#anyways she put me on the waitlist to the screening but

[autobahnmp3]

im hooome im filled with sugar and espresso

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 24

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.6k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Idk if the Cali group arrives in Hawkins on Saturday or Sunday. I'm going with Saturday. If that's wrong, well, this fic isn't canon compliant anyway. Also, Unnamed Freak (aka Dave) has a canon name now with Flight of Icarus: Dougie. I've corrected this entire fic on all platforms. If I've missed a "Dave" somewhere, please tell me. 🖤

24

The phone rang, jolting you from your research. On reflex, you stretched across the spread of opened spell books for the phone on the nightstand. Then you remembered you weren’t at home. You sat on the bed in one of Steve’s guestrooms.

When he didn’t ask you to answer the phone, you straightened and found where you’d left off. The ringing ceased, then Steve’s voice drifted through the open door. At one time, it would’ve been an annoyance. Now, it reminded you that you weren’t alone. You had people who knew you for who you were and weren’t wary of your abilities.

Last night, Robin had stayed through dinner and Back to the Future. Working at Family Video had its perks, because there was a waitlist to rent it. Robin and Steve had talked through the entire movie, asking about you and sharing about themselves, but you hadn’t minded. You learned that ‘Scoops’ was Scoops Ahoy, an ice cream parlor. It must be a Midwestern chain, because you’d never heard of it.

Robin bragged Steve had slung so much ice cream, they had to put in special orders. Steve shrugged, all bravado, yet his flushed cheeks belied his cool demeanor.

“You should’ve seen some of the girls who came in,” Robin had said, face reverent. “They must’ve come from Fort Wayne or Indy—”

Eyes wide, Steve had interrupted. “Yeah, they weren’t local, that’s for sure.”

You’d glanced at him, then at Robin. He’d tried to divert the conversation. Maybe to protect her? That had made no sense until you remembered you were in the Midwest, where homosexuality — or even bisexual tendencies — was anathema.

To Robin, you asked with a sly look: “That hot, huh?”

“God, I could barely keep eye con—” She curled her lips between her teeth, but rallied. “I mean, they were, like, super intimidating.”

You grinned with a minute shake of your head.

“No, I get it. Girls are hot.”

“Yeah…” she breathed, eyes going glassy. “Girls are hot.”

The conversation had paused as George confronted Biff on screen. When George and Lorraine walked away together, you’d reached for your drink and glimpsed Steve holding Robin’s hand. He noticed you noticing and opened his mouth to speak. You stopped him with an understanding look.

“So, is there a girl at school you like?” you’d asked before taking a sip.

Robin glanced at Steve, who’d offered an encouraging shrug. She’d smiled, giddy and love-struck, and gushed about Vickie. According to Robin, she looked like Molly Ringwald, but even cuter. Vickie was talented and funny and smart. Steve insisted Vickie was into her despite what they’d seen at The War Zone. Robin waved it away, saying Vickie had a boyfriend. It was a lost cause. She’d pine from afar.

You’d said, “Well, not necessarily. She could be bi.”

“I don’t know? It doesn’t seem likely.” She’d gnawed on her bottom lip. “I would normally say that’s ridiculous, because this is Hawkins, but—” She gestured at herself.

You’d narrowed your eyes playfully.

“You could still win fair maiden’s heart.”

Steve laughed. “You sound like Munson.”

“What can I say? He’s rubbed off on me.”

Robin had snorted. “Yeah, I bet that’s not the only thing he’s done.” You’d giggled even as your face heated. You grinned now thinking about it.

Knuckles rapped on the doorjamb. Steve stood in the doorway, the sleeves of his teal henley pushed up his forearms. His perfectly tousled hair framed his face, his jeans showed off the goods, and his Nikes were clean.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey, lookin’ good.”

He put a hand on the back of his head and looked down as if bashful. Like he didn’t know how handsome he was.

You asked, “Going somewhere?”

“Uh, yeah, that was Nance on the phone. She wants to donate some stuff at the school, and I offered her a lift. I think I’m going to volunteer while I’m there, too. You know, whatever they need.”

“That’s…” You first thought ‘surprising,’ but that was insulting. “That’s really generous of you.” You glanced at your suitcase overflowing with clean laundry. “Actually, I bet I have a few things someone else could use.”

“Oh, wow, sure.” He nodded. “You wanna come with?” He waggled a hand. “I mean, I know you’re not ready, but I was going to call Robin and Dustin. See if they wanna join.”

“I want to, but I can’t. I need to heal Lucas and Max.” You gestured to all the opened books. “That’s what I’m researching.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

He pointed at his left eye.

“Wouldn’t everything be a little easier if you had both?”

“Probably, but Max is worse than I am, so…” You looked at the books. “I can manage.”

He surprised you a second time when he said, “It’s hard to take that ‘put your own oxygen mask on first’ advice, but you should consider it.”

You met his earnest eyes.

“I will.”

It wasn’t a bad idea. You should be the guinea pig before you sprung a healing spell on Lucas or Max. While you were certain a healing spell would never harm, that didn’t mean it would be effective.

Marking your place in the book you’d been reading, you eased off the bed. You knelt in front of your suitcase to pick out a few pairs of socks, a free promo t-shirt you wore when cleaning, and a pair of tartan trousers you hadn’t worn since moving.

There was more at home you’d be happy to donate. You realized you could drop in after healing Max to pick up more — as long as your parents hadn’t returned.

When Steve stopped at your door, you handed over the clothes and told him of your plan. He brightened with a nod. You jokingly assured him not all your clothes were black and scary.

He lifted the stack of clothes.

“Just most of them.”

You laughed as he smiled at you.

He stepped back and said he was leaving, adding he’d leave the spare key on the foyer console. You thanked him and wished him luck before he skipped down the stairs.

As the front door snicked closed, you plucked the book from the bed and found a white tea-candle in your magic supplies. After placing both on the en-suite bathroom counter, you flipped on the light. With a deep inhale, you found your center. Time to be a guinea pig. You opened the book and lit the candle.

Holding your fingertips above the flame, you said, “Magic mend as candle burns; Affliction end and health returns.”

You brought your warmed fingers to the dark, tender bruise on your jaw and repeated the chant. Your skin heated almost to the point of pain. You closed your eyes to concentrate on the feeling. Tendrils of cooling energy twisted through your flesh. You shivered and breathed through it.

Once the tendrils dissipated, you opened your eyes and withdrew your fingers. The bruise was gone. You wiggled your jaw, then put pressure where the bruise had been to find it recovered. Like Jason had never punched you.

That was one injury — and the lesser of the two.

You slipped the pressure patch from your eye and examined your reflection. The cursed eye was like any other injury, you rationalized. Surgeons removed damaged bits of the eye all the time. You were no surgeon, of course. You weren’t removing damage; you were healing it. That was different.

You couldn’t psych yourself out, though. It was like making the Creel house go unnoticed on Thursday. Size didn’t matter. Hence, the extent of the injury didn’t matter. It was all the same and all connected. There was plenty of energy in the candle, in the spell, in the universe, and in you to heal this.

You took a few deep breaths before holding your fingertips above the flame and reciting the chant. You closed your eyes as warm energy gathered. You brought your fingers to your left eye, swallowed the mounting tension in your throat, and repeated the chant.

Your fingers went numb. Heat radiated from your eye like needles of fire. Lightning burned under your skin. The floor left your feet. Or your feet left the floor. You couldn’t find the counter. You couldn’t move or think or orient yourself.

You clawed at the dark like a panicked animal. Red flashed across your vision. Rotting vines slithered across every surface, growing thicker. Their musty, sour smell invaded your nose. Your heartbeat thundered through the room. Red flashed again. A figure made of sharp edges and pain moved behind the vines. You stepped back. They stepped back. You reached forward. They reached forward. You screamed at them. Their mouth opened as though mocking you.

You charged forward to thrust your hand between the vines. Your palm hit cold glass. You met the figure’s eyes. They were your own.

You stumbled away. Your back slammed into something hard. Each blink of your eyes tore you through different realities. The gray Upside Down, your sunny reality, glowing lava fields, a silent city made of slate, a world full of unvoiced secrets, neon lights and the scent of stale beer. Time curved in on itself. No future, no past. On and on it flowed until you yelled for it to stop, stop, stop.

The soft bathmat cushioned your calves. You held onto the counter edge with your forehead pressed against the wood cabinet. The side of your nose filled the left border of your vision.

The spell hadn’t worked.

“Shit.”

You hauled yourself to your knees and braced your elbows on the counter. Thin tracks of blood ran down your reflection’s left cheek.

“Shit.”

You stood and bent over the sink to examine closer in the mirror. The cursed eye didn’t look any worse. Its milky pupil and iris were the same as before. Rheumy blood flaked under your touch.

If the spell hadn’t worked for you, you doubted it would work for Max. She’d taken part of the curse, the same as you. Your eye wasn’t only injured. It stood to reason her arm wasn’t only broken. Then you remembered both her eyes looked like your left.

This was more complex than any healing spell could manage—

Which you said to Lucas after mending his swollen cheek and eye.

From behind him, Erica asked, “Can’t you kill this son of a bitch already?”

You glanced over her shoulder at Susan, who slept on the alcove couch.

“I don’t know if a spell would reach him.”

Lucas turned to Erica.

“And if she kills him, she could kill Max.”

You frowned.

“Why do you think that?”

“El said she couldn’t find Max,” he said, tapping his temple.

He’d explained when you’d first arrived the other members of the party were back in town. On Thursday, El had fought Vecna by connecting to Max’s mind, while Vecna was also connected to Max. El then said Vecna had roared in pain and disintegrated into smoke in his own mindscape. Nancy had connected that to her shooting him and Robin Molotov-ing him.

El had seen Max unconscious in Lucas’s arms afterwards. She felt Max’s steady heartbeat then. Max’s heart continued to beat, which the EKG confirmed. However, El entered Max’s mind this morning to find a void.

“You think she’s with Vecna?” you asked.

Erica said, “Or she’s brain-dead.”

Lucas’s face became a mask of absolute anguish.

“Harsh,” you said to her.

Erica shrugged in lieu of saying it was a possibility. It might be, but you didn’t want to give up hope just yet. Lucas returned to the bedside chair to page through The Talisman. There had to be something you could do or something you could offer.

Erica cursed under her breath and went to Susan. After Erica repeated Susan’s name and shook her shoulder numerous times, she woke with a grumble. Erica announced it was two o’clock. Susan blinked in sullen confusion. Erica said Susan had work at four.

Susan’s voice was hoarse when she said, “O-of course. Thank you.”

Erica backed away as Susan coughed with a wince and sat up. She sounded like shit. Her pallid face looked more tired than yesterday.

You asked, “Would you like some water?”

Her drowsy eyes settled on you.

“Oh, you’re back.” She couldn’t seem to muster a smile, but she looked pleased. “It’s good to see you.”

Without waiting for an answer, you went to the squat pitcher and disposable cups on the overbed table and poured her some cool water. Her hands trembled as she took the cup from you, but she managed drinking half the water in one go. That appeared to revive her, and you offered her more.

She nodded with a soft, “Yes, please.”

As you filled her cup, you thought of a quick blessing. She needed strength to see this situation through. For all you knew, she might be the key to bringing Max back, because despite what Erica said, you didn’t think Max was brain-dead.

By the time Susan finished the water, her green eyes had brightened. She stood, fluffed her hair, and straightened her rumpled clothes. She announced she was going back to the motel to shower and change before work, and if anything happened, to give her a call.

You, Lucas, and Erica promised. Susan nodded to herself and hooked her purse over her shoulder. She went to Max, righted one of her braids, and murmured something to her. She hesitated a second, taking a quick look around, before leaving the room.

You placed the pitcher on the overbed table and threw Susan’s cup in the bathroom wastebasket. The tense silence made you aware of every noise you made, from the swish of the wastebasket liner to the crinkle of your clothes and faint footsteps. Rhythmic squeaking of wheels came from the corridor.

Watching the EKG display, you thought of something you could do:

“I can look for Max, too. I don’t have El’s powers, of course, but Max and I, we’re connected.” You shook your head. “I… I might have a better chance of finding her or finding a clue to get her back.”

Lucas asked, “Are you sure?”

“What if Vecna’s got her, and he takes you?” Erica leaned her elbows on the overbed table. “Then we’re down a magic-user — and we need as many as we can get.”

“He can’t get me here. He tried before and he failed.”

“But you died.”

“And yet, here I am, talking to you.”

“Died.”

You threw out your hands. There was no arguing that fact. Yes, you had died. Yes, Vecna’s curse had killed you. Nevertheless, you were alive. Also, Vecna was wounded.

Lucas asked, “What’s your plan?”

“I don’t know? Connect with her somehow?”

You thought of psychometry. Through touch you’d seen Eddie’s past. Perhaps through touch you could see Max’s. If you could see when the curse hit her from her point of view, maybe that would show you how to get her back.

“Maybe I can’t communicate with her,” you said. “But I might be able to see how Vecna took her.”

“Then you could reverse his steps.”

“Something like that, sure.”

Lucas sighed in thought, tapping his fingers on the book. He came to a conclusion before looking at you.

“It’s worth a shot.”

Erica huffed in disapproval and retreated to the couch.

You propped a hip on the bed, facing Max. Her delicate fingers curled over the cast. You tucked your hand around them and closed your eye.

Unlike with Eddie, you didn’t have to tell Max to relax and trust you. You loosened your shoulders, breathing deep. You focused on her hand, the stillness of her fingers and the fine skin of her knuckles.

The room went cold. Ambient noise disappeared. The mattress sagged under your weight.

Max’s grip tightened.

You opened your eyes. The pressure patch was gone — as was Max’s cast. She stared at you through milky eyes in a younger face. Her now-smaller hand held fast to yours.

The world went wound-red and drained of life. Only you and she remained in the room. No leaves grew on the trees outside. A motionless, stormy sky hovered close. You were in a frozen, bloody version of your world, like a paused horror movie.

“I can’t sleep,” said Max.

“You’re sleeping in our world.”

“What? How?”

“This isn’t your world.”

“Am I dreaming?”

You hadn’t considered that. She could be dream-walking. If she were, why would she choose this? Why would she be younger?

You said, “I don’t know, but you need to leave this place.”

“You mean I need to wake up?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I can’t. I can’t switch back. I don’t know how.” She frowned. “Where’s El?”

“I don’t know.”

Instinct kept you from telling her El had been at the hospital to visit her earlier in the day. This younger Max could be an illusion. You could be talking to Vecna. Or Vecna could be listening.

“How did you get here?” you asked.

“I was fighting Vecna, and he threw me. Everything went dark.”

“And then?”

“And then I woke up in the goddamn Upside Down.”

You examined the room, noticing how much differed from what you’d seen through the tumbler.

“You sure this is the Upside Down?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s red, and where are the vines? The lightning? The demo-creatures?”

From nowhere, an invisible force pushed you backwards. Your foot skidded across the floor. You held onto Max’s hand. She bent forward to stay with you, then struggled to her knees. Your hip dropped off the crumbling mattress. You gripped the edge of the tattered sheets until they tore.

Her eyes widened as she shook her head.

“Don’t go!”

“I’m trying!”

But there was nothing to fight against.

You met her panicked gaze.

“We’ll find you! Wherever you are, we’ll find you!”

Your heel hit the floor. You lost your hold on Max’s hand. She screamed your name, crawling to the end of the bed. You pitched backwards, your heel the focal point. For a second, it felt like flying.

You landed hard on your side. Your ears rang. Like Dorothy landing in Oz, the world bloomed in technicolor. The pressure patch was back. Hands rolled you onto your back. Above you, Lucas and Erica blurred and sharpened. Their mouths moved, but their voices couldn’t overpower the ringing. You touched Lucas’s shoulder to confirm you’d returned.

The room dimmed. Shadows deepened. The three of you paused.

Red light flared through the window. Thunder vibrated the glass, restoring your hearing. You froze. You’d brought the Upside Down — or wherever you’d been — with you. Any second, those rotting vines would slither over the walls, the floor, Max’s bed.

Lucas helped you sit. Erica peered at the window on the other side of the bed. The clouds darkened further. When the vines didn’t appear, you used the bedframe to hoist yourself to your feet. Erica went to the window first, Lucas right behind her. You followed them, keeping to the shadows. You dared not look at any reflective surface, lest that sharp-edged figure look back.

Red lightning cut through the iron gray tower of smoke now spewing from the mega-gate’s nexus. Deafening thunder shook your bones. Warmth quaked in your gut a second later, silver and true. It filled the emptiness that had settled days ago.

