#okay but I’ve done physical therapy after a surgery and it’s Not Fun

[fandomfairyuniverse]

I’m glad methas found an effective pain medication to help him get through physical therapy aka insane sexual tension with the physical therapist

[possibilistfanfiction]

for surgeons AU could we get some early days, maybe first date or something? obsessed with your work as always

[s/o to everyone who asked for their first date, love u, crossposting this au to ao3 now too i guess lol!]

//

‘don’t laugh.’

‘i’m not.’ 

you glare. 

‘i swear, i’m not,’ she lies.

‘cam, you’re actively laughing. physically. audibly. at me.’

camila takes a deep breath and forces herself to frown. ‘okay. sorry. continue.’

‘bea is just — hot.’

you can tell that camila fights a grimace, which is fair, maybe, because she’s known beatrice for years through medical school. ‘she’s also very kind and understanding, if you wanted to, like, do something that would actually be fun for the both of you.’

‘hiking sounds fun.’

‘ava.’

it’s not all that often you feel the tightness in your chest that you remember from childhood: things are far less limited to you now. you have care you need, and your physical therapy and surgeries and medications are usually effective at letting you do whatever you want day-to-day. ‘just — don’t.’

camila sighs. ‘okay. but i promise bea wouldn’t think any less of you.’

you flop back on her sofa. ‘i know that, i really do. but it’s just so not sexy. and you know what is sexy? beatrice without a shirt on hiking ten miles, all sweaty and —‘

‘— it’s november, i’m pretty sure she’ll be wearing a shirt and a jacket —‘

‘— that’s not the point.’

camila loses her battle and does outright laugh at you now. ‘okay. well, to answer your question, you can borrow whatever of my gear you need, and i won’t tell bea.’

‘you’re a saint.’

/

to be fair, beatrice picks you up in her extremely clean subaru — you refrain from saying anything; it’s way too easy for it to actually be fun anyway — and offers you a breakfast sandwich and a coffee from, apparently, her favorite place near her house. it’s a cool, cloudy morning, typical november fair, and it’s still dark out, but you’re used to being up early or really at any time of day or night at this point. you’d done every spine decompression stretch you’ve ever learned in physical therapy, taken some ibuprofen, and truly have no plan other than hoping camila’s trekking poles — a very serious name for very fancy walking sticks — are enough to see you through.

beatrice, for her part, is clearly nervous, and it’s charming: she spends at least twenty minutes talking to you about all of the features of the hike and why it’s an ideal one for the two of you — ‘it’s moderate elevation gain up to the crest, about 2.5 miles, and, since it has southern exposure, we won’t get too much wind today.’ and, ‘if you want to keep going, it’s beautiful along the ridge, and there’s two mild peaks we could summit.’ and, ‘i’ve packed enough food and water for essentially however long we want to go; you can carry some if you’d like, if you didn’t pack much yourself.’ and, ‘anyway, the entire thing is wonderful and, in my experience, fairly empty, especially as it grows colder. but, just our luck: not much rain forecast for today.’ — and then asks, almost painfully awkward, about your last shift.

‘it was fine,’ you say, finishing your sandwich and making sure your trash is neatly packed up in the bag, with hers too. ‘but enough shop talk. i want to know about you.’

she blushes and you see, not for the first time but maybe in a way that’s more obvious than you have before, that beatrice is just a person after all, even if she’s unflappable at work. 

‘it’s okay,’ you say, so she doesn’t shut down or feel embarrassed. ‘i don’t mind shop talk, but i’m just — i’m glad to spend the time with you, away from work. plus you’re like a total enigma. very mysterious. it’s kind of hot.’

you haven’t said explicitly this is a first date, but you’ve been on lots of first dates and you’re fairly certain this is one. you’re definitely certain when she laughs, her shoulders loosening down her spine, away from her ears, and says, ‘only kind of?’

‘well, i wasn’t sure if we were just colleagues or just friends or whatever.’ 

‘or whatever?’

you groan. ‘you’re extremely hot, are you kidding? i think it’s affecting my residency, actually. i get distracted by your hands and then i lose the plot.’

she takes that in, maybe more than you had meant to say but who cares at this point; you’d gotten up at 5 am for her on your day off, so it’s fairly clear how you feel. ‘you’re quite distracting yourself, dr. silva.’

‘in a good or bad way? like, sexy or annoying?’

she rolls her eyes; you can tell, even if she’s still watching the road. ‘it depends. often both.’

you grin, lean back in the seat. ‘i contain multitudes, what can i say. triple threat.’

‘sexy, annoying, and… ?’

‘brilliant, obviously.’

‘oh yes, obviously.’ you pull into a deserted parking lot amidst a lush green forest and a heavy early morning fog; it’s beautiful, and you don’t ever regret that you ended up here, but you feel particularly grateful for it now. ‘you are brilliant, ava.’ it’s serious, the way she says it and the way she squeezes your hand, just once, before she gets out of the car with a soft smile. 

you watch her as subtly as you can as she puts on her gear, following suit as closely as you can without being too obvious about it. you know this is, objectively, really stupid and unnecessary, and jillian is probably spidey-senses yelling at you from somewhere in the world, but you have never wanted to impress someone so badly in your entire life. once beatrice is all ready to go, in her warm fleece quarterzip underneath a waterproof shell, a similar setup for her pants, her boots tied securely and her pack neatly zipped, poles ready at the correct height — so your elbows are at 90 degrees, camila had explained yesterday — and a beanie pulled down securely over her buzzed hair and ears.

‘the most important part for me,’ she says.

it takes you a second, but then you laugh. ‘you’re being funny.’

she makes sure her car is locked, zips the keys in a pocket inside her jacket, and then takes off down the trail. ‘i’ve been known to have a sense of humor from time to time.’

she’s not even walking that fast but it’s cold and jillian is mad at you all the time for how much you have to stand just for work, definitely without the however-many-long mile hike you’re about to go on. ‘the other interns are terrified of you, you know.’

beatrice turns toward you with a smirk. ‘and you’re not?’

‘well, i’ve seen you cry, once not even about a patient but about the fact that the coffee cart was out of earl grey tea.’

‘i hadn’t slept in thirty hours.’

you shrug — that’s probably true, but still — and bump her in the shoulder. ‘i like you,’ you tell her, honest, finally, amongst the moss and the ferns, the sun barely up, no one around to hear you. there’s a different kind of fear you feel when it comes to beatrice: not as dr. choi, indomitably talented and ruthlessly efficient resident, but as someone whose cologne you recognize, as someone who you want to make your grandma’s vatapáfor. ‘you’re kind to me.’

beatrice slows down for a moment — thank fucking god — and takes you in. you feel out of place often, and especially here, but the best thing about her is that, even if she senses it, she never faults you. ’that’s what you deserve.’ and then, ‘i hope i am. i want to be.’

you don’t know much about her, really: you know that she went to boarding school at 14 and had been at the top of her class at the best schools and programs in the world ever since; that she loves to be in nature and has known lilith for forever; that her accent loosens, just slightly, when she’s especially excited or especially exhausted. she likes otters, you’ve gathered, from a little pin on her coat, and she wants to go into cardio because it’s endlessly fascinating to her, and impossible, and miraculous. she runs so much admin for the free gender affirming surgery clinic even though it’s not her speciality and she certainly doesn’t have to; she learned asl last year, in addition to a host of other languages she speaks, to better communicate with patients and colleagues. you think, of anyone in your program, maybe of anyone at the hospital entirely, she’s chief superion’s favorite.

there are so many things you want to learn about her: what makes her scared and who she let take care of her after she had top surgery and what her favorite song is and what book made her cry as a child and if she likes comedies or is more of a drama kind of girl. you want, you can admit to yourself, to know everything about her in a way you’ve never quite wanted anything before.

‘you’re the best person i know.’ you’re worried it’s too much before she smiles — not at you, too shy, but you catch it anyway before she looks away.

‘that’s generous.’ 

‘still, true.’

she worries her lip before saying, ‘i am, technically, your boss.’

‘barely.’

‘ava.’

‘hmm. not dr. silva? doesn’t sound very position of power to me.’

‘i — i like you too.’ you watch her push her poles into the soft ground a little harder, like her whole body is fighting — to say what she means, or to not say it, you’re not sure. 

you’ve had crossroads in your life before, most of them really fucking horrible — until they weren’t, until the world stretched out before you and opened up before you. you’ve talked over and over about this with jillian and the therapist she made sure you went to before you consented to any truly dangerous and experimental procedures or injections: disability was limiting, sure, but the real harm was done by the lack of care afforded you, not your lack of movement. you work so, so hard to believe it on good days; it’s nearly impossible on the worst.

but this is the best day, you decide. camila is right: beatrice is kind and caring and brave in ways you know; in ways you have yet to find out. 

you’ve made it maybe half a mile into the hike but your back is aching, left foot going numb already, your right hand clenched too tight around the handle of the pole, so much so that even the soft cork of it hurts. so, instead of moving and moving and moving like you always do, like you have since the moment you could close your hands into fists so tight you swore you’d never let the world go: you stop.

bea takes a few more steps and then notices; she turns around and looks at you curiously.

‘sorry,’ you say, impulse and fear and habit, then shake your head. ‘actually, uh. i’m not? yeah, i’m not.’

she stands steady, unfazed by that. ‘okay.’

‘uh, well. i like you too. i already said that, but i really like you. i don’t — god, this sounds so stupid. but i don’t want to be your intern.’

the small, amused smile on beatrice’s face makes you feel better. ‘am i not a good teacher?’

‘i think there are lots of other things i would enjoy you teaching me.’ you close your eyes for a moment as she laughs, trying to regroup. ‘okay, i am sorry for that one.’

‘don’t be. i quite enjoyed it.’

‘before — before we tell chief superion anything, if you wanted to try, just — you should know that i shouldn’t have said yes to going on this hike.’

beatrice’s brow knits together, so immediately concerned you reach for her hand. 

‘not because — it’s beautiful,’ you say. ‘you’re beautiful, and i’m so happy you asked me.’

she doesn’t look any less worried, which is fair.

‘i have a spinal cord injury,’ you say, and her face softens into something you’re terrified of for a moment, until you realize it’s only patience, only an opening for understanding — not pity, and certainly not anything close to contempt.

‘okay,’ she says, calmly and as kind as ever.

stupid, annoying tears burn at your eyes. ‘i just — you love hiking, and you asked and planned so nicely, and you wanted to share this special thing with me, and —‘

‘ava,’ she says, then brings her thumbs to wipe your cheeks with a gentle smile. ‘i just wanted to spend time with you. you’re right, i enjoy hiking, but i also enjoy lots of other things. things that i would also want to share with you.’

‘i should be using a cane at work,’ you admit, in the middle of this beautiful forest where no one but her can hear you. ‘i haven’t been because i didn’t, i don’t —‘

‘— while i think it’s wise you’re moved off my service,’ she says, ‘i will burn down that entire hospital if anyone looks down on you for that.’

‘that seems counterintuitive to do no harm.’ the way you say it is wobbly and your nose is full of snot and it’s kind of all so terrible, but then you catch up: ‘you don’t want me on your service?’

beatrice steadies herself. ‘i want to kiss you.’

‘even after —‘

‘ava, listen. i want to kiss you.’

‘yeah,’ you say, and lean forward.

it feels like your entire body lights up, even though it aches in the damp cold — golden light everywhere. 

/

you laugh a little afterward, then beatrice smiles and takes off back toward her car without any complaints. 

‘it’s still rather early,’ she says as you go on your way, ‘and we’re only about twenty minutes from the car.’

you grimace. ‘yeah, sorry.’

she shakes her head. ‘there are undoubtedly so many things you need to apologize for daily, ava —‘

‘— hey —‘

‘— but this is not one of them.’

‘fine,’ you huff.

she’s unfazed. ‘i was going to ask if perhaps you wanted to come over to my place. among other things i like in addition to hiking, i do like to catch up on rest as well. and then perhaps lunch? there’s a spot near me that has wonderful oysters.’

‘a nap? in your sexy house? lunch? with your sexy face?’

she ignores most of it: ‘it’s a rather normal house.’

‘i bet it’s sexy. lilith told me you were rich.’

beatrice grimaces.

‘it’s okay. like, really. i just bet you’re, like, the kind of person who has bespoke everything, aren’t you?’

‘no,’ she says, but she’s blushing and looking away from you.

‘you know, you’ve got a terrible poker face.’

‘only when it comes to you, i’m afraid.’

‘ah, what a terrible fate.’

‘the worst,’ she agrees, shaking her head with a smile. ‘it’s got a good view, i will say.’

‘well, lead the way then.’

‘ava, we’re just walking back to the car.’

you roll your eyes. ‘you know what i mean.’

/

beatrice’s house is beautiful, perched on a hill with giant windows overlooking the sound and the olympics. she laughs — not unkindly — when you admit that all of your hiking gear is actually camila’s, says, ‘i thought that pack looked familiar,’ and then lends you a hoodie and some comfortable running shorts to change into. you don’t ask her so many things brimming inside of you; she doesn’t ask you either, although you’re sure she — as bea and as dr. choi — has a billion questions. you’ll ask and answer everything in due time. 

for today, you bully her — with far too little bullying involved to make her argument of i’ve never seen it before and i don’t waste my time on shows like this — to start binging season 4 of real housewives of salt lake city; even less convincing when she knows all about jen’s escapades last season and then clamps her mouth shut when you laugh into her shoulder.

‘it’s compelling, fine,’ she says with a very dramatic pout, and you’re kissing it off her face before you can think twice.

she smiles into it, your nerves dissipating, and it’s good, and right, and safe. you eventually kiss her cheek and run a hand over the soft bristles of her hair — which you’ve been dying to do — while she smiles and then settle into her side. 

‘thank you.’

she lets out a big breath, peaceful under the blanket, thick socks on your feet, cold rain outside but only warmth in this house with you in it. ‘no, ava. thank you.’

[yandere-society]

First, Do No Harm

Sypnosis: Dr. Kim is well known as the most skilled heart surgeon in the hospital, but when you notice his mortality statistics seem skewered, you discover all is not what it seems. Now, Dr. Kim is offering you a choice: will you join him? Or become yet another broken heart beneath his scalpel?

Pairing: Namjoon x Female Reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Admin: @psycho-slytherin​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Trigger warnings: yandere-themes, mentions/descriptions of death and dying, blood, murder?

You stand back, holding your breath as Dr. Kim Namjoon removes the camera from his young patient’s chest and smiles. “Another day, another Tetralogy of Fallot.”

The nurses and residents clap politely, and you join in. Dr. Kim is a legend within the hospital and across the country. You have nothing but admiration for the greatest pediatric cardiologist of your generation. And you, as a senior anesthesiologist, have gotten to witness some of his greatest achievements.

“Great work, everyone. He’s going to be just fine,” Dr Kim says, catching your eye and grinning. You can’t see his smile through his mask, but his trademark dimples appear below his eyes.

Those dimples have done nothing but enthrall just about every hospital employee since day one, and sometimes even you have to wonder if you’re truly immune to his mesmerizing gaze.

As you replace the equipment on the anesthesia cart and switch off the many machines that kept your patient asleep for the duration of his surgery, your attention turns to tomorrow’s patient– a fifty-two year old liver transplant recipient named Mr. Lim. You’ve already prepared his plan, and it should be pretty straightforward. 

You’ve always loved the art of anesthesiology– it turned surgery from a lowly last resort to a tolerable option, from screaming and bloody struggles to a quiet and hyper-focused operating room. Anesthesia set the stage for the advancement of medicine, and you’ve never thought twice about your choice of specialty.

Plus, it means you get to see Dr. Kim, the handsome cardiologist, whenever you’re working on a surgery with him. You smile at the thought. That’s great, too.

As you scrub out, your thoughts drift to your plans. Valentine’s Day is next week and you promised your newly-engaged coworker you would be on call. Dr. Jung asked you days ago to take over for him so that he could spend the evening with his fiancé. With your reputation for being perpetually single, you were happy to help. Besides, you like helping people.

“Dr. L/n.” You see Dr. Kim slide in beside you as he, too, scrubs his hands and arms up to the elbow. It seems you two were the last to file out of the OR.

“Dr. Kim,” you reply. “Great work on the Tetralogy of Fallot today.” It’s a relatively common, but sometimes deadly, combination of birth defects. The patient today was a five-year-old boy, and when you explained to him that you would insert a breathing tube to help him during the surgery, he looked at you with such trust in his eyes that for a second, it was you who couldn’t breathe.

“It was a collaborative effort,” the cardiologist says smoothly. “Definitely wouldn’t be possible without you.”

You feel a blush warm your cheeks when he turns to you. Dr. Kim has one of those faces whose every line reveals a particular grace– each worried wrinkle seems to have a meaning, and every controlled movement tries to say or hide something which you can never decipher. Despite working together for years, you’ve never had a real conversation with him. Maybe now’s a good time to start?

“Doing anything fun for Valentine’s Day?” You ask casually. Dr. Kim coughs and you realize your mistake, your blood running cold: “Oh, god, no, I’m not hitting on you!”

Dr. Kim chuckles as he dries his hands. “Don’t worry about it, Dr. L/n. No, I don’t have plans– I believe I have a surgery scheduled.”

“Yeah? Anything interesting?”

“Some teenagers got drunk and messed with fireworks during New Year’s Eve. One of the explosions caught a kid in the chest, she got some shrapnel embedded in her interventricular septum. She’s got a leak between ventricles, small enough that I guess they didn’t notice until now. Any bigger…” he pauses. “It wouldn’t be pretty.”

“Oh, geez.” You wince. You can’t imagine the young girl’s terror and pain. You hate suffering, despise violence. It’s one of the reasons you chose your specialty.

Dr. Kim shrugs. “It’s a tough job. Kids are so healthy and able to bounce back, we can’t always tell when something’s wrong– their bodies just try to adapt to it. And the heart has a direct line to our psychological state; when they get scared, when they feel trauma or pain…” Dr. Kim meets your eyes. “It damages them even more.”

You stare at him, a rush of sympathy enveloping you. You’re used to turning off your emotions; numbing yourself to suffering is another part of the job. But where your responsibility is to keep patients safe and calm, relaxed and unfeeling, Dr. Kim’s hands hold within them the lifeblood of each person on the operating table. He, too, is only human, and every life lost must surely weigh on him.

“Right, well…” Dr. Kim chuckles quietly. “I’ll see you around, Dr. L/n.”

“Hey, Dr. Kim.” You hurry after him while shaking your hands dry. Dr. Kim stops, eyeing you curiously. “If you ever need to talk to someone, my therapist is pretty good.”

“Your… therapist?” Dr. Kim adjusts his glasses, his tone questioning.

You take a breath. You’re always the first to promote therapy to people in your profession. “Our jobs can get tough. I started seeing someone years ago, and I probably wouldn’t still have my job if I hadn’t. And you, with your responsibilities–” you fidget. “I can get you some recommendations if that might help you.” You hope you’re not overstepping your bounds.

Dr. Kim smiles cooly, his dimples remaining hidden. “Thank you for the offer, Dr. L/n. I appreciate it.”

“Ah, call me Y/n,” you reply automatically. All your friends in the hospital refer to you by your first name anyways. Hopefully an esteemed professional like Dr. Kim won’t find such a suggestion inappropriate.

The cardiology surgeon raises a brow. “Then I’m Namjoon.”

“I- oh.” You smile briefly. “Alright. Well, I have to get to my rounds– I’ll see you later.”

With that, you turn, reaching for your pager. You don’t notice the surgeon’s eyes follow you down the hall. You don’t see him smile widely, his dimples at last appearing in earnest beneath his glasses.

»»————-　♔　————-««

After you return from your lunch break later that day, Dr. Min, your favorite diagnostician, waves you down. “Y/n!”

You smile, approaching. “Hey– what’s with all the stuff?” Dr. Min’s arms are full of stacks of files, so high his face is obstructed.

“Some bug in the system deleted a bunch of the digital archives from the last couple months,” Dr. Min grumbles. “Luckily we have physical copies of the hospital records, but now we have to reinput the data. I made the mistake of offering to help the hapless interns assigned to fix it.”

You laugh, grabbing a stack of paper out of Dr. Min’s arms. “I’m finished with my rounds today– I’ll help.”

“Ah, Y/n, you’re an angel,” Dr. Min sighs with relief. “It shouldn’t take more than a few hours and if you get paged, I’ll just add another intern to the roster.”

You shift the papers in your grip. “I’ve got a conference call in a couple hours, but I should be fine until then.” After Dr. Kim’s– Namjoon’s– cold cordiality, a friendly face like Yoongi’s is a welcome relief.

Still, Dr. Kim has certainly earned the right to whatever behavior he wants to express; it was his groundbreaking paper that led to the testing of a new surgical procedure to more effectively repair a patent ductus arteriosus and a number of other birth defects. He was the keynote speaker for the recent cardiologists’ convention in the city, and his surgeries are always well-attended; you’ve heard of interns competing for the chance to scrub in and witness him in action. Dr. Kim’s name alone is enough to add a layer of intellect to any conversation. Patients have traveled across the country for his advice.

You follow Dr. Min to the records room, where five interns are already typing away, recording and inputting patient data and medical records.

“How big an operation is this?” You wonder aloud, setting down your files.

Dr. Min sighs. “Big. It’s a disaster, and the hospital board wants to keep it quiet. Everything’s online these days; this fuckup will make it look like we’re behind the times.”

You laugh. “God forbid. Okay, I’ll input the surgery data and you can take diagnostics.”

Dr. Min nods, and you get to work, grabbing files off the pile and settling down in front of a computer.

Patient name: Jeon, Jeongguk.

Diagnosis: Heart arrhythmias. You wince. Heart arrhythmias are a tell of potential cardiac arrest, and the patient would probably benefit from a defib implant.

Procedure: ICD. ICD stands for implantable cardioverter defibrillator– you were right!

Attending: Dr. Kim Namjoon.

“Oh?” you murmur aloud, staring at the familiar name. Today’s full of Namjoon, isn’t it?

When you type in the report, the computer dings, automatically redirecting you to the patient’s file. A big red word greets you next to his name: DECEASED.

You wince. The patient was a young man, and it’s a shame that people die when they should be at the pinnacle of health. You glance briefly at the remainder of the patient’s file, looking for the autopsy report– but you find none.

Still, you quickly shake yourself out of a fog. You want to finish as many as possible before your conference call. Patient name. Diagnosis. Procedure. Attending. Medical history. Additional notes. You try not to pay attention to how many of the patients have the red DECEASED mark on their charts. No surgery, no matter how small, is without risks. If they’re on the operating table, something is already wrong. But why do people have to suffer? Why do they have to die?

Dr. Kim’s– Namjoon’s– name pops up several more times, often following some impressive procedure.

“Kim’s been busy,” you say after an hour of inputting data.

“Hm?” Dr. Min’s eyes are trained on his screen.

“There’s like… hundreds of surgical procedures in these files. Dr. Kim’s responsible for a lot of them.”

“Psh, that’s just ‘cause Dr. Park has been slacking,” Dr. Min snorts, stretching. “I caught him napping in the call room the other day.”

“We’ve all been there.”

Dr. Min laughs. “Sure, but I’ve never been there while my pager was going crazy!”

“No. Was it?” You gasp, scandalized. You sense the interns leaning in, desperate for the attendings’ scraps of gossip.

“Heh, yeah. Anyways, Y/n, why don’t you head out? I can handle the rest–” Dr. Min’s voice turns loud and deep. “And anyone who cares more about Dr. Park’s naps than the work right in front of them can stay here until we’re finished.”

You grin at seeing the interns scramble back to their stations. You remember your years as a medical intern and later, resident– spending so long at the bottom of the food chain humbles a person permanently.

You check your watch– you have just enough time to check on tomorrow’s patient before your conference call. You want to make sure none of his vitals have changed enough to warrant adjustments to his anesthesia plan.

You stroll through the corridors, eventually coming up to the liver transplant recipient’s room. It was a hastily scheduled surgery; the donor liver is being flown overnight to reach him in the morning.

“Good afternoon, Mr- oh.” Standing at the patient’s bedside, examining his chart, is… “Dr. Kim?”

Dr. Kim slides his hands into his pockets and straightens up. You’re reminded of how much taller than you he is. “Ah, Y/n, hello.”

“Hi. I wasn’t aware you were involved with this patient,” you say carefully. What would a childrens’ cardiologist be doing for an adult transplant patient? Still, Dr. Kim must have his reasons. He’s too brilliant a surgeon not to.

“Oh, I was just looking,” Namjoon replies. “I’ll be on my way now, if you don’t mind.”

“Just loo- uh, okay, I guess?” You step aside, allowing him to brush past you. That’s weird, but he’s Dr. Kim Namjoon. He can do whatever he wants.

“So, Mr. Lim…” You look down at your chart before double checking his heart monitor. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy,” the patient mumbles. “And grateful. My stomach hurts a bit.”

You smile. Donor organs are hard to come across, and so many patients need them. “Tomorrow’s the start of the rest of your life, huh?”

Mr. Lim smiles, his eyes fluttering closed. “The start of the rest of my life…”

Looks like he’s fallen asleep. You close the door behind you– the surgery is scheduled for 4 in the morning, so you’ll see him soon. Still, you wonder what Namjoon was doing in the room.

After your conference call and hours of reviewing charts from your apartment, you fall into a deep sleep, your pager at your fingertips.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

“Ah!” Your eyes fly open and you automatically grab for your pager, checking the time. 1:30AM? Your alarm isn’t set to ring for another hour. It’s a message from Dr. Kim Taehyung, Mr. Lim’s transplant surgeon: Call me.

Now fully awake, you’re quick to obey. The phone barely has time to ring before–

“Y/n?”

“Yeah. Taehyung, what’s up? Did the surgery get rescheduled?”

“No. Uh, sleep in today, okay, Y/n?”

“What?” You straighten up, already stepping into your shoes. “Of course not. What’s going on?”

Taehyung’s voice is hardened, but you can hear an exhausted kind of grief leak through. “We were too late. This morning’s liver recipient just passed.”

Your heart stutters. “Huh? That’s ridiculous– I checked on him yesterday!”

