#Finally gave up and injected myself - felt better within the hour

[bonddogsaint]

I am a craving based lifeform and I approve this message.

However, about vegans and B12:

My vegan flatmate tells me that they simply don't peel or overwash their veggies before they cook them. Their B12 levels have been tested and look great, year after year.

"craving a food means your body needs something that food can offer" now what the fuck does my body need with an ice cream

[pink-flame]

Scoot Over

This is for @chickwiththepurpleguitar who deserves all the good things but all I can provide at the moment is a little Sunset Curve sickfic. We needed something vaccine related but I couldn't bring myself to make it real world 2020/2021 so this is what we get. I hope this makes you feel a little better, my friend! (There's Luke/Bobby if you squint because Lilly's fics have done that to me within a very specific context but you absolutely don't have to read it that way)

It had been a particularly bad flu season and in an effort to keep the school from having to shut down like the neighboring school distract had, the principal had organized a clinic at the school giving out the flu shot.

Which according to Alex was a good thing since none of them wanted to end up stuck inside their houses, feeling like crap for two weeks.

Only Luke’s argument was that any reason to close school was a good one and if he had to be miserable for two weeks he would just as soon it be at home with his guitar rather than the usual misery of attending classes.

None of the guys had dignified that point of view with a response though and given the fact that he was still on thin ice with his parents after his latest blow up with his mom, he accepted his fate more or less without protest when she handed him the signed permission slip.

They were scheduling the shots by last name so Alex, Luke and Reggie all got theirs on Wednesday while Bobby would have to wait until Friday. So the majority of Sunset Curve got their flu shots on the same day and that was fine until they were gathered in Bobby’s garage for rehearsal that night and Luke started feeling...off.

He didn’t say anything at first, never one to be the reason a band practice was cut short, but the longer it went on the harder time he was having acting like everything was normal.

His arm ached where he had been injected and every time he strummed his guitar the ache spread all the way down to his fingertips. He was also just tired. The kind of tired that usually only came the morning after they snuck out to play a club at 2am, crawling out of bed to go to school only a few hours after finally tumbling into it. He had already missed his cue to come in during the bridge of Bright three times and he could see the looks his friends were exchanging out of the corner of his eye like there was something wrong with him but there wasn’t he was fine...only maybe he wasn’t.

Because his head hurt and his arm hurt and he was so damn tired.

So against all previous precedent Luke didn’t argue when Bobby said it was time to call it a day, just propped his guitar up and then dropped heavily onto the couch.

“You ok, man?” Reggie asked, concern clear in his voice.

Luke sighed. There was no denying it at this point. He felt like crap.

“I think that shot gave me the flu.”

“You can’t get the flu from the flu shot,” Alex corrected.

“I think he just means it made him feel bad,” Reggie countered helpfully.

“Well, I just think we should be scientifically accurate,” Alex said firmly. “That’s step one.”

Luke reached up to rub at his aching forehead and hoped they would tire themselves out soon so it would be a little quieter. He was the type who usually never met a silence he didn’t feel the need to fill but in that moment he was dying for a little peace.

Maybe a nap.

“Ok, you two, chill,” Bobby stepped forward to take charge. “You stay there, I’m going to go get you some Tylenol.”

Luke tried not to let Bobby mother him too often, even though it seemed to be Bobby’s natural state and even though if he was being honest Luke kind of loved it. But he was too tired to pretend he didn’t want to be fussed over so he merely nodded and then tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

It felt like only a few seconds later that Bobby was shaking his shoulder to get his attention, Luke forcing himself to raise his head sluggishly. Bobby handed him two pills and a bottle of water and stared down at him expectantly until Luke mustered the energy to swallow them, immediately tossing the bottle of water off to the side and letting his head flop back against the couch.

“You’re going to wake up with a messed up neck,” Bobby said disapprovingly though Luke didn’t bother opening his eyes to check his expression.

“Don’t care,” Luke managed to grunt out stubbornly.

“Maybe you should just go home,” Reggie suggested.

“Yeah, Luke, you don’t look comfortable,” Alex added.

And Luke knew that what they were saying was logical but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it. Would he be more physically comfortable at home in his bed? Probably. But mentally there was nowhere he felt more comfortable than here, in their studio with his boys, even their nagging giving him a warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not that he was about to tell them that.

“Nah, I’m good here,” Luke said flatly.

“Oh scoot over,” Bobby sighed plopping down beside Luke and nudging him over slightly, careful to avoid his sore arm as their sides pressed up against each other.

Bobby reached up to guide Luke’s head down to rest on his shoulder, and yeah, Luke grumbled a little, but he went willingly enough, wiggling his head slightly until it slotted perfectly against the soft spot between his friend’s neck and shoulder.

“I want to cuddle too!” Reggie insisted immediately, his weight dropping onto the couch and jostling Luke a little prompting a groan to escape his lips.

“You’re not even sick,” Alex reminded him as Reggie laid down with his head in Luke’s lap.

“I got my shot today too,” Reggie argued, his voice indicating just how pleased he was to be part of the growing pile of bodies on the couch.

“That doesn’t mean...ok, whatever,” Alex gave up quickly. “Watch out.”

Then Alex was squeezing into the last bit of couch real estate left, pulling Reggie’s feet up to rest across his legs.

Luke smiled contentedly, hoping he was subtle about it but not really caring that much,  and let his eyes slide shut again.

His arm hurt and his head hurt and everything kind of hurt but Bobby had brought his arm up to slot behind Luke’s shoulders and Reggie was snuggling happily into his lap and Alex was muttering about the misconceptions about vaccines and it was good.

After a day or so Luke felt so much better it was like his reaction was a distant memory. He couldn’t wait to show up for Saturday rehearsal until he showed up to find Reggie and Alex lingering around in the garage and Bobby nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like Bobby to be late to rehearsal, especially when his commute was about five steps, so Luke instantly spun on his heels and headed for the main house at a quick pace, Reggie and Alex trailing after him.

They hovered just in front of the porch, looking up at the window they knew led to Bobby’s room, though it gave them no clues about their friend’s whereabouts.

Luke stride forward and gripped the porch railing, prepared to hoist himself up to the roof.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Alex demanded, reaching out to grab his arm and halt his progress.

“Climbing in his window,” Luke explained like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He could be dead!”

“There’s a simpler solution,” Alex rolled his eyes.

“Ooh, ooh we could throw rocks in a pattern, like Morse code!”

Alex and Luke both shot Reggie a slightly judgemental look for that suggestion.

“Or we could just knock like normal people,” Alex sighed, jogging forward to do just that probably afraid to give his friends time to do anything else dumb.

He knocked and nothing happened for just long enough for Luke to be ready to go back to his original plan when the door creaked open and Bobby’s form appeared, slouching and wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, man, did you just wake up?” Alex asked with concern.

“Yeah,” Bobby croaked. “I think that shot hit me hard yesterday too.”

“They hit you?” Reggie asked in horror. “They were pretty gentle with me.”

Alex rolled his eyes and Bobby sighed but Luke only chuckled and stepped forward to wrap an arm around Bobby’s shoulders and lead him back into the house.

“Come on, I’m going to get you some Tylenol.”

And if they all ended up in yet another cuddle pile in Bobby’s bed, overcrowded and jostling yet cozy...none of them were complaining.

[joshslater]

Foreign Exchange

This is a re-release since the previous version got blocked for unknown reasons. I’m not going to bother to find yet another photo that doesn’t break the content rule, so you’ll have to imagine the lower part of a slim, white guy wearing red trunks with the outline of a massive penis. Or read the original story and more on my Patreon.

It all started in what was supposed to be a one week stay in Cape Town. I don't know what the airline had smoked, but a round trip from Europe sold for almost nothing during a few hours. Probably some clerical error in the pricing department. Whatever the reason, I shuffled some tasks around and manage to arrange myself a one week spring vacation. I had no idea of what to expect. Only thing I knew about South Africa was the Kruger Park, the worlds first heart transplant, excellent red wines, Apartheid and Mandela.

It started out amazing. I found a cheap place in Green Point, close to lots of the tourist places, and started to drink my way through South African wine bottles. It was on the third evening I made the wrong move. No, life altering move.

I was heading back to the hotel after some late evening sea side action. I had emptied a particularly good bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, rich with those mineral tones so prevalent in most South African wines. I was slightly sun burned, possibly lost and decidedly round footed when I walked up to two well dressed white men beating the shit out of black kid.

- Hey, stop that!

I said before my brain had fully reengaged. They did stop. One of the men stared right at me, eyes filled with disdain.

- What you say?

I didn't have time to answer him when something hard hit the back of my head with a thud and everything lost focus and disappeared.

When I came to everything was black and my head hurt like hell. I was lying awkwardly, hands bound behind my back, feet tied together, and some sort of bag tied around my head. The sound made me think I was in someones trunk, but I guess it could have been a van or a covered pick up flat bed just as well. In any event, the vehicle was running fast on what I assumed to be a highway. After a bit of struggle I concluded that I was not just bound up, but also tied down and couldn't move much at all. After a boring hour or so still drunk me slipped back into sleep.

Next time I woke up the vehicle was standing still. I was still as tied up as before, but I could hear someone speaking Afrikaan a few steps away. He came close, shuffled some things around, and then I felt a small prick on my arm. I barely had time to realize it was some sort of injection when I lost consciousness again.

Regaining consciousness was quite different third time around. I still couldn't see anything, but I could feel some swim style goggles around my head, probably blacked out. Now I was lying more properly on a firm bed or padded table. I tried to move, but like before I was tightly restrained. This time it felt more professional, like cuffs around arms and legs, and some kind of material pushing against the chest. And I was naked, I think. It was hard to determine, as the temperature was nice and I couldn't move, but I couldn't feel any clothes on my body. I tried to say "hello", but nothing came out.

This quickly became incredibly boring. I couldn't see or feel much. The smell was basically just some generic clean smell of faint detergent. With sounds there were a bit more variation. I could hear some HVAC rumbling once every 5 minutes, or so I guessed. In addition there was a constant low humming in the room. I could hear some faint sounds from outside the room. Perhaps infrequent cars coming and leaving outside the building.

By my estimate I was at least into the third wake hour when suddenly a door opened and I could hear a conversation between the two men who entered the room. They sounded quite far away, so the room was probably large.

"...so many in the database?"

"We use five key measurements combined into one value as sorting key. The circumference and length, both on flaccid and erect, are approximated into two cylinders. Balls are approximated as spheres. Then we just multiply the three volumes together to make the sorting key. First selection priority is of course bio-compatibility, but this size metric allows for fast selection within that set. It only brings candidates though. The final decision is more complex, of course."

"Complex how?"

"Well, let's ask the doctor himself. His coming here."

A third person entered the room.

"You talking about me?"

"Yes, we were just discussing the selection criteria"

"Ah. Well, since this is a demonstration we want to be bold, while being mindful of proportions and aesthetics. In addition to appearance we want to maximize as many of the secondary factors as possible from the paper. For this one we landed in using the Congo supply."

They were standing right next to me now. The "doctor" continued.

"So this is the subject. The first agent is being administered right now, as you can see. Any questions?"

I tried to say something. Anything. But only wheezing air came out.

"Is he trying to speak?", asked the first voice.

"No, he isn't. Come, let's look at the model", replied the doctor, and they left the room as quickly as they entered it.

6-8 HVAC cycles later I heard the door open again and several people walking into the room. I heard a women's voice close to me saying "Everything is green. Go ahead." and I again lost consciousness.

The room was barely furnished, completely white and bathed in light when I opened my eyes.

"Oh, how good. You are awake."

I heard a female voice in a strong South African accent. I turned my head and saw a fat, black South African lady smiling at me. I was super confused. I was in a hospital bed, but this didn't really look like a hospital, and she didn't look like a nurse.

"Wheh...", was as far as I managed on "Where am I" before my voice gave out.

"You need to drink a lot. Here, let me help", said the lady and gave me something that looked like a hospital version of a gym bottle. As I drank she continued.

"You had a traffic accident. Nothing serious. Just a concussion, so you were dismissed from the hospital to make room. This is a recovery home."

I was gulping water. Man, was I was thirsty. "Where are we?" I asked.

"Just outside the city, so still close to Johannesburg."

That's like at least 10 hours away from Cape Town. What the fuck had happened?

"What day is it?"

"It's Thursday today, dear. I'll go and get something for you to eat", the fat lady answered, and started to move towards the door.

Something just didn't feel right. It was Wednesday evening when I was kidnapped. "No, what date?"

"Thursday the 28th", she said from the door.

A whole fucking week.

I felt a sucking black hole in my gut. The lady seemed nice, but there was no way I would trust her right now. Perhaps she believed everything she had just told me, but clearly some things were not true. My head felt fine, as opposed to the last time I was conscious, but what about the rest? I didn't feel any restraints, just my body in a hospital gown, under some white sheets. In fact, nothing hurt anywhere. Just thirsty, still, hungry and a need to piss.

I could see a different door in another wall than the nurse had just left through. Presumably a private toilet for this small recovery room. A pair of slippers stood next to the bed, so I threw off the blankets began to sit up and swing out my legs. That's when I first felt it. It was weird feeling, familiar, but yet very different.

I quickly kicked my feet into the slippers and carefully, still a bit woozy, shuffled into the bath room. It was surprisingly roomy. Well, perhaps not surprisingly, given the number of people with casts, wheelchairs and whatnot passing through. But it had plenty of room around the toilet seat and sink, and a full length mirror next to the sink, presumably for wheel chair bound people.

I raised the gown from my knees to expose my front, and just stared for a several seconds to fully understand what I saw. My dick and balls were gone. In its place was the largest, most aggressively male genitalia I had ever seen, even in pictures. The massive dick went almost down to my knees, and thick as a can of red bull. And even though it was completely flaccid it was veiny as cabbage and the outlines of a massive head was clearly visible through the uncut foreskin.

Behind the dick were two softball sized testicles hanging low, but unevenly so. It was all topped off with a large bush of coarse hair. And all of it, the hair, the balls and the dong, where dark chocolate black.

I just stared in disbelief. Then tentatively I touched the penis. Yep, it was real and it was now apparently mine. Standing straight my hands couldn't even reach halfway down to the tip. My mind caught up with reality and was filling with questions. Who did this? Why did they do this? How did they do this? Isn't there organ rejection? Aren't you supposed to eat some sort of pills forever after receiving a transplant? Are there even any pants I can wear anymore? Did baller shorts just become underwear?

I went to the toilet and emptied my bladder. It worked fine. Better than fine even, as aiming just became a lot easier with such a hose, although using paper involved lifting. Lifting! I could feel that it was much more sensitive than what I was used to, and felt it starting to come alive. I quickly dropped it and went back to bed. Just as I did lunch arrived.

Once fed, and having checked with the care taker, Amahle, that she wouldn't be back for two hours, I decided to try out my new dong. Tissues were already on the side table. I sat up in bed, kicked off the sheet and had another look under the gown. I was again taken aback with the sight. It wan't just massive, but somehow everything, length, girth, balls, looked to be in proportion. I must admit that I haven't spent much time thinking about, looking at or describing cocks, but the first words that came to mind were aggressive, intimidating and virile. The black skin made it even more so, as the light from the window created contrasting highlights on the veins.

Carefully I looked at the border, where the black skin met my pasty, white body. Rather than a sharp line, as I had expected, there was a narrow gradient where one color blended over to the other. How on earth was this done? It looked like perhaps a decades old surgery where the scar had long since gone soft.

I resumed where we left off in the bathroom, slowly stroking it. It reacted right away, and apparently was a grower as well as a shower. Holy fuck was it massive. I just lied in bed and over perhaps 20 minutes had the best wank in my life. I have no idea whose dick I was giving a handjob, but this was clearly his loss and my gain. It was filled to the brim with nerve endings, making every stroke amazing. Or perhaps it was designed and grown in a lab somewhere? In that case, props to the cocksmith.

The head was leaking precum like crazy, sending small droplets of man lube for every noisy slosh of foreskin riding up and down the head. I was probably suffering from some sort of auto-erotic asphyxiation with so much blood displaced, but I managed to be amazed over how long I lasted, in the fog of pleasure.

When I finally couldn't keep it contained anymore, I erupted in rope after rope of cum going everywhere. On my chest, in my face, and some overshooting me all together. As I was catching my breath, sweaty and sticky, I was thinking about what to tell Amahle. Or if I should get up and do some attempts to clean up the mess first. I realized I had plenty of problems ahead of me. Cleaning up, getting home, ever wearing pants again, figuring out how to use toilets. But at least there and then I could not care less.

[clockworkgraystairs]

HERE FOR YOU || Jurdan College AU Pt. 2

Warnings: None. Swearing maybe?

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @aesthetics-11​ @hizqueen4life​ @duarteegreenbriar​ @mysweetvilllain​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @althekingshorses​ @thewickedkings​ @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover​ @thesirenwashere​ @b00kworm​ @acourtofmoonlight​ @queen-of-glass​ @random-llama-socks​ @jurdanhell​ @cardan-greenbriar-tcp​ 

[if I forgot to tag anyone or if you want to be tagged let me know!]

Summary: After finding a very ill and feverish Jude, Cardan takes her to the doctor. And deals with her usual stubbornness.

HFY Masterlist      Pt 1   Pt 2   Pt 3   Pt 4 [coming soon] 

AO3 link

My masterlist

Cardan had never liked doctors. When he was a little kid, his mother had to apologize several times because he kept glaring and calling them creepy warlocks, claiming they cured people using potions that stunk and had a sour flavor. And even though he’d got over that phase of his life, the scent of medicine still gave him a slight skittish sensation. 

Now, after nearly an hour of waiting he was definitely not enjoying himself, except that this time he couldn’t quite tell if the feeling was because of the smell or not knowing what the doctor was telling Jude, making his muscles tense more with every minute that passed.

One part of him wished nothing more than yell at her for being so reckless and not seeking for help earlier. 

The other part though, kept thinking about that morning.  

He and Jude had agreed to meet every monday and  friday at 9:00 am to work on their final project. At the beginning their meetings had place at the school’s library, since they didn’t talk much. Not because he didn’t want to, of course. But after years of confronting Jude at class, he’d learn to give her space when she focused on something. And maybe because she was a little scary too. 

Within time, her frowning glares became curious eyes and her monosyllabic answers, full conversations.

By the third month, they had to look for a new place to meet. The library’s manager, tired of scolding them at least six times a day for talking and laughing too loud, had forbid them to enter the building together. Or being together in there at all.  

That’s how they ended up in a coffee shop near the campus. The place was small and cozy. The owner, an old sweet lady called Joanne, prepared the best cappuccinos Cardan had ever tasted. 

That morning though, he hadn’t been able to take a sip of his beverage. The two cups of coffee steaming on the table seem to mock him as he alternated his gaze between them and the door, waiting for her to arrive. His leg bounced uneasily and he felt his hands sweatier than usual.

 He glanced at the clock. 9:20 am. She was already twenty minutes late. Jude was never late. 

From the kitchen, Joanne whistled cheerfully the song that came out from the speakers. An italian song he couldn’t identify. When her eyes crossed Cardan’s she smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. He shifted on his seat, looking down at the small bunch of flowers he’d bought. The white peonies and daisies rested smoothly on the wooden table.  

Damn her. Of all days, she’d chose this one to be late.

When he woke up that morning, he was thoroughly decided to finally come clean. To finally tell Jude he was in love with her.

