#pm regimen

[airbendertendou]

a small compilation of moments between autistic!reader + connor happy disability pride month <3

anon requested : hi! i was wondering if you could do something with connor and the autistic reader and like them going nonverbal and how he would handle that? You don’t have to do it if you don’t wanna! :)

please do not use this as a way to self-diagnose. having one thing in common does not necessarily mean you are autistic. im not a therapist or doctor, if you think you’re on the spectrum, talk to them. <3

if you have a blank blog [no bio, no user, no header or profile pic, nothing reblogged, etc] do not interact with my content. you will be blocked.

temperature irregulation ♥︎

hank was a firm believer in a cold house. when the summer season came and brought a heatwave with it, the older man wouldn’t allow anything other than a brisk, chilly living room.

it was often you’d come over to go over old cases and study with hank. interning with the detroit police department was fun — the academy, however, you could live without. you’d learned to dress warm when visiting hank’s house, having a hard time warming up once you were cold.

“here,” a thicker sweater is placed over the couch, the sleeve laying on your shoulder. you take it without thought, swapping your thinner one for the new one. connor smiles at the pattern on your fuzzy socks, the sight of your toes curling in delight at the warmth bringing something tender to his brain. “better?”

you nod with a hum, “thanks, detective.”

hank rolls his eyes, hiding the curl of his lips at your obliviousness. “anyways, as i was saying—”

[interrupted] routine ♥︎

every day at 12:10 pm, you’d wander into the breakroom for a snack and drink refill. connor didn’t mean to memorize your specific regimen — but after watching you do the same thing for a week straight, it stuck to his mind.

you loitered in the doorway to the breakroom, peeking in occassionally to see if it’d emptied out any. gavin caught your gaze, rolling his eyes at your hesitance. it was then you spotted the mug in his hands — your mug, the one you always used. your frown deepened.

connor budged his way into the crowd, bumping into gavin and causing his drink to spill. every curse leaving the human’s mouth went ignored — connor only watched as you cowered away from gavin’s angry steps as he left. grabbing the dropped mug, connor rinsed it four times before holding it out to you shyly.

you crept into the breakroom, grabbing the handle of the mug and shooting the android a thankful grin.

stimming with pressure ♥︎

hank opened the door to his house with a sigh. connor’s eyebrows furrowed as he tilted his head, questioning the elder silently. hank leans against the door, “[name]’s been here a while, s’all. won’t leave my bathtub.”

a safe zone, connor concludes, somewhere small and compact ; where you could see every corner and every threat. he makes his way to the bathroom without another thought, pausing at the sight of you.

your eyes are closed, face crumpled in displeasure as you clench and unclench your fists in a pattern. connor knocks on the door, announcing his presence without startling you. your eyes fly open, “hello, detective.”

“you can call me connor, if you’d like.” the android steps further into the bathroom slowly, allowing you to object if you need to. your eyes stay on him — his thirium pump stutters in his chest. “anything i can do to help?”

taking in a deep breath, you puff your cheeks as you release the air. “maybe. if you don’t think it’s weird.”

connor stares down at you, his upper lip curled in hesitance as you lay in hank’s bed. you adjust yourself, wiggling around until you’ve splayed your limbs where you want them. you blink up at him, “well?”

“it is a little... strange.” connor tries to be nice, he really does. but asking an android to lay on you — to put their full weight on you — he’s concered. “i will crush you.”

you roll your eyes, “i have a weighted blanket at home ; it’s no different.”

“i weigh quite a bit more than—”

“are you going to lay on me or not, connor?”

maybe it was the sound of you saying his name for the first time ; maybe it was the way you looked so defeated. whatever it was, connor found himself laying on you as gently as he could. the relaxation was immediate — he could feel the breath of relief you let out ; the way your body sagged.

you fell asleep that way — with connor holding his breath and tensing up the closer you got.

sensory overload ♥︎

the scene you were going to was a lot. it was nighttime now, the sirens and flashing lights bringing everyone’s attention this way. hank leaves the car first, grumbling as he goes. the sound that leaks through his open door causes you to whimper.

connor turns his head to you, “everything alright?”

your gaze hasn’t left the window as you squint, blinking at all of the lights. you gulp before biting your lip. “i’ll be fine. this is what i signed up for.”

