#it was so fucking difficult to make appointments for driving lessons

[anaalnathrakhs]

i am exactly the same as i was three years ago, but i put on a new coat of paint over the same old mechanisms and now i can pretend being normal. i can function. sort of. i have fixed almost zero problems, but i can bear them anyway so. why care. what would i even do? how does one even fix that?

i don't fucking know what i'm doing here! people keep trying to give me some sort of pep talks like!! remember what you're doing it for!! and like. yeah i said i'd like this or that job because i have nothing better to say, it's my dream if you want, i have to pretend something. i wish i had any monetizable skills. or any skills really. but i don't. yay. i'm gonna be stuck living with my parents forever. that's what i fucking deserve.

woooooo the guilt is eating me! it's eating me alive!

[riceybaby]

secret little rendezvous 🤍 - mason mount (smut)

synopsis: a midnight walk between you and mason on holiday gets heated

warnings: skinny dipping, fingering, oral (m+f), mutual masturbation, unprotected sex, public sex, exhibitionism, cum play, choking, praise kink, daddy kink

“Just the bill, that would be great thanks”

You heard Mason talking to the waiter, but were too busy engrossed in a babbling conversation with his niece to look at him. For the past week the two of you had been living it up on holiday with his family, and you couldn’t have been having a better time, but tonight was your last night on the island. And as much as you love spending time with them, the closeness of your rooms and the thinness of the walls had meant you and your boyfriend hadn’t done more than make out and grind against each other the whole trip.

He was making it more than difficult tonight, and he knew it. His shirt meant that you could see through it and have a view of the tattoo on the side of his ribs, the one he loved to tease you with because he knows how much it drives you crazy. Not only that, but the more needy he gets, the more touchy he gets, whether he was trying or not. One hand was wrapped around your shoulders, aimlessly tracing shapes and patterns down the side of your arm, while his other was rested on your thigh, slowly moving up and down it all night. Whilst these touches may have seemed innocent to his family, just typical Mason unable to keep his hands off you, you knew that he was doing it so he didn’t stop himself from ripping your clothes off before he could. The dress you were wearing was making his head spin, him spitting out his water back into his glass in the villa when you came out the bedroom wearing it. It wasn’t anything special, but every move and every curve made him forget how to breathe, and how to keep his composure.

“So, when’s the wedding?” His brother asked, noticing how clingy and loved up the pair of you were acting tonight. His sister sent you a smirk, the two of you having talked about getting married just the night before, with you telling her you were practically counting down the days until Mason got down on one knee.

“To her? Can’t really stand her to be honest” he joked back, using the excuse to turn and look at you, taking everything in.

“No me neither, I refuse to marry a man who thinks it’s ok to cancel a date because a last minute sunbed appointment became available”

“Mason!” his mum reprimanded, rolling her eyes.

“Hey it was one time!” A slight tinged appearance became visible on his cheeks. “I learnt my lesson” he mumbled, burying his head into your neck and placing light kisses in the spot that usually would produce his favourite sound. But when he lingered in on the final one, letting his breath fan against your neck and his tongue touch you the slightest amount, you knew that was his way of letting you know you were in for it later.

You each made your way back to your villa, giving everyone hugs goodnight and sorting out the plans for the morning, and you would have been listening had mason not been stood behind you, toying with your hand. He was simply moving around the rings, opening and closing your fingers, and rubbing circles on the back of your palm, but it was just another sign of how desperate he was for you. When he cut off his mum, telling her the plans sounded great and you would see them tomorrow, you laughed and let yourself be dragged away by his arm.

“You just couldn’t help yourself could you” you giggled, putting the key into the door to your room and turning it whilst his hands roamed all over you and his lips found your neck.

Before you could enter the room, he grabbed your hips and pressed you back against him, able to feel his bulge poking against your bum. “You have no idea how fucking hard I am for you right now” he whispered into your ear, leaving a little bite there. You turned to face him, his brown eyes sparkling in the light and lust, his tattoos on show as well as that cheeky grin you loved so much, and it took everything you had to deny him.

“I’m not fucking you in there”

“What? Why?”

“Mason you can hear every word that is said in the next room. I’m not entirely sure I want your family to hear me begging you to go deeper. Or if you want them all to know about your favourite nickname?” He snickered at this, knowing that as much as it killed him, you were right.

“And I can’t be in that room with you and not fuck you”

You weighed up your options for a minute. You guessed you could both just masturbate next to each other, but then again neither of you, especially him, kept your voices down when that happens. “I’ve been wanting to go on a walk at midnight along the beach all week, why don’t we go do that and by the time we get back we’ll both have forgotten all about it”

He sarcastically sulked at this, pretending to be annoyed that he wouldn’t get to shag you with an ocean view, but he would take up any opportunity to spend time with you so he agreed, and let himself be pulled away by you towards the sand.

His fingers intertwined with yours, shoulders brushing as you walked far out to the shore, kicking sand over each other’s feet. The noise of the sea waves crashing completely relaxed the two of you, loving nothing more than the man stood beside you and the moment you were in.

“So when would you want the wedding to be?” he shyly asked, completing catching you off guard. Of course you had talked about getting married a million times, but it had always been something you talked about as happening way into the future, you didn’t know if he wanted it right now the way you did.

“Hmm?”

“Let’s say I was to propose tomorrow, I’m not, but let’s say I was. Is that too soon to get a yes?”

You stayed silent for a minute, pretending to think about it. “Do I get a big ring?”

“The biggest” he grinned looking down at you.

“Then I suppose I’d say yes.” You brought your lips together, messily as your teeth clashed from both of you smiling like idiots, moaning slightly at the taste of him and wine. He whispered an ‘i love you’ against your lips, one you returned before he sat down and pulled you down too, so he was sat with his knees up and your back pressed flat against his chest, him rocking you both side to side gently. If you could take a picture of this moment and store it in a locket you would.

You stayed like that for a while, in comfortable silence and sweet touches until he said something that shifted the atmosphere to what it was before. “Have you ever gone skinny dipping?”

“No, no I haven’t”

“Bet you’d look sexy doing it.”

You turned to face him, slowly sitting on top of him so you were straddling him, able to feel him hard beneath you for the second time that evening. “Mr Mount is this you trying to have your way with me?”

“Maybe” he replied, his bottom lip inbetween his teeth, hands moving to cup your boobs.

“Well I guess there’s a first time for everything.” He watched with intent eyes as you lifted up the hem off your dress, taking it all the way up at a painfully slow speed and groaning as you sat on top of him in just your underwear. Your fingers moved to unclasp your bra, taking it off one strap at a time until your top half was bare in front of him. His tongue reached out and licked a strip up your nipple, but you grabbed his chin and shook your head. “You said skinny dipping, not sex on the beach.”

He took off his clothes the quickest you’d ever seen him do it, him desperate to get you in that water. Once he’d took off his boxers, you both were entirely naked apart from the fact you still had his favourite pair of panties on. He leant down, placing the lace in between his teeth, and dragged them down, his lips grazing you as he did. He moved at an even more torturous pace than you did, taking his time until he had finally pulled them off. All he wanted to do in that moment was bury his head into you, and lick up the juices that he could already see, but instead he took you by the hand and led you into the water.

You walked until it was too deep for you, your feet unable to touch the seabed floor when he told you to jump so your legs were wrapped around him. Mason wasted no time in kissing you, his lips telling you every desire he had in that moment, his tongue finding yours and sucking on it, wanting to feel as close as he physically could. You move to his collarbone, licking a stripe up it and feel his grip on you arse tighten as he tries to control himself. The colour of his neck goes purple as you suck on it, humming sweetly against it to show him how much you love trying to make him feel good. A soft bite gets pressed there, you devouring every little gasp you pull from his mouth. Just as he goes to return the favour, you stop him, and swim so your at arms length away from him. He looks confused, but has little time to ask what’s going on as you scoop all the water you can under your arms and splash him in the face.

“You little shit Y/N” he laughed, getting even harder at the sound of you squealing as he chased you in the sea. A tsunami of water came your way as he splashed you back, him using it to lock you in from behind so your bodies were flush against each other. Neither of you say a word, the sexual tension deafening.

“Mase, have you ever had sex on the beach?”

And with that he threw you over his shoulder, storming out of the water until you were both back on the shore. He dropped down onto the sand, placing sloppy kisses on every bit of wet skin he could find, ravishing you like an animal. Each hand grabs one of your legs, spreading them apart so he is directly in front of your pussy.

“You’re fucking dripping baby.” He groaned, taking a finger and collecting all the wetness running out of you, and placing it in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around him, moaning at the taste. “I taste good.”

“So fucking sweet.” He replied, taking his tongue and placing delicate licks over your slit. He could’ve swore he nearly came just from watching you get off on your own taste. He lapped up at you, fucking you with his tongue before moving on to your clit. His movements started slow, moving it around in light circles, enjoying the way it made you moan short and shallow breaths. But it had been so long since he heard you screaming for him that it didn’t take him long to suck on you, his lips acting like magic and making pleasure shoot through every vein you have. His fingers ran up and down your slit, getting them wet before he pushed them into you. Your pussy was throbbing for him and he could feel it, the grip and the noises only making him fuck you harder.

“Feel good darling?”

You couldn’t even reply, just nodded your head and pushed his further into you so you were grinding against his tongue and fingers. He curled his fingers inside you, aching to find the spot that makes you explode, and when you let out a pathetic wail of his name he knows he’s found it. The hand he’s got free reaches out to find yours, letting you squeeze it as hard as you can to avoid having the whole island know that your boyfriend is making you cum on the beach.

“That’s it, let it out for me”

As his words leave his lips you do as he says, toes curling, back arching and eyes screwed shut. He moved his fingers exactly as you like, pressing down on that spot and making your juices squirt all over his chest. His tongue rode out your high, stopping once your moans had turned into soft pants. He lifted up his head and stared at you for a moment, through the darkness he could still make out the flush of your cheeks and the rise and fall of your chest. You grab his face and bring him in for a kiss to say thank you, before moving your hand down to where he needs you the most. You knew how hard he had been all night, but you had never felt him like this. The tip was bright red, begging you to lick it, suck it, rub it, do anything to it.

He pulled you up so he was sat on his knees, with you on all fours underneath him. Your lipstick left marks down his abs, trailing all the way to his pubic bone whilst your fingers teased his inner thighs. The hiss that he let out when you grazed your finger over his slit made your wetter than you already were, feeling it sticking your thighs together, which got you even more excited at the prospect of Mason finding it. He had been sweet and giving to you all night, but you knew that right now was when that version of him was going to disappear. Your hands played with his balls, rubbing them whilst your mouth licked up and down his dick, tracing the vein. You took him in, bobbing up and down slowly a few times before coming off of him with a pop. His hands were cupping your face, lifting it up to look at him when you didn’t do anything more.

“Fuck my face Masey”

He lost his head at this innocent facade you were putting on, saying ‘Masey’ with the sweetest tone whilst asking him to do the dirtiest things to you. His hand found his base, and he rubbed his tip against your lips a couple times, watching the spit leak from your mouth to his shaft.

“Tell me if this gets too much.” He ploughed himself into your throat, the feeling of your mouth and tongue working around him getting him closer than he should be. Your hands moved to cup his arse, giving him full control to do whatever he wanted. His hips thrusted into you hard, making you sputter around him.

“Y/N. Fuck.”

He continued his movements, shoving himself all the way in, groaning loudly when you hollowed your cheeks around him. When his thrusts started faltering, you knew he was getting close. “Cum for me mase, please” you begged, knowing how much that turned him on. It only took a couple more thrusts, before he buried your head against his skin, and let go. His groans turned into whimpers as he shot his load into your mouth, biting his lip and staring at the stars above him. You swallowed every bit he gave you, wiping up the bits that ran out onto your chin.

“Wasn’t too rough was I?” he asked, bringing you up to face him so he could look at your eyes.

“No not at all, think you should fuck me even harder.”

He promised you that he would, but he just needed a minute to calm down from that orgasm. You laid down in front of him, still so turned on that you couldn’t help it when your hands started to cup your breasts. As took one hand and circled your clit with it, you let out soft moans of Mason’s name.

“Is this how you get yourself off when I’m away?” You rolled your eyes but nodded, knowing he became insatiable at the thought of you pleasuring yourself. “Show me how you do it”

Your eyes never left his, spreading your legs out again so he could see everything you were doing. One hand rubbed circles around your clit, while you put the other into Mason’s mouth, making him get your fingers wet for you. You sat up and sunk down on them, watching the way his mouth hung open at the sight of you riding your fingers. You found the rhythm you liked, fucking and rubbing yourself at the same speed. Mason delicately palmed himself, feeling himself start to get hard again.

“You look so fucking pretty Y/N, so fucking pretty” His hands ran up and down his own cock, tugging himself at the sight of you making yourself cum. He leant forward and pressed butterfly kisses against you, increasing the speed of his movements with every moan you let out.

“Mase I’m gonna cum”

“Good girl, cum for me then”

You exploded for the second time that night, your fingers completely coated in how wet you were. “Fuck Mason, shit. Oh shit” you whined, unable to keep the noises in. Your high was even better than your first, seeing him get off to you spurring you along. You were desperate to finally have him inside you, and with the way he was looking at you, you knew he was too.

You got up and straddled him again, taking him into your hands and running him through your folds. “Don’t tease” he sighed, bucking his hips up into you. Slowly you pushed him inside you, you sinking down on him until you had taken as much of him as you could manage from that angle. His hands were rested on your hips, and when you started bouncing on top of him, he guided your movements. At first you moved slowly, getting adjusted to the stretch of him inside you, but you were quickly taking all of him. Mason’s eyes were fixed on your pussy, watching the way his dick would disappear inside of you. The sounds were lewd; along with the sea, the slapping of skin, the wetness of your pussy and both your moans were the only sounds filling the air. Until they weren’t.

“Mason, Mason stop.” You said, pressing down on his chest until you were sat still on top of him. You both could hear the voices coming from the other side of the beach, knowing that you were no longer alone. “There’s people over there, just wait for them to leave.”

“It’s fine, they’re all the way over there, they’re not gonna see.”

“Could be a pap”

“Well then I hope we make front page news. Besides it’s just two people walking their dog”

You couldn’t deny that the thought of being caught or watched was turning you on, and Mason knew it too. He saw the way you bit your lip and rubbed your legs together as you looked back at the people, and knew that he was going to end up fucking you either way.

“Get on all fours baby”

You did as he said, turning around so you were in front of him, your arse and pussy in the air just for him. He came up behind you, and gave you no warning, immediately starting to thrust into you harshly. One hand came round to rub your clit, the other around your throat and you swear you couldn’t feel your legs. The way he was fucking you was so good, you could feel every movement inside your guts overwhelmingly. You tried to find something to hold onto, but the sand was just slipping through your grasp and so the only thing you could do was scream.

“Good girl baby, let them know how well you’re being fucked right now”

“Mason, please don’t stop. Please don’t stop daddy.”

Hearing that name sent him to overdrive. With every thrust he spanked you, fucking into you harder than he even knew he could. His dick felt so, so good inside you and his groans became louder than your screams. He felt you begin to throb around him, knowing you were going to orgasm and it was going to be a big one. You tried to cover your mouth with your hand, but he simply held it in place behind your back.

“No no baby, I want you to let those people over there know how it feels. How does it feel princess?”

“So good, so good” you said, your voice struggling to come out.

“And who’s making you feel this good?”

“You daddy”

You couldn’t hold it back any longer. With the loudest moan you’d ever let out you felt yourself let go, squirting all over yourself, Mason’s cock and the sand. Your vision went blank and you couldn’t hear a thing, only being able to focus on the way he was still ploughing into you. The feeling of you convulsing around him took him over the edge, and he pulled out of you, turned you around, and came all over your face and tits. “Y/N fuck fuck fuck.” He groaned, letting every last drop fall onto you. When he had finished, he licked a line round your boobs, gathering as much of himself onto his tongue as he could before spitting it into your mouth. He laid down next to you, completely out of breath and just watching the sea crash against the sand.

“Well thats two things ticked off the bucket list”

[samtheflamingomain]

25.21%

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lastly, just a few more random thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

Stay Greater, Flamingos.

[firepiplup]

How do i say no to people

You know that analogy about people with adhd having spoons for energy management or whatever? My spoons are on backorder from like 2 months ago and more got on that list now

The problem is that all of the things I'm being asked to do are Very Important Things

I have to feed my diabetic cat. This in itself is not a problem, however she's needs to eat at a specific time (12 hour spacing) and my current sleeping situation along with work do not allow this to happen consistently. Currently trying for 7:30, we'll see how it goes

My apartment has bedbugs, and there's no way in fucking hell I'm sleeping on my living room floor until my scumlord landlord actually gets the guy to come back to spray because he did spray but I'm still seeing adults and i "need to give the spray time to work" it's been fucking 2 weeks i don't know how is supposed to work but i feel like after 2 weeks whatever spray you did isn't going to get any stronger i just want to sleep in my own bed it's been like this since fucking March

With that part explained, I'm sleeping at my mom's house on the other side of town. This in itself isn't much of a problem, however as "payment" i have to take care of her dog in the morning, to practice because she's going on a week long vacation in October and none of her dogs can just be taken care of like normal dogs. He needs to wear a diaper to leave the room while i pick up his shit and soiled weewee pad and mop the floor, give him some time to be out of his room, and then feed him his special food mix. The other dog has allergies and probably will get into something he shouldn't, then not use the bathroom outside even though he literally has a doggy door that has constant access to the backyard. Neither dog get along with each other, which is why they are separated. Thank fuck the cat is just normal, this is why i prefer them

Now with THAT explained, it's difficult to take care of my own cat on time in the morning. But as the legendary Billy Mays says: But wait, there's more!