“Acute liver failure, most likely. The nurses must have given him too many pain meds, which probably accelerated the damage. Time of death was an hour ago.”

“Ah, shit. Shit.” You run your hand through your hair. The start of the rest of your life, you’d said to him… You were too late. “Okay, thanks for letting me know.”

“Hey, Y/n, it’s no one’s fault, understand?” Taehyung says sharply. He knows you too well.

“Yeah.” Your therapist loves to say the same thing. “I’ll see you later. Send me the autopsy report?”

“Yep. See ya.”

Unable to sleep, you fall back onto your bed. Mr. Lim was so close to lifesaving surgery– how could it have been too late? My stomach hurts, he’d said. You should have taken him more seriously. Where were the nurses? One should have been present. And you, as the damn anesthesiologist, should at least have noticed he had too many analgesics in his system. Shit.

After several more restless hours, you throw on your white coat and drive to the hospital. Even if the surgery was called off, there’s still plenty to do. Dr. Min is probably still reinputting records into the hospital database– surely he could use some help.

Besides, if you don’t help anyone today, you think your heart might explode.

Luckily, Dr. Min is more than happy to have an extra pair of hands typing away.

“Did you hear about the patient that got his left arm amputated?” Dr. Min says while you scan another report.

“If you say they’re all right now, I’m going to amputate your arm,” you reply dryly, checking out the next file. Oh, another operation by Namjoon. Some sort of emergency reparative surgery? The patient is listed as a nine-year-old girl.

“Yes, ma’am,” Dr. Min says jovially. 

DECEASED. A dark monster wells up inside you at the word.

“Fuck!” You yell, slamming your hands on the table and probably traumatizing two interns. For once, you don’t care. You’re so sick of pain, of suffering, and… “Why do people keep dying?”

“Woah! Hey, Y/n, c’mon…” Dr. Min takes the paper from you. “Deep breaths. This has always been part of the job– you know that.”

“It’s not fair,” you whisper, that monster in your chest weighing you down. “She was nine. Nine, Yoongi.”

Yoongi inhales sharply, glancing at the report in his hand. “Son of a bitch. Yeah, that’s… well, it’s part of the– what?”

“What?”

“It says the surgery was successful. Why’d she die?”

You purse your lips, forcing yourself to calm. “The cause of death should be listed. Or there should be an autopsy report attached.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow. “I’m not seeing anything. Huh. And the attending surgeon…?”

“Namjoon.”

Yoongi hands you back the report. “Hold up. You’re on a first-name basis with Dr. Kim Namjoon?”

You stare at the surgeon’s printed name on the sheet, and all the power and reputation attached to it. “I guess.” Something’s bothering you– and you can’t quite put your finger on it.

“Hey, Yoongi, I’m going to run down to the morgue, okay?”

Dr. Min shrugs. “Go ahead, I hate that place. See you later.”

Yeah, you hate it too. You definitely hate it too. But some irksome curiosity won’t let this go– Mr. Lim’s body would be in the morgue right now, if he passed away last night. What you’re hoping to find, you don’t know. But you know one thing– Mr. Lim shouldn’t have died, and neither should have that nine-year-old girl.

And their only connection is Dr. Kim Namjoon.

As you take the elevator down to the morgue attached to the hospital, you try to make sense of your thoughts. Why was Namjoon in Mr. Lim’s room before his death?

Before long, you’re greeting Dr. Kim Seokjin, your favorite medical examiner.

“Ey, Y/n, how’s it going?” Seokjin asks happily, removing his face mask as he steps out of the autopsy suite. “You never come for a visit down here.”

“Yeah, I had enough of brain cutting in medical school,” you offer with a dry smile. “Listen, Seokjin, I need a favor– can I check out the body of the liver failure patient from last night?”

“For you, babe? Anything. He’s right up front.” Seokjin walks back to the many refrigerated doors, each housing or awaiting a body.

You’re quick to grab some gloves, and Seokjin rolls out Mr. Lim’s body. Your breath catches– there he is, the same man you spoke to only yesterday. When you first entered the medical field, you had thought dead bodies simply looked asleep. Now, with years of experience under your belt, you’ve learned to recognize that extra layer of weight, the particular stiffness in one’s limbs, the complete lack of motion in one who’s passed.

“I just want to check him for liver failure symptoms,” you say. If Mr. Lim really did die from acute liver failure, his eyes would be yellow from jaundice and his belly would be comically swollen and…

And it’s not. What?

“Seokjin,” you murmur, eyeing the man’s body. He’s no more bloated than he was last night. “In… In your professional opinion, did this man die of acute liver failure?”

“I can’t really say this early, but…” Seokjin shines a flashlight into Mr. Lim’s open, unseeing eyes. You notice only a slight yellow tinge, hardly at the extreme of acute liver failure. “He’s certainly missing the external symptoms typical of liver failure. Unless I see a lot of internal evidence pointing to the contrary during autopsy, I’d have to wager on another manner of death. Judging from the position of the hands and state of his muscles, he was in a lot of pain. Why do you ask?”

Your heart sinks. “No reason. Hey, can you pull the autopsy report for the girl who died last month? I didn’t find it on her file.”

“I know exactly who you’re talking about.” Seokjin frowns, grief temporarily clouding his gaze. “In all my experience, I’ve only had five children on the table– and she was the youngest. But the report should have been attached to her file.”

You shrug. “A lot of the digital archives were lost recently.”

“Let me find the physical copy.” Seokjin returns Mr. Lim to the fridge and strides into the morgue office, sifting through files. “Ah, here. Cause of death is listed as unknown.”

“Unknown?” You wrinkle your brow. How, in a hospital full of doctors, medical examiners, and expert diagnosticians, how can they not be certain of how this child died? “What’s the manner of death?”

“Dunno. There was evidence of myocardial contusions, but simple bruises on her heart like the ones she had shouldn’t have killed her. It’s probably a combination of the stress from the original injury as well as the operation itself– but it’s not enough evidence to call it natural.”

You take the autopsy report, feeling oddly numb. Two inexplicable deaths, and both with a connection to the famed surgeon.

You know there’s probably nothing wrong. Sometimes people die when they shouldn’t, it’s a fact of medicine. And Dr. Kim is brilliant, popular, well-known. It’s not possible for a man like him to… what, deliberately harm a patient? No, no way. He took the same oath you did, made the same promises: To help a patient to the best of your ability; to share knowledge; to admit, if necessary, ignorance, and… first, do no harm.

You take a deep breath. You’re going to look over some more files in between surgeries. And… you’re going to keep an eye on Dr. Kim Namjoon.

With a quick thanks to Seokjin, you once more join the land of the living. You barely turn the corner before bumping into–

“Dr. Kim!”

The surgeon chuckles, his eyes dark behind his glasses. “I thought we were doing first names now?”

“Uh…” You gulp. Does he know what’s on your mind? “Right, forgot.”

“How are you, Y/n?” Namjoon doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, instead choosing to lean against the wall as you stand, frozen, before him.

“Good. Yeah.” You clear your throat. For some reason, his eyes suddenly remind you of Mr. Lim’s– cold, unseeing, dead. “I was helping Dr. Min with the data loss, since my surgery this morning was canceled.”

“I heard about that. Liver failure, right? It happens.” Namjoon sighs and frowns with the same kind of expression as you saw before you recommended therapy to him– a kind of sympathy that you can now only see as fake. Was it all a lie, or are you just being paranoid?

“Actually, I just checked on his body in the morgue,” you say carefully. Is it your imagination, or did Namjoon stiffen slightly? “And his symptoms weren’t characteristic of liver failure. It was strange.”

“Really?” Namjoon’s eyes don’t quite meet yours, as though they’re looking through you– it’s unnerving, but some instinct tells you to continue.

“Yes. A-and I was wondering… what were you doing in his room yesterday?” It really doesn’t make sense– nothing short of a personal connection to the man would explain Namjoon’s presence in his room.

“What was I doing to your patient?” Namjoon repeats, a smile appearing on his face– dimples and all. You nod, and he leans closer, closer. “That’s easy. I was killing him.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

You take a deep breath, smoothing down your slacks before looking over your shoulder. You still haven’t decided whether he’s following you or not, but you don’t want to take any chances.

For the past four days, you’ve called in every favor you can to keep from coming in to the hospital, instead reviewing charts, designing plans and taking calls from home. But now it’s the morning of February 14– Valentine’s Day– and you got what you wanted: a meeting with the hospital’s board of directors. You’re back in the hospital for the first time since Namjoon spoke those dreadful words, and you’re scared; what if he hurts you for what you’re about to say?

Be brave, Y/n.

You walk in at 9:00 precisely, your stacks of files landing heavily on the table. “Hello.”

“Ah, Doctor.” The president of the hospital, Dr. Haden, says calmly. “You called this meeting to address some concerns?”

“Yes.” You grit your teeth. “My name is Dr. Y/n L/n, and I believe Dr. Kim Namjoon is deliberately harming patients.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Two hours later, you leave the conference room, walk across the hall to the restroom, check to make sure the restroom is empty, lock yourself in a stall, and…

“AAAAAAAAAAAH!”

»»————-　♔　————-««

The board of executives was dead silent while you spoke: you had gone back through three years of patient records to find that while Dr. Kim’s success rate in surgery was high, a higher-than-average portion of his patients were dying within weeks of finding themselves on his table. You can’t prove that he’s hurting patients who aren’t his, like Mr. Lim, but you have to assume it’s true.

“These are children and teenagers,” you’d said, voice breaking. After all, he’s a pediatric surgeon. “I’ve done the math, and you may check these figures: Dr. Kim’s post-op mortality statistics are unethically high.”

“Perhaps, but–”

You weren’t done. In your digging over the last several days, you discovered something else. “Additionally, during the data breach last week, it appears that the autopsy reports of Dr. Kim’s deceased patients were almost entirely deleted. All that remain would be the physical reports, a number of which I have here.” After you explained your suspicions to Seokjin, he… well, he didn’t quite believe you, but he was happy to provide you with the reports. “Every single one of the deleted autopsy reports has the cause of death listed as unknown, as in, there wasn’t enough evidence to declare it a completely natural death!”

“Dr. L/n!” Dr. Haden says, raising his voice. “You’re talking about an esteemed fellow–”

“I am well aware of Dr. Kim’s stellar reputation. I wouldn’t be making such a weighty accusation without absolute certainty in my statistics. Additionally, a patient of mine died prematurely after I saw Dr. Kim visiting their room– you can check the camera footage to see. When I asked Dr. Kim what he was doing in the room, he said, quote, ‘I was killing him.’”

When you heard Namjoon say those words, you felt your blood run cold. Was he lying? Was it a joke? If it wasn’t a joke, why would he just admit his crime to you? He had followed it up with something somehow scarier–

“And guess what?” Namjoon had said, the smile never leaving his face. “I’ll never get caught.”

You swallow through your nerves. “It is my opinion that Dr. Kim should immediately be suspended from his duties pending investigation.”

There, you’d done all you could. And yet…

“We appreciate your efforts, Dr. L/n.” Dr. Haden had said after the board deliberated for not-long-enough. “But what you have presented is circumstantial. We have not found sufficient evidence to open such a serious investigation into a respected medical professional such as Dr. Kim.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

Which is why you’re screaming in the bathroom. Dr. Kim is harming, maybe killing, his patients. He admitted it! The board was so enamored with his name and reputation that they weren’t able to see through to what you’ve come to realize must be a twisted interior. How can you feel safe ever again if Kim Namjoon walks these same halls? Your well of favors has dried up, and you promised Dr. Jung you’d be on call in the hospital tonight for Valentine’s Day.

Namjoon will be here too. A night for lovers…

And I’m spending it with a killer, you think with a shudder. Seokjin had told you that Mr. Lim had died in great pain; even though you don’t have evidence, you’re certain Namjoon must have had a hand in his suffering. Why would he want anyone to suffer?

And for goodness’ sake, why would he admit it to you?

“Seokjin, you believe me, right?” You ask the medical examiner later as you return the files to the morgue. Since you’re back to work, you’ve changed from your suit into the more appropriate hospital scrubs and white coat.

“You really cannot tell me Dr. Kim Namjoon is a serial killer and expect me to believe you, babes,” Seokjin replies. “That’s like saying Mother Theresa stole from the poor.”

“Which she like… maybe did?”

“It’s Kim Namjoon, Y/n! He’s a genius– everyone idolizes the guy! Serial killers aren’t that hot and smart!”

“Seokjin, I don’t. Feel. Safe.” You hiss. “Not around him!”

“Around who?”

You swivel around to see… ah, beans. “Dr. Kim.”

He smiles. “Y/n. I’m starting to think you don’t want to call me Namjoon.” He nods at Seokjin. “Dr. Kim.”

Seokjin smiles. “Back atcha. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if you had the toxicology report for that nineteen-year-old with the blunt trauma?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“The one from the car accident, with the naked Jennifer Lopez tattoo?”

“Ohh, yeah, Lopez Guy. Let me grab that for you.” Seokjin strides into his office, shutting the door behind him.

“No, wait-” Shit. You and Namjoon are left alone, surrounded by dead bodies. Fantastic.

“Haven’t seen you around lately, Y/n,” Namjoon says, an icy smile painting his handsome face.

“Y-Yeah, I was sick,” you reply. “Came down with something I must’ve picked up in the infectious diseases ward.” I was avoiding you, your untouchable reputation, your killing hands.

“That’s a shame. I’m glad to see you’re back and feeling better, just in time for Valentine’s Day.”

“You–” you’re evil.

“Here ya go, Dr. Kim.” Seokjin returns, handing Namjoon a file. “I also emailed it to you.”

“Thanks. Hey, mind if I borrow Y/n for a second?” Namjoon says, a strong hand gripping your shoulder. Shitshitshitshit.

“Uh…” Seokjin must see the panic in your eyes. “Y’know, I think I needed her down here…”

Yes, thank you.

“Oh, it’ll only be a second. Call it an urgent matter.” Namjoon turns the full force of his dimpled smile onto Seokjin. “You know how it is.”

“Ah, alright, sure.” Seokjin says faintly, his voice enchanted. Namjoon steers you into the elevator, and your only solace is that the entire hospital is monitored. But those eyes…

He’s going to kill me.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/n.” Namjoon says eventually, breaking the elevator’s silence.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you turn to him. “Why not? You hurt Mr. Lim. He died in pain– how could you?”

Namjoon shrugs casually as the elevator door opens. “We all have our vices. C’mon, this way.”

He admitted it. He just admitted it– how can he not have been caught?

Namjoon stops so suddenly you almost run into him. “We’re here.”

“Where?”

The surgeon taps the door beside him. “Your new friend’s room.” With an iron grip, he pulls you into the room and shuts the door behind him.

It’s a regular hospital room– complete with a patient, a sleeping young woman attached to an IV drip, bandages decorating her limbs.

“What happened to her?” you whisper.

“Got hit by a drunk driver. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a severe concussion.”

You examine her, overtaken by habit built over the years. “All survivable.”

Namjoon shrugs. “Sure. But that’s what I like– people who could survive.”

You take a step back. “W-what?”

Namjoon reaches down, caressing the patient’s cheek. “People in the prime of their lives. People who have years and years ahead of them. Cutting those years short– stealing their lives away–” Namjoon groans, a low, almost erotic, rumble from deep in his throat. “I love it.”

“I–” you stare wildly around the room, looking for the security camera.

“Don’t bother,” Namjoon says without turning. “The camera’s been broken for months. So was the one in Mr. Lim’s room.”

“You… you just admitted it.” Your throat is bone-dry, and although every cell in your body is screaming for you to reach for the door, you’re rooted to the floor. “You killed Mr. Lim, you’re killing your patients!”

“Yes.”

On hearing that one word, that confirmation of the fears that have been growing within you for the past week, it takes everything you have simply to remain standing upright. “Why am I here? Are you going to kill me too?”

The surgeon chuckles. “Of course not. I told you, I’ll never hurt you. The hospital needs you.”

“Then why…?”

Namjoon shrugs. “My… methods are painful. The patients can be loud– they’re suffering, after all.”

You wince. It’s like he knows exactly what to say to push your buttons. “W-why don’t you knock them out first?” Oh god, are you actually making suggestions to a serial killer? You need to leave, need to call the police. Would they even believe you without concrete evidence? And why does Namjoon have to cause them pain?

“It’s not my expertise. Now,” Namjoon says, turning to you with a smirk. “If only I knew someone who was a specialist in anesthesia, who could keep a patient asleep and unfeeling, and who could completely eliminate their suffering?”

You stare at him, realization dawning. “You’re insane.”

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You think I’ll help you? We swore an oath, Namjoon!”

“You swore to help a patient to the best of your ability.” Namjoon advances until he’s only inches away. “She is going to die. That is a fact. You can report me to whoever you want, but like I told you– I’ll never get caught, and I always get what I want.”

“I–”

“She is going to die in great pain. I will make certain of that. And when she’s looking up at me, asking me why, begging me to let her live…” he leans down, his voice an emotionless whisper in your ear. “I will tell her exactly who is forcing her to suffer. And she will die with your name on her lips.”

You feel your knees go weak, and before you know it you’ve collapsed, catching yourself hard on the cold floor. “I-I–”

Namjoon crouches down next to you. “Think it over. You’re here on call all night, and besides, it’s Valentine’s Day.” He chuckles humorlessly. “We can make this our first date. Romantic, right?”

You still can’t bring yourself to speak, your head swimming with the cries and screams of all the suffering this man has caused. You would never help a psycho, never allow a murderer to continue. But… What can you do, if no one will believe you?

Namjoon cocks his head, clearly waiting for you to speak. When you can offer him only silence, he sighs. “Well, I have that kid’s reparative surgery coming up soon. I should be done in six or so hours, and after that, I’ll be back here. I hope you’ll be joining me.”

“How do you kill post-op?” You ask abruptly. You have to know, have to figure out how so many of his surgeries which were deemed successful were leading to DECEASED stamps days or weeks after the fact. If only they would die on the operating table, directly under his hand, maybe your statistics would be more compelling.

Namjoon pauses. “It’s pretty simple, actually.” He mimics holding a scalpel, and you shudder. How many lives had those hands cut short? “Depends on my mood, but usually during surgery, I make a hole in between ventricles– small enough that no one notices until the patient is discharged, but big enough to…” he winks. “You know. Achieve my goals.”

“Were you the one that caused that data breach?”

“Of course,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. “Most people aren’t willing to look further than computers; if a piece of information isn’t online, it’s easy to forget about it, and assume it doesn’t exist.”

You bite your lip. “Why me?” He’s in between you and the door. Maybe if you keep him talking, some other doctor will come in and save you. Or will they only see the great Dr. Kim Namjoon and leave you alone?

“Why you? Well, Y/n, you found me out. You’re a brilliant anesthesiologist. And you hate to see people in pain.” He stands, stretching. “I’ll see you after the surgery, Y/n. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And with that he leaves you shivering on the floor, accompanied only by the steady beeps from the EKG, indicating a strong heartbeat– a heartbeat soon to cease. You stand on shaky legs, staring at the woman; she can’t be older than twenty-five, and despite dark bruises coloring her face, you can see she’s beautiful.

She will die with your name on her lips, his voice echoes in your head. The police won’t arrest him without more evidence; the hospital board is too busy singing Namjoon praises to see his bloodthirst.

As you walk out of the room, carefully closing the door behind you, you think about your oath to help patients to the best of your ability. If your ability won’t save her life… What could you do to help?

You could take her pain away, a very small voice inside you whispers. You quickly shake your head, guilty that you would even consider such an awful choice. You grab your laptop and bring it with you to the on-call room. You try to spend the time designing anesthesia plans for upcoming patients. It used to always calm you down to imagine your patients asleep, calm, unfeeling. During surgery, you manage a ventilator in order to breathe for your patients, making constant adjustments to their dosage, and generally allowing the surgeons a calm OR. You’re supposed to help, to ease suffering, to save their lives by allowing for complex, invasive surgeries.

Could you live with yourself if you used your knowledge to go against your oath? To help kill a patient?

You wouldn’t be killing them, that same voice argues, louder now. She’s going to die anyways. You’re saving her from suffering and feeling the pain of whatever he’s going to do to her.

And then what? How could you continue to call yourself a doctor, knowing what you had contributed to?

Forget about it. Forget about him. There were no cameras– as far as any jury knows, you were never aware of that girl in the first place. There are hundreds of patients passing through the hospital– you have no reason to know her. If the board opens an investigation– and you’re amazed they haven’t yet opened one into Namjoon’s crimes– you’re certainly not guilty. Right?

But you’ll know. You’ll know she died and that you did nothing to stop him.

Still, you don’t know what Namjoon is capable of. Sure, he said he wouldn’t hurt you, but what about your friends? Your family? Are they safe?

After several hours, you check the clock. It’s 8:00 at night, just around the time Dr. Jung must be sitting down to a Valentine’s Day dinner with his fiancé. When you agreed to cover his shift last week, you didn’t exactly expect this to be where you would end up.

You stare down at your glowing screen, your charts and lists doing nothing to ease the inescapable knowledge that in only a few hours’ time, Dr. Kim Namjoon will kill a patient. What can you do?

Stop him.

Help her sleep.

Risk your loved ones.

Save yourself.

“Gah!” You shove your chair out, unable to sit still for a moment longer. Already you feel like a fraud in your white coat– do you even deserve to wear it, for how much you’ve been considering Namjoon’s offer? He could hurt you in retaliation if you refused, hurt your friends, cause you to lose your job– after all, his influence is wide and his reputation spotless. He could easily blacklist you from working at another hospital. But would he?

If he’s willing to kill… You’re certain he’d do anything to get his way.

But, and you can’t stop yourself from returning to this point– he’s also willing to harm. You’ve witnessed patients die, both with and without anesthetic. The former is peaceful, simply a breath of air and then no more. The latter can be full of tears and pain, with muscles seized up even after death, a homage to the suffering that could always be avoided.

What the hell. How could you be considering this?

Silently, you stand up and navigate once more to the patient’s room, just catching a nurse as he exits. He brightens when he sees you, and you vaguely recognize him.

“Hey, Dr. L/n! How are you doing?”

“Ah- fine,” you reply distractedly.

The nurse seems to notice, eyeing you carefully. “Well, that’s good.. Are you here to check on Eve?”

Eve. Of course, she has a name– Eve.

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately, she’s just fallen back asleep, but all her vitals are looking good.”

“Thanks for letting me know,” you manage before entering. You’re greeted by the sleeping young woman, breathing calmly, the monitors and machines surrounding her reassuring you that she’s as healthy as her body will let her be. Your anesthesia cart is right down the hall. It wouldn’t be difficult, or even strange, to bring it in here. Dr. Kim will be out of the OR soon. Should you do it?

“Mm… Doctor?”

You jump and turn. “O-Oh, you’re awake.”

Eve blinks sleepily. “Who are you?”

You swallow. “My name is Dr. L/n. I’m going to make you feel better, okay?”

The girl nods, then grimaces. “Thanks– my chest really hurts.”

You feel your heart breaking. How can you stand by, knowing how badly she’ll suffer under Namjoon’s hand? “You know what, let me get my cart over here, we can take care of that pain for you.”

“Thanks, Dr. L/n.” She said your name.

You pad down the hall to retrieve your cart. Even though nighttimes can be busy for the hospital, to you it feels deserted, as though the nurses and interns passing by are nothing more than ghosts. Or perhaps you’re the ghost?

You’re soon to return, wheeling cart which bears the mask, gas containers, breathing tubes, and other supplies to ensure a seamless operation. Eve has already fallen asleep again, her meds surely contributing to her exhaustion. It isn’t long before, as promised, Dr. Kim shows up.

“You came,” he says cooly, his voice void of surprise. Did he know?

You swallow. “I don’t want anyone to have to suffer,” you say simply.

Namjoon smiles, his dimples making an appearance. “I know.”

You can’t look at him as you expertly attach the mask to Eve’s face. Usually you would measure the dosage of nitrous oxide and Isoflurane to ensure she wakes up healthily and on time, but in this case… it’s not necessary. The woman barely stirs, and soon enough the EKG indicates she’s down for the count. Next, you insert a breathing tube into her trachea and attach it to a ventilator, letting the machine take over for Eve’s now-incapacitated lungs. She can’t feel, won’t cry out, and…

She won’t wake up. You step back, blinking tears out of your eyes. Your heart is pounding loudly in your ears, drowning out all common sense. “She’s all yours.” She’s innocent. You’re helping her, right? Easing her pain, holding off the terror, the suffering. If she’s going to die anyways, this is the best way that you, as a doctor, can help her.

Namjoon’s breathing hitches audibly, and you see his dark eyes trained on Eve’s face. “Usually they can see me…” he murmurs. “They look at me, and they’re so scared. Some people need to feel that fear, but I don’t.” He raises a clear syringe. “I just need to feel them go.”

It’s as though you don’t exist. “What’s in the syringe?”

He turns to you, his eyes as blown out and wild as you’ve ever seen them. “Oh, nothing.”

“N-nothing?”

Namjoon smiles, rubbing Eve’s arm fondly. “A little bit of air into a pulmonary vein–” he taps the empty syringe– “or as close to one as I can get, and her pretty little heart won’t know what to do. It’ll just look like the trauma caused her to go into cardiac arrest.”

“And she won’t feel a thing?” You whisper, watching as Namjoon inserts the needle into Eve’s arm, barely a milliliter of air entering her vein.

“That’s right. Thanks to you, she’s safe from harm.” Namjoon sets aside the syringe and presses a hand to Eve’s chest, over her heart. You spot his dimples make a cameo once more. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

You watch in silence for several moments before the EKG fibrillates wildly, beeping in alarm before flatlining– Eve is dead, without moving a muscle, without a single shout of pain.

She’s safe from harm. “Yeah,” you reply, staring down at your hands. Did you kill her, or save her? And what is this smile growing on your face? “Yeah. Beautiful.”

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

More therapy thoughts part 1/?

Behavior Theory Frameworks/Conditioning and What the fuck does Master Chief talk about in therapy?

Ramblings below - like a lot, like I spent too much time writing this and you should not read this

Behavioral Theory could work well as a framework with rehabilitating Spartan IIs if the case worker focused on Operant Conditioning Theory and Cognitive Social Learning Theory, which I talked about in this ask because I think I’m funny and this blog is an archive of me applying human behavior theories to video games.

