#also in the car ride ill respond to messages & replies <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[winterf4iryy]

we’re going home tomorrowwwww!!!!!!!

[joonies-babyy]

Hi! This is my first ever post and my first attempt at smut( its not in this part but its in the next one) I hope that if anyone reads this they enjoy it!!!! Also please leave comments and feedback. Might it be positiveor negative I will truly appreciate.<3

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝘀𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗺! 𝘀𝘂𝗯! 𝗮𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝘀, 𝗱𝗼𝗺!𝗸𝗻𝗷, 𝘀𝘂𝗯!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿, 𝗷𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁, 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗽 𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗯𝘀, 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝗯𝗶𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗮 𝗱𝗮𝗱𝗱𝘆 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸, 𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗸𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘃𝗼𝘆𝗲𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀 (𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁), 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶𝗳 𝗜 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘁 𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄!!

Also big thanks to @kimnjss for helping me on this. I appreciate you so much. Thank you 💖💖

Word count:1.5k

--------------------------------------------------------- You and Namjoon were sitting on the couch with your limbs intertwined with each other.

''Jonnieeee, I'm bored. Let's do something yeah?''. ''What do you have in mind my love''.

''Let's go out. An impromptu date.'' You anticipated his answer knowing that if he said no your plan would go to shit. ''Sure babe, whatever you want to do im fine with. Go get dressed and we'll get going''. You begin leaving small little kisses on Joon's face and then got up to go start getting ready for your date night.

You slowly walked back down the stairs while Joon's gaze was locked on your curves being hugged by your dress. You were wearing a red,skin tight dress that sat alittle above your knees. You knew this was Joon's favorite dress on you. Hell, this was your favorite dress on you...You looked absolutely decadent. When you caught her lovers eyes focused on you, you smirked, knowing that it was always hard for him to resist you when you looked this amazing."Do you think I look pretty baby?''. ''Yn, you're the most beautiful girl I've ever meet, and this dress, lord you know I love this dress. Where are we going tonight where you need this dress, because I could gladly stay here and rip this off you.'' You smiled wrapping your hands around Joon's neck ''We're going out. When we come home we can do whatever you want, k?''. Joon grabbed your waist pulling you unbelievably closer. ''You'll be lucky if i even last that long. Just wait till I get my hands on you''. With that you pushed Joon's chest to detach yourself and started pulling him out of the front door. Namjoon didn't even care to change. The quicker you he left the quicker he could come home and have his way with you.

You never liked to drive. In the 5 years you've been with Joon you have had to drive a total of maybe 4 times. So just on instinct Joon got into the drives seat and you into the passengers, dress riding up as you sat down. Joon noticed. He always notices, but he decided to ignore it for now. He started the car up but soon realized he didn't know where he was driving to. "So... how exactly am I supposed to get to the location when I have no clue what the plan is". You smiled to yourself. For someone with a 148 iq he sure doesn't think. " Well I, of course already have this planned out. I put the location into the GPS. Tap it, follow the instructions and we'll be there in no time" You leaned over and left a quick peck to his cheek as he pulled out of the driveway knowing not a clue of what was in store for him tonight.

The GPS soon notified you that you we're only 5 minutes away from your destination. Your body shook with anxiety and excitement. Joon took one hand off the wheel and placed it on your thigh. You could feel the wet spot forming in you lace blue panties(his favorites). You're face began to warm up with embarrassment. It was a simple move he always did that always seemed to calm your nerves, but tonight it was different. You knew that after this date you and you pussy were done for. Just thinking about all the ways he could wreck you made you roll your eyes back in your head. Without even realizing you let a small moan slip past your lips. Joon started rubbing your thigh, asking if you were ok. The question suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts. "Yea i-im ok, just um... excited. I really want you to like what I have planned" you said while taking shakey breaths. "I'm sure I'll love it Yn. You know I always love our date nights" You smiled to yourself hoping he would love this one as much as he had loved all the previous ones. The GPS said the destination was on the right and Joon began to pull into the buildings parking lot. You were in for a long night.

"The castle? What is this Yn." "Don't worry you'll like it." You reached into the backseat of the to grab a duffel bag that Joon failed to notice was in the car. "You seem to have put alot of thought in to this love." And of course you did. 2 weeks of finding the location. 2 weeks of waiting for you application to go through. 2 weeks of making sure everything was set up just the way you needed it to be. "I just want tonight to be fun. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. Just enjoy yourself and go with the flow ok?" Joon just looked at you and muttered a small "ok". With the reassurance that you needed you got out the car and urged Joon to get out too. You got to the doors of the building and felt more giddy than ever. The bouncer guarding the doors looked you up and down, asking for your name. "Yn" you quickly responded. With a small nod he opened the doors and you quickly walked in pulling Joon behind you. Joon wondered how long you had this plan under you sleeve. You quickly sat him down on one of the plush couchs close to the stage. Joon could no longer take it. The urge to ask questions overcome him. "Love, what is all of this? How long have you been planning this? More importantly what the hell is this so called castle?" You giggled to yourself as you looked up at Joon, confusion written on his face. "The castle is a strip club. Thats all you need to know for right now. Just enjoy it Joonie" You slid yourself into his lap and kissed his perfectly sculpted jaw. "OK baby, ill enjoy myself".

A man's voice came over the speaker starling you right off of Joons lap. "30 minute call for all performers. I repeat 30 minute call." You grabbed you bag and set off to the back of the room. Before you could get away Joon grabbed your wrist. "And where exactly do you think you're going" he whispered in your ear not knowing he was causing you to leak more into your panties. "They called for performers. Im performing." You replied in a nonchalant tone. "Performing! Yn what the fuck are you talking about". You snatched your wrist away from him but his hold was too strong. "Joon... can you please not draw attention to us. I have to go but ill be back before you know it. So for the love of God, can you sit the fuck down and try to atleast enjoy yourself. I did put alot of effort into this ya know". "You owe me an explanation when you get home, do you understand me?" You stood on the tip of your toes leaning up to press a kiss to his nose. "I'll give you whatever you want when we get home, but you gotta let me go." He dropped your wrist and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "If people know i have a boyfriend they won't buy me for the night!" As soon as you say Joons expression you knew it was time to scurry off before you could be stopped again.

You were sat in the back apply makeup when your phone started going off with the ring tone you set for Joon.

🥰ᴍʏ ᴊᴏᴏɴɪᴇ ʙᴀʙʏ🥰

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

Y/N... WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ₁₀:₅₂

ANSWER ME!! ₁₀:₅₂

Y/N Y/L/N ₁₀:₅₄

You have 20 seconds to respond to me ₁₀:₅₄

I CAN SEE YOU READING MY FUCKING MESSAGES. ₁₀:₅₆

Oh, you're in for it tonight. You know not to make daddy mad. Don't you baby? Or are you just living up to your title of being my bratty little slut? ₁₀:₅₆

Your face lit up. That was your whole goal of tonight. Make him mad so he can fuck you senseless like the good slut you are. God you loved making him mad. You were daydreaming of him pounding into you when the intercom shot on again. "All performers to the stage. Auctions will begin in 5 minutes". Oh this was gonna be good.

You step on the stage with your dress still on while most of the other performers where all ready close to naked. You could care less about the rest of the eyes on you. You only needed Joons eyes on you. And oh were they on you. He eyed your body the second you stepped on stage, noting how good the lights made you look. Even from the stage you could see that his jaw was clenched. God you loved when he did that. A microphone boomed over the speakers and shook you from your thoughts. "Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present... The ladies of the castle".

[araiz-zaria]

The Fantastic Union Four™ — Road Trip AU

n+1st part 👀👀👀

.

So now three of the fantastic union four™ have to nurse Grant back into sobriety or is it lucidity?. Starting with getting some grocery (for their own meal and whatnot), they still have to figure out how to nurse him exactly. They read information about it on the ponderous volume that is known only as the internet, trying to figure it out, but the more they read, the more confused they feel about it (”...really? just feeding him is enough?” ”...but if he’s still sleeping all the time, do we have to wake him up or something?...” “...but what if he refuses to eat? Do we need to force feed him?” “No other kind of medicine needed??”). Sheridan tells Thomas and Sherman that at any rate, Grant needs to eat something(”...guys, remember that Ulyss hasn’t eaten anything since our last stop at that roadside attraction!”), so they decided to just stick to their initial plan of feeding him once he wakes up. As has also been decided, after having some breakfast they cleaned the car and, afterwards, watch by Grant’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up.

They wait, and wait,

and wait,

and wait...

...and there are a few times where Grant drifts back, almost waking up, only for him to just (sleep)talk drowsily and drifts back into sleep (”Huh, false alarm”). While waiting for him to wake up, Thomas reads the maps and rechecks their route plan again, Sherman paces around in the room, especially after sitting by the bedside for quite a bit. His pacing around is occasionally broken by him responding to messages he got. He almost always replies only when standing up, and that concludes his cycle of twiddling about while watching by the bedside. Sheridan stares worriedly at Grant, and then at Sherman (when he paces around), and then at Thomas, sitting at a small coffee table by the room’s window. He felt bad for inadvertently making things worse for Grant back in the car when they were on the ride (like holding him down just for Grant to wail and flail about), but now there is only one thing they can do...

When lunch time comes they take turn taking lunch while someone stays keeping an eye on Grant. Thomas and Sheridan eat quite a considerable amount for lunch, and after they finished they offer Sherman to have some lunch. Sherman refuses, saying that he isn’t hungry (and he doesn’t really take lunches). Sheridan and Thomas look at each other, Sheridan shrugs, and Thomas taps Sherman on the shoulder, meaning to talk to him about the route plan and other things related to it (so that Sherman could get a break of sorts anyway), while Sheridan sits by the bedside.

They keep watch on Grant until it is close to dinner time (this is around 7 pm), when finally Grant drifts back into waking up, awake enough to have a coherent enough conversation with the other three, even though he is still visibly so drowsy.

Grant: (squinting, gazing on the people sitting by his bedside) “...how come we are not hitting the road again?”

Sherman: “Are you kidding me? We are not leaving until you sober up and eat something.”

Grant: (groans queasily) “...I don’t wanna eat anything...” (turns sideways, trying to get to sleep again)

Sherman: “I say we are not leaving until you eat something!”

Sheridan: “Ulyss, please, you have to eat something. Eating will also help you sober up...”

Grant: (trying to hold off feelings of nausea, curling down) “...Phil, I am not an eater like you are...” (closes his eyes, trying to sleep again)

Thomas: “Ulyss, please, just eat something, even for a little bit. You haven’t eaten anything since we stayed here.”

Sherman: (leans toward Thomas, whispers) “...I say we force feed him some cracker and water...”

Thomas: (sighs) “I guess we have to do that.” (pulls Grant by the shoulder gently towards his own side) “Ulyss, please, you cannot keep on sleeping, it might just make you stay queasy.”

Grant: (heaves a long sigh) “...I...really...don’t...wanna, eat... anything...”

Sherman: (lifting Grant at the shoulder, moving him together with Sheridan on the other side of the bed so that Grant is on a seated position)

Thomas: “Please, Ulyss, just a bite or two, and then you can go back to sleep again...”

Grant: (dejected, sighs) “...alright...”

After seating Grant at the head of the bed, they are able to feed Grant two and a half saltine crackers and a half glass of water. Afterwards Grant goes to sleep again, and the other three feel slightly relieved. That is, until Sheridan asks this...

Sheridan: “Guys, do we need to tell Julia about this?”