I just got rehired at my job working in a local understaffed pizzeria. My friend, ego also works there, is on vacation (good for her, she deserves it, absolutely no negativity towards her) so i have acquired her hours. So i now work 6 days a week, kinda sorta clopen but i guess it's more of opelose. Or a combination of both? Idk. The point here is, I'm then dealing with essentially running half a restaurant alone 6 days a week, with it not being 7 purely because the owner himself ALSO has the same work schedule as far as I'm aware, and wanted to give himself a day off, and since we are so understaffed it would be impossible unless we literally closed. My tasks include answering the phone, washing dishes, making sandwiches, making dinners, folding pizza boxes, and cleaning the tables/equipment on that side of the restaurant. So essentially everything except making pizzas, cleaning the pizza area, mopping in general, and driving. We generally close at 9, 10 on Friday and Saturday. Guess who was explicitly rehired to close those days? Guess how that's going to work with me having to be home around 7:30 to take care of my own cat? I have no idea either. It's only for about 3 weeks, but my mom, whom i have not asked for any additional help with anything, won't feed the cat while i have work, even though there isn't a guarantee that i can leave on time to THEN RETURN to close, because again I'm the only one on that side of the building. I understand the fear of the bedbugs, so that's probably it, but it still fucking sucks because the kitchen is on the other side of the apartment from the bedroom and there is literally no reason to go there to feed her. But i get it

Did we get to where i can do my own ADLs? Of course not. My neighbor is in the hospital, and her husband is blind. This is a new development that was only discovered an hour before starting this post (about 3:30 am for me). She's ok, it's for mental health reasons, and that's her own business about that. Her husband being blind is not a new development however. And he needs help taking care of the pets, specifically the birds. Which is fine, they just also need to eat on their own schedule. 8am, around lunchtime, and 8pm. Guess who's still at work? One of the birds is special needs because her beak got injured and needs to be essentially spoon fed. Which the blind husband can't do at all. Fairly simple task, but just adding to my obligations that are Very Important because they involve making sure things don't starve to death while my neighbor is in Crisis

Ok let's see, that's 4 Very Important Tasks/Obligations, and only one was originally my own voluntary one. Still not at taking care of myself yet, but i have my shelter, i have my job ("part time" minimum wage, hurray. Part time because even with me being there 6 fucking days a week open to close it still isn't technically enough hours for the state to recognize it as full time), and I'm taking care of *counting* about 8 pets for the next week. Will unemployment give me my money that I've been claiming since March? No? Will they let me claim with my new working hours that makes that while process even harder? Technically but it'll take over an hour for it to process and it doesn't even do that in the end? Well fuck, guess i have to wait to get paid on the books in cash and beg for a hand written paystub and have my hours worked written down. Glad i earned $100 this week, i hope now that my hours have increased i get some more

Next on the list, appointments. Because I'm a dumbass who can't remember shit if it isn't consistently recurring, i overbooked myself for next week. My much needed therapy appointment with my therapist that I've only met once and is the replacement for my much better therapist that i actually had a relationship with is supposed to have a session with me on Tuesday. Will i remember to do it this time? Possibly since i actually remembered it's on Tuesday. Will she send me the reminder text with the zoom link? Probably not. Wednesday, my one day off, thank fuck for that, is the main problem with the scheduling. My med appointment is for 11:30. Cool, can do. Driving lesson at 12. Oh, that's a little close, but i can manage that probably. I only average 1 lesson per year and a half, so it's fine, it's "healthy" to be nervous about operating a death machine powered by explosions. Have to go to social services to pick up, or attempt to, a new food stamps card. They probably close at 5, and add a Non Driver, i need to rely on someone to take me. The sooner the better, but it can't be during the lesson. Don't forget to take care of the creatures before and during all of this.

Ok. Great. There's an hour before work. Time to shower, because it's so fucking hot I'll be sweating like crazy by the time i get around the corner to the pizzeria, with me literally getting out and dressed and then walking out the door. Glad i finally did still to take care of myself. Eating? I might have something i can heat up quickly while the cat eats and so i can take my own meds. Dishes? Those are going to have to wait, i hope the heat wave doesn't get too bad, but it's been like this for a while, still slowly chipping away at them. Sleep? Severe insomnia. I partially blame the bed, my mattress is so comfortable, i hope the bedbugs like it because i can't fucking use it right now. I'd be sleeping so fucking soundly if i were in my own bed, and yet here i am. Maybe i should take the Trazodone now. I just hope I'll wake up on time. Oh look I'm exhausted, can't afford to buy comparatively better prepared coffee from Dunkin, so i guess my shitty at home coffee is going to have to do. Black because i don't have any creamer or milk or lactose free milk in my house. Just the way i hate it. Gonna have to deal with that i guess, maybe I'll learn to like it

The coffee pot lives in my fridge now. I'm worried to put it with the other dishes because if it sits there, not being washed like everything else, then i won't even have the option of coffee. It's just water and ground up beans, I'm sure it's fine

Maybe i can find some kind of coping skill/hobby to help me through my limited me time. Let's see.... I like to crochet, and that helps me get through the dishes by letting me alternate between them and a row/round on one of my many started projects. What? It's in a giant garbage bag with a bedbug treatment stick because of the damn ass bedbugs? Can't open it for at least another week and even then there isn't a place to put the yarn safely? Well fuck. I found that really helpful with keeping me grounded. Umm, well looking online, i should *checks notes* buy new yarn in the meantime and keep it somewhere safe. Uh, well, i can't afford more yarn now and i have nowhere to put it. Videogames it is maybe? Oh fuck now I've hyper focused too long on pokemon, rhythm heaven, and whatever daily games i do, i think i have 5 of those of varying lengths of time spent on them

Did i remember to brush my teeth? No. Do i remember that i should and then when i get out of the shower so i forget to actually execute? Yes. Have i gone insane? Probably

How many spoons is a person supposed to have per day? It takes more for me just to get through the day in general. Why does everyone need me to do their Very Important Tasks? Why is there never anyone else? Can my neighbor just not buy more birds when she gets home from Crisis?

I just want to have good mental health, why is this so hard

[randomisemily]

I wanna rant about getting my driver’s license, but some people might need to know some stuff beforehand, so here you go:

- In Belgium, you have to take a written test on basic knowledge of traffic (rules & signs), passing that test allows you to request for a permit 

- There are two different permits: 1) 36 months: allows you to drive, but not by yourself. 2) 18 months: allows you to drive by yourself. Though, in both cases, you have to take lessons beforehand. 

-You can get your license at the age of 18 

- the driver’s test includes a “risk perception” test (you have to watch a few videos and determine who’s on the road and who’s a risk etc) + also, of course, a test on the road, including a few parking skills

- Additonally, I’d like to mention that the laws concerning learning how to drive and permits etc have changed A LOT the last few years, so if sometimes my rant is confusing, IT IS FOR ME AS WELL

- Every 2 times you fail an exam, you have to take 6 hours of lessons before you are allowed to take the exam again. 

ALRIGHT LETS GET STARTED

So when I was 18, I personally felt like I wasn’t ready to get my license yet. I wasn’t all that interested anyway and because I had friends who could drive, an older brother,... I was happy not driving. It didn’t bother me that much, and when Iook back at that time, I might even add that I might’ve been scared to drive. 

I felt like my life wasn’t too difficult without a license, though I lived in a rural area, I had easy access to busses and, mostly, trains. I also pretty much biked everywhere, and I didn’t mind that much.  

When I was 19, I started dating my fiancé, who had a license and took me everywhere. Some might think he was enabling, but in our case, I think he was just happy to do it. He was patient with me and when I was almost 21, I took the written test and passed. 

See, after that, I’m fuzzy on the details because I’m 28 now. So time has PASSED. But at that time I did decide to get a 36 month license. The reason was mostly financial: for a 18 month license, you have to take more lessons, and the lessons are expensive. (to drive alone, you have to take 20 hours of lessons, which as roughly 1500 euros). BUT for the 36 month permit, it’s only required to take 6 hours, which is rougly 500 euros. Considering the fact I had to pay that myself, I felt like I couldn’t afford the extra 1000 euros. I think, the other reason was that I was scared to drive by myself - maybe even scared to drive at all.

The permit I chose, requires you to get a mentor. Usually, it’s a family member, in my case, it was my dad. I thought it would be a good choice because my dad knows how to drive a truck and has tons of experience. He’s also calm and I thought he’d be good at giving instructions. 

That worked out a little different. It seemed like my dad was, like myself, a little scared to teach me. So here we were: two people who weren’t going to encourage each other to drive. The addition problem was that my dad’s working a lot, so a lot of times I was tired or he was. Yeah, it’s an excuse, and we knew it. 

One time, when were finally practicing, we were on a private road nearby. We were just starting & stopping, you know, the basics. There was a guy walking his Jack Russell, but without a leash. We weren’t going fast at all, but all of the sudden, the dog ran in front of my car. The dog ran off, over a big field, as fast as it could, and eventually, it ran home. We were shocked, scared and felt bad for the dog. The dog wasn’t injured that badly, but it so happened that we also had a similar dog at the time, so we truly felt for the little scared dog. I am, ‘till this day, though, a little angry with the owner because you don’t let your dog off your leash, that’s just my opinion. 

ANYHOW, after practicing a few months or something, we decided I was ready. I felt ready but both my dad and I were NERVOUS AS SHIT. The examirer was 15 minutes late, which only made it worse. My exam was a nightmare, after 5 minutes on the road, I had to go back. Out of nervousness, I didn’t see an old lady crossing the road. It was a disaster and the memory is still vivid. 

A second attempt came around the corner, and this time, I really thought I was ready. It was closer to the time the permit was going to expire, so I really hoped it would work out this time. Failed. This time, I didn’t use my breaks properly. Apparently, my dad had been teaching me wrong and I didn’t remember from the lessons I took. 

I can’t remember anymore why I failed the third time, but I did. And this time, my permit really was about to expire. After failing this time, I had no choice but to let it expire. 

This SUCKED because, as you might do the math, I was already 25 by then. And by the time I was 25, I did in fact, really need a car and a license. I had just graduated college and I needed a job. Schools in general are usually easily accessible by train, so was mine. Jobs, however, are not. For my internship in my last year of college, for example, I had to bike to the train station, take a train, tranfer to another train, take a bus and then bike again. The internship was great, getting there, however, was a nightmare. 

It also sucked because at the time, there was a rule in place, that dictated that if your permit expires, you can’t request a new one. There was a “waiting period” of 3 years. Yes, three YEARS. There are some exceptions because I can still, possibly, get your license during that time if you re-take your written test and take your driving exam with a professional driving school (the one you use to take lessons). This is, in fact, what I tried to do. The tricky part is that, when you’re not on the road during your “normal” life (work, groceries,...) it’s harder to get back on the horse. It was for me, anyway. I tried to the the exam that way twice. I failed twice. After the second time, I still had a year left in that “waiting period”, so I figured I wouldn’t try anymore and just wait it out. During those three years, I got a job nearby where I could bike to. It was alright. 

After the three years, and 5 exams later, I was fed up and I wanted to pass more than ever. But I knew I needed to do better this time. I took the 20 hours (yes, the lessons kept pilling up and so were the bills) so that I could drive alone and get the 18 month permit. By that time, I was also working full time and had moved out and moved in with my fiancé. So I was READY to be an adult and driving alone also meant that freedom I desperately wanted. 

My reasoning was also the fact that I felt like I didn’t have enough real life experience driving a car before. I didn’t need to do groceries, I was still living at home at the time and, as I mentioned, was always practicing with my dad. This time, not only did I want to drive alone, I needed to. 

A few months before the 18 months ended, I wanted to take the test again. Six times a charm, I thought. This time, my “mentor” wasn’t my dad anymore, it was my fiancé. Mind you, my fiance, lovely as he is, is neurotic and full of anxiety (bless his heart). Yet again, I was confronted by my nerves, and his. And failed the test because of my parking skills (or lack of). Actually, I was too nervous and had a minor anxiety attack while parking. 

The next time, I tried to get back on the horse almost right away and tried to take an exam with, not my boyfriend, but a professional driving instructor (€€€€€€). The seventh time almost worked out. I ALMOST passed, until the last few minutes I made a mistake at a crossroads. I mean, fuck. 

For the eight time, I realized I needed to do the same so I scheduled the exam for March this year. Then, of course, a pandemic came knocking on the door. The exam was cancelled and I felt major relief - though, I did need to pass and I knew it. 

After everything re-opened in May, I sort of procrastinated making an appointment again. I just, I couldn’t. I knew I had to, but I had failed this test 7 times. A driving test. Thinking about it, I mean, I have a bachelors degree. I had good job. I’m engaged. But I didn’t have a driver’s license. And no, I’m not a New Yorker. 

But luckily, when I procastinate, my body doesn’t agree and protests. I was watching a Modern Family episode one night where Haley struggled to get her license and I felt her pain so much. My heart was racing. I got nervous and flustered. And this continued. I was watching anyone driving on tv and I continued having tiny panic attacks. Talk about triggers: people driving. 

Anyway, I finally managed to call to make the apointment (took a lot of energy). I, again, made an appointment with a professional instructor. Though it was more expensive, it was the best approach. My car is old and driving my car to the exam would also mean I’d have to deal with my nervous (and not helping at all) fiancé. I knew I needed a steady and experienced person by my side. 

Yesterday, I took the test and I passed. Eight years and eight tries. 

I thought I would be ecstatic, but I wasn’t. I mean, I was. But honestly, It’s all been hitting me. Slowly. 

I’ve had this extreme fear. Extreme shame. Extreme anxiety for years. Because of that, it’s like, I have to process everything. I mean, everything. For example, I can now drive to my job, no strings attached. I can find a better job, that’s not as nearby. We bought a house to a rural area so it’s hard NOT to drive a car. I used to fear I’d feel locked up in the house as long as I didn’t have my license. Now, I have to process that this won’t be the case anymore and I can experience that freedom. There have been so many small things that I had to adjust to. Also, the shame I experienced. It’s just GONE now. Just simply, GONE. 

But in any case, I’m also super stoked. And the reason I ranted was

1) to express myself and get it off my chest but also

2) if anyone experiences the same thing (or a similar thing) to assure that it happened to me too.  

And for anyone who doesn’t want to ride with me - I totally understand but I took so many classes I consider it an asset. Not only do I know the laws of driving SUPER WELL, I am NEVER going to jeopardize it by driving badly. Because I ain’t planning on losing what I’ve got! 

thank you for reading or scrolling 

[willow-salix]

I'm too dumb to live sometimes. I wrote this about two months ago and only realised now that I neglected to post it, even though I thought I had. Duh!

Soooo, someone has to teach the witch how to fly... Selene is out of her comfort zone, she's not confident and she's over dramatic. Poor John. Part of the series on Ao3.

"Brains just informed me that Selene's car is ready for a test ride and that means someone has to teach her how to actually fly the thing."

"Teaching a Witch to fly, can't be that hard," Scott joked. 

John snorted. "You do remember how we met, right?"

"Ah, yeah, good point."

John nodded. "So, who's volunteering? And make sure she doesn't find out, I don't want her panicking and stressing herself out over it, you know what she was like when you were overseeing her gravity training."

"So you're just going to spring it on her?" 

"That's the plan."

"You're a braver man than I am, bro."

"Or just stupid," Gordon helpfully added. From where he sat in one of Three's launch chairs he had been invisible to John. 

John closed his eyes briefly, oh, this wasn't good. Gordon was usually firmly on Selene's side in almost everything, not always because he agreed with her but because he feared and loved her in equal parts, that and he always found it hilariously funny to watch her exploding at people. 

"Gordon, you cannot tell her about this, she thinks she's got plenty of time before it's ready."

"Fine, but let me just say one thing?" 

John sighed, ready to promise anything to ensure his silence. "Sure."

"Not it."

Scott, realising that his second youngest brother might actually be the smartest of them all followed his lead. "Not it!" 

"Scott, really?" 

Scott grinned. "You're the stupid one, not me. Besides, she's your fiancée, you do it." 

"Do you think Parker…" 

"He and Penelope are attending the opening of that new underwater hotel for the week."

"Virgil?" 

"Busy with Two's bimonthly tune up, only leaving for emergencies."

"Kayo?" 

"Can you actually imagine Kayo having the patience to teach anyone anything?" 

Crap, he was right. That only left…"Alan?"

"Would break if she yelled at him and he'd let her get away with not even trying. Nope, this one is all on you."

Shit. He might be a little inexperienced when it came to relationships but even he knew the two golden rules, never agree that her butt looked big in those jeans even if it appeared she has a beach ball stuffed down her pants and never, ever, teach her to drive. He just hoped he wasn't suddenly single by the end of the lesson. 

"I guess I'm on my way, ask Grandma to take over monitoring duty will you?" 

                                     ***

Selene grabbed her phone when it pinged up a message, surprised but very pleased to read it. John, as always, was a man of few words 'I'm outside'.

She snatched up her jacket as she ran out the door, clattering down the stairs. It had been a long week filled with back to back appointments for her and she was more than ready for a break. She'd been about to call Virgil and request a pickup but it seemed her man had other ideas. Honestly, much as she loved his family, the thought of having a night, just the two of them in her peaceful little apartment seemed like heaven. 

She swung open the front door and abruptly stopped. There was her car, her cute little car with its sleek shape and shiny black paint job and her spaceman behind the wheel. That meant…oh crap. 

The door opened and he unfolded his long frame from the driver's seat, stepping out of the car. 

"Is Brains finished with her, is she done?" 

"Hello to you too."

She pulled him in for a quick kiss. "Hello gorgeous man."

"That's more like it.. Now, are you ready to take her for a spin?" 

Her eyes widened as she stuck her head inside, checking out the modifications. Where she had previously had nothing more complicated than heater dials and a radio she now had something that looked like it had been ripped out of the Enterprise and shoehorned into her dashboard. 

She wasn't a bad driver, just a simple one, and one that was used to roads and signposts, not sky and 'turn left at the third cloud'. She could get lost going to the bathroom, she wasn't good at picking out landmarks. That was why she often drove to her witchy venues and flew the last mile for appearances sake. 

How had she ever allowed herself to be talked into this? She glanced over her shoulder at John who was none too subtly checking out her behind where she was bent over. Oh yeah, that was why. She had the sexist Space Hunk who happened to live, part time anyway, on a secret island that could only be reached by air or sea, and she was not that good a swimmer. 

"Erm…"

Her face was a picture. She might go out of her way to project an image of being confident and fully in control of everything, but now he knew different. She was sensitive, loving, kind, and strong, but also dramatic with an overly active imagination and a tendency to go with worse case scenario.

He'd also realised that, as much as she tried to deny it, she too suffered from the occasional crisis of confidence and often believed that she would do something wrong. She'd confided in him late one night, while lying close together in his bunk on Five, that an ex boyfriend had managed, over the course of their year long relationship, to convince her that she was pretty much useless at everything she did so there wasn't any point in trying. Much as she was helping him to see that he was more than good enough, he was doing the same for her. 

"You can do this."

She pulled a face, clearly not believing him at all. 

"Can you at least get us somewhere far enough away that I won't endanger human lives?" 

"There's the confident woman I know and love." 

She stuck her tongue out at him and climbed into the back, refusing to give him the chance to argue. 

Rolling his eyes he got back behind the wheel. Clearly this was going to be a long day. 

                                   ***

"It's really simple, Brains made sure to keep it as familiar as possible for you."

Selene had managed to work herself up into a nice panic on the drive out of London, imagining all the horrible ways in which she could potentially kill them both and now she couldn't even begin to think straight. His calm tone,which usually made her feel better, was now sounding patronising and annoyed to her ears and it was pissing her off. 

"Nice to know that everyone thinks I'm a complete idiot who couldn't handle anything too mentally taxing."

"No one thinks that, you specifically said that you wanted the flying equivalent of a go cart. Would you have wanted anything as complicated as one of our crafts?" 

"Of course not, contrary to popular belief I do not have a death wish."

He wisely ignored that and continued his instructions.

"The pedals work exactly the same as they did before, just stop and go and steer with the wheel."

He leant closer from his seat in the back and pointed to the first of a new row of buttons. "The blue one is drive, the green one is fly, that will realign the wheels and lift her off the ground to a height of around two meters. Only when flight is engaged will the steering wheel allow you to pull up on it to go higher and push down to go lower."