-

Pitch black surrounded him. He lay on ice — or something like it. It curved around the back of his bare arms, cooled his body numb. So numb he couldn’t move. And he needed to move. There was work to do, someone to find, wrongs to right. Too much had gone wrong in the world. Too many injustices to name. He could make it right. He could help, gather, hunt.

Blood hung in the air. Screeches echoed through his mind, a hungry call for vengeance. Vines pulsed with wrath. The Source promised a righteous purpose larger than himself. The Source was a kindred soul: misunderstood, rejected, and enraged by the world’s hypocrisy. They were misfits together.

And there was no need to be frightened of anything anymore.

He searched the dark, his fingers not offering the answers he needed. He moved his legs and found the curve of the surface he lay on. Raising a foot, his toe bumped into something hard and smooth inches above. He let his heel fall as he walked his hands across the surface. He pulled it down his body. Whatever he was on moved instead.

He walked his hands above his head to find more of the same smooth surface. To his left were round protrusions, like bolts. Yes, he thought, bolts. Bolts meant hinges. Hinges were weak points.

More bolts were on the right. That was the hinge. The left was the handle. Handles were weak points, too.

He placed his palm on the handle bolts.

The Source said he could free himself. Something as mundane as this wouldn’t injure him.

He slammed the heel of his palm below the bolts. The handle rattled. He struck a second time. The handle whined. He struck again. The handle clanged in the background. He waited for someone to come investigate — police, a guard, even an assistant. He pushed the hatch open and waited a few minutes more. It was nominally brighter beyond, yet there was enough light to see he lay on a metal drawer.

He pulled himself through the portal. The drawer rumbled. Still, no one came. All around the portal were similar metal doors with chrome latch handles. He recognized it for the morgue it was.

He’d been dead. He was dead.

The Source contradicted the thought, saying everyone had mistaken him for dead. They’d not looked close enough. They’d abandoned him. They’d thrown him away. Only Source accepted him and had seen him for the valuable individual he’d always been.

He sat and scooted up the drawer to maneuver his legs out. The skin on his torso pulled. He looked down and gagged. Lines of black stitches or patches of missing flesh disfigured his chest and stomach. He touched the flap of skin on a patch on his right side. It should’ve hurt—

Nothing hurt.

He should’ve been cold. He’d been in a refrigerated box for who knows how long, but he wasn’t.

The Source assured him he was beyond pain.

His right calf and left thigh had been gnawed on, too. Someone had attempted to repair the damage with more black stitches. Those injuries didn’t pull like his torso.

That hardly mattered, though. He needed to leave— wherever the fuck he was. He needed clothes for that, because he was very, very naked. Making anything right usually required covering your ass.

He slipped off the drawer, landing on feet that didn’t feel like his own. His legs wobbled. Every wound protested as he straightened. The skin stretched little by little until he could stand.

A shelving unit stacked with linens stood by the main door. He found a scrub top and held it up. His bare hands felt as naked as the rest of him. That wasn’t how it should be. He only took off— No, he hadn’t taken off anything. He was supposed to see someone. They were waiting— No, no one was waiting for him. Everyone thought he was useless — and dead.

He was forgetting someone— No, they’d forgotten him. He touched his upper chest. Something should be there. They’d stolen something from him.

Yes, someone had taken something from them. He needed to find this person— No, wait for this person. They had an essential component in Source’s plan, and he had to capture it.

-

“Something’s changed,” you said.

“Uh, yeah,” said Lucas, pointing towards the window. “The Upside Down is invading Hawkins.”

You shook your head.

“No, I feel the pull of something.”

You didn’t want to say you felt the silver flame of Eddie’s energy for the first time in days. That sounded hokey even to yourself. If the emptiness — which had to have been Eddie — was filled, it meant Eddie was alive. You couldn’t desert him. You had to find him.

Erica said, “You can’t go now.”

Lucas nodded.

“The party doesn’t separate.”

“Even if it’s for a member of the party?”

“Who is it?”

“I think it’s Eddie.”

“What about Max?” he asked. “Did you find her?”

With a nod, you explained the paused, red world where Max couldn’t sleep. Max thought she was dreaming, but you weren’t sure it was her dream. You theorized it was an illusion to keep her stuck. There had to be something to get her unstuck. She wanted to switch back, but she didn’t know how.

“She exists in two worlds,” you said. “Her body in ours, her mind in another.”

“Or in Vecna’s mind.”

“We have to unite her,” said Erica.

“She asked where El was, but I didn’t tell her. Because I don’t know, and because I didn’t want Vecna finding out.” The pull of Eddie being alive nagged at your consciousness, and you shook your head. “Look, I can’t stay. I gotta find Eddie.” You grabbed your purse from where you’d left it by the door. “Guard Max. Hide her, if you have to.”

Erica and Lucas shared a look.

“We can do that,” he said.

You gave them a nod before leaving the room. Eddie’s energy drew you outside. Though you didn’t understand, you took the service stairs down. Hospital personnel pushed open doors and passed you on the stairs without questioning you.

While the first-floor corridors bustled with people and staff, a hushed tension overlaid every conversation. You swerved around anxious groups of two or three and the occasional thousand-yard-stare loner.

Outside, the scent of smoke and hot ozone had your eyes near burning and your nose on the verge of running. Ash fell like snow from the low ceiling of the clouds. It disappeared when it touched your skin.

You brought your shirt collar over your nose, then crossed the parking lot to your car. You stowed your purse in the trunk and pocketed the keys. There, you hesitated. If Eddie wasn’t in the hospital, he could be anywhere. Perhaps Wayne had identified him and took him to another hospital. However, there wasn’t another hospital in Hawkins. Maybe he was at a doctor’s office. His wounds might’ve looked worse than they were. That didn’t explain his absence from Indra’s net or his reappearance, though.

You turned to the path that led through the trees at the back of the parking lot. Except for funeral homes, only the hospital and coroner’s office could store dead bodies. If Eddie was in a funeral home, word about it would’ve been everywhere by now.

His energy wasn’t far, yet it was muddled, like poor reception on a TV. You tried getting more of a read on him. Pain lit your nerves, making you back off. You pressed your shirt over the bridge of your nose and breathed deep.

Fine, you thought. The coroner’s office it is.

You had to get yourself worked up. An injured girl near tears could get sympathetic assistance and soothing information. You made your breath shallow and rapid as you marched across the parking lot. You brought to mind every stressor: your father rejecting your every idea, being a stranger in this town, Vecna disfiguring your face after stealing your magic, making mistake after mistake and not finding the strength to get over it or fix it, finding Eddie and losing him all in one night.

Tears rimmed your eyes as you walked under the coroner’s office awning. You righted your shirt and pushed at the door. It clanked in its frame.

“What the hell?”

You caught your breath. Maybe you had to pull it. You tried that, earning another clank.

It was locked. Still.

That was complete bullshit.

Your tears evaporated as you grit your teeth. You would not be kept from him any longer. It didn’t matter if he was alive, dead, or undead. You would see Eddie.

You placed a palm over the deadbolt.

“You are undone,” you whispered to it.

Its screws unwound and fell to the floor. The outside cover tumbled off. The interior mechanism flicked open and teetered in the hole. You encouraged it to drop with a jab.

You swiped the cover from the sidewalk before entering the building. Inside, you gathered the deadbolt pieces and dumped them in a potted plant in the dim waiting room. You went to the empty check-in counter to find the area beyond it vacated and dark, save for the blinking lights of the desk phone.

Heavy footsteps echoed behind the reinforced door to your left. With nowhere to run, you put on an innocent expression and curled your shoulders inward. A guard in fatigues tore back the door while another rushed into the waiting room, guns in hand.

“Hands up!” said the closest guard as the door closed behind them.

You raised your hands as your gaze bounced from one to the other. They both had black armbands with MP decorating the side. Military police. Your hunch yesterday about the Humvees had been correct.

“How did you get in here?”

“The front door?” You glanced at it. “The lock’s gone.”

“State your business.”

“I can’t find my-my parents.” You didn’t have to force any nervousness with two guns pointed at you. “They’re not at the hospital. And… and-and the ER told me to check he-here.”

The MPs scowled.

A frenzy of banging and clanging came from behind the door. The MPs turned from you with guns at the ready. You took a step back, heart in your throat.

What were they keeping back there?

The door flew off its hinges, springing off the linoleum by its corner. It ricocheted and crashed into an MP, who toppled to the floor. The door landed to cover his top half. His gun skidded into the waiting room.

“Back away!” yelled the remaining MP. “Hands up!”

You turned your attention away from the gun, thinking he yelled at you. Rather, his attention was on the person in the doorway.

You almost didn’t believe your eyes. You’d expected a demogorgon or some other sort of hellish creature. It was neither. It was Eddie. Unmistakable, even backlit by the severe hallway light. His usually wild hair hung limp around his face. Green scrubs had replaced his clothes.

Eddie hissed at the MP and stomped onto the collapsed door. The MP underneath bleated in protest.

If he kept on like this, he was going to be shot.

“Eddie?”

He turned his focus on you, his blank expression so unlike himself.

The MP shouted, “I said, hands up!”

Eddie’s eyes had you taking another step back. They were like your left: cursed. His skin was waxen like the dead. A tag hung from his big toe. You didn’t know who this was, but he wasn’t your Eddie. He felt like him, looked like him, had his silver flame, but he wasn’t Eddie.

The door was less than a yard away. You could make it out before anyone would reach you. Once outside, you could dash to your car — or lead Eddie away from the hospital.

You pivoted on one foot. A cold body plowed into yours. Hands grabbed your upper arms. The check-in counter dug into your back. Eddie reared up over you.

He’d moved too fast to be natural. In comparison, the MP turned in slow motion.

Eddie pulled the pressure patch down your face.

With a pleased look, he said, “Ah, I see you’re half ours already.”

His breath smelled of old blood.

“Eddie, don’t.”

“Don’t what? Have you join us?”

He leaned in to drag his nose over your cheek, inhaling as he went. You closed your eyes and pinched your mouth shut. His dry, cracked lips skipped up your cheek.

“Pretty, pretty witch.”

“Show me your hands,” ordered the MP.

“Should I let him shoot me?” Eddie asked you.

“Don’t shoot,” you called over his shoulder. “He’s… He’s not hurting me.”

Eddie hummed in your ear. “Take me to Max.”

You couldn’t let him get his hands on her. He’d take her to Vecna. If Vecna had you, Max, and Eddie — all cursed in one manner or another — it would be a recipe for destruction. He’d drain you like a vampire, sacrifice Eddie, and use Max as a pawn. Or maybe something even worse. You couldn’t let any of that happen.

You arched away to look into Eddie’s cursed eyes, so much like your own. You’d tear Vecna limb from limb for this. Apart from El, only you had power enough to destroy him. And you could with the Eradix spell you’d found on Thursday.

“Step away from the girl!”

Eddie snarled and turned his head like a predator. He released your arms before you could protest. You reached for his shirt to keep him with you. Your fingers grasped air.

A triple pop of gunfire had you hunching and covering your head. The waiting room window shattered. A gust of smoke and ash poured into the building. Boots shuffled across the floor. The MP grunted as something clattered.

You wanted to look, make sure Eddie hadn’t been shot, but you needed to get out of there. A wet gurgle and grind turned your stomach. You scurried to the main door, pulling it open. Wind dragged the door from your hand. It thudded against the wall.

With a flinch, you peeked over your shoulder. Eddie stared back. Blood dripped down his chin. The MP hung slack from his hands.

Everything narrowed.

Then everything sharpened as you steadied the main door and sprinted to the street.

[itsbenedict]

get star seeker sequel adventure thing up and running and through the first case

get datasouls combat toy complete up to the first miniboss combat

catch up on TFJ recap logs

become an accredited AWS Certified Solutions Architect and get that raise my boss has been talking about for ages

get an adjustable standing desk and under-desk elliptical thingy, and otherwise get an ergonomic workstation set up

fix the light situation in the bathroom

get through The Sekimeiya and really go to town on that mystery until it’s solved

also finally play Disco Elysium

finish TFTBN character portraits

get a beatrice portrait for my poster wall

run some TPIVW games

badger the condo association landlady until she does something about the junk clogging up that basement storage room i’m supposed to own, and clean unused bulky stuff out of my house

clearly this waitlist thing isn’t working out so take some steps to see an actual doctor for the first time in like three years (and maybe get a cancer screening, or do something about that closed sinus)

get through the remaining 7 WaniKani levels

August! August was awkward! I thought I was going to lose a lot of time to Trails into Reverie, and so took on a less demanding task deliberately- but I ended up primarily distracted by Pikmin 4 and Master Detective Archives: Rain Code and An Odyssey to the Castle of Vampires, instead. Those latter two are both gonna stick in my head and I need to post about them separately, god damn.

Anyway, as far as clearing out the condo goes- the unit's all set for me to use, and I cleared out my moving bins and that extra bike I don't need or use which my aunt insisted I take, and I figured out a solution for organizing and storing clothes that actually works instead of getting neglected for being too inconvenient. Got new sheets for the beds, got a vacuum and cleaned house... I haven't gotten rid of the old elliptical yet because apparently nobody on craigslist wants an elliptical with no power cord, even for free. Not sure how I'm going to get rid of this thing short of calling a junk disposal service... maybe I can order a replacement power cord online, and then sell it in good condition?

Justice/Arcana kind of fell by the wayside- I spent a couple weeks on this big huge update, and then got kind of paralyzed on how to proceed from there and put it off because it was tough to fit in with other competing priorities. Work got crazy this month, with a huge corporate reorg that involved me taking on a bunch of new responsibilities and handing off some old ones that realistically shouldn't be handed off and are going to be a pain in the neck when I inevitably have to consult on them. I need to get back on the horse with that- and on my remaining kanji reviews, which have piled up to the tune of... almost 200 of them, yeesh.

As for September... I'm taking a full two weeks off for the second half of the month, since I haven't actually had a week off yet this entire year. Since I'm going to have a good long chunk of free time, I'm going to use that to try to meet that milestone for the Datasouls combat toy, which I haven't really touched all year. I also want to properly get J/A moving into the final part of the case- I plan to commit to at least 10 full updates for September, so I don't get stuck in the trap of expecting vague "progress" and never having a quantifiable goal to hold myself to.

[postcardtoalake]

Of course Betty Gilpin wrote these beautiful truths. I’m reading her autobiography finally (after being number 28748488 on the waitlist for it) and I already know what I suspected after reason that she would be writing a bio - that I’m going to have to buy this. I’m already not wanting to return this to the library AT ALL. Damn, I wish I wasn’t so painfully broke. Damn my bio-“parents” for being so shitty and for stealing so much from me, but hats a whole other story which will hopefully land them in prison.

Anyways (why is the jump between paragraphs shown to be so big on Tumblr?), I’m already excited to listen to “All The Women In My Brain” on audiobook as narrated by Betty, after reading it. Everyone who has read it has said that it’s even better on audiobook.

And HUGE thanks to @warningsine for creating beautiful WLW content of the highest quality always. You inspire me and I hope to incorporate your beautiful GIFS into the shirts I hope to make, as I learn slowly how to make them, because the GLOW and KCFH fandoms, like and among so, so SO many Sapphic, woman-based, woman-led, and woman-focused shows created by and about women have been cancelled far too soon and disrespectfully by misogynistic execs in ways that male run/led/blah/boring shows would never be treated.

And that includes women IN other fandoms that deserve more of a woman-based focus (like Reservation Dogs…I have such a crush on Teenie/Tamara Podemski), or shows about women and that are feminist and seem to be growing more radical (like Shrill and The OA),

Anyways, I hope these limited thoughts make some sense at 4 am. I’m usually much more comprehensible when I’ve not been up all night working. And these women are some of the best couples and actresses paired together on the big and small screen of the past decade in the US. I miss them terribly. I hope Bob “dicksw*b" Iger and the many, many other way overpaid, insufferable, abusive, greedy (to put it mildly), misogynistic, sexist, and revolting pig men don’t destroy the feminism women have managed to build without them on the fringes of the industry and managed to get made. And RIP Lynn Shelton who made amazing films by women, for women, and about women of all ages and life situations. I miss her terribly. And she helped other women make works like this, and directed much of GLOW!

Also the late, also great (but also problematic) Jean-Marc Vallée who was the only one who could have made Sharp Objects the best HBO miniseries ever IMO (it’s been 20 years since I’ve seen Angels in America in high school, so that may be its only competition). And I’m fully aware of how he, HBO, and David E. Kelley absolutely screwed over Andrea Arnold in Big Little Lies season 2, which sounds beyond horrendous. The assholes stole her work and GAVE it to Vallée for all the credit and to rework in his style. I’m guessing that’s why season 2 sucked. And Meryl Streep is not necessary there. I liked her in high school, but the last good performance she turned in was in Devil Wears Prada, and befire that, Acaptation and The Hours. Nothing since then.