Spartans have always been taught the mission comes first! Always! The 2s are indoctrinated from age 6-14 and then have that reinforced the rest of their lives. From the beginning they are taught to push themselves to the limits, earn their food by winning, form bonds with teammates but be ready to sacrifice them for the mission. The whole lives wasted vs spent conversation between John and Mendez after the augmentation surgery!

What the UNSC/ONI wants comes before their lives, the lives of other soldiers, civilians, AI etc. This constant conditioning of expectations and rewards has created the norms cemented in their minds. This becomes standard operating procedure.

Spartans are also an entirely separated social group, other people have made really great posts on how they are Othered and have their own way of communicating with body language. ODSTs hate Spartans, marines see them as cyborgs or saviors, and while they’re allies, Spartans are not seen or treated as human, by literally everyone. They are a means to an end, with the original goal being to maintain the UNSC’s position of power and crush the insurrectionists in the outer colonies, but uh oh Aliens!

Maybe the 2s aren’t as expendable as the 3s but the mindset and reinforcement of “mission first, people second” being repeated their entire lives is going to stick. So is the constant mistreatment and abuse from their fellow soldiers and handlers. 

Addressing the cognitive distortions that come from their upbringing while also balancing the fact that Spartans are so fundamentally different from the way they developed to survive would be so much work, especially considering how much information on them is given to their therapist.  The main distortion I would apply is minimization, making large problems small and not properly dealing with them, and specifically for John, personification, accepting blame for negative events without sufficient evidence. 

Like these are grown ass super soldiers who can kill you in less than a second and calculate the amount of gravity in a room on the fly but then also can flounder when trying to comfort civilians or make small talk because their experiences and values are so alien to adults who had more developmentally “normal” lives. 

Literally applying therapy to Spartans would be like, what was done to you was wrong, the ends do not justify the means, you were children and the adults in your life failed to protect you. You are a human person who is fallible and did the best you could with what you had. And the Spartan would say, “sounds fake but okay, can I pass my psych eval and go back to war now please?”

Jumping back to Behavior Theory

Different approaches to therapy under the Behavior Theory umbrella help modify negative behaviors with treatments like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical behavior therapy that teach individuals adaptive coping like emotional regulation, distress tolerance, cognitive distortions, and interpersonal communication. And that’s just one framework under the umbrella of human behavior theories.

Social work therapy is different from psych as it approaches individuals with heavily researched, evidence-based theories and frameworks in a holistic viewing of person-in-environment, instead of a strong focus on internal psychology. 

Social work looks at all the interacting systems, environment, history, and internal and external factors affecting an individual. One of the most useful frameworks is the Biopsychosocial-Spiritual Frameworks (BPSS) when helping a client. It helps with identifying all the intersecting factors, both risk and protective, that shapes a client’s lived experiences. The most important thing to remember is that the individual is an expert in their own life, they know their experiences best.

The hardest part is applying this to Spartans because they Are So Fucked, their lived experiences, their environments and systems and institutions interacting with them, and the amount of their personal information that is probably so classified.

BPSS is a tool to help social workers assess individuals and their situations by collecting info that is related to the presenting issues and current and past circumstances. Info like medical history, hospitalizations, substance abuse, mental illness, personal relationships, family history and background, culture and norms, education, legal history, spirituality and participation etc. is all under this framework. 

For Spartan 2s most of this info is lost or classified and helping someone who has repressed every negative emotion they've had for the sake of the mission would be so much to unpack but that’s also why you’re reading the mad ramblings over an over caffeinated nerd on the internet.

Life Course Theory which looks at developmental milestones and the individual’s experiences versus the socially expected markers, how do you apply that to children who were taken and have lived such different lives? 

While early adolescence is when “normal” development of thoughts of self and identity take place alongside the physical changes of puberty, Spartans were being turned into emotionless calculating weapons. Sorry John, no forming a sense of identity and peer bonds for you, go kill that Watts guy who betrayed us and joined the insurrectionists. 

And now that I’ve gone this insane and opened 2 whole textbooks up, let’s get to Master Chief thoughts. If you’ve read this far thank you, I swear I’m normal, 2020 has just been a weird year. 

Why the fuck did I think I could write a therapy fic on a guy with 20 minutes of actual dialogue across almost 2 decades of games?

I make fun of him and call him a himbo, but he’s smart, he knows he’s being used and there is resentment there that’s been building for years. 

There’s also decades of trauma and combat experience, physical, and emotional abuse, the lack of a support network,  lack of an identity, the biological factors and aftermath of the augmentations and injuries he’s received, a whole lot of grief and self-inflicted guilt. 

The loss of a third of his peer group with the augmentation surgery, Sam’s death, the loss of Reach (the only place he’s considered home), Keyes, the Pillar of Autumn crew, Miranda Keyes, Johnson, Cortana. He cares about the marines who fight with him!!!

He just stands there and takes it and rarely snaps, and even then it’s just small cracks on the surface with fissures running deep. The few details I will pull from Halo 5 are Blue Team’s reactions to John pushing himself so hard from the beginning of the game, and the literal crack in his armor from the fight with Locke. Like dude.  

John’s a leader and will get the mission done but he tugs on the leash. He’s earned enough of a reputation and uses it to get his way.

Halo 2’s “Permission to leave the station” with Mr. “I’m going to hand deliver a bomb to the fusion reactor of a covenant supercarrier and hope my friends catch me”. 

Halo 4 is when we see him say no to a superior officer and then 5 is him going AWOL. Palmer literally points out that no one is going to stop him.

Halo 5 kills me for many reasons but John bringing up Halsey and what she did to him and also pointing out that he knows Halo 5 Cortana is trying to manipulate him with psychological tactics hurts. 

He knows what’s been done to him!

I cannot remember which book it was but John isn’t used to working alone. He literally takes fire because he was expecting someone to have his back! 

He’s lost without Cortana! She was in his brain! Y’all! I played Halo Combat Evolved on the original xbox when I was like 8 and I knew these two were meant to be together. From the moment they met they had great chemistry and relied on each other! Cortana literally goes after people who have it out for John! John wants her approval and shows off for her in one of the books. 

I’ve already written too much here but like all of the games have John showing off for Cortana, making dry jokes, jumping out of things he shouldn’t. 

The whole point of this rambling is to try and get my thoughts about how to approach John’s character under control.

And that’s the thing. He’s lost control. He’s lost people, he’s losing his position and being phased out as an aging spartan, a relic. John’s used to following orders and making some decisions on the battlefield but it was always short term.

He has no identity beyond being a weapon. Complete the mission, clear the LZ, get put in cryo. Rinse, repeat. 

The timeline of the games are what I'm most familiar with but with the comics and books too it’s one long run from Halo 2 to Halo 4. Cairo station to the Dreadnought to the crash landing to Forward Unto Dawn to Requiem to “The Didact is Dead but not really but we’ll deal with him off-screen”.

I know Hood apparently gave John R&R orders before Halo 5 that he ignored and kept running himself into the ground. This is a man who has to keep moving and keep being useful. 

I imagine him giving in and seeking help as a last resort to fix any problems he has with performing his duties rather than helping himself be healthier. 

Any professional he sees is going to have to approach him like they’re approaching a self sacrificing feral cat, with lunch meat and quiet. This man needs to have his support network closer, set up long term goals, and do some serious, and most likely incredibly painful, self reflection on where he’s come from and where he wants to go. Get him out of that tin can and into therapy. I don’t have a nice neat ending because this was a ramble and also therapy is not neat and tidy. Thanks for reading my words about mr halo

[iamtrebleclefstories]

The Little Bit of Hope I Cling to -

Part 1:

Izzie goes to Grey Sloan looking for Dr. Grey, Dr. Bailey or Dr. Karev, meets Dr. Jo Karev instead

*takes place during early s15*

“Hello Ms. Stevens, my name is Dr. Helm and I will be the resident on your case today. Now it says in your medical history that you’re a cancer survivor?” Helm asked the woman in front of her.

“Yes,” Izzie Stevens nodded her head. “I’ve been having some distressing symptoms lately. I came here to make an oncology appointment since this is where I used to get my treatment, but this morning I fainted while in the shower. I’ve been very nauseous and have not been able to keep any food down. I’ve lost a significant amount of weight. I think my mets may be back.”

“Alright, well I will call for oncology and surgical consults while I get you up for CT,” Helm nodded.

“Could I request a surgeon?” Izzie asked. “I used to work here. I’m a surgeon myself.”

“Sure,” Helm smiled. “Who would you want on your case?”

“Dr. Bailey or Dr. Grey, or Dr. Karev would be fine,” Izzie paused. “We used to be great friends.”

“Of course. Let me go find out if they’re available,” Helm said before walking off to the nurses station to find out. Minutes later Helm returned to Izzie’s bed side. “Okay, so Dr. Bailey and Dr. Grey are both in surgery right now, but Dr. Karev is available. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Izzie nodded nervously. She was jittery at the thought of seeing her ex-husband again. “That’s fine.”

“Great,” Helm smiled. “Dr. Karev should be down here soon. In the meantime I’m going to run a portable ultrasound to see if there are any masses in your abdomen.”

Izzie took a deep breath. She hadn’t expected to see him so soon. She knew coming back to Seattle for treatment would bring back all kinds of complicated memories. She didn’t come to start any trouble, though. She didn’t come to try to get him back. Sure, a part of her hoped that maybe he’d want her back and she’d have a chance to fix what she so horribly destroyed before. It really wasn’t why she was here, honestly. Her cancer was back. She was sure of it. She didn’t need to look at the scans to figure it out. She just wanted to be surrounded by friends as she fought it again.

***

“Hey!”

“Hey,” Jo smiled as Alex came up behind her and placed a kiss on her cheek. “I’ve missed you today.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Alex bent down to give her another kiss. “Anything exciting so far?”

“Not really,” Jo shook her head. “I did a bowl resection, supervised a resident perform an appy, and just checked on my post-ops. I think I’ll just go to the lab and work on my research if nothing comes up.”

“You could always join me,” Alex offered. “I have a kidney transplant in about an hour if you want to scrub in. I’m actually getting to do surgery today and the only thing that could make it better is if you were there with me.”

“Sounds tempting,” Jo leaned forward and brushed her lips against her husband’s. “We haven’t scrubbed in together for a while now.”

“I know,” Alex nodded. “And maybe after we can go to my office and... do some other stuff, too.”

Jo laughed, “You just want to get in my pants.”

“Always,” Alex wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “I’m really just trying to knock you up before the year is over.”

“If I would’ve known you’d be this eager to have sex with me when I suggested trying to a baby I would’ve said yes years ago,” Jo giggled. She wouldn’t admit it to his face, but she found his desire for her incredibly sexy. If anything, it made her want him even more. “You know, that reminds me actually that I’m supposed to be getting my period this week. So, let’s cross our fingers and hope for the best.”

“Hey,” Alex smiled and his face softened. “We just started trying. It usually takes a while. So, whether you’re pregnant or not, it’s okay. We’ll just keep having fun trying until it happens.”

“Yeah. I know,” she sighed and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Sorry chief, but I need to speak with Dr. Karev,” Helm walked up interrupting their moment. Jo and Alex separated and nodded for Helm to continue. Helm looked at Jo. “Dr. Karev, there is a patient in the ER requesting you. She’s said that you worked on her along Dr. Bailey and Dr. Grey. They’re both in surgery, so I told her that I’d come find you.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll be right there,” Jo turned back to Alex. “I guess I won’t be scrubbing in with you after all.”

“Some other time,” Alex gave her one last peck on the lips and walked down the hall. “See you later!”

Jo looked at Helm, “Alright, let’s go.”

They walked down to the Pit. Helm briefed her on the patient’s condition and Jo tried to rack her brain for anything that may remind her of the patient, “What did you say that patient’s name was again?”

“Um... it started with an ‘S.’ I’m sorry, I don’t remember. It was something common, though,” Helm apologized. “Oh! And I detected an abnormal mass in her abdomen using the ultrasound machine, so I think her mets are back.”

“That’s fine. You can go ahead and check on other patients while I do the consult,” Jo instructed.

Jo walked up to ER bed 3 and pulled the curtain open, tablet in her hand. She smiled at the blonde woman and extended her hand, “Hi. I’m Dr. Karev. I heard you requested me. I’m so sorry, I but I don’t seem to remember your case. Could you remind me your name?”

Izzie was confused. Who was this woman that walked into her room saying that she was Dr. Karev? Izzie furrowed her brows, “I’m sorry, you’re Dr. Karev? The Dr. Karev I was expecting is male.”

A look of realization dawned on Jo’s face, “You must be looking for my husband.”

“You husband?” Izzie asked. “You’re married to Alex Karev?”

“Yes,” Jo grinned widely. “We recently got married. Everyone keeps mixing us up since I decided to change my last name. I’ve to tell the residents to start being more specific when they’re paging us. What did you say your name was?”

“Izzie Stevens.”

Jo raise her eyebrows in surprise, “Huh... so I guess you really weren’t expecting me.”

“Nope,” Izzie shook her head. “So, I’m guessing you know who I am?”

“I do,” Jo nodded. Jo would be lying if she said she’d never thought about what it would be like to meet the woman who broke Alex’s heart. She’d also be lying if she said that the thought of this woman didn’t intimidate her. Jo had heard all about their tragic love story and a small part of her questioned where Alex’s loyalties lied. Ultimately though, it didn’t matter who this woman was. She was a patient and deserved the best care. Jo had done this before. She’d taken care of Alex’s dad. She could take care of his ex-wife, too. “So, you think your cancer is back?”

“Yeah,” Izzie’s voice cracked. “I was doing great for many years. No symptoms, no relapses, nothing. I was cancer free. I thought I beat it.”

“When did you realize something was wrong?”

“I’ve been here in Washington for the past year taking care of my mom. She was in a car accident that should’ve killed her and has been going through really intensive rehab. A few weeks ago I started feeling sick while on my way to pick her up from physical therapy,” Izzie sighed. “Look, I’m not here to cause any problems or issues or bring back the past. I’m here because I need help if I’m going to fight this, and I can’t let my mom fight for me. She’s got enough to worry about. It would just be nice to see a familiar face again.”

Jo considered herself an empathetic person, which is why it was so difficult to hate this woman. If anything, Jo felt bad for her. Deciding to be the bigger person, Jo called Helm back to bed 3, “I need you to get Dr. Stevens up to CT and admit her. Do you know if Dr. Bailey and Dr. Grey are available yet?”

“They’re still in surgery,” Helm replied.

“How about the chief? Or Webber?”

“Let me check,” Helm pulled the OR schedule up on the tablet. “Dr. Webber is off for the day and Chief Karev is about to go in on his kidney transplant kid.”

“Thanks Helm,” Jo turned back to look at Izzie. “I’m going to go talk to Alex while Dr. Helm takes care of you. I’ll be back soon.”

Jo left the ER and made her way to the OR floor to find her husband. Seeing his name on the board for OR 4, she hurried over to the scrub room. Walking in, she saw him through the window speaking to his patient. Jo waved to get his attention.

Alex scrunched his face and walked over to the scrub room, “Hey. What are you doing here? Didn’t you have a consult?”

“I did,” Jo took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you something, but I don’t want you to freak out. Just know that I’ve got this and I’m taking care of it. If at any point you feel uncomfortable with me taking in this patient you let me know and I’ll hand it over to Bailey.”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Izzie Stevens,” Jo bit her lip. “I have Helm taking her up for CT now, but I’m pretty sure her cancer is back.”

“Izzie is here?” Alex asked, shocked expression on his face.

“Yeah,” Jo let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding as her eyes watered. “Look, I know you two have lots of unresolved history and when you married me, you didn’t think you’d ever see her again, so I’d understand if—“

“What?” Alex couldn’t believe what he’d heard come out of Jo’s mouth. “Stop talking. I’m not going anywhere. I didn’t marry you because I couldn’t have Izzie. I married you because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So shut up with this ‘unresolved history’ crap and trust that I’m right here Jo.”

“Okay,” Jo gave him the tiniest nod and a small smile. “I’m sorry. You know how it is... a lifetime’s worth of abandonment issues will really do a number on you.”

“I’m not abandoning you, Jo. Someone would have to kidnap or kill me before I ever willingly leave you,” he cracked a smile.

“I know.”

Alex looked at Jo for minute before speaking again, “Hey, how about I come with you. I can get the peds fellow to do the transplant. We’ll go in and treat her until Bailey gets out of the whipple she’s doing and then we can transfer Izzie’s case to her.”

“Alright.”

[clems-grove]

wait are you okay????

-lonnie

Yeah! You know how in that shitpost I said ‘my body was born fucked up baby!’ Well I wasn’t kidding!!

Tw(s)- Surgery, pulling teeth, healthcare failing me :), general mouth talk and icky shit

My mouth is too small to hold all of my teeth. None of my close relatives suffer from such a problem. Basically, my other front adult tooth is kinda at an angle inside my gums and not where It’s supposed to be at all. I’ve had a gap in the front for around 5 or so years! Its lowkey a rare thing to happen, so fixing it has been very fucky wucky. We were planning on e x t r a c t i n g the tooth and putting it where it was supposed to be, but on the day of surgery they we like ‘actually, your insurance won’t approve that! We’re gonna attack a chain to your fucked up tooth and slowly pull it down’. Now you see, my tooth is ESPECIALLY fucky wucky. It’s doing gymnastics in my gums! The chain thing hasn’t fuckin worked :)) I’ve had braces for around 4 years? The chain for 2. I also had to have a couple teeth removed because mine don’t do well with the whole ‘fall out on your own’ before I got braces! That was fun :)

Not long after I had the surgery done, the attachment to my tooth just kinda,, fell off. I had to get the surgery a second time to re-attach it.

As for my other surgery, I had it at 7 to get my legs fixed! Stood on my tiptoes all my childhood till I couldn’t physically make it stop, to put it simply. I fucked up my muscles so they went in to fix it. Had a cast for 3 months and a wax cast for a couple weeks afterwards. I was supposed to get physical therapy, but I didn’t ever receive it!! My brain couldn’t get rid of the habit, so back to tip toes I am. I’ve gotten better at staying flat footed though, so the ballerina shit is only occasional. It’s most common when I’m stressed out, and in the mornings.

As for my FOURTH surgery, my father is trying to get the mouth surgery we had originally planned so I can get this shit off! It’s not the smoothest road, but we’re workin in it.

[remuswriting]

What I’ve Learned In My Creative Writing Class: Character

Disclaimer: I may sound aggressive and people may think I’m “calling them out” but I’m not.  When looking at things to address, I just scrolled through Tumblr to see what the most requested things were.  Nothing against anyone.

Here is a mixture of things I learned from my professor and have learned over creating characters the last 11 years.  In writing, character is probably the most important thing.  If you write a character that doesn’t keep the reader entertained or become attached to them, then your character isn’t doing their job. It’s similar to if we know someone super boring, typically we try to avoid them (I could just be a bad person though).  In x reader writing, Y/N is a character.  Characters need more than just a name and description but a backstory, personality, insecurities, and identity.

Backstory

I kind of blend backstory and personality in this but I think it flows together??

Y/N needs a backstory just like canon characters do.  They need a family, friend group, interests, childhood memories, and more.  The reader doesn’t have to know all these things but the author does.  How do you know what your character would do if you don’t even know your character? I’ll repeat this; Y/N is a character. We may not know how you picture them physically and can come up with that ourselves, but that’s all we can do. We can’t create a personality for Y/N because that’s your job.  I may get controversial in this.

You’re requested to write flirty reader.  Why is Y/N flirty?  How is Y/N flirty?  Are they trying to gain something from acting like that?  Are they just flirty on accident?  Have they always been flirty?  Did something happen that now they act like that?  You can tell when there is no depth to a character when you don’t have any of these questions answered.  I become more interested when a character mentions that Y/N hasn’t always been flirty like they are now and I’m curious as to why because it could answer one of the questions listed above.  I’m aware that requests like that are meant for quick fluff but I’m never satisfied with fluff.  There’s never enough substance to a character for me to really like it.  Before I point out other commonly seen things that could be enhanced, let me explain what I mean by the things I explain with one of my own pieces.

In Kisses, a Hinata fluff drabble I wrote, I pictured Y/N’s whole day as well as friends, relations to people, his college major, and why he shares government with Tsukishima before I started writing and only wrote 634 words.  I hinted at those things because it was important to in order to get the whole effect of what I’m trying to portray.

Y/N says his day is okay and his government class was boring, even with Tsukishima next to him. He hates his government class, which either means his professor sucks or it’s hot his strong suit academically. In this context, it’s the first one. He and Tsukishima share the same major: Paleontology.  He’s how Y/N and Hinata met each other and is decently close to Y/N.  They’ve matched up schedules because of this.  I didn’t write all of this because I doubt the reader wanted me to go on a tangent about it but I wanted there to be a justified reason of why Y/N mentioned Tsukishima so casually.  It also just adds more to me as a writer when writing because there’s more to work off of.

Y/N is close to Hinata’s teammates, which means they’ve been dating for a while.  He knows how Osamu owns an onigiri store and knows Atsumu well enough that he doesn’t particularly like him because of his personality. He’s nice to him though and tries to make him feel included because Y/N’s friends made him feel like the third wheel when Hinata wasn’t there.  It shows that there’s a kindness to him and makes you wonder if that’s why Hinata fell for him.

I thought of all of this before I started writing.  It adds more personality and depth to the character, even if minimal, if you know their backstory.  You don’t have to have an entire childhood backstory (unless needed) but it helps to know more about your character beyond the fact that they’re flirty.

Focus

Don’t focus a character around one thing.

The flirty character thing is part of a personality and can be woven into different things when done right. A tall reader shouldn’t be just about how scared everyone is of them because their height.  How does Y/N feel about their height?  Are they self-conscious?  Do they even care?  Also, for the love the god, stop requesting seven foot readers.  I have received four of those in the past and it’s unrealistic and annoying. So, Y/N is tall.  What else do they have about them?  Let’s say they are insecure of how tall they are, what do they do to hide that insecurity?  A fun example of what I’m trying to say is in “Roy Spivey” by Miranda July.  In the first three to four paragraphs, she mentions her height and what she does to go against it in a way.

For this reason, I always let men see me asleep early on in a relationship. It makes them realize that even though I am five feet eleven I am fragile and need to be taken care of. A man who can see the weakness of a giant knows that he is a man indeed.

This may not exactly scream “I am insecure of my height” by any means but she is aware of her height. Instead of sleeping, what does your character do to distract from their height if they’re self-conscious over it? Or do they love the fact they’re tall? If so, then what to do they do to show it off?  Being tall is something but how someone reacts to it is another thing.

This applies to more than just tall readers but also readers who blush all the time (Touma Kikuchi from Ao Haru Ride), short readers, etc.  You can use your characters so much better if you know they feel about the things you’re focused on.

Accuracy

If you’ve followed me long enough, then you know I have a thing about accuracy.  I do a lot of research for everything I write, even if I think I am extraordinarily knowledgeable about the subject.  This part is pretty optional depending on who you are as writer.  I like things to feel real and be accurate but there are people who don’t care about that. Neither side is wrong.  I do this a lot because of research I’ve done for novels I’ve written before and it makes me feel content.  For Haikyuu, I just know the timeline near exact to where I don’t have to check to see what month certain things happened in.  This is a me thing because I think it helps.  It may not, writing is all opinion based anyways.

Volleyball player/manager Y/N is a common thing I see and I have written for both of them.  I know literally nothing about volleyball, not counting what is taught in Haikyuu as well as the couple of matches my brother and I watched on YouTube, so I researched things.  Sports are one of those things that it is hard to be 100% accurate unless you know the sport.  I try not to write out game scenes because I don’t know how to explain what each move is but I can do a recap after the match of a character thinking it over. They’re thinking about how maybe the blockers blocked a spike or they fucked up a receive or how angry someone was when something happened.  If you write in third person, this creates a more first person like atmosphere and makes the reader closer to the character.

Accuracy with characters can do a lot to make them well-rounded and realistic.  This can go into other things besides sports like choir, band, cheer, soccer, basketball, etc. (I am actually decent at writing soccer because it’s the best sport ever.)

For me, realism and accuracy makes the story more enjoyable.  In my class, we discussed how flat character who are doing something incorrectly make us put a story down faster than anything else.  You have to see Y/N as a character in order to be able to use them to your full ability.  You can’t do half-assed anything with them because they are essentially more important than a canon character because it’s focused on them.  Basically, put the same effort into everyone you write but the focal character (usually Y/N) should be focused on more and should be the character you know the best.

Surroundings

Everyone is influenced by their surroundings. This typically affects their decisions and view but maybe not their personality.  I’ve discussed this before on Japan and LGBT, but I’ll do it again.

Let’s say that even though Y/N is the gayest person to ever exist, they aren’t likely to be open about it in Japan.  In my previously mentioned post, I talked about how gay relationships are still seen as taboo (it is decreasing slowly though) and usually fetishized.  Trans individuals are even more likely to not be open about it.  Wandering Son by Takako Shimura is one of my favorite mangas that talks about LGBT things but sadly it does make trans men feel slightly like a joke.  It shows the language and shame forcing trans people to stay in the closet.  From numerous articles I’ve read, the shame is decreasing but that doesn’t mean the struggle isn’t as bad as it has been.  I believe the youngest person to have sterilization surgery (what must be completed to be seen as your gender to the Japanese government) was 20 years old. Also, there are very few places they can go to receive hormone replacement and gender therapy.

I’m focusing on Japan for this because it’s where anime takes place.  I write male reader and I take this into account while writing.  It affects how they interact with others and their thought process.  Are they struggling with their identity?  What is their family like?  Even if their parents are accepting, are going to be open about it?  How far are they willing to go to hide it?

Understanding the surroundings of your character affects who they are and how they respond to things. This also takes part in their internal struggles and maybe what the conflict of the story could be if focused on their identity.