"Does it still turn left and right?" her tone was sickeningly sweet but ever so slightly dangerous. John was a wise man and yet again chose to adopt the mantra of 'if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all'. 

"The yellow button engages the autopilot and the course is set by inputting the location into that GPS there." He pointed to the upgraded screen that had replaced her old navigation system. "The moment you press that one the autopilot will take over and all you have to do is keep an eye on the sky and make sure you don't run into anything."

"What does the red one do?" 

"That one is multipurpose, it's your stop and land button. If you're landing press it while losing height and the sensors built into the undercarriage will take over, levelling you out and realigning the wheels ready to drive and bringing you to the ground safely. If you want to land and keep driving press the blue button after the red, if you want to stop press the red a second time. That will shut off the engine once you come to a stop."

"OK…"

"That didn't sound convincing, sweetheart."

"No, no I think I've got it. Emphasis on the word, think."

"Want to try just starting her up and cruising on the ground for a few minutes and then we can try the skies?" 

Selene visually mapped out the interior again, trying to remember everything he'd said. 

"OK."

"You can do this, it's really simple."

"Yeah, so you keep telling me, because that's about all I can handle."

He frowned, where had that come from? 

"Of course it's not, you are anything but simple."

"So I'm complicated and difficult?" 

"No! You're wonderful and unique." How had it turned into this? She was taking everything he said wrong. "Just give this a try."

She took a deep breath and mentally smacked herself for being such an cow. She wasn't mad at him, although she would have appreciated a little warning before he threw her in the deep end and expected her to swim, she was just so scared of fucking up. They were all so competent, so confident and experienced, in comparison she was, a nothing. Boringly normal family, average childhood and an affinity with nature, not machine. She'd never been one to take to technology easily, machines and how they worked pretty much baffled her on a daily basis. She was an intuitive person, one that interacted with the energies of the earth, and that didn't work with machinery. It had no life force, no energy of its own, no soul. 

If she was honest with herself she knew that with very little effort she could easily become a burden and a problem to them all. Only she could manage to find the love of her life by needing rescue. The last thing she wanted to do was become a target for them or to get in the way with her inexperience and lack of skills. 

Compared to the other females on the team she was next to useless. Penelope was a brave, beautiful, skilled, connected woman that could handle anything. Kayo was a highly trained, arse kicking machine that had the brains as well as beauty. She flew her craft with the kind of skill that Selene couldn't even begin to imagine let alone pull off. Grandma Tracy might lack culinary skills but she made up for it in a million other ways, strength oozing from her pores. Whereas she was a little too curvy to be fashionable, had no real talents that she could speak of and had never been to university. She was nothing special. 

And the boys? They were all high flying, high impact, overly intelligent prodigies and she was a nothing. She didn't deserve any of the help, support and acceptance that they had given her. One day John was going to wake up and realise exactly what he was missing out on. Realise that he had settled for average when he deserved amazing. 

He was looking at her so strangely, like he couldn't understand her or her actions, and she couldn't blame him. He'd made the effort to drive her car, pick her up and was trying to help her and she was being a raging bitch. 

"I got this shit." She pressed her thumb against the key lock and the car engine rumbled into life. 

                                     ***

"I really don't got this."

The car's front grill was lodged in the mud and she was ready to give up five minutes into the lesson. How could you get up and down mixed up? Somehow she had managed it. 

She'd been driving along the grassy ground of the hillside he'd parked them on and had managed to remember that green was fly only by association of green being the colour of Two and that thing flew. OK, so maybe simple was better for her. 

She'd yelped when the cars wheels had shifted and rotated on their axis, just as FAB 1's did, pointing to the ground and each becoming their own little jet engine.

The car had lifted off the ground by a few meters as promised and John had calmly reminded her that now the wheel would work for the up and down not just the left and right and to go higher she had to go up.

That's all well and good, but her version of up was apparently slightly different to his. He meant she should take hold of the wheel and pull it towards her which would lift the wheel up. She in a classic comedy move of not being able to open a door, mistook pull, for push.

She pushed up when she should have pulled down. The result, a less than spectacular nose dive into the ground.

"It's OK, it's fine, you can fix this. Just put her in reverse and she should have enough pull to yank herself out, she's not that deep."

She moved the car into reverse and eased her foot down on the pedal but the car didn't move.

"No, you have to put her in drive mode first."

"You should have said that!"

"Sorry, I thought it was obvious."

"Well it wasn't."

"So I see."

She tossed a glare over her shoulder at him, her hand hovering over the control panel.

"Blue button."

"I knew that!"

"Did you though?"

Honestly she hadn't, she'd been about to hit the yellow. Why hadn't the genius that was Brains thought to label the fucking things?

She pushed the blue button and felt the wheels shift back down.

"OK…reverse." She pushed the gear stick back into reverse and eased her foot slowly down on the pedal. The wheels gripped a little but then span out, sending up a stream of mud and grass behind them.

"Shit!"

"It's OK, lets try to override it. Put her in fly again, green button-"

"I got it, I got it, green like two that flew."

He gave her a look that said he was seriously debating her sanity at that moment. Honestly she was surprised she hadn't seen that look more often.

"Green button, wait until the wheels are up, then shove the steering wheel up as far as it will go and boot it."

"Shove and boot, those are highly technical terms…"

She did as she was told, pulling at the steering wheel, which didn't move.

"It won't pull until the wheels are fully up, just give it a moment, don't be so impatient."

She gritted her teeth and let the wheel go, waiting until the wheels fully lifted, noticing then that a small light above the green button blinked on. Well that would have been handy to know too, why didn't this thing come with a manual?

"Alright, now hard pull and foot down, Sel."

She followed his instructions, yanking the steering wheel hard as she slammed her foot down on the pedal. The car's butt took a dive but it's nose shot up, as did the car, launching itself into the air.

She screamed and he barely resisted the urge to do the same when she panicked and let go of the wheel, which retracted, dropping them sharply.

"Hold the wheel, Selene!"

She grabbed it and held it in place.

"OK, there's no need to yell at me!"

Had he yelled? He never yelled. How did she do that? How did she always manage to make him lose control?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout. Just level out a bit. Follow the Altitude Indicator."

"The what now?"

He sighed.

"You see that thing on the dash?" he pointed to what looked like half a snow globe with a line across the middle and a cross lower down. He waited until she nodded. "That cross is us, so you need to correct her until the cross is in the middle, lined up on the horizon line."

"Again, that would have been handy to know before we took off."

"It's standard in every craft, I assumed you knew what it was."

"Then just keep assuming and assume that I'm dumb and spell shit out like you're teaching the ABC."

He rolled his eyes at her dramatics. "You aren't dumb."

"Dude, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"No?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, that does not make it better!"

He wisely shut up and simply pointed to the horizon line.

She gave the steering wheel an experimental pull and saw the cross move. When she went left it went left, the same with right, which was so blindingly obvious but she still felt like she had to test it. Following the cross she managed to level it out.

"Good. That's great, but you might want to take us just a tiny bit higher…" the top of a rather large fir tree scraped their undercarriage.

"How the hell am I supposed to know how high to go or when I reach it? What's my limits? I need limits dammit!"

"It's the new gauge next to your upgraded speedometer. You see the numbers there?" She did, they were high, scarily high. "That's in feet, 5 thousand each line. Commercial planes and our crafts aim for between 35 thousand and 40 thousand feet. Anything about 50 is in the red line there and too high. You need to go between 10 and 15, higher if you're going long distance, maybe around 20."

"That's…that's seriously high. Very very scarily high." according to the new needle they weren't even registering as having left the earth and it already felt too high for her. She'd never be able to do this on her own.

"You've been higher."

"Not when I'm not in your tin can or with someone else driving. On a broom we barely clear the treetops, it's too cold, too windy and too exposed."

"Well you're about to go higher now, because if you don't pull up we'll hit that Tor up ahead."

The mass of rocks, piled high, had come out of nowhere and she jumped, yanking on the wheel, just managing to miss crashing into them like a bowling ball into pins.

"I can't do this. I can't do this…" she chanted under her breath, knuckles white in the wheel. She needed to get down. She pushed forward on the wheel, dropping their nose sharply and punched at the red button. Red meant stop. Stop was good. Stop was needed.

The wheels came down and thankfully the sensors took over as she smacked at the button again. They hit the ground with a teeth jarring bump as she had forgotten, or never been told, to slow down.

As soon as the engine died she threw open the door and hauled her shaking self out of the car.

John followed straight after, catching up with her.

"Selene what's wrong? This isn't like you."

"Yes, it is! This is totally like me. I freak out over unfamiliar things, things that I can't control and don't understand."

"What's not to understand, it's simple-"

"No. It's not simple. Not to me anyway. Maybe to you because you all grew up like this. But I didn't, I'm different, I'm not part of your Tracy life where you have to pull out a plane to go to the shop! I am not a part of this!"

"Of course you're part of our life."

She closed her eyes, praying for patience. It was freezing cold out on the moors of Yorkshire, the wind howling across the hillside to whip the hair back from her face and she huddled into her coat, arms wrapped around herself, for comfort as much as warmth.

"I didn't mean it like that." She knew that she was a part of his life, or all their lives.

"Then what did you mean, I don't understand?"

"Of course you don't. Because you can't imagine what it's like to not know all of this stuff. If you've never flown before, never had anyone show you all that you need to know, never had someone actually instruct you on it, you don't know. It's not an automated download to your brain. It might come naturally to all of you, but let's just face facts here, I'll never be like that. I'll never be one to hop into a craft and instinctively know what to do or how to even start the thing. I'll never be good enough."

"Never be good enough?" Her last words stuck out to him more than anything else she said.

"You really do focus on the most insignificant parts, don't you?"

He felt like he should be insulted by that. To him, her feeling like she wasn't good enough was the most important thing. Thankfully he wasn't one to react to a negative situation without assessing everything first. He mentally rewound her words and realised that she was right. He had just expected her to know what to do. He was used to working and interacting with people that operated their kind of machines on a daily basis, they were all trained in each others crafts, at least the basics enough to get them out of trouble. He had forgotten to tell her what most of the instruments were because they were second nature to them. A five minute run down of any new modifications Brains made to any of their crafts and they were good to go. Learn by doing, that was the Tracy way. Sometimes he forgot that she wasn't a Tracy, she hadn't been brought up the way they had been. She was different.

He didn't know what to do or how to handle this situation. He could clearly see that she was struggling, likely on the verge of a full meltdown. She was always so good at comforting and helping others but didn't seem to be able to be kind to herself.

He couldn't leave her like that, he had to do something. He knew that whenever she didn't know what to do she deployed her secret weapon, a healing hug.

He approached her like one would a scared dog, avoiding the teeth, and enfolded her in his arms.

"I love you."

She remained stiff in his arms for a few moments but then sagged into him, her arms going around his middle.

"I love you too, but you're annoying."

"I know. So are you."

She didn't dignify that with an answer, just let him hold her for a few minutes.

"Selly, talk to me. Why would you think you aren't good enough?"

She sighed, nuzzling her cold nose into his neck, feeling him shiver in response.

"I don't know. You're just all so perfect at everything."

He snorted at that, they were far from perfect, especially Gordon who managed to find the widest range of ways to screw up.

"Go on."

"I just…i just don't get how I'm your type of person. We have zero in common, I don't fit into your world, I'm not a super spy or an awesome astronaut, I have no skills to offer the team at all. I'm the definition of dead weight."

"We don't see you that way, you're one of us now. You don't need to be like everyone else, we have enough spies and rocket flyers, your skills are so much more important."

"Yeah right."

"Yes, right." He gave her a small squeeze for emphasis. "I like that we don't have the same interests, the same hobbies and job, it means we have something different to talk about. And as for not being my type, well I've been with my type and it didn't work out, as I'm sure you have."

She had to agree with that, sticking to your own kind often left a lot to be desired.

"But then, if a beautiful, loving, highly skilled woman isn't my type, then I don't know what is. I might not have been looking for you, but I think you fit me perfectly."

"And I might not have been looking for a gorgeous, intelligent and highly skilled spaceman, but I think you fit me too."

"Often what we want and what we actually need are two different things, but I know I'll always want and need you."

"So you don't think I'm stupid for not getting this whole flying thing?"

He shook his head. "Not at all, it's not your fault if you don't already know how to do it. We just need to start with the basics and this time I'll make sure I explain everything I'm doing and you need to make sure you ask about anything you aren't sure of."

"I can do that."

"Let's try this again, shall we? But this time we'll do it a little different."

***

"I can't believe I'm actually doing it!"

Selene was perched on his lap, both of them sharing the driver's seat. It was unconventional but was working well.

He'd been great at explaining everything once he realised that she knew next to nothing about any of it. He'd gone through every instrument on the panel, explaining its use and when to use it, including the silver button that would cloak the car should she ever be followed or need to be invisible, something she insisted on calling Ghost-mode. The black button was there to activate a protective shield around the car should she ever need it. Brains had also resprayed the car with anti-scratch, extra tough paint that would stop most damage aimed her way.

He'd then started the car and talked her through everything as he did it, so she could see it in action, making sure that she understood. They were both controlling their moods and had managed not to snap at each other again.

He'd taken the car up and down twice, slowing down his actions so she could register them, then he'd made her try, covering her hands with his for support and reassurance. She'd talked her way through everything, and he found that he only had to correct her once before they were safely up above the tree line.

Now that he was right there with her and able to take over in the event of an emergency, she had relaxed and felt confident enough to climb higher, reaching the desired altitude and begun to cruise.

Once she was comfortable with that he had encouraged her to have a little fun, moving this way and that, feeling the air currents and working with them rather than fighting against them.

He'd then instructed her on landing, which she managed to do the second time as smoothly as if she'd been flying all her life.

Next he taught her how to program a route and engage the autopilot once they were high enough. That had been easier for her and she had relaxed back against his chest, keeping an eye open for any potential obstacles or dangers though there was nothing of note.

They'd picked a route that was less than three hundred miles, something that took a matter of minutes with her upgraded engine, and had looped them in a big circle to come back to their original spot. Once again she landed perfectly, having gotten the hang of the controls now. It really was quite easy once she had gotten over her fear of the unknown and had it explained to her in a way that made sense.

Their last lesson was to use the GPS to get them back to her apartment, which she followed easily now she was on the ground again. He had vacated the driver's seat and sat in the back for the return journey, content to simply watch her and ponder over her words.

He didn't understand how she could possibly think she was stupid. She was a fast learner and had gotten into the swing of things quickly once she had felt supported and everything had been explained to her. She was very much like him in the fact that she liked to know everything about it before she even started, knowledge made her feel more comfortable. He could kick himself for not having noticed that about her before and not realising that it really was all new to her.

They pulled up outside her building and she slid into her designated space, hitting the red button to shut down the engine.

"You did amazingly well."

She turned to smile at her love. "Well, it turns out that I had a good teacher."

He climbed out of the car and took her hand when she joined him.

"Quiet night in?"

He nodded. "Sounds perfect, then tomorrow we'll head to the island, I think you can handle that with the GPS and autopilot, don't you?"

She took a deep breath but then nodded her agreement. "As long as I have you, I can handle anything."

***

The palm trees didn't need to fold back for her dinky car, and it was kinda scary waiting for the cliff face to open enough to let her in, making her think that it wouldn't register her cars signature and open in time, leaving her driving into solid rock, but she needn't have worried. Brains, as always, had thought of everything.

John directed her to a spot off to the left of Two's hanger. Someone, likely Virgil, had painted on the wall in big purple letters the words "Thunderbird Witch".

"I told you you're one of us."

And that was when she burst into tears.

[yurionice-secretsanta]

Bring Him Home

To  @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin From @kaleidodreams

Summary: During a snowstorm, Yuri worries when Otabek is late coming home from practice.

Rating: T/Teen and Up Audiences (Just for language, though, because Yurio.)

Message: I hope you enjoy gift, Rodinia! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

         "Where the hell is he?“

         Yuri pulls his coat tight around his torso as he looks over the fire escape railing, down at the parking lot three stories below. The space where Otabek usually parks his bike is still empty, covered with a light dusting of snow. Snowflakes continue to fall from the sky, clinging to Yuri’s hair and shoulders. The weather can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do. One minute it’ll be snowing, only for the snow to turn into sleet, then right back into snow again in seemingly the blink of an eye.

         Yuri hates Otabek driving his bike in this kind of weather. He’s a great driver, but the roads are icy, and it won’t be long until the sun sets, the sky already turning various shades of yellows, oranges, and blues behind the clouds. He should had waited around at the rink until Otabek finished his session with Viktor – the two of them were polishing up the choreography of Otabek’s free skate before Four Continents next week – instead of rushing back to the apartment to start on a dinner that was fast going cold. If he had, he would have convinced Otabek to leave the bike behind and take the subway back home with him instead.

         Home.

         Yeah, six months later, and that’s still a little weird.

         Yuri fiddles with the simple black band adorning his right hand, the ring twisting easily due to the cold shrinking his already-slender fingers. Otabek had given it to him the night they moved into the apartment together, shortly before the current skating season started. A sappy gift, one that made Yuri cry ugly embarrassing tears when Otabek slipped it on his middle finger, but it means so much to him that Otabek accepts who he is, that he still loves him despite the fact that Yuri doesn’t have the same desires as him. Their relationship is unconventional, occupying some nebulous area between best friends and lovers, yet it works for them.

         Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the clock for the third time since he came out on the fire escape. Shit, Otabek really is late; even with the bad weather, Yuri expected him to be home by now. He sighs, his breath visible in the freezing air. Should he call? He doesn’t want to distract Otabek from paying attention to the road if he’s driving, though.

         He settles for texting Viktor. It isn’t helpful, but at least he feels a little better after chewing Viktor out for allowing Otabek to leave on his own – never mind the fact that the snow didn’t start falling in earnest until after Otabek already texted Yuri to tell him he was about to leave the rink.

         If only he had been able to reply to the text faster…

         Yuri runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

         He’s half-tempted to start looking for Otabek on his own, but he doesn’t own a car. Doesn’t even have a license yet. He keeps meaning to sign up for lessons; it’s just difficult to find the time between training, competitions, tours, and sponsorship obligations. Besides, he usually gets around the city well enough without one.

         Maybe I should try calling the local hospitals?

If something bad has happened… With shaking fingers, Yuri finds the number of the nearest hospital online. The phone starts to ring in his ear just as he hears the familiar sound of Otabek’s bike pulling into the parking lot.

         “Fuckin’ finally,” he says, exhaling in relief. After ending the call and sliding his phone back in the back pocket of his jeans, he leans over the railing and yells down at Otabek. “You’re late. Get your ass up here!”

         He isn’t sure if Otabek can understand what he’s saying from so far away, but he looks up at Yuri after he takes off his helmet, holding his hand up in a “thumbs up” signal.

         A grin tugs at Yuri’s lips despite himself. “Idiot.”