Sherman glares at Sheridan for having asked about that, Thomas is slightly startled when that question is brought up (”Huh, yeah...come to think of it...”). Earlier in the afternoon Sherman messaged Ellen about how he is doing on the trip, and he messaged her about Grant’s condition (not something he intended to do, but since he had to explain why he stays at a place longer than he planned, he ended up telling her about it anyway). He also told her in the message not to tell Julia about it (he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary panic, esp. on Julia’s part, since he found out from Ellen that Julia has been fretting about Grant’s emotional wellness on the trip, so he tried to not make Julia go into full-blown panic (so that Grant wouldn’t be so panicky in return, or so he thinks...)), but now that Sheridan has broached on this topic (he planned to just keep Julia out of the loop until Grant is recovered and Grant himself can communicate with her again) and the prolonged recovery situation they are now in, they’d have to eventually tell her about it.

Thomas: “So, who wants to tell her about this?”

Sheridan: “Anybody got her contact?”

Sherman: (lies -- cuts in curtly) “No.”

Sheridan: “So I guess we’d have to get his phone then.”

Thomas: “Sure” (reaches into Grant’s pocket and pulls out his phone) “So who’s gonna call her?”

Shit, Sherman curses in his own mind, now we are really going to tell her about it?!??. Thomas checks the screen, there are notifications on so many unreplied messages from Julia. Oh dear, Thomas mutters inwardly, there are some missed calls too. Thomas is fiddling with the phone notification until it rings. It’s Julia calling.

Sherman: “You take the call!”

Thomas: (side eyes Sherman in a slightly bemused way) “...alright.” (sighs) (takes the call) “...hello?”

Julia: “Oh Ulyss I can finally reach you out... Wait, who is...”

Thomas: “...It’s me, Thomas, George Thomas.”

Julia: “...is anything the matter there? I messaged him but he didn’t reply to me at all, I tried calling him too and still no response... Is Ulyss alright??”

Thomas: “Well, you see, Julia...We had to stop longer at our current place than we planned and it is all because there is something happened to Ulyss...”

Julia: “...oh No! What happened to him??”

Thomas: “Well, he felt slightly unwell, so much so that we couldn’t go on the trip with his current condition.” (stares at Sherman) “Sherman will tell you what is his condition exactly.” (shoves the phone to Sherman)

Sherman: (receives the phone from Thomas) “...uhm hello...yes, it’s me, Sherman... Well Julia, how do I say it...it seems like Ulyss was intoxicated... no, no, not due to alcohol, we don’t drink even a drop on our trip, we are not sure what caused it...that and food poisoning too.”

Julia: “Oh dear, what a dreadful situation! Is he still feeling ill??”

Sherman: “...yes but it seems like he’s on the mend now...”

Julia: “Can I talk to him now?”

Sherman: “He’s currently sleeping, he needs his rest to recover. I’ll tell him to call you right away once he’s recovered and sober enough...”

Julia: “Oh right, sorry, I just realized that. By the way, thank you for taking care of him and to take the call...”

Sherman: “It is no bother to us all.”

Julia: (hangs up)

They all heave a sigh of relief. Now onto keeping a watch on him still, after they all have dinner. As the night goes on they plan to take turns watching by the bedside, but it doesn’t go as they planned because they all insist to keep watch on him. Sherman then realizes that Grant might just continue sleeping anyway, so he decides to go to bed first (though he first offers Thomas to hit the bed first. Thomas declines, says that Sherman can go to sleep first). Sheridan is a bit restless (since he inadvertently drank too much coffee during dinner), and he offers both Sherman and Thomas to take over watching by the bedside. Thomas says that he can still keep a watch too for a bit longer.

Thomas eventually slumps on his chair, dozing off into the dreamland. It is down to just Sheridan keeping watch on Grant. Sherman is on the other bed, lying down sleeping. Sheridan wants to get up from his chair for a bit, going out of the room for a little change of scenery, but now with him the only one left keeping watch on Grant he cannot really do it.

At 3:50 am Sheridan goes to the bathroom to relieve himself. Thinking that it might still take Grant some more time to finally wake up he decides to also go around for a bit of walk after he goes to the bathroom.

After a little walk for fresh air Sheridan goes back into the room to continue watching by Grant’s bedside. To his delight he finds out that Grant has waken up, and now he’s sitting on the coffee table eating some slices of white bread and drinking a glass of water.

Sheridan: “Ulyss, you have waken up! Finally!”

Grant: (shushes Sheridan down, half whispers) “...yeah..” (continues on munching on the white bread sheepishly)

Sheridan: “Hey have it with some jam, we got it for the bread too, you know. Here, strawberry jam.” (slides a jar of strawberry jam to Grant’s side)

Grant: “...sure, Phil.” (takes on the jam and spreads some of it on his new slice of bread) “...never thought I’d feel this hungry after some sleep.”

Sheridan: “...heh, some sleep. You’ve been sleeping for so long too, almost a full day if you really count it I think?? Anyway, this is good news, we can finally continue our trip!” (raises from the chair, walks over to Sherman’s bedside) “Sherman, wake up! We’ve got some good news!”

Grant: (slightly flustered) “Hey, don’t just wake him up like that??”

Sheridan: “So rich of you to say that after such a long slumber...” (shakes Sherman on his shoulder) “...hey Billy..”

Sherman: “...what NOW?” (winces annoyedly at Sheridan)

Sheridan: “Ulyss has just waken up!”

Sherman: “Huh...” (looks over at Grant sitting by the coffee table while still lying on the bed) “...oh there you are Ulyss, finally waking up.” (breathes a sigh of relief, looks at Sheridan again) “What time is it now?”

Sheridan: “...around 4 am I think?”

Sherman: “Hm...still some time until we start driving again.” (looks at Grant again) “Anyhow eat up, Ulyss. That should help you feel better...”

Grant: “...yeah...” (continues munching on the bread)

Sherman: “...and oh, by the way, Julia called while you were sleeping. You should call her back as soon as you can.”

Grant: (startled, gasps) “Julia??!? Oh NO! What did you tell her??”

Sherman: “I told her that you were intoxicated and we took care of you. We also told her not to worry too much. But now that you have finally sobered up, she shouldn’t worry so much anymore I think...”

Grant: (reaches for his phone hurriedly) “...I should really call her!”

Sherman: “Maybe you can just message her for now, it’s still quite early in the morning...”

Grant: “Ah right...I’ll message her first.” (types up a message for Julia quickly) “By the way, thank you Phil, Billy, for taking care of me, and Tommy...” (looks at Thomas slumping off to the side, sleeping on his chair) ”...oh Tommy is sleeping too...”

Sherman: “Don’t mention it. Well, I guess we can start getting ready for another drive now...”

After munching the bread and messaging Julia, Grant receives a call from her -- she talks to him in a frantic tone, almost verging into panic yet again, but Grant is now able to calm her down himself, he tells anything that he could remember from his situation to her (while repeating that he is now feeling completely fine, if slightly hungry). Julia is now finally feeling some relief, and they continue talking for a while. Sherman, not going back to sleep, starts packing up and loading his baggage into the car, and so does Sheridan. While the two are heading out to the car, Thomas wakes up and finds Grant talking on the phone. Thomas feels relieved, and after the call he asks Grant about how he feels (and on where Sherman and Sheridan are). Grant says to him that he feels rather fine now, and offers if he can drive again for the trip. Thomas says that he can just sit back for now -- for this leg of the trip he (Thomas) will start driving first again. Grant feels slightly bad about it (for holding them back during the trip due to him being intoxicated and for not being able to drive right away when they finally start going again). Thomas assures him that he doesn’t need to feel bad about it -- it is the safety of everyone that matters the most (besides, they need to see if he’s really feeling fine now during the car ride before they let Grant drive again). When Sherman and Sheridan enter the room they find Grant talking to Thomas and Sherman says that they can finally start getting ready for the trip again. Thomas agrees, and he tells everyone to get ready.

After an early breakfast they finally set out of the motel and hit the road again...

ー ー ー to be continued  ー ー ー

[omoi-no-hoka]

Rural Life and Mental Health in Japan as a Gaijin

Heads up: This is a very long, personal post about mental health and the stresses of living in rural Japan as a foreigner. If it’s not what you’re looking for in this blog, please feel free not to read it. If you can’t tell by the gif above, this isn’t going to be a very positive post because I’m not in a very positive mood.

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

It’s been just shy of five and a half years since I moved to Hokkaido, the northernmost island/prefecture in Japan. In many ways, it’s similar to the American Midwest, which is the region I’m originally from. It’s big on agriculture, it’s got lots of nature and rural areas, winters are long and nasty, and the people have a warmth that make up for the cold snow and ice outside. Heck, even a lot of the flora and fauna are the same.

I think of my current city as my “Japanese hometown” because it was where I stayed during my first trip to Japan and it’s where my hostparents from that time are. I love it here like I love my country bumpkin village of 2,800 back in the states.

But after a little over two years of living and working in this city, I think I need out. I am...tired of it in many ways.

特別扱い Tokubetsu Atsukai, “Special Treatment”

Prior to living in this city, I lived in Sapporo, which has a population of 2 million. There, no one batted an eye at a foreigner walking the streets. A lot of them were surprised that i could use Japanese, but a good few people were used to gaijin that could use nihongo and read kanji.

But in my current city, I have experienced all of the following things, some of which on a daily basis.

DISCLAIMER: I have also had a LOT of very positive experiences with the people of this city. Most of my experiences have been positive or neutral, but a good 40% have been as described below.

Everywhere I go, I am openly stared at. Gawked at, at times. (I am your standard-looking, standard-dressed, slightly overweight white girl. No visible tattoos, piercings, vibrant hair color, or otherwise attention-grabbing aspects about me other than the fact that i am clearly not Japanese.)

I am often spoken to like I am mentally disabled, or if I am with a Japanese person, they will refuse to speak to me and instead speak to my Japanese companion.

I have entered restaurants on my own and had waitstaff make a big “X” with their arms and say “No English” immediately upon seeing my non-Japanese face.

I have had waiting taxi drivers drive off instead of allow a troublesome foreigner into their car.

I have sat down alone at a bar and had the Japanese people beside me openly gossip about me with the assumption that I could not understand them.

When searching for apartments when I moved to this city, I was denied 75% of my picks because they have a “no gaijin” rule. Despite the fact that I can speak and read, that I have a good job and valid visa, and that I have already lived here 3 years without a single late rent payment or complaint against me.

I have built up casual relationships with employees at grocery stores, etc. I frequent, and they have asked me for my contact info because, in their own words, “I’ve always wanted a gaijin for a friend!” In Japan, every girl wants a token gaijin friend instead of a token gay friend.

I have gone on dates with Japanese men who clearly just wanted a white girl to hang on their arm like a piece of swag and insist on taking me to a pasta place because “You must prefer western food to Japanese food” or insisting that I dye my hair blonder to look more foreign.

I am just...so very tired of this 特別扱い (special treatment).

I don’t want to call it 差別 (prejudice) because, the majority of the time, Japanese people think they are doing me a kindness by speaking slowly and simply, or by telling me as soon as possible that they cannot help me in English, etc. While a couple of the above experiences are straight up racism (I’m looking at you, asshole taxi drivers and landlords), most of them are a misguided form of “omotenashi,” a.k.a. Japanese hospitality.

So I try very hard not to let it get to me, because I know that they don’t wish ill upon me. But I’ve worked so goddamn hard to learn this language and speak it well, and it is so frustrating for the people around me to assume that I can’t do what has been my freaking life goal. Or having people assume I can’t understand slightly difficult words and dumb down their language (Even colleagues I’ve worked with for two years now!). In the middle of a conversation they’ll say things like, “It’s hard to deal with that level of animosity--oh wait, omoi-no-hoka-san, sorry, ‘animosity’ means ‘dislike.’”