He sent her another message. Nothing. 

He called her. No answer. Again. 

Had she forgotten? 

Impossible, they met there twice a week. 

The only possible option left in his mind was that she’d remembered. And didn’t care.  

Anger pooled on his stomach. What an idiot he felt now. They had an agreement, imposed by her by the way, of letting the other one know about any inconvenience. Was he really that insignificant for her he didn’t deserve a simple notice? 

Bottle it up, he said to himself.

That’s when he remembered she’d been absent from class those last two days too. Even professor Noggle asked about her, a thing he didn’t do with most of the students. 

Cardan frowned. In a swift move he stood and walked out. 

He left the money for the coffee on the table, and the flowers next to it. 

The door opened, bringing him back to the present. As Jude walked out of the consulting room, he noticed her pallor had decreased. Not enough to relax him, but it was something. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, raising to stand next to her. 

She shrugged. “Better, I told you it was nothing. Let’s go.”

“Ah ah,” The doctor started, closing the door behind him. “That’s not exactly what I said young lady.”

Cardan frowned at her. Seriously? Her only answer was a deep sigh and rolling eyes. 

“My exact words were that it didn’t seem like something too serious or life-threatening. Not that it was nothing.” He took a prescriptions block out of his coat and scrawled something in the front page. Jude groaned.  “It’s most likely a severe stomach flu, aggravated by the days it was left untreated. But since the fever was strong, I’d like to wait and see if it settles now.”

“Most likely?” Cardan repeated, his brows pulled together in a frown. What had he paid this clown for, then? 

“Well it’s always good to scrap any other possibility, I took a blood sample from miss Duarte so I can send it to the lab. But I don’t believe it will show any other result.”

He nodded. “So what now? We just wait?”

“Cardan.” Jude mumbled. He didn’t move his eyes from the doctor.

“Pretty much.” He handed him the prescription. “She got an injection for the temperature already. Here are scripted some pills she’ll need to take for the next three to five days, to help with the nausea. And of course, lots of water and electrolytes.”

“Thank you, I’ll get those right away.” She said as she snatched the paper from Cardan’s hand and put it away. 

“Miss Duarte, I’ll recommend you to stay under observation the next two days. Just in case the fever returns and you need immediate assistance.” 

“Of course.” Jude answered nonchalantly, already reaching for the exit. “I’ll let my sister know so she can come over. Thanks.”

Back on his car he drove in silence. ‘Never let me go’ by Florence + The Machine sounded low on the radio. With closed eyes, Jude leaned towards the open window, her brunette locks flying wildly around her head. 

Cardan glanced sidewards at her, forcing himself not to linger too much on her slightly parted lips. His mind went back to the moment she’d collapsed in his arms. Cheeks flushed and burning up in heat. Even if he never admitted it out loud, she’d scared the hell out of him. 

He pulled his attention back to the road and cleared his throat. “I thought both of your sisters were out of town. Is any of them back? I can call them if you like.”

Jude ignored his question. After a moment of silence she whispered. “Why are you doing this?” 

Cardan shrugged.  “It’s a little bit obvious isn’t it?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You have our full project on your laptop, Duarte. And it has a password. If you die, then how on earth am I supposed to recover it?”

A punch landed on his arm, followed by a soft chuckle. “Ass. And you don’t need to call anyone. It’s not necessary.”

“Meaning?” Now it was his turn to scowl.

“Meaning,” She sighed. “That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you already did more than enough. Besides you’re right, my sisters are far far away from here, right where they should.” 

He couldn’t believe his ears. Earning a honk from the car behind them, Cardan pushed the brake, leading the car aside so it could fully stop on the sideway. 

“Hey, calm down Toretto!” She shouted raggedly, grabbing the door handle for support. “What the fuck!?”

“What the fuck? That’s exactly what I’m asking you, Duarte!” Now he could fully turn to face her incredulous stare. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You passed out a couple of hours ago, you were burning up in fever. Do you realize that? Apparently not, because despite the recommendations, you still insist on not listening!” 

An exasperated sigh left his lungs. He grabbed the wheel tighter, trying to ease the growing pool of rage inside him. Calm down. He’d spent his life telling himself to calm down. Being terrible at expressing his feelings, he was used to get irritated every time he faced pain, or fear. Or pretty much anything, actually. But gods, how could she be so stubborn? 

Jude pressed her mouth into a thin line and looked down, her hands twisting faintly on her lap. She was indeed nervous about whatever illness loomed in her body, he noticed, trying to ignore the lips he so badly wanted to tug between his. 

“I’ll stay with you.” The words left his lips before he fully realized it. 

“You what? Don’t be rid-”

“The doctor said you needed to be under supervision.” He answered turning back to the road, and put his car on march again. She was probably giving him some murdering glare that he prefered to elude. “So you have two options sweetheart, either you let me stay at your place or you come back to mine, but a frat house it’s not exactly a place to rest. You are, by no means, staying alone.”

Half a second later, even the radio was muffled by her incessant ranting. Hardly determined to convince him of doing otherwise. 

Cardan just drove.

~

When he parked next to her building the sun was already setting. 

With her arms firmly folded across her chest Jude hadn’t stopped gritting her teeth all the way back. This was madness, she repeated to herself over and over. 

The man showed up out of nowhere, took her to the doctor, paid for her medicine and now wanted to stay in her apartment? No fucking way. 

The problem now, was that if there was anyone on earth even more stubborn than her, it was Cardan. A man that no matter how many times she asked him to just leave her on the sidewalk and leave, was now walking up the stairs next to her. A satisfied grin on his perfect charming face. If she didn’t feel as weak at the moment she’d slapped his way out of the place. 

Once inside she left the medicines and the gatorades on the table and turned to him. 

“For the hundredth time, Cardan. You don’t have to stay, everything is under control and I’m not feveri- what’s that?” She asked, noticing the hanging object on his shoulder.

“A backpack?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I‘m not blind, you ass. What are you doing with that backpack?”

“I always keep some extra clothes in my trunk. You know, in case I find myself in any unexpected situation.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her in a way that twisted her guts. Ugh, disgusting.

The repulse must’ve been written on her face too because he snickered for a second before throwing it next to the couch. “Becoming your hot nurse certainly fits in the category dear, you can’t deny that.” 

She blinked and pushed back the intrusive thoughts that emerged from his statement. Why was her mind against her today? Maybe the fever had burned her coherency brain cells, if she’d ever had any to begin with.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” Cardan dropped himself on the couch, opening a book he’d taken from his pack. “Now take those pills, put on your weird pijama and go rest.” 

Maybe she could still gather the strength to slap him after all.

Trying to ignore the sour flavor that shitty pills left on her mouth, Jude stood in front of the mirror. Wearing the shorts and the t-shirt she’d put on before they went to the doctor, she found herself suddenly worried by her clothing and messy hair. 

Which was utterly absurd. It wasn’t as if he cared at all about her wardrobe choices.

Still, the idea of them sleeping under the same roof unnerved her. It had been a long time since she’d had someone from the opposite sex staying the night. Either way, her exasperating classmate certainly hadn’t crossed her mind.

She bit her lip.

Ok that was a lie. Being honest she might have thought about it a couple of times. Mostly drunk. She always felt guilty the day after. And pissed. It left her wishing she could hate him again, like she did on sophomore year when he was truly a rude idiot. But no matter how hard she’d tried, his wits and dumb jokes had slowly changed her perspective of him. Not to mention those deep dark eyes and wicked smile of his. It only took a pair of tequila shots to start fantasizing about running her lips along that jaw. FINE, it didn’t take any tequilas to do that. But sober she had a tiny bit of control over her too-creative mind. Drunk Jude had already undressed him in her dreams once. Twice?

And now Cardan was outside, lying down on her comfy couch. Staying the night.

Jude chewed her inner cheek. This was a nightmare. 

As quiet as possible, she opened the door and peered outside. He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe some ancient deity took mercy on her and vanished him to oblivion. That or he was probably in the bathroom, so she tiptoed her way to the modest kitchen. 

She’d just finished preparing her chai tea when the bathroom’s door opened. Decided to ignore him, she kept her gaze down. 

At least until she caught a glimpse of him with the corner of her eyes. That, snapped her attention back. Oh no, no no no no.

“CARDAN GREENBRIAR WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I...what?” 

“Could you please… I don’t know, maybe put a fucking shirt on?!” She could already feel her blood gathering on her cheeks. 

He paused and quirked an eyebrow. “For your information, Duarte, I tend to sleep naked. These pants are a sign of my consideration to you, since we’re at your place.” 

The goddamn idiot was made of marble. Jude knew he wasn’t precisely one of those big muscular men, not that it meant he didn’t have everything in place. His well formed shoulders and arms were visible even with clothes, and now she could admire the slightly marked muscles of his torso all the way down to the V that disappeared under his pine-green pants. His shoes were off too. 

“Are you blush-” He started, only to be cut by her murderous voice.

“Good night, Cardan.” Taking her cup, she crossed the place with big steps, slamming the bedroom’s door behind her. 

Leaning against the wood, she heard the couch creak as he laid down. Her breathing evened a little a few minutes after. 

Shit, that had been rude. Even if he’d imposed his presence there he was still a guest, her mind scolded her. A really hot guest. No no, don’t think of that now.

As silently as she could she opened the door again. And pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laugh at what she saw.  

Cardan’s legs hung over the couch’s arm. Which made sense, considering how tall he was, but right now it only looked bloody ridiculous, and kind of adorable. She tried to ignore the guilt that pierced her heart again. He seemed stiff. An idea shone on her mind. A terrible terrible idea.

“Cardan?” She whispered.

He hummed in response.

She swallowed and walked towards him. “You can’t sleep in there.”

He scoffed and looked at her through hooded eyes, dark and deep made her heart skip a beat. “If you’re trying again to convince me to leave…”

“I’m not.” Jude blurted, passing a hand over her curls. Somehow words seemed to stuck in her throat. “I mean- even when you are completely ignoring me about you not needing to be here… I guess I… What I try to say is-”

“Jude Duarte is babbling. Gods, now I’m intrigued.” He breathed, propping himself on his elbows.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head elusively. It was humiliating how easy it was for him to put her on edge. “Shut up will you? You can’t stay on the couch, it’s small and uncomfortable… And I, well, I happen to own a double bed.” 

Smooth, girl, smooth.

“Trying to lure me into your bed? So soon?” He teased, flashing her a smile, yet his joke didn’t reach his eyes. Something in them was different, they were wider, intense.

“You’re intentionally being an asshole.” She said, gritting her teeth. This time his tricky words and good looks wouldn’t affect her. She couldn’t allow it. “I just meant that we can both sleep there. Like, as far away as the bed allows but at least you could rest.”

For a second he just looked at her. Not mocking or rude, she couldn’t place the expression in his face. His jaw set, chest raising and falling slowly. “You don’t have to, Jude. I’m ok in here.”

“Don’t lie. Besides I’d feel better too. Not because- Ugh, I’d feel better knowing that I could at least make your staying more bearable, I guess.” That wasn’t so bad. Yet. And honestly she couldn’t tell if it was worse if he accepted, or refused. 

Back in her room an awkward silence filled the atmosphere as both laid side to side. Somehow, even if they were not touching, Jude could feel the heat of his skin. Her heart hammered so fast she swore he could listen to it.

“So…” He started.

Panic filled her senses, she needed to cut any conversation before saying or doing something she’d regret later. “There’s no need to mention it, just go to sleep… please.” She rolled onto her side, facing away from Cardan. “Good night.”

Jude barely heard him sigh. “Sweet dreams, Jude.”

~

It was hot. Really really hot. Fuck he couldn’t move. How much had he drank last night?

Wait. No, last night he didn’t go out with Locke. He’d said he would spend the weekend with his girlfriend, at least this month’s. Cardan had stopped mocking him for it long ago. 

Eyes still closed, he grimaced and tried to stretch but something held down his arm. As Cardan became more and more aware of his body, the memories of the day before flashed in his mind. The failed meeting with Jude, the flowers he’d spend almost an hour choosing, her body going limp against him, the useless doctor… Jude offering him her bed to sleep.  

That’s when something tickled his neck, startling him. 

No, not something.

Cardan’s eyes snapped open, he looked down and froze when he realized Jude’s body was pressed flush against him, one of her hands resting on his chest. Somehow their legs impossibly tangled. Terrified, he found his own arm encircling her waist, bare skin touching his fingers since her too big shirt had rolled up in her sleep.  

She shifted a little and her nose brushed his neck again, letting out a small breath that sent hot shivers down his body.

Any knowledge of how to move or think completely forgotten. He stared blankly at the ceiling. 

Fuck fuck fuck shit what the fucking fucks. 

[grahammasurian]

Dumping Your Responsibility.

The dumpster outside my apartment building was completely overflowed. The truck missed a couple weeks for some reason and people just kept piling their shit on top regardless.

“My sin will be forgiven, the next sinner will go to hell!”

This came into my head whenever I thought of the garbage situation. I considered myself 99% innocent since I didn’t use the dumpster during these couple weeks. Unfortunately when disaster happens it doesn’t care how much you were involved, all it sees is your darkness.

What I could have done was call up our landlord. Maybe I didn’t add directly to the trash pile but I still could have brought attention to it. Unfortunately my mind gave me a great reason for not calling him, a wonderful why even bother type of belief. These curses will kill you but they provide immense relief.

He lives someplace nicer and keeps his back turned on this building, so if I don’t tell him anything he’ll keep believing whatever fantasy he’s living. Whenever I bring up something for him to look at he puts it off or conveniently forgets about it, can’t say I blame him. I'd love to do the same sometimes and then feel guilty about it for the rest of my life. It’s hard to convince myself that a life of eternal guilt is worse than a life of hard work. Maybe the simple solution is to just disregard the guilt and make everyone despise me, though I can’t say that seems like a good long term strategy.

I guess everyone likes to avoid responsibility too, don’t get me wrong I get it, because man it sure feels good to not take anything seriously, just sit back and relax through life, I’ll lay down in my bed and fold into a quarter circle. Pull my knees up to my chest and gently hold myself, like swinging in the breeze floating along to somewhere better.

Eventually some birds had a war over the trash that was at this point spilling everywhere, old food, old clothes, plastic shit, maybe real shit. It was a disaster but seemed to be an appropriate punishment for us. I watched a seagull pull apart a bag for 30 minutes, something about the completely boring and ordinary scene held a power over me. I imagined this feeling of our civilizations being consumed again by nature, it’s easy to forget that nature is constantly trying to integrate us more effectively. Integration with an ocean with a mysterious intention.

We could have salvaged things there, rescued some of our dignity and just accepted responsibility for what we did by not doing. I sat some nights debating whether or not I should just go out there and clean up everything alone. I didn’t mind the day, but at night I just loved how things seemed to come to life inside me. There was a power that I didn’t have access to during the day.

I decided it wasn’t worth cleaning up, after all I don’t really care what these people think of me, unless they express it to me. Plus I felt like I fit in better with my environment as a lazy drifter. When I run into the people that live here occasionally there is enough willpower on all our parts to say “Hi” and then move on our way. The two people that live under me, man and wife, maybe around late 50’s early 60’s always give me a glimpse into a possible future. The guy looks like his soul has been sucked out and not in a good way. It scares me for a moment and I tell myself I’ll keep it in mind but my actions don’t change.

The next week after the missed pickup and our experiment with apathy, something happened.

It was 12:33 AM, I was laying down in my bed with the window open, listening to the wind and feeling the slight breeze on my skin. Sometimes I’d lay there for hours listening to music or in silence, using drugs of course. The sounds of the night combined with distant sounds of the city created the backdrop for the worlds I explored in my mind. I break away from the atmosphere and write some ideas down in some form then go back to my mind.

I heard a familiar sound, the mother of this girl screaming in that resentful kind of way. Whenever someone talks that way to me my stomach gets sick, I see this person is using me to escape from something. You know instantly that this isn’t about you anymore, it's about them.

I hated the way this mother yelled at her daughter, I didn’t have kids of my own but I didn’t mind them, I generally see children as innocent beings until they gain awareness. When they become aware they turn into wood, hopefully they make it through and become real but many don’t. Some play as the twisted craftsmen, shaping the world with design. Night after night I’d hear this poor girl being molded into something that will make her unhappy for the rest of her life.

Even though it’s hard to feel connected with darkness, you still elicit feelings for things of the night. You react more on principle and not bigger picture at night, this mother was injecting venom deep into the mind of her daughter. Like a jackass I sat there each night it happened and listened to it like music.

 Being man enough to walk down there one day and call her out on her shitty behavior was always in the back of my mind, but then I would think some more and figure what difference would it make? Sometimes I snap out of my delusions and wake up, I see who I am from up here.

Just look for the right words.

It didn’t happen every time but sometimes this warped girl would dash outside, slamming doors and shouting behind her. Most times I’d hear her small steps pace around or walk down out of earshot then eventually I’d hear her again coming from the other side of the building, maybe doing two or three laps like that before cooling off and gaining enough strength to go back. She feels like she just wants to give up but chooses to continue to face that fate which shows just how much courage she had.

This night the young girl made her usual escape, something about the scene caught my attention. Normally I just ignored it for the most part, but tonight I felt worried for her and listened to see if she was okay.

The shriek of her screaming scared me sober. That kind of pitch that you can only get when you feel real terror.

Confusion at night amplifies fear to a level that can go beyond anything you’ve ever felt. Sometimes hearing a loud noise randomly in the middle of the night only to realize it was something conspicuous is an interesting moment of tension and release of tension. When you listen to death it creates tension that doesn’t go away unless you force it to release.

I couldn’t see much but the sounds made up for the rest, I looked on in horror as this poor unfortunate girl came running towards the front door to come back inside. She must have forgotten to prop it open a little this time like she usually did. The door was shut, she couldn’t escape through there and it was the only chance she had time to try.

This whole thing happened so fast it was as if my mind refused to think about what I was seeing, this bear that must have smelled some food nearby came across her instead.

Hearing someone produce screams that come from a dangerous place, sends a painful shock through you. It would have been nice if I was one of those people that got off on that kind of thing but unfortunately I had to deal with the feelings of misery, dread, sadness, fear, anger, all at once.  

A little bit slower than what should have been immediate there was incredible energy from all around, people coming out and making noise, not too many but enough for me to be impressed.

The general sentiment at the time was:

“Oh My God!” A big fat lady wearing a shaggy blue sweater screeched out. There were many other intense shouts, deflated yelps, sobbing murmurs, all mixing together slowly creating the atmosphere for a tremendously horrific scene.

All these half awake people, semi-disconnected souls felt something deep down within them for once. For the first time in decades some of these hopeless people felt alive, they acted without thought calling back to our primate ancestors. They witnessed a driving force, without realizing the lesson unfortunately.

Some of the people approached the girl to try and attempt some kind of help and others stayed away, accepting the situation or too afraid to know how bad it really was.

Some sobs were heard throughout the night as people came and went, voices that sounded defeated, voices that sounded ready to give up and heavy with guilt.

“Emily! No!” The mother cried. Obviously still drunk. Obviously deluded into thinking her daughter is anywhere close to alive.

“Please baby I’m so sorry! Please wake up baby!”

I had great disdain for this mother, but at that moment I felt bad for her. This woman made mistakes and in the end all it causes is suffering.

