#and my insurance isn’t gonna help with anything and i’m just so fucking tired

[intraosseous]

no lie i kind of just want to give up on everything rn

[voidthewanderer]

Medical ranting stuff under the cut, don’t mind me.

I’m so sick and tired of doctors telling me I need to lose weight, but then not doing shit to actually help me. No referrals to nutritionists or metabolic doctors. No references to online sources. No suggestions to go on weight loss medication. Just “lose weight.”

Bitch you don’t think I haven’t been trying? First of all, talking to me aggressively about it isn’t fucking making me feel better about myself. I don’t know what’s muscle weight and what’s fat weight. Because if you’re looking at the fucking BMI as bare bones as you’re looking at it with me? Do you realize how many fucking professional athletes are “obese”? How many body builders are “obese”?

But wait, they don’t fucking matter, do they? Because you know that they’re 90% muscle and I flat out told you that I don’t know what percentage of each is what. I can tell you I can drop eleven pounds fucking easily if the goddamn insurance would cover my top surgery! But it’s not about that. It’s never about that.

And, while I’m fucking at it. When a specialist, who prescribes not one but two different medications for me; I find it a little funny that he couldn’t prescribe the ozempic he wants me on. Like… my PCP didn’t mention anything about it. My cardiologist didn’t mention anything about it. Just you. So what the actual fuck? Also like… could you not give me some blood work so I can get checked to see if I’m prediabetic? Because I really don’t want to be taking a resource that’s been hard to get because you think I’m obese by a severely outdated weight chart.

What I need is help. Actual, legitimate help. I need a job that pays a living wage. I need a place that’s larger than like 80 square feet in space. I need to get away from my toxic home environment. I need a set schedule that isn’t gonna change without notice so I can actually function like a human being.

I’m so sick and tired of this bullshit where I just have to struggle through everything and then it’s just never good enough, no matter what I do. I’m one person with a broken fucking brain. I can only do so much.

[sentimental-apathy]

I need a new psychiatrist. I’m so frustrated. I’ve basically been without medication for my bipolar depression and insomnia for almost 3 months now. Olanzapine was making me gain weight and tbh it had kinda stopped helping me sleep so I was at a loss. So he prescribed me topamax and ziprazidone. Topamax is supposed to help suppress my appetite and the ziprazidone was supposed to treat my bipolar depression. But my main issue is insomnia. I keep getting treated like I have schizophrenia when the only times I’ve experienced symptoms of that is when I go into psychosis due to severe insomnia. I don’t have schizoaffective or schizophrenia. I have severe insomnia and depression and occasional/rare manic episodes that worsen the insomnia. However, it’s been over 2 years since I experienced a “manic” episode and I believe it was partly induced by using too much thc. So anyway. The ziprazidone did not help me sleep whatsoever so I stopped taking it and talked to my psychiatrist again. He prescribed me a medication called Lybalvi which is olanzapine and samidorphan combined to help you sleep, treat bipolar, and also reduce weight gain. Problem was Medicaid wouldn’t cover it. My psychiatrist never called me to explain what was going on or to try and put me on something else, I just ended up waiting over a month trying to get hold of them to see what was happening and if I’d get the medication or not and eventually I was just like ok fuck this and made a new appointment because I wasn’t getting anywhere and I still was struggling to sleep well. So at my last appointment a couple weeks ago he was really discouraging me because he was acting like he didn’t know what else to do and like he couldn’t think of any more meds to try for me and suggested abilify when I’d already tried abilify twice and it doesn’t help me sleep so what’s the point? I asked if he could prescribe me Caplyta because I’d done research on bipolar depression medications that help you sleep and it was suggested. He said he’d never prescribed that before so he didn’t want to prescribe it to me and instead recommended I try Vraylar. I was disappointed but said ok. Later that day I’m notified by text that my prescription isn’t ready because they’re having insurance issues. Again. So at this point I was fuming. Anyway it’s like a week and a half later and it finally got approved by Medicaid so I picked it up yesterday and took it last night with my other meds and guess what. I couldn’t sleep. In fact, even tho I was really tired, I felt utterly restless for some reason and my thoughts kept going to weird places, kinda like I was dreaming but fully awake and tossing and turning, unable to stay still. So I looked it up. Apparently vraylar can cause restlessness and insomnia. Like. Wtf. This psychiatrist is so inept at this point it’s ridiculous. I’m telling him over and over during every appointment, my mood is fine but I can’t sleep, not sleeping, trouble sleeping, my sleep schedule is all over the place, please help me with my insomnia and instead of treating that or listening to me he keeps prescribing me schizophrenia meds that I don’t fucking need, that don’t help me sleep. I’m so frustrated and mad right now. It’s ridiculous. I’m gonna have to find a new psychiatrist. Not looking forward to it. Meanwhile I’ve been trying to find a job, applying to some different positions but haven’t heard anything back. I’m so anxious and nervous that I’m gonna get a call and then start working but still be struggling to sleep and then I’ll have to work while getting no sleep and that usually leads to me having a breakdown so I’m just really anxious in general about everything. I’m really struggling mentally right now. I’m super depressed but my insomnia is the worst. I don’t know what to do. I’m so frustrated.

[anarcho-sexual]

Alright this is a personal rant. I’ve decided to post it here and to post it at all because I don’t want to bother my few friends & I need these thoughts to exit my vessel & I don’t think paper or notes app will cut it this time. Please ignore if you wish. If you read, know that it’s got negative energy. It’s just for me but obviously the internet is public so idc if anyone ever says anything on this or not

I want to see a therapist who specializes in genderstuff but I’m not out to my parents (one I live with still cause I’m a loser). My mom would never have to know cause I’m an adult but I’m on my dad’s insurance & he graciously provides me with a roof & food for free. All he asks is I actively work on myself instead of giving up on my life & my mental health. It’s a fact that he would love & support & accept me as his daughter. But I’m just not confident my mom would. The concern about my mom is more regarding transitioning than seeing a therapist but it’s all the same game. She’s a conservative & mildly queerphobic. Idk if she would ever even use my real pronouns or name if I told her. I’m thinking about one day moving far enough away that my family can’t surprise visit me AND it’s so far it isn’t desirable to want to come see me that often. Then I’ll just put on a man costume when I do see them. Like Halloween. It feels like that’s what I have to do. I feel guilty about feeling like I can’t come out too. I feel like I can’t come out because I’m terrified. I have an anxiety disorder that my dad literally caused for me & trust issues directly related to him. He’s not a cunt anymore but our relationship was kinda ruined. Well I guess you can’t ruin it if it was never good huh? But like that’s it! I have crippling anxiety, trust issues, & the potential (not even a certainty!) that my mom may not accept me or respect me/my identity. I’ve already “lost” my mom to American Conservatism would it really devastate me if I had to go NC cause she didn’t accept or respect me? Nah I’d just be sad about it for awhile & every now & again. That’s all I have in the way of me being myself openly & getting the help I need. Ain’t no one gonna kick me out, disown me, hurt me in any way, nothing. I’m so incredibly fortunate to be a trans girl who doesn’t have to worry for a second about violence or even yelling if I came out. So fucking fortunate. But I still just can’t fucking do it. I don’t even want to! I just want the stuff I need :/ well actually I just want to be anti-alive but I can’t do that because I literally have to ensure that my siblings are raised properly because our mom has backwards conservative beliefs and I refuse to allow that misogynistic bullshit to be put onto my sister & their dad is just a damn POS. His behavior is very consistent with everything I’ve read about Narcissistic Personality Disorder, to give a hint.

Ultimately I know I don’t need therapy because there have been thousands of trans people who raw dogged that shit cause therapy didn’t exist yet. But it sure helps. Also I imagine I’d have a difficult time getting HRT without any history of therapy that’s focused on my gender identity issues. I’m so tired dawg. I’m just so tired.

If you read this, & have reached the end here, I thank you for giving my feelings your time. In return, I offer this egg 🥚

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

If I Fell For You (Part 1) - The Nanny

Summary: The reader interviews for a new live-in nanny position with Jensen and quickly gets the job but she starts to slowly see that her new employer is going to be different than any other she’s had before...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader

Square: Slow Burn

Word Count: 4,800ish

Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent

A/N: Please enjoy the first part of this series! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

________

If someone had said you’d be celebrating your 30th birthday by accepting an interview to be a live in nanny when you were a kid, you would have told them they were nuts. Beyond nuts. Beyond help for that matter.

But there you were. Thirty. Single. Childless. Taking care of other people’s families and not doing much else with your life. You weren’t sure if your mom would have been on you about the no kids thing or the no boyfriend thing more to be honest.

But the pay was normally good and sometimes great and it gave you a taste of family, even if you were just the help to the adults most of the time.

You buzzed the button by the gate at the end of the driveway, a brief moment passing before it opened. It was probably on a timer like most of the people you’d worked for before, an alarm system kicking on at some point in the evening that required a buzz in, the code or a car sensor. You drove down the driveway and parked a little behind a black SUV. The house was a little modern, a little grand, a little overwhelming. A fence and lots of trees surrounded the property. The yard appeared large but you could see houses on either side. Private but suburban. 

The cadillac wasn’t a shocker. Most everyone in these neighborhoods had Escalades. You walked past an open garage on the way up, a muscle car and a more modest smaller SUV parked inside. You went up the very short path and stepped up, ringing the doorbell and fixing your shirt. You were in jeans and a plain gray shirt. It was your normal wear for chasing small children around all day and you weren’t a fan of uniforms.

“Hi,” said a very tired, very handsome man as he opened the door. “You must be from Nanny Core.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N from Home Pair,” you said with a smile. He shut his eyes and leaned his head against the door. 

“The last girl was from Nanny Core,” he said. He blinked them open and shook his head. “I’m so sorry. Yes, Y/N. You’re the one that’s a consultant, not firmly associated with Home Pair, right?”

“Correct,” you said as he opened the door more and you stepped inside.

“Can I ask what the distinction is?”

“Mostly it has to do with benefits,” you said. “Consultants pay out of pocket for their own or negotiate with their client for those to be covered.”

“Gotcha,” he yawned. You looked ahead and he wiped his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I must seem like an ass.”

“You seem tired is all Mr. Ackles. Not a crime,” you said with a smile. He nodded and he returned it, no fake cheesiness to it. 

“Mind if we do the interview in the kitchen over a cup of coffee?” he asked.

“Wherever you like, sir,” you said. You took off your shoes when you noticed he didn’t wear any inside and he chuckled as you walked back farther into the house.

“Uh, for the record, call me Jensen. None of that sir stuff. They must teach that at nanny school or something huh?” he said, motioning to a table. “I noticed all of you do it.”

“Something like that,” you said. You took a seat and watched him go to a coffee machine, fumbling with it before he spilled some ground coffee on the counter. He shut his eyes and gripped the counter’s edge, taking a deep breath to himself. “How about I make the coffee and you take a seat, hm?”

“I’m okay,” he said as he opened his eyes. 

“Well making you coffee is probably going to come up in my job quite a bit so consider this part of the interview. It’s alright, really,” you said. He glanced over to you and you smiled. 

“Thank you,” he said. You swapped places with him and got him a cup going, taking a mug off the counter and waiting a beat before liquid started pouring out. “I’m gonna ask you the same question I’ve asked all seven other women I’ve talked to today.”

“Yes?”

“Why should I trust you to watch my children?”

“Honestly?” you asked as he nodded. You smiled and carried the cup over to him, Jensen taking a long sip. “You shouldn’t.”

“I shouldn’t. That seems counterproductive.”

“I wouldn’t trust any stranger with my child. Trust is earned, not given. I think the real question is do you believe I’m capable of earning that trust with you and that’s something intrinsically only you know.”

“How so?”

“You meet a lot of different kinds of people with this job. My gut reaction to you is stressed, overwhelmed, sleep-deprived father who doesn’t really want any nanny at all but is forced into this situation. It’s going to be impossible for you to trust any of the seven woman from earlier or me off the bat, Jensen. You should be thinking of who will you come to trust. Who can you count on.”

“This is why my wife should have been the one doing this,” he said, smiling to himself as he drunk down most of the hot liquid.

“We could always re-schedule for when she’s available.”

“Oh, we’d have to wait a very long time for that,” he chuckled. He sat the mug down and glanced down briefly, smiling as he looked up. “She passed away unexpectedly six months ago. Car accident.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. He nodded and made a face like he wanted to make a comment. “My mom died kinda unexpectedly. I know it’s...harder.”

“You’re young. How old?”

“Turned thirty today,” you said. He laughed and you heard the life behind it, Jensen shaking his head.

“Well Happy Birthday. I meant with your mother though. If that’s okay with you I mean.”

“It’s fine. I was sixteen,” you said. 

“That...fucking sucks doesn’t it?”

“So does losing your wife,” you said. 

“Yes it does. I’ve grieved. We all have. The kids are small. They’ll be okay.”

“Is dad okay?” you asked.

“Yes. Ready to start moving on with life again,” he said with a soft smile. “You’re kind. Not in a I’m trying to get this job kind of way. Just kind.”

“Well being cruel doesn’t sound like very much fun,” you said.

“You’re not trying to impress me.”

“The first rule of nannying, Jensen. You think you’re interviewing us when in reality we’re interviewing you too.”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Nice coffee choice,” you said with a smile that he nodded at. “You respect people. You’ll employ me but won’t treat me like I’m second class. You’re checking the boxes so far.”

“What if I don’t check all the boxes?”

“You don’t get to know the luxury of knowing the answer yet, Mr. Ackles,” you said. “Interview isn’t over.”

“You got fucked over by somebody, didn’t you.”

“Also perceptive,” you said. “Like I said, I don’t tolerate being treated unkindly anymore. It’s why I left my last position.”

“I have one more question,” he said. “Would you treat my children like they’re your own?”

“Again, asking the wrong question,” you said. He sat back and crossed his arms, smirking at you.

“What exactly should I be asking?”

“Will you treat my children kindly and with respect but take charge when required?”

“What’s the difference?”

“One is me doing my job and the other is me doing yours.”

“How old did you say you were again?”

“Thirty today.”

“Right. Well I think I know where I stand. Do you have anything for me?”

“Can you show me a picture of your kids?” you asked. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You answered my question.”

“I didn’t show you anything yet.”

“You’d be surprised how many fathers I’ve met don’t carry pictures of their children in their wallets. That one is just a me thing.”

“Your dad do that?” he asked as he tucked it away.

“Maybe,” you said with a shrug. He was polite enough to not go down that route though and this was already getting more personal than you anticipated. “I think I know where I stand as well.”

“I’d like to hire you,” he said.

“Assuming our negotiations go well, I accept,” you said. He held out his hand over the table and you shook it.

“I did come up with what I thought was fair for salary and benefits. Let me go grab the paperwork and hopefully settle on something,” he said. He excused himself and you looked around the house, already trying to familiarize yourself with things. He was more relaxed when he returned with some papers and a notebook, handing you a few sheets. “If I’m missing anything let me know. I-”

“This is my weekly rate?” you asked when you saw the number at the top of the page.

“Oh no. That’s your daily,” he said as he took a seat. “So I think that’s-”

“Jensen,” you said, pushing the paper back. “I have to ask, things like insurance, are those coming out of your pocket or mine?”

“I’ll cover the expenses of your health, dental, all of that. You just choose and I’ll subsize it as part of your paycheck,” he said. 

“This is for a live in position. Um...can you just...explain what makes up that daily rate number?” you asked.

“It’s simply your base pay. Obviously I pay for housing, utilities, gas obviously. I will get you a credit card to make purchases with for the kids and all of that so it’s simple to keep track of. You’re free to any of the food in the kitchen. I’m guessing the salary is the sticking point here.”

“Jensen,” you said as you scratched your head. 

“I can go up fifty more dollars a day.”

“Jensen. This is way, way too much money. Way too much,” you said. “The average rate around here is about twenty five an hour or two hundred a day. Jensen this is double that. Are you factoring in like time and a half for additional nights and weekends?”

“No. That’d be on top of that. I thought that was a fair value based on the fact you are going to be taking care of the most valuable things in my life. It’s gonna get taxed too so it’s not like you see all of it.”

“You’re sweet, Jensen,” you said, writing down a number at the top of the page. “The average in Austin is twenty five an hour. I would be very happy with that.”

“You have to literally be the first person in existence to negotiate their salary down from the offer,” he said.

“Are you rejecting my offer?” you asked. He took the paper and crossed your number out, jotting down his own and spinning it back. “Jensen.”

“Y/N,” he said, crossing his arms. “I came down. Now it’s your turn. Do you accept?”

You knew thirty five was still way overpriced for the job, especially considering everything else he was paying for.

“I will accept on the condition that you get four hours of what we’d call evening or weekend at the normal rate ever week.”

“I can agree to that,” he said with a smile, writing that down. “So medical plan. Single, plus one, family?”

“Single for all that,” you said. 

“I should mention that there is an in-law suite off to the other side of the garage where you’ll be staying. It’s just down the hall but it has its own small living area and kitchenette. There is a separate entrance to it. If you have guests over I just ask you keep them to your area of the house,” he said.

“Absolutely. I don’t tend to bring people over much anyways while I’m on the job,” you said. He let you read over the rest of the benefits, a good amount of sick and vacation time too. Technically you were free evenings and weekends but he could ask you to work longer if he needed you and you were available. Overall everything seemed in order. “Alright. Everything looks good to me.”