Internal Struggle

Everyone has at least one internal struggle.  Usually people have a lot more but in fiction you try to focus on one because real life doesn’t always transfer over in that regard.  Struggles make your decisions though because you’re trying to deal with it. Characters are meant to feel like real people.  My professor said that the goal is to write your character to where people will talk about them as if they’re a real person.

This can be difficult to do with Y/N but that doesn’t mean you can’t try.  I always try to think of what is a struggle Y/N is going through that is either easily seen or never addressed.  If I went through all of my one-shots, then I can tell you and explain why I did that.  Does having a struggle mean that people see them as real people?  No but at least there’s a chance they could.  I really tried to make Y/N in my ficlet First Words more realistic but I don’t think I did the best job.  It’s okay to not be perfect at it because it’s really hard to nail down original characters but reader characters are even harder.

It doesn’t matter how hard it is to make a character realistic because they do still need a struggle. There is character driven story and plot driven story; people prefer the first.  An example would be Harry Potter or there’s also Forest Gump.  We’re not focused so much on each plot point but what the character is doing during it.  We love the character more than we love the story.

[satoshi-mochida]

Tobyfox has provided a status update on the second chapter and beyond of Undertale sequel Deltarune in celebration of Undertale‘s fifth anniversary today.

First, here are the latest screenshots from Deltarune‘s second chapter:

Get the full update below.

Introduction

Hi everyone.

If you’re reading this, you must have been sticking around for about five years.*

I want to express my gratitude for everyone that has supported and encouraged me over this time.

Thank you.

I’ve said it many many times before, but I didn’t expect the simple game I made to receive so much attention. Because of that, many interesting things have happened, and now I can even spend my time making another game.

It seems both of us received a lot of happiness from this occurrence.

If it’s okay, I would like to keep striving to do things that make both of us happy.

Let me know what you think about that.

*Since the Undertale demo released in 2013, the game has really existed for 7 years. It’s already been more than 25% of my life…

Deltarune

I will make another.

I am making a game called “Deltarune.” It is the second game in the Undertale series.

The game will be released in many “Chapters,” the first of which I released two years ago on Halloween. Since that time, I’ve been working hard to figure out the rest of the game.

However, it’s a game that’s much harder to make than Undertale.

Graphics are more complicated and several times more involved.

Systems are more complicated.

Exposes the weak points of my creative and artistic ability.

Plot is much harder to tie together (more characters, more important locations).

Significantly more content than Undertale in one playthrough (especially cutscenes).

I have only made one game ever.

Unlike Undertale, this is the type of game that would normally have many designers working on each aspect of the game.

A story writer, a composer, an audio director, a map designer, a battle designer, a minigame designer, and an overall director. Instead, all of those roles end up handled by me.

The good news is that a few months ago, I completed a significant milestone regarding the game’s design. I completed readable outlines for every chapter in the game, including first-pass dialogue for almost all the cutscenes, examples of the music, etc.

Although certain details are still hazy, the flow of the game and all major events and battles that take place are now clear.

In summary, I largely spent the past two years writing, composing, designing, and drawing. However, that’s not the whole story.

We had actually attempted to develop the game since the time too. Development started around March 2019 and a 99% work was spent on investigating engines alternate to GameMaker, which I used for Chapter 1.

Without getting into the details, I decided a few months ago to go back to GameMaker after all. It still felt like the best fit for the project. So using Chapter 1 as a base, we’ve started creating Chapter 2 since May 2020.

A lot of progress has been made since that time. I believe we can complete this chapter, content-wise, before the end of the year (not accounting for translation, bugtesting, and porting).

I feel very confident. And the strange thing is, even though we ended up using the original engine, I don’t regret the lost time, either. Not only was I still busy designing the game, but during that long period, I was able to think of many ideas that make the game’s story and characters better.

I’m glad that I’m making the Deltarune that I have now and that we are making healthy progress.

Deltarune Status Estimate

■ Chapter 2 (04.15.20 – 08.13.20)

Phase 1: Design

Main Design: 100% (dialogue, etc.)

Initial Setup: 100% (stuff involved setting up people to make the game, adding debug tools, documentation, etc.)

Phase 2: Implementation (05.01.20 ~ 08.13.20)

Art: 90%

Cutscenes: 80% (90% are started, needs 2nd pass)

Bullet Patterns: 70% (enemies are mostly completed, bosses are about 40% done, needs 2nd pass)

Non-Bullet Battle Elements: 30% (Some ACTs are done and enemies are fightable, but interactive ACTs need to be completed and polished and the bosses aren’t programmed outside of bullet patterns)

Audio: 80%

Maps: ??% most are started or placeholder, most need 2nd pass. NPC interactions are completed in all spots where written.

Other: 65%

Phase 3: Finishing

Balancing: 0%

Bugfixing: 0%

Translation: 0%

Porting: 0%

(Honestly, a lot of stuff FEELS like 80% to me, but the truth is that what’s there is quite rough now. Polish ends up taking a lot of time, so the real actual time value may be around 50% done…? We’ll see what happens. It’ll be a lesson for everybody.)

■ Chapters 3 and Beyond

Phase 1: Design

Story and General Game Progression (first-pass): 100%

Cutscene Dialogue (first-pass, lacking cutscene instructions): 95%

Map Design (textual): 70% (varies per chapter, earlier chapters totally completed)

Map Design (drawn): 0% (this takes a lot of wrist energy so I don’t do it until we start programming)

Enemy Design (conceptual): 90% (all bosses are known)

Enemy Design (bullets / visual): 80% (varies per chapter, earlier chapters totally completed)

Music (concept): 95%

Music (completed): 50%

Visual Design:BG Concept (first-pass): 75%, Important Character, Bosses (first-pass): 100%

Phase 2

Sprite Art: 20%?

Other Content Creation: 0%

Phase 3

Release Readiness: 0%

(These numbers can be somewhat deceptive though. My true design style is to reach the moment where we have to make something, then suddenly think of something different at the last minute. This is always how it’s been with me and my work. It feels like no matter how much I plan, everything comes down to what I think of at the last second…)

Team and Disability

You may have noticed from my phrasing, but yes, there is a team helping me create the game. Other than me, there are about three active team members working day-to-day, with a few other people pitching in from time to time.

Their roles of the main members are overall content implementation and organization, bullet pattern implementation (part-time), and art (Temmie). Other than designing, I still have the role of system programmer.

I’m extremely grateful to have a team helping me carry out my design especially because of my disabilities, which have also made development more difficult.

Although I have long suffered from wrist and hand pain, about five months ago my wrist was the worst it’s ever been. I could not play the piano, use the mouse, and barely could use the keyboard. I navigated everything through voice to text.

Through weightlifting, exercise, and various equipment I have been able to somewhat increase the stamina of my wrist to an extent. Various solutions have included trackball mice for each hand, using voice to text whenever possible, using a foot pedal to click the mouse, etc.

Now I can use the mouse and keyboard for a certain amount each day provided I take frequent breaks. I wish I could work without stopping. Once the world situation improves I would really like to take physical therapy again and/or investigate surgery to repair my wrist.

Future Plans

Once we finish Chapter 2, I would like to use it as the base to create future chapters from. After gaining experience from this chapter, I think making future chapters will be easier.

Part of me wonders if we could make the game faster if we increased the size of the team and did something insane like create multiple chapters in parallel. However, another part of me understands that, adding more people doesn’t guarantee that the game will be created faster if it’s not done properly. I’m already just barely avoiding becoming a bottleneck on development even with a team of this size, due to my physical limitations.

To that end, I am interested in making a list of people that could potentially help me make the game. I’m not 100% sure if I’m going to ask anyone to help, but I think if I could find just 1 person that works well with me, it’s worth asking.

Chapter 2 is proceeding at a good pace, so if we do take anyone on, it will probably only be for Chapter 3 onward. So please understand that anything you send in may not have an immediate result.

People I Am Looking For

Feel free to send in your portfolio if you have the following qualifications:

Worked in the game industry before

Worked under NDA before

Have professional references

A degree of creativity while also being okay with just following directions

Fluent in English

People I Might Actually Use

Music Transcription / Basic Arrangement (Part-Time)

I usually start making songs by playing the piano and singing. An important step after this is to take this basic outline and transcribe it into melodies and chords. Though there are not too many remaining songs to transcribe, it would still help my wrist to have someone else start this process for me. Although I know many musicians, I’m sheepish to ask for help to them, because the main role is actually just to help me compose my own music…

Helpful qualities:

Good at transcription.

Can stand listening to me sing.

Optional: can use an old version of Fruity Loops.

Bullet Pattern Programming (Part-Time)

I’m looking for someone to help me program bullet patterns into the game. These people will work from text and visual designs to create fun battles that match the feeling of the game. I already have one person helping with this, but I think a second person would help a lot. You have to be able to use Gamemaker Studio 2 to manipulate objects on the screen / okay with using pre-existing scripts to accomplish this.

Helpful qualities:

Sense of fun and understanding of player perspective and gameplay balance. This aspect is [many times] more important than programming ability.

Reliable.

Able to make patterns based off of visual/text instructions.

Fine working with a poorly made battle system.

Able to sprite bullets.

Good visual / timing sense.

Minigame Programming (Part-Time)

There are a few minigames and small interactive events in the game, which appear in and outside of battles. These could take any kind of form… who knows what I’m thinking! Have you made a game before?

Helpful qualities:

Same sense of humor as me.

Some level of spriting ability is useful.

You have to have made a game that is fun.

Ability to work together with me.

Unlikely to Hire, But Send Me Your Information Just In Case

Cutscene Programming (Part-Time)

Besides the battles, the largest amount of content in the game is definitely the cut scenes. You will have to understand Gamemaker Studio 2, but the majority of the work is simply using a scripting system that I created to make characters move around the screen. The most important quality you can have here is not programming ability but the ability to efficiently use the system in order to create scenes with a good sense of humor, timing, and emotion.

I’d strongly prefer to hire someone I know to do this because it involves the story. So I most likely won’t hire anyone else.

Helpful qualities:

Can take text instructions and impart a proper sense of timing, humor, and weight to them.

Fine working with a custom scripting system (or smart enough to make something better that makes the game easier to make).

Art (Part-Time)

Sprite art—Temmie has already drawn a massive amount of art for the game, and continues to do so. And I actually already have a few other artists that have helped me that I’m more than happy to keep working with if things become more overwhelming. So currently I actually don’t need any more artists.

However, personally, I’d really like to build up a portfolio of available pixel artists and even concept artists. It’s not as if this is the only game I will make during my life. Anyone chosen for this game needs to be able to match the style of the game, but I’m interested in seeing people with different styles as well. Knowing that I have different options can open my mind up to different creative pathways.

Helpful qualities:

Can take bad looking sketches and turn them into art that looks good (magic).

Don’t mind if your work gets completely drawn over or thrown out.

Anyone that can draw cute or cool poses is good.

Uninterested in seeing people that have an art style outside of the scope of the game.

Write (Full-Time)

Someone needs to transform into a new wrist for me.

Helpful qualities:

Flexible.

Doesn’t hurt.

Musical sense.

That’s everyone I’m looking for. The only other kind of person I might hire would be a single jack-of-all-trades type that can do any sort of things such as cutscenes, bullets, or even system programming, with a good degree of visual flair. (But if you can do those sorts of things, aren’t you busy making your own game already!?)

Anyway, I’ll show you the e-mail now. Just make sure you read these rules first:

Don’t send in e-mails about anything else!

Don’t send to other team members, Fangamer, etc. about helping out!

Got it? Then please send your information to this e-mail address:

deltarunejobs@fangamer.com

Since Fangamer will be sorting through the e-mails for me, we’ll stop taking e-mails at the end of September so they don’t get overwhelmed. Ultimately, I’m only looking for one or two people, and to make a list of the rest of the potentially helpful people in the world.

Undertale is available now for PlayStation 4, Switch, PS Vita, and PC via Steam and GOG. Deltarune Chapter 1 is availble for PlayStation 4, Switch, and PC via Deltarune.com.

[a-lockman5]

Dirty Little Secret {Devi x Paxton}

A/N: Hooray! So after about 8.5K, I cut this one off. I like the way it ended, and it was fun to imagine a future Daxton. Thank you so much to the person that requested it! I am throwing around the idea of working on a part 2, so if I get at least 5 “upvotes” for a part 2, I will take it on.

Summary: Devi wasn’t interested in dating anymore. She wasn’t hurt or messed up from a previous relationship. She just wanted to meet a guy that made time stand still. It just didn’t happen. That is, until a man from her past walked into her office.

Warnings: Fluff, drinking/alcohol abuse, time-jump (Devi and co. are in their late 20s), forbidden love, taboo, mild burns, sexual themes - nothing explicit

Don’t forget, request/ask is open!

And check out my MASTERLIST

“Debbie, you have a new patient today,” the office manager, Barb called out, thrusting a folder into the air.

“It’s Devi,” she swiped the folder from her, “you know, like that grandson you’re always going on about.”

“Oh, sorry, dear. I keep forgetting.”

“It’s alright, Barb, thanks for grabbing this,” she turned away toward her own desk. I’ve only been working here for two and half years. Why should you have caught on by now?

Devi Vishwakumar didn’t know what she wanted for the future when she graduated nearly nine years ago. She had spent her high school career with two things on her mind: having a love life and getting to Princeton. She’d managed both. After dating Ben Gross for the entirety of their junior year, Devi and he ended things amicably largely because being friendly rivals was much more fun and somehow resulted in less legitimate fighting. Senior year, she enjoyed the company of another classmate named Tyler Herron. He was academically minded, but still a jock in his own right. He played for the soccer and basketball teams, and Devi found she received common invites to parties that previously she thought only came from her friendship with Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Eleanor and Fabiola continued to prove they were the best friends anyone could ask for, but she also learned to love Shira and Zoey. Though they often seemed more superficial than Devi thought to care for, their aspirations were just as real as Devi’s and they had minds made for business and marketing. When time came for graduation, Devi felt more seen and cared for than she ever thought she could, and that’s what she said in her valedictorian speech. She also couldn’t help throwing a jab at Ben for beating him out, but to be fair, he insinuated letting her win in his own speech.

When she arrived at Princeton the following fall, Tyler forged his own path to MIT. Devi had no intention of bringing a boyfriend into college with her and was not at all hurt when Tyler felt the same way. She did wish she’d beat him to the punch, but at least they too split mutually and were able to be friendly on social media. Being single gave Devi the opportunity to focus on what was most important – her future.

Her mother made it very clear to her, she was to pick a college major before arriving for her first semester. Not having a plan is lazy. Are you lazy, khanna? Even when her mother was thousands of miles away, Devi could hear her loud and clear in her head. Though, she found she was right. Devi had to be prepared to make decisions for herself otherwise all the work she’d put in to get to Princeton would be for nothing. She chose Biology and pursued it relentlessly.

By the time she was graduating with her bachelor’s in biology, she’d made plenty of friends during that time who helped her choose to further pursue Physical Therapy. It was funny, she often thought, how she spent so long working to move across the country for her favorite Ivy League school to then end up back in her backyard for graduate school. The University of Southern California had one the best PT programs in the country, and Devi was proud to have studied there. Her final fieldwork was assigned at OSMC, Orthopedics and Sports Medicine Calabasas. After a thrilling experience, and impressing her Clinical Instructor at every turn, she was asked to stay on after graduation. Naturally, Devi accepted.

OSMC was not only the most exclusive orthopedic surgery and rehabilitation practice in Southern California, but it was also where she felt most at home. Outside of having a coworker who passively refused to learn the correct pronunciation of her name, she was in her element every day. Plus, she got to meet some really cool people. Professional athletes, actors, stuntmen, they all came to OSMC for physical rehabilitation. Legally, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else that she’d personally worked with Dylan O’Brien, Diego Boneta, and Mookie Betts. She liked to remind herself of those things regularly though. Living in the LA area also allowed Devi’s relationship to improve with her mom, who finally voiced how proud she was of Devi… when she first started working. Now, she was worried that Devi would never settle down.

Devi had begged her mother not to place her in an arranged marriage when she was still studying at Princeton. The conversation actually took place at Kamala and Prashant’s wedding ceremony. It wasn’t that she didn’t think it could work – Kamala and Prashant proved that love could flourish from being set up. Devi wanted something different though. She wanted what Nalini and Mohan had. They met when they were children, and never wanted anyone else. She wanted to meet a man and feel the electricity that could make her forget her own name (like Barb seemed to do every day). Heart softened by the reminder of how Mohan had swept her off her feet, Devi’s mother agreed. That was six years ago. More recently, Nalini reminded her daughter regularly that all of the handsome driven Indian men in her age range had already been swept up, so she was on her own. She also made it very clear that grandchildren were to be in her future.

Did her mother’s constant badgering sour Devi on dating? Maybe a little bit. Did she get guys to buy her, Eleanor, and Fabiola drinks when they out only to ditch the same guys at the first opportunity? Absolutely, but what woman hadn’t done that? It had been a long time since Devi saw a man that made time stand still, and Mehcad Brooks was treated in her therapy gym.

No, Devi was not the romance obsessed teen she once was. Honestly, it’s better this way. Now, I can focus on my career, she thought. She pulled up her schedule on her laptop and noticed she didn’t have an appointment for three hours. “Hey, Barb? What time is that eval coming in?”

“Scheduled in thirty minutes!” She called back.

“Who ya got, D?” Amir, one of the physical therapy assistants, asked. “Someone rich or someone famous?”

“Go ahead and take a look, you’ll probably be seeing them next week,” Devi replied going to grab a mug of coffee.

“Hey, another Olympian. Paxton Hall-Yoshida!”

“Devi, oh my gosh, are you okay?” Hannah’s voice sounded like it was a hundred miles away. Devi didn’t come back to reality until she felt a damp towel being pressed into her arms. “Here, there’s coffee all over your leg. I don’t want you to get burns.”

Hannah was their rehabilitation technician. She helped keep things picked up, sanitized, and would provide physical assistance if they needed another set of hands during a session. At the moment, she was saving Devi from second degree burns, and cleaning up the broken ceramics from the coffee mug she’d just dropped. Hannah was right too; Devi chose the wrong day to wear a skirt and had drenched her right leg in hot coffee.

“Hannah, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me,” Devi told her pressing the towel on her knee and calf with one hand and crouching down to help pick up the pieces of her mug with the other.

“Devi, I love you, but please don’t help. We don’t want you to cut your hand open,” she laughed. Devi was known to be a little clumsy. “I have a pair of scrubs with me if you want to wear them today.”

“You are a lifesaver, Hannah. I don’t care what Amir says about you!” she called over her shoulder, heading into the locker room to change into Hannah’s scrubs.

Okay, Devi, get your shit together. Maybe it’s not even the same guy. Except, of course it was. How many Paxton Hall-Yoshida’s were Olympic Swimmer’s for the US team? One. There was one. One Paxton Hall-Yoshida that Devi had routinely made a fool of herself in front of when she was in high school. Paxton Hall-Yoshida that gave her the best first kiss a girl could dream up. Before she started dating Ben, Paxton was all she thought about. Now, she was supposed to treat him? God, I feel like I’m fifteen again! she thought, kicking the lockers angrily. She had to get a grip. She had exactly twenty-two minutes to handle the situation.

After changing quickly into the burgundy colored scrubs, Devi found herself in her boss’s office. “Makayla, is there any way I can give my eval to one of the other therapists?”

“Why?” She tapped her acrylics on the desk impatiently. Makayla was notorious for being in all the gossip of the clientele in their practice. Devi knew she had to be careful telling her too much. If she knew Devi and Paxton went to high school together, the questions would never stop until Devi ended up with word vomit about both of their personal lives.

“Uh... I just spilled hot coffee on my leg, and I am feeling pretty tense from that still.”

“Alright, Devi, I’m going to level with you. This particular client asked for you specifically. Apparently, he knows one of your previous clients, and they were a satisfied customer. He will not be happy if he works with another therapist. Are we going to have a problem?”

Devi swallowed her argument about conflicts of interest and gave her boss a tight-lipped smile. “No problem. I’m flattered, obviously. Thanks.” She rose from her seat and began to back out of the office. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help,” she gave a small wave and didn’t notice the way her foot caught on the door frame until it was too late.

She screwed her eyes shut, waiting for impact. It’s a reflex to reach your hands out toward the ground when falling in order to protect your head, but instead it often results in one of the most common fractures. Devi knew her bottom and back could take a fall and so she resisted the urge to catch herself, but that didn’t mean she was looking forward to meeting the floor.

Except she didn’t hit the floor. “Woah!” she heard man’s voice shout before she was caught by a strong arm. “Good thing you got my good side.”

When she opened her eyes, there he was. Holding her in mid-air with one arm, Paxton Hall-Yoshida smiled down at Devi like Christmas had come early. He gingerly aided her back to a standing position, and she tried to ignore how he bit his lip and smirked at her. Man, he had not changed a bit, except that somehow, he looked stronger and more handsome than the last time she’d seen him.

“Oh, thank goodness. We didn’t need Danni getting hurt again!” Barb giggled from behind the front desk. Devi opened her mouth to correct the office manager again but didn’t manage to get the words out before Paxton.

“It’s Devi,” he told Barb. “D-e-v-i; it means goddess.”

“Oh!” Barb smiled like it was the first time she’d heard Devi’s name. “Well, thank you, young man. This goddess is your physical therapist today.”

“Lucky me,” he grinned. “Lead the way, Dr. Vishwakumar.”

It was all Devi could do to stop the heat from coloring her cheeks as she led Paxton through the therapy gym to one of the exam rooms in the back. No one interrupted them or disrupted their course. That was an expectation of working in an office with so many VIP clients. Professionalism came first, and Devi kept blasting that in her head. Be professional. Be professional.

Once they reached the exam room, she stopped at the open door and gestured for him to enter ahead of her. She tried to stop herself from checking out his backside, but the high school sophomore in her won the battle. And just like when they were in high school, this boy – nay – this man had an amazing way of filling out clothing that would otherwise be loose fitting. God, he looked good.

When she looked up, she was glad his back was still to her. For the first time, possibly in her entire life, Paxton didn’t catch her in an embarrassing moment. “So, Mr. Hall-Yoshida, why don’t you take a seat and” –

She was cut off by his soft laughter. “Come here, Devi,” he said, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

She found herself returning his embrace, and it actually helped her relax a little. “It’s good to see you too, Paxton,” she told him when she pulled away a moment later. “How long has it been?”

His eyes squinted over her shoulder as he thought about her question. “Ben Gross’s Christmas party 2022, right? Eight years?”

Somehow, in that moment, it felt like yesterday. “Yeah, that’s right. The one party at Ben’s that didn’t end with me in the deep end of the pool,” she grinned.

His eyes raked over her for a moment, so intense that she chose to turn away and grab his chart to distract herself. Then he laughed again. “At least sometimes it was on purpose.”

“Yes, not all of us are as graceful in the water as the Paxton H.Y.” she smiled up from his paperwork. “Alright, we could catch up for hours, but we have to get your evaluation done. Tell me what’s going on with your shoulder.”

Paxton smirked, but nodded and did not argue with moving on into the session. He explained his sudden onset of pain during a training session. Sharp pain. He noticed more during strokes or overhead activity. It was difficult to sleep on that shoulder, but otherwise, if he wasn’t using it, he didn’t have pain. Everything Paxton told her confirmed what the orthopedist had diagnosed: shoulder impingement syndrome. Just to cover her bases, Devi confirmed positive results for Neer’s and Hawkins’ tests.  He demonstrated mild weakness in the affected shoulder, and pain seemed to onset just at approximately 100 degrees of flexion.

“Okay, looks like you saw Doctor… Matthews? Did he explain this to you?”

“Not really… he said I’m pinching a muscle in my rotator cuff?”

“Kind of, more like a tendon,” Devi said grabbing a model off the counter. “So, you know how this is a ‘ball and socket’ joint so to speak. Normally, you have full range of motion and the ball rotates in the socket without any pain or stiffness,” she explained demonstrating the normal range of shoulder flexion. “Right now, you have some inflammation in the space between the ball and socket, so whenever you raise your arm above shoulder level, there isn’t enough space for the joint to rotate normally. Because of that, you pinch that tendon, it hurts and causes more inflammation, and then the next time you raise your arm, you’ll pinch the tendon, it’ll hurt and cause inflammation, and so on.”

“So… every time I raise my arm… like on every stroke, I make it worse?” he asked, his forehead furrowing.

“Not really, but you’re not making it any better. Every time you raise your arm above shoulder level, you’re basically reinjuring it. Don’t worry though, we can fix it.”

“Dr. Matthews didn’t think I would need surgery.”

“Oh, god no, and I would never do surgery. A – out of my scope of practice, B – can you imagine me with a scalpel and a living, breathing person? Bad idea.”

She smiled when he started laughing. This was Devi’s favorite part of her job. She had many A list clients walk into her office, and there was always a level of fear that they wouldn’t be able to reach 100% again. Sometimes, it was true. Devi liked being able to alleviate that fear and make people as comfortable as possible though. Paxton was no different. He’s just another client, she told herself, and continued in her explanation.

“See the reason it keeps happening is because you’re not giving the inflammation a chance to go down. Between swimming, lifting, and day to day activities, your arm goes over your head a lot. First thing we have to do is, limit that.”

“So, I can’t swim?”

“Not unless you can do it with your left arm by your side,” her head tilted in sympathy. “It’s not forever though. I want you to keep your arm below 90 degrees of flexion – below shoulder level for four weeks and I want you to complete these exercises every day, two to three times per day,” she pulled her pre-assembled shoulder impingement program out of a binder. “I want you here twice a week and we’ll follow up on your progress.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. “If you seem like you need more attention, then we’ll add a session weekly. Honestly, Paxton, this is a really common injury, especially for swimmers. It’s known as ‘swimmer’s shoulder.’ You’ll be back in the pool in plenty of time to qualify for 2032.”

He smiled warmly at her, and she could see his stress deflating. “Thanks, that is really good news.” He stood from his seat and advanced toward her before catching himself, “Can I hug you again?”

She grinned. “As long as you keep your arm below 90 degrees.”

She saw a spark in his eyes as he thought of a retort, but his expression changed to his easy smirk and he nodded. “Deal. Thanks, Devi,” he said as he pulled her into him.

“So, we’re done, and I can go?” he seemed nervous.