They came for her daughter, whisked her away into the abyss forever. Black cloaks riding into the stars on their skeletal horses. I wasn’t sure whether or not the constant beating I was hearing was a drum or my heart. We summoned these demons with our ritual, the choices we made were acts of incantation that brought forth monsters with the power to possess mortals, the possession was the final step in ensuring resurrection lest one of us snap out of the hypnosis and rescue the rest from the gaze of Medusa.

Then some downcast EMT workers took away her body, from the low looks and words after immediately coming upon the scene it was clear that hope didn’t exist anymore. I never saw the aftermath personally, where the actual attack happened was obscured to me by the awning over the door. Sometimes imagination makes things worse.

The mother followed her daughter into the darkness 3 weeks later.

[thejoshuaglenn-blog]

You're a Good Boy, Charlie Brown

The key purpose of a Tumblr blog here is really a brain dump: logging thoughts, feelings, narrative and such is easier in long form than via a brief Facebook post that generates half a dozen "oh no, what happened" comments. As I'm writing this, most of it seems like bullet points and organized timelines. If you're looking for a TL;DR or current state of thoughts, it's the last section titled The Day After, and the Day After That.

A few days ago, Niko and I said goodbye to our first dog, Charlie Brown.

I'm not keen to chat about it a lot. There's more to process than I have time to type; most of it centers around being fair to myself and to Niko, taking the time to appreciate his life without beating ourselves up, and avoiding the overwhelming mire that grief can become.

Joining the Family

CB was a rescue, a hapless victim of the 2016 Louisiana floods and a happy-go-lucky participant in a "dog for a day" event hosted by a local shelter. I fully expected to rent him out for a day, give him a few great experiences, and return him. For myriad reasons, we never did bring him back to Pet Rescue by Judy, and he's been with us ever since.

At adoption, he was estimated to be around 4-8 years old. With a kicked-in shoulder that offset his collarbone and ribcage, some assorted dental issues, and other little signs of damage (cigarette burns, what the heck is wrong with people), it was tough to really gauge his age. That means he left this world at the ripe old age of something like 9-13, which isn't terrible considering all he'd been through.

Charlie Brown was the iconic good boy. He seldom barked, he never licked or jumped, and just wanted to be in the same room as his favorite people. He had a few toys that he cherished, never ripping them up, just carrying them with him from room to room and whining a bit, unsure of where he could store them for safekeeping. Apart from some separation anxiety issues and an occasional urge to bolt out the door and book it as far as he could, CB was by all accounts an easy first dog: more like a low-effort cat than anything else.

Slowly Falling Apart

Over time, the health issues increased. Intermittent but predictably regular upset tummy. Bad gums, bad teeth. Random gooey skin lesion. Eye ulcers. Since October, we've been averaging 2-3 unplanned vet visits a month — many incurring some hefty bills. We'd take out another credit card, find another financing plan, but it adds up. So does the emotional toil on the family; so does the anxiety toll on the dog.

You start to think about quality of life for the dog, you know? He'd had a few teeth removed to sew up his gums after they kinda detached and fell apart from his jawbone — so he couldn't chew anything hard. Couldn't even chew a tennis ball, which was the only toy he took interest in anymore. Couldn't have any fun treats like peanut butter or other soft chews, as his tummy would have bad flare-ups that usually ended up with him attached to an IV bag. After finally settling in and learning to play well with Atlas, Charlie Brown started to get pretty irritable whenever Atlas got frisky.

He still loved running around outdoors, and was in otherwise great health.

I can't tell you how guilty that makes me feel, even now.

Moving to Waltham

Before we left Orlando, there were so many crisis moments in emergency vet offices where Niko and I talked about how long he could ride this roller coaster. CB obviously was not a fan of vet visits: loved the staff, but was notably anxious and panicky when separated from us, and he had grown very loathe to the process of poking, prodding, and whatnot.

Shortly after moving to Waltham (he was a champ in the U-Haul), Charlie Brown had a severe colitis flare-up. He was losing so much fluid and was growing very lethargic over the day. Vets are hard to get into these days: with the sweep of "pandemic puppy" adoptions, the vet industry as a whole is saturated with demand, and practices are responding as best they can. There were just no emergency clinics available to us within 20 miles, except one that noted "we have no availability, but you can come and wait, and we might be able to see you in 4 or 5 hours." So we did.

It was a very late night. Charlie Brown came home with us with another round of the same antibiotics he'd been taking almost regularly since December for his assorted ailments, and some probiotics. The next day, CB seemed a bit better and brighter, and Niko and I went into the city for part of the day. We came home to find he'd had an accident, but it was just... blood. So so much. And he looked so in pain, so ashamed, so guilty, so anxious.

So we went back to the vet ER. It was another very late night. I didn't know how many of these late nights we could afford; neither of us knew how many of these late nights it was fair to expect Charlie Brown to endure.

Do you plan on letting a pet go after an extended crisis visit? Do you plan on letting a pet go in a time of relative peace?

Camping Analogy, and a Best Last Day

When you're off on a long hike, and you see daylight start to fade as the sun begins to set, you begin to think about finding a good place to set up camp for the night. It's abysmal to do this after the sun has already gone down: where you could have had preparation and structure, you have chaos by flashlight.

A dog's life is in your hands. You're his whole world: all food, adventure, pampering, challenge, treatment, and care come from you. More than anything, we wanted Charlie Brown to have a peaceful, restful life. Now that we started thinking about it, we wanted to be able to give him a peaceful, restful passing as well: not as the climax of another overnight crisis with injections and yelps and beeps and cowering and anxiety and fear, but in the still quiet of familiar sounds and smells.

His very last day was a great one. Fresh Pond in Cambridge: a massive stroll around a colossal lake with an absurd bounty of new smells, kind people, happy dogs, and a brisk New England breeze. He got to swim in a little side pond — that boy lived for jumping into random lakes. He ran around the broad field that is Kingsley Bowl, chasing a thrown ball the very very farthest his sad pop could throw it — and he brought it back. We bought him a steak. We told him how much he brought to our lives.

And then we waited.

Lap of Love is a sort of home delivery service of dignified passing for pets. There's more to say on that hour than I care to pen, but throughout the procedure, we never left him. Charlie Brown passed enveloped in our arms and laps and sobs and hugs.

The Day After, and the Day After That

The rest is just thoughts. Your head starts to feel like a coffee shop where your grief comes in, sits at a table with you, and unloads. You nod, listen, and wish them well. I hope I can keep processing this way — I find it helpful, and less overwhelming.

I wish he had been able to play with his tennis ball more. Since his jaw surgery — even out on Kingsley Bowl, nearly a month and a half after he should have been fully healed — any kind of chewing would cause renewed bleeding and pain.

I wish we had hugged him more. But truth be told, he didn't like hugs. They made him uncomfortable. So we gave him a hand to lay his head on, or a knee for him to pop his head upon, as often as he liked.

There were so many times I felt inconvenienced by owning a dog at all. They weren't the majority, but... now each remembered time feels like a splinter of selfishness.

I miss how familiar the back of his neck felt under my hand, just behind the ears, where the waves of fur meet and crash and make a long cowlick of foof and fluff.

His happy smile and his stressed smile were very similar, but you could still tell which was which.

I loved being there for him in thunderstorms.

When you think about it, we sort of were hospice care for him. We weren't his original owners; we just wanted the rest of his life to be painless and fulfilling. He had so many trust issues when he first came to us. And in the end, he loved anyone he met.

I miss feeling around with my feet to make sure I don't step on him on my way to bed. I miss setting my feet on the floor as I wake, stooping down, and giving his head a good squishy rub.

He never did get to see Boston snow. I mean... thousands of dogs never get to see snow. But I was really looking forward to sharing that experience with him.

I wanted so badly to bring him to a point of health, and then say goodbye when he was feeling well. Seeing him have his Best Last Day, part of me whispered "murderer" with cold accuracy, and I have a hard time shaking it. He was so happy — but between jaw bleeding after playing with a tennis ball, seeing him scratch his eyes that were starting to ache with ulcers again... I know the unbridled happiness came with the reality of his declining health.

Atlas was the best thing that ever happened to that boy. I know Charlie Brown was at least a little disgruntled that his easy-going day-to-day had been interrupted by a chompy puppy, but Atlas brought out the young pup in CB: ripping palm fronds to shreds, playing tug, playing tag, meeting new dogs with confidence and assurance.

I used to get so mad at my mother-in-law for feeding Charlie Brown cinnamon donuts. I wish I'd given him more. Heck, I wish I'd given him more peanut butter. I'm frankly surprised he hadn't died of peanut butter overdose years ago.

Where Charlie's health had limits, we kept going with Atlas. That might mean taking Atlas out to play with a ball or a tug toy, because CB couldn't. It breaks my heart now to think of Charlie at the glass door just watching it happen, all because he physically couldn't play the same. I know he didn't understand that.

We took him out to Park Ave maybe once or twice. I wish it had been more. Truth be told, it was the same as the dog park, though: he was kind of a loner. Loads of people or dogs made him anxious. So while I might idealize the past and wish he had sat at our legs for lunch after lunch at an outdoor thoroughfare, ... I think he would have been miserable. I think he would have rather just curled up at the base of the couch and dozed while we watched a show.

He was so trusting. I could just drag him onto his back and onto my lap for cuddles and a good tummy rub. No complaints.

He looked so gaunt these past few months. I keep looking at earlier photos, and I really didn't realize just how grizzly and drawn he had become lately.

I miss seeing him randomly waiting for me outside the bathroom door — or curled up on the bath mat while I was in the shower, having sneakily nosed the door open and wanting my company while I was rinsing.

For his first few years with us, he was incredibly playful. I've been going through old videos — it's like going outside just blew his mind, and toys were either for cherishing daintily, or thrashing about and throwing to oneself and gnawing. He lost that after a time. He regained it a bit when Atlas joined the party. But it still faded. I'm sure that's inevitable, but it makes me sad to see the early vibrant puppy in those old recordings, and how different he had been in recent months.

[cheerfulmelancholies]

Medical Mechanical Ch. 8

As soon as the door latched behind her, Diana dialed Ethan's number. "You were right," she said when he answered. "It is getting worse." She forced herself to keep her breathing steady. Her shaking hands didn't allow her as much control.

Ethan was on high alert instantly. "What happened?"

"I don't know, he was just really out of it. I didn't even know he was home at first. I just went looking for something in the garage and saw him standing there next to his car. It was like he didn't know I existed; he just kept staring at the thing. I think he might've been doing that for a while. Then he just stumbled over to his workbench. He kept mumbling but I couldn't understand it."

"He stumbled? Was he hurt?"

Diana shook her head even though he couldn't see it. "No. Aside from the lapse in memory, he was fine."

"What else did he do?"

"Anyone who knows my dad knows he can work on cars. He was so confused he grabbed the wrong tool and didn't even know how to use it. Every time I tried to say something he either didn't hear me or blew me off. He kept saying he was fine even though he obviously wasn't, and next thing I know he's on the ground trying to pull the front tire off with his hands. Then he just sort of... woke up." She chanced a peek out her bedroom door and heard him snoring lightly. At least he seemed better now.

"That's... I have no idea how to respond to that," Ethan said, brow creased. Though his mother had been unusually chipper these past few days, she was still herself. Much of his interactions with her had been the same as always, albeit on a much more cheerful note. Daniel Ryder's sudden memory lapse was far more troubling and spoke volumes for what little they could unearth about Medical Mechanical.

Diana sighed and sat on her bed. "This is so sudden," she admitted, picking at a hangnail. "Aside from the headaches and being out late, he was fine. Now, all of a sudden, he loses his shit? You should have seen him. I was worried I'd have to take him to one of MM's clinics." If they discovered that whatever they'd been doing to her father had taken effect like this, she might lose him for good.

"Let's not panic, okay? If he's fine now then it just means it was something temporary. Maybe they gave him something, like my mom. Or maybe it's just stress." He knew she would never believe such a terrible excuse but he wanted to ease her worry.

"There's no way you could get amnesia from stress, Ethan. They definitely did something to him."

"I know. And we're working on figuring it out, so don't go rushing in halfcocked. We need to get more info first."

They hadn't gotten much out of any locals aside from the usual conspiracy theories and paranoia-driven nonsense. The only people who knew anything had either left or were working for the enemy. It wouldn't be easy, but they were going to have to get closer to MM themselves if they wanted to find out what was going on.

Diana hummed in thought. "I think I might have an idea."

"Shoot."

"I can try asking my mom," she said, still deciding if it was a good call.

Ethan didn't know how much of the things he'd heard about Keana Ryder were true, so he settled on being neutral. "If you think she'll know anything."

"She might?" Why did she sound so unsure? Of course her mom would know something. She was still in the medical industry, what little of it there was that Medical Mechanical didn't own. Not to mention, she’d had her fair share of their shenanigans before. "I'm sure she's got some kind of insider knowledge." Whether or not she'd have to relay her dad's lapse in memory to get said knowledge had yet to be seen.

He shrugged, trying to remain indifferent. "Sounds good. Let me know if you find out anything."

"Will do. Bye." She hung up and her finger hovered over the image of her mother. She spent a couple of minutes steeling herself and going over what she wanted to say before calling.

Her call was answered on the third ring.

"Diana, long time no chat." Keana closed the laptop's lid and leaned back in her chair. She was surprised to hear from her daughter again so soon, but also relieved.

"Hey, Mom. How's stuff been?" She thought a casual approach would be her best bet.

"Oh, frustrating as always. You know how it is." She heard Diana hum. "Is everything alright there?"

"Yeah, everything's good. I just wanted to talk some more. Unless you're busy, that is. I know that's why you couldn't come over so soon." She felt horrible for playing her mother like this, using her wounded daughter act to get her to talk. She just didn't want to use the alternative.

"No, no, of course not, honey. I'm always here for you. Anything new at school?"

She hadn't been planning on revealing Ethan so soon, but then she realized it would be the perfect opportunity to bring up her father. "Well, not really," she said, injecting just enough insecurity into her tone.

"Not really?" Keana parroted, not missing the awkward phrasing.

"Well, ok, I guess I'll tell you. There's this project I've been doing and, uh, I've got a partner on it. His name's Ethan. You're not allowed to tell Dad though; he's already caught on and he's giving me flak over it." She wasn't lying, she told herself.

"Aw, sounds like you've got a crush."

"Mom..." Though she had known it was coming she was still embarrassed. "I mean it. This is between us, got it?"

"Any reason why you're keeping your father out of the loop?" Diana was just as close to Daniel as her. Sometimes she wondered if they weren't closer because of how little she saw them.

Here went nothing. Diana took in a silent breath before speaking. "He's just been... kinda distant lately. He's always so tired now. All he does is work and sleep."

Keana was silent for several moments.

"Mom?" She thought she'd gotten disconnected when her mother finally spoke.

"Just how much does he work?"

The question took her by surprise and she couldn't think of a response right away. "Um, a lot," she said finally.

"A lot of what? Days? Nights? Hours?"

"All three, if I'm being honest. But he's always worked like crazy." As she said it, she was questioning if it was true. Her father had always thrown himself at his work--so much that it had cost him his marriage--but had he always lived for it? How long had this been going on for? The complete one-eighty on his views of MM was bad enough, but had he really always worked this hard for them?

"Doesn't he get any time off? He used to have weekends, remember?" Keana asked, cutting into Diana’s daze.

Diana blinked. He did used to have the weekend off. Occasionally he'd get called in but that was normal. Now that she thought about it, he'd once taken a week off in an attempt to fix his and Keana's relationship. It hadn't worked and he'd gone back the following Monday in a mood so foul they sent him home for another four days.

"When was the last time he had a day off?"

Despite this being the conversation she wanted to have, the seriousness in her mother's tone coupled with what had just transpired in the garage made her mouth go dry. "I don't remember. He usually goes in before I'm even up for school and sometimes he doesn't come home till late night." The way her tongue stuck as she spoke grated her nerves.

"How late?" The Daniel she knew never would've been that devoted to his job. He certainly never was with her.

"Sometimes around nine, six if he's really lucky, but a lot of the time he doesn't get off till way later. I'm either in bed or leaving for school." The silence on the other end gave her goosebumps. Her mother definitely knew something. "It's... It's weird, isn't it? He never used to work so much. I think he's at that facility more than he's at home. I have no idea why; he won't tell me."

"I'm not sure myself, honey. It was bad enough then. This is something else entirely."

"Did he ever tell you what he does there? He could be a janitor for all I know. I can't get anything out of him." Silence. "Please, Mom? I just wonder." She almost said worry.

"Research," came the response. "He was hired in for research. They offered me the same thing."

"Research on what?" She was so close.

"They wouldn't say unless we agreed. You know I can't stand them, so I told them to buzz off, but your father..." She sighed. "He was just as against it as me, but then they approached him with some sort of offer. I don't know what it was about, but whatever they said to Daniel put starts in his eyes like I'd never seen. He was hell-bent on taking the offer. I told him it was a terrible idea and that we should stick to our guns, but he ignored me. He said he needed the job. Wouldn't tell me why though. Just that it was important."

"I didn't know that." Her parents had never made her privy to the real reason behind their separation. Sure, her dad's workaholic nature and sudden trust in a company he'd previously hated hadn't helped, and her mother's stubbornness only added fuel to the fire. She knew deep down that it was something more though. Something more than the fights, the failed private practice and even MM themselves. Something within one of her parents caused a divide between them.

"I've got no clue what sort of research they needed him to do," Keana was saying. "Daniel was never one for the medical business. I always assumed it was something machine related. The man loves to tinker."

"But... I thought..." Diana took a moment to compose herself. "It's Medical Mechanical. I mean, yeah, mechanical is in the name but they've never put out health care robots or anything." And thank goodness for that. The last thing she needed was to imagine the sight of humanoid robots going rogue and tearing into people for the sake of 'science.'

"I used to think they would, back when they first started here. I figured that was what had Daniel so intrigued. With what you've told me, I'm not so sure now. With him on board, they would've had at least three generations worth of mechanical assistants by now."

"So what else could it be? Dad's not a nurse but I'm sure he can-"

"No, honey, you don't understand. You know your father's never even seen med school, right?" Her phone notified her of another call and she pulled it away from her ear to look. Cursing, she brought it back. "Listen, baby girl, I have to go but I'll call you back as soon as I can. I've been waiting all day for this call."

"Wait, Mom-"

"I love you."

Diana stared at the screen, at a loss. She had more questions than ever now, all pertaining to her father and his devotion to MM. The one that bothered her the most? Why had they hired him? He had a degree in engineering, nothing more. She hadn't put much thought into it before but it was odd. Here was Daniel Ryder, a man ill-equipped to be a nurse, let alone a leading researcher for a medical firm, and yet they seemed to rely on him for almost everything. And it was apparently mutual. He had wanted--desperately--whatever they had offered him. He had deemed it to be worth his family and mental well-being.

Her mother had left her with quite the revelation.

[ddrayan]

Covid times in KL

A couple of weeks ago, I jumped on the COVID-19 train.

How did I get it? It could have been from the dinner I had in a well-known Shopping Centre, happy hour with my friends or even the Hospital visits that I had gone to accompanying family. But nope! I actually contracted it from a friend’s home and obviously, nobody in the household knew that they were infected until one of them unsuspectingly needed to get a test done as a requirement for a medical scan. Within 3 hours, the entire household and I got tested and within 20 hours, got our results which came back positive. 6 members of their family in PJ and I was by myself in OKR. These are some of the fun facts about handling COVID-19.