“Awesome. Are you available to start Monday?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “It gives me plenty of time to move in things tomorrow so I can jump into the kids routine first thing Monday.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ll show you around. We can start with your side of the house.” You got up and followed him over to near the front door and down a long hallway, past a set of doors. There was a frosted glass one to your left just before he pushed open a wide white one.

Behind it was a living area and kitchen. Not huge, about the size of a small apartment. There was a TV and sectional, a table tucked against the wall and a kitchenette like he’d mentioned with full size appliances. 

“Like I said, I know it’s small. Please like, seriously watch TV out in the family room at night if you want or hang out wherever or the yard or pool. This is just your own space when you want to be away from us.” You hummed and he showed you a closet and then a bedroom and bathroom. It was simple but decorated nicely and looked relaxing. “If there’s something obvious I’m missing please let me know. A cleaning service does come by every two weeks on Tuesdays at around ten in the morning. They’ll do in here too. Otherwise you can keep after yourself. Cleaning stuff is in the laundry room. Oh yeah. Um, this is probably the last time I’ll like, ever come in here unless you need help moving things in since this will be your space.”

“Thanks. I don’t have too much. I do have one request before we sign all the paperwork.”

“What’s that?”

“I’d like to meet the kids if that’s alright. There’s not much point in hiring me if they hate me.”

“Fair point. We’ll get ‘em over here and then get you all squared away.”

Monday Morning

“Good morning,” you said, a cup of coffee in your hand already as Jensen yawned. 

“Morning,” he mumbled. His hair was a mess and he was in only a pair of boxer briefs before he paused and looked down. “I should probably put on some clothes.”

“This is your house. Wear whatever you normally would. Pretend I’m invisible,” you said as you poured a cup of coffee into a mug for him.

“Sounds like you worked for some real assholes,” he said, graciously taking the cup. “As long as it doesn’t bother you, me walking around in my undies.”

“No, not at all,” you said with a smile. “Would you like me to drop the kids off at school and daycare this morning?”

“Sure,” he said. “Car keys are on the table by the garage.”

“Okay great. I’m used to driving that kind of SUV,” you said. You snuck a look at your schedule you’d printed out again, knowing the twins would get need to get picked up around noon. You started to work on their lunches and snacks for the day while he took out the carton of eggs from the fridge. He cracked one into a pan and turned the heat on, yawning again as he got out some bread and threw it on a plate. “Would you like me to make lunch for you as well?”

“No thank you. I’m getting lunch with my manager today. You don’t have to make me coffee in the morning either, Y/N. Your job is to take care of the kids, not me,” he said.

“A cup of coffee is not difficult, Jensen. My job is to help you so if I can make dad’s life a smidge easier it’ll make theirs better too,” you said with a smile.

“You’re not like, a morning person are you,” he chuckled. “I don’t do peppy in the morning.”

“Oh no. I’m always a little nervous when I start a new job. I’ll get a rhythm down soon,” you said.

“So what do you normally do once the kids are dropped off?” he asked as he got out a spatula.

“On a weekday I’ll review their schedule, see if anything different is going on. An average day like today I will clean their rooms, their bathroom, do some laundry while they’re at school, maybe some shopping. I’ll pick up the twins, bring them home for lunch, a little playtime, a nap. We’ll have some quiet time and maybe a craft or coloring before we get JJ from school. Then I’ll give them all a snack, we can get outside and play to get some energy out. I’ll help JJ with any schoolwork she has while the twins play and then I will start on dinner about the time you’ll be getting home. Since you have no plans currently tonight I’ll leave you guys be at that point until tomorrow unless you ask me for help.”

“So when do you take a break?” he asked.

“Naptime. I’ll have lunch with the twins. Don’t worry about me Jensen. That’s my normal plan but if you would like me to run some errands in the morning I can,” you said.

“No, no. Just…” he trailed off. “I still want to make them breakfast and dinner and play with them too is all.”

“We’ll figure out the right mix of things,” you said. “You just gotta tell me is all, okay? It can vary day to day too,”

“Yeah,” he said, taking his fried egg out of the pan and placing it on one piece of bread. He made a sandwich and took a big bite, looking out the back window. “I never asked. How was your birthday?”

“Hm?” you hummed, dropping some carrots into a reusable bag.

“On Saturday you said it was your 30th. You do anything fun that night?” he asked with a soft smile.

“I got a new job. That was the highlight of my day,” you said, Jensen cocking his head. “I ordered pizza, binged netflix. My normal Saturday routine.”

“I know everybody jokes about 30 but it’s really just jokes. Wait until you’re 42,” he chuckled. “Then you really feel old.”

“Most 42 year olds would kill to look like you,” you said. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “I’m so sorry. That was so inappropriate.”

“It’s alright. I took it as a compliment,” he said, smiling again. “So you did nothing for your birthday, huh?”

“Uh, no,” you said, mixing in some grapes into each of the snack bags.

“I’m gonna get you a birthday cake,” he said.

“Mr. Ackles-”

“I thought I said it’s Jensen. I’m the boss so what I say goes. We’re gonna have a birthday cake for you tonight. So. What’s your favorite flavor?”

“Whatever you want is perfectly fine.”

“Y/N.”

“...I like red velvet,” you said. He smiled and chuckled. 

“That was my wife’s favorite,” he said. “Haven’t had that since her birthday. She would have liked you.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. You’re quite kind to me. She was always protective of me, even if she was the scaredy cat most of the time.”

“Can I ask how…” you said as he took another bite.

“Accident. Tractor trailer versus her car. He tried to miss her but it was too late. I wanted to hate the guy too but it was an accident and I couldn’t blame him for that.”

“My father died in a car crash when I was six. It does get better with time,” you said.

“That’s why you didn’t know if he had a picture of you in his wallet or not,” he said as you nodded. “You’re too young to have that much tragedy in life.”

“So are you.”

“I’m not young anymore.”

“You’re young and overly generous,” you said with a smile. 

“Misery loves company,” he said as you both heard a few feet above you running around. “Munchkins are up.”

“You want to make breakfast or should I?” you asked.

“Give me five minutes to get them in some clean clothes. Then I can show you how they like their eggs.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jensen.”

Later That Evening

“Y/N?” said Jensen, knocking on the door to your room. You got up from the couch and answered it, Jensen standing there with a smile. “The kids and I were wondering if you’d like your birthday cake for dessert.”

“You actually got me a cake?”

“I did indeed,” he said. You followed him down the hall and back into the living space, Arrow running up to you.

“Y/N! Are you sleeping over?” she asked as she gave you a hug.

“I live just down the hall now, cutie,” you said.

“Daddy, can we have ice cream too?” asked Zeppelin as he climbed up into his chair at the table.

“Sure thing bud. Girls, would you like some too?” he asked. Both the little ones said yes as he looked back at you.

“I really shouldn’t,” you said.

“We eat ice cream in this house,” he said.

“You don’t have to twist my arm over it,” you said. He got out the container and set it down on the table by the cake, lighting the match on the candle on top. “Oh please don’t-”

He started to sing though and the kids joined in, Jensen having a really good voice actually. You blew out the candle when they were through and he dished up some dessert for everyone.

“Y/N, can you read me a bedtime story later?” asked Zeppelin and you glanced at his father, Jensen making a face.

“Well Y/N’s not at work right now so she doesn’t have to unless she wants to,” said Jensen. “We’re already cutting into her-”

“I would love to, Zepp,” you said, his little face lighting up. “Maybe you guys want to join us?”

“JJ’s a little big to get read to at night I’ve been told,” said Jensen.

“Am not,” she said. “I can get a story too, right?”

“Of course,” you said. You took a bite of the cake and hummed. “This is really good.”

“I bought it myself,” said Jensen. 

“Well you have good taste,” you said. “In fact, I’m gonna have another slice.”

“Good,” he said as Zeppelin grabbed the ice cream container. “Alright, alright. You can have a bit more, bud.”

“Night, JJ,” you said, getting a hug from her as you put her back to bed an hour later. JJ smiled from her bed and you flicked off the light, pulling the door shut after you turned on her night light.

“Thanks for giving up your night with them. I didn’t mean to have that happen,” said Jensen as you headed downstairs with him.

“It’s no problem. It’s good bonding for us,” you said. You helped him pick up the plates at the table and wash them off, Jensen grabbing a bottle of whiskey from a tall cabinet as you covered up what was left of the cake. 

“Drink?” he asked.

“A small one,” you said. He poured a single into a whiskey glass and slid it over to you, smirking when you took a sip. “Oh that’s smooth.”

“Very,” he said, drinking from his own glass. “Thank you for tonight. JJ’s been…”

“She’s the oldest. She’s gonna have a harder time with it.”

“You were about her age when your dad died you said?”

“She’ll be okay. She’ll miss her but it won’t be a deep pain. She’ll have nice memories of her mom. She’s doing pretty good, trust me.”

“Can I ask another personal question?”

“I’m off the clock. Shoot,” you said.

“Your mom ever...try again with someone else?”

“Yes. Years later she found a good guy. He actually is who I stayed with after she passed. He’s married now, has some kids of his own but I know if I call him up he’d drop everything for me.”

“Good. I was getting afraid you were a complete Shakespeare tragedy,” he chuckled.

“Nah. I’m not at that level of crazy in my life,” you said. “As long as we’re off the clock, can I ask if you’re asking because you’re thinking of getting back out there?”

“I am. My wife kind of insisted on it. When we first got serious we had this deal that we’d go try again if something happened. I mean, I don’t cry everytime I think about her now. I can smile and be happy and that ache doesn’t try to swallow me up everyday anymore. I think it’s time I could get back out there.”

“I’d say it is. The kids are ready. They’ll understand.”

“You think your mom loved the second guy as much as your dad?”

“For sure. She was a bit of a free spirit but she didn’t think you had to have just one soulmate. She told me that after she’d met Ray. She said she got two so maybe I had two out there. I haven’t found either one of them yet so I’ll take increasing my odds as best I can.”

“Well you’re not gonna meet your soulmate sitting at home on Saturday nights, Y/N.”

“Just a lot of douchey guys,” you said.

“Ah. You need to meet a better kind of guy is all,” he said.

“Yeah see I’m thirty. All the good guys are married by now.”

“Oh all of them are taken. I didn’t realize that,” he said with a chuckle. “What am I then? Another douchebag?”

“You don’t count. You’re…”

“Too old for you?” he chuckled.

“My boss. Plus you’re like famous. You can go get like a victoria secret model or something.”

“Looks ain’t everything.”

“Maybe I ought to try older guys now that you say that,” you said.

“Y/N, you gotta be careful with that. I don’t want to see you get taken advantage of.”

“And this is why I watch netflix on Saturday nights,” you said.

“You serious about the older guy crack?” he asked. 

“I do find them more...attractive sometimes. I guess it depends on how old. Why?”

“I got a friend my age, might be interested?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” you said. “No offense to your friend but...I mean if he’s 42...I want kids and stuff you know? Although a dude it doesn’t really matter how old...I don’t know.”

“It was just a thought,” he said with a smile.

“I’ll think about it,” you said. “He’s not a weirdo, right.”

“No. He’s an actor. Something to think about,” he said.

“I will,” you said. “Thank you for the birthday cake, Jensen. You’re a good person.”

“I bought a cake.”

“Yeah but I haven’t really had one of those in years. You’re a good person.”

“You’re very welcome,” he said as you slid off your seat. “You’re free to hang out if you like.”

“I’m kinda tired. I won’t be getting up that early from now on I don’t think.”

“I completely understand,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight Jensen.”

________

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[elftwink]

no thoughts only taakitz superhero/villain coffeeshop au. taako’s power is shapeshifting but he has a cool gun from lup. kravitz’s power is Big Fuckin Scythe With Unspecified Abilities. also there was no time to get into it but fantasy starbucks isn’t a real starbucks it’s a borderline illegal unaffiliated bootleg starbucks that taako and lup own. like dumb starbucks was.

By all rights, it should have been a fairly routine night for the Reaper. Go out, stop some crimes, arrive just in time to prevent whatever scheme the Mongoose had cooked up this week, exchange some one liners, make some threats that essentially amounted to ‘same time next week?’, the works. A regular Tuesday as a superhero in Neverwinter.

But Kravitz is tired, and more than a little distracted, so he’s not doing so hot on the one liners, and the Mongoose’s attacks are a little closer than they would normally be. He doesn’t even have a good excuse, it’s not like he’s injured, or that he has anything pressing to think of.

It was just— this morning his barista (who he may or may not have been harbouring a small crush on) had mentioned offhand that he thought the Reaper was ‘probably hot under the stupid all-black getup’, and Kravitz didn’t really know what the protocol was for someone complimenting your alter-ego was.

“I think if you were gonna go for the strong silent type, you had to start doing it months ago. Now it’s just acting like an asshole. Are you mad at me?” the Mongoose cuts into his thoughts, firing off another few missiles from his stupid umbrella gun (Umbrastaff, he called it, although it was a gun and not a staff so Kravitz had no idea why he insisted on calling it that).

“We are literally fighting as we speak,” says Kravitz, playing up the cockney accent, spinning his scythe to deflect the missiles off the blade, sending them ricocheting around the room. He’d said something like ‘how can you tell’ to Taako— the barista (well, they’d been on a first name basis for a few weeks, so, Taako), and he’d said ‘I can just tell’ which was not at all helpful in getting Kravitz through the conversation without saying or doing something to give himself away.

He’d almost given Taako his number, but how was he going to justify that? Hey, it’s me under the all black getup. Do you want to go out sometime? As if.

“You can have fights without being fuckin’ rude,” says the Mongoose, firing off another few rounds, which Kravitz deflects again, advancing on him.

“You’re right, sorry. I’m a bit scattered. Not exactly my A game.” As if to prove his point, the Mongoose easily dodges his next couple swings with the scythe, not even bothering to leave his range.

“Clearly. I mean, normally you’re at least close enough that I can feel the breeze from your sword.”

“It’s not a sword, and you know that.” Kravitz brings down the scythe in the space where the Mongoose was only seconds before, having already backflipped out of the way and landed a few metres back. Show off. Not that Kravitz had room to complain about that. The Mongoose spins to face him again, at least this time seemingly aware of what a close call that was. He’s tense, and his hair, which Kravitz supposes has thus far been hidden underneath his costume, has come somewhat unravelled, black braid falling to the middle of his back.

It seems... familiar?

He doesn’t have time for that right now. Kravitz draws back the scythe, feeling the hum of energy under his fingers, swinging again, and—

“Wait! Time out!” the Mongoose puts up a hand and Kravitz, for who knows what reason, stops his scythe mid-swing. The familiarity sticks, so it’s not just a trick of the light. It takes him a second to place, but the hairstyle... it looks a lot like a certain barista he’d been spending all night thinking about.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it. It’s because he has Taako on the brain, is all. Besides, he has other things to worry about besides seeing his crush in his enemy. Namely the fight currently happening with said enemy. “What? You can’t call a time out.”

“I just did,” says the Mongoose, fishing through his pockets and pulling out several bobby pins, sticking them in his mouth so he can use both hands to fix his hair. Kravitz blinks, still trying to shake off the sense of deja vu, but it won’t quit nagging him. “It’s a whole safety issue to leave long hair down.”

“It’s still in a braid,” retorts Kravitz.

“Somebody never took Foodsafe.” the Mongoose gives him a lopsided grin that Kravitz fucking knows he’s seen before, and suddenly it’s more than just passing familiarity, and how could he possibly have not noticed before, and— the Mongoose finishes putting up his hair, raising an eyebrow at Kravitz and his private crisis. “Alright. Ready—”

“You work at Fantasy Starbucks,” blurts Kravitz, without even thinking about it. The Mongoose stops dead in his tracks, and Kravitz can see his eyes widen even behind the mask. He splutters for a moment, and then seems to find his footing, already ready with a snarky remark.

“Yeah, well— your accent is fake.”

Shit. He’d forgotten. At the only time so far that having it would have been useful too. Still, he pushes it out of his mind; the Mongoose hadn’t denied it. And, well, he’s already solidly derailed this fight, so he might as well get some real confirmation out of it.

“...Taako? It is you, isn’t it?”

“Just who the fuck are y—” The Mongoose— Taako— levels the Umbrastaff at him, and then stops again. “...Kravitz?”

Well. Shit. Again. Kravitz doesn’t bother to affirm that; his silence is more than enough confirmation. One of them has to say or do something, but the seconds stretch on.

“You’re telling me I said all that shit to your face this morning?” says Taako.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?”

“Uh, yeah—” Taako is backing up now, and they’ve fought enough times that Kravitz knows when the Mongoose is looking for an escape route; Kravitz’s feet still feel glued to the floor, even when Taako reaches the window, fingers already turning to talons around the Umbrastaff. Taako breaks the glass (because of course he does, even though the windows aren’t even fucking locked), breaking eye contact with Kravitz in order to swing his legs through the window before his form changes too much. “Look, this is like, a lot right now, and I— I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he says, and then drops. Whatever had been keeping Kravitz in place, slack jawed, ends as soon as Taako leaves his sight, and he’s moving before he has time to think about it.