They mean it in a helpful way, but it just comes across as very condescending and I end up thinking, Oh, so they think my Japanese proficiency is so low i can’t understand that word. Which sends me into doubt over whether my language skills are actually that deficient, or whether I am speaking in a way that makes myself look at bad at Japanese.

The Effects of 特別扱い (Special Treatment)

It’s been gradual, but over the past two years, I have found myself withdrawing from the outside world. I got bad at replying to friend’s messages. I started making excuses to avoid meeting up and hanging out. I would buy all the groceries i needed to last me through the weekend on Friday after work and not emerge until Monday morning to go back to work. Even though I really love the outdoors and used to spend entire days just riding my bike along the river trails here.

...But in the past few months I’ve become unable to answer even close friends’ phone calls and messages. And I’ve even had a hard time phoning my parents, which is crazy because ever since I left home for uni I’ve called my mom on a daily basis. When I think about stepping outside of my apartment, no matter the reason or destination, I am gripped by a dread so strong I nearly throw up. I have gone a couple weekends without food because it would require me leaving my apartment to buy some, or paying for very expensive delivery which also means interacting with whoever is bringing me that food.

I’ve had a stressful summer and fall at work, and that undoubtedly has contributed to my current anxiety overload. But things have settled down at work for the past month now, and not only have I been given an award that only 2% of employees get globally, recently I have been in talks to take on what is very nearly a dream position for me within the company that is a BIG step up career-wise. I have great bosses who recognize my efforts, who listen to what I have to say, and do what they can to help when I tell them I’m in over my head.

But I have had several days where I have woken up, gotten ready for work, and just frozen at my apartment door, too sick at the thought of going outside. And yet, I can’t stand the thought of calling in sick because I feel chronic, self-imposed guilt when I take a day off, no matter the reason. So I call in to work and tell them I have a stomachache and will be in once it’s gone, (which isn’t an absolute lie), and then drag myself into work within a couple hours.

And once I enter the office, do the obligatory bow and apology for being late and causing inconveniences, the dread and anxiety vanish and I am fine until it is time for me to go outside to return home.

This makes me think that work is not a main stressor right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m going to the convenience store or the grocery store or work or anywhere. I think the constant being stared at everywhere I go has gradually accumulated to become a nasty form of social anxiety. I used to have panic attacks in middle school and high school due to home life, but since removing myself from that environment they’ve gone away. I’ve always been a socially-reserved person who shies away from the spotlight, and despite telling myself a thousand times, “Let them look at you--you’re just being you and they’re being them and that’s OKAY,” I just can’t brush it off. I have very, very seriously considered dyeing my hair from its natural brown to black in an effort to blend in, if only slightly. Which is laughable, but that’s just how much it bothers me to stand out.

But the event that really sounded the alarm for me was when my best friend of 10 years, a Japanese girl whom I met by chance my freshman year of uni, who was my roommate for 4 years of uni, who let me sleep on her living room floor here in Japan for 3 months until my work visa came through, who has been with me through thick and thin, sent me a message asking when she could drop off a souvenir for me and

I couldn’t bring myself to reply to her text.

That was when I very clearly knew that I was too deep in this funk to get myself out on my own, and I had to figure out how to get help.

Frankly, despite having struggled with panic attacks and anxiety in the past, I have never sought professional help. Until now, I never felt that my symptoms were so bad that they warranted medication. But the fact that i can’t contact my mother or my best friend, that I would rather not eat anything for two days instead of go outside, means that snorting essential oils and rubbing rose quartz against my temples or whatever isn’t going to be enough.

Mental Health Views in Japan

It’s not exactly a secret that the approach to mental health in Japan is “sweep it under the rug.” You do not talk about it. You may go to a doctor and receive medication, but you do not get counseling, because that involves talking about it. You do not tell your friends. You do not tell your family. You DEFINITELY do not tell your coworkers.

I saw my boss, T, fall into a very similar spiral to my own this summer. Stomach aches in the morning, coming in late, making excuses to get out of outings outside of work, not replying to messages, not sleeping well. And then one day he just vanished. Didn’t show up one Monday.

T wouldn’t respond to our messages so we had to contact his mother to get a hold of him. And once she had confirmed that she had spoken to him and scolded him for being “selfish” by skipping work, my coworkers were satisfied because, in their words, “Now that we know he’s still alive, we don’t have to worry.”

Honestly, that was one of the most fucked up reactions to any situation I have ever seen. I was shocked, because these coworkers truly cared for him, but their mutual reaction to this was to just...let him languish.

T announced to a select number of supervisors/colleagues that he had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and would be stepping down from his position. He said that he had been diagnosed years ago, but had not disclosed it because he knew that he would never be promoted if anyone knew.

And that’s one of the big reasons that no one wants to talk about their mental illness here. In Japan, having a mental illness is a shameful thing. It shows that you’re weak, that you can’t keep up with everyone else, that you are flawed in a way that will adversely affect those around you at one point or another.

But my company really is a great company and the people in charge are progressive. T has a lot of great skills and experience, and they didn’t want to let him go. So they told him that they would find someone to fill his current role, but once he had rested and gotten better, they wanted him to come back and do a position that he used to do, one that he really shined in and enjoyed. And that is where he’s at now, and he’s doing much better for it.

So, having seen all of this unfold mere months ago, I grappled with how much I should tell my employers. The talk of this new and big position in Tokyo was underway, yet I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it unless I got better.

So I bit the bullet, and on the night that I couldn’t respond to my best friend’s text, I sent my boss a message, explaining my symptoms, how long they’d been going on, what I thought the causes were, and that I wanted to take the morning off to see a doctor about it sometime that week.

And I was really shocked by his reply.

This boss is the guy that filled T’s position, and i didn’t know him that well yet. As it turns out, he used to be a counselor before he joined this company. He told me that I could go to the doctor whenever I wanted, but that he also wanted to talk in person about this the next day.

The next day he called me into the conference room with one other manager, a guy I really trust and like. When T vanished, shit really hit the fan at the office and it was basically this manager and me keeping us afloat for the first couple weeks, so we’ve got a lot of camaraderie going. They asked me to talk more about what was going on, why I was feeling all this anxiety, etc.

And it was during this conversation that I saw the division between the traditional Japanese views of mental health and modern views of mental health.

When I explained to them both why I wanted to see a doctor and try medication, their reactions were mixed. My boss, the former counselor, said that if I thought it was best, trying out medication for a few weeks was a good idea.

The manager looked doubtful and said, “But do you really think that going to a doctor and getting pills from him will fix everything? If you’re diagnosed, what will your colleagues think? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

In that moment i felt intense fear and regret, as well as hurt. T had said that he had withheld his diagnosis for this very reason. A part of me had wanted to think it was paranoia on his part, but now I realized that he had been right to keep it a secret. This manager, whom I knew very well and trusted deeply, clearly was of the opinion that a diagnosis/medication = evidence of weakness.

So I ended up lying and telling them, “I’ll go to the doctor just to get some sleeping pills.” (I’ve been waking up every hour on the hour for a couple months now.) Sleeping pills aren’t frowned upon in Japan and the manager was pleased with this decision.

And after that manager left, I told my boss the truth, that i would be getting anti-anxiety meds as well because I really thought it was necessary, and that I would appreciate him not disclosing it unless he was required to, which he agreed to.

Seeing a Psychiatrist in Japan

So now i had to find a psychiatrist and make an appointment. A Google search provided me horrors. Below is an excerpt of a Google review of a certain mental health clinic in my city, and the record of the exchange between the doctor and reviewer (patient). I’m not going to translate it all because it’s long, but these are some highlights of the doctor’s words directly to the patient.

“You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. What, do you want some pills for it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe what a patient says.”

(After he made the patient cry) “You are being so difficult. Could you stop crying?”

He gives her medication, has silent nurses send her out to the waiting room where she continues to cry, and the doctor comes to the waiting room and says, “Could you hurry up and pay and leave?”

Having read this, I was filled with absolute fear. Maybe I was better off trying to fix this on my own after all.

But I kept searching, and I also learned that my city hall has a 心の相談窓口 (Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi), “Mind Consultation.” You can call them to learn information about what sorts of mental health facilities/options are available in your area. A very kind lady there informed me that it takes about 2-3 months to get in to any psychiatrist in this city, most of them do not take new patients, and that counseling is almost non-existent. Unless I was a harm to myself or others, I would have to wait. However, there was one general hospital in the city that had one psychiatrist staffed. This hospital has no reservation system whatsoever (very common in Japan) and takes a set number of patients in the morning and evening. I could try my luck to get in and see her.

So that was what i did, and I was able to see her on the first morning I went! I think the Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi lady made it sound harder to get into so I wouldn’t feel let down if it didn’t work out the first time I went.

Having read the horror story above, I had a lot of trepidation stepping into the exam room with her and two nurse secretaries. I had expected it to be a very clinical, dry exchange of symptoms and a sufficient prescription with a token お大事に。

And, more than anything, I had feared that she would say something like, “Maybe you should just go home to your own country where you wouldn’t stand out.”

But she asked me a wide range of questions, with none of them focusing on the fact that I was a gaijin: what my symptoms were, how long they’d been going on, what I had going on in my life, what work was like, past history of anxiety, etc., and she and the nurses all truly listened to what i had to say. It was clear that she cared about the underlying causes and me as a person.

She told me that it sounded like I was experiencing a buildup of stress and anxiety and that she wanted me to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills for a week and then come back for another discussion.

That was 3 weeks ago. I’ve since been in the process of working with her to find the right combination of medication. Fun fact: they prescribe you Rohypnol (roofies) for sleeping meds in Japan if they deem your insomnia is serious enough. So. That is interesting.

Where I Am Now

I am keeping my boss informed of my condition and he is still very supportive. He seems to have informed his bosses of my tribulations to some extent, because they have gone out of their way to check in on me and see how I’m doing, which is very kind of them. Of course, they also know that i went above and beyond the call of duty for several months in a row until recently, and they could simply be asking because of that. Either way, I am touched that they would think of me, as I am a lowly translator for a lesser project and they are quite a ways up on the corporate ladder.

I am still in talks about taking on a very exciting position in Tokyo HQ, despite one of those bosses likely being aware of my situation to some extent. I used to dread the thought of Tokyo because I am a country girl who needs to see green, but recently I’ve come to the tough decision that I need to leave my beloved Japanese hometown, just like i left my American one. I love them, but I do not belong in them. I have visited the Tokyo HQ quite a few times, and there are a ton of foreigners in the area so I don’t stand out at all. I think that as long as I can live reasonably close enough to a park, I can satisfy my needs for nature while lessening my social anxiety.

I am having good days and bad days where it is still hard for me to leave the house. But I am having more good days than bad now. And today I was finally able to send a text message back to my best friend. Which really doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a lot to me. My friend is supportive and understanding, which means the world to me.

I’m getting back to being me. 💗

p.s.: The gif at the top of this is from the anime Mushishi, which I think illustrates various mental illnesses and their effects in a very metaphoric way.

[megabadbunny]

In Lovers’ Meeting (2/?)

Looking at him again was a mistake; Rose wasn’t sure she’d ever seen that particular brand of kicked-puppy wretchedness on the Doctor’s face before. Certainly not because of her. 

A rewrite; dedicated to the absolutely wonderful @davinasgirlfriend​ . <3

* * *

- Chapter 2 -

He still wasn’t sure he believed it.

“UNIT in this universe is stationed inside Big Ben,” said the Doctor, slowly, staring up, up, up at the tower looming over him. “UNIT works inside Big Ben.”