 1.       How do you know if you have COVID-19?

Unless you’re symptomatic, you really won’t know! I was Asymptomatic when I got tested and the only reason I got tested was because I was in close contact with someone who was also Asymptomatic but later got tested positive.

FUN FACT: Wear your mask and sanitize regularly because you don’t know what the next person’s got and worst of all, you don’t know what you’ve got till you get tested. So stop coughing & sneezing openly, even if you’re around family at the comfort of your own home or room.

 2.       Do you stay Asymptomatic throughout?

Different people react differently.  I was Asymptomatic when I tested, but on Day 4 (Calculated Day 1 as the day I got tested) I developed a mild Flu. It was barely runny but naturally I was starting to panic. This followed through with a very mild fever (37.5). Thanks to a good friend who was a Doctor, she dropped off all the necessary Flu – Fever Meds as well as Cough Syrup as a preemptive measure. I took them and the flu and fever died down the next day with a little bit of sniffles still playing up for two days.

FUN FACT: The close contact who tested positive was also technically a high risk older person but did not show any symptoms for 14 days except for loss of taste which lasted for 2-3 days.

 3.       What are the tell-tale symptoms of COVID-19?

So far, everyone that I have known to have been infected has had different variations of the symptoms. As for me, I was good till Day 4. There was mild fever and flu that was gone by Day 6 thanks to the flu + fever + cough medicines I diligently took. Then I just felt tired/lazy. Day 7 hit hard with light headedness which kept me in bed with a sudden bout of body ache. It felt like I had fought King Kong the day before and someone injected me with some super drowsy concoction. I also realized I couldn’t take deep breathes as I usually would. It felt like my chest was weakening. This spilled over to Day 8 with a visit from a very special friend, “Diarrhea”. I was lucky enough to only have endured its visit for half a day thanks to good ol’ Black Tea (Teh O’) and the massive fresh coconuts sent by a dear friend! All I remember is just sleeping through the rest of Day 8 up to Day 10. I was feeling very, very tired and lethargic. Once Day 11 hit, I was starting to feel better again, maybe still tired and needed to gain my strength back but the body ache was gone.

FUN FACT: Most of my symptoms developed after Day 4  and peaked on Day 6-9. After I recovered from the flu on Day 6, I lost of sense of smell and taste for about  3-4 days. A good friend sent me an Essential Oil with Peppermint, Eucalyptus and Lavender among others to help with the blocked nose and sleep. I do feel like inhaling it everyday helped gain back my sense of taste and smell fast!

4.       Did KKM/PKD contact you?

Okay. This is the fun part! If I got 10 bucks every time someone asked me this question throughout the 14 days, I would have made a thousand bucks easy! So let me run you through what happened to me and please note that every COVID-19 patient would have differing stories. When I got tested, I was asymptomatic so I had gone home immediately and quarantined myself while waiting for the results to come out the next day. I had done my test at a private hospital in PJ and the doctor called me at 10.40 am the next day to inform me. Firstly, he seemed like he was laughing in a bit of a disbelief that I and the other 6 had tested positive. He then asked if I had any symptoms and thereafter acknowledged that I was Asymptomatic as of that moment. He said that I should take a lot of Vitamin C and quarantine myself at home for 14 days. If I had difficulty breathing then to call an Ambulance but otherwise, I should stay calm and PKD will be contacting me within 2-4 days to let me know what’s next as they’re overwhelmed with cases at the moment. So, that was Day 1. I didn’t get a single call from anyone till I called PKD HQ and was given the number to PKD Lembah Pantai on Day 13.

FUN FACT: I called various PKD numbers throughout my quarantine period and nobody answered. No body called me for contact tracing till I was cleared. Someone called me on Day 18 to ask if I had informed my contacts and for some weird reason, kept asking how did I get food sent to me rather than requesting for a full list of my location etc.

 5.       How to get my Letter of Release from KKM?

I kept stalking PKD Lembah Pantai with calls and messages on Day 14 till they gave me an appointment at Klinik Kesihatan Tanglin in Bukit Aman. I was told to come in on Day 15 at 9am. It was a queue of about 20 people or so before me, all appropriately distanced, masked and sanitized (I hope). They got everyone to go in 5 pax at a time to collect our letters. Everyone in front of me didn’t have a band on the wrist either. There was no way to tell we were COVID-19 patients really. There was a doctor who had our release slips with pre-printed stickers of our name and IC number stuck on it. It was quick and a frighteningly easy process. She asked for my name and which date I had tested positive. Then asked if I have any symptoms and took my word for it and signed off and stamped a very questionable hand written paper. That was it. I was clear and could be out and about but not before she warned me that I could always get it again so please mask up and sanitize as if your life depends on it!

FUN FACT: I was in and out within 30 minutes. The nurse had said that no walk-ins were allowed and you can only collect your release letter if you’ve been given an appointment. The new rule is to let you out of quarantine after Day 10 as they consider you to not be infectious anymore. No testing was done.

 6.       How to be a responsible COVID-19 patient?

ü  DO YOUR OWN CONTACT TRACING. Write down a list of all your whereabouts for the last 10 days and people you have met. Let them know even if you’re sure that you only got infected after meeting  them. You can never tell the origins of the infection so accurately when it comes to this virus and it’s your responsibility to tell them. Most of my contacts thankfully did a test themselves and came out negative and the rest continued to stay home under quarantine as well just in case.

ü  If you’re staying in a Condo, let your management know so that they can arrange for the appropriate sanitization of the area.

ü  Get your food/groceries/essentials delivered to your door step and when you’re putting your rubbish out, ensure you sanitize the bin and bag so that it’s safe for those who carry your trash out. My condo management was exceptional and the guards dropped off my items at my doorstep until I was cleared by KKM.

ü  Get someone to drop off your essential medicines so that you’re covered for 14 days.

ü  Do your own temperature reading daily and take notes on your symptoms so that if it becomes worse and you call 911, you have a proper history to give them. I had my best friend send me a goodie bag of vitamins, Dettol sprays and thermometer and trust me, I have never been more thankful!

ü  Spray your room and bathroom every morning and evening especially your beds. I sprayed my bathroom every time I used it and that’s probably me just being OCD.

ü  If you’re in a shared space, wear a mask at all times and don’t share your meals or drinks and utensils with others.

ü  Take your Vitamin C like your life depends on it and fresh fruit/vege juices really help! I had amazing friends who sent me immune boosters/daily fresh juices/homecooked meals and to be honest, they all just helped me mentally and physically because it can be really hard being all alone without human touch for 14 days straight. No amount of Netflix and chill will make it better so having a good support system to check in on you is just as important.

ü  Once you’re out of quarantine, sanitize your entire home/room. Sanitize and wash your sheets and clothes.

Disclaimer: As you can see, I had a very good support system around me and I was also blessed to not have severe symptoms. This may not be the case for most people so don’t be afraid to ask for help or call 999 in case of an emergency. Please don’t wait till it becomes worse.

This is also in no way a jibe to our Healthcare Workers but instead one to our government. I can’t blame PKD or KKM entirely for delays and lack of enthusiasm on their part because lets face it, they are OVERWHELMED. How did we NOT see this coming? We were doing so well and then the elections in Sabah happened and wham bam! The flood gates were opened. What measures did the government take to ensure our healthcare team had a good support system? Did they bother to employ more Admin Staffs to cope with the rise of the COVID-19 cases? Could they have had a Call Centre set up for this purposes only? Could the MySejahtera app been done better? Only 2 weeks ago did they finally allow those with cases to report via the app. This is the 21st century where I can get my food delivered to me with one single app and yet I cannot believe that we have not invested enough into our healthcare system. You’re overworking the front liner’s who are in turn burning out and probably don’t have a choice but to find the fastest way to do the job. In turn, an irresponsible person who has been tested positive and hasn’t gotten a call from PKD and doesn’t have a band either to show for it will be out and about infecting others and wa-laa! We can be hitting the sweet 5k spot soon with or without MCO. So please get off your high horses and put your politics aside to fix this for the love of Nasi Lemak and Dim Sum!

[sethrine-writes]

I Will Fight This War For You (Hold On), Ch. 1

Pairing:  Connor x  Female Reader

Words:  3310

Chapter Warning:  Mild Trauma, Mild angst, Investigative Questioning

Story Summary:  "Our choices define us. Don't let them tear you in two."

Your investigation into the string of deaths of both humans and androids takes a drastic turn when a victim is purposely left alive. The killer's intent is the same, to prove a point you have yet to figure out. The change, however, is the power of choice.

Stress and exhaustion lead you astray as you and Connor are both thrust into a war between the mind and the heart. You can only hope everyone involved makes it out alive.

IMPORTANT A/N:  This is a repost from my previous blog of a DBH fic I started over a year ago in response to a challenge a friend of mine posted up, at the time. Not only am I bringing it over to this blog, but I’ve also gone through and edited/cleaned up each chapter for a better reading experience! I’ll be posting a chapter or two every day until I’ve posted all current chapters, and then I’ll be updating with a brand new chapter for the first time in nearly a year!

I’m super excited to be bringing this back, and I hope those of you who followed me from my DBH days are just as excited, too!

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Chapter 1 - Broken, Crawl Back to Life

WB200 models were initially designed to be used for agricultural purposes, with an extensive knowledge of mass produce production as well as mastery of farm life. They were popular help in the south, but even more vital to maintaining a local agricultural economy within Detroit, which was hard enough within the city. After the peaceful revolution of androids for their rights over a year prior, nearly half the WB200 models retained jobs within the agricultural business while others went off to pursue different careers and opportunities.

The android sitting in the precinct's interrogation room had been part of the former group, his hands and clothes still smeared with dirt and mulch from a hard day's work. Along with that dirt, however, was the staining of both red and residual blue blood. It was startling, horrifying, and it was also one of the biggest breakthroughs in your investigation, thus far.

“He hasn’t said a fucking word,” Hank sighed.

There was aggravation in his voice, and rightfully so. It wasn’t directed at the android sitting stark still on the opposite side of the two-way mirror, however, and you knew that. It had been a long week with, yet again, little headway into your current case, countless hours of searching through evidence only to come up with nothing conclusive. Hank was frustrated and tired, and you understood that all too well.

“I’m guessing Connor hasn't been in yet?” you queried with a sigh, arms folded loosely over your chest.

“Not yet,” Hank answered, his lips quirking as he looked to you. “Figured we could use a woman's touch, first. Don’t want to freak him out any more than necessary."

“Probably for the best,” you concluded, adding, “Reed hasn’t been sniffing around, has he?”

“He damn well better not! This is possibly our first viable lead in weeks, and I'll be damned if he sets foot in that room. I might have to shoot his legs out, myself, if I hear even a peep of him down the hall.”

“Hey, now, no need for all of that. Besides, there are other ways to knock him down a peg, besides shooting off a limb.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hank muttered, glancing your way as you opened the door. He stopped you abruptly with the call of your name, your gaze peering at him over your shoulder, though finding he still had eyes on the victim.

“If you’re not up for it, we can get Connor in there, instead. It's been a rough week, and all; wouldn’t blame you for passing on this.”

You turned a bit more toward him, but his eyes remained on the android behind the observation pane.

“I’m good, Hank. I can handle it.”

“You sure?”

This time, he turned to face you, pale blue eyes soft even as he feigned indifference. You smiled at him gently.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were worried about me,” you teased lightly. Doing so only earned you a muted scoff and a wave of his hand in your direction.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get in there and do what you do best, before you start to piss me off with that smug mug.”

You left the observation room with a short chuckle, taking a brief moment thereafter to ready yourself while mentally going over the case facts in your head.

The WB200 -Anthony was his name- was the first and only victim to be left alive out of a string of kidnappings and murders that had been taking place since the beginning of January.

The latest crime scene was still being processed, but earlier investigation showed that whoever was behind the murders had stepped up their game. It was no mere coincidence that Anthony was left alive.

Something else was going on, something was missing.

God willing, you would find what you needed to within the hour. Even better would be if you could figure it out before the FBI decided to intervene, and with the sharp turn the case had taken, it was only a matter of time.

With a final shake of your head and a quick roll of your shoulders, you took a deep breath and gave an affirming nod to the officer standing guard by the adjoining interrogation room, entering slowly as you opened and closed the door using the handprint keypad.

You scanned over the android sitting across the lone table, assessing the victim while taking a seat across from him. He was looking down at the smooth surface before him, motionless and unresponsive to your entrance. He hadn’t even acknowledged your presence, choosing to be standoffish and quiet. He wasn’t the first one to act in such a way, and he definitely wouldn’t be the last.

Your goal was to hopefully get him to become cooperative enough to help further the investigation. Forcing answers was out of the question, so you would have to try coercing and gentle persuasion.

“Hi, Anthony,” you began gently, a small smile finding its place on your lips. He remained stoic still, said nothing in return, but his silence didn’t hinder you. “My name is Detective (Y/n)(L/n), and I'd-"

You hesitated briefly as Anthony's head shot up, his eyes meeting yours for the barest of moments before he looked away once more. He seemed surprised, panicked, even, and it was so incredibly sudden that it had you momentarily confused.

“-I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened to you. If you’re uncomfortable, or if you would like to stop at any time, just let me know, alright? You’re not in any trouble; we just want to know what happened.”

Anthony glanced at you, his hands fidgeting within his lap. He gave a single, short nod after a lapse of silence, his gaze finally rising once more and focusing on you fully.

You couldn’t help but chance a quick glance at the observation mirror, seeing only your reflection but knowing Hank was watching closely.

Something had changed. Anthony was being the most compliant he had been since being held in the interrogation room.

“Alright, thank you. Can you tell me what you were doing before you were taken?”

He hesitated, lips quivering in such a way that showed the grief he felt, the trauma of his experience. Had he still possessed the circular LED at his temple, you were certain it would be flickering between yellow and red.

“We…we were just finishing up, Lauren and I,” he began slowly. “End of the day tasks, the usual routine. She sets the sprinkler timers for the early morning watering and checks the temperature settings while I put away the tools. I didn’t even hear him…”

“Him?” you pushed carefully, urging Anthony to continue.

“It was a guy,” Anthony claimed, “thought he was human, at first, but he's definitely an android. That son of a bitch snuck up on me and did something – fried my core functions, I don’t know. Whatever he did, I was gone, and then I was suddenly aware again, right in the middle of the greenhouse. He had us all tied up. He…he had Winny, and Lauren…shit, Lauren was strapped down, tortured right in front of us! Her screams…her screams!”

“Anthony, hey, look at me.”

Anthony pulled his gaze back up to you, seemingly unaware that he had been clutching at his head, shaking as if trying to rid his memory of the awful event. You felt your heart lurch almost painfully in your chest at the look of utter fear in his eyes.

“It's okay, you’re safe, now, remember? I know this must be hard, absolutely terrifying, but I want to help you. I want to prevent this from happening to anyone else, but I need you to help me, help you.”

He slowly lowered his hands to the table, nodding once more even as his lips pressed into a fine line. “Yeah…yeah, okay.”

A quick minute passed as you allowed Anthony to calm down, letting him gather his bearings before continuing your questions.

“Can you describe him to me?”

“I couldn’t see much of him in the dark. He was pretty tall, over 6-foot, I think, had on a dark coat and jeans. Dark hair, strong jawline…that's all I could really make out, I’m sorry.”

“That’s good,” you assured him quickly. “Every little bit helps. Do you know why he attacked you?”

“No, no, we didn’t do anything to anyone. I kept to myself; Lauren couldn’t hurt a fly, even if she wanted to. Winny was outspoken, a little prejudiced against androids, but she never went out of her way to hurt anyone.”

“Did your attacker say anything that might have suggested otherwise?”

“I don't know,” Anthony answered with a confused grimace, “he only seemed interested in Lauren. He only ever addressed Lauren, until-"

Anthony became quiet once more, eyes wandering back and forth quickly as he processed his memories of the event.

“Until what?” you pressed carefully.

“Until Winny spoke up. It was after the third injection; he was going to give her another, but Lauren couldn’t handle it, agreed to whatever he kept whispering to her between them just to make him stop. Next thing I know, he's untying her and putting a gun in her hand.”

Anthony reached up and wiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and it was then that you realized he was crying.

“Sh-she had to shoot one of us,” he said, voice cracking. “Lauren had to make a choice, and the others would be set free. She had to choose to kill me or her own wife!”

His lips quivered, pressed real thin once more. He lowered his head then ran his fingers through his dark hair.

“I was so scared…we were all so scared. But if she didn’t choose, he was going to strap her down again, pump her full of blue blood until either the pain or the poison made her black out. If she didn't choose, he would have killed all of us.”

“Lauren didn’t kill her wife, did she?” you questioned softly. Anthony shook his head, his jaw clenching just as tightly as his eyes.

“Winny kept yelling at her to just shoot me, get it over with. But she never raised the gun at either of us. Lauren just…dropped, started begging to let us all go. He just pulled her up, started dragging her back to the table. And then Winny spoke up.”

There was anger in Anthony's eyes as they opened, a deep-seated fury that would have almost been terrifying had it not been mixed with the fear and hopelessness still present in his gaze.

“She volunteered to make the choice for Lauren, said she knew what he wanted from them. Said she would take the gun and shoot me without hesitation.”

“That’s why you thought he was human, at first,” you murmured, earning a small nod from Anthony. “Did he agree to let her make the choice?”

“He let her think she was making the choice,” Anthony replied bitterly. “He released her, told her she had one shot, but as soon as she moved to grab the gun from Lauren, he shot Winny in the head. Lauren freaked and shot at him; I-I think she intended to scare him off. She missed the shot. He didn’t.”

Anthony looked away, blinking rapidly in an attempt to fight back his tears. You gave him another minute to calm himself, knowing what could happen, should he stress himself too much. It was part of your job to ensure you gathered as much information as possible, but it still didn’t mean you felt comfortable grilling a victim for answers, even if it helped the investigation. You were just thankful he decided to cooperate with you.

“I just have a couple more questions, and then you’re free to go,” you said gently. Anthony looked back at you and gave a confirming nod.

“Do you have any idea why you, Lauren, and Winny were made targets? Any grudges, financial issues, maybe recent fights that could suggest who was behind this?”

“Like I said, Winny wasn’t exactly a saint, and she had her fair share of issues with androids, but she never acted out against them. And Lauren…she was kind. She pulled out the best in Winny…in anyone she met.”

“I have a friend like that,” you sympathized, mind wandering briefly to the image of a friend you had met through Connor. “He has a way of making others smile, whether they planned on it or not.”

“Lauren did that, too,” Anthony murmured. “Always wanting…wanted...to make the world a little bit brighter. She was my best friend. She didn’t deserve this.”

“No, she didn't,” you agreed vehemently, reaching for one of Anthony's hands, “and we are going to do everything we can to find whoever did this and bring them down.”

Anthony gave your fingers a firm squeeze, nodding in quick, jerky movements. He took in a breath through his nose, unnecessary, but the action seemed to calm him greatly. At such pivotal moments, small comforts were important.

“Just one more question, Anthony. Is there anything, anything else that you can think of that might help us figure out who did this? Any other defining features of the attacker, anything strange about the way he sounded, the way he talked? Maybe there was something he said that struck you as odd?”