“Yeah, I have another patient in,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty minutes? Wow, I thought this was a quick one.”

“What time do you get off?”

“My last appointment is from 4:00 to 4:45 this afternoon.”

“Let’s get dinner tonight. Are you busy?”

Was he asking her on a date? No, just as friends to reconnect. Still, she had to keep things professional. Dot the T’s, cross the I’s – “What?” Nailed it.

He exhaled in a gentle laugh, his right arm reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “I, umm, I asked you to have dinner with me.”

“Like a date?”

He stared at the floor, another laugh escaping him. “Yeah, Devi, like a date.”

To be honest, she was a little angry with him for this. “Paxton, I can’t.”

“Devi, come on. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. It doesn’t even have to be a date! Just two friends, catching up.”

She opened the door, attempting to usher him out. “That would be hugely unethical, Paxton. If you wanted to ask me out, you shouldn’t have handpicked me to be your therapist. I can’t date one of my clients.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again with a nod. “You’re right, I’m sorry, Dr. Vishwakumar. I didn’t mean to offend you. Thanks for all your help today. I’ll see you next week,” he told her. It would have seemed respectful or sincere if he hadn’t smirked the whole time. He was already at the front desk, presumably scheduling his next appointment when Devi reached her desk. He turned, his eyes settling on her immediately. “Oh and, Dr. Vishwakumar, you look good in that color,” he said with a smile that made her knees weak.

“Devi, he was flirting with you!” Hannah rushed to her side once he was gone.

“Lucky me,” she grimaced, pulling her phone from her desk drawer.

*We’re getting drinks tonight.. Actually we’re going out. Get hot.*

***

“So why are we going out tonight?” Fabiola asked, pouring shots of tequila in her kitchenette.

Fabiola had a cozy apartment in Koreatown. After receiving her degree in mechanical engineering from UC Berkeley, she received an entry-level job at Aldrin Corp. Within a few years, and some well-timed retirements, Fabiola was promoted to Senior Project Engineer. It was a job that was made for her. She often said she felt she was more hands on than previous SPE’s she’d worked for, but it also gained her the respect of her subordinates and made meeting deadlines that much easier. Her salary allowed her to not only afford this apartment near downtown LA, but to keep saving. Devi thought even with Eleanor climbing the ranks in her own field, Fabiola would be the first to have a suburban home like they’d all grown up in. For now though, she’d have the apartment closest to the clubs, and would be their pre-game hub.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you picked tonight. I had an early table read this morning, but I don’t have to be on set again until Sunday,” Eleanor agreed, touching up her eyeshadow.

“You will not believe who walked into my office today,” Devi groaned, leaving the bathroom to meet Fabiola at the counter. She swiped a shot off the counter and downed it with a wince.

“What about the salt and lime?” her friend asked in outrage. “I cut fresh lime for you!”

Devi grabbed a wedge and bit the flesh out and Fabiola nodded curtly. “I’ll use the salt for the next one.”

“So, who was it?” Eleanor asked, gliding out of the bathroom to join them. “Was it Sebastian? I know he’s almost 50, but I don’t know how you didn’t go home with him at the last premier party.”

Eleanor was a successful actress. She wasn’t a leading lady yet. She was gaining a lot of clout though. Enough clout to be at premier parties with Sebastian Stan… and Amandla Stenberg… and Tom Holland. Her phone was full of A-list stars and she was not legally obligated to keep her mouth shut about any time she spent with them. She very thoughtfully brought Devi and Fabiola to her premier parties as her guests, and that meant that they met a lot of A-list stars too.

“It was not Sebastian Stan,” Devi rolled her eyes, “and I’ll remind you, he texted you the next day asking you to thank me for calling his driver to come get him, remember? He was plastered and did not need to wake up with a stranger in bed with him.”

“Yeah, he’s really shy and private about his personal life. That fruit basket he sent you was intense.”

“Hello, losing focus,” Fabiola redirected while refilling Devi’s shot glass. “Who came in today?”

Devi groaned as she remembered her obligation to patient privacy. “I can’t tell you. Stupid HIPAA. What I can tell you is, he asked me out at the end of the session.” Eleanor and Fabiola grinned at each other before turning their grins on Devi. “What?”

“You wanted to say yes!” they said in unison.

“What? No, I didn’t. I’m dreading seeing this guy again next week.”

“No, you’re not! You’ve told us tons of stories of your patients flirting with you and your coworkers. Never once has it prickled you to the point of wanting to go get hammered in a nightclub.”

“Fabiola’s right! You’re fantasizing about getting with this guy in the exam room like on Grey’s. God, will that show ever not be relevant?”

“The point is the reason this has you tweaking is because you know you can’t do it.”

“Shut up, you guys suck.” Devi said, preparing a salt strip on her wrist for another shot.

“So, give him to another therapist so he isn’t your patient.”

“I tried before he even walked in, but Makayla said he asked for me specifically. She said something about how he knew another satisfied client.”

“Why is your job so sexual?” Eleanor laughed to which Devi glared. “Sorry, I’m sure all of your clients are satisfied.”

“You’re the worst,” Devi laughed, grabbing a lime wedge and thrusting the saltshaker into Fabiola’s hand. “Now are we pre-gaming or what?”

After more than enough shots resulted in finishing off the bottle in record time, Eleanor called for a car. The girls piled in, giggling a lot more than they had been a half hour prior. Fabiola insisted on controlling the music, though no one argued. Fab had an excellent knack for reading the energy and picking the perfect soundtrack. At least normally. This time, what she thought to be a great throwback jam, took Devi back eight years to a time that would only increase her anxiety to think about.  2022, Ben Gross’s Christmas Party.

***

“Coyote girl!”

“Hey, Trent,” Devi smiled meeting him and Paxton by the punch bowl. “You didn’t dip your balls in this again, did you?”

“Come on, Devi, I’m in college now. Would I do that?”

She looked between Trent and Paxton: Trent attempting to look way too innocent, Paxton analyzing him just as much as Devi. Suddenly, he turned to Devi. “You know what? I brought a bottle of Jack. It’s in the fridge. I’ll share with you.”

Devi smiled in gratitude as Paxton led her inside. “So, you’re drinking?”

He smiled. “We get a break from meets during Christmas break, so I figure once or twice won’t hurt.”

“David!” she heard as soon as she and Paxton entered the kitchen. The moment they started dating, Devi told Ben that the ‘nickname’ bothered her. He almost never used it anymore, but he was obviously drunk. “Wait, no sorry. Devi!”

“What’s up, man?” Paxton fist bumped Ben. “I don’t trust Trent, so Devi is drinking my stuff. Cool?”

“Cool, man, and thanks for the heads up. If you don’t trust Trent, I don’t trust Trent.”

Ben and Paxton had reached a relationship of friendly acquaintances by the time Paxton graduated. It had been a necessity when Ben tutored Paxton in order to meet the requirements for his swim scholarship to Stanford. At the time, it brought Devi mixed feelings. Being a few years removed from the drama of her sophomore year, it was nice they could all just hangout without it being weird.

“So, Ben, I gotta know. Why are you having a Christmas party?” Devi asked. “You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“True, but you can’t throw a party over winter break without accepting that people are going to call it a Christmas party, and expecting half the guests to wear ugly sweaters whether it’s required or not,” Ben explained, only slightly tripping over his words. “I just steer into the skid.”

Devi and Paxton grinned at him before laughing. “Hey, whatever. It’s a dope party, and you guys are just too sober to appreciate it,” he accused good-naturedly, pulling a bottle of Jack Daniels out of the refrigerator. “Get moving and come find me when you’re on this level. Unless I’m with Emma, then come back later.”

“Emma?”

“His girlfriend. She’s wicked smart, and she even convinced his parents to be at parents’ weekend. They’ll probably get married,” Devi told him as Ben went back outside.

“I’m sorry, do you go to school in New Jersey or Boston?” he teased.

“What?”

“You’re turning into a New Englander, Vishwakumar,” he told her, taking a pull of the Jack. He stepped in close enough to her that she could feel the heat radiating off him.

“I am not,” she laughed taking the bottle from him and taking a pull of her own. She coughed a little as it went down causing him to smirk. “I don’t usually drink whiskey.”

“Here,” he turned to the fridge and grabbed a soda. “Chase with coke, it helps.”

Just as she went to open the can, a group of people came in, immediately crowding them because they were going to use the island for a game of quarters. At least, that’s what she was able to glean from the drunken shouts of her old classmates. She felt an arm wind around her waist and looked up at Paxton – her chest practically pressed against his.

“Hey, you want to catch up to get drunk or catch up with a friend?” he leaned down to speak in her ear.

“How about both?” she smiled, grabbing the bottle of Jack and slipping through the crowd with Paxton close behind.

“Devi, come on! Catch up!” she came back to reality to have Eleanor thrusting one of the mini fireball bottles she’d shoved in her purse into Devi’s hand.

“I hate fireball,” she groaned.

“Fireball!” her friends shouted, and they all downed a bottle.

“Ladies, we’re here.”

“Okay, okay, one more for the club,” Devi insisted.

With a cheer, all three girls shot another small bottle of fireball. After tipping the driver, Eleanor led them past the line and walked straight up to the bouncer.

“Ladies,” the man smiled. “You on the list?”

“Eleanor Wong,” she stated her name with a flutter of her eyelashes.

He was silent as he skimmed his clipboard. “I don’t see it…” he trailed off, looking up at Eleanor, “but hey, aren’t you in that new spy thriller with Michael B. Jordan?”

Her eyes lit up, “Yes! Shot for Death! Tom keeps saying I’ll get used to being recognized, but it’s such a rush! Oh, here he is now,” she held a finger up to the stout but muscular man as she answered a phone call. “Hello darling,” she said with a flourish. “We’re outside, but he says I’m not on the list. Could you?”

Within seconds, Tom Holland popped his head out the door. “Mal, they’re with me. They’re under my name.”

“My apologies, ladies. Head on in, and I can’t wait to see you on the big screen again, Ms. Wong.”

“Thank you!” she blew him a kiss as the girls hurried inside.

Tom and Eleanor greeted each other with a hug as Devi and Fabiola wandered over to the bar. When Eleanor first made friends with some prominent stars, Devi was star struck regularly. As she got more into her career, and treated more and more celebrities, she began to get used to being in their presence.

“Drinks or shots?” Fabiola shouted over the music.

“Shot for me and then I’m going to dance.”

“Yes, girl!” Fabiola pounded the bar, gaining the attention of one of the bartenders. “Can we get three B-52s?”

“Make it four and put it on my tab,” a man’s voice called from beside Devi. Her initial thought was that Eleanor and Tom had caught up to them, but it clicked almost immediately that the accent was distinctly American. And then it clicked again that she would recognize that voice anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” she wheeled around on him.

“I’m out with some friends. What are you doing here, doctor? Are you following me?”

“Paxton?” Fabiola caught his eye past Devi.

“Hey, Fabiola,” he grinned. “Good to see you!”

“Same,” she smiled back. “I didn’t know you were in town?”

“Yeah, I’m home for some physical therapy,” he shouted gesturing to his shoulder.

It took Fabiola exactly no time to connect the dots, and Devi could feel it. Instead of looking at either of her current companions, she accepted the shots from the bartender with as much gratitude as she could muster. Devi carefully pushed a shot to her left and then to her right, clutching the remaining shots tightly.

“I’ll go give Eleanor hers.”

“Nope,” Fab cut off her escape and plucked the extra shot out of her hand. “I’ll do that. You take yours and go dance!”

“Oh, I’ll cheers to that,” Paxton said, leaning forward so she could hear him. “Come dance with me.”

Maybe it was alcohol from their successful pregaming clouding her judgment, or maybe it was the way she could lose herself in Paxton’s gaze just as easily as when she was fifteen years old, but Devi couldn’t stop herself from nodding and clinking her glass against his as they downed the shots in unison. He smirked at her, grasping her hand gently and leading her to the dancefloor.

It was crowded already, but so many of the people here loved that paparazzi never got in, and they could cut loose. Devi loved that atmosphere. Under the flashing lights, music pumping so loud you can’t hear anything else, dancing with friends, or a guy she would be way too nervous to talk to otherwise – it all just made her feel alive.  She felt that same adrenaline as Paxton kept his left hand firmly on her hip but did not pull her into him. Instead, he left just enough space between them for things to be innocent.

As the beat dropped on a new mix, Devi felt Paxton’s hand like an anchor. They locked eyes for a moment, and she swore she could feel the energy crackling between them. The corner of his mouth quirked up, gaze never leaving hers. This man asked her on a date that morning. The man she’d so desperately wanted as a teenager – the man that she nearly idolized and seemed so unattainable in her youth was the same man in front of her, the one looking at her like pure sex. The thought had a laugh bubbling up in her that she couldn’t stop. Full belly laughter overtook her as she bounced and swayed to the music and just lost herself.

She wasn’t sure how much time past, but at some point, Eleanor and Fabiola joined them. The music had shifted from EDM to a mix of the most beloved hip hop music from ten to fifteen years ago. As intended, that shift had more people pouring onto the dancefloor, and having any space to breathe was impossible. To Devi, it was perfect. The beat was pulsing so loud, it felt like her own heartbeat, and the familiar music was lending to everyone’s closet-love for karaoke as people around her belted the lyrics. Then she felt two hands at her hips pulling her slightly backwards to dance against a man’s chest. Normally, she didn’t mind dancing with strangers. As long as they didn’t get too handsy, she didn’t even mind the approach this guy took. Tonight, things felt different. Her eyes flew open, and immediately met Paxton’s. His look was calculating. He wasn’t going to stop her if this was what she wanted.

The thought brought an easy grin to her face as she reached a hand out toward him. His lips twitched into a crooked grin, but he met her hand and spun her into him. In that moment, time stood still. Devi didn’t notice who had approached her before Paxton’s rescue. She wasn’t sure if Fabiola and Eleanor were still on the floor with them. All she knew was that her back was pressed against Paxton’s chest, and it felt like she belonged there. They swayed to the music together, and she felt his left hand rest on her hip again. His other hand swept the hair off her right shoulder, and she felt him press tighter against her.

“What do you want from me, Devi?” he asked, his breath hot on her neck.

“You’re not dating anyone?” she asked disbelievingly. “Not at all, not even one-night stands?”

They were sitting in Ben’s theater room on the floor passing the significantly less full bottle of Jack between them. It was nice. It was easy. The awkwardness of what happened in high school long behind them.

“Hey, I have never had a one-night stand,” he pointed at her. “Have you?”

“Well, no, but I’m me and you’re you,” she laughed.

“What does that mean?” his eyes narrowed at her good-naturedly as he took another pull from the bottle of Jack and passed it back to her.

“I just mean, one of us probably has people lining up to sleep with them, and the other one is me,” she shrugged.

“Why would you even say that? Have you looked in a mirror?”

“Come on, stop, I didn’t mean” –

“I’m serious, Devi. You are a very weird girl, like that’s your brand, but it’s hot. You’re hot. If you really think guys aren’t interested in you, you’re not paying attention.”

“Stop,” she waved him off, cheeks burning hot red. “You don’t have to do that.”

He was scooting closer to her until their thighs were touching, and his gaze was searching hers looking for any hesitation. “I know. I don’t have to do anything. You know what I want to do?”

Her skin tingled under his stare, and she shook her head ‘no.’ Her stomach somersaulted when he reached a hand up to cradle her jaw. “I want show you how beautiful you are.”

Devi turned in his embrace, draping her hands around his neck. Paxton’s head immediately fell to the crook of her neck, and she played with the hair at the nape of his neck as she leaned into his ear. “I want you to show me how beautiful I am.”

His head snapped up and he pulled back to look her in the eye. His jaw had gone slack, and he was looking at her with such curiosity that it made her second guess herself. Maybe he wasn’t interested after all. Maybe he’d just been swept up in not seeing her after so long that morning. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could still get her to fall at his feet. Maybe this was just a game to him. She started to unwind her arms from him to escape her embarrassment when he pressed one of her arms down to stay in place around him. His other hand was firmly pressed against the small of her back.

“Let’s get a drink,” he suggested, waiting for her confirmation. When she nodded, he took her hand off his shoulder, pressed a kiss against the back, and led her from the dancefloor back to the bar.

“What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey sour,” she told him.

“Thought you didn’t drink whiskey?” he grinned.

“Things change.”

When their drinks were made, he nodded to a staircase, and she set off toward it with him close behind. The upper room was a quieter atmosphere. Tables and chairs, booths, a pool table – it was a great offset from the chaos downstairs. He placed their drinks down on a booth, and she slid into one side expecting him to slide in opposite her. Instead, he slid in next to her.

“Paxton, look I’m sorry if I misread things, I just” –

He placed a hand on her knee. “No, don’t do that. You didn’t misread anything. Just tell me why you said that exactly?”

***

Devi woke to the feeling of a hammer slamming against her skull. She could feel the sunlight piercing through her eyelids, making her roll over and press her face harder against her pillow. She heard a toilet flush, and that prompted her to inspect her surroundings a bit more closely. Blearily, she moved to a sitting position as the faucet in the bathroom ran. It was her apartment, that much she could tell. Maybe Eleanor and Fabiola decided to come back here? Fabiola lived closest to the club. That was why they pre-gamed at her place. Why would they come back to her place? Was she the only one coherent enough to call for a ride? With the way she felt this morning, that was unlikely. No, so who was using her bathroom and whistling as they walked down the hallway?

She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and unplugged it from the charger. She had a few unread messages in her group text with her friends.

*Let us know when you wake up this morning, we want to hear all the dirty details!*

*Also, avocado is a great hangover food!*

The dirty details? What did Devi do? So much of the previous night was a blur. At least she has clothes on – one of her dad’s old t-shirts and a pair of pajama shorts. That had a to be sign that she didn’t do anything too stupid. So, who was out there?

Only one way to find out, she thought, hoisting herself out of bed. She stepped out of her bedroom, and immediately smelled eggs. Devi padded down the hallway to the kitchen, and there was a steaming cast iron skillet sitting on a hot pad at the breakfast bar. No one was in the kitchen though.

“Hey, you’re up!” a voice cheered from behind her. Devi whirled around to the living room, to see Paxton on her couch carefully stretching one arm over the other shoulder.

“Jesus! Paxton, what are you doing?”

He tilted his head at her with a quizzical look. “I’m doing my shoulder exercises. You’re the one that assigned them.”

“Not that!” she couldn’t help but holler at him. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. His arms fell to his sides. “You actually demanded that I come here.”

“What?” her eyes went wide as she did her best to recall the events of last night. “Did we…?”

He started laughing as he stepped past her and behind the breakfast bar. “I knew you were too drunk to remember. No, we did not have sex. You were mad at me for that last night by the way.”

“No…” she trailed off taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Oh yeah, I told you I was going to take the couch, and you said you’d been waiting like ten years to see whether or not I stuff my swim briefs,” he smirked. “I don’t, in case you’re still wondering.”

“Oh my god,” this new information and the headache still throbbing against her skull was enough to make her vomit. Instead, she just dropped her head to the counter, the pressure soothing against her forehead.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It was cute… in a very Devi way,” he brushed her arm gently. “Sit up, you need to eat.”

She shifted her head slightly to meet his eye. “I yelled at you for not showing me your dick, and you stayed the night and made me breakfast.”

“Yeah, I had to make sure you were okay,” his eyes warmed to hers. “Now, sit up and eat.”

She obeyed and smiled when he pushed a loaded plate toward her. “This looks awesome.”

“Yeah, I had to work with what you had, but I call it a southwest sweet potato hash,” he told her proudly. After loading up his own plate, he came around the breakfast bar to sit next to her.

“So, anything else I should know about last night?”

“Well,” he paused to swallow a bite of food, “what’s the last thing you remember?”

She thought about the events of the previous night, as Paxton hopped up again.His energized movements distracting her, she asked, “Are you not hungover at all?”

“Based on what you told me, I had a lot less to drink last night than you did, so no, I’m not,” she heard him reply. She was staring at her plate because too much movement made her nauseated.

“You didn’t happen to make” –

“Coffee,” he cut her off happily, placing the mug in front of her, “and here’s some Tylenol. I was looking for blowfish or something but doesn’t look like you have any.”

She gratefully took the little pills from him and threw them back with a swig of coffee. “I used to. I stopped getting hungover for a while too.”

“Why’d you go so hard last night?”

“I think you know why,” she said with a glare.

He pursed his lips in a pout before choosing to ignore her implication and coming back to sit with her with his own cup of coffee. “So, what do you remember from last night?”

“I remember dancing with you on the dance floor.”

“Anyone else? Eleanor, Fab, some dude that I’m pretty sure was Lucas Hedges?”

“Okay, yeah. Some guy started dancing on me, and I wanted to dance with you instead,” she replied casually, continuing her breakfast.

“Nothing else? You don’t remember going to the upper room to talk about what happened at Ben’s party?”

“We talked about Ben’s party?”

“Well, yeah, funny thing is, I didn’t remember that,” he told her with a nostalgic grin. “Like I remembered it, but I thought I dreamt some of it.”

“What? Like what?”

“Well you were gone when I woke up, and never said anything about it so I thought…”

“You thought you dreamt making out with me?”

“Well, see so that’s all we did? It’s hard, because when I’ve dreamt about it since then…” he trailed off, the tips of his ears turning pink at his own admission.

“You’ve dreamt about it since then?”

“Not like a ton… it’s not like I’ve dreamt about you every night for the last eight years, that would be kinda creepy probably. Just any time something reminds me of you, it seems to come up… high school, something about Gross in the news… seeing you on social media… it’s not that weird.”

“Paxton…”

“I mean, whatever, I know I’m going to dream about last night for a long time,” he winked. She didn’t understand how he could have so little shame. Then she remembered she had enough to go around. “You made it your mission to remind me of every dirty detail of that night at Ben’s.”

“We made out last night?”

“We started to, yeah. Instead of getting hot and heavy, you ran off to the bathroom, and I found you with your head in a urinal. That’s when it was time to go home.”

“And that’s what you’re going to dream about?” she scoffed.

“No, I’m going to dream about you pawing at my zipper yelling about pringle cans.” He settled into a close-lipped smile, but it didn’t hide the mirth in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” Devi groaned, slipping off her stool to flop over onto the couch.

She could hear Paxton laughing. Soon, he was settled on the couch with her. She turned her body just enough to catch his eye, and he patted his lap. She rolled her eyes but stretched out so her head was on his thigh and she was looking up at him. His features were soft, gentle, caring.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he told her softly, one hand carding through her hair. “I don’t mind when you act like you like me.”

“I’m not acting,” her eyes fell shut, feeling his fingers stroke her scalp could lull her to sleep.

“Yeah?”

She hummed an affirmative. She was pretty sure if he kept scratching her head like that, she’d say yes to anything. And of course, she liked him. She was never able to truly deny that fact. Even when she’d had boyfriends, she’d be lying if Paxton wasn’t always lingering in the back of her mind. How could he not be? His appearance was god-like. He was beyond hiding behind words – if she was honest, that was her favorite part – he wasn’t afraid to be real with her. And he never gave up on her. As rocky as their friendship had started, as often as they lost touch, here he was telling her, he still thought about her.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she almost whispered.

“Me too.”

She felt his hand trace the edge of her face, and couldn’t stop herself from leaning into his touch, and pressing a kiss to his palm. Somehow, it was comfortable, intimate. She felt like she was born to be here. The same thought she had eight years ago came back to the forefront of her mind: It’s always been Paxton. At that realization, her eyes popped open. He’d leaned his head back, eyes closed; he looked as close to dozing off as she felt moments ago. His lips formed a peaceful grin, just slightly curved upwards, and his two small moles pinning opposite corners of his mouth were barely shadowed by the growth of his facial hair overnight. His long eyelashes curled naturally in a way, Devi thought, women would kill for. She always knew he was hot, but she never really took the time to notice how beautiful he was.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think twice, Devi leaned up and pressed her lips to his. And time stood still. Just as she was going to pull away again, his hand found hold in her hair, and his lips moved over hers with fervor. She wasn’t sure who opened to the other first, but in a flash their tongues were dueling for dominance. Instead of admitting defeat, Devi pulled his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down. He, honest to god, whimpered in response. She smiled against mouth before he swallowed her smile with one, two, and then three slow languid kisses. He pulled away, pressed her to his chest that she could feel was heaving. When she looked up to meet his eye, they were closed again, but he wore the most breathtaking smile she’d ever seen.

“Mm... I want to take my time with you,” he told her, pressing another kiss to her lips. She blushed at his implication. “God, I am not going to forget this any time soon.”

“Mood, my guy. Big mood,” she agreed, sitting up next to him.

He turned so he was halfway facing her, and his left hand took refuge on her thigh. “Can I ask you something?” he asked, waiting for her nod before continuing. “Okay, I don’t want to pop this, like, bubble we’re in right now, but… what does this mean going forward?”

“Paxton…” her eyes softened. She knew what she wanted, but with her job, how could she…

“Devi, listen. I know it’s my fault that you’re my therapist. I know that I made this difficult, but I really just wanted to see you, and now? I know one thing for sure, I really don’t want to wait another eight years to kiss you again.” he sighed, and repositioned again so he was fully facing her, clasping her hands in his. “I’ll wait for four weeks if it’ll make you happy. I’ll be your dirty little secret if that’s what you want. Just don’t turn me down. Let me take you to dinner, bring you flowers, make you soup when you’re sick. Give me a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

“Honestly, I’m stuck on ‘dirty little secret.’”

He smirked. “Lingering looks… shirtless assessments… secret dates… secret hookups,” he told her sensually, pausing between each suggestion to press a kiss first to her lips, then the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and finally ended by sucking her earlobe into his mouth and dragging his teeth over it. She shuddered under him, and felt him smile against her neck. “Do you like that idea?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

[gra-sonas]

In-depth interview with L’Odet

Michael is an actor based in Los Angeles. He's known for his work on The CW's "Roswell, New Mexico." The second season of Roswell dropped on Netflix this week. Photos by Davy Kesey for his Reflections series, a photographic pursuit of vulnerable, multifaceted, and deeply personal portraits.

