#And on top of everything I had an appointment with the most USELESS doctor today

[applestand]

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[amyscascadingtabs]

look now, the sky is gold

He wants this, has longed for this, and he already can’t wait to meet whoever’s growing in there, but he’s scared, too. There’s no turning back now. His world is about to be forever changed, and it will never be just him and Amy again. There will be someone else depending on them, always another person in the back of their heads, and it's slowly hitting Jake that he's about to get onto what is sure to be simultaneously the best and most terrifying rollercoaster of his life.

or, the jake peralta way of dealing with the news that you're going to be a dad. 

read on ao3

(thank you to my love @johnny-and-dora for cheering me on about this and major thanks to @amydancepants-peralta for reading through it for me!!) 

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During the months they were trying, Jake pictured his reaction to a positive pregnancy test many times. 

Each time Amy took one, he’d either sat with her and held her hand, or waited outside the bathroom quietly twiddling his thumbs. Each month, he’d thought of what his reaction would be if the test came back with the two lines meaning pregnant. Maybe he’d laugh, or kiss her, or make a dope sextape joke that she'd punch him in the arm for. There were plenty of options, yet he never considered the reaction that occurs when Amy does fish the familiar white and pink plastic stick out of the pocket of her hoodie.

First, there's the surprise, the realization that this test has two lines and not one.

Then, there's the piecing together, looking from the test to Amy's tear-filled eyes and nervous smile in sheer disbelief.

Then it's the part where even though he thinks he understands, he asks to make sure, and his voice trembles when he says the word baby? and Amy confirms it and suddenly he's tearing up, too, giving in to the sudden need to wrap her in a tight hug.

 “Is this real?” He whispers as she sniffles into his hoodie. “You're… this is really happening?”

“I think it is,” she laughs, a little timid, and he wants to hug her even tighter. Then he wonders if he's supposed to be extra careful with his wife now when she’s carrying the beginning of a brand new person inside of her, and stops himself.

“You did it,” he says instead, and she nods. His shirt is becoming wet from her crying, but he doesn’t mind it. He's missed her happy tears. “You did it, Ames.”

“We did it,” she mumbles, and Jake thinks about holding her hand at the doctor’s appointment, sitting there listening to the fertility consultant explain what medications she needed to take. He’d felt useless, not knowing how to help except staying by her side. “Me and you together.”

Mostly you, he wants to say, because it was always hardest on her, but she pulls away from him smiling so wide, and he nods.

“Okay. Me and you.”

Amy claims she’s exhausted, so they go to bed early even though neither has work tomorrow. Jake finishes the game - he loses, but it’s okay because he's untouchable right now and Wario cheats anyway - and then crawls down under his side of the comforter, waiting for his wife.

  Amy comes out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel and underwear, and he’s mesmerized by her as he watches her pull the familiar blue NYPD t-shirt over her head, fabric sliding over the still mostly flat stomach.

He thinks about how this body he knows so well and loves so much is carrying the beginning of another life inside of it. It's hard to understand how it can still look the same, no obvious changes in its appearance, when it must be changing more than ever on the inside. He wonders how long it'll be before the outside catches up. Part of him can’t wait for it to; maybe it'll feel more real then, once he can see it happening. Plus, he's already certain Amy’s going to look cute as hell with a real baby bump. He’s excited.

  “I'm too tired for sex,” she warns him when she catches him staring, and he holds up his hands, feigning innocence.

“No worries. I mean, we don't even have any pressure now, right? Already made the baby,” he points out, and she chuckles as she gets under the covers.

“We did. Without a war-room calendar and everything.”

“Just love,” he muses.

“And a little bit of hormones, possibly.”

“Love and a little bit of hormones, title of our sextape.”

“I love you,” she whispers, and he can't stop himself from pulling her closer, making her giggle as he presses feather-light kisses to her neck. “I can't believe this is real life.”

“We're having a real-life baby.”

“Hopefully.” Amy bites her lip. “I mean, it's still early. We shouldn't be telling people for another month or two, in case something happens.” Her voice shakes on the last word, but Jake hushes her.

“Let's not think about that, okay? Let's just be happy for right now.”

She gives him another faint smile. “Okay. Right now.”

“And right now you're pregnant.”

“Right now I'm pregnant.” Her eyes gleam. “Holy fuck.”

“Woah, using foul language in front of our unborn child? Shame on you, Santiago - shame.”

“They're a five-week embryo. They don't have ears yet.”

“Right, right. But they exist,” he says, still trying to comprehend it. “Because we're having a baby.”

“We are,” she nods, and this time the smile on her face is radiant, making up for every instance he’s seen her crying in the last months.

  He’s not sure what time he wakes up the next morning, but Amy's not awake yet, so he figures it must be early. She's drifted away from him during the night, and he moves closer, aching to be near her.

She’s sleeping on her right side with her mouth open slightly and her hair spread out on the pillow, and Jake wonders if it’s possible pregnancy is making her glow already. He reaches out to wrap an arm around her, but is stopped in his tracks when he notices that her left hand is resting on her stomach as if to protect the tiny life growing in there.

He has to swallow hard to keep himself from crying again. This is not the time to have a breakdown, because his wife is finally pregnant and he has to keep it together for her sake, but with the boundless happiness has come an edge of fear and something else.

  It’s a feeling he can’t put words on yet, but it’s spreading from deep in his heart to every capillary in his body, filling him with an immediate, acute awareness that he would do anything in the world to make sure the child growing in there is safe. The thought of something happening to Amy has been his worst fear for a long time, ever since he had to leave his post in Texas so she could do her job without him hovering over her and being worried sick, but this feels different. This is instinctual. Jake doesn’t know anything about this child yet, isn’t sure if what he feels for them counts as love when it’s so new and uncertain, but he knows deep in his soul that he’d give up everything to keep them safe.

  Carefully, as to not wake his soundly sleeping wife, he lifts the comforter and leans down so he’s facing her stomach. He presses a kiss to her hand, and then lets his rest on top of hers, linking their fingers together. Amy smiles in her sleep. Jake allows himself another moment of just watching her, wondering how on Earth he got so lucky, before he gets out of bed and pads into the bathroom.

  He’s washing his hands when he notices the pregnancy test still resting on the counter next to the sink. Amy threw away all the negative ones, and he’s taken aback by seeing this one on full display before realizing it makes total sense for her to want to save it. He wonders where they’ll put it - it seems weird to make a shrine for a piece of plastic someone’s peed on, but it also feels wrong to leave the first evidence of the existence of their child forgotten in a drawer somewhere. He picks it up for a second and balances it in his hand. The two lines are as clear as they were yesterday, and just looking at them makes him jittery with excitement and a little bit of nerves.

He wants this, has longed for this, and he already can’t wait to meet whoever’s growing in there, but he’s scared, too. There’s no turning back now. His world is about to be forever changed, and it will never be just him and Amy again. There will be someone else depending on them, always another person in the back of their heads, and it's slowly hitting Jake that he's about to get onto what is sure to be simultaneously the best and most terrifying rollercoaster of his life.

  He needs a distraction. Amy’s probably going to wake up soon, and he could always try to make them breakfast. This is something worth celebrating with real, unhealthy pancakes, served with an excessive amount of butter and syrup and possibly some strawberries if Amy forces him. Jake finds the pancake mix, hidden deep inside the cupboard still filled with gross healthy stuff like oat bran and sunflower seeds, and is about to get milk and an egg from the fridge when he notices something.

 On the second shelf in their fridge is a small piece of some weird, but surprisingly good, cheese Charles gave them. Next to it is a package of cream cheese, and next to that are two bags of mozzarella and a piece of regular gouda. Jake remembers reading somewhere about all this stuff you're not supposed to eat when you're pregnant, and he's almost certain the list included a bunch of cheeses. He can't remember which ones, but just to be certain, he throws out the one from Charles, the first of the mozzarella bags, and then he throws out the gouda and the cream cheese too just in case. He sees a packet of bacon and vaguely remembers something about deli meats being another no-no. He's not sure what counts as deli meats, but he throws out a packet of turkey lunch meat and the bacon as well. Surely, they can't be too safe, and he wants - needs - to protect his pregnant wife and their child in every possible way. He wants to do his best and he wants to start today. If throwing out all their cold cuts is one way, then Jake is doing it. Maybe he should pour out all their alcohol too, that he knows is dangerous, or at least hide it for the following nine months -

  “Babe, what are you doing?”

He freezes with the second bag of mozzarella still in his hand, turning around to meet the befuddled gaze of his wife.

“Uh -”

“Why are you throwing out everything in our fridge?” Amy has thrown on one of his hoodies and her hair’s in a messy top knot, but she still manages to give off one hell of an authoritative vibe when her brows furrow and she's looking at him like he just explained he was getting ready to compete in the next Summer Olympics.

“I thought…” He nods to her stomach and then to the cheese in his hand. “Pregnant people aren't supposed to eat a bunch of stuff, right? I’ve heard this stuff about cold cuts and cheeses, and then I wasn't sure which ones, so…”

“So you threw everything out?”

“Yeah,” he confesses, sheepishly. “Better safe than sorry?”’

Amy sighs. “Jake, you’re majorly overreacting.”

“I am?”

“The recommendations for cheese and deli meats are there to avoid getting listeria, which you’re more susceptible to in pregnancy, and which can also harm the baby. But pretty much everything is sprayed with food additives today, so the risk is low, and the bacteria dies if you heat it up. For cheese, you just have to avoid the unpasteurized ones.” She grabs the mozzarella from his hand, reading at the back. “This is pasteurized. Most cheeses are. So the only thing you’re doing is creating food waste.”

“I didn’t know for sure,” he shrugs, backing away and looking down at his feet as Amy puts back the cheese in their fridge before closing it. “I thought - I wanted to do this right.”

She squints. “What do you mean?”

“I have to start being a dad now, right? And I want to,” he rambles quickly. “Fuck, I can’t wait, okay? But…” He gestures to her stomach again, swallowing hard. “You’re doing everything, and I wanted to help. Start being a good dad right away.”

  There’s a moment’s silence. Amy bites her lip, her eyes narrowing again, and he realizes she’s tearing up.

“Oh, honey,” she sniffles, and then she throws her arms around him without warning and hugs him tight. Jake hugs her back, stroking her hair. She’s been crying so much lately, it’s becoming second nature, but this time she pulls back after a couple of seconds and wipes away the tears with the sleeves of the hoodie before looking him right in the eyes.

“Please listen to me when I say this. You are a good dad, okay? You’ll be amazing. I hate to tell you this, but you can’t exactly be pregnant for me.”

“I know that,” he scoffs, a little indignant. Amy shakes her head, holding her hands on his shoulders.

“This kid is the size of an apple seed right now. An apple seed. We haven’t even known about their existence for twenty-four hours yet. What I’m trying to say is we don't have to clean out our entire fridge yet, babe.”

“I want to protect them,” he mumbles. “Make sure they're safe. It feels like the closest thing to that I can do is try to protect you.”

“I’ll make sure we throw out all the stuff I can't have,” she promises him calmly. “I’ll make a list in the binder of what I can't eat or do and I’ll follow it to a T. But you have to trust me, Jake.”

“Of course I trust you. It's not that.” He grimaces, taking a deep breath. “I could never deal with anything happening to you. And now, if it does, it's also happening to our child, and that makes it worse, Ames! I’m just...”

“Feeling a little overprotective?”

“Yeah!”

She giggles, which makes him feel kind of stupid, but then she stands on the tip of her toes and kisses him something sweet and lingering, and he figures he can’t have made too detrimental of a mistake. She smiles as she pulls back, and it’s such a safe smile, one saying I know you and it will be okay all at once. It’s easy to return it.

  “Babe, I can protect myself. And until this child is born,” she says, moving her right hand to rest above his heart, “I promise to do everything in my power to protect them, too. I’ll go on desk duty, I won’t as much as touch a drop of alcohol, and I’ll try to stress less. Hell, I’ll drink decaf coffee for the next nine months for the sake of this baby.”

“Woah.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Save your applause. Point is, babe, I’ll keep them safe. Can you trust me to do that?”

 He doesn’t have to think about his answer for long. In the eleven years he’s known the woman standing in front of him, he’s learned a lot about her. She’s the best person he knows - smart, brave, motivated and hard-working as hell - and on top of that, she’s fiercely loyal. Amy cares for the people around her, genuinely cares in a way that goes much further than sending the whole precinct Christmas cards or remembering every single one of her nieces’ and nephews’ birthdays.

Amy cares, and a lucky selection of people, she loves. Jake’s always seen it as the greatest honor of his life to get to be loved so deeply by her, and much like he confessed a late evening on their honeymoon when they recited their actual vows to each other, he plans on spending every day of their lives together trying to be worthy of it.