No one replied to this revelation, not that he expected anyone to; the sheer wall of noise around him was enough to mask any words that weren’t spoken with a shout. From the moment the Doctor and Rose and Jackie had landed in London (or Other London, as the Doctor liked to think of it), they’d been buffeted on all sides by wave after wave of delighted partiers, people of all kinds celebrating the return of the stars overhead. Along the streets and curbs and alleyways, everywhere they turned, folks flooded the place, waving flags and balloons and noisemakers, singing and dancing and chanting and hugging and shouting and cheering. The celebration was worldwide, it seemed; it had followed them every step of the way from the beach to UNIT, which, the Doctor could not stress enough, was stationed directly inside none other than Big-bleeding-Ben. 

This universe may have some potential yet.

“Oh, that feels good,” the Doctor groaned, stretching his arms til his shoulders let out a satisfying pop. Taxis and planes were rubbish things, he had decided. Why did terrestrial travel have to take place so slowly? And why did everything else have to happen so slowly, for that matter? Waiting for the taxi, riding to the airport, waiting in traffic, pre-boarding, waiting, boarding, waiting, listening to the safety presentation, finally flying, circling, landing, waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting, just what was humanity’s preoccupation with waiting, anyway? Was this what he had to look forward to, from now on? Halting in his tracks while time crawled on around him, holding still while other people made things happen? Just waiting?

This, he thought for the umpteenth time, was all going to take some getting used to.

Shutting off that line of thought—he would, he suspected, have all too much time to explore it in agonizing depth sometime later—the Doctor wriggled his toes and arched his back and wedged his hands in his pockets and felt very glad to be outside of a plane or taxi or any other horrid traveling metal-thing, very glad, indeed. Not only was his tall and fidgety self horribly cramped on the flight, but it had been rather awkward stuck between feuding mother and daughter, caught in the crossfire of their silent Cold War. And that was uncomfortable even before all this talk of the real Doctor started coming up.

(And said with such bite, too, and was that venom in his bloodstream…?)

The Doctor shook his head. Nope, nope, couldn’t think about that either. He needed a distraction. Just like he’d needed in the taxi, but the driver had proved worthless on that front, stoically responding with a series of noncommittal hm’s and yup’s to everything the Doctor said. He wondered if all the cabbies in this universe were so decisively monosyllabic, or if his small-talk skills had just gotten rusty. (Not that he could be blamed if they didn’t find astronomical phenomena or molecular structure or advanced quantum theory to be fascinating. Just what did they discuss at dinner parties, over here?)

The Doctor glanced back at the cab and the cabbie where he’d left them, his gaze wandering idly over to Jackie afterward, then to Rose. She stared at her mobile, frowning. Neither she nor Jackie had any money on hand—not like it would have done them any good jumping over to the other universe, would it?—and while the plane tickets had been easy enough to procure with a simple phone call, the payment for their taxi ride was turning out to be a little more complicated. (This universe didn’t seem to have mobile payments widely enabled yet; maybe in a year or two, the Doctor thought.) Probably they should have just waited for the town car or someone from UNIT, but Rose seemed too impatient to wait that long. The Doctor wondered at that.

Rose looked up from her mobile and the Doctor quickly glanced away, heart pounding just a little harder, though he wasn’t totally certain why.

It was an odd sensation, the single heart; he wasn’t too fond of the experience in Shakespeare’s age and he didn’t like it any better now. But at least the taxi-ride from the airport had presented a good opportunity to direct his focus inward and familiarize himself with this and other aspects of his new body—he hadn’t really had a good chance to do it before, what with being too busy saving the universe again and all—and he was pleased to note that aside from the obvious cardiac differences, much of his biological makeup was still the same, or near enough.

Hands? Check. Feet? Two. Fingers? Operational. Hair? Great hair. Still wasn’t ginger, though. And really, you’d think his new body would have at least had the courtesy to adopt some ginger-genes along with all of the other nonsense it had borrowed from Donna.

Oh, no. Donna.

He wondered how long she had before—

No. That didn’t bear thinking about right now. That didn’t bear thinking about ever.

The new respiratory system! That was good, that was a much better thing to think about. His new respiratory system was rubbish. The lack of a bypass was definitely going to cause him trouble. He could imagine his bronchial tubes seizing up during a run, throat burning, eyes stinging, legs aching, lungs emptying of oxygen faster than he could replenish them. That sounded like fun, not a silly aspect of human existence at all.

He was at least satisfied to note that many of his senses were still fully intact, fresh-peeled and sharp and absolutely raring to overload him with sensory input. Ocular and olfactory capabilities were excellent as ever, even if his vomeronasal organ was now essentially rendered vestigial. His gustatory potential had yet to be tested, and that would need to take place sooner rather than later, if that growling, gnawing feeling behind his ribs was anything to go by. And he still had that extra-heightened tactile sense that commonly accompanied regeneration. Then there was the quieting of his time sense, both a blessing and a curse. It was a bit, he suspected, like riding in a car without a seatbelt; certainly more comfortable, but also dangerous and hilariously ill-advised. Ultimately that also didn’t bear thinking about either and was thus shoved back into the darker recesses of his brain, along with all the other million things screaming for his attention even as he firmly closed the door on them.

But the heart—he couldn’t ignore that. For one thing, his chest felt oddly empty without the dual heartsbeat, but the Doctor suspected that some other human bits had taken up too much room for the binary system, his insides all crowded up by a series of strange organs he hadn’t needed before. Tonsils and gallbladder and plica semilunaris and appendix and really, what was that all about? He reminded himself to get rid of the appendix as soon as possible, nasty thing.

But despite the loss of his second pulse, at times his single heart seemed determined to make up the difference, especially where Rose was concerned. That was new. She had always captured his attention with alarming ease, to be certain, but this was…different. The Doctor’s pulse had galloped to a frenzy when Rose placed her hand on his chest, back on the beach; when she pulled him in for the kiss, it had damn well skyrocketed. (During the kiss, he wasn’t actually sure what his heart was doing, because his mind went strangely blank, unable to focus on anything that wasn’t the feel of Rose’s arms around his neck or her lips pressed to his or the hints of warmth and moisture exchanged between them.) The sensation was pleasant enough—all right, so it was good—all right, so it was brilliant—but the Doctor did not overly appreciate his body reacting to stimuli without his approval. It made him feel powerless and untethered, a lumbering idiot drunk on a cocktail of new hormones and pheromones and other strange human things that didn’t make sense yet.

Speaking of which.

Fidgeting in discomfort, the Doctor shuffled his shoes against the ground, his plimsolls encountering something with a crunch. The Doctor rolled his eyes, privately scolding these humans and their tendency to just leave rubbish lying around like so much--well, rubbish--but when he leaned over to pick up the offending item, he frowned. Amidst the rubbish of discarded party cups and beer-bottles and confetti and limp balloon carcasses half-stamped to oblivion beneath the crowd’s many feet, the Doctor spotted something that looked an awful lot like a protest sign, its message no worse the wear for all that the sign was now crumpled and soggy. The end is nigh, the sign read in large, ominous letters. Do not fight. Surrender and repent.

Curious. The Doctor cocked his head, eyes narrowing like maybe if he stared hard enough, he could make sense of this sentiment. He could only imagine this was some bizarre quasi-religious reaction to the disappearance of the stars overhead, though why anyone would embrace such a nihilistic viewpoint was beyond him. (Human religion, he decided, was one activity he would not be partaking in. No, ta.) He added it to the list of things he’d have to ask Rose about later.

“Oh, look, Rose. There he is!”

The Doctor’s head jerked instinctively at the familiar voice rising over the rabble, and he glanced over to see Jackie waving excitedly at someone behind him. He turned to find Pete Tyler emerging from UNIT, looking, perhaps, a little plumper but certainly a lot better than he had the last time the Doctor laid eyes on him, even if he was scanning the crowd with an intensity that bordered on the frantic.

“Pete!” Jackie shouted. “Over here, love!”

Spotting Jackie, Pete instantly relaxed; even from here, the Doctor could spot the tension melting from him. He waved back at Jackie, the two of them laughing as they waded through the crowd, their walk turning to a jog and then a sprint until the two of them collided in the middle in a mess of limbs, arms wrapping around each other like the coils of a spring. Whooping, Pete lifted Jackie off the ground, spinning her round and round heedless of the crowd seething around them, only to be pulled in by Jackie the second he set her down so she could pepper his face with kisses. They were totally oblivious to the noise and commotion around them, a tiny island in the midst of a sea at high tide, exchanging more hugs and kisses and whispered hello’s and broad, joyful smiles. It tugged at something deep in the Doctor’s gut. If he didn’t know any better, he’d be tempted to label the feeling something like longing.

(He tried to shake it away but couldn’t dislodge the memory of turning to see Rose on that darkened street. The way everything fell silent around them, the way she smiled like the sun when their gazes met, the way the world stopped turning beneath him—he wouldn’t ever forget that, in this body or any other. Was there a universe where they’d made their way to each other like Jackie and Pete—was there a universe where he didn’t feel like a stranger in his own body, where Rose didn’t keep looking at him like she wished he was someone else?)

Don’t be stupid, he chided himself. He did not envy Jackie and Pete. No way, no-how. There was no way things had gotten that bad. That conversation on the plane was just an anomaly, that was all. Just the byproduct of exhaustion after a period of intense stress. Only to be expected. Soon enough, things would slide back into normalcy. Rose wasn’t the type to hold onto anger; compassion and forgiveness and understanding and stubborn resilience were ingrained in her nature every bit as deeply as things like blinking and breathing. Besides, this wasn’t really any different from the last time he’d changed. Apart from the obvious differences.

Temporary. This was all temporary. He just needed to give her a little bit of time. A little time to rest, recover, recuperate. That was understandable. Yes. He could do that. It wouldn’t take long, knowing her. In the meantime--well, in the meantime, he just had to act normal. Just be himself. Isn’t that what all the platitudinous children’s-films cheerfully chirped? Just be yourself. He could do that.

(…right?)

“They seem happy,” said the Doctor as Rose approached, her gaze locked wearily on her parents. “They are happy, right?”

Rose nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “They are.”

“Good. Very good. So things are going well, here in the new universe?”

“For them, yeah.”

The Doctor fought not to fidget. “And for you?”

Rose did not reply.

“All right there, mate?” said Pete, pulling Jackie along with his arm draped over her shoulders, hers cinched snugly about his waist. He held out his free hand for the Doctor to shake, and the Doctor accepted. “So the world didn’t end after all--had a feeling you might have been involved.”

“Might’ve been,” said the Doctor, grinning.

“Oi!” piped up Jackie, swatting Pete’s chest good-naturedly. “Rose and me had something to do with it, too!”

“I know, love,” Pete laughed, and he drew Jackie close so he could kiss the top of her head. The Doctor wondered if he’d ever seen either of them quite so soft. It suited them.

“God, I’m knackered,” said Jackie with a contented sigh. “We’re off for a good night’s rest. Or as good as Tony’ll let us get, anyway. He’s up at five in the morning, sometimes, ready to play! And if the nursery gave him any sugar, oh, Lord have mercy on us all…”

Shaking her head in exasperation, Jackie sighed again. “Anyway,” she said to Rose. “Don’t stay out too late, yeah? I worry.”

“I know, Mum,” Rose mumbled, but allowed Jackie to pull her in for a hug anyway. (The Doctor grudgingly permitted a hug from Jackie as well, but only grudgingly.) Moments later, the taxi was gone, Jackie and Pete with it. That left the Doctor alone with Rose for the first time in—well, in years.

It was decidedly awkward.

