#but i have a little attendant to remind me to take my meds

[crabsnpersimmons]

this is a reminder to take your meds [:

unless it is not time for you to take your meds, then donot [:

[weird-and-unwell]

“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.

I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.

At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.

I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.

I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.

I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.

I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.

Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.

I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.

"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.

Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.

But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.

I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.

Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.

And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.

But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.

[fangirlfrom-hell]

Several Missed Calls and a Sprained Ankle || Jay Halstead x Halstead Sister one shot

*re-posting this because I'm stupid and accidentaly delated my blog 🫠

Also appearing Will and Connor Rhodes because I miss him.

I'm not a doctor, medical topics are vague.

Friendly reminder that Becca is Halstead sister.

☆

The Intelligence squad had just came back to the bullpen with a suspect in custody when Sergeant Platt came inside to interrupt whatever they were having.

-"Hey, Halstead! I've been receiving calls from your sister's school all day. They said they called your father, but didn't answer, so she asked them to look for you, but your phone was off".

-"I was in a UC run, I always turn the personal off...". He tried to explain himself with guilt.

-"That's what I tried to explain to them. Apparently she's injured and needs to be picked up as soon as possible".

-"Wh-what happened?" He hadn't even finished taking off his jacket and now he was hastily putting it back on.

-"They didn't elaborate on the matter, but they've been calling like crazy every half hour. I even volunteered to go and bring her here, but they did say it would be impossible if I'm not in the list". She pulled a face with that last statement. -"Can you believe that?"

Everybody settled in at the bullpen, all detectives listening to the conversation.

-"Boss..." Jay looked at Voight.

-"Sure, go. What are you waiting for?". He ordered with his arms crossed. -"We can take care of this".

Jay nodded his head as saying "thank you" and walked himself down to the parking lot trying to look chill, although on the inside he was really unsettled for whatever had happened to his little sister. He couldn't avoid being the overprotective big brother, it ran through his veins.

-"Hey, Detective. Make sure you put my name in that freakin' list!". Platt yelled before he crossed the door. -"I don't want to feel so humiliated again". She said in her usual exaggerated way. Then she muttered to herself: I'm a CPD Sergeant, who dares to say 'no' to me like that?

The long road to Becca's school in Canaryville wasn't helpful to ease Jay's mind. He was also feeling abashed for not being able to answer the call on time, although he was not responsible for attending those emergencies, therefore he was not aware of them. And where the hell was his father? Why didn't he answer those calls from school? He cursed him. This wasn't the first time something like this happened.

-"I'm here to pick my sister, Becca Halstead".

-"Oh, sure. We've been calling you for hours. Literally hours". The secretary gave him a judging look, which Jay tried to ignore. -"She's upstairs, the nurse is accompanying her. I'll notify her you're here. Follow me".

Jay followed the woman through the halls of the school until they went outside to the back yard. From the second floor of the building in front of them, he recognized Becca's ginger blonde hair. She was leaning on someone else to walk, looked like she couldn't do it by herself and there was some pain in her tiny face.

-"What happened?" Jay asked without taking his eyes off her.

-"She sprained her foot on the stairs, she didn't roll or hit her head, so there was no need to call an ambulance. It was an accident, some kids were playing around and pushed her unintentionally. We already took action on the matter, don't worry about that".

He walked upstairs to help his sister. As soon as he was able to entirely see her, he noticed how her foot was in the air, shoe untied.

-"Jay!" Becca said with relief.

-"It's all right". The secretary told the nurse. -"Her brother will handle it from here".

-"Is it your ankle? You can't put your foot down at all?"

-"No, it really hurts". Becca moved her head from one side to another.

-"It's a little bit swollen". The nurse talked. -"I applied ointment and ice for the pain, but I can't really do anything else in here. I think it's just a sprain, but she should be checked at the hospital".

-"Yes, I'll take her straight to The Med. Thank you!"

Jay took his badge and gun from his hips and placed them somewhere else in his jeans.

-"Sorry". He said, feeling the alarmed gaze of the two women. Then, he took the girl's backpack and put it on his shoulder. -"All right, Becs. Come here".

Jay hugged Becca and lifted her to carry her down the stairs. It was very easy for him, light weight, the girl was smaller than an average 10 years old. She placed her arms around her brother's shoulder.

-"Take care, Beckie". The nurse waved goodbye as she was taken by the detective.

-"This is so embarrassing". She said looking around to check if somebody was watching them, but the yard was empty, everyone was inside of the classrooms. Jay couldn't resist to laugh a bit. It was a cute funny scene: a big, tall, muscular man with a girly purple backpack hanging from his shoulder and a girl with an embarrassed face in his arms.

He didn't put her down until they were back to the office, where he had to sign some papers before leaving.

-"Is that all?" Jay asked.

-"Yes, you can take her now".

-"Oh! Before I forget". He said turning around one more time to the reception. -"I want to add another person to the list of people who can pick her up".

-"Sure. She does need that". She didn't miss the chance to look at him with a judgy face. -"What's the name of the one?".

-"Trudy Platt". He smirked. Becca just gave him a look.

At the truck, Jay placed her in the co-pilot seat and then opened the back door to put the backpack away.

-"What do you carry in this? Rocks?" He freed his shoulder from the weight.

Becca wasn't a talkative girl, but still she was unusually quiet during the road to the hospital. She only broke the silence to groan in pain, that's when he noticed her teary eyes.

-"Does it hurt?" Jay asked, knowing the answer.

-"Yes. I think it's getting worse".

-"We're almost there, just hang up a little bit".

He wanted to ask Becca about how she had fallen, since his detective instincts knew that it was due to something more than an accident. He opened his mouth to say something he had been holding up, but an incoming call interrupted his intentions.

-"It says Hailey Upton". Becca announced, grabbing his phone.

-"Gotta answer that". He sighed. -"Would you put it in the speaker for me, please?".

Both siblings knew each other quite well. Becca knew how Jay noticed something strange was going on, but she didn't want to be interrogated. And Jay knew how Becca was aware of that and was reluctant to speak.

-"Soooooo...Is Sergeant Platt coming to pick me now if I get sick?" She changed the conversation as soon as the call ended.

-"Is that a problem?" Jay laughed out loud.

-"Well, it's kinda scary".

-"She told me to put her name in the list, I don't know if it was true, though. The thing is that today I was on the streets working a case when all this happened. I didn't have my phone with me, that's why I didn't answer".

-"I imagined that. That's why I told them to call directly to the 21st".

-"Which was very clever of you. I'm sorry I wasn't there earlier, I should have".

-"You don't have to be sorry, I'm not blaming you for anything. You are not even supposed to be responsible for me, anyway".

She had this sort of way to make claims to his father and mother without even realizing it. That last statement made the rest of the road extremely quiet.

The moment Becca crossed the entrance door sitting in a wheelchair, she realized she had never been at The Med as a patient before. Maggie was pushing her to the ER where Will was waiting for his siblings. Due to the type of injury, Dr. Rhodes was assigned to Becca's case.

-"This is too swollen". Connor said while checking her foot. -"On a scale from 1 to 10, how much does it hurt?"

-"Uh, I don't know. Maybe 5?"

Both of her big brothers stared at her teary eyes and her sick gesture, not believing her answer. She was trying so hard not to cry.

-"6?"

-"Are you sure?" The doctor gave her a warm smile. -"I was expecting you to say 10 or maybe even beyond 10".

Becca remained silent, pressing her lips.

-"Ok. We'll do an X-Ray just to make sure it isn't more than a sprain. Meanwhile, the nurse will administer you some pain killers".

He went out of the room to order the studios and made a sign for the siblings to follow him outside, leaving their sister alone with the technicians for a few minutes.

-"What do you think?" Dr. Halstead asked.

-"I don't think she just simply twisted her ankle. For the damage, it must have been a harder impact".

-"Is it bad?" Jay asked with concern.

-"Can't tell until I see the X-Ray. What worries me the most right now is how hard she's trying to take the pain".

-"Yeah, that's something she does". Jay sighed. -"Not only with physical pain".

When the three men entered back to the room, Becca was silently crying, wiping her tears away. Jay was the one that approached to hold her. Her bruised and swollen ankle was a standout in the room.

-"Becca, you have what we call a severe grade 2 sprain and I'm pretty sure it hurts more than a lot right now. Why don't you say anything? You can complain about the pain, that's what hospitals are for".

-"I don't want to be a bother". The girl answered quietly, tears still dropping from her eyes.

-"What are you talking about?" Will walked to be close to the bed.

-"Becca...". Jay sat next to her and bent to be face to face. -"You are not a bother and you will never be".

-"It's just...I'm scared you'll stop answering the phone calls too".

In that moment, everything fell into place and Jay's heart dropped. The conversation suddenly closed to just the two of them, although everyone could hear their words.

-"Bec...I will never stop caring for you. I won't lie, sometimes it gets hard with my work, but I will do what is necessary so that something like today does not happen again. I promise".

-"But you shouldn't, like, you shouldn't be the one in charge of me. I'm a burden".

-"I know what you mean, and I know how you feel about dad, but believe me when I tell you how much it makes me happy to be here for you. I'm your big brother, it actually is my job to protect you. I love you, silly. I would never forgive myself if something happens to you. I wouldn't forgive myself if you didn't have the confidence to call me either".

With all being said and those emotions off her chest, her crying increased in tears and sound.

-"It's a 20. The pain is a 20" She managed to say in what seemed to be overacted, although it was only the natural response to having endured so much physical and emotional pain in such a short time.

-"Let's apply more pain killers". Connor talked to the nurses. -"And let's finish this up". He smiled at the little girl.

Jay found her reaction a little bit cute and couldn't resist smiling a bit when she jumped into her arms.

-"You will have to use the walking boot for at least 4 weeks". Dr. Rhodes informed when he finished. -"That if everything goes well".

-"What about dance lessons?"

-I'm sorry, Becs". -Dr. Halstead got into the conversation. -"That's going to be impossible. You need to give it a rest".

-"Not to mention the pain that would cause you".

-"Is she going to be able to be back when her ankle heals?"

-"If she listens to my recommendations in the letter, I don't see why not". Connor then turned to Becca: "I know this thing is very uncomfortable, but is necessary. You might start feeling as if you don't need it before the set time, but it is important that you do not take it off until I say so. If you trust me and you do this, You'll be fine and back to dancing soon".

Becca nodded sadly.

-"I understand this is very important to you, Becca. I can arrange to see you each week instead of two weeks to check how it is going".

-"Thank you, Connor''. His colleague said.

Becca yawned more than once on their way back to the Bullpen. She was discharged from the hospital, so she couldn't stay there and there wasn't any other place Jay could leave her. She was tired, her stressed body only wanting to rest.

-"Look at that!" Platt exclaimed when she spotted both Halsteads crossing the front door. -"It is my favorite Halstead!"

-"I'm glad to hear she's your favorite, because you are in the list now, Serge".

The Desk Sergeant smirked at the news.

-"I take this honor responsible".

-'All right, girl". Jay said, bending in front of the stairs. -"Let's do this again".

Becca hopped into her brother's back and he carried her upstairs, where all the squad greeted her with enthusiasm and good wishes. She sat in the coffee room waiting for him.

-"The punk confessed. We have enough evidence. It was an easy case, we're done for now". Voight informed Detective Halstead.

-"I'm sorry I wasn't here for interrogation, Serge. There was no one to take care of her...".

-"There's nothing to be sorry about''. Hank waved his hand from one side to another. -"Besides, you did your job, a good job capturing him. Now, you all are dismissed. You should take your sister to rest".

Detectives were able to go back home relatively early that day. The bullpen was empty when Jay went out of Hank Voight's office. There was only a blonde woman sitting at the desk in front of him.

-"Why are you still here?"

-"Your sister fell asleep on the couch. It didn't feel good to leave her alone in her condition". Hailey answered.

-"Thank you for that". He said honestly.

-"The same thing happened to me when I was a little bit older than her. I know it hurts like hell".

-"Yeah, she had a bad time. She's tired and drugged in pain killers, I should take her home".

-"Tell me if you need help with anything, I'm here. For real, partner". Detective Upton took her coat and walked herself downstairs.

-"Thanks again, Hails".

-"No problem".

It took him a while to stop staring at the stairs before going into the coffee room. There she was deeply asleep, it looked like she was melting.

-"Becca". He softly called her. -"Becca, it's time to go". But there was no answer, not even when he shaked her.

-"Well, third time's the charm. What could go wrong?" He muttered to himself and took Becca in his arms, this time as if she was a baby.

[hold-him-down]

Welcome Home, Derek

TW: mostly angst, some light med whump, post prison whump

part one part two part three part four

✥ ✥ ✥

Twelve hours later, the plane landed. Derek wasn’t easily awoken, and Jack reminded himself of the room in the airport.

“Derek,” he whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Buddy, wake up.”

Derek’s eyelids fluttered open, his eyes slow to focus. “We’re home,” Jack whispered, but there was no ease in his voice. He was under no illusion that the hard part was over, and in fact, he had a sneaking suspicion that the worst was yet to come.  

Immediately, Derek sought out his bag, relief flooding his features at the realization that it was untouched, securely wrapped around in his fingers.