“Wait—!” Kravitz runs for the window, but by the time he gets there, the bird clutching the Umbrastaff is nearly out of sight.

Well. That could have gone better.

***

Kravitz doesn’t go for his coffee the next day. Or the next day, either, although the day after that he’s sick of making his own coffee. And frankly, he misses chatting with Taako. Even if the guy was trying to kill him like once a week. He couldn’t just avoid this forever.

Still, the fact that Taako is working cash when he comes in makes him want to turn tail and run back home. He conjures up the memory of yesterday’s shitty coffee and pushes onward. The shop is mostly empty still, so there’s no line.

“The usual?” says Taako, like nothing abnormal has happened.

“Please,” says Kravitz, and then, before he can chicken out entirely, adds, “Uhm, do you have a few minutes?”

“My shift isn’t over until—”

“I’ll cover you,” comes Lup’s voice from the back room; she pokes her head out and gives Taako a look that is clearly significant, but that Kravitz can’t quite puzzle out. “Take five minutes after you’re done making his coffee.”

Taako scowls at her, and she smiles brightly before heading to the back again.

“Okay. I guess I have five minutes. Talk to you after I make your coffee.”

Kravitz nods, and goes to hover around the pickup counter, pretending to be interested in things on his phone. Taako makes his coffee in a ceramic mug, which at least means he doesn’t want Kravitz to get the fuck out as soon as possible, so that’s... something.

Taako slides the finished coffee across the counter, circling around to join Kravitz on the customer side as Kravitz grabs the mug.

“Lup!” he hollers, and then starts walking towards one of the corner booths without checking to see if his sister is headed to cash or if Kravitz is following. Kravitz does, though, sliding himself into the seat opposite Taako, hands wrapped tightly around the mug.

Taako speaks first. “To be honest, I kinda thought you would rat me out.”

“That would be shitty of me, to just sic authorities on your place of work without so much as a warning.”

“So is this the warning?”

“No,” says Kravitz, taking a sip of his coffee, “I... can’t really make coffee without burning it. And this is the only place for miles with tolerable muffins.”

Taako cracks a grin, like Kravitz knew he would. “Flattery will get you nowhere.” His smile falls, and he crosses his arms and leans back. “So. Reaper. Why didn’t you rat me out?”

Why indeed. Kravitz takes another sip of his coffee and thinks for a second, not even sure himself what his explanation will be once he starts talking.

“It didn’t seem... fair. You’re less of a villain and more of a pain in my ass—” Kravitz ignores Taako’s indignant noise and keeps talking, “—and while we always have cause to fight when on the clock, you’re not doing anything that I feel needs to leave the bounds of those... work hours, I guess.”

Taako is trying to pick him apart with his gaze; it’s something he’s been subjected to several times, although normally in costume, and in retrospect it’s difficult to imagine how he spent so long not noticing the Mongoose in Taako.

Whatever Taako is looking for, he must find it, because he relaxes a bit, and shoots him a lazy grin. “Plus, Mongoose related insurance just got rolling and it would be fuckin’ rude to take me out of commission before anyone got to use theirs.”

Kravitz laughs. “Sure.” He’s silent for a second, before adding, “You aren’t planning on revealing my secret identity, are you? Awfully rude of you to double cross me like that.”

“Wha— You didn’t even give me a chance to respond! Maybe I wasn’t!”

“Were you?”

“I was,” admits Taako, not even pretending to look sheepish. Kravitz raises his eyebrows, and Taako shrugs. “Oh, like you didn’t think about revealing my secret identity? And could you imagine the hype if I unmasked the Reaper? I was tempted.” He sighs. “But I figured then you’d have no reason to keep my identity a secret. No way am I risking a backfire like that.”

It sounds callous, but Kravitz has been talking to Taako almost daily for months; at this point, he can pretty reliably pick up on when Taako isn’t being entirely truthful about something.

“Hmm. Then I suppose it’d be in my best interest not to tell you that I wouldn’t reveal your identity even if you revealed mine?”

Taako narrows his eyes. “Why not?”

Kravitz makes a face. “It’s just in poor taste. I just think we all go through all the trouble to hide who we are and use these powers for good— or whatever it is you do— that it’s always going to be such a low blow to reveal who we are. There might be times where it’s necessary, but petty revenge is not one of them.”

Taako’s expression hasn’t changed; if anything, he’s narrowed his eyes more. “God, you are like— fuckin’ irritatingly nice. Fine. I wasn’t going to reveal your identity. That would be fuckin’ annoying to deal with. Plus I’m having fun.”

“Fun?”

“Oh don’t— don’t fucking lie to me. I know you’re having fun out there too. With your stupid accent and one liners and shit.”

“Alright, alright,” says Kravitz, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not supposed to be having fun, so keep it quiet.”

“See, that’s why I market myself as a villain. No dumb rules.” He puts an elbow on the table and leans on his hand. “Why do you have a fake accent anyway?”

Heat rises to Kravitz’s face, and he’s hoping he looks less embarrassed than he feels. “It’s my— I do it so people don’t recognize my voice.”

Taako laughs. “Well, it doesn’t really do that if you immediately stop using it when you realize you might know someone.”

“I was caught off guard!” defends Kravitz. “It’s not every day you find out your nemesis is your barista.”

“Nemesis, huh?” Taako grins. “Didn’t realize it was that serious to you. You know I have other heroes to fight.”

Kravitz rolls his eyes again. “I don’t see how you have the time, considering how often you’re causing trouble for me.”

Taako laughs, and it’s so contagious and the whole conversation is so surreal Kravitz can’t help but laugh too, before they both lapse into a comfortable, if drawn out, silence.

“So, uh,” says Taako eventually, “what now?”

“Well,” says Kravitz, “I want to keep coming in for coffee in the mornings. And I assume the Mongoose will continue with... whatever chaos it is you currently have planned.”

“It’s not chaos,” insists Taako, “I have plans. But yeah. And I assume the Reaper is gonna show up and throw a wrench in those plans?”

“Yes, probably. So we’ll just be enemies by night...” Kravitz trails off, not entirely sure how to refer to their by day relationship. Friends? Potential love interests? Acquaintances? There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Kravitz gives up entirely.

Taako pulls and pen and a napkin out of his pocket, jotting something down and pushing it towards Kravitz.

“Here’s, uh, here’s my number. If you give me a heads up five minutes before you get here, we can have your coffee ready by the time you walk in. If you’re nice to me out there.”

“I don’t take bribes,” says Kravitz, grabbing the napkin and pulling out his phone to type in the number.

“That wasn’t a bribe, it was a threat. You don’t even wanna know what I’ll do to your coffee if you fuck me up.”

Kravitz doesn’t bother to point out that neither of them have ever caused any extreme bodily harm to one another and instead says, “So you’re asking me to go easy on you? I thought you were having fun.” He sends Taako a ‘hey it’s kravitz’ text before he has time to second guess himself.

“Could you stop poking holes in my threats? You’re harshing my fuckin’ vibe, Krav.” He sounds irritated, but Kravitz can see the smile tugging at his lips as he texts Kravitz a couple of skull emojis. “I should get back to work before my sister kicks my ass,” he says, standing back up. “I’ll see you tonight, nemesis.” Then he turns on his heels and heads back to the counter, saying something to Lup as he walks by. Kravitz watches him disappear into the back room.

Tonight.

Kravitz had better make sure he had hung his cloak up to dry.

[mrs-march-ahs]

Kai Helps You Find a Purpose

Summary- A blue-haired stranger helps you overcome the feeling of being lost after you quit your job. He seems fascinated by the rage in your body and shows you how to use it in an unconventional way.

Warnings- Murder, rape, knifes, blood, Kai Anderson. Words- 1.8k shorty:)

I’ve had this idea in my head for the longest time, so I really appreciate any feedback! I love doing my own ideas but if you prefer when I write requests then I wanna know! Enjoy! :)

---

You slam the glass door behind you as you exit your job. Well, old job. No matter how hard you work, your boss refused to see your potential and when you asked him for a raise for the final time and he said no, you gave him an ultimatum. And now you are left to walk out of your old job to the carpark with a backpack full of your belongings. To be honest, you hated that job anyway, and despised the sexist boss. He crossed a line by underappreciating your hard work, even after hours and constantly giving praise to the other fuckers who could barely make a cup of coffee. You walk over straight to his white Mercedes and pull out your pocketknife, hoping that in the dark of the evening nobody will witness your crime. As you squat down to the level of the front right tire and stab it powerfully with your knife, you can feel the feminist rage in your body deflate. After you do the front left and go towards the back one, you see a figure of a broad man standing at the front of the car, watching you. Although you saw him, his voice catches you off guard. And frankly, pisses you off too.

“If you slash all four tires then insurance will pay for it”, he states, assuming that you didn’t know that already. “Slash three”. The mansplaining makes you groan.

“Do I look like I need advice, asshole?”, you reply, rolling your eyes. Contrary to what you expected, the man stays stood watching you and laughs at your remark. When you push the blade from your knife particularly deep, you sigh in satisfaction, but fail to pull it out. You wriggle it around a little before looking up at the man.

“Are you gonna just watch me or at least are you gonna help?”, you ask, tugging at the knife.

“You don’t need my help”, he says quietly and ominously. “Use your strength, work smarter not harder”. The useless advice made you sigh in anger and push the knife in deeper, before practically ripping it out of the tire. He stands leaned over the hood of the car to watch you slash the tire, and smiles widely when you manage to do it by yourself. You stand up and look at him, and he stays smiling, and compliments you on your work.

“See? You don’t need help, you’re strong”, he whispers at you. You can’t help but smile back at the support and at the relief that he won’t snitch on your vandalism. When you take a step towards the curb to walk home, he puts his arm out to stop you and unexpectedly offers to buy you a coffee. You timidly say yes, but when he walks towards his car and opens the door for you, a red blinking alarm goes off in your mind and you kindly refuse to get in a stranger’s car. Although he laughs, he understands, and the two of you walk a mere 2 streets to a restaurant that he claims is owned by his friends. When the two of you walk through the front door of the packed restaurant and he asks for a table and instantly gets it, you have no reason to not believe his connections. You sit awkwardly across from the stranger who introduces himself to you, before praising you on your inexcusable actions.

“It takes a lot of strength to notice when you’re not being appreciated, it takes even more strength to just slash his tires instead of slashing his fucking throat”. His words are so serious that you don’t question how he knows what happened. “What do you want to achieve?”

“I want to make the world a better place in any way I can… I volunteer at soup kitchens all the time… dog shelters… I know it sounds horrible but no matter what I do, it doesn’t feel satisfying or like I’m achieving anything”. He exhales in amusement and you defensively expand.

“It’s like I’m waiting for some good karma to come to me, but all I feel is guilt because I’m doing good things for the wrong reasons”. You look down and swirl around your coffee with a spoon as you wait for him to judge you. All you felt was guilt, you wanted to be a good person and you knew you shouldn’t wait for good things to happen to you just because you’re volunteering. He puts a finger under your chin and makes you look at him. His big black eyes hypnotize you and you wait anxiously for him to speak.

“You need to put your rage towards something good. Anger doesn’t help anybody, but I saw today that you are capable of rage”, he coaxes you quietly. “A strong rage can be used as unlimited energy and shouldn’t be wasted, but put towards something useful… what fills you with rage?”

“The sexism at my work”, you immediately respond. “None of my male co-workers get harassed on the job. They don’t get told to smile or unbutton their shirts for tips. They get raises that they don’t deserve. As long as that keeps happening, I will always be filled with rage”.

The blue haired man hums in agreement and smiles at you. “That’s a solid source”. He drinks the end of his coffee and offers to drive you home.

When the two of you sit in his car, he proposes that instead of going back to the motel you lived at, you come over to his and the two of you could share a drink.

“No, I’m sorry. I need to go home and scream into my pillow”. Although you laugh after saying that, Kai doesn’t.

“What are you achieving with that? That’s like working hard to get money for gas, just to pour it down the drain”, he scolds you and raises his voice with every word. “You have this rage; we’re going to use it for something good!”, he shouts.

“Yes, but how!”, you reply, and watch Kai take a few turns before driving around the same couple of blocks a few times. You sit silently and hope he’ll explain the plan, but he doesn’t, instead he slowly drives down the streets, carefully inspecting the alleyways. Finally, when a short hum escapes his lips, he pulls his car over and points towards an alleyway on the other side of the street.

“Look what’s happening”.

You narrow your eyes trying to see down the dark alleyway and unbuckle your seatbelt to lean over closer to Kai. A man down the side of a building is stumbling slightly with a gun in his hand, pinning a woman against the wall and forcibly pulling her clothes off, only for her to try to push him away.

“Wait… is he uh-”

“What is your feminism fuelled rage telling you to do?”

You look Kai dead in the eye and his black eyes and clenched jaw silently ask you whether you’re willing to do what it takes. Saying that you want the world to be a better place means jack shit if you’re not ready to singlehandedly protect your sisters and put your rage towards making the world cleaner and safer. Not tomorrow, not in years to come, but now.

Without another second of thought, you jump out of the car and run to the alley, Kai following closely behind. Kai grabs the drunk man by the shoulders and rips him off the wall, allowing you access to push the woman out of the alleyway and onto the street, letting her immediately start running. The drunk attempts to fight Kai, throwing hard punches that all miss. Not wanting to steal your spotlight, Kai throws the man into the wall, letting you take out your feminist rage on his face. You put your hands in his hair and grip tightly, repeatedly smashing his face into the brick wall, leaving instant blood stains and scratches. Hopefully, a lifetime reminder of the scum he is. In order to save him the disgust of having to look at himself in the mirror, you drag his face along the wall, hoping that the cracks in the wall will be enough to leave his face bleeding.

“Work smarter; not harder”, Kai reminds you.

You release the man from your grip and watch him stumble and lean against the wall for support, giving you enough time to take your pocketknife back out and plunge in straight into the mans crotch. As he sloppily yells in pain, Kai grabs the gun out of his hand and throws it over a fence, just in case he gets any ideas. The intoxicating high of seeing this rapist bleed and cry in pain gives you one last kick of confidence, which you use to twist the knife in his ball sack before ripping it out. Kai stands watching you, smirking and almost hard, listening to the beaten-up motherfucker pant and sob. Kai pushes you out of the way and shoves him to the ground one last time, before grabbing your hand and legging it to the car.

When you sink to the car seat, trying to catch your breath, not a single thought coming to your mind for the first few seconds. The adrenaline of assault makes your heart want to jump out of your chest. But when you look over at Kai, expecting him to mirror you, he sits calmly, waiting for you to calm down. Your head is blurred with disbelief at what you just did, but despite knowing in your mind that violence isn’t the answer, you sit there as Kai starts driving and wait for the guilt to overpower your body. But it just…doesn’t.

“I’m so proud of you”, Kai says and puts his hand on your thigh giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m waiting for the guilt to kick in”

“It won’t”, Kai informs you. “You don’t care about the homeless or animals”

“What?! Of course, I do-”

“No, you don’t. You care about sexism. That’s what powers you. How many statistics do you know about rape? How much do you know about rape prevention? Feminism? Malala and Michelle fucking Obama?!”, he yells.

“That’s what fills you with rage, and that’s what begins the unlimited cycle”. Although his words sounded so sure and factual, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I don’t want to do it with violence”. Your voice weakens which makes Kai huff in amusement. He parks his car outside your motel and turns to you.

“You just made the world a better place. You saved that woman. That scum will never be able to reproduce. If you weren’t doing the right thing, you’d feel guilty”. You look up at him with worried eyebrows and he gives you a warm reassuring smile. You can’t deny his words, and the adrenaline and sense of accomplishment overshadow any speck of guilt you’re meant to feel. Just as you’re about to open the car door to get out, he puts his hand on your shoulder and looks at you once more.

“I’ll come by and get you tomorrow, I want you to meet my friends”

[adhd-disaster-willie]

you're the one that brings the sun; chapter 1/6

Summary: Alex is prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Willex roommate au! 

Warnings: Swearing

Notes: The title is from the song “I Dare You” by the Regrettes. I’ve actually planned this fic out so here’s to hoping I don’t get burned out halfway through. It might end up having 6 or 7 chapters, 5 is kind of just an estimate.

---

When Alex was 11, his mother proudly plastered his report card to the fridge and exclaimed that one day, her little boy would go to Harvard. His father gripped his shoulder with pride and Alex beamed up at his parents like they’d just told him he had superpowers. 3 years later, he was 14 and teetering on the edge of failure in the majority of his classes. He wasn’t stupid by any means, just preoccupied. He’d started a band with his best friends and that felt like the most important thing in the whole world, and high school was new and scary, so it was easier to not pour all his focus into school. His parents’ smiles faltered but they kept up hope, Alex could tell. 2 years later, he stood shaking and crying outside of the Molina’s garage and suddenly, the concept of going to college begun to feel distant and fake. But he’s 18 now, and somehow, miraculously, gazing at the piles of boxes in the back of Ray’s car and swallowing down a lump in his throat.

It sure isn’t Harvard, but a part of Alex feels giddy at the fact that he’s attending a public college that was relatively easy to get into; oh his parents would be rolling in their proverbial graves. What didn’t make him quite so happy though, was the looming fact that he’d be living with some random person, because for some godforsaken reason, the college wouldn’t allow freshmen to choose their roomates. Some bullshit about meeting new people and socializing.