Amy loves, and the people she loves, she would go to the ends of the Earth to protect. There’s not a sliver of doubt in his mind about it, and the longer he thinks about it, the more certain he feels about two things.

 First and foremost, that Amy will love their baby to pieces. If there’s one thing Jake’s looking forward to even more than meeting their baby himself, it’s getting to see the look in Amy’s eyes when she holds them for the first time. He already knows it will drive his heart crazy.

Secondly, he knows she’ll protect them. Amy’s a protector, always looking out for the people she loves, and even though she’ll roll her eyes at him when he does something decidedly harebrained, like hiding in a ceiling for a frivolous squad competition and breaking his ribs falling from it, she’s also the one insisting on driving him to the ER later. If she’s willing to love and look after him in that way, then Jake figures her level of commitment to protecting their child will be immeasurable.

  Jake trusts Amy to keep their baby safe. He trusts her so much, he’d be willing to bet their car and apartment and everything else Amy’s told him he’s absolutely forbidden to bet, on it. His insecurities are rooted in the fact that he wants to protect this child, too, but aside from protecting Amy, he has no idea how to go about it for the upcoming nine months.

  “I trust you,” he says, voice steadfast, and Amy looks pleased. “That's not the problem.”

“Good. So what is?”

“What should I do? Except wait impatiently for them to be born so I can help out?”

“Well,” she shrugs, “you could just keep doing what you're already doing.”

“What?”

“Being my partner,” Amy says calmly, eyes piercing into his. “Which you’re already great at. You can just be here, hug me when these crazy-ass hormones make me cry, listen and talk me down when I get anxious. All I want is for you to be by my side for this, as much as you can.”

“Hold your hair when you throw up, buy you a bunch of crazy food when you get cravings, always be available for sex whenever you reach the point in pregnancy when women get super horny?”

“Okay, slow down.” She rolls her eyes. “We don't know if any of that is going to happen yet. I haven't exactly done this before.”

“Point is I’ll do all of those things if you need me to,” he grins. “Of course I’ll be your partner, Ames. You don't have to ask. But I… I want to do everything I can for our baby.”

She strokes his cheek, reaching up to give him a chaste kiss. “Which is how I know you're going to make the greatest dad on Earth. But for now, babe, they don't need you yet.”

“Ouch.”

Amy laughs. “They’ll need you in nine months, and for the rest of their life after that. If you want to do what’s best for them, I’d suggest keeping yourself safe until then, and I’ll take care of us. Myself, and this wished-for, crazy loved little apple seed.”

He looks down at her stomach again as she says that, trying to imagine a tiny bump there. All he can procure in his head is the giant fake belly from her undercover mission in Texas, but he figures his frame of reference will grow soon enough.

  “And once they gain a sense of hearing”, Amy continues, “you can start talking to them if you want. If you do, the books say they’ll recognize your voice once they’re born. You can come with me to all the appointments, maybe read some parenting books, and I’ll let you order the Die Hard-onesie and baby sneakers I know you’ve been eyeing online. We’re doing this together. I’m just going to do a bit more of it in the beginning. Okay?”

He places his hand over the one that’s on his heart, moving them both to her lower abdomen and nodding. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I love you,” she whispers, another tear already trailing down her cheek. Jake wipes it away with his thumb.

“I love you too.”

 They stand together for a moment, just hugging. It’s all he needs to feel a little more relaxed. He’s still certain he’s in for the wildest rollercoaster ride of his life, but Amy’s words and presence, the knowledge that he’s doing every step with her, is the over-the-shoulder harness to make sure he’s sitting safely for every second of it. The worry and fear of not doing enough is still there, but her trust in him makes it subdued.

 “How are you so chill about this?” He asks when they separate, Amy getting a glass of water for herself before taking a smaller one and extending it to him.“Oh my god, Ames - has having my genome inside of you corrupted you?”

Amy snorts with laughter, spitting out water over herself and the sink. “That is so not how any of this works,” she gets out, coughing slightly.

“It’s not?”

“Not by a long shot. Anyway - you want to know why I’m calm?” Jake nods.

“Because I’m with you. I mean,” she says, folding her hands together and focusing her gaze at them. “Also because it’s super early. Honestly, I’m not sure I trust that it’s happening yet. I guess I need to have blood work done to confirm it, and I don’t know if I’ll fully believe it until we have an ultrasound and we can hear a heartbeat, but… a lot of it is because I know I’m doing this with you.” She looks up at him, a careful but firm smile on her lips. “So I know that no matter what happens, it’s going to be okay. Somehow.”

“We’re having a baby,” he whispers, and her smile grows wider.

“We’re having a baby.”

 He’s not sure who closes the distance between them, or who kisses who first. All he knows is he lets himself get lost in it, immersing himself in the feeling of her lips on his, insistent and wanting, her arms around his shoulders, her legs wrapping around his waist when he lifts her so she’s sitting on the kitchen island. He pulls at the hem of her t-shirt, but she’s there before him, pulling it over her head and giving a meaning nod to signal at him to take off his own.

  They end up in the bedroom, because as useful as their kitchen island can be, it always gives one of them a backache the next day and the bedroom is easier, full stop. The bedroom lets him worship her in another way, lets him do it slowly, devote his entire focus to the sounds she’s making instead of worrying about losing his balance. And he wants to worship her; maybe now more than ever, because he’s still trying to make up for the disaster that was the end of those six months, but also because he’s never been so certain that his wife is magic. She’s doing something extraordinary, and he wants to show her how much he loves her for it, loves her for what she’s willing to go through to grow their family.

  He doesn’t know how much time passes - the duration slots on their war room calendars have become but a memory he’s happy to leave behind - but after, Amy curls into his side and rests her head on his arm. He plays with her hair, pressing soft kisses to the top of her forehead, and he can’t remember the last time he felt so at peace.

“Promise me one thing,” she mumbles in his ear, and he nods.

“Anything.”

“You are not allowed to become one of those men who become afraid to have sex with their pregnant wife because you think you’re going to poke the baby’s head.”

He gives her a haunted look. “I wasn’t going to until you pointed it out!”

“It’s not a thing! They’re well protected in there, and they won’t have a clue what’s happening anyway! So - not allowed.”

“Noted,” he mutters, trying to erase the picture from his head. Amy giggles, pecking his lips with a kiss.

“Great. So what are we doing today, to celebrate?”

“Well, I was trying to make pancakes, before I got distracted -”

“You want to go out to breakfast? As a family?”

The last word makes his heart flutter. “Okay.”

  They end up going out to their favorite diner. Jake can’t help but make note of how many parents with their kids are there. He wonders if it’s an unusual amount today, or if he just never made note of them before. It doesn’t matter, because they bring up the same thought anyway; how soon, the couple who are trying to make their toddlers look up from the iPad long enough to be fed bites of toast could be him and Amy, or even sooner, the couple who takes turns eating and exchanging a fussing infant between them.

In the booth opposite theirs, two women are having breakfast while a ginger baby in a baby chair happily plays with a paper straw. Just as Jake is starting to wonder if he’s creepy for not being able to look away, the kid makes eye contact with him, grins and waves the chewed-up straw at him. Jake picks up his own from his drink, waving it back. The kid laughs at him, and Jake feels his heart melt in a way it’s never done with a stranger’s baby before.

“I can’t wait to take our kid here,” he tells Amy as he’s pouring syrup over his pancakes, and she shoots him a smile over the edge of her decaf-coffee cup.

“Me either.”

  After breakfast, they stop at their neighborhood’s Target, because Amy wants the digital tests that say the word Pregnant and Jake wants to stock up on snacks so they can have a slug day with movies in bed. This time, the aisle of baby clothes doesn’t hurt to walk past, and after they’ve done so, he finds himself suggesting they’ll turn around.

  They browse through little onesies and pants and hats with ears on them, pointing out their finds to each other with equal excitement. Eventually, they settle on footed pajamas with a pattern of grey stars - gender-neutral, soft, and even tinier than he imagined they’d be - and Jake tries to picture their child wearing them. It doesn’t seem completely real to him yet, but he says it to Amy anyway, and then he has to hug her when she starts crying again.

“These are happy tears,” she whispers, clutching the item between them. “Stupid hormones.”

“I know,” he laughs, kissing the top of her head. “It’s okay.”

 He still feels a little worthless thinking about everything his wife is going through, a little powerless and wishing there was more he could do, but he holds her as she’s crying in the baby clothing aisle of Target and thinks that if this is the best way he can protect her and their kid for now, he’ll gladly spend the rest of his days doing it.

  (A month later, when he’s holding the first sonogram picture of their fetus in his hand and the sound of their ticking heartbeat is forever imprinted in his head, he knows it for certain.)

~

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Dina- Chapter 1

Left. Right. Left. Duck. Counter. Attack. Breathe. It was the same with every training since her recovery from her injury. The only thing that Dina disliked more than not being able to spar and work on her martial arts was the predictability of her sparring partner, Tenten. Tenten was strong, and one of the few people who could challenge her.  Lately, though it seemed as if Tenten was patronizing her instead of building her up. 

Dina was gifted with martial arts from a young age. She’d advanced quickly in the ranks and by the age of ten, she was already mastering adult lessons. This lead to a plateau in learning which led to the desire of Dina to move and settle in Konoha. She had heard of Kakashi Hatake. His martial art skills were impeccable, and from what else Dina had heard, he wasn’t bad looking either. She wanted to spar with him to see if the rumors of his greatness were true. 

For months, she had trained and sparred with anyone she could. Until she had met Tenten. Tenten had been valuable as a partner. Every time the pair sparred it was different, and Tenten pushed Dina harder and farther. That was until three months ago.

Dina had been participating in a martial arts contest with the top athletes from all of the villages. It was during her final showdown with her opponent when she injured her leg. It was the swift kick she aimed toward her foe when she felt the pop of her muscle. The excruciating pain that followed and the stunned silence of the stadium were all she could hear. The commotion afterward of being rushed to the Village hospital blurred together.

The utter defeat and frustration  Dina felt when she was told she’d torn her adductor muscle. The news that she’d be down for at least six weeks, which to many didn’t seem as much time for recovery for a tear. The tears that burned at her cheeks after the news only fueled her desire to try to recover faster.

For two weeks, her group of friends worked tirelessly to ensure her recovery. She was determined to not be a burden to any of them. She had felt useless, and like a responsibility to them all. It was the second week into recovery when Lorelie decided that perhaps Dina could not only use some cheering up but maybe a nice chat from someone she respects. A knock at the door snapped Dina to attention.

“I’ll get it!” Lorelie called from the kitchen. Dina heard Lorelie’s footsteps from the kitchen to the front door of the apartment. Dina heard a deep male voice she didn’t recognize. She slowly sat up on the bed where she was resting to greet the stranger in her home.

“Dina, I thought because you were feeling so down about your injury that you’d like to talk to someone about how you’re feeling and who had been through this before,” Lorelie said as she walked into her room. “Would you prefer the living room or your room here?”

“I don’t need to talk to anyone. I need to get better faster.” Dina replied snippily. 

Lorelie hummed, “I think you’ll want to talk to this one.” 

With a huff of frustration, Dina said, “Fine. Whatever you want.” Lorelie left the room promptly. When she re-emerged in the room she had Kakashi Hatake in tow. The Kakashi Hatake, at up close she could tell the rumors of his beauty weren’t fallacies. 

“Dina, this here is-” Lorelie started.

“Kakashi Hatake.” Dina finished for her. 

“I thought you’d like to talk to him about recovery from an injury. He’s a great martial artist like you and has been exactly where you are now.” Lorelie explained. “I’ll leave you two it, but if there’s anything I can do for you, Kakashi, please let me know.” Lorelie continued. She walked out the door closing it enough to give the two privacy.

The two talked for hours about how painful it is to recover, not physically but mentally. They both spoke of their triumphs and trials to get where they were today. He talked openly about how he thought he didn’t need anyone’s help. How selfish he was and how it impacted him. Dina listened with interest and heeded his advice. They exchanged numbers, in case Dina needed to talk more. 

“Dina, please take care of yourself. I look forward to the day that I can spar with you at your full potential.”Kakashi’s parting words to Dina just before he left. Dina, as did most people in her group of friends, wondered how Lorelie seemed to know everyone in the village after the exchange. This thought didn’t last long since she was invigorated to get better and hopefully it was speedy.

When Dina was at the doctor’s office for a follow-up appointment four weeks after the initial injury, the doctor’s deemed another two weeks of rest was needed. The displeasure that Dina faced was great, but she did think of the words Kakashi had said to her before. Hoping it would help with the last two weeks of recovery seem less dreadful. 

She had called up Kakashi to update him on the situation. While he was sad to hear that she would need more time to recover, he was glad she was hopeful for the future and that it didn’t seem it would dampen her outlook on the end results. 

She had told Alex all about the interaction with Kakashi almost every day she could. The words he spoke and the way he looked.