         He brushes off the snow as best he can, then climbs through the window to go back inside.

         Their apartment is in the loft of an old abandoned canning factory. Other than the bathroom, it’s completely open concept, with cement floors, exposed brick walls, and large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street view, letting in a ton of natural light when it isn’t so cloudy. It’s more Otabek’s style than Yuri’s, to be honest – Yuri likes silly things like drywall and ceilings that actually hide all the pipes and ductwork from sight – but his influence shines through in the pops of leopard print scattered around the room, from the throw pillows on the leather couch to the rug underneath their dining table to the duvet covering their king-sized bed.

         After shrugging off his coat, Yuri starts to sling it over the back of the couch when he thinks better of it, hanging it back on the coat rack where it belongs.

         Learning to live together has been a relatively smooth transition for the most part. He and Otabek enjoy a lot of the same things – the same foods, the same music, the same TV shows – and whatever differences between them tend to be complementary in nature. Yuri loves to cook; Otabek is a weirdo who actually likes doing dishes. Otabek’s better at keeping organized, so he makes sure the bills get paid on time and schedules most of their appointments. Yuri is an expert when it comes to bargain shopping thanks to his grandpa’s teachings, so he’s in charge of buying the groceries and other household necessities. They don’t argue about much, but Otabek’s annoyance with Yuri’s slovenly tendencies is their one red-button issue, a bad habit Yuri is trying his best to break.

         A couple of minutes later, Otabek walks through the front door. Yuri prepares to yell at him some more for worrying him so much, but the words die on his lips when he sees the long scratch along the side of Otabek’s cheek. It runs from just a little below his left eye to almost down to his jawline.

         “Oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?”

         Otabek flinches when Yuri gently presses a finger against the cut. “Oh, the cat got me,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

         “What cat?” He couldn’t be talking about Potya. Yuri would have noticed the scratch earlier if that was the case. Besides, Potya isn’t much of a scratcher; he’s more likely to ignore someone altogether if he’s angry, swishing his tail as if he’s a king dismissing one of his lowly subjects.

         Meow.

         Yuri arches an eyebrow. “Did your jacket just ‘meow’?”

         Otabek unzips his leather jacket half-way, an orange tabby hesitantly poking its head out. The poor thing is wet and shivering, large green eyes taking in its new surroundings, and Yuri’s heart immediately fills with pity. Despite his tough reputation, he’s always had a soft spot for animals – particularly cats of all persuasions.

         “Stay here. I’ll get a towel,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

         When he returns, Otabek has taken the cat fully out of his jacket, its increasingly loud meows as it squirms in Otabek’s arms catching Potya’s attention. Potya claws at Otabek’s legs, letting out a few meows of his own as he tries to see what is going on.

         “Potya, down.” Yuri unhooks Potya’s claws from Otabek’s jeans, then gathers the skittish cat in the leopard-print towel he had brought with him, carrying it over to the couch.

         Yuri frowns as he looks the cat over. It appears severely underfed; he can feel its bones with only the slightest touch. He judges it to be around three to four months old, bigger than a kitten, but not quite full-grown. No collar to be found. It’s most likely a stray, but they would need to take it to the vet to check if it had a microchip to be certain.

         “Hey, where did you come from, little one?” he coos, rubbing the towel over the cat’s wet fur. The meows begin to quiet down, the tabby no longer trying to break free as it allows Yuri to dry it off.

         “You know that old maple tree where I usually park my bike?” Otabek sits down beside Yuri, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I was just about to leave the rink when I heard it meowing from up in the branches. It was too scared to climb down on its own, so I rescued him.”

         Glancing up, Yuri’s eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you climbed up a tree, rescued a stray cat, then drove all the way here from the rink in the sleet and snow with it stuffed in your fucking jacket?” He doesn’t know whether he wants to hug Otabek or smack him upside the head. Maybe a little of both. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

         Between the two of them, Otabek is supposed to be the responsible one. A stunt like that is more Yuri’s style.

         “What other choice did I have?” Otabek asks, scratching behind the tabby’s left ear. “I couldn’t leave it there, not when it was so cold and wet.”

         “Yeah, but –” Yuri sighs, bringing his hand to Otabek’s injured cheek. “You should clean that up and put some ointment on it.”

         “It’s fine,” he insists, brushing the hand away.

         “Beka, go get the first aid kit. It could get infected.”

         “Okay, okay.” Otabek heads to the bathroom.

         While he’s gone, Potya jumps up to take his spot on the couch, watching in curiosity as Yuri continues drying off the stray. “Hey, be nice,” Yuri warns with a wag of his finger. Potya isn’t accustomed to being around other animals besides Viktor’s and Yuuri’s poodle, Makkachin, but after sniffing the newcomer for a few seconds and letting out a hiss, he loses interest, hopping down to the floor with a flounce of his fluffy tail before climbing to the very top of his cat tower.

         Well, that went surprisingly…okay, Yuri thinks. Ideally, he’d like to keep one of the cats in a separate room for the time being, but in an apartment devoid of proper rooms, that really isn’t an option.

         After checking to see if the stray is a boy or a girl – definitely male – Yuri sets him down on the floor and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Potya’s food from one of the upper cabinets. The stray follows after him, meowing at the top of his lungs as Yuri pulls back the tab on the can.

         “Hold on, just a minute,” he laughs, dumping the food into an old bowl of Potya’s and placing it down on the floor. “There. Hope you like chicken and tuna.”

         He does, if the way he chows down on the food is any indication, practically inhaling it. Yuri smirks, reminded of the way Yuuri always shovels bowls of katsudon in his mouth, and squats down to pet the tabby. It had probably been days since he had a decent meal. If Otabek hadn’t found and rescued him… “Man, you’re a lucky kitty,” Yuri murmurs.

         The tabby takes a break from eating, a loud purr vibrating through his emaciated body as he rubs his head against Yuri’s hand. Yuri practically dies from the cute, glad that Otabek’s not in earshot as he babbles high-pitched nonsense. Not that Otabek isn’t fully aware what being in the vicinity of an adorable kitty will do to him, but he likes to think he has some pride left.

         “Oh, gotta take a pic!”

         He pulls his phone back out and takes a few snapshots, choosing the cutest one to post on his Instagram. He captions it: Beka rescued this tabby from a tree near the rink. Nobody claims him? HE’S MINE!

         There, he’s done his duty to try to find the owner, although Yuri doubts he has one. If he does, then they’re obviously not a very good one.

         Leaving the tabby to continue eating his food, Yuri stands back up and sets his phone on the counter. Otabek still hasn’t returned to the living area, causing Yuri to frown. It shouldn’t take so long just to clean and bandage a scratch, should it?

         He knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Beka, do you need some help in there?”

         “No, I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.”

         Yuri opens the door anyway. Otabek is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, applying topical ointment to the before-unseen scratches on his chest and abdomen. A gauze bandage already covers the one on his face.

         “Wow, Salchow really did a number on you,” Yuri says, leaning against the doorframe.

         Otabek meets his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Salchow?”

         “That’s what I decided to name him. It is a him, by the way. I checked.”

         “Good name,” Otabek says, smiling as he turns around, bracing himself against the vanity. “I guess that means we’re keeping him?”

         Oh, right, it isn’t just his decision anymore. Yuri forgot. Probably should’ve waited to post that picture until after they had discussed it…

         “I mean, do you mind? I don’t think he has an owner, and we can’t just let him loose again…”

         “It’s fine, but will he and Potya get along? You know how Potya gets around strangers…”

         Potya does tend to be wary when unknown people visit the apartment, although strangely enough, he had accepted Otabek almost right away. Sometimes Yuri suspects Potya even likes Otabek better than him.

         He pokes his head back into the living area, checking on them. So far, so good. Salchow is still chowing down on his food, and Potya has begun cleaning himself on top of the cat tower, completely ignoring the newcomer as he licks his paws. “I…think it’ll be okay?” he says, turning back around. “They haven’t killed each other yet, at least.”

         “That’s a low bar you’ve set for feline friendship.”

         Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever.  Here, give me that. You missed some.”

         Coming further into the bathroom, he takes the tube of antibiotic ointment from Otabek’s hand, squeezing a small amount on the tip of his finger and spreading it over a scratch located just above the waistband of his jeans.

         At his touch, Otabek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat.

         Yuri glances up. “Does it hurt?”

         “No.” He presses his lips together, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and Yuri notices his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, um, I’m just…sensitive…there…”

         It takes Yuri a moment to realize what exactly Otabek means by that. When he does, he jerks his finger away as if he had touched a steaming hot kettle. “Oh. Crap! Sorry.”

         Otabek chuckles. “It’s not like I mind, you know.”

         “Yeah, but…”

         Not for the first time, Yuri wonders if Otabek is really satisfied with their relationship in its current state. Whenever he asks, Otabek always assures him that he is, that he loves just being with him even if they never do anything beyond cuddling and the occasional chaste kiss, but sometimes it’s hard for Yuri to believe.   

         “It really was stupid of you to bring Salchow home with you on your bike, though,” Yuri says, changing the subject. He turns his attention to another scratch underneath Otabek’s ribcage. ��If he had tried to escape out of your jacket and you lost control…”

         Yuri shakes his head, trying to force the image of Otabek’s bloodied body laying lifeless in the snow beside the crumpled metal of his motorcycle out of his mind. It doesn’t work. His eyes well up anyway against his will, and he sniffles, swearing as he swipes his hand over his face.

         This isn’t him. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia – tough and fierce. But he can’t help it when it comes to Otabek. He loves him too much, even if it’s not the same kind of “love” that most people expect. Yuri doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if such a thing really existed, he has no doubt Otabek would be his.

         “Yura…” Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Yuri’s.

         “You should be.” Yuri tries to glare at him through his tears, but it’s half-hearted at best, his anger swallowed by the overwhelming relief he feels that Otabek made it home safe and in one piece, minus a few scratches.

         Sighing, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and buries his head in his shoulder. “You really did scare me,” he admits in a muffled voice as Otabek returns the embrace. “It was getting so late, and the snow kept falling, and…and… Well, you should have called me!”

         “I know. I’m sorry.” Otabek kisses the top of his head, hugging him even tighter. The front of his favorite sweatshirt is no doubt covered in smears of ointment, but Yuri doesn’t care, taking comfort in the warmth of his body heat. “My phone died right after I sent that last text to you. I forgot to charge it.”

         “Not an excuse.”

         Otabek laughs softly, but Yuri’s one hundred percent serious. He doesn’t ever want to worry about him like that ever again. “No more driving your bike in bad weather, okay?”

         “Okay,” Otabek says, not even putting up the pretense of an argument.

         “And keep your stupid phone charged, too. You’re usually better about that.”

         “Okay.”

         “And –”

         “Okay.”

         Yuri finally pulls away, looking back up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

         “'And don’t ever leave me alone in the world'…right?”

         Dammit, it annoys him when Otabek reads his mind like that. Is he really so predictable? “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that…” Shifting his eyes downward to stare at the tile floor, Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “…but, um, yeah, that was the general gist of it, I guess.”

         Otabek brushes back Yuri’s bangs and kisses him on his forehead. “Okay, I promise I won’t die,” he says in a soft voice.

         If only it was possible to keep such a promise… Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, allowing him to hug him once again. “Just… try not to get yourself killed,” he amends. “That’s good enough for me.”

         “Deal.”

         The two of them stay like that for a long moment, embracing each other  until a crashing sound followed by a stampede of tiny paws breaks the mood. Groaning, Yuri releases his hold.

         “I knew the peace was too good to last,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, Beka. Let’s round up the kids before they really do kill each other.”

[chelrose]

Let me tell you, this past week has been a scene out of a bad movie where the main plot is to showcase how unlucky of a human bean I am. 

You know what though, I’m trying to be grateful that it wasn’t worse than it was. 

Between last Tuesday evening and Wednesday, my sweet Gideon managed to get outside. Now, I have two kitties. Albus and Gideon. 

Albus, was named after Professor Dumbledore, obvi. He is grey and white, 5.5 years, with a glorious mane and flowing long hair that is nothing less than high maintenance. He’ s an attention whore that likes to bite at hair, and assert his dominance over his much younger companion/brother/lover. Albus is more likely to be the one to make a great escape, it’s not his first rodeo outside and he thinks that grass is the coolest thing in the world. 

Gideon, is 1.5years old, training to be a ninja, and a master of camouflage. His full name is Jon ‘Gideon’ Snow, named after the King of the North and Gideon from Criminal Minds.  He is sleek, black, with a black nose, and only one tiny white patch on his tummy. During his time with us, he has shown his independence, and protectiveness. Like his Momma, he’s a little anxiety baby with some sensory issues. He doesn’t like to be held, but would be very pleased to be two feet away, in the best position to see everything to protect his family. 

I don’t know what happened, he may have been hiding out as my roomie babysat, high energy overwhelms him, he’s very skittish. It was normal for him to keep it low key while baby was here. I respect that.  During the day of Wednesday, my mirror fell to the bathroom floor. He likes to sleep on the bathroom rug, so this could have scared him enough to try to escape. 

I wish I knew the answer, so I could figure out what happened to him. 

The chaos and utter defeat I felt after realizing he was missing was beyond me. I felt weak, and pathetic. I was responsible for this living being and I failed him. I started to call dispatch, animal control, the humane association, online local groups, people were sharing and looking out for my little black kitty. 

I was compulsively and obsessively searching for him. Walking outside in freezing weather, just determined to find him. Tracking paw prints that I had no idea if they were actually his or not. 

Knowing to put his litter box outside, I also kept fresh water, food, and his favorite blankets outside in case he made his way home. I wanted this sweet little lovebug of mine to know that I missed him, that I wanted him home. 

I went out multiple times around the block, shaking his favorite squeak toy, and calling his name, stopping in the snow so I could hear if he was crying out. I couldn’t walk doing it, the snow was too loud as I walked. Crunching and muffling out quiet noises. 

He was gone for about a week, and I had some suspicions he was near, I just couldn’t find him. There were paw prints everywhere, some dog, some possibly cat, some possibly a swollen paw. 

I was laying on my head, with the window open in the middle of winter to listen for him. I knew if he thought I was near, he would cry if he heard me, or try to follow my voice home. 

I thought I heard something, but it was probably Albus, I kept thinking to myself. Trying not to get my hopes up. It was so cold, if he hadn’t been found or stolen, he was out in the bitter cold and I was loosing any hope that I had been desperately holding onto. 

My depression was pretty bad, and my attitude was dwindling to straight bitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend with the mood swings I was having. Shoutout to the homies dealing with my difficult ass, I’m trying to handle myself better. 

I wasn’t taking care of myself, worse than before he went missing, which was already pretty poorly. I was tormenting myself with thoughts of the worst. 

Thanks Anxiety! *fist bumps anxiety*

Monday took a turn for the worse when I was so ready to go to therapy but didn’t have enough gas to make it there and back. I called the clinic I receive treatment at and they told me if I could make it there (30 minutes away), I could get a gas card to help me get home from their clinic. 

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I got in my car and started to drive. I shit you not, I was not even five minutes away when I ran out of gas. My estimate was just shy of what Lorelei, my jeep-jeep, could travel with the amount of gas we had been working with. 

My phone was at 9%, I didn’t have a jacket, no money for gas, and about two seconds away from an emotional meltdown on a highway five minutes away from my therapist. 

When I heard her voice on the phone, she helped me rationalize that I was okay to call my mom or Grandpa. They would help me. She had no idea how spot on it felt when she said,  “When It rains it pours.” 

It just feels like it never ends, my string of bad luck seems so out of this world. But that’s okay, because with bad luck, you learn who in your world is truly there for you. 

My beautiful mother and gorgeous sister came to my rescue, and my Saint of a grandmother does everything she can to help me. My grandfather helps me have a safe vehicle to travel to and from my appointments and drive safer in an SUV. With the crazy amount of snow we get here in Northern Wisconsin, I cherish everything they do for me. 

When I got home, I was exhausted and pissy. Sulking in my room like a hormonal teenager. That was when I made plans to go get a friend to hang out with instead of sitting in my own puddle of self loathing. 

Well, I went out the front door to go pick up a friend on Monday night, and on a whim I grabbed Gideon’s squeak toy as I was walking out the door. I stopped on the front porch, and shook his toy, calling his name shortly after, “Gideon!”

“Rrrrheeeeoowwww.” 

I froze. Listened to make sure that it wasn’t Albus behind the door crying because I left him inside. I shook the toy and again, “Rrrrrrheeeow.”

Slowly I turned, and prayed that I wasn’t hearing things. There he was, staring at me, crying, in his box with his favorite items. I scooped my sweet, freezing cold baby boy up and brought him inside. 

Guys, I ugly cried holding him in my arm in a towel. His poor back paws have sores and they were swollen from the cold. It’s been two days, and I’ve cleaned the wounds with cat friendly products and advice from my Vet-in-training pal on how to care for him to bring him back to health. 

While I am concerned, I do not think he has anything life threatening. I think that given time he is going to heal. The paw does not smell rotten, it is healing, and he is slowly gaining back his energy. 

I am stressed due to the financial issues that may occur for vet bills I cannot afford. I hope that I can be successful in helping him get back to full health without complication. I don’t know what I’m going to do to afford it, but I’ll figure it out. :) He comes first. 

Real talk, though.

When we were up in my room, and I was rocking him in my arm, quietly crying and just showering him with love. He looked at me and his eyes watered. I felt this deep look of love and trust and joy. He knew he was finally safe when he was in my arms and it was the most overwhelmingly sweet moment I’ve ever had with him. He’s generally not very affectionate, preferring to show his love at a distance. 

I am so incredibly grateful that he is home and now recovering. My two cats are so important to my mental health and I just pray that I do not have to ever lose them to something other than old age. 

The lesson I took away from this week is perception and gratitude can turn bad luck into a learning experience and a story to share. 

I hope you’re all having a much more agreeable week than I am!  

ily silly <3 

Dean Winchester photobombed our family photo. XD

[grandraconteur]

Wish You Were Here, Chapter 2

Finally, we get a bit of Tony, and a very healthy dose of Iron Dad and Spider Son...plus a game plan emerges.

Once again, thank you to @merelypassingtime for betaing and bouncing ideas off with me. She's seriously the best.

Also read on AO3.

Chapter 2: Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun

 Witness the man who raves at the wall

 Making the shape of his questions to Heaven

 Whether the sun will fall in the evening

 Will he remember the lesson of giving?

"Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun" ~ Pink Floyd

For several moments, Peter could do nothing but stare at the screen. There was no cliche reaction, like blood pounding in his ears or feeling faint. It was like his body was stuck several minutes in the past, like his brain and his body were stuck in different moments of response to what he was seeing.

That was….that was definitely his dad. Grey hair and fine wrinkles to show for the decade that had passed and a goatee that hadn’t been there before, but...definitely, definitely him.  

“Karen,” he questioned haltingly. “Do you...do you see a guy here?”

Using the virtual interface that appeared in front of him through the mask, Peter tapped on the image of his dad, zooming in to clarify.

“Yes, Peter.”

“Can you...describe him for me?”

Karen was surprisingly silent for a moment. Peter wondered if Mr. Stark had programmed her to experience sympathetic concern that would halt her dialogue.

“He appears to be tall, with dark, greying hair and facial hair. I believe he is wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, and a rather oversized red scarf.”

“So you see the same guy I do.”

“Yes.”

With a woosh, Peter let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Something twinged in his gut as chills began to take hold.

“Peter, I believe you are experiencing shock.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s not a surprise.”

“Perhaps you should get under the covers. It might help.”

Listlessly, Peter did as Karen suggested, pulling the covers up to his chin.

How was he supposed to react?

Was what his eyes were telling him even possible?

“Karen, if I gave you an old photo of my dad, could you use it to determine if the man in the image is actually my dad and not just...some guy that really, really looks like him?”

“Unfortunately, facial recognition is one of the features that Mr. Stark has yet to reactivate since he returned your suit. He’s also added a failsafe to ensure you and Ned can no longer hack my programming.”

“What!” Peter sat up, youthful indignation momentarily distracting him from the biggest bombshell of his life. “Why?”

“He expressed concern you’d use it to track down more men like Toomes without coming to him first for help.”

“That’s-” That’s absolutely something he would do, who was he kidding? “-fair, I suppose...” he relented, falling back down into the sheets. “But how am I supposed to confirm that really is him, then?”

God, what he would give to show this to Aunt May. The recent Spiderman revelation was bad enough, but this would just give her a double heart attack (“Hey, Aunt May, so not only do I risk my life every day as Spiderman, but it turns out my dad-you know, the guy who abandoned me and that you and Uncle Ben hate with a passion?- is actually alive! Maybe. Think this is him?”).

“You could go to Mr. Stark and request he perform the facial recognition.”

Wincing, Peter shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Mr. Stark might be able to help you find your father, Peter. He has resources you won’t be able to access anywhere else.”

Peter chewed at his lip thoughtfully for a moment and scratched at his head through the mask. “Isn’t that a little...personal? Mr. Stark doesn’t seem like he’d really want to get involved in something like this.”

“I think you might be surprised.”

That...could be true. Karen had been made by Mr. Stark, so she probably knew him better than Peter did. Still, he didn’t say as much. He stared up at the bunk above him, trying to soothe his nerves by once again tracing the grain in the wood with his eyes. Deep breaths, in and out.

In. Out.

In. Out.

In.

Out.

The guy in the street might not have been his father. There was always a chance this was just a seriously screwed up coincidence, that the man just happened to appear how he thought his dad might look if he had aged nine years...

It was difficult to think of anything when his insides felt like they had all spontaneously turned to ice.

“I’ll talk to Mr. Stark tomorrow, test the water a bit before I ask him,” Peter finally decided. “Thanks for everything, Karen.”

“Anytime, Peter.”

With that, Peter silently drew off the mask and stuffed it into his backpack. Collapsing back into the bed, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight; his brain was firmly fixated on whatever future would emerge for him in the morning.

Still, wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Fri, be a dear and start up the coffee maker,” Tony requested in the lighter tone he reserved for his AI’s and bots.

“Another long night, Boss?” FRIDAY asked, her voice too carefully neutral. Tony had to commend himself for instilling enough character into FRIDAY’s program that she could develop such a uniquely passive-aggressive tone, as she used now. Her soft Irish lilt only served to amplify it.“Need I remind you that you are coming up on 40 hours without sleep?”

“Hey, you know as well as I do, baby girl, that I do my best work when I’m half delirious,” he quipped back. “Mark I, a new element, you. Insomnia isn’t a symptom, it’s a strategy.”

To be fair, it wasn’t like he had to keep working. There was no time limit, no sense of immediacy on the project, no lives hanging in the balance. See, the problem was he couldn’t really...sleep, these days. Hadn’t done in several years. Sure, he’d tried pills, meditation, yoga-hell, even flew out an Austrian hypnotist once. Nada. So he sort of...just gave up on trying to sleep. His body would tell him when it was ready to pass out. Usually by actually passing out.

Until then, Tony would tinker in the workshop.

If he couldn’t be healthy, then he’d damn well be productive.

Though clearly still in disagreement, FRIDAY powered up the coffee maker with a resigned, “Whatever you say, Boss.”

After retrieving a mug of the dark brew (like he was going to sully Black Ivory Coffee with cream and sugar; those beans weren’t processed through the digestive tract of elephants to be insulted like that), Tony leaned back against a large tool chest and eyed the projection on the table in front it critically. Rhodey’s leg braces worked fine and well, but that didn’t mean there couldn’t be improvements. He’d noticed a slight hitch in the normally even, calculated gate of the colonel earlier that day-or, the other day, a recent day, they all kind of blurred- and Tony was determined to smooth out the problem.

Not that there would be a problem if…if he hadn’t…

Tony jiggled his shoulders and let out a harsh breath through his nose. Setting aside the mug, he clapped his hands together and approached his workbench with intent. “Alright, round one!”

    The thing with insomniac work is that it isn’t really the insomnia that drives you to do shit; it’s the reasons behind the insomnia.

    In Tony’s case, guilt.

    Guilt over his once well-earned title “Merchant of Death”; guilt over driving people like Killian and even Hammer to violent actions affecting so, so many innocent lives; guilt over Ultron and Sokovia; guilt over Pepper, and how could he be harder to live with than Howard?

Guilt over the Avengers, and Civil War, and “Tony, I’m flying dead stick-”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony thought he could make out the figure of his father watching him, mocking him. He took a sip of his coffee, steadfastly ignoring it. He knew he was alone in the shop, logically, he knew that, and that his father was long, long dead, killed by Rogers’ brainwashed besty, but even so an uncomfortable chill made its way down Tony’s spine.

At least he could use it for motivation. It had worked well in the past.

Setting aside the coffee, he pushed the leg braces away and pulled up a new set of schematics.

“You have been awake for 46 hours now.”

“Great, what’s the world record?” Tony retorted, already deep into analyzing the base structure of the new suit. The key was in allowing maximum flexibility for Underroo’s gymnastics while giving him greater support should he try another “pulling two halves of a ferry together” type stunt. Enhanced or not, that kind of strain couldn’t be good for him.

Tony may have fucked up every other part of his life, but he’d be damned if he let this kid meet the same fate.

“Wake up, Boss.”

Tony jerked awake with a start, whipping around and blinking rapidly as he tried to gain his bearings.

He was in his shop, sitting at his workbench, where he’d stayed up working on Rhodey’s leg braces and Peter’s upgrade. Right.

When had he even fallen asleep?

“FRIDAY, what time is it?”

“It is 9:47 in the morning. You slept for nearly two hours. Congratulations.”

“God, why do I always program my AI’s to sass me?” He grumbled without heat, rubbing his eyes blearily as he stood slowly and winced at the crick in his neck.

He was getting way too old for falling asleep at his desk.

“Why’d you wake me in the first place? Call from Fury? Another life-threatening emergency?”

“Peter Parker is here to see you. He’s been in the lobby for the last 20 minutes.”

Tony squinted, looking towards the door as if he could peer through it and see the kid. “Did I forget about an appointment with him?”

“No, Boss. Mr. Parker showed up unannounced.”

A long way to come without warning. Tony sniffed a bit, tapping his fingers against his thigh as he pondered allowing him in.

“Hold the kid steady for me, I should...clean up, or...something.”

“You might want to hurry up with that,” FRIDAY said, her tone uncharacteristically tentative. “I think the matter might be urgent.”

That stopped Tony in his tracks. “Show me video of the lobby.”

The kid was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs just outside. Elbows on his knees, he was pressing his fingertips to his temples, shielding his face mostly from view. Tony didn’t need to see Peter’s expression to confirm FRIDAY’s assessment, though; in the few short months he had known the kid, he didn’t think he’d ever seen him so completely still.

Tony felt a wave of concern laced with fear. The accompanying adrenalin cleared the last bits of haze from his brief nap away and had him on his feet and headed toward the bathroom attached to his workshop. As he went, he commanded, “Give me five minutes, then let the kid in.”  

“Mr. Stark will see you now, Peter.”

Peter jumped at hearing FRIDAY’s Irish lilt filling the room, his heart beating way harder than was reasonable.

Be calm, be calm, deep breaths…

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Peter nodded his head and stood. “Thanks, FRIDAY.”

Peter had only been to the compound once before, and then he had only seen the hallway leading to the conference room. The elevator leading to Mr. Stark’s shop was new to him, and when the doors opened into the expansive room, Peter had to blink and gather his bearings.

‘Tony’s Playplace,’ as Peter had overheard Mr. Rhodes and Happy refer to it once, was a lot less futuristic garage and more hi-tech surgery. Half the equipment appeared to be custom made for Mr. Stark’s particular use, as Peter didn’t recognize their intended function. Half a dozen work tables were spaced throughout the room, as if put there for use by more engineers than just Mr. Stark at one time. Indeed, each had its own set of tool cabinets beside it, and on three of the tables there appeared to be projects in progress. Peter could make out what looked like a prototype for Mr. Rhodes’ leg braces on one table, and something that might belong to an Iron Man suit on another, and on the third…

    Peter dropped his backpack and raced for the table, his excitement momentarily letting his purpose for this trip slip his mind. On the last table, a hologram of the development plans for a new Spiderman suit lit up the area in a soft blue glow. It looked much the same, but the schematics showed plans for reducing the stress on his body through the use of nano-tech. He reached out towards the hologram almost reverently, intending to read up further, when a voice interrupted him.

    “Morning, kid.”

Peter jumped back guiltily and spun around. Mr. Stark had just stepped through a door near the back of the lab, steam swirling out behind him. The older man padded towards him as he roughly took a towel to his damp hair before tossing it to the side carelessly. This was without a doubt the most casual Peter had seen his mentor dressed, with bare feet, dark sweatpants, and a black ACDC t-shirt. Somehow, this seemed a lot more natural for him than the Armani suits.

“G-good morning, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, then winced at the way his voice caught. To cover it he indicated the Spiderman template. “Sorry, I just came in and I saw this up, and I-”

“Nah, you’re good, Underoos,” Mr. Stark cut him off. He patted Peter on the shoulder, then reached out and turned off the hologram. Peter watched it fade with no little longing. “Suit’s for you, after all.” Leaning back against the table, Mr. Stark crossed his arms and looked Peter over critically. “So how was the calculus test?”

The question was so far removed from where Peter’s mind was that it took him a moment to process. When it did, though, his face lit up with a touch of pride. “Oh! Oh, yeah, it went really well! Got a 97%.”

“Hey, that’s what we like to hear!” Mr. Stark leaned forward and lightly smacked Peter’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Not to blow my own horn, but I think that Stark Internship is really paying off.”

The easy smile and playful wink his mentor gave him put Peter somewhat at ease. The Stark Internship had become something of an inside joke between the two of them; whenever Peter did particularly well in school, Tony would credit it on his tutelage (to be fair, it was partly due to him, as Tony had taken to helping Peter with his math and mechanics homework). If Peter did poorly, they’d argue over whether it was due to the internship taking too much of Peter’s time away from homework or Peter’s own “extracurricular activities.”

“And how about English Lit?”

This time, Peter winced. “I, uh, don’t think it’s worth mentioning that one...”

Mr. Stark snorted, but gave Peter a look. “Too much time spent on extracurricular activities.”

            “No, no, I just...don’t really get Shakespeare.”

“Ah, I should get you in touch with Thor. Spend a few hours with him and he’ll have you wearing drapes and speaking Old English in no time,” Mr. Stark quipped as he turned to approach the coffee stand near his workbench.

“It’s actually Early Modern Engl-wait, you can put me in touch with Thor?”

Mr. Stark chuckled as he dumped old coffee grounds into the trash and started to prepare a new pot. “No, kid. Point Break’s been MIA for a year or so now. Plus, I don’t even know how to get in touch with an extraterrestrial God-like being. Guy doesn’t have a cell as far as I know, and he never returns my emails. You want anything to drink?”

The teenager shrugged a bit, crossing his arms. “I could have some coffee, I guess.”

“Nope, not at your age you’re not. How about some Korean Banana Milk?”

“Seriously, you have Korean Banana Milk? That’s so cool! It’s one of my favorites!”

“What a coinkydink.” Mr. Stark reached into the mini-fridge below and pulled one out, tossing it to Peter behind him. As Peter went to take an eager sip, Tony continued.“So anything exciting happen out in the field for our Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman?”

Nerves shot through Peter like lightning, and he choked on the suddenly flavorless drink. “Um...define...define exciting?”

“Oh, that reaction isn’t suspicious at all. What kind of trouble did you run into?”

Childhood trauma, Peter thought. “Just, you know, a few pickpockets, a mugging, some...unidentifiable attacker. I handled it- him- though.”

“What do you mean by “unidentifiable attacker,” exactly?” Mr. Stark said slowly, turning to look at him.

“Uh...”

“If I may, Boss, I believe Mr. Parker is thinking of the unidentified alien creature that appeared on Bleeker Street yesterday afternoon.”

“The what?” Mr. Stark spun around, a look of horror on his face. “FRIDAY, pull up reports on the incident.”

“Oh, no. I mean, it was nothing. Just a little, um tentacled creature. No one was hurt or anything. You don’t need to see the reports…” Peter started, then paused as it occurred to him that somewhere in those reports might be another image of the man who made be he father and that he might not get a better chance to ask Mr. Stark what he so desperately wanted to know.

Just the thought of the question turned Peter’s stomach to ice once again.

Distantly, Peter listened to Mr. Stark argue with FRIDAY over withholding reports on such an attack on New York, too distracted trying to not throw up the Egg McMuffin he’d snagged on his way for breakfast. God, this feeling sucked. His stomach trembled at the thought of telling Mr. Stark about his dad, afraid of being seen by his mentor as crazy or delusional, or maybe exceeding the parameters of their relationship. At the same time, he was dying to talk about it, get it off his chest, figure out what the hell was going on. What had been going on for the last nine years. A familiar tightness started to take over his chest, and Peter forced himself to let out a breath.

“Mr. Stark,” he started slowly. “Actually, if you wanted to bring up the reports, I had a part of the fight I wanted to talk to you about. Well, I mean, not the fight itself but just after. But, um… it’s kind of personal.”

The mostly one-sided argument with his AI ceased almost immediately as Tony turned to look at Peter. The only indication that he recognized the seriousness of the moment was a split-second tightening of the muscles in his shoulders at the initial statement. He relaxed again almost instantly and replied, “Sure thing, kid. What do you want me to pull up?”

Sucking in another breath, Peter let it out slowly before pressing forward. “I, um. The thing is, after the fight, I...think I saw my dad.”

Something shadowy appeared in Tony’s eyes as he looked Peter up and down. “You mean your birth father?”

Peter swallowed and nodded.

“He...passed away, several years ago, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And what do you mean, you think you saw him, like as a...hallucination?”

“I really don’t know Mr. Stark,” Peter said, anxiety clear in his voice.

Tony must have heard it because he took a breath and it was with a much more even tone that he asked his next question. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long has this been happening? Was it just the one time?”

“No,” Peter said hesitantly. “It’s been happening ever since he left me with May and Ben, when I was about six.”

Surprisingly, the air around Mr. Stark relaxed a bit more at the statement. Grabbing a nearby stool, Mr. Stark rolled it Peter’s way and indicated he should sit down. Leaning back against the coffee bar, he stuck his hands in his pockets. “And have you spoken to anyone about this before?”

Biting his lip, Peter shook his head at first as he sat down, then paused, and nodded quickly. “No, I mean, I’ve gone to therapists in the past about it. I just...haven’t told anyone else about seeing him again, except Karen.”

Mr. Stark’s lip twitched at the mention of Karen, but otherwise his expression remained somber. “So why come to me about this? Why not Aunt Hottie? And don’t get me wrong,” he added as Peter opened his mouth to respond. “I’m...glad, that you did. I just don’t know why this time is any different.”

“Because...I’m not so sure that I’ve been hallucinating him.”

A pause. “How do you mean?” Mr. Stark asked carefully.

“Well...Karen’s camera was able to pick him up, Mr. Stark.”

After a longer pause Tony asked, “So Karen saw him too?”

“Yeah, she did. He was even in the video playback.”

“You mean the baby monitor protocol?” Tony asked with the ghost of a smile.

Peter rolled his eyes at the name but nodded in agreement.  

“And what would you like me to do?”

“Can you do some kind of facial recognition? Maybe see if you can track him down, figure out where he’s been, where he lives-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, kid,” Mr. Stark said, raising a hand up placatingly. “Listen, I get that you're excited at the idea that your old man might still be alive, but-” He cut himself off, and chewed at his lip as he looked at Peter with uncertainty.

Peter plowed ahead before his mentor could finish his thought. “Please, Mr Stark. I have to know. This is...this is my dad we’re talking about.”

Mr. Stark hung his head with a deep sigh. Looking up at Peter through his eyelashes, he spoke gravely. “You do understand that you might not like the answer you get, right? It might not be him, and you’ll have to accept that. If it is him, then...there’s a serious question about why he hasn’t been around, why he let you think he’s dead, all of it. And I can do a detailed facial recognition, look for scars and moles and specifics like that, but even if it says it’s him, and I track him down, it might just be a guy that looks a hell of a lot like him. Chances are it was just a huge coincidence.”

Reaching out, Mr. Stark gripped Peter’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want to bring you down, okay kid? I’ll do it, I just want you to be aware of what you might be setting yourself up for. No false hope. I don’t deal in that, especially not with you.”

Peter’s nerves settled into something less all-encompassing and more simmering. Despite the fatalistic feeling his mentor’s words might induce in some, his heavy dose of realism was exactly what Peter needed to hear. Almost as soon as Mr. Stark finished talking, he found himself nodding his head.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

*******

I very nearly ended this on a cliffhanger again, but that would have just been heavy-handed and forced. You'll get that exciting tidbit next chapter. ;)

Also, chapters 3 and 4 might not be up on Mondays, just because I have a fic to finish editing for a Yu-Gi-Oh Big Bang I participated in. That has to be done by the 18th, so after that things SHOULD be on schedule.

The title for the next chapter is "Coming Back to Life." Also by Pink Floyd, as all songs chosen for chapter titles will be.

[theremightbecupcakespodcast]

Social Distancing Self-Care: Links

Being chronically ill, I am used to being at home for days and even weeks on end. But I know most of my listeners are not. The only change for me right now is that my doctors’ appointments and physical therapy appointments are being canceled, which does also mean not writing at Starbucks or Barnes and Noble. My anxiety, of course, is heightened by everything that is going on, but the actual social distancing aspect is normal life for me. I know most of you are feeling cabin fever (which is a great movie, by the way, and about a virus–more about using horror to safely experience real-life fears in the next episode), coming right up. My love goes out to you guys. As I wrote on the Facebook page, in the Facebook group, and in the Goodreads group:

I have such empathy and love for all of you. Being forced to stay home and act like the world might make you sick…I know how scary and uncomfortable it is. Please take a moment and sit in empathy, as you struggle with your new reality of social distancing. This is how I have been living for the last six years. Not as strictly. But still the same. Some weeks I only go out of the house for my therapy appointment and a coffee afterwards. Know that when I say this, I am remembering my first days and weeks home from work, and the first days and weeks after each new diagnosis, and how very difficult they were. I am so sorry; I don’t want anyone else to feel this way. I promise the cabin fever goes away. Take very good care of yourself and each other, see this as an opportunity. That’s the lesson it has taken me years to learn.

So I am working on the above-mentioned episode, and other future episodes, and also working on intense self-care. This self-care includes distracting myself with creativity and fascinating media I have been meaning to consume. I thought I’d share some of that media with you, in order to inspire and encourage you. Share some of your own in the comments, or wherever you post your own thoughts. Feel free to promote those links in the comments as well for my listeners.

Letterboxd: Carol Kane’s movies

A horror movie I’ve never heard of! And it looks terrifying. The Mafu Cage (1978), directed by Karen Arthur. It stars Carol Kane and Lee Grant (The Omen), and I can’t wait to watch it. It looks like true 1970’s horror grittiness mixed with the likes of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane and The Bad Seed: psychological horror movies where it really comes down to the interpersonal relationship between two people who may not be sane. And a la Clive Barker’s Lord of Illusions, horror of horrors, there’s a simian involved. Those Illusions scenes, short as they are, nearly do me in.

A terrifying love story.

Two strange sisters live in a crumbling mansion, where they keep a pet ape, which belonged to their late father, locked in a cage. While one of the sisters seems to be keeping her head on straight, as it were, the other appears to be sinking further and further into barbarism and insanity.

For lighter fare, and a good laugh, here’s a horror spoof I found: Pandemonium (1982):

Tom Smothers (of the Smothers Brothers) stars as the brave mountie, who along with his trusty horse and bitter deputy Paul Reubens (Pee Wee Herman!) must track down a killer who is stalking coeds at a nearby cheerleader camp.

Also stars Carol Kane, Edie McClurg (Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Carrie), Judge Reinhold (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), Phil Hartman (Kiki’s Delivery’s Service, How I Got Into College), Eileen Brennan (Clue), Donald O’Connor (Singing in the Rain), and Tab Hunter (Damn Yankees, Grease 2). I am definitely going to seek this out, and will report back. I’m not normally a fan of horror comedy, but this looks so cute and funny. And Carol Kane! Letterboxd, Amazon (not currently available, but you can add it to your watchlist to let Amazon know you want to watch it). Just knowing this exists makes me feel better.

A spoof of camp horror movies with Canadian mounties thrown in. Yes.

Then there’s Trees Lounge: Steve Buscemi, Carol Kane, Chloe Sevigny, Samuel L. Jackson, Debi Mazar, Io Tillet Wright. Directed by Steve Buscemi. What the what. How did this get past me?!

Tommy has lost his job, his love and his life. He lives in a small apartment above the Trees Lounge, a bar which he frequents along with a few other regulars without lives. He gets a job driving an ice cream truck and ends up getting involved with the seventeen-year-old niece of his ex-girlfriend. This gets him into serious trouble with her father.

One of my Letterboxd friends called this “Cheers without the happy”. I cannot wait to see this./> Letterboxd, Amazon

These are the movies written by my friend Eric Garcia–I met Eric at Yale Summer School 1989, between our junior and senior years of high school–he was taking Drama, I was taking Psychology, and Gender and Political Science; we initially bonded over our similar sense of humors and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (oh oh whoa whoa whoa whoa): Letterboxd:

Matchstick Men (2003): Nicholas Cage, Sam Rockwell, Jenny O’Hara:

A phobic con artist and his protege are on the verge of pulling off a lucrative swindle when the con artist’s teenage daughter arrives unexpectedly.

(the novel: Matchstick Men: A Novel About Grifters with Issues)

Repo Men (2010): Jude Law, Forest Whitaker:

In the future, medical technology has advanced to the point where people can buy artificial organs to extend their lives. But if they default on payments, an organization known as the Union sends agents to repossess the organs.

(the novel)

Strange But True (2019): Greg Kinnear, Blythe Danner:

A woman surprises the family of her deceased boyfriend by telling them she’s pregnant with his child.

Yes, “Matchstick Men”, if you are my age, that should induce a half-remembered earmworm…

…inspired by the Camper Van Beethoven song, since we’re entertaining ourselves here. And guess what, o happy of happies? Ozzy Ozbourne covered it, with Type O Negative. Have fun!

As always, to follow what I am watching, here’s my Letterboxd diary. Feel free to follow me on there, and I will follow you back.

As for books…I just finished Ronan Farrow’s Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators. I will never give NBC any of my time nor money again. Also, excuse some brief vulgarity and anger, which is rare for me: fuck Matt Lauer, fuck Lester Holt for being an enabler and minimizer for Matt Lauer, fuck the legal team and highest management at NBC and MSNBC, and fuck Harvey Weinstein and everyone that helped, enabled and ignored him. I say all this as an aghast survivor and an aghast human. About Matt Lauer: that softpedal they gave us, with Savannah Guthrie crying that morning of his firing, reading a statement about “harassment” and “inappropriate work environment”, it was farthest from the truth. Matt Lauer is a violent rapist, and know that going into reading this book. It’s explicit, and much more that you will ever expect. Also, Weinstein is much, much worse than you even knew.

In better news, I posted about this book and how it helped me, and Rose McGowan posted a comment of solidarity on my Instagram post. I cried, and I cry every time I think about it, tears of happiness and healing.

So, while we’re at it: Letterboxd: Rose McGowan’s movies

Rose McGowan: Instagram

Rose McGowan Arts: Instagram: her photography and videography art

Her book Brave is next on my list. According to Letterboxd, there’s an accompanying documentary in the works, about which I am very excited.

If you are into true crime, and i know many of you are, here’s the list of recent 5-stars I finished, including those by my talented friend Caitlin Rother:

Lost Girls * Caitlin Rother

I’ll Take Care of You * Caitlin Rother

My Daddy Is a Hero: How Chris Watts Went From Family Man to Family Killer * Lena Derhally (deep dive into this case by a therapist–the whole second half of the book is a thoughtful, intellectual examination of what might be wrong with Chris Watts)

Scarred: The True Story of How I escaped NXIVM, the Cult That Bound My Life * Sarah Edmondson with Kristine Gasbarre (narrated by Sarah, and the audiobook was directed by Kate Winslet)

The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper * Hallie Rubenhold (more history than true crime, incredibly moving and marvelous detective work)

My long-suffering library hold for Madeline Miller‘s Circe finally came through, and I am beyond excited. I loved her gorgeous Song of Achilles so very much. It was so luscious in its imagery and relationship, and its retelling of myth.

I am also reading, on my Kindle, His Garden, Conversations with a Serial Killer, by Anne K. Howard, about William Devin Howell. I’m listening to The Wild Heart of Stevie Nicks written and narrated by Rob Sheffield, the author of the thought-full and moving journal of essays Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song At a Time. It’s only two hours long but it’s taking me forever because I keep having to pause it to listen to her music.

I’m also knitting a blanket for Wil Wheaton. It all came about from an Instagram conversation about coziness and Muppets last year. There’s been a reboot of this blanket; I won’t bore you with the details and carnage…suffice it to say I won’t be using chenille yarn ever again. I’ll follow up here and on Instagram with new photos. The concept is a warm Muppet hug, and the base pattern is the Elm Avenue Throw Blanket by Lauren Scungio. (Feel free to follow me at Ravelry, my user name is CarlaYarn.)

View this post on Instagram

Rebooting @itswilwheaton’s Muppet hug blanket. Why? It’s a long story involving many struggles, ending with the strong resolution that I will never knit with chenille again. Stitches kept gapping and stretching; it was a crime scene. Anyway! Revamped, and the end result is going to be much more joyous and colorful, and durable. I chose colors of @knitpicks Brava that corresponded to 19079’s old-school Muppets, including overlooked intrepid reported Prairie Dawn. The Muppets are Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, Cookie, Prairie, Kermit and Herry. The original yarn retained from the original plan is the fuzzy one—the Caron Latte Cakes—it adds the furry aspect as a carry-along. The pattern is the same: the Elm Avenue Throw Blanket by #laurenscungio and #loopsandthreads. I’ve making it on larger needles than called-for for extra squish. Wil, I hope this brings you and @annewheaton much coziness and comfort. Now that I have worked out the frustration (and my health is cooperating), this blanket should be “Movin’ Right Along”. If anyone wants to follow along or check it out. I made the project public on Ravelry at https://ravel.me/CarlaYarn/eatb. #knitpicks #knitpicksbrava #caronyarn #caronlattecakes #muppets #knitting #wip #ravelry #sesamestreet #prairiedawn #bertandernie #cookiemonster #bigbird #herrymonster #knittersofinstagram #knittersofravelry #knitstagram #knitting_is_love #knitlove

A post shared by Carla Hufstedler (@carlahaunted) on Mar 18, 2020 at 9:14am PDT

I shall return with, of course, the aforementioned podcast episode, and more links, more suggestions, and more photos, especially photos of the knitting. I hope this long collection has helped–I spent all afternoon aggregating it. As always, any of the books mentioned can be collected for free with a trial membership from Audible, which helps me out, through this link: http://audibletrial.com/mightbecupcakes. As well, using any of the links in this or any post on the site helps me out. Our family budget is on lockdown. You know I still do not receive disability, and now my husband cannot go out to work. So your clicks and purchases really help, thank you so much. I will also be uploading more scripts to the show’s Patreon, and updating the Patreon levels. Please consider joining, and thank you. If you are not a fan of Patreon, you can also leave me a tip at Flattr. Episode 59 is on its way. I love you, and I hope you find something in this post fun.

To leave this on the most possible fun note, puppies must be involved, right? Well, my parents have three dogs (to my two), and the youngest, still a puppy, is Olivia Benson, and she is a very rare full hermaphrodite. She is cute as as a button as well as fascinating (her vet is going to publish a paper on her). We (meaning me, prompted by my parents via text message as they send over pictures as well) have been chronicling her journey on Instagram at @oliviathespecialpug. Give her a follow. She’s cute and sassy and ridiculously smart. Her older brothers Spencer Reid the pug and Preston the long-haired dachshund show up occasionally as well, and they’re all just stinkin’ adorable. I’ll leave you with her most recent shots. This first one was from Sunday, I was watching 48 Meters Down: Unchanged (I know, I know, here’s my review), and she was falling asleep with her arm on my shoulder, like a human, then there were birdies! She pointed at the tv then looked at me with great confusion then pointed again. The next one was from her spaying + neutering–yes, she had to have both, in a compound, complicated surgery, and she is stoned out of her gourd. I laugh every time I look at these. To me, she looks like a furry toad. I hope they make you laugh, too.

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I heard birdies in @carlahaunted’s horror movie and pointed. #pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety

A post shared by

Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Mar 15, 2020 at 7:54am PDT

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Teething pug = sleepy pug. #pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety

A post shared by

Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Mar 15, 2020 at 7:40am PDT

View this post on Instagram

I am recovering from my complicated neutering/spaying surgery nicely, but my first experience with pain meds has me very confused and doing a really good Baby Yoda impression. @carlahaunted was dogsitting me, and I kept standing up stiff legged suddenly, like I had forgotten something (Carla said it was like I had remembered I had locked my keys in my car) and then standing up on my back legs like a meerkat. I finally slept with a good, juicy pain meds + pug flatnose snore. I figured out how to untie my stuffed cone of shame. I am one clever puppy, even on pain medication. My big brothers are worried about me, but being very gentle and very well behaved. I can’t wait to play with them again. #Pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety

#babyyoda #babyyodapug #coneofshame

A post shared by

Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Jan 23, 2020 at 10:27pm PST

The post Social Distancing Self-Care: Links appeared first on There Might Be Cupcakes Podcast.

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[lifeaccordingtonixxie]

Autism Speaks (the ugly truth)

OK. So I talk a lot about my future in-laws, my fiance, but not a lot about my family. So this is going to be a little just about me and my family, and experiences. But mainly, about Autism and Autism awareness.

My parents had me in Oct of 92, and their lives changed. They had their first child, me a perfect daughter ( :D ) But what they had no idea was in February of 97 their lives would forever never be normal. My life would never be normal. My amazing, thoughtful, and often crazy little brother was born. 

Right off the bat there were problems. I was young still so I don’t remember much. But I do remember my brother having seizures, and having to get injections and shots, and get poked and tests ran frequently. Him being on steroid injections to help control the seizures I’m pretty sure. And my mom would do all of this from home.

I just want to give my mom and dad the absolute biggest shout out! My mom especially she stopped working to be a full time mom to a special needs son, and a very active daughter. She gave my brother shots, took him to Dr.’s appointments, therapies, and everything growing up. While juggling all of my brothers set backs, she had to deal with all of mine. I was an active child, I did sports and piano/music lessons, but I also had my fair share of trips to Riley Children's Hospital for my what we thought then was a pediatric heart murmur (turned out to just be normal still have it) and my renal system wasn’t so good as a child. So I was also in and out of dr.’s offices and hospital visits and stays. So my parents are rock stars in my eyes. 

Anyway back to my little brother. Nicholas (Nic, bub) is my favorite person ever! I hate him sometimes I’m not even going to lie.

If my memory serves me right, Nic was diagnosed pretty early in life with Autism, and fortunately he is highly functioning. But him being high functioning was only thanks to endless Therapies as a child. We would spend our week, outside of school at therapies, OT, speech, pretty much anything you could think to help him function like a somewhat “normal” person. 

Our lives were never normal. I grew up quick. My brother needed my help and I’ve always just had the care giving personality. Anytime I had the opportunity to help with therapy I did. We had people coming into our house to help him, and we would go to the health center to get him his therapies. Thankfully at the time it was right across the street from Fairbanks park, so ya know park visits for me! Him stimming was the worst time for me. I was always so embarrassed, so not thankful at the time to have a special needs brother. He was just my brother, and I hated that he was embarrassing me. I was very self conscious growing up I mean who am I kidding I still am. But him flailing his arms, moaning, making just weird movements, to a child is embarrassing. So I only could imagine how bub feels when that happens to him. I never really knew normal. I had my normal.

I thankfully had friend, who accepted my brother like I never knew one of my friends would. And as we got closer in our friendship, and my parents basically accepted her as their child, she accepted my brother. (I’m crying writing this segment, because I can’t thank her enough for how much she means to Nic) But the best part, Nic accepted her! Which for an autistic child, it’s harder for them to make relationships, and friendships alone. It was hard to get that relationship with me, his biological sister. Yes, we’ve always had the sibling bond, but it’s different when you become friends as siblings. 

My best friend, mentioned in the above paragraph, lived next door and we hung out basically every day. She became a part of our family, and that moment changed my life. She was and still is the sister I always wanted, and well needed. 18 years ago we met thank god for that. I could never have asked for a better best friend, sister, and even more a bigger sister for my brother. And to be honest he likes her more than me. She’s the fun sister. Fine by me. I know he still loves me. But my lovely Catherine took in my brother, accepted him for everything that he is, and treated him normally. The first time, one of my friends wasn’t awkward around my brother, she just knew, and she let it go. And I could not be more thankful, and more appreciative of the sister she became for him. I knew I couldn’t do it alone, and some higher power whatever you believe in, gave me her. But she will get her own special shout out blog/vlog soon.

Growing up explaining autism to anyone was difficult. I didn’t really know how to explain it’s just a developmental disorder. “ a developmental disorder of variable severity that is characterized by difficulty in social interaction and communication and by restricted or repetitive patterns of thought and behavior.” The exact definition of Autism. I just said my brother has Autism, and he’s a little different. Try not to stare. 

The stares. They’re the hardest. When Nic would stim in public, we would get so many stares. You can just feel it, honestly. And that’s the worst. I didn’t want to go anywhere with my brother. Like anywhere that wasn’t the dr, which we still got stares there too, or therapies. I didn’t want to go to the park with him, he was embarrassing. The stares were embarrassing, And it makes you just want to go off on people. But I’m a quiet, and reserved kind of girl, well I was back then. As we got older especially when I started driving, I took my brother anywhere I could. He was older, he had endless hours of therapies, to make him the extremely high functioning person he is today. And I could not be more proud of him. He recently just started painting. and OMG! This young man is amazing!

Siblings don’t get the attention they normally need. I didn’t. Plain and simple. I ended up spending a lot of my time with my great-grandparents. I was my grandpa’s little girl. That’s where I got my attention. I knew mom and dad needed to give bub all the attention they could, even at a young age. They were helping him, I needed to be self sufficient and take responsibility for myself. Let me tell you all I did was go to my grandpa cry and get whatever I wanted. I was spoiled to a fucking t I was spoiled rotten. Grandpa made sure I had everything. The newest barbie, or whatever toy I wanted. The best piano lessons, voice lessons, athletics, anything I wanted. I got. I feel like it would have been different, the relationship with them, if my brother wasn’t special needs. So for that I’m thankful. People really don’t talk about the siblings of special needs. Growing up my mom started a parents of autism support group, and at the time I was old enough to be the supervising child for the kids on the spectrum and their siblings. (well really myself and the other older siblings just hung out) I met people there that were purely awesome. And I got to meet other siblings, share war stories, and just be there for each other. I strongly suggest siblings of special needs find their niche, find someone who understands. And this is another chance for a great shout out to the fiance, who also grew up with siblings who had problems, so he gets it. It makes life better. He is also the oldest so he understands the pressure of helping take care of them. 

Autism is one hell of a disability, but creates the most genuine people who surround the situation. So thank you to the friends of our family who have stuck around all these years. I love and appreciate every single one of you, who has accepted our crazy little family, and loved us anyway.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read our story, I needed to put this out in the world because it’s just kind of important for awareness and people understanding what daily typical life is like. 

I’m going to link a youtube vlog I watch daily. They show the autistic life as real as it can possibly be. Go check them out, and give them a follow.

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZwd0qneWpqUqLnM5nwZpsA

[salted-barbed-wire]

Lessons to be Learned 3

I’M BACK BITCHES!!!!!! For good this time. In celebration, here’s the chapter I was working on right before I had to shut down the ol’ laptop for what has it been now, two weeks? I’ve missed you all, hope you enjoy this even though it’s fucking long as hell!

Chapter One Chapter Two Master List

Summary: A week after the little encounter with Mr. Ambrose and Prinicpal AJ, the reader is frustrated with the secret. It seems that her teachers can forget about the whole thing easier than she could. Or at least she thinks… Word count:4252 (I told you, long as hell) Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT

TAG LIST(It’s been a while since I’ve been here so this might not be accurate. Remind me if you want to be tagged and I’ve forgotten. Or if you want to be added I’ll do it next round of junk)

@i-kneel-for-king-loki @straight-outta-the-asylum @ridingmoxley @paradoxical-opheliac @ambrosegirlforever @wrestlingnoob @m-a-t-91 @livingthestrongstyle @lip-sync @princess3733 @nickysmum1909 @ambrose-asylum-ft-mitch @shieldlovereve @jubaleelovehate @xstylesxclashx @the-geekgoddes @geekoftv @stardustmoonlightflower @lovelikelove @ashleyvc88 @cesaros-smile @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @alexispoo @llowkeys @artgurl559-blog

“So, you’re awfully quiet today.” Alexa said as she sipped on some apple juice.

I tore my gaze away from the bread of the turkey sandwich I had slowly been picking a part and looked at my best friend. Her blue eyes examining me as she chewed on her cob sandwich. I was suddenly aware of all the noise that surrounded us in the cafeteria.

“Just a lot on my mind.” I offered a half smile.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

My mind flashed through my detention session with Mr. Ambrose and Principal Styles a week ago. Dean’s body on top of mine. AJ’s eyes all on me. I felt a flush trying to break through my cheeks and my panties begin to feel wet, but I forced the thoughts out of my head.

“I’m fine, Alexa. It’s just been a rough week.” I insisted.

The concern in her eyes remained, “True. First, Mr. Ambrose knocks you to the back of the classroom. Then Principal AJ harping at you for anything you do at your locker.” Alexa rolled her eyes, “Apparently, we aren’t allowed to even have a discussion in the hallway.”

This was all true. Monday, when I returned from a weekend off from my little incident with my teachers, everything had changed. All my classmates walked into our second hour class with Mr. Ambrose only come to find that he’s rearranging our seating chart. My heart sank when he moved me to the back, right corner of the classroom. Any time I rose my hand to answer one of his questions, he’d pretend I wasn’t there. My prose I wrote over the weekend even got a ‘C’. A ‘C’! I had never gotten a ‘C’ in Mr. Ambrose’s class. Ever.

Then to top it off, Principal Styles barked at Alexa and I to “keep moving” or to “stop being disruptive during school hours” every time I was at my locker. Of course, my locker was right across the hall from his office so it was difficult to avoid him. I had planned on asking Alexa if I could just share a locker with her at the other end of the hallway, away from Mr. Styles. It was all I could do driving home every night not to tear up.

“It’ll get better.” I half said to myself, “Prom is in a few weeks, then we just have two more weeks before we graduate.”

Alexa held out her water bottle in a toast gesture, “Cheers to that.” She giggled. “Speaking of which, have you found a date to prom?”

I sighed, Here we go again, I thought. “No, Alexa, I have not. I really doubt I’m going to at this last minute.”

She huffed, “Well at least tell me you’ve picked out a dress.”

I sipped on my own water, “Why would I need a dress if I’m not going?”

“NOT GOING!” She said all too loud. “(Y/N)! You are too going! It’s your senior prom!”

“Alexa!” I hissed, trying to get her to calm down. “Shut up. I didn’t go last year, why do I need to go this year?”

“Because it’s your SENIOR PROM!” Her voice became louder still.

“Shhhh..” I hushed her. Gazes were starting to look at us, teachers and students alike. “If we get in trouble so help me God…”

“I hope we do!” She kept her voice loud. “Promise you’ll come dress shopping with me tomorrow or I’ll keep yelling!”

I rolled my eyes. “You are such a child sometimes.”

She cleared her throat, “I’M SORRY! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!”

“FINE!” I yelled back, “I’ll go look at dresses. Jeez.”

“Yay!” She squealed. “I’m so excited.”

I glared at my best friend, “That makes one of us.

—–

Alexa left school after lunch to go to a dentist appointment, leaving me walking through crowded halls. The final bell had just rung, dismissing all of us for the day but most student hung around to make plans for the weekend or to head to after school practices. With prom just weeks away, it seemed to be the main topic on everyone’s lips.

I sighed, Prom is just not my thing. I don’t want to really go with anyone. Alexa has Murphy, I shot a glance towards a group of boys that were being pushy with each other. Buddy Murphy smiled at me and gave me a nod. I returned and kept walking towards my locker. Even if there was someone who wanted to ask me, I don’t know if I would want to go with anyone except for Dean or AJ. My heart clenched as I walked passed Mr. Ambrose’s closed door. Not that they could or would ever want anything to do with me again. A few more steps and I reached my locker. 03-26-20. I put in the code. Dean doesn’t even acknowledge my presence and AJ…

“Miss. (Y/L/N)!” I heard a low southern drawl pronounce my last name from behind me.

I turned to see Principal Styles standing behind me arms folded over his chest. His blue eyes were clouded over with anger. I wasn’t sure whether I was excited or scared to see him standing there like that. On one hand I was in trouble for something on the other, I had this sexy, dark haired man glaring me down like he could give me some punishment that I might enjoy.

“Yes, Mr. Styles?” I asked, trying not to let me fear or my excitement be known.

“Do you know what time it is?” He asked, walking over to me.

I glanced around the hallway, most of my classmates were gone; off to enjoy their weekend. I then shifted to the watch on my wrist, “It’s 4:15.”

Principal Styles nodded, “That’s right. What are you still doing wandering around my hallways?”

“Getting my books, sir.” I said trying to keep my voice steady.

He huffed, “You better hurry up, no loitering after school hours.” AJ then turned on his heels back into his office.

My head spun a little with the anger that was boiling inside of me. Five days, I could feel it bubbling, I’ve been putting up with nothing but attitude from these two. They cornered me into doing something I’ve fantasized about, that obviously they have as well, but now they’re punishing me for it? There was a low, involuntary growl in the back of my throat. NO MORE!

“Excuse me, sir?” I said firmly to AJ. He stopped and half turned to face me. I let my eyes wander his body. He was wearing navy blue dress pants, brown dress shoes, a tie, and a long sleeve white button down that had the sleeves rolled up. His arms and chest were barely contained by the material, something I never noticed before because he always wore a sports coat or a suit jacket. “Where exactly in my school handbook does it state that students are not allowed to loiter after school?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Would you like me to give you and exact page and paragraph number?” He started to turn again.

He’s not going to treat me like this anymore, not unless I want him to. “Actually, I do.” I hesitated, a half grin planted on my lips, knowing that if I said this one last thing, it would send him over. AJ turned to look me up and down, as if to see if I was seriously giving him that attitude he heard. “Or do you not know your own rules, Daddy?”

AJ stopped, so did my heart. His blue eyes searched the hallway, probably seeing if any students or staff had seen or heard anything. “My office. NOW!” He shouted at me, causing me to jump. I scooted past him into his office, trying to hide my smile.

I had been in AJ’s office before, never in trouble, usually when he needed one of the other students to be put into the tutoring program I oversaw. I hadn’t ever really looked around his office until this exact moment. The desk was a dark cherry wood, mostly plain, but still elegant. There were to other doors that I assumed were closets of some sorts on opposing walls. They each had full length mirrors on the doors. Shelves were lined with awards, old copies of text books, and yearbooks. There were newspapers framed with articles written about people who were alumni of my school. There was very little clutter, but it somehow felt full in the tiny office space.

“Sit.” AJ commanded as he slammed the door shut behind me.

I put my hands on my hips, “Why? So you can bark at me some more? I don’t think so. I think you, me, and Mr. Ambrose need to have a talk about what happened a week ago.” He took a step toward me, then another, focusing on what I was saying. “I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been treating me. Can the three of us just get along until I graduate?”

AJ looked me up and down. “How has Mr. Ambrose been treating you?”

I looked at him puzzled, “Does it matter?”

He took hold of my ponytail, forced me to look at him dead in the eyes, “Enough with attitude or your punishment will only get worse.”

I shuddered, “P-p-punishment?”

AJ smirked, “That’s right, darlin’.” He released my hair and walked around to sit on his desk chair. Pulling out his cell phone he typed something quickly, then set it back down on the desk. AJ looked at me with a hunger in his eyes, “Come tell Daddy what Mr. Ambrose has been doing to you.”

I began to sit down on a chair in front of his desk, “No, no, sweetheart.” I looked up to see him calling me with a finger, patting his lap with the other hand. “Come sit on Daddy’s lap.” I hesitated, Oh boy. “Don’t be shy.” AJ coo-ed.

As I walked around the desk to AJ’s open lap, there was a wetness building up between my legs. What kind of punishment is this? I wondered.

I sat down on his left thigh, I could feel something beginning to harden through his pants. His hand rest on my thigh, pushing aside my skirt so he touched my skin. My body trembled under his warm, soft touch. AJ smelled warm and musky, but there was something hidden under the musk. A fruit. Like, peaches?

“Now, tell me, sweetheart, what has Mr. Ambrose been doing to you?”

I swallowed hard, “Nothing, Mr. Styles.”

He tsked and gave a light swat to my rear. “It’s, Daddy, darlin’.” He corrected me.

A small, quiet moan escaped my lips from the light spanking, “Yes, Daddy.” I noted the satisfied smile on his face.

“You say Mr. Ambrose hasn’t done anything to you?” He looked confused, “Are you lying to Daddy?” His palm rubbed my ass again.

“No, Daddy!” I bit my lip, my hips were grinding on his thigh. “That’s what he’s done; nothing. He put in the back of the class, he pretends like I don’t exist, and he gave me a low score on my last homework assignment.”

“My poor, love.” He hummed, “You’re not getting the attention you deserve, are you?”

I shook my head in response.

His hand came down on my backside again, harder this time. “Don’t forget who I am. You must use your words, darlin’.” His hand that had been on my thigh brushed up my flesh under my skirt, “Do you want Daddy to take care of you?” His fingers tugged at my lacey panties, tracing circles on my inner thigh, right next to were my body needed him most.

“Yes, please, Daddy.” I moaned.

His lips pressed against mine, kissing me more passionately than anyone before him. I eagerly parted my lips to allow his tongue full access. He explored my mouth, teased my tongue, causing the pool between my thighs to moisten further.

I felt his fingers move to my slit. AJ’s thumb rubbed against my clit as he pushed two fingers inside of me. I moaned against his mouth as they pressed against my entrance, pumping in and out.

“Your shirt,” he whispered as his lips trailed down my neck, “Remove it.”

I started working on one button at a time, my fingers shaking as my orgasm neared. Once opened, I let the oxford fall off my shoulders and reached back to remove my bra with AJ’s kisses trailing all over my collar bone. I cried out as he latched onto my left nipple.

“Shhh, darlin’.” He whispered against my skin, “Do not come until I say so.”

I whimpered, “Yes, Daddy.”

He continued torturing my body, making me shiver with every movement of his fingers, every flick of his tongue. I didn’t know how I was going to make it, I was going to explode before AJ let me come.

AJ slid his fingers out of me and remove his lips from my breast. I whined as the sensation of him disappeared.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy’s got something better for you.” He smirked as he reached down to his pants that were filled a growing bulge. He undid the button and the zipper. I watched hungrily as he pushed the fabric aside and allowed his erection spring forward.

“Fuck!” I whispered. I had been right last week when I watched AJ jerk off to Dean and I; he was huge! I bit my lip at the thought of trying to fit him inside of me.

AJ chuckled as if he could read my thoughts, “It’ll fit.” He assured me, helping me adjust on his lap so my entrance hovered over it. I lowered my pussy down onto his shaft, grunting as I adjusted to his girth. “Tell me something, darlin’. How many times did you come with Mr. Ambrose?”

“Two, Daddy.” I admitted, feeling myself clenching around him.

AJ simply smirked, “I’ll be sure to double that. Kitten deserves some real attention.”

He took hold of my hips by my uniform skirt and pushed me up and down along his member. I moaned as the head of his cock rubbed over my sensitive G spot. I was already so close and we had just started moving.

“Can I come yet, Daddy?” I begged.

“Not yet. Wait until I say so.”

I whimpered again, not knowing how long I could hold on for. I circled my hips up and down on his lap, grinding on his cock. It felt so good to have him inside of me. AJ’s lips grazed the skin of my collar bone as his lips made their way down to my breasts again.

“You’re so soft, Miss. (Y/L/N). So warm. So tight.” His tongue flicked against my right nipple and my walls squeezed him again. His hips began to thrust up into me, still holding my waist to steady my body. His mouth wrapped around my nipple and his pace quicken.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. My orgasm came crashing down, causing me to squeeze AJ even tighter as I cried out for him. His thrusts stopped and his hand raked across my ass. I yelped at the stinging sensation on my cheek.

AJ tsked again and stood up, knocking me to the floor. “Daddy told you to wait to come until he told you, didn’t he?”

I nodded.

AJ grabbed my ponytail again and pushed me forward between his ankles so he could give my behind another good smack. I could feel my butt turning red from his palm. He let me up then pushed his pants and boxers to the ground. He kicked off his shoes and pants.

“Your skirt, shoes, and socks need to go.”

I quickly stood and did as I was told. Removing everything except for my panties. I stood there almost completely naked and watched AJ loosen his blue and red striped tie. He laid it down nice and neat on the desk, next to where I stood.

AJ’s eyes looked me over, “You’re so beautiful, Miss. (Y/L/N). And with the mirrors on my supply closets it’s nice to get a full view of you.” His gaze shifted behind me to the closet door. “I can see my hand print.”

I blushed. “Yes, Daddy.”

“On your knees.” He told me. I knelt before him, his cock was in line with my mouth. I knew what he wanted. “Now, be a good girl and suck Daddy’s cock.”

I took one hand and guided it into my mouth. My lips wrapped around his member and I pumped him in and out of my mouth. Using my hand as an extension, I heard him moan in pleasure. “Good girl.” AJ praised me.

The praise only made me quicken my movements. The taste of his precum was on my tongue already. I felt him bend, limiting my movements. His hand lightly tapped on my ass, spreading my cheeks. “You should see yourself in this mirror, love.” AJ’s fingers tugged on my thong.

I whimpered as his finger trailed passed my butt and down to my wetness. My body still ached for more of him. He stood up straight, leaving my body in need of him still.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Clean daddy’s dick off. Can you taste yourself?”

“Yes, Daddy.” I whispered with a flick of my tongue, then plunged him right back into my mouth.

I looked up to see him pulling the tie off the desk, “Your punishment for being so mouthy.” He smirked and took my hands and tied them behind my back. My mouth could only go so far down his shaft and it was tough not to get the momentum going that I had before.

AJ must have gotten impatient because his hand took hold of my ponytail, keeping my head still while his hips thrust in my face. I felt my gag reflexes kick in and my throat closed around his cock. I choked.

“This is what happens when you don’t do as you’re told, darlin’.” He smiled pulling me off him.

“Yes, daddy.” I croaked, tears filled my eyes from the gagging.

AJ leaned over and pushed aside papers and pens from his desk, “Lay down.” He instructed.

I walked over to the desk and, with AJ’s hand guiding me, laid across the top of it. My hands were still bound behind me and the cool wood of the desktop pushing them into my back was slightly uncomfortable. AJ plopped down in his desk chair and scooted in between my legs. I groaned as the tip of his finger traced patterns along the outside of my slit, teasing me.

“Daddy, please?” I begged.

“You look so tasty, darlin’. I want to savor you.”

There was a knock at the door and I jumped.

“Boss?” A voice said on the other side of AJ’s door.

It was Dean. My heart raced and I began to be filled with panic.

“Come in, Mr. Ambrose.” AJ yelled.

“AJ!” I rasped. I tried to sit up or roll off the desk, but couldn’t without use of my hands.

His fingertips lightly slapped against my clit and my head fell back, mouth agape in a moan. “Daddy!” He hissed back.

Dean walked into the office and his eyes flew open wide, quickly making sure to shut the door behind him. He looked us over. “What’s going on here?” He demanded.

“Miss. (Y/L/N) was just telling me how you weren’t giving her enough attention.” AJ smirked, his finger slipped inside of me and I moaned at his touch. Goosebumps ran up my body. “I called you in here to show you how to properly give a woman like her attention.”

I heard a low growl rumble through Dean’s chest, “I refuse to-“

“Ah, ah, ah.” AJ wagged his free finger. “You’ll stay here and watch or I’ll out us all.”

My heart stopped and I looked up at AJ, “Wha-“ His fingers moved again causing me to writhe with pleasure.

“You’re bluffing.” Ambrose huffed.

“If you really believe that, leave. But are you really will to risk getting yourself or Kitten here in trouble?”

I could see the wheels in Dean’s head turning. He was weighing out his options. He looked at me laying there on AJ’s desk. His eyes trailed down my body then looked back up at my face. He sighed.

“Fine.”

He sat in one the chairs.

Suddenly, AJ’s tongue brushed against my clit. My eyes rolled back again and he began tormenting me with his tongue.

“You’re right, Ambrose.” He looked up at Dean, “She tastes as good as she looks.” He slipped a finger inside of me, “Come when you’re ready this time, sweet pea.” He told me gently and his lower lip pouted against my already sensitive bud.

My cunt moistened and my hips bucked against his head. AJ’s mouth was just as talented as the rest of his body and soon I melted against him. Crying out and moaning his name.

“Oh my God, Daddy.” I whispered as he stood up to meet my moans with kisses.

He slipped his member inside of me while my core was still curled from the force of my second orgasm.

“Jesus,” He grumbled, wrapping my legs around his hips. “You tightened right back up, like I’ve never been inside of you before.” His thrusts were deep and hard. My tailbone crushed my hands into the desk. “Do you like the way Daddy fucks you, (Y/N)?”

I whimpered while his fingers dug into my skin, “Yes Daddy.”

AJ licked his lips, eyes focused on my bouncing breasts, “Maybe you should Mr. Ambrose, Darlin’. Tell him how good it feels.”

My head leaned back, Dean was upside down in my prospective. There was a bulge in his pants that was noticeable, although he was attempting to keep it covered by his hand. I bit my lip and locked eyes with him, “It feels so good how Daddy fucks me.” Anger flashed through Ambrose’s eyes. He’s jealous?

AJ’s thumb pressed against my clit and the pressure sent me close to the edge. I turned my attention back to AJ, moaning and whimpering. “Can I come yet, Daddy?” I begged. “Please?”

AJ smirked, “Yes, baby. Come for Daddy.” He leaned down and took my perked nipple in his mouth, allowing his teeth to graze along the flesh.

I cried out, my eyes rolled to the back of my head. My third orgasm crashed over me, and I was starting to feel exhausted. My breathing was heavy and I could feel a flush coming from my neck through my face. AJ was sweating but still looking like he could continue for hours.

AJ helped me up and stood me up as best he could. I leaned my weight against him, beginning to feel a little like a ragdoll. AJ positioned me in front of him so I was facing the mirror on the back of the supply closet door.

“Look.” He whispered.

I did. My face was redder than I thought it was. My hair was frizzed out and falling out of my ponytail.  There were bruises forming on my hips where his fingers had held me. I was sure that my backside was covered with bruises as well from my knuckles being pressed into it.

AJ gave me a kiss on the neck, “You’re mine.” He whispered so only I could hear it.

In that moment, I forgot Dean was in the room. I forgot that I was only in high school and fucking my principal. I nodded, “Yes, Daddy.” I told him back, “I am yours.”

I heard him moan and he spun me to lay face down on his desk. AJ’s palm kneaded my ass. “She’s mine.” He growled.

Dean was glaring at AJ. I could hear a low, animalistic growl coming from his body. His eyes moved to me and I realized what I had done. My heart broke.

AJ slammed his shaft back into me again and again. I knew he was close and I could feel my fourth orgasm nearing. But I was too distracted to fully enjoy it. I wanted to reach out to Dean. I wanted him to know I loved him just as much as I loved AJ.. I love them both.

AJ’s cock rolled over my gspot for a final time. “Dean!” I whined as my orgasm shuddered down my spine.

AJ came, spilling his load into me. “What did you say?” He gasped out of breath.

I looked up to see Dean’s eyes were wide with surprise. His mouth slowly turned up into a satisfied grin. “I think we both heard what she said, AJ.”

A hard pain shot through my ass. AJ’s hand stung against my flesh. It stung enough to make me cry out and my eyes filled with tears knowing I had fucked up completely. AJ pulled out of me and gathered his clothes up.

“Get out. Both of you.” Principal Styles growled and walked into the supply closet to get dressed, slamming the door behind him.

I let out a sob. “Wait. AJ!”

“Don’t cry.” Dean said, standing next to me with my clothes. “I’ll treat you better the next time I have you.”

“What?” I looked confused.

Dean simply winked and gave me a light kiss on the forehead before leaving me alone to get dressed in AJ’s empty office.

[purpleangel35]

My college story: A request :)

Hello everyone! 

Tonight I’m answering a question that made me very excited to receive! It was placed by @kimcheed​. 

So, here it goes. 

I am from Colombia, so that’s where I have studied my whole life (I did spend around 3 months in a high school in the US, but I was on vacation from high school here, so I never planned to stay there in the first place, I was 13) 

I graduated high school when I was 16 (it’s a common age to graduate here), and I had a terrible guidance for choosing what I wanted to do with my life, so I had to seek help from people in my family, which mid you, is difficult. 

Why is it difficult to ask your family? Because maybe they have a plan for you, or they want something for you that isn’t exactly what you want, or they want you to do something THEY couldn’t do. But it doesn’t hurt to hear their options either. Just don’t take it as a fixed path.

I thought of EVERYTHING. Well, everything except being a lawyer. I have nothing against Law, I just knew after reading what it was about that it wasn’t going to be my thing. I always was more science inclined. 

So I made a list of things that interested me, pretty general, like “medicine”, “engineering”, “design”, and so on. And then started thinking about what I could do with that degree, and which skills I would need. 

Pretty soon, I realized people skills were not my thing, and that I’m very sensitive to foul smells, so medicine was out. 

Then, the one place where I wanted to do design, was a HOT city, we’re talking HOT ALL THE TIME (I’m not exaggerating), and I don’t do well on hot weather. The only reason I didn’t study design, was because of the weather. 

But, I was also finding out that engineering was luring me in slowly, but surely.  

Here, there are private and public schools. And there are countless “different” engineering(s), different emphasis and different fields of study. 

And I decided to apply to Industrial Engineering, because I like logistics. And I applied to one private university, and two public ones. For the public ones, I needed to take an entrance exam (different from the required state exam, ICFES here, SAT in the states I think). I never went to the private school interview, it was too expensive and my family couldn’t afford it at the time, we couldn’t afford a loan for it either. 

On one of the public schools (the best one in the country) I was wait-listed, which BROKE me. I literally sat down and cried in front of the computer in high school. It was the worst day ever. I was 7 spots from being in. Which isn’t much, BUT, it felt like a defeat for me. Nothing was assured, I didn’t know if seven people were going to go somewhere else. 

But I had a second exam to take, and it was for the second (some times third, but always top three) school in the country. That one I aced. They accept I think 100-150 people for each program, and I was placed 47 out of 1547 people. I was static. 

So I graduated, and I had to move to another city, and live alone with roommates.... It was all the college package. So I did two semesters of Industrial Engineering and then called my mom in tears because I wanted to quit the career. 

Yeap, I first studied a major I thought I would like but then realized I didn’t see myself doing it for the rest of my life. 

All it took was one chemistry class, when I asked my teacher “When are we going to cover organic chemistry?” and he said “Industrial Engineers only cover inorganic chemistry”. That was on my first semester, and on my second one I was skipping lessons and just... I had given up. 

I love engineering, I think it’s something for curious people who want to solve problems, who want to help make things better, and there are so many fields.... 

So I was left thinking “what the fuck am I going to do now?” for about 10 minutes before I remembered my aunt (my mom’s younger sister) is an Agro-industrial Engineer (lots of organic things there...). And I also remember my father telling me to study that exact same thing, and me telling him “no, it’s my life, it’s what I want”.... When I came home, and said I wanted that as my plan B, my dad was like “I told you so” and I was like “I know, I know, I did learn valuable life lessons”. 

The thing is... I was always a very curious child, and I loved playing barbies and helping my dad fix his car. I grew up in the countryside, and while we never had more than a handful chickens and hens, we did crop things for ourselves (it’s a very small house in the countryside, it’s not exactly a farm, just a big backyard). 

So in my mind it made sense to jump there. 

The change was tangible, I mean, I went from talking about steel to talking about how many plants fit in an acre (depends on the crop, the soil, and so on). I needed everything I loved in high school (Physics, chemistry, biology, English, I always sucked at math, and still do, but math too... ) And I was thinking about how to solve problems that are important in my eyes, like how to make crops produce more, or how to not waste as much food, or how to really use everything from a single source (be it a plant or an animal). By my fifth year, I realized I was going to learn some law and develop social skills anyways, so...That too. 

I moved back in with my parents because the best school in my field was in my hometown, so it was a 40 minute car drive from home to the university. After a year and a half, I was back home for a 5 year career. 

I had to go through all that to realize what I actually wanted to study... I don’t think it was a “waste of time” my time spent elsewhere, I learned how to go to do bank related things, and how to call for a doctor’s appointment, or who to ask about something related to the university. Should I talk to the dean or the director? Or the teacher first? Stuff like that. 

What should someone major in? 

Well... I’m not sure. I never took tests nor did I have someone to guide me when I was in school. As long as I had good grades, I wasn’t someone to look after. I had it all figured out in the eyes of everyone else. 

Yes, the subjects you like in high school are important, because they might be saying something... but I liked EVERYTHING. I only disliked Religion and P.E (oh yeah, I was a catholic school girl). 

I think you should really look at the subjects you like in high school and ask yourself where you would use them. Is it in medicine? in engineering? journalism? law? design? arts? history? literature? There are so many options... And then ask yourself if you like that option. 

The thing is... I don’t really know much about the college system in the US, or in other countries really, but here you pick a career right away, and take 5 to 7 years to study it (5 for the average, 7 for medicine) So you are right away studying “Medicine” or “journalism” or “business management” or stuff like that.

 And it’s a lot to ask for a 16 year old who is still gushing about their first kiss, or their first drunken night (yeah, underage drinking). It’s a lot to ask for an 18 year old who doesn’t really feel like an “adult” who should be voting on presidential elections. 

I’m now 24 and I wonder if I made the right choice.... I already graduated, I’m working and starting a masters, and I’m good at what I do, but I still second guess myself... 

You will always be second guessing yourself, to be honest... You’ll look at someone else’s job and say “That’s interesting”, and wonder if maybe you chose right.... That’s a problem people who love learning... There is something you go back to (your career), but you still wonder because learning is the best part of life. 

Make a list, and look at what people do for a living in that field. Do you want to do that too? Or do you want something else?

If your parents are open minded and understanding, ask them what they think. If not, ask your most trusted teacher, or a friend. Talk to someone. even someone online... Tell them about your options, your doubts... I you don’t even have options, then... what do you like? what would you like to do? what are your hobbies? what do you hate? Sometimes is easier to say “I don’t like that” than saying “I like that”. 

Make that list, “things I don’t like”, narrow it down... After that, what do you think is going to make you happy? Or what might make you feel like you have a purpose in life? 

With my field, I can work on food. I can work on wasting less when people crop, I can work on putting those wastes to good use, I work on thinking of ways to preserve food better, I work on thinking how to feed the people in need, or food alternatives for people with chronic diseases (something that hits close to home, because my grandmother died from diabetes type 2, my mom has high blood pressure, and all the females in my mom’s generation have cancer) 

But I figured that out after 3 years of agro-industrial engineering... At first I only wanted to make tasty things for people in a supermarket. 

 After you have figured that out... Where do you want to study? 

Leaving home is something everyone is always excited about, so, where?

or, which university? 

Because some pick based on geography, others pick based on mascot. Both are good and valid...

Do you have only one choice, or are you going to have a second choice? a third? 

Which college might give you the flexibility you need? Say you want to study physics with a side of watercolor, where could you do that more easily? 

Because, at the end of the day, the most important thing is feeling happy with what you are studying. 

Don’t be afraid to dream big, and don’t be afraid to study something that makes you feel “warmth” in you heart. Sometimes you won’t like a subject, but what is a subject in the grand scheme of things? 

I really do hope this has helped answer your question, and please if you want to talk about it, my ask box is always open. 

And I hope this story can help someone out there. 

I made a mistake, picked something else before landing on what I am doing now. I learned a lot from that experience, and learned about myself. Some things you learn that way, and there aren’t textbooks or manuals that teach that. 

Think about what will make you happy, and how you can help a little to make the world better. 

And don’t be afraid to try... Don’t be afraid of needing extra time for figuring things out. It’s not easy, it never is. 

-S

P.S: thank you for reading all this! Sorry for the long post, and I hope this has helped! 

[quadrant90]

I need to make changes in my life because at the moment I can’t see a satisfying future for myself. But how do you do that when you have no catalyst for change? My routine stays the same and then I lament the days lost. I have been on this site three years. Everyone around has changed. I haven’t. I can’t change the past (if I could I would, assuming I can pick and choose certain parts of the present to keep), but instead of looking to fix the future, I cling to the past. You know what my mind keeps telling me? “I’ll be dead before thirty.” I don’t want that. But I don’t do anything about it. I’m stuck and I don’t know how to become unstuck. I make a plan for the future and that goes to waste, and when I actually do try to do something about the future something stops it. I’ve actually for once managed to get an application for university completed barring one section where it asks for a reference. My ex-employer has refused because he thinks it needs to be from an academic background rather than employment. Previous employer never replied so I went all the way back to my head of sixth form from school. That was seven years ago. She told me she would have one done for the end of last week. I’m still waiting. I lost track of my future during education and I’m paying the price for that... and true you don’t need a degree to go into programming but a degree would formalise it IMO. It’s the last week of Feb next week and I’ve not done anything I was hoping to start doing this year. Not started driving lessons, not even messed about seeing a gym membership to improve my fitness, nor booked an appointment with a doctor to see if they can do something. I’m spineless and insecure. I never open up to anyone because I don’t want to be judged, even though half the people I know on Facebook I don’t really care about. I don’t have many friends in person because I’m not a great conversationalist in person and being introverted makes it difficult now. The one person I do care about I keep meaning to talk to but never do and the only thing I do right now is recognise my flaws without doing anything to work on about them. I mask my emotions so well that I don’t know how to open up any more. I just feel so empty and pointless sometimes. The people I have come to care about so well live in other fucking countries and I’d never get to see them in person and this country is just getting me down. I hate how cold and damp it is in winter. I hate how humid it is in summer. I hate my phone, I hated my old job and yet now I hate being unemployed. I hate not having a good income, or a large amount of savings. I hated not having enough free time but when I did have the free time I just wasted it. I’m not productive. I hate being not productive and yet I can’t do anything about that. I’m losing interest in half the stuff I liked. I just want to feel useful, feel appreciated, feel liked. I keep meaning to see a GP about my depression and I never do. Since 2017 started I’ve had two anxiety attacks. I never had anxiety before. Honestly this year sucks, as has the decade.

[subtleastequila-blog]

Life’s a Garden, Dig it

I quit my job Saturday.

For the past two months, I was a life insurance salesman for a company that provided “permanent benefits” for union members: truck drivers, firefighters, auto workers, brick layers. You know, the guys with calloused hands that give a depressing sigh every time they sit down. The all-American blue collar workers, if you will.

I put “permanent benefits” in quotes because that’s what we agents, or “benefits specialists,” were taught to tell our clients what we were providing, NOT life insurance (even though we were).

Why play word games? Because the average plumber cringes when he hears insurance. You see, Joe Schmo already feels cucked by State Farm doing a rear-naked choke to his checking account for his home and auto, so the last thing he wants to hear about after a shitty day at work is how he’s going to die some day and needs to cough over more bacon for life insurance, especially from a young, slick-talking punk that hasn’t turned a wrench in his life.

The company knew this, which is exactly why the words “life insurance” are not present on the four-page script, or presentation if you will, that they require all their employees to memorize. 

Consequently, the clientele’s prejudiced distaste for the product is already enough to make the job a bitch-and-a-half, but of course, there are two other bitches I haven’t touched on yet.

For one, you are paid by commission. No salary, no hourly wage. If you don’t make a sale, you don’t have enough change for a McChicken.

Secondly, you are required to work at least 10 hours a day, every day. Even Sundays. If you do the math, we’re talking a healthy 70 hours a week, or 49 hours in which you are awake and not working.

Out of those seven days, usually two are reserved for “call days”: days in which each agent calls through a list of about 100 to 150 designated “leads” –– sheets listing a union member’s name, address, phone number and union –– for eight hours with a quick, 10-minute break at the end of each hour. 

Just enough for a piss and a chat.

Now these leads consist of union members that had requested a small, free accidental death insurance policy (usually between $2,000 and $4,000) by filling out a 3x5 reply card that they had received in the mail. Many of these cards had been filled out years ago, making it highly possible that pipe-fitter John Dingle from Waterford had completely forgotten about the damn thing.

What made matters worse is that new agents, received crappy, old leads, meaning that many of the members in the pack had already been contacted by another agent within the past two years and had either declined to buy the “option B benefits” after he or she got their free stuff or had been uninterested in the no-cost benefits after finding out that an agent had to “drop them off” at their home to receive them. 

As you can imagine, most of these calls are ignored. Many that are received end up in hang-ups or an insistence in disinterest. Every once in a while you’ll get a guy who’ll drop a string of fucks, and rarely will you get an appointment set.

To be specific, you’re lucky to get 10 appointments set after 150 calls. 

After a call day, I’d usually get home from the office at about 10:30 p.m., exhausted and demotivated enough to make Eor sound like Tony Robbins.

In less than 12 hours, I would be out in the “field,” handing out some no-cost benefits and trying to persuade them into buying their permanent option B benefits (life insurance) as the script would say.

I didn’t count, but more than half of the appointments I set would no-show me, meaning they would either try to ignore your knock on the door thinking you would assume no one is home even though there were two cars sitting in the driveway, or they simply were gone and had completely forgotten about the appointment (even though I told them on the phone to write down when I’d be there).

It's bad enough that I must use my own gas and drive 25 minutes to your home just so you can give me piss-poor attitude while not making enough change to fall through a car seat. At least respect my time enough to be present at your own home and say no to my face.

However, even if every member committed to their appointment, this job would still be akin to putting bamboo under your fingernails, which is why 70 percent of a manager’s job is to motivate his agents, sometimes in the most annoying ways possible. For example, they required us to post messages at least once every 30 minutes on our Group Me –– a messaging board app –– log jamming it with motivational quotes, corny pictures, annoying GIFs and encouragement. Usually, this was done after someone had posted they had made a sale, added an appointment to their schedule, collected a referral, or were door knocking a member’s home.

Since roughly 11 agents comprised the Group Me board, the notifications were non-stop for the entire day you were in your car or in a home. Each minute I would hear my phone buzz, only receive a picture of a Lion leaping out of a pond with the words “rise and grind” placed in the lower-third.

Ah yes. Truly inspirational. Nothing fills my balls with testosterone more than a Lion leaping for a salmon.

No surprise, it didn’t take long to realize this gig wasn’t my cup of Joe. This past week was my first week alone in the field, and I quite Saturday at around 4 p.m. Now, my trial and error period with the company could have been completely avoided if the hiring superiors would have told me the hours, day-to-day tasks and commitments the position required.. But think about it from the company’s perspective. Why would you be completely transparent to candidates about a job that takes 100 of your time and pays out only when you’re making sales?

If they told everyone the ins and outs at the jump, they’d be lucky to hire 5 percent of their candidates. Moreover, many of their promising candidates – which I’ll be cocky enough to say I was one of them – would have turned down the offer on site.

Nevertheless, life is simply a collection of experiences, and with every new experience we learn something about ourselves, whether good or bad, so I refuse to act regretful or remorseful for trying something new. I learned that selling insurance doesn’t bring me pleasure, and moreover, I don’t have the salesman gene. That lesson itself was worth the experience, but that was far from the greatest part.

The people.

The individuals I met in that company were some of the kindest, friendliest, smartest, motivated and driven ladies and gents I had ever had the pleasure speaking to, especially my managers George and Brandon. Listening and working side-by-side with some of them made me learn not only about insurance but also work ethic, discipline, business and human nature in general. Moreover, I made relationships that will hopefully continue long after.

Yet and still, even great people won’t make a great job, which is why I decided to quit. The reason for this post isn’t to bitch about a job, it’s to say that you should never be afraid to quit a job that is not for you. I don’t care if you have $50,000 in college debt and you live with your parents, if you dread waking up every Monday to go to work, you’ll never find motivation to become better at your craft.

Let me be clear. I am NOT going to be cliché and say you should only do a job you love. I don’t believe in that shit. Work is a blessing, but nobody truly loves work. If somebody tells you they love working, slap them in the face and say they’re lying. Even your dream job will give you multiple days of stress, frustration, anger and sadness. No shit. This is life. I’m simply saying that you should find something you can stand doing for the next 30 years that allows you to have balance in your life and compensates you well enough that you don’t have to worry about how you’re going to pay your mortgage.

Unfortunately, these seemingly realistic job standards are hard to come by in 2018, which is what us Millennials are slowly starting to understand and why the job-search process will be much longer and more difficult than that of the generations before us.

This is part of the reason why I say it is good to quit in certain situations. Our entire lives we’re told to never quit. Losers quit. Lazy people quit. You should feel guilt and shame if you quit. Some of those clichés do hold water, but what your mom and dad didn’t tell you is to not waste your time trying to fit a square peg in a round whole.

You all have certain God-given talents, but you also must realize you are shitty at a multitude of things and have no business doing them. I suck at thousands of things. I can’t draw a crooked line straight. I blow ass at golf.

My point?

Just as you should know what you’re good at, you should also know what you suck at, which is often found through experience and is exactly why I don’t feel any shame in knowing I suck ass at selling insurance.

Just keep trying to find your purpose. Keep trying. Take risks. Take chances. Try something new if you haven’t found your niche, just don’t stop looking for your square hole, and learn from your experiences on the way.

If you keep trying, you can’t be a quitter.

God Bless, and keep it smooth as Tennessee Whiskey.