CARIANN BRADLEY: What did your day to day look like filming the second season of "Roswell, New Mexico?" I know in our first chat together several months ago, you told me you tapped into your friend passing away this time last year. Can you explain to me your process?

MICHAEL VLAMIS: Season two of "Roswell" — it was crazy because so many things happened to me personally going into the season. A buddy of mine passed away; I recovered his body in the middle of an ocean after a freak boating accident . Friends and I were out in Panama, Central America, for a bachelor party and it went from the greatest time ever to one of the most wild experiences of my life. The kid that we lost was one of my childhood best friends.

That happened in May. Shortly after that, I tore my meniscus in my right knee, which is the third time I’ve done that, so I underwent surgery at the end of July. Once that surgery happened, I had to report to the set of "Roswell" about three days later. I couldn’t drive, so one of my roommates actually drove me out to Santa Fe — my roommate Roarke Anderson who I have lived with since college, we played baseball together at Chapman. And then I get out to the shoot and everybody is so worried about me because of my knee surgery. I’m limping and it’s hard for me to be standing on set or doing any physical contact and everybody is babying me so hard! I’m really bad at taking help. The "Roswell" cast and crew were so supportive, so helpful — they got me my own custom chair that I could sit in so my knee would heal quicker.

They were doing all of these things, going out of their way, and I don’t know if it’s a thing that I have — pride or ego or my stubbornness — but taking help from people, even when I need it, is tough for me. I was taking all of this help and then three weeks into shooting, the doctor said, “You can drive, but you don’t want to be hitting the break too hard; take care of your knee.” And on my way to set one morning, a priest turned right in front of me at a green light and I smoked this guy in my car; I totaled my car. He got knocked unconscious, but luckily he was okay, everything worked out — he was healthy, he got taken away from the scene but was able to walk away from the hospital and was doing fine. Right at that time, I was really just feeling the death of my friend, the knee surgery, the car accident — meanwhile, Max, my brother in the show, played by Nathan Parsons of course, is dead in the series.

So, while all of this is going on, I keep channeling my buddy and that horrific incident because it felt like if anything was gonna come out of that — he was a big supporter of my career, always telling people I was acting — I felt like I could do justice to my friend’s death, I could make a positive out of such a negative, and that’s what I did. I really tried to channel him and look to him between scenes and bring that for the loss of my brother in the show.

And, to be honest, I felt like I went too deep into that and it really caught up to me. A month and a half into shooting I just snapped one day. I remember the hair stylist on set all of the sudden told me that The CW thought the right side of my hair wasn’t as curly as it normally is, so they started curling my curls on set and, it’s so funny that that ended up being the last straw. Curling my curls made me feel like a helpless individual who just needed to be so pampered and taken care of and watched after and looked upon — and I didn’t feel like my own person. I ended up saying a dick comment to our hair stylist, who I love and really respect and appreciate, but in that moment I snapped and I got all teary-eyed and she was like, “Dude, what’s going on?” And I gave her a big hug and I’m like, “I’m sorry, this isn’t about you at all,” and I went to my trailer and I wrote a poem and I kind of got out everything I was feeling. From that moment on, which was about six weeks into shooting, I felt better. I had a little bit of a relief. And then, luckily, Max comes back to life halfway through season two and my big episode, episode five, when I channeled my buddy the most was a very tough experience. But once that was over I was able to let the passing of my friend go for a while and everything normalized, but that was everything just on set! You just get so focused on doing your best work that you kind of drive yourself insane.

C: Even just from talking to you the first time we chatted for l’Odet, you just seem like the most productive person ever. How do you take care of yourself? Especially when you’re exerting that much of yourself creatively. Do you do therapy or do you just depend on your support system?

M: I think that changes. At one point in my life it was meditation. I actually meditated for the first time this morning since February because I’ve been feeling so strange lately in the pandemic, right? It’s been ups and downs and I was feeling like I needed a little bit more calmness in my life. I know that I’m a person that really likes control and I like things the way they are and me having a grasp on things — it’s little things. I have a driveway that we park all five of the cars of the house and the cars are parked just back to back to back, so if you’re the first one in, you have to go to your roommates and say, “Hey guys, I have to do a car shuffle, I have to leave,” and it can be an inconvenience for people to go move their cars for you to get out. When I’m meditating and my mind is very relaxed, that doesn't bother me, but I’ve been noticing lately that I don’t want to park in the driveway because I’m gonna get stuck, but at a time like this? When I don’t have to go anywhere, I don’t have to be anywhere, why am I thinking about being stuck? What is going on right there? Why do I need this control again? This feeling of absolute freedom whenever I want when I can achieve that freedom mentally with my car being in the driveway. Little things like that make me realize that I need to get back to centering myself, so I’m going to start meditating again every day, because you asked what I do for my mental health — to be completely honest, I don’t really take care of myself that much!

I’m just kind of a go, go, go person and I like pushing myself. I look at life like a big video game; the more levels I can beat, the more fun it is, but eventually, you get tired of the game and you have to step back so I’m going to try to be putting meditation back into my life. Aside from that, I’ve been reading way more during the pandemic. I’ve read three books, "The Little Prince" is one of them; it’s a children’s book, but you can call it that! I read a book! I’ve read like three books which is more than I’ve read all through "Roswell" because I was just so occupied with writing, so that’s been helping me take a step back and unwind. Aside from that, I need pointers! I need to figure out what taking care of myself actually looks like, because it is peaks and valleys when it comes to my mental health.

C: It seems like you're always working, even when you're not shooting. You're a bit addicted to work, maybe?

M: I think so. I think I’m addicted to accomplishing things that I don’t even think I should be able to accomplish. The people that fascinate me are the Donald Glovers of the world. The guys, and women, who you hear they did something and you’re like, “How?!” How did they make a hit album, a hit TV show, act in all these movies, write for a TV show — all these things that just don’t seem feasible, but he accomplished them! I want that. I like that. I like being the person who is always pushing to just be outside of their comfort zones and accomplish something that was a dream at one point in your life that could turn into reality. I’m really fascinated by that whole process or turning dreams into reality.

C: I think people our age can get really discouraged if one thing doesn’t work out and for a person to be able to keep going, for it to only motivate them more — I think that’s probably a superpower.

M: Superpower or just a big ego! It’s one of the two. Ego is something that I’ve thought about heavily. I’ve blown relationships in the past because of ego, I think my acting work five years ago wasn’t good because of ego. Then you get stripped down, you get beaten down by life, and you get a little more comfortable with the uncomfortable and I think that’s where the best work comes from. For me, yeah, I think I just really like pushing myself. I do see life like this video game, so if one door closes, you don’t put the game down, you don’t all of a sudden stop playing, no, you keep playing in order to beat it! And sometimes that might mean buying the cheat code book or asking a friend how to beat this level or whatever it is, but those little things to figure out how to get past what you’re stuck with — I love those moments. I love getting through something that doesn’t seem like something I can accomplish.

C: Yeah, and something I wrote down, actually, was that from watching "Roswell" season two, I feel like your character is very jaded and he almost needs stuff proven to him to believe that good things can happen. Which makes sense because of all the shit he’s been through and all the trauma that he’s experienced in his life, but were you ever like that personally? Even after this really traumatic experience happened with your friend, are you more jaded because of all these things that have happened in the last year?

M: You know what? No, I’m not. Maybe I should be but, no. I have a tough time living life without leaving my heart on my sleeve and being vulnerable. I think the beauty is in vulnerability, and I admit that I’m not always good at that. I’m actually realizing I’m really bad at that when it comes to relationships with a woman that I may love. It can be very hard for me to say exactly what I want or what I’m feeling. I don’t know why that is exactly, but when it comes to anything else in life, I can say anything I want, anything I’m feeling — I could spill my guts to the cashier at a gas station and I can be okay with that and who I am. So, no, not jaded. The experience that I had with my friend passing, that has just made me more aware, right? Just knowing that accidents like that, freak accidents, like what happened to him on a boat in the middle of Central America at a time where you didn’t think you had a care in the world — that can be flipped on its head in a second. So, just kind of knowing that and that might mean me looking across the street, left and right an extra time, but just kind of learning from every experience but still moving ahead as if I’m just this kid in this world for the first time, soaking everything in. And if I get hurt, that’s just a part of the process. Me being a masochist for my art, because the more I get hurt in real life, the better my art is. It’s kind of a weird balance. If I wasn’t an actor, maybe I wouldn’t feel that way, but I’ve always been this way even before I started acting in my senior year of college. So, that’s tough. I don’t think I’ve been like Michael Guerin, though, where I’m just reaching for answers all the time. I, in the past, prove to myself that I’m a good person or I’m wanted or that I actually can find success in the things I love. It’s just put the hard hat on and go to work and keep plugging away.

C: Interesting. I think that you have really done a good job of truly just drawing on those experiences then, because you really portray that through Guerin really well. I mean, he’s just so different than you which, I mean, is how acting is supposed to be, I guess, right? [Laughs] I guess I don’t know too much about acting.

M: No, definitely! And maybe we even talked about this in the last interview, but I was always so surprised that Carina MacKenzie, our showrunner, said that, as an actor, I am the most different in real life than I am as my character. It kind of blew my mind! I feel like I am Michael Guerin! I feel like everything Michael Guerin does is exactly how Michael Vlamis would react in a situation, but the difference is, when it comes to acting, the truth I’m bringing is under the circumstances of Michael Guerin. So, what he’s going through is exactly how I would react in those situations, but I’m just not in those situations because that’s not how I think or operate in my life! But if I was to do that, then that is what you would get. So, it doesn’t feel that far off for me because I have all those things in me, that is who I am, a lot of those feelings of anger or jealousy or the feeling of not being loved or proving yourself, being wanted. I have all that stuff, it’s just not coming out on a daily basis because, in life, I like to keep things light for the most part — I like to make jokes all the time, but, deep down, I’m a very serious person who's had to work on anger issues in the past and had to really find balance in how I react to certain situations. The beautiful thing about Guerin is that I can just be the worst parts of me. I can put that on screen because that’s interesting to watch, you know?

C: I’m interested to see you in other stuff. I’m interested to see if your biopic gets made and stuff too, I haven’t seen you in anything else. Or write anything, you know?

M: Well, a lot of people haven’t, which is so funny to me, because I have been doing self-tape auditions right now for movies that are trying to be cast and no idea when production is going to happen, but people are trying to do virtual auditions, trying to fill their cast so that they can go shoot once this pandemic is over. A lot of things I’m auditioning for are comedies, but people are like, “Can he do comedy?” Which is so funny! Comedy is my bread and butter. Comedy is probably what I do better than anything, but people don’t know me as that! They knew me as that initially and that’s why I couldn't even get an audition on "Roswell," because I was the comedy guy, and now I’m, like, the dramatic guy. [Laughs] You always have to prove to people and make them see that you can't be put in a box. It will be very cool for the world to see me acting in other projects and, actually, my first feature film that I produced and starred in called “Five Years Apart” just picked up a distribution deal through an amazing distributor and in the states. We’ve got sales happening in foreign markets right now; we’ve locked up like three territories out of seventeen worldwide and this movie is very special to me. It’s an indie dramatic comedy, pretty much about two estranged brothers coming together over a wild weekend and a very specific incidence happens that forces them together and it’s very funny. It’s a really fun movie. It was a thirteen-day shoot in LA.

C: Wow! That’s not long at all!

M: No, no! It was very quick. We didn’t have a lot of money, you know? A lot of people said that we couldn’t make the movie for double of what we ended up making it for. Everybody who said that to us, these were line producers who have done big, successful movies, and were just doing us a favor with budgeting, and it comes down to that video game mentality again. Oh, you think I can’t make for this much? Okay, watch me make it for half of that and still do a good job! I don’t know, that might be the whole pride aspect — stubbornness, ego or whatever, but I’m very proud of this movie. We won best ensemble cast at the LA Indie Film Fest last year where it premiered and then we recently picked up distribution. Once this pandemic is over that movie should hit screens, hopefully a few theaters, and then some of the streaming platforms. People will see me in a totally different role than Michael Guerin.

C: I can’t wait to see it, that sounds awesome.

M: And then, for the writing, the Mac Miller biopic was the first dramatic screenplay I wrote. It’s funny that the drama that I write gets my writing partner and I all the meetings. We’ve met with some major companies since that script made The Black List, but all the other projects we have are all big studio comedies. We’re even about to finish, here in the pandemic, writing my next movie. We’re about 75% done with that and we’ll have a mob action comedy done within the next few weeks.

C: Oh my god! You’re so productive; it’s insane. It’s so amazing.

M: I just go, go, go, you know? I don’t know if it’s very healthy but it excites me. I live for the excitement. I live for the thrill. I live for the unknown. I was talking to my mom the other day and, I didn’t even know this story, but I guess when we were kids, my sisters and I — if I wanted something, my mom, even before I could really speak, was talking to me, asking questions. She was trying to get me to figure out what I wanted or how to get through a certain situation. If I had a problem with homework and I took it to her, she wouldn’t just do it for me or even just teach me how to do it, she would really push me to figure out how to do it myself. So, I think this feeling that I have really stems from those early days of always having to figure things out on my own. Of course, she would help me if I really, really needed it, but she always made me figure stuff out on my own and I take a lot of pride in that. I like doing that. I don’t know, maybe that’s where the productivity comes or maybe it comes from just not feeling like I’m ever really enough. I don’t actually know, but I know I’ve felt that in certain parts of my life, but I think I’m over that. Yet, the productivity remains.

C: And you can be proud when you make things because you’re actually doing the shit yourself. You’re actually self-made. You didn’t get this stuff handed to you.

M: Yeah, and also, don’t get me wrong, all the work that I do — these are my hobbies. What I do for a living are my hobbies, so I don’t think of it as productivity. I think of it as, this is what I need to do every single day. If I’m not doing something, I feel useless. I’ve had those bouts, and I don’t know if that’s healthy or maybe that is just me. Maybe I am just a born storyteller, that’s what I like to do. I like to sit around with friends, tell stories, hear their stories, figure out the little details that made that story so interesting, and then move on to the next story.

C: I mean, I don’t think it’s necessarily wrong or bad to have a lifeline, especially in a time like that. It’s necessary; it’s what keeps us going.

M: Exactly. At the beginning of this quarantine, we were not writing, we were just figuring out our lives — what are these next few months going to look like? I was depressed. Then we started diving into this script every day and, all of a sudden, I have this purpose again. That keeps me going. That’s definitely helpful for my mental health.

C: I feel similarly about projects. I think I do tie a lot of my self-worth into success or self-defined success which isn’t always great, but it keeps me hustling. I’m never just sitting around like, “Oh, what am I gonna do?” I’m doing the shit that’s in my head and I want to make it happen.

M: There’s something very fulfilling about that.

C: I don’t have sympathy for people who just sit around and don’t know how to start living your life.

M: I know! I used to be that way even more but over the years I’ve realized that people didn’t have parents like I had. My dad was very tough on me, but always pushed me to be the best version of myself — both my parents did. Were my dad’s ways the best ways to do it? I don’t know. If you tell a lot of people how my dad was, they might think there’s some problems there, but guess what? It worked for me. I think about it as these other people who maybe aren’t feeling the same way as I am about productivity, whatever it may be, maybe they didn’t have the drive instilled in them from their parents. Immediately they’re at a disadvantage. It’s hard to judge somebody without knowing exactly how they were raised because I’m really realizing as I get older that that has defined who I am so much.

C: That’s true.

M: I don’t know. I mean, I’m 30 years old now. I turned 30 during the quarantine. I’ve experienced loss in a different way. Swimming up to a body floating in the ocean that you think you’re going to turn over and it’s going to be your buddy just making a goof! Just messing around. Pretending he’s floating in the water and then you turn him around and you realize this is way more serious that I thought it ever could’ve been. Living through a moment like that just makes you feel more and more. A lot of people take a step out of their body and they stop feeling because they don’t want to be heartbroken again or hurt. I’m a little bit the other way.

I kind of step up a little more. I think that getting so deep into that story — it’s a weird story to tell, but when my buddy died in Panama, I was the one that found him. I was an all-state swimmer as a kid in elementary school! Like, fifty-yard freestyle! I was very fast. So I’m thinking to myself, okay, he’s in the water, I’m probably the most capable of saving him, should something actually be wrong. I dove overboard into the ocean and swam as fast as I could into a pool of blood. I found my buddy and it was not a pretty sight. We got his body back onto the boat, got him to the hospital on the island, which looked like a rundown motel in East Hollywood, and he didn't have a chance. And then it’s this group of ten guys, some of us have been best friends forever, some of us just meeting for the first time because, maybe, college friends are involved and invited instead of just the high school buddies that grew up together. How these ten guys banned together and were there for each other to contact the family back in the states, let them know what happened, and go to the U.S. Embassy in Panama, talk to the authorities, the police, the doctors, and really step up. It’s just been an amazing, horrible experience — something I wish on nobody.

But it opened me up a lot and surprised me, especially with my buddies from the Southside of Chicago who I would never, ever in a million years thought would go to therapy. Those are the guys that make fun of therapy, right? Even I did at one point growing up. I thought, therapy? Who needs therapy? And then you go and you realize it’s a really healthy thing! I was really ignorant for thinking anything less than how important it is. But those guys are in therapy now and it’s helping them and I thought that that was such a cool thing to come from that experience. These masculine men who have kind of realized that it’s okay to actually be in touch with yourself.

C: Michael, I’m so sorry that that happened to you and it’s a tragedy that no one should have to experience, but I just want to say thanks for being open about it and being willing to talk with me about it. What you’ve learned from it and how you’ve turned it around and used it in your life and in your art is really beautiful.

M: Thank you. I know my buddy would be very proud, if he’s watching or listening, knowing that I try to make the most out of a horrible situation. That was a lot of what was on my mind during the photoshoot for this and the year anniversary just came up. Sometimes I tell that story and laugh. Such a horrific story but I’m laughing because it doesn’t even seem real! Then I go on a socially distant photoshoot on a trail in the middle of nowhere with Davy; when he asked me about it, it caused me to kind of dive into myself and how I’m feeling. I think a lot of those feelings about my buddy…they didn’t go anywhere, you know? No matter how much I mask them, they didn’t go anywhere. I think a lot of that came in the photos that he took. [Davy] definitely has a special touch for getting the truth out of people.

C: I’m honored that you talked to me about it and that I’m gonna get to show these photos on my website. I’m really thankful and I appreciate you.

M: I appreciate you! I love your interviews, they’re always my favorite. The most raw, organic conversations we can have are what I like and that’s what you do. I appreciate that.

C: Thank you for saying that.

M: Of course.

C: Is there anything else that you wanted to talk about while I have you?

M: I think I should thank anyone who’s reading this that has purchased merch from our second season merch line which just wrapped up a couple weeks ago — thank you so much. We beat our numbers from last year. I thought people maybe had enough merch out of me for once, but we crushed our numbers from last year in just a two week span!

C: That’s amazing.

M: It is so amazing! It’s so cool. I think it’s a big testament to my business partner Jesa Joy, who prints all of my merch and softens every single piece so it feels vintage, one of a kind. People got that merch and it could easily be a gimmicky thing, but instead, we’re really making quality clothes starting with Jesa Joy and that’s keeping people coming back. Hopefully, with how open I am on social media, I think that’s resonating with the fans and they appreciate that so the more I give, the more they give. It’s just this beautiful thing that’s setting me up to potentially have my own fashion line one day, maybe take it from merch to fashion, and that’s a goal of mine for many years down the road. The fact that all of my fans are so supportive and just totally understand my humor and what I’m doing means the world to me. It’s just a really cool thing to see and find success in. Otherwise, I pitched for that TV show, one of my childhood idols, one of the biggest comedic actors of all time, and we’re trying to get him attached to my show. He might say no and that’s totally okay because we got him laughing! He was laughing throughout our pitch yesterday and it felt so special. So, maybe, if we did this interview in a week, I’d have amazing news or maybe I would be bummed out because the guy doesn’t get attached to the show. Either way, it’s been experiences like that, little moments where you’re down, you’re out, you’re feeling depressed, and then you’re making a childhood hero of yours laugh over a zoom pitch. Moments like that have really helped me through quarantine — finding those small, little wins every now and then.

C: The wins are important.

M: And the win isn’t that you win! It’s not the outcome, it’s the process which I always thought was such bullshit. “Trust the process,” and I didn’t want to trust the process! I wanted to make the process! That’s not possible, you know? It’s only possible to a certain extent, you really have to let things play out as they want to and I’m finding the wins in letting things play out the way the universe wants them to.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #331

my head hurts way too badly to think up some intro lyrics, so just g’night.

Have you ever become good friends with someone you never met in person? Oh yeah, I've had best friends over the Internet. Hell, I'm closer to many online friends than I am most irl ones. They know "the real me" more. What do you consider your default mood to be? Stressed, probably. Discontent. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive for? Not long. Proper goldfish husbandry is a very neglected topic, and I sure as hell never knew how to set up its tank adequately. Have you ever been paintballing? No, don't plan to. It looks like it hurts like a bitch. Do you want a large wedding? No. Did you ever collect any sort of cards? I had a very small collection of Pokemon cards. I didn't collect them avidly. What’re the best and worst books you ever had to read for a class? The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton was the best. The worst was some book we had to read in the 6th grade about a kid during some war that moved around a lot... I don't remember the name or who wrote it, but it sucked. What’s the best meal you had at an amusement park, or If you haven’t been to one, how about a good meal at another place like a zoo, aquarium or museum? I don't know. I haven't been to many. Who, whether a person or company, emails you the most? My PHP therapist emails me a check-in sheet and Zoom link every day there's a therapy session. What kind of sound or noise freaks you out the most and why do you think it scares you? Let's seeeee... I don't know if there's a sound that actually freaks me out. There are some I don't like, but none that like, frighten me. At least that I can think of. What’s the strangest art piece you’ve come across? Biiiitch there's a painting in Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs I'm not gonna go into, but shit fuckin wild. What’s the most clever or unique name you’ve come across for a business? I've definitely heard some cool ones, but I don't know about one that really stands out to answer this. If you had to name one of your hypothetical future children after a song, which song would you pick? Maybe like... okay, I'm blanking. Good thing I'm not having kids to name then, right? What’s the last song you heard? "Down in the Park" by Marilyn Manson is on atm. What is your favorite line from a TV show? *shrug* Any current family issues? No. How many hours do you spend online a day? How do you feel about that? I'm doing something on the computer pretty much... always. I hate it, and I hate it a lot. I don't want my life to be tied solely to the digital plane. I want to do more than bounce back and forth from website to website. Do you think that people have the power to make their own lives better? Absolutely, but there are some things they simply cannot change. It's about perspective and how you play the deck you're dealt. What is the biggest problem in your life right now? Right now, the most limiting thing is my physical health, probably. Just walking being torture affects my ability to exercise, and my body is a major reason - if not the biggest, at this current time - for my depression. This also plays a massive role in jobs I can handle. Not to sound like my emo self writing middle school poetry, but my body feels like a prison. Do you feel that you are loved? I know I am by some people, though I have a hard time understanding why a lot. What is the one thing you want most from life? Life satisfaction. Pride in what I've accomplished. A regular state of being content. Birthplace? I'm just gonna say in eastern NC. Do you believe in love at first sight? No, merely infatuation. Love is much too deep for that. Do you think dreams eventually come true? Some can, but usually only if you put effort into making that so. Favorite fictional character? like ummmmmmmm have you heard of this sassy bastard called Darkiplier- Go to the movies or rent? Before Covid, I loved going to the theater. It was something to do, plus a giant screen is nice. McDonalds or Burger King? McD's. I'm not a big BK fan. I only really went there during my vegetarian phase for the veggie burger. Current annoyance? This motherfucking headache. Last thing you ate? I have a meal replacement shake with me right now, if you consider that "eating." I didn't have a proper dinner. The last solid food I had though was some cookies and cream Greek yogurt. Last thing you bought? With my own money, I think I bought Mom and I some cheap McDonald's order semi-recently? Or maybe paying my $100 deposit for my tattoo was most recent, idk. Soonest thing you are looking forward to? For Mom to get her CT scan and find out what's going on in there. What did you do today? It was a pretty average day. I woke up way too early, though. The only thing even semi-unique about today was I played World of Warcraft for a few hours again; I've been quite unattached to it lately, but I went through an episode today of actually having fun playing. Oh, and I've been battling a migraine. It's more of a severe headache now, at least, but it still sucks big time. Do you like to see it snowing outside? Oh yes, absolutely! When you were in high school did you ever have bomb threats? I believe once we did from a very volatile student that honestly caused quite a lot of trouble. He's dead now. Who knows ALL of your secrets? Nobody. Did you have a job before you were in college? No. Have you ever thought about what it would be like to have a baby right now? That's a terrifying thought, no. Are you on birth control? Yeah, but just because it tames my menstrual cramps. Without it, they could be debilitating some days. Who is your last sent text to? My best fren. Have you ever eaten at Chipotle before? Possibly? Idr. Do you swear often? Excessively. I had a dirty mouth prior, but my swearing got really bad when I started staying at Jason's house a lot. He and especially his mother swear like mad. Do you own any shirts with a peace symbol on it? No. Do you have your national flag hanging up anywhere outside your house? Not at this house, no. Would you ever go to Japan? Oh, yes. I would love to. It's... very morbid, but I would really like to walk the (public) paths of Aokigahara Forest, nicknamed "Suicide Forest" for the horrible amount of, well, suicides that happen there via hanging. Like, you might just casually run into a dead body. I want to just... feel it there, walk in silence and empathize with people who didn't know what else to do and hope so deeply that those departed know they were never alone in their pain. I know with absolute certainty I'd probably be teary-eyed the whole time and cry a whoooole lot, but it's just an experience I want to have. What was the last thing you went to Walmart for? Some basic groceries. What should you be doing right now? Sleeping, given this headache... I just don't want to yet. Are you afraid of getting your heart broken? I'm fucking terrified of that ever happening again, far more than words can properly express. Have you ever been in a choir? Yes, actually; when I was a Catholic kid, my sisters and I were in the church choir for a year or so, idr. Do you have a Twitter? Yes, but only to like Mark's tweets, haha. Oh, and very rarely enter giveaways I'm interested in. Describe your retainers to me, if you have them, that is. I have a permanent metal one behind my front row of bottom teeth to keep those straight. My upper teeth had one of those normal retainers you take in and out, but I didn't wear it enough, so now it doesn't even fit. Would you like for someone to call you right now? No. I'm tired, my head hurts, and I'm enjoying the song I'm bingeing. It's so weird, I rarely ever go on music hunting trips (no real reason, I just... don't), but I've found great shit lately. Do you like to brush your teeth? No; it's a chore. I only do it because I don't want my teeth decaying, falling out, or getting too yellow, and the taste in your mouth and gritty texture on your teeth isn't exactly great when you don't brush. Have you ever had a surgery? Two. Give out your phone number over the internet? I have over private messages. Do you look older or younger than you actually are? Given my wardrobe (like graphic tees and band shirts), I probably look younger in the eyes of especially older people. I personally say I look my age, though. When is the next time you’ll be up on stage? I never plan to be again. What is the last show that you watched a full episode of? Some cooking show with Mom. Nailed It!, I think? Do you know anyone who lives in Utah? No. I love Utah, though; it's actually a place I'd be willing to live in with just how pretty it is and not super populated. Do you get your feelings hurt easily? VERY. I'm probably one of the most sensitive people you can meet. Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? Yeah. Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Ugh, yes. What kind of vitamins did you take as a kid? First we took those nasty, chalky Flintstones kinds, but as time passed, Mom moved onto giving us gummy bear vitamins that were perfectly fine. Did you get any compliments today? No. Are you friends with your neighbors? Not "friends," no. What towns have you lived in? Three different ones. That's all you're getting. Have you ever thrown up from drinking? No. Done any illegal drugs? No. I mean I've had some alcohol underage, but I've never done anything remotely hardcore. What’s the longest amount of time you’ve been on an airplane without changing flights? Idk. Who have you texted today? My mom and best friend. What time did you wake up this morning? Ugh, like five in the fucking morning. I couldn't go back to sleep. What is your favorite condiment to go with french fries? Ketchup. What do you have a habit of doing when engaging in a conversation with someone? Making shitty eye contact, and I'm one of those people who "talks with [their] hands." I also lose my train of thought a whoooole lot. Have you ever layed in a hammock? Yeah; we had one growing up. Have you ever lost a pet in a tragic way? How did you cope? Well yeah, I've had lots of pets, so thus lost some in particularly painful ways. The most scarring loss of a pet though is as follows: Teddy, my dog, picked up one of our cat's very young, wandering kittens in his jaws in a manner that looked as if he was trying to carry it like Aphrodite (the mother cat) does when she would bring them back behind the couch, where she gave birth/had her little "nest." I absolutely freaked and had to pry the kitten from his mouth, and it slowly died in my hands. I think Teddy accidentally crushed its ribs. I. Was. A. Mess. Then, there was Aphrodite herself. I've told the story before of our former neighbors calling animal control because our cats would wander through their yard, and all of our cats were taken away while I was unaware at school. Came home, and they were all gone. Aphrodite was my baby, so I was devastated. Screaming, sobbing, cursing on the porch for like 20 minutes... It was awful. What type of curtains do you like? I don't... know? I don't know the actual names of any types... What type of quality is a must-have in a friend? I absolutely cannot be friends with someone who thinks they're above everyone else. Are you any good at reading someone's body language? I think I am. What goes good with a nice cold glass of milk? Cookies! Especially Oreos. Dip it in there for around five seconds, and it's perfection. What fruit is too sweet to you? Grapefruit came to mind first. How did you feel after your first kiss? I had butterflies galore and was so giddy and smiley. After the first, I just wanted to kiss him a billion more times. What’s your favorite constellation and why? I don't have one. Shower curtain or door? Curtain. The glass doors are too revealing. Have you ever thought to yourself that you’re the luckiest person in the world? Most deeeeefinitely not. What time of day do you most enjoy looking at the sky? Sunset if there are clouds present, but sunrise if the sky is pretty clear.