“It seems to me, that you Dina, maybe, a bit infatuated with Kakashi. How could you not be though? He’s very nice to look at.” Alex teased Dina.  This made Dina blush,  but she couldn’t help but know, Alex was right in this matter. 

Her final follow up appointment was met with much hope and excitement as Dina would allow. If she got the all-clear she could continue getting better. She had thought of nothing but getting better, Alex’s words, and Kakashi’s voice during these last two weeks. The way he talked gently to her, the empathy he felt, the way his arms could easily hold her. She shook those intruding thoughts from her mind as she entered the doctor’s office.

After an hour of entering the office, she bounded out and ran straight to Tenten at the dojo. Every day after that for the last month like clockwork, Dina and Tenten had sparred.

Today had been met with resistance and frustration from the very stary for Dina.“Tenten, why aren’t you even trying to push me?” Dina yelled in frustration. “I just want to get better. I want to be better than I was before the injury.”

This elicited a deep chuckle from a pair of on-lookers who every so often came to watch. Dina looked up to see Gai and Kakashi. A blush formed on Dina’s face. She could no longer deny he wasn’t handsome.

“My former youthful student!” Gai yelled at Tenten. Tenten groaned at this. Gai always loved to challenge her and today was probably no exception, Dina thought.

“Hello! Gai- Sensei! Hello Kakashi-Sensei!” Tenten replied, and Dina waved. Tenten pulled Dina along as she walked to the two.

“Looks like your training is coming along nicely, Dina!” Gai exclaimed with boundless enthusiasm. 

“Yes, I think I could be pushed a bit farther, and it seems to me that Tenten doesn’t feel the same sentiments. She’s holding back.” Dina spoke.

“Dina, I’ve been training with you for so long, you’re not where you once were before.” Tenten countered.

It was the act of Dina rolling her eyes and making an exasperated huff at Tenten. that made Kakashi laugh again. 

“Dina, if it were alright with you, I’d love to spar with you to be an impartial judge?” Kakashi offered

Tenten took this chance for a break.

“Yes, please, that would be great,” Tenten replied for Dina. Tenten took Gai’s arm and brought him to sit down while they watched Dina and Kakashi get ready to fight. Tenten knew that Dina may have a slight crush on Kakashi. Whenever he’d come to watch she could see Dina’s body stiffen or push herself harder than when he wasn’t present.

“Let’s make this interesting, shall we?” Kakashi spoke suddenly.

“Okay? Interesting how?” Dina said confused.

“Lets...Make a bet.” Kakashi thought for a bit. “Winner gets to decide what the loser does?” He winked at Dina.

Dina relaxed her body and dropped her arms. Everything inside Dina stopped when her brain finally comprehended that Kakashi actually winked at her. She felt her face get hot with a blush of embarrassment and excitement.

“Can I just give up now? I know I won’t win.”  Dina teased half-joking, half-serious.

With a hearty chuckle and easy grin, Kakashi said, “Come on, I’ll take it easy on you.”

There was one thing that Dina learned since the first meeting with Kakashi. Kakashi didn’t flirt, and he didn’t really even date from what she gathered from the rumors that were spoken about him. 

The sound of his laugh and the teasing look in his eyes made it difficult to focus on the match that was about to happen. Dina tried hard to look anywhere but at Kakashi’s face.

Getting back into a fighting stance, Dina tried to gather her racing thoughts and focus. She noticed Kakashi ball his hands reading them for a punch, and her body adjusted for the incoming attack. They both nodded at one another to signal they were ready to begin the match.

In an instant Dina found herself staring up at the ceiling. “What-” she looked around confusedly. She glanced down and found a frowning Kakashi kneeling beside her. His large warm hand placed on the inside of her thigh, which seemed very intimate for this man.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt your leg?” He questioned cautiously.

Dina shook her head. “No, I was distracted was all. I’m good. Let’s go again.” She said to him. 

Tenten rushed over to Dina with a frantic look on her face. 

“I think it’s time to call it a day,” Kakashi slowly stood with a hint of unease in his voice.

“Dina, you alright? Kakashi came in with a leg sweep, I’ve never seen you go down so quickly.” Spoke tenten quickly.

Kakashi extended his arm down to Dina to help her stand up, which she happily accepted while blushing furiously.

“I’m fine, but I think Kakashi-sensei is correct. I think I may have overdone it for today.” Dina suggested. Tenten didn’t miss how red Dina’s face was but decided against mentioning it for now. 

“Alright. ” Tenten said in agreement after a moment of watching Dina stand feeling the tension in the air. Tenten went to gather her things up giving the two a bit of privacy. 

“I am sorry, Dina,” Kakashi said.

“No worries, honestly. I did just push myself a bit too much today, but I guess that means I lost the bet.” Dina said sheepishly, hoping that whatever her punishment for losing the bet was not too terrible.

Another chuckle slipped past Kakashi’s lips, he quipped, “I think I’ll have to make you spar me again in the future.”

That simple promise of sparring again with Kakashi made Dina’s heart pound in her chest. There was no denying that she wasn’t looking forward to the next time they met. As she finished gathering her items to head home she heard her phone chirp in her pocket. 

Looking down she saw a message from Kakashi that read “Tomorrow, I’ll show you what real training looks like.” Yeah, she definitely was looking forward to what was to come.

[mayareth]

Our little frog

Pairing: Fenrir x Cassiopée

Type: Angst

Warnings: child loss, depression, suicide tendencies.

Word count: 1601

This fic is inspired by the so-well-written headcanons of the fantastic @hejer-maomao 💙 I have to say, I wanted to write something NSFW for the Lancelot Appreciation Week (and the Kinktober challenge) but I was more inspired for some angst (thanks to Mr Sunshine, this drama is ruining my life). It's not as good as I wanted it to be but I still wanted to share it with you because I don't think I’ll have the time to write something else soon (thanks to the university life, heck, I thought it would have the taste of freedom).

Hope you enjoy!

*******

FENRIR’S POV

Cassie was lying next to me, smiling as every morning. Waking up to her beautiful face was the utmost joy to me, especially since we weren't two but three in this bed. I touched her small baby bump while kissing her forehead softly.

”Good morning, honey.”

I whispered in her ear.

”Good morning, cupcake.”

She said, her lips brushing mine. I loved this quiet moment we enjoyed every day before being caught in the agitation of the day. The sun reflected in her green eyes, making them sparkles like two emeralds. I brushed off a hair lock from her face to give her a proper morning kiss when suddenly, Cassie moved both of her hands to her belly, wincing.

”Cassie, are you ok? Are you feeling sick again? Do you need me to bring you tea or something to soothe your cramps or maybe...”

She shook her head although she was now avoiding my gaze.

”No, it's alright Fenrir. Don't worry, it often happens, I’m pretty sure it's because I'm now at the end of my third month of pregnancy. It's just my body adapting itself to this little one. Also, if you stay under the sheets five more minutes, you’re gonna miss the special army meeting your so-called partner appointed this morning.”

Panic flooded through me when I looked at the clock. The meeting! I’m going to be scolded by Daddy Sirius again and Luka will cook tomatoes for a whole month if I arrive late at a meeting with the Red Army. No way I would let this happen. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my uniform, getting change as fast as I could.

”See you later, Cassie! And you little princess, don't exhaust your mother too much.”

”How can you be so sure it’s a girl? When did you leave your guns to become a gynaecologist?”

Cassie was smiling, the kind of fake smile I could sometimes see on Sirius’ face. However, I barely paid attention to it, thinking she was just tired and barely had a look for her as I put on my military cap.

”I know what I produced, I’ll let ya know!”

I winked at her before hurrying to the Central Quarter.

*******

After the meeting, I decided to enjoy the good weather and to take a stroll in the shopping streets. As I walked, I gazed at the shops when some little green baby pyjamas caught my attention. I thought back at when Cassie announced me she was expecting. Once I had calmed down from the extreme joy I had experienced, we decided together to attribute the green colour to this baby, a colour of hope that suits boys and girls alike. The little one became our little frog, the cutest frog in the world. I could already picture myself, playing in the fields with our child, running and jumping everywhere after a picnic on a sunny day like this one. Ray would be the godfather and Margareth the godmother of course. What a lucky baby...

Remembering the look on my beloved face this morning, I decided to make her a surprise and bought the cute pyjamas. I walked back to the headquarters, feeling as light as a feather, daydreaming. I couldn't wait to become a father.

*******

When I came back home, however, something in the atmosphere was different. I tensed immediately. I ran into Margareth. Worry was all across her features.

”Hey, Margareth, did something happened while I was out? Please, tell me.”

I’ve never seen her like this. My best buddy’s woman looked like she was about to cry.

”It’s Cassiopée... She locked herself up in her room and refused to let anyone in since this morning. It's not just a bad mood. There must be something else. Usually, when she has a problem with someone or something, she always tells me. But here... She told me that she wasn't worthy to get anyone’s help or affection.”

I immediately understood that it must be related to the baby. Bad mood or not, my most important duty now was to check what was wrong and to stay with her.

”That’s not good, not good at all... Please, Margareth, tell Sirius I will do my paperwork later. For now, I have other priorities. Explain the situation and...”

”He already knows. He gave you the rest of the day off as well. Go and tell me as soon as you can if I can help.”

”I will, thanks.”

I hurried to my beloved room as if my life or hers was on the line. Please, please, please, tell me it's just one more weird effect the hormones have on pregnant women, please tell me she is just in a really bad mood and she will get better after a good night of sleep. Please...

I repeated this polite word like a mantra in my head until I reached her door. I knocked. No one answered.

”Cassie? Cassie, it's me, Fenrir.”

I knocked again, desperately but she gave me no sign. Finally, I decided to open the door by myself, with the key she gave me when we got married, as a symbol that we were now sharing everything.

*******

I will never forget what I saw this day. My wife, the love of my life, the woman I share everything with was there, lying on her bed. I could have thought she was just resting if there wasn't a river of red liquid dripping between her legs. Her complexion was so pale I mistook her with a ghost for a short moment. My head was spinning and all I could do was to rush over her bed to check if she was still alive. Cassie sighed faintly when I took her hand in mine and placed it against my cheek. Cold. So cold.

”Please, honey, wake up...”

When I felt her hand becoming wet, I realized I was crying. I was about to scream at the top of my lungs when Cassiopée finally opened her eyes.

”Fenrir... Let me here... I... I don't... Deserve your attention... I’m so useless...”

I placed a finger on her delicate lips, making her stop right away.

”A doctor is on his way. Try to hold on until then. Please, don’t leave me, Cassie...”

”Fenrir... You haven't listened to me... I lost our child... I don't deserve to be loved by anyone after this... Just let me die here, with our little frog...”

The air in the room seemed so cold to me at this moment, even though we were still in the middle of July. My blood turned to ice when I heard the joyful lady I married spitting such horrible things about her. She stared at me, panting, until the tears in her eyes made her turn away.

”Find someone better than me. A woman that could give birth to your beautiful child. Your daughter, your precious little one...”

I felt my heart breaking into thousands of pieces. How can she say such horrible things? Of course, I was extremely pained that she had lost out child but that doesn't make me less in love with her. In no time, I found myself hugging tight the only woman I cared at that moment.

”Cassie. Listen to me now. I love you and I will always love you. Remember? We promised to support each other in the best as well as in the worst moments. Tell me you still mean it. Please.”

I felt her falling apart in my arms, crying and letting all the tears she had held back falling. Soon, my jacket was wet so was her dress but neither of us cared. We just held each other until the doctor arrived.

*******

”Had it really to be Kyle?”

Cassie asked me while we were getting ready for the night, a sad smile on her face.

”He had always been taking care of everyone in the Red Army, but also in all of Cradle. He is the best doctor we can find here when he is not drunk, that is. I noticed he wasn't today. I have to say it surprised me.”

We both chuckled as if the tension that had been in the air all this time was finally vanishing.

”Was it really necessary to add that I truly was Lancelot’s cousin? Am I really that awful?”

”As a patient, certainly. As a wife, you are all I could ever ask for. You are so brave I have no doubt you will become even stronger after this.”

She stayed quiet as I kissed her on the forehead, perfectly aware that difficult times were ahead of us and we will both need time to recover from this loss. But tonight, we had both agreed that enough tears had been shed.

”Goodnight, honey”

”Goodnight, cupcake”

We acted as if everything was normal even though we both knew neither of us was alright. Our little frog was gone, we haven't had the chance to meet her and all we can do for now is imagining all sorts of adventures we could have lived together. I was doing this and I knew Cassie was doing the same. As soon as the clock struck midnight, tears would start to fall again, as if we wanted to create a lake for our tadpole.

”I swear that if this tadpole has a lake, the next one will have a cradle.”

All my wife could do was to nod as she eventually fell asleep in my arms and I was soon following her into a sleepy yet restless end of the night.