“Hey, ‘Lex. Dude, you’ll be fine.” Luke shakes his shoulders, before swinging one arm around him and the other around Reggie.

“Says the one who isn’t even going to college,” Alex grumbles, slipping from Luke’s grip and into the front seat of the car.

“Yea cause I don’t need it. Not my fault you’re both nerds,” Luke retorts.

“I’m not a nerd, I just like to have insurance-”

“Yea, back-up plan, safety net, heard it a million times. Reggie’s a nerd though.”

“Old news, dude,” Alex says.

“I am not a nerd!” Reggie protests indignantly.

“Tell that to your 2 years of college credit in math.”

Luke nods in agreement. “Nerd.”

“Math is fun!”

“You’re horrible.” Alex makes a mock gagging noise.

Julie comes bounding out of the house, her arms decked with various baked goods. She tosses herself in the backseat beside Reggie and Luke, looking quite pleased with herself at being able to force Luke to sit in the middle. “Tía was apparently up all night baking,” she explains, passing the sweets up to Alex. “Don’t be surprised if she shows up at your dorm with food every day.”

Alex snorts. “I would not object to that.”

Julie sighs, leaning back in her seat. “You guys are so lucky, I’m tired of high school. Damn September birthday,” Julie grumbles. Her birthday is just after the cut off date, so she would be 18 for the majority of senior year, but is just barely too young to be in the same grade as the boys.

Reggie leans over and pats her arm sympathetically, earning an offended squeak from Luke, who’s only pushed further into the back of the seat.

“Don’t worry!” Alex chirps sarcastically. “You get to spend more time with Luke, since he’ll be squatting in your garage!”

“Oh, joy,” Julie deadpans.

“I am not a squatter!” Luke protests, kicking the back of Alex’s seat.

“No kicking! I’m holding food!”

“Y’know Alex, you’ve been staying in the studio for 2 years, you’re not one to talk!” Luke argues.

“I have a job.”

“A stupid job.”

“A stupid job that gets you free coffee.”

Reggie nodds to that, chewing on a cookie. “Can’t risk losing your coffee privileges.”

Julie groans loudly and stuck her head out the window. “DAAAAD! Let’s goooo!” She cries.

“Wow, I didn’t know you wanted to get rid of me so badly,” Alex says, clutching his chest dramatically.

“Oh shut up Lexi, I just wanna meet your’s and Reggie’s new best friends!” Julie says, laughing.

“I’m not gonna be best friends with my roommate.”

“Yea, Alex forgot how to do that!”

“Luke I will smother you in your sleep!”

At this, Ray approaches the car with a raised eyebrow. “No one’s planning a murder, I hope?” He asks, chuckling as he slides into the drivers seat.

“No sir!” Reggie replies, grinning.

“Not yet,” Alex mumbles under his breath.

“Alright boys, who’s ready for college!” Ray says, starting the car.

“I’m gonna be sick.”

---

“And that’s the last of it!” Ray claps a hand over Alex’s shoulder and smiles encouragingly.

Alex nods tensely, gripping the strap of his fannypack tighter.

The dorm’s probably as good as he’s gonna get. One reasonably sized bedroom complete with two horribly uncomfortable beds, a kitchen with a fridge that was in no way large enough to fit even a weeks worth of meals, a tiny living room that would probably fit a couch and a TV at the most, and a bathroom that smelled suspiciously of mustard. Really it isn’t terrible, but Alex has a habit of noticing every little detail, especially the ones that could be a problem at some point. His roommate hasn’t arrived yet, so he’s standing amongst his various boxes, anxiety pulsing in his chest.

Julie grips his hand tightly and smiles, tears pricking the edges of her eyes. “Hey, Alex, you’re gonna be okay.” She squeezes his hand briefly.

Alex nods, exhaling shakily. “Yea, yea I know. It’s just…”

“A change, I know. But this is a good change. And-” she hauls Reggie and Luke over to them. “-we’re all here if you need to call someone and talk. And dad, and Tía, and I bet your roommate will be super cool.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Just pray he’s not a football player,” Reggie stage-whispers, shuddering.

“God, don’t even suggest that!” Alex whines.

Encouragements and teary hugs are passed along, as well as a promise to meet at the Olive Garden nearby for dinner in a few hours, and then Alex’s posse is off to get Reggie settled, and Alex is left alone in the dorm. Alright.

Alex takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before beginning to wander the dorm. He’s anxious to start unpacking without his roommate and risk doing something that they wouldn’t like. Even choosing a bed feels wrong, he really doesn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with this person. But leaving the dorm meant people everywhere so that was a definite no. He sighs, lowering himself to the wooden floor and pulling out his phone.

“Yea… uh huh. Yes Caleb, I got here fine. No the Uber driver did not try and kidnap me. The boxes- the boxes are not too heavy. Okay. Okay. Yea, bye. Mhm.”

Alex looks up hesitantly upon hearing the voice nearing his dorm. The person standing in the doorway is well… less of a person and more of a large stack of boxes threatening to fall over any second. “Hello?” Alex stands up and makes his way to the boy stood in the entrance.

Said boy pokes his head out from behind his boxes and grins crookedly. “Hi, uh, I’m Willie!” And well, Alex is a goner. He swallows thickly, breath catching in the back of his throat. Willie attempts to adjust the boxes but ultimately fails, sending them tumbling to the ground amongst several muttered curses. “Well… nothing fragile in there,” he falters slightly. “I think.”

“Um…”

“Right! Sorry, uh.” Willie holds his hand out and Alex shakes it tentatively.

“Alex.”

“Alex, cool.” Willie smiles again, his dark eyes twinkling as he does so, smile lines popping out. He brushes his hair -which looks so soft and pretty- behind his ear to reveal a small golden hoop on his right lobe. Alex is dead, actually 100% dead. Because he’d been prepared for every single variable except, apparently, the one in which his roommate is drop dead gorgeous and Alex is an absolute clusterfuck of a human being who falls for the first pretty boy on he sees on campus.

Alex forces out a smile, all too aware that he’s still standing stiff and awkward in front of Willie, his grip on his fannypack tight enough to make his knuckles glow white. Then Willie coughs as some sort of attempt to fill the silence. “Sorry!” Alex squeaks. “Do you need help with the… the uh, boxes?”

“Oh yea, that’d be great!” Willie replies, beaming. “I don’t think there’s anything fragile in there, but y’know, my memory is absolute shit so if I broke some fancy china dishes I didn’t even know I owned, don’t be too shocked.”

Alex laughs anxiously. “Yea uh… I didn’t start unpacking cause I um… I didn’t want to claim a bed and stuff with-without your input?” His voice cracks at the end and he winces because Jesus fucking christ Alex.

Willie chuckles and Alex notes that he has the kind of laugh that echoes through your whole body and settles right in your heart. “ ‘S cool, man, I don’t mind.”

“Right, cool. Do you uh… are you okay if I take the bed farthest from the window? I’m not- not much of a morning person, and the window is… it’s east facing” Alex mutters, his gaze focused on his feet which are rocking back and forth at a rapid pace.

“Yea, of course,” Willie replies. “I don’t think I’ve woken up later than 8 in 5 years.”

“That’s horrific!” Alex cries, momentarily forgetting his anxiety. He steps back and blushes an even deeper red upon realizing how stupid he’s being. “I mean- I just… sorry, I just meant that-”

“You’re good, dude. I don’t bite.”

Alex cracks a tentative smile. “So uh… I’ll just start unpacking then.”

Willie shoots him a thumbs up and smiles once again, which is a thing he apparently does a lot.

An hour later, Alex’s belongings are unpacked and organized and the room feels a bit more his. He feels slightly lighter, exhaling and closing his eyes briefly. This isn’t so bad. Fiddling with the hem of his hoodie, he shuffles out into the living room where Willie is presumably unpacking. Except that he’s not.

Willie is laying upside down on a couch that somehow appeared while Alex was gone and he’s flipping through a tattered magazine while his belongings remain mostly unpacked.

“This quiz says that I should try roller skating,” Willie sniffs. “Some personality test this is- oh hey Alex!” He scrambles up so that he can look Alex in the eyes properly, and points to the magazine in his hand. “Found this in a box, not sure how it got there since I’ve never even subscribed to one of these, but there’s a chocolate chip cookie recipe in here.” He stops for a moment, pondering. “Personally I prefer peanut butter cookies, ooh especially fresh out of the oven. There’s this bakery near my house that-”

“Did you get… any unpacking done?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.

Willie looks around at his boxes and laughs sheepishly. “Well I unpacked one and opened 3 so… some, yes.”

“Where’d the couch come from?” Alex pokes the cushion warily, as if afraid that it’s full of bugs.

“Room across the hall,” Willie says, pointing. “They both brought couches and didn’t have room for two we got the one with more stains.”

“Right.” Alex’s reply is forced and tense, and he winces upon realizing. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected his roommate to become so comfortable so fast and he felt like he was several steps behind. Damn extroverts. Drumming his hands against his thighs, Alex slowly sits down on the other side of the couch, pointedly looking ahead instead of at Willie.

“So.” Willie scoots closer, sitting cross legged with his elbows on his thighs and chin resting in his palms. “What’s your major?”

Small talk, god Alex hates small talk. “Um, music,” he answers.

“Ah, that’s cool dude.” Willie nods.

“Uh, what about you?” Alex asks.

“Art,” Willie replies, grinning. “Be prepared for paint stains, like, everywhere.” He chuckles and nudges Alex’s shoulder playfully. Alex is going to implode, he’s sure of it.

Alex laughs awkwardly. “So uh… what’s wrong with rollerskating?”

Willie shoves his shoulder again. “Everything, dude! Well-” he cuts himself off, thinking. “-I just kinda suck at it, definitely better at my skateboard.” He jerks his head in the direction of a skateboard leaned against the wall and Alex wonders how he didn’t notice that.

“Oh, that’s- that’s cool. I rollerblade but I uh, I can’t skateboard to save my life.”

Somehow, they slip into a comfortable rhythm, and Alex notes that his anxiety no longer has him in a chokehold. Willie seems to have that affect; he’s just so… open. Alex doesn’t realize it yet, but he’s subconsciously created a folder in the back of his mind labelled “Willie,” and he doesn’t think he’s capable of forgetting anything Willie will ever say to him.

“- that’s why airplane food is just, horrible. Cause you basically lose like 30% of your tastebuds because of the elevation.” Willie smiles at Alex, gaging his response.

Alex would rather die than admit that he’s still trying to figure out how the topic of airplane food came up, so he just nods enthusiastically, actively stopping his eyes from dancing across Willie’s face, which is practically glowing in the evening sun. Evening. Shit. Alex pulls out his phone frantically. “Shit.” He says it out loud this time.

Willie’s brow furrows in confusion. “You good, dude?”

“Uh yea I’m just, I’m supposed to be meeting my fam- uh my friends for dinner and I have to be there in like 5 minutes.” He ignores the way Willie’s expression falls, convinced he’s just seeing things.

“Yea um, of course. I won’t keep you.” Willie stands up, his posture the stiffest that Alex has seen it in the whole 3 hours they’ve been acquainted for. “I’ll just… order a pizza.”

Alex hesitates in the doorway, weighing his options, which has never been his strong suit. “Do you want to join me?” He blurts impulsively. Willie looks at him in surprise. “I mean only- only if you want of course, we’ve only really uh, known each other for a few hours and you- you probably don’t want to, it was stupid. I’ll just- I’ll just go-”

“No! I’d… I’d like to, eating pizza alone in the dark sounds a little pathetic,” Willie responds.

Alex smiles genuinely. “Ok, ok that’s uh. Cool. That’s cool.”

---

Alex is already regretting this. The restaurant isn’t too crowded, he notices with a relieved breath. But it’s loud. It’s loud and yet only one group of people is talking. Alex doesn’t even need to guess who.

“Ok but- no- no- the whole song would be better!”

“Say banjo one more time, I dare you!”

“Banjo.”

“Julie, what the hell?! This is betrayal!”

“You stole my breadstick, it’s only fair.”

Alex coughs, quieting the table to a dull roar.

“Alex!” Julie pulls him down to sit next to her. “Oh? Who’s this?” Reggie is grinning wickedly and Luke waggles his eyebrows in a way that makes Alex want to shave them off.

“This is uh, my roommate Willie,” Alex responds, his voice raising an octave. “He didn’t have plans so I uh… I invited him, I hope that’s ok.”

“Of course it’s ok!” Julie pats the space on the other side of Alex and Willie sits down, appearing… oddly nervous.

“Congrats! Your Alex’s first new friend since,” Luke taps his chin, pretending to think. “7th grade.”

Alex’s face promptly falls into his hands. He’s seriously considering the whole, shaving Luke’s eyebrows in his sleep thing.

Reggie leans forward conspiratorially. “What’s your opinion on banjos?” He asks, making a point to ignore Luke’s dramatic complaining.

Willie raises his eyebrows, clearly confused. “Um. No comment?”

“I’m… sorry about them,” Alex says apolegetically. “Uh, this is Luke, Reggie, and Julie-” he gestures to each of them; Reggie waves, beaming happily. “-and Julie’s dad should be…” He trails off, looking around.

“He had to take a phone call, something about Carlos refusing to eat dinner until he proves the house is haunted,” Julie explains, clearly biting back a laugh.

“I… okay.” Alex shakes his head. “Are we waiting for more food or did Reggie eat it all?”

“Ha ha,” Reggie punctuates his statement by sticking out his tongue. “We’re waiting for the actual meals-”

“Yea Luke already ate the entire bread basket.” Julie shoots a glare in Luke’s direction.

“Well… you suggested we get hotdogs,” Luke grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Payback.”

“Okay,” Julie laughs.

Willie leans over to whisper loudly to Alex, “What’s the story with the hotdogs?”

“Don’t tell him!” Luke cries, leaning across the table and slamming his palms down.

“We don’t talk of the hot-dogs,” Reggie mutters miserably.

“Food poisoning.” Alex shudders slightly. “Very bad food poisoning.”

“We almost died,” Reggie says, eyes widening. “Like, for real death. I’m pretty sure I was a ghost for a few seconds.”

“Reg, you were not a ghost,” Alex says, speaking like Reggie’s a 10 year old talking about monsters under his bed.

“I was!”

“You were not!”

“So,” Luke smiles mischievously, taking Reggie and Alex’s bickering as an opportunity to apparently torture the latter. Despite Alex’s warning glares, he turns to Willie with an innocent expression. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Luke,” Alex hisses, all too familiar with Luke’s antics.

“Hmmm.” Willie is painfully oblivious to Alex’s panicked expression as he mulls over his answer. “A lot of stuff really.” He shrugs. “Rock, pop, I like those lo-fi playlists when I’m trying to study.”

Luke nods, clearly pleased with the answer, but he isn’t done and Alex wants to hide under the table. He knows what’s coming next. “Thoughts on… drummers?”

“Luke.” Alex is seconds from lunging across the table.

“Drummers?” Willie asks, tilting his head confusedly.

“Yup,” Luke says, popping the p and still smiling like he’s some sort of innocent puppy-dog and not an absolute bastard.

“Hot,” Willie jokes. Alex can’t even hide the way he manages to choke on his own spit, and Luke and Reggie have never been great at subtlety, turning to Alex with matching shit-eating grins. Willie either doesn’t notice or is kind enough not to comment on it. “Yea, pretty sure young Roger Taylor was my gay awakening.”

Reggie is full on giggling now, and Alex’s entire face is gleaming a bright red. Willie glances around the table, puzzled.

“Mhm.” Luke nods before swiftly turning to Alex. “Hey Alex, by the way, you left your drumsticks in the car, do you need them back?” His voice is sickeningly sweet, coated in some sort of poisoned honey. It’s Willie’s turn to choke on nothing, failing to disguise it as a spontaneous coughing fit.

“Fine,” Alex squeaks as he sinks further down in his seat. If he pulls out his phone and messages Luke a flurry of threats, that’s no one’s business. He dares a glance at Willie, who has become quite fascinated with his hands, which are tapping out a mindless rhythm on the table, his cheeks and the tips of his ears dusted red.

Needless to say, Alex makes sure Luke doesn’t even get to look at the next bread basket.

---

I hope you liked it! Tell me if you want to be added to the taglist :)

I’m hoping to update at least once a week, but who knows. Ok thats all.

chapter 2

Chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

[laurenwritesfics]

Apologies for the month-long wait! It's finally time for the next chapter!

Read the previous chapter HERE. Read the full series on AO3.

CHAPTER FOUR: FOUND

Frank’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He let out a long huff before slapping the dashboard, his eyes coming back into focus, the sight of the car hood crumpled against a guard rail jolting him into sobriety. Turning his head, he followed the tire marks to the center of the road, where the other car had swerved. He had just enough room to squeeze himself out the door, after which he attempted to get the other driver’s attention with a concerned wave. No response.

Walking forward, squinting in the glare of the headlights, the tightness in his chest subsided when he saw the woman behind the wheel, unhurt and breathing heavily. She was clearly just as shaken up as he was. With a light tap of a knuckle against the glass, he encouraged her to open the window. Their eyes met. There was no anger in them, only the softness that comes before an apology. Frank beat her to the punch.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry too, I should’ve noticed you sooner.”