[wellesleyunderground]

Wellesley Underground Interview with Founders (Sara Hess ‘08 and Shavanna Calder ‘08) of Feminist Fashion & Beauty Magazine, MUJER!

Need a break from the politics? Dive into the making of Issue No.2 of MUJER! Magazine. Interview by Camylle Fleming ‘14.

1. Wellesley Underground (WU): Tell us about the origin of MUJER! Magazine and bring us up to speed on the November launch.

Sara Hess ‘08, Editor in Chief: MUJER! has been a long time coming for us. Ever since Shavanna and I were swapping clothes from each other’s closets when we were roommates at Wellesley, we’ve had an interest in fashion and over the years we’d often played around with the idea of doing a fashion related project together. MUJER! came about in late 2017 when I had reached a point of being really frustrated with fashion magazines (all of the ads and the Photoshop, the lack of any real content and focus on hyper consumption). I also was disappointed to see that several of the fashion bloggers I’d followed over the years and enjoyed for their authenticity were following the same route as they transitioned from blogs to Instagram and started posting highly stylized Photoshopped pics that were all sponsored and very phony. Finally, I had recently turned 30 and it then occurred to me that I was older than nearly all the models I saw in the major fashion publications, which is insane when you think about it. I told Shavanna what I was thinking of doing-- a feminist fashion and beauty mag, all models 25+, no Photoshop on their faces or bodies, more racial and ethnic diversity, a focus on more sustainable production and consumption and no ads. Shavanna is an amazing stylist and has a great eye for design so I was super excited when she agreed to be creative director. I was living between Mexico City and New York at the time. I had developed some contacts in the fashion industry in Mexico and really admired the fashion scene there, which is one of the reasons we went with the name MUJER! It took us about 6-7 months to produce the content for the first print edition which was published in September 2018. 

2.WU: How did fashion and beauty become sites of contestation and rebellion for you two?

Sara: I grew up in a small town in rural Pennsylvania and was constantly getting in trouble for breaking the dress code at my public school. It’s ironic because I was definitely a major nerd-- not your typical rebel. In junior high, I was really upset to find out I had not been accepted to the National Junior Honor Society. I asked one of my teachers why and he told me that it was because the shorts that I wore to school were often too short. Honestly, it was not my intention to be risque. I was just awkwardly going through puberty and had legs that were too long for my body and it was impossible to find shorts that were long enough and didn’t look dorky. After that, I went through a punk rocker phase, where again clothing is a form of rebellion. I was totally into the early Gwen Stefani punk looks. I would get picked on a lot by classmates but then a few months later everyone would be wearing what I had been wearing before, which would be my cue to change styles because I never wanted to look like everyone else. For me, it became a way to stand out and to push back against conservative influences. 

Shavanna Calder ‘08, Creative Director: I can’t say that I’ve thought of fashion for most of my life as a site of rebellion. I just wore what I liked and (especially as a kid) what was on trend.

I had hip surgery 5 years ago and have struggled to be able to wear heels after that. In some ways that forced me to rethink how to dress for formal situations (without heels). Though I am working towards wearing heels again through physical therapy (my profession requires it), I’ve found a certain level of pride in showing other women that we can still look dressed up/professional etc. without wearing heels. Also embracing flatforms has been fun! 

I think beauty, more so, has always been a site of contestation and rebellion for me as a Black woman. Growing up and having hair that was different than most of my friends. Makeup and hair supplies that we had to drive an extra distance for. Reading different magazines than my friends because teen vogue (at that time), seventeen etc never catered to me (thank God for Essence). Now, being natural, my hair oftentimes is a point of rebellion/contestation as I educate and ask for the things that I need as a Black artist instead of accepting the burden of sitting in silence. 

Founders Shavanna + Sara (above)

3. WU: On social media, you’ve discussed the initiative of “showing women as they actually exist in the world”. Can you describe some of the images you two grew up with and how they are in conversation with MUJER!

Shavanna: In some ways growing up when I did, I feel like I did get to see images of women (more often) without photoshop and a ton of contouring etc because that just wasn’t on trend. It’s one thing I miss about the early 2000’s. That being said, the rest of the content oftentimes centered around ways to get men, look flirty etc etc. For us I think “showing women as they actually exist in the world” goes beyond imaging to the content of the magazine (the stories and issues that are discussed) as well as the lack of harmful ads encouraging women to alter their bodies by buying certain products etc. We are able to highlight a diverse group of female identifying folx and the complexity of us instead of the monolith that I often see portrayed.

4. WU: What are the ways in which your Mexico City base contributes to the core principles of MUJER!

Sara: Mexico City is just my heart and soul. I don’t know how else to describe it. It makes me turn to mush as though I’m talking about someone I’m in love with. The creative and design scene here is out of this world funky and unique and I really feel that I can wear anything going out here at night. People are elegant and cool and put a great deal of thought into how they present themselves. The fashion scene is authentic and fun and nowhere near as pretentious as it is in other parts of the world. We try to reflect this creativity and sincerity in MUJER! as well.

Shavanna: Additionally I’ll say that people have really embraced us there. There is an openness, flexibility and sense of collaboration that has made it super easy to throw any ideas we have out there and run with it (more than I’ve seen in other parts of the world).

5. WU: For those of us who are new to publication production, can you walk us through the steps of creating content, finding models, artwork, all without the filler of advertisements?

Sara: We are also new to magazine production, ha! We started by basically bringing together people we knew from the fashion world here in Mexico City. I have a dear friend, Jenny. She’s a stylist from Sweden and was working on the sets of reality shows here so she kind of kicked me into gear to do the first beauty shoot. She had a lot of experience doing shoots so she helped me get a great photographer and scout a location and models. We’ve really been blessed with meeting all of the right people at the right moment. We found a wonderful lead graphic designer, Celina Arrazola who happened to know the neighborhood where all the printers are and was an expert in hand binding books. Advertisements were never an option so we self-finance the production, which was and is intense.

Shavanna: Yes, as Sara mentioned we’re incredibly new to this and are (honestly) still figuring a lot out as we go. However, generally we come up with ideas/stories together that excite us, that we haven’t seen in other fashion magazines. We then reach out to female identifying folx to help us realize these ideas (because we want to support female entrepreneurs as well). The hardest part will be figuring out how to make it sustainable (and take the more of the financial burden off of Sara) and we’re in the process of sorting that out the best way we can!

5a. WU: Okay, same question. Add COVID, go:

Sara: Now, because of COVID, our plans to do another print edition were derailed so we decided to do a digital edition-- everyone featured sent in their own photos and instead of printing we created a PDF version of the magazine, with Celina’s excellent graphic design of course.

It essentially made printing the way we did with the first edition impossible. That was a very manual process that involved visiting the printer in person multiple times and Celina handbound the magazine, with me struggling to be useful to her by folding the pages. This time we went all digital.

Shavanna: In addition we had to become creative since we could no longer conduct shoots or interviews in person. Everything was done via email (except for Sultana’s shoot which happened pre-COVID). All other photos were submitted by the women in the issue. Whilst I missed many aspects of being in person, in some ways the challenge allowed us to lean in to our mission of showing women as we truly are. It also allowed for us to have a remote intern via Wellesley which was awesome!

6. WU: How do you want to grapple with the plurality of feminism(s) in the pages of the magazine?

Shavanna: By being truly intentional about seeking out diverse voices. By celebrating those voices and by taking our readers feedback to heart. Outside of the folx who are interviewed or featured in our magazine we attempt to employ women in the creation of the physical product as well (design, photography etc). The end result is something that has been touched by women from various parts of the world and from different walks of life.

7. WU: Can you share the story of how the magazine gained its title? How do you respond to any pushback and claims of appropriation from Latinx individuals for your usage of the word “Mujer”?

Sara: For starters, we were founded in Mexico City and at least half of our readers are native Spanish speakers. The publication, like many of its readers, is also bilingual. For the interviews and articles that are originally done in Spanish, we leave them in Spanish, only translating key quotes into English and vice versa for pieces that are originally in English. The title is also a global call to women that goes beyond the English-language paradigm.

8.WU: The fashion and beauty industry can carry both an air of superficiality and apoliticism. Tell us what people get wrong about the experience of working within it.

Sara: I think this is hard for us to get into because we are not really working in the fashion and beauty industry-- we are working parallel to it and trying to pick the piece we enjoy while also creating something new and different for women that makes them feel empowered, not inadequate.

Shavanna: Yes neither Sara nor I really work within the industry (nor have we prior to the magazine). I’ve worked as a stylist from time to time, but that’s about it. For the most part we’ve been consumers who were unhappy with what we were consuming and figured we could do something about it.

9. WU: In an effort to not over-glorify the value of success and “making it”, let’s talk about failure. Can you share with our readers what went wrong in the process of producing MUJER!?

Sara: Before our Chilanga shoot, Shavanna and I got horrible food poisoning. Like, nearly had to go to the hospital.

Shavanna: Yes we were living on pepto bismol and had just started eating plain bread and pasta the day of our shoot, but we powered through! Honestly this magazine has felt like a contribution to society that we were meant to be a part of, so despite obstacles that have come up, we know that we can’t be sidetracked.

10. WU: How do you react to the “self-care” trend and it’s correlation to the consumption of beauty products? Relatedly, how do you two take care of yourselves?

Sara: I’m an introvert who fakes being an extrovert, but I definitely know I need alone time so I try to make space for that. As of late, I try to use more natural/ organic beauty products and just less of everything period. Also sleep. Sleep is so important. Finally, I’ve decided I will deal with drama in my professional life because I feel like that’s where I’m making a contribution that’s important but I try to minimize drama in my personal life as much as possible.

Shavanna: I try to take care of myself by reminding myself that rest is ok and necessary (so hard). Practicing my faith/meditation. Asking for what I need. Going to therapy (physical and mental health). Exercising. Connecting with loved ones (friends and family). Being kind to myself.

11. WU: As a follower of your Insta page, I find myself lingering on your original posts, staring into the faces of the individuals you capture. It makes me realize how my brain has been trained to see the same faces featured in public spaces, so much so that they’ve become invisible. Can you share the favorite photos that you’ve captured and why they stand out to you?

Shavanna: My favorite photos are of Wellesley alumna Solonje Burnett. I’ve always admired Solonje’s fearlessness and creativity and I think we truly captured her essence in these. Though she is beautiful, the interview is about so much more and highlights her as the complex, multifaceted woman that she is (instead of just her beauty routine or what her house looks like).

12. WU: What does the day in the life of an Editor-in-Chief look like? How about a Creative Director?

Shavanna: We’re very collaborative. I don’t think we really have hard and fast rules as to who does what necessarily as much as it’s a partnership. One of us will propose an idea (in between juggling the rest of our lives) and we’ll discuss pros and cons and greenlight what works best and aligns with our values. We also just hold each other accountable. Right now there isn’t a typical day in the life as well just because we both have other jobs (though it would be amazing for Mujer! to continue to take off in a way that allowed us to devote more time to it). 

13. WU: Both of you currently have worked with higher education institutions (Harvard + NYU). Can you tell us a bit about your “day jobs” and the types of opportunities they have afforded you in relation to the Magazine?

Sara: While I was working at HBS, I co-authored a case study on Monocle magazine which has helped to inform some of our thinking around the business model for MUJER!

Shavanna: I worked for almost 7 years at NYU, first at Stern and then within the Faculty of Arts & Science. In terms of opportunities? I’d say actually, for me, anyway the two aren’t related. My time at NYU influenced my acting career more so than Mujer! by giving me some flexibility and certainly financial stability.

14. WU: Lastly - a question you ask your features in the upcoming digital issue: how have you been gentle with yourself during this time?

Sara: Uff, I have been eating a lot of ice cream and taking breaks when I need to. I turned off the New York Times news alerts on my phone. I still read the news everyday but this has helped a lot.

Shavanna: Uff indeed. Hm sometimes I remind myself that the fact that I’m functioning is enough. This quote from Audre Lorde has been getting me through: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” 

Working out and going for walks, journaling, therapy, being in touch with my spirituality, limiting myself on social media (or at least certain groups or accounts), listening to my body in terms of what it wants (whether that be food or change of environment). Talking to friends when I have the energy always brightens my day and constantly reminding myself to take things one moment/day at a time. This is all incredibly hard and I’m grateful to those who have been gentle with me when I struggle to be gentle with myself.

Check out the MUJER! Covid-19 digital issue here: https://www.mujerrev.com/mujer-sale Given the increase in domestic violence and gender based violence around the world during the pandemic, a portion of the proceeds from the issue will go to two organizations helping womxn that are survivors of domestic abuse and human trafficking: Women of Color Network - Blue Lips Campaign and El Pozo de Vida.

MUJER! Homepage: https://www.mujerrev.com/ MUJER! Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mujerrev/

[jamiebluewind]

Why I'm So Good At Angst

Why The Latest Episode Of Fantasy High Effected Me So Much

I got pretty emotional after the last episode and when combined with recovering from bronchitis... it wasn't a fun night. I decided to write down a bit of my history to help and then I decided to post it because... well who knows? I just felt like it. Let me make it clear; I am okay. I am going to therapy. I moved 1300 miles away from these people. Most of this was years ago. There is NO reason to treat me differently because of this. But it's dark and PTSD is a bitch sometimes. So here are the crib notes on why I'm so good at writing angst. Trigger warnings abound.

Tw: child abuse, neglect, starvation, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, insults, controling, isolation, sexism, racism, homophobia, biphobia, gross imagery, sickness, mention of surgery without consent, dark themes, blood mention, rape mention, death mention, suicide survival mention, animal abuse mention, very minor spider mention (tell me if I missed any!)

Let's start at the beginning. I was born a "mistake". My mother wanted a kid, so she went off birth control and got pregnant. They were late 20/early 30s, VERY broke, not equipped to have a child, he didn't want more kids (he already had 3 from his first marriage), and they were about to break up. Instead they got married so I wouldn't be a "bastard". Turns out, that is a bad foundation for a marriage.

They were expecting a boy when I came out. The doctor said my heartbeat was so strong that I had to be a boy, so they didn't have a name picked out. Thus James became Jamie and my parents became disappointed.

I was mildly intersex so the doctors "fixed" me, but I didn't find out for years. What I did find out was how much money I cost and what a burden I was on my family with shocking regularity. Also, nobody told my mother that babies aren't cute little bundles that you can use to get more attention. They cry, poop, eat, and repeat and they need constant care. So, I started out with the cards stacked against me.

My mother was also... not the sharpest tool in the shed. Case in point, for about the first six months of my life, my mother gave me formula that I was allergic to. My dad (worked extra shifts and odd jobs to make ends meat) only found out when he was watching me when my mother went out of town. There was a substantial amount of blood in my diaper, he called my mother, a day or two later she finally called back to tell him it was normal, he got worried and took me to the doctor, and they told him I was allergic to whey protein.

Thankfully, my dad's parents lived next door. I stayed with them a LOT. Basically lived there. I would visit my parents, say hi, and then run back next door. Mamaw (dad's mother) kept me fed, never made me feel bad for how I saw the world, and was always willing to help. I had dyslexia and every night we would sit and drill my spelling words before she would sing me to sleep. Papaw (dad's father) was great too, but more of the playful one who taught me jokes and how to play poker.

Then Papaw got sick. First cancer and then Alzheimer's. I had to start staying at home a lot. I helped as much as I could. He lived a long life. I was there when he died. Death is not like it is in the movies.

In the meantime, I had school. It was tough, but I had Mamaw helping me and a friend. We hung out on the playground together for a year or two, but my parents found out and threw a fit that the teachers had "allowed" it to happen. Because he was black. Yes. They were also racist. So my friend and I were no longer allowed to be near each other. Mamaw found the whole thing stupid.

In 6th grade, I had a teacher that hated me. Long story short, long before I was born she and her husband owed my grandparents money and they were bitter over eventually having to pay it back. So she "lost" a lot of my homework and treated me like crap.

At the end of the year (after it was already over with), my mother took me out of school and told everyone that she was going to homeschool me. She did not.

Suddenly, I was my mother's maid. I waited on her hand and foot. I did the cleaning, she told my dad that she did it while I sat on my butt, and I would get in trouble for being lazy. She gave me an allowance and then took it back saying she needed it for bills (mind you while saying they were broke because of me). She told all my friends that the number I gave them was wrong and that I had moved away. She bought homeschool books and when I eventually got stuck on every subject, she told me just to forget it and that I could eventually get my GED. She never registered me, so on paper it just looked like I dropped out of school 2 weeks before the end of the 6th grade. Nobody ever checked on me.

I rarely left the house and my mother used me to con people out of money. I went hungry a lot. Sometimes she would give me food that I was allergic to which would make me sick. Sometimes she would make me eat rotten stuff (just imagine a cabbage stew that has been sitting in the fridge for weeks and has this waxy film on top and a sour smell ones you break through. I've eaten stuff like that because she said I wasn't allowed to waste food). I snuck food out under my clothes and kept what I could hidden in my room. We had a pantry full of food too, but she said I wasn't allowed to have any of it. Things like panties and bras weren't replaced as I grew and became so tight that I still have a dent around my waist and my chest. However, the shirts she bought for me were in her size (so she could borrow them), so they were just massive on me (she was a plus sized adult).

Still, I felt like a selfish brat for asking for even minor things, so I just... existed. I had a game system in my room that helped me escape. My older half brother moved in with his wife and kid and I babysat my nephew (for free) which was... something. A second nephew came along and the pair were a handful, but I did my best.

I snuck outside as much as I could. I would jump on my trampoline (before it broke). Play with a stray dog or cat. Observe a spider. I saw Mamaw (and Papaw before he died) as much as I could, but I hid what was going on at home. Mamaw was my escape, but then she moved out of her house and into a smaller house in town. That's when it got bad. Nobody was there to notice anymore, so my mother could get away with more. Dad worked too much to see.

I asked to go back to school when I was 12 or 13. My mother told me that they would hold me back three years so I would be in a class filled with children and she would get in trouble for me being lazy. It was my fault. She made me scared to go back. Later in my mid teens, she would tell me that I wasn't allowed to tell anyone what she'd done or she would go to jail, my dad would go to jail, and I would get put in an orphanage and raped every day. At the time, I was getting physical contact so rarely that it hurt when people touched me. I had a panic attack when a doctor told me to undress for an exam. So not only did I want to protect my parents from jail, the possibility of... that... it was enough for me to not only keep quiet, but actively try to keep what she was doing from getting out.

A lot of my teenage years are rather blurry (part due to monotony and part due to the food stuff). Mamaw had a stroke and I volunteered to take care of her (which I did). My mother used me to con people out of more money (unbeknownst to my dad). I got sick a lot and was often not taken to the doctor when I should have been. I waited on my mother. I took care of my mamaw a couple days a week. My mother started taking pills and gambling heavily. I was told later that she bragged to people about being able to do as she pleased as long as she got home before her husband because her daughter was at home doing chores. When I cleaned the toilet, I had to do it barehanded with a washcloth. I'm pretty sure she poisoned me a couple times. It wasn't fun. Did I mention that her favorite book was Flowers In The Attic by V. C. Andrews? She had a copy that was extremely well worn. *shivers*

At one point, I rescued a kitten from stray dogs and got my dad to let me keep him. I got a second kitten less than a year later who was so tiny she had to be bottle fed. Their names were Punkin and Hopee and I kept going because nobody else would take care of them if I was gone. I know my motger wouldn't because they weren't fed when I wasn't there. They are the reason that I fought to survive.

At 16, my mother took me to a urologist and told me that they were going to put me under to take a urine sample from my bladder. I woke up having had a surgery on my genitals to make them more feminine. Yes, I know how messed up that sounds. I had to go to a specialist when I got older for pain and get treatment for it. I'm mostly okay now, but that doesn't change the fact that it was objectively wrong. Please, if you take anything from this, remember that.

A week after my 18th birthday, my mother kicked my dad out. She wanted a divorce. She told me that she couldn't get in trouble for what she did anymore because I was an adult. The few weeks I was totally alone with her were really bad. She got a stereo, put it right next to my door, and blasted country music when I was trying to sleep. Made some excuse as to why it had to be there and that loud. We were in a well insulated house, so there was no one nearby to complain. I was so tired all the time and still had to wait on and cook for her. Til this day, I hate country music and I can sleep through most background noise.

I moved in with my dad. I had a lot of panic attacks. Some seizures. I was scared to be alone. Horded food. I was at one point sitting and wriggling because I had to pee and needed permission. I was a mess.

Dad and I were good for a while. I followed orders and kept the place clean. He insulted me some and was... honestly very harsh. He said he was preparing me for the world. He was nice most of the time though and so much better than my mother.

As time went on, the insults became more frequent. How much I looked like my mother. How I got all my bad traits from my mother. My voice could give people a headache. Useless. Dumbass. On and on. Nothing was off limits. He became so controlling. Taught me to drive, but my curfew was 8 or 9 pm. I had to save money and not waist it because I would need it later and buying anything small for myself was stupid (but he would buy random stuff all the time). In fact, everything I liked that he wasn't into was stupid and a waste of time and energy. He was better than my mother in so many ways. I never went hungry with him. He let me hug him sometimes. He would help me out with things. That was why it was so hard for me to see the verbal and emotional abuse and how much he was controling and gaslighting me. Every favor had a price. I was isolated. When I started going to college, the control became worse. The insults more rapid pace. I was beat down.

Then I met a guy whom I thought loved me. You know how it goes. He seemed better than my dad. Better than my mother. That was the best I deserved... right? He isolated me. He tried to get me away from my friends. He controled my money. He didn't take no for an answer. He used my bisexuality as something to guilt trip me over and like it was some grand thing for him to be as okay with it as he was. He made me feel like nobody else would be with somebody like me. It... wasn't good. I was with him seven years. Multiple break ups, but I always took him back. I survived two suicide attempts (OD for the first and called in before anything happened the second time after he had me go off my antidepressants). After the final breakup, we met up about the money that he owed me and he decided to not take no one more time and then blamed me for it. My best friend was on the phone with me afterward as he was texting me. My ex also said that it would make him happy if I never dated another man again. Then he sent me religious pamphlets. There's so much more, but he's not worth talking about.