“So this is London on the other side, then?” the Doctor asked, gazing up at the zeppelins drifting lazily over the skyscrapers. He shielded his eyes from the too-bright light of the streetlamps. He couldn’t help but feel like Superman on kryptonite, his senses as raw as they were. Or, no. He grimaced inwardly. Superman was too much of a boring goody-goody. He was more like Wonder Woman. Eh, he didn’t fancy wearing a girdle. That left Batman. Yes, Batman was a good choice. He liked Batman. All dark and broody and too smart for his own good.

Rose was staring at him.

“What?” he said.

“Just said Yeah,” she replied with a shrug, shoving her hands in her jacket-pockets. 

“Right, right.”

They both stood for a moment, silent amongst the noise carrying on around them. Rose avoided his gaze.

“Still, looks about the same, doesn’t it?” the Doctor said. “Same old London, same old world. Except for the zeppelins.”

“Mmm.”

“Shall we go in, then?”

Rose raised an eyebrow. “You’re coming in with me?”

“Well, the taxi is gone, so…am I not?” asked the Doctor, confused. What else was he supposed to do while she was at work? Discover more horrible new squishy human body parts? Play horrible-squishy-human-body-part bingo?

With a sigh, Rose shook her head. “Fine. Do whatever you like. Just don’t—”

“Wander off?” the Doctor finished with a grin. A hint of a smile crept into her eyes, and the Doctor grinned at her hopefully. “Rule number one,” he said, and her smile deepened a little bit more.

“Was that a smile?” the Doctor teased.

“No.”

“That was a smile.”

“No it wasn’t,” Rose mumbled, turning to leave.

“Whatever you say,” said the Doctor, smirking as he followed her through the crowd. “So, off to work. What do we do first? File a report? Fill out some paperwork? Saved the universe again, requesting per diem, that sort of thing?”

“No,” said Rose with a heavy exhale. “First I deal with my boss.”

 **

 “What do you mean, Smith’s not coming back?” Oliver demanded, shouting over the roar of caretakers vacuuming the corridor outside his office. When Rose couldn’t find the words to reply, offering only a limp shrug in response, Oliver leaned back in his chair with a long-suffering sigh, hands scrubbing his face. “This is an administrative nightmare,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “What am I supposed to say on the paperwork? You can’t just decide to stay in a whole other universe without even saying—I mean, who does that? Who in the hell just up and does something like that?”

Rose could sense the Doctor glancing her way at that; god, she wished he wouldn’t. Why had she allowed him in here with her, again?

“His gran passed a while back,” Rose replied, staring at the wall behind Oliver’s head, at the caretakers working behind the glass. “Didn’t really have anything to come back to, after that.”

“And neither of you thought to tell me about this before he left?”

I didn’t think I would be coming back either, Rose thought dully, but before she had a chance to pipe up, the Doctor stepped in with, “It struck me as something of a last-minute decision, personally. Less of a plan, more of an impulse. You know how humans are, making life-altering, world-making decisions on a whim. It’s sort of admirable, really, if perpetually frustrating.”

Oliver stared at him. “Who is this supposed to be?” he asked Rose. “And why does he look like that Doctor bloke you used to prattle on about all the time?”

“Ooh, all the time, eh?” said the Doctor, beaming at Rose, who fervently wished a black hole would spring up and swallow her. “All the time. I’ll remember that for later.”

He leaned over the desk to offer Oliver a handshake. “Hello! I am indeed the Doctor.”

“Sort of,” muttered Rose under her breath.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” the Doctor continued, as if he hadn’t heard her.

Oliver accepted his handshake. “Lieutenant-Colonel Oliver Barnes, Senior UNIT Administrator. Why is he here?” he asked Rose.

“It’s…complicated.”

“So you said on the phone. Care to elaborate?”

“It was a semi-regenerative metacrisis event—” the Doctor started, but a sharp glance from Rose shut him up.

“Look—we found the source of the problem and we neutralized it,” Rose told Oliver. “Stars are back, crisis is averted, universe saved.”

“You’re welcome,” the Doctor added.

Oliver huffed. “That’s all good and well, but it hardly addresses--”

“Look, everything’s back to normal now. Isn’t that what matters most?”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Oliver frowned. “What matters most? What’s gotten into you? You’ve never been the type that only cares about the big picture—whatever happened to ‘Examine everything, think of everyone’?” 

Rose offered another limp shrug in lieu of a response.

“Right,” huffed Oliver, inhaling loudly through his nostrils. The heavy breeze set his salt-and-pepper mustache twitching frantically against his dark skin; Rose knew he was trying to engage the standard calming technique taught in all mandatory UNIT wellness sessions. Trying—not necessary succeeding. “So the last few days, you’ve just been hijacking equipment, jumping universes without authorization, ignoring communications from your senior officer, losing valuable agents, abandoning any semblance of safety standards or proper protocol, and running around with this sort of the Doctor bloke, and now—now you won’t even offer me the courtesy of a proper explanation why?”

Rose stared at the glass behind him, silent.

Muttering beneath his breath in frustration, Oliver rubbed a hand over his receding hairline. Rose imagined he probably blamed her for some of that hair loss; honestly, she couldn’t blame him. He glanced up at her, scratching the back of his head. His eyes were weary.

“Tyler…I’m gonna have to let you go,” he said, quietly, as if in apology.

Rose did not reply.

“I don’t want to. I like you, Tyler. God help me, but I do. You’re smart--smart and resourceful. And focused. Driven. Great team player, fantastic team leader. Got a work ethic other bosses would kill for. But you’ve officially tipped the point where your cons outweigh your pros.”

He drew in a deep breath. “You’ve become a liability.”

“Now, hang on a minute,” said the Doctor, bristling.

“No, it’s okay—” Rose tried to say, tiredly massaging her sore temples, but her words were buried under the Doctor’s insistence that “You’re lucky to have her here. She probably knows more about extradimensional travel and time-space dynamics and extraterrestrial relations than everyone else here combined!”

“True, and she’s also broken more rules, required more hospitalizations, and racked up higher damages that everyone else here combined,” Oliver replied coolly.

“Oh,” said the Doctor, nonplussed. Then, curiously, “How much in damages?”

“About £53 million.”

“Well, good on you!” the Doctor laughed, clapping Rose on the back. “Or no, that’s actually quite bad, isn’t it?” he asked upon seeing the look on her face.

“The fact is, this was a long time coming,” Oliver told Rose, his expression pleading with her to understand. “And I think you know that. Christa turned a blind eye to your shenanigans for years. We all did—your work with extraterrestrials and the jumps and the Cannon, it was brilliant stuff, all of it. And no one could do it quite like you. But you can’t keep breaking the rules like this. Your impulses, your split-second decisions, your stubbornness, they make messes that the rest of us are stuck cleaning up, for days, weeks, months after you’ve moved on. I won’t say you don’t get good results; you get excellent results, yes, and Pete’s donations don’t hurt either, but it still isn’t fair to the rest of us. You—you understand that, yeah?”

Rose nodded, numb.

“I’m sorry, Tyler,” said Oliver, and he looked like he meant it. “But once you get this one into processing, after you’ve been debriefed…I’m going to have to ask you to pack up your things.”

“Okay,” she replied softly.

With a frown, Oliver looked her over. “You gonna be all right?”

Rose shrugged, turning to leave. “Doesn’t matter.”

It was no worse than what she had expected, maybe no worse than what she deserved. She left the office without so much as a backward glance.

“Oliver’s a sunny ol’ chap, isn’t he?” asked the Doctor as he caught up with her.

“He’s a good bloke. Best boss I ever had,” replied Rose. “Anyway, he’s right. I screwed up. A lot. No surprises there, it’s what I’m best at.”

“Now we both know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Nope,” said the Doctor. “It sounds like you were pretty integral to the proceedings here, not to mention you helped build something that safely traversed the untraverseable. Not just anybody could do that, not even me. You made some major contributions to something fairly miraculous.”

“Yeah, fat lot of good it did.”

“Well, it helped save the multiverse, so I’d call that a fat lot of good.”

“Not what I was talking about,” Rose muttered.

As they approached the lift, she glanced over to see the Doctor watching her, his brow knit with confusion. “What?” she asked tiredly.

“What were you talking about, then?”

“Nothing,” Rose sighed. She punched the button to summon the lift. “Just…nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m certainly worried now. What were you talking about?”

Rose was starting to regret ever allowing him inside the building with her. Why hadn’t she just left him on the curb?

(Silly question; she knew why. She knew exactly why. No matter how much she told herself she didn’t.)

“Look, I know four years probably doesn’t seem like a very long time to you,” she said, carefully avoiding his gaze. “But it’s a long time for a human to work so hard for something, only to be told ‘No,’ and ‘Have this other thing instead’, and ‘Just because I said so.’”

For a moment the silence between them was disrupted only by the chime of the lift, announcing its approach with a series of cheerful dings. “It’s not like you came back empty-handed, you know,” said the Doctor.

“I shouldn’t have come back at all. I should be there, in the TARDIS, with him, but here I am, stuck with you.”

Looking at him again was a mistake; Rose wasn’t sure she’d ever seen that particular brand of kicked-puppy wretchedness on the Doctor’s face before. Certainly not because of her. That sick feeling started crawling around inside her gut again and she swallowed against it, steeling herself. Since when did the Doctor allow that sort of emotion to display so openly, anyway? The other Doctor surely would have stormed off or changed the topic by now.

Then in the blink of an eye he shifted, a calm and chipper mask sliding back into place like it had never slipped in the first place. “Welp, I’m sorry you feel that way,” the Doctor said cheerfully, and was Rose just imagining it, or did his voice sound a little strained? “But what’s done is done, nothing we can do to change it. So we might as well make the best of things, yeah?”

Rose said a silent prayer of thanks as the lift finally arrived; it gave her a good reason not to look him in the eye as she lied. “Yeah,” she said. “Sure.”

The lift split open and Rose stepped inside, her entire body alight with nerves. “So listen, I’ve got to go take care of this thing, and I--”

“On your own?”

God, he was making this difficult. “You can’t go,” she lied. “It’s my debriefing. Strictly classified. And you’ve got to go through processing anyway, take care of your medical inspection and the like.”

The Doctor laughed in disbelief. “You’re not seriously suggesting that I let UNIT poke and prod and dissect me like some sort of lab animal.”

“‘Course not. It’s nothing like that. It’s just for their records and your paperwork.”

Disgruntled, the Doctor wrinkled his nose. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. Do what you like, it’s no difference to me,” said Rose as she stepped into the lift. “But I’ve got to go at any rate. And I’m gonna be a while, so you might as well find something to do to pass the time. Directory’s down that way,” she said, gesturing, “but the research library’s open all night, the cafeteria’s still open for the next few minutes if you’re hungry--”

“What about you, though? When did you last eat?”

Rose’s leg jittered with impatience. “I don’t know. A day ago? It’s not important. Just--look, you don’t need to worry about me, okay? That’s not your job.”

“On the contrary, worrying about you is very much a full-time job.”

He said it like a joke, punctuated with a grin, but was it just Rose’s imagination, or was the smile just a little tighter than usual, almost strained…? The urge to reach out and comfort him seized her, making her hand itch to fly out and grab his. She’d block the lift doors so she could pull him in with her, she thought, offering a reassuring hug or an apology or another kiss or just something to ease that tense smile off his face. But Rose stopped herself, punched the button to close the doors faster instead.

“See you later, then,” said the Doctor.

Not if I see you first, she almost replied, but at the last second Rose bit her tongue to stop the words tumbling out. Just because he looked like the Doctor (and sounded like him, talked like him, thought and remembered and smelled and acted and felt like him too) didn’t mean he was. He was just a day-old copy, a clone, a replica; Rose had to hold onto that thought, or else her resolve was going to melt like an ice cube left on a hot summer sidewalk. And she couldn’t afford that, not right now. Not if she was going to go through with her plan.