Anthony became extremely still, his hand holding a steady pressure against yours. Whether he was being hesitant or thinking back, it was hard to say. Even his gaze seemed strangely void of anything, neutral in the most unnerving way. Then, whatever spell had been cast was suddenly broken, and his dark eyes were misty as he shook his head.

You glanced to the observation pane and gave a single nod before looking back. You gave yet another reassuring squeeze of your hand before letting go.

“Thank you for talking to me, Anthony. I know it wasn’t easy, but you’ve helped us come one step closer to catching this guy. Officer Monroe is going to escort you out to the lobby for one final official statement, alright? And if there is anything, any details you think of, no matter how insignificant they might seem, give us a call; you can ask for me, personally.”

“Y-yeah, of course,” Anthony agreed, standing along with you as the door to the interrogation room opened.

The officer standing guard outside the room stepped in, greeting Anthony kindly before extending his hand toward the door as a leeway for Anthony to follow through. He rounded the table as you came to the edge, his hand suddenly reaching out to yours again and gripping almost tightly around your wrist.

From your peripheral, you could see Officer Monroe reach for his gun with the fear that something was going wrong, but the slightest shake of your head told him that you were alright, that things were under control.

“Detective,” Anthony whispered, voice nervous and concerned as he leaned closer to you, “please, be careful. Our choices define us. Don’t let them tear you in two. He’s…he's watching.”

Anthony pulled away slowly, eyes narrowed with the same concern he'd expressed in his voice. You gave him the slightest nod, his grip on your wrist disappearing shortly after as he made his way out of the room with the officer right behind him. You were left to stand there, wide-eyed and confused, overwhelmed and suddenly rattled in a way you couldn’t describe.

You were startled by Hank's sudden entrance into the interrogation room, looking shaken himself by what had just happened.

“You alright, kid? Damn near thought he was going rogue or something, there at the end. Wouldn’t be the first time an android turned violent under stress.”

“I'm fine, Hank, really,” you assured in a rushed breath, feeling the air wasn’t nearly as thick with tension as it felt before. The older detective gave you a curious look, eyes narrowing warily.

“What did he say to you, just before he left? Couldn’t hear anything on my end."

You blinked several times, hand rubbing around the slight ache in your wrist.

“Nothing, really. He just said to be careful, is all; made me promise to bring in the bastard who killed his friend.”

Hank eyed you for a moment longer before letting out a heavy sigh.

“We'll get him. Come hell or high water, we'll get him.”

“I know we will, Hank,” you agreed, “I'm just hoping we can get this figured out soon. Last time the FBI got involved with an android-related case-"

“Yeah, don't remind me,” he groused, an instant understanding of what had happened over a year prior passing between you. You hadn’t been at the final demonstration, but the news coverage was enough to clue you in on what was happening, that things were about to change drastically. So far, it seemed for the better, but even good intentions had some hiccups.

“We better get back to Connor,” you suggested, swaying the conversation in a new direction. “Maybe he's gotten word from Markus.”

“Fat chance,” Hank grumbled, moving to the door and holding it open for you. You exited the interrogation room, Hank following close behind. “The guy's busier than our own nation's leader. Finalizing bills and documents, and all that boring paperwork shit higher-ups have to deal with. Kinda feel sorry for him.”

“Speaking of paperwork,” you teased, eyeing Hank with a smirk, “don't you have some documents to look over?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Hank bemoaned, though his heated exclamation was more for show than any ill-intent. You laughed at his expense, regardless. “I need a gallon of strong coffee to deal with this shit.”

Hank made a hard left toward the break room as soon as you both rounded the corner, leaving you to navigate your way to his desk, where you would inevitably be taking half the load of paperwork.

As you maneuvered your way closer, you spotted Connor at his adjoining desk, sitting at the edge of his seat while flicking a shiny quarter back and forth through the air between his hands. Calibrations during downtime, it seemed.

You smiled sweetly as you neared, your movement catching the android's eye. With a final flip of the coin and an impressive catch between his fingers, he pocketed the shining metal piece and sent a beaming smile your way. It never failed to make your heart flutter, that smile.

“Hello, Detective,” he greeted as you stood before him, leaning a hip against the edge of his desk. “I trust the interrogation went well?”

“Better than Hank thought it would,” you answered, clasping your hands in front of you. “The recording should be up in the system shortly, if you want to take a look.”

“Were there any complications?”

“Anthony was decidedly scared, angry, withdrawn, but became very cooperative when I went in to interrogate after complete silence with Hank and one of the other officers. I’m not entirely sure why.”

“You can be quite persuasive,” Connor replied, eyes bright and almost playful as his smile quirked ever so slightly to the right. The amused scoff that left your mouth was one of mild embarrassment, your eyes scanning the area around you briefly. No one else seemed to be paying attention to your quiet banter. Regardless-

“Connor,” you warned lightly, his brow rising in mock challenge.

He mimed your name right back at you, though the way it fell from his lips was less a warning and much more playful. You laughed lightly, shaking your head at his antics as you rubbed over your wrist, unaware of the subconscious motion.

If Connor noticed, he made no inclination toward the action.

“Alright, quit trying to rile me up. Have you been able to contact Markus, yet?”

[phxse-shifter]

Love Fool [Chapter 2]

Summary: Elaine is accused by many of trying to betray Dr. X because she refused PROJECT-X. Eventually, he began to believe those accusations, forcing her to prove her loyalty. A rewrite of the original story posted on my art blog.

Chapter 2: Elaine heals from PROJECT-X, and assesses her new power, before getting a new mysterious one, courtesy of Sharon and Kaito, but when the effects of the injection do not subside as predicted, they must call on the one person Elaine does not want to see right now.

Word count: 1922

Eventually, morning came. Kaito and Sharon found somewhere Elaine could sleep for the night, and she willed herself to do so for a couple of hours. When she awoke, she made her way to the bathroom and cleaned herself. She did not process her change of appearance until after she was in the middle of her shower and she saw her veins glow red. She nearly fell in shock, but managed to quickly clean herself and come out of the shower carefully. She nearly ran to a floor mirror in the suite and stared at her body in full.

Her veins glowed brilliantly, across her entire body. She wondered if it would stay like this, or if it was just a side effect of the injection. Either way, it looked surreal to her. Somehow, she could feel the power of PROJECT-X seeping through her veins—that’s what it was. This power. What would she get? How would it awaken? Kaito did mention something about a “gift.” Her thoughts were jumbled, but Elaine felt powerful and beautiful, all at the same time.

She noticed her eye then and gasped. From the beautiful onyx to a deep red. Her eyes would be red now. Elaine didn’t know how to feel about that, having loved her eye color, but at least she didn’t grow an extra arm or leg after this. Then, she notices her hair. Despite it being wet, she noticed the length increased slightly, and the bang that covered the right side of her face was shorter. Eventually, she lifted up that hair. For the third time, Elaine cried.

When Elaine first began as a botanist, she was sabotaged by another jealous member in her field that worked in the same facility as her. When she went to her section, where she worked, the sap of a giant hogweed plant was thrown in her face, narrowly avoiding her eye. The right side of Elaine’s face burned tremendously, and while all the disgusting blisters went away and it healed, the damage, in full, never went away.

Not until now.

Elaine scorned what happened to her. She believed it to be an accident, wanted it to be, but she knew it was because of that jealous rival. The years she scorned that face and hid it would mean nothing to her now. Her younger self would marvel before how she looked now. Elaine touched her cheek, just to be sure. She pinched herself, but yes, it was truly gone and she cried louder in happiness.

“I-It’s gone!” She shouted. “It’s gone! It’s gone! It’s gone!”

For once, Elaine would show her face in full. Later on, she would put her bangs back as she grew fond of it, but she would show her face in full, just this once. If there was one good thing she got out of all of this, is the personal justice for something that should have never happened to her. Now all she had to do for even more justice, is to find the ones who started the rumors about her and make themsee just how big of a mistake they made.

She dressed and began her plans.

It didn’t take long. The truth now is that all feared her and there would be no more whispers of her name behind closed doors. They feared speaking of her and being crushed beneath her foot. They did not want to end up like the ones that began the rumors of her faux betrayal in the first place.

Elaine found those people and tortured them within an inch of their life, in front of everyone. She broke all their fingers, their legs, their arms, and cut out—literally—the tongues that spoke such lies. Their screams were enough to alert her husband, who looked at her in shock.

“If you want to know who to blame, then blame my husband,” she said aloud to the crowd that gathered, as well as the pair who spread the rumors. “Had he believed me, and believed in my loyalty to him, you would not be undergoing this pain. I would not have had to change myself. Speak your grievance to him- oh... Wait... You can’t. Haha!”

Dr. X looked at her, and Elaine laughed, turning on her heel.

She visited Kaito and Sharon next, allowing herself in and plopping herself up on the steel examination table. She crossed her leg, grinning.

“You didn’t tell me that the injection got rid of scars, too. Unless that was a side effect?”

“I would imagine that since Dr. X wanted the subject “perfect” that it would do such a thing,” Sharon responds.

“Oh of course,” Elaine rolled her eyes. “Oh well. At least they’re gone now. No more scars.”

“While you’re here, I may as well check your vitals,” Kaito chimes in.

As he does so, Elaine hums. She would have to think of some sort of suitable reward for the two of them later.

“Heard about earlier,” Sharon mentioned. “The culprits?”

“Oh yeah,” Elaine shrugged. “I cut our their tongues and broke all of their bones. They’ll either be killed or given to the both of you for further experiment.”

Sharon chuckled. “I don’t think we’ll have a use for them.”

“That’s fine,” Elaine tells her. “Better off dead anyways.”

As Kaito finishes checking her vitals, he walks over to the same cabinet that held the PROJECT-X vials and unlocks it again, this time taking out an orange glowing vial. Elaine eyed it curiously even as  Kaito brought it over and got the necessary items for the injection.

“Do you remember why I gave you the green injection?”

Elaine remembered something about “the gift”, but Kaito didn’t elaborate, so all she did was nod.

“The green is to amplify the power that the PROJECT-X injection will give you. Some get it, some do not. It goes by your husband’s order,” he explained, rolling up Elaine’s sleeve and placing EMLA creamon her arm.

“I didn’t think he’d mind if we gave you it, so we did,” Sharon adds. “Now this particular injection is something I’ve made myself, of course, with Kaito’s help. “Do you recall that I make most of the dice for the Genius League?”

“I do,” Elaine tells her. “But what does that have to do with this?”

“I created the Crimson Blizzard dice, which was modeled after, of course,  the Blizzard dice which froze over an entire city. Now THAT, I thought was marvelous. Unfortunately, as I wanted it to be pure fire, it’s more or less a blizzard which holds the same scalding touch as fire. Think piles of snow, but red and hot. Lava’s cousin.”

Sharon gently takes Elaine’s arm. There’s a glint in her eyes, a shine on her glasses, and a mischievous aura that both she and Kaito knew oh so well. She was in “the zone.” Sharon was having her moment as head scientist of the Midas Group. To anyone else, it would be unnerving.

“While the dice was banned from tournaments, and Dr. X was… ahaha, royally pissed off considering I burned down an entire city using it for the first time, I secretly expanded on it’s power. Something like that was too good to pass up, and I do not pass up wonderful opportunities.”

She took the vial and syringe away from Kaito, who took a step back as if preparing for something.

“Tell me already,” Elaine orders.

“Expanding on the Crimson Blizzard in secret was no easy feat. So many failed trials, burn marks, quickly hiding the research from Dr. X, you get the idea.. but finally… FINALLY, I perfected it!” Sharon explains. “ I turned a dice into a power that could be embedded into one’s body, giving them limitless possibilities…!”

“Do you understand?” Kaito asks her. “That’s what’s in this vial, and Sharon is more than prepared to administer it to you.”

Elaine sighed. So, more or less, their gift was also at the expense of her being Sharon’s guinea pig. She wanted to pull her arm away, to deny this, but she was curious above all. That would be a different power she wielded. Elaine always used dark arts, curses, and anything else in that category. To wield something like fire could yield endless possibilities for her.

“If this hurts me in any way-“

“Oh please,” Sharon cuts her off. “You have PROJECT-X now. Nothing can harm you.”

Sharon immediately administers the injection with no warning. At first, Elaine does not feel anything, but once again, as if déjà vu, she feels her body aflame, even more intense than the PROJECT- X injection the previous night. She screams, falling from where she was sitting all of this time and is braced by Sharon, who holds her tightly.

“Give it just a few more minutes,” she tells her. “It settles quickly.”

Elaine can feel her blood boiling, literally. She noticed her veins glowing brighter than they were earlier, despite her eyes getting blurry. Despite Sharon telling her that the injection should have settled quickly, her body still felt aflame, and she was sweating tremendously. Even Sharon notices this, and tells Kaito to get one of his cooling robes.

Weakly, Elaine dresses in the robe and she can feel it’s effects for mere seconds before the heat overtakes her again.

“Sharon. Are you certain you went over all abnormalities that could happen with this damned injection?”

“Yes!” She snapped. “Of course I did, or else I wouldn’t have given it, especially to you! Do you think me a fool or what?!”

“There’s one way we can fix this, and you’re not going to like it, Doctor,” Kaito adds.

“What?”

“Your husband is the greatest ice elementalist to ever live, isn’t he?”

The time flies by. Elaine finds herself back in her suite, with her husband, who was able to cool her body with his magic alone. So much so, that Elaine found herself taking up a blanket to wrap around her body. He said nothing to her, but that was fine. She didn’t have anything to say to him, either. When he noticed her reaching for the blanket, he stopped. Elaine got up from the bed, then, and went towards the door, grabbing her shoes.

“You’re leaving?”

“Of course,” Elaine tells him. “I don’t want to be around you. You hurt me. You took the seven years of our marriage and desecrated it because you’d rather believe rumors than the love I had for you. So for now, I don’t want to see your face. I don’t want to hear anything from you.”

“Elaine-“

“I said I don’t want to hear it.”

“I love you-“

Elaine freezes at the door. She turned her head to look at him and she could see sincerity, but her heart still fueled with anger. Why couldn’t he have shown that yesterday? Why couldn’t he have said that instead of yelling at her? Before Elaine can stop herself, tears roll down her cheeks. She hugs herself tightly, and Dr. X gets up to her, and wraps his arms around her.

“Why? Why did you… How could you do this, to me? Don’t you realize that this is cruel, even for you…?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he explained. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Elaine wiggles away from him, and opens the door.

“I can’t forgive you just yet,” she says sternly, through her tears. “I still feel so hurt by you.”

The door shuts behind her.

[tara-l-blackmore]

Words

I've struggled with putting this anywhere. I started writing it in emails, on Twitter, on DeviantArt, even on Dreamwidth. I've stopped each time. I'm pretty sure this won't even go up, but let's see.

I'm having a lot of trouble dealing with people, right now. I'm lonely, and miserable, and yearning for friendship, but I cannot handle it. I cannot handle dealing with people, no matter how close I am to them. This includes – yes – people I consider to be family. This includes by family, even. I have lost contact with dozens of people that I’ve sworn never to lose contact with – or they have chosen to lose contact with me – and it's starting to… affect me.

All I’ve been able to do is write. I can't talk. Or if I do try to talk, I fuck it up. I have no been open with how I’ve been feeling, what I’ve been going through, and why I've avoided people I don't want to avoid. I don't want to talk about myself, so when I talk to people, once they ask about me, I end the convo or change the subject. I can't take it. I don't want to fucking talk about it.

But here we are. You're reading this, clearly, because you want to know what's wrong with me, for whatever fucking reason. Fine you want to know? Read on. If you don't? Stop reading and please stop asking me. I want to make this clear that I’ve kept this shit to myself because nobody cares about problems like I have. I think. If you're reading this, you're not nobody. Whatever, anyway.

My pain started getting worse two years ago, so I had my gallbladder removed. That was the biggest mistake of my life. I should not have done it. Because now, I’m worse off.

Since 2017, my health has been progressing into worse and worse problems, to the point that medications no longer work on me, save high doses of morphine. I'm not allowed to be on morphine, anymore, save dire emergencies in the ER (it's the only thing that stops the flare up). During these pain flare-ups, I want to die. I can't deal. I can't even think. All I can do is lie on the couch and cry, zoning out on YouTube. It's especially gotten worse since I quit smoking, but not enough to start, again.

The night I missed my niece being born, I broke. I lost it. I lost my patience with this illness of mine. I ended up missing one of the most important moments of her life, spending it in a hospital two hours away, being ignored and mistreated and mocked – and then ignored. It severed something mentally.

Since then, I haven't been okay.

I've ruined my own birthday, twice; the day of was spent sobbing over vaccinations. The day of the party was spent in misery, because the party had nothing to do with me – I was being used as a ruse to make it about Ellie – and when I left, the party went on without me – what I thought was the entire idea, that I'd been used for these reasons. And to be honest, I still don't know what happened after I left, because no one told me. No one thought to. No one cared enough to, it felt to me.

I started drifting more and more away, only now by people I speak to online, either through chat or phone calls. I stopped being able to deal with talking to people one-on-one, because emails gave me time to think about what I had to say, instead of speaking on the fly and hurting people. Only it still didn't work.

My depression was also getting worse. I needed more and more attention, more reassurance, in a world that is more and more making me feel adrift and left behind. When I was able to catch up, I merely discovered how much I kept missing, how happy people are without me around their ankle. I realised how many people I’ve been holding back for years, and it almost killed me.

I tried to explain it to those people I ignored, tried to explain that I’m broken, I’ll never be what they deserve or need, and that they need to walk lest I keep fucking them up further. I tried, but whatever I said was overlooked because I was a good person before now. I keep trying to explain that I’m not a good person, anymore, because the pain is making me insane, and I don't know how to deal with people, anymore, but… nobody's listening to me…

So this is my last try. This is what I should have said when any of you started to be my friends. Look at the people who've already walked, and you'll notice that I’m the common bad variable, and nothing else. I know that many of you want me to hang around because of what I was once like. And honestly, I miss what I was like back then, too.

But then, June 2017. It was the start of the end. The injections. The dozens and dozens of ER tests and humiliation and abuse. The money and ignorance of the hospital staffs (when told what to do to help and how fast it would help me if they just did it). People online, people offline, seeing me disabled and seeing a brat.

Over the past four years, I’ve been a part of the Undertale fandom, a game that saved my life and a fandom that kept me living, and I met so many of you, cared about so many of you – but somehow shoved you all away. The more you cared, the more I ran away.

Why? Because I deserve to be alone.

I've said this, many times, in different ways, but I’m told I’m wrong, when I’m right, and it hurts. So I stopped talking. I made it obvious that I’m not worth your time.

Because I didn't want to explain what was going on.

My medications aren't working, anymore, so they keep switching them. Now, they're switching my antidepressant, and it's… bad. It's very bad. I have to taper off my current med, then start from scratch with the new one, and the decrease is making my depression stronger. I haven't been able to speak on the phone or even go out (save mandatory doctor visits), and I keep taking everything personally and crying over everything. Three times, I’ve convinced myself that Terry is going to divorce me. It's bad.

Because of it, I don't know what's up or down, what's true or false, and no matter how much I trust someone, I still feel like all I am is someone to be pitied, and I would rather never be pitied, but either loved for who I am, or hated for that same reason.

And that's because I hate myself for feeling this way. I have been secluding myself to both punish myself and prove to you all how unreliable and gross I am.