The agent walked down the aisle, his eyes on Derek. “Welcome home, kid,” he said. His voice held no enthusiasm, no promise of good things to come. He took a seat across the aisle from Derek and Jack, hands on his knees. “Remember,” he started, “the reporters will want to talk to you.” He smiled, looking Derek over. “We have an agent waiting at the gate that will deal with it. You do not need to stop to speak with them, there will be plenty of opportunities for you to make a statement over the next few days. There’s a car waiting to get you to the hospital. We’ll need to get through customs and then we’ll head that way. Sound good?” 

“Okay,” Derek replied. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” His expression softened then. “Derek,” the agent said, “no one expects you to do this on your own. If anyone pushes you to answer any questions, to do anything you’re uncomfortable with at all, you’ve got an army of people here who will intervene on your behalf. Alright?”

Derek nodded again. The agent’s smile tightened and he returned the gesture, standing. “Alright,” he said, and led them to the door.

Things moved quickly then. They made their way through the airport in a sort of robotic nature, with the primary goal of getting out with as little attention as possible. They bypassed a group of reporters who shouted for Derek, for his parents, and interestingly, even for Jack; the agents positioned themselves to shield Derek from sight, but there were… a lot of people there. Jack didn’t reach out to take Derek’s hand, but he took a step closer as they hurried through the corridor. Derek followed his parents silently, keeping his head down.  

Customs was easy enough: they were brought to a private room and spoken to about next steps, passports were scanned, pictures were taken, and everything was kept surface level. When they finally got to the waiting car, everything stood still. 

“You’re… you’re going to the hospital,” Jack said.

Derek nodded. “I–” The question on everyone’s mind didn’t need to be spoken.

“I'll go to a hotel, get showered and pick you up some things?” Jack offered, eager to take the pressure off of Derek to navigate the moment. During one of the endless briefings in Turkey, Mr. Lewis had heavily implied that Jack should plan not to attend at the hospital. He reluctantly agreed, and figured he would cross that bridge when he got there. And here was the goddamn bridge, and he was no closer to knowing how to cross it. On one hand, he didn’t want to make a scene or add any extra stress where it wasn’t needed. On the other, the idea of leaving Derek, now, made him want to scream.

“You can stay at our house,” Mrs. Lewis offered, “Don’t be silly.” 

Jack nodded, feeling the tension roll off of Mr. Lewis. “Yeah, I–” He paused, then smiled evenly. “That sounds great.” 

Mrs. Lewis scribbled down the address and pushed it into his hands. “In case you forgot it,” she said. They both knew he hadn’t.

Jack put it in his pocket anyway, just in case. What Jack said next did very nearly kill him, but he turned his attention to Derek, standing perfectly still behind his parents, his grip unshakeable on his bag. “Will you call me? As soon as you’re done with the doctor?”

Derek nodded. 

“Your mom has my number,” Jack continued. “Just– send me a list, okay? Of any snacks you want, or… clothes, books, movies… anything you need, okay?”

“Okay,” Derek said softly. “I will.”

Derek hesitated to get into the car. Jack watched his back, watched every deep breath that seemingly rattled in his lungs, watched the tension roll through him, until something shifted, and he climbed in, closing the door. He glanced at Jack through the tinted window as the car pulled away, and Jack stood, alone at the airport, and tried to smile. It was temporary. Derek would go to the hospital, do what he needed to do, and Jack would be there, whenever he was ready. 

When the car turned out of sight, Jack took a deep, steadying breath. He would not cry, he would not panic, he would not do anything silly.

He found a curb and sat down, his duffle bag next to him, and opened his phone. Ninety-three missed calls.

✥ ✥ ✥

“Where are you?” came a kind of shout-speaking from the other end of the line. It was the first time in over a year he had spoken to James, former best friend to Derek and once inseparable from the two of them.

“I’m at the airport,” he said. Specifically, he was sitting on the curb having a big moment, but he didn’t need to get into that.

“I’m across the street– I’ll come get you. Are you with Derek?” James’s voice was guarded. He was across the street? In Maine? The last time Jack had casually-and-not-at-all-pathetically perused his instagram, he was living in Chicago. 

“No,” Jack responded, trying to keep the angst from his voice, to exude the absolute calmness that he believed he could make himself feel with enough willpower. “Derek just left for the hospital, the fucking government or whatever is making him go through a bunch of protocols before he’s allowed to take a fucking breath. His goddamn father won’t look at me, let alone let me stay with them, his mom’s a mess, and Derek is… Derek is suffering because of all of it. Every step has been made harder and–” So much for the keeping calm thing. He blinked, pausing. “Sorry," he said evenly. "I think I’m grumpy.”

“I’ll say,” James said. “I’m coming there, where are you specifically?”

“I’m under a billboard for lobster rolls.” 

“There’s a hundred billboards for lobster rolls, Jack, we’re in fucking Maine–”

Jack squinted up. “I’m under the one with a lobster wearing sunglasses, wholly unaware that some embassy agent douche bag is coming to fuck up its life–”

Three minutes later, a beat-up cavalier rolled to a stop in front of him.

“Did you drive here?” Jack asked James as he dragged himself into the passenger seat.

“From Chicago? No. I flew here as soon as I got your email. This car is rented. Twenty-five, baby. Speaking of which, an email? That’s what I get after seven years of your crap?”

Jack took a breath. “Oh my god, I forgot I even sent that. I was with Derek, and he is… it is bleak,” he said matter-of-factly. “As soon as they called I got on a plane, and it hasn’t really let up since then.” 

“What happened? Last I heard things weren't looking good.” 

Jack leveled him a sharp glance.

“Come on,” James said, veering onto the highway. “It’ll feel good to let it out, right? Over drinks?” At Jack’s laugh, he amended, “I mean, over dinner?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Might as well– I’ve been tasked with waiting for a text to tell me what the fuck I’m supposed to do.”

“From his parents?”

“Or him, I don’t know. I’m open to hearing from literally anyone who wants to text me.” Jack looked at his phone, which boasted a strong zero notifications, then shoved it into his pocket. “I’m giving them an hour, and then I’m going to the hospital.”

“There’s no way that would backfire,” James said. Jack was pretty sure he was being sarcastic, but he was too tired to care. They drove three miles in relative silence until James pulled into the drive thru, ordered, and then parked. He turned to Jack. “I can tell this sucks for you. I’m sure it sucks for his parents, and I can’t even imagine what he’s going through. Bring me up to speed.”

Jack recalled the last few days, leaving out some of the more potent bits (specifically, the ones in which Derek was naked and afraid of him). James knew about their relationship, but it still wasn’t the coziest discussion. Still, it felt nice to kind of release some of the tension he’d been hanging onto.

“Wow,” James said after he’d finished. And then, he added, “Shit.” 

“Yeah.”

“Are you going to stay with them tonight?”

“I don’t know. Mrs. Lewis, I think, is genuine in her offer, but I don’t want to overwhelm Derek, or like… impose on their family or whatever.” Jack pulled his phone back out and stared down at it, willing it to light up. 

“Since when have you cared about imposing on them?”

“Since Derek came back into the picture, I guess. I just don’t want it to be too much for him.”

“His family is one-thousand-percent going to be too much for him. Maybe you being there will help take some of the pressure off… that whole reunion?” They both moved their attention toward the front window, lost in thought as they ate in silence. “I guess just see what he wants to do? Is there a hotel nearby? We can be roomies again for a few days?”

There were several, it turned out. They checked into the one closest to Derek’s house. Jack showered and changed into his last pair of clean clothes while James worked (from his computer, he was very serious now, it turned out), and then they waited, catching up on life. 

Jack received updates from Mrs. Lewis throughout the day, which was enough to keep him somewhere in the ballpark of level-headed.

Even so, he was desperate for the moment he could book it for Derek’s house, but he meant what he had said to James. They both knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy transition for Derek, and he was sure the list of people who wanted his attention was long. He was also sure that Derek wasn’t going to be interested in freely giving out his attention, so he would wait. If he didn’t hear directly from Derek by nightfall, he would make a new plan.

He didn’t need to. At exactly 9:17 p.m., his phone buzzed.

✥ ✥ ✥

Derek was distantly aware of his parents' eyes glued on him, but he was numb. He sat still as he rode to the hospital, the lines between past and present blurring to a point where he fully detached himself from any of it. He wasn’t sure if it was the effects of the drugs or the stress, or if it was something else entirely. He held onto his documents and his backpack and he kept his mind blank, his only focus on making it from one moment to the next. 

The hospital was overwhelming. He had been ushered inside and directed to a small, overly sterile room, where he sat alone, trying not to focus on all of the medical equipment surrounding him. He knew rationally that this was good, that he was home, that he was safe. But no matter what he tried to convince himself, he couldn’t get a grip on his body’s reaction to… everything.

Every sound, every shadow. Every movement in his peripheries triggered some fucked up fight or flight response and it was catching up with him. He didn’t allow himself to wonder if he would ever be okay again. He was taking it second by second, and that was all he could do.

He sat as still as he could with the doctor, following each direction the best that he could. He knew if he didn’t do well with the doctor, he would be punished for it, and that thought terrified him. The thought that they could send him back to prison, and he would definitely not survive a second time, crept in and out of his mind. He still hadn’t quite figured out how he made it out this time. 

He had stripped his clothing methodically, only pausing briefly at the very beginning. For all that had happened, for all that he’d been through, while the concept of nudity no longer struck any chords, the concept of another stranger seeing him, taking in his injuries, inventing rationales, telling his parents, twisted at his gut. The near-constant staring at him, at the bags under his eyes, at his hollow cheeks, at the various cuts and bruises.. 

He was grateful that he was given a gown, if just to cover some of the bruises. And the doctor, to his credit, cleared his throat and worked in relative, albeit overtly alarmed, silence.

Derek had taken breaths as big as he could but he knew they weren’t what the doctor wanted by the expression on his face. His hands shook as he tried to hold them in for longer, to breathe in deeper. Eventually the doctor set down his stethoscope and Derek hoped that it had been enough, and that the doctor got whatever he wanted to get from him.

His jaw was set as the doctor touched him, along his ribs and his stomach. He tried to think about Jack, and of the two nights they got to be near each other, and the feeling that was the closest thing to safety that he could remember. He spent the last several years thinking he’d never see him again, and so, in the moments when he knew he was near his breaking point, he tried to think about the next time.

The doctor continued giving him directions, and he tried to keep up. He gave him more shots and kept touching him and god, he wished Jack had stayed. That Jack had gotten in the car and had come to the hospital with him. He knew that he hadn’t articulated that well enough (had he articulated it at all?), that the words had caught in his throat. 

He was given little cup-fulls of medicine and made to drink more water and asked question after question after question that he just didn’t know the answers to. Some questions, he knew, would lead to more, and he desperately wanted to lie in those moments, to spare himself the uncomfortable silence and the even more uncomfortable procedures, but the doctor seemed to know the answers based on his expression alone. When he last ate, if anything hurt, when he had last received medical treatment, if his bones had been set after they’d been broken, if he’d been assaulted physically, if he’d been raped. To his credit, he didn’t shed a tear during the three-hour exam. Not when the doctor’s hands were on him, not when he was left alone for periods of time, and not when he recounted the various reasons for the more fresh injuries.

He tried to listen as the doctor explained which pills to take when, and what needed to happen next, and what was wrong with him, but the lines of reality all blurred, until finally he asked the doctor if he could close his eyes. After a too-long sigh, the doctor nodded.  

So Derek closed his eyes and waited for it to be over.

It wasn’t long before he was handed a clean pair of clothes. He pulled them on as quickly as he could.

Against all odds, he made it to the car. He sat in the back of a black Lexus, his mom, anxious and red-eyed, climbing in next to him. When he looked in her direction, offering her the closest approximation of a smile that he could form, she cried harder. Between sobs, she whispered, “It’s okay.” He knew that it wasn’t. He was a mere shell of the boy she had left at the airport eight years ago, but he wasn’t stupid.

As the streets started to become more familiar, his chest tightened. All of his muscles were tense, his eyes scanning the neighborhoods anxiously as home drew closer. Derek hadn't wrapped his head around the idea of home yet... He didn’t think he would ever see this place again. 

His fingers clutched the straps of the backpack tightly, housing his only earthly possessions. 

When the car turned onto his street, he pressed his face closer to the window. In front of his house was... His eyes narrowed, taking in the sight before him. They threw some kind of party? 

“What is all this?” It was his mom who spoke.

“I’m not sure,” said his dad from the front.

Big posters and cards and banners that said things like, Welcome Home, Derek and, God Has Answered Our Prayers and, We Missed You, were hung all along the railing of the porch. There were wrapped boxes and baskets and balloons and flowers stacked on the chairs, the table, the steps. He couldn’t see any people at the house, which he was grateful for, but saw his neighbors peeking out the windows as the car came to a stop.

He swallowed back bile as his stomach turned over.

“It’s okay,” his mom said, and he watched as her hand moved closer to his face. She was going to touch him, and he needed to be still. He closed his eyes and turned his mouth into the closest thing he could get to a smile, but he thought it probably didn’t look right, because she backed away from him quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Let’s get you inside.”