Also side-eyeing Michelle Pfeiffer for being married to such a famously insufferable asshole like David E. Kelley, who made heroin chic a pervasive problem on TV…with which Michelle appears to have no issue. They seem like a pairing that goes as well together as a famous misogynist abuser working with Isabelle Huppert or a pedo wanting support from, and getting it, from Cate Blanchett, probably unprompted (she capes for Aussie pedos often, in the name of “artistic expression” ….vomit emoji does not suffice here. Oh, and they go as well together as Catherine Deneuve and excusing horrendous men, and her absolute willful ignorance of even 2nd wave feminism and fear of modern women and radical feminism and her compulsory heterosexuality.

I hope this un-proofread and unedited 4.39 am stream of consciousness makes sense as I attempt to get a few hours of sleep.

—Betty Gilpin

[samtheflamingomain]

25.21%

I've been sober for 3 months today. 92 days. 25.21% of 2021.

I could've posted more updates, more milestones (it took a LOT not to post on Day 69) but I wanted to kind of save it up for a Big Day. It was also a decent way to continue to incentivize my continued sobriety: a full pass to do a shameless, hardcore bragging sesh.

Anyway, this post comes in 2 parts: the TL;DR for those who only want the gist, then more in depth on my ability to stay sober, the lasting effects of rehab, etc.

I tried my damnedest to pare this absolute novel down, but it's long, so feel free to dip out if you just get bored. Onward!

TL;DR: I went to rehab the beginning of July for 3 weeks and haven't had a drop of alcohol since. I've lost weight, I'm more healthy, my daily anxiety level went from 8 to 2, I haven't had an anxiety attack in 3 months, and everything generally just seems... easier. My memory and concentration have improved. I've been productive and I've been meditating every day. I'm saving money, and while I sometimes fantasize about getting drunk, that's usually all it is.

Honestly, it's been much easier than I expected, but I think a lot of that is because for the first 3 weeks, the time in which I would usually break down and start drinking again when trying to get sober myself, was spent behind a locked door. So far I haven't had any days where I was close to giving in. I haven't had many days where I've been depressed about it, missing it or really tempted. Maybe 3-4. I've basically just gotten on with my life as if alcohol doesn't exist.

To wrap up the short version for those ready to peace out, I'll leave it with a bit of advice.

I don't feel qualified to give any specific advice, because my story feels very unique to me, and I honestly don't think what worked for me will work for MOST people. Sometimes people spend a year in rehab and still drive straight to the liquor store on their way home.

That said, there's one thing that I've found pretty universally true: you have to really want it. For a while, I floated about without much of a "reason" to stay sober. I don't have a spouse, kids or a job I've been fired from, so I didn't see the point.

It's taken me a while, but after not being "convinced" by a few superficial "reasons" like weight loss and saving money, I thought I needed something more... permanent? Consequential? I now realize that my "reason" for getting sober at a young age after only a few years of alcoholism is that I don't want it to get to a point where I'm hurting other people, drinking myself into multiple lasting health problems... I don't want it to become permanent or consequential.

Anyway, that's my two cents. If you do have something like kids or trouble keeping a job, definitely use that as your reason. But for anyone who's a pretty "functional" alcoholic like I was, "not letting it go on long enough to become disfunctional" is a good enough reason.

This is going to get stupid long, so feel free to walk away now, just glad you read this much and it really does mean the world when people listen to what I have to say.

Now some more things in depth. I'll go in chronological order: what made me get sober, what I took from rehab (and what I left), and how it's been the past few months.

I started drinking when I got kicked out, manic out of my mind and homeless unable to sleep. It took a while until I was able to sleep without alcohol, but by then the addict brain had taken over. I'd tried a few times to get sober myself, but I never made it more than a week without, and always got back to daily drinking after a few months maximum.

Some people need a "wake up call", a "last straw" or a "rock bottom". Something external to make them realize they can't go on as they are. For me, the catalyst was my health, which is more of an internal reason I suppose. I didn't have a heart attack or liver failure, but my anxiety was getting uncontrollable and I knew it was directly tied to my drinking.

My life had been starting to feel tolerable, and I was more financially secure than ever before. Things were looking up... except for the alcoholism. This is a weird analogy but the only one that makes sense to express why, if I was doing so well on paper, I decided to go to rehab: you have to sweep before you mop. If I hadn't been in the place I was, I don't think I would've been successful at rehab. I had to sweep up the cat turds from the floor of my life before I was able to mop up the shit stains with sobriety. I know, I'm a true wordsmith.

When I finally called the hotline that hooked me up with a bunch of different rehabs, I knew I was in for a wait. It was about 5 months from that call to checking in, which isn't too bad considering I've been on the waitlist for a neuropsychiatrist in ALL OF CANADA for 4 years.

That brings us to July 12th, Rehab Day One. I've gone in depth in multiple other posts but to touch on it briefly, if I had to describe my experience in a sentence I'd say "the place I went to got very lucky with me".

What this means is that, of the 5 people in my group, I think this exact program was only ever going to help me. At the same time, I didn't even know what I would need, but this exact program was 90% of it. I didn't think 3 weeks would be long enough, but for me it was. The hours-long, repetitive, basic-ass CBT groups held 5 times a day 7 days a week was absolute torture for everyone but myself. While it was a drag to spend an hour on defining what a cognitive distortion is, the routine and repetition, something I've never gotten out of any outpatient program, helped me to really absorb the information and let it rewire my brain.

I've always said that I'm someone who should be spending an hour a day with a therapist for the rest of my life, and while that's not even remotely feasible, this was as close as it's ever gotten, and it proved me right, because it worked. I've done biweekly therapy for a short time but even that didn't come close to the way my brain changed in those 3 short weeks.

This program required absolute commitment and open-mindedness. This isn't because it was hard work or difficult concepts, but quite the opposite. While I hate the entire concept of art therapy being used as a cure-all for mental illness, I willingly got out of my bed, went downstairs and tried doing a dot mandala for an hour because I'm willing to try anything to get better. A lot of people might think they are, but really aren't. To use the mandala as an example, one guy was really into it, I wasn't, but we both finished. The other 3 tried, messed up a few times, and then scrolled through their phones. When I say this program necessitates complete engagement, that's not a compliment. It shouldn't be a chore to engage with the program. It shouldn't take me actively saying "I know I've known this basic concept since 4th grade, but maybe hearing it again will help" to get something out of a rehab program. So again, in every way, I got lucky, and so did they.

Before I finish with the rehab section, having had a few months to reflect on the whole thing, I now have an endless list of things wrong with it. I arrived, greeted by the most jaded and disillusioned of staff, and quickly became disturbed and at points concerned with just how negligent the staff are.

Maybe it's because I've been on the psych ward where they won't even let you have shoelaces and shine a flashlight on your face every half hour through the night, but it could've been so incredibly easy to sneak in alcohol. I brought 2 full water bottles, fully expecting to have to dump them out upon arrival, but they said "nah it's fine". Is it though?

Then there were actual counsellors there who were... okay. I recall one, the one I thought was the smartest, reading a handout aloud and coming across the word "delve" as in "let's delve into..." and stumbled, then said she doesn't know that word. The room was silent. As she pulled up Google on the screen I said, "it means to dive into it". She Googled it anyway. Synonyms include "dive in". If that was the only example I wouldn't mention it, but this was the first of at least 10 words she had do Google, none past a 10th grade level, from HER OWN MATERIAL. From that point on it became clear that they had no fucking idea what they were doing.

We had one last one-on-one counselling session before we left and the counsellor just filled in boxes to questions on her computer, rephrasing everything I said to fit into the buzzwords and "lessons" we'd "learned". Example. Me: I do think I'm better able to catch myself thinking 'oh I can just have one drink' and say 'no I can't'." Her: "Okay, so would you say that you can recognize negative cognitive distortions like permission-giving thoughts and counter them with a more rational and less emotional mind?" Like girl, blink twice if your boss is holding your family hostage. She gave me some papers, detailing all the online courses they were signing me up for and options for more treatment they'd be sending me, a phone number to call and a phone appointment for the next Monday. I never got that call, the phone number is a hotline, I never got a single email from them, and given how shitty they really are at their jobs, I didn't feel the inclination to try and get those resources. If they even exist in the first place.

In summation, it was a place where it was physically impossible to get alcohol. That's really all I can say in its favor. Oh, and they let you have your cell phone.

Now on our timeline I'm back home. I want to kind of analyze why it's been easy for me.

I often said that my main goal of going to rehab was to lock me away from alcohol long enough for it to reset my brain. Most people thought that was naïve, but that's exactly what happened. But I'm well aware that my experience of "instantly became sober and literally hasn't had a single hard day in 3 months" is absurdly unusual.

I put this down to a few things. Firstly, I'm on seven different meds for my mental health. Almost all of them have their effects dulled or even eliminated when you drink. So when I noticed my mood, fatigue, memory, concentration etc all getting better at once - right about as I left rehab, I don't think it would be a stretch to say that all those meds started working properly.

Secondly, I've been keeping myself busy, but that's something I've always been good at. Now I specifically choose to undertake projects that will eat up a lot my time and put me in a state of flow. I recently made an entire card game from scratch, and let me tell you, I didn't think of alcohol for a week.

Thirdly, my other goals now get in the way of alcohol. I'm getting old and my body is deteriorating. But I've always wanted to do just one last season of gymnastics. Well, I need to lose weight for that to happen. I've already lost 35 pounds, and after another 20 I'll be ready to go. Also, I used to spend more on alcohol per month than rent. Even though I've done a few shopping sprees lately, I haven't come remotely close to how much I was spending before.

I want it more than anything. I want to be sober more than I want one night of "fun" that will more likely than not lead me back to where I was a year ago. I never want to need anything as much as I needed alcohol.

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

A lot of people, myself included, worried about the fact that I work at a bar as a cook, but honestly the entire time I'm there I'm thinking about food, not alcohol. If I'm hanging out with some regulars before/after, I can watch them drink and be perfectly fine with my coffee, because the coffee is $2, and I used to spend $20 after every work shift.

I also decided in rehab to start taking better care of myself as best I could. This started with getting my second vax which I'd been putting off, then an eye appointment, then new glasses, then a dentist appointment where I was informed I need to do $3000 worth of work on my implant that's erroding my bone matter, so that sucks, but I caught it early. I've also been meditating every day. In just 3 months, I've made pretty big improvements to my self-care and my daily routine.

One of my fears about sobriety was "missing out" on "having fun". A few days ago, all my housemates got together to play Mario Party, and it was kind of my first night doing something social while sober. It was a breath of fresh air - I wasn't constantly running to piss, I didn't worry about running out of alcohol, I didn't get sloppy and obnoxious as I can sometimes do. I even came very very close to winning my first game of MP. When I reflected on the night, I realized that, if I'd been getting drunk the whole time, I would've sucked at the minigames, been a hindrance to anyone unfortunate enough to be teamed with me, and likely would've stopped caring about the game itself after the first few turns.

Yesterday I was making my 4th pot of coffee of the day when I realized there was a full glass of wine just sitting on the counter. I had absolutely no idea where the hell it came from - nobody in my house drinks wine. I shrugged and poured that sweet sweet bean juice. It was only when I sat down and took a sip of coffee did I find myself thinking automatically, "this tastes so much better than wine". I only realized then that it had been rose wine, the only kind I've ever been able to tolerate. It was the ultimate moment of possible temptation, and the thought of just chugging that glass - as I may've done in the past - didn't even cross my mind.

I'm so glad to be where I am. I'm about to undergo some serious financial changes - i.e. going absolutely broke - but drinking isn't gonna help that, so I'm cautiously optimistic.

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

[thedistantstorm]

Keep On Rising (Until The Sky Knows Your Name) 13

Found Family | Zavala is Tower Dad | Father-Daughter Relationship | Childhood Trauma and Recovery | Canon-Typical Violence | Amputation

A story about how an orphaned Amanda Holliday comes to belong in the Last Safe City and the family she finds along the way.

(Or, the story of how Commander Zavala finds himself responsible for one Amanda Holliday.)

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12

This time: Zavala asks for another favor. Eva takes matters into her own hands.

-/

Zavala is pacing. In the years that she has known him, Karena has never seen him anxious. It doesn’t have the humbling behind-the-scenes kind of appeal, or make him seem less of the immovable person that he’s always been, to see him this way now. Perhaps that’s because Zavala has always had this approachable, human aspect to him despite his stoic exterior. Now, in this light, she realizes that he holds himself together well. That he places his concerns for others before his own well-being.

Right now, she is the one who has to fight for him. He’d insisted they do this the right way, no matter how desperately he wanted to throw his weight around. It would only create serious drama, for them - Karena, the orphanage, and Zavala - as well as for Amanda, the innocent bystander caught in the middle of it all.

“I’m telling you,” She says, clipped into her comm, “Grace. Listen to me. I have an adopter. I have someone who will take the girl. I never even knew you’d been assigned to her. This is hardly fair to anyone, most of all her.”

The Commander turns back from the front window of the orphanage, his eyes narrowing on her features as the response comes. “Look. It’s almost always a twenty-one day window. You had more time than that, and the psychiatrist called me. That’s what they’re bound to do by civil law. As of yesterday at ten hundred hours, I became her guardian. She’s handicapped, therefore she comes to me. Honestly, you should have seen that coming, Karena. You’ve been doing this longer than me.”

The kindly matron scoffs. “I was with her prospective adopter, he was filling out the paperwork. I had planned to have this sorted, Grace. You should have waited for handoff. I can’t imagine it went over well with Amanda.”

“Yes, well, teary goodbyes would have gone over about as well as her little tantrum.” Grace’s voice is stern, not at all sweet like her nickname of Gracie. It’s for the best, as Karena never used it. “She thought the Tower’s hospital was the best this City had to offer. It’s sad, what these impoverished ones think.”

Karena looks over at Zavala, standing ramrod straight, watching the glow of the comms device underlight the woman’s face. He hides it well, but she sees the tic of his jaw in fury. “Her prospective adopter is military. The girl is likely terrified she won’t see him.”

“That’s strange, the only thing she’d say to the psychiatrist is that she refuses to be adopted. So I’m not sure who your mystery adopter is, but clearly-”

“She’s just saying that. We hadn’t told her yet. You know the amount of red tape there is.”

“I do. But you know our rules. I don’t make them. You’d have to talk to the governor of the orphanage. It’s not to me to bend them for you.”

“Oh bullshit,” Karena curses. “You and I both know that’s just a money-grab. Her prospective parent cannot tithe to New Monarchy. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“Well then they cannot be considered.”

“Just look over the application I sent you, Grace. I’m certain you’d change your mind.”

“You know I can’t.” She almost sounds remorseful, but it fades quickly. “This is the way it works. You know how it is. They’d strip me of my job in an instant. You need to remember how things work around here. It’s why you never made it out of that crummy little home.”

“I assure you,” Karena states firmly, looking over at Zavala and then back to the woman on the comms device, “That the location in which we do our work does not matter when the quality of care we provide comes not from physical resources but from the effort we put into raising our children. I have never thought it ethical to force prospective parents to pay for the opportunity. I’d rather they put their money into raising the child.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. If your prospective adopter changes their mind about New Monarchy, have them apply for the program. There’s only a four month wait for consideration to enter our foster-to-adopt program. I’m certain they’d match him with the right child.”

“Oh, you-”

The comms click and fall silent, the light on the screen fading.

“That bitch,” Karena swears, pushing the machine aside. “That wretched bitch.”

“I can talk to the Speaker,” Zavala finally says, after a few moments of even pacing through the small room. “Just as a temporary-”

“Absolutely not,” Shiori interjects, shimmering into the room, cones pointed in a serious pose. “You know you cannot sign up for New Monarchy. He would tell you the same. The Vanguard has a history of remaining neutral and supporting each faction equally. It would be a disaster.”

“Then what do I do, Shiori?” 

Karena clasps her hands over her heart. The tone of his voice is heartbreaking, it’s clear he truly does not know how to proceed.

“You can’t jump on the New Monarchy bandwagon.” She shifts around, making sure to stay in his line of sight. “Zavala, it’s literally the thing Hideo has been waiting for. He’d capitalize on this.”

“I don’t think he’s that heartless.”

“Do you want to find out?” Shiori asks.

