point last year. It’s been a few months, but whenever it pops into my mind, I automatically think “fuck”. The thing that Heim pulls off masterfully in this novel is the reader is more knowledgeable than one of the main characters in the WORST way possible. As Brian slowly starts remembering bits of his abuse and thinks it’s alien abduction (but you KNOW it’s not it at all and can piece what really happened in this alien abduction scenarios...fuck), there’s this overwhelming sense of dread. I need Heim to write a sequel to this book where Brian and Neil get loads of therapy. Like, so much therapy. 

“It was a light that shone over our faces, our wounds and scars. It was a light so brilliant and white it could have been beamed from heaven, and Brian and I could have been angels, basking in it. But it wasn’t, and we weren’t.” 

6. The Masquerade - Seth Dickinson 

This is an in-progress series, so I’m not sure what the final book count will be. It’s non-magical fantasy that digs deep into issues of colonialism and sexuality. There’s a war going on, and we see that war happen through the eyes of the most unlikely of all fantasy POV characters: an accountant. Yes, a whole epic series about war told from an accountant in service of the empire who settled her island home. The narrative is so complex that sometimes it makes ASOIAF feel as straightforward as Dr. Seuss. I struggled to keep up at times. It’s one of those books that you just have to let happen and try to hang on for the ride. I promise twists and turns like none other. 

“Honor,” Apparitor murmured, “is just a credit rating for violence.” 

7. American Gods - Neil Gaiman 

Much like Winternight, what I love best about American Gods is the folklore and magic-at-the-periphery. As the title suggests, this feels like a uniquely American story to tell where Gaiman asks the question: what happens to the gods/beliefs of all those who immigrated to America? What happens when we no longer believe in those gods? (The STARZ adaptation does some stuff I really like, but drops the ball in other areas). 

“Back in my day, we had it all set up. You lined up when you died, and you'd answer for your evil deeds and your good deeds, and if your evil deeds outweighed a feather, we'd feed your soul and your heart to Ammet, the Eater of Souls"

"He must have eaten a lot of people."

"Not as many as you'd think. It was a really heavy feather. We had it made special. You had better be pretty damn evil to tip the scales on that baby...” 

8. Angels in America - Tony Kushner

So this is a play, not a book. However, I think it’s one of the most important pieces of fiction of the 20th century. Angels follows the story of Prior Walter, a gay man newly diagnosed with AIDS. I can’t quite explain exactly why I love it or why it’s so important really. I think it combines the uniquely American story (that I’ve mentioned in American Gods and even Passing) with complex storytelling and emotions (a la Call Me). 

Harper: In your experience of the world. How do people change? Mormon Mother: Well it has something to do with God so it's not very nice. God splits the skin with a jagged thumbnail from throat to belly and then plunges a huge filthy hand in, he grabs hold of your bloody tubes and they slip to evade his grasp but he squeezes hard, he insists, he pulls and pulls till all your innards are yanked out and the pain! We can't even talk about that. And then he stuffs them back, dirty, tangled and torn. It's up to you to do the stitching. Harper: And then up you get. And walk around. Mormon Mother: Just mangled guts pretending. Harper: That's how people change.

[phalloplastyaustralia]

Okay, so, here’s a bit of a better run down. But still probably not super comprehensive.

Also, here’s a photo of my arm at 7 days. I don’t have any photos of the raw graft, as I didn’t see it.

Arrived at the hospital at 630AM, from there it was basically a whirlwind of paying my excess, getting triaged a nurse, taken through to pre-op, answering the same questions all over again with another nurse, getting my gown and compression socks on, then Dr Goossen came around. He ran through the procedure, asked me if I was 100% certain about going through with it, confirmed I was 150% certain, mum confirmed she was 200% certain. Goossen went through a little spiel about if there were any issues with nurses and if I felt I wasn’t being treated properly, to speak up about. He said that dysphoria can increase while in hospital and that there’s services available to me if I needed them. Note: in all the transition related procedures I’ve had done, never have I had a surgeon take the time to address these things.

Surgery took about 10.5 hours - I was under for an extra 2 or so, as he said that when they opened up my abdomen, they found extra nerves and blood vessels that they wanted to use (which I am absolutely okay with). I was verrryyyy out of it that evening, so I only have vague memories of the conversation I had with Dr Goossen when he came to see me.

I was only allowed a light diet the next day, as they didn’t want me to have to get up to use the bathroom.