As he made his way to the front door, he tried to keep all the sounds separate, listening for any signs of danger. He scanned the yard, swallowing, and followed his father through the front door. He felt no safer inside than he had in the car, but still, he followed his parents to the kitchen; it all felt wrong. This wasn't his house anymore. He didn’t have a house anymore.

Distantly, he heard his mother talking. She was talking to him? “–call Jack?” was all he caught.

“I’m sorry?” he asked. “I didn’t –”

“We can call Jack if you want? I’m sure he’s nearby.”

Derek couldn’t completely comprehend what was happening; he didn’t know what he wanted. “Yeah,” he eventually said, not even entirely sure what the question was. “Do you– is there somewhere I can… lay down? Just for a little bit?” 

His mom plastered a smile to her face and nodded, leading him up the stairs. “This is still your bedroom,” she said, opening the door. He nodded and walked in, setting his bag carefully on the bed. “Derek,” she said. “This is still your house. No matter what, okay?” 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low. She nodded and closed the door. Derek turned in a complete circle in the small bedroom, trying to figure out where he was, who he was, how to… what he was supposed to do here. What was he supposed to do? In the background, memories of the prison, and more recently, memories of the doctors, flashed through his imagination and he sank down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. He pictured Jack’s face, Jack’s voice, to help drown out the noise. 

When the blackness that threatened his vision receded, he grabbed his bag from the bed and set it on the floor in front of him. He brushed his hand over the small patch and opened it, pulling out one of the envelopes. He swallowed. He had read it a thousand times already, and had long since committed it to his memory.

It was one of the last letters he had received before the guards stopped letting him read them; they came in one afternoon and took them away, as though they were nothing. He thought they had been destroyed. When the agent handed them to him in the hotel, it took him a moment to even realize what they were.

There was a knock on the door, and he moved to put the letter back in the bag, but paused, opting instead to place it under the mattress. It might be better to keep them separated, the small voice in the corner of his mind told him. It wasn't rational, but it was an easy enough modification, and if they took his bag from him, at least he had the one.

“Come in,” he eventually said.

“Hey, pal,” he heard, as a man walked in. He closed the door behind him and turned, allowing Derek his first look at him. 

“Arlo?” Derek asked, taken aback. He stood as he looked him over twice, still not believing what he was seeing. He was… tall. He was full grown. An adult person, something Derek did not expect to see. “Arlo,” he said again, this time it was just a gasp. 

“Dad said you looked like shit but I didn’t believe him,” Arlo said with an easy smile. “What happened to your hair?”

“The doctor in Turkey shaved it,” Derek replied, not sure if Arlo was joking. He felt the familiar pangs of panic rising in his chest, the words pouring out of him too quickly. “There was… Uh, I think there was lice. It was too much and would have been too hard to deal with, and I said it was... I said it was okay.” He could feel his chest constricting, his breaths coming too fast. 

Derek couldn’t say why, but something in him snapped. It was like the weight of the world crashed down around him. Arlo closed the distance between them silently, wrapping his arms around him. Derek felt himself come undone. He tried to stop this. He tried to make his mind go blank, to find that place in the corner of his imagination that was warm and safe and that no one could touch him and he wouldn’t be sad or lonely or hurt. He had learned to go there when he could, and it had offered him reprieve. But Arlo was holding him tightly, and for some goddam unknown reason, he broke. 

Sobs wracked his body, his fingers clutching desperately at the back of Arlo’s shirt. He could feel Arlo’s hand on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t safe, and he knew it wasn’t safe because his neck was exposed but he couldn’t let him go. And he couldn’t fucking breathe. And he couldn’t think, and he sure as shit could not stop crying.

Arlo didn’t speak. He didn’t try to quiet him or tell him it was okay or tell him that he missed him or loved him or that he could talk to him. He just held onto him. Minute after minute after minute passed as Derek fought for control.

When he could finally speak, the words were broken. “I’m sorry,” Derek said, pulling away from his brother. He gasped at breaths, and swallowed back sobs, and blinked away tears. “I’m… I’m not doing too well over here,” he gasped.

“I know,” Arlo responded. 

He sat on the bed, moving the bag slightly to the side. Derek automatically darted toward it in a move to protect it and Arlo bristled, handing it to him. “Sorry,” he said. “I should have asked.”

“Is there anything I can do to make this better for you?” he asked. “I know Mom and Dad are doing their best, but they’re–” he gestured vaguely “A lot.”

Derek nodded, carefully sitting down next to his brother. The mattress was soft and inviting, but felt more dangerous than anything else. 

“I’d ask you how prison was, but I feel like I already know the answer.” 

Derek let himself smile, attempting to wipe the still-falling tears from his cheeks. “Yeah,” he said. “It wasn’t great.” 

“Well,” Arlo replied. “You’re home now. What's the first thing you want to do? Has there been anything you've been missing desperately?"

Derek shook his head. “After a while, I just kind of blocked everything out. At first, you know, thinking of home helped. But eventually it just hurt more, and then I just... stopped.”

Arlo nodded. 

“I don’t know,” Derek said. "I don't feel like I really know anything. Can you just... just talk to me? Tell me a story,” he whispered. It was something Arlo used to sneak in and ask Derek for every night, after their parents went to bed. Derek would stay up for hours making up stories for his brother, until Arlo would fall asleep on the floor, and Derek would cover him up and turn out the lights. 

Arlo smiled. He leaned back against the wall and started talking, the cadence of his voice easy and light. He reviewed what the family had been up to, where everyone was. He went through an itemized list of church gossip, ending with the bombshell that he, and their parents, had left the Church all together, and would thus be promptly spending eternity in Hell with Derek. 

Their sister was in England for the semester, which their parents were reluctant to even allow, and it had been a massive disagreement where she threatened to run away forever. She was studying humanities at Boston University and was actively throwing her whole self into trying to do good in the world. As the words tumbled out of Arlo, Derek found himself breathing easier. And Arlo asked nothing in return. He didn't ask questions, he didn't make demands. 

There came a moment where Derek didn't think he could stay awake any longer, and he curled up on top of the covers, letting his eyes slip shut.

"Is there anything I can get you?" Arlo asked softly, as he stood from the bed. He pulled a blanket out of the closet and draped it over his brother. "Food? Water? Anything?"

“I was supposed to call Jack, but I... I'm having trouble with..." Derek paused. "I haven’t been able to.”

Arlo smiled and nodded. “Let me see your phone,” he said. Arlo keyed in Jack’s number seemingly from memory and texted him, then laid the phone on the bed next to Derek. He knelt next to the bed, close to Derek but without touching him. “Do you want me to leave the lights on or off?” he whispered, Derek’s eyes already closed.

“Off,” Derek responded, curling tighter under the blanket. Arlo hit the switch on his way out.

Seconds later, the phone lit up. 

I’ll be there. Ten minutes.

DEREK’S BACK TAG LIST:  @whump-cravings @crystalquartzwhump @redwingedwhump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @nami-writes @peachy-panic @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whump-blog @pumpkin-spice-whump @quietly-by-myself @whumpcereal @whump-queen @pigeonwhumps @squishablesunbeam @bumpthumpwhump @writereleaserepeat @susiequaz12 @rabass @whumpsday

[lilyfreshwater]

hiii i noticed in one of your posts you mentioned that you were premed and i wanted to ask you for some advice!! im an incoming premed freshman (majoring in biochem but im debating on switching to neuro) and im kinda nervous lol. do you have any tips on how to stay on top of things and balance classes with clinical work and research? thank u <3

omg omg omg IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS OPPORTUNITY ok so i have a ton of advice but i'll try to be brief

1) im putting this paragraph first because this is the most important advice i can give you. like seriously if you listen to nothing else listen to this:

you can't know everything

this isn't high school where you just have to memorize where the 50 states are on a map. this is college where you have to know the entire krebs cycle after it's only been explained once and that's like only 10% of the info on the exam. so the best thing you can do for yourself is accept when you've hit a plateau and move onto something else. for example, say you've got a bio exam and a psych exam coming up. it takes you 20 hours of genuine study time to master 93% of the the material in bio. it would take another 20 for you to get to 95%. but with that other 20 hours, you could master 96% of the material for psych. your brain wants to say "well i'll just spend 60 hours studying then" but believe me i know from experience that you can't do that without serious harm to you mental and physical health. it's so so SO much better to study the 40 hours and accept a 93 on bio and a 96 in psych. and then you can use the extra 20 to get more sleep, hang out with friends, volunteer, work in a research lab, or he'll study for another subject. you will love college and being a premed so much more if you do that

2) im a neuro major so ur an anon after my own heart. idk what the major is like at ur school but at mine it's really flexible and has a lot of cool opportunities attached to it so i would definitely reccomend it. the cool thing is tho you're just starting out so, provided you don't have to swap to a different school (engineering, arts and sciences, etc.), then you can definitely take time to figure out what you want. i came into college wanting to do neuro and bio double, switched to a single major in a completely different area, and then added on a neuro major recently so the most important thing at this point is to keep your options open

3) time management depends a lot on the school you attend. i attend a fairly good university, so i spend a shit ton of time studying and don't have as much time left over for volunteering/research. luckily med schools generally account for that stuff, so just keep that in mind if you're getting a little bit of imposter syndrome. anyway, the best advice i can give you right now is to just get involved. don't assume that because you're a freshman that people won't value your input or enthusiasm

4) organization is your best friend. i use an app/website called "my study life" to track my homework and classes and have found it to be super helpful, but there are tons of other homework apps out there. it's also worth having an up to date calendar for any non-curricular things you need to keep track of, like volunteering. i just use the reminders app and make sure it's synced across my devices. you can't manage your time if you don't know what assignments you have to do or what you have scheduled that day

5) keep your priorities straight. what matters most to you will change from month to month, so making sure you're confident in what you're prioritizing and why is huge. for example, say you have finals in 4 weeks. if you want to start studying 2 weeks prior to your exams, put in extra effort and time with your research/volunteering in the 2 weeks prior to that and make sure your supervisors/primary investigators know that you won't be able to dedicate as much time during finals. you should still keep up with your responsibilities, but you need to dedicate the majority of your energy to finals because unfortunately grades do matter here.

6) it's ok to take breaks, it's ok to take a lighter semester, it's ok to hang out with friends, and it's ok to fuck up. everyone has to figure this shit out and there will be lots of things that look like failures but are actually blessings in disguise. for example: i got a C+ in gen chen and a B in bio my freshman year. some people would have retaken the class but i kept going, and in the process i learned a lot about myself and my study habits. i also learned that the purpose of weed out classes isn't to sort out the students who don't do well in classes, it's to sort out the people who will stop after failure. so i took that C+, new study habits, and new perspectives with me through my other tough science classes during my next two years and turned my grades around. now what started as a "death sentence" for most pre meds is an awesome cinderella story of perseverance that i can reflect on during my application cycle (all of those skills will also help me in med school too!)

i hope this was helpful and if you want anymore advice my inbox/dms are always open!

[meddlecine]

Fixing broken hearts in med school.

The hardest part about med school hasn’t been med school itself. (Although, I’m scrunching my eyebrows up as I write this, so maybe that’s not entirely true).  The hardest part about med school has been having a boyfriend.  Maybe that’s why I don’t have one anymore.

I moved out of our apartment in January, just one week before starting my second year of medical school. We agreed that me moving out would be best for the relationship. He would take over the lease, and I wouldn’t have to worry so much about money. Up until that point, I felt like I’d tried everything, from dyeing my soul every colour under the sun in the hope that he would fall back in love with just one shade. I tried, I really, really did. But the exhaustion from meticulously choosing every word and placating my tone in the anticipation of the next thing to go wrong, was unlike anything else. He wasn’t being rude, he insisted, just being honest. And if I couldn’t take it, then that was my problem.  I’d been seeing a psychologist, who eventually, after many sessions, shared that she couldn’t believe how much effort I was putting into this sinking ship. She suggested couples’ counselling. He refused.

Had it been going on for some time? Of course it had, but there was never a ‘good’ time to end things (is there ever?). What a laughable concept! “I’m a little busy this week, maybe we can break up next Thursday at 7pm?” To make matters worse and prolong the inevitable even further, I was always determined that there was something that I hadn’t tried yet. It didn’t matter though, because it kept happening over, and over, and over. No matter what I tried to change about myself, nothing worked. Not even the happiest of occasions could blunt the edge I was skating on: I was a bridesmaid for my best friend from school, and felt more alive and glowing than I had in months. But despite every determination to keep the makeup pristine, I couldn’t help let a few tears slip during the ceremony. The vows were beautiful, it’s true, but I think that part of me was quietly grieving as I grew to understand that the guy attending that wedding with me would never, ever love me in the same unconditional way that the groom loves my best friend. And I knew that he would never want to try, because he told me so. It didn’t matter how beautiful I looked that day on the outside. On the inside, I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink as it caught up to my head.