 ***

 The Doctor stared without seeing, hands clenched in his pockets, palms damp with nervous sweat. That was another first; he couldn’t say he cared for it. Just another way his body seemed hellbent on betraying him at every turn. Probably he’d go into cardiac arrest next, just for the hell of it.

His mind played Rose’s words over and over again, round and round and torturing him like the world’s most sadistic carousel.

I should be there, in the TARDIS, with him.

But here I am, stuck with you.

The Doctor sighed in frustration. How the hell do you convince someone that you are who you are?

He hadn’t anticipated this. Of course he’d known there would be an adjustment period--only to be expected from a species unaccustomed to the revolving-door that was regeneration--and of course he’d suspected that Rose wouldn’t be thrilled at things going differently than she’d planned--he’d guessed that would happen, he wasn’t that thick. He was aware, and he was somewhat sympathetic, even if this was just the best decision for everyone, in the end. But maybe it had been overly optimistic to think that she would be happy in a universe with no TARDIS and no science-magic and no nigh-immortal cosmic tour guide pulling her from star to star. Perhaps he’d been foolish to think that he, by himself, was enough.

Frustration and hurt simmered in his veins but he forced them away, reminding himself to be patient, for Rose’s sake. She just needed time. And understanding. And probably something to eat. And definitely some rest. And--

“‘Scuse me? I said, did you need anything before I close up?”

The Doctor shook himself out of his reverie, shifting his focus from the plastic-wrapped food beneath the display glass. He blinked the harsh fluorescent lights out of his eyes, waved their buzz out of his ears. A red-haired dinner lady peered up at him from behind the counter, fanning herself with a folded-up paper plate, smiling a kind smile that lit up her entire face. She could almost pass for a younger Donna, maybe her sister.

(Donna again, and what was going to happen to her, and how much of it was his fault, just like everything else--?)

“Ah, no thanks,” said the Doctor, offering a pale smile in return. “Turns out I’m not hungry after all.”

“Well, you look like you should eat something anyhow. You’re so skinny I could probably knock you over with one hard glance.”

The Doctor chuckled halfheartedly, and the dinner lady tilted her head, as if he was a puzzle she’d just solved. “Did you leave your wallet at home, love?” she asked, voice laced with sympathy.

“Something like that. Or, actually--”

Rummaging about in his pockets, he procured the psychic paper, glad he’d snuck it out of his old coat at the last second. (Oh no, his coat; he wouldn’t see that again, would he? The loss made his stomach hurt. Or maybe that was just his stupidly flawed new body.) He flipped the paper open for the dinner lady to see. “Don’t suppose this would do the trick?”

She frowned. “Don’t suppose so. Just says you’re feeling a little blue.”

“Really?” asked the Doctor, impressed. He flipped the paper back round to check. “That’s strange, it should be telling you I’m some UNIT higher-up.”

“You’ll have to try harder than that, I’m afraid. We’ve all had basic psychic training here. Agent Tyler’s orders.”

“Would that be Agent Rose Tyler, then?” asked the Doctor, and the dinner lady nodded. The Doctor beamed with pride. “Brilliant.”

“You know her?”

“You could say that.” He stowed the psychic paper back in his pockets. “So how long have I got before your silent alarm kicks in and some lovely armed soldiers kick me out for ‘attempted use of psychic persuasion’ or something like that?”

“You’ll be waiting a while yet, no one’s called them.”

“Oh?”

“Nope. Your paper-thing said I should feel sorry for you, not scared of you.”

“Did it?” the Doctor chuckled. “Cheeky thing.”

With one last longing look at the food beneath the glass (his stomach rumbling in accompaniment, and since when did his body make such nasty burbling noises without his permission? What a horrid experience this whole human hunger thing was), the Doctor offered the dinner lady a wave goodbye. “Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll just let you get on with closing up--”

“Wait!”

The Doctor paused. Fanning herself a little harder now, the dinner lady glanced round the cafeteria; upon finding it empty, she jerked her head in the universal sign of come closer, leaning forward conspiratorially as he approached. 

“We’ve probably got some ‘damaged goods’ I could give you for free, if you know what I mean,” the dinner lady said in a low voice. “You know. Stuff that I maybe could have dropped on the floor, or something?”

The Doctor’s eyebrow piqued in interest. “Well. It would certainly be a shame to let such perfectly good, mostly unblemished food go to waste, wouldn’t it?” he whispered.

“A terrible shame,” replied the dinner lady with a grin. “How do you fancy bananas?”

“Ah, a woman after my own heart! I love bananas!”

With one last glance around the cafeteria, the dinner lady passed him a banana over the counter, sneaking in a cling-wrapped sandwich as well for good measure. The Doctor pocketed the sandwich for later and started in immediately on the banana, peeling it just enough to get in one big, satisfying bite.

(And oh, was it ever a good bite. His eyes fluttered shut as the scent filled his nose and the flavor filled his mouth, soft and sweet and dense and plush and a good damn bite, indeed. Not too soft, not too firm, not too green, not too ripe. Quite possibly one of the best things he’d ever eaten. And the feeling of relief spreading through him was absolutely divine. Maybe human hunger wasn’t quite so terrible after all, if food was always as satisfying as this.)

Sighing in relief around a mouthful of fruit, the Doctor opened his eyes to find the dinner lady watching him in amusement. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Miranda,” said the dinner lady, smiling. But then she paled and the fanning stopped as she pressed one hand to her face, aghast. “Oh no, you’re not some sort of secret shopper or anything, are you? I promise I’m not in the habit of giving food away!”

“No, no! Nothing of the sort,” said the Doctor, waving the banana reassuringly. In reality he hadn’t a clue what a ‘secret shopper’ might be, but he was fairly confident that he was not one. “I just wanted to say thank you, Miranda.”

Miranda’s laugh of relief quickly devolved into a cough, which she muffled against her shoulder. “You’re welcome,” she said, fanning herself again in relief as twin patches of blush blossomed across her cheeks. “Sorry, I’m just a little paranoid is all. Can’t afford to lose this job. Got kids at home to take care of, you know? And they ain’t cheap!”

“How many kids?”

“Four.” 

“Four! That’s a healthy number.”

Miranda smiled sadly. “That’s what I said. But my brother always wanted a house full of kids. Probably would have had even more, if he were still with us. Bless his silly soul.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor, swallowing. “I’m very sorry.”

She just continued to fan herself, offering a little shrug in response. “Anyway, it’s not like I’ve got many other options for work. Not that I mind it here,” she said quickly, as if she was still afraid that the Doctor might reveal himself to be some sort of retail spy after all. “It’s a decent place, decent people, especially after Smith and the Tylers came in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, they really turned things around for us here at the bottom of the food chain. Pushed for better pay, better benefits and the like. Word has it Mrs. Tyler funded some of it out of her own pocket. It was the funniest thing, actually, I’d always heard Mrs. Tyler was a bit of a mean old bird, but then she finds out some people here aren’t making a livable wage and she absolutely riots!” Miranda laughed, and coughed into her shoulder again. “I guess it just goes to show, you don’t always know people, do ya?”

“No,” said the Doctor, softly. “I suppose you don’t.”

“Anyways, anywhere else, I’d have to work two or three jobs to make ends meet. Not here, though. Not anymore.” Miranda glanced at the Doctor with an uncertain grin. “So, be sure to write that on your secret report-thing, yeah? How much we all like it here?”

“Will do,” the Doctor chuckled, and Miranda’s grin widened into something genuine.

“See you around?” Miranda asked hopefully.

“Most definitely,” replied the Doctor, flashing her his most handsome grin. (Probably the effect was diminished by his mouthful of banana, but oh well.) He polished off more of the fruit as he exited the cafeteria, now deep in thought.

Money. Ugh, that was something he was going to need now, wasn’t it? He’d sort of managed his way around it in the past, but without the TARDIS, that wasn’t a possibility anymore. Even if he only had one person to support--and he honestly couldn’t imagine how Miranda managed to do it for five people, that sounded absolutely bonkers--he was going to have to find a way to make money. He was going to have to get a proper job. But before that, he should probably buy a change of clothes. But before that, he would need to confirm he had a place to stay. (He did, didn’t he? With Rose? But what if he didn’t? Then he’d have to pay for a place to stay. And--)

And then work for all of those things until you drop dead crept into his thoughts unbidden. Because that’s what humans do. They work. They eat. They sleep. They die.

“That’s a bleak prospect,” the Doctor muttered to no one in particular. “Besides, there’s plenty to make it all worthwhile. Good things, good food, good people…”

Good person, really. But if she wanted nothing to do with him--if that never changed--

The next few decades looked awfully empty without her in them.

(Except why had she looked at him like that on the beach, if she was determined to hate him forever, if she was so certain that he wasn’t him? Why had she leaned in close when he whispered in her ear--why had she kissed him?)

Something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach, and for all that it suddenly felt hollow, the Doctor couldn’t bring himself to eat another bite. Instead, discomfort gnawed at his insides as he remembered the months that passed after he lost Rose. Even if the initial pain had died down somewhat, faded to a dull background ache instead of a constant splitting wound, he had missed her terribly. He still did.

“Rubbish,” the Doctor scoffed. “How can you miss someone when they’re right there?”

And just like that, his desire to eat had fled once again. The Doctor stood in the corridor, picking at the banana peel, wondering if all humans experienced these wild swings in appetite, or if this body in particular was flawed, or if the food in this universe didn’t offer sufficient nutrition, somehow.

“Just not my world,” he murmured. “Not my world at all.”

He glanced up to find a caretaker, pausing in the middle of his paint-job to watch the Doctor talk to himself, and looking on with no small amount of bemusement.

“I’m rehearsing a play,” said the Doctor drily. “It opens Friday in the West End. Wanna come?”

With a disgruntled cough and a shake of the head, the caretaker resumed painting, and the Doctor continued ambling down the corridor, tossing the last bite of his banana into a nearby bin. In fishing around his pockets for a handkerchief, his fingers brushed against a small lump of coral hiding amongst the other trinkets and bobs and bits and everything else; with a jolt, the Doctor remembered the wink Donna shot him when she wordlessly pressed it into his palm. That wink told him everything would be all right. That, and if he so much as breathed a word about this to the other Doctor, she’d bludgeon him about the head.

His fingers closed around the coral and he breathed a little easier. He said a silent, belated thanks to Donna for her help, and more importantly, for her trust. Goodness, but he already missed her horribly.

She was right, though. He was certain of that. Even if things looked dire at the moment, they’d turn out all right in the end. Things had a funny habit of working out that way. Soon enough, everything would be just--

A scream tore through the air and ripped through his thoughts.

The Doctor whirled round, placing the source of the scream. It sounded like it had come from the cafeteria--

It sounded like Miranda.

A split-second later the Doctor was sprinting back down the hallway, pushing past the caretaker and knocking over a potted plant as he reached the cafeteria entrance. Chest heaving with exertion (really? already? rubbish human respiratory system), the Doctor scanned the room all over for the nice dinner lady, looking over the rows of tables and benches, the rubbish-bins, the counter--

Miranda wasn’t standing back there anymore.

The Doctor ran through the cafeteria, jumping over the counter and pushing open the kitchen doors. Between a pair of industrial shelves, sprawled facedown on the rubber mats, there she was. Fingernails dark, as if bruised, her hand clutched a company radio, its speaker shrieking out a shrill static tone in the silence. Something wet coated the mat beneath Miranda, shining dully in the flickering fluorescent lights.