The physio came around on Monday (surgery was Friday) to get me up for a walk. We didn’t even make it to the door before I was whisked back to bed as my blood pressure had dropped too low. Apparently I was grey, eyes fluttering and swaying. I managed to get up later in the evening and move over to the chair and have a bit of a wipe down. Got up for a brief walk on Tuesday with the physio, which was incredibly uncomfortable and difficult with the catheter, drain, IV and PCA in. By Wednesday I was getting myself in and out of bed without assistance.

They took the catheter out on Wednesday, which I was grateful for, however it meant having to urinate by myself. With all the dressings, etc, it meant that I was pissing all over myself. This made me feel like fucking garbage and I just didn’t have a good day on Wednesday. My dressings were falling apart, I stunk, I hadn’t taken a shit since Friday, feeling very dysphoric re: pissing everywhere. I basically stayed in bed and slept. Thursday was fairly similar. Dr Goossen came around Thursday evening and switched me to the donut from the initial dressings, which was so much better and improved my mood significantly.

Dressings on my arm came down on Friday. Goossen was super impressed with how it was looking and chose not to change the dressing that was on it, so rebandaged and the OT made my splint and gave me hand exercises to do.

I did think straight up that I had pressure sensation, which Goossen said he’s only had one other patient whose had it so soon, but then when he came back after a few days he made me second guess whether what I was feeling was sensation at the base. And now that it’s me touching it, I truly can’t decipher.

So far, I’ve experienced very minimal pain in the phallus/junk areas. My existing dick has been stitched to one side, as well as one labia minor being removed for the neourethra. That’s been more uncomfortable than painful.

Here in Australia, we use the same method as the UK, where the full thickness graft from the forearm is replaced with a full thickness from the buttocks, rather than a split thickness from the thigh. As such, the incisions on my butt have honestly been the most painful throughout everything.

The nurses said that I was one of the most mobile/independent that they’ve seen, so that’s pretty encouraging. The nursing staff were all incredibly competent and fantastic and I had no issues with them at all.

Today is Day 10.

My butt is noticeably less painful today than it was yesterday, but still the sorest spot. My abdomen incision is sore and my belly there is visibly larger than the other side. I’ve been doing my hand exercises and using my hand as much as I can (not lifting heavy things). I do worry that I might be overusing it, because that’s what I do, but I’m probably not. It’s not been painful, just tingly/stinging/ripping feelings (nerve sensations).

I still have numbness in my thumb, but it’s not as painful as it initially was. We initially thought this was possibly due to the carpal tunnel release I also had done while they were in the area, but it appears it’s phallo relate due to a nerve they usually have to cut through.

I think my biggest issue is with how unclean I feel, particularly in my, know, nether regions. Because I’m not allowed to shower, only song bath, in addition to the dressings on my butt feeling like my asshole is damn near taped together, as well as all the swelling and what not in that area, I feel like I haven’t been able to clean properly. I feel gross and smelly and putrid.

As of yesterday, I’m only take the oxy of an evening and cutting out the morning dose. I had a bit of pain yesterday by the evening, but didn’t notice much difference today.

I’ve got my first post-op appointment tomorrow, then I see the OT for my first hand therapy appointment and dressing change on Friday.

[schizophelia]

September 17th, 2018: Psychiatrist and Therapist Appointments

As you can probably tell from the title of this post that I saw both a psychiatrist and therapist today.

Psychiatrist: So I saw the psychiatrist at 9am this morning. When I got to student health services, the secretary gave me two sheets of paper to fill out. One was a GAD (generalized anxiety disorder) screening and the other was a depression screening. Those are both pointless because I don’t have GAD and I haven’t been depressed in months. But that was fine, I did them anyway. After those were filled out, I gave the pen and clipboard back to the secretary and sat back down. Not long after a woman came out and introduced herself to me as Dr. K (not going to specifically use her name). 

She took me to one of the meeting rooms in the back. She asked me basic questions about me (eg. name, age, where I came from, etc). Then she asked me what my reason for seeing her was. I was kind of taken aback. Mostly because I thought she would have known why I was seeing her. She said that Dr. N (the doctor I saw one day at the walk-in clinic), Karen (therapist), and my SAS advisor had made my case a top priority. Dr. K said that I was triaged into seeing a psychiatrist. Triage is basically just a fancy word for sorting patients based on immediate needs and the severity of illness/issues/etc. So yeah, because of the high concern of my case, I was seen quicker than everyone else. We talked about my history starting from the age of 15 (when I was first admitted to a psychiatric unit) beginning at my eating disorder. So we talked about that and the diagnoses and such at that age. 