My spirit and self-esteem had been slowly pushed further and further into the ground to the point that I believed that maybe he was right. Maybe I am difficult, and stubborn, and dismissive, and unappreciative. In desperation, I reached out to an old ex of mine, a gorgeous Parisian lawyer who was always kind, honest, and made me laugh. He admitted that although it’d been a long time since we were together, there was no reason to ever justify such outbursts of anger, and assured me that I wasn’t any of those things that I’d listed above. “But of course, you’re not perfect!” he added. I smiled and raised my eyebrows at the message, grateful for his candour, all the while thinking that I probably could’ve done without the last comment. It’s a shame things never worked out with him; I can only assume he is happy with his life in France, as he very much deserves, but he at least serves as a sobering reminder for how I should be treated. I paused and cast my mind back. Our time together is a memory long gone now, but I still remember enough to know that I missed how I felt when we were together: calm, safe, my cheeks often aching from laughing at his quick wit. All things that I didn’t have now. His one small message of kindness after all these years made me realise how miserable I really was.

Because, when I thought about it... could I survive the next 3 years of medical school, plus my training with chaotically unpredictable ups and downs? I’d heard that medicine puts a strain on your relationships, but with or without med school, I don’t think I could survive this. Just a week prior, only a few days before my final exams for the year, we’d had a fight. Another one. No matter my attempts of resolution, they were met with jagged stares of contempt and crushing silence, and so finally, after three days of drowning in an ocean of anxiety, I pleaded for some kind of resolve. I couldn’t eat, sleep, or study from the stress-induced migraines, and was a complete mess at the idea that I would lose my relationship and fail my exams. “So it’s my fault if you fail your exams?” he scoffed. He told me to get over it. I patched things up as best as I could, determined to not let someone who could be so indifferent towards my feelings be my downfall. Miraculously, I passed my exams. But I knew that next time I might not be so lucky.

Moving out bought me one more month.  It sucks, but everything was clearly crumbling around me.  It wasn’t all bad—no one gets into a relationship with someone who’s like this at the start. There were many wonderful, fun, whimsical moments in the years we were together, and the guy I left isn’t the guy I first met.  In the end we just...  weren’t the right fit for each other.  So, I may be alone now, but I’m okay with that. For now, I love talking to the patients and hearing their stories, and I love seeing someone’s eyes light up when I ask them how they met the love of their life.

Hopefully one day I’ll get to share mine.

[harmonictechnicality]

Happy Valentines Day Harmony!! Couldn’t let the day pass without sending warmest wishes to the writer whose words make me believe in a romcom version of reality every time I read them and whose taste in music alone could launch 1000 crushes!! If you attended Hawkins High in 1984, the fruity four would be tripping over eachother to shove valentines in your locker (Nancy’s would be a very neat handmade heart complimenting your fashion choices and asking you on a study date, Robin’s would be a rocky horror singing card and pickup lines in her top five favorite languages, Steve’s would be whatever the 80s version of a papyrus card is and actually also flowers and balloons and so much chocolate and he would try to bribe you to not read his card with additional chocolates because it would be a sappy recounting of the first time he saw you, and Eddie’s would be a poster he drew of you two in a band (Tachycardia in Tandem, that old softie) and he would have written ~TiT 4ever~ on all of Steve’s balloons before realizing they now all said “tit” and contemplating popping them all before leaning in and cutting a new boob window in his shirt and asking you to be King and Queen Sluts for the day), but since it is not 1984 and you aren’t in Hawkins, it’s my pleasure to be able to pass along all their sweet thoughts and all of my own. As ever, I think you’re a tremendous writer with brilliant ideas and the most heartfelt execution, who is equally deft at crafting laugh out loud dialogue and tender yearning and extremely hot hookups and the most gorgeous descriptions of places and feelings and lewks, and who somehow manages to create such rich and detailed worlds that watching the same two (beloved) idiots fall in love over and over again feels new and heart racing every time. All of your posts are just as fun and delightful to see— whether you’re referring to your shadowy past as a theatre star (??) or talking about the music that makes you feel most at ease or complimenting another creator’s work or thirsting over the Joes (lol) or dropping updates about your day and your writing process, u always make me smile so anyway thanks for being alive in this moment and being online with us and I hope your day is magnificent and you treat yourself to many wonderful things 💓

Dear sweet angel!! I swear to all the stars and clouds, your messages never fail to fully brighten my day 🥹 So I want you to know how much I appreciate the time it takes to reach out or read anything I write, because I know it takes a lot of effort and I mean it when I say it NEVER goes unnoticed. I am so grateful for your kindness and your shared affinity for all things romcom ❣️

OH MY GAH, your valentine exchange is 10/10 - no notes, utter perfection. AGH! Pls write fics soon so I can gush about all of your amazing headcanons on these beloved characters 💕

In return for your sweet darling sentiments, I offer up a little meet cute story. This is a friendship meet cute that happened to me in college and I thought it was romcom worthy (despite being totally platonic):

So I was in a new friend group and I was didn’t know many of the people at this particular chill sesh. But at one point, my phone reminder went off to take my anxiety meds. So I pulled on my prescription bottle and someone at the other end of the table goes “hey! That looks like citalopram.” And I said “hey! That’s cause it is citalopram.” And then they pulled out their bottle of anxiety meds and we ended up taking our meds together. BOOM! Instant friendship via medication meet cute 🥰

I hope that story makes up for me getting to this a day late, it’s one of my favorites! Thank you times forty thousand (that feels like the right number to me) for being such a beacon of positivity in this fandom. You deserve every inch of kindness and respect, never ever forget that.

Have the absolute BEST of belated Valentine’s Day, dear friend!! 💖💖💖 (You can totally rewatch Sleepless in Seattle again, Nancy Wheeler would approve of its year round watchability 😉)

[yournewfriendshouse]

I’ve had a change of meds, which means I get a crumb of mental clarity and immediately

—make breakfast

—try to sketch up a medication schedule

—go online to buy a planner (but thankfully didn’t spend $50 on stationary or but the things including furniture from kmart that almost led to)

—try to go on my gov to see my medicare billings to make a more accurate schedule of my meds changes but can’t log on

—and so miss the chance of a reminder that I had a zoom meeting that I failed to attend because my current calendar/reminder protocol sucks which, ironically, this burst of activity was all about

—decide I need to chill and decide I can’t read another word on a screen I need to read book I’ve been meaning to read

—search for the book and can’t find it but going to the bookshelf reminds me I have this cool little b6 file that I could use for my planner/schedule, frantically search for the file, can’t find it

—see some cool art and polaroid I should totally frame and hang (thankfully do not try to frame and hang them)

in between all of this I was slowly sieving some plum syrup out of a pot I stewed yesterday, and this is important because after realising I mossed my meeting and messaging my social worker I try to finish the syrup so I can pack it away and clean up but at the last stage before glad wrapping the jug of syrup (wiping the mess off of the outside) I manage to somehow break the jug while it was in my hand and spill syrup all over the bench, the cupboards, myself and the floor

—let out the saddest noise as I try to clean ip a mess that looks like the set of hannibal. mourning that I couldn’t even take a photo of it to laugh about with my friends

—can’t find the mop so try to clean with a combination of towels, paper towels, a dishrag and some baby wipes lmao

—shower the sticky off

—collapse into bed but can’t sleep or even chill properly because: meds are making the brain go over everything that went wrong and how I could do it better

welcome back brain, I can’t believe I missed you

[demi-kitty]

Off antidepressants: a short mindramble about finding my creativity and then realizing that antidepressants "muffle" all I feel.

Personal experience with depression compressed over years finally being let out like a spring in a can. So many emotional experiences written about, so little time.

You can probable skip the paragraphs of recipe-level personal anecdotes. This is mostly metaphorical pseudo-poetic stream of consciousness about medicine and audhd *as my personal experience*.

I recently went off my meds

Just antidepressants

Not by choice really

I had started intermittently forgetting to take them

I don't know why

I started experiencing intrusive sleep

I was starting to unmask as I learned I might be AuDHD - ADHD and Autism

Things I had done years previously but had nearly forgotten now made sense. I cringed. Laughed at my child self, and moved on.

But my mind was hell, intermittent feeling muffled, intermittently my emotions threatening to break through.

I think it cost my my job

I smoked weed to hide the pain

I couldn't tell my mother

I stopped being a good employee

I stopped being a model human

My head was a mess

I'm praying for a dream to make me fall out of this world. Not stop, no, just make the world stop.

I need a break.

I'd like off this rides, the ups and downs are making me sick.

But I'm technically the only one at my job that can do what I do. I can't go off without worrying they'll be backed up. I'm barely needed, but needed at least once daily.

So I'm let go because the empty nothing of the day was dulling my mind and I couldn't think straight.

So I stop being insured

And I was out of zoloft substitute

And I was scared of the beast that had since been pacified

Three months of my medication being gone awaited me, three months of weekly "may I please have my medicine" and not hearing back anything but "we need insurance to schedule you".

Everything was chaos. Everything was bubbling over.

The smallest change in plans sent me into a meltdown.

I forgot that I was attending a family get together, and my mom being kind and reminding me a few hours early made me break down.

Full meltdown, fully sobbing and crying "please" in the shower, while scrubbing myself down and telling myself I'll feel better in a few hours.

Begging, pleading, my whole skin and bones wanted to just plop onto my computer chair and play the games. Easy dopamine was better than leaving my comfort zone.

I dried myself off with my musty towel, don't mind the cat box needing cleaning in the same room. I throw on clothes the cats have slept in, pretending I can hide the wrinkles. I sneak some weed without thinking. Maybe it'll make me think clearer.

I text my mom and ask if we can get something from the store for the potluck. Mom agrees. I get something for the kids, and something I known I'll eat. Suddenly Becky's store-bought cookies make more sense. I'm fighting tears and feel like an infant the entire walk from mum's car to the store and back. The kids play Bocce Ball and I can't stop reminiscing.

It's a lovely gathering, everyone behaves like adults. My grandparents expressed sympathy about the housing market last time we met, a few months ago. I forgot to tell them I'm unemployed now. Might as well tell them here. We talk about how to get a job like adults trying to be logical about the job market. I bite my tongue about autism as much as I can.

My mother who has made ends meet during a financially abusive father chimes in, she's looking for a part time job. Her apartment is unaffordable, and she lives with her partner now. They're happy, but things are looking rough even from there.

We discuss activism. I tenderly ask about the house my grandparents lived in before they moved back into their trailer.

I'm back home before I know it. I've had a real meal. I've had some real socializing.

And the days before, and the days after, it's hell. All blended together. These 3 months. That was just one event.

But for once something else pushes through. A huge sensation of spite.

Motivation.

Motivation pushing something old from inside me.

I want to make

I'm an artist again

I'm seeing colors.

The difference between the hues, the structure of the bones to the muscles to the skin to the hair and clothes.

My the skills are rusty. It's clunky.

I'm able to pour my soul into something again. I'm ready to learn and grow again.

I start to make. I draw.

I get a glove for my tablet.

I play with colors.

Lineart.

I finish a piece.

It sucks.

I hate it.

And I love the feeling.

I understand what it feels like to have rekindled something.

I found my passion, my soulmate.

My best friend from toddlers to highschool found me again and it was the best.

But my old best friend still hadn't shaken their best friend.

The painful emotions that are expressed in creativity. Uncovered at last, hand in wonderful hand.

In between meals and cleaning up my apartment, I feel it.

So much pushing to the surface. I don't control it. It's not even tangible.

Layers upon layers of painted emotions to mask the real pain underneath.

All different colors in hindsight, blues and reds.

So many memories, so many emotions I've forgotten to feel. In moments I'm jubilation itself, dancing across my apartment and whispering sorry when I stomp.

In a split second tears are pouring down my face.

Agony courses through me.

I'm sobbing and wretching out my heart because there's too much overflowing.

Spilling colors and rainbows of emotion.

Van Gogh's madness makes perfect sense, and it hurts.

When you need to stretch a muscle you haven't flexed in a while, it tends to feel like you remember how to move it, but it hurts or it's stiff. It pops and hurts. You push it beyond its current means so it remembers to support you.

I could almost feel my mind reconnecting the wires as I sat back and painted on my iPad and on a canvas.

Like Viktor Frankenstein, I was gripped with creative madness and could not stop painting.

Pouring blues and blacks for a night sky, hoping to sieze the creative urge in the moment.

An old friend you suppress the urge to kidnap because you're scared you'll never see them again.

I remember why I studied art, studied Japanese.

Wow.

The world has so much color I forgot about.

So many details stick out, like I've been given glasses and the world is clearer.

The world's on fire, but I'm appreciating some of the smaller things again.

Things I forgot I could appreciate.

Vibrant sunlight filtering through leaves.

And anger. So much. So much anger.

It's foreign, it's lovely. It's overwhelming.

Love. For my little fictional characters. Their world is still there.

Ready to be made

The brain muscle flexes and my chest tightens.

And I sob for the years past boiling over.

And then it ends again. And I'm still sobbing.

Daily, my emotions pour out onto the floor. I'm mentally in the second grade reliving a memory, then I remember I'm here in my 25 year old body. Then I'm a teenager and it's 2014.

I can't even leave my house. I'm in shambles. Facing a demon I knew would attack one day, but hoped would never experience.

Medi-cal goes through. The one thing I wanted, needed, pleaded, was for a refill of sertraline. Make the pain go away. At any cost.

I can't even go for it myself. I feel like a coward as I text my mother, I'm too scared to leave the house. It's been too emotional.

"How are you feeling?" She asks as she worriedly gets me my sertraline.

Facing down eternity and every possibility to a single answer, I'm overwhelmed, and cry again.