“You had your lights on. I didn’t. It’s my fault. Do you want me to call an ambulance? I wanna do something.” There was a hint of panic in his tone.

“It’s fine, really. I appreciate it, though.” She gave him a small smile and Frank stepped back as she got out the car.

“At the very least I should give you my details, y’know, for insurance purposes.” He fumbled in his pockets for a non-existent pen. Then he pulled out his phone.

“No problem.” The woman unlocked her phone, pulling up her contacts. “My house isn’t too far from here so I guess it could have been worse, right? We’re not stranded out in the middle of nowhere.”

“I guess you’re right,” Frank shook his head lightly in agreement “so what name am I putting in here?”

“Lucy Montgomery.”

Frank tapped out her name and then shook her hand. “Frank Adler. If you need someone to look at the car, I’m actually a mechanic – I could save you a couple hundred bucks.”

Lucy tilted her head skeptically. “If I had a couple hundred bucks for every time a guy said something like that…”

“It’s true, I swear. Look,” Frank scrolled through pictures of his workshop until he reached a picture of the Celestia “this is what I’m currently working on.”

Lucy crossed her arms and scrunched her lips. “Okay, I’ll admit that’s kinda impressive. Do you do this all by yourself?”

“Yeah. This one’s for a dentist in Coral Gables, so if you don’t want me to fix up your car I’ll happily pay for everything.” He was half-joking.

“Nice to see chivalry isn’t dead.” Lucy quipped. “So how come you were out here in the dark anyway?”

Frank was leaning against the roof of Lucy’s car, one hand on his hip. “My niece’s cat went missing. Then she did too. I’ve been out looking for both of them all day.”

“Oh shit, I’m sorry. Kids are impulsive like that aren’t they?”

“You got that right. Mary’s obsessed with Fred. He’s the only friend she’s got.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t wanna put this on you-“ he started, but Lucy cut in.

“No, you offered to help me, so I’m doing the same. Do you have a picture of her?”

Frank nodded, tilting the phone towards Lucy. “She’s a real smart kid. I don’t think she’s lost, just angry.”

“I get that. I’ll keep a lookout and let you know if I see anything.”

“Thanks.” Frank pushed off the side of the car and moved around to the hood. “Y’know I could look at this right now. Probably get you back on the road before FDOT. And I’m offering friends discount…” he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

“What is that exactly?”

“Usually half off. But for you, no charge. This time anyway.”

“This time? Are you planning on crashing into me again?”

“Not at all. I just mean I can do a better job for less, if you want me to.”

“Huh,” Lucy clicked her tongue “well if you say we’re friends, then I can’t pass it up.”

“For insurance purposes, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

They grinned at each other, then Frank popped the hood and began his inspection.

“You got somebody you can call at home? Just in case I’ve gotta take this into the shop.”

“I’ll figure it out. It looks like you know what you’re doing, so I’m not worried about that right now.”

“So you trust a stranger?” Frank feigned shock.

“I thought we were friends? Friends trust each other.”

“Good to hear.” He paced along the side and crouched to inspect a dent near one of the tail lights. “Looks like we caught each other at the back here. I can bang that right out. No problem. What d’ya say? It’s the least I can do.”

Lucy’s eyes darted from the road to Frank. “The Road Ranger’s here. I think he’s gonna want to take care of it.”

Unbeknownst to Frank, Lucy had called roadside assistance the moment the accident had happened. They rolled up alongside a police cruiser, and both the Road Ranger and an officer walked over. They stopped at Frank’s car first. Frank got up and headed over, ready to negotiate. But there are only so many times the line ‘it’s okay, I’m a mechanic’ can get you out of trouble. Of the two of them, Frank’s car was the only one that wasn’t fit for the road. He was the one who had to find another way home.

As his car was getting inspected, he dialed, first tapping out a text to a friend who took no time at all to offer to take care of Frank’s car. For now, there was no more he could do.

“Hey Roberta, got into a bit of trouble. Can you come pick me up?”

Roberta didn’t ask what kind of trouble he meant. She agreed right away.

Perched on the guard rail, Frank tossed his phone back and forth in his hands as he waited. He cast a glance over at Lucy, who was giving a statement about the accident. It surprised Frank how quickly she walked away. He hoped she hadn’t decided to take the blame.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna ride with us?”

“Us?” Lucy’s eyes narrowed curiously.

“My neighbor Roberta. She looks after Mary a lot. She’s great. I don’t know what I’d do without her sometimes.”

“That’s so nice, I’m glad there’s someone you can call on for support. It must be tough being just the two of you.”

Frank sighed. “It can be. But Mary’s like a little old woman in a kid’s body. She’s so wise, resilient, Diane did a great job bringing her up.” There was a tinge of melancholy in his voice.

Lucy sat beside him. “Diane?” She attempted to meet his gaze. “Oh, God, I shouldn’t-” she stuttered “if I’ve overstepped….you don’t have to talk about it.”

Frank shook his head. “No, it’s okay. Diane was my sister. She died.” This was all he could bring himself to say. Lucy wasn’t prying, but the wound left by Frank’s grief was still too fresh, and a sharp pang of sadness shot through him at the thought of exposing it. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and wrung his hands together, head bowed a little.

“I’m so sorry. Mary sounds like a wonderful little girl, so I imagine Diane was just as wonderful.” Lucy laid a hand on Frank’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“She was.”

Their eyes finally met. They sat in comfortable silence for a few long minutes before the glare of headlights grew brighter. Roberta pulled up and Frank stood, eyes flitting over to the Road Ranger.

“I guess this is you?” Lucy gestured to the car and then shoved her hands in her pockets as the evening breeze tickled her exposed skin.

“Last chance if you want a ride.”

She hesitated for a moment and then turned on her heels. “Let me go talk to the Road Ranger. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Roberta’s window slid down. “I went out for a drive to the beach and found a pearl…” Roberta pointed to the back seat.

Frank leaned in and saw Mary, slumped and frowning. He pushed back, laid his head on the cool window frame and muttered “Thank fuck.”

For once, Mary didn’t chastise Frank and demand a dollar. She sat up straight, gripping the top of Roberta’s seat as Lucy approached the car.

Frank opened the passenger door, stretching across to open the other for Lucy.

“This had better be a real good story, kiddo.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.” Mary stared absently through the window at the trees that billowed softly in the wind. “Can we just go home?”

“We sure can. We just have to drop this lady home first.” Frank adjusted the overhead mirror to give Lucy a reassuring smile. She smiled back and adjusted her seat belt.

Mary scanned her face. “Did you hit Uncle Frank’s car or did he hit you?”

Roberta stifled a laugh.

“Neither. We both swerved. Unfortunately Frank was the one who took a hit, but we’re fine.”

Roberta pressed her lips into a concerned line. “I think you should both get checked out at the hospital. Don’t wanna take any chances.”

“If anything changes, I’ll go there tomorrow.” Frank patted Roberta’s hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not hurt, just a little shaken up. I’ll be fine after I’ve rested.” Lucy reassured her.

“If you’re sure…” Roberta gave them both a stern look. She was acting like a mother again. “Where am I taking you?”

“I live over on Jackson. It’s not too far, just past the library.”

“Uh-oh, she said library.” Roberta quipped, noticing the way Mary perked up a little. “This one loves books.”

“Y’know,” Lucy looked across at Mary “I work at the library, so if you wanna stop by sometime I can recommend some really cool books.” She caught Frank’s eye in the mirror. “We have a kids group every Saturday.”

Mary winced at the word. “I’m not a kid. I’m just me.”

“Hey, watch your tone,” Roberta admonished “this lady’s being nice.”

“Sorry.” Mary mumbled.

“It’s okay.” Lucy twisted slightly to face her. “I get it, I’m a stranger, it’s weird. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“It’s a nice thought, so thank you.” Frank reached over to tap Mary’s leg. “Mary, what do you say?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And it’s nice to meet the girl I’ve heard so much about.”

Mary cocked her head. “Really?”

“Yeah, Frank told me all about how awesome you are – and brave – you must really love your cat to go out looking for him for days on end like that.”

“Uncle Frank told you about Fred?”

“He did. Wanna tell me a little more about him?”

“He only has one eye and he’s my best friend.” Mary said matter-of-factly. Frank coughed loudly. “Okay, Roberta and Uncle Frank are pretty cool too I guess.”

“Seems like it.” Lucy chuckled. The library passed them by and Lucy directed Roberta down Jackson Road. “Alrighty, this is me. Thank you so much for doing this.”

“No problem.” Frank and Roberta said in unison.

“It was nice meeting you, Mary. And you too, Roberta.” She got out and proffered a hand. “If I need any help with the car I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

With a brief handshake and a bright wave, the hectic night was finally over.

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[goldkirk]

how I do just enough to take care of myself that I don’t totally spiral on really empty-well days

I’ve gotten 3-5 hours of sleep max for the past three days so to say that I’m not at the top of my game is an understatement. But I’m finally out of my total overwhelm and distress just enough to haul myself around today determined to do good things for my me and determined to work on therapy stuff that DOESN’T drain me or stress me out.

And to be serious about drinking water and eating at least twice and do some hygiene stuff. The more flat and hiding-downward and confused and wispy-ghost-that-can’t-hold-thoughts I am, the more I can’t do a lot of the really important routines for eating and caring for my body and getting concrete hands-on feels-satisfying-to-accomplish-it tasks that are the most critical backbone component of Katie Being a Functioning Human Who Feels As Minimally Lousy Physically As Possible (and its sequel, When Katie Has the Good Luck to Manage Several Days in a Row of Consistent Medication Times and All Basic Daily “Living Human Body”Routine Things, She Miraculously Will Actually Have More Capacity for Like, Everything). I also had an insurance issue getting a really important daily drug for several days so that. Really wasn’t a help.

THINGS ARE GOING TO BE BETTER FOR MY BODY TODAY BECAUSE I AM GOING TO GO AS SLOW AS I NEED TO BUT MAKE IT HAPPEN. No more shame. No shame and overwhelm paralysis. I only have to do three main things, and I am NOT allowed to beat myself up over it no matter if it takes me till 5 PM just to put shower and put on clean clothes. I’m gonna do it and I’m writing how I’ve learned to plan a day like this in case it can help any of you. 💛

Step 1: try to get in your body as much as possible—if you’ve got any pain or any discomfort or anything that really is making your experience of having a physical body way worse, try to drop any other plans and take care of ONE thing for that first. In my case, this morning I woke up feeling extra run down and empty and sore, and I figured out I needed food and also hadn’t drunk nearly enough water yesterday. I’m working on fixing that now. It’s taking me an hour to eat oatmeal, but it’s happening because I’m taking care of the me that shouldn’t need to be suffering this way and DEFINITELY doesn’t deserve to have me make it worse because I don���t want to do anything.

Step 2: think of a couple things that make you feel better when you do them OR bleed out feelings a bit without being too intense or hard for you to do when already low. For me, that’s petting Aoife, maybe doing a little bit of extra skincare or makeup if I’m up for it later, playing Cozy Grove if my eyes aren’t too tired, and (since I got given the homework to try it this week) trying to start doing art therapy but from literally the “what you’d have a toddler do” level instead of starting with trauma exercises or thinking/focused art things. IMPORTANT: if that art attempt starts feeling at any point like it’s making my mood bad or prompting me to get really sleepy/zoned out because my brain isn’t up for it, I’ll stop right away. I’m learning the lesson that it’s NOT worth it to push through chronic illness or mental illness symptoms that are your “pressure valve” indicators.

(I ignored my body on that issue for so long that this summer it went “FUCK’S SAKE WILL YOU LISTEN TO THIS THEN????” and escalated to literally forcing me to pass out asleep at any time of day with no more than two minutes of warning if I go too far past my body’s signals to please sit for a while or please stop trying CBT techniques or whatever. Don’t be like me. 😅)

Step 3: do not put those on to do list for yourself.

Step 4: think of the minimum body things you need to do to make your body actually feel better abd more human again—for me, that’s washing my face and putting the creams on it, washing my hair since it’s been a few days, putting on Real Shoes that lace, eating and drinking several things, and taking my medications as early as possible.

Step 5: do not those on your to do list either.

Step 6: pick THREE things. ONLY three things, or two if three is too much. The three things that you think will help you feel the most better if you do them before anything else. For me, today, that’s eating one thing, washing body/hair so I feel not gross, and putting on big-girl clothes that make me feel like I’m actually dressed for a real day.

Step 7: NOW you have your to do list. Go through those as slowly as you need to, and if/when you finish them, then you can pick two or three more things that you think would be the next nicest options for you, and then you can attempt to do those too. And once you’ve done a few things that are simple and concrete like this, it gets easier because your brain starts getting some nice dopamine rewards from seeing things visibly accomplished AND your body feels more comfortable and has more energy to do things.

I love you. You can do this. We’re all gonna be all right, believe me. Seeing as none of the trauma managed to kill us and we survived, apparently we’ve actually got plenty of time to improve and recover. We already survived! We did that part! We got the damage and now it’s about rehabbing our injuries. The story doesn’t stop right there, with us stuck in tangles of fog and dysfunction! Our bodies want to heal already, and we’re helping them when we can. Dysfunction is not what our default state is going to be stuck in forever. The story ends with us actually okay one day. 💛

[sigmadecay]

You said you can info dump about Jonestown massacre? I'm here to learn about Jonestown massacre.

OHOHOHO YES

okay so if I start from Jim Jones’ early life this is literally gonna take me hours to write and probably take you forever to read so I will try to cliffnote the context of....y’know, his life

He didn’t have super present or even very parental parents, his mother worked a lot & his father was a disabled WWI vet. A neighbor took him to church w her family on Sundays and that began his interest in religion. He went to different churches all the time to see what they were about but had a particular interest in the Pentecostal church, it was loud & interactive & joyful but they did get a bad rep for “speaking in tongues”

Jim married his wife Marceline when he was 17 or 18 and she was like 20-21. She was working as a nurse in a hospital that Jim did custodial work in while he was trying to get himself through school. I have a lot of thoughts about Marceline Jones and most of them are “she deserved better” but we will come back to Marceline later.

Fast forward fast forward and Jim & Marcy have a number of kids, their “rainbow family” which consists of one bio child and a number of adopted children I think?? Listen in my defense he ended up with nine (!!! NINE) kids and they’re hard to keep track of but I know Stephan was their biological son and they adopted Jim Jr. who was black and Lew & Suzanne who were Korean which was a bigass deal at the time. More kids cropped up over the course of things but y’know. When Jim founded the Peoples Temple he got the MLK Jr award for racial equality because his church was the first fully integrated church at least in Indiana which was fucking nuts at the time??? Lots of people liked him. It appeared that he was doing good things.

And then shit like faith healings started where he would stage religious healings from cancer and shit and his congregation began regarding him as a deity. Someone would be blessed and would spit out a “tumor” (a piece of chicken liver) or the woman in the wheelchair who got up and walked turned out to be Jim’s secretary. Completely bogus nonsense, but it was a good, integrated church and they all thought he was a good person.

So, (and I’m leaving out details here sorry) Jim starts teasing like an escape to a “promised land” type deal. And he goes to a bunch of places looking for one—he spends time in Brazil especially—until finally settling on Guyana. The Guyanese govt was excited to have Americans coming bc they were at war with Venezuela and it was...sort of like insurance, but yeah. They gave the Peoples Temple a couple hundred acres in the middle of basically the fucking rainforest. And it was touted as like this socialist utopia and shit. It’s work but there’s housing and you grow your own food, and it seemed nice! Especially for people who were so disillusioned with the government and racial inequality. So they move out to Guyana and start to build houses, and shit is pretty alright at first, but...The soil isn’t fertile and almost no food actually grows. The hours are long and the work is backbreaking, not to mention the HEAT, but it’s like, deal-with-able until Jim Jones gets there. At this point Jones is like completely totally paranoid and he’s losing his grip on reality. He’s been doing drugs for years and his sermons have gone from “the US government is bad because it’s capitalist and racist” to “the US government is literally plotting to kill us.”

Some people managed to get out, and formed a group called the “concerned relatives.” They were, you guessed it, concerned relatives of the members who’d been whisked off to the Guyanese wilderness. Lots of people wrote off their concerns because of how many people, namely politicians, liked Jim Jones for his work in racial equality, but the one guy who listened to them was Congressman Leo Ryan, who was by all accounts a Pretty Solid Dude. He didn’t think anything fishy was happening, necessarily, but his whole stance was “I hear you & your concerns, and we should check it out to put your mind at ease! :)”

By this point, life in the Temple is falling! the fuck! apart! Jim Jones has a PA system set to run 24/7 that either play a) recordings of past sermons or b) his announcements happening Right This Second. People work for like 16 hours a day, there are armed guards at the entrance and around the fields to keep people in, the housing is cramped and overcrowded and they do Not have enough food for the almost 1000 people there. They are also getting record low amounts of sleep because Jim Jones, Nutjob Extraordinaire, has gotten into the habit of blaring the air raid siren at god knows what our and calling all his followers into the pavilion for a White Night. Which is, if you can even fucking believe it, a PRACTICE MASS SUICIDE BY KOOL AID.

Talk about foreshadowing.