A lot of you are younger than me, and have enough to deal with. I'm also aware that a lot of you are young enough to make your own decisions, especially when it comes to people. But what I’m doing is inappropriate. The things I complain and beg advice for are not appropriate. I treat you like shrinks, forgetting your age and your own lives and problems and issues.

It makes me sick, my selfishness. And I can't fucking deal with it.

So I’ve been staying away, save angry tweets and angrier YouTube comments. The rare times I reach out usually end worse off than when I did before I reached out, so I have learned not to.

And finally, for the very last time, I must say this: I know I am immature, I am stunted, I am behind the times, and I cannot fix it. I try to, by using all of you like the scumbag I am, and not bothering to listen to you or help you. I cry my problems, then run away the second you need me.

I'm so tired of it. I can't do this to people, anymore. I've been trying to gradually disappear, save stuff that keep me sane (fanfic and comics), and while many of you keep me sane, I’m tired of using you that way, too.

I know this is me mind-reading, as many of you will say. But, I’m sorry, this isn't that at all. This is me paying attention to what is being said and shown to me, and now, I get it.

Please, please, please stop insisting this isn't so. The fact that every time I mention it, it's left ignored, and often shamefully so, and that angers me. I pour my heart out, explain, answer the questions I’m being asked but it's ignored, only so that I can be asked for help that I just finished screaming myself raw that I can't help anyone the way I am, anymore.

My brain refuses to listen to kindness, anymore. It refuses to accept that anyone wants to bother with me, because on one hand, I’ve been given shameful proof that I’m absolutely right in my sad assessment. But on the other, I’m aware that a few of you are sincere, and do mean what you said.

But I can't tell the difference. I need help. I need real help, a kind that I need before I can even dream of being a good friend or a kind person to any of you. I can be nice, be complimentary, be honest in my affection and happy feelings for you, and all is sincere. But I have deep difficulty believing the same from you, to me, because of my pain and my depression. I know many of you with depression understand.

But why don't you give up on me…? Why can't you see that I’m right, that I don't blame you for giving up on me, because all I’ve been is a disgusting person, even at my most well-meaning.

I don't even know why I’m bothering posting this, here. I don't know why I’m posting it. I just think it's time to put words to feelings I couldn't put words to, before now.

I'm not trying to be friendless. But I’m trying to be worthy of friends. So far, I cannot see myself there, yet. So many of you have a real life to live, true futures within your grasps; what the hell are you doing still talking to some middle-aged pathetic loser and wasting your time on the internet that way? There are better places to visit on the internet than any place to do with me, personally.

I get wanting to want to read my bullshit stuff. I'm flattered. But no, you don't need to be my friends, no matter how pathetic or lonely I am. That's my problem, not yours. You are all young, and happy, and have your own hurdles to overcome. I write that stuff to provide an escape for you and for me. That's all that you need to know about me, really.

I'm not saying that you cannot be my friend anymore. I'm not saying you're not allowed to speak to me. I am saying that it might take me time to answer, or to do what you asked of me, etc. I am saying that thanks to my increasing mental illness, I am no longer a good person to be around, at least until the problem is rectified.

I actually don't know what I’m saying, honestly. I don't want to be alone, but I’m tired of bothering people who do. I don't like spending my days alone, but I don't want to harass people with better things to do. I'm tired of being what no one wants and tired of being unwanted once people discover the real me.

I'm a garbage person. I hate myself.

And you deserve not to have that in your life.

That's all.

I'm sorry.

[enjoylove42-blog]

The Will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not Protect you

God’s Will… What is it? Why is God’s will sometimes so damn hard to figure out? How do we as mere mortals even begin to determine what His will for our lives is just for today, much less for our whole life?

A few years ago I did some real bad shit. I was stuck in a chaotic life running rampant in My Own Self-Will. I woke up one day, went to breakfast with friends, laughed, enjoyed the beautiful warmth of the sunshine, and was enveloped in God’s beautiful world of love and joy. Later that afternoon, I shot up heroin for the first time. It was actually the first time I put a needle in my body. Unfortunately, it would not be the last. I was 35 years old. It was a good day up to that point. I thought I was living a purposeful life. I had joy in my heart and wanted to share my inner peace with others. I was happy. I had absolutely no valid reason to put the poison in my veins. Or did I?

Back up to those three words, “I was Happy.” My sick demented mind probably assumed that if I was happy and life was good , how could anything possibly go wrong? Boy, it was the beginning of a lifestyle full of the three D’s. DECEIT, DESTRUCTION, & DESPAIR. I’m not sure if it was the drug or the needle, but I immediately spiraled down the rabbit hole. I was hooked instantaneously. I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t get high enough, stick myself enough times, or just attain the level of out of body freedom i was desperately searching for every minute of every day. The level of insanity and chaos that ensued from that day on until I went to jail can only be described as pathetic, disturbing, deplorable, disgraceful, and wretched.

Within one month of the first rush, I had lost every morsel of inner peace, joy and rays of fucking sunshine I previously described to you. I lost all sense of ME. The woman I had known for 35 slipped away. All of the core values instilled in me since birth vanished. I no longer had the capability to differentiate between right and wrong. The only thing I could comprehend was, “I have to maintain. I HAVE TO do whatever it takes to pull that red rose bud back and push the enervating drug into my dwindling dehydrated veins. Be damned laws, morals, or spirituality. I had to invite the toxic venom into my body as many times a day as I possibly could.

I loved the venom, but I also loved the point. The repeated pricking and sticking of my skin. My track marks were like a map of misery no one seemed to even notice. I was bruised black, blue, green, and purple. A mental and physical avow of what I had to endure to remember I was still human. The pain was good. When all my veins knotted and dried up and the only place left was my neck to inject the forbiddenfruit, I welcomed the misery with open arms. Just one more stop on the road to my madness.

During this time I did the most selfish act of my entire life. I ABANDONED MY CHILDREN. It wasn’t until five years later in rehab, that I stepped out of denial and realized just how shitty I was to my own flesh and blood. My Babies!!! They needed me to pull my wicked shit together and be their mother, but my sick fucking mind convinced myself, they were better off anywhere on this planet but with me. Until the day I die, the look of disbelief and fear on their faces, as well as, the huge crocodile tear that rolled down my youngest son’s beautiful cheek as I dumped them off, will forever be embedded in my mind and heart. In that moment, i honestly believed I was doing the best thing I could for them WAKE UP LINDA!!!!! What would have been best for those precious innocent children was for me to quit fucking up our lives, quit banging dope into my veins, get over myself, turn around scoop them up, and be their fucking Mom. I cannot ever begin to express with words the guilt and shame I carry within myself for this inconceivable action. Yes, it was an action. I drove away that day impregnated with two feelings: grief and relief. I was full of self loathing and self pity. However, I was also discharged from a duty I was no longer capable of performing. As long as my children were with me i was not able to fully bow down to my selfish obsessions and compulsions. I was required to feed them, clothe them, keep utilities on, and provide a seemingly stable environment for them. Finally, I was able to think only of My next attempt to mainline my newfound god. I could feed my desires and fuck whoever dared step onto the pavement leading me down the highway to hell. If you have ever been in full blown addiction, you understand that I was incapable of providing them with their needs for very long. I didn’t love myself anymore and no longer required anything other than my next dose of smack. I was as previously stated, deplorable.

At this juncture in my life, there were absolutely no holds barred. Please understand, I was beyond help. I was in the inner rings of hell and my life point blank fucking sucked. No amount of prayer, tears, or pleading could relieve me of ME. I stole from every single store I walked into. I slept with men for crumbs of dope, I lied to every single person who crossed my path. I was so diabolical in my methods that when someone encountered me, they were meeting a twisted sick chameleon who could and would convince you that what we did was your idea and that it was critical for everyone’s survival in the world. People gave me money, drugs, food, a place to sleep, etc.. and I always made them believe whatever they did for me was actually for them, and it was in their best interest to do it. I was a conniving incorrigible cunt. I hated myself. I hated you. I hated God, I hated the fact that I had to work so hard at being a constant mastermind of corruption. Inside my head, I honestly believed that I deserved to have whatever it was my addiction desired. I believed I was an entitled HBIC, but truthfully, the only thing i really deserved was contempt and mistrust. I had become what my father once said, during my childhood, he hated more than anything: A thief and a liar.

I will never forget the night before I went away. I was lying on some asshole’s couch, and in an instant complete and total desperation engulfed my entire being. Deep down in the core of my soul the real “Angie” cried out a long and sorrowful plea. Tears rolled down my cheeks and I commenced to pray. (Some individuals would argue this fervent prayer to be a foxhole prayer.) That being said, It was as if I had split into two people during that time and the evil diabolical “me” had taken over my body and suppressed the real “me” deep into the depths of my bowels. I had been trapped in the darkness and my spirit broke free with a mighty jolt. I wanted all of the irrational absurdity to end. I prayed for God to help me. To relieve me of the demons that controlled my spirit, for God to take me into His arms and hold me close, to save me from me. I prayed that he would get me out of the situation by any means necessary, but not jail. I didn’t want to go to jail. (At this point I had no idea I was a wanted woman.) I felt in that moment a spiritual awakening, because i felt, for the second time in a few short months, RELIEF. I had just admitted to myself that I was powerless over the drug and lifestyle I had designed and my entire life was undoubtedly and undeniably unmanageable. It was like the ceiling of that crusty one room hole I was sharing with three other people, opened up and God covered me in a hedge of protection for the night.

Do not ever doubt that the God of my understanding has a sense of humor. He does. He also knew the only way to remove me from that “modus vivendi” was to lock me up and sit my junkie ass down. I had charges pending in four mid-Tennessee counties. I had been on the news for theft at multiple large retail stores in Nashville and the surrounding areas.

Please understand, I deserved to go to jail. I had been doing ”the Most” with all disregard for consequences. It was as if in my mind I didn’t comprehend that “I” was breaking the law. I was doing what I had to do to maintain. I couldn’t work with track marks all over my body, I could not pass a drug screen, and first and foremost had to keep myself off sick every morning. How could I possibly maintain the requirements for an honest job during this time? I could rationalize every despicable behaviour until all the king’s horses and all the king’s men figure how to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. I was, as so straightforwardly stated in the rooms of AA, in a state of spiritual, moral, and physical bankruptcy. In order to help relieve me of my will and help me better do HIs, God saw it fit for me to do 15 long months in various county jails. I took this time and severed myself from a sick toxic relationship I had been in for years. I took every class the jails offered. I did two rehabilitation programs in two different county jails. I reconnected myself spiritually and slowly regained my morals. God began providing me with miracles. My father and I reconnected through letters during this time. I did not get visits like all the other inmates, but I got mail everyday. I began to walk for at least a couple of hours each day in the small pod we were housed in, and my body started to feel better. After a whole year of incarceration my track marks healed and my obsession for the venom of heroin left my mind. When I was finally released on November 7, 2016, i returned home physically, mentally, and spiritually healed. Not cured, for a true mentally disturbed sick addicted individual like me, there is no cure. Only a daily reprieve that is dependent on my spiritual and emotional well-being. At the end of this chapter of my life I learned that God answers prayers. He gives us exactly what we need when we can and will receive it. Ultimately my self will run riot led me into a cold dank jail cell where God’s will began to take over my life and send me down a path I would not believe I deserved, at that time. WIth that being said, I will end this period of my life with one last thought: “Be ok with not knowing for sure what might come next, but know that whatever it is...YOU will be ok.” -author unknown.

[atc74]

Welcome to the Family

Square Filled: First Born

Warnings: Pregnancy, labor pains (not graphic), Rob being an adorable bundle of nerves, emergency surgery, birth of a child, Daddy!Rob

Summary: Baby Benedict makes an appearance a little ahead of schedule and Dad is not ready. 

Pairing: Rob x Angelina (Robelina)

Word Count: 2988

Written for: @spngenrebingo

Beta’d by: @iwantthedean, my other half, who always knows what I need. I'm so glad I found you. I love being around you. You make it easy, It's easy as one, two, one, two, three, four. There's only one thing, two do, three words four you. I love you. I love you. And also, @hannahindie, her ovaries will never be the same.

Inspired by the song ‘1, 2, 3, 4’ by the Plain White T’s. I heard this in the shower the other day and then played it a few more times. I love how it fits into this story and I imagined Rob sitting there with baby in his arms, telling him/her how much he loves them, how they make everything better and just confessing his love for their baby that is only hours old, but means the world to him already. Also, inspired by true events of the birth of my son in 2008.

This is the latest in my self-indulgent, self-insert series, Say It Like That

“I thought you said we had another week until the baby comes!” Rob was panicking. It would have been kind of adorable if I wasn’t in pain. I had been having contractions off and on all day. When they hit ten minutes apart and my water broke, I first called my doctor, then I gave Rob the news.

“I said the baby was due in one week,” I grunted, breathing through another contraction. “Babies come when they want to, whether we are ready or not.”

“But, we’re not ready!” Rob was rummaging through a pile of clothes on the chair, looking for something that was semi-presentable to wear to the hospital.

Let’s take a step back for a minute. My contractions are still ten minutes apart, we have a little time.

I was ready. I had been ready since the day I discovered I was pregnant. I was ready when I told my husband on our wedding day that we were expecting. I think I was ready for this the day he proposed -- hell, probably the day we met.

I never thought I would want another child, but Rob changed all that. Still, as excited as he was, he was not ready. The man could put on shows on multiple continents, in several countries for thousands of fans, but he could not find a pair of pants to save his life at that moment. I sat back and watched, slightly amused. I was ready, Rob was not.

My bag and a bag for the baby had been packed for two weeks, maybe three. I had even packed Rob a change of clothes and a toothbrush, knowing there could be at least one overnight stay involved. Luckily, it was spring break for Olivia and she was spending the week with my parents, and it was one less thing we had to worry about.

Rob finally pulled on a wrinkled flannel and a pair of jeans that probably could use a washing, but at least he was dressed. “You said…”

“Rob, I love you with everything that I am, but I am only responsible for what I say, not for what you hear,” I held up my hand to stop further buts and debate. With as stubborn as we were, it really could go on all night, and that kind of time we did not have. I stood, hands on my lower back. “Can we continue this discussion in the car please?”

“Oh, right. Baby!” Rob ran downstairs ahead of me, presumably to grab the bags and get them in the car and come back for me. I reached the bottom of the stairs, and the front door was open.

“Rob!” I called knowing he couldn’t have gone far. The car was in the garage so I headed that way, the bags right where they had been since I packed them.

Opening the service door, I saw Rob sitting in the car, hands gripping the wheel at ten and two. I grabbed his keys from the hook and waddled my way to the car. His eyes opened wide at the sight of me at his window. He quickly got out and grabbed the keys.

“I’m so sorry, pretty girl. I don’t know where my head is,” Rob apologized.

“Babe, it’s okay. We still have some time. Can you grab the bags please, by the door?” I added, knowing he would probably go all the way upstairs.

I gingerly climbed in the car and got comfortable. To avoid any unnecessary incidents, I pressed the opener. The heavy double door slowly lifted and all I could see were the white flakes falling from the sky. I should have expected it.

Rob rushed back into the garage, haphazardly throwing the bags in the back, and jumped in the driver's seat. He looked at me and smiled that million watt smile, his eyes bright and shining and took my hand. “Let’s go have a baby.”

“Let’s go have a baby,” I echoed, then wrenched his hand in mine as another contraction hit. I practiced the breathing we had learned, but at this point, I didn’t know if was working. I hadn’t opted for a natural birth; I wasn’t stupid and hoped that we got to the hospital with enough time for the epidural cocktail. I successfully managed to breathe my way through it, but knew there would be at least two more until we arrived.

The roads weren’t bad as Rob navigated the twenty or so miles to the hospital. I decided it was a good time to text my parents, siblings, Rob’s siblings, and his ex-wife just to let everyone know something was happening. With promises to keep them updated, I stowed my phone and concentrated on the road.

I absentmindedly checked the time as another contraction hit. Shit! That was only eight minutes. I called my doctor’s office to give them an update and I was assured that Dr. Grant was already on site and would be waiting for me.

“Babe, I need you to go a little faster, ‘kay?” I groaned from my seat, clutching his arm as the pain rippled through me. I had never gotten this far with Olivia when she was born. There had been complications and, an emergency cesarean later, I had a beautiful baby girl with a perfectly shaped head of dark curls. It had been more than eight years and I wanted to try again, but damn did it hurt.

Rob sped up as quickly as the roads would allow, and I could see the hospital. I breathed a sigh of relief. Within minutes, Rob pulled up outside the emergency doors where a nurse was waiting for me with wheelchair. Rob helped me from the car and rushed inside, but the nurse stopped him before he got too far.

“Mr. Benedict, we have plenty of time. Go park your car, get the bags and meet us inside, okay?” She was calm where my husband was a nervous wrecking ball of energy.

“Baby, it’s fine. I ain’t going anywhere,” I assured him, trying to get him to relax a little. He nodded, kissed me quickly then got back in the car.

“I want a room and I want an epidural now!” I told the nurse as she pushed me inside.

“You know the drill, ma’am. We have to examine you first,” she replied rationally.

~*~

“Angelina, how are we doing tonight?” Dr. Grant entered my room. Rob was nervously pacing after the last contraction. I had been admitted over an hour ago.

“Splendid, Doc. How’s tricks?”

“Well, you still have a sense of humor...for the time being,” he replied with a tight smile. Dr. Grant doctor wasn’t a charismatic man, but he was a damn good doctor.

“So Phyllis says things are looking good. Dilated to a four, fully effaced and ready for that epidural,” he recounted from the chart.

“Yep, yep, yep!” I chirped out. “Fuck!” Another contraction consumed me.

Dr. Grant noted they were still eight minutes apart. “Things seem to be moving slow, just like with your first. We’ll keep an eye on it, but I’ll send in the anesthesiologist.”

“Thank you,” I replied, not feeling the greatest. I had pain in my lower back and hips and couldn’t get comfortable in the grossly uncomfortable hospital bed. I groaned in discomfort.

“Hey pretty girl,” Rob cooed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “What can I do for you? I feel useless, just waiting around for something to happen and you’re in pain and I can’t do anything to help.”

“Rub my back?” I whimpered. Soon enough, his warm and calloused hands were working at least a little bit of magic on the sore and tight muscles.

“That better?’ Rob whispered. I nodded and closed my eyes, trying to get a little rest before the inevitable.

“Just lay with me a bit?” I yawned, the day finally catching up with me.

Rob curled up behind me on the bed, his hands slipping under the itchy gown, rubbing soothing circles over my swollen belly. The silence and comfort of it all was short-lived, but Rob breathed right alongside me through the pain.

“It’s not as bad when you’re here. I think the rubbing helps,” I smiled, turning my head to catch his lips with mine.

Three contractions later, another doctor popped her head inside the room. “Hi! I’m your anesthesiologist, Dr. Harris. How’re you doing?”

“Spectacular and in need of rest and drugs,” I replied.

“Well, I can give you one and the other will come,” she entered the room, followed by a nurse pushing a cart housing a tray filled with all sorts of supplies.

“Alright, Dad, if you want to help Mom sit up, we can get started,” she explained to Rob. “I’ll need you at the edge of the bed, your legs hanging off the side, alright?”

Rob eased himself from the bed and helped me into a sitting position. I threw the covers to the side and scooted my bum to the edge. The doctor had positioned herself behind me and untied my gown. The nurse began prepping the injection site and I jumped when the cold, wet gauze hit my heated skin.