*******

Still here? So I’m tagging @hejer-maomao of course, @muggzc, @kiarigirl, @plumpblueberry, @lovingsiriusoswald, @lovingikesen, @jonahlover42069, @pianoperson, @alloveroliver-ash (angst break in the middle of the Kinktober) and @saphyhowl.

Please tell me if you want to be tagged/untagged!

[mockingjaybeevicious]

Not Just My Pride (Yes I’ve Been Black, But When I Come Back You’ll know)

i'm writing a chaptered hartwin fic, eggsy's in rehab for the 3 time, and he meets a caring Dr Hart, and maybe, just maybe, eggsy can get clean this time. getting dr hart to go on a date after he gets out would just be a bonus. not betaed at all i'm just putting this here because i want it somewhere, and i'm not even ready to put the first chapter on ao3. i don't even know what rating this'll end up being in the end. eggsy experince in rehab is a lot like what i went through when i went. i sucked, i hates it, and it worked for a long time. i relaped, and today is my 7th day sober, so i thought i would post what i'm working on. anyway here ya go - When Eggsy wakes up that morning, he coulnd’t remember where he was, and how he got there. Truthfully, he was used to that feeling, but this time he swore he knew, and when the nurse walked in, brightly smiling at him, it came to him quickly. Rehab. He was in rehab. He had agreed to it as a joke yesterday, to get his mates Ryan and Jamal off his ass, but apparently, this was not a joke. It was real, and he was livid.”I’m not supposed to be here,” he got out, voice rough for disuss and sleep. “Aye, that’s what everyone says love, give it a few days to settle in, it’s gonna be a hell of a shock at first. Time for vitals dear.” He allowed her to do them, knowing fighting back wa useless, plus there was much more on his mind currently. “When do I see the doctor?” Honestly, at twenty five, Eggsy had already had a few court-appointed stays at rehab under his belt. Twenty-eight days of clean and sober living, and then he can get back to doing what he wants, allbeit a little more carefully for awhile. He learned during his first stay, if you just go with the program, that it keeps people off your arse, so he does that, even if the first stages of junk sickness are creeping up, he still stays calm. “Later in the morning dear, think you can handle a but of toast?” He nods, and watches her leave. Good, now he can have his little freak-out, seeing as he doesn’t remember even checking in here, and has no clue where here is, and what’s it’s name. That’s a new one even for him, really. Got fucked up and went and checked himself into care. Nice one, he tells himself. He gets out of bed, glad that he has sleep clothes on at the very least, and looks at the meger set of drawers, yup, all his stuff is there, folded and put away. Seconds later a breakfast tray is brought to his room, which speaking off, is a room for just him. Any other place he’s been to had at least two more people crammed in a small room. Looks like he’s in a nice place, one he simply can’t afford. He’ll bring that up to the doctor when he seems them, to ask for early release. He nibbles his toast, add a bit of milk to his luke warm tea, and drains the cup quickly, wishing he had more. HE has the start of on hell of a migraine, right behind his eyes, and if he can’t have some roxy to snort, he might as well try to help it with a bit of tea he figures. He’s left alone, something else he finds strange, while he goes through what he has and pulls on some jeans and a polo, sits back on the bed, and waits. That’s when he notices the tremor in his hand, and he swears to himself. Eggsy figures he’s been asleep for at least two days, enough time for all the shit he took before coming here to leave his system, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes to start really making it’s presence know. BEfore he can get the nerve to leave his room to ask for something for the pain, and orderly has arived, asking for him to come along, time to see Dr Hart, and best to hurry up, yeah? Oh yeah, Eggsy thinks, hurry along, trying not to vomit on his feet as he walks. Eggsy doesn’t look around, doesn’t take notice of his suroundings to get a feel of where he’s at, he just want’s to get where he’s going, and die in peace, thank you very much. They get there quickly, blessedly quick, where he slinks down in the waiting room chair, the orderly beside him. He hears the name try to strike up a conversation, and finally Eggsy through him a look, and goes back to his own private hell. Junk sickness has set in, and all he wants in life is one sweet blessed tramadol at this point, to calm the pain, to make is bearable. He hears the office door open, and, if Eggsy where feeling any better, he’s perk up some, because jesus fuck, he’s exactly the type bloke Eggsy goes for. Tall, beautiful, posh, and utterly out of his leage. He almost smiles when he stands up, following Dr Hart’s motions, and takes a set on the chaise lounger in the corner of the room, curling up quickly. “Hate to tell ya this bruv, but I don’t have the money to be in a place this nice, yeah? Might as well send me on home now, ok?” Eggsy looks up when Dr Hart laughs at him, not unkindly, but still, the tosser actually is laughing at him, “Eggsy we don’t turn people away based on that here, but that was a worthy try. Tell me, how do you feel?” Eggsy groans, “The fuck you mean, how do I feel, I’m going through junk sickness cause you all let me fucking sleep it off, instead of making me stay away so I could take something to help this, yeah? I feel like I’m dying,” he whines, deep in his chest, as a back spasm hits him. “Eggsy you were passed out for two days, we tried to wake up several times, and you wouldn’t respond. We had a heart moniter on you until this morning. After seeing your blood test results this morning, I’m utterly surpirsed that’s all that happens. Most people who take that much oxycotin and ativan, with whisky chaser die. However, I can give you something now, if you like.” Eggsy just nods his head quickly, hoping they hurry up with the old standby of tramadol and beta blockers quickly. Which, even more surpirsing, if exactly what Dr Hart does. It’s not much, it’s a low dose of each, and he has to swallow them, but before he’s taken back to his room he hears the doctor say, “Same time tomorrow Eggsy, and it would help if you went to your first meeting today as well.” It takes an hour for the meds to start working, and even then it’s just a sickly sweet amount, just enough to stop the shake, but not enough to stop anything else. He feels like he has the flu, and really just wants to go back to bed, when, for some reason, he leaves his room, goes to the nurses station, and asks what time and where at the NA meetings. Apparently it’s already three in the afternoon, and one just started, and if he was quiet, he could slip in. So, he follows he nurse down the hall, to the left, and opens the doors to a meeting already in place, and everyone quickly looks at him as he slids into a chair in the back. He’s been to loads of meetings, so he doesn’t really listen. He knows that talking about the fucked up stuff you did high off your ass, boasting while sounding ashamed is somehow supposed to help, but for the life of him Eggsy doesn’t really understand the point. He turns out most shares, clapping when they’re done, stands to say the serity prayers, and just goes back to his room. That’s when it hits him, he’s stuck here Sure, for a couple of more days they’ll give him a little bit to ween him off, not to shock his abused system anymote than it has to be, and then he really be stuck here, sober He’s terrified, because he knows this is a means to an end, really. He said he would do this when his mates, his mum and little sister all begged him to go, to try again, so he did. He didn’t actually mean he would go to rehab. Yet here he was. He was too tired to think about it, about the hard amount of partying he did before they shoved him in a cab and gave the cabbie the name St Hope’s Place, just right outside of Canden Markets. He was too busy enjoy not feeling anything. If he really thinks about it, he doesn’t remember signing himself in at all, or bring brought to his room. Things he should ask the nurse up at the station for, but then he remembers Dr Hart saying any one else would have overdosed, and then he decides, he truly doesn’t want to know how he got inside, into the room. He really doesn’t want to remember anything, at all. All he really wants is to get out of her, go back to his flat, find the bottle of roxy he got hidden in the top of his closet, crush up and snort them, and sleep for another two days. And, yet again, it hits him, if he’s here, that means someone’s paid for him to be here, and if anything, Eggsy doesn’t want them to waste their money on a lost cause like him, but, he supposes, while he’s hee, he might as well give it a shot, who knows, maybe this time it’ll stick. There’s always a first time for everything, Eggsy figures, why would getting sober, going straight and getting his life together be any different?

[blandwriting]

It's been a long pause, where have I been? Mostly procrastinating at knowing how to be a functioning adult. Despite my flaws, characteristically I'm still very much the same. Major Depressive Disorder, a term to prescribe me antidepressants at a low yet effective amount to keep my anxiety at bay. Effexor XR, Side effects include loss of appetite, drowsiness, blurred vision, fatigue, dry mouth, nausea, sweaty palms, leg tremors, insomnia; I guess the cure and the ailment are one in the same. I'm functioning now at a rate where I feel almost numb enough to feel sufficed by my less than mediocre existence. Thirty years old, greying hair and pubes, a long list of non established idea's that never got off the ground. Financial freedom.... We just reinstated a credit card due to the pandemic taking away our wage and making us less than satisfactory to pay for our fancy Meriton apartment in Mascot. Paces ahead but still trailing behind. I always find myself romanticising life.... Looking for the hidden posies in the mess. No wonder my outlook had degraded to catatonic self destructive seeking missile. I was hit by a car and rolled up onto the dash.... fell to the ground miraculously leaving unscathed only bruised and badly shaken... although the longing for greater injuries if not death was the only thing I could fixate on. Why was I so depressed... why was I so unnerved at my miraculous and somewhat outstanding ability to survive a car driving directly into my right leg without so much as even breaking a bone? I flew over the top of the bonnet and rolled down onto the wet and unforgiving bitumen with nothing more than a manic episode. It opened up a huge sinkhole.... the medication was the only thing stopping me from taking my own life. I cared for nothing. I've had a lot of sobering moments in my short by well worn life. But sitting across from my doctor with tear stained cheeks, quivering bottom lip and shaking hands, I'd spent the last three days just scream crying every moment I had left with my swelling thoughts of self harm and suicide. I simply no longer wished to live.... My doctor worried expression painted across her face sat there and listened to me, as my emotions heightened and I cried out that I was fine... everyone said I was fine... so if I'm fine then why do I no longer want to live... Something has to change... I'm exhausted.... I simply no longer wish to exist, I am meaningless and broken I'm discarded and used, People whom only benefit from myself keep me around I am not loved, I never had been unconditionally loved. She sat there mouth agape... "Krystal..." I looked up to her, With what I can only imagine would have been one of the most pained looks I've ever given another person... " You're not going to kill yourself are you?..." she said furrowing her brows at me with a downturned expression, I looked to the right with my lips pressed into a straight line, rubbing the edge of my thumb nails to the underside of my thumbs, swapping them back and forth, as I looked to my left avoiding eye contact but ruminating on how I felt... softly I let out " I don't know anymore". She reached her hand across the table and asked for my left arm as my right was rendered useless by the bruising. I handed her my hand, hers warm the warmest hand I've felt in a long time, " If you kill yourself Krystal I'll be very angry with you, It will hurt everyone you love, You make me laugh everytime you come in, there are so many other choices".

In that moment I looked at her, I knew I couldn't do it, I'd been held accountable. My heart swollen she wrote me a prescription and I'd left that office with a follow up appointment booked, before I walked out of her room I asked her for a hug, In that moment I felt loved, truly loved with an unbiased heart, She literally didn't have to at all, but I just so needed a hug without answers without question, I just needed that in that moment. To feel loved.

This is the thing, loved. A feeling every human being on the face of the planet longs for a feeling of complete and total acceptance. That is all I've ever been looking for, to feel accepted. I grew up in an unconventional yet familiar family story, My mother freshly 18 two weeks out of the legal boom gates, and my Father turned 22 an hour and fourteen minutes after I was born, It was the typical Australian 1991 period, Still heavily influenced by Christianity, My mum was placed in a separate wing from the other mothers who were Married or accounted for, She and dad were on-again off-again young lovers with a fiery relationship built on jealousy drama and pure attraction, I came into the world on a Monday, it was Mercury retrograde, need I say more. Mum didn't have a lot of money or a stable household at that time, she was living in-between homes, Momentarily we lived in the garage out the back of her mothers house, a red back spider infested ex photography studio and teenager hangout spot, They had a tumultuous relationship themselves, That's the difficulty with family scars, My father from memory lived in a share house with friends, he and his parent's also from a not so forgiving background, both of my parents were dragged up I wouldn't really say either had the golden childhood either of them really deserved, two seperate sides of two different coins, but both resulting in the universal fate of their meeting and my existence. It wasn't long and without shock before my parent's broke up. My dad wasn't ready for fatherhood, he was still drinking and fighting and doing whatever he wanted to do, and mum a young mother had taken on the role of responsibility with a bit more of a stiff upper lip, Rightfully so. He and she were again on and off again for the most of my formidable years, I remember my mum writing notes on a phone pad, back when corded phones were a thing and you were stuck in one place, She'd write his name with hearts and little doodles, I also remember her agonising cries when they'd broken up. It wasn't unusual for Mum to drop me at dad's and for he to leave me with his latest fling and I'd give them hell while he went out stalking down Mum wherever she was. I remember the arguments and my dad's alcohol induced rages towards mum. He showing up to our cottage at random hours banging on the doors and window's to be let in, I remember being dragged out of bed at 2-3-4 am to be placed in a cold Torana to drive around because he was in a violent frenzy smashing every valuable mum had collected on her very small wage she was earning working at a pub to support us, to give me all she could. He'd come in and ruin everything, our tables our chairs the television he'd smash her beds up throw the kitchen around smash the dining tables and chairs, a violent and unstoppable force, and then just like a hurricane he would dissipate and we would rebuild; I don't know how my mother did it, that man didn't even pay the child support he was owing, how do I know this as an adult I went into my centrelink history and saw all of the unpaid arrears.... funny that.