Then we talked about the bullying and the depression and my history of self-harm and suicide attempts. The topic of self-harm came up because she noticed the scars on my arms. She asked if I was currently self-harming and I said no, Then we started talking about the voices and other stuff. There was a point when I didn’t want to tell her something (it had nothing to do with my safety) and she said something along the lines of, “it’s my job to know so I can help lessen things for you...” something like that. I eventually told her despite not wanting to. She said that my old psychiatrist sent a referral with an overview of what has been happening but she said she wanted all my out-patient and inpatient records. I was thinking “ugh. Fuck.” I don’t want her to have those records. My old psychiatrist was a fucking idiot, I want to leave him behind. She wants me to sign the consent forms so she can get them from the hospital. She said something like, “it doesn’t matter what he wrote because I will form my own opinion.” You know what’s stupid? They all say that, but they really don’t know how to form any independent thought. I guess I have no fucking choice whether to let her see those records or not (fuck the whole idea of consent in this context). 

She asked me how often I heard the voices (almost always), what they say, if they do a running commentary (they do), their nature (temperament), etc. Dr. K asked me if I had any problems doing school work. I said yes; that I couldn’t focus or concentrate or remember things. She asked me if I was using or have used drugs or alcohol. I said I smoked weed a couple times a couple years ago, and the same thing for alcohol. I think she said it was good that I’m no longer using (I don’t remember). One of the questions she asked was whether I had ECT. I said no. And I honestly fucking hope she doesn’t suggest I do it once she gets to know me more. She asked me so many questions that it would be impossible for me to remember them all.  The thing I don’t like about Dr. K is that she’s coming across as a bitch. She asked me questions that I didn’t understand or know the answer to and she would sound irritated when I said “I don’t know,” “I don’t remember,” or “I don’t understand.” Like, be patient for fuck sake’s. I get confused, have trouble remembering, or genuinely don’t know.

Dr. K did not increase my medication today. She said she would like to see me regularly... how often, I don’t know. But she wants to meet with me next Thursday at 3:30pm because she said she still had more questions to ask me. So I have to go back next week. We actually went over our 1 hour appointment today. It was after 10am when I left SHS.

Therapy: Today I met with Karen, my psychotherapist. We talked about my appointment with Dr. K prior. Karen asked me how I was doing in comparison to last week, I don’t remember what I said. But told her I just met with Dr. K. She asked me if Dr. K had increased my medication.I said no, but that she wanted to meet with me next week. Karen said she still thinks I need more medication. She pointed out that I don’t look at her and that my attention is directed around the room whenever I meet with her. She said that was okay, but that she noticed. She brought up the movie “A Beautiful Mind” and said something about that but I don’t exactly remember what she said. I don’t know how this came up, but somehow I started talking about my friend that died by suicide a few months ago. She said it can be hard to lose someone you cared about a lot. We talked about my functioning and such. I admitted, that it took me almost a week to shower and that I wasn’t eating “properly” (which wasn’t due to my eating disorder) because I haven’t been able to manage time and find the motivation or energy to do those things. So my homework for this week is to attempt to shower every other night. I think I can do that. I just hope that the next time I do shower, I don’t throw up (I showered last night and felt dizzy and actually got sick). 

After my appointment with Dr. K, I had to cancel my appointment with Gillian because I had to get my prescription refilled because I was an idiot that waited until the last minute to get it filled (I needed the medication for tonight). The reason why I had to cancel was because after my appointment with Dr. K, I had time before therapy so I went to the UC pharmacy and asked them if they had Seroquel XR. They said they only had the regular release of Seroquel and not the extended release (XR). They said they could order it in, but it wouldn’t be in until tomorrow after 1pm. I said I needed it for tonight and needed the extended release formulation. So, I walked to therapy and after therapy was done, I walked to Walmart because they had a pharmacy there and that was the closest pharmacy to my residence building (besides UC) and I knew where the Walmart building was. I took the prescription there and spoke to one of the pharmacy people. The guy said that they had the generic form of Seroquel XR (that’s what I was on before) so I said that was perfect. I gave him my script and mentioned that it was my first time using this specific Walmart pharmacy. I had to fill out some forms and they took my information. He gave me a beeper thing that indicated when my prescription was ready. I wandered around the store while on the phone with my friend, Jennifer. It took them about 40 minutes or so. I think maybe they had a lot of prescriptions to fill. Anyway, I got my prescription and left the store (most people would have to pay, but because I’m under 25, all my medications are free). 

