#i gotta get my insurance set up

[uwooyoungs]

//

[forcebookish]

had to stop taking the new adhd medication but the good news is i can drink coffee and iced tea again

[orcelito]

Hey I'm graduating college in may and I just kinda realized that I'll be Done Done with school after that. Not fake-done like I was graduating high school, where I'd have to go to college at the start of the fall. And not fake-done like I was in any of my semesters I took off.

Done Done. As in I accomplished my degree, and I won't ever have to go back to school if I don't want to. What a beautiful, beautiful thought.

[flygefisk]

little low on $$ (not an emergency!) + workin on a project that i need to order some supplies. comms would be in the 15-45 usd range, adopts would be 5-10.

please only vote yes if you would actually order!

feel free to go ahead n dm me if you want to order btw!

[new-fandom-scene]

Speechless

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Tim's lights are on, but nobody seems to be home.

Word Count: 1,572

By the time Tim and Angela made it out and into the bar, the usual nine to five crowd was already deep in "weekend mode". Groups of girlfriends were giggling while taking shots of cheap tequila. Packs of guys were working their way through pitcher after pitcher of beer. Weaving through the loud and lively crowd, Wesley already had their usuals sitting at their table for them. Lopez hums in content as she greets Wesley with a kiss and a grateful smile. "This is how it should be at the end of every week", Lopez declares before raising her bottle and clinking hers against Wesley and Tim's glasses.

"So now you're expecting me to be sitting pretty nursing the first round, just waiting for you guys to get here every Friday?" Wesley looks to his wife incredulously and rolls his eyes. "I think I'll pass". Angela shrugs dismissively, taking a sip.

"Obviously not every week, Babe. You and Tim's next lady can alternate every other week". Now it's Tim's turn to roll his eyes.

"Right, because a beer wench is all I'm looking for in a partner. No offense, Wes". Wesley shrugs.

"Since I have no choice but to accept this fate, maybe I can help find my new coworker? There's gotta be a single girl somewhere in my department. I can ask around on Monday". Angela takes her turn to roll her eyes.

"I so need my husband to ask around about the single women at his office", sarcasm dripping with every word. Lopez tips her bottle all the way up, getting the last drop, before setting it back down on the table. "Timothy will get a pretty lady soon enough. But right now, he's gotta get the next round."

Stiffly, Tim stretches his arms out wide and lets out a sigh before pushing himself up from the table. "Next round comin' up". Turning swiftly, Tim makes his way to the center of the bar, but not before bumping right into someone walking the opposite direction and back towards their table. Instinctively, Tim catches the victim of his unwareness by the waist, steadying her before fumbling any further.

"I am so sorry!" You say, rubbing your hands together anxiously. "I definitely thought I was paying attention, but there are so many people, I- I'm so sorry!" You try to search for any signs of anger or frustration on Tim's face, but you don't find any. In fact, you don't even think there's anyone home upstairs, from the looks of it.

Tim's mouth hangs open slightly as he stares at the woman in front of him. A million thoughts running through his head as none of those thoughts are actually making it to his mouth as tangible words. He doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as breathtaking as you, or stunning, as he is literally stunned in front of you. "Ar-are you okay?" You ask again, bringing him a little back to reality. Tim nods, still frozen in place from the shoulders down. "Umm, okay then. Since we don't need to exchange insurances or anything, I should be heading back". The last thing Tim wants is for you to leave his space, but those words are still taking their sweet time getting to his mouth. "Sorry again, have a good night!" You say as you awkwardly shuffle around him and head back to your table of friends. Tim still stands there, analyzing everything, until Angela begins to laugh and Tim's defense mode starts to kick in.

"Someone better be home up there before the squatters try to break in!" Angela jabs while Tim slowly brings himself down to sit at the table.

"Was it- was it that bad?" Tim looks to Wesley, who grimaces. Tim clenches his jaw.

"She might as well have been Medusa with how stonely you stood, man" Wesley shakes his head. "But you know, there's always room for bouncing back". Angela throws her head back with laughter.

"Next round says you can't come back from that", she challenges. Tim swallows hard. It couldn't have been bad beyond recovery, right? He shakes himself out of it and the adrenaline starts to course through his body. Looking out beyond their booth, Tim spots your head bobbing as you weave your way back to the bar. Time to man up, Bradford, he thinks to himself.

"Get your card ready, Lopez", Tim smirks as he pushes himself back up and towards the bar. Angela smiles to herself.

"It'd be Wesley's card anyways!" She calls back, but her voice gets lost amongst the sea of people Tim wades through to get to where you're standing and waiting to be served. You can do this, Bradford. You're a very handsome boy." Shaking any anxieties out of his body, he taps you on your shoulder. You turn around to investigate, blushing nervously with a shy smile. Tim can feel himself begin to seize in front you, and, for not knowing him pretty much at all, you're starting to feel that he is too.

"Let me guess, you have an injury and we actually do need to exchange insurances?" You chuckle. Tim opens his mouth to speak, but is met with, yet again, an empty house. You're usually never this forward, but you've got a couple of drinks under your belt. Guess you gotta taken the reins on this one, you think to yourself. "You know, what? I've actually got the shittiest insurance, maybe we should just exchange numbers instead so I can make it up to you? Think grabbing dinner could compensate for the value of your injuries?" You suggest, rocking back and forth on your heels. "I-I'm (y/n) by the way", you add and stick your hand out for him to shake. "Guess I should have said that earlier". You pray that your hand isn't sweaty as you hold it out for him, simultaneously searching his face for any signs of life.

Her hand! Shake her damn hand! Tim yells at himself internally and pushes himself to stick his hand out to meet yours. Tim notices how perfectly your hand fits with his, memorizing the softness of your skin. "T-Tim", he says to you, which comes out more as cough or gasp for air. Your shoulders visibly lower in relief that you hadn't stuck yourself out there for nothing.

"Nice to meet you, Tim", you smile and continue to shake his hand. Tim can't keep his eyes off you, taking in every sparkle in your eyes and how your smile could honestly fix any hard day's work that he's ever had. He notices how there seems to be one piece of your hair that's about to fall in front of your gorgeous face and he resists the urge to reach out and stop it from happening. What else can I say? Think, handsome boy, think. Shit, we're still shaking her hand! He drops your hand more abruptly than he liked to, a rigid smile and nervous chuckle following.

"I like burgers!" Tim says loudly, also more abruptly than he liked to. Your smile widens as you let a hearty laugh escape.

"I like burgers too!" You say with just as much energy. Now it's your turn to make him chuckle. You watch as his body relaxes into a more comfortable stance. "Easing up a little bit, I see?" You tease, stepping slightly closer to him. Tim shakes his head and smiles, his gaze returning to yours with an amazed smile on his face.

"I don't believe I've ever met anyone that has actually left me speechless", he admits to you. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable in any way". You smile and swat your hand playfully dismissive.

"Don't worry about it," you smile. "I just hope burgers are enough to compensate for taking away your personal space and your breath away". Tim rolls his eyes playfully.

"Hey, I was still breathing" he lazily defends. "But a burger and some more of your time would certainly be a good start towards my compensation". You nod, impressed, and motion with your hand for Tim's phone. He opens it and places it into your hands for you to enter your phone number.

"How about your people talk to my people, and we can discuss proper reimbursement?" You hand the phone back to him with a smile. Tim reaches out and gets a hold of the phone, his fingers lingering over yours for just a moment before putting it back in his pocket.

"Sounds like a good start to me," Tim agrees, reluctant to leave your area of space. "I'll call you, (y/n). And I'll actually have more words this time", he promises and watches your smile get brighter and cheeks get rosier. He swears he'll do whatever he can to always make you look at him like that.