“I don’t care.”

Shiori waits him out, sees the clench of his fists, the heavier breaths. “Yes, you do. You know this could very well cause a faction war, if you’re not careful.” 

“What about Amanda? I can’t imagine she’s faring well. They won’t even let non-backers volunteer.”

“Then we’ll get someone to back them,” The Ghost relents. “Just, sit, okay? You’re going to pace a hole in the floor.”

He drops into the chair across from the matron’s desk with a sigh. “Who do we ask?”

“Chin up, Guardian. We’ll figure it out.” Shiori turns to Karena. “You, too. I have an idea.”

-/

In all her years, Eva has done plenty of outlandish things. Taken certain risks - in influencing fashion and in life in general. Most of them had paid off, been worth it. She'd been asked by plenty for help, and always given what she could give - maybe even more than, if she's honest.

But, this, she thinks, looking at Zavala, his glittering gaze dead serious and the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes far more pronounced in his exhaustion, is not something she should have to agree to.

Not because she does not want to. He is not a man who asks for things for himself - this might be the most selfish thing he's ever asked for. He should not have to ask her for this.

And he knows it.

He tells her as much. But he is not above rules, he cannot act around them. He will not, even if he holds himself personally accountable for the very negative impact it has on the child.

His child, he very softly admits to her.

He will do it right, and he'll pay her. She simply has to help him get her back via the correct channels, he'll compensate her for her troubles, and for whatever funds New Monarchy demands of her.

She isn't interested in that and tells him call as much. She has never shied away from telling him the truth. "This is quite literally the most ridiculous series of hoops the factions have ever had you jump through."

"It can't be like this," He agrees. "I'm working on a proposal to change things." And, softer, "It's madness."

"It is, my friend." Zavala sighs at that. Eva does not like seeing him so hopeless. "But I'll do it."

For a moment, Eva thinks he's going to hug her, he looks so relieved. When he doesn't, she hugs him, anyway. He hugs her back and she wonders for a brief moment if perhaps there isn't something she could do to expedite the process.

She returns to the Tower North, slowing as she hears the Executor's voice, mellow and smooth. She has heard plenty of praise for him, and certainly a fair bit of criticism, but he has always been cordial to her. She wonders how much of this he knows about. The policies, the reasons… she's certain he's involved. But she's also certain there's a hidden eighth in his Seven Tenants, and that's to keep Commander Zavala on his good side.

It's certainly an outlandish move - Zavala will probably not be thrilled. Eva will take that risk and face the consequences, whatever they are. Waiting on a waitlist for months isn't going to help the issues happening right now. Amanda's well-being is at stake. Eva knows, just from their brief meeting, how fragile she is. It's how these few remaining refugees are, the things they've suffered and seen. Especially the children. They're terribly impressionable.

The Speaker, in his infinite wisdom, steps down from his observatory and bids her good afternoon, as if seeing her decide that action must be taken and trying to find the right method of delivery. He tilts his head to the side. "Is there something on your mind?" He queries.

Eva sighs, looking up into his mask. Her surprised smile melts into a frown. "Well, you see," She admits, just a touch louder than normal, "I've just heard the most terrible thing."

[storiesbyshelly]

TW: violence, parental violence, coming out/sexuality

[october 12, 2007]

The house smelled like burnt toast and I was angry.

I was angry because I gave Adam one job: stand by the counter and watch it. He didn’t want to wait until I finished my homework and I could make it for him, since I knew what to do, so I told him if he makes it himself, he needs to stand by the toaster and watch it. Our toaster was old and wanky, sometimes you had to press the lever down three times just to get it to warm up, and other times it popped up after a minute completely black. You had to standby and pay attention. But he never paid attention.

The burnt smell was so bad it was stuck in between my nose and my mouth, making my face involuntarily scrunch up. It was so bad it snuck under the cracks of my closed bedroom door, which was all the way down the hallway from the kitchen. It was so bad that it somehow leaked into me and filled my body with unencumbered rage that he couldn’t follow even the simplest of directions. I swung my door open with such force that it bounced back after me, slamming shut as soon as I stepped out of it. The force of the door back into its frame shook a little reason back into me. I was still angry, but also aware enough to be embarrassed by my actions.

Adam sat on the couch playing his Nintendo, exactly as how I envisioned he’d be. Careless. My favorite teacher used to tell me to find my anger sometimes. When I was little I had a pretty bad temper, and when they’d call my dad to tell him whatever I’d done to some poor kid on the playground that day, he’d tell the vice principal he was going to take me out to ice cream later. The school didn’t know what to do with a parent so uncooperative, so I almost got kicked out of public school. My third-grade teacher, Mrs. Taylor, used to tell me to find my anger. “Where is it today?” she’d ask. “Is it in your stomach? Your legs? Is it so stuck all the way up in your fingers that they have to curl up like this?” she’d ask while holding up her own clenched fist. Most days I think I just made up an answer because I found it funny. I liked it. Then she’d say “okay, Lulu, we found it. Now we sit with it until it passes through us. Tell me when you can feel it pass through. We’ll take deep breaths until then.” She always called me Lulu. I think she forgot my name at first, but then it became sort of comforting. Being Liv to everyone else, but Lulu to her.

Most people didn’t understand that, except Mrs. Taylor. When I got to middle school, Mrs. Taylor made some calls and set me up with the guidance counselor every week. The guidance counselor was named Jim and he let me call him that. He asked about my home life mostly. About my dad, and Pauline, and Adam sometimes. Adam was still at the elementary school but he was a bad kid, so everyone in the district knew about him. Actually, I guess they knew about us, the Clarke siblings, because we were both bad kids. I was getting better though. It was like Adam didn’t even care to try. Jim asked about my real mom once, and I didn’t have much to say because I never really knew her, but I told him the sadness was in my shoulders. He looked really confused and asked me to explain it more. I told him that when I thought about her, it felt like something was really heavy on me that I was trying to hold. We never talked about her again.

“Get up,” I yelled at Adam when I was still approaching the couch from behind, even though I knew he was going to ignore me. I kept going until I stood in front of the TV screen and I put my hands on my hip. “What did I tell you to do?!”

He grumbled at me to move. I felt furious that he wasn’t repenting and begging for forgiveness after he clearly made the mistake in this situation.

“MOVE,” he yelled. I shut the TV off instead, pushing his boundaries. I didn’t even register what was happening when he came at me with both hands and shoved me to the side. I was thirteen and he was twelve, but he was about fifty pounds bigger than me already. When I fell down, my shirt curled up enough to bare my stomach. It was my hip that froze Adam into place, the blues and purples bruising up the side of my torso. He stared at it for a long time. “What’s that?” he asked.

From last night, I wanted to say, because I was angry. When you were sleeping just fine. When Dad angrily sent us to bed, and we knew it was going to be a bad night, and I woke up to Pauline’s shrieking. She was crawling backward on the kitchen counter but she was up against the wall, out of space. Dad had a baseball bat in his hand. A baseball bat signed by some Yankees player he was obsessed with, one of his most prized possessions.

These are the moments that define us, maybe. What are you supposed to do when you see your dad coming at your stepmom with a baseball bat and they both scream at you to go back to bed?

I ran to the silverware drawer to get a knife. I wouldn’t use it, I don’t think, but I needed more power to stop him, and knife trumps bat. All I had to do was hold it up and scream at him to get back. Dad saw what I was doing too quick though, saw my fingers grip the black handle of the cutlery drawer, and he swung his most prized possession at me before I could move. He hit me right in the gut, right where it hurt, and I crumpled like an accordion, completely useless. I woke up on the kitchen floor early this morning, in the same position, untouched from last night. I wondered where Pauline went only briefly. Every man for himself.

“Nothing,” I start to answer Adam, then change my mind. “It’s all my anger,” I explain instead. “It’s all the anger in my body, stuck in this one spot.”

[january 15, 2012]

Things in the house were suspiciously quiet.

Two things had happened in the past couple of months. One: I received my early acceptance letters from Harvard, Cornell, and Dartmouth. Yale waitlisted me, but I wasn’t taking it to heart. The undeniable proof that I was leaving here and going to school was all I was ever really looking for. It never really mattered to me where. My guidance counselor suggested the Ivy Leagues and even helped me waive the admission fees because she knew I was too stubborn to ask my dad for help. Two: my dad walked in on Melanie and me making out in my room with just our bras on.

Melanie and I met our first year of high school. It was a mutually beneficial relationship at first and nothing more. I taught her academics, and she taught me how to dance. She was the captain of the dance team and failing chemistry, algebra, and English. I told her to pick a struggle, she laughed, and we made a deal.

I don’t think I ever really cared about dancing that much, but I liked learning when she was the one teaching me. I liked anything she did. But I really liked the way she put her hands on my hips, and rested her chin on my shoulder, and guided my body. Her hair was all the way down her back long, and naturally blonde but she dyed it auburn red, and it always smelled like lavender. Somehow when her grades picked up and we agreed I was never going to make it on the dance team, we kept hanging out anyway. None of our other friends understood, but they seemed to matter less and less anyway.

We’d joke about how we’re going to marry each other if we don’t find boys by the time we’re 25. We talked about our life together. Our wedding. Our kids. We talked and talked and planned it all as if it was just a backup plan. Even the kissing started as practice.

It just seemed that we never got good enough to justify stopping. We never had an honest discussion with ourselves about what we were to each other because somehow we knew we’d never be anything. We knew that she’d never be ready to love a girl and me, well, I’d never be ready to love anybody.

When my dad walked in on Melanie and me, I expected him to yell, but instead, he was a ghost, a shadow, watching us until we startled seeing him in the doorway, my bed a Petri dish. She picked up her shirt and left before putting it on. I was abandoned, I knew it, and I was right.

“I hate that you did this, Liv,” he said, with true exasperation, and then he looked down, and my eyes followed him to his boner. I curled my toes to prevent my body from recoiling with disgust. “I really hate this.”

I couldn’t help myself. I said, “it doesn’t look like you hated it.”

Anger flashed across his face and it was like seeing the only person I’ve ever truly known. I wasn’t afraid. Not when he charged at me on the bed. Not when he rolled his fist back and slammed it into my face and shouted, “you think I’m proud of this? I should fuck you right now. Maybe that’s what you need, huh? Faggot!”

“I will kill you,” I promised with dead eyes. “As soon as you fall asleep tonight.”

It’s on my tongue, I’d have told Mrs. Taylor. It’s in between my teeth.

[april 16, 2015]

All I can think about as they lower that coffin is how much I wish it was him inside.

I wish it had been a heart attack. I wish he had an aneurysm. I wish a drunk driver hit him head-on and ejected him from his seat, making his body splatter on the road like a cracked egg.

My body is so full of hatred for my own father that it vibrates when he speaks. He wipes tears away from his eyes and talks about the mother Pauline was, how she raised his daughter like her own and never thought twice or asked for a thank you. It’s true, I guess. She raised me just the same as Adam. She didn’t care for either of us because my dad made her whole life about her own survival. I don’t hate her. I hate him.

I stand about ten feet in the back, away from everyone else, even Adam and Maddie, because Adam told me he never wanted to see me again this morning. He’ll die defending our father, even if it means defending his mother’s murderer. He murdered her. Her life will never matter as much as his approval does.

I don’t know why I’m here except pity. It’s not out of love. I feel sorry for Pauline. I feel sorry in a deep way, in a way that’s in the middle of my bones, dead center, that her life never got better. She never escaped. I imagine going back to twenty years ago and telling her “this is it, until the day you die. You never get out.” She probably would have fed me some bullshit even if I could have said that to her. Some bullshit like “What makes you think I want to leave? I love your father very much Alivia.” She always called me Alivia. She loved that my mother was so original, and that’s why she picked out Adam. It went with my beautiful name, according to her. She never shortened it to Liv. She said that was a waste.

When I look to my right, there’s a woman about three feet away with long, straight, dark hair and blue eyes. She looks like she’s in her 40s. She’s got a freckle at the top of her lip and sunglasses on top of her head, even though it’s been cloudy and overcast for the past three days with no sign of clearing up. She’s beautiful. I’ve never met her before, but I know instantly. I feel it all over. I’ve only seen one picture of her, when she was in the hospital right after giving birth. She’s holding me and she looks like a ghost. She didn’t have that loopy new mom smile at all. It was like the whites of her eyes were see-through. Like the camera capturing her was a fluke, and she wasn’t really there. I don’t wonder why she’s here. I can feel that too. I’m sure she saw the funeral posted about somewhere and my dad’s name and recognized herself.

Recognized her death date if she had stayed.

I don’t go over to her. I don’t say hi.

When I think about that day actually, I don’t think I said a word to anybody.

[july 5, 2017]

The curtains broke last night. Somehow the rod broke in half and the curtains slid off right down the middle. If the window was a face, it would be sad.

I woke up at dawn to the sun beaming directly onto my eyelids, through my now curtainless window. I don’t have the money or time to deal with whatever made my curtain rod snap in half, which looks a lot like a leak from the ceiling dripping onto it and making the metal rust to the point of crumbling. I’ve consistently been a week late with rent since I moved in, which my landlord has ignored while somehow giving me the distinct feeling that the minute I cause any trouble for him, he won’t be so understanding.

I wish I could just get my shit together. If I could have just been able to pay my rent on time, I wouldn’t feel indebted to him, and I could call him and tell him about his shitty apartment and the outlets that always stop working, and the flickering bathroom lights, and the leaky ceiling breaking my curtain rods because I am certain the conditions I’m living in must be illegal. At least some of them.

It’s hard not to think about the curtains when I walk out of the hospital. It’s a coping mechanism, I figure, my brain’s way of protecting itself against something worse. If I think about this job too long, and how badly I want it, and how good I feel after this interview, I might start thinking that the job is already mine. And if I start thinking that, then it’s going to be a pretty big low when and if I don’t get it.

So I think about my curtains. I don’t think about the position as a researcher that would give me an amazing opportunity to fund my passion project. I don’t think about how I feel like I aced the interview, but there’s no one to call. I don’t think about the arm’s length I’ve forced everyone to stay at because I’ve been so afraid for so long I was born with bones that don’t bend.

If I lower my defenses now, they might break.

It’s better to not think about anything, I decide, as I’m already getting into an Uber with a bar plugged in as my destination. It does feel like a celebratory drink tonight. Why else would he keep me there for four hours, talking until the sun went down? I could tell he liked what I had to say when I pitched my research to him. The interest swam in his eyes, right up front, right where I could see them.

Once I get to the bar and start drinking I think about calling my ex. I think about calling Melanie too, and I even search for her on Facebook. Married now. Two young kids. Her son looks just like her, so much so that it feels like a squeeze around my heart seeing it. For a minute I know what our kids would have looked like. I wish I hadn’t drunk anything, because I was already feeling lonely and the alcohol only exacerbated it. I should have just gone straight home.

I call an Uber, then go out and look for it.

It feels hot first. Before it hurts or I can even register any kind of pain, it feels hot, like the temperature, all around my forehead. For half of a second, my drunk brain thinks it’s lava until my real brain figures out it’s my blood. I’m on the ground. Did I fall? My question is answered with feet. A deep, grainy voice yells at me to hand him my wallet. A shakier, higher-pitched one assures me they don’t want to hurt me.

“That’s funny,” I say, and both of them are too stunned to do anything but stare at me. It’s too bad they can’t appreciate how funny it is.

The deeper voice one kicks my side. I feel my body crumple like an accordion. He yells to give him my wallet, and I stare blankly. Deep Voice rolls me around by kicking me, and my body moves like a rag doll. He feels me up until he gets to my back pocket. I didn’t want to bring a purse into the interview so I slid my license and my debit card into my back pocket before I left. Deep Voice takes both and swears under his breath.

“Get her,” he commands Shaky Voice. Shaky Voice grabs my arms and twists them around my back, then pulls me up. He knocks into my back as he pushes me forward.

“My head hurts,” I state calmly, the blood from my forehead dripping into my mouth. Deep Voice tells me to shut up. It tastes hot if hot was a flavor. Ashy, like swallowing fire.

Deep Voice pulls out a gun when we get to the ATM. When I put my pin number in, my first tear escapes. Instantly I know it’s where all my anger is. It’s not real until my balance comes up in front of me, 907 dollars, and I realize it’s all I have. My rent of 1,000 dollars was due yesterday. So close. I had 920 before the bar. I was so stressed about those 80 dollars. 80 measly dollars. It seems so small potatoes now.

He cleans me out, then they leave. I should probably go to the hospital, I think, to get my head checked out.

But how would I pay to get there?

Who would I call to drive me?