you’re barely out of the car and already wincing at the noise and the lights. you can’t see hank ; can’t hear or understand anything being said around you. the world is blinking in hues of red and blue, wailing sirens going off with every flash of the lights.

the sound grows muffled as soft and sturdy hands cup your ears. a thumb moves from your ear briefly, just long enough for you to hear a whisper. “close your eyes and i’ll lead you into the house. that’s where the lieutenant is.”

trusting connor’s words — a little too easily — you squeeze your eyes shut. your hands go up to cover his, sealing your ears from the harsh sounds around you. stumbling a little here and there, you eventually feel a difference in temperature as you enter the house.

letting out a sigh, your shoulders moving with the motion, slowly your eyes peel open. you glance at connor, ignoring the tenderness of his gaze. “thanks, connor.”

he lets out a deep breath, ignoring the sly grin hank sends his way. “no problem, [name].” 

verbal shutdown ♥︎

it happened so quick. your safe foods had vanished from their designated cabinet ; your chair’s wheel was squeaking incessently ; hank hadn’t shown up today. everything was piling on and you finally exploded.

the evidence locker was empty as you shakily typed in hank’s password. you hit the wrong button a few times, squeezing your eyes together at the little beeps. your breathing picks up — you hold it in your chest and shake your hands, releasing the tension built inside you.

you all but crawl into the secure room, your back hitting the wall as you sit down. your eyes squeeze shut again and you go through the motions, choosing the less destructive ways to calm yourself down.

none of them work.

when connor finds you, you’re drawing shapes on the floor with your finger. you’ve curled into yourself, not making a sound ; your usual means of comfort absent from your lips. he walks to you cautiously, “[name]? hank has returned. he’s asking to see you.”

you don’t move ; not a sound falls from your lips. connor sits in front of you, crossing his legs as he waits. from his suit pocket comes a ring of multicolored notecards — your eyes flash to his at the sight of them. connor holds them out further so that you can see them properly. “want to use these?”

a miniscule nod, but it’s enough to make him smile. “alright,” he flicks through the blue cards — feelings. stopping at your set of upset verbs, he slides the ring your way. “any of these describe how you’re feeling?”

a shaky finger hits the word overstimulated before dragging over to panic. connor nods, flipping to the pink set — solutions. “what do you want to do? go home ; nap ; have a snack ; get your puzzle book ; coloring book...” connor holds them up to you, reading out each one until you nod — except you don’t. pausing, connor speaks up again, “want me to leave?”

you shake your head. slowly, your hand crawls across the floor until it meets his. you nudge his hand, curling your fingers under his. connor holds his breath, adjusting your fingers until you’re holding hands properly. his eyes stay to the floor, “this is okay, too. let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

emotional regulation ft. lots of crying ♥︎

“connor,” your voice brings him out of his work. standing beside his desk, connor watches as you sway side to side. he tilts his head and it makes your eyes water. “i’m going to cry.”

that was his cue to take you into his arms. connor stands to do so, gathering your body against his and rocking you side to side slowly. your body hiccups a few times, sniffles leaving your nose occassionally. you seem to calm down even more as he rubs your back soothingly — connor’s led light flashes yellow as he stores that information for later.

you pull away with a deep breath, rubbing your face with the hoodie you’re wearing. connor frowns, “better?”

you nod, “needed that. thank you.”

“want to tell me what upset you? only if you want to.”

connor never knew what to expect your answer to be. sometimes you just shook your head and snuggled close to him again. other times, you did talk about why you were crying and it made connor realize the extent of human emotions. 

“no more chocolate in the snack cabinet.”

“had a nice dream.”

“hank is wearing yellow.”

“it’s such a pretty day today!”

“too much noise.”

“gavin cut his hair.”

you let out another sniffle, lips pouting in thought. “not too sure this time. jus’ felt like i needed to cry.”

connor nods to himself, his led light whirring yellow once more. “i’m glad you feel comfortable with me, [name]. i’ll be here if you need another cry.”

you grin, meeting his eyes for a brisk second before reaching out to hold his hand. you swing your entwined hands lightly, grin softening into something gentle. “i know. thanks, con.”

the detective was sure he’d implode because of you soon. just not yet — not when you’re still holding his hand.