So I got home from Walmart, and made food. Then I relaxed until class.Went to my Contemporary English class and didn’t learn anything. I also learned that I am so far behind in the book. I didn’t know the pace I was supposed to read so I have to read a lot to catch up. I need structure for reading a book for a classes. Like, what chapters I have to read and by when. But there isn’t a reading schedule online on our online classroom. So yeah. Behind in that. After English I had Foundational Skills in Psychology. We talked about mental health and mental illness. She had us break into groups. We we supposed to come up with the early signs of mental illness. My group was practically useless, I came up with many ideas and one of the guys in my group looks at me and said, “you sure know a lot of examples.” I explained that I’m part of the system. After this class, I had Sociology. Sociology was a lot of information. It was really heavy. And it sounded like there was a whale in the room. I kept hearing whale sounds and it was really annoying. I don’t remember what class this was in, but I saw a government agent in one class, and I saw a seagull flying around in one of my classes too. My Sociology class ended at 9:10pm and I called my friend Jennifer again because I don’t want to walk to my residence late at night without talking to someone. In case something were to go wrong. I saw a bunny but when I got close, it disappeared. So I was confused. But whatever. I made it home and cooked pasta and used some of the alfredo sauce I have. I ate that, and washed my dishes and put them in the dishtray to dry overnight. Then I started writing this post.

I meet with my SAS advisor this Wednesday.

Upcoming Appointments/Meetings:

SAS Advisor Meeting Wednesday, September 19th, 2018 at 10am

Therapy Appointment on Monday, September 24, 2018 at 9:00 am

Gillian on Thursday, September 27th, 2018 at 12pm

Psychiatrist Appointment on Thursday, September 27, 2018 at 3:30pm

Meds:

Fetzima 120mg

Seroquel XR 200mg

[basically-a-potato1]

Should I give this a name? Pt 2

   It’s finals week at the college. They’re holding all the finals online this year, due to the coronavirus, and most people went home last week, during thanksgiving. I left for the thanksgiving break, but unlike most I had to come back to the college for this week. It’s quiet. The residence hall I’m in charge of has never been this quiet. I miss leaving my room at 11 O’clock every night to remind the shrieking, laughing girls in my hallway that quiet time has started. I’m more alone than I’ve ever been, I feel. My friends are all gone, my hallway is empty. The only people here are the people, like me, whose jobs demanded that they stay.    But this is one week when I can’t afford to be nothing. I have to study. I have to take tests. One class in particular scares me. Advanced anatomy and physiology two. An important class for a nursing major, and an incredibly difficult one. Usually, my passion for my chosen field and my determination to succeed would be enough to motivate me to study, but now I’m not so sure. I know I have to do well on this test. But I’ve known I had to do a lot of things, after all, everyone knows they must eat. Our own bodies tell us that, but I seem to have little trouble ignoring my trembling hands, growling stomach, and hunger pangs.    I have to start wearing a belt with most of my jeans. They used to fit me fine without one, but not anymore. This bothers me. I find myself thinking about it, worrying about it, more than I think I should. A belt isn’t that big a deal. Most girls would be celebrating if they lost weight. But it bothers me. It’s a sign that maybe I’m not ok, and I can’t deal with that. In the argument I’m having with myself about whether I really should call the counseling center or not, the belt is a point against me. But it’s not that bad. I can handle it. It’s just the lack of sleep. And the gross residence hall food. Honestly, why would anyone have the motivation to eat gross food every day? It’s perfectly normal to not want to eat that.    I can’t get the belt out of my mind though. The mere thought of having to call the counseling center makes me cry. Real tears, sitting in front of my laptop, thinking about that damn belt. Why was it so terrifying to think of getting help? I wondered this for only a moment, because I know why it scares me. I don’t want to be told that there is something really wrong with me. That I have a mental disorder that just developed and will haunt me for the rest of my life. Like my brother. Shutting down and losing the motivation he’d always had was only the beginning with him.    I hold my head in my hands, sobbing out the butchered sounds from my throat that is so tight it hurts. Tears leak between my fingers to fall on the pages of my textbook. And it’s this breakdown that convinces me. The helpless sobbing, the inability to think, the bone deep tiredness that makes me want to curl up and shut the world out for the rest of my life.    I have a system to make myself stop crying. It usually takes less than a minute. I look at myself in the mirror and take deep breaths, as deep as I can manage before a sob breaks it. When I can do three breaths in a row with no sobs threatening to make my breath catch in my throat, I know that I have finished crying, that it’s safe to face the world. I wash the last tears off my face, and I’m done. If anyone notices anything, I simply say that my allergies were bothering me.    So when I have composed myself, I make the call. I know I have to do it now, or I will convince myself not to.    “ISU counseling and testing services, my name is Braden, how can I help you?” Is the chipper answer I am greeted with, too soon for my comfort. I was hoping nobody would answer.    “Hi Braden, I’m Lauren, I uh, I need, I don’t know, I-” I feel my throat start to tighten up with more impending tears, and I take a breath. “Um, this is the counseling center, right?” I confirm, not sure if I had even heard him correctly.    “Yes, this is Braden with the counseling center.” He responds patiently. “How can I help you?”    “I, uh, what do you usually do?” I ask, entirely unsure of what I should ask for. I had never been to counseling or therapy of any sort before, but it was too late to stop now.    “How about a single session with one of our counselors and we’ll go from there?” he suggests, and I accept with relief. One session. One session isn’t so bad. I might even manage to keep it a secret. Then no one but me will know how badly I’ve failed. He tries to schedule me for that very afternoon, but my work schedule doesn’t allow it, so instead he puts me down for the next day. It’s too soon for my comfort. Secretly I had hoped that I would call them, and they would say they have some massive waiting list, and I wouldn’t get an appointment for months at which point I would have made myself all better and could just cancel the appointment. That was what I wanted. Instead, the person on the phone had insisted on being helpful and getting me on the schedule quickly. How obnoxious.    It scares me. I know I’ll still be a mess tomorrow. I know I’ll have no excuse to cancel it. I have to go to therapy. Real therapy. They’ll tell me I’m crazy, that I have schizophrenia like my brother, that I’ll end up wasting my life like he did. Or, in its own way just as bad, they’ll confirm my own suspicions that I’m actually fine, I just need to get my butt to work on my homework and then tuck myself in for a nap, and why did I waste their time? Because really, why would someone like me need therapy?    I imagine them asking me about my childhood, my happy, loving upper middle class family. My parents that love us and each other so incredibly much. That have always supported me, been there for me, wanted me to succeed, and loved me so much. Maybe some sort of trauma, they’ll wonder, but of course there hasn’t been. Nothing that could explain needing therapy. I wasn’t even bullied.  No, I was always well liked by almost everyone. An idyllic life. But I had needed to put a belt on this morning, on jeans that always stayed on without help before. Was it really just because I was so fucking lazy that I was skipping meals?    It doesn’t matter. I tell myself. The appointment is made. You have to go. And are you really still trying to convince yourself that you're fine? Because even I know that I cannot fool anyone anymore, not even myself. I am not ok. I do need help. As much as I dislike it, it’s probably a good thing that my counseling appointment is so soon.