So anyway, Leo Ryan rolls up to the compound, relatives and an NBC camera crew in tow, and is like “hey what’s up! :)” Jim Jones has been COACHING PEOPLE to tell him how much they love it. It’s fucked up. But okay

So they put on this dinner and a show type deal for the congressman and all the visitors, and Marceline (remember Marceline?) gives them a whole tour and shows them her pride and joy, the school she’d built and helps teaches at, and the medical center, and the daycare, like Marceline ADORES children this cannot be overstated. There are about 300 children in Jonestown and she loves them with her whole heart. ANYWAY

And everyone is having a funky good time, except Jim Jones, whose sanity is coming unraveled like an old sweater and his 950-ish overworked undercompensated cult members

But as Leo Ryan is leaving, someone slips a note to one of the reporters, BEGGING him to get them out of there. And then someone else comes forward. And then another. There are like....maybe 10 people total that come forward? Jim Jones loses his mind, naturally, but Leo Ryan is still like “hey, 10 out of 950 isn’t bad at all! They just miss their families :)” and they get going.

Unfortunately, because the number of people traveling back to the US from Guyana is greater than before, and they came on a small plane, they’re all posted up at the Port Kaituma airstrip waiting for a second aircraft. And this is when shit gets fucking real.

Jim Jones secretly sends his Red Men (read: “guards” with shotguns) to the airstrip to kill everyone because they’re going to give their secrets to the CIA or whatever. So they fucking roll up in this trailer and...open fire. Leo Ryan is killed, an NBC cameraman is killed, some of the defectors and concerned relatives are killed, many of them are wounded.

The Red Men return to the compound and report back to Jones. And then he gets on the PA and tells everyone that the USA’s destruction of them is imminent. He lies and tells them that the pilot will be shot and the plane will go down, and the US government will come into the compound for retribution and kill their seniors and kidnap the children and rape the women. You can hear a recording of this on YouTube! It’s called the Jonestown death tape and it will absolutely ruin your day if you listen to it. Anyway.

People are panicking. It’s time for the real White Night. Jones gets a vat of Flavor-Aid (off brand Kool-Aid) filled with cyanide and narcotics and says “drink :)” and...everyone is...understandably afraid. They’re tired and exhausted and terrified and have no idea what’s true or not. One woman, Christine, argues and pleads for another solution, like running off to the Soviet Union. The entire rest of the compound shouts her down.

So, finally, people drink. Those who won’t, and young children, are injected with it. The death is not painless. People suffer for a long time, and move to the back of the line, lie down, and die. At a reception house in Georgetown, one of Jones’ aides kills her three children and then herself with a steak knife.

A handful of people get out. Maybe five are able to hide, and three of Jones’ sons are away at a basketball game in Georgetown while this is all going down, so they live.

Jim Jones does not drink the poison. Jim Jones shoots himself in the head, and his private nurse does the same.

Marceline Jones screamed, sobbed and struggled until every single child had died, hoping at least one of them would be spared. And when none were, she dried her eyes, resigned herself to her fate, and drank the Kool-Aid.

The 900-something bodies, about a third of which were children, began rotting in the tropical sun almost immediately. Many of them were decomposed beyond recognition by the time the US troops got there. Those unidentified are buried in a mass gravesite in...California, I think? It was the largest loss of American life not due to a natural disaster up until 9/11. The place is still there, though now it’s overgrown, and it’s just...haunting. There’s a number of documentaries on it (recommend) and if you have a really masochistic streak, the Port Kaituma airstrip shooting and the Jonestown death tape audio are both on YouTube the last I checked.

Thank you for indulging me my special interest, and I’m happy to expand on anything here or give more details :3

[cuttlefishkitch]

hello! i haven't talked to you before, but ron said that i could ask you for some advice on writing eds? (i'd like to know things to avoid/common things that could come up in everyday life that would be good to mention/the sort of aids and stuff they'd have maybe?/anything else you think is relevant)

Hi! Sorry this took so long, a combination of ADHD and chronic pain slowed me way the fuck down. Thank you for being patient! 

EDIT: WEIRD HEEL THINGS I FORGOT!!

So, before I get into this I should probably say I technically haven’t been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (EDS for anyone reading) because it’s one of those syndromes that takes forever to get diagnosed with (it took a friend of mine’s mother over 30 years to get dxed). Many doctors, and everyone I know who does have EDS agree with me that it’s probably what causes my chronic joint pain and some of my other chronic issues. But just because three separate doctors have said “Yeah Probably” doesn’t mean I’m diagnosed!! Only a geneticist can do that!! And they had two-three year waitlists BEFORE the apocalypse happened.

I am diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome (POTS), Small Fiber Neuropathy, and potentially misdiagnosed with Fibromyalgia (once I get properly tested for EDS I might get undiagnosed with this because I don’t have most of the main symptoms of Fibro, but I got diagnosed with it anyway because it’s what doctors misDX you with when they don’t know what’s wrong with you and don’t want to do more tests).

All that said, I’ve done a lot of research about EDS (mainly because it’s the only thing that explains all my symptoms since doctors seem incapable of doing so), and know a few people who have either confirmed or suspected EDS, so I’ll link to some stuff, talk about the symptoms that often come with EDS, explain how the symptoms I have affect me, because just because someone’s not diagnosed doesn’t mean they aren’t having symptoms, and probs elaborate a bit about writing physical disabilities and chronic pain in general because it’s super important to me! 

So RESOURCES aka how to make sure your post never sees the light of day because you’re linking things and tumblr hates it when people give other people information!!

Youtubers! If you want to know about the day to day of living with EDS or any disability or chronic illness I super suggest finding a youtuber that makes videos about their life. My EDS favorites are

Jessica Kellgren-Fozard

Annie Elainey

Amy Lee Fisher

Websites! If you’re asking random folks on tumblr I’m assuming (and hoping) you’ve already done the basic WebMD google searches and looked over the seemingly ridiculous lists of symptoms and related conditions, so here are a few websites that are made more for people than for doctors.

The Ehlers Danlos Society

OhTWIST (That’s Why I’m So Tired)

ChronicPainPartners (the fact that they have an entire section of articles called “Dealing with Doctors” should really tell you something)

Books! If you feel like doing actual reading! I suggest reading books written by people with Ehlers Danlos, to get a feel for how they portray themselves. I’m not saying steal, but it’s probably a good point of comparison to see how your portrayal feels. (haven’t actually read these b/c my ADHD doesn’t let me read)

Ria Ruse by Morgan S. Ray (a superhero book with a disabled super MC!!)

Mysteries of Maybelle by Imani Benfell (Imani is still in high school and has already written and self-published a book cause she didn’t have enough representation for herself how cool is she!!)

Bodies in Motion by Liana Brooks (tw for pregnancy problems and miscarriages in the link, because it’s a blog post talking about integrating EDS symptoms into the story without explicitly naming them as such)

OKAY, now for some rambling about EDS SYMPTOMS!!!

Ehlers Danlos is one monster of a genetic condition in complexity and variety. There are THIRTEEN different identified types of EDS, it often comes with Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) and/or POTS, and can lead to various other conditions like gastroparesis, chiari malformation, craniocervical instability, and/or bad teeth. So if you’re going to be writing a character with EDS consider what other comorbid conditions they might also have. I’m mainly going to be talking about Hypermobile EDS (hEDS) because it’s what I probably have and what I’m most familiar with. That said there is a lot of overlap in symptoms with the other varieties.

I started typing this section and realized I was going to have to break it down even more so we’re going to talk about Chronic Pain, Unstable Joints (Dislocations and Subluxations), Skin Things, Mobility Issues, and Other Weird Shit and how those things get addressed separately.

Gonna get the Other Weird Shit out of the way first. Because EDS is a malfunction of connective tissue it can fuck up all sorts of random things. For instance, I and many other people w/ hEDS have trouble swallowing. Shit gets stuck in my throat, I sometimes choke on and have to cough up food, and pills can be hard to swallow, which sucks cause I take A Lot Of Pills. If it doesn’t cause full-on gastroparesis it can cause IBS or other digestive problems b/c the digestive tract is mostly made of connective tissue. It can potentially cause heart problems even if they aren’t as big of a risk as in some other forms of EDS. Premature osteoarthritis is common because what you need is more joint pain. And Fatigue OH BOY THE FATIGUE. And of course the headaches, can’t forget those pesky migraines can we!

AND piezogenic papules!! I completely forgot!! Piezogenic papules are little white bumps that appear when you put weight on your heel. In some people they hurt, but in others they don’t. They’re technically tiny little herniations of fat peaking through the fascia in the heel. They were added as part of the diagnostic criteria for hEDS in 2017!

Now for Skin Things cause it’s not as big a thing in hEDS as it is in other forms. Basically, in a lot of forms of EDS, the skin is extra stretchy and extra delicate. It bruises and tears easily, people with the extreme versions of this can accidentally scratch something into an open wound if they aren’t careful. My skin is pretty soft and sensitive, I def have the typical velvety skin, and as is pretty par for the course of someone with hEDS my skin is a little stretchy, and sorta delicate. I’m not as tissue-papery as some people get, but I almost always have at least one mystery bruise or scrape b/c existing is hazardous. Most of scars are also pretty normal, unlike the extremely papery and atrophic scars (though I have a few tiny acne scars that are atrophic) that are common with other kinds of hEDS. Something that I DO have is Lots of Stretch Marks, all over my thighs, and even down to my calves. Which wouldn’t be abnormal, except for the fact that I’ve never been over 145 lbs and I’ve never been pregnant. Having a lot of stretch marks or striations in the skin without due cause happens because the structure of the skin isn’t as strong as it is in people with a normal amount of connective tissue.

I don’t have to worry as much about my skin but people that do are usually very careful with adhesives because they can irritate or tear the skin, which sucks when you need a lot of bandaids cause your darn skin won’t do its job.

Now on to the meatier stuff and since I’m mostly working backward let’s do Mobility Issues!! These can happen in loads of ways, but a lot of what causes these in people with EDS are the other two things I wanna talk about. Unstable joints lead to increased risk of injury when doing stuff people with fully functioning joints can do.

For context, I’m an ambulatory wheelchair user, meaning I can walk, but a lot of the time it’s better if use a chair. Mine is mostly for my POTS symptoms, but the fact that my legs aren’t also in absolute agony is a big plus. I use a custom manual wheelchair with a SmartDrive (b/c I’m very fucking fortunate and have good insurance) whenever I leave the house and have to be “walking” for more than a few minutes at a time. I can’t fully self-propel in a manual chair because it would be damaging to the joints in my arms and hands, but the smaller chair is easier to maneuver in less than accessible spaces (like almost everywhere). There was about a month-long span where I used a very cheap and very bulky electric chair while I was waiting on the ideal set up I have now. Before that, I also briefly used, and sometimes still use, an up-right posture cane.

People with EDS have widely varying mobility issues because of how uniquely it can manifest. My cane only gave me a little help with balance because if I used it in any prolonged capacity any pain it took away from my legs was relocated to my arms, and as an artist, my arms are more important to me!

If you’re going to write a character with EDS having mobility issues as a result of their EDS the best thing to do is to narrow down their specific needs. Are their knees complete and utter garbage but their shoulders and wrists strong? Maybe they can get away with using a cane. Can they not stand for longer than 5 minutes because of the vertigo from their POTS? Maybe they need a manual wheelchair. Would propelling themself damage their back and arm joints? An electric chair might be necessary! Plenty of people with EDS use all sorts of combinations of these aides to get around their life, consider how your character’s good and bad days would be. Do they have back up plans if they overestimate themselves? There can be a lot to manage, but don’t let it scare you off! Sometimes I try and make it into a resource management game (because I’m a game designer and that’s what I do), to make evaluating my energy and mobility needs more fun!

But now let's tackle some of the reasons those mobility aides might be needed. Unstable Joints.

Ever stepped wrong and rolled your ankle? It hurts for a few steps and then kinda fixes itself, or maybe it bothers you for the rest of the day and you put it up and ice it when you get home? When I was walking around outside my house that would happen AT LEAST once a month, usually more. Some times I’m sitting wrong and when I get up my knee isn’t a knee anymore and decides to just give out from under me. My knuckles are made of unruly popcorn and they Don’t Want To Stay Home!! Oh! And my shoulder is more often out a little out of its socket than it is fully in.

Unstable joints lead to Dislocations and Subluxations of varying intensity, and some people get them more frequently than others. Some can be severe enough to necessitate hospital visits and even surgery, some subluxations are so banal (like my fUCKING SHOULDER) that you just learn to live with the pain.

If a character is going to be in high action, combat-heavy scenarios, chances are they’re going to be popping out joints left and right. Hell, depending on the severity of their joint laxity they could be doing the same sitting at a desk. Again, it’s incredibly varied. I’d suggest setting some sort of baseline for yourself, of what a character’s joints can and can’t stand up to, and maybe do some research on which joints are most likely to pop out in general (hips and shoulders are big culprits being the wacky ball and socket motherfuckers they are). Then maybe have something pop out or hold up every so often when it shouldn’t cause hey! EDS is kinda just like that! Unpredictable!

Some ways people manage joint laxity is with braces, KT tape, and physical therapy. Braces come in many different forms, since I’m currently getting pretty much no treatment for my shitty joints I use mostly compression braces made for sporty people. It really is amazing how much a bit of tight fabric can do to keep my wrist in place.

More specialized braces often have solid parts to prevent the joints from hyper-extending (bending the wrong way) and causing further damage. If you ever see someone with what looks like diamond shaped rings around a bunch of their finger joints, chances are those are Ring Splints, and are there to keep the finger shaped like a finger. I want to get my hands on some and get some on my hands Very Badly, because my fingers hyper-extend SO MUCH when I type, and it makes my hand pain way way worse.

KT tape is another thing people often use. It’s stretchy tape you put on your skin and it basically functions kinda like a second ligament as well as reinforcing the joint and keeping the bones mostly where they’re supposed to be. The problem with this is a lot of people with EDS have very sensitive and fragile skin like I mentioned before, so KT tape can cause allergic reactions, chronic skin irritation, or just straight up take the skin with it when someone goes to remove it. Hence a lot of folks are really careful with it.

Physical Therapy is kinda the best (and only) treatment for joint laxity aside from Very Invasive and sometimes Highly Experimental surgery. It focuses on strengthening the muscles around the joints so they can do the work all those bone ropes made of body glue can’t. The problem is finding a physical therapist that 1) knows what EDS even is, 2) knows you have it, and 3) knows how to treat it without doing stuff that’ll Phucking Hurt You Worse!! Because exercising wrong with EDS can do Permanent Damage!!!

Again most folks use a combination of all of these things, or have next to no access to them b/c healthcare sucks.

Anyway, on to one of my favorite topics, Chronic Pain!! One of the reasons this post took me so long!!!

Chances are if your character has chronic pain as a result of their EDS there are gonna be some things they hate, including stairs, rain, thunderstorms, stairs, hills, uneven terrain, oh and did I mention stairs??? It’s going to vary person to person, but almost everyone I’ve met with pain from EDS has complained about their knees. For me the most debilitating pain is in my fingers and wrists. They’re by far my least stable joints but I use them constantly for stuff like drawing, typing, and sewing.

Because my joint pain is so wide spread, like most people’s with hEDS, it effects every single part of my day to day life. I can’t carry a heavy ceramic plate, open a bottle, or even use my computer without pain. It’s practically impossible for me to get comfortable in any position be it sitting or laying down, and as you can imagine that makes it hard to sleep a lot of the time. Moving too much hurts, but so does sitting still. I’m constantly taking braces on and off or cracking/stretching my joints so they pop back into place and hurt less.

Also being in pain makes everything else That Much Worse. I get tired way faster than I did before my pain was this bad (I had chronic pain for a while before actually realizing it wasn’t normal to not be able to walk down the block without feeling like your foot bones are trying to escape). My sensory issues and anxiety disorder are more easily aggravated because my base level of comfort is way worse. It fucks with my depression. And OH BOY does it make my ADHD worse because being in pain is fucking distracting as hell and makes it harder to make decisions and switch tasks. Also my ADHD often makes my other symptoms worse cause I forget to take my meds, don’t drink enough water, or can’t find my fucking braces because the item eating black-hole that comes with ADHD stole them. The intersection of mental and physical disabilities is probably a rant for another time though, so back to chronic pain.

Does it suck? Yes, undoubtedly. Is this incredibly debilitating? Of course it is, I spent the last several months unable to feed myself without assistance because there was a staircase between my room and the kitchen and I could only manage to climb it once a day. Is it overwhelming? Definitely, I’ve frequently broken down crying from a combination of pain and frustration because I’m having a bad day and there’s no relief to be found. Am I able to predict when it’s going to rain with uncanny accuracy because any change in barometric pressure makes me feel like every bone in my body is trying to kill it’s neighbors? You bet your fucking ass I am!! Does it sometimes make me irritable, angry, and occasionally dismissive of when abled people get cold or a temporary injury because the stuff they’re complaining about is my life every single day and all avenues of treatment and recovery I have could take years and still not entirely solve my issues? Yeah, and while I deserve a little extra patience I also have to be sure to check myself because I don’t want to turn into someone who’s nasty to be around. Do I sometimes need to sleep for 17 hours straight because it’s raining, I have migraine, and I’m in too much pain to be conscious? Yup, sometimes a few days in a row. Does living in constant pain mean I’m unable to do all the things I want to and does that sometimes make me wanna curl up in bed and never leave? Yeah, it happens.