I press my sweater sleeve up against the gash on my forehead.

I shiver and think about my damn curtains.

[february 14, 2019]

The thing that no one ever told Mrs. Taylor is that anger doesn’t pass completely through you. Every time it touches you, a little bit stays behind.

Anger has already touched every part of my body. It lives inside me, solid as a rock, all over, and this time, none of it is going anywhere. There comes a time when so much anger has passed through your system, it starts to rewire your DNA. It’s the makeup of who I am now, and it returns like an old friend every time I think we’ve both moved on from each other. I’ve been living inside of it for weeks, since the day in the cafeteria, when she told me she couldn’t do it anymore, that she didn’t want to hold me back, that she has to let me go, that I could never love her the way she needs me to love her.

Anger lives inside my research room now too, my happy place, because I took it back here. Work, which used to mean everything, seems to mean nothing anymore. I don’t even want to go back there.

When I finally do, there’s a note on my desk to come to the pharmacy. It’s in her handwriting. I don’t want to go. I have no idea what she wants and I don’t want to find out, because if she wants me to come to her so she can ask for some shirt back that’s stuffed at the bottom of my drawer and I forgot about, my anger might not stay so buried inside my bones. What could she possibly say to me? What could she say to make any of this go away?

What do I want to say to her?

How dare you, I would say first.

How dare you make the world finally feel like I place I want to be.

I’d tell her that she messed up and can’t take this back.

But please try.

I’d tell her that I love her with more love than I ever believed could live inside such a broken and battered body, and that I think about her every moment of every day, and mostly, that she makes the world finally feel cold and quiet.

The other thing Mrs. Taylor always used to tell me, my brain never held onto, because it felt too cliche and clucky, even in all my childhood naivety. After a few minutes of deep breathing, I’d tell her when it was all done passing through, and she’d say, “I know you don’t understand this yet, but all that anger inside of you right now is protecting you, and for good reason. Right now, you need it. But one day you won’t. I pray you’ll have the wisdom and the strength to recognize the day when it comes.”

I hadn’t thought about her saying that to me in years. I had accepted anger into my body like my genetic makeup, its unrelenting permanence. Not until I was standing at the pharmacy desk and Jack’s voice was like spreading warm butter on soft bread, telling me about the worst mistake she’s ever made.

And it felt like sugar in water, the way it all dissolved inside me. Like I never had any say in the matter.

And I cried. And cried. And cried. She put her arms around me, worried she had done something wrong, and all I could say to her was, “I hated that stupid fucking toaster.” 

And confused, and still worried, she told me she’d buy me a new one, whichever one I wanted.

[usuknetwork]

USUK Christmas Countdown 2017: December 24

Title: The Great Jersey Escape Day 12: Reunion Summary:   Long distance relationships suck; getting stuck at the airport while trying to reunite with your long distance boyfriend sucks even harder. Rating: R Warning: Language, mentions of alcohol use, slight mocking of the ‘Joisey’ accent :3 (All in good fun! I love y’all~)

(Written by: @blackroseauthoress and Art by: @katiehime-draws )

In Arthur’s mind, there was only one good thing about airports: how easy they made it to find alcohol. Sure, it may take what feels like a bloody hour to find a restroom that isn’t closed for cleaning or just blocked off for unknown and unexplained reasons, but if you’re someone who needs to sit down and pay for a glass of horrifically overpriced whiskey? Well, you can find somewhere to do that in half a millisecond.

It was because they knew no one could get through this fucking experience sober. It was like Stockholm Syndrome. They destroyed your will to live with their long lines and constant delays and poking and prodding TSAs and then—like an oasis—granted you salvation in the form of intoxication.

‘Just give us your money and all your problems will disappear,’ the quiet voice of exhaustion and airport-fueled misery proceeds to whisper in your ear.

And Arthur Kirkland, at the least, was more than willing to accept.

He blamed this entire disaster on Alfred, by the way. Or wanted to, at least. After all, it was his idea for Arthur to come visit him during the holidays, despite knowing that flying this time of year was its own special brand of torture.

“Come on, Artie, imagine how great it’ll be to spend Christmas together! This is the first year we’ve both got time off and since we haven’t been able to see each other in months anyway...” They’d been speaking over Skype and, right after he said that, there was a split second of silence that could be blamed on lag—and Alfred would prefer if he did blame it on something technological—but Arthur knew wasn’t. Mostly because he was feeling his own, companion twinge of sadness.

He hadn’t wanted this separation to last so long. The original plan was for Arthur to move to the States to be with his boyfriend almost two years ago, but then he received an offer for what was basically the job of his dreams and Alfred wouldn’t even let him consider saying no. “Absolutely not! We’ll figure something out! If I can find something over there, then maybe we’ll just do it the other way around!”

But, then, his mom got sick and Alfred couldn’t leave her. Arthur wouldn’t have let him anymore than Alfred would let him give up his job.

So, this long-distance relationship had lasted for much, much longer than either intended. And because of that, the idea of spending Christmas together after so many months apart was so appealing... that Arthur figured he could just deal with the miseries of air travel.

But, oh how he’d underestimated them.

Arthur glared at the drink resting at his elbow, then lifted it to his lips and polished it off with a single gulp. Everything hurt right now. His eyes felt like they were filled with sand, his ass was numb, everything was woozy and disorienting—although that could probably be blamed on the booze.

The initial plan was that he’d arrive at Newark airport at 12:45pm. It would be his last layover, just a little over two hours. He’d then take a short, hour and a half flight to a little airport in upstate New York where Alfred would pick him up, and then they’d drive the last hour and a bit to his place.

He’d expected some changes to the plan, because when did a plane ever leave exactly on time, but he’d hoped to avoid this.

Arthur groaned and turned to poke at the screen beside him. These were also nice airport things, he supposed, the little screens at the bars and restaurants that let you order your drinks without having to actually interact with another human being. They also made it way too easy to spend all your money, but at this point he was too exhausted to care.

His cell phone, which he’d set on the bar beside him, briefly lit up. Arthur eyed it for a moment, then reached over and scooted it over with a single finger. He looked down at the screen and just barely resisted the urge to chuck the goddamn thing in some random direction.

Another delay, of-bloody-course. Of-bloody-fucking-bloody-course.

This was the last time Arthur was ever willingly stepping on a fucking plane. Next time he had to travel from England to the States, he’d rent a fucking canoe.

It was 10:38pm. He’d been in this airport for nine hours—or something like that, he was too drunk and exhausted to care about math.

That 12:45pm flight had arrived in Newark pretty much right on time. And it’d actually been a tolerable flight. He’d flown steerage, since Alfred insisted he pay for the tickets and that’s all he could afford, but he’d ended up being moved to a seat with more leg room. The girl sitting beside him had been the perfect seat companion too. She just smiled at him when she sat down and then spent the rest of the flight reading and listening to music through her headphones. There weren’t any screaming babies or passengers kicking his seat. He hadn’t managed to sleep, which he considered slightly unfortunate at the time, but otherwise it was fine.

But then they arrived in fucking Newark and as soon as he turned his phone off airplane mode, there it was... ‘Welcome to Newark. Your next flight is cancelled. Fuck you.’

At least, that’s what it might as well have said. The girl in the seat beside him apparently received a similar text, since he heard her swear under her breath and then she began typing frantically, presumably alerting whoever was supposed to pick her up of the issue. Something Arthur had known he’d have to do too.

Although, he figured he’d deal with it after enduring the goddamn wait at customer service. Which also ended up as a fuck you, because the obviously-dead-inside representative said there was only one flight to that airport leaving today and it was totally booked. “We can put you on standby. If somebody else doesn’t show up, you might be able to take that flight.”

He’d agreed, because what else could he do? But, of course, that flight wasn’t scheduled to leave until 10:25pm, which meant he’d had the joyous experience of spending hours stuck in bloody Newark Airport. He’d spent the hours switching between wandering around aimlessly and sitting around in various locations, waiting impatiently for the hour of truth to arrive.

The goddamn thing ended up being announced as delayed—the first time—at 10:16pm, which was when Arthur decided to just go find some booze and soak his miseries. Because he seriously seriously doubted he was getting out of here tonight.

When the bartender brought his fresh drink, he wisely chose to avoid small talk. His eyes may have held a slight bit of sympathy, but Arthur knew this man saw such suffering every day that it would be dangerous to feel too much for the stranded traveler.

He sighed, reached for the drink, but then paused when he saw the screen of his phone light up again. He glared at it; if this was another delay or, as now seemed more likely, a cancellation, he really was going to launch the goddamn thing into orbit.

Except then he realized that the screen was still alight and there was a green button and a red button... An actual call. He turned his head to read the name, which took a couple seconds longer than it probably should’ve. It was Alfred.

He answered, although the “Hello” that came out of his mouth was one that had no time or patience for bullshit.

Alfred, of course, responded with a laugh. “Hey, Artie! I take it you’re still stuck in Ol’ Joisey, then.”

Arthur really hated the way he said that. Such a stupid joke and one that he didn’t even get.

“Although not really ‘Ol’ Joisey’ because if you were there, you’d still be back in England!”

“No, Jersey isn’t actually part of Eng—”

Alfred interrupted him. “So, what’s goin’ on with the plane? Is it still delayed or did you not get off the waitlist?”

“It’s delayed.” Arthur scowled at the distant screen that showed the status of their plane, as well as the list of passengers on standby. The very long list of passengers on standby. “Honestly, I doubt I’m going anywhere tonight. There are two other flights here going to the same general area and they’ve both been delayed too. One was supposed to leave at 3:34pm and the attendant just announced that the plane is on the way.”

Alfred whistled. “Jeez. Wonder what the issue is... There hasn’t been any snow up here in days.”

Arthur felt slightly disappointed by that. He’d rather been hoping for a white Christmas...

But then he was startled by the sound of a very very enraged-sounding honk and equally enraged, “Fuck you! That was your own fault, asshole!” coming from the other end of the line.

“Dude, Mattie, chill...” Alfred was very obviously not talking to him anymore.

“Are you driving?” he asked.

Alfred returned to the conversation. “Course not! Mattie’s the one driving! It’s illegal to talk on your phone while driving!” There was a moment of silence. Arthur was about to ask something, but then he was interrupted by Alfred’s voice sounding like he’d moved away from the speaker again. “Wait, is that still a thing here?”

“I assume so? It’s not safe either way—ARE YOU SERIOUSLY NOT LETTING ME IN, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!?”

“Dude, douche move!” Alfred was yelling at someone too and Arthur was honestly just confused right now. Maybe it was the booze... He probably should stop for the night.

“Alfred, where are you?”

“Where else?” And his voice had such an obnoxious, overly-cheerful pep to it. “Can’t you hear Mattie yelling at the obnoxious drivers? We’re in Jersey, baby! The one not in England.”

“I was just telling you that Jersey isn’t in England. It’s part of the British Isles.” This was completely irrelevant to their conversation, but there was a part of his brain that always needed to correct Alfred when he made stupid comments like that. Now, on to the more important part. “Why are you in New Jersey?”

He heard someone snort, which he imagined came from Alfred’s brother, rather than Alfred himself. Further evidenced when Alfred proclaimed, “We’re coming to rescue you from Joisey, dude!”

...What?

“Ya told me earlier that you’re like number 8 on that standby list and I told Mattie there’s no way there’s gonna be that many people missing the flight for whatever reason. So, I was like, ‘dude, we should just go pick him up! It’s not that far of a drive!’”

“About five and a half hours,” Matthew’s voice supplied.

“Yeah, exactly! That’s not bad at all! So, we’re actually only like...” a slight pause. “GPS says eighteen minutes from the airport, so you should totally get out of the terminal and go to wherever the heck they have people greet passengers so we can pick you up!”

...A repeated mental ‘what?’

“You actually drove five and a half hours to pick me up from the airport? Just in case I wasn’t able to get on my flight?”

“Yep!” Alfred continued to sound overly-cheerful. “I’m actually pretty happy you’re still there, cuz if you weren’t Mattie would’ve been pissed.”

“Not entirely. I’d just force you to pay for both our tickets tomorrow.”

“Oh!” Alfred’s exclamation was so loud that Arthur actually had to pull the phone away from his ear. He also managed to startle a lady who was just about to sit in one of the seats near him. She sent him a slightly suspicious glance and decided to choose a seat farther away. “Almost forgot! Mattie doesn’t wanna drive all the way back tonight, so we’re going to the City tomorrow! And we’re gonna go see Aladdin on Broadway! And see the Rockefeller Christmas tree and we could go ice skating like in that movie!”

Mattie snorted again. “I seriously doubt Arthur would want to do that. I’ve been in New York City around Christmas time before and there’s no way skating in the rink is worth standing in that line.”

“Either way!” Alfred was still shouting; Arthur was still keeping the phone away from his ear. “Be ready for us! Mattie’s gonna wait with the car and I’ll come in and get you and I’ll have a sign, so there’s no way we’ll miss each other!”

Arthur was smiling, although he tried not to. This was just too stupid for words... “All right, but I don’t think we’ll be able to get any money back for my ticket.” And he had no idea how he was going to get his luggage... Thankfully he’d been smart enough to pack a couple days’ clothing in his carry-on.

“Doesn’t matter! I just didn’t want to have to wait a whole ‘nother day to see you...” There was a moment of quietness after that, only broken by a loud honk from behind and another curse from Mattie. “Um...” And he actually sounded slightly embarrassed, which was rather uncommon to hear in Alfred’s voice. “Okay, I should probably let you go, then, so you can get out of there! I’ll see you soon!”

Arthur nodded, although Alfred obviously couldn’t see and pulled the phone away from his ear. Alfred had already hung up.

The bartender sent him a look that held at least a shot of amusement. “Well, will that be it for you, then?”

“Yeah,” Arthur turned his attention to the touchpad and hurriedly paid for his drinks while purposely avoiding looking at the total. He grabbed his carry-on and slid his phone into his pocket. Then, with nothing else really to say or do, he sent the bartender a grateful nod, turned, and began walking toward where he remembered seeing a sign for the exit.

It took a while to figure out where he was going—these places were always rather maze-like—but eventually he found the passenger pick-up area. There weren’t many people there, just a few families and individuals who were obviously waiting for arrivals and some others who looked like they were waiting for someone to take them away from this hellish place.

There definitely weren’t enough people present that anyone would need a sign to catch their newly-arrived boyfriend’s attention.

Particularly not a massive, neon-yellow sign that had “WELCOME ARTIE! SORRY YOUR FLIGHT SUCKED!” written on it in big, blue, bubble letters and which was absolutely covered with hearts, drawn with what looked like glitter glue. Oh, and there were stickers… Tons of random, completely unrelated stickers.

“Artie! Over here, Artie!” And you definitely didn’t need that type of sign if you were going to just scream your boyfriend’s name anyway. Alfred was standing near a set of doors, waving the sign overhead and grinning like a little kid on Christmas morning.

Arthur knew he was bright red now. Most of the other people waiting in the room had turned to look at them. He heard a girl go “aww,” which was basically mortifying.

He wrestled his carry-on toward Alfred and hurriedly pushed the sign down to his side. “You don’t need to be so loud, git. There’s only half a dozen people in here!”

Alfred just continued to grin and draped an arm over his shoulder. “I know! But I wanted to make sure you saw me right away and didn’t go wander off and get lost! You don’t wanna spend any more time in ‘Joisey’ than you have to, right?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“So, then…” And that was all the warning Arthur received before Alfred dropped the sign—which slid a few feet away with a little ‘swoosh’ noise—and then threw his arms around him in a massive hug. “It’s so good to see you, Artie! I missed you so much!”

He was too startled to immediately respond, but Arthur slowly wrapped his arms around his boyfriend in a return embrace. “I—I missed you, too.” It’d been way too long… He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel his boyfriend’s arms around him like this.

Alfred just kept squeezing him, almost to the point of lifting him off his feet, and then released just long enough to lean down and give him a quick peck on the lips. More ‘public’ than Arthur generally allowed, but Alfred probably knew that he’d let him get away with it when it’d been so long.

“We should get going, then! Mattie’s waiting outside and we’ve got a hotel room booked already and we’ve got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow!” He bent over to grab the sign, grabbed Arthur’s carry-on without asking, and then bounded toward the exit.

All Arthur could really do was follow, as they made their escape from Newark airport.