[learn-tastic]

Studying with Depression (Part 1)

Hi, my name is Depression, and I have jasmine. Just kidding, but that’s how it feels sometimes, like depression is who you are. It’s not. And you can’t let it take over your life like I did last semester.

I stopped going to class, doing homework, leaving my bed, and eating sometimes. I did essentially nothing all day. I hated my life. Ironically, my depression was caused by bad grades, which of course worsened. And I also have anxiety, so even when I was motivated to go to class again or to talk to/ email a professor, I was petrified to talk to them, to have a confrontation, to reach out. Through the help of a campus therapist, my academic advisor, my sister, my friends, and eventually my mother when I told my her about how bad I’d gotten (which pissed her the fuck off for the longest time but also she was worried about me), I determined that I should apply for a medical withdrawal for that semester (basically I got all W’s for my classes so my GPA wouldn’t drop. And wasted a semester’s worth of tuition). It was hard. I don’t recommend letting it get to that point. I actually ended up making mostly C’s, but my GPA was like a 1.5 I believe. For comparison, my GPA in highschool was a 6.6/ 6.0 (weighted).

TL;DR: Don’t be depressed it sucks for your GPA

Anyways, here are some tips for that bc I don’t really like the other posts I’ve seen on this sorta stuff.

1) Seek help.

The first step that helped me was to start seeing the campus therapist. If you don’t have one, see your advisor or go on your insurance’s website to see if they cover therapy/ to find someone who takes your insurance. Or if not that, tell a parent/ guardian/ sibling/ friend/ old teacher/ literally anyone who can help. I’ve even seen a lot of adds on instagram for counselors that you can text. This is the first most important step. 

If you think you may be medicated, see your regular doctor, that’s where I got my prescription. Eventually try to see a specialist (psychiatrist) but this helps you get back on track. It helped me to sit down and schedule my eye exam, dentist appointment, yearly check up, gyno appointment. I was taking care of my self. Which brings me to my next point...

2) Take care of yourself.

You are babysitting yourself. Kids have school, a bedtime, snacktime, homework and chores after school.