Never better, I'm creating like it's an old friend.

Never worse, it's been months without a job and everything hurts.

I'm catching up on games I missed out on as a kid, I'm painting, I'm facing a normal, refreshing sleep schedule.

I can't interact with a human without turning into an emotional puddle of mental nonsense.

I should probably not be facing these moments alone, but I don't want my loved ones to see me like this.

Layers upon layers of my love and hate and pain are overflowing

Observations in antidepressants

For a split second it's magical

I'm able to make the calls I need. The most important things I can't stop pushing off are done.

I can read through a single Geronimo Stilton

Then it settles back again.

The emotional turmoil was there. It was just more muffled.

Like a jaguar that got out. It pounced and attacked. It was caged outside its habitat after all. The zookeeper put it back in. The zoo has started cleaning up.

The jaguar is still there, and it hungers for it's freedom.

I tasted freedom. I want to feel it again.

The antidepressants begin to cloud my abilities.

The world fades and blurs.

I stop painting again.

My passion projects fall out of my motivation and reach.

And I'm finally able to put words to how I feel.

The antidepressants feel like sludge.

I'm wading through the sludge of my mind. It all slurs together.

A blanket of sludge plopped on a problem. The pain is still abundant, so it's producing in excess.

The emotions had to try so hard to be heard, so when the dam was released it flooded the town.

The creativity is dimmed and the motivation is beyond my reach.

I sleep for hours because I can't remember how well-rested feels.

No wonder I felt like a robot.

What I crave most is being drip-fed on the wrong frequency and consistency. Everything is muffled, to the point the backup upon compressed backup started pushing things through.

A pressurized canister went off and I had years of pain and creativity to make up for.

I think the antidepressants kill my creativity.

They kill my motivation and create a block to both my emotion and the rest of myself.

I found the me I was happiest with in those moments of unmedication.

I found the me who couldn't stand reality and refused to partake another second.

I found the creativity I missed.

I found the suicidalmind I had fought so hard to forget.

But now the spigots are back to being identical.

Slow dripping.

I don't have much motivation to exist, to create, to feel.

I only feel motivated as I'm falling asleep late late in the night.

Then I'm convinced tomorrow I'll conquer the world.

After a nap.

A sludge blanket has compressed my world again.

It was great when feeling apathy could get me through the day, but now my skills are withering like non-native plants in the desert and I'm staring across a longer distance trying to reach out to that happiness I used to be able to grasp.

I'm not "me" on my medicine, because it keeps me from feeling the energy and joy that I've tied myself and my soul to.

But I'm "me" on my medicine because it stops me from feeling the pain that whispers "just a bit. You're so small, you could stop existing for a bit."

My creativity wants to be loud, but it's logic knows I won't get far.

I'm resigned to that, but my medicine makes the logic too loud it stops the rest of my creativity from keeping on.

There must be a way these coexist.

"I'm" pushed down like garbage, but it needs to be unpacked and sorted, otherwise everything I accidentally tossed in there will rot with it.

My brain is tired of wading through sludge. It's been focusing on pushing through for survival, it forgot that it was inhibited and started giving up.

It has so much boiling out from under the surface.

I think I need to look into taking a different antidepressant.

[sleepyivoryrose]

The rose season arrived. There are beautiful, big roses, white, and red, and cream colored, right before my house in a little sitting area (you can't even call it a park.) Sadly, that's where all the drunkards gather, even in broad daylight, so I seldom sit there.

It's not as bad as Munich Central Station, thank god it isn't, but clearly this is the block where they like to attend their meetings.

That doesn't take anything away from the roses though. They smell wonderful, and look even prettier.

It's always one of the few highlights of summer for me. Of course they remind me of my comfort character, but my parents also had roses in their garden, and it reminds me of them. Even if I don't always get along with them, they're often in my thoughts.

Near that place there are also extremely fragrant bushes with small, white flowers (but boy do they have power! smelling power!)...a lot of cat owners seem to live in that area too, since I sometimes see some roam about...they aren't exactly open to strangers though, so I mostly look like an idiot trying to attract them.

Not that it stops me to keep doing it. They remind me of the girl-cat of my my parents, Kiwi. (I know- a lot of people say that it's funny that a cat is called after a a bird. We were thinking of the fruit though)

I wonder if the fruit is called after the bird or the other way around. They do look a bit similar, don't they?

Today I got myself Eiyuden Chronicles, I think it is called? I'm a bit excited, since this series is supposed to be the emotional successor to Suikoden, and I loved that one. I only played 4 and 5, but I like them both...5 has a special place in my heart. It's so 2000s moe, I love it. But yeah, let's see what kinda game this one is. I actually wanted to buy the physical copy of pokemon scarlet with the dlc already on it, but 100€ is waaay too much. Specially since I also got myself a squishmallow (finally I found one that I like! I couldn't let it escape!) But my finances...I hope I still have enough for my plans in September. I want to visit a friend, but I have to book a hotel, and those are kind of expensive, specially in the town I'll be sleeping. I should start looking for hotels...

I am not very responsible. What happened, I used to be such a hard worker! Now I got lazy. The psychiatrists always say that the meds kind of make you a bit...heavy-hearted? Like, you don't have motivation to do anything. It's like a little depression, really. I have to do house chores too...help...

My roommate can't stand me...understandable...I mean...at the start I tried really hard, but she kept ignoring me...so I got tired, and now she asks me often when I will leave the house, so she has a few days for herself. Funny thing is- when I'm gone, she doesn't even notice it, if I don't tell her beforehand. If I'm already so quiet that she doesn't even register I'm here, then why does she want me out of the house so badly?!

arrggghblrubhrghblrurbh

HHHHAAAA

I'm spiraling again. Nobody cares, Sae. Chill for two seconds.

But it is very handy, when I look back at it in half a year or so. Then I've got maybe a clearer head and a better idea why exactly I said the things I said.

Do I have fandoms right now I could talk about...?

I got back into Food Fantasy. AGAIN. It got me by the metaphorical balls. Honestly, my friend and I are still surprised it's still here, it's been running since 2017. It's been almost ten years! Can you believe it? There's a ton of food souls (I can't find Weißwurst on the Fandom Page of it...! Why would they remove *him*?! Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte I get, but...) I like

I first got into it because of the bar simulator. Even though I don't like alcohol and I don't like when people drink (at the end of the day, it's none of my business though...it's more like a pet peeve) I find bars and barkeeps weirdly aesthetic. Or maybe not so weirdly? Actually, it makes a lot of sense.

And the restaurant mechanic is also fun. And the collecting of food souls...the only thing I'm (hilariously enough) bad at is the actual fighting. I suck so much at building a team.

My brother and my friend live for the grindset though (my brother's back at it in Food Fantasy, my friend turned to Genshin) They always get crazy strong really fast. I wished I had their dedication for the grind.

My apothecary diaries hyperfixation calmed a little bit down. I'm still working on my Li island in Animal Crossing. I like breeding the roses, even though I've come to a stalemate. The violet roses I bred don't give any "special whites", white roses which are necessary to breed blue roses. Even though I could have sworn that I've only used the right roses...I even did a test phase! Honestly, I am getting a little impatient. I've been sitting at it for what, two or three months now? To be fair, I barely timetravel, and I don't play everyday, but...

I'm also trying to complete all my pokemon games. Lord know's when my DS-es while give out, so I gotta hang in there.

----

Aside from the fandoms...I've been training against my social anxiety again. It's tough, I get so easily annoyed and irritated. I can barely do anything alone, it's that paralyzing. Barking dogs don't bite, but scared dogs surely do. And I'm one of them. Man, I just want to live a peaceful, comfortable life. If I can't even do the easiest of things, then how I am supposed to cope in a work environment? People there use me as much as they can't, because they know I can't talk back. It's frustrating.

But one step at a time. Easy does it.

--

My foot hurts for some reason. And my back, but that comes from sitting so much, 100%. Maybe I've gotten so overweight that it's hurting my feet. Poor things. I guess I have to power through the walking to lose weight. Developing a routine is so difficult...

--

Well, I think that's about it. I complain a lot...I have to train my optimistic and creative muscles. My head muscle. Brain, exactly. But I think I am doing slight progress. At least last days I feel more of my emotions than usual. Having no one to forbid you from getting sad or angry like my gaslight, gatekeep girlbossing mother actually does wonders for my emotional health.

There! I'm doing it again! GOD DAMN IT!!

Anyways, this one is a hefty one. I guess I'm off for today!

[beyondthisdarkhouse]

I am TRYING to be fair to the "barefoot is best" people, because I know that emotionally I consider them as very similar to the "Go off your psych meds! Eat 16 oranges a day instead!" people. (Is that reference too dated now?)

I found a perfect demonstration of what I mean in my google searching. In a running forum, someone posted asking for help, since they have "significant hip and knee discomfort" and that "it seems that my foot has been the cause of the problem. The inner front of my left foot is raised, which causes me to roll in when I walk and run." This is the same issue I have! It's where the bare foot cannot rest fully on the ground without causing the ankle to collapse. The bare foot is intrinsically fucked up and cannot walk healthily without assistance.

The thread only has two replies:

*JAZZ HANDS* BAD ADVICE EXTRAVAGANZA!

Because even as a podiatrist hawking his own invention admits, people like the OP whose feet chronically and dramatically under- or over-pronate, even if their toes are given every chance to work normally, should probably have orthotic assistance:

He says this is about 3% of the clients he sees, which is very comforting if you're marketing towards 97% of people and less comforting if you're not among them.

Something that enrages me is seeing people point to things like this 1949 study, "Survey in China and India of Feet That Have Never Worn Shoes". Its conclusion is more of a soundbite than any other scientific paper I have ever seen.

Conclusion

People who have never worn shoes acquire very few foot defects, most of which are painless and non-debilitating. The range of their foot motions are remarkably great, allowing for full foot activity. Shoes are not necessary for healthy feet and are the cause of most foot troubles. Children should not be encouraged to walk prematurely and should not wear any footgear until absolutely necessary. Footgear is the greatest enemy of the human foot.

Which is great... until you go back to the section about their sampling methods, which says. "Persons with any obvious generalized disease or deformity, acquired or congenital, were not considered as falling within the scope of the survey and so were not included."

(It's little things like that that remind you that in 1949, the Western medical establishment generally thought that disabled people ought to be segregated from the rest of society in asylums. One of my elementary school teachers had the goodness to recommend I read books by disabled Canadian author Jean Little, to give me a sense that I was not alone. Her first published novel was 1962's Mine for Keeps, about a girl with cerebral palsy who comes home to her family after living for five years at the Allendale School for Handicapped Children. She barely knows her siblings, and is absolutely amazed that her family has outfitted the house with things like carpets that won't slip out from under her crutches as she walks. She's the first person with cerebral palsy to ever attend her neighbourhood school. She gets friends and adopts a dog, it's adorable. But my point is, it's really useful to remember that when people say, "Back in the olden days, people didn't have these disabilities!" they're mostly unaware of the reality that back the olden days, people with those disabilities didn't get to go out in public.)

Spiders Georg is an outlier adn should not be counted... up until you are the doctor tasked with treating Spiders Georg! At which point it is not very helpful to say "Well, the average person eats 0 spiders a year, so I don't think spider consumption is something you need to worry about."

And if something affects 1% of the population, that means that in a statistically average city of 1 million people, ten thousand people have it.

So I'm still very "Oh fuck OFF" when someone wants to tell me that barefoot running worked for them and therefore shoes are bad for everybody. I'm even chronically stressed with places where I'm asked to take my shoes off at the door, because walking barefoot hurts and therefore I'm always having to decide between prioritizing my own health, and appearing rude and standing out as That One Weird Person With Her Shoes On. Especially since sometimes going barefoot has strong spiritual/religious symbolism, and I'd like to not be a walking desecration, you know?

But that doesn't mean the barefoot lobby is completely useless. I've had a lot of success learning from the scientists and doctors who study foot movement and have questioned standard podiatric treatment. I spent a long time getting blisters from orthotics that propped my foot into the correct position but didn't care at all about how my foot moved throughout the gait cycle.

I've spent ten years mostly away from podiatrists, learning what I can from pedorthists, physiotherapists, and ballet dancers. I've moved from using my right foot as a peg leg whose joints didn't articulate to being able to tiptoe and even, very cautiously, dance. I made myself a special 2" tall rubber mat so I can exercise barefoot while still giving my short leg the height boost it needs to put my hips even.

But being Spiders Georg is tiring as all fuck sometimes. Sometimes I'd like to be counted.

[thefanficmonster]

Matured

Corpse Husband & Little Sister Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Sibling Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Corpse’s search for a roommate ends shortly after his little sister calls him, telling him she’s moving out of her high school dorm in the suburbs following her graduation to attend college in San Francisco.