——♥︎—— for some reason my brain tells me to only write autistic readers n pair them w connor. like?? work w me here!! anyways. i hope this was okay, remember to take your meds, drink some water and have a nice snack!! airbendertendou © do not copy, plagiarize, repost, or translate my content on any platform. if you see my content under any other name than my own, let me know. i only have this tumblr and an ao3 account under the same name.

[gothic-thoughts]

Music To My Ears

Gojo Satoru x Black GN Reader Smut

MDNI, Perv Coworker!Gojo, Bimbo!Reader

CW: all the dirty words(he's a whore), stupid and oblivious Reader, Gojo jerking 📴 to your voice, reader being fluent in Yapanese 😭, imma degrade y'all cuz u lack brain cells

Word Count: 1,191 (give or take)

It was 11 pm, and you were on the phone with your coworker, Satoru. You've been talking for about an hour now, but after a while, you noticed soft huffing and heard soft panting. Since there's not much going on up there, all you thought to do was tilt your head to the side with confusion. You shrug it off and continue to yap, but the longer he listened, the more he groped and palmed his erection through the grey sweats he wore.

“Uh, Gojo?” Your first mistake was saying his name.

“Yeah? What’s up, girlie?”

“You good?"

"Say again?" He heard you perfectly fine, but you can't tell can you?

"I asked if you were good. You workin' out right now?"

“Hah, yeah.” He responds before muttering, “I'm workin' somethin', ngh."

“Huh? You keep mumbling, Toru.”

"Hehe, don't worry about it." More panting "Just...continue your story."

You shake your head, believing his panting really came from a workout regimen, knowing damn well the strongest sorcerer don't need one.

“So like I was saying...”

He chuckled and made a low growling noise as he reached into his sweatpants, feeling how damp his boxers were from how much precum soaked into them. He bit his lip, slowly pulling out the erection that you caused from that voice you blessed him with. Every inflection, filler word, and gasp when you remembered another part of your story drove him so wild.

“And then I was like, ‘Ohmygod, Shoko’s not working for once?’ So I ran up to her...”

He grunts, trying his best to keep his voice away from the whiney territory he knew it could rise to if he felt too good. To you, his breathing sounded a bit...off, as if it sounded heavy and...well, different than normal. But he was working out, of course, he’d sound like that.

“The only reason I hesitated was because I feel like she don’t like me...”

With every passing moment, his fist passed over his shaft while his left hand kept a firm hold around his base, keeping him from exploding too soon, and with how often you clicked your tongue or sucked your teeth, he could’ve at any moment.

“Do you think she likes me; ion think she likes me. Anyways, though...”

The grunting sound only grew in pitch as the groans started to sound more...animalistic, mouth forming a smirk. He whispers your name, guiding his hand up and down his cock a little faster, getting the palm sticky with precum.

“Toru...” The concern in your voice makes his hand stop, “You sure you okay?

He bites his lip as he moans softly, watching another drop of precum squeeze out his tip and slide down to his still fist. "Yeah... heh...” 

“You huffin’ like a dog.”

“Oh sorry. I’m doing... I’m doin’ some push-ups right now so..." 

"Ohhhh, aight."

"Keep talking, short stuff."

"You even listening, Gojo?"

"Of course I am, I can, ngh, multitask."

"Mmm..."

The little hum of yours made him bite his bottom lip so hard that it bled. "I mean it, girlie." He sighs, "Hanging on every word. You were talking about your shopping spree."

"Oh yeah! I got a bunch of clothes with Utahime today! And they are the fuckin’ cutest! Like, there’s one that was...”

He groaned quieter as he heard you continue on, pumping his hand up and down to the speed your excited voice spoke. His fist twists with each stroke, grinding his red, sensitive cockhead into his palm which makes him shiver. The sound of his breathing had become noticeably heavier and deeper. He didn't respond just yet, instead, he only let out low grunts and 'mhm's in response to what he heard you say. He started to lift his hips from his bed, fucking his fist while pretending it was him making you ride him.

“And I got new lip gloss. Like a lot of lip gloss; cuz you know me...”