[mxnark]

the best version of yourself 

december 31, 2019

mina isn’t the type to feel ashamed of herself. everyone around her new that she was confident and outspoken. whatever she thought of inside her head, there would be a 59% chance she’d say it with a 41% chance she’d keep it to herself just because she had some manners. of course, she had some class by making a bunch of rant posts on her spam rather than on her main instagram or main twitter. some of her thoughts on real life would go on her stan twitter, but she’s tried her best to keep that mainly kpop and movies. but, to be honest, she wouldn’t have made a spam had it not been for her mutuals and her friends in real life. 

this time, however, she felt emotions that she was afraid to tell anyone else. 

she usually watched the gayos on her own, since she was the only one in the house who had an interest in them because her favorite idols were on that show. however, the one she always kept an eye on was mbc’s gayo daejejun because of the amazing stages that the idols would perform. not to mention, it was the gayo with the countdown to the new year. however, this time, she debated if she even wanted to watch it considering that this was the same exact one that she made a video audition for, only to not get in. 

when she saw the post on mbc’s page, she was disappointed, but not surprised. it was bold of her to assume she would ever get the chance compared to the other dancers. when she watched the other entries, she was already beginning to feel insecure. but seeing the announcement only supported her negative feelings. however, one name catches her eye and it’s the main reason why she watches the music show tonight. 

chungha isn’t the only reason why she’s watching this, but she’s the one mina looks forward to seeing the most. it’s weird how almost two years ago, mina became a fan from watching her on the fourth season of the mgas. now, she was watching her as not only a fan, but a friend. it’s only a glow up she can talk about on her spam, but she’s able to use her excitement for her tweets while streaming. 

she makes sure to tweet about her favorite idols and their performances before the awaited dance performance comes. when it begins, she quickly takes out her phone as she patiently waits for her friend to be shown on her screen. she manages to record the 30 seconds of chungha’s dance on her instagram story while whisper-screaming throughout all of it. “ahh!!! kim chungha is so cool!!!! she’s the coolest unnie ever!!!” and a bunch of “wow!”’s and “so cool!”’s. for the group performance, she kept all her excitement on her twitter with a few pictures saved for her spam later on. 

it’s odd. before watching this, she thought she was going to feel an overwhelming amount of jealousy just by seeing chungha for a second. but after the performance ended, she couldn’t help but feel inspired. perhaps it was because of the fact that this wasn’t the first time she’s seen chungha on national television, but mina didn’t feel too upset like she thought she would. what a relief. 

she posts the pictures on her spamsta (spam + finsta) once the countdown for the new year is finished and captions it with her thoughts. after she posted it, she locked her phone, turned off her tv, and went upstairs to go to bed, excited for what was to come in the future. 

notokmina: do you see her??/ that’s the coolest bitch in the world !!!! ever !!!!!

watching her tonight gave me so much motivation tbh. i remember i used to be so… starstruck by her when i first saw her on mga4 and now i know her in real life and we’re friends !!!! i’m so glad she got to audition for this and perform onstage in front of a bunch of idols. she’s so cool!!!! 

i’m gonna work hard with future covers so that i can hopefully be dancing on that same stage!!!!!!!!! it’d be cooler if it was w her!!!! but yeah. hopefully if i work hard enough, i can be on the stage like her (and my cousin and brother if theyre reading this who knows) 

she leaves a comment under her post. 

notokmina: unnie, if ur reading this, hi!!! very proud of u uwu 

… 

january 2nd, 2020

having been on stan twitter since she moved back to korea, she’s gotten to explore the many sides of the website. though she’s primarily a kpop fan account, she also keeps tabs on film twitter. it’s to the point where she even has mutuals who are apart of that community and she frequently talks to them about her favorite movies (recently, it’s been about it 2 because she loves her best boys richie and eddie). so of course, when she asked for movie recommendations on her account, she hoped that said mutuals would see it and give their insight. 

though there were many suggestions, she chose lady bird by the end of it. she knew about the movie years ago, but she never really got around to watching it until now. she’s read mixed reviews, so she was never really able to form a solid opinion on this movie. she told herself not to expect much, since this was a coming-of-age film. but, by the end of it, she found herself in tears. she goes on twitter and writes up a tweet as a response to the movie. 

michi @noplayboy_mp3: film oomfs is it weird to say that i kin w lady bird lol  michi @noplayboy_mp3: no but the film is so good i dont want to drop any spoilers but lady bird is like… so relatable? esp bc im kind of in her situation now.  michi @noplayboy_mp3: icb greta gerwig said “michi has rights”... perhaps i will watch little women when i get the chance

before she’s about to make a tweet about watching midsommar next, she hears her phone vibrate. putting her laptop to the side, she picks up her phone and sees an email from snu. 

dear mina, 

the admissions committee at seoul national university has re-reviewed all aspects of your application in its holistic review process, and you have an updated admissions decision. you may now view your updated admissions decision in your portal.

she gasps. 

as she clicks on the link to her portal and logs in, she was immediately welcomed by the site with a big “CONGRATULATIONS!” and if that wasn’t already obvious enough for her, she looks around to find the little “status: accepted” on her page. she sighs in relief and puts her phone to the side as she lies on her bed. she’s not necessarily excited that she got into a school. even now, she was still questioning if she wanted to go to school to begin with. all she knew was that at this point, she was going somewhere. whether or not this is what she really wanted to do, she at least has an idea of where she’s starting. 

maybe now her mom would stop badgering her. maybe now she can show her that she could do things without her. 

…

“i got accepted into snu today.”

it’s used to start discussion, even though she didn’t really want to talk about it with her. it had to come out somehow because even if she was nervous with how she was going to reply, at least her mom would be aware of it. 

her father was the first to say something about it and mina wants to verbally thank him for speaking before her mom does. “honey, congratulations! i knew you would be able to get into that school.” 

“thank you,” mina says with a small smile before she looks over at her mom to see what she will respond with because it was obvious she had something to say about it. 

“why did it take so long for a response?” she asks. “you applied for early decision, didn’t you?” 

it takes a lot for mina to not say something snarky in response. she’s not going to do that now. not so soon. “well, competition’s pretty tough. a lot of kids are applying for snu. especially in my class.” she wasn’t exactly lying, but it was a better response than “i was waitlisted for a month.” and even if she responded with that, at least she got into the school. wasn’t that enough? 

her mom lets out a small “hm” before eating more of their dinner. “well, good job on getting into that school. with how long the response took, i was starting to worry.” 

mina frowns. “i got into other schools, you know.” 

“but did you want to get into any of those other schools?” when mina’s silent for a response, her mother only continues. “you said that you were aiming for snu and it took long enough in order to get a response.” 

“can’t you just be happy over the fact that i actually got into the school?” mina asks, feeling her voice rise. “i thought you would be proud of me. is it that much of a surprise that i got in?” 

“all of your friends got accepted into their schools quicker.” mina feels her grip tighten on the chopsticks in her hands. “all i’m saying is you should’ve at least tried harder or at least recognize that you should’ve done better.” 

mina finds it hard to calm down after hearing that. it’s not like she didn’t expect a response like that, but to actually hear it from her makes her laugh bitterly. it’s sad to say she’s not surprised because this was what their relationship is at this point. even if she told herself that she just wanted to get into school in order to get her mom off her back, her words only make it seem like she was mocking her even if she reached at least the minimum. it made mina wish her mother lowered her expectations or at least make her own higher. 

she eats her food in a hurry, hoping to get out of this dinner as soon as possible. of course, her mother has an issue with it as she glared at her from across the table. “slow down. you look like an animal eating like that.” 

mina ignores her and she manages to empty her bowl, still trying to bite and swallow the leftover food in her mouth. she quickly stands up from her chair, puts her bowl and utensils in the sink, and runs upstairs, swallowing the last bit of her food down. she closes her door behind her even if she knows her mother was going to go up to her room anyways. when she hears the door open, she rolls her eyes before she turns to her mom. 

“can you knock?” the impatient tone was one she’s used frequently enough. whether or not she was proud of it, she kept that information to herself. 

her mother’s not afraid of it, though. in fact, if anything, she’s probably a professional at dealing with it. “you’re one to talk about manners,” she scolds. “what is with you?! at least try to stay for the entire dinner and not make it seem like you don’t like my company.” 

“why would i do that?” mina scoffs. “you’d yell at me for faking it, anyway.” 

her mom sighs. “why are you so selfish? why do you keep on doing this? do you understand how uncomfortable your father feels whenever we fight? how uncomfortable i feel?!” 

“i’m sorry for being upset over you not being a good mom,” she responds, crossing her arms as if to do the bare minimum of making fun of the woman in front of her who would do the same in their past arguments. “i got into a good school and all you can say is ‘i’m surprised they didn’t reject you straight up’? no ‘congratulations’ or ‘i’m happy you got into the school you wanted to get into’? shouldn’t you at least be glad over the fact that i’m going-” 

“how am i going to explain to the family that it took a few months for my daughter to tell me she got into snu after a few months since she applied?” her mom interrupts her, angering mina even more. “it didn’t take long for jaebeom to get his letter of acceptance. it didn’t take daniel long for him to know if he got in. do you know what they’ll say when i tell them you got accepted after countless times of me saying ‘oh i don’t know yet’, ‘she hasn’t received anything yet’? they’ll think i’m raising-” 

“what? an idiot?” mina laughs. “yeah. i’m sure everyone in the family’s already aware of the fact that i’m never going to be a lawyer living in america. at least i got into a school.” 

her mother then points at mina and she has to hold the urge to not swat the hand away from her face. “look at you! you’re already making yourself sound bad by acting like it’s a miracle they accepted you in the first place!” she criticizes. “you’re supposed to go to school. you’re supposed to get a degree in order to get a good job somewhere. after all your father and i’ve done for you and your brothers, why are you the only one who treats this like it’s not a big deal?!” 

“i am treating this like it’s a big deal!” mina asserts. “do you know how many nights i spent studying for tests that i knew i was going to fail? all the times i had to stay after school in order to make sure it wouldn’t affect my chances?! i worked so hard in the last few months to be accepted and i’m the only one in this room proud of myself for it! it’s like you’re actively trying to find reasons to be disappointed in me, even when i do something good!”

“maybe you should be trying to not constantly disappoint me, then.” her mother turns her back to her daughter and makes way for the door, but mina mutters something else that makes her stop in her steps.

“the one time i do something that i thought could impress you and you’re still disappointed in me.”

her mother doesn’t respond. all she does is stand for a moment before she leaves, not even bothering to close the door behind her. 

[nostroviapress]

"Passion is the way in which a mammalian limb answers a dogwood blossom.

Passion is the backyard tire fire of pew-like poises.

Passion is a discount disco between mammal and moon.

Passion is a poison sweeter sipped than shot.

Passion is easy to ogle on an ikon, easy to mistake for reverence."

Alina Stefanescu was born in Romania and lives in Alabama with her partner and four small mammals. Her first fiction collection, "Every Mask I Tried On," won the 2016 Brighthorse Books Prize. She can't wait for you to read it.

ANGER HOLE NO ONE SEES COMING

I dug a hole behind the green metal tool shed owned by the paraplegic neighbor who lacked unassisted access to the perimeter of his building. He would need a ramp to get to the unramped place.

Soil sprung from my shovel like Sunday school smiles, dirty looks piled up.

What happened was not the neighbor’s fault but he inched across the yard in a wheelchair anyway.

My anger was private and fine-grained, porous as heirloom sieve, scaldersome as a cough drop one sucks without stopping if dragon nostrils evolved in responses to mentho-eucalyptus combinations. Never wonder how much fury is nasal.

On November 2nd, I watched a cat maul a wren with its paws. The pain was difficult to discern in bird features and the cat's graceful back and forth batting resembled play.

On November 4, the rain transformed the hole into a pond which needed drying. The wind roared like a sad, self-pitying dad but the accusations were non-specific. The accusations blew past the garage in a unpatriarchal manner. There are men who cringe when they hear certain words. Patriarch. Pedophile. Prison. I firmed the banks with a shovel and read articles about hockey.

On November 10, I uncovered the fine china skeleton of the wren, her bones perfect stitches of white. I put her in my pocket. What to do with her. What to make of things later.

On November 13, people came over with casseroles. I sent Dave to the gas station for candles. This was  when I realized I didn't have any friends close enough to tell about the hole. A part of me stayed buried. But the bone in my head kept crying deeper.

THESE ARE SCENES FROM A PANEL

The panel is about scientific certainty. Panelists introduce themselves before pledging a personal interest in a way of knowing which renders us known.

An official intervenes. He wants to make sure the audience understands what the panel is not. For instance, the panel is not about racism, intolerance, homophobia, or violence. The restriction on subject matter does not prevent the panel from being inclusive and open-minded.

The official wants to encourage panelists to consider the unofficial. In a sense, the panel is about not wanting to wonder or leave doors slightly cracked. It is about owning a gun to stave off the crack, or taking piano lessons to overcome the silence. It is about firecrackers and war and how fun and sickness sound the same. Inches apart.

After she swallows the fizzy clear liquid, her lips grow moist. The audience member feels ready to ask a question. She can raise a hand half-mast and lean forward slightly to indicate interest. She can observe the official's eyebrows angle as he add her to a mental waitlist.

Technically, arms extend into punctuation which resembles an exclamation point. But she will go further. She will keep her arm crooked, a slight curve, an unimpeachable question mark. A face at the bottom of an arm being a dot.

One panelist expresses astonishment, a muddled happiness, over the moment of life currently playing out in this panel discussion. The panelist's face is a fireball of joy, sudden satisfaction.

But the audience member with a crooked arm does not want to know about Now or Happy Homo sapiens sapiens. She has watched atoms collide in a particle accelerator. She has pictured the dissolution of matter. What she wants is to ask the question.

Otherwise, to see the screen in the room where professors discourse on unlearning how to see what feels like a screen but remains nonspecific. How to devise a pedagogy which repudiates the need for pedagogies. How to talk about prisons without race or color.      

There is no panelist willing to specify.

We could go for a walk but then the trees would be a screen through we saw ourselves. A walk could be a stroll but then how would we agree on a century? Chalk silhouettes on a sidewalk we have learned to avoid because the essence of a crack is vindictive. I am inspired by the academic ventriloquation of what I suspected before the screen interrupted the space behind the wall I saw.

As for the girl, the panel runs out of time. She walks home with her question.

“Anger Hole No One Sees Coming” + “These Are Scenes From A Panel” are previously published in Fuck Art, Let’s Dance Issue #014

[nochubunny]

Love Yourself | Pt. 1

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: (Personal Trainer) Jimin x Reader

Length: 3.6k

Warnings: M for some language. Don’t read if you’re sensitive about weight issues. Eventual smut not in this chapter.

There was something mesmerizing about having the ability to transform the human body, at least for Jimin it was. Countless of men and women with various shapes and sizes has come to him in hopes of improving their bodies for many reasons. Some to get used to a healthier lifestyle, others to gain muscle, or some to lose weight. His job as a personal trainer had its ups and downs. The worse was whenever a client wanted to quit the training because they couldn’t handle their fitness schedule leaving him without work until he could find another. However, the pros outweighed the cons and what he enjoyed the most was the results. It was extremely satisfying not only for the client, but for him to see that all the hard work had been paid off. He loved the boost of confidence they get once they had reached their goals.

He recently finished the six months training he had with his last client who had a beginning weight of 150 pounds with a height of 5’4” and a BMI of 25.7. She was just slightly overweight but it was something that a change of diet could easily fix. However, she wanted her weight to go down to 120 and to get used to eating healthy. She was a breeze to work with and he could tell she was determined to keep up even though she had a pretty busy schedule herself. The 6 months rolled by quickly and she ended up being 118 pounds with a BMI of 20.3 which was a good balance of body fat and muscle mass. The girl was ecstatic and to celebrate she invited Jimin to a little get together at a nearby club with a few of her other friends.

“Even though you lost more weight than you originally planned, do you really think you should be drinking?” Jimin teased as he grabbed his phone and keys from his desk.

The girl stood by the door of his office and scoffed. “I’m not going to drink Min. I just want to celebrate and maybe dance a bit!”

“I was only kidding Yeon. You know I’ll be there for you baby girl.” He smiled and ruffled her hair as he walked past her and towards the front of his studio since it was time to close. The girl’s face lit up and she followed closely behind as he shut off the lights and went outside.

“I can’t believe time passed by so fast. I really enjoyed the training sessions and I even learned how to cook healthier foods! You really are amazing Jimin and I can’t say it enough.” The girl said as they both now stood in front of the studio. “I’m seriously going to recommend everyone I know to you. Even though you take one client at a time I’m sure your waitlist will be piled up enough to last you years!” She exclaimed and Jimin let out a boyish laugh while rubbing the back of his neck.