"I can't wait to hear them," you say. "It was nice to meet you, Tim". He smiles and nods before waving a small goodbye and heading back to an expectant Angela and Wesley.

"Where's my drink at?" Angela asks. Tim shakes his head slowly while pulling out his phone to show them your number. The husband and wife clap slowly, very impressed and surprised by the turnaround.

"So, where's my drink at, Lopez?" Tim shoots back, teasing. Angela looks to Wesley, eyebrows raised. Wesley sighs before pushing himself up from the table.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it".

[howlingday]

American Dad x rwby

The episode wife insurance where jaune and Cardin are locked up, Cardin freaking out but jaune has a plan to get them out.

Cardin: (Sobbing) We're gonna die! I just know it! I really do~!

Jaune: Stay cool, Cardin. We've been trained for this.

Cardin: I know! But I forget~! (Crying)

Jaune: There's gotta be a way out of here...

Gillian: You're relieved.

Mercury: (Leaves)

Jaune: (Smirks) I think our luck's just changed. (Pops open emergency lube, Gels up his hair, Rips shirt)

Jaune: (Walks up to cell door, Leans on wall) Baby, can't you see~!?You could be with me~! We could live inside a garden of ecstasy~! You could be my queen~! I could be your dream~! Our lives like a fantasy~! Maybe set me free~! Let me be your bumblebee~!

Jaune: (Smoulders)

Gillian: (Shivers, Opens door)

Jaune: (Catches Gillian, Makes out)

Cardin: (Runs out the door)

Jaune: (Runs out, Zipping up)

Gillian: (Runs out, Rebuttoning)

Cinder: STOP RIGHT THERE!

Jaune: Don't shoot.

Jaune: (Gyrates hips) You could be my queen~! I could be your dream~! Our lives like a fantasy~! Maybe set me free~! Let me be your bumblebee~!

Jaune: (Smoulders)

Cinder: (Dreamily sighs, Drags Jaune away)

Cardin: ...

Gillian: (Fidgets)

Cardin: ...

Gillian: (Whimpers)

Cardin: Oh, just go!

Gillian: (Runs after them, Shuts door)

[literaticat]

Publishing aunty please help. Need advice, not publishing related.

What do you do when you're just tired, feeling unfulfilled and want to run away from everything? :( 

That sounds like a classic case of Burnout to me, though it could be combined with something else -- like Depression, or even a medical problem.

(For example, at one point a couple years ago, I was absolutely exhausted for no discernable reason and burst into tears at the drop of a hat -- I chalked it up to "winter blues" and ignored it -- come to find out, eventually, I had severe anemia and my body was not absorbing iron at all and actually it was an autoimmune disorder and became a Whole Thing! Uh... oops!)

This article from the Cleveland Clinic gives a lot of advice about what to do about Burnout -- but the most salient points, I think:

Be gentle with yourself. Everyone goes through it sometimes. You aren't a failure, you're going to be OK, you just have to take care of yourself before you can properly take care of anyone or anything else. So with that resolved:

TELL YOUR SUPPORT SYSTEM HOW YOU ARE FEELING. Keeping this stuff undercover is not going to help. Being honest with your friends/family/partner or whoever your "people" are will lighten your mental load AND they will want to help and support you.

Figure out what your stressors are and tactics to deal with them. Part of this will be linked to the previous part, probably -- For example, if you are burdened by too much work -- DELEGATE or ASK FOR HELP! You've told your support system what's up with you -- now tell them what you need to move forward.

Set Boundaries. If you're the type of person that says yes to everything and then you feel overwhelmed -- remember that it's OK to say NO. It's a good thing, actually. You'll be more "on" for the things that are actually important if you are able to protect your own boundaries and aren't wasting energy on bullshit things. I can't stress enough how important this is (and it's something I am always working on, because it can be tough!) -- but my life CHANGED when I made certain rules for myself and stuck with them. For example, mine: No checking email after 7pm or on weekends. At all. I gotta tell you, my life suddenly got a lot better. (I have forgotten this one recently, and my life has gotten markedly worse -- so I gotta get back to that!)

Go to the doctor. Yes, going to the doctor sucks! But they can make sure your bloodwork is OK, you aren't Vitamin D or Iron deficient, rule out any problems (like, I dunno, severe anemia)... etc etc. Like, step one of Self Care is knowing what your Self is working with. (And if you think you might actually be capital-D Depressed or have anxiety, etc -- ask for a referral to a psychiatrist to see about getting some medicine. IT WORKS!)

Practice Self-Care. Yes, that means the boring stuff like "hydrate" and "make you are getting enough sleep" and "eat your veggies" and "meditate" and whatnot -- but also, you want to "run away from everything"? DO IT. Take a vacation -- or even a staycation -- or even a DAYcation -- where you are literally not doing ANYTHING for anyone else, no email, no nothing. Get a pedicure with extra massage, sit in sunlight with your favorite drink, read a book or just think about NOTHING -- you have no responsibilities except to yourself during this time. It's rejuvenating!

Get toxic feelings out of your system. Find a therapist, if you can afford to do so. (There may be free or inexpensive options if you are a student, or with some insurance, some therapists have a sliding scale for patients, etc) A therapist can give you at least somebody to talk things out with who doesn't know you and isn't judging you. If that's not for you -- journal? Do something artistic? Go to a rage room? Climb a mountain and scream a lot?

Now you are on the road to being healthy, physically and mentally, you hopefully have less stress and are getting your forty winks and all that good stuff -- and hopefully you'll be MUCH better soon.

Good luck!

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in: April 24, 2024 🎀

Wednesday started out so rough, I had a really bad stress breakdown from the pressure I was putting on myself for the exam I have today (Thursday), but luckily my dad was able to calm me down over the phone and my boyfriend motivated me and encouraged me. I don't feel as stressed out anymore, I know that I know the material and I'll do great! (it's a chemistry exam)

🩷 What I Accomplished:

studied chemistry for a good bit

completed 3 chemistry homework assignments

scheduled a make-up quiz for my psyc class

did the Total Body Pilates video from Blogilates

did the 11 minute Wake Up Yoga from Yoga with Adriene

did my morning skincare and journaling

actually, just did my entire morning routine and felt great about it

shipped off shorts I sold on depop

went to chemistry lecture to review for the exam

went to my virtual appointment with a registered dietitian and set some goals for the next 2 weeks

decided to join a step challenge with my health insurance company to win points (they have some cool things in their points shop, plus extra steps during the day is good for my health!)

washed my laundry

made a brain dump list for the remainder of the week

💞 Good Things That Happened:

I really like the dietitian I met with and have another appointment with her in 2 weeks

I really enjoyed using my new 40oz Simple Modern insulated tumbler cup

didn't let my stress breakdown make me go home, very proud of myself for sticking to my plans

went to sleep early

sold another item on depop!

I felt very reassured that I know the content that is going to be on my upcoming exam

the guy who makes sushi at my campus food court made sushi for me and held it until I went to get it so no one would buy it, i could've cried it was so nice of him

I drank coffee on campus and it didn't hurt my stomach for once!