Even from here, it was apparent that she was dead.

“Miranda, can you hear me?” the Doctor asked anyway, kneeling next to her on the mat. “I’m going to administer CPR, all right?” he said as he slid a large bag of rice from its place on a shelf. “Just give me one second, I’ve got to slip this beneath your chest to provide a counter-force for the…”

He trailed off, frowning. He’d assumed it was a trick of the light, before, but now that he knelt closer, he could see that the fluid coating the mat beneath Miranda’s face wasn’t the telltale crimson of blood; it was black, thick, something sticky and ichorous like molasses or oil. Agonizingly aware of every precious second that ticked by, the Doctor leaned forward and pulled Miranda’s hair away from her neck and face. His mouth fell open in shock.

Whatever had happened to her...Miranda didn’t look like Miranda anymore.

No longer pink-cheeked and bright, her skin was pale, almost white, utterly drained of color and life. Dark fluid seeped from her mouth, coating her teeth and staining her lips black. The capillaries in her face and neck had gone dark, an inky spiderweb standing stark beneath translucent skin. Dark grey tears streamed down her cheek in a slimy-shiny snail’s trail. Her eyes, open and unseeing, were black as pitch. All of that told the Doctor three things: one, Miranda’s blood oxygen levels were so low, no amount of cardiopulmonary resuscitation would help her. Two, he had no earthly clue what killed her--or unearthly clue, for that matter. And three, whatever had killed her, it worked quickly. Shockingly quickly.

“Oh, Miranda,” the Doctor murmured, aghast. “What happened to you?”

On impulse, he pressed two fingers against the carotid artery in her neck, only to snap back the instant he made contact; her skin was hot to the touch, impossibly so. It was far beyond feverish--if the Doctor had to label it, the word would be boiling.

The Doctor cursed himself. Whatever this was--this chemical reaction, or bacteria, or virus, he couldn’t be sure just yet--it hadn’t arisen out of nowhere. Miranda was surely suffering when they spoke just moments before, and he simply hadn’t noticed. Hadn’t noticed, because he was human, now, and prone to a human’s distractions and stupidity and carelessness and assorted other flaws. If he’d been his old self, surely he would have noticed any telltale signs straightaway, maybe would have spotted them in time to save her.

If he’d been his old self…

“I’m sorry,” he sighed heavily amidst the sounds of UNIT employees gathering behind him, murmuring and gasping at the scene, urging each other to call 999. “I’m so, so sorry.”

It looked like this was his world, after all.

***

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[spongeekat]

The 6 Times Peter Wanted To Reveal his Identity (And the 1 Time He Did) Chapter 2

read on ao3

Masterlist Here

As always, HUGE thank you to my beta reader @alurkerofnote who was super patient during my busy ass weekend! 

Day 2- Monday

“Peter?”

“Five more minutes, May…”

“Peter, dude, your phone won’t stop buzzing and the professor is getting annoyed.”

Professor? Shit.

Peter shot instantly awake, the blurry image of Mary Jane’s fire red hair permeating his sleep-heavy eyes. He gingerly picked his sore body up until he was sitting up, wiping the moisture that had gathered on his forehead away. As promised, the professor was making direct eye contact with him while she continued to speak, and her finger pointed sharply at Peter’s cell sitting on the edge of his desk. Sheepishly, he retrieved it and mouthed an apology. His thumbs drug the notification screen down, finding a few texts from an unknown number. He absently tried to listen to the lecture, but he must have slept through quite a few key concepts, because he had no idea what was being discussed. Well, just another night he’d have to spend teaching himself from the textbook.

Curiously he swiped until he arrived at his texting app, and the harassment he was receiving suddenly made sense.

hey petey-pie checkin in since u didnt message me

luv dp

u getting these???????? is this a fake number?

pls tell me u didnt die.

hellooooooooooooooo

im gonna sing until you answer

since uve been gone i been lost without a trace

i dream at night only i can see ur face

i look around but its u i cant replace

i feel so cold and i long 4 ur embrace

i keep cryin baby BABY PLEASE

OH CANT U SEEEEEEE

holy fuck balls this dude wont put down his gun ill finish the song later but pleeaaaaseee text me back <3 or ill come over

That last text was sent 3 minutes ago, and Peter could only imagine his poor next door neighbors’ faces if Deadpool decided to show up at their door. He hurriedly typed up a reply before that chance even came close to becoming reality, trying to ignore the romantic connotations of the song.

Sorry. In class. I’m doing fine. Not dead. Please don’t stop by. I live next to an elderly Hispanic woman that would have a heart attack if she saw you.

There was a uniform page turn in the rows surrounding him, and he took that as his cue to flip the page in his book. Wade hadn’t responded yet, and Peter briefly considered dipping out of school to make sure Mrs. Moreno wasn’t calling the police if Wade really had decided to show up.

i was calling my ride but im glad to hear back from u

do u need anything??

warm milk, a big hug, an xbox one?

“Who are you texting? You look like a dork.”

Mary Jane’s whispers distracted Peter from his stupor, and he realized then he had a grin tugging at his lips that had only appeared upon reading his texts. He wiped the stupid look from his face and sucked in a breath to give a well-thought out reply. “No one.”

“Ah.” The redhead pressed the tip of her pen against her rosy lips, giving Peter a knowing smile that had heat crawling up his neck. “A guy?”

“Oh my god, MJ, it’s not like that. I’m just on an app.” Peter whispered back more insistently, flipping his phone over on the desk. “Just funny pictures.”

“Mhmmm.” Mary Jane’s hum was too insincere, and it was clear she wasn’t about to let this go. “Well, you should get back to your ‘funny pictures’ before they disappear.”

“I will.” Peter murmured and swiped his phone from the desk, tucking it back under the edge of the desk. His eyes read over Wade’s texts a few more times, a few different responses dancing on his fingertips, before he finally decided to type.

I’ll be fine. Thanks for checking in.

In truth, these past few weeks had been brutal. Between tensions building in the city, accompanied by the rise of crime, and the press being hot on his ass every time he missed an opportunity to bring someone in to justice, he had been missing sleep and stressing harder about trying to become a more efficient hero in the city. The meal that Wade had forced on him was the first time he’d even touched real food in almost 2 weeks. Being pressured to have a ‘night-in’ had taken quite a lot of stress off of Peter’s shoulders for at least a day, but it also meant his body realized he was willing to let it rest for a little bit and was fighting him to try to catch up on more sleep. While the night before had been completely humiliating, it had been relaxing to be taken care of. For a little bit he and Wade had acted like more than a set of heroes, and the memory of his kindness was still burning hot in his mind.

But he wouldn’t let this go on for longer than a day. It was wrong to lie to him, even if it felt this good to pretend.

----

Being Spider-Man was simultaneously the biggest stressor and most freeing part of Peter’s day.

Saving lives and stopping crimes ranging from petty car thieves to mutant bank robbers was difficult. Balancing two lives that intermingled more often than Peter would have liked was even more difficult, often lying to the people he cared about the most just to keep them safe. It was hard navigating the grey-area between morally just and lawfully sound, and there were multiple occasions in which he felt like a criminal running from police after just busting a potential felon doing potentially bad things. He operated more along the lines of a vigilante than a hero in most cases, and it took a severe toll on his mental health. Especially lately, when the city seemed to be getting more dangerous as the presence of superpowered people increased, he had been slandered in media every which direction. Even Mary Jane praising his decisions had stopped helping. He felt like he was starting to become completely alone in the heroing thing.

And then there were the nights he was over the moon with ecstasy; adrenaline buzzing low in his ears, wind rushing up the corners of his mask and breezing over his lips, his webs snapping out from his wrists and catching his fall in perfect rhythm so he soared through the low city buildings like a bullet, his worries and stress melting off every second he spent in the air. Peter’s own personal drama and angst seemed to matter less when his focus was on helping others. No matter what was happening in his own life, he left it on the sill of his bedroom window. When he was out on the streets he was Spider-Man, not a kid struggling to keep his head above water. He had strength, allies, and a will to do good. Grades and sleep felt way less important than his obligation to New York.

Still, there were slip ups. Sometimes his lives intermingled uncomfortably close and he was left covering for both of his personas.

Peter didn’t expect Deadpool to be at this fight. His fists were preoccupied knocking a goon on his ass when the sharp zing of sharpened metal cut close to his ear. His spidey senses hadn’t gone off, warning him of the impending sword, and when he jut his chin back to check who was behind him, he knew why. They never went off when he was around Wade anymore, because he wasn’t in danger around him.

That didn’t stop the anxiety that flooded his chest cavity a second later, however. He had gotten close to making a smartass comment so they could commence their banter that took place during every fight, when the memory of who he was under the mask- who Wade was now acquainted with- hit him hard.

Shit.

“You weren’t planning to keep a good fight like this from bad ol’ me, were you? Spidey, I’m shocked!” Wade greeted as he kicked back one of the men running at him with a bat, slicing the object in two. He’d gotten pretty good at the injuring and the take-downs without the actual murder. Peter grunted in response, maintaining his focus on jabbing, webbing, and jumping out of the way when his instincts called for it. “And here I was, hoping I’d see that tight butt come swinging past me tonight.”

“Not now.” Peter muttered, ducking just in time to miss getting his skull bashed in by a dude with a crowbar. Why crowbars? Why were henchmen so obsessed with their crowbars?

“Aww, okay, I see. You’re mad at me. Was it for ditching you last night? Because I swear, I was doing good! See, there was this kid about to do a triple flip face plant into the asphalt behind my apartment, and I really wanted to make sure he was okay, ‘cause he was alone and it was late and stuff, and-”

“Can you not talk for like, a second?” Peter didn’t mean to use such an aggressive tone, especially not on Wade who deserved it the least, but hearing Wade talk about him to him when he didn’t even mean to… it was making his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He slammed his knuckles into the jaw of one of the larger men surrounding him, receiving a crack in return. Oof, that would leave a bruise.

“Oooookay, Spider-ooni. I’ll let you focus.” Wade forfeited easily, catching a heavily swung and splintering 2 x 4 with his forearm.

Peter released a satisfied sigh that he didn’t really mean, his lean body hopping out of the way of a kick to the side before he shot a web at the attacker’s face.

---

The fight only lasted another few minutes. The goons, that had decided to test their pride rather than flee the scuffle they were at a clear disadvantage in, ended up face-down on the pavement, hands bound in web-handcuffs, and with a few broken noses or crooked arms scattered among them. Peter had been a bit too forceful tonight, he could admit, but it had been hard enough to focus on reeling in his strength when there was someone else on his brain.

And then said man had showed up and blew his head right open.

They were currently kicked back on a vacant apartment balcony, Peter sitting on the rails while Wade stood a few feet away but very much present, pulling off his gloves to assess the extent of the blood stains on his armor. It was chilly, and Peter knew he’d have to head home soon, but he couldn’t really deny Wade’s invitation to hang out for a little bit after all he had done for him the night before.

Even if Wade didn’t know he was the same kid he’d been ‘saving.’.

“Soooo…” Wade cut into his thoughts, his voice drawing Peter’s attention back to the surface. He glanced over at his fighting partner, surprised to see his face aiming off somewhere else. Wade acting timid was an odd sight. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Peter’s stomach churned and he blinked, even if the action was hidden by lenses. “Yeah?” No. “Why?”

“You’ve been acting funny, that's all.” Wade shrugged, and tucked his arms up against the balcony to lean on the rails. “You avoided me like all last week.”

“What? No I didn’t.” Peter said defensively, confusion clear in his voice. He had been making his plans for days, and sure, that may have lead to him feeling too awkward to really hang around Wade, but they just hadn’t seen each other that was all.