“I really appreciate it love, it was a pleasure working with you.” He said while locking the door and he turned to face her with a warm expression. “You’re always welcome to stop by whether it be just to say hi or if you ever need any more guidance.”

“Thanks but about that, I wanted to also let you know that I’m going to be moving to America in a couple of days with my parents. Something about my dad’s business or whatever.” The girl pouted. “I won’t be able to stop by but I will try my best to keep in touch.”

“That’s pretty far from Korea but I’m glad you plan on still keeping in touch.”

“Of course! But look at the time, it’s already almost 7 so I need to go get ready for later. See you at the club Min!” She said as she rushed her way to her car and waved at him once she got in.

Jimin returned the wave and watched as she pulled out of the driveway and onto the busy road before going into his own car.

The club was unusually packed for a Monday night but Jimin didn’t give it more thought as he made his way around the moving sweaty bodies and towards the VIP room Chaeyeon had rented out for the night. He made his way inside and there were at most twenty people inside and they all greeted him warmly. He took his place by Chaeyeon and she stood up to get everyone’s attention.

“I just want to thank you guys for coming today. I’ve told a couple of you guys already, but I wanted the rest of you all to know that in a couple of days I will be moving to America. Luckily just in time I was able to achieve my goal of getting my dream bod thanks to this handsome man right here.” She gestured to Jimin who was smiling sheepishly as people applauded and cheered a bit. “If it wasn’t for him I’d still be moping around eating fried chicken in my room all day. Anyways, this day isn’t just about me but also Jimin. I want you guys to keep him well taken care of tonight and make sure that his shot glass is always full! Let’s get him drunk!” She let out a laugh as Jimin sat there with wide eyes as someone shoved a glass in his hand and it was soon filled with some type of liquor. “Bottoms up!” She said as everyone started downing their own glasses.

Jimin quickly followed after, furrowing his brows as he felt the bitter liquid going down his throat. His shot glass was instantly refilled and he turned to the person who filled it and the random guy simply smiled at him and gestured for Jimin to drink up. A couple of hours later, he already lost count of how many shots he drank. He didn’t really enjoy the club scene because he was the type to enjoy drinking in a quieter and secluded place. The loud club music was a bit irritating but he wanted to look like he enjoyed the party to not ruin the mood. Everyone was dancing and grinding against each other, some making out in the corner of the room. He looked around for Chaeyeon and smirked to himself as he saw her drinking straight from a bottle while dancing with a couple of guys. So much for not drinking tonight. He thought to himself as he downed another shot. The rest of the night was a blur and he somehow made it home that night after hugging Chaeyeon and bidding farewell to her, unsure if he would even see each her again.

Jimin jolted up from his bed as his annoying alarm noise filled the room. His head was throbbing and he cursed himself for drinking way too much knowing he would have to work today. He shifted his body to turn off the alarm and noticed a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on top of it on his nightstand. He grabbed the note and laughed to himself as read the content.

You’re welcome handsome.

-Drunk Jimin (;

Grinning, he shook his head as he took the pills and drank them with the water. He plopped back down onto his bed and sighed. It usually took a month at most to get a new client but he was hoping he could get one soon. With that he got up to start his morning routine of jogging for 30 minutes and then taking a shower. Once he got out the shower he dried his hair and wrapped a towel around his waist and started brushing his teeth when he heard his phone ringing from in his room. With his toothbrush in mouth he headed into his room and grabbed his phone to see who was calling him. He raised a brow when he saw an unfamiliar number pop up on his screen but he still picked it up and answered.

“Hello, is this Mr. Park Jimin?” An older woman spoke and Jimin was slightly surprised because she sounded like she was in her 40s.

“Yes this is he.” He said as he continued brushing his teeth with his other hand.

“That’s great! I heard that you are now looking for people to train and I am interested in letting my daughter possibly take up that offer if you are willing to take her under your wing.”

His eyes widened and a sense of relief fell over him at the thought of a new client so soon. He took out his toothbrush to reply, “Oh, of course I’m willing to! I would just need to consult with your daughter before anything actually happens though. I have some free time today so if she can stop by my studio later that would be great!”

“That we can do. We should be there in thirty minutes at most. Thank you for the time.”

“No, thank you for your time ma’am. See you soon.”

Once the call ended he walked to the bathroom and rinsed his mouth out. He looked into the mirror with a grin. I guess I didn’t have to wait long at all. He thought to himself as he got ready to head to the studio.

It didn’t take long to make it to his studio and once he got in he saw his coworker, Seokjin, working with his own client. He flashed him a quick thumbs up and headed towards his office towards the back. Once he settled down in his chair he went through some of his mail then he heard a few firm knocks on his door.

“Yes?” He said as he put down the envelope he had in his hand.

“Hey man, there’s an older lady in the front asking for you. She brought along her daughter and that girl seems like a bitch.” Another one of his coworkers, Jungkook laughed from outside of the door. “Hurry up cause I need to get back to my client!”

“Okay I’m coming!” Jimin replied as he hurriedly got up from his seat to head towards the guests. He nodded towards Jungkook who was heading to the equipment room and continued walking. Bitch huh? Hope she’s not too bad because I wouldn’t want to deal with that for months. He finally made it to the front and saw the older lady with a gentle smile on her face and he looked at you whose face was almost literally in your phone he rolled his eyes and stood in front of the older lady.

“Hello, Mr. Park. It’s nice to meet you finally. This is my daughter (y/n).” She gestured to you who was too into what was on the phone screen and elbowed you to get your attention. The lady then gritted her teeth and whispered, “Greet. Him. Now.” And turned to smile back at the patient boy.

You looked up from your phone and at Jimin then back to your phone and muttered a quick, “Hi.”

Jimin tried to hide his irritation at your rude behavior and held out his hand to you. “Nice to meet you (y/n).” You glanced at his hand and slowly brought your own to shake his. He shook it briefly before dropping it to continue talking. “We can go consult in my office. However, it would be nice if it would be just me and (y/n) because these can get really personal if you wouldn’t mind?” He asked your mom and she quickly nodded her head. “Well then, you can just follow me (y/n). Miss Lee, you can take a seat in the waiting area where there’s water and some snacks if you get a bit hungry or anything. My receptionist, Taehyung, will assist you if you need any help. I’ll try not to take too long.” He reassured your mom and she then made her way towards the waiting room.

It was just the two of you in the front lobby and you can hear Jimin moving around. You finally put your phone down and into your pocket as you watched him take a clipboard and a couple of papers from a nearby table and examining them. “One minute (y/n), let me grab something from the printer. I’ll be right back.” You simply nod and he takes off to wherever he needed to be. Once you were alone, you let out a deep breath and took a look at your surroundings to thoroughly examine the place. It was very well kept and bright. The walls were a soft yellow and the floor consisted of beautiful, white marble. Being an architect major with a minor in interior design, you’ve learned to appreciate the little details in buildings. It was your passion and the fact that this place was aesthetically pleasing made your heart happy. You then looked at the mat by your foot that read Meraki[1] Fitness Studio written in intricate lettering and you smiled softly at the name.

“You should smile more often; you look beautiful when you do.” Jimin’s soft voice interrupted your thoughts and you immediately stopped smiling and frowned at him making him raise a brow and smirk. “I’ve got the paperwork ready now. Let’s go over this back in my office.” He says as he pointed towards the back of the shop and started walking, you followed behind him a couple of steps back. You passed by many rooms, a few occupied with some classes and others with just a one-on-one session. You finally made it to a darker room that completely contrasted with the outside. The walls were garnet red and the floor consisted of warmed-tone tiles. To the right was a dark chocolate love seat sofa and in front of it was a small, black coffee topped with some magazines. In the middle of the room was a wooden desk and once you looked up to examine more of the room you saw Jimin looking at you with his face resting on the back of his hand. Once he caught you looking he shot you a warm smile which caught you off guard and caused you too look down as a tinge of blush covered your cheeks.

“Feel free to look around more. You seem to enjoy looking at our interior.” He said watching you from his desk as you were still looking down at the ground in embarrassment. Cute he thought to himself. “If not, come take a seat.” You slowly nodded and sat in front of him.

“So, at first I thought you were a bit rude when you were with your mother but when she’s not around you seem really sweet. Is there a reason why?” He asked, genuinely curious.

You looked up to find his eyes staring directly into yours and you averted your own to look at the wall behind his head. “We don’t really get along quite well…” You softly replied.

“Oh I see. I don’t want to pressure you into telling me exactly why right now, but since you’re my client I want you to become comfortable around me. I hope to hear about it in the future if you’re willing to that is.” You hummed in response and he continued. “Well let’s get this stupid paperwork done with. Ugh, I hate paperwork so much. Don’t you?” He laughed as he grabbed the clipboard. “First of all, what’s your full name?”

“Lee (y/n).”

“Okay, age?”

“21.”

“Really? We’re the same age!” Jimin smiled and his eyes turned into little crescents which caused you to smile back. “Okay now…weight?” He noticed you shift your eyes down again and quickly stated, “Don’t worry (y/n) I will never judge you for your weight. You are already beautiful as is. This is just for our records.”

“…164.”

“Not bad at all. Now how about your height?”

“5 feet 2 inches.”

“Any health illnesses?”

“None that I know of.”

“Okay we’re done with page one. Next up is your schedule. You can fill this out yourself as I go through the next section.” He said as he handed you the sheet of paper with a blank schedule template and a pencil. You quickly scribbled your schedule onto it as he started on another paper. Once you were done you slid the pencil and paper back towards him and he examined it.

“Free Monday, Wednesday, and Fridays after 12 pm…Tuesdays and Thursday after 2 pm. Not too bad. Saturdays and Sundays are free which is good too. I’m guessing you don’t work?”

“Not as of now.”

“More time for me then.” He whispered with a soft smile. “Now it’s about your eating habits. Do you count your calories?”

“Never done that in my life.” You murmured and he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

“Same here to be honest. I would be surprised if someone said they did. How many times a day do you eat?”

“Just the normal, three times per day and some snacks in between.”

“Are you interested in having a meal plan along with the training? That way I can monitor what you eat too.”

“I don’t really care that much. I guess.”

“Alrighty. Lastly, do you actually agree to all of this or are you being forced to?” He asked as he once again looked into your eyes.  

“My mom really wants me to do this so I guess so.”

“No. You definitely don’t need to be start this if you truly don’t want to. I want you to actually be into this. You’re the only person I will be training and I wouldn’t want to force you do things you wouldn’t like.” He stated while looking at you with such a serious gaze that somehow caused you to look back at him.

“I mean; I don’t mind it. I’m kind of overweight so I could use the exercise…” You answered.

“Are you sure?” His gaze still strong on you. You simply nodded and he began to write a couple more things onto the papers. “Well, I believe in you as long as you believe in yourself. I’m not going to lie. Changing your eating habits and working out is going to be hard at first but after the first month your body will get used to it. I really look forward to our first session which should be tomorrow. Which is Wednesday at 2 pm. I’m giving you homework too. Once you go home I want you to record what you eat for dinner tonight and whatever you eat before coming to the studio. Don’t leave out a snack either.” He said with an amused face as your face reddened slightly. “Well, this is it. How about I lead you back to the front? Wouldn’t want your mother to wait too long.” He said with a wink as he got up from his seat and you did as well.

He opened the door and guided you to the front with one of his hands resting on the small of your back which caused you to shiver slightly. Once you reached the front your mom’s face brightened at Jimin.

“So will you be training her from now on?” She asked with an overly sweet voice that made you cringe.

Jimin only smiled at the older woman and replied, “Yes, tomorrow at 2 will be our first session.”

“That’s just great! I’m excited for her. I’ve already paid the down payment with Mr. Kim. He’s a charming boy if I must say so myself. Any who, thank you so much Mr. Park.” She said while grabbing his free hand.  She let go and turned to face you with a forced smile. “Let’s get going sweetie. You have school tomorrow as well as that session.” And she turned around to head outside.

Both you and Jimin stood there a second before you realized you should get going. As you took a step forward, you felt his hand grip your wrist.

“I forgot to ask you for your number.” He said as you looked at him confused. “You know, for work purposes.” He added as you nodded in realization. He then handed his phone to you so you could type in your name and number. Once you gave it back to him he gave your shoulder a light squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Alright.” You replied as you turned around and headed outside. Once you got into the car your mom eyed you with disgust before looking forward again.

“Look at how low you make this car dip when you get in. So fat. I can’t wait until you look like human being instead of a pig. I hope that Jimin guy works you to the bone.” She said as she started the car. You simply ignored her comment, already used to the verbal abuse that has been going on for years. “I don’t know why I never thought of getting you a personal trainer since your lazy ass doesn’t go to the gym. You better go to each session you hear me?”

You only nodded and stared out of the window to block out the rest of her nagging during the car ride. Once you got home you went straight to your room and lock the door then just climbed onto bed. It was only 11 am now but you already felt drained of energy. You felt your sleepiness start to overtake you when suddenly your phone vibrated and a notification popped up. You grabbed it to see what it was and saw a number you didn’t recognize but from the text you knew who it was from.

I’m looking forward to working with you tomorrow beautiful. :) - Park Jimin

You smiled at the message and saved his number into your phone. I guess it won’t be too bad after all. You thought to yourself.

[1] Meraki – (v.) to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself into your work.

[brainrattlers]

I Hope I Can Handle It (Pt 1/?)

Summary: Sequel to “Think You Can Handle It?” - F/Reader is in a long-distance relationship with her man.  Traveling for the holidays!

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x F/reader

Words:  2894

Warnings: Fluff fluff fluff. Little bit of implied sexy times. Also I curse, and we know Sebastian does too. I can’t think of much else here.

A/N: Soooo I’m writing a sequel? to Think You Can Handle It?… and rather than bombard you with a big wall of text, I’m putting this one into chapters. My timeline is all off on this, it was supposed to be out around Christmas, but if I can work it right… we’ll end up at Valentine’s Day. (queue the “ooOOOOooh!”)  Y/F/N= Your Friend’s Name

The promise that you made Sebastian that fateful Saturday night stayed true. The two of you continued talking, every day.  Yes, some days it was a handful of texts, some days it was phone calls that lasted hours. Photos sent back and forth of what was going on any given day.  Skype chats watching movies on TV together. And the plans… oh, the plans that were being made.

You were nervous, but so excited.  Sebastian suggested you come visit him for the holidays.  It was a pretty overwhelming thought, really.  Two whole weeks in New York City. Traveling somewhere new.  Getting to physically touch Seb again. The first time you’d not been with your family on Christmas.  And then it really hit you.

Meeting Sebastian’s family.

Your phone started ringing, with the familiar ringtone of the song you first danced to under the stars the night of your first kiss. The phone’s screen lit up with the epic bedhead photo.  A smile lit up on your face as you answered the phone.

“Hey baby girl, what’s up?”

“Oh Seb, you are the one calling me, I should be asking you that question.  Well, minus the babygirl part.”  

Sebastian chuckled.  “S’been a long day.  Super tired.”

You could hear it in his voice.  It was fairly late in his time zone. You also knew it was cardio day at the gym, which would make anyone exhausted.

“Aww, I’m sorry babe.  I have news though… finally got my flight booked.  I can’t believe I’m going to be there in a few days!”  You could feel the smile growing on Sebastian’s face, even though it was over the phone, no video or anything. “I just need to figure out then what I’m doing once on the ground. Taxi? Uber?”

“No no, I’m picking you up. I mean we may Uber back, but I’m going to be the first person you see once you get to the baggage claim.”

After you shared your flight details, you talked about the day, eating dinner “together” while on the phone. A few ideas of things to do while there were thrown around, and finally the question of “so how is Christmas working anyway?” came up.

You were nervous. Meeting the family is huge, as first impressions are not something you can “fix” if it goes wrong. Sebastian assured you it would be okay, that he’d be there the whole time, would be your knight in shining armor.

“You mean, knight in shining ARM…or?”

Sebastian audibly groaned.

“And this is just one of the reasons I am crazy about you.  I hate to say it though, I’m getting pretty tired, and I’m meeting Don in the morning at 7:30 to go over a few things before we work out. Talk tomorrow?”

“Of course babe. Sleep well, sweet dreams.”

Packing. It was your least favorite thing to do, and weren’t really sure how much to pack.  Sebastian convinced you (maybe rather easily) that you weren’t staying at a hotel, but rather his apartment, so you didn’t need to pack clothes for every day… there was this thing known as a washer and dryer you could use.  Regardless, despite him knowing you as a totally casual dresser, you felt it important to wear something sort of dressy for Christmas day with the family.