Due to my home life being so far from average or normal I really focused on my imagination, I was plagued with nightmares and an extreme amount of anxiety.... But we didn't really know or talk about mental health in children back then... So I just played with our cats and dogs, singing on the swing alone or annoying our Landlord who owned a sign writing shop out the front, I'd collect snails or grab my dog and escape to the hair salon out on the main road our cottage was behind. The creativity really appealed to me, it gave me an escape from an otherwise crippling existence even for a small child, I was so loved and my mum did everything she could to prove that so, but I just felt so conditional.... I think even as a small child below the age of five I knew that my mothers life would be different if I didn't exist... At school there were rumours around about my family so obviously the children were biased based upon their parents opinions even as early as preschool mum and I faced adversity... I was an outcast from a poor family going to a Lutheran preschool in an affluent area, my mum showing up in a Commodore to drop me off, young and beautiful, I found it difficult to make friends, although I had one best friend but she ended out going to the adjoining Primary school and I were to be moved to the state school three doors down from our cottage.

When I started at my primary school there was 27 students from year 1 to year 7, there were Three educators, Miss S was year 1 - 3, Mrs B was mathematics and science and the Principal Mr F educated year 4-7. I'd made some friends but I was a little off-beat and bossy and a real stickler for the rules so I was always telling on everyone, I wasn't overly athletic or smart, I was more interested in writing or talking or reading than really doing any actual school work. I remember vividly being in trouble for talking while we were doing maths which I still very much struggle with today.... But I ended out being put in time out and I sat there and thought I'd counted to a thousand... because I was entirely bored.... Miss S walked past and I told her " Miss S I counted to a thousand". She looked down at me and said " No you didn't, You silly girl you don't know how to... now be quiet". I'm still cut about that... Mole.

There were many times in those years I was subjected to questionable people and activities many in which I know for sure, No child of mine is ever having sleepovers at their friends houses.... and I mean it. I was socially under developed and preferred the company of adults to children... I didn't fit in with kids my age and the ones I was socialised with were little sicko's with weird parents...

Surprisingly my parent's got back together when I was around age 7 or 8... My dad was working overseas and for some reason mum and he decided to get married by this point my mum had my first younger brother and She and Dad got married...... even that day was a flop for my poor Mum... he ended out going on a four day drinking binge with his friends and mum was left to clean up the mess of the wedding after party and retire home alone. Romantic right?.... I love and adore each one of my four younger brothers and I am so thankful for their existence they’re all individually wonderful and loving and kind i just find it difficult to sometimes sit there and think about how different my mum’s life could have been... had none of us existed.... although I am grateful sometimes for existence I just wish that my dad had dealt with his demons and maybe had gotten some help, flash forward a few years and dad ended up in rehab for six weeks during that time he’d seen mental health professionals but nothing came from it... he just decided to not take his Zoloft because “he hates feeling happy” He for some reason needs aggression which for me is something I just cannot simply understand, now as an adult I recognise my parents have their own issues their own histories and past just as we all do, but it’s one of those things where when I was younger and learning about the world my perception wasn’t of that but only of a lack of unconditional love, now as an adult I’ll do upmost anything to prevent being like my father, so when offered the help I took it... there weren’t other options in that moment for me to be functioning... I just hope I made the right choice.

As a teenager I experienced the usual laziness,  my household was filled with children and crying and new borns the precession of another brother came closely after the first was born and mum was dealing with a “hyperactive” toddler and a newborn and myself now a pre-teen.... I’d moved school’s by this point but realistically speaking and I’ll cut it fairly short, I never really fit in with anyone or anything.... Without being academically gifted or Athletically gifted... my value wasn’t highly ranked... I spent most of my lunch breaks playing Chinese checkers in the library or reading books, I loved books and Encyclopedia’s, hyper-fixating on certain topics and being drawn to the mystics and paranormal.. I would spend hours pouring over pages within books my Aunties had gifted me for Birthday’s or Christmas’s. I feel like my time filled within that school was also darkened by my own inability to behave like a “normal person” I don’t know if at the age of ten I was acutely aware at all about my inability to fit in... all i know is getting choked out at lunch time and ran away from wasn’t the best...

I’ll continue the story later.

[natkat-140]

bad days / good news

Hi everyone, I have some good news after my doc appointment. My eye is healing well and everything looks good. I now only have to be facedown 4 times a day for one hour each time which is music to my ears. I still am blind in my right eye which is worrisome to me but the doctor said that's normal and it can potentially take months to regain my eyesight. Ultimately though, this means I can now sit upright most of the day, resume more normal daily living, and PLAY GAMES WITH YOU!!

I appreciate you all for checking in on me so often and keeping me in your thoughts. It really did mean a lot to know that you were thinking of me and hoping for the best for me. That being said… I don't like showing it but I was struggling quite a bit this last week. Whenever someone asks “how are you?” I feel obligated to give a nice answer and move on. “Doing well, can’t complain, hanging in there.” Because nobody likes a downer, nobody likes hearing “I feel awful, the isolation is killing me, I’m worthless, I’ve been crying all day.”

I've been on medical disability 4 times in the last 5 years for completely different reasons and that has taken a toll on me. Productivity, work, being helpful, being useful - those things are important to me and my mental health. Being a nurse gives me a sense of purpose and fullfillment. Because of that, when I'm unable to work and / or need assistance myself, I struggle with feelings of inadequacy, being useless, being a burden, and generally being a pain in the ass. 

Having that physical restriction of being face down all the time and unable to lift more than 5 pounds multiplied those feelings, because I couldn't do *anything*. My apartment was an absolute wreck, my cats were sadly meowing at me because I wasn’t able to snuggle and play with them like I usually do, I had zero dishes left to use as they were all piled in the sink… everything was difficult, even watching TV or playing video games was hard in that position. My neck, back, and shoulders were constantly sore and the only thing that felt good was lying on my back, which is the one thing I wasn’t allowed to do at all.

But I hate complaining about that. I hate it. I am complaining about first world problems. I had a highly technologically advanced surgical procedure on my fucking eyeball that might give me my fucking eyesight back and I only had to pay $100 for it. I have access to the medications I need and the post-operative appointments with medical experts 15 minutes down the street from me. I am able to recover in a comfortable, peaceful, temperature-controlled apartment with minimal pain and maximum privacy. I have high-speed internet and am able to keep in touch with friends via text and video calls at my literal fingertips. And I’m complaining that I had to…. *lie down*. It feels so selfish and entitled to complain about that. 

But really it’s more than that. It’s still very possible that I’ll be completely or partially blind in my right eye even when I’m completely healed.There’s no guarantee that this surgery will have worked. I have anxiety about going back to working in the hospital if my eyesight comes back. I also have anxiety about not being able to go back to work if my eyesight doesn’t come back.

I still haven’t been cleared of HIV either (ICYMI: I had a needlestick injury from an HIV positive patient in December and am at risk for contracting the virus myself.) I won’t be fully cleared until another two tests come back negative in June. Even though chances are slim that I will be positive, and I know there are medications and programs to help manage it if I do turn up positive, it’s fucking scary. I already have so many issues due to my type-1 diabetes, and adding HIV to that only opens up more possibilities for things to go wrong. 

And these are all things on top of every day anxiety and depression, the regularly-occurring negative automatic thoughts, the almost-constant isolated loneliness, the ever-present mild executive dysfunction. It was just a lot to deal with and I can normally do enough thought exercises to remind myself of the positive things in my life and how much good there is around me and that things aren’t that bad. But I did it for too long for too many things and never really allowed myself to be sad or scared or face the actual reality that things might NOT get better. And this past week, reality hit me hard in the face, and I was scared, and I felt alone, and I was sad. 

Anyways. Today I got out of the house, went to the doctor, and got some good news. My dad treated me to fish tacos for lunch and we went grocery shopping. He helped me take out the piles of trash bags, put my furniture back where it was before my post-op modifications, and straightened a few things up for me. Even in the first couple of hours since I’ve been home I’ve been able to do a few things that have made me feel SO much better. I can’t believe the difference in my mood from only 24 hours ago.

I’m already feeling a lot more optimistic and energized. I am so glad to have the people in my life that I do; not only IRL family and friends, but my online friends with whom I’ve developed meaningful relationships and who have done SO much for me these past few months. Thank you all, I love you. See you soon ;) get it because I’m blind in one eye?!?! 

[lickstynine]

When Even the Doctor is Low-key Judging You (Part 1)

This is a followup to @ocsickficsideblog​ ‘s eating contest piece that she did at my request. It’s set after Kit’s birthday, but before the earthquake. Collab obv. More to come.

Alistair woke late the next morning, weak and thirsty and still with a mild stomach ache. He groaned as he sat up, full of aches after sleeping for so long in an armchair. Kit was still out for the count, his snore even worse than usual when combined with the rattling of his lungs.

Alistair thought he should make an appointment with the doctor - but he’d never actually done that himself. He went looking for one of Kit’s staff who could do it for him, his legs still wobbly. There were plenty of servants wandering about, as there always were, and it wasn’t hard for him to find one. Alistair just asked the first one he found.

“Um, excuse me..? Who do I ask to make an appointment with the doctor for Kit?”

“Oh, any of us can do that. When do you want it for?” She asked.

“Today, hopefully. If that’s alright?” Alistair said. He didn’t actually know how making an appointment worked. Did you have to have more notice than that?

You did if you were poor. It didn’t seem odd to the servant, and she simply nodded. “I’ll call right away and get back to you, sir.”

“Thanks. And...you don’t have to call me sir.”

“Yes, s- okay. What should I call you then?” She asked.

“Just...Alistair. And you can tell me your name. You know, like humans. Equal humans.”

She paused for a moment before replying, “it's Emily.”

Alistair gave her a shy smile. “Hello, Emily.”

“Hello s- ah, Alistair.” She smiled back, slightly less robotic than her usual servant behavior.

“I’m sorry about having to ask you to make this call. I’d do it myself if I...knew how,” he mumbled, blushing. He frequently felt utterly useless in the world. He was sure he’d die without Julius looking after him.

Emily shook her head. “It's no problem. It's my job to take care of Master Kit.”

“Ha, Master Kit? I’m gonna call him that to annoy him. Thank you.”

“You're… welcome? I think.” She walked off to make the call. Alistair went back to the parlor (they passed out in there remember) to see if his cousin had stirred yet. Kit was still out cold and snoring like a chainsaw. Alistair gave him a poke, mostly just to shut him up at this point.

Kit blinked, groaning and curling up more rather than trying to get up. Alistair lifted Kit’s hair so he could whisper in his ear. “Morning, Master Kit. Better get up so your servants can wipe your arse for you,” he teased.

The older boy immediately jerked away, flailing his hand at Alistair until he felt it hit something. “You can fuck right off.”

“Well, are you getting up or not?”

“wasn't planning on it, no.” Kit grumbled.

“Well, we’re going to the doctor eventually. When Emily has made an appointment.”

Kit groaned dramatically. “I don't want to do thaaaat. I'd have to get up, and put on proper trousers.” at the moment, he was only wearing pyjama bottoms and a bathrobe, definitely not something he could leave the house in.

“You don’t have to put on proper trousers. I go everywhere in pyjamas in the mornings. You’re sick, they doctor isn’t gonna care.”

“Well I'm less of a mess than you.” Kit muttered, pushing himself up and swaying briefly before climbing all the way to his feet.

“Thanks a lot. Fine, put on pants. You should probably eat something before we go. I’m not eating though,” Alistair added quickly.

“Then why do I have to?” Kit grouched, slogging up the stairs as though it were the most laborious task any man had ever been made to endure.

Alistair followed him, almost as miserably, his legs still weak from the day before. “Because there’s no chance of you shitting your pants when you see the doctor if you eat something.”

The older boy rolled his eyes, discarding his bathrobe as he began to rifle through the shirts side of his walk-in closet. “ever considered maybe I'm just not hungry, and it's nothing to do with my arse being a walking time-bomb?” he asked, buried up to his shoulders in fabric as he leaned into the rows of shirts. He was looking rather thin, and it made it seem as though the tattoo roses wrapped around his waist were squeezing him like a corset.

Alistair winced. “Do you have to use phrases like that? Like, do you have to say it in the most embarrassing way possible?” He didn’t mention it yet, but he made a mental note to remember to tell the doctor that Kit had lost weight if his cousin didn’t say it himself.

“I do. It's my specialty.” Kit smirked devilishly as he popped out of the racks holding a shirt. It was a warm purplish grey, and when he put it on, he left the top few buttons open, whether out of laziness or slutty habit, who knows. Cuffing it neatly to free his forearms, he turned to the other side of the closet in search of pants, settling on a pair of dark charcoal grey slacks. A black leather belt and matching shoes finished off the look, and he flopped onto the small cushioned bench in the center of the closet with a sigh. “alright. I'm dressed. I'll need a bit to fix my hair, then we can go.”

“Honestly, look at you. You’re dressed like we’re off strutting down the catwalk,” Alistair grumbled, mostly annoyed because he knew he still looked pale from yesterday, his clothes crumpled and his hair a mess. He couldn’t measure up to Kit when they were stood together, even though they were cousins.

“This is just how I dress, Al. I don't really do casual clothing. And if you're feeling underdressed, you could always borrow something.” Kit climbed to his feet, making his way over to the bedroom vanity to brush his hair and tie it back. He did his best to sweep his bangs in a way that didn't let his roots show, but they were overgrown as hell and not terribly cooperative. He finally gave up, instead just grabbing his burgundy hairspray to cover up the orange.

“I’m not wearing your clothes. I’ll look like a mouse dressed up as a cat,” Alistair said. He just finger combed his own hair idly, sweeping the bangs forward so they could cover his eyes if he needed.

“You can at least borrow a jacket. It's freezing out. I plan to wear at least two.” content with his hair, Kit returned to the closet, grabbing a cardigan, a pea coat, an overcoat, and a scarf, along with leather gloves to match his shoes.

“Do you have anything else leather?” Alistair asked hopefully, trying to sound casual. He didn’t know enough about fashion to realise the coat Kit was wearing was incredibly expensive. Julius would have melted at the sight of it.

“Yea, should be a coat near the end of the rack.”

Alistair found the coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves, loving the feeling of the soft, supple leather. He didn’t realise he had a huge grin on his face. Kit smirked broadly. “You like it?”

Alistair tried to quickly straighten his face. “‘S okay.”

“Don't bullshit me. I saw you smiling. Maybe I'll get you one for Christmas. But you can't go all vegetarian righteous me about the leather.”

“Oh Jesus, don’t you start with that too. But wait...real leather is still made from animals?”

“Iit wouldn't be real leather if it wasn't, nitwit.” Kit rolled his eyes.

“Oh gross, really?” Alistair looked down at his jacket, trying to chose. Did he care about his morals or his image more? There should have only been one answer - but he didn’t take the jacket off.

Kit hid his amusement this time, instead turning to the door. “Should we go find Emily? See if the appointment is made?’

“Yeah, okay,” Alistair said, following him out of the bedroom.

Kit padded down the hall, still clearly sluggish despite his improved appearance. Emily was in the main hall, dusting the decorations. Alistair smiled at her but let Kit do the talking. He didn’t really like ordering the servants around. He’d hated watching the way his father used to call at them imperiously back in his own house.

Kit wasn't rude of course, he simply shuffled over and murmured in her ear, pulling out his notepad when she gave him the time. He then returned to Alistair, mumbling, “3pm. What time is it now?”

“Almost two. You took so long to get fucking dressed, princess.”

“Oh, forgive me for wanting to be presentable.” Kit huffed.

“We’re only going to the doctor. You’re not going to flirt, are you?” Alistair asked.

“No, I'm just terribly vain.”

“Well...fair enough. I did just choose to walk around in strips of withered cow because I like leather.”

Kit chuckled and nodded briefly. “Fair enough indeed. What shall we do until we leave?”

“Well, you don’t look too good… Do you want to rest?” Alistair asked, genuinely concerned.

“Sounds good, but I'm not going back up those fucking stairs.” Kit instead trudged to the parlor and dropped into his favourite armchair. Alistair squashed up beside him - with people he liked, he tended to be stuck in the stage a toddler goes through where they have no concept of personal space. Kit didn't seem to mind, using his cousin's shoulder as a pillow.

“What’re you gonna tell the doctor?” Alistair asked. He was used to planning conversations in his head a hundred times before he did anything.

“I dunno, I'll see what he asks and answer it.”

“Well, you can estimate what he asks and then plan it out.”

Kit looked up at Alistair with a puzzled face. “Why would i do that? I'll just answer what he asks, and approximate if I don't know the answer. It's not a play with specific lines I have to recite. And thank God it isn't, because I’d never remember them.”

Alistair shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I thought that’s what everyone did…”

“Nah. I just bullshit everything as I go.”

“How do you...just talk to people like that? I can’t do it. All the words get stuck.”

“I used to be that way. Then I got drunk so that I would be more comfortable making conversation. And I gradually tried doing it while less drunk until I had the balls to do it sober. Not saying alcohol is the right answer, it’s just how I did it.” Kit shrugged.

“Right. I don’t think I can try that method. I worry Jules enough as it is.”

Kit shrugged again. “Dunno what to tell you, Al. Maybe just go outside, find the friendliest-looking person in the area. Talk to them. Repeat until you stop sucking at it.”

“That sounds fucking horrendous. Can’t I just always go out with you or Jules or someone who can do it for me?”

“If you never want to be a functioning adult, yes.” Kit replied flatly.

“They’re making me take pills for that,” Alistair grumbled darkly.

“Oh, what a tragedy.” Kit snapped back. “Doctors work for years to find ways to make your life easier, and you're the one who's suffering because you have to take a whole pill every day.” There was a surprising amount of venom in the older boy’s voice, like this had opened up some bigger issue.

Alistair scowled at him, looking rather hurt. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. Those pills freak me out.”

“What's so scary about them? That they help you? Not everyone gets help in time, why do you have to be so ungrateful that you do?” Though his anger had set off a coughing fit, Kit climbed to his feet, stifling the sound behind his fist as he stalked off down the hall.

Alistair ran to the door, his eyes flashing angrily. “Fuck you! You didn’t see me for seven years, you’ve no idea what happened then!” He slammed the door hard to make his point, gripping his shirt sleeves, his heart banging in his chest.

Kit didn't seem bothered by the decreased population of the house, or if he was, he didn't show it. Emily picked up a vase that had been knocked over by the force of the door, straightening it and dusting it again.

Alistair stood by the door, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to fight with Kit - he hated to fight with people he actually liked. He sat on the steps, his breathing fast and shaking, tears stinging his eyes. It wasn't long before a car pulled up outside, a middle aged-man climbing out and approaching the front door. He seemed a bit perplexed by the presence of Alistair, but eventually asked.

“Pardon me? Is Master Kit around? I'm here to take him to his appointment.”

“He’ll be inside,” Alistair mumbled, his voice wobbling.

The chauffeur nodded, awkwardly stepping around Alistair to get inside. When he opened the door to enter, coughing could still be heard echoing through the house, sounding worse than earlier if anything. The chauffeur went off in search of his boss, but to his surprise, the usually amicable redhead snapped at him to fuck off and leave him be. Rather taken aback, the older man simply headed back out to his car, lingering in the drive and unsure of what to do.

Alistair glanced up at him. “Couldn’t you find him?”

“I did. He… didn't want to be bothered?” The chauffeur seemed confused by it himself.

“Fuck… That’s my fault,” Alistair mumbled. He put his face in his hands, gripping his hair. “I should go back. I really don’t fucking want to though.”

“That's up to you, mate. I'm just here to drive.” The chauffeur didn't want to pressure Alistair.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” he sighed. He quickly wiped his eyes and went off to look for Kit. He wasn't hard to find, considering Alistair just had to follow the sound of coughing. The older boy had holed up in one of the old back rooms; it looked like it used to be a study, with a desk, bookshelves, and a big leather chair. Kit was sitting in the chair, knees pulled up to his chest, and still coughing his lungs out. As Alistair drew close, he could hear another, softer sound mixed in with the coughs: weak, raspy sobbing.

Alistair paused at the door. He knocked softly. “Kit..?”

“What do you want?” The older boy’s confrontational tone was ruined by how faint and croaky his voice was. Alistair wanted to run home and hide his shame there, but he knew he had to make it up with Kit - besides, if he did go home and told Julius they’d argued, the small boy would just send him right back to apologise.

Alistair slipped inside the room, his back against the door. “Are you okay?”

Kit shrugged. “I don't know anymore.” He mumbled,  ducking his head into his knees as he coughed again.

Alistair bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, mentally cursing himself when his voice wobbled again.

“S’not your fault. I got mad at you for shit that's really not your problem. I was just drawing parallels and throwing a fit.”

Alistair paused. “Mother and father used to...give me something. When they wanted me to be quiet. That’s why...I don’t like having to take things.”

Kit sighed. “Yours did that, too? Ah, why am I even surprised…” He paused to cough before adding, “This is different, though. It's not some asshole who doesn't care about your wellbeing recommending it. It's doctors, and Julie. And me, for that matter. Our family is horrible, but that doesn't mean the whole world's out to get you, you know.”

“I know. I try to tell myself that.” He paused. “You were drawing parallels..? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. It's just... frustrating... to me to see people turn their nose up at nearly miraculous medicine when my mother…” He sniffled, hiding his face behind his arms, “My mother would've done anything for a medicine to help her. We had all the money in the world, but the doctors couldn't do fuck all… and I just… I don't want to lose somebody else I love because they won't take the cure that's being handed to them!”

Alistair looked horrified. He dashed over to Kit, putting his arms around the older boy. “Fuck, I’m sorry… I’ll take them, I promise. You won’t lose me, I promise. I’m not even suicidal anymore, not since… It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

Normally, Kit would've been embarrassed to be seen, even by Alistair, bawling like this, but he couldn't be bothered. He clutched desperately to his cousin's shirt, like a child on their mother's dress, sobbing and coughing and just making a right mess of himself. Alistair held him close, stroking his hair. He was so worked up that he started crying too. Kit eventually settled down, with the crying at least. He'd gotten off on another coughing fit and his lungs were rattling like the engine of a car about to die.

“We really should take you to the doctor,” Alistair said, scrubbing at his eyes.

“I can't… can't show up to the doctor in this state…” Kit groaned. His hair was disheveled, and his whole face was red and teary.

“You look perfect for the doctor. They’ll probably let you jump the queue, you look sick as a dog.”

Kit chuckled faintly. “There's no queue, he's the family doctor. He doesn't serve random patients off the street. But I suppose you're right. Help me up?”

Alistair took Kit’s hands, pulling him up. “Come on…”

The older boy tugged himself to his feet, trying not to lean on his cousin as they walked to the door. The chauffeur was still waiting out front, now just chilling in his car. Alistair pulled Kit along. “I know it’s not classy, but I need to get in the front. Otherwise I’ll puke in your car.”

The chauffeur just shrugged. “Go ahead, sir.” He got out to hold the door for both boys, and the inside of the car was remarkable. All sleek black leather, with heated seats to fight the chill outside. Rather than buckling in properly, Kit sprawled across the entire back seat with a rattling sigh, wondering if he could catch a nap on the way to the doctor’s office. Alistair was happily playing around with the heated seats, grinning.

“Jesus, I should travel with you guys more. Hey, if you want I could drive for a little bit,” he said eagerly to the chauffeur.

“No, sir. My duty is to drive, and this vehicle is my responsibility.” The chauffeur replied dryly.

“You don’t have to call me sir. Jeez, it’s gonna take me years to tell all the servants in your place not to call me sir, Kit. What’s your name?” he asked the chauffeur.

The man furrowed his brows, taken aback. It was several moments before he replied, “Thaddeus Bradley. But you can call me Taddy.”

“Cool name! That’s almost the kind of name you’d find in our fucking family.”

Taddy grinned. “Thanks. It was my father’s. Mum used to jokingly call him ‘Daddeus.’”

“How’d you get stuck working for our shitty family? I mean, Kit is the only good one,” Alistair said bluntly.

“They don’t actually pay attention to me. They sit in the back and drink champagne. And I enjoy driving. It’s honestly the easiest job I’ve ever had. I’m salaried, so there’s no chance of me going broke if they don’t travel much one year, and I rarely work more than ten hours a week.”

“That’s all? Huh, maybe I should do this as a job,” Alistair said thoughtfully, despite knowing he was not able to drive.

Taddy shrugged. “Maybe. You need extra licensing for it, though. To do it professionally.”

Alistair groaned. “Aww, really? I haven’t even got my normal licence yet.”

“Well, then you’ve got a ways to go.”

“Fuck that, then. I’ll do something else,” Alistair said. He paused, frowning. “There must be something…”

“You never did check back in with Osiris, did you?” Kit mumbled from the backseat. Alistair paused. Fuck.

“Yeeees.”

“Bullshit you did.” Kit knew better, and he'd told Osiris to call when Alistair got in touch.

“Alright alright. I will do it.”

“You'd better.” The older boy grumbled.

“Can’t he call me?” Alistair whined.

“No!” Kit snapped back. “Be a fucking adult, and make the call before I shove your phone so far up your arse, your colon dials it for you.”

“Jeez, you’re touchy today. Heard he snapped at you too,” Alistair said to Taddy, teasing Kit.

Taddy nodded briefly, “That he did.” He wouldn’t have said a word to any other member of the Raycraft family, but he knew Kit wasn’t a raging ass like his father.

“Oh, shut up Al. You try spending a third of your life ill and see how you feel.”

“I couldn’t even handle spending a third of yesterday ill.”

“Exactly. I have the right to be in a mood here and there.” Kit muttered, burying his face in the heated seat of the car. Despite his many layers, he was a little shivery.

“Yeah, I know. I was only teasing.”

Kit sighed dramatically. “Yea, well tease me later.”

“I’m allowed to tease. How much did you tease me yesterday?”

Kit didn’t reply right away, finally answering with, “Dunno, lost count.”

“Exactly. Only fair.”

Kit groaned, but didn’t speak up again the rest of the ride. Alistair was quiet too, fiddling with the radio and playing around with the seat warmers and the catches for the windows and all the different lights, just like a little kid on a car ride. Taddy didn’t seem bothered, and Kit was silent whether he liked it or not.

When they made it to the doctor, Alistair thanked Taddy and went to haul Kit out of the backseat. “You alive?”

“Barely.” Kit grumbled, stumbling to his feet. Alistair kept hold of Kit’s arm to keep him steady.

“Come on. Your appointment is in five minutes.”

Kit shuffled along, tugging his jacket tighter around him and trying not to shiver as they made their way inside. Alistair sighed and put an arm around him. “You’re always cold…”

“I know.” The older boy mumbled, coughing into his four-layers-thick-sleeve.

“I should get you one of those jackets they have for little shivering dogs.”

Kit huffed. “Shut up.”

He shuffled into the office, sinking into one of their sleek, fancy chairs with a dramatic groan. Alistair sat down beside him. He pulled a face at an old lady who was staring at Kit with disapproval, and she huffed irritably. Kit had only half noticed her, and couldn't tell whether she was judging his sorry state, or his dyed hair and metal-filled ears. Old people judged his tattoos all the time, but he was so bundled up they weren't visible right now.

Alistair nudged his cousin. “That old bitch is staring at you.”

“Why? You can't even fucking see my tattoos in this weather. That's normally what old bats get their knickers in a twist about.”

“God knows. Maybe your piercings.” Alistair stuck his finger up at her, and she hissed in outrage and stomped over to sit as far away from them as possible.

Kit scoffed, throwing a dirty gesture at her as well as she walked away. Normally he gave stuffy old people a lecture on minding their damn business, but today he was in a bad mood. He leaned against Alistair's shoulder with a yawn, allowing his lead-weighted eyelids to drop closed. Alistair idly plaited a long lock of Kit’s hair, waiting for his name to be called.

“Christian Raycraft?”

Kit sat up ramrod straight, immediately tense. Good things rarely followed when people used his real name. He had been half asleep and was noticeably shaken and disoriented. He stammered out a quiet, “H-here…” like a shy kid when attendance was called, stifling a coughing fit behind his hand as he stumbled to his feet.

Alistair helped him walk, following the doctor to a consultation room. He was mostly just there for moral support - he didn’t want to talk unless he had to. Luckily, the nurse was directing all of her questions towards Kit, despite the poor boy being so hoarse post-coughing-fit that it must've been painful to answer.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“Dunno, maybe a month.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“I'm coughing, I'm tired, I'm fucking miserable.”

“Have you been ill much recently? I have records of you being admitted to the hospital both this summer and last winter.”

“Oh, that…. Those. Just accidents. Hypothermia, and… and drowning, while on holiday. I've only really had a couple colds this year.” Kit waved his hand dismissively, dropping onto the examination bench with a rattling sigh.

The nurse nodded, making notes and wordlessly taking his temperature and blood pressure. “Alright. The doctor will be with you shortly.” she walked off.

“She must think you’re a right mess,” Alistair pointed out. “You almost died twice in less than a year.”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Kit whined.

“I know. Try not to do it again though. You’re all I’ve got.”

Kit nodded, coughing into the bend of his arm. “Wasn't on the agenda.”

“Do you think you need a chest x-ray or anything? I don’t know a fucking thing about this shit. I hated science.”

“They probably will, since they'll suspect pneumonia. I've spent a good third of my winters with pneumonia at this point.” Kit groaned.

“Can’t they do something to prevent that?” Alistair asked.

“Besides telling me to wear a surgical mask in public and me telling them hell no?” Kit shook his head.

“Isn’t there anything that makes your immune system better? Hey, you should meet Jules’s grandmother. Every time I get sick, even if it’s just motion sickness, she’ll give me a spoonful of fucking cod liver oil for my immune system. She’d have you drinking the whole bottle,” Alistair said, grinning.

“There’s only so much to be done, Al. It’s a legitimate immune deficiency. To treat it, I’d have to be getting regular, fuck what’s the word... immune… immuno…. immunoglobulin replacement therapy my whole fucking life.” Kit sighed. “It’s a right mess and I hate it.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“They literally have to replace part of your fucking blood intravenously. It’s hellish.” Kit glanced warily at his arm as if someone might go for it with a needle. Considering all his tattoos and piercings, it must have been remarkably unpleasant for him to mind.

“Ugh… How is that even possible?” Alistair asked.

Kit shrugged, “I’m no biologist.”

“Is it like...similar to how they do dialysis? Isn’t that replacing blood? Or doing something to it? I don’t fucking know.”

“Sort of, yea. I think so.” Kit nodded, looking up as the doctor came in the room.

“Ah, Mister Kit. It’s been too long. I’ve only seen you twice this year.” The doctor quipped.

Kit sighed, “Yea, well, here I am.”

“My nurse was saying you’ve got a bad cough?”

“That - ahem - I was - mm - yes.” Kit groaned, stifling a cough in his shoulder.

The doctor nodded, checking his clipboard. “I’ll need you to shed those jackets, I’ve got to listen to your chest.”

Kit’s fingers were clumsy and shaky, but he gradually managed to peel off his overcoat, his pea coat, and his cardigan, unbuttoning his dress shirt for the doctor. He shivered miserably as the cold metal stethoscope touched him, and the doctor’s brow furrowed as he ordered Kit to breathe.

“That doesn’t sound great… We’ll probably need a chest x-ray.”

Though he sighed, Kit didn’t seem surprised, dryly inquiring, “To the back?”

“To the back.” The doctor nodded, heading for the door and gesturing for the boys to follow.

“Do you have to hold a metal plate over your balls?” Alistair whispered loudly, his mind of course jumping to that point before anything else. Kit rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s a lead apron over your legs.” He mumbled, having had far too many chest x-rays over the years.

“Will they let me look at your lungs?”

“I don’t see why not.” Kit shrugged.

“Cool! Your doctor is way better than the one Jules drags me too. They wouldn’t even let me touch the bag when I had a blood test.”

Kit bit back several comments, simply following the doctor to the x-ray room, dropping onto the seat and calmly accepting his lead-legged fate. Alistair watched from the doorway, looking fascinated. The doctor scowled at the screen and sucked air in through his teeth. “As I’d suspected… your lungs are filled with fluid.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Kit grumbled. “And what’s the tonic of the day? My thousandth round of antibiotics?”

“That was the plan, yes.” The doctor replied dryly.

“You must have created a ton of resistant bacteria in your body over the years, Kit,” Alistair called from the corridor.

“Probably. Or maybe it's an alien parasite slowly plotting my death. Who knows.”

“Just take the medicine, drama queen. I take mine, you take yours.”

“I wasn't planning not to.” Kit replied, following the doctor up front.

“Get this prescription filled as soon as possible, and I want to see you again in a week.”

Kit nodded, too busy stifling another coughing fit to talk. He put his jackets back on, slipping the prescription in the outermost pocket and shuffling for the door.

“Are we going to get the prescription then?” Alistair asked.

“Hell no. I'm going home to lie down. I'll send someone out for it.” Kit muttered, tugging on his scarf and gloves as he walked. The second the cold air hit him, he went from faintly shivering to shaking like a leaf, his teeth chattering loudly. Alistair tugged him back to the car quickly.

“Quick, get in. You really do need to lay down.”

Kit nodded, curling up on his side across the heated back seat. The exposure to cold air had set him off coughing yet again, and he halfheartedly covered his mouth with a gloved hand. The warm seat felt nice against his feverish cheek, as everything else around him was abominably cold. He slumped back against the leather, coughing and shivering and not talking to anyone. He hadn’t even remembered to give Taddy the prescription so it could be dropped off at the pharmacy on the way home.

Alistair prodded him from the front seat. “Kit, prescription.”

“Mm.” The older boy barely replied, fumbling in his coat pockets with gloved hands and tossing the paper vaguely towards his cousin. Alistair had to fumble on the floor for it, tutting, before handing it to Taddy.

The driver scanned it briefly as they stopped. “Right, I’ll drop this off soon as you two are home.”

“Thanks, mate. I’d do it myself if I could fucking drive.”

Taddy shrugged. “No trouble. Here we are.” He pulled into Kit’s drive, parking and getting out to open the doors for both boys. Kit didn’t show any interest in actually getting up, still curled up on the seat and shivering. Alistair rolled his eyes and opened the back door.

“Come on, Kit. You can get back in bed.”

“Don’t wanna move…” Kit grumbled.

“I think you’re a bit big for me to carry you to bed like we used to,” Alistair said gently. “Though I’ll try if you want.”

Kit shook his head. “I… I can get up. ‘M just moping.” He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs off the seat. It took several moments for him to clumsily crawl out of the back seat, but he managed to get to his feet and shuffle up the walkway towards the house. Alistair kept hold of him, starting to really worry.

“Are you going to be okay? Shall I call Jules? He’ll bring about a thousand things that I wouldn’t think of to look after you with.”

“You don’t need to bother him.” Kit muttered, promptly slipping on the slick pathway up to the house and falling in the thick snow coating the lawn. A small cloud of flakes were thrown into the air, trickling down on top of Kit as he struggled to get up. The exertion was causing him to cough, and not helping his efforts in the slightest.

Alistair helped haul him up. “Careful, it’s slippy,” he mumbled, like it wasn’t obvious now. “And Jules won't mind if you want. He likes you.”

Kit groaned, coughing into his shoulder and leaning on Alistair as he shuffled inside. “Are you sure?” He asked, dusting snow off himself.

“Of course. I’ll call him in a minute. Let’s just get you inside before you die in my arms,” Alistair said.

Kit laughed hoarsely, fumbling in his jacket for his keys before finally getting the door open. As soon as they got inside, he dropped onto the couch with a deep rattling sigh. Alistair grabbed a duvet from the closest bedroom, carefully draping it over his cousin. “I’ll call Jules, okay? He’ll actually know what to do.”

“Sounds good.” Kit muttered, curling up under the duvet.

[porcupine-girl]

I don’t often post previews like this? But all three of those ideas I posted last night, they’ve been festering and developing in my head for a while now, and I’m just like... so eager to show them to people and talk to people about them, even if it’ll be a while before any of them are fully written. So I’ll probably be doing this more in the next few weeks. :)

Anyhow, I wound up mostly writing on the baby AU last night (Jack got Camilla pregnant, is going to raise the baby himself, Bitty goes to Providence for the summer to be his nanny). Keep in mind this is an almost-totally-unedited first draft, almost certain to change! (about 1400 words under the cut)

Eric was surprised to see Camilla Collins coming down the stairs when he got home from his afternoon class. They traded polite hellos as they passed each other, Camilla's smile looking a bit strained.

He knew she and Jack dated for a bit last year, but Jack hadn't really said a word about her since, and Eric hadn't seen her around. Were they back together? If they were, she hadn't looked terribly happy about it.

When he got to his room, he saw that Jack's door was open. Jack was sitting on his bed, looking dazed.

Eric poked his head in. "You okay, Jack?"

Jack looked up, but looked right through Eric as he sat there blinking for a moment. Finally, he shook his head as thought to clear it.

"I… I don't know."

That was not the response Eric had been expecting. He frowned and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and dropping his bag next to it.

"What's going on? Did Camilla… break up with you or something?"

"What?" Jack's brow furrowed a little, but he still seemed mostly out of it. His voice was somewhat faint as he said, "We're not dating."

"Oh, right," Eric said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I mean, I didn't think you were, but I don't know, I figured maybe I'm just out of the loop."

Jack looked down at his hands. "We… hooked up. Once. I mean, yeah, we dated for a bit last year, but that was a while ago. We hooked up once this school year, back in September. I hadn't even talked to her since then."

"Okay," Eric said slowly. He wasn't sure he really needed that information, but it felt like Jack was working up to whatever it was that had him so… maybe not quite upset, but in shock?

"She's pregnant."

Eric's eyes widened. He dropped onto the bed next to Jack, who leaned into him a little, like he was relieved to have someone there. "Oh. Oh, gosh. And it's…"

Jack shrugged. "She says she hasn't been with anyone else since then. No reason for her to lie."

"Is she…" Eric wasn't quite sure what he wanted to ask. "Does she… want to keep the baby?"

"Yes." Jack shook his head. "No. I mean—she's not having an abortion. But she wants to give it up for adoption."

Eric hated himself a little for being relieved. Relieved that Camilla didn't want to keep the baby herself, that it wouldn't be a reason for Jack to get back together with her. It was a terrible thing to think, not to mention totally useless since it's not like Eric had a chance either way.

"All she really wants from me is to go to the doctor's appointments with her," Jack continued. "Just for moral support. She doesn't even want me to pay for anything, she says her insurance will cover most of it and what it doesn't, the adopting parents will."

Eric nodded. "Well, that sounds. Y'know. Doable. But I get why you're…" He waved a hand up and down toward Jack. "In shock, I guess. Even if you don't have to do much, that's still kinda big, knowing a piece of you's gonna be out there livin' in the world somewhere."

"Yeah," Jack said quietly, frowning.

They sat there for a minute or two, Jack lost in his thoughts, Eric watching him.

"If you need anything," Eric finally said softly, "just to talk about it, or help with anything, or… or baked goods—" Jack didn't quite laugh, but he snorted and smiled, and that was good enough. "—you know I'm here for you, right? Anytime at all."

Jack nodded. "Thanks, Bittle. You won't tell anyone, right?"

"Good lord, of course not."

—

Finals came and went, Epikegster and Kent Parson came and went, winter break came and went.

Jack didn't mention the pregnancy again until one day in mid-January when he quietly slipped into Eric's room and shut the door behind him.

Eric looked up from where he was highlighting a textbook on his bed.

"What's up?"

Jack was a little pale. Eric hadn't seen him looking so shaken since… actually, he looked even worse than the day he found out that Camilla was pregnant.

Jack came right over to the bed and sat down next to Eric. He stared down at his hands long enough that Eric started to worry.

"Jack?" he finally asked. "What's going on?"

"What if she's like me?" Jack said, his voice nearly a whisper.

"She?"

"The baby. She's a girl." He finally looked up into Eric's eyes. "I went with Camilla to the doctor today, and they did the ultrasound. It's not… theoretical anymore, it's not just this abstract idea, that I got someone pregnant. She's got arms and legs and she was wiggling around. And what if…" His eyes shifted down again, to where he was twisting his fingers in his lap. "What if she's like me, what if she has an anxiety disorder or some other mental illness, and her parents don't know how to deal with it? What if they're in denial like mine were, and she just hurts worse and worse until she breaks?"

"Oh, honey," Eric said softly, touching Jack's arm. "That's a lotta what ifs, you know. She might not inherit any of that, and even if she does, I'm sure her parents will get her help. They'll have all the information about you, right? Your medical history? They'll know what to look out for."

"Or what if—" Jack cut himself off, and Eric realized suddenly that he was trying not to cry. Eric leaned his head on Jack's shoulder, and to his surprise, Jack leaned his head on Eric's.

"What if," Jack tried again after swallowing down whatever tears had been threatening him, "they see that I'm her biological father, and that I'm in the NHL, and they expect that from her? I mean, obviously not the NHL but something at that level? It was hard enough growing up in the shadow of my dad when I was surrounded by people who knew what it was like, what if she has parents who push her and have these expectations for her and they've never even felt that pressure themselves so they don't even know how to help her handle it as much as my parents did? You know what happened to me; if she has my talent but also my problems, and parents who push her and don't get her the help she needs—" Jack drew in a shuddering breath. "If she's going to be born, I don't want her to suffer like that."

Eric waited a few moments before speaking, wanting to make sure Jack had said everything he wanted to get out.

"Will Camilla let you help pick out her parents?" he finally asked. "You'd get to talk to them, right? You could ask them how they'd handle all of that."

Jack took a deep breath, then nodded. "I could—yeah, I should maybe talk to her about that. Sometime when I'm… not freaking out about it. But even then, they could say anything right now to sound good—I mean, think about it. They're gonna want to give the right answers to get us to choose them, right? Obviously the right answer is no, of course we won't pressure our daughter into anything just because she's good at something. They might even believe it right now. But fifteen years from now, how do I know they're going to follow through on that? Or that they'll even know how to? If she's really good at—well, any sport, really—something, and is pushing herself, and making it to the top levels, will they even have any idea how to balance supporting her pursuing it with not pushing her?"

"That sounds like something any parent would struggle with," Eric said carefully, lifting his head up to look at Jack. "I would hope they wouldn't lie about it just get a baby, though. I'm sure you'd be able to tell if they were."

"Maybe," Jack said, frowning down at his hands again. He finally glanced at Eric. "Sorry. I don't mean to dump all this on you, it's just… I haven't told anyone else yet."

"Oh, Jack, that is fine!" Eric said. "I told you you could come to me with anything at all, and I meant it! If there is absolutely anything I can do to help, please let me know, okay?"

Jack gave him a hint of a smile before standing up. "I will. I think I've got some thinking to do, but I'll let you know if I need a sounding board for it, okay?"

"Absolutely. Anytime, Jack, I'm serious."

[jomatto]

Daily Reflections: 1/22

Being Put on Hold?

This is 2018. I should be able to do everything on the internet. Phones are so last generation. And yet, there are things that you can only do over the phone. My Charles Schwab account has been restricted for the longest time and I didn’t even notice until now.

For anyone interested in traveling, I highly recommend opening an Investor Checking account with Schwab because they will graciously cover any ATM withdrawal fees from anywhere in the world. I probably wasted over $100 in ATM fees over the course of my travels. You do cash only? Fine, I’ll just hit up this seedy looking ATM with no hesitation because Charles got my back.

The funny thing was that I opened the account before traveling to Iceland but I was able to get by without touching a single piece of Icelandic currency. I used my card all the way. Now that’s what I call convenient. At least I’m ready for any future travels.

My accounts were restricted because I forgot to verify my identity and it can only be done over the phone. I called the number and thought that this would take about twenty minutes, tops. Instead, I ended up waiting for half an hour. I guess my first mistake was to hang up at that point because I tried again and waited for another half hour before they finally picked up. I imagined I dropped out of the line right when I was about to get in front.

The worst part of it was the loop. They didn’t play music; instead, they had news announcements about the current state of the market. I swear I can recite those lines only because I heard them so many damn times. I get it. Government shutdown, party like it’s 2017, markets are nomalizing, just get me a damn rep, already. I don’t care about your apologies, Mr. CEO. Get your shit together.

Now get this, I have two accounts with Charles Schwab and the one they unlocked was the one I didn’t even care about. So I had to call them AGAIN and waited not just for thirty minutes this time, but a full blown hour to unlock my Checking account. Obviously, I didn’t sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting for them to pick up -- I was working -- but this is just ridiculous.

I thought I’d push my luck and make a doctor’s appointment only because I haven’t seen a general practitioner for over ten years. With my injuries and all, I think it’s time to go in for a proper physical. I managed to get ahold of someone quite quickly but since I’m a first time patient, I was transferred to the first time department. Apparently, everyone else had the same idea. I had more than enough time to prepare lunch, eat it, and then use the bathroom. Of course, they just had to pick up right when I was about to dump. You know what that’s called? Shit timing.

Phones are a last resort for a reason. I know the older generation prefers to speak with someone but I hate it because I have to wait ages to do anything. Airline award programs do the same thing. They give you the runaround and make it as difficult as possible to get your free flights because they don’t want people exploiting the system.

Give me a bot any time of the day, please.

Watch Anything?

I was free Saturday night when I watched the first episode of The Full-Time Wife Escapist. I restrained myself admirably and went to sleep shortly thereafter. Then I spent all of Sunday watching the whole thing. 

The initial premise drew me in because I sympathize with the plight of the unemployed. I find Japan’s job market fascinating. Ever read ReLIFE, anybody? It’s tough out there. Not only is it a miracle when you finally manage to land a job, but the job will most likely suck out your soul and leave you as nothing more than an empty husk. Every so often I hear about a suicide and I don’t think I can endure that level of constant stress.

It’s a grind, man. You’ve got NEETs and freeters who have largely abandoned society because they’ve been abandoned by the system. I too was once an unemployed college graduate whose self-esteem hit rock bottom from the constant rejection. While I’m not making as much money as I’d like (says everybody), I’m glad I can work from the comfort of my home, take random days off, and travel whenever I want. As a matter of fact, I am bragging right now. I may not be making six figures like some people I know, but I’ve got all the time in the world, baby.

This struggle of finding a job is what this show is about. The main character, played by Gakky (short for Yui Aragaki), is fired from her temp job. Her father makes her a housekeeper for an acquaintance and since this is a drama, Gakky is super quirky and proposes a contract marriage where she is paid to be a housewife. They try to keep the arrangement strictly professional as employer and employee but we all know what’s gonna happen next. I enjoyed the series overall and recommend it.

And that’s because Gakky is adorable. I think a drama succeeds when it makes the audience fall in love with the characters and you just want them to be happy. I’d love to make her happy myself but since that’s impossible I’ll allow the guy in the show to do it for me.

For a while now, Maki Horikita was my best girl but I think Gakky may have just overtaken her with this showing. I’ll need to watch more from both of them though. If you’re wondering if I have a third girl, I do – Satomi Ishihara. 

Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not like I called them my waifus or anything. If girls are allowed to have their favorite drama stars, I should be allowed the same luxury.

It’s really no mystery why I find these actresses beautiful. It’s the hair – short, cute, and adorable. Unlike most of my contemporaries, I’m not a fan of long locks. I think every woman looks better with short hair. It’s how you make what’s already beautiful into something truly sublime. 

Got Cardboard?

When you order from Amazon as much as I do, you’ll soon find yourself in a pile of discarded boxes. I reserved a corner of my room for excess storage. It just kept growing as I piled it on and on...until today. My latest package were two big boxes that had no chance in hell of fitting into that corner. 

I decided it was time to get rid of them all. There’s something therapeutic about breaking a box down only to put it in another box. It’s almost like a metaphor for some deep life lesson that I haven’t yet discerned. Now my corner is all clean and spiffy.

I don’t pay attention to Nintendo news because I don’t have a Switch. It’s not that I don’t have money, I just don’t have time. I barely play the games I do own so an extra console would be pointlessly superfluous. That’s why when I heard about Labo I couldn’t have been any less enthused because the last thing I need is more useless cardboard in my room. 

[along-the-devils-backbone]

I don’t believe in this friday the 13th superstitious crap... but goddamn today is one festering pile of bullshit. 

One of my partners just found out their dad is in a coma, after having a severe allergic reaction to his medicine -- and may not make it. Another partner’s little brother (barely a teenager) fucked up their mom’s car and then disappeared??? and is just generally causing a massive amount of chaos and suffering for everyone and i want to kick his ass. Then ANOTHER partner might have to find a new job soon, since their manager decided to leave to work for a different company, leaving my partner in a position where the new manager may not be willing to work with his medical conditions (since most people don’t think they’re real, and think he’s making them up). then my LAST partner, is having a mental breakdown over his other two girlfriends, and it’s fucking with his PTSD and causing him to shut down emotionally, and i want to take everyone involved in the drama there and slap them all until they gain some kind of common fucking decency. 

Meanwhile, My back and legs have been on fire nonstop for almost two weeks now thanks to the shit-tastic weather Indiana has been getting, and i’ve been bed-ridden all day today because of it. I feel so completely useless trying to be there for my partners, but without physically BEING there, i feel like little more than an interactive AI that is there for them only when they remember to check their screen. 

And, just as the cherry on top of fucking EVERYTHING -- my family is short on money and won’t be able to cover a couple of important bills, because my dad took the money and spent it on weed, fast food, and junk food instead of asking what it was for -- so now our satellite and phone are going to be shut off for lord knows how long. Did i mention that cellphones don’t work out here in bum-fuck-nowhere?? So i won’t have a way to contact my doctors at all!! 

Because of the huge workaround my mum had to do with the bill companies, we don’t have enough cash for food now, or gas to make trips back and forth to town. I’m praying that we have enough to take me to my appointment next week because i can’t keep putting off appointments for important shit. 

So i’m... stressed the fuck out. I don’t know what to do, except hold on tight and hope shit pans out in the end?? I just wish life would stop shitting on everyone for one fucking month so we could pull ourselves up back onto our feet and try to move forward again instead of being continually pelted with shit until we can’t breathe...