EG) When you wake up, wash your face, brush your teeth, take your meds/ vitamins (I actually got vitamins before I took antidepressants bc it helped me feel like I was actively taking care of the problem). Get dressed, shower if you have the energy or at least use dry shampoo or put your hair in a tight ponytail. Put effort into your appearance, whether this means getting a haircut you badly need, doing a facial, or doing your nails. You can do your brows, beat your face, or buy one new outfit/ jewelry/ whatever makes you happy (1 only bc I developed a bad shopping habit while depressed). Make sure you eat at least 2 or 3 times a day, and drink at least 1 glass of something with each meal. (of course eating 3 main meals with lots of fruits, veggies, fiber, and proteins and having snacks and drinking pure water and teas are recommended but people are assholes it’s hard for us sometimes and have small goals and then work yourself up). Kids like juice and dino- shaped nuggets and goddamn it so can you (but also don’t overeat bc that makes you feel like shit too don’t eat just garbage)Don’t drink or do drugs, bc depression and drugs/ alcohol do not fucking mix I STG. 

It helps to pretend like you have somewhere to go that isn’t school in the morning. Just roll out of bed, don’t log on, and just get ready whether it’s bare minimum or dressed to impress, but just do it and eat and go out

3) Go out

Go to class, or even if you don’t go to class get out of your damn room. Go to the smoothie place, the student center, the library, the campus park, anywhere on campus. get out of your room. Do something with friends. Change and deviate from your normal depressed state of dissociating into the void in bed or being online too long out binge watching. Or at least do it with a friend. Working out is great if you have the energy, especially as it scientifically helps with your mood and motivation.

4) Get a week long plan

You can’t fix your depression and school in a day. You need momentum. One thing I hated last semester was I felt like I never had enough clones to do all my things. I still agree, but I’ve gotten better. Do one day of light cleaning (putting things away- ish), one for actually cleaning (wiping, sweeping, mopping, vaccumming, scrubbing), one or two for laundry ( can either wash clothes or put them away, I never have energy for both), one for hella self care (take a shower you really need it, maybe a bath, mani- pedi, skincare, shave if you like, lotion, deodorant, perfume, sunscreen, floss and shit, light a candle, wear comfy clothes), one day to figure out a game plan (download apps, find websites, find tutoring services/ study groups, look at the syllabus and see what you can do to raise your grade, email teachers if you’re up for it, look into study strategies) and then maybe one day try to focus on MWF classes and another do TTh classes, or break it down however you like. Once your room and yourself and your clothes aren’t so nasty, it’s easier to keep it up. What���s hard for me is feeling overwhelmed.

5) Little goals, little wins

What helps me long term is the little wins. Focus on what you did right and how to improve, and don’t dwell on how you messed up. Going to 1 class is better than none. Or maybe you skipped classes but at least you worked out. Maybe you still didn’t shower but you called your sister and remembered to eat. Maybe you slept in late but now you went to bed early. Maybe you failed an assignment but at least you did it and got higher than a 0. Maybe you didn’t go to class but you went to the store. It’s a process and you start small but it gets better. Once you build up a momentum/ streak and start tackling little problems it’s less overwhelming and easier to stick to it and most importantly...

6) Forgive yourself

You will fuck up, it’s okay, literally it doesn’t matter, keep trying. Rome wasn’t built in a day; your life won’t change in a day either. Every one has bad days. Just work to make tomorrow a good one.

[socially-rejected-werewolf]

Not sure who will read, don’t care. This is positive for once.

Since this is my blog and I am allowed to post what I want I am going to just share some happy thoughts.

At 26 years old (27 in november eek) I decided to go back to college for art. I enjoyed it, the community tends to be nicer (better than animal studies because that is all a shit show with people)

I have college interview on Tuesday, I am nervous/ excited. Last time I was in college I had so many undiagnosed mental health problems that I didn’t do well. Now I know what is wrong with me and I have an amazing service dog to help me with that and other problems I am determined to do better. This college understands my issues and all that. Instead of expecting me to show up with school exam results I am to show them a portfolio and a cover letter or explain to them what I want. I want to further my skills, improve, learn new techniques. I really really hope I get in.

I also have my first mental health therapy session? tomorrow. For years the system thought I was just good enough to not need help only pills. The beginning of this year I tried to commit suicide and FINALLY I am getting more help and its late I admit but I have an appointment tomorrow and I don’t know what they can offer me or whatever. What I do know though is that for now I am doing okay.

Not great but I am okay. That is good enough for me. I don’t know what “great” is tbh. 

Also also, I am doing me some exercises, (weights/ bike/ swimming) to become fit. It is taking a little longer to get results but I got to take it slow (stoopid left lung) I am trying (reaaaalllly trying) to cut calories down. But salted caramel ice cream is HHHHNG anyway. I finally feel the motivation to better myself and it is refreshing as fuck.