Requested by @bugger2002  Hi darling! Thank you so much for this adorable request, I had such a fun time turning it into a fic! Sorry it has taken me so long to complete it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read! Love, Vy ❤

Alright, it’s been a month since Y/N announced she’d be moving in with me - no, she didn’t ask if she could nor if I’d want her to, she straight up casually informed me she’d be moving in with me since she’s starting college. I’m lucky she even thought to tell me, knowing her it wouldn’t have been so strange for her to just show up on my doorstep with a grin like “Alright, I live here now.” Having a six years younger sister who can act both younger and older than me - sometimes both at the same time - is a bit complex. Obviously, my protective and nurturing brotherly instinct kicks in whenever she complains to me about something, but seconds later she tells me she’s taken care of it already and I feel like a fool for overreacting even if it was only internal. She’s calm and rational when she needs to be and a reckless airhead whose only goal is to have fun when she wants to be.

And judging by her and her friends’ main methods of obtaining said fun I can see how much alike we are: playing drunk video games, drunk darts, drunk pool. You see, there’s a lot of drinking involved and that’s something I’m greatly unhappy with and have scolded her on countless times just to get a fake promise, probably with fingers crossed behind her back - that she’ll cut down the alcohol. Not to mention she’s not even old enough to drink so I’ve been very insistent on her cutting her bad habit. She’s tried calling me hypocritical at times but she can’t do so rightfully since I’m, you know, of drinking age. So she’s basically bound by law to follow my advice and orders.

At least now that she’ll be staying with me I’ll be able to keep a better eye on her. A rascal high school student will either mature-up in college or go even more downhill. I aim to make her fall in the first category, but I’m making no promises - she’s very unruly, just like me. Damn, never did I think my own traits would come hitting me in the back of the head like a boomerang but here we are.

Regardless of all the crap I’ve just spewed about her, she’s a wonderful girl. She’s always been my pillar of support and never gets tired of it. She never misses a call of mine and has never not replied to a message of mine, no matter how drunk she’s been. She’s never skipped a Saturday night Skype call, no matter how busy she’s been. She’s never let herself forget she has a brother who often times needs her by his side.

Once she even talked one of her friends who has a car and a driver’s license drive her all the way to my apartment complex when I was having a really bad anxiety attack and legit couldn’t talk on the phone. She went door to door to find which apartment I live in and stayed with me the whole weekend she was supposed to spend at a music festival or something. It’s not wonder she’ll be a med student - she’s always wanted to be a nurse and has practically been my personal nurse since she was twelve. She maybe wasn’t always physically present to help me, but she’s a great instruction giver for when I need her and she’s unable to come to my aid.

Well now, we’ll both be there to aid one another.

“BEEP BEEP FUCKER!“

I nearly flip off my chair at the distinct yelling coming from directly below my window. I’d recognize that voice anywhere, and it’d always bring a smile to my face without fail.

I rush to get up from my desk chair and open the window but when I do so, she’s no longer on the sidewalk. There’s only a car I recognize to be the one of the friend that drove her here during that nightmarish episode I explained earlier.

Before I can ever back away from the window, I hear my front door swing open and a yell echo from down the hall, “Corpse! How many times do I need to tell you to lock your door, damn it!”

“The same amount of times I’ve had to tell you to cut down on the al- WHOA!“ She doesn’t let me finish the sentence and jumps me the second I step out in the hallway.

“Missed you, stupid!“ She says, her legs wrapped around my waist as she ruffles my hair, “I’ll trim your hair later. Why have you let it get so long?“ She questions, furrowing her brows at me while running both her hands through my mess of a hair - she has a point, I’ve let it get out of control. While doing so, she seems to get an idea all of a sudden so she quickly climbs down, reminding me of the huge height difference we have now that her feet are on the floor. “I know you two have met before, but I think you need to re-meet...“ she says, turning to look at her friend who’s smiling timidly at her. She sends the flustered girl a wink before turning back to look at me, “Corpse, I’d like you to meet Abbey, my girlfriend“ she says proudly, skipping over to the blue haired girl and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Y/N pushes up on her tiptoes and places a kiss on her girlfriend’s cheek. It’s adorable to see her shorter than yet another person she clearly adores to annoy.

I smile at the two girls, holding back a chuckle as to not embarrass Abbey more, “Well then, nice to meet you Abbey. You should know you are one strong soul to be putting up with all that.“ I purposely don’t look at Y/N as I motion towards her, earning me a pissed off “Hey!“ as a response to my remark, “Stick around for dinner, don’t worry neither of us will be cooking.“ I point at myself and then at Y/N as if to reassure her she won’t be a victim of food poisoning.

“Actually...“ Abbey says, tilting her head to look my shortie sister in the eyes as if taunting her to say something.

She finally caves, raising her left hand as though she’s volunteering, “Ugh fine, I may or may not have taken a cooking course and may or may not know how to cook a decent meal. It’s whatever, really.”

To say I’m impressed would be an understatement. I’m impressed, shocked, surprised and flooded with joy that my sister has finally decided to start maturing. “Cooking course, huh? When did you decide living off of takeout isn’t a nice way to live?”

She rolls her eyes at me, “Oh no I still go full weeks with only takeout and cereal, I just needed a distraction because...well...” she trails off, her gaze dropping awkwardly as she fishes for words or perhaps already has them found but doesn’t want to spit them out.

Abbey huffs, taking Y/N’s hand and lifting it to show off her wrist where I catch sight of a batch of colorful handmade bracelets, “Because these aren’t gonna earn themselves.”

I raise an eyebrow, puzzled as to what exactly she’s referring to.

Y/N sighs, taking one of the bracelets, playing with it nervously, “I have one for every month I’ve spent without getting drunk - Abbey made them for me. I need a distraction to stay sober so...I took up cooking.“

I can’t remember a moment I haven’t felt proud of my sister. Y/N’s always been on top of her shit, drunk or sober she knows what she’s doing. She’s mindful even when she’s reckless, thinks soberly even when she’s been drinking heavily. She’s always proved herself to me and to the people who think of her as a lowlife without even trying. She lets the world breeze by her without thinking too much of it and yet she still mesmerizes me and many of the people she meets - Abbey has now officially joined the club.

But, all things said and considered, I think I’ve never felt as proud of her as I do right now, seeing those six bracelets on her wrist - half a year without getting drunk. I know she wouldn’t lie to Abbey, she rarely lies to me too, so those bracelets have been earned and well-deserved and that makes me feel like the Y/N I remember is not the one standing in front of me right now. That silly girl is still in the suburbs, making a shitty-ass choice of messing up her liver. A grown woman, a responsible adult has taken her place though, and I couldn’t be more glad.

“Y/N...“ I finally manage to utter her name, making her gaze meet mine, “I’m so fucking proud of you.“

A smile slowly stretches the corners of her mouth upwards, her eyes shning in a way that has nothing to do with the lighting in this hallway. She’s not a crier though, I know those tears are gonna stay right there, stubbornly refusing to escape her eyes, “Thanks, Corpse. I’m proud of you too....” she says, nodding her head slowly, “I can overlook the untrimmed hair.”

Sigh

Y/N will always be Y/N no matter what I guess. That’s a good thing - I love her just the way she is.

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[iam93percentstardust]

Hi, happy Shared Birthday Month, cause it's my birthday month as well!! Can I please prompt you a WinterIron, where Bucky and/or winter soldier is a science nerd and a massive Tony Stark stan? Happy with setting in any era, any rating 😄 Thank you! You are amazing and I love your stuff!

Happy late birthday! Sorry it took me a bit to get to this prompt but here is a cute no-powers au, featuring some minor Natasha/Steve and some science from a paper my lab group read in group meeting yesterday (check the ao3 story for the paper citation). Sorry I didn't come up with something more original for the science but this was on my mind.

As always, everything I write is also on ao3.

~

“Okay, Steve, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me—for us,” Bucky quickly corrects when Steve shoots him an amused look. “So what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to sit quietly in the audience,” Steve says.

“And what are we not going to do?”

“Shout that our best friend would like to bang Tony Stark like a screen door in a hurricane,” Steve dutifully repeats what Bucky has been telling him for the whole drive to the studio. He gives Bucky a sly smile. “Even if it’s true.”

Bucky swats his skinny arm lightly, enough to sting but not so hard that it’ll bruise Steve’s arm, which bruises like a peach. He still can’t believe he managed to win the tickets to watch the live taping of the one hundredth episode of Tony Stark’s show, It’s Only Science If You Write It Down. He’s been following the show since its first episode five years ago. Growing up, Tony Stark was to him what Britney Spears was to other kids. Stark was always in the news for his innovative inventions for his father’s company. Everyone had thought he would take over SI after his parents’ deaths, but instead he’d handed the company over to Pepper Potts, a then-unknown young woman working in SI’s financial department. Stark still held the majority of shares in the company but he’d turned his focus to becoming the next Bill Nye, along with his best friend. Bucky had stumbled across one of the articles about him when he was young and immediately developed one heck of a crush on him that hadn’t at all disappeared with age.

And now he’s here, attending the first ever live taping of Stark’s show.

It’d be a dream come true if only Steve wasn’t the one attending with him. Don’t get him wrong, Stevie’s great, but he’s also convinced Bucky needs to date more often and he’s very… enthusiastic about making sure that everyone they meet that Bucky thinks is even the slightest bit cute knows that.

Stark is the crush to end all crushes. He knows that Steve knows it. He also knows what Steve is like, and he thinks he’ll die of shame if Steve feels the need to let Stark know it too.

“You have your inhaler, right?” he asks as the line creeps forward.

“Yes, mother,” Steve sighs, patting his pocket. “And an EpiPen in the other pocket and my meds in my wallet.”

They’re reminded to keep their phones firmly in their pockets by the surly security guard—incongruously named Happy, according to the badge he’s wearing—at the front door and then ushered inside the studio, only to be stopped by a young woman with a clipboard as they’re climbing the risers.

“Hi,” she says with a sphinxlike smile that makes Bucky want to check that his wallet is still in his pocket. “Which one of you is Bucky Barnes?”

“Uh, that would be me,” he says, raising his hand slightly.

Her eyes catch on the silver sheen of his prosthetic. They don’t register anything other than idle curiosity, but Bucky still awkwardly tucks the arm away. It’s been almost ten years since the accident, but he’s still not used to the looks he gets when people see it.

“I’m Natasha,” she says. “Mr. Stark’s personal assistant. JARVIS noticed you when you entered the studio. Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you both that there’s been a change to the contest winnings.”

Dread starts to pool in Bucky’s stomach but it doesn’t have long to settle before her smile gentles and she adds, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing bad. He just wanted to invite the two of you backstage after the show is over.”

Bucky’s mouth drops open. Steve reaches over to close it and asks, “Why?”

To Bucky’s surprise, Natasha gives Steve a clear onceover, seemingly pleased by what she sees. “Mr. Stark wouldn’t like me to give away his secrets, but I’d imagine it has something to do with the way he spilled his coffee all over his front when he saw your friend’s picture.”

“Really?” Steve asks skeptically. “A notorious playboy tripping all over himself for this yahoo here?”

Natasha laughs, hard enough that Bucky mutters, “It wasn’t that funny.”

Once she’s calmed down, Natasha says, “He’s not as bad as you think. A lot of it is just reputation. And yes, as soon as he got a look at him, he was demanding I figure out a way to get him backstage.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Steve demands, taking an indignant stance.

Natasha hums, eyes going dark. “Oh no, you got invited backstage because I wanted to meet you,” she purrs. “I’ll come find you boys later. Enjoy the show.”

She saunters off, putting just enough of a sway to her step that Bucky suspects if he were attracted to women, he’d be mesmerized. As it is, he’s the one who has to reach over to close Steve’s jaw this time.

They take their seats and a few minutes later, Tony Stark and James Rhodes walk on set. They’re quietly talking to each other as the crew bustles around them, makeup artists darting up to make sure their faces look perfect. Stark is dressed in a t-shirt that says Engineers do it on the test bench—which is a terrible joke really and shouldn’t make Bucky want to laugh as much as he does—and well-worn jeans that perfectly mold to the shape of his bubble butt. Rhodes could be dressed in a paper sack for all that Bucky notices him.

Steve leans over and whispers, “You sure that I can’t yell that you want to bang Tony Stark like a screen door in a hurricane? Natasha made it sound like he’d be open to it.”

“You do,” Bucky hisses back, “and I’ll tell Natasha you were looking at her rear when she walked away.”

Steve makes an indignant noise and sits back in his chair, sulkily crossing his arms.

“Quiet on set!” the director yells. “And… action!”

“Hi!” Tony Stark says, smiling right at the camera. “I’m Tony and this is Rhodey and you’re watching Disney Channe!”

“He’s kidding,” Rhodes says long-sufferingly. “You’re watching It’s Only Science If You Write It Down.”

Later, Bucky wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what the show had been about. He’d spent the entire show too entranced by Tony’s voice and charisma to pay any attention to the actual science, which is a bit of a shame. He really does like science—he wouldn’t be getting his PhD in physical chemistry if he didn’t—but he can’t tear his eyes away from Tony long enough to actually watch the experiment. It’s fine; he can always watch the show later when it’s released (and maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll have Tony to watch it with).

It seems like both an eternity and only a moment before the show wraps. Tony and Rhodes leave to thunderous applause, only coming back out for quick bows before disappearing backstage again. Bucky and Steve stay seated while the rest of the audience filters out slowly until Natasha comes to get them. She and Steve chat quietly as she leads them backstage but Bucky can only listen with half an ear; he’s too nervous about meeting his personal hero.