💔 What Could've Gone Better:

need to put less pressure on myself

had some issues with food after my dietitian appointment (sometimes thinking too much about food can be triggering for me, tbh, but my goals are nutrient based which is helpful!!)

started crying before I went to bed because I was feeling oddly emotional (I think I'm starting my period soon)

had to turn down a work shift because I had too much school stuff and that appointment (I need the money so bad tho)

did not drink near enough water

need to be more patient and gentle with myself

also need to really figure out what's going on with my priorities, I keep struggling to do the things I say I'm going to do which is difficult for me to deal with sometimes

need to remember progress over perfection, 50% is always better then doing 0% of something

💗 Stuff For Thursday

clean my room

listen to a podcast episode

maybe do some more laundry

make a grocery list

clean my bathroom

therapy today over video call

reschedule a morning appointment

chemistry exam tonight

try to ship off the shirt I sold on depop

do some more planning and organizing for my life

that's all for now! Thursdays gonna be good. My exam is gonna go great! I have confidence in myself, and my knowledge and I know I've got this!

til next time lovelies 🩷

💕 Song of The Day: Baddie by IVE

Gotta remind myself of this sometimes <3

[orcelito]

after this

the chapter then ending on this

has me big time feeling like. this.

[forest-falcon]

The Butterfly Effect

Chpr 13

⚠️ Minor angst/whump references

🧡💙🩵🚒

"Colonel Casey! Thanks for answering the call."

"Anytime John, though for all your sakes, I hope it is not that often. How can we help?"

"I've got Kayo up in the cockpit with Scott. We could do with another jet pack to help her with the evac."

"Tam, you're up!" McCready gave the order.

Tam instantly deployed the jet and flew to the downed ship.

"McCready, I have a further four people trapped inside the villa. I need you to work alongside Brains and Tycho to work out the safest way of getting to them, and setting up any structural supports where needed."

"Consider it done."

"Jonesy, you're with them. Shift only what Brains or Tycho say is safe to do so."

Jonesy gave a nod and jogged to catch up.

John ignored the familiar sounds of his brother's suit.

Virgil would be fine.

He forced a swallow.

"Mac, you'll be EMT for Scott. I need Tam available as soon as they touch down. We may need those with jetpacks to reach the higher levels of the villa.

"I'll grab a kit.'

"Good."

"Colonel Casey; I need you to provide us all with comms."

"Rigby, ...you're with me."

*. *. *.

"Not long now Scott."

Scott's eyes rolled back and closed; his consciousness hanging by a thread.

"Hey! Hey! I'll be havin' none of that."

Kayo gave his fingers a firm squeeze.

"C'mon, Scott - get your game face on. There's a certain firefighter on her way up to you.

The pilot let out a faint moan, but refused to open his eyes.

"look awf-l."

"I mean, yeah...but if you play your cards right, and you're nice to me, I'll tell her one of us slaved your Bird and bodged the landing."

Scott gave a weak smile. He could hear the mischief sparkling behind her cool facade.

"I mean, it's gotta be worth a month's laundry duty..."

*. *. *.

"Someone order an Uber?"

Tam forced a calm persona. Sure, she'd attended a few blazes that required multiple trucks and stations to attend; but using a laser cutter on the Thunderbird One to extract the Scott Tracy on the family's own secret island, was mind-boggling.

No...No. This was just another rescue.

"Tam, good to see you! We're all strapped in here and ready to go."

Tam couldn't help but hear Kayo's own forced professionalism mirrored within her voice.

"That's the last of it."

TB1 emitted a hiss, not dissimilar to a wince as Tam finished cutting the damaged cockpit with the laser.

"FAB. And all's clear below?"

Kayo spread her fingers wide across the cockpit glass.

Tam flew upwards to give a final check.

"CLEAR."

Tam fitted the suction pads to the glass.

One. Two. Three. Lift!

The glass was heavy. The jetpack instantly wobbled with the unbalanced weight.

The second the glass was safely away from Scott and Kayo, she released the suction, and the glass fell to the ground with an impressive, smashing sound.

"Oh Scott, you should see what she's done to your vehicle. I think we'll need to get her number...for insurance purposes," Kayo grinned.

"I mean, I'm not sure that my insurance covers Thunderbirds, but you could sue me for a questionable sandwich I have left in my fridge. That said, I'm sure all this damage will just buff right out."

Scott groaned at the camaraderie.

Right...shall we get you down? On three Kayo?

"Yes ma'am!"

Both deployed their jetpacks and took hold of the spinal board.

"Ready?"

Kayo gave a small nod.

"One...Two...Three."

Scott was lifted free of his stricken Bird. His eyes flickered open, and for the first time since his ordeal began, he felt hopeful. And for a moment, his pain was all-but forgotten. All he could see was cerulean sky.

[jonathan-cranes-mistress-of-fear]

Mom Update 3/18

I was able to call the hospital today and mom is contenting to improve. She was put in soupy foods, and did a little physical therapy. She's still quote confused though, but knows all of her family and other general things like that. Except, maybe that she's in the hospital, but hey---she jokes with the nurses so that's good!!

Like I said previously, we have no insurance, and while I plan to set up a GoFundMe later in the month once I know the numbers, I would appreciate any donations to help with gas, food, cat food/litter,home essentials, etc. We already live in a very limited income. I only work 2 hours a week on minimum wage doing housecleaning for a client, AND my mom gets social security but not a lot.

I don't drive, so I have to get someone to take me most times, and if that's not my dad, I gotta chip in for gas--it's an hour and half one way, so it really adds up I'm afraid.

If you've enjoyed my content, pls consider donating <3

https://paypal.me/MistressOfFear?locale.x=en_US

https://ko-fi.com/mistressoffear

OR $CranesMistressOfFear on CashApp

[rosewaterandivy]

Everyone But You - a Life as We Know It au

Ch. 2 - I've Got That Lefty Curse

previous | masterlist | next

Summary: hey, you know what a funeral is decidedly not for? gettin' your dick wet. | OR eddie munson's no good, very bad lay. Pairing: e.m. x f!oc w.c.: 4.9K warnings: NSFW / MDNI, immersive second person narration w/ a name and background but no physical description mentioned, grief, character death, funeral, jason carver mention, badly repressed emotions, poor emotional regulation skills, bathroom antics inspired by the moves of Paris Geller and that one scene from Catch & Release tagging: @powderblueblood for coming up with Eddie's nickname for the rover 😘

The garage door trundles open as Eddie twirls the keys in a flourish. You squint behind your sunglasses, bringing your phone closer to avoid the sun’s glare as you triple-check the directions to CPS.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” Eddie grouses as the car comes into view. It’s big, some kind of SUV, a Range Rover apparently, if his grumbling is to go by, one that is impeccably clean.

“What’s the problem?” You walk toward the car as it chirps to unlock, “Keys,” You point to his outstretched hand, “Driver,” You point to him and finally gesture to the car, “Vehicle.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, “Right, sure. Lemme drive this car that’s worth more than my life, that’ll go real swell!” He choruses in false cheer before his face falls, “Yeah, no. Think fast,” He lobs the keys toward you which you step to avoid, and the pair of you watch as they rattle to the floor.

“Well shit, Sherlock, y’know you’re supposed to catch things as they’re thrown at you.”

You roll your lips between your teeth and raise a brow, “I don’t drive.”

“Riiiight,” Eddie says, scooping down to collect the keys. “Of course you don’t, your majesty. Wouldn’t want to sully ourselves with something so pedestrian.” He yanks the driver’s side door open and hauls himself inside.

Settled in the passenger seat, you buckle your seatbelt and pair your phone to the bluetooth in the car. Eddie adjusts the seat and mirror before deciding on a Sirius station for the fifteen minute journey to downtown.

“For the record,” He says, pulling out onto the residential street, “I have a driver’s license, not a boating one. This thing is a goddamn behemoth.”

The car lurches forward as he navigates toward the stop sign at the end of the block, the seatbelt seizes against your chest, jerking you backward into the seat.

“Munson, sort your shit out! There’s going to be an actual baby whose well-being we’re responsible for in here, you know.”