But! And here’s the big important but, that’s not everything! I still write, draw, and talk to my friends!! It might take me a little longer but I get there. I’m still happy and excitable and make the time to write out five page long posts about EDS because it’s something I’m passionate about! My chronic pain doesn’t stop me. I refuse to let it. I never really wanted to go mountain climbing anyway, so I’m perfectly happy being able to make it up and down the six steps in my house, even if sometimes I have to sit and bump down them on my ass, or crawl up them like a cat. Chronic pain isn’t all I am. It isn’t a fate worse than death. It isn’t the only thing your character should talk about (though I do talk about my pain a lot cause I’m a complainer about almost everything). You can have your character be hindered by their pain, realistically they would be. You can have them seek comfort, support, and relief. Other characters can commiserate and be sympathetic, but it doesn’t mean their whole life is going to be one big pity party, that would be incredibly fucking boring. I know I’d be bored out of my mind.

All that said dealing with chronic pain, especially from EDS, is Complicated. Physical Therapy is the gold standard, but like I said before it can be a long and difficult process, and isn’t always accessible. Stabilization methods like I talked about before can help prevent pain, or reduce it by keeping bones mostly where they belong. Heat and cold help joints, relax muscles, and reduce inflammation but keeping them applied is rough and the relief doesn’t always last. Doctors prescribe anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sometimes even anti-epileptic medication to help manage pain, but everyone’s mileage with those varies. And I’m not at all qualified to talk in-depth about narcotics or other heavy duty pain-meds, but suffice to say the war on drugs fucked shit up for people that legit need that kind of help BIG TIME.

Now for my closer/bonus rant about EDS and Disability Writing in General!

Everyone always says write what you know, so if you really want to do disabled people justice, get to know disabled people! Make friends with disabled people, get involved with advocacy groups, consume content made by disabled creators both about disability and not! Disabilities are so fucking diverse, even EDS is such a complex disorder, and comes with so many potential co-morbidities, that practically everyone with it has a unique experience. There’s no way I can fully explain everything in a tumblr post. Hell, even if I could talk to you for hours probably couldn’t give you enough info to answer all your questions (especially since I’m still in diagnosis hell :,) ), so talk to a wide range of people with EDS and other disabilities!! I know it sounds like a lot of work but trust me, disabled people are some of the strongest, raddest, coolest, people you will ever meet that it won’t feel like it.

And don’t be afraid either, the fact that EDS and other disabilities are so wildly varied means that you have a little bit of wiggle room with your character’s experience. There’s so little disability rep out their I think people are WAY to scared to try their hand at writing it. So long as your character is a fully developed person in addition to being disabled, you give some logical thought as to how it would affect their life, and you don’t make their disability the butt of any joke it isn’t difficult to avoid ableist writing. PLEASE WRITE MORE DISABLED PEOPLE AND PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC PAIN/CHRONIC ILLNESS!!

Okay that’s it, again sorry it took so long for me to get back to you! My fingers were being little pests about it, and my ADHD (which is honestly more disabling than everything else a lot of the time lmao) was being an asshole! Hope this helps, and feel free to ask me more questions if you need clarification! It might take me a bit but I do love talking about this stuff.

[imagining-supernatural]

The Thanksgiving Party

Part 22 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary:  It’s Thanksgiving day and you spend it with Sebastian and his friends

Word Count: 1,927

The door closed with a soft click and you made your way through the unfamiliar room to ungracefully collapse on the bed. Three hours into the Thanksgiving celebration and you were ready for a nap.

Surprisingly enough, you hadn’t wanted to leave the group. If it hadn’t been for your body warning you to take a break, you would have still been socializing with Seb and all of his friends. Large groups were never your thing. The nine other people in the apartment would normally be enough to spin your mental wheel of excuses to leave early.

I’m sorry. I have to go. My (spin wheel) chipmunk just (spin another wheel) gave birth and I obviously have to go help.

But your mental wheel was becoming dusty with disuse.

It was strange.

You settled on the bed with some pillows to prop you up into a lounging position and pulled out your phone to call Jasmin. She picked up on the fourth ring.

“Hey Y/N! Great timing. You just saved me from having to change Zander’s diaper.”

The cry of her nephew came through her phone and you smiled. “You’re welcome. How’s he doing? And the rest of your family?”

“They’re great. Well, not my dad. I think he’s finally going to have to change a diaper. First diaper he’s changed since… well probably since I was out of diapers.”

“It’s his grandson. He should change a diaper.”

Jasmin laughed and the sound was immediately followed by the slam of a door. “Sheesh, that was a doozy. I don’t think I’ve seen that much poop since… I don’t think I’ve seen that much poop ever.”

“That’s what he gets for bragging that he’s never changed his grandchildren’s diapers.”

“Yeah. Anyway, enough about my family’s shit. How’s your day going?”

While you spoke, you pulled a blanket over yourself and burrowed further into the pillows. “Not too bad. Seb’s friends are great and I’ve actually been having fun.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Yeah. Brittney and Josselin actually set up a lunch date with me next week. So I might have some friends here besides Seb, Sean, and the nurses.”

“Not that Sebastian’s just your friend.”

Jasmin just couldn’t stop fishing. She kept wanting you to admit that you were in love with him or something. Which, honestly, might not be too far off base. You doubted you’d ever meet anyone more amazing than Sebastian. But with the intense situation you were in, how could you believe the feelings that came out of it?

Sebastian was, quite literally, your knight in shining armor. Or knight with a shining arm for most of the week.

So, no. You weren’t going to admit anything to Jasmin. You didn’t want the weight of that on your shoulders. You were simply enjoying whatever the hell you had going on with him at the moment.

“Mmm, no, he isn’t,” you mused, hoping she would get her hopes up. “He’s also my husband for insurance purposes.”

“And tax purposes,” she pointed out.

Holy shit. “I’m going to have to file my taxes as married, aren’t I? Fuck. That’s… fuckin’ weird.” There was a moment longer where you pondered on that before shaking your head. “Anyway. I just figured I’d give you a call while I had a moment alone. I should probably take a nap for an hour or so.”

“New treatment that bad?”

“Let’s just say I have a feeling that I won’t have the energy to even be bitchy for the next few weeks. But mid-January I’ll have the surgery and it’ll have been worth it.”

The two of you shot the shit for a while longer before hanging up. Within five minutes of closing your eyes, you were asleep.

“Hey, Y/N. Time to wake up.”

You shifted away from the hand on your shoulder with a groan. “No.”

The bed shifted and you felt someone lay down on top of the blanket behind you. Sebastian’s familiar arm curled around you as he fitted his body against yours. His lips were at your ear when he whispered, “Josselin and Mike are pulling out the pies.”

“I think I’d rather stay right here with you,” you murmured as you freed your arm from the confines of the blanket to grab his hand. Cuddling up with you was really the worst possible way he could have chosen to try and get you out of bed.

“But… pie. And ice cream.”

“I’m comfy.”

Despite your stubborn words, you forced yourself to start waking up more. Sebastian trailed his finger up and down your arm before heading toward your face, making you scrunch up your face and pull away from his finger. You felt his laughter at your back and couldn’t help your own smile.

By that time, you were awake enough to pull away and lay on your back, looking up at him.

“Hi,” he grinned down at you.

“Hi yourself.”

“How you feeling, sweetheart?”

“’m good. Still tired, but that’s not new.”

“Good. You really wanna stay in here?”

“Nah. Ice cream sounds good. And I like your friends, so…”

God, you could just stare into his blue eyes for ages. You never understood the phrase drowning in their eyes until Sebastian. And his soft, pink lips pulling up into a smile? That rough stubble on his cheeks… How in the world was he so fucking perfect?

His smile grew for a fraction of a second before he leaned down and kissed you. It lasted just a second before he pulled back and sat up. “They like you too. C’mon, let’s go.”

This time, you let him pull you up and guide you back to the kitchen. Several people had bowls with ice cream and pie already, so Sebastian headed right over to the counter to start filling his own. When he offered you a bowl, you held your hand out to refuse.

“I’m still full. I’ll probably just steal a few bites of whatever you’re having and call it good.”

“Why do you think I’ll share?”

“Why do you think I said steal?” You shot right back, tilting your head. “I’m not asking for your permission; I’m just giving you fair warning.”

Mike came up and threw his arm over your shoulder, motioning to you with his other hand. “C’mon, Sebastian. How can you say no to that face?”

Playing along, you gave Seb your best puppy dog eyes and pouty lip.

“Ganging up on me, I see how it is,” he muttered, unable to curb his own smile.

“Hey, you and Jaz gang up on me all the time. Turnabout’s fair play, babe.”

Once everyone had their desserts in hand, you all moved to the living room. You tried to claim a corner of the couch to hopefully fade away and just enjoy observing the witty banter and friendly insults that were being flung around the room, but Sebastian sat right next to you and pulled your legs over his lap. With one of his arms curled around you and the other balancing the bowl of ice cream and pie in your lap, you were right in the middle of every conversation Sebastian got pulled into.

After an hour or so, you felt yourself drifting off. A few people had left and the energy in the apartment simmered down to a more intimate setting. That, combined with Seb’s warm body against yours, lulled you into that space between consciousness and unconsciousness. You were floating just outside of dreamland.

“I like her,” you heard someone say quietly.

Sebastian shifted enough to get your head more comfortably on his shoulder and he hummed in agreement.

“She seems good for you,” the other person said again. Josselin, maybe?

“I like to think so,” Seb murmured.

“She gonna come to Thanksgiving next year, too?”

“You’re nosey, you know that Joss?”

“And you’re avoiding answering the question.” There was silence, then a heavy sigh from Josselin. “I’ve known you a long time, Sebastian. And I’ve never seen you with anyone that you literally cannot keep your hands off of. And not even in the I can’t wait to get you in bed kind of way.”

His hand absently rubbed up and down your thigh. “Yeah, well…”

“Well…? Well what?”

He took a deep breath. “The original plan was to get a divorce once she’s recovered.”

“Plans change. Your plan was to have a fun time in Vegas and get back to your life like normal. Now look at you. This isn’t what your life was like before. At all.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. He pressed his lips to your brow and murmured, too quiet for Josselin to hear, “It’s better.”

“Hey, Y/N, look at this.” Sebastian plopped down on the armrest of your chair, careful of the wires and tubes attached to you. “So, you know how Joss was taking pictures like crazy yesterday?”

You nodded. The only time Josselin didn’t have her camera aimed at one of her guests was when she was eating, or when Mike stole the camera to take pictures of her. Never in your life had you met anyone who took so many pictures.

“She sent me some. Look at this one.” He handed his phone to you, keeping his eyes on your face for a reaction. No pressure for you, or anything, right?

A snort of laughter escaped you and you grinned. The screen was lit with a picture of a laughing Sebastian trying to feed you ice cream, while you leaned back as far as you could without falling off his lap. Ice cream was smudged on your cheek and your own lips were caught in laughter. You hadn’t known she’d gotten that moment on camera.

“That’s a good picture,” you said softly, zooming in on your faces. Both of you looked so carefree and happy… you doubted you’d see that side of yourself until well after the surgery.

Assuming you made it to surgery.

“I was wondering…” Sebastian said hesitantly. Immediately, you looked up at him, waiting for his question. Rarely was he unsure of anything. “How would you feel about me making an Instagram post with that picture?”

What could it hurt, right? The hype around you and Seb had died down since neither of you commented on the hype. So his post would bring you back to the spotlight for a day or two… you weren’t going to look online anyway.

“That’s fine. It might be nice to have a non-paparazzi photo of me online,” you joked.

“You sure?” he asked, but he was already half-smiling, ready to start making his post.

“Yeah. If there’s one thing I remember from Jasmin’s, uh, fanatical Supernatural phase, it’s that fans like to know that their favorite celebrities are doing well when something big happens. You’ve been quiet about… us. Being married. The cancer. I think a post showing you laughing would go a long way with your fans.”

He dropped a kiss on your brow before moving back to his chair across from you. He was tapping away on his phone for quite a while before he finally sat back. Your phone vibrated, alerting you that he’d tagged your neglected Instagram account.

Pulling out your phone, you saw the picture and immediately saved it to your phone. Beneath the picture was the caption:

According to Charles Dickens, “There is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good humor” and I’m so thankful to have Y/N in my life to infect me with her laughter and humor. #Thanksgiving2019

Four fluffy parts in a row?? What has come over me?? But doesn’t that picture just seem so adorable??

CHAPTER 23: THE FIFTH CHECK-IN

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The 12 Step Job

leverage 1.10

Hardison (brings up map on monitors): That look like a pattern to you?

Parker: It's like Billy from "The Family Circus," If Billy was a drunken sex fiend.

eliot straight up looked at her like ?????

- - - - -

Nate: Actually, it does. He's an addict, under stress. So he's not gonna be doing a lot of exploring. He's gonna stay well within his comfort zone. He's still in LA. Oh, yeah. All right, we're gonna do this old-school. Ah, Parker, you break into his condo, see what you can find. Sophie and I will hit the retail spots. You guys go to his favorite haunts. But don't spook him, just follow him. Let him lead us to the money.

Hardison: All right?

Eliot (to Hardison): Strip Joint.

Hardison: Mmm. (to Nate) You know, I'm - I'm gonna need change for $100... in singles.

Nate: I'm sorry. What? Y-you think I have 100 singles on me?

(Eliot and Hardison walk out)

they looked at each other giddily that the con was going to take them to a strip joint and immediately asked their dad nate for money

they’re children, your honor

- - - - -

Hardison: This dude, you see him trying to force his keys onto that girl?

Eliot: Yeah. It should be the other way around, huh?

(Hurley gets into the car and starts it)

Eliot: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You don't know nothing about that.

Hardison: Really? I almost had it in me to wash this car. Almost.

Eliot: Ten bucks says you're washing the car.

Hardison: I know it ain’t

Eliot: I guaran- (he is cut off when a car pulls up behind Hurley as he’s backing up, and he hits it. Men get out of the car and run around to where Hurley is getting out of his car)

CHILDREN

also as soon as hardison spilled that slushie he was Dead™

(also when did they stop to get slushies ??? like did hardison beg eliot to stop at some place to get one ??? did eliot begrudgingly to it, complaining all the way but secretly not actually minding it that much ???)

- - - - -

eliot and hardison fighting goons in the parking lot ? two words: 🥰 crime boyfriends 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: I got a gun. I got a gun.

Man: All right, man, hey, hey.

(the men back away. Hardison points the gun and shoots. The bullet goes into the engine of the men’s car, disabling it. Eliot pulls Hardison toward their car)

Eliot: Nice job blowing out the engine block.

Hardison: I was aiming for his leg.

(Eliot grabs the gun)

Eliot: Yeah give me the gun, Hardison

hardison can’t shoot for shit and it’s hilarious

- - - - -

Parker: Hi. My name is Rose. I'm a kleptomaniac. My parents are rich, but I shoplift anyway... (looks at notes on her wrist) because I hate myself.

HER NOTES ON HER WRIST LMFAO

- - - - -

making parker take the drugs without explaining the process or making her sign anything etc is unethical

- - - - -

Hardison: It-It's, uh, a computer bomb. I-I-I know computers. Computer bomb, um. We-we-we got to reboot the system. Yeah.

Eliot (stands up): You want me to kick it?

Hardison: God, I’m gonna die. No, just, look. (reaches under dash)

Eliot: Wh-wh-wh-whoa.

Hardison: J-just, no. Duck up under the hood and just tell me how it's attached to the electrical system. (pops hood)

I’ve seen meta for this scene where eliot actually obviously knows not to kick it, he’s just saying that to jumpstart hardison’s brain since he’s freaking the fuck out. and I believe that wholeheartedly.

- - - - -

Eliot: What's our margin for error here?

Hardison: About half a second.

Eliot: Run the bag of bricks by me again.

Hardison: You ready?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Are you ready?

(Eliot reaches under the hood with a shaking hand and grabs the wires)

Eliot: Yeah

ELIOT! COULD! HAVE! JUST! LEFT!

they were a newly formed team and if worst came to worst, he could have just gotten himself to safety and have that be it. except he would NEVER do that. he’d never leave any of his team behind (especially hardison). in this scene and the one before it his hands were SHAKING because he was so scared for hardison and that hardison wouldn’t make it. eliot is the retrieval specialist and he’s the one that is supposed to get everyone home safe. he needed hardison to be safe.

- - - - -

Receptionists: Can I help you?

Eliot: You sure can. Here to see a patient of yours, Mr. Tom Baker.

Receptionists: What's your relationship?

Eliot: Why?

Receptionists: Second Act has a strict policy. Only family members can see patients. We want to make sure outside influences don't hamper our clients' recoveries.

Eliot: I think that's an excellent policy. I'm Tom's brother. Hi. Mark.

(Eliot kisses the receptionists hand. She looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I'm-I'm with him.