And with Seb, his day to day clothing options would go from 0 to 60 in the drop of a hat.  It was nothing for him to be in workout sweats one minute, and dressed to the nines in a tux that would kill all the ladies the next.  You wanted to be able to keep up with him… other than something requiring a formal ball gown.

Finally picking out several tops and bottoms, some jeans and tees, you threw them in your suitcase, but then another odd realization hit you.

“Oh shit. Pajamas. Do I go the comfy route? Do I wear something sexy? Do I even own anything sexy to sleep in?”

It’d been awhile since you were planning out clothing because of a guy, minus the weekend with Sebastian.  You took a deep breath in, shaking your head, and let it out slowly as you grabbed a couple pairs of pajama shorts and pants, as well as a few tank tops, and threw them in the bag as well.

“You can handle this.”

After moving your suitcase from the bed, you crawled in, telling yourself the sooner you sleep, the sooner your flight is.  Your eyes closed, and you were out, until you weren’t. The alarm on your phone was blaring, and fingers fumbled along the nightstand to reach for it.  With the alarm silenced, you squinted with one eye at the screen, clearing off notifications that accumulated overnight, stopping to read a couple texts.

“Two more days, can’t wait!”

“Hey sunshine. I can’t believe you’re getting ready to ditch me for two weeks. Grab lunch before you head out?”

Tapping the second message, you punched out a response of “Yes please. I need to get my head out of panic mode. Thoughts creeping in about how I’m meeting his mother.” As soon as you hit send you freaked out a bit, hoping that went to Y/F/N rather than Sebastian.  That wouldn’t have been awkward at all.  After realizing you were in the clear, you texted Seb back as well.

“Getting packed.  I hope I’ve got the right clothes for the occasions.”

“You’re lovely in whatever you wear. Or aren’t wearing.”

“SEBASTIAN!” You sent along a shocked emoji, along with a laughing one, feigning your embarrassment.  He knew better though. He knew just as well as you do that despite blushing, you always loved it and it made you smile.

“Yeah yeah baby girl.  I’ll call you tonight after I get back from this opening I said I’d go to.  I hope you have a good day! *heart emoji*”

“You too, sweetie. *kissy lips emoji* Enjoy the opening!”

Y/F/N texted back a time and place, not surprisingly, Mama J’s.

While you had originally helped out Mama J when she needed some extra staff after her husband had passed, and she returned the favor so many times over by helping Sebastian with your first date, Sebastian’s Instagram post talking about Mama J’s was all the help her little business needed to be kicked into high gear.  Even if the restaurant was packed with a waitlist, you were always a VIP in her eyes and was seated immediately, although most of the time you told her it was okay and would wait. Today was no different, and luckily for both Y/F/N and you, there was no rush as you both had the day off.  Mama J insisted you be seated, but you stuck to your guns.

“Mama J, the new customers should be your VIPs, not me!  We’re really not in a hurry and don’t want to tie up a table when you can be wowing everyone else.  Besides, you know I love watching the customers. It helps me figure out how we’re going to set up the new location!”

She beamed at that statement. Because business was booming, money was coming in more readily, and Mama J had dreamed of opening a larger location to accommodate more customers.  You had promised you’d help out as much as you could, and through your contacts, had found a handful of new sites to look at.  Shooing her off, she ran back to the kitchen to get a few more orders ready to be sent out, and barking out orders to her staff.  Mama J, although the sweetest woman in the world, could be a drill sergeant when necessary.  The good thing was that she respected her small staff, and in turn, despite the urgency she conveyed, they respected her back.  Finding such a crew is tough to do these days.

Once a table opened up for you after waiting along with the others, you and Y/F/N sat down, and Mama J gave you the eye.  Silently, both of you nodded at Mama J, and she rushed off to the kitchen to prepare your lunches.  It wasn’t like the two of you ate there every week, if not more often, and she knew what you wanted or ANYTHING like that.  You both laughed and continued your conversation from earlier.

“I’m super excited for the trip, but seriously I’m running into mini-panic attacks.  This morning I legitimately freaked out realizing I had to figure out pajamas. Or like… presents. Not only do I have to get Seb something, but I feel like I need to get his mother and stepfather something.  Couple all this with the fact I’m going to a city I’ve never been. Just ARGGHHH!”  You rested your head in your hands, taking a deep breath.

“But… Sebastian.  You, girl, are going to see your man.  Sebastian freaking Stan.  You know if I weren’t your best friend, I’d totally be bashing you for freaking out that you’re going to see him.” Y/F/N chuckled. “Seriously though, it’s going to be fine. You know he’s just going to be showing you all the fun stuff in the city, and you’ll spend a day at the in-laws, and you’re going to just have fun.  You always freak out right before trips.”  You choked on your water at the mention of in-laws.

“I know, but,” you were still trying to clear your throat, “ugh. I just want everything to be as perfect as possible.  I’m not sure I can handle this.”

Y/F/N smirked.  Mama J was coming back with your food, interrupting your conversation.

“Child, you know you’ve got this.  Don’t you go letting me down, that boy is head-over-heels about you. You two are beautiful together.  Just be you, and everyone will love you.”

You sighed at Mama J’s statement, but knew she was right.  First impressions are huge, but the fact of the matter was that the only one you REALLY needed to impress was Sebastian, and that means the hard part is done.  You know his mother just wants him to be happy, and if he’s happy, you’re golden.

“Thanks Mama J, you’re the voice of reason I need sometimes.” She smiled and patted your head, before she skipped back to the kitchen.

While enjoying lunch, Y/F/N came up with a good question.

“So what ARE you getting Sebastian for Christmas?  You know it is just a few days away.”

You cringed.  It is so difficult picking out Christmas gifts so early on in a relationship.  Getting something expensive and extravagant is always appealing, but you don’t want to scare off the other person, or make them feel bad if they went the other route of something small and sentimental.  On that note, when you’re not with that person physically all the time, having never been to their home… sometimes figuring out likes and dislikes is a bit more difficult.  You talk all the time, and Sebastian will mention things he likes, but when you’ve got a multi-film deal, you probably have money enough to just buy whatever you want.  Not that you saw Sebastian as the type to just blow his money.  He always seems quite conservative, except for when it comes to clothes.  Those sweatpants he was wearing in the video for Fox NY 5? Easily $100+.  He certainly did make them look good… of course he makes most anything look good while working out.  Your mind started to wander, thinking about some of the latest videos of him working out with Don.  The dopey grin, glazed over eyes, and slight hum that came from you was indeed a cue to Y/F/N that you were spacing out.

“Hey chica, I asked you, what are you getting Sebastian?”

“Oh hey, um, sorry.  I’m not sure yet. I’m hoping if we get a chance to go shopping, he can drop some hints.  I mean, seriously what do you get a guy that is bankrolled by Marvel?”  Y/F/N thought about it for a moment, and felt sympathy.

“You’re right, but you always pick out the best presents, I think you’ll be okay.”

Finishing lunch, you thanked Mama J, promising to keep in touch during your trip.  She still wanted to make sure that Sebastian was being nothing but a gentleman with you. Typical Mama J.  Hugging everyone before you left, you headed out to some local shops to see if you could find anything local to bring with you to give Sebastian and his family a taste of your life.  You had wished you could just bring Mama J with you.  She was like your security blanket at times. Stopping in the candy shop you had issues keeping Sebastian out of when you first took him to Mama J’s, you picked up a few of your favorite homemade items.  You could at least check a few things in your bag.  The idea hit you to get some tomato soup from Mama J to surprise Sebastian with.  Mama J was awesome and canned a few to-go jars (not on the menu, and were sealed so they didn’t need refrigeration).  That might have to be one of your first meals with Seb though once off the plane.   

It was a quick afternoon after the shopping.  Figuring out the best way to pack your suitcase without smashing glass jars of soup or the small packets of candy, your phone blooped with your expected nightly interruption.  You hadn’t realized just how late it was, but the sun had set, and you knew it was even later for him still.  Opening the app, you saw Sebastian’s smiling face.

“Hey baby girl, how was your day?”  Despite being tired, his grin continued.

“Pretty good, finishing up packing. Had lunch at Mama J’s with Y/F/N. Did some Christmas shopping.  Extremely tired though. How was the opening?”

“Lots of people, not enough food, and man am I glad to be getting out of this suit.”

He must have been getting undressed AS he was on the phone with you, seeing him drop out of the camera’s view, coming back with his hair a bit more mussed, and no shirt on, at least that you could see of his shoulders. All you could think of was kissing those collar bones when you had the chance.  You smirked.

“I wish I had seen you IN the suit first… you know how much I enjoy you in suits…” You giggled as he rolled his eyes at you.  Much to your dismay, he threw on a tshirt and hoodie.  Your dirty thoughts would just have to wait.

“So, how about an episode of Stranger Things? We’re on what, episode 6?”  The picture on the screen moved around, finally with a final bounce as you could tell Sebastian had just sat down in his favorite chair. You sat down in your own chair, propping your phone up on the table next to you, then grabbing the TV remote to start up Netflix.  It was always a bit of a game to try to get the episode to start at the same time so one of you wasn’t too far ahead/behind of the other.

“1.. 2… 3!”

You both hit the play button simultaneously. You told Seb to hold tight while you ran to the kitchen to get something for dinner.  

“Bring me back something, will ya?” Sebastian hollered through the tiny phone speaker. You laughed, coming back with a bowl of grapes to munch on. The both of you focused on the show, but gasped, laughed, and finally talked about the episode together.  Sebastian had started to yawn about ¾ of the way through the episode, so it wasn’t super surprising when you didn’t talk a lot after the episode.  You did feel like you needed to confess something though.

“Hey Sebby?” you mumbled, but enough for him to hear, “Can we maybe go shopping one day? I need to find some things to bring back for Y/F/N and Mama J… and a few other presents, too.” You hoped he wouldn’t catch on that you needed to get him something still.

“Sure, I’ll take you to the best stores in the city, babe. I think that is part of the NYC experience. I hate to say it though, but I’m exhausted. Another early morning with Don, and then I realized I need to clean up the place, I have a VIP coming over day after tomorrow!”  He swung the phone around, showing you the living room, looking a little disheveled.  Typical bachelor… cleaning up because a girl was coming over.  You smiled and nodded.

“Sounds good, I need to get a few things ready for tomorrow.. And then…”

Sebastian interrupted.

“31 hours until you’re here!”

“You’re keeping that close of track?”

“You better believe I am!  The best damn handler in all the land will be here!”

You smiled, and blew Sebastian a kiss. “Night, babe.”

“G’night babygirl.”

(Part 2)

Tagging: @dawn121, @sceaterian

[michihaschronicpain]

Chronicles in Shitty Medical Care

I’ve been a patient at my clinic for neurological care for nearly 4 years now. In 2014, I was put on Relafen to aid my migraines. There are different PA’s at the clinic but the all operate for the same neurologist. 

On June 29th, I had a follow up visit with my neurologist, where I asked her to renew my prescription for Relafen as I didn’t have any left and made this clear to her. She said she would send the medication out, as well as an increase in dose of Lyrica, from twice a day to three times a day. She told me to start taking Lyrica three times a day that same day. Knowing how finicky my health insurance company can be, I chose to not change my dose until my new bottle came in. 

That same day I went to the pharmacy to pick up my medications, where I was informed that no new medications came in for me. Because it was late and a Friday, I could not call that same day to resolve the issue. However I spent the next month, making calls to my doctors office and even going in person to try and resolve the issue. My pharmacy was gracious enough to inform me that the doctor kept sending the prescription request with the old dose, and were unable to process it as a result. 

On July 24th, the correct dosage get sent, but I still do not have my Relafen prescription. At this time I call the doctor and inform her, but she tells me that she doesn’t want to give it to me because she wants me to stay on Lyrica alone to manage my issues, despite knowing my medical history and having sent me for a brain MRI because of frequent migraines. But she claims that she will send the prescription anyways. 

Come August I am finally hit with a migraine that I do not have the medication to treat. It has been two months, of asking for my much needed medication, that I keep on hand as a preventative, and for the first time in 3 years, I don’t have the medication to deal with it. The first time that I’ve been denied medication without reason. I call the doctor again hoping that she actually gives me the medication this time, but something told me I wasn’t going to get it. I asked the receptionist to connect me to my doctor and tell her the prescription issues I’ve been having. 

The entire conversation, the doctor never sounded concerned or apologetic and came off as the exact opposite. I explained the situation to the doctor, and afterwards she asked for my name and date of birth multiple times, claimed to be unable to find me in her system. She asked me to call her back tomorrow and I was taken aback. I asked her “Why should I have to wait until tomorrow? I just explained to you that you never sent my migraine medication back in June and now two months later you’re still asking me to wait? After I told you I’ve been having a migraine for a week now?” And she repeats again to call her tomorrow. So I reiterate my statement to her and tell her to handle it today or that I will take action to report her to the state, at which point she pulls the phone away from her face and tells the receptionist that she doesn’t know who I am and tells her to handle the call. The receptionist picks up, and is able to find me in the system within seconds. I explain the situation to the receptionist and she seems sympathetic, telling the doctor at one point “yeah but she’s sick.” I assume at this point the doctor is over the receptionist’s shoulder looking at her screen because she says “See, right there. I gave her her medication on July 24th,” at which point the receptionist tells her it was only for Lyrica and I tell the receptionist that “If I haven’t seen her since June 29th, why did it take her a month to send out my medication to begin with? Why didn’t she send everything I needed either.” I hear a “hmph” from the receptionist and the doctor is back on the line. The doctor claims that I’ve never received Relafen from their clinic (a lie) and that she can’t prescribe it because I’m allergic (another lie). I clarify that I’ve taken the medication for the past three years but she still refuses to give the medication. She asks for my pharmacy and hangs up on me. 

A couple of minutes later I receive a call from an unknown number on my cellphone and let it go to voicemail. The doctor left me a voicemail reiterating that their office never gave me Relafen, and that if I wanted any refills I needed to contact my primary care physician. 

At that point I called my insurance company and filed a complaint against her and was notified that that complaint would be forwarded to the state. I called the clinic and asked to speak to the manager. The manager also had a very uncaring and unsympathetic tone during our conversation. The one thing she did do was change my follow up appointment to be with a different doctor, however when I explained I wanted something sooner and not for September she told me that it could not be done unless new symptoms or exacerbation of symptoms had occurred. I told the manager that because I was experiencing a migraine for such an extended amount of time I wanted to be seen sooner and was informed that I could not have a sooner appointment until the Administration department conducted an internal investigation. For the past three days they have been dodging my phone calls, claiming that they would “call me back today” and its been radio silent.

Meanwhile there’s only one other facility that could see me and I’m currently on the waitlist for consideration. Meaning, they can review my case and decide they don’t want to treat me or are unable to due to caseload. It takes months to be seen at the clinic, and the proof in that lies in the fact that I currently have to wait three months to see a rhuematologist there. Based on how long I need to wait to see a rheumatologist I can only consider myself to be lucky if I am able to see a neurologist at the hospital this year. 

It’s so exhausting having to advocate for yourself especially when you’re in pain all the time. It’s like the medical system wants us to give up on getting treatment. 

TL;DR: Neurologist refused to give me my migraine medication, claiming I was never on it and that I was allergic to it despite taking it for the past 3 years. Told me to call my primary care if I wanted my medication. I called the clinic to give a complaint and they don’t seem to be taking this seriously either. The American medical system sucks major nuts. 

[always--tan]

Finished on: February 8th

So this made it on my list because of a trip to Target and I didn’t know it was coming out as a feature film but it is – and I recommend the book wholeheartedly to anyone who can read. For having to live the same last seven days repeatedly, I think that the plot was well-written and the characters were amazing. Sam’s development was on fucking point.

I sort of had my doubts in the beginning – like it was very predictable that she was going to become a better person by the end – but the book does a good job of giving her multiple experiences to really come to that conclusion.

And the book just stops at seven days, but the ending was fantastic in the sense that it didn’t leave me hanging – since every other day does. I’m sort of not sure if it ends at seven because it’s convenient or because Sam completed whatever task she was required to do – but that’s not exactly the point so much as the plot was a very good YA thought experiment.

The book is narrated in first person, so I’m curious to see how that’ll translate to the screen – a lot of what makes the book so good is that Sam’s descriptions of emotions, feelings, and memories are so vivid that the reader is taken out of the present moment and into her head. I mean I’m definitely seeing this movie though like I’d rather see this than Beauty and the Beast, anyway.

I need to stop window shopping at Target and putting myself on waitlists for books because I start to prioritize my Overdrive app over the books my friends actually got for me. I think I’m going to make a personal rule to only request a book online after I’ve finished a physical one.