“Angelina, I’m going to need you to be real still for this part, okay?” I nodded my head in understanding. “Dad, can you stand between her legs and wrap your arms around her in a bear hug?”

“Sure, yeah, okay,” Rob hesitated, but slid between my legs and I reached up, locking my arms around his neck. “Why are we doing this?” He looked into my eyes.

“Because it’s going to hurt like a bitch and your arms around me will keep me still,” I explained and readied myself. Even though it had been years, I still remembered the sensation I felt the first time I went through this.

“Okay, on three...one...two...three.” My face contorted in pain at the initial jolt. I squeezed Rob as tight as I could, then the burning started to fade and I could feel my body relaxing. I loosened my grip on my husband, and he pulled back enough to meet my eyes.

“You okay?” he murmured, leaning in and pressing small kisses to my temple.

“I will be in just a minute or two,” I sighed. The nurse finished up and quietly left the room. The lull was brief when Dr. Grant and Phyllis reentered the room. We both looked at them with weary eyes.

“Angelina, we’re going to hook you up to a fetal monitor now, since we won’t be able to observe your contractions externally. Dr. Grant is going to do a quick exam and see how you are progressing,” Phyllis explained.

Rob helped me back into bed and into position for the exam. I knew this had to be awkward for him, but he was doing great so far.  

“You’re up to about five and half. We will let you get some rest and come back in a couple hours, okay?” Dr. Grant snapped off the exam gloves.

Rob was eyeing everything the nurse did as she strapped the contraption to my stomach. “So what does this do?”

“This monitors baby’s heartbeat. We can tell when a contraction is happening by the fluctuation of the heartbeat and measure the baby’s response to the contraction. The heart rate will range from 100 to 160 beats per minute,” Phyllis explained to your husband.

“Wow, that’s fast!” Rob looked over at the machine you were hooked up to as it started printing out the baby’s heart beats.

“Is this your first baby, Mr. Benedict?” She asked him, studying the results.

“No, third, but it’s been a while,” he reached for my hand and squeezed it tight.

“Well Mom, Dad, I suggest you get some rest while you can. I’ll be back in a couple hours to check your progress,” she excused herself from the room, dimming the lights on her way out.

Rob pulled the recliner chair closer to the bed where I drifted off, my hand in his until the nurse woke me up two hours later to check my progress. I was disappointed that I wasn’t dilating faster, the nurse informing me I had only progressed to six from five and half in the last three hours and my contractions were still at more than seven minutes apart.

“Oh…” Phyllis gasped.

“Phyllis? What’s wrong?” I turned to her, a furrow in my brow.

“Is the baby okay?” Rob was now fully awake.

“I’ll be back,” she stated, then rushed from the room.

Within minutes, Dr. Grant and three nurses were in the room.

“Angelina, I need you to roll to your side for me, okay?” Phyllis asked, helping me roll.

“What’s going on?” I looked her straight in the eye.

“Baby’s heart rate is dropping during contractions. We want to move you to see if they go back up,” she explained, further examining the paper printout for the last hour.

“What’s the current rate?” Dr. Grant asked her.

“Ninety.”

“Okay, one more flip,” Dr. Grant instructed and the other two nurses helped me up onto my knees.

Rob looked helpless standing there, hands in his pockets, not knowing what to do. He met my eyes, and shuffled closer to the head of the bed to be nearer to me.

“Rate?” Dr. Grant ordered.

“Ninety-three,” she responded.

“Angie, Rob, I’m not comfortable with the your baby’s heart rate during contractions, not with as slow as labor is progressing for you. It’s dipping into the low nineties and recovering nicely, but I would feel better if we took the baby now via cesarean. The choice is yours, but that is my recommendation.” Dr. Grant looked between the two of us.

“Guess we should have just scheduled it to begin with,” I smiled, reaching for Rob’s hand. “Let’s go have a baby.”

Rob smiled and leaned down to kiss me. The nurses made quick work of unhooking everything from the wall and soon my bed was being wheeled down the bright corridor and into an operating room. I heard Phyllis stop Rob at the door, telling him to go change and then he could enter the surgical room.

I was feeling nothing as I was moved from the bed to the table and within minutes, I was on oxygen and they added more meds to provide a solid spinal block.

“Hey, pretty girl,” Rob appeared at my side.

“Hey,” I breathed out, relieved to see him. “You ready for this?”

“Am I ready? I have been ready since you told me you were pregnant. I can’t wait to meet our baby,” Rob whispered, placing a gentle kiss to my forehead.

“Give us about three minutes, then you can meet your little bundle,” Phyllis passed by with a wink, then disappeared behind the curtain separating us from the lower half of my body.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, we each silently counted the seconds. This was it. We were finally going to meet our miracle baby.

“Dad, do you want to see this?” Dr. Grant called over the curtain, and Rob stepped away from me.

Rob wasn’t gone very long and when he returned, he pulled the oxygen mask off my face and kissed me with everything he had. “It’s a girl. We have a baby girl.” His tears mixed with mine when he kissed me a second time.

~*~

I woke to the most beautiful sight in the world the next morning. Rob was sitting in the rocking chair next to my bed, our baby girl swaddled and safe in his arms. He was singing softly, completely in awe of her, her big blue eyes staring up at him, mesmerized. I quietly picked up my phone off the bedside table and started recording their first morning as father and daughter.

Give me more lovin' than I've ever had.

Make it all better when I'm feelin' sad.

Tell me that I'm special even when I know I'm not.

Make me feel good when I hurt so bad.

Barely gettin' mad,

I'm so glad I found you.

I love being around you.

You make it easy,

It's easy as one, two, one, two, three, four.

There's only one thing, two do, three words four you.

I love you.

(I love you)

There's only one way, two say, those three words

And that's what I'll do.

I love you.

“That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen,” I whispered, not wanting to wake her for somewhere in the middle of his serenade, she fell asleep.

“I love you,” Rob replied, the smile never leaving his face.

“I’ve never heard you sing that song before,” I commented.

“I, ah, I just wrote it,” he smiled. “I remember walking in on you in the kitchen a few weeks back. You were wearing one of my dress shirts, and your belly carrying our miracle baby was bare, the shirt hanging off to the side, You just looked so beautiful and I thought to myself, when I can think straight, I am going to write a song about this, but with work and travelling, I never got the chance. It just popped into my head as I was holding her.”

“It’s perfect. I love it and I love you,” I reached for his hand.

I managed to get in a shower with the help of one of the day nurses and was settled back into bed by the time our visitors arrived. My parents, Olivia and Rob’s brother Matt piled into our small room to meet the newest member of our family.

“We would like you all to meet Delilah Rose Benedict,” Rob handed her off gingerly to her big sister who couldn’t stop smiling as she held the new baby.

“Welcome to the family, Delilah Rose,” Olivia whispered, kissing the tiny pink bundle in her arms.

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99blog @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27  @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda @paintrider13-blog @cherrycokegirls1 

Rob Worshipers: @shanghai88 @natasha-cole 

[ethereal-tempest]

Commit (Erik Killmonger Series) Pt.2

Summary: Your a Mercenary used by the CIA and when you’re forced to work with a certain operative things get a little more heated than you ever expected.

Part 1

WC: 2.5k+

A/N: Heyya lovebugs! so spelling errors out the ass its nice to be back tho pretty sure you guys have forgotten all about me which is fine but ya girl is back! Now I still wont be updating super often but ill try and make it a helluva lot more frequent, well enjoy! 

Unbelievable. That word ran through your head repeatedly. You and Erik had to play some love sick couple, the whole Bonnie and Clyde spiel. Except instead of stealing money and taking jewels you’d be stealing intel and taking lives. You grunted as the doctor applied the needed instruments to your body. “This might sting a little bit more than you’re used to Agent Y/L/N were doing the rapid healing process so you’ll be good to go before you leave in your mission tomorrow.” “Do your worse doc, i’m sure i’ll be fine.”

 With a timid smile on her face the doctor started up the machine as she inject the serum into you, boy was she wrong, it stung a lot . no not stung burned. It’s as if a thousand needles were piercing your skin at the same time all over. you screamed in agony but began to scream silently as you felt the firm grip of someone’s hand in your own. you gripped theirs back and bit your lip to try and muffle your screams but failed as the pain began to consume you. You felt tears running down your cheek as the person holding your hand rubbed it almost affectionately as the pain began to finally subside you were unstrapped from the machine and had the disk on your skin removed from the your injured body parts before you opened your eyes and saw who held your hand, “Killmonger what— why are you hear?” you asked as you sat up and wiped your face clean. “Think i’d miss the chance to hear you crying like a little baby?” you rolled your eyes before bring your legs to the edge of the table you previously laid on. You landed on shaky legs and soon felt a hand slide around your waist to keep you up right, you saw Erik at your side and tried to shrug him off and walk away from the table but ultimately failed and stumbled back into his side one hand resting on his chest. “I can walk by myself you know.” “Sure you can princess.” you held back a growl as you took a deep breath, “What were you doing here?” “Wanted to make sure they pathed you up right, can’t go out there looking like a domestic violence case.” you hum deciding to accept his answer as he help you back to your room. “And why are you helping me now?” “I wanted to talk.” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion, what could this conniving asshole want to talk about, “The mission.” he said answering your unspoken question, “This can’t wait until tomorrow or something.” “No.” you groaned and stood on your own finally having the strength to do so as you turned to look at him head on, “What’s so urgent then Killmonger?” you guides you into your room and shuts the door behind you two. Your curiosity is at an all time high as you sit on your bed and you stare up at the man standing before you. “I really don’t have the strength to kick your ass right now Erik so spit it out or get out. I do prefer the ladder by the way.” the man rolled his eyes as he said, “We need to know thing about each other, to help keep up the act.” you sighed as you plopped back onto your bed, “Erik that’s it? This can definitely be talked about tomorrow!” “Y/N were going to be watch from the second we set foot in Colombia, there will be no time to work on it then!” you cursed under your breath before you said, “So you waltz into my room and expect me to just open to you? That’s not how this shit works Erik, that is not how you get to know another human being!” “You’re such a brat. I don’t understand what the big deal is, just tell me what i want to know!” he shouted at you, you shot ul still seated on your bed and stared at him with wild eyes, “You think demanded intel about my person is going to make me give to to you. Fuck off Erik, come up with whatever bullshit you want and get the hell out of my room.” “Y/N you’re being—“ you stood from your bed, a little too quickly as you stumbled forward but caught yourself on your chair as you grunted, “Get. Out.”

He took a concerned step toward you in but you held your hand up to him stopping him in his tracks before you whispered out. “Leave Erik.”

The man wiped his hand down his face in defeat before opening your door and finally leaving. You let out a painful sigh as you sit back down on your bed, Your body still wasn’t fully healed some sleep would do. And that’s exactly what you did. You shot up from your sleep in a sense of panic and searched around your temp room for anything wrong. Everything seemed fine by you jumped slightly as you heard a knock at you door, you walk over to it and swing it open before peering around it. You sighed seeing who it was and opened your door all the way as you walked away. “What Agent Ross?” you asked over your shoulder as you put a shirt on over your sports bra, “You going to be alright on this mission? I know you and Agent Stevens don’t have the beat relationship.” That was an understatement you hated the man, most of the time anyways. He’s done it all botched mission, risked your life, even stolen one of your perps but you were a professional and you wouldn’t let some petty squabbles keep you from giving it your all. “Might not like the man but i’m more than capable of keeping it professional Sir. We’ll get the mission done.” “Are you sure?” you smirked as you brushed off his question and said, “Don’t I always.”

After your little check in from Ross you began getting ready for your mission. You’d definitely have to do some shopping seeings as though your clothes were not very undercover friendly. Once your personal weapons were tucked away in your bags you hauled everything down to the hanger.

“Y/N darlin’ you look a helluva lot better than you did eight hours ago.” you laughed as you dropped a bag and hugged your closest friend Dani, she stepped back holding you at arms length to get a closer look at you. “I’m still surprised your up and kicking as great as you are though…” “Takes a bit more than some shock therapy and tears to put me down, you know that Chief.” Dani was nicknamed Chief because of how quickly she was able to get control of a hostile situation, always made those she needed information from her bitch, and her their Commander.

“Yeah yeah doesn’t mean i don’t get to worry about ya, by the way, i hear your going on this little undercover stunt with a partner. Who’s the lucky bastard?” you rolled your eyes and Dani raised her eyebrows at the action as you huffed out, “Killmonger.”

It started low almost inaudible before it raised to a booming laughter that spread across the aircraft hanger you two stood in. “It’s not that funny Chief. He fucks this up i’m gonna kill him.” she shakes her head as she mumbled out, “Or maybe you’ll fucking him.” “What did you say?” “Nothing.” you squint your eyes prepared to ask her once again what she said we you noticed Killmonger walking towards you. “Speak of the Devil.” “Stevens take care of my girl out there, that’s an order.” She said with a smirk as she patted your shoulder and left you two alone. “What did you need Erik, here to demand more information about me?” he rolled his eyes he crossed his arms and said, “Look, i’m sorry about that. I’m just not trying to mess up this mission.” you scoffed as you asked, “And you think I am?” “That’s not what i said.” you rolled your eyes and shook your head before slapping a manila folder you and in your back pocket onto his chest. “Here’s your information Erik. We fly out within the hour and i want some information in return.” you walked off before the man could answer missing the shock evident on his face.

You loaded up the last of your bags to the plane and wiped some sweat from your forehead, “Y/N how’s it coming?” you gave the pilot a thumbs up letting her know you were ready to go.

You boarded the plane no sign of Killmonger anywhere, you took out your phone ready to text him when he hustled up the ramp with only a few duffle bags. “Took you long enough.” you mumbled as you buckled into your seat and get comfortable for the long ride ahead. The plane started up and as you went to close your eyes when you felt something slapped into your lap. “My file.” you looked at him with a confusion before looking into your lap, it was the intel you needed for the mission. “Remind me why we're not just making things up again Killmonger?” you questioned as you open the folder and began skimming over it, “Because bluffed intel would require us both to memorize it. This way if one is us starts to slip up he other will no then see with ease.” you rolled your eyes , he made a good point but you wouldn’t admit it. “Were about 4 hours out from the chopper you guys will be taking to Colombia. Should be only about an 1 ½ you guys will be in the air of that.” you heard the pilot say through comms you wore. You gave her a thumbs up before she took off.

You did the flying in the chopper going over the information about Erik and yourself with each other making sure the important things were known. “Favorite colors not blue it’s turquoise more of a sea green than anything.” you looked over the man in confusion, “Is this really the time to hard on such a small specification?” you bickered out as you easied the chopper onto the ground. “Here’s this.” He said handing you a small jewelry box you looked at it with a puzzled face before you opened it up, “It's tungsten ring with a turquoise tinted inside. Shouldn’t be hard to remember my favorite color now huh?” Erik held it is hand for your waiting to slip the ring on your finger but you stayed in the same shocked position, he rolled his eyes before he took your hand in his own and turned it over before slipping the ring onto your hand, it was a perfect fit. You thought held your own marveling at the beauty that sat on your finger and in your face. You noticed his stare and cleared your throat as you slipped your hand out of his and began powering down the helicopter, “W-where’s yours.”  you stuttered out looking anywhere but his eyes that still roamed your face, when he didn’t answer you looked back him as you said his name snapping him out of whatever trance he was in, “Right here let’s move out.” He mumbled out before slipping out of the chopper.

You did the same pullin our down of your bags as you did, “Mr. and Mrs. Genuine, so glad you guys made it safely. Welcome to hotel de passíon, how was your flight?” you look across the seats of the helicopter and made eye contact with Erik, it’s show time and you both knew it. “Thank you baby, it was a little bumpy nothing a little liquor can’t fix.” you said winking at the beautiful receptionist that greeted you on the helipad of the hotel you and Erik would be in for the next few weeks. She chuckled as you pushed forward a cart for your bags, “I’ll have a bottle sent up to your room unless you prefer to mingle with some of the other guest at the open bar.” Erik walked up behind you as he said, “Both sound like a good option to me baby, that way we don’t have to worry about leaving once were alone.” his arm made it’s way around your waist drawing you to him as you felt his eyes looking down at you, you refused to meet his gaze as you felt your face heat. You casted you eyes to the receptionist who had a knowing look in her eyes, “I’ll take you bags to your room for you, a few rules for the grounds. No guns are allowed in the restaurant or by the pool. Also there is no discharging of weapons on hotel grounds any and all disputes should be settled off de passíon property. In the event that an altercation does occur the party who initiates the fight will be at fault and politey asked to leave the premises. Alright i think that’s everything all this will be in a handbook in your room. Once again Enjoy your stay and let us know anyway we can make your stay one you’ll never forget.” It wasn’t surprising they had these rules laid out for their guest considering this hotel was notorious for housing some of the biggest names in any illegal business, if you needed a place to stay while in south america their was always a de passíon that welcomed criminals and common folk alike, but considering you guys were staying in of the more elusive and luxurious penthouses it wasn’t hard to assume you were on the former side of the guest list.

“Thank you baby, can you make it a bottle of crown apple?” “Of course Mrs. Genuine.” she said before she disappeared into the elevator with your bags leaving you and Erik alone, you slapped his chest and backed out of his want hold, “What the hell was that?” you questioned the man standing before you, “What do you mean?” you gestured between your two bodies which were still awfully close and said, “The touching and the implying….” the man scoffed before placing both hands on your waist pulling you to him and making your hands land on his harden chest, “Were husband and wife remembered, newly weds at that. Plus i barely implied to anything unless there is something you want to be more than implied?” you scoffed as you gazed into his eyes not missing the smirk on his lips but also unable to think properly due to the close space you two were in. you shook your head from your dirty thoughts and took a step back. “We should get down to the room and change.”

He took your hand in his and interlocked them, just when you went to protest you saw your ring shining in the dim lights on the helipad and decided against it. This was going to be one helluva mission.

[chamrosh]

Okaaay

So. I promise this’ll end up somewhere a heck ton different to where it’ll initially look but yes I just need a long vent okay and honestly this whole first section is probably useful to loads of people so it’s not going to be abridged by me (though if anyone wants to add a tl;dr if this somehow get’s reblogged, go ahead).  There’s probably gonna be more of these covering... different things, some of which will be related.

Anywho.

When I was in year 5, I had my first period. I lost 1/8 of my bodyweight in a week and the blood kept coming for another week after that. I was maybe 10, but probably 9. I had already grown intensely uncomfortable with the idea of being expected to be a woman when I grew up. I think I was born with a clock inside me, because exactly a month later, I had my second period. I lost 1/10 of my bodyweight, not having regained the weight from the previous month enough to support that. I tipped into being dangerously underweight at that point and didn’t have another period for a couple of months. 

I complained to my mother about how it was too painful and how much blood I had lost and how much blood there was everywhere and OH MY GOODNESS why did it have to hurt so much, what were those great big clumps - And... and her fucking response was to tell me “it’ll hurt less once you get pregnant”. Ah yes. The solution to a 10 year old being in pain. Encouraging them to give your grandchildren already. A++ parenting. And whenever I asked, I’d always be told some variant of “it’ll hurt less the more children you have.”