Receptionists: So, you're a friend of…

Hardison: No, no, I am—

(Hardison puts his arm through Eliot’s. Eliot stiffens)

Hardison: I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know, but if you was, like, Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh, girl, it would be on, seriously. (rings the bell) Bring your ass. Bring your ass. (pulls Eliot away from the desk)

ot3 foreshadowing in season one- we love to see it

(also what a fucking nerd, hardison, tom baker? you live to base aliases off of doctor who)

- - - - -

Parker: I thought my foster parents just wanted me so they could get money from the state, but now I realize they didn't love each other. They just wanted someone to love them.

Hurley: Like they need you to fill in the gaps for their relationship.

Parker: Exactly. But when that didn't happen, they just withdrew

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: Which led me to steal.

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: It's all so clear to me now

I’m not sure how much of this was true from her origin story but I’m keeping it as meta just in case

- - - - -

Hardison: He's not all bad. He did give some of the money to people in need.

Eliot: You ever notice how all bad guys know at least one stripper?

Sophie (answering phone): Hello?

Hardison: And you know at least a hundred, so what does that say about you?

Eliot: Hey, I’m a bad guy

stfu eliot you know you’re not a bad guy anymore

- - - - -

parker walking around all happy

- - - - -

Parker: Okay, Parker, get into the air vent, out to the front gate.

Parker: No.

Nate: No?

Parker: No, I feel like I’m making real progress here.

Nate (puts his hands on her shoulders): Listen, I need you to focus, okay?

(Parker smiles and looks down at Nate’s arms)

Nate: What?

Parker: You don't usually touch me, or any of us, really. It's the hole in your heart, Tom. It doesn't allow you to get close to people.

Hurley: She's right

parker got so insightful in this episode. like it was because of the drugs but it gave an interesting look into her mind and into her past

- - - - -

Hurley: Dr. Tanner?

Sophie: Hurley, jump on. Let's go. Now!

(Sophie is pulled away, but another creeper comes out from beneath the car. Hurley gets out of the car. Eliot is pulling on the rope from behind another car. Hurley is pulled away to safety. Eliot covers Sophie)

Eliot: Keep your head down. Keep your head down.

eliot covered sophie with his body and we love to see eliot protecting his family with whatever he’s got

- - - - -

Eliot: Ooh.

Hurley: Steel-Belted radials.

(Eliot pulls a knife and cuts open the tire, revealing the inside full of money)

Eliot: Ohhh.

Hurley: What do you think?

(Eliot hands Hardison a handful of money)

Sophie: I think you might have a knack for this.

that was actually really smart ??? tagging this as something useful for a fic maybe ???

- - - - -

Nate: Just-just take the win. Take the win. (grabs an envelope from Hardison and hands it to Hurley) Here you go.

Hurley: What's this?

Nate: That's your new identity. It's a driver's license, a passport, birth certificate.

Hardison: Your library card, Netflix membership, Sam’s club. Oh, I got you three months free at 24-Hour fitness. Maybe work off some of those tacos.

Hurley: You guys didn't have to do all this.

Nate: Yeah, well, actually, uh, we did. Uh, Jack Hurley is dead. We killed him. So this is your chance to kind of start over.

Hurley: Wow. Hey, d-do you think Michelle will forgive me when she gets the payout from my life-insurance policy?

Nate: Yeah, why don't we just, uh, go with the win? (escorts him toward the door) We're giving you a second chance, so don't screw it up. If you do, I promise we'll know. (hands Hurley tickets) Train ticket.

Hurley: Don't worry about me.

Nate: Yeah.

Hurley: I'm playing it straight from now on. In fact, as soon as I get to, uh... (looks at ticket) Rosarito, I’m gonna find the nearest support group. I promise. Thanks for everything, Tom. (shakes hand)

when the team has someone “die”, they take CARE of them

- - - - -

Dr. Frank: You're sure this is for the best?

Sophie: Absolutely. Second Act isn't the right place for her.

(Parker smells marker. Sam comes and takes it away from her)

Sophie: No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she's struggling with. People more like her.

parker sniffing a marker and smiling snjdnssjsj

also SHE NEEDS HER FAMILY. HER FAMILY UNDERSTANDS HER.

- - - - -

(Parker walks out of the building, laughing)

Parker: Hi. (runs up to the group, who are waiting for her) Hey! I missed you guys!

(Parker throws her bag at Nate and jumps into Eliot’s arms)

Eliot: Oh! (to Sophie) When do the happy pills wear off?

Nate: Usually about 24 hours.

Parker (hugging Hardison): I missed you.

Hardison: That's too bad. I kind of like this Parker.

(Parker puts an arm around both Eliot and Hardison and they start walking away)

Nate: Uh, Eliot?

(Nate throws Parker’s bag, Eliot catches it)

OT3 OT3 OT3

also PLEASE give me a fic of them watching over her while she comes down from the meds just in case she needs anything. fuck, I might have to write this if no one else does.

- - - - -

eliot and hardison having a mini argument in the background getting parker in the car

[pikaflute]

i’m writing magcharles and i guess you can preview the beginning of this because I think it is actually quite good

Out of all the bands Charles has had the pleasure of working for: Dethklok is the most unique. That is probably the nicest way Charles can put it without giving himself a migraine. Dethklok has their quirks, and it seems like each quirk is just so they can drive their manager up a fucking wall. Thankfully, Charles has kept his composure so far, opting to scream into his pillow every night, but the boys do not make it easy for him. Between Pickles’ excessive drug and alcohol use, Nathan’s tendency to fall asleep during very important meetings, Skwisgaar’s incessant nagging, and Murderface’s insistence to put a hole in every surface in his office, Charles has kept it together. Barely, but he’s kept it together.

Then there’s Magnus Hammersmith. Charles reaches for the acetaminophen just thinking about him. It’s like whatever God is up there decided to punish him (Charles bets it on him being gay) for some reason with the most annoying man ever created. Magnus is the paragon of annoyance (and if Charles ever told him that his already massive ego would inflate) and it’s no wonder, Charles thinks, that his bandmates are constantly complaining about him. From Magnus’ tendency to lie about anything and everything, his aforementioned ego, his perfectionist attitude that halts music process, to that whiny tenor that shoots up an octave or three when he doesn’t get his way and may be giving Charles early tinnitus. Everything about Magnus is specifically made to make everyone suffer, and that curly haired asshole knows it. He revels in it, and that makes Charles’ migraine worse.

Someone needs to take him down a peg. And quickly.

Speaking of, said asshole is coming today. The calendar on Charles’ desk has a circle around today’s date, the 18th, with the words ‘Magnus’ in red pen. Next to the word Magnus is a sad face. That sums up how today’s meeting will go pretty nicely. As Charles reaches for the pills (extra strength this time, he’s going to need it), he hears the voice of his assistant Grace, coming from the speaker on his phone.

“Sir. Mr. Hammersmith is here.”

Charles will give Magnus one thing. At least he’s always on time. Charles’ presses the button to reply.

“Send him in please.”

A few moments pass by and he hears boots stamp towards his office. Then, the door swings open and in comes the source of Charles’ flaring tension headache. Magnus smiles at Charles, grin curling up mischievously. It reminds Charles of a cat.

“Chuck! How’s my favorite manager doing?”

“Don’t call me that. Sit down please. And I am quite alright, thank you.”

Magnus slumps down in the seat in front of Charles. He looks bored.

“So why did you call me from my very busy schedule. You know we have practice today.”

Lying already. Great. It was going to be one of those days. Charles taps his desk to stop himself from rubbing at his temples.

“Insurance forms and waivers. You were sick when I filled them out with the rest of the boys. So, you get a special meeting with me.”

“Ooh fun.”

“Quite.”

Charles pulls out a big stack of papers from his desk. Magnus’ eyes widen.

“Jesus Chu-“

“I am filling out most of these. I need you to fill out personal info. Please wait and we will be done with this soon.”

Magnus huffs but doesn’t do anything else. Very well. At least there was no witty remark this time. He begins filling out some basic preliminary information and reads through the heavy worded jargon. No matter what, Charles will never get tired of reading documents with loopholes and  hidden agreements interwoven into wall of texts that would make people’s head spin. Call him a nerd, but legal jargon gets him excited. Charles works up a good pace filling pages out (doing it four times before probably helped), however he stops when he hears an incessant tapping. He has a pretty good idea on where that’s coming from. He looks up at Magnus, sure enough tapping away some beat on the arm rest.

“Magnus.”

“Huh?”

“Tapping. Please stop that.”

“Figuring out a new beat.”

“Last time I checked you are not a man named Pickles,” Magnus goes to say something (probably about Pickles’ drum patterns being off) but Charles cuts him off, “If you are so desperate to keep to your busy schedule, I insist you keep quiet.”

“Whatever.”

The tapping stops after a scoff and an eyeroll from Magnus. Charles looks back down and gets back to work. Well that settles that for now. Except when a few minutes roll by and he hears a cup rattle on his desk, and then a shuffle of clothes and squeaky leather as if someone is readjusting themselves after pulling off the shittiest heist imaginable. Charles sighs. Magnus must think he’s stupid because this is the third time the man has tried stealing pens from his office. Charles let it slide the first two times, but if Magnus keeps this charade up, he’s gonna run out of pens. And to be quite honest, Charles likes his pens more than he likes the guitarist. Charles turns the page of the waiver and taps the desk to get Magnus’ attention.

“Put the pen you stole back.”

“What? Fuck you I didn’t steal shit.”

Charles looks up from the insurance waiver he’s writing and sighs. Fine. He’ll play this game. Charles gets up from his desk and moves to the front, standing in front of Magnus. Even when seated (and slouched in his seat) the guitarist is still pretty tall, so Charles doesn’t have to cast his glare too far down to ask for his pen back.

“Pen.”

Charles puts out his hand. Magnus gives a smirk.

“Yeah I got your pen right here.”

Magnus goes to pull something out of his jacket. Instead of Charles’ pen, it’s a middle finger. Very classy. And apparently according to Magnus, absolutely hilarious. But Charles isn’t laughing.

“Oh man! I got you Offdensen! You should see the look on your face!”

Between Magnus’ jeering, Charles grabs the offending hand. Two can play at this game. He squeezes.

“Haha-ow! That fucking hurts. Let go.”

Magnus pulls but Charles doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes even harder. Charles gives a faint smile when Magnus winces.

“Hey! That’s my fretting hand!”

Ah there’s that whiny tenor. Charles can hear his ears beginning to ring already. Charles eases up his grip a bit and puts his hand out again.

“Relax. You have insurance. My pen please.”

“Fine. Fine. Here.”

[infinite-rabbits]

Emergency: Please help

So this happened yesterday. I made a few posts of it here and was messing around on tumblr to distract myself from all of the stress, but now the seriousness of the situation is really hitting us.

My roommate and I are both out of work due to Corvid-19. We’re not sure if we’re getting paid for our time away and there isn’t much communication from our jobs. Yesterday we got hit hard enough from someone who was gunning it out of a parking lot that they totaled the car. I know this doesn’t look like a lot of damage, but apparently the frame is completely messed up and the insurance company is going to take the car and possibly give us enough to replace it??

The worst part about this is that we had barely enough money to last over the next two months being out of work. We had rent covered, food, and bills once we pooled our money together.

But now we have to loose a huge chunk of that money because he has to pay the deductible on the insurance.

So I’m going to do what I really wished I would never have to do. I have to ask for your help. Please, if you can donate anything at all, doesn’t matter how big or little it is, you can send it to me through my Ko-Fi: HERE Or you can IM me and I can give you the address my paypal is linked to. If you can’t donate, please please please just reblog this. The more people see it, the better.

Thank you for any help you can give, little or small, it means the world to us.

Full Story of what happened under the cut:

So uh... we ran out of bread last night and we're close to being out of PB&J. This morning we decided to go out and get some more because, well, it's hard to get ahold of because everyone's panicking and it's one of the main things in our diet right now. The roomie and I headed for Walmart, and while we were on a 2-lane road in the left lane, some douchenozzle shoves his way through the heavy traffic out of a parking-lot and rams us on my side. We weren't even going that fast. We were actually coming up to a stop-light, so my roomie was slowing down. He hit us hard enough to make us spin-out and do a full 180degree turn. The back passenger door was absolutely wrecked and I was lucky he didn't hit MY door, but because he hit my side, I'm really starting to hurt now. The back driver wheel hit the median while we spun and it actually hit so hard that it knocked the wheel itself off of the rim and scraped the metal. Somehow we didn't hit another car and we wound up in the right-hand lane completely turned around and facing the wrong direction. I was SO pissed that I got out of the car and screamed at the guy. Both of us were shaking and I was choking because when he hit us, some white stuff flew  into the car and I breathed it in. Still kinda choking on it. (Found out later it was probably the stirofoam that was under his bumper.) I manage to kinda stop traffic enough for us to get the car out of the lane and into the parking lot beside us, after which we realized that we couldn't drive any further because of the wheel being messed up. He stayed in the median and called for someone while we called the cops and the insurance company. Then I noticed there was a damn kid in his car. She was like, 2-3 years old and didn't look like she'd been strapped in because she was just climbing from the back to the front seat to see what was going on. He sped through fucking traffic and t-boned us with a kid in the back seat. This whole time, he's over there refusing to come and talk to us until someone else shows up. Turns out, he needs a translator. That's fine. In our area we get a lot of tourists so I just assumed he wasn't from around here. I would have assumed his car was a rental if it hadn't been for the brand new paper license plate. They get their car into the parking lot too and his bumper is all but falling off. A lady shows up to take care of the kid, which seems fine. But then another guy shows up. Then another guy. And Grandma shows up too. For some reason the whole family shows up and are hanging around while we wait for the cop. Normally I wouldn't care, but being surrounded by this many people while I'm already anxious was a bit much for me and made me uncomfortable. I'd already called a friend and cried over the phone with her and being surrounded made me feel stressed. Finally the cop shows up, gets our stories and our information, then goes into his car for basically an hour to have to fill everything out and get it all in order. Luckily we just get given a sheet of paper with all of the information we need on it. Then he glances at them and says to us, "They're gonna be pissed." He wound up getting a ticket among who knows what else because of his reckless driving. The cop leaves and they're visibly angry. Then one of the guys who showed up approaches us. Something about him immediately rubbed me the wrong way, like I got a bad vibe from him. He asks us if we're alright, and I tell him no because our car's wrecked and I'm starting to hurt. Then he tries to get us to lie. Like the dude straight up look sat my roommate and says, "If they ask what happened, tell them--" I have NEVER cut someone off so fast before. I told him: " NO. If they ask, we are going to tell them EXACTLY what happened." And this douche has the NERVE to say: "Well next time you really shouldn't be going so fast. Then you can stop when something like this happens." Like, he's legit trying to turn this around to be my roomie's fault. Keep in mind: we were coming up to a stop light. We were actively slowing down. The speed limit in there is 45. My roomie couldn't have possibly been going more than 35 at the absolute most, and even that's pushing it. I just GLARE at this guy and say: "NO. Even the COP said WE HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY. HE hit US. You need to walk away." I'm... I'm tiny. I'm not even fully 5'6" and I'm sitting here in my stupid Jurassic Park tank top and hole-filled shorts just glaring daggers at this guy. Don't you dare come at me with your stupid scorpion gold chain necklace thinking you're all big and bad and thinking you're going to intimidate me when you're outright coming after my roommate. I'm a wuss when someone comes after ME and I'm by myself, but you put me in a room with people I care about and have someone go after them? All bets are off. Thankfully he just got pissed off and turned away. The whole family climbed into the back of their other van except for like two who went into the translator's car, and they all drove off. For like an hour. We were left sitting there trying to contact the insurance company again, making sure they got all of the files they needed, making sure they got their statements, and figuring out if it was getting towed tonight or not. Then the translator and one of the other guys show up and start messing with their van. First they back it up...and the bumper nearly completely falls off. Then they sit there for a few minutes and try to get it on. The guy driving it goes very slowly out of the parking lot, leaving his entire front in the right-hand lane for some reason while he's waiting to go and then finally does. The other guy on the other hand almost causes another accident. So he's behind a truck that's also waiting to turn out. When the truck goes to pull out, this dumbass SLAMS down on his gas, nearly rear-ends the truck, slams on his breaks, and then once the truck is out of the way, he zooms out of the parking lot without properly looking to make sure no one else is coming. I really don't understand it. But from the looks of things, they probably aren't going to be calling their own insurance company. The car wasn't even registered under the guy that rammed us. It was someone else's name of the same address. So he just wrecked someone else's newly bought car. All of it sucks, my roommate's car is totaled and we are gonna see if we're getting any money for it tomorrow, and I'm in pain so the insurance company is gonna have to send me a doctor over all of this. We're out $500 for the deductible and I'm.... honestly really frustrated. All of this because of Bread, Peanutbutter, and Jelly. Thankfully a friend of ours came to pick us up and also brought us those three things, but now the adrenaline is starting to wear off and I'm getting *really* tired. I'm going to get myself some coffee and try my best to focus on the one-shot I started before the crash just to keep myself awake for now. For the most part I was typing all of this here because it's a safe place to store the information in case I forget anything. But also I kinda wanted to let you guys know why I hadn't posted anything yet. I was saying I wanted to do one short-story a day and I fell behind yesterday because I was doing character-designs for one of the other stories. So I feel guilty falling behind today too. Even if I do have a good reason for it. Stay safe out there, everyone. It's getting really crazy.