He did, in fact, know you; meaning that you prolly got almost every color, scent, and flavor imaginable just to try out. That sentence was all it took for the strongest sorcerer's mind to switch from thoughts of how good you'd feel bouncing on his long dick to how soft and wet your mouth was. You talk so much so it's gotta be moisturized as hell, not like he wouldn't make you use so much spit it made the colors on your lips smear around his veined shaft.

He whined into the speaker as you rambled, but TRUST he was listening. His eyes were rolled back, his hand began pumping faster, massaging the swollen head of his cock while his free hand gripped the base. He wanted to smear that lip gloss, stick, whatever so bad; just the thought of leaving your plump lips and chin stained with white and whatever other color made his full balls tense.

"H-hey, short stuff? You think you can you count down from 10 for me?"

"Yeah, why?"

"For my workout, remember?"

"Ohhh, right." You let out another oblivious giggle, "I forgot about that."

"Y-yeah, I'm, uhm, planking... and I'm al-most....done. Count for me."

"Kaykay. Ten.... nine..."

His hand slows down, trying to time his orgasm with that sexy voice. Gojo groaned and grunted, letting it all out since your dopey ass wholeheartedly believed he was tired from overexertion.

"Eight... seven..."

"Yesss~" He whispered, "Suck it, baby girl, that's it. Show me those eyes."

His breath got shallow as he looked down at his thighs, imagining you were scratching at them while your glazed-over eyes blinked up at him.

"Six... five..." 

"Yeah, not a fuckin' thought behind them, huh? F-uck, lemme give your mouth somethin' else to do."

Unable to help himself, he speeds up his hand, coating his entire dick in his own precum. His back arches from the bed as his hips thrust up, fucking his fist as you got close to one.

"Four.... three..."

"So fucking close, s'fuckin' close. I'm...gonna...cum. W-wanna cum in your mouth, baby please."

"Two... one."

"Ah, shiiit!!"

He let a resounding, drawn-out growl as pent-up cum spurts from his cock, shooting across his slim fingers. He continued driving his shaft through his fist, body shaking on his bed as his load continued to spill over his hand. He finally calms down, resting on his bed, and looking down at the cum all over his abs and lower stomach, clinging to his happy trail and pubes. 

"Damn," Your voice snaps him out of it, "Did you hurt yourself, Toru? That sounded painful?"

"N-no, I'm okay just...." He gulps thickly, collecting himself, "J-just planked longer than I could handle, heh."

"Was that okay? Did I count too fast or...?"

"Haah, no. It was perfect, girlie, th-thanks."

"Oh... uhh..." You tilt that empty head of yours, "What was I saying...?"

"You were talkin' 'bout... gettin' some clothes from Utahime... I think?"

"Oh, yeah! Then I was talkin' bout lip gloss!"

"Yeah, yeah." His cock slowly starts to harden again, putting a tired, yet devious smirk on his face, "Tell me what colors you got."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(a/n): eat up.

[sydneymykah]

☆☆THE STRUGGLE OF ROUTINE ☆☆

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Some people can just get out of bed and automatically do what they need to do to get the day started. And the same people seem to be the ones we see the most on our screens. "My Morning Routine", "My weekly regimen", "What I eat in a day", and "My Nightly Routine". These people are seemingly put together and perfect like their said routines. But here you are slouched on your undone bed, still in your pajamas, wearing makeup from the day before after waking up after 12 pm. You meaning me, lmao. ☆...

☆The struggle of routine is something we all face regardless of what social media persists to tell us. But I don't really want to talk about how "social media is fake" because that's not even fully true. Some people really do live like this and have very structured routines for their day to day lives, granted it's what pays their bills but that's still technically their routine. But I'm more concerned about talking about how DIFFICULT it is to keep a constant routine. Especially in this weird time we live in.

ミ★I'm a perfectionist. I hate when things don't go the way I want and I tend to want things one way or not at all. But life doesn't live by those rules. Life will throw whatever the hell it wants at you, whenever it feels like it. As an individual you have to learn to work around it all. For me it's an inconsistent work schedule, minor (or major) inconveniences, mood swings, and of course the main culprit is laziness/lack of discipline.

☆We've all done it. On a random day of the week you're up way too late reflecting on your life and what you're doing with it. You suddenly feel the hyperactive urