#nothing really make sense and I’m tired of sending cvs

[chiara-klara-claire]

6.2.24 🎉🫥

[you-can-be-what-you-want-to-be]

Twisting poet

a spiral Martin fic. On ao3 here

The paranoia dies along with Martin. When the... Micheal thing takes him for the simple act of trying to open the door for miss Richardson, well.

The last Jon had done before he died is snapped at him.

He isn’t doing that again. He refuses to let anyone else get hurt, especially by him.

The loss of Sasha after is... its hard. Tim becomes more jaded after that, but Jon gets it. He has to, the two of them are all that’s left.

Which is why he feels so guilty that he’s going to get killed after being kidnapped by the stranger now. More trauma is not something Jon wants to give him.

But then.... he doesn’t die.

A door opens, Micheal screams, and out comes-

“Martin? What? I don’t-“

“You don’t need to understand” he tells him gently “the circus will be here soon, we should get you home.”

“Do you- do you still want to kill me?”

“Of course not Jon, that’s what Micheal wanted, not me.”

“So you- you’re still Martin then?”

“I’m certainly more Martin than I was Micheal. Something forced in is never going to fit as well. Come on then.”

Jon doesn’t trust this thing, doesn’t like the fact that it has Martins face.

He doesn’t really have a choice though, and it’s so much easier to believe that is Martin, that he’s still alive, so he goes in.

——————-

Martin, despite offering him a way home, keeps Jon in his corridors for awhile.

“I’m not going to eat you, I just know that as soon as you’re out you’re going to start working again and you need rest.”

“I can’t, not with- not with you here, like this. I don’t understand what- How are you’re the distortion now, how did you survive?”

“It’s simple, I stopped believing.”

“I didn’t- I’m sorry WHAT? What do you mean you ‘stopped believing’?”

“Simple really. Physics don’t work here, the world doesn’t work here, and trying to make sense of it makes it worse. If you just.... accept the fact that sometimes you walk on the ceiling, there’s not much you can do with that. Not that physics are real anyway, so I just stopped believing in them.”

“But that- that doesn’t make SENSE.”

“That’s rather the point, nothing does. Tell me, which way is up? There is no such thing because we are on a ball floating in space. Closest we could get to the truth is pointing north toward the axis, but that’s not accurate either. I could stop being/ start becoming Martin Blackwood because he never existed and neither have you. It’s just a bunch of cells and atoms lying to themselves, saying they are just one being. And between you and me, I’ve always been a good liar. Did you know I lied on my CV?”

Jon just kind of stares at Martin agape for a second before Martins rather long hand gently pushes him back down into a laying position.

(Impossibly so. It seemed to come from the ceiling and press down on him, but Martin is sitting to his left. And he remembers Martin’s hands, he didn’t have particularly long fingers, the whole thing was short and thick not.... this.)

“Try and get some rest. Times a lie too, so you aren’t worrying anyone more by staying here longer, and I’m not sending you home till you’ve been well rested and fed”

He gives up. There’s no real point in fighting with him, he can’t get out unless Martin decides to let him out. Besides he is rather tired.

—————— He dreams, as always, of the statements. There’s something wrong this time though, they twist, feel more like a dream should instead of a rewatching of trauma. Nothing makes SENSE.

He wakes up to Martins face hovering uncomfortably close to his and yelps, scrabbling back.

“Sorry, sorry I was just. Curious. That was very satisfying, I can see the appeal of not doing the work yourself like that. Like to try again sometime if you’re amendable to it. Anyway, would you like some tea?”

Jon is far too tired to parse out what any of that just meant.

“Tea?”

“Yeah. Figure you fed me, i can at least pay you back you know?”

“Sure. Why not. What flavor?”

Martin seems to pull a cup out of thin air and hands it to Jon.

“It’s good I promise, just try not to think about it.”

Which of course makes Jon immediately worry about what this tea is and forces him to pay extra attention.

He looks between Martin and the tea frenziedly.

“Why does this taste like an E E Cummings poem and a documentary? More to the point, HOW? Neither of those things have a taste.”

“Is that what it taste like to you? Shouldn’t be surprised I suppose, it fits.”

“Martin-“

“Well it’s not my fault Jon, I told you not to think about it. You don’t have to finish it, I can just drop you back off at the Archives.”

“Drop me off? Are you... are you not coming?”

Martin gives him a slightly sad smile and shakes his head.

“Nah, I need time to get used to my new situation. I’ll be back though, if you ever need a door.”

———————— Martin shows back up less than a week later, after a very unproductive conversation with Elias.

“He’s lying you know.”

“JESUS- Martin don’t DO that.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s- it’s fine. Comes with the territory now I suppose. Who’s lying?”

“Elias. I don’t know everything he is but there’s a lot. You can’t trust him.”

Jon lets out a little amused snort. No shit.

“And what is he hiding?”

“The dove has made its home In the heart of the fortress that’s not it’s own.”

“What the hell does THAT mean?”

“It means that the dove in the heart of-“

“No I heard you, I don’t understand it. You aren’t making any sense.”

“I AM making sense, just not in a way you like.”

Jon tries to reign in his frustration. He doesn’t quite succeed in keeping it off his face.

“I WANT to make sense Jon, but I’m now the literal personification of lies and madness.”

“Well can you TRY?”

Martin pulls at this hair in his own frustration.

“I AM trying, it’s not my fault you don’t have the context it- Christ it’s like trying to explain something to a five year old-“

“Hey!”

“No, sorry not like that I just- the difficulty you’re having understanding me is the same I have communicating, I have to try and change my entire way of thinking for it to work and chose my words carefully. I was trying to say I can understand you fine but I don’t know how to say anything back you’ll get, it’s against my entire nature to help you learn anything now. I’ll- I think it’ll get easier, I just have to adapt.”

“You didn’t have a problem last week.”

“That’s because I wasn’t- I hadn’t settled into myself yet. I hadn’t been the distortion before, it needed time to stick.”

“..... I see.”

“No you don’t, but that’s fine. I’ll.... try. To answer things in a sensical manner.”

“Alright then what- since you’re... attached? To one, do you think you can explain this whole entity thing?”

Martin’s eyes furrow a bit, a clear sign he is thinking about how best to put this.

“Apathetic colors.”

“Really. Apathetic colors.”

“Yeah. Scary hungry ones.”

“Scary hungry apathetic colors. How helpful.”

“Look I’m sorry, I’m doing my best. God Gerry would be so much better at this-“

“Gerard Kaey? You KNOW him?”

“Well Micheal did, and I know everything he knew now. He had a good grasp on this stuff. I don’t know where he is though so I can’t really send you his way for help. I think he was in America last I knew. Helping Gertrude with something or other.”

“I- can you help me find him? I could FINALLY get some answers.”

Martin frowns at him a bit.

“Fine, yes you did give me some, I mean some sensible answers.”

“Fair enough I guess. I’ll try. Don’t make any promises, but you at least won’t have to pay for the flight ticket.” ————————————- Jon is leaving his office to rummage for something in document storage, but the second he opens the door the walls start to turn in on themselves.

He hate how common place this is becoming.

“Martin, stop. Let me out.”

He doesn’t appear but Jon can sense his presence all the same.

“Sorry Jon, But you’ve been at it for what, thirty two hours now? It’s not healthy, you need some rest.”

“I don’t want to stay here, it hurts my head.”

“And you don’t have to stay here! If you try and leave, you’ll be right at your flat, no disorientation or anything.”

“The unknowing is coming up we don’t have time to-“

“You have all the time you could ask for Jon! It’s not real in here.”

Jon gets an idea.

“Fine. Go ahead, send me home.”

The second he’s in his flat he tries to go out the front door.

He finds himself walking into his bedroom.

That’s.... not right.

He tries to leave his bedroom.

He is still opening the door into it.

Fine, if that’s how it’s going to be....

He opens his window, and finds himself falling from the ceiling into his bed.

His room (or rather, Martin) starts laughing at him.

“This isn’t funny.”

“I disagree.”

“Martin let me out. Now.”

“You aren’t leaving this room until you sleep.”

Jon tries to leave again, and Martin sighs.

“If you’re going to make me...”

The floor starts... doing something under his feet. It makes him dizzy and he struggles to walk on it.

“Fine, I’ll stop.”

“See that you do.”

————- It surprises Jon when Martin comes into the Archives next, wringing his hands. He hasn’t looked so unsure of himself since... well since he was Martin.

“Jon I- I took someone....”

“Wh- what? Like how- like Micheal ate you?”

Martin nods and somehow looks... small in the moment. He’s still hard to properly wrap his head around, but it’s obvious he’s..... guilty? Anxious? Jon doesn’t know.

“He’s dead now, died in me. It was- I’m not hungry anymore, so that’s good I guess but it’s- I think it’s wrong? I wouldn’t have done this before I was me, would I?”

“No, you wouldn’t have. Why’re- why are you asking me about this?”

Martins shrugs, or rather it looks like his body somehow compresses and expands in a way that it goes below his shoulder, and he blushes.

“I don’t really know, wouldn’t have shared it before. I guess- I’ve been alone for awhile, and even if you were.... preoccupied, a lot of the time when I talked to you, I still- well I liked you then I suppose.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. I think I still care about you, but it might just be nice to have a tie back to my humanity. Either way, I figured you would understand.”

“I- um what does that mean?”

“Well you’re changing and loosing your humanity too aren’t you? It’s not quite the same granted, because you always wanted to understand the world and listen to your stories and now you can and it makes the world so much more interesting. I’m just... confusing, but you’re becoming something beautiful and complex ya know? A new Archive, a broadcast for everything, and your scars will metamorphoses the earth.”

Martin says all of this like a good thing, a complement, like he is in utter awe of Jon, but it just fills him with a sense of dread.

“You aren’t making sense”

Martin smiles at him fondly.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, but I DO like it when you’re confused.”

Jon scowls at this and Martin laughs. The laughter..... hurts Jon’s head.

He doesn’t say anything though. He doesn’t know if he had ever heard Martins laugh before he became the distortion, and he knows he was part of the reason Martin had been miserable, so he deals with the headache to allow him a moment of happiness. ——————————- Things get... hectic, after that. All their time is spent trying to stop the unknowing, trying to find a safe way to blow it up.

Tim is still... well, he’s trying with Jon at the very least, but with Martin he’s... the pain of Sasha is to fresh, he can’t trust that it’s not just another monster with a loved ones face.

He trusts him enough still to take his door right before setting off the detonator though, and now that they’re away from the institute in Scotland, he and Jon have all the time in the world to get used to Martin again.

[whumpinggrounds]

Febuwhump Day 6: Insomnia

notes that probably no one is reading but i am putting in anyway:

- this little drabble thingy takes place before all of my other febuwhump writing, so Mara is telling the truth about not having seen Jude.

-Jamie is very important and also i love her :)

CW: nothing i can think of!

Jamie’s not exactly beautiful. It takes a long time for most people to figure that out, because she’s so striking, but Mara was with Jamie long enough to know. It’s not the nicest train of thought, and Mara knows she should be better than this, but when she’s feeling small and mean, she can’t resist. And now that Jamie’s texting her for the first time in months, Mara gives in to her bitchy little worst impulse, pulls up the contact photo, and looks with critical eyes.

It’s the hair that does most of the work. Jamie’s hair is red, red, red. Not orange or strawberry blonde or even auburn; Jamie’s hair is red like no one’s ever seen. The color is true and deep and absolutely natural, and the long wavy locks are so long they almost reach her waist. Jamie looks like the photo on a box of dye at a CVS. People stop her on the street sometimes to ask what she does to it. Poor shy Jamie hates that, keeps her hair tied up in a bun or a braid almost always. It’s still impossible to ignore. It still makes people turn their heads when Jamie walks by; it’s the kind of thing that convinces strangers she’s absolutely stunning. They’re not wrong, because the hair itself is stunning, it’s just that once you get past the hair, Mara knows, Jamie is just sort of…plain. Nothing hideous, but nothing special either. Her eyes are nice enough. Blue. But her nose is kind of hooked at the end, and her skin is sort of sallow. She’s skinny. Not much else to her.

And, and, and there’s nothing wrong with her, of course, but she’s not as pretty as everyone thinks. Mara concludes it all over again after staring into the familiar smiling face on her screen, and the knowing soothes some bitterness deep in her chest. It’s not nice, thinking these things. It’s not right. But it brings Mara some small, vicious satisfaction, which she tells herself she’s earned.

It also takes her mind off the contents of Jamie’s text, if only for a little while.

Hey, have you heard from Jude at all lately?

There are a thousand different replies itching in Mara’s fingers. No, I haven’t fucking heard from Jude. You know we haven’t spoken in months. I kind of think you know why, too, and if you cared about me at all you would tell me what’s going ON.

That’s when Mara’s thoughts turn pathetic, as they always do. Something. Anything. Please god just tell me anything. If it got her some answers, she wouldn’t even care about how pitiful she sounded.

Mara growls, throws her phone at the couch.

Okay, so maybe she’d care.

Okay, so maybe what’s most tempting of all is a clean, simple, fuck off.

It takes a good few minutes of careful breathing before Mara is ready to let that one go.

All of that is anger, of course. Anger that would feel so, so good to express, to spit right out at Jamie – but beneath the anger there’s worry. A creeping fear. Why is Jamie asking her if she’s heard from Jude? Mara wants to believe that Jamie is insecure about Jude coming back to Mara, but…but what if it’s something worse? They’re in a dangerous line of work. Jude could be shortsighted, could be reckless. Anger is one thing, but the worry on its heels is a different monster altogether. It occupies Mara’s thoughts.

It’s not Mara’s business anymore, is it? She and Jude broke up. They haven’t spoken in months. If Jamie and Jude are so close now, then let Jamie worry about it. Let Jamie figure it out. It sounds great, in theory, just letting it go and moving on.

But Mara can’t. Letting go lasts as long as Mara can distract herself with cooking dinner and reviewing session notes and showering, but when she lies down to sleep, there’s no escape. When she lies down to sleep, Mara is left staring at the ceiling, obsessing over that text.

She’s had trouble sleeping since high school. Mara has a routine she sticks to religiously, one of those things that doctors swear will prevent this kind of night. Sometimes, though, even putting down her phone and reading a book and listening to soft music isn’t enough. Sometimes, Mara is left staring at the ceiling, well past midnight, thinking about Jamie, thinking about Jude.

Jamie thinks Jude might be with Mara, or at least talking to her. Does that mean something? Does that mean Mara might get an explanation, or to see Jude again? Is Jamie jealous? The bitter, mean part of Mara hopes so. The bigger part of Mara just wants to get some sleep, because her head is fuzzy and her eyes are stinging from continually swiping open to the white glare of her phone.

But no sleep comes.

It’s a little past 1 am when she finally can’t resist anymore, when she finally replies, and if Jamie reads something into Mara’s timing, well, fine.

No.

Jamie writes back within minutes, even though Mara knows she usually goes to sleep early. Nothing?

That’s what no means, Jamie.

Sorry.

The little gray dots pop up, disappear, pop up, disappear. Mara stares at them with morbid fascination. It just keeps getting later, and somehow, she’s never felt less tired. Her eyes burn from staring at the screen, but her mind is buzzing, buzzing. The text comes in. I’m just worried. We haven’t seen her around here for a while.

That makes Mara swallow hard. She flops back against her pillow, thoughts racing overtime. How long is a while? What kind of work do they have Jude doing, anyway? She’s supposed to be helping rescues in safehouses. That’s it. They all know she’s too impulsive for much else, likely to get caught in a fight or shoot her mouth off when she really shouldn’t. Goddamn stupid, impulsive, beautiful righteous Jude.

Mara finds herself on her feet pacing tight circles around her apartment. She’s been so good for so long, keeping all those stray thoughts of her ex out of her head. Now they overwhelm her – Jude’s eagerness, her bright eyes, her godawful sense of navigation, the dimple in her left cheek. Lib work is dangerous, no matter what way you spin it, so what does we haven’t seen her in a while fucking mean? Mara’s been angry and she’s been hurt, and it’s been brewing for months, but when she’s confronted with the idea of Jude in trouble, all that disappears. When she’s confronted with the thought of Jude in danger, all the fight drains out of her as neatly as a glass tipped on its side. Her knees feel weak, and she sits down on the bed again. Jude. If Mara was with her, things would be different. If Mara just knew where she was, could keep an eye on her…

Mara keeps staring at the unhelpful little words on the screen as if they’ll relent and change into something different, better, something that can give her peace of mind. Nothing changes, and she sets her jaw and forces a response, because she’s angry and afraid and she can’t just leave it there, not knowing.

Well, what happened? Aren’t you looking out for her?

I am.

Almost immediately afterwards, I mean, we are. Whatever. Just let me know if you hear from her, okay?

We are. Mara snorts darkly as she reads that, Jamie’s poor attempt at acting innocent. Sure, Jude has other friends, but Jamie is something else. Something more. Jamie is the reason Jude broke up with her. Mara knows it, even if no one will admit anything outright.

Hand coming up to scrub against her temple, Mara heaves out a sigh, and with it, forces down all the toxic, confused fury she wants to spit through the phone screen. When the anger abates, she feels suddenly exhausted, and more than a little afraid.

She reads the text again, focuses on the important part. Just let me know if you hear from her, okay?

Sighing, Mara taps out a response. Yeah. Try to keep her safe, okay?

Another almost instant response. I will.

Anger can’t be long denied, and upon seeing Jamie’s text, it bubbles back up under Mara’s skin. Really? Really, Jamie thinks that she can look after Jude? Mara and Jude dated for a year with no problem, and then as soon as Jamie entered the picture, things went south. Now that it’s just Jamie and Jude, things have gone to shit. So a promise from her doesn’t mean a whole hell of a lot.

Mara taps out a message but never sends it, even though she hardly sleeps two hours that night. Time drags by, and she tries to distract herself on the Internet, but over and over she clicks back to her conversation with Jamie, to read the words she wants to send but knows she shouldn’t.

Really, Jamie? You’ll keep her safe? Because it doesn’t sound like you’re doing a very good job.

[codevassie]

hi! a'ight first off i just wanna say your ASFoS fic is quite possibly the dopest shit i've ever read. like. i saved some of the songs from that playlist and i stiLL get emotional when they come up on shuffle so yeaH amazing work!!!

CV: Omg thank you SO MUCH!!! I can’t tell you enough how happy it made me to see this! ASFoS is my baby. That playlist too! I’m curious which songs you liked.Alright, on to the one-shot. I hope you like it! I didn’t know how much I wanted to write this au until I got this request?? Now I have sooo many headcanons. So thank you and enjoy!

Note: Sorry if I got anything to the PJO universe incorrect. I can’t remember every single detail of the books and, I must say, that is one of my greatest downfalls as a human being. I will be working on my other request shortly, but requests are still open, so stop by!Btw, this takes place during Sea of Monsters.

“One,” Keith murmured to himself as he plucked at a strawberry, dropping it into the basket at his feet. “Two, three, four,” he continued counting.

The wind swept past, rustling his bangs across his sweaty forehead. The sun beat down, the weather adjusted for camper comfort, but not the physical labor of hours in the strawberry fields.

“Five… six…” Two more thumps into the basket, filling fuller with the ruby red fruit, delicious where they shined in the bright sunlight. “Seven…”

Keith paused, hand carefully extended to number eight. His fingertips brushed its smooth surface, but he retracted it before it plucked.

He righted himself from his bent posture, directing his line of sight across the field where numerous others were hard at work. The satyrs played their music. The Demeter and Dionysus kids wiggled their fingers, making the vines dance. There were some other kids who had gotten roped into the task too, but mostly it was just them. Satyrs. Demeter and Dionysus kids. And that one kid who hadn’t been claimed yet.

For eight years.

It really had been that long now, hadn’t it? Keith had stumbled his way into camp eight years ago, dirty, scared, orphaned, and only seven years old. Somehow, he had found his way there, in a place he was supposed to belong. Finally.

Except, not even at Camp Half Blood had Keith really belonged. He’d been stuck in the cabin of rejects, of extras, of forgottens. And, whoever his godly parent out there was, they hadn’t cared to get him out.

Hadn’t bothered to send just the tiniest sign. For eight years.

Suddenly, Keith didn’t feel like working in the field anymore. That eighth strawberry could pluck itself.

So he gathered his basket and walked to one of the others, handing it over before making his way out of the fields. He was tired from his work, and nothing sounded better than a bed right now - a bed which had taken years to earn since he wasn’t even an official part of the Hermes cabin and all - but he wouldn’t be going back to the cabin just yet. If there was anything guaranteed about the chaos of the Hermes cabin, it was that there would always be people in it, always a crowd, and Keith didn’t feel like dealing with a crowd right now.

Instead, he went to the arena where only a couple of people had decided to spend their afternoon. Since the border had been poisoned, the weather had become increasingly hotter and its magic was unable to regulate it. Most people were inside, with the air conditioning.

So Keith found himself a corner of the arena and started to hack away at one of the dummies. He was already sweating from his work in the fields and the scorching weather, but he decided he didn’t care much as long as he got to swing his sword, stretch his muscles, and ignore the world.

He didn’t want to think of it all. The border. The monster attacks. That Percy kid off on another quest to save them all. Luke…

“Aren’t you sick of it? How many years has it been now and your mom won’t claim you?”

Eight years…

He swallowed down the sick feeling that rose in his throat, putting extra effort into slashing the dummy. It split, half of it falling to the ground. Shit, now he’d have to replace that.

Keith threw his sword into the dirt, leaving it to stick up like Excalibur in the stone, while he went to drag away the useless dummy. He tried to forget Luke’s voice. He tried to forget how tempting it had been to follow. He’d trusted Luke. He’d looked up to the guy - was even kind of close to him, considering no one survived in the Hermes cabin without having known its cabin leader. He had been a great cabin leader.

But it hadn’t been a shock, really. Keith regretted that - that he had almost seen it coming. Luke had always been so bitter towards their parents. There had always been something off about the way he brushed it off, like he had to force himself to calm down.

It was something achingly familiar, this grudge that Luke held onto. Like a life raft. This resentment towards their parents Keith understood completely. He didn’t think a war was necessary for it, but he understood.

Despite this, a lot of people were wary of him now. More and more unclaimed were disappearing from camp to join Luke. Why would Keith not? Eight years was a long time to wait, after all…

And maybe Keith might have. If not for Shiro.

Shiro was the closest thing Keith had to a brother. Once upon a time, it had made him consider the chances of being a child of Hebe. He’d gotten rid of that idea almost immediately. Children of Hebe were way too good to be anything like him. Not that he had much to go off of. Shiro was the only claimed child of Hebe at camp at the moment, and, even though he was stuck in with all the unclaimed and Hermes kids, he never seemed resentful. He always paid attention too. He helped kids get settled in when they arrived, made sure they had plenty of people they could go to, even kept an eye on them after they’d been claimed and moved cabins. It was just in his nature to care - something Keith couldn’t understand how he did for all the brain cells he put into the notion.

But it had really helped him throughout the years. Shiro had always been there for him, since he’d first arrived three years ago. After so long of being alone, it was nice to have someone like Shiro.

Dragging the dummy out of the way, Keith thought about going to find Shiro. Maybe they could spar together. Or go to the dining pavilion - it was close to lunch anyway. Just then, though, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Oh, hi, Keith,” Lotor said, walking up to him with purpose, tailed by the two girls who were always following him around. “Here all alone? I suppose it makes sense an unclaimed doesn’t have any friends.”

“Piss off, Lotor,” Keith spat, pulling out a dummy and carrying it over to one of the empty mounts.

“I guess it makes sense that you have no friends at camp. I heard they’re all with Luke. Only a matter of time until you follow, I suppose,” Lotor said, sighing like he really believed in that inevitable. Keith felt his blood boil.

“I’m not turning on camp,” he said, turning to Lotor suddenly. “And, for your information, I have friends here too.”

“Oh, yes, whatever,” Lotor said, waving his words away like particularly annoying flies. “Anyway, we were going to spar, but we seem to be uneven here. Care to join?”

Keith knew that was a bad idea. Everyone knew that was a bad idea. You see, Lotor was a kid of Tyche, the goddess of luck, and a pretty powerful one at that. Going against Lotor was stupid, dumb; he’d lose for sure.

Which is exactly why he couldn’t back down each time. Lotor had won too many times, and Keith was determined to bring him down. It wasn’t fair, especially when Lotor won on nothing but his own unnatural luck. Keith was brought down time after time from a misplaced foot or the awkward angle of his sword. The fights were never on skill, and that frustrated Keith to Hades.

When he accepted Lotor’s offer this time, he ended up on the ground not two seconds into the spar. But, hot-blooded as Keith was, he kept going back. And back. And back. Any time Lotor challenged him, Keith was there to take up the offer, as many times as he continued to lose.

Keith was good, but luck, luck was better. Luck had never been on Keith’s side.

“Again, Kogane?” Lotor asked from above, but Keith was already exhausted. The adrenaline from Lotor’s initial challenge was already wearing off, especially after he had already been sparring all day, even long before Lance had arrived.

But Keith had never been known to do things for his own good. He rose to his feet, readied his sword. “Again.”

He was taken down time and time again, none of it by skill, all by happenstance. Stupid things. A foot in the wrong place. A wrong sword angle.

It wasn’t long until Ezor and Zethrid were laughing their butts off. Lotor chuckled too as he watched Keith rise once again, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If this is what Luke is looking to recruit, camp should win without problem.”

Keith was exhausted. He knew, logically, he wouldn’t win anything like this, but he couldn’t leave it at this. Lotor would get what was coming to him and Keith would be the one to deliver it. Eventually, his luck had to run out.

“I bet you’re staying at camp to do the recruiting for him,” Lotor laughed. “How pathetic that he would choose someone who has gone years without being claimed.”

Keith brandished his sword before him. Lotor rolled his eyes, but he put his sword up again too.

“I’m not working for Luke,” Keith gritted out through clenched teeth. His voice shook. He knew he was letting Lotor get to him.

Shaking the emotions away, Keith readied himself to lunge again when a voice interrupted them. A familiar voice. A voice Keith did not want to hear right now.

“What’s going on here?” Lance asked, stalking up to them, flanked by two other kids. Keith recognized them. It would have been strange not to, as long as he’d lived at camp. It was Hunk and Pidge, a child of Hephaestus and a wood nymph. Keith wondered what they were doing there.

“Keith, why are you always doing this?” Pidge asked, stalking forward to look up at him with this look in their eyes. He knew exactly what they were referring to. What they all saw, and what they all knew of his record with Lotor.

“Sparring,” he grunted simply, trying to stand tall despite the exhaustion dragging down his limbs. He crossed his arms, trying to appear put together. Pidge, of course, saw straight through him. And so did everyone around.

“Don’t spar with him,” Pidge said, practically growling on the last word as they glared at Lotor. Lotor just looked on, amused and innocent. At this, though, he spoke up.

“Keith here seems just fine sparring with me,” he said, shrugging a shoulder and smirking. “And I’d really like to continue, if you three don’t mind.”

They both turned toward Keith, Lotor with a challenge in his eye that set a fire in him that wanted to lash out, Pidge with a disapproving look. “Keith,” they said in warning.

Keith had never really listened to them when it came to stuff like this. He didn’t even listen to Shiro half the time when it came to Lotor. He turned back toward Lotor, lifting his sword. “Pidge, give us space.”

“Nope! Nope nope, nuh-uh,” Lance suddenly cut in, making Keith look his way. He was walking forward, coming to stand next to Pidge. “You, my friend, are exhausted. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Seriously? You’re calling me an idiot and expecting me to listen to you?” Keith asked, putting down his sword yet again to turn toward him.

“Yep,” Lance said, self-assured. “And you’re going to.”

“And why is that?” Keith couldn’t help but ask.

Suddenly, Lance seemed to get serious. He leaned forward, talking in a low voice and holding Keith’s eyes to his like glue. “Because, if you keep sparring Lotor like this, you’re never going to win. You’re probably the only one at this camp who can do it, but if you go in blindly like this, he’s never going to get what he deserves. And that’s to eat dirt at the tip of your sword.”

Keith paused, letting the words going through his mind, felt them tug on him, felt them tug him toward Lance, to put down the sword. Lance was right. Keith wanted Lotor to get what he deserved so bad, but Lance was right. That wouldn’t happen today. That wouldn’t happen when he didn’t have the strength to do it, or the level head to execute it.

So he clutched at his sword, then sheathed it. He turned toward Lotor. “Another day.”

And, with that, he followed the three out of the arena.

-/-

Lance, Pidge, and Hunk invited him to the mess hall for lunch, but Keith turned them down. Instead, he went to the showers, then back to the Hermes cabin, deciding to call it a day.

“Long day?” another camper asked as she walked by. Keith merely grunted in affirmation and Romelle giggled. She was a new comer there, yet she had already been claimed. Daughter of Iris. Apparently, since Iris was a messenger goddess, Romelle had inherited some strange ability to project thoughts into others’ minds.

Feel better, she whispered into his mind, and he pushed back a Thank you that he hoped she got.

“I’m heading to Athena cabin,” she called as she left, and Keith could hear the excitement in her voice. That was another thing. As the daughter of the goddess of rainbows, she also claimed to it was her god(dess) given right to be as hopelessly gay for cabin six resident Allura as possible.

“Good luck,” Keith called, but she was already gone. He chuckled, then dropped his head back into his pillow. He stayed like that for a while, listening as voices carried in and out of the cabin. No one paid him any mind and no one disturbed him. Eventually, he was able to drift off, sleeping away much of the hot and sticky day as he could in the tolerably okay temperatures of the busiest cabin.

When he awoke, it was with regret. Mid-day naps were never a good idea. He felt groggy, somehow more tired than when he’d gone to sleep, but, as he tried to roll over and drift again, his body kick-started, letting him know that he would not be getting any more sleep any time soon. Great, he pissed his body off.

So, with a groan, he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. When he looked around, he noticed that the cabin was darker, but still relatively empty. Beams of orange sunlight streamed in at odd angles, signalling a sunset over the Big House and time for dinner. Keith wasn’t sure if he was really hungry, but, then again, he’d only had breakfast that day and Shiro would surely come looking for him if he skipped two meals.

He huffed before swinging his legs over the bed, getting ready to stand before he saw another inhabitant of the cabin. Lance, laying in is bunk across the room, book propper up on his pillow where he had been reading on his stomach, was staring over at him. Keith’s wasn’t sure if it was the sunset or what, but his cheeks looked particularly dark.

“Lance?” he asked, causing the boy in question to jump.

“Keith!” he exclaimed, cheeks going even darker. “You’re up!”

“Yeah…” he replied, then stretched a bit, arms overhead. Lance made an odd sound. “Are you not going to dinner?”

Sounding rather strangled, Lance replied, “No, no. I am.”

“Okay…” Keith said, finally catching up to the awkwardness of the situation. He paused. “Well, we should get there?”

“What?” Lance squeaked. “Like, together?”

Keith frowned. “Um, I guess?” Why was Lance being so weird. “Why are you being so weird?” he decided to ask. Lance blinked, then shook his head, sitting up from his position. He cleared his throat.

“Weird? No, not weird. You’re weird,” he accused, jumping down from the bed. “Let’s go get food.”

Keith, confused but amused, chuckled and shook his head. “Alright,” he said as he followed after.

Much of the walk there was spent in silence, and Keith watched the sunset, watched the blue of the Big House and the lonely porch swing out front. He looked up into the pavilion, seeing the commotion of kids getting food, scraping into the offering, talking and laughing and crowding into the Hermes table. But Keith’s thoughts wandered back down to the arena, looking at the desolate area and thinking about earlier in the day.

“Thanks for earlier,” Keith said, startling Lance.

“Huh?” Lance asked, brows furrowing in a cute way. Keith shook the thought from his head, refusing to get stuck on that bullshit again.

“When I was sparring Lotor. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.”

“Oh,” Lance said, then shrugged. “No problem. I know how you get.”

“Do you?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t been aware that anyone paid attention to him. Shiro kept tabs on him. Pidge would beat up anyone who messed with him. Lotor did so only to the extent that he could piss him off. But Lance?

“Well, you’re always fighting Lotor, even though no one has beat him. He’s just got way too much luck for it to be worth it. But you think it’s worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it when he understands he can’t always win,” Keith huffed, frustrated and tired all at once. It was always an uphill battle when it came to Lotor. Or, maybe not even uphill. He was on a cliff and Keith couldn’t scale it. There was never any progress.

“But you always go at it when you’re not ready,” Lance pointed out, and Keith’s attention snapped to him. He frowned, ready to protest, but Lance continued. “Your emotions get everywhere, then you tire yourself out, then you won’t think straight. You’re way too impulsive.”

“That doesn’t matter. One of these days, I’ll beat him.”

“Not like that, you won’t,” Lance shook his head. “Hermes kids are like a Jack of All Trades, you know? So I know what it’s like to spread myself between different things. I’m not great at anything, but I can be alright at a couple.”

“You’re selling yourself short,” Keith said without thinking of it, then went red at the compliment. Lance looked at him a bit incredulously and Keith cleared his throat, determined now that he had said it, to explain. “I mean, you’re good at a lot of things, and it’s not just ‘alright’. Being a Hermes kid means you have the capacity to understand a whole lot, and you do.”

“Oh,” Lance said, and Keith turned towards him. His eyes were wide and staring at him, the tips of his ears red in the setting sun. He averted his gaze almost immediately, but Keith’s heart was already thumping wildly in his chest. There was the smallest of smiles on Lance’s lips as he determinedly stared down at his scuffed up tennis shoes, and it made a smile of his own appear on Keith’s face. “Thanks,” Lance said.

“It’s the truth,” Keith replied simply, turning to look back ahead of them again. They were quickly approaching the mess hall.

“Yeah, well, so, it’s like that,” Lance said, clearing his throat and tapping his fingers to his thigh, looking all around, probably to avoid Keith’s gaze. “Beating Lotor isn’t going to rely on just one of your skills. You have to pay attention to a lot more than that. You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out.”

For a moment, Keith was silent. He watched the pavilion where he could see Shiro at the offering fire talking to Pidge’s brother, eyes soft as Shiro laughed at something Matt said. Lotor’s words filled his head again, the accusations he knows everyone must be thinking.

Shiro was the only one who had known just how close Keith had come at one point to actually following Luke out of there. One night, he had exploded with the frustration of it all and Shiro had been the one to calm him down. He’d told Keith not to cling to resentment, to use his head instead of running head first in with anger. It made sense then and it made sense now.

And, surprisingly, coming from Lance, it calmed him down easier than Shiro’s own go at it had. When Lance said it, it sounded like a plan, it sounded like something, not only logical, but attainable.

“I’ll think about that,” Keith said with a nod. Then, they stepped into the pavilion and were swept up in the hassle of kids all around and the delicious smells of dinner.

“And, Keith?” Lance asked. Keith turned to look at him, surrounded by excited kids and sloshing drinks and the smell of sweet burning. Lance scratched his head, looking sheepish, when he said, “About what Lotor was saying to you…”

“About what?” Keith asked, but he had a bad feeling that he knew what. He swallowed, unable  to tear his gaze from Lance’s. His worry must have shown on his face because Lance’s gaze softened.

“I know that you aren’t with Luke, and so do a lot of people here. You’ve been at camp for too long to actually think that we could believe that. Too many here have your back for that. You know that, right?”

Keith felt frozen on the outside, but his insides were alive and a squirming hot mess. Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat and he had to look away in order to swallow it down, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” he said as evenly as he could. “Thanks, Lance.”

“No problem, man.”

-/-

“Keith,” Lotor greeted, walking into the arena and making an immediate detour his way. Keith, who had just been sharpening his sword before practice, turned to him with a scowl, clutching the whetstone tighter. He rubbed the pommel of his sword with a thumb, back and forth.

“What do you want, Lotor?” he asked, already on guard. Lotor didn’t have his lackies today, though, and the arena was considerably full of campers, all training for the day. Lotor wouldn’t try to pull anything.

“Our fight was interrupted the other day. Since we both seem to be in for practice, why don’t we give it another go?” Lotor smiled cruelly down at him, flicking a tiny lock of white hair that had fallen into his face away.

“So, you want someone to beat down for the day?” Keith translated, unable to really care about his pride at the moment, especially when a shocked look crossed Lotor’s face. This guy really needed someone who could counteract his powers if he ever wanted to become a better swordsman. Keith would prove that luck couldn’t always win one day, and then Lotor won’t have a single way to get better for those instances.

“I suppose I will have to go easy on you, then?” Lotor asked, rolling his eyes, but Keith shook his head.

“I won’t need it,” he huffed, feeling frustration bubble up inside him. Then, he remembered Lance’s words.

“You’re way too impulsive.”

Impulsive indeed. Keith paused, collecting his thoughts, letting his emotions settle down. He took the time to consider… was fighting Lotor right now a good idea?

He wasn’t tired from practice. And he had sorted out his emotions. His frustration was a dull murmur in his head, but, overall, he could think clearly. If there was ever a time, Keith decided it was now.

So he walked out into the open space, turning to face Lotor, who had done the same. People around the arena seemed to have taken notice and were hushing and gathering, interested to see how another Keith vs Lotor match would go. There were no exchanges of hands in the audience. They all obviously thought they knew how it would go.

And it probably would. Keith had lost to Lotor enough times to realize that, and could think clearly enough to know that he still wanted to try. He would never give up on trying to teach Lotor this lesson: that he couldn’t always win. Since he wouldn’t give up, he might as well learn from the fight.

So he raised his sword, defensive before him and stance low. Lotor tied back his hair, then mirrored the stance. Keith could hear murmurs in the crowd. He breathed one more deep in and out. He was ready as he’d ever be.

Then, he lunged.

Their swords clanged in a metallic ring, screeched as they broke apart, and repeated its reverberations over and over as they each attempted to disarm the other, and put each other in check-mate. He let his body carry him through on instinct, but maintained a clear head, watching to make sure his feet landed correctly, and his blade didn’t skid horribly. He was on the look-out for blatant uses of Tyche’s luck, but it was hard to divide his attention between his opponent and everything else.

One moment, his foot stepped to the side, far from where he’d meant, and he knew what was at play. Lotor’s sword came down to trip him, but Keith moved at the very last second, breathing heavily as the toll of the fight dragged on his limbs. Lotor was fluid and natural, but even he looked to be feeling the effects.

It showed most especially in the increasing number of Keith’s simple screw-ups, things that would have rarely happened had he not been against such strong luck. Somehow, though, he barely dodged each one.

“You have to use your head as well as your instincts to figure it out,” Lance’s voice in his head reminded him.

Balance. It was something Lotor lacked. There was no balance between his wins and losses. There was no balance between his goods and bads. Luck spun everything around Lotor, and he avoided the natural order of the world with it. Keith had lacked balance too, relying on his instinct and frustration to carry him through his battles. Not anymore.

Keith’s sword skidded at an odd angle along Lotor’s blade, heading straight for the dirt below them, and, after that, Keith would be unforgivably open for take-down. He could feel the power behind the move, the golden luck winding its way around Lotor’s blade, blessing it, and its repercussions, its own way of balancing the world, pushing all the bad luck onto Keith’s blade. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

But this action and reaction were twisting the natural order, pushing things around that weren’t meant to happen. And Keith felt his need to right it.

Then, he pushed that need into the power he felt around him, burning away the luck and bad luck and leaving only the way of the world. He felt it all cancel out, his blade swinging with his weight so that, instead of falling into the dirt, it spun around with his body and fell back on the other side of Lotor’s blade. Lotor, for a moment, looked shell-shocked, before he snarled and bat away the blade.

They were back into the throng of it, metal clangs, the audience’s cheers, sweat in their eyes. Keith could feel the luck working around him, working against him, but he could also feel something else. He could feel it canceling with each of his moves. He could feel the luck withering away.

And Lotor could too. His swings became harder, his spurts of luck more and more desperate. They were both tiring, but, somehow, in some way, Lotor’s luck was running out.

Then, in a display of great irony, Lotor’s foot misstepped. Keith reached forward with his own, hooking around the ankle and pulling. Lotor fell right to the ground, wincing as his head hit the dirt. Keith kicked the sword from his hand, then hovered over his pliant body, surprise on his usually impassive face. He pointed his sword at Lotor’s jugular and called for his concession.

Swallowing, Lotor looked around, then down at the blade at his throat. He must have known Keith wouldn’t hurt him, but the sight seemed to scare him all the same. He’d rarely been in this position in his life, now had he? And the sudden appearance of it must have opened up some sort of crisis in his brain.

“I concede,” Lotor said, his voice shaking, then Keith lowered his sword and offered a hand up.

Surprisingly enough, Lotor accepted, though, once standing on his feet, he fled immediately, not looking back. Keith didn’t have time to dwell on that, though, because, almost immediately afterward, he felt someone tackle into his side.

“Oh my gods, Keith! You did it!” Lance practically shouted in his ear. Keith was stunned, momentarily, by the sudden closeness, and it must have shown on his face because, when Lance looked at him, their faces mere centimeters apart, he stopped short, eyes widening and sucking in a breath. Lance backed away very quickly. “Sorry.”

But Keith just laughed. “That’s alright.”

That was when he heard the crowd around him, all cheering and rushing in with congratulations. Pidge and Hunk were there too, whooping and hollering, and Keith felt a smile grow on his face.

Then, everything stopped. The crowd shushed around him, and they all ceased approaching, suddenly looking wide-eyed. Some were excited, some looked confused others pointed somewhere overhead.

Keith glanced toward Lance, but he was frozen too, looking somewhere above.

Keith looked too.

“Oh,” he breathed, the glowing sigil a dull pulsing glow in the midafternoon sun. Around him, campers started to kneel, as was custom. He watched as they all lowered themselves, like a great wave. Hunk and Pidge knelt, the nymph, sending him a thumbs up when they saw his gaze. He saw, towards the back of the crowd, Shiro approach and kneel, holding a fist to his chest as he watched on in pride. Keith saw so many of his friends from the Hermes’ cabin there, including Romelle, and Allura next to her too.

And he saw Lance, at the front and still closest to him, kneel with a reassuring smile and a nod of his head. Chiron wasn’t present, so Lance seemed to take it upon himself to do the honors.

“All Hail,” he said, voice strong and carrying over the throngs of people, “Keith Kogane, son of Nemesis.”

[o-blivia]

Depression in 10 easy steps Step 1. I remember coming home from work at 2 am and this wave of utter dejection hit me. “I don’t know how I’m gonna make it through the next two days.” The thought was like a lead weight sinking through my whole body. And then I went inside. Got high and played videogames until I could barely keep my eyes open. Step 2. I wake up again at around 5 am, having gotten barely an hour of sleep. My thoughts are racing and I can’t stop thinking about my life. Contemplating my future prospects makes me start to cry for the first time in years. Trapped in a job that will never pay me enough to live the kind of life I want. This isn’t what I want. I don’t know if I can keep living like this. I wake BatDan up and tell him that I’ll finally go to the hospital. He strokes my hair while I lie crying on his chest until I fall asleep. Step 3. At the ER, I’m asked repeatedly if I’m hearing voices or if I have a plan. To both, I answer no, but what I don’t manage to articulate is that it’s not so much a plan as a series of possibilities. I could take every pill in the house, but I don’t. Or I could throw myself into traffic, but I don’t. And that’s not a plan anymore than saying someday I’ll learn how to drive or knit a scarf. It’s just a thought you have to make yourself feel better before you get up and go about your life. The first psychiatrist I see is still a student. She is kind and compassionate while doing my assessment. Being similar in age to me, I think she understands where I’m coming from. She makes me feel like she’s really listening to me, at least. Her supervisor is a much older man who immediately, and awkwardly kicks BatDan out of the room, just to tell me that I don’t need to increase the dosage of my SSRI because all the pot I’ve been consuming is just making it ineffective. So I should just stop doing pot. And since all my stressors are related to work, I should consider quitting my job. Otherwise, no action needs to be taken. And then he says to me, “you look sad.” I say that I’m just tired, that I’m always tired. What I really mean is that I expected something to happen or be done to help me not want to kill myself anymore. Instead it feels like they’re sending me away empty-handed. So I stop going to work and go sober for two months. Step 4. A week after going to the ER, I have my yearly physical. My doctor doesn’t seem satisfied with the actions the ER Docs took with me. She ups my meds, orders blood work and faxes in a non-urgent referral for therapy to the CLSC. She says to call if I have trouble adjusting to the new dosage otherwise she’ll see me in six months. I’m out of her office in twenty minutes. Step 5. The process of a non-urgent referral starts with a phone call to figure out what kind of services are required and how urgently that care is needed. My call came about a week after seeing my doctor. This time it’s a man who calls at what would be a decent time for most people, but I’ve worked nights for the past decade and don’t keep decent hours. So I’m not awake enough to remember his name. He starts by asking me what my problems are and what I want to work on with a therapist. He listens for half a minute before telling me that the waiting list is very long for individual therapy, but I can do group counselling. At that exact moment, the prospect of talking about what’s causing my depression with a room full of strangers is too daunting so I decline. There are more follow-up questions and then says he doesn’t understand how therapy can help me with my problems. I don’t know how to describe that moment. It’s like everything goes still, or something in me just kinda turns off. This is pointless. The hope I felt when I decided to go to the ER, that something, anything is going to happen — that I’m finally going to get help in changing my life is snuffed out. He asks me if I just need someone to go through filling out job applications and putting my CV together with me. No, that is not what I need. Handholding isn’t going to resolve my anxiety or give me any sense of direction. I think at this point he can tell that I am becoming frustrated because he says to me that he isn’t judging me, just trying to understand what is going on, in a tone that clearly says he’d been told he has to say that. It’s insincere at best and obviously a lie. I desperately want to be off the phone with him. He follows up with trying to bully me into accepting group therapy by reminding me that otherwise the waiting list is over a year long and with private therapy, I’d have to pay for each session. I don’t have insurance. Then he asks what I would like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? What would I like to do? Just put me on the list and I’ll look into private therapy. It’s that or nothing. He hasn’t exactly done a good job of selling me on group. He goes through the usual preamble before hanging up, but I suspect he never adds my name to the waiting list. Step 6. Sleep forever. The frustration is hard to swallow and dejection doesn’t taste any better. It doesn’t matter that I don’t think my life is worth living or that I’ll never amount to anything more than this unwashed, bed-locked 29-year-old, too scared to apply for a new job. Step 7. Oversleeping isn’t cutting it anymore and BatDan complains that he misses his girlfriend, but all that momentum to make changes has fallen flat. You move through the house listlessly, full of a nerve-grinding restlessness. Nothing is appealing. Is sitting staring into space a good enough hobby? You go shopping with money you don’t have. That rush of pleasure from getting something new is fleeting and ultimately unsatisfying. You move on to spending hours and hours obsessively playing videogames like Minecraft and The Sims to simulate the feeling of being in control of your life. When the binging runs its course, your head clears and you start to feel like you want to do things again. Maybe you were just burnt out and all you needed was a few weeks of rest? You write down lists and plans and outlines; give yourself deadlines and set alarms to get up at a more reasonable hour —to see the sun for more than an hour or two. Tomorrow you’re going to get so much done. You go to bed early and lie awake until 4 am. When you do get to sleep, those alarms don’t wake you like they’re supposed to. It’s 3 pm by the time you drag yourself out of bed and make some coffee. Much too late in the day to really get anything done, especially when you’re too groggy to feel productive. So you go back to gaming and vow to try again tomorrow. That’s how you find yourself tidally locked between fits of manic organization to self-defeatism and apathy. You’re not being productive and you aren’t getting anything done. Everything takes so long to get done and you don’t have the attention to focus on anything for the length of time it takes to finish one project. This is getting you nowhere. Step 8. Step    9. S t e p     1 0. Depression is a marathon, not a sprint. There’s no overnight miracle fix. Some times I don’t know myself or know what it is that I’m feeling. And it’s hard to feel scared or upset by that when I’m numb. I don’t know where to go from here. I can’t see a future for the gaping maw of a void spooling out in front of me. What do you do when the people who are supposed to help you don’t? How do I fix this? I don’t have insurance, I just want to stop feeling like this. Someone hid the instructions on me.                                                                        This isn’t an ending, is it?

“depression in 10 easy steps” by olivia black

[got7scxnarios4u]

Forbidden Fruit: Jaebum AU: Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You heard a faint beeping sound that progressively got louder, and as soon as you realise it’s your ‘leave the house alarm’. You quickly jump up and rush to your bedroom. You fell asleep on the couch with Jaebum, you were showing him all the movies he had claimed to never have seen. You must dozed off, and you must’ve been really tired because you did not hear any of your alarms.

“What’s going on?” Jaebum asks, slowly waking up stretching his long limbs.

“I’m late for work, I gotta go.” You take off yesterday’s clothes, chuck on a sweatshirt, leggings and your trainers. You would brush your teeth at work or if you had time, the bathroom at the subway station.

You sling your jacket on, grab your bag from off the table and finally you rush out the door.

Jaebum shrugs his shoulders and gets up. He walks over to the fridge and takes out some orange juice and drinks it straight from the carton. He discards of the empty carton. He makes his way over to the pantry, ready to find something to devour, but then the doorbell rings. You weren’t expecting anyone, were you?

He wearily opens the door, it was Hoseok.

“I’ve been calling you, I waited at the station for a-.” He looks up, from his phone

“Oh it’s you. Where is MY girlfriend?” He asks.

“She’s gone to work, she was running late, we were up late last night.” Jaebum says, smirking.

He could see that Hoseok was getting riled up.

Jaebum watches as he frantically presses his phone.

                                               “내 피 땀 눈물, 내 마지막 춤을.”

The famous BTS song arose from your couch. The boys both look over at it. Hoseok pushes Jaebum aside and pulls your phone from the couch. His eyes meet the screen, full of notifications, 10 missed calls, 50 texts, and 10 snapchats. He had been trying to get hold of you since the evening before.

“She forgot her fucking phone.” He mumbles under his breath.

“Oh what a shame.” Jaebum says sarcastically.

Hoseok turns and glares at Jaebum, he was sick of seeing his face, tired of hearing his voice. He didn’t know why you trusted him so much, he was a stranger you met on the street. He could easily murder you in your sleep or steal everything in your apartment while you went to work.

“I’m her boyfriend.” Hoseok states.

“Congratulations.” Jaebum says, sarcastically.

“She doesn’t like you, she has me.” Hoseok, staring him down.

“I don’t know who you’re trying to reassure, because your words mean nothing to me. Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole-“Hoseok fist strikes Jaebum’s cheek.

“Why don’t you pack your shit, I think it’d be better for you. We don’t want a repeat of this do we?” A smirk rests on his face. He sounded threatening, right? He wasn’t just going to get rid of Jaebum, he was going to bruise his ego.

Jaebum held in his strength because if he really wanted to, he could kill your puny boyfriend with two fingers. He feigns pain and clutches his cheek. He watches as Hoseok leaves the apartment.

You get back from work, you were exhausted. The day felt so disjointed, once you got to work you realised that your shirt was back to front and your leggings were dirty. You didn’t have a phone so you couldn’t call anyone. So you ended up buying new clothes, you even picked up a few things for dinner.

“Jaebum! I’m home!” You shout, expecting him come out of his room.

There was no reply. You go to his room and knock on the door, no answer. You open the door and check inside, his bed was made and he was nowhere to be found. Where would he go? Maybe he left, he had to someday. He had no ties to you. You perch on his bed, and run your hands through your hair, you missed him.

Jaebum walks through the door, exhausted, he had been out all day looking for jobs, but they could only consider him if he had a CV, a valid social security number and a passport. He had none of that.

You heard the front door slam and you get up, running to the living room. As soon as you see him you lunge at him, wrapping your arms around his mid-section. Just being around him calmed you, your once rapidly beating heart was beating at steady pace. The sweat on your brows was drying.

“Where have you been?” You ask him, tightening your grip.

He leans into the embrace, resting his hands your lower back, breathing you in. This feeling was strange feeling in his chest, an overwhelming ball of emotion.

“I went to go look for a job, but I don’t have any documentation.” He whispers into your hair.

You pull from the hug and step back, reality had hit you. You didn’t know him, you had a boyfriend. You felt oddly cold, being away from him.

“Oh, well, we will have to sort that out, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine supporting us two. Hoseok doesn’t come around often anyway.”

“Speaking of the devil, he came around this morning, because he had been waiting for you or something. Anyway, it resulted in him forcing himself in, punching and threatening me.” Jaebum explains, sitting down on the couch.

“Oh my God! Yeah I forgot my phone at home. He never acts like that, are you okay?” You ask, concerned, your fingers gently brushing his hair.

He could feel himself crumble under your touch, you had some sort of power over him. Something he had never felt before.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I had to hold myself back though, I’m pretty sure, you would like your boyfriend’s face to remain in a normal order.” He confesses, putting his feet on the table.

“Yah! Put your feet down, I eat on this table!” You exclaim, slapping his feet.

He chuckles, slowly placing his feet on the floor. He catches himself staring at you as you text on your phone. He took in every detail on your face, while fighting the urge to touch you.

You texted Hoseok apologising for today, you honestly did not mean to ignore him. Your head was all over the place. You typed out a lengthy apology and awaited for his reply. The mysterious three dots appeared on the screen. And a couple of seconds later, he replies.

‘Can I come over? I miss you’

You knew what he meant by that, you knew you wouldn’t be comfortable engaging in that kind of activity while Jaebum was in the house, but you also knew that it was a lie. You didn’t want engage in that sort of activity with Hoseok, not anymore.

‘I miss you too, but I have chores to do, I’m free on Saturday though’

You quickly type and send.

‘Whatever’ He replies.

You roll your eyes, he always became an asshole when he didn’t get his way. You chuck your phone on the couch.

“What’s wrong?” Jaebum questions, moving closer to you.

“Nothing, just Hoseok doing what he usual does.” You say sighing.

Suddenly you felt his hands on your shoulders, he began rubbing them. You let a small moan as he seemed to rub the stress out of your body.

“Tell me about yourself.” Jaebum demands, shifting in his spot.

“Well, where do I start? I come from a small town in the middle of nowhere, I am an only child, and I am pretty sure that I’m adopted. I don’t really look like anyone in my family. My family is really religious-. “Jaebum cuts you off.

“Do you believe in God?” He asks you, removing his hands from your body.

You shiver at the loss of warmth.

“I have a strange relationship with God, if that make sense? I feel like I know him. But I don’t pray or go to church or a mosque but I feel heavily connected. Like there is a strong pull. Oh no! You must think I’m weird.” You exclaim, covering your face.

“No, I don’t get what you mean.” He felt the exact same, because he did know God.

“So what about you? Do you have any siblings? Or does the ‘devil’ know no one?” You joke, removing your hands from your face and turning to face him.

“I am from far away. I have 6 brothers and 2 sisters. I’ve always been an outcast, ever since I was crea- born. I had a rebellious stage and just stuck with it.” Jaebum tells you, looking off into the distance, you could tell that it was something that troubled him.

“You must’ve had a lot of people to talk to with 8 other siblings. You know I always begged my parents for a little brother or sister but they never gave in.”

“Heh, I wish it was like that, but I never felt so alone, I would have all these people around me, but I would feel isolated. And when my Dad kicked me out, the feeling got worse, I was surrounded by all these bad people and that’s when I realised that I wasn’t as bad as everyone made me out to be. But I had to survive, I was falling and I couldn’t get back up, so instead of setting my sights on the kingdom I stayed in the shadows. I-. “Tears well up in his eyes, and you feel that you are on the verge of tears, everything he said sounded familiar. You had always felt alone, not just because you were an only child, you had the social skills and you had a lot of friends, but all of them felt disposable, you were never all the way invested. Even with Hoseok, you were just with him because he asked you out and you found him somewhat attractive. You had known him for a while and it just felt like the right thing to do. However, with Jaebum everything felt so natural, like you had known him your whole life, the empty space inside was starting to close the more you were around him.

“It’s like you read my mind. Just know that you have me now, you don’t have to stay in the shadows and you don’t have to reach the ‘kingdom’. Just stay where you feel comfortable.” You wrap your arms around him and you feel him hug you back.

It felt so right like you were made to do this, to be here in the moment. All of a sudden you feel a power surge through you and it felt like time stood still. You had a vision of you and Jaebum, you were in what looked like a dream land. Your backs decorated with heavenly wings. Suddenly then a black mist encased both of you, and Jaebum’ wings turned black and they droop to the floor.

The vision frightens you and you pull away. It couldn’t have been a dream, you were awake. You were standing here. Your body feels strange, like your walking on air. You lock eyes with Jaebum and you see his mouth moving but you don’t hear any words, just a loud high pitch tone. And then you see black. Next thing you know, you were waking up to shouting.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Hoseok yells at Jaebum from the chair beside your bed.

You turn your head and look through your eyelashes, Jaebum was standing across the room, leaning against your dressing table. His once styled hair was tousled as he ran his fingers through his jet black locks.

“I told you. I. didn’t. Do. Anything.” Jaebum says through gritted teeth.

Hoseok scoffs and gets up, walking towards Jaebum. You could see he was trying to contain his anger, there was more to him than he showed. Your vision made it clear, he was magical, a mystery.

“Stop!” You shout out, sitting up.

Hoseok stops in his tracks and turns around to face you. He is light and quick on his feet as he rushes to you.

“Baby, are you okay? What happened to you? What did he do?” He questions, holding your face in his hands.

You smile and hug him.

“I’m fine, I guess I must’ve fainted. I had a hard day at work and I’ve just been so busy. Exhaustion got the best of me.” You give a shy smile.

He hugs you back and you at look Jaebum over your boyfriend’s shoulder. He shyly smiles.

“Thank you.” You mouth. He just nods in response, leaving the room.

Shortly after he leaves, you hear his bedroom door slam.

“I’m staying tonight. I don’t trust him with you, while you’re not strong enough to defend yourself. Ah! That bastard, I told him to leave and he’s still here trying to take advantage.” Hoseok tells you, pulling away from the hug.

“You what? Don’t tell him leave. This is my apartment, I’m the one who gets to decide who stays and who goes. And I want him to stay. He’s my friend.” You tell him, crossing your arms.

“Friend? You’ve known him for two weeks.” Hoseok scoffs.

Two weeks? That was all? It felt like you had known him for a life time, you already couldn’t imagine your life without him. You were too tired to start arguing with Hoseok, so you just stay silent and turn over in your bed. Hoseok sighs and slides in next to you.

You wake up and it’s dark, you guessing it’s still late at night or its early morning. You wiggle out of your boyfriend’s grip and pick up your phone. It was 2:15 am. After lying there for a bit your stomach starts growling. You hadn’t eaten since lunch and you were starving. You tip toe out of bed and out of your room and into the kitchen.

As you boiled the kettle for your ramyun, you thought of Jaebum. He wouldn’t have eaten dinner yet, and you knew how hungry he got. You leave the kitchen to knock on his door. You stop when see a familiar white light leak from under the door. It was like the light from two days ago, like the light from your vision. You couldn’t stop yourself from opening the door.

 Hope you guys like this new chapter, sorry for the wait, if you have any ideas don’t be afraid to tell me, my inbox is open always

[maybe-babyc]

Update about yesterday

Let me preface this by saying I am in mobile so I'll start with a super short summary and if that's all you want to read, great. If you want to keep reading please feel free. First up we're 24 weeks! Like we're having a real baby now. That's crazy to me. First appointment yesterday was with our Cystic Fibrosis Clinic. Went in armed for questions. Was told I was really prepared and that they were impressed. Number one thing that took me by surprise is that they want to start enzymes immediately after birth. We were super impressed with the clinic, so we'll be using that one (which was expected). Second appointment, Maternal Fetal Medicine. HES HEAD DOWN!!!!! And we hope he stays there. Down to 56th percentile from 97th! And his heart looked good! So we're done with that doctor! Third appointment, OB. Only gained 2 pounds this month and she didn't mention my weight. Got my glucose test scheduled. Pretty sure we picked a hospital. They even do laboring in water if you're a good candidate. So there's the short update, keep reading if you want an extensive look into my crazy ass day from yesterday. More on the CF clinic. We met with one of the directors (and pulmonologists) and their educator. We got so much information. So much. They push for breastfeeding which is great. They'll start enzymes at birth or within a few days. At a month we'll start nebulizer meds (albuterol). Sweat test hopefully in the first 3-4 months. Pulmozyne at 6 months I believe. Vest treatments will begin as soon as his chest circumference is big enough. Kalydeco at 2. And currently there are no centers doing clinical trials for his mutation /age even though it says so online. They have 2 research specialists who literally only deal with clinical trials. Every week every member of the CF team meets to talk about each and every case they have coming in to clinic that week. So if there's ever any trial they would be willing to send him to, they would know before we would. They are incredibly proactive and have already warned that there's a lot of other CF mom/clinics/doctors that don't do things the way they do them, but they would rather prevent the problem or prolong it being a problem than treating more severe issues. Safe to say we're incredibly comfortable with this clinic and their practices. I went home with an entire binder dedicated to keeping track of him CF wise (medically/treatments that kind of thing), a short text book on CF, and tons of loose leaf print outs from the CFF and how my clinic either meets or exceeds the guidelines. Appointment number 2. Maternal Fetal Medicine. Got there a little early, but they got us back quickly anyway. Didn't have the same nurse I always have so I was a little bummed out. But our little guy looks great! He's head down so I'm super pumped! His heart was completely normal. His weight gain has slowed on the percentile charts so no more threat of c section/early induction! Got cleared from them and got a copy of my records. That was interesting. I hadn't gotten to read any of his reports on me before. He's old school, but I was annoyed at home many times he referenced my weight. On my first ultrasound where we were going to do a CVS, it says he didn't do it due to a posterior placenta (which makes sense because he only does abdominal CVS and you have to have anterior for that) but it also says due to my weight. How? Literally how does that have anything to do with it? Anyway, it was talked about in every single ultrasound report. He wanted to do growth scans due to my weight, but said I could be released to my OB for her to do them. Spoiler alert, she didn't think it was necessary. Appointment number three, I was completely brain drained by this point. I couldn't even keep a conversation and the same things had to be repeated multiple times to me. Apparently we've been a little behind on picking a place for birth. Oh well. As long as my insurance covers, we've picked a place (I'm almost positive it's the only of the 3 it covers). Forgot to mention earlier we got the okay from our CF team to deliver wherever as long as they had some kind of NICU just in case and as long as nothing shows up on any ultrasound bowel wise. Got my glucose test set up for my next doctors appointment. She's still very concerned about it. If it's normal she'll go ahead and set up the rest of my appointments next time. If not I will have to go more frequently. So that was my day. It was a lot. It was tiring. Mentally draining. And then my husband and I ended up pissy with each other because it had been such a long stressful day. But hey, at least we could acknowledge that we just both needed to be pissy. Is it Saturday yet? It has been a really long week. @dinosaruh is this what you were looking for? Haha. Baby decided he was awake and I can't really sleep through him being crazy anymore.

[diaryofalexis-blog1]

Advice for CV/Resume & Cover Letter

Original Content By Queen-Dread - Reposting to hide it under a link.

Right now, I’m sifting through 50+ applications for a new entry-level position. Here’s some advice from the person who will actually be looking at your CV/resume and cover letter:

‘You must include a cover letter’ does not mean ‘write a single line about why you want this position’. If you can’t be bothered to write at least one actual paragraphs about why you want this job, I can’t be bothered to read your CV.

Don’t bother including a list of your interests if all you can think of is ‘socialising with friends’ and ‘listening to music’. Everyone likes those things. Unless you can explain why the stuff you do enriches you as a person and a candidate (e.g. playing an instrument or a sport shows dedication and discipline) then I honestly don’t care how you spend your time. I won’t be looking at your CV thinking ‘huh, they haven’t included their interests, they must have none’, I’m just looking for what you haveincluded.

Even if you apply online, I can see the filename you used for your CV. Filenames that don’t include YOUR name are annoying. Filenames like ‘CV - media’ tell me that you’ve got several CVs you send off depending on the kind of job advertised and that you probably didn’t tailor it for this position. ‘[Full name] CV’ is best.

USE. A. PDF. All the meta information, including how long you worked on it, when you created it, times, etc, is right there in a Word doc. PDFs are far more professional looking and clean and mean that I can’t make any (unconscious or not) decisions about you based on information about the file.

I don’t care what the duties in your previous unrelated jobs were unless you can tell me why they’re useful to this job. If you worked in a shop, and you’re applying for an office job which involves talking to lots of people, don’t give me a list of stuff you did, write a sentence about how much you enjoyed working in a team to help everyone you interacted with and did your best to make them leave the shop with a smile. I want to know what makes you happy in a job, because I want you to be happy within the job I’m advertising.

Does the application pack say who you’ll be reporting to? Can you find their name on the company website? Address your application to them. It’s super easy and shows that you give enough of a shit to google something. 95% of people don’t do this.

Tell me who you are. Tell me what makes you want to get up in the morning and go to work and feel fulfilled. Tell me what you’re looking for, not just what you think I’m looking for.

I will skim your CV. If you have a bunch of bullet points, make every one of them count. Make the first one the best one. If it’s not interesting to you, it’s probably not interesting to me. I’m overworked and tired. Make my job easy.

“I work well in a team or individually” okay cool, you and everyone else. If the job means you’ll be part of a big team, talk about how much you love teamwork and how collaborating with people is the best way to solve problems. If the job requires lots of independence, talk about how you are great at taking direction and running with it, and how you have the confidence to follow your own ideas and seek out the insight of others when necessary. I am profoundly uninterested in cookie-cutter statements. I want to know how you actually work, not how a teacher once told you you should work.

For an entry-level role, tell me how you’re looking forward to growing and developing and learning as much as you can. I will hire genuine enthusiasm and drive over cherry-picked skills any day. You can teach someone to use Excel, but you can’t teach someone to give a shit. It makes a real difference.

This is my advice for small, independent orgs like charities, etc. We usually don’t go through agencies, and the person reading through the applications is usually the person who will manage you, so it helps if you can give them a real sense of who you are and how you’ll grab hold of that entry level position and give it all you’ve got. This stuff might not apply to big companies with actual HR departments - it’s up to you to figure out the culture and what they’re looking for and mirror it. Do they use buzzwords? Use the same buzzwords! Do they write in a friendly, informal way? Do the same! And remember, 95% of job hunting (beyond who you know and flat-out nepotism, ugh) is luck. If you keep getting rejected, it’s not because you suck. You might just need a different approach, or it might just take the right pair of eyes landing on your CV.

And if you get rejected, it’s worthwhile asking why. You’ve already been rejected, the worst has already happened, there’s really nothing bad that can come out of you asking them for some constructive feedback (politely, informally, “if it isn’t too much trouble”). Pretty much all of us have been hopeless jobseekers at one point or another. We know it’s shitty and hard and soul-crushing. Friendliness goes a long way. Even if it’s just one line like “your cover letter wasn’t inspiring" at least you know where to start.

And seriously, if you have any friends that do any kind of hiring or have any involvement with that side of things, ask them to look at your CV with a big red pen and brutal honesty. I do this all the time, and the most important thing I do is making it so their CV doesn’t read exactly like that of every other person who took the same ‘how-to-get-a-job’ class in school. If your CV has a paragraph that starts with something like ‘I am a highly motivated and punctual individual who–’ then oh my god I AM ALREADY ASLEEP.

Addendum: Stop sending me rude messages about this post, jesus christ. I DID NOT INVENT CAPITALISM OR THE TORTUROUS HELLSCAPE THAT IS THE JOB MARKET CULTURE. I GET PAID LIKE SHIT. I’M JUST AN EXHAUSTED MANAGER TRYING HER BEST. and i mean if you can’t take honest advice without complaining about how it’s phrased then boy howdy do i have some bad news for you about the big, mean world of jobhunting…

[sleeplesswritersaito]

Dream (Suho, OC) Part 2

OC - Kang Seoyeon

Part 1

Seoyeon's phone vibrated and her screen lit up.

Incoming video call from "Giant Elf": Accept or Decline

She checked the clock before sliding the green button.

"It's past three," she said after leaning her phone on the pile of books in front of her. "What's keeping you up so late ‘Yeol?"

"I could be asking you the same question," Chanyeol replied, towelling his hair on the other side of the screen. "What's keeping you up so late? I feel as though I'm talking to a panda right now."

"Ha ha very funny," she said, sarcasm evident in her voice. "You know I'm studying for my exam next week."

"But it's Saturday," he protested. "Do something fun! Go out with friends, see people, be social. Or at least go sleep at human hours!"

"Its technically Sunday, you know. But no can do, Captain. My exam is Wednesday and I've got a double shift Monday, plus my classes end late on Tuesday night."

"You know I can help you pay your student loans," he said. "You don't need to work so much, Yeon."

"I'd feel bad. Plus, I still need a decent CV, mister," she replied. "And for that I also need good grades and you're distracting me right now. So, why did you call?"

"I really wish you would stop being such an unhealthy hermit," he said, sighing as he threw the towel away, grabbed his phone, and dropped on his bed. "I called because I wanted to know if you fought with Junmyeon hyung."

"I don't think so, no," she replied, shaking her head as she highlighted an important passage of her manual. "Why?"

"He's been distracted today," Chanyeol replied. "Not so much as to mess up practice, but enough for him to zone out abnormally often during breaks while muttering to himself. I was just wondering what was up with him, since he spent the night at our place."

She smiled fondly. After all these years Chanyeol still called the apartment "our place".

"Who knows," she said. "Any clue as to what what he was muttering?"

"It's hard to hear what someone's mumbling when you're almost half a room away, you know," he said.

"But..?" She pushed, knowing he'd know.

"But I think I heard the words last night and dream a lot, so I thought I'd ask you about it. Are you sure nothing happened yesterday?"

"I'm sure," she replied. "Now go sleep, nerd. You've got to wake up to practice again in a few hours."

Truth be told, if she had told Chanyeol she knew something, she would have been playing a hunch. And she wasn't one to play on guesses.

There was no way someone would remember something they heard in their sleep, right? Because she was pretty sure Junmyeon had been asleep, seeing as she probably wouldn't have said anything otherwise.

flashback

"Hey 'Myeon," she said, nudging his shoulder. "Are you awake?"

He mumbled something indecipherable and she let out a soft laugh. He always spoke gibberish when he was sleeping. “I’ll take that as a no then.”

He shifted his head on the pillow beside her lap and she sighed, her fingers hovering over his dark circles. How she wished this boy would sleep more and share his burden. He was always overdoing himself, shouldering the title of leader all by himself, not once asking for help or complaining about all he had to do. Sometimes she couldn't understand how he was human. How could a person not crack under all that pressure and responsibility?

"Hey 'Myeon, I have something to tell you. I-" She stopped.

What was she supposed to say next? That she what? Loved him? Liked him? Had a crush on him? Was that really what her heartbeats were signalling? Was that really what her random thoughts about him had meant to tell her? She shook her head. She wasn’t going to let all of these stupid questions consume her. That wasn’t like her. Overthinking wasn't part of her habits.

She had never been the type to think much before speaking her mind. Which had definitely been close to causing her downfall more than once, but which also had it perks. It allowed her to say things she would normally never have the guts to do. Like speak back to people who were wrong and who had more authority than she did, or admit to her one of her best friends that she loved him.

She took a deep breath.

“There's something I want you to know. I knows it's terribly cowardly of me to tell you this while you're sleeping, but I don't think I'd be able to muster up the words to tell you when you're awake."

In all honesty, she wasn't too sure how she had mustered the courage to tell him, even if he was sleeping. She had thought about it many times already, denying her own thoughts and feelings. It wasn't like he was likely to like her back anyways, right? The probabilities of someone loving someone who loved them back always seemed slim. Except in movies. Then the probabilities soared through the roof. But this was no movie. She was no main character of some cheesy romance movie. She was a reckless girl and even though she was a bit of a coward at times, she wasn't going to back down now that the courage she was looking for randomly showed up.

"Honestly, I'm not even sure if what I'm feeling is love but you've completely got me completely tangled up. Because of you I've become a mess. I don't know how you do this to me 'Myeon, but you do. If I were able to tell you what's on my mind, I think I'd be saying I love you," she said, running her shaky hand through his hair one last time before getting up, placing a pillow under his head. His even breathing was the last thing she heard before closing the door behind her, ready to make full use of the comfort of her living room couch.

end of flashback

"Hello?" Chanyeol's voice rang out. "Earth to Seoyeon. I repeat, Earth to Kang Seoyeon."

"You're still on the phone?" Seoyeon asked, regaining her senses and seeing him wave his hand on the other side of the screen.

"Yeah," Chanyeol replied. "You haven't answered me for a while so I was starting to get worried. It looked like you shut down for a few minutes there."

"I head must've been in the clouds for while," she said, shaking her head. "What did you say?"

"I said I was offended by you calling me a nerd," he said, rolling his eyes. "I thought I had a higher status than that. And you've never muttered while dozing off before," he pointed out.

"I must be a little bit tired, that's all. Sleep tight, super nerd," she said with a smile.

"Sweet dreams 'Yeon," he replied. "Go sleep soon, alright?"

"Yes mom," she replied before hanging up.

After the call ended, she closed her books. With so many things on her mind, there was no way she'd be able to concentrate on her studies.

--

"So why exactly did you call for a break while sending Junmyeon on a snack and drink errand?" Minseok asked.

"Having called Seoyeon to do the same 10 minutes prior," Jongdae added.

“And having always ordered friend chicken instead of going down to buy it?” Jongin also added.

"Yeah, I don't really get it either," Yixing said.

"I'm declaring a 911 state of emergency," Chanyeol said.

"What about?" Baekhyun asked excitedly. "Did you discover aliens? Or a tear in the spatio-temporal tissue making space travel possible?"

"None of that," he said, much to the disappointment of his friend. "I've discovered something a bit more important than other dimensions."

"And it has something to do with our leader?" Jongin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I know what was on his mind last week," Chanyeol said, as everyone leaned in, interested. "I know who his crush is."

As the words left his mouth, all the boys started talking to each other, speculating on who it could be. His stylist? That short girl with the pixie haircut? Or was it the tall supermodel one? Maybe it was a girl his mother had introduced him to? Or maybe it was the barista at the coffee shop he went to almost every week?

"Oh I get it now," Kyungsoo said, after a few minutes of reflexion. The entire practice room went silent, everyone staring at him, waiting for his answer. "Come on guys, think a little. It's Seoyeon, isn't it?"

"What? How come?" Baekhyun asked, furrowing his brows.

"Think about it. When did Junmyeon start acting weird?" Jongin asked, also connecting the dots and clapping his hands as he understood.

"Ever since he was born?" Jongdae joked.

"When did Junmyeon start acting really weird?" Minseok asked, snapping his fingers as he also caught on.

"Saturday," Yixing answered.

"And what did he do from Friday to Saturday?"

"He was over at Yeon's pla- oh I get it now," Sehun exclaimed. "So, what's your plan? Were you going to ask us to ditch practice and have them meet up here alone?"

"That'd be useless," Minseok said before Chanyeol could say anything. "Who knows if they'll do anything without a push. We should stay here and do something about it."

"What can we do though?" Jongdae asked.

"Game of king? Truth or dare? I don't know," Kyungsoo said.

"Can someone please enlighten me," Baekhyun exclaimed, frustrated everyone was catching on but him. "What does Junmyeon being weird have anything to do with Seoyeon?? I don't get it."

"I can't believe you haven't put one and one together yet," Jongdae said, before explaining it to him while the others tried to come up with the perfect plan.

To be continued...

A/N: Thanks to those of you who have read this far! The third part of going to be up soon!

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[braindamageforbeginners]

Day 56

So, another teachable moment. As I've mentioned, having a dangerous, chronic disease is a full-time job. Healthy people tend to scoff when I say that. I've been told that people in my position have careers, kids, etc. and still find time to manage their disease. Which always makes me a little defensive - given that GBM has 50-85% mortality rate, I'd argue that at least half of us don't successfully do that. Which isn't to say that you can cure cancer with will-power, or that only the weak succumb; merely that we live in a system that requires massive time and effort to successfully navigate. Yesterday, I refilled one prescription, completed more paperwork in my on-going feud with the California Department of Motor Vehicles, and tried to get the pharmacy to release the next round of chemo drugs (it's not like they're medically necessary). That was it. That literally took seven hours - I timed it. And I'm still waiting to hear back from CVS and the DMV. I didn't even play with my pill organizer. If any of my neighbors hear wailing and gnashing of teeth coming from my vicinity, it might be a medical emergency. Or it might just be me realizing I have a 48-page form I have to fill out and sign in my physician’s blood to get the okay for some treatment or another.

I figured I’d illustrate this point visually. In the top photo, you’ll note a file folder containing this month’s billing problem (technically, it’s November’s billing problem, the hospital just didn’t feel the need to inform me of it until mid-January), atop a packet of the latest doctor’s orders/appointments for me atop an envelope containing several attractive financial aid/insurance/desperate ploys (and the latest round of DMV medical paperwork) that I’m very certain I’ll be filling out in the near future. At this point, death itself is not looking too bad (although, given my luck, there is an afterlife, and it’ll require 4000 pages of paperwork to get in)(Or have I just accidentally described Purgatory? Someone with formal theological training let me know). Not pictured in that is the on-going crisis to get CVS to release my damned chemo drugs (I know, I usually go to great pains to protect the anonymity of my caregivers, but I think if a large, faceless chain accidentally kills me due to bureaucratic incompetence or negligence, I want everyone to know).

Good news on that one; I did find out that my insurance company has some special form they require for a chemotherapy renewal, and I did manage to track that down and send it on the the Warlocks’ administrative team. And, better news, I have apparently gotten the attention of CVS, because I’m getting calls back - from an actual human being, mind you; not She-Terminator, robo-representative of the Health Industrial Complex - assuring me that I ain’t got no problem, they’re on the motherfucker. Which means that my current strategy of calling them every few hours and politely asking if there is anything I can do to expedite the process might pay dividends (I have a little more faith in the Warlock’s administrative staff who e-mailed me this morning saying that they’d received the forms, and would contact CVS and the insurance company directly). The lesson of today is, when you, the unwashed masses show up and offer to help people do their job - in any capacity you can - you would be amazed how competent they become. That’s not even intended as a jab; I just called the Warlocks’ administrative nurse (not Research Coordinator, it should be noted) to ask about getting the next round of chemo, who gave me the direct line to CVS, who noted there was some sort of insurance hold-up, which led me to dredge though the depths of my e-mail, and found some arcane prior authorization form from my very evil insurance company (I’ll get around to describing them with very some very florid language), which I then sent back to the Warlocks and their staff, and now I’m getting calls from CVS telling me to leave them alone. Which means I’ll repeat the process tomorrow. And the day after. Until one of us gives up (perhaps in a rather dramatic sense, in my case). Or - and there’s a solid chance of this - the Warlocks and Mad Scientist Oncologist use their considerable juice to convince some local apothecary to provide me the next round of chemo. Again, even though it is slightly pejorative, I do refer to them as necromancers because, as someone who’s been traversing the medical system his entire adult life - in various roles; mostly from the patient side - I have never seen anything like their ability to instantly conjure up whatever I need to stay alive immediately. Which makes me feel like all I need to do is help out with the paperwork as best I can.

I also did get my teeth cleaned; the dental staff were all lovely and indulged my new-found X-ray phobia (if you’re reading, hi guys), although I’ll ask Radiation Oncologist about that next time I see her (avoiding X-rays as a permanent life stragegy, I mean). And no new cavities, and I’m at low-risk for cavities, so, that’s one less thing to worry about.

And the new, lucky chemo shirt arrived yesterday (also picture above). I figured if I’m going to refer to it as the Captain America serum, I might as well look the part. Thanks to Donna, who sent me the original lucky chemo socks, which planted that idea in my head.

ANYWAY… WEIGHT: 213 lb (I guess I underestimated the weight-gain effect of those steroids) CONCENTRATION:Pretty good - good enough to wade through more and more paperwork. APPETITE: Good ACTIVITY LEVEL: Good, but I’m definitely starting to feel the wear and tear of the past few months. I woke up exhausted, and now I feel unbelievably tired. Still, I did go to the gym and complete most of the tasks before me (well, the immediate, must-do-today ones). SLEEP QUALITY: Excellent. I’m starting to dream again, which is something that’s been depressed - to some extent - after each surgery (and I’m still in the recovery period for that; let alone all the radiation and chemo fun). COORDINATION/DEXTERITY: Excellent. MEMORY: Still improving, but still patchy. I can’t multitask anymore - not that I really could beforehand, but now, if I don’t complete a task, there’s a chance it’ll take me a few minutes to remember to come back to it. PHYSICAL: Okay. I’m feeling fatigued, and I still have headaches, but I’m also successfully cutting back on the Tylenol without problems. And tomorrow, I’ll be completely off of steroids; I’ve been on a 1 mg-a-day dosage for the last week and functioning, and, logically, if I’m no longer on anti-inflammatory drugs (apart from the Tylenol, which I think even a healthy person would mainline if they had to wade through the paperwork I’ve been tackling this week), things should be improving. Which just means, given my luck, my brain will explode tonight. SIDE EFFECTS: Nothing new.

[gemstonestudies-blog]

queendread:

Right now, I’m sifting through 50+ applications for a new entry-level position. Here’s some advice from the person who will actually be looking at your CV/resume and cover letter:

‘You must include a cover letter’ does not mean ‘write a single line about why you want this position’. If you can’t be bothered to write at least one actual paragraphs about why you want this job, I can’t be bothered to read your CV.

Don’t bother including a list of your interests if all you can think of is ‘socialising with friends’ and ‘listening to music’. Everyone likes those things. Unless you can explain why the stuff you do enriches you as a person and a candidate (e.g. playing an instrument or a sport shows dedication and discipline) then I honestly don’t care how you spend your time. I won’t be looking at your CV thinking ‘huh, they haven’t included their interests, they must have none’, I’m just looking for what you have included.

Even if you apply online, I can see the filename you used for your CV. Filenames that don’t include YOUR name are annoying. Filenames like ‘CV - media’ tell me that you’ve got several CVs you send off depending on the kind of job advertised and that you probably didn’t tailor it for this position. ‘[Full name] CV’ is best.

USE. A. PDF. All the meta information, including how long you worked on it, when you created it, times, etc, is right there in a Word doc. PDFs are far more professional looking and clean and mean that I can’t make any (unconscious or not) decisions about you based on information about the file.

I don’t care what the duties in your previous unrelated jobs were unless you can tell me why they’re useful to this job. If you worked in a shop, and you’re applying for an office job which involves talking to lots of people, don’t give me a list of stuff you did, write a sentence about how much you enjoyed working in a team to help everyone you interacted with and did your best to make them leave the shop with a smile. I want to know what makes you happy in a job, because I want you to be happy within the job I’m advertising.

Does the application pack say who you’ll be reporting to? Can you find their name on the company website? Address your application to them. It’s super easy and shows that you give enough of a shit to google something. 95% of people don’t do this.

Tell me who you are. Tell me what makes you want to get up in the morning and go to work and feel fulfilled. Tell me what you’re looking for, not just what you think I’m looking for.

I will skim your CV. If you have a bunch of bullet points, make every one of them count. Make the first one the best one. If it’s not interesting to you, it’s probably not interesting to me. I’m overworked and tired. Make my job easy.

“I work well in a team or individually” okay cool, you and everyone else. If the job means you’ll be part of a big team, talk about how much you love teamwork and how collaborating with people is the best way to solve problems. If the job requires lots of independence, talk about how you are great at taking direction and running with it, and how you have the confidence to follow your own ideas and seek out the insight of others when necessary. I am profoundly uninterested in cookie-cutter statements. I want to know how you actually work, not how a teacher once told you you should work.

For an entry-level role, tell me how you’re looking forward to growing and developing and learning as much as you can. I will hire genuine enthusiasm and drive over cherry-picked skills any day. You can teach someone to use Excel, but you can’t teach someone to give a shit. It makes a real difference.

This is my advice for small, independent orgs like charities, etc. We usually don’t go through agencies, and the person reading through the applications is usually the person who will manage you, so it helps if you can give them a real sense of who you are and how you’ll grab hold of that entry level position and give it all you’ve got. This stuff might not apply to big companies with actual HR departments - it’s up to you to figure out the culture and what they’re looking for and mirror it. Do they use buzzwords? Use the same buzzwords! Do they write in a friendly, informal way? Do the same! And remember, 95% of job hunting (beyond who you know and flat-out nepotism, ugh) is luck. If you keep getting rejected, it’s not because you suck. You might just need a different approach, or it might just take the right pair of eyes landing on your CV.

And if you get rejected, it’s worthwhile asking why. You’ve already been rejected, the worst has already happened, there’s really nothing bad that can come out of you asking them for some constructive feedback (politely, informally, “if it isn’t too much trouble”). Pretty much all of us have been hopeless jobseekers at one point or another. We know it’s shitty and hard and soul-crushing. Friendliness goes a long way. Even if it’s just one line like “your cover letter wasn’t inspiring" at least you know where to start.

And seriously, if you have any friends that do any kind of hiring or have any involvement with that side of things, ask them to look at your CV with a big red pen and brutal honesty. I do this all the time, and the most important thing I do is making it so their CV doesn’t read exactly like that of every other person who took the same ‘how-to-get-a-job’ class in school. If your CV has a paragraph that starts with something like ‘I am a highly motivated and punctual individual who–’ then oh my god I AM ALREADY ASLEEP.

Very good post thanks for this.

Excellent advice for building and submitting job application documents.

This is the first good resume advice post I’ve seen on this site. Much better advice than the “lists of active verbs to use” and “here are resume templates”. Follow this advice.