That summer, my brother had been spending a month in Germany with my mother’s penpal from school, to help pick up enough to be able to do well in GCSEs. All fair and good there. Except that the youngest child of the family he was staying with, let’s call him Mike, had been to Ecuador to help with anti-poverty work for a month before that. Mike had been sick while there, but he had recovered after a day, and it was a week before he came back to Germany. My brother woke up a few days after arriving and started violently vomiting. My mother’s penpal is a pharmacist, so she rushed to her practice and grabbed as many things that would help and not cause complications together as possible, from her own pocket, and started giving him the doses of each. My brother started having violent diarrhoea too, and this had blood in it. 

He was taken to hospital, and spent the rest of the month abroad there instead. Every day he lost 6L of fluid in excess just from the mixture of blood and diarrhoea, before the additional sweating he was going through. The hospital diagnosed him with a bleeding disorder, which isn’t haemophilia, but I shall call “haemophilia” for reasons of what it actually is being pretty rare and haemophilia being really similar and far more common, and honestly haemophiliacs need more recognition than peeps with my condition do based purely on numbers and i’m happy for any recognition of bleeding disorders because of me to go there (especially as most of the time my bleeding disorder is covered under the same hospital departments...). He was sent home after this and we had to keep him essentially quarantined for another 2 months. The hospital told my parents to get me and my other brother checked up for “haemophilia” as soon as possible. We did not receive that check up then, but instead nearly two years later. We were advised to get hepatitis injections too, after it was seen what hepatitis C could do to us, and to get those as soon after we were diagnosed as possible... and I’m pretty sure I still haven’t had my Hep shots. 

Note that my monster periods starting happened after I was recommended to be checked out for bleeding issues and yet I was still just told “it’ll be fine if you have a ton of kids” by my mother. And may I point out that the idea of anyone putting anything up there in me makes me physically feel ill, and my imagination kind of glitches and physically won’t let me imagine any version of myself being pregnant or giving birth or anything like that and oh goodness did I try to force myself to manage it when I didn’t realise that even just not having kids was a valid option for people...

The hospital (which does have a proper name, but, again, rare disorder, I’m not naming it) eventually had to nag my mother to take me and my other brother up there for checks.

I remember when I started secondary school, and there was an assembly where “all” the boys and all the “girls” had to be split off for basically crap sex ed classes, and the teacher who did the “girls” one basically said that “oh your first one doesn’t hurt” and “on your first one this teeny tiny pad will do” and just, trust me, on my first period I’d have bled through the starter pads that were given out within about 5 minutes if I were lucky. Both a comment on menorrhagia and on the tininess of these pads. In a moment of disgust I took the first opportunity to get them out of my sight (by burying them at the bottom of my PE kit) and utterly forgot about them being given out for about 5 years. 

I hated being in that room so much on so many levels. First, because it was a girls’ assembly, second, because the teacher kept handing out things for girls, which I just flat out refused to believe would be useful to me (because I’m a stubborn lil git when I want to be, but also because most of them would genuinely have been), and third, because she flat out lied. At least, from my view. I thought that losing 1/8 of your body weight on your first period was normal. Bear in mind as well that the puberty related info I had from my periods was entirely contained by giving me a book on puberty and walking out the room. I flicked through it once, realised I’d grow breasts, started crying, and threw it in a corner. I had no further interaction with that book (beyond actually closing it) for about 3 years.

When in class, one of my friends said that their teacher in a different subject had said that during periods you only lose about 3 teaspoons of blood, I refused to believe that a period that light was even possible. 

And... all the girls seemed to be able to keep doing everything through the whole month. They didn’t seem to have to curl up into balls and spend their break times curled up down the back end of the school just praying the pain would pass. 

When I finally got to the hospital, a year and a half after I was meant to, they did the blood test, I was super proud of how strong and manly I’d been that I didn’t faint at losing a ton of blood to the needle and my brother did, and this is yet another mini-installment in signs of gender dysphoria that small me didn’t register right here. And they said they’d call up about stuff after too - but before we left, the doctor said I should go on the contraceptive pill. It should probably horrify you to know that I knew what rape was when I was five, but I didn’t know what contraceptives were until I was twelve. But either way, I heard my mother refuse, and I wondered what it was, so I asked, and she explained that it gave you female hormones to make you not have children and that it was very bad because then you might not ever have children. I disagreed. It was very bad because it was female hormones. But even so, I was glad at the time that she’d said no.

Every single appointment - that is, twice a year - I got a call. Every single time I was asked if I wanted to go on the pill. I said no. I came up with lame excuses every time but I knew deep down it was always because I didn’t want to have any female hormones. My periods awfulness would vary. Initially it was always losing huge chunks of my weight, but more and more it’s manifested as me not being able to swallow anything at all bitter, and throwing up anything i’ve eaten if I try, and in having to pass enormous clumps through down there. 

They started out smaller, like the size of the top joint of my thumb. It’s a sign of significant medical issues once you have a lump larger than a nickle / about a pound coin. I jumped from teeny tiny lumps to lumps about twice a diagnosable size. I had not been taught that lumps that size were not normal, and so I didn’t think it was anything significant when I was asked about it... plus, I knew they’d only suggest putting me on the Pill again... 

My periods have always been pretty regular, as long as they’re not disrupted by intense stress (although I learned I could sleep less and make the periods less frequent, and that has to have been one of the worst decisions in terms of my grades I’ve ever made...), such that through the whole of biology in year 11 the worst stage of clumping would always be within the same half hour span on a Tuesday morning, during double biology. I used to deliberately hyperventilate, because when I was on the edge of fainting, I couldn’t feel it anymore. I couldn’t feel that disgusting lump making me acutely aware of an organ I do not want and did not ask for. I love biology. I hated having to miss periods of it for - hah - periods, every single month, but it was better than the alternative. 

When I was 15, I started getting intense shooting pains through both sides, about the length of my hand below my ribs. When I went to the GP, I was questioned  for what felt like hours, - with my mother STILL IN THE ROOM - if I had had sex with any boys, and whether I was pregnant. It made me feel genuinely ill to have the suggestion that I could ever be pregnant. And! Me! Having sex with someone putting their penis in me? No!

Turns out, once that questioning had stopped, I had ovarian cysts. On both sides. I’m almost guaranteed to be infertile - and I was told such at the time - because both of my ovaries had had it, and I’d had it on and off, and it had worsened over ovulation... and they were causing me enough pain that when they flaired up, I’d tense up, my back would curl defensively whether I wanted it or not, and I couldn’t get myself to move or talk. Those are not healthy ovaries. Honestly, it came as a relief to hear. I love the idea of having children, I really do, but to hear I wouldn’t be giving birth! Fucking great feeling, my dudes.

I hated going in the bathroom so much... I’d refuse to go. There were concert days, at least one each term where I’d have to leave the house at 8am and only get home at 10pm and I wouldn’t have gone to the loo in all that time because I hated the loo that much. It was relatively common to have to leave the house at 8am and get back at 6pm, or anything up to 8pm, and to have not gone to the loo in all that time. Anything more than about 4 hours gap regularly is bad for your health. The only time I would go to the loo in school was to get changed for PE on my own if I couldn’t deal with being with the girls (which happened a lot) or to deal with period matter. 

During one lesson in year 9, double history, I felt the pad stick to the chair, and I didn’t dare budge an inch from where I was for the entire hour and a half. I procrastinated until I was the very last person sitting down from class still, and when I stood up, the pad ripped, and within a few seconds, the whole of the insides of both my legs were covered in blood. I knew I had to go to the loo to clear it up and replace the pad, but I still didn’t want to.

I started having clumps comparable to the size of the whole of the palm of my hand.

When I finally spoke about this to the doctor (and came up with yet more dumb excuses for why I didn’t want to be on the pill), they finally got me booked for an ultrasound. The forms stating what the procedure is say, by default, that you have to have instruments stuffed up your there so that they can see what’s going on internally, and I started presumably visibly panicking, judging by the fact that they immediately started discussing alternatives. You can have an external one through the front if you’ve not used a tampon or had vaginal sex, so if you’ve not done either of those, and you have period issues (especially to the same extent as me!), and the thought of anything up there also makes you panic, it’s probably best to continue to avoid them.

When I went up to the hospital, first i was super uncomfy because you have to drink a litre of water an hour before the ultrasound is done, and I knew that I’d have to go to the toilet there... but second, because the nurse doing it needs to have a lot of skin exposed. I get why. I also get why they picked a small, non-threatening looking woman to do it, but that also didn’t really help the discomfort. Nor did having to go into gynecology...

Anyway, normal period lining thickness is around 14mm thick at peak (obviously there’s a variation around that that’s perfectly healthy that’s a few mm wide). Mine was 34mm thick halfway through to ovulation. Which would explain how I basically manage to have a baby bump every month... And again, the nurse said I wouldn’t be getting pregnant. Embryos are not going to fare great in terms of getting enough nutrients there.

I liked the idea that my body was trying to provide for some stupidly manly baby. Only stupidly manly babies who could obliterate a uterus from the inside were welcome. Yep. It’s best not to question how I think sometimes but honestly I think I’ve made it sound as close to rational as I can there. 

I had a panic attack over the phone call a year ago. I so wanted to say why I really didn’t want to go on the pill! And I was so scared that it was the only way to end the size of the clumping.

In July I managed to produce a whole collection of huge clumps, one the size of my whole thumb, one that was the length from my middle finger tip to the butt of my palm, and several others, all of which were very safely in menorrhagia territory... In September I managed to produce a clump the size of my fist...

I knew I didn’t want to have to deal with that any longer. But I’d also finally accepted I wanted nothing to do with me being feminine, and I knew what I had to say. And I started out the phonecall, literally last week, saying what I’d need to say as a numbered list and everything, setting it out. It still took me about 5 minutes from saying I had a third point and being prompted to say it that I finally got out my reasoning. I was asked what the issue was. I said again that it was female hormones and I didn’t want them. And again. And again. And again. And again. And then finally they got it. 

I finally had an alternative suggested (which I still need to go and get sorted out because oh boy am I disorganised). And they said that the appointment was already longer than it technically should be, and that they really needed a good section of time to talk about how my gender interacted with my “haemophilia” and so they said they’d book my an appointment, not say what the appointment was about on the letter, but that that appointment would be about gender, and would be in my Easter holidays. 

I think I practically died of excitement at having something gender-affirming to do officially that’d maybe be a first step in transitioning.

And then I checked my email this morning.

The letter has arrived at my parents’ house. My mother opened it. And she scanned it and sent it to me.

Her thoughts weren’t to scribble out her address and put mine and mail it along like a sensible human being with a basic comprehension of what boundaries are. NOPE, not my mother, not the woman who’d recommend that a 10 year old become pregnant. Of course not. No, she had to go and open confidential medical letters. And she didn’t even have any shame about that! Just straight up emailing me about having done so, and showing me proof that she had done so!

I’m so bloody relieved that the hospital were truthful about that, and that it wasn’t specific at all and just listed the hospital department I have to go to for it (which actually is the haemophilia department). That would have been a fricking awful way to be outed. Can you imagine that? Parents who told a 12 year old that if he turned out to be a lesbian, they’d kick him out the house. As a 12 year old. Who said to not even talk to trans people, let alone make friends with them. Who nearly broke off contact with their kids’ godparents’ son because he came out as pansexual. Who rant about how “society’s gone too far” and that “you can’t just choose” and that TERFs are completely and utterly right about everything for a full week after a single comment is made. Honestly I don’t think I’ve ever more concisely said why it’s taken me so long to actually admit that yep, I’m trans, and also to try coming out to any family members. Can you imagine? Finding out from having precisely 0% of a concept of privacy? My mother was horrified enough when my brother mentioned he was getting his tubes cut and that he and his wife are planning to adopt kids instead. Can you imagine her reaction? 

I really really need to be able to safely permanently move out, if only so that my mother doesn’t think it’s okay to look through my medical letters. 

Also yes that whole first bit was there because I never feel like I’ve vented enough about it ever and it’s fucking awful and it needs a lot of venting. ... but also to give a scope of the medical neglect from my parents and the level of reproductive control in their house, and to give some context to the stupid lengths they’ll go to to avoid having to deal that some people would really rather not have anything to do with what would make them fertile. 

Hopefully now all that is vented I’ll actually be able to focus on what I’m meant to be doing. Which is working out where I’m gonna go for my year abroad. Which, incidentally, I’m going to be Out for, whether my parents approve or not. Also hopefully me actually posting this gives some people a reassurance that yes it’s fine to hate your periods, they suck, and honestly I feel bad for everyone on their periods no matter how much lighter they are than mine, and even if they aren’t a dysphoria inducing nightmare. All periods suck.

[annarosewriting]

I Have Four Less Teeth and All People Wanted to Comment on Was My Weight.

I got my wisdom teeth out a few weeks ago. 

I KNOW, I KNOW. I’M 23 AND I JUST NOW GOT THEM OUT. “WELL WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THEM TAKEN OUT EARLIER???” YOU MAY BE ASKING, WELL THE ANSWER IS I’M SCARED OF SURGERIES IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO SAY?? HUH?? WELL CONGRATULATIONS YOU GOT ME.

Overall, it was anticlimactic.They gave me some drugs, I texted my friend that I felt like Steve Rogers before he gets injected with the Super Soldier Serum (which, side note, this friend is now my boyfriend and I like to think it’s because of my Percocet induced ramblings about Marvel characters), and then the drugs REALLY kicked in and the next thing I knew, I’m coming to with an ice pack wrapped around my melon with The Good Place playing on my laptop.

Which, The Good Place was probably a little too heavy for someone who was heavily medicated and already has a lot of anxiety about what happens when we die but it’s fine, we’re all fine.

It was mundane but the worst part was I had the diet of a teething baby. 

I ate more Easy Mac than I had in college. I only ate applesauce and ice cream for breakfast because they were the only foods that didn’t cause me crippling pain. I subsisted on water and the idea of food for the next two weeks. 

I was suffering. I couldn’t eat a full meal so I was severally lacking in nutrition. I was in constant pain because of the gaping holes in my head where teeth used to be. And then, once the pain started to go away and I could move up in the culinary world to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I had to rinse my teeth out EVERY. TIME. I ate. 

It was a pain in the ass, so my solution was to avoid having to rinse my teeth. Which meant, not eating. Or eating the absolute bare minimum to keep me functioning. Sometimes that meant I didn’t eat for five hours or more.  

This translated to me always feeling lightheaded. I was tired. I couldn’t focus at work. I would try to write or read to take my mind off how much pain I was in but even then I couldn’t concentrate. I was wasting more energy calculating when I could eat than I was on actual work. I was on edge. I snapped at everyone I loved. It was an absolute nightmare. 

I was miserable and it was the worst I had felt in a really long time. 

But, hey, forget how miserable I was feeling. There were more important things to focus on. Things like how “[I’ll] probably lose so much weight!!!! So jealous!!!” 

Cue the manic, white wine, suburban mom fake laugh.  

I had more comments given to me about how I had lost weight or I “looked great” than I had in a while. The last time people felt comfortable enough to comment on my body was when I was crying about missing workouts and obsessively counting calories which, Y I K E S.  

I wasn’t in a good place mentally but that didn’t matter!!! What mattered was I was finally on my way to being thin!!! Fuck my mental and emotional health!!!! That’s nonsense!!!! Who cares if my relationships are strained and I can’t do any work right?? FINALLY I wasn’t going to be fat!!!!! So that’s all that matters, right!!!!!!!  

*cue the hour long fart noise*

It’s not like I lost weight because I actively worked for it. (And besides, losing weight to be skinny is OUT and wanting to be as buff as the Amazon Warriors on Themyscira is IN)

No, I lost weight because SOMEONE RIPPED FOUR TEETH OUT OF MY SKULL AND THEN I WAS MALNOURISHED FOR TWO WEEKS. 

There is no part of that sentence that is healthy. 

It was fucking absurd. I had literally been put under so someone could yank teeth out of goddamn head AND I was moving in a fog, but hey, soooooo worth it just to lose a few pounds quickly right?

Fuck that. 

Here’s the thing, I’m unlearning a lot of toxic shit from Diet Culture and one of them is the idea that the number one topic of conversation for everyone, but women especially, is our weight. But I cannot stand that kind of talk.  

I couldn’t stand it from the moment I realized that diet culture is all bullshit created by both the patriarchy and capitalism to keep women down because we all know that if women's collective energy wasn’t wasted on trying to reach beauty ideals that will always, always, ALWAYS be out of reach, women would have already dismantled the patriarchy, given free health care to everyone, made tampons and birth control free and all dresses would have pockets.

I couldn’t stand it when I thought about how my younger self would try to develop an eating disorder because then maybe she would feel like she was worthy of love. 

I REALLY can’t stand it when I think about why I got my tattoo on my upper thigh. To hide the faded scar that reads “fat” that my younger self carved into her own thigh with a pocket knife. Watching crimson droplets appear as she prayed that this warning carved in flesh would be enough of a reminder to her as to what she could become if she ate when her body told her she was hungry. 

I hated it the most though when people would say I looked great after getting my wisdom teeth out, and I would have a fleeting thought of, “Well shit, what other surgeries can I have so I’ll look like the small child on the cover of the Les Mis playbill?” Or “I should just keep this diet of soft foods eaten two or three times a day going if I’m losing this much weight!”

I fucking hate diets, the diet industry and diet culture. 

So much.

Surprise. 

It breaks my heart and it enrages me all at once. Like learning that Zayn had left One Direction or when One Direction announced their hiatus. 

The number of women I’ve met in my life who have wasted so much time and energy chasing an ideal that will always be just out of reach is astronomical. 

(Myself included!!!! I am absolutely one of those people and there are times when I still buy into it! It’s extremely hard for me to untangle myself from it when it was the basis of my personality for 23 years.)

It breaks my heart that society has engrained in me that since I’m fat, my biggest goal in life is to lose weight. Because of that, I considered eating food, that could only be gummed, two or three times a day JUST so I could m a y b e get within shooting distance of what society deems an “acceptable” body. 

It’s all nonsense! I get so heated when I think about how we have just accepted that one type of body is the ONLY type of body to have and individuals should focus their whole lives on trying to achieve that impossible standard instead of living a good life, or being a good person or starting a revolution to dismantle this broken political system. 

You know, just girly things.  

It makes me physically ill if I think about it too long. I mean, what could I have accomplished if I had stopped worrying so much about losing weight? 

The answer is SO MUCH. 

Once I stopped worrying about losing weight, my relationships with friends and family started flourishing. I got into healthy romantic relationships. I started this blog. I read SO MANY books and I stopped beating myself up for eating food I liked. My body started to feel better since I wasn’t working it to the breaking point everyday trying to reach an ideal that is specifically designed to not be attainable just so the Diet Industry could bleed more money from us. 

So please, I’m begging society, if someone feels the need to talk about their diet with me, or wants to comment on my weight when I’ve had bones ripped from my cranium, talk to me about LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE. 

Talk to me about what I’m reading, what I’m writing, ask me how Bucky is, how much emotional damage Infinity War did to my psyche, ask me if I’m registered to vote (I am and you should be too!) talk to me about existential dread, allow me to explain to you that it is a crime ABC did us all so dirty by cancelling Agent Carter after two seasons, talk to me about aliens, ask me how the numbers are at work for gods sake.

There are so many other topics of conversation and we are so much more interesting than what foods we’re depriving ourselves of.  

Next time someone DOES try to tell me that getting my wisdom teeth out was a “great way to lose weight!” I’m going to throw my wisdom teeth at them.