I lived with my dad a year. I was broke and broken. I had my dog, my albino sand boa, and a few posessions. I didn't even have mamaw anymore (she had died a couple years prior). My ex threatened me. My dad just told me to ignore it, so I didn't pursue it legally. My dad limited the time I could be on my phone, gave me an 8pm curfew and a 10pm bedtime, and a door with no lock that I was to leave open unless I was changing clothes. He did nice things too like letting me stay with him and getting an old beat up PS3 from a pawn shop so I would have something to do, but he also insulted me constantly. I had made friends online and been friends with them for years (including my best friend mentioned before), but he said they weren't "real" friends and would ditch me the minute they had to be around me for any length of time because I was so annoying. I had too much wrong with me and nobody would put up with that shit. Just a string of insults. Dad even insulted how I laughed! It was hard to realize how bad it was due to the duality of it all.

Dad only "allowed" to date white cis men. He also said that if I ever had or adopted a non-white child, he wouldn't be able to accept it. I was chastised when I did things he considered not feminine and not "allowed" to do or talk about things in his presence that he was fine with my minor nephew doing and saying. He blew up if I mentioned anything LGBTQ+. He went nuclear when I got a tattoo to take back ownership of my body (my avatar), saying he thought I would back out and then said it made me that it was ugly and disgusting and no good man would want me now.

Through all of this, I couldn't even get support from the people in my hometown. It was a very religious area (almost infamously so). The locals considered me weird and "off". I was religious positive and supportive as long as it didn't hurt the individual, others, or society as a whole, but it wasn't for me. People were always trying to get me to go to church and praying for my soul. I was accused (more than once) of being possess by a demon that was blocking god from coming into my heart and slowly turning me half gay. Others tried to convince me that I was confusing apreciation for women with attraction and I couldn't prove that I wasn't straight (with the addition that all bisexual women were sluts and I wasn't one). There wasn't LGBTQ+ resources in town or out people to begin with (I only met two or three my entire life). I couldn't make friends. I was used a lot. Some people worried about having me around their kids. It was a stressful environment. I got pretty decent on arguing with strangers who wouldn't leave me alone (I seriously had someone screaming bible verses at me trying to save my soul while my dog was in emergency surgery so... yup). My only escape was my two best friends online and a few other awesome people I met the same way.

I moved into an apartment, but I was still isolated, alone, and touch starved. I broke my arm (oblique compound fracture of radius and ulna with a crack towards the distal end of my ulna) and my family was there for my dad because he had to take care of me. No hospital visits. I had to hire someone to clean my appartment (despite being broke) because they saw the mess as my fault as well as the injury. Dad dropped me off at home much sooner than I should have been left alone. But my two online best friends? Calling. Texting. Sending things to help. Checking on me often. One got on a plane and flew down to see me and do what they could with the day they had there. That's when I realized. They were my support system. They lived fairly close together. So, despite living in one small town my entire life, I packed up the moment I was able to and moved 1300 miles away to be near people who cared about me.

It wasn't easy. I had so many panic attacks. My one year old ESA cat Danny worked overtime. My dog passed away from kidney failure. My dad drilled it in my head that they would ditch me after a couple months because of how annoying I was and that I would either come back to [state] with my tail between my legs or in a body bag. I had to sell or give away everything that couldn't fit in my friend's small suv. It was hard, but I found a way to push through and do it. One of the last things I did was leave daisies for mamaw at places she liked when she was alive. I like to think she helped me have the strength to walk away.

I've lived here in my new home about 9 months now. I'm happy. I'm loved. I don't regret leaving a second. Sometimes PTSD will rear its ugly head like it did with the latest episode of Fantasy High. It's not something that I can control and honestly? The idea of being trapped after getting away and being stuck with my abuser again terrifies me. Seeing it happen to Adaine? It made me sick and I had an anxiety spike. I'm better today and I intend to eventually rewatch the episode to desensitize myself, but still, it was a lot for me. It's okay to not be okay sometimes and to need a break. It doesn't make me weak or bad or stupid. Another lesson for the person reading this I suppose. If it's not bad for me to ask for help orneed a break, then it's not bad for you either ^_^

I still have depression, anxiety, OCD, PTSD, health problems, and food issues. I think I always will. But I'm finally allowed to be happy. I'm finally allowd to be myself. I'm finally allowed to let myself be cared for and loved. I'm getting help. Learning techniques. Started taking CBD along with my meds. I'm finally as okay as I've ever been in my life and it's amazing.

PS: Just as a side note, remember to use trigger warnings. Even if something doesn’t bother you or most people, doesn’t mean that it wont make someone else have a bad day. Sometimes all we need is a warning to mentally prepare ourselfs. Sometimes we just can’t handle something that day, but can another. So remeber to tag, even if something seems minor to you or canon complient. Your readers will sincerely apreciate it. ^_^

[youcantclipmywings]

TTI’S...

TW talking about the tti, self harm, ed, etc... 

Okay so I went through the tti from ages 15-17. I went to a wilderness program for 2 1/2 months (july 2015-september 2015) and then a therapeutic boarding school for 16 1/2 months (september 2015- february 2017) and I had two very different experiences. The wilderness program was extremely traumatizing for me. They forced me to go off of all my medications to prove I didn’t need them which sent me into a manic episode that they didn’t even address... they just sent me to my next program super unstable. Also, I’m just not an outside person. I have serious issues with bugs and there were a ton of centipedes and giant spiders and I was made fun and told I would get bad karma whenever I freaked out and killed the centipedes and spiders even though they were venomous and fucking HUGE. Also, because I had a history of self harm (and I did continue to self harm there) they would make me strip every 3 days and they would document every single mark on my body. And they lowkey encouraged my ED... I lost an excessive amount of weight and they let me manipulate them into feeding me even less than the minimum amount so I could lose even more weight. And they never even questioned it because I went into the program fat. So obviously that program was really traumatizing and ineffective. If I had gone home afterwards I would’ve been worse...

My next program was very different. It was longer term, which meant that I had to actually invest and put the work in or I’d be stuck there for even longer. Once we figured out I had bipolar disorder and got me on the right meds, I started to do better. I did emdr and started to develop independence. I also grew up a lot... being away from my parents and living my own life helped. I also realized I needed to go to boarding school after treatment, which was definitely one of the best choices I’ve ever made. Anyways, I don’t think it was traumatizing. Sure, I had some really negative experiences there. I had one staff in particular who was very over invested in me and she would power trip all the time, especially when I wasn’t doing well. Because I was good at manipulation, I would use her and others to get what I wanted, and it pissed me off that she would exert intense amounts of power over me. They weren’t a physical program so she couldn’t restrain me, but if I didn’t do what she said, I could get dropped (being dropped is when you go down at least 1 level. there were 4 levels at my program and you get certain privileges as you go higher up through the levels. This staff only worked there when I was on the first and second phases and she would threaten to drop me to the first one regularly which was fucked up because I was genuinely struggling with shit and instead of actually supporting me she was threatening me). 

They also said the issues with my ankle were psychosomatic and refused to let me get an MRI/XRAY for 8 months despite me being in horrific pain and when they finally let me, the nurse just came up to me one morning while I was getting ready and was like “your lesion is back” then walked off... Like, talk about the worst way to tell me that possible. I remember collapsing to the floor. I’d been told I was lying and exaggerating for 8 months about extreme pain and then was told so nonchalantly that I’d need another serious surgery and another long recovery... I was heartbroken. And no one apologized for not believing me until after I had the surgery 11 months into the program (3 months after I was told the lesion was back). 

The final traumatizing thing was the family trainings. There’s two family trainings that you, your parents, and siblings must complete before you graduate. Because my parents are divorced and at the time couldn’t even be in the same room as each other, I had to do both trainings twice. During the second time doing the 2nd training (just my mom and me), we were struggling. We had to get up in front of 2 other families, three therapists (one was mine), and the CEO/executive director of the program and give each other feedback. I gave my mom feedback telling her she’s unreliable (which was and still is true) and everyone started shitting on me. All 4 program people and my mom leapt on me and told me I had unfair expectations of her, all because I wanted her to be on time to shit... Then, they called up a girl that I had major fucking beef with who was graduating (and didn’t deserve it and is currently on drugs and fucking up majorly and sorry that’s really judgmental but I’m proving a point) and didn’t know shit about my family issues because we didn’t ever have the same therapy groups the whole fucking time and had her “show me” how I should respond to my mom and it was basically just praising her every action... My mom is not a fucking saint. And that made me ready to leave the program. I actually graduated the program 3 weeks later, which was relieving because I was furious and just done then. I could tell that they were never really gonna teach my parents that they weren’t “gods” and I needed to figure out how to do that myself or separate myself and have really good boundaries with them. I’d also been there for 16 months and was functioning well so I felt ready to leave. Damn... it felt good to type all that out.

Anyways, I didn’t experience abuse or severe trauma at the second program. I also don’t believe I experienced abuse at the first program but it was extremely traumatizing. I still have nightmares and physical flashbacks about being there. After I left treatment and started using drugs/drinking/self harming during my manic episode. I was so paranoid that I’d get sent back there that I couldn’t tell anyone I was struggling. When I got sexually assaulted, I didn’t even tell my therapist or the cops I’d been high that night because I was so terrified I’d be sent away again. And the second I turned 18 I was relieved. I can never be forced back into a program against my will. I can always pull myself. 

But I’ve seen a lot of shit recently about people who experienced really severe abuse at various tti programs and it’s made me rethink my experiences and also invalidate the traumas I did experience, especially at the wilderness program. I don’t know. I’m mostly just grateful I didn’t go to the places I’ve read about, but I also feel conflicted about the tti because of it. The second program saved my life. I don’t think the tti should be shut down. But a lot of people do because a lot of them are abusive. But I think there are other ways to fix that... Stricter FEDERAL regulation laws, regular super in depth checks by the government to make sure abuse isn’t occurring, investigations for every report of abuse, etc. I don’t know...

[dasfuzzy]

This thing still exists...?

So...I guess I'll start off by saying that the main reason for this post is because I got the Tumblr app a while back and have periodically gotten the notification that someone has liked my blog (hello, by the way), so this is twofold:

1) Give an update because, y'know, I haven't touched this thing in a long time, so there's a lot to update, and

2) Find out who's been liking my blog and why. So I guess comment, message, note, or whatever the hell people do here and let me know what got you interested in my ramblings.

I guess the three main things I would discuss here were my job, my love life, and my situation in general, so those'll be the primary focus for now. I guess I'll start with my love life just to get that out of the way as it's typically the focal point and most salacious content here (and possibly the most interesting to y'all).

Well, I'm gonna tell you right off the bat that things have changed drastically since I last was here. I will say that if you're expecting me to tell all, you're gonna be disappointed. I know in the past I never really held back on my feelings and about dishing out the truth, but this is a different situation than any in the past. All I'll really say is that since August of 2017 I've been in a committed relationship with someone that I truly love and can see myself being with for the rest of my days. Our relationship hasn't been all sunshine and rainbows, however, mostly due to nagging injuries and surgeries stemming from a work-related injury on her part (she used to be a physical therapy assistant), but I've done everything in my power to accommodate her and make things work. It hasn't been easy and it's taken it's toll on me, but at the end of the day I try to remain optimistic that things will get better with time.

Regarding my job...er, jobs, I've bounced around a bit since I was last here. I think I was still at Dave & Busters, but I was able to leave there to become a preschool/toddler teacher at a highly-accredited daycare center called Bright Horizons. It wasn't the easiest job and with me being who I am (profane and a fan of mature content, a la Game of Thrones, Walking Dead and wrestling) I felt like I was walking on eggshells at times, especially because the director was a bit of a prude, but I really enjoyed it. I was one of only two male teachers in a facility of approximately 30 teachers, so the kids really enjoyed the change of pace. I learned a lot being there, especially since I only had a few early education courses under my belt beforehand and I had some great mentors guiding me along.

Unfortunately, I made the decision to leave after 18 months for a couple of reasons:

1) The landlady finally sold the house, so my mom and I had to move (more on that later), and

2) There was an incident where I might've let slip a bit of profanity on the job. Basically it was nap time and most of the children were sleeping. I was in one of the preschool rooms at the time and at that age, some children just don't want to sleep, so we have to either try to soothe them or at least do what we can to keep them quiet so they don't wake the other children up. So I'm with another, younger teacher sitting with the non-sleepers, one of which was on the autistic spectrum and had an action plan in place that inform us of what we can and cannot do in certain situations that normally wouldn't apply to other children. Anyways, that particular child was not having any of nap/quiet time and decided to start walking around the room. In my frustration, I might've uttered under my breath "what the fuck". A few days later, I get a call from the director and she asks me if I used any profanity while in the classroom. I tell her that I don't recall doing so; she tells me that another teacher informed her that I had and she would need me to type up a formal statement of what I recall from that particular event. I stuck to my guns and said that I honestly don't recall doing so and, after submitting that to her, I was put on an indefinite administrative leave. As much as I loved that job, I took that as a sign that maybe it was time to find another job, something that pays better because I knew I was going to be moving within the next few months.

On the first day of my "leave", I asked friends if they knew of any good-paying jobs that had openings. I was only making $12.40/hr, which is only $.40 over minimum wage, so I was definitely open to suggestions. My best friend told me to apply to where he worked, Fitzgerald Tile, because they were looking for warehouse workers. He said they could start me at $18, so I leapt at the opportunity. I went down that Monday and met the warehouse supervisor to have an interview. I'll give you an almost word-for-word retelling of how that interview went:

Him: "Do you know how to drive a forklift?"

Me: "Yeah."

Him: "Great, you're hired."

Me: "Oh...okay."

Okay, that might be stretching it a bit, but that was more or less how it went. Really, he outlined some of the basic duties, asked if I was able to lift up to 50lbs unassisted, know that I'm expected to work 50 hours a week, then had me fill out the application, mostly for the sake of having it on file. He told me that I would just have to meet with the HR person to finalize the paperwork and discuss pay and my schedule, then I'd be good to go. Here's the thing: I never got to talk to the HR person. Ever. I was waiting for over an hour then told that we could do it another time, so I just went home. I should've noticed how sketchy the whole thing was. I should've picked up on all the red flags, but I didn't. So I go home, call my boss, and tell her that I'm giving my two weeks notice. She obliges and I ask if I could come visit down the road. She says that it would be in the best interest of the children that I stay away so they don't get the wrong idea. Basically I haven't been back there besides one time when I stopped by after hours to catch up with my favorite colleague and mentor, Jen.

Anywho, here I am on November 19th at the asscrack of dawn starting at the tile warehouse. I meet with the warehouse supervisor (I don't fucking remember his name; he's honestly not worth remembering) and he asks if I know how to drive a forklift. Uh...we talked about that when you hired me, but anyways, I say yes. "Great. Hop on, drive around a bit, get a feel for it, then get to work." Um...I dunno about those guys, but when I was at Lowe's where I learned to drive a forklift, we had to be licensed to operate one. Not to mention if they bothered to do a background check, they'd learn that I was fired from there for getting into an accident on a forklift and causing damage to a bay door. But I do as they say; I grab an order sheet ("grab the biggest ones first", they tell me) and get to it. Basically the way they run things is they put the sheets out on a table, everyone grabs one, gathers everything up on a pallet, then drop it in the outgoing delivery area, then do it all again until every order has been filled. I should also mention that I started right as they were moving warehouses to North Reading, so after the orders were pulled, we had to get other pallets ready to ship to the new place. Remember how I said I was never able to talk to the HR person? Well, I was never given a schedule because of that, so I guess it was understood that I would come in at 7 in the morning and work until everyone was done, which typically wasn't until 8 or 9 at night. I adhered to that mindset for maybe a week and a half; after that, I started sneaking out after at least doing my 8 hours a day. One day the supervisor caught me and said that I can't do that again. I didn't give a fuck. Another day he tells me that I'm not working fast enough and need to step it up. Maybe if someone took the time to train me on the other lift that was smaller and had forks that extended, I'd be able to be more efficient, but no; the only machines I could use were the huge lifts that are barely able to maneuver in the narrow fucking aisles and the order picker, which is basically a standing lift with a small tray-sized platform that you could place stuff on and lower it back down. That thing was kinda fun because it had controlls that kinda felt like piloting a mech and it was fast as hell.

Fast forward a few days and a few hours into my shift the supervisor tells me that I'm being let go and he hands me my last check and a pamphlet for unemployment benefits. No reasoning, just that I'm gone. Probably because I was "working too slow" and would leave when I felt like it, but I could give two shits; they never cared about me and I was tired of working under those unreasonable conditions. I manage keep my composure and start heading out, telling the few friends that I made there that I was fired; they wished me well and said I'd move onto something better. No shit. Once I get to my car, I burst out crying, trying to comprehend the gravity of my situation. I text my girlfriend and she asks if I want to come over to her house; I do partly because I needed the emotional support and partly because she was only 5 minutes away and my drive home would've been about 30 minutes. Honestly, I probably could've reported them to OSHA since they were in violation of god knows how many rules and regulations (hell, during the first week at the new warehouse, someone managed to destroy an entire bay: 3 shelves with 4 pallets each, totalling I believe over $6000 worth of product), but I just wanted to wash my hands of that place entirely. Since it was mid December, I decided to just take time to enjoy the holidays before looking for a new job, especially since I had made enough money there to keep myself afloat for about a month.

So, regarding the move, mom and I spent the last few years looking for places nearby for when the time came, but a lot of places were either in undesirable towns, were too expensive (this is Massachusetts; rent prices suck balls), or didn't meet our needs/standards. Ideally we were aiming to find a small house or even duplex to move into since we'd been in a 2-story, 3-bedroom house since January 2001, but we ended up settling for a 2-bedroom apartment in a small complex in Reading. It's been a bit of an adjustment for many reasons, but we've made it work. One of the biggest annoyances is that we don't have any laundry machines in our unit or even our building, so if we have to wash our clothes, we need to bring our stuff to one of the neighboring buildings that has a credit card-opperated laundry room with seven washers and 8 dryers. Kinda obnoxious to have to go through all that trouble and pay to do it, but condidering heat, hot water, and facility maintenance and snow removal are all covered in our rent (which is $1750/month), it's a small price to pay, I suppose.

Once we got all settled into the new place, I started job hunting again. For years I've wanted to do something technical, like be a plumber or maintenance engineer, but it's nigh impossible to find entry-level jobs like that. I somehow managed to find a job posting on Craigslist for a preventative maintenance engineer at a hotel in my old hometown of Woburn (ironically it's across from my old Dave & Busters), put in an application, and about a week later I had the job. Basically what I do is go through the guestrooms and make sure everything is in working order and is clean. I do about 2 rooms a day, repairing things as needed, be it electrical, plumbing, painting, or whatever else. I started back in early February of this year and in April the chief engineer was unceremoniously fired, leaving me as the sole engineer at the hotel. We had outside help come in periodically, but generally speaking I was the one keeping the place together until we hired a new chief this past October. I had to learn how to take care of an outdoor pool and how to take readings on it daily. I had to represent my hotel at engineer trainings normally meant for chiefs. Hell, I was very close to being promoted to chief myself until they found the new guy. But my efforts weren't in vain: our scores from our guest surveys for maintenance and upkeep were always above expectations and everyone at the hotel appreciate and respect what I do there. They raised my pay as high as they could go because of the amount of work I was putting in. My boss even got me two $75 tickets to a Ring of Honor show since he was a wrestling fan like myself. I think it's safe to say that I definitely bounced back from Fitzgerald.

I guess that about wraps things up. It's currently two weeks until Christmas, so I've got that to look forward to. I'd apologize for the lengthy rant, but I think that's par for the course on my blog. Again, if you're new (or even if you're not), feel free to leave a comment, note, message, or whatever and let me know what brought you to my blog or if there's any questions, comments, or suggestions for things that I could discuss. I figure I've been away from this thing for a long time, why not be a bit more active. Anyways, that's all I got for now. Hope y'all are well; take care of yourself!

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Trans Activism

Okay. So it’s about time I talk about this. First and foremost, I need to get this out of the way. I HATE, trans-activism. Do not take this to mean I hate trans people, as it does not mean that. Do not take this to mean that I don’t want trans people to live peacefully. This is also not the case. With all of this said let me get into what I need to say.

Trans-activism is doing much to hurt Trans and non-trans people alike. This video which links to an article goes in depth about it. Fact of the matter is, we have issues with having conversations about Transgender as a concept. Even the slightest notion of, “maybe this person who says they are trans, is not actually trans” gets you labeled as a transphobe. But if this article proves anything, It’s that trans-activists have done more to hurt people than to help. I know this to be the case because everyone and their mothers at this point lean towards, “OMG i’m so proud that you are coming out as trans! I totally support this. What’s that? You don’t really know if you’re trans? That’s what bigots sound like. If you think you are trans at all, then you just are.” 

I can not tell you how often I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen it in real life. I’ve seen it on this hellsite, I’ve even seen it on Twitter and Facebook. Friendship and support is not blind. Nor does it ignore dangers, and science. I have had several arguments with people on Twitter and on here, that have told me hormone blockers have no “side effects”. Are you kidding me? No side effects? Ok lets go over them for those in the back of the room shall we. 

-They prevent proper growth.

-They hinder immune system growth.

-Your sexual organs don’t grow in properly.

-After taking them, depending on how long you took them, can make you unable to have kids.

-Your body never fully evens out after taking them for longer than a few months.

-This lack of immune growth and physical growth can lead to other issues down the road.

-Lower bone density

ETC.

And this is the short list. The list for what happens when you start on a hormone treatment to transition can be much more devastating to your body. This is not to mention the fact that it is an invasive surgery, be it male to female or female to male. ALSO, assuming you end up not actually being trans, you might have a laundry list of physical traits you don’t want after the fact. Like for instance, you end up much shorter than you would have. You end up with a lot of body hair you can NEVER GET RID OF, among other things. Though, we never talk about this stuff. Because the only thing trans-activists care about is trying to convince as many people as possible that they are trans. Hell, there is even a movement of them that infiltrate gay and lesbian message boards or chat rooms and literally just keep nudging them to believe they are trans rather than gay or lesbian. Do you understand how sick that is? To tell someone that even if they know they are homosexual, that actually they really, “aren’t” and are actually just the opposite gender? Do you GRASP how fucked up that is? These people are also responsible for “Rapid onset gender dysphoria”. A thing that has not only not been backed by any studies at all but is made up BS, to try and convince people who are not trans that they actually are. 

These people are demented. Demented to a degree that makes me worry. Fact of the matter is that these young people in this article are basically fucked for the rest of their lives. And a LARGE number of them are young girls. A decent number of whom have autistic tendencies or are actually autistic. And some of them will have to grow up shaving their faces daily, because trans-activists don’t actually care about them. And they will have to stay in hiding as well. Because progressives and activists will attack them. Call them traitors. Probably even bully and berate them. Fun fact is thought that if you watch this video it talk about something I've been talking about for a long time. Actually trying to treat the root of the body dysphoria. If after several months of working with a person in therapy, they are not showing signs of improvement, then you can suggest to them that they ARE in fact trans. 

Trans is not just saying you are trans. And just parading it around to the trans-trenders saying you don’t actually need body dysphoria to be trans is insane. Not only does it de-legitimize what it is to be trans, but it de-legitimatizes all that trans people have had to go through up until this point. It tells them that their struggle is now just some trend for people who want to feel special get to pretend to be. Meanwhile there are trans people out there right now, who are thinking about killing themselves. Because it’s not everything they were told it would be. It’s not all sunshine and roses. It’s not just some simple walk in the park. And what’s more, you can’t pretend it’s because people discriminate against them. Especially if they are passing after all is said and done. And many are. And they don’t walk around saying “I’m a trans man” or “I’m a trans woman”. They normally identify as the sex they have transitioned too. And short of knowing them prior to it all, how would you KNOW, to discriminate against them? Short answer? You wouldn’t. 

I’m really tired of us not being able to have a REAL conversation with these people. I’m really tired of these insane activists saying that 3-14 year olds have the MENTAL CAPACITY, to decide they are the opposite sex. Most people don’t even know what identity is until they are into their late teens. And even then, they don’t really know who they are until they are in their 20’s. YES. There are people who have transitioned that are very happy and might stay happy for their whole lives. Props to them and I wish them the best. But this notion that everyone is automatically trans because they are not manly enough, or girly enough is stupid. Tomboys do not have to be trans the same way femboys don’t have to be trans. Hell is it not the progressive thing to do to oppose gender norms? So why the hell do trans-activists push for those same norms so damn hard? If you’re allowed to be a man and wear a dress, then why the hell do men who want to do that HAVE to actually be women? Sounds more like you are the ones enforcing stereotypical gender roles to me.

I want to end on this note though. We need to have a conversation about this. We need to be able to talk about gender dysphoria, and what is being trans. We also need to stop letting parents convince their kids that they are trans. Children say a lot, and many go through phases. And what you all don’t understand, is that if you believe that kids have to capacity to make LIFE ALTERING DECISIONS like being trans and taking hormone blockers or start transitioning before 20, not only do I think you are messed up in the head, but you are also saying in that moment, that a CHILD has the capacity to consent to sex. Both have very life changing consequences, and both require a lot of experience and wisdom to fully understand. 

I have a LOT of respect for trans people in general. I DO NOT have any respect for trans-activists. They’ve done so much more to hurt people than they have to help them. Honestly? I feel sorry for these young adults. They were probably “supported” in the same way most trans people are. “Everything will be great! I’m so happy for you! Oh i always knew it! I’ll support you no matter what! Oh it’s perfectly safe when can i take you to look into it?” And what’s more, Doctors are having to go along with it. Out of fear that progressives and activists will get them fired, or get their license removed some how. This is not just physical doctors but psychologists as well. Parents will sit in, and if the doctor does not agree that they ARE TRANS, just like the 5y/o said, the parents will then mobilize a progressive mob against them. This only serves to hurt people more than it does to help. Not only that but it serves to hurt trans acceptance in the broader world. Places that have watched this happen and feel like it’s too much trouble to deal with. This video. The article. Both need to be conversation starters. We need to realize that trans-trenders, and trans activists are screwing things up. Trans people already have enough to deal with. The last thing they need is to become villains. And believe me, if people continue to get hurt like this. Continue to be brainwashed and taken advantage like this. They won’t blame the activists and progressives. They will blame the entire trans community. And if that happens, we might actually fall back years on the progress we have made for trans people.