He hadn’t made an effort to find him until that night, though, either.

Wade paused, as if he was thinking of responding but decided against it, before his tone changed and he seemed to drop it all together. “Well, it’s okay, I did a lil’ heroing on my own anyways.”

“Oh really?” Peter asked with awkward amusement, tucking his ankles between the vertical railings to keep his balance a little better.

“Yup. I stopped a kid from killing himself and I’ve been checking up on him every day. I figured you’d be proud of me since you like all that righteous stuff.”

“So you only did it to impress me?” Peter asked flatly.

“What? No no no, Spidey, I did it because I didn’t wanna watch another good person die alone. Plus, if he was like bad or something I wasn’t gonna try very hard, but he was really hot- which I know, is totally shitty to think since he was getting ready to dive, but he just seemed like a depressed nerd and I guess that might kinda be my type. Actually, that’s not entirely true, because I like when someone can make me laugh, and long walks on the beach, and...”

Peter felt a tinge of jealousy in his stomach at his description of the boy he’d saved, which was ridiculous, considering it was him. He tuned out of Wade’s ramblings and squeezed tighter onto the railing, feeling the metal bending under his fingers. Maybe it was better to keep his identities secret. After all, Wade seemed so proud of himself for ‘helping’ Peter. Was it worth taking that away? He could just avoid Wade in his personal life. The man would give up if he realized his efforts weren’t being reciprocated and Peter stopped serving as entertainment.

That’s probably all he was. Charity fused with an audience.

“...But I guess that’s why I dated that crazy chick two years ago. She had a super cute face but she was also obsessed with ending the patriarchy and killing men. I think she stabbed me a few times in my sleep, too. But I guess crazy and crazy make a great match. Even if we ended pretty badly.”

“I think I’m gonna head back.” Peter announced, tucking his toes underneath himself until he was stood on the fence. Wade straightened, looking up at him inquisitively from the balcony floor. “I have an early morning.”

“We’ll meet up tomorrow night, though, right?” Wade asked hopefully.

“We’ll see.” Peter murmured, before he shot web fibers off into the dark and took off with a leap.

[aaronandpartner]

Female driver harassed before and during employment awarded £74,000

In the recent case of Kim Beaney v Highways England and others, Miss Beaney (the “Claimant”) was awarded almost £74,000 by the Nottingham Employment Tribunal.

It was found that the Claimant had been constructively unfairly dismissed following harassing behaviour by Grant Bosence (the “Second Respondent”) and Steven Curtis (the “Third Respondent”), who were respectively the Claimant’s direct Line Manager and Supervisor.

Facts

The Claimant commenced employment on 3 April 2017 with Highways England (the “First Respondent”). She was employed as a driver and trainee highways inspector.

After her job interview, the Claimant received a text message from the Second Respondent’s personal mobile telephone assuring her that the company would be in touch soon. He had taken the Claimant’s personal number from her application form. The Tribunal found that the Second Respondent contacted the Claimant on her personal mobile phone because he was attracted to her to her from the outset.

Message exchanges continued between the Claimant and Second Respondent. The Second Respondent referred to the Claimant as a “pretty one”; he made reference to her legs; he called her “beautiful”; and he admitted that he “fancies” her.

Prior to commencing the role, the Claimant met the Second Respondent for a coffee. During this meeting, he said that he found her attractive and that he wanted a relationship with her. Following the coffee, the Second Respondent insisted that the Claimant went for a ride in his new car and attempted to kiss her.

The Tribunal accepted that the Claimant felt pressured not to upset the Second Respondent, and that she was concerned that her job may be withdrawn.

On another occasion, the Claimant was invited to the Second Respondent’s house and he tried to kiss and cuddle her. On a different occasion, the Claimant said that she would report the Second Respondent’s behaviour to HR and he replied by saying that he could have her “killed and buried for four grand”.

When she started her job, the Claimant was supposed to work at the Leicester Forest East location, but she was deliberately placed at a different depot for the sole purpose of ensuring that she worked alongside the Third Respondent, who was the Second Respondent’s friend. It was found that the Second Respondent wanted the Third Respondent to suggest to the Claimant that he was a potential romantic interest.

During her employment, the Third Respondent made positive comments to the Claimant about the Second Respondent. Instead of reporting the matter, the Claimant spoke to the Second Respondent to determine what he had said to the Third Respondent. During this conversation, the Second Respondent called the Claimant troublesome and reminded her that she was still on probation.

On 17 April 2017, the Second Respondent complained to HR about the Claimant. In the Tribunal’s view, this was to paint the Claimant in a poor light and it was an attempt to get the first shot before the Claimant complained to HR about the Second Respondent’s conduct.

On the same day, the Claimant raised a grievance detailing the harassment she had endured from the Second Respondent. She also complained that she had been harassed and bullied by the Third Respondent.

Malcolm Dangerfield was appointed to deal with the Claimant’s grievance. He had never previously been the decision maker of a grievance and it was found that he was ill prepared.

Part of the Claimant’s complaint of sexual harassment and bullying was upheld. However, Malcolm Dangerfield found that the complaint did not support the intent that was indicated in the grievance. Further, the company could not relocate the Claimant to another depot because there were no suitable vacancies.

The Claimant unsuccessfully appealed the grievance outcome.

The Claimant was signed off sick with stress from 2 May 2017 and did not return to work. The Claimant resigned on 30 August 2017.

Judgment

The Claimant’s claims of constructive unfair dismissal and sexual harassment succeeded.

The Claimant was awarded £73,619, to be paid jointly by all three respondents.

Comment

This case highlights the importance of having proper procedures in place to effectively deal with complaints of sexual harassment in the workplace. Not only will this provide employees with the confidence to raise concerns and limit the risk of claims arising, it will also reduce damages in the event that a claim is pursued through the Tribunal.

It also highlights that claims can be brought against managers and employees, as well as the employer.

Employers should ensure that they have clear grievance, disciplinary and anti-harassment and bullying policies in place and provide appropriate training to all staff members.

Please contact our employment team if you require a review of your existing policies; require bespoke policies drafting for your company; or require in-house training on any of the issues raised in this article.

Helen Watson

Employment Law

Head of Team and Partner. Email: helen.watson@aaronandpartners.com Tel: 01244 405 565

The post Female driver harassed before and during employment awarded £74,000 appeared first on Aaron & Partners.

from Aaron & Partners https://www.aaronandpartners.com/female-driver-harassed-before-and-during-employment-case/

[sunshine-in-february]

Anxious Little RainDrops

I have lost a friend.

Not lost in the way that they have left this world, more in the manner of they ended our friendship for reasons I had on control over, and they failed to see that.

This friend... They thought I had some form of control over my work and school schedule, and that I was purposefully avoiding them to hang out with others. This was not how the situation appeared to me, but when they came to me about their feelings and concerns, I attempted to rectify the situation by putting forth effort into a friendship that I didn’t realize until recently I was forcing on myself.

I stopped hanging out with other friends, to the point that they never contacted me. and stopped communicating with my S.O. This wasn’t fair to them, and I blame myself for not having the foresight to see how this toxic friendship was poisoning my mental health. To the point I did not want to be in my own home because I knew that they, as my roommate, would be there. 

Drop.

Everything came to a head when I had no way to travel home without walking for 2 hours in the middle of the night on a weekend, and the friend came to pick me up and take me home. They were unusually quiet, and not the conversational person I was expecting. I asked them what was wrong, and received no discernible response. Half way through the drive they shared that they felt they were giving and giving and giving for this friendship, and receiving nothing in return. In reality, as I saw it, I had spent all of the free time I had with them, and even cancelled plans with others so that I could hang out with them, when all I really wanted to do was sleep and relax.

Drop.

I explained that I had been spending as much time as I could with them, and that I had other priorities that needed to be seen to first, such as grades and work so that I could advance to a good place in my life. They didn’t see this, or try to understand that I cant spend every moment of free time with them, and said that I was the one that had to fix the situation, and that I was the only person at fault.

Drop.

I was silent for the rest of the car ride as they continued to berate me for my lack of effort, continuing my silence as I walked the short way to the stairs and up the stairs to my bedroom door, where I shut myself in and tried to make plans for something that I had no clue how to even attempt to fix. Approximately a week later, They came to me, asking what ever resolution I had come up with. My response was simple: “I am not the only one in this relationship, I should not be the person tasked with fixing something that I alone cannot fix.” That wasn’t the answer they wanted, but they accepted it nonetheless. We worked together to make plans for things to do in the future, as well as alternative ways for me to not, as she put it, “rides to and from work” when I have no other option.

Drop.

This is around the time that me and my S.O. were becoming serious, to the point that I would be at their house whenever I was free. My S.O, SEG, was aware of the situation with the friend, and didn’t want me there due to the anxiety it caused me whenever I was there and whenever I returned. it helped that the distance between work and SEG’s home was far closed than mine, and it made sense for me to stay there when it was far easier to get to work and back on my own two feet when bus’ and other travel were not offered.

Drop.

My friend did not like this new arrangement. And shared her distaste for the situation. I replied that I had been given no other option given the circumstances forced on me, as well as that I would still be at our humble abode during the days I did not need to be at work within the wee hours of the morning. Again, this was not the response they wanted and started to act in a manner that was rude, unkind, and all together mean towards me. 

Drop.

The final straw occurred one night when I came home after class to see my friend was upstairs, and I had the downstairs to my self to eat and wait on other plans I had later that evening. My friend came down and greeted me, made her dinner and such. I told her that we needed to watch the debate soon, because I had plans later that I wanted to keep, but I wanted to watch the debate with her still. They became upset and ended the plans right then, saying that I should have made more time for them. I had made time for them, actually skipping a class so that I had time for them, but they didn’t know this, and refused to listen when I tried to explain.

Drop.

It was then that she pointed out something that made my blood boil. We had a calendar mounted on the fridge for work schedules and important dates. On some days, there were little blue dots in the corners. I had seen them before and assumed they were days where she had homework assignments or quizzes due. This was not the case. The friend, had been recording the days had spent the night with my S.O, or they had not seen me due to other factors like work. They left upstairs before I could show my rage, or I even realized I was feeling rage. I decided that if she wanted to keep track of such thing were never her business to begin with, I would save her the trouble, and marked the remainder of the week with the days that I knew I would be out of the house. Then I left, I after all had other people I was trying to keep in my life.

Drop.

I received a call later that night, to which I ignored, knowing that if I answered, words would be said that I would not be able to take back. I sent a brief text asking them to leave me alone, and that I needed to come by later for work clothes and that when I did, it would be ill-advised to approach me. They texted back, accusing me of blowing things out of proportion, and essentially saying that everything is my fault in tis situation. I again did not respond, and stayed the night with a friend that lived close by.

Drop.

I received a text message later that night at 3:42 am, the friend was now ending our friendship saying that it was bad for her health, the stress it was causing.

I agreed.

Drop.

It was after that night that I had my first anxiety attack since middle school. I was no longer able to keep up the inverted umbrella that held the culmination of all of the raindrops falling onto me. The umbrella snapped, and I was now soaked in the anxiety and depression that I had worked for years to keep at bay with in myself. My grades plummeted, my energy drained, desire to exist in this world vanished.

One person was able to take away years of hard work I had put into myself so that this very thing would never happen.

Now, I lay in a bed that is not my own, with no ability to even return to my haven, typing onto a computer that is also not my own. 

The goal of this blog had changed. I need to bring myself back up again, and the only way for me to do just that is to write my thoughts and feelings. my good memories. To simply talk into the void where maybe only one person will hear.

But that’s okay.

--Sunshine in February.