He kisses his teeth and huffs in exasperation, “Sorryyy, I can’t figure out the damn clutch on the S.S. Fuck The Planet, princess. Jesus H. Christ.” 

You make a mental note to have the insurance policy switched over and update the title on the cars as well. Swiping over to the notes app, you tap out a reminder and add a trip to the grocery store for good measure. The list is titled: HOW TO SURVIVE IN HAWKINS and has such gems as: whole foods - where?, research moving co.’s NYC, check out brownstone, contact attorney & set up will, utilities & electric??, and baby books!!!

While you prepped for the impending arrival of Zoë and a prolonged stay in the Midwest, Eddie prattled through the house like Jacob Marley’s ghost shuffling from one vacant room to the next. He’d sent something off to his agent and editor via email about pushing the deadline back for his current novel, and had thrown his duffle in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the one furthest from Chrissy and Jason’s room, naturally.

You’d settled in a room close to the nursery and across the way from Eddie. The guest bath was conveniently at the end of the hall just before the staircase. Neither of you bothered unpacking after Max left, just threw your bags upstairs and scrambled to the garage to pick up Zoë as soon as possible.

The ride smooths out, eventually, Eddie seeming to get a hang of the clutch or whatever it was, and soon enough you’re being escorted back to the caseworker’s office at CPS. 

She instructs you to sign the form with your intention of temporary custody just until the court can set a date with the judge to award full custody. Until that time, a caseworker would be checking up on Zoë and your care of her, the findings of which would be presented to the judge at a later date.

“And if you’ll sign here as well, Mr. Munson.” 

Eddie scribbles off his disaster of a signature just as Zoe is brought in.

“Oh,” You sigh, relieved as you rise from the chair. “There she is.” You adjust the strap of your tote on your shoulder and leave the room, gently taking her from a woman with a nod of thanks. Keeping your voice soft and low, you greet Zoë. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi sweet girl!”

It’s rare that Eddie ever hears you like this, voice pitched just so as not to hint at any sadness you may be grappling with currently. And Zoë, she looks so pink and cute— footsie pajamas decorated in little hearts. 

“Oh, honey. It’s so good to see you.” You brush back her downy blonde hair just as she begins to fuss, blue eyes falling to Eddie, who is rendered speechless in the office. He sniffs to clear any welling tears and quietly thanks the caseworker before joining you in the waiting room.

“I know, I know,” You soothe, rocking her back and forth, watching as Eddie steps beside you. 

Zoë continues her soft cries, not nearing meltdown territory yet, but rather expressing her confusion or discomfort. Eddie’s hand cards through her wisps of blonde hair as you turn and say, “Hey, look. Hey, look – it’s Uncle Eddie!” Which seems to placate her somewhat, as chubby arm reaches toward him.

Lifting her from your hip, you continue to narrate: “Wanna go see him? Good, he’s right here.” And place her squarely against his chest, his hands coming to grip her sides as she tucks herself against him, little fingers gripping the worn fabric of his shirt.

You watch as he holds his goddaughter, her soft cries falling away to nothing as she nuzzles into his neck. “Okay,” You breathe, “We should really get her home.”

The car seat, however, proves difficult. Eddie has grimaced and groused his way through various belt to lock combinations, determining all of them to be useless.

“Who designed this thing, a fuckin’ Space X engineer?”

Leaning against the car with Zoë, you decide fifteen minutes is more than enough time for Eddie to dick around with the car seat. “Shove over Elon, this is getting ridiculous.” 

Seamlessly, you set Zoë in the car seat and buckle her in. “See?” You ask, a taunting lilt to your voice, “Was that so difficult?”

“Well, that’s because I eliminated all other possibilities, so obviously you—”

“Shut it, Munson. And drive.”

You’re nearly back to Loch Nora when a cop lights up behind the rover. “Really, today? C’mon man!” Eddie pulls off to the side of the road, going for his wallet before stopping short. “Oh, shit.”

“Oh shit? What do you mean oh shit?!” You whisper frantically, “This isn’t really on ‘oh shit’ type of moment, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“God, would you shut up for, like, two seconds so I can think?!”

“Please, let’s not pretend you think.”

An intentional elbow jabs into his ribs with enough force for him to hiss. He’s about to snarl something not fit for tiny ears back at you when two raps on the window shocks you both into silence.

Eddie reluctantly rolls down the window with a pained smile. 

“Morning officer, what seems to be the problem?”

There’s a pause before a bellowing laugh. “Munson!? Well, of all the gin joints in all the world—”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, “Uh, right. Hi there, Hop.” He clears his throat, “How are… things.”

“Bout to ask you the same thing, kid.” He pockets his aviator glasses and leans against the door, propping one arm to rest on the roof. “D’you know you rolled through that light down on Main before turning onto Pinebow?”

“Uh, no. Sorry, must’ve been distracted.”

“I’ll say,” The officer peers into the car, gaze falling on you. “Morning ma’am. Mind getting me the registration from the glove box?”

“I, uh,” You supply, uselessly. Eddie leans over to do it himself before you can ask what a registration would even look like. Your eyes dart back to Zoë still sleeping soundly. 

“I need to level with you Hop,” Eddie says, handing the paper over to him. “This is not my car, this is not my beautiful wife, and my license is expired.”

“It is!?” You ask, furious. How could he be so irresponsible? There is a child riding in the backseat! Before you can rip him a new asshole, the officer chuckles.

“Can’t say I’m surprised Ed. Shame about the wife bit though.” He reads the registration and passes it back to Eddie. “But considering the circumstances … I’ll let this one slide.”

“The circumstances?” You prompt, wondering how the hell a traffic cop would know about Chrissy and Jason’s accident.

“My condolences,” He says with a frown and furrowed brow, as if the very idea of their absence unsettles him. “It’s a small town, I’m sure everyone’ll know by day’s end.”

Hop puts his glasses back on and steps back from the vehicle. He nods to you with a small smile, before his eyes narrow on Eddie. “You need to get this taken care of, Munson.” Slapping the roof of the car, he turns on his heel and walks back to the cruiser, “See you Friday!”

Eddie waves him off and pulls back onto the road. Offering positively zero explanations as to why this man you’d never met before today would be showing up to the house later this week.

“Munson, why does that cop think he's coming by the house later?”

“Hmm, oh, Hop? He’s not just a cop, he’s the Sheriff.” 

As if that made it any better.

“Do I want to know why you’re friendly with the boys in blue, er, khaki? Thought you were the commander and chief of ACAB.”

“That,” He says, punching the button to open the garage as the house comes back into view, “Is a story for another time. But for now, just chalk it up to the fact that Hawkins is a verrrry small town, princess.”

By Friday, your bags still remain unpacked by the door to the guest room. It would be so easy to call a car, book a flight and just leave, like it had never happened in the first place.

You’re pretty sure that’s what Munson is expecting you to do. He doesn’t trust you, nor you him. How can you? It’s not like you were ever friends. And it’s not like you’ve seen him in that way since—

A soft knock from the door has you turning to find him holding Zoë in the crook of his arm. She’s smiling and sleepy, fresh from her bath. One that had left you positively drenched, prompting a hasty retreat to find a change of clothes.

“They’re, uh, driving up now.” Eddie mumbles, and though he hasn’t said it, hasn’t complained one bit, you can see how exhausted he is. Essentially dead on your feet from your first night with Zoë. 

She’d cried and wailed all night, or so it felt, and you were sure you’d wake up to a noise complaint or violation of the HOA’s quiet hours or some such shit. Eddie had volunteered to stay with her that night, elected to sleep on the couch in the nursery because he’s “slept on worse.”

He’s said it as if he didn’t already have dark circles under his eyes, as if they hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours, and you want to refute it, to say you can keep the baby monitor on you instead, but the look in Eddie’s eyes tells you this isn’t just about staying the night with Zoë. 

It’s that he wants to make sure Chrissy’s daughter is safe, to protect her daughter in the way he wasn’t able to protect his best friend last night.

“Could you just sleep in—” You tilt your head toward Chrissy and Jason’s room, it’s closer to the nursery anyway. But you don’t get to finish your thought before he’s swept in to the room and settled Zoë in her crib for the night. The conversation effectively over.

“Right,” You say, peeling off the door frame to leave, “Forget I asked.”

But that was last night, and you’d be remiss to say that you’d made it much longer on your own. The room was far too quiet, the sheets too stiff, and you couldn’t find your sound machine to save your life.

It’s two o’clock when you stumble into the nursery, nearly tripping over Eddie’s prone leg because he’s too tall for the small couch, but he doesn’t wake. You make yourself comfortable on the plush white rug, the one Chrissy had sworn felt like a cloud and rest your head on the pillow you’d snuck in from the guest room.

Maybe it’s the white noise machine looped to Zoë’s crib, or maybe it’s the proximity of being close to her that brings a sense of calm that’s enough to lull you into sleep. And maybe, it’s the soft snores and snuffles that fall from the tangle of limbs precariously close to slipping off of the couch.

Regardless, you and Eddie had somewhat survived your first day as guardians. Had struggled through feedings and diaper changes, nap time, and seemingly endless loads of laundry. You’d read Chrissy’s parenting books and ordered more to be delivered tomorrow. Eddie had returned victorious from a Target run and you’d each set about slapping sticky notes and scribbling furiously on a huge tear away calendar— you’d even assigned colors: you were purple, Eddie was neon green, Zoë was pink, naturally.

Max, Eddie’s friend and the estate attorney, had apparently rallied the troops for a family dinner for that evening. You and Eddie were to do nothing, under strict instructions from someone named Nancy to relax and focus on Zoë. You could hear the front door opening as people made their way inside for dinner. 

Gently, Eddie passes Zoë off to you and helps you wrap the sling around your torso. After watching several tutorials on YouTube, you felt confident that everyone would feel more comfortable this way. Plus, your arms were killing you— who knew carrying a baby around could be so tiring?

Once downstairs, introductions are made. Eddie names off everyone in attendance as they stare at you like a new exhibit at the MoMa, or maybe the zoo is more accurate. Immediately, you can see that you don’t belong. Everyone is dressed down casually in jeans and t-shirts, their shoes kicked off by the door.

Whereas you, on the other hand, announce your presence with the click-clack of your heels on the floorboards. Swan into rooms with impeccable posture and sport dresses never more than a season old, unless they’re archival vintage, of course. A bold lip and manicured nails, not a hair out of place.

To the assembled people of Hawkins, you sure cut the figure of a Stepford wife.

“Hi,” A voice pipes up from the man to your right, “I’m Ste—”

A metallic clang sounds out, muffling whatever he had to say. Quickly followed by an exasperated, “Oh, goddamit!”

You smile at him, “The pleasure is all mine. Dean, you said it was?” 

“I, uh,” He stammers out, unable to land his gaze anywhere on your person.

“Right,” You say primly, hearing more cursing from the kitchen, “If you’ll excuse me.”

And, of course, the source of the cacophony is none other than Munson himself. He’s got the hood fan going on the stovetop, and there’s smoke pluming from the oven. Company has been here all of ten minutes and he’s already going to burn the house down.

You grab the sheet pan he’s using to dissipate the smoke from the alarms on the ceiling and narrowly avoid smacking him upside the head.

“I never took you for an arsonist, but hey, there’s a first time for everything.”

He coughs into his shoulder, his hand waving through the air uselessly. But before you can tell him to shove over and let you handle things, people stream into the kitchen. Eddie is shuffled from the stove by a kind woman named Joyce, only to be pulled away by an older man, his uncle Wayne, while Hopper takes over in the kitchen.

Windows are opened by Max and Lucas, allowing the smoke to dissipate. And eventually, Joyce offers to take Zoë and put her to bed after her dinner of mashed peas and carrots. Begrudgingly you let her, dropping a kiss to her downy blonde curls before she’s whisked away.

Dinner is nice as is the company, even if conversation is a bit stilted and awkward given the circumstances. You don’t say much and no one expects you to, but every so often Wayne will catch you gaze and offer a small smile. It’s easy to appreciate his silence, to see it as a comfort because god knows his nephew is normally anything but.

You’re on your second glass of wine for the evening, listening to Robin as she details the various hijinks of what she refers to as the Scoops Troop. But she keeps mentioning someone named Steve and you have half a mind to ask her who that could possibly be. Dean, for all his lack of being mentioned in these stories, laughs along good-naturedly.

It’s when you yawn for the second time in five minutes, that Eddie suggests: “Hey, you should go up and get some sleep.”

You scowl, confused and pleasantly buzzed but stand up all the same. “Fine, but no promises, Munson.”

It had been decided that you’d give the eulogy for the service today. Eddie sits with Zoë in his lap – she's dozing off and you’re thankful – and when Eddie stares up at you, you can feel your heart in your throat. Initially, it seemed that Eddie would deliver the eulogy, this was, after all, his hometown and this church was full of people he’d known most of his life.

But when he’d come to you two nights ago after Zoë had finally fallen asleep, shaking like a leaf with crescent hollows beneath his eyes that the moon would envy, and he’d said in a voice so broken and empty: “I just can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

And so you didn’t.

Halfway through, while the crowd is chuckling sadly, politely, at your anecdotes about Chrissy and Jason. Things are going well until Zoë begins to hiccup and throws a tantrum. Ellie, Chrissy’s mom, scoops her up into her arms easily and carries her out of the church. Over her shoulder, Zoë’s arms stretch out toward the front of the church, her face crumpled as she cries for her mommy and daddy.

Me too baby girl, me too.

You force yourself to look back at Eddie, and his eyes meet yours. It's a moment of understanding that goes straight to your gut and steals the breath from your lungs; Chrissy wasn’t ever coming back.

The wake is held at the house, a tasteful catered affair courtesy of Jason’s parents. Everyone thought it best for Zoë to be in a familiar setting to try and stick to her routine. People mill about downstairs stopping every so often to shake your hand and offer their condolences, thoughts and prayers, or claim that their hearts are with you during this difficult time.

It’s all you can do not to scream as you hold Zoë like a life raft. So, instead of snapping something at someone’s handsy uncle who has had you cornered for the last five minutes or so, you talk to Chrissy in your head.

What were you thinking Chris? This wasn’t the plan at all, in fact, you’ve jumped the gun by about sixty-odd years y’know. If you care to recall, we said we’d outlive our husbands and buy a place on the Cape. Descend into spinsterhood in style, and then haunt the shit out of that property, as is our right.

Ellie checks in on you with a soft touch to the arm, ushering pervy uncle toward the hors d’oeuvres. Small miracles. You can feel the tears gathering on your lashes, and you know that your tolerance for these platitudes is quickly dwindling. You haven’t seen Eddie since he fed and changed Zoë an hour or so ago.

He’s been distant since that night, the one where you’d refused him and drawn your line in the sand.

Catching sight of Robin, you tell her that Zoë is going for her nap and she promises to make your excuses. She latches on to that guy she seems permanently attached to, (Dean, you wanna say?) and they begin to spread the word in an attempt to clear everyone out.

You take the stairs slowly, not wanting to shift the dozing girl in your arms too much, as you step onto the second floor landing. Turning into the nursery, you set her down on the changing table and rid her of her funeral dress.

No little girl should ever have one, much less be given the opportunity to wear it.

Back in her comfy pjs, you sit on the rocking chair and kick off your heels. Zoë nuzzles against your neck as you hum softly. Sooner than you’d anticipated, the rhythmic rocking to and fro has eased her into sleep. Rising as gently as you’re able, you lay her down in the crib, turn on her sound machine, and step out of the room with baby monitor in hand.

Downstairs, you can hear rumblings of conversation overridden by a male voice: “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here!” 

Chuckling, you duck into the guest bathroom before any of the hangers on can spot you as they take their leave. Back hitting the door, you allow yourself a moment or two to breathe. Surrounded by people all day on what has arguably been the worst day of your life to date. Smoothing down the skirt of your dress, you pull the shower curtain aside and step into the basin of the bathtub. Once settled, you draw the curtain closed again and let your head rest against the tile wall.

“Why did you leave me alone like this, Chrissy?” You say, voice ricocheting off the bathroom tiles. “You know I can’t handle anything without you.”

Not two minutes later, and someone comes barreling in. Huh, guess you never did lock that door. 

Before you can alert them of your presence, a high-pitched giggle sounds out followed by the scuffling of feet. The door is shut, and the lock is thrown as the giggle turns into a high, breathy gasp. They sound closer now, if the wet sounds of tongues battling for dominance is anything to go by.

Rearing back, you sink into the corner of the tub and will it all to go away. The noxious, ringing laughter continues unabated only punctuated by the sounds of a belt buckle clinking against the sink, a zipper being pulled down.

If you were so inclined (which you are decidedly not), you could simply turn your head to the left and feast your eyes on the shadow sexual escapades of one—

“Oh, Eddie.”

For fuck’s sake! As if this day could get any worse.

But, oh wait, it does.

“Sock it to me!” 

Biting the heel of your hand to quell the rising laughter, your eyes blow wide at her litany of ‘sock it to me’s’ – it’s as if that’s the only thing her poorly wired brain will allow her to say mid-coitus. Eddie’s laughter, understandable given the circumstances, devolves into an attempt to shush his conquest from what has got to be the most unimaginative dirty talk you’ve had the misfortune to be privy to.

When she finally reaches her peak (“Yeah! That’s so good!”), you’ve already mentally catalogued the ways in which you could have a) killed yourself in the interim, b) killed Eddie, and c) killed this poor woman, in all likelihood saving her from a life of mediocre sex at funerals.

“Thanks.”

Well, at least she’s polite.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Eddie sounds embarrassed, voice tight and you can imagine he’s doing that thing where he drums his fingers against his thigh, impatiently waiting for this all to be over. His lips are probably tucked between his teeth while she washes her hands, eyes anywhere but on her.

There’s the sound of the door being unlocked and the throw away line of “Call me,” and with that, she’s gone.

The sink runs again, Eddie muttering to himself under his breath, and for the briefest of seconds when you dramatically pull the shower curtain open, you could’ve sworn you saw something akin to regret (or was it disgust?) as he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck!” 

He jumps back, startled at your Houdini-esque appearance. All too calmly, you step out from the bathtub, gaze fixed on him all the while. You pluck the joint from his fingers and stow it in your pocket. 

And you haven’t launched into him yet, so maybe this isn’t the verbal crucifixion that Eddie thinks it’ll be. There’s a curl to his lips that says he’s going to be a problem, that he’s going to make a joke out of this, as if he hadn’t buried his best friend earlier today and then gone and screwed a cater waiter in the bathroom of her house during the wake.

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my Lady Disdain,” He drawls, arms loosely crossed against his chest, “Are you yet living?”

It is only in deference to Zoë that you don’t go scorched earth on his ass right then and there. There’s a soft squawk from your other pocket where the baby monitor is as she likely rolls over in her sleep.

“I am only going to say this once, Munson, so you better get it through that abomination you call a skull.”

Briefly, someone attempts to enter the bathroom, the door nudging open only to be forcefully shut as you, in an impressive feat of balance, slam one Manolo Blahnik clad heel against the door and shove it closed.

“Occupied!”

You wait a beat or two, leg slotted against the door to be sure that whomever was on the opposite side did not attempt further entry. 

If only your yoga instructor could see you now.

Releasing your hold on the door, you flip the lock and take measured steps back to Eddie who is now crowded back against the pedestal sink.

“Did ya have some fun? Get you rocks off? Add another notch to the bedpost?” You seethe, and he knows better than to interrupt when you’re like this. “What a fitting way to send off Chrissy, huh? By defiling her home because you lack something called self-restraint.”

“Hey, that’s not—”

“What, is that not accurate Munson? Because from where I was sitting, it sounded like you couldn’t wait bust your nut into the next woman who batted her lashes at you, who maybe, juuuust maybe,” You take one step closer, a mere breath away from him. “Suffers from an undiagnosed brain injury and lowers herself to slum it with the likes of you.”

“Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” He sneers, “All those years of therapy seem to be doin’ wonders for your self-esteem. Because you’re too high and mighty to count yourself one of the crowd, right?”

“You have no right—”

“I have no right? Are you kidding me? I'm not the one who shuts down at the first opportunity, who would rather run away than stay here and deal with this!"

"It's not like I’ve left! I'm here, aren't I?"

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" He demands. "We are not just playing house here! And you can’t pretend that we’re not partners in this. If you’re so scared, why didn't you say anything?”

You storm toward the door, unlocking it as you turn the knob to leave. To get away from him and his pitying looks, his judgment.

"Because I don't need you!"

Eddie’s hand covers yours, “Maybe I need you!" He snaps, almost shouting. "Maybe I need you to work with me instead of against me. Maybe I need you to stop doubting yourself, because there's already so much to worry about and I can't help worrying about you. Maybe I need you to stop being so damn independent and self-absorbed. Maybe I need you to realize that you're not the only person here who lost a best friend."

The heartbreak on his face is so painfully clear that you can feel it in your chest; you can't believe you didn't noticed it before.

The door creaks open.

"Hey, are you guys – oh, sorry."

You turn from Eddie to see Robin on the stairs, hesitating. You clear your throat and blink away any tears, as you step through the door. "Can I help you?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not interrupting," You say, turning toward her and smoothing down your dress.

"Okaaaay." She looks doubtful. "Everyone’s cleared out, leftovers are in the fridge. I checked on Zo and she’s still zonked out."

You nod, “Thanks, for everything.”

“Happy to help.”

You wait until her footsteps fade away, and the front door shuts. Gritting your teeth, you watch as Eddie steps away from you and avoids making eye contact, your jaw clenched tightly enough to hurt.

There's something empty and aching at the base of your throat, and no matter how much you swallow, it won't go away.

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Bubz's Slasher Fictober Day 2: (Caramel Apple) Peter Strahm

Day 2 of Fictober is here! I know what your probably all saying and I know, Peter Strahm technically isn't an actual "slasher" he's just a character in the saw franchise BUT I wanted to do a little surprise for this Fictober and write about something and someone new just to test the waters and of course for all you Peter Strahm fans I know are out there, I hope you enjoy! <3 Notes: Minors DNI, Canon typical violence if any. Readers know things the characters don't.

Support me: KO-FI

"So you really think Hoffman's behind all this?"

"I think and soon I'm going to know for sure, I know it seems farfetched but you've gotta trust me"

Peter ran a nervous hand through his hair. You cringed placing your mug on the coffee table, it was about 1 am and you and peter were on the couch in the living room. Peter couldn't sleep, something he had refused to tell you about had been bothering him for what seemed like weeks now, so you finally sat up in bed and demanded he tell you, about an hour later and here you were.

"Peter I'm not saying I doubt you, you know I would never. I'm saying that accusing another detective and Hoffman himself of all people of being the literal jigsaw killer? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Look I know how it sounds, and I'm not saying he's behind it all. But that son of a bitch knows a lot more then he lets on"

"If Hoffman is behind all this I don't know how I feel about you going after him"

"Wait what? What do you mean?"

"Peter if your right and he's behind these new Jigsaw murders there's no telling what he could do to you"

"That's why I need to get him before he has any idea."

"You don't have any actual proof though, if you try to tell the chief that Hoffman is behind it he's gonna look at you like your crazy."

"I've been looking through the files, compiling things for weeks. You just have to trust me ok? I just need to build an actual case."

"Peter this is insane"

"You think I don't know that? I've been driving myself up a wall over this for weeks. I can't sleep, I can barely eat. If Hoffman is behind this I need to put a stop to it before he can hurt more people."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose, you have known Peter long enough to know that once he had his mind set to something there was no stopping him especially when it came to a case. If Hoffman really was behind some of the Jigsaw murders you knew there would be no slowing Peter from going after him with everything he had.

Peter can sense the rising tension in the darkened living room. He knows he has to do this though, he can't let the Jigsaw killer continually slip through his fingers and massacre more people.

"Look honey I know ok? I know your worried about me and what could happen to me....and look I won't lie there is a good chance something could happen. This is the Jigsaw killer we're dealing with here, but I have to do this baby, I have to. This son of a bitch has slipped through my fingers for so long, it ends now."

"If something happens to you what am I supposed to do Peter?"

A question Peter hated to hear since the day he married you, but the validity was undeniable especially now.

"If there is ever a time where I don't come home to you I have an insurance policy I got when they put me on the Jigsaw case and there's cash deposits hidden around the house."

"You took out an insurance policy when they put you on the case...You've always expected someone to come after you then?"

Peter cringes but he can't deny it. He had done it as a precaution for you, so he could go to work with the peace of mind that you would be taken care of if anything were to happen to him.

"Yeah, at first it was just a precaution but now with Hoffman..."

"Peter I don't want some stupid insurance policy, I want my husband."

"I know baby, I know, but even without the Jigsaw case you knew when you married me that my job was dangerous."

"So I'm just supposed to except that your probably gonna get killed by the goddamn Jigsaw killer?"

"I'm not saying anything is going to happen, but we're supposed to hope for the best and prepare for the worst."

You roll your eyes at his attempt to lighten the mood but crack a small smile anyway.

"You're ridiculous Peter"

"That's why you married me honey...but in all seriousness whatever happens to me you'll be ok, ok?"

You sighed again but nodded anyway, You of course didn't want anything to happen to Peter but there's no stopping Peter and he was right, you knew there was a chance you'd end up broken hearted because of his job when you married him.

"I don't like this but this is what I signed up for."

"No matter what, no matter Hoffman or the Jigsaw killer or what. I will always try and come back to you, you know that."

You nodded again, really it was all you could do. You knew come hell or high water that Peter would stop at nothing to bring down the Jigsaw killer, be it Hoffman or not. You trusted Peter but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling of dread in your stomach that this wasn't going to end at all how Peter envisioned.

[peaches2217]

My first therapy appointment in several months went really well! I’m returning to the councilor I’ve had for a couple years now. I updated her on my transition journey because the last time I saw her was a couple weeks before I started on T; I told her about coming out to my dad last night, and how disappointing it was.

The ensuing conversation was both productive, and so fucking validating.

My recent depressive episode? Complicated by an event with a former friend, but set into motion, and dragged out for so long, because of the stress of what was to come. My voice has gotten too low to even PRETEND it’s just a holdover from being sick or part of allergies or what have you. I’ve known for the past month that the time to tell my dad was coming. The fear of his reaction and the consequences it could bring since I’m currently in a financially vulnerable place was killing me.

And as we talked, I figured out that the unpredictability is still my only real, big fear: my dad promised me he wouldn’t kick me out, but there’s that lingering fear that he could change his mind, and even if he doesn’t, he could start draining my paychecks — I told him my GAC, insurance copays and all, has been coming exclusively out of my pocket, so I get the sneaking suspicion he’s gonna take advantage of us sharing a bank account and deepen that financial dependency. And above all, I’m afraid of losing our relationship. I’m okay with him not accepting my identity so long as he doesn’t treat me any differently in spite of it. But if he starts pulling away or pushing me away or withholding love as punishment for following down a path he disapproves of, what then?

My counselor told me that, sad as it is, I can’t control how he chooses to react. But I have my mom and brother’s support, my girlfriend’s support, and an online community of friends; if I lose my relationship with him, that’s ultimately his decision and his loss, and no matter what he does, I won’t face it alone.

I had hoped that assuring him I felt God’s peace in my choices and that I’d spent years praying over the situation would at least sorta put him at ease, but all he did was infantilize and illegitimize my entire experience as guided by evil and selfishness. I can’t reason with him or come to a happy medium with him like I did with my mom. The faith he’s praised me for sticking close to he’s now decided is all lies and self-delusion simply because he doesn’t like the conclusions I’ve come to. Nothing I do will satisfy or convince him… so why waste energy trying?

I just have to live with his disappointment, and as much as it hurts, it’s also freeing. I’ve done all I can do. I don’t have to hide anymore. I don’t have to live with the stress of what will happen once he knows, because for better or worse, he knows now. If he doesn’t like it, so be it. I’ve laid my cards down, and how things progress between us is entirely up to him. When I put aside my stress over our relationship, I feel nothing but confidence and happiness and certainty. If he thinks this is a mistake… well, he’s gotta let me make my mistakes. I spent 20+ years not doing anything for fear of what bad might happen, and that left me a suicidal wreck by age 18. I won’t sit by and let ominous warnings and premonitions hold me back any longer. It COULD be a mistake, or it COULD be the best decision I’ve ever made. How will I know if I freeze up in fear?

My counselor noted several times that I look, sound, and act more confident than she’s ever seen from me. Without the pressure of keeping secrets, I’m able to more easily sort between what thoughts are mind and what thoughts my dad, my trauma, or both have planted in my head. I can say with my whole chest that I feel I’m going in the right direction. I can even say “Fuck it, my dad’s approval or disapproval is on him, not me” with greater conviction. I’m acting on things I’ve wanted from the moment we first spoke, and she says the positive change it’s made radiates off of me. She said she’s extremely proud of the progress I’ve made.

I’ll be seeing her again next week, then dropping down to seeing her every other week. In spite of how relatively poorly last night went, I feel empowered. God I’m so glad to be back.

[radioisntdead]

Psst

Since we have a hat gremlin- what about other hat wearing Characters?

Sir pent., husker, Lucifer... SUSAN (angel wore a hat one time and so didnt vaggie- do they count?) and Valentino?

My only note is that if Valentino has one it is the equivalent to the most angry lil devil that bites his bald ass head like a rabid flea.

Good evening my dear! I GOT THIS ASK IN THE MORNING AND I KID YOU NOT IT HAS BEEN ON MY BRAIN SINCE. Switching between third person and referring to the reader as you

I'm thinking Sir Pentious's hat creature is like a little lizard, like the gecko lizard that tries to sell you car insurance but instead of car insurance it's just insurance, for what you ask? No idea it's probably a scam don't buy anything from hat lizard, Lil' hat lizard likes to take out with Sir Pentious's hat when he's sleeping, freaks out the eggy Bois, hat gecko totally tries to be a wingman and set him up with Cherri bomb! They are the best winggecko

Huskers hat creature is SMALL, they like the warmth from his fur, you take a lil' nappy nap, snoozy time, when he was a overlord they would help him win casino games, how you ask? I don't know, I don't know how it works but probably by stealing cards or something, his hat creature is probably drunk off their rockers too! Probably chill in cups when not in the hat.

Lucifers hat creature is a duck, 100% a regular duck, a duck that likes to vibe in a hat, that's all I got, the hat quacks. [Lilith gave you to him before leaving.] He likes to show you off to Charlie and the other sins "LOOK AT MY DUCK! THEY REALLY LIKE MY HAT HAhaA"

ANGEL'S CRIME HAT, his lil hat creature is just a lil' guy! He treats em' like a second child [the first is fat nuggets obviously] takes you out of the hat to dress you up, you probably ride fat nuggets like a horse when out of the hat, crime hat creature is totally small enough for that,

I despise Valentino so the bastard is, as per usual dying.

[Warning for mild implied suicide, it's not in depth but It's implied, just a sentence not the reader or the grapist.]

He doesn't have a hat gremlin he has a hat cursed demon leech.

Cursed leech wasn't always cursed, they originally clinged to one of Valentino's victims who ran out during extermination day and you can guess what fate they met.

You, the little hat thing wanted revenge for your fallen friend and so you exited the hat you were originally attached to and infested Valentino's.

Valentino has a constant headache because you bite, sharp teeth piercing his skin, he can't take the hat off because you latch on like a leech, you probably have some diseases that transfer to Valentino so he has to go to the doctors often.

Hat leech will eventually lead to Valentino's permanent death and only then will they be satisfied in taking revenge for their fallen friend, they will exit Valentino's hat and return to the one they left, maybe they'll move on to someone else and be their friend but until then they're on their own.

Vaggie doesn't have a hat gremlin, she has a BOW gremlin, allegedly came from heaven, you are the bow itself. Unraveling to be a bow creature that helps taking people out.

Bonus for Vox because he has a hat right? Or am I delusional we'll find out.

Lil robot creature, totally doubles as a spy, vox's hat is sometimes seen around the hotel stalking Alastor.

SUSAN MY BELOVED OLD GRUMPY LADY, I gotta write for her again soon!

Her hat creature is just like her! Old! her hat will rise up for a moment curse someone out before shrinking back down, similar to Rosie's gremlin, maybe they're related? They probably get into fights, the folks of cannibal town just see Susan's hat and Rosie's hat going at it, dueling probably with weapons I can see them using guns or sticks, sharp sticks,

Susan likes her hat creature, treats em' like a pet and feeds them sinners.

DOODLES TIME, I can't draw anyone's hats for the life of me.

My handwriting sucks but we don't talk about that

[clatterbane]

Early o'clock appointment at the prosthetics place this morning. This was waiting in the office after the initial intake talking to the prosthetist, while he went off for a while to look into using a bigger room where they do casting.

The prosthetist I got was a youngish Indian guy who seemed fine to deal with so far. My shitty Swedish skills did not turn out to be an issue today either, which was a relief. Occasionally I really do need Mr. C to act as interpreter on some things, but that really wasn't needed today. And it's extra important to get clear communication going with a prosthetist, at least if you want to get an actually useful prosthesis.

The initial assessment was pretty encouraging. He was initially concerned that the situation might have been complicated by the delays, and me mostly being stuck in the chair for 4 years and counting now. But, I really do NOT have the troublesome muscle contractures or level of general deconditioning that they were halfway expecting to see. Actually seemed impressed (like the PT people last time) at my leg strength now, after a couple of quick tests.

I am in absolutely terrible shape right now, for myself as an individual. But, I am also NOT upward of 70 and with other serious health issues complicating matters, like the average client they'd be encountering. Kinda makes a difference. Also, being persistently unable to fucking sit still for more than a few minutes at a time has probably actually worked to my advantage in this case.

At any rate, the guy quickly seemed convinced that, with a little practice and reconditioning and all that good stuff? I am likely to be very active, and need to be set up with appropriate equipment to that end.

Thankfully, there that may well include more than one leg setup at a time, to be better for different purposes. Also a higher level ankle and foot than they put most people in especially starting out. ..

(They don't use exactly the same system for classification or criteria here, but it's pretty much the same idea. I haven't actually looked into the specifics. What'll get you around a grocery store fine won't necessarily work so well if you're wanting to hike around uneven terrain, etc. Sounded like I went straight to the equivalent of K4 back in the US, though.)

Gotta say I was a tad concerned about that part, going in. I didn't make it as far as the actual prosthetics clinic dealing with the NHS, but overall I kept getting these mixed messages that I was young and healthy, and should spring back in no time--and also that it was basically only expected for a middle-aged AFAB person to occasionally gimp around the shops, and that it might be unreasonable to expect to ever get back much better mobility than that. Which could easily turn into a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy, especially with enough pennypinching involved. Again, I never made it to the stage of working with the local "Limb Centre", so may have run into some different attitudes there. It may have been better than I still sorta suspect.

As it stands, though? Nobody's looked at me like I had two heads when I've mentioned wanting to get back on a bike. Very normal daily activity, living in a purposely very bikeable city! Or anything else, really. I do not want to start running marathons now, I just want the ability to get back to some reasonable-for-my-hyper-ass level of activity doing stuff that I actually enjoy.

It sounds like I should at some point get a leg set up for general walking-around purposes including hiking (as one of my explicitly stated goals) and one set up better for cycling (as the other major one), using different attachment systems and slightly different ankle/foot components. May be able to get a swim fin foot in the future to swap on if I want to get back into that. It is evidently (thankfully!) not like some insurance coverage elsewhere or some of the things I hear about experiences with the NHS, where you're necessarily getting one all-purpose leg to last you for 5 years or whatever.

I really don't know what they're intending with the timeframe for both, but it should be 2-3 weeks until the walking-around leg is ready to try on. They may need to do some adjustments before it's ready to start getting up on. It sounded like they're doing the socket building in house, rather than sending it out to some more centralized facility--which is to the good, as long as they know what they're doing. Sounded like my leg guy would be doing the fabrication.

I was a little surprised that they're skipping the temporary socket step and going straight for a final version, but things have had a good while to shrink down on their own by now, and that guy wasn't foreseeing my bony leg shrinking down much more anytime soon so that it needed a new smaller socket to fit. That is a pretty common thing for people who have started the process much sooner after surgery.

(No, he just kept commenting on how knobbly mine is. Which, he's not wrong. That does need some extra fitting accommodation around the potential pressure points, however.)

I did not go home entirely empty handed today, though.

I did get one of the "real" liners made for wear under a socket, as opposed to the compression-only sleeve that PT put me wearing. It is remarkably more comfortable, as I was hoping. We're talking a neoprene sleeve with enough of a silicone gel lining to make a seal on the leg, and it's cut down lower. Not extra bastard heavy duty silicone only.

With limited wear so far, the less rigid material is indeed NOT trapping and pinching the hell out of any flesh on the back of my leg. I did take it off after we got home because my skin there does need a little rest break to heal after what the first one has been doing to it. I do not really intend to put the white one on again. Will be happy to give that thing back to PT whenever I see them again.

But yeah, there is no doubt an awful lot of work in my near future. I am extremely relieved to finally have an aftermarket leg this close in sight, though. It almost felt like a "when I win the lottery" type prospect, there for a while. (And I am trying not to place similarly unrealistic expectations on the whole process, tbqh.)