Rhodes is leaving the room Natasha leads them to. He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots the three of them. “Good, you’re here,” he says, specifically looking at Bucky. “Maybe you can calm him down. He’s been bouncing off the walls since he saw your picture.”

“Really?” Bucky squeaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Really?”

“Really. He read all your papers last night—twice.”

“He has?”

Rhodes nods. “He really likes your piece on inelastic electron wave packet scattering.”

“Yeah? What did he—”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Rhodes interrupts. “I might be a rocket scientist but chemistry isn’t my preferred field of science. If you don’t mind, I’ve got a date to get to.”

He pushes the door open, letting them in, and leaves. Natasha slips through the door, followed immediately by Tony saying, “Where are—oh god, they left, didn’t they? I knew this was too much. Nat—”

“They’re right outside,” Natasha says smoothly. She opens the door further, revealing the two of them awkwardly standing there. Bucky’s gaze darts around a fairly nice dressing room before finally landing on Tony, who is blinking back at him with a wide-eyed, slightly stunned look.

“Hi,” he breathes out.

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches up in the tiniest of smiles. “Hi.”

“Great, now that that’s out of the way, get out,” Natasha says, giving Tony a shove so that he stumbles out of the room, right into Bucky’s arms. She reaches out and grabs Steve, pulling him inside. “Don’t disturb me for the next hour.”

“Uh,” Steve begins, but he doesn’t actually look upset by this turn of events, so Bucky doesn’t worry—too much, anyway.

He does, however, turn to Tony and ask, “Is he going to be okay?”

“Oh yeah, he’s fine,” Tony says breezily. “Natasha’s just very direct.”

“Right.”

Now that it’s just the two of them alone in the hallway, it’s a little more awkward. Bucky opens his mouth twice to say something, only to shut it again as soon as he realizes his question is stupid. For his part, Tony shoves his hands deep into his pockets and rocks back and forth on his feet.

Then the sound of what is obviously Steve moaning floats through the door. Bucky cringes and jerks his thumb in the direction of the door. “We should—”

“Yep,” Tony agrees.

They get all the way back to the set before they stop. They look at each other for a beat before dissolving into giggles. “Oh my god,” Tony says, clutching his sides. “I knew she moved fast but—”

“Well, Steve doesn’t move fast at all,” Bucky says, “so you can see where I’m a bit lost.”

That sets Tony off into another round of laughter. Bucky is calming down a bit so he takes the moment to admire the way Tony laughs with his entire body. It takes Tony a moment to realizes he’s being stared at. When he does, his laugh tapers off as he gives Bucky a lingering look.

“I’m Tony,” he says eventually.

“Bucky.”

“Wow, that’s really unfortunate.”

“You’re not wrong,” Bucky agrees. “Blame Stevie for that one.”

“Childhood friends, huh?”

“Literally played naked together in the kiddie pool.”

Tony grins. “That sounds familiar.”

“You and Rhodes—”

“Oh no, but if you ever get the chance to meet Janet Van Dyne, remember to ask her about the time she thought she could make a living selling mud pies.”

Bucky takes a moment to marvel that this is his life now, that Tony thinks nothing of giving him dirt on the most prolific fashion designer of their generation. “So, uh, Rhodes told me you read my papers?”

Tony’s eyes light up, and, wow, he looks really pretty when he’s excited. “Yes!” he exclaims. “I want to hear your thoughts on the—uh—the time-dependent density functional theory model.”

“I’d love to,” Bucky says honestly. He bites his lip. “Maybe over coffee?”

A delighted smile spreads across Tony’s face. “I’d really like that.”

He holds out his hand for Bucky to take, which he does. Tony’s hand is small and warm, fitting perfectly against his. They stand there, smiling at each other like idiots, until the surly security guard pokes his head around the corner and asks, “Boss, do you need me to drive you?”

Tony jumps. He shoots Bucky a sheepish grin and then calls over his shoulder, “No, I think we can walk, Happy.”

“Are you sure? There’s—”

“It’s only two blocks.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You know what, Happy. You should go see if Natasha needs you to drive her somewhere. I think she’s got a date too.” While Happy is distracted, Tony tugs Bucky towards a side door he hadn’t noticed earlier. “Come on,” he mutters. “Before Natasha decides to kill me for sending Happy to interrupt her.”

“You could not antagonize her,” Bucky points out.

Tony shoots him a mischievous grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[wonwoonlight]

📢: bestfriend!Wonwoo // fluff // 687 words

find the rest of requested drabble here

“Oh, you’re attending class?” Minghao greets him the moment Wonwoo plops down next to him.

“Of course, I am?” the older guy says, confused. “Am I not supposed to?”

Minghao turns to him, playing with the pen in his hand. “Your girlfriend didn’t tell you she’s sick?”

“[Y/N] is not my girl—wait, she’s sick?” Wonwoo asks, immediately fishing out his phone out of his pocket. You haven’t even replied his message from last night and he has assumed you’re sleeping in, not sick.

Minghao snickers, shaking his head. “I didn’t even say any name. But, yes, she’s down with fever since last night. I wouldn’t know too if I didn’t find her rummaging through the medicine box last night. Not sure if she’s waken—hey, where are you going!”

Wonwoo just waves his hand, not even bothering to look at Minghao as he hurriedly makes his way out of the class to your shared apartment with the guy.

He arrives half an hour later, hands full with all sort of stuffs he thought would help you; soup, painkillers, chocolate, and just about anything.

It is only when he’s in the building that he realizes he doesn’t have access to your apartment and he’s not sure if you’ve woken up, either. Thankfully he sees Seungcheol, a senior who lives on the same floor as you, just about to exit the building.

He’s kind enough to follow Wonwoo back in and beeps in the elevator’s access so he can go up. Leaving with a short, “Tell your girlfriend I said hi!”

Seriously, what’s with everyone assuming you’re his girlfriend? What a way to remind him he’s a wimp who doesn’t have the courage to confess to you.

When he arrives at your door, Wonwoo rings the bell in hope you’ve woken up. Not a minute later, the door is opened, revealing a very sleepy you still in your pajamas.

Wonwoo would’ve smiled at how adorable you look if not for the way you’re wobbly standing on your feet.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re sick?” he scolds you as he sets down the plastic bags on the small dining table. You follow him, mindlessly sitting down with your head resting on your arms.

You just shake your head, your voice muffled by your arms. Wonwoo just stares, silently asking you to repeat as he takes out the soup.

“Just didn’t want you to worry,” you whine, your head feeling extra heavy.

“That’s a really lame excuse.” He shakes his head after setting down the soup on the table, moving the chair to sit beside you. You automatically lean on his shoulder once he does so, body relaxing at the familiar warmth. “Have you taken your meds?”

“Nope. Have just woken up.”

“Did I wake you?”

“No. The pounding in my head did,” you pout, now feeling hungry at the sight of food in front of you.

Wonwoo looks at you worriedly, though his heart is beating a little too fast at the way you’re being whiny. You’ve always been rather clingy when you’re sick.

“Eat this before taking your meds,” he pushes the bowl to you, though unsure if you can eat by yourself because you seem somewhat delirious.

“Thanks, Woo,” you smile lazily, arms moving to slightly hug his arm before detaching yourself from him. “What do I do without you, really?”

Wonwoo just smiles back, silently watching you eat until you’re done. When Wonwoo’s about to clean up, you whine, telling him to do it later as you pull him to sit on the sofa with you.

Cuddling yourself to his side, Wonwoo moves around a little so he can put his arm around you. “Wanna watch something?”

“For background noise as I fall asleep?” you ask, yawning.

Wonwoo chuckles, getting the remote and turning on random stuffs on TV; he can feel your head getting heavier on his shoulder.

“Don’t get a girlfriend if it’s not me, okay?” you whisper softly before your consciousness slips away, sleep seeping in almost immediately.

Wonwoo bites back a smile, maybe confessing doesn’t sound like a bad plan after all.

[knightprincess]

Stay With Me (Echo x Fem Reader)

Words: 1553 Warning: None, just a bit of love for Echo

Echo wasn't entirely sure when her touches began to leave invincible burn marks on his skin. He wasn't sure when her voice had began to haunt his quiet moments, but still it had happened. Fives and Jesse had often encouraged him before the Citidal mission, yet he hadn't followed through with it, finding himself somehow terrified by the mere thought of (Y/N) rejecting him, instead he had settled for friendship. Fives had been the one to tell (Y/N) about Echo's fate after the Citidal mission, he'd held her as her heart broke, as she lost control of her tears and as her anger for the situation finally hit her. When Fives was killed Rex was the one to tell (Y/N), yet he had stayed to comfort her, knowing the unhealed feelings from Echo's death had been brought back to the surface, the Captain dare not tell her, his suspicious her beloved Echo was alive, he dared not get her hopes up in case he had to shatter them again. 

Although (Y/N) was a medic, she had found popularity among the 501st, often working along side Kix on the many cruel battlefields. For the most part it didn't effect her, but there were times something had been too much for her to handle. No number of exams and tests could prepare anyone for the harsh reality of war. Echo had taken a particular liking to (Y/N), he had instantly been attracted to her beauty. More than once he'd gotten an injury on purpose just to see her. Kix had caught on quickly but said nothing as he asked (Y/N) to tend to the Arc Trooper. A comment or two slipping from his lips as he did so. Kix had also been the one to encourage her when it come to her unspoken feelings for Echo. Yet he'd seen how much her heart broken when the boys comes back from the Citidal. (Y/N) had planned to tell Echo then and ask him out on a date, instead she had been told of Echo's apparent death. 

Jesse had been the one to tell (Y/N) about the theory of Echo being alive, with Rex's permission, he had told her about the mission to the opposite side of Anaxes with Clone Force 99. About the alga rhythm's voice and the answer given when asked who it was. CT-1409. In that very moment (Y/N) had allowed herself to hope again, her heart had done a few flips at the possibility of her Echo coming back. A lot of troops had noticed you hadn't been the same since Echo and Five's deaths. 

"General Skywalker" spoke (Y/N), as she found the heroic Jedi Knight, he made a point of knowing her after hearing the whispers of his troops. He'd quickly understood why so many of them had taken such a liking to her, not only was she a brilliant medic, but she also showed a love for each of them, always making sure to remember each name and how to tell them apart, a joke or two thrown in while attending to their battle wounds. "Permission to join the mission to Skako minor" she asked, being professional. She had prepared herself for being told to stay behind, she knew there were a lot of troops still in need of medical care, yet she had hope she would be granted permission to go along, offering her medical services should the small team need it. 

"Permission granted (Y/N)" calmly spoke Anakin, placing a hand on her shoulder in a friendly manner, knowing she could offer something many others couldn't. Not only was she positive on the battle field, but she also had skills in other areas. Plus he knew if Echo was there, she'd be one the Arc Trooper wanted to see. "Your skills are valuable. All I ask is you follow my orders. I don't think I could bare for you and Echo to be reunited only for one of you to be lost again" added the Jedi Knight, being sure to make it clear he wouldn't do anything to put her in direct danger. Yet also showing his support for what he could clearly see was there, even if it was something that had previous been unacted on. He could see how much brighter her eyes had become since Jesse had informed her of the discovery. 

The mission to Skako Minor was a success, although (Y/N) had been ordered to stay on the ship. Tech had informed her Echo had been found and they were attempting to make an escape. Just as he had informed her when they had gotten from the city. (Y/N) had waited patiently for the group to arrive, she knew Rex hadn't told Echo, she was there. Almost as he intended on it being a sweet surprise for the Arc Trooper. Especially when he knew Echo needed something, although the medical review with (Y/N) would likely be enough to remind Echo, he was still very much loved and missed during his absence. 

Although the medical review had to wait until the small battle was over. (Y/N) had once again been ordered back to the ship by Anakin, ensuring she would survive it. After it, the group gathered on the Marauder. Each needing some sort of attention. (Y/N) insisting of treating each of them, even if Crosshair and Anakin were being stubborn about not needing it, although she'd given them little choice in the matter. A few comments escaping Tech regarding Crosshair, with the sniper doing his best pout while being treated for the minor head wound. Rex had willingly allowed her to check him over, knowing well she was far more stubborn and generally cared for the well being of every trooper, no matter their rank or which legion they served with. 

Echo had been the last one treated at his own request. Finding himself nervous to be around (Y/N), especially after so long, although he felt his heart beat faster when she neared, he could help but hope she wouldn't look at him as she had done in the past. He hoped she wouldn't look over his with love in her eyes, he didn't want to be the one who let her down, especially when he didn't feel as if he could give her what he once could have. The Arc Trooper flinched slightly upon feeling her soft hands brush over his shoulders as she wrapped a blanket around him, being sure to keep him warm. She soon got to work, being sure to check the implants forced upon him. Although (Y/N) was pleased to have her Echo back, she could see he wasn't the same man he was before, he had lost the pride and confidence he had. Almost as if he had somehow convinced himself she wouldn't see him in the same way, in the short period they'd been reunited. 

"What's my diagnosis?" calmly asked Echo, a hint of the man he'd been peaking through his voice. The smile come back upon eye contact with (Y/N) being made. Yet (Y/N) could see through his unsure act, she could see he was attempting to be who was before to try and regain what he thought he had lost with you. 

"You'll live, although further testing is required in the med-bay" responded (Y/N), her normal soft grin appearing upon her lips, she was pleased to have him back yet found herself unsure how to say it without coming across as needy. The moment her eyes landed on him at the native village, she felt her broken heart begin to mend, she felt as if something she lost had been found again. Echo soon reached out for her hand, as she went to move away, the familiar burn of his skin where she had touched him, reminding him of the brave soldier he was and still could be if someone gave him a chance. 

"Only if you stay with me" responded Echo, as his fingers gently wrapped around her wrist, feeling the familiar yet welcome burn again. The sense of familiarity overwhelming him as she gave him the all to familiar smile filled with love, the same one she had given him multiple times before when he had flirted with her. The same smile that remained with him during his dull time as a prisoner of war, the same smile he was sure the Techno Union got fed up with seeing, as he often used the memory to block them out when he could. 

"You got it Trooper" voiced (Y/N), being sure to memorize every new detail, as she sat next to him. His drastic change in appearance doing little to bother her. She could tell he was still the same Echo, he was still the brave trooper he had been before. All be it a little broken, but she was certain, she could help fix him again, no matter how long it would take. He had unknowingly fixed her broken heart by coming back, so she was more than happy to help fix him in any way she could. Even if it was something as simple as being there when he needed her most. 

[joestarwhore]

NSFW Yandere Josuke (18+) x Female reader

his little darling managed to escape her obsessive and derange boyfriend house while he was gone.

She trys to get help and does but the good samaritan is Jotaro who leads her back to Josuke thinking she was over reacting.

Josuke angry she escape he takes her back home and has idea to keep her safe and home by finally putting a ring on her

Like The Ocean Finds The Shore (NSFW 18+)

Authors Note: 18+ ONLY. if you’re a minor please find another blog, this writings and scripts are not written for your audience. thank you bb!

You didn’t know what made it worse. The tears in your eyes? Or maybe it was the pouring rain in the pitch black night; never the less, you were barely able to make out where you were, much less which direction you were going. The muscles in your body screamed for relief, the gashes angrily stinging against the rain, pushing you to run far, far away from the house that became your personal Hell.

Anywhere was better than being with him.

Your legs burned as you pushed yourself down the hill, gaining as much distance as you could away from Josuke. You couldn’t help to think of the events that led to this; gaining a stand from Keijo, meeting Koichi in odd circumstances, all the tiny little interactions that led to you accidentally tripping over a brick. Right into Josuke’s unmoving backside.

The thunder was incredibly deafening, lighting up the city of Morioh below you. You didn’t know if Josuke had discovered your absence yet, but you knew you had to be far away from him when he did. You knew it was just a matter of time.

Suddenly the grass became concrete, and concrete became asphalt. Relief flooded through you as you realized that you had finally made it into city limits. You looked around for any sign of safety you could take, your sights finally landing on the Grand Morioh Hotel.

‘Oh my god, Jotaro!’ You started sprinting towards the doors, bypassing any on looker or someone saying any comment to you, all you cared about was finding the receptionist and finding Jotaro. You ran down the hall to the Plaza, seeing the nice attendant lady who always seemed to be the one working for the desk. As soon as she saw you approach, her smile went from one of welcome to a grimace of worry. “Oh my word sweetie, are you okay?? Do you need any help??”

You leaned on the desk for a second to catch your breath. “Actually.. yes there is something.. you could do..”, you took a deep breath, “can you tell me what room Jotaro Kujo is in? We’re related & we have a family member in the hospital and it’s imperative that I fill him in on what’s going on.” Not the best lie you’ve ever told but at this point, you couldn’t afford to be precise. The desk attendant nodded with assured hums, “Yes honey of course, give me just one second.”

You breathed in relief. Thank God. Josuke definitely knew by now that you were gone, & would absolutely be searching for you. Finding Jotaro gave you a little hope for safety but even still; Josuke was relentless.

“Okay darlin, 8th floor, 6th suite, it’ll be the one at the very end!!” Relief swept over you as you quickly expressed your thanks, sprinting up the stairs towards your destination. ‘This is utterly insane’ you thought to yourself; you were running from your deranged boyfriend to his nephew that’s a decade older than he is. Your clothes were torn, wet, your skin was bruised and bleeding out, a state of being you weren’t familiar with.

The raw emotion you felt as you reach Jotaro’s door can only be described as a broken hallelujah. You banged on his door as hard as you can, not stopping until Jotaros towering frame swung the door open.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?” His stone cold expression seemed to always be unwavering, but at the sight of you his eyes betrayed him. “What the hell happened to you?” You tried to speak, but no words came out, simply emotion ridden gasps between sobs. Jotaro took your arm and led you in, showing you to a seat by the fireplace & brought you a hot mug of coffee. You gave him a grateful look as you took the cup, Jotaro taking the seat in front of you with a first aid kit. “What happened to you?? Is this from an enemy stand user?”

You couldn’t help but give a lifeless giggle. Certainly felt like it, didn’t it?

Jotaro let you sit in silence for a second while he cleaned the wounds gracing your arms & face, carefully watching your facial expression for any sign of emotion, anything to hint at what might be going on. You didn’t even know where to start in explaining it, or even a way to explain how this happened.

Jotaro took your chin in his hand and turned your face towards his. “(Y/N), who did this to you?” The concern in his eyes made you feel the most cared about you’ve been in months. If you could tell anyone, it’d be Jotaro.. right?”

“It.. it’s Josuke.. When we started dating he was so good to me, he was charming & caring, he’d take time out of his day to spend time with me & would make sure i felt his love; but his actions just.. escalated. He was everywhere. He would text me throughout the day about what i was doing, saying certain comments about my outfits or what stores i was in, he ALWAYS knew.” Jotaro listened intently as he wrapped your forearm in gauze, giving you a nod it was okay to keep proceeding with what you were saying. “All of a sudden one day my land lord calls me to let me know that I was being evicted out of nowhere and i had 24 hours to leave. The same day, Josuke signed the deed to his Mom’s house & told me I could live with him. I just thought it was a crazy coincidence, I didn’t think Josuke would actually ever get me evicted. Then i found my land lords phone number in his pocket book. When I asked him about it he pretended like he didn’t know, and when i kept asking he..” The memory of him holding you against the wall, his knee putting pressure onto your slit, made you visibly cringe. The way he touched you.. it was so possessive, so needy, his eyes portraying one visible message. ‘I own you.’

Jotaro closed the first aid kit & put it under the seat he was at, a pack of pills in his hand. Jotaro silently put the two pills in your hand & got you a glass of water. “I’m sorry you’re going through this & I’m sorry you’ve been hurt so badly. The pills are a sleeping pill & a pain relief supplement, take those and you can sleep in my bed. I’ll handle everything in the morning.” You looked at the two white pills in your hand & threw them to the back of your throat, quickly chasing them with the glass of water he gave you. Jotaro gave you a pair of pajama pants and a t shirt, and helped you lay in the bed. “Goodnight, (Y/N). I’ll see you in the morning.”

You don’t remember anything past that.

__________________________________

When you woke in the morning, you were blinded by direct sunlight. You squinted your eyes as tight as you could, noticing that you were being held up my two arms that were walking at a brisk pace. Gently adjusting your eyes to open, you looked up to see Jotaro, a determined glare in his eyes.

“J..Jotaro where are we?” you whispered the best you could manage. Jotaro gave you a glance down before returning his eyes to the path.

“I called Josuke.”, Your heart drops into your stomach. He wouldn’t.. he couldn’t.. “He says you lost your apartment because your anti psychotics put you out of a job, & he had your landlords number to pay your moving out fees for you.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “No, no no no Jotaro that’s a lie, i’m not on anti-psychotics, I don’t have any sort of med like that, he’s fucking lying to you!!”

Jotaro gave you an expectant look. “That’s the other thing Josuke said. You’ve been flushing them down the drain instead of taking them like you’re supposed to. Josuke only wants to take care of you, (Y/N). There’s nothing to fear of him.”

“JOTARO, I HAVE NEVER TAKEN THOSE PILLS IN MY LIFE AND YOU FUCKING KNOW”- You saw a giant purple hand come over your face and cover your mouth, restraining you from saying anymore. “I’m sorry (Y/N), but this is what’s best for you.”

You heard a door in the distance open, and Jotaro looking up and locking eyes with someone. The voice you heard next made your spine freeze, and dread pierce your soul.

“Jotaro!! Thank you SO much for bringing (Y/N) back!!”

No.. Not again..

“Not a problem Josuke, i’d rather have assurance of (Y/N)‘s safety myself then just send her back here on a bus.”

You slowly looked over, finally catching sight of your boyfriend. His tall, muscular form loomed dangerously in the door way of his house, his pompadour reminding you of so many events, so many violations of your body..

God its sick that it was making you wet.

Jotaro set you on your feet in front of josuke, letting Star Platinums hand uncover your mouth.

You couldn’t look at him.

Josukes hand ran through your hair, “(Y/N) is all okay now that she’s here with me.” He put his other hand under your chin, lifting to meet you eye to eye. It was everything you remembered. Lust, anger, relief, and above all else: obsession.

Jotaro and Josuke bid their farewells. Hands on your hips steered you into the living room, Josuke gently closing the door behind you. You could feel his eyes bore into the back of your skull, your mind erratic with anxiety. God, what’s he gonna do??

“Y’know, you didnt have to run away. You didn’t have to leave me. You didn’t have to be SO FUCKING UNGRATEFUL.” Josuke threw a chair at the wall in front of you, the force of it making you fall backwards onto your back. You gasped as your back collided with the floor, seeing Josukes towering frame turning towards you. He kneels down straddling you, the obsession of his eyes terrifying as he wrapped his long fingers around your throat. Adrenaline went straight between your legs.

“I do everything for you, (Y/N). I house you. I feed you. I FUCKING TAKE CARE OF YOU.” Josuke ripped apart your shirt, shoving his knee on your hot slit, making you gasp in surprise. Josukes delicate features possess a hunger that you remember all too well. “I also make you feel good don’t i??” He removed one of his hands from your throat to attack your nipple with, making you arch your back & moan. Josuke bit his lip in ecstasy as he shoved his middle finger down your slit, swirling it around in your hot heat. Josukes mouth rested against your temple as you gasped in pleasure, sickly wanting him to just take you then & there.

Josuke slowed down his finger, gently massaging your clit at a comfortable pace. “I’m sorry if it was because you felt unloved. If that’s the case, I really promise to be better. Because you can’t leave me, (Y/N). You’re mine, my little princess, my sweet baby girl,” His fingers started to assault you again. You heard a zipper get tugged town, and Josukes hips sweetly grind against yours. “My little fucking slut.”

You started to panic as you felt the tip of his rock hard cock press against your heat, your adrenaline skyrocketing. He’s delirious. “JoJo honey please, d-dont make me do this i’m so fucking sc-“

Josukes hand slapped your cheek, making you yelp in pain, quickly resulting in your moth being covered once again. “No, you don’t get a say. You were a bad girl, baby. And bad girls-“

Your scream was strained as he bottomed out his 8 inch cock inside you. “-they get punished.”

Josuke rammed inside of you, yourself being pummeled into the floor as he chanted “Mine, mine, mine, -FUCK-, MINE!!” His dick assaults your G-Spot as you felt an orgasm start to build in your stomach.

“Are you gonna cum baby? Does my little fuckinf slut want to cum??” Josuke slapped your clit. “TELL ME WHO OWNS YOU.”

Pleasure overruled the mine on this one. “It’s you baby! It’s always been you and it always will, I promise I’ll never leave you again just-“ you squealed as you felt your build up about to break. “PLEASE LET ME CUM JOSUKE PLEASE!!”

“Uggh FUCK, cum on my fucking cock (Y/N) show me who OWNS you.” Josukes duet of lust and rage amplified as you exploded all over him, your moans and screams sounding like siren calls to himself. Josuke rutted into you, filling you to the brim with himself. He laid himself by you, wrapping his arms around your overstimulated frame. You laid there for a couple of minutes trying to catch your breath, your heart rate soaring. You could hear Josukes soft giggles beside you as you felt a hand caress your cheek. You looked him into his eyes, seeing the unconditional love and obsession. The never ending love and obsession.

Josuke sweetly kisses your cheek, holding you in his arms as he gently picks up your left hand. You felt a cold circle of metal grace your ring finger, slipping on perfectly. Fear gripped your heart as you realized what it was.

“My pretty baby.. my gorgeous doll,” Josuke rolled ontop of you and held your face in his hands. “This will make sure we’re always together. You & me, husband and wife!! My perfect, beautiful, fuckable wife..”

Tears started to slide down your face.

So, this was defeat.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you be my wife?”

You looked at the alabaster ceiling. This wasn’t possible for you. This couldn’t be happening. But you knew it was.

“Yes.. Josuke. I’ll marry you.”

Josuke gleamed as he smothered you with kisses and sweet nothings, giving you gentle touches as his lips grazed over your ears to say the only thing that comes out of his mouth: poison.

“I’ll always find you, baby doll.”

“Like the ocean meets the shore- I will always find you.”

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I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT & KEEP REQUESTING ALL YALL WANT!! TYSM!! 🤍🌿✨🌸👄🍌🌩