[gwynne-fics]

Board Meetings -- Rachel & Young-Do

confused p2

“Hyo-Shin told me you have an official boyfriend,” Michael said interrupting her thoughts. Rachel looked up and felt herself automatically smile. “You should look happier with an official boyfriend.”

“We had a fight last night,” she said simply as she walked over to him. “I’m not good at fights, especially with two men at the same time.”

“We never fought,” he pointed out. He kissed her and it felt refreshingly normal. “I’m too meek to fight.”

Rachel laughed quietly at that before she gestured to her couch. “What are you doing here? My appointment with your fiance isn’t until tomorrow. I already told you, she gets final say on the dress. She is the one wearing it. If you don’t like it, you can destroy it on the wedding night.”

“Eun-Sang is a lovely woman. Whatever she decides will be right for her.” He leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. “Tell me about your new boyfriend. My fiance still loves him. Hyo-Shin doesn’t think he’s anything special. I’m curious.”

Rachel shrugged and crossed her legs. “He’s mindful of me,” she said after a moment. “It started right away. He doesn’t know much about my anxiety but he’s mindful anyway. It’s different than what I’m used to and I like it. I’m not in the habit of denying myself simple pleasures.”

“What’s his kink?” Ji-Sun asked her the same thing and she felt annoyed this time. It used to be a game she played when they went out dancing. She was good at knowing what people wanted in bed and last night, Young-Do was angry that she exposed his desire to fuck her. She didn’t understand why but she wasn’t going to talk to Michael about it.

“He’s vanilla. I like it,” she said quickly. “It’s simpler. He just wants me and likes making me orgasm. Cha Eun-Sang hasn’t settled her feelings for him?” 

Michael shrugged. “He couldn’t give her what she wanted. They were too young. First loves are like that. You only remember the good parts. You don’t always remember why you broke up. Although she does. I’m ready to tell her to just get him out of her system with one last go. They never had the kind of physical closure true love needs. I don’t think you’d mind too much.”

She wrinkled her nose and shrugged. If Young-Do needed it, she didn’t see why not, but she wasn’t going to offer it to him. She didn’t think he wanted her to offer opening the relationship. Not with the way he didn’t like Hyo-Shin. 

“Why did they break up?” He quirked half a smile at her but she just rolled her eyes. “I need to know so I can avoid it.”

“His mother is a nightmare. My mother is a nightmare but not the way Yoo Kyung-Ran is. She’s Chairman over Zeus Hotels. She has him in a vice-grip. Eun-Sang says every mother-in-law stereotype there is, Chairman Yoo is worse. No woman will be good enough for Choi Young-Do. She tested their love cruelly. They were twenty-one when she told him to make Eun-Sang a mistress.”

Rachel sighed and closed her eyes. “I’m not cut out for a bad mother-in-law. My anxiety can’t handle those kinds of games. Worse than your mother?”

“My mother is letting us marry. Eun-Sang is what I like in women. She’s very practical and stands up for herself. She knows what she wants and she takes it. She’s also very simple in bed. I like that less but,” he shrugged and trailed off. “Sex isn’t everything and I do love her. Most women aren’t comfortable dominating a man the way you are. I’m trying to encourage her.”

“Most men don’t want that,” she pointed out. “Hyo-Shin doesn’t like it.” She hadn’t tried it with Young-Do. She didn’t think he would notice if she did. Or he would react like he did last night. Rachel did not enjoy the rejection.

“Hyo-Shin would be happier if he didn’t...” Michael sighed. “He’s too caught up in you. I don’t think he’s been with anyone else these last few months.”

“I’ve tried letting him go,” she whispered. “He doesn’t want me to.”

“Oh, no,” Michael said quickly and leaned forward to touch her hand just as Yoo-Ra beeped through the intercom. “His problem is completely of his own making. It is not your fault.”

“Yes?” Rachel said to Yoo-Ra.

“President Choi is here in the reception area to see you.” Rachel blinked and looked at the clock. It was barely ten. She had a project meeting in fifteen minutes. Michael just smiled and stood.

“I’ll take my leave. I’d rather not agree with my fiance that he’s the better choice,” Michael winked at her and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “You know how I get around a man’s man. Hyo-Shin says he’s entirely straight.”

“I don’t think it’s ever occurred to him not to be,” Rachel said as she followed Michael out. Young-Do sat in one of the foyer chairs flipping through a magazine. He looked up and smiled affably at Michael, for which she was grateful. He also bowed and the two men exchanged pleasantries before Michael left.

Rachel looked up at Young-Do and tilted her head. ���You are in the middle of hard negotiations. There is no way you have time to be here.”

“Can we talk in your office?”

“Of course.” Rachel gestured to her office before turning to Yoo-Ra. “Hold my calls and have the project directors wait in the conference room.”

“Yes, President Yoo.”

Rachel followed Young-Do inside and closed the door. He didn’t sit and she didn’t know what to do with herself until he did. He looked...like she did right before anxiety turned to panic.

“I want to apologize for not handling last night better. You were vulnerable with me and I pushed you away. I’m worried I’ve created a new scar inside you. Are you willing to listen to my explanation?”

He’d been to therapy. It hit her oddly to hear the phrases she was encouraged to use to express feelings that rarely made sense to her. But that fact slowly brought her guard down.

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her stomach when it started twisting uncomfortably. “I don’t understand what happened.”

He looked away and clearly struggled for a few moments. “I don’t like that part of myself. You asked me who lied to me to make me believe it was wrong of me to want that. My father was not a good man and he didn’t treat my mother well. He...he didn’t believe it was possible to force his wife. He believed that because they were married, he could do whatever he wished to her.”

Rachel felt more than horrified. He shouldn’t know this. Did his mother tell him? Did he walk in on it? She held her questions back. They would only make him more uncomfortable. “I’ve never been afraid you would violate my consent. You’re very good at checking in with me.”

“Except last night. I didn’t check in with you once and that bothers me. I don’t want to feel like I have anything in common with him. I--”

“I won’t push you like that again,” Rachel interrupted quickly and his shoulders immediately slumped. “I’m sorry my selfishness made you feel that way. Next time, I will figure it out on my own.”

Young-Do winced and ran his hand over his mouth. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me when you’re panicking. I asked you what I could do to help and you told me. I agreed because...I agreed for my own reasons. I still want you to talk to me. I would like to figure it out together. Is that the only kind of sex that works when you’re in a downward spiral?”

Rachel glanced at the clock on her wall and then down at her hands. They’d been talking about this for nearly five minutes. She couldn’t even manage that with her therapist. But she felt the cold sweat start to bead in the small of her back and on her forehead.

“I don’t know. It worked the first time and so it works now. It pulls me out of it so I can think logically. Physical exertion...it stops the emotions from overwhelming me. I can take them one by one and get rid of them.” She pressed her lips together and tried to breathe evenly. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but the reason I didn’t stay at Hyo-Shin’s apartment was because he knows this about me and when I’m in a panic, I just want it to stop. I came home to you. I want that to matter.”

“It does matter,” he said hoarsely. “I’m scared that going back to Thailand next week will...stagnate our relationship. I don’t want you going to anyone else to take care of you sexually.”

“I don’t want anyone else to be in your place. I’ve made space for you beside me. I want you to step into it. I miss dating you.”

He smiled at that. “I miss it, too. Living together kind of stole that from us. My work stole that from us. My friend, Lee Bo-Na, is holding an unofficial concert the night before I leave. Would you like to go with me?”

“Yes. I have a project meeting I need to be in. Let’s eat dinner outside of Zeus tonight.” She knew it was abrupt but she needed to calm down from all this relationship talk before she went in to listen to her directors’ excuses for their latest delay.

“I would like that.” He came up to her and she easily went into his arms. She hugged him tightly and wished this was what happened last night instead of the silence after they cleaned up. She would have to be braver next time. “About the condom leaking--”

“Yoo-Ra has a folder for you. It contains my latest test results. Once I knew we would be sleeping together, I got them done, just in case you wanted them. You are the only person I’ve been with since, but if you would like newer results, I can have them by the time you get back from Thailand.”

He looked faintly surprised. “I believe you. I’ll have mine emailed to you today. I was more concerned about an accidental pregnancy. You mentioned you have a hard time with hormonal birth control.”

She didn’t know what was wrong with her biology but the pill didn’t regulate her cycle, lessen her cramps, and it somehow made her anxiety worse. She told him before they went to the villa that he would always have to wear a condom.

“Yoo-Ra will have emergency contraception for me by the end of the day. I’ll take it tonight. I will be very cranky for the next few days. It is an uncomfortable experience.”

“I’ll be at your service.” He bent down and kissed her. It was softer, sweeter than she was used to. She watched him go and was relieved one of them knew how to do a good relationship. She followed him out but he didn’t pause by Yoo-Ra’s desk. It was a kind but foolish gesture. Rachel told Yoo-Ra to put the folder in her briefcase to take home.

“Is anyone late to the meeting or are they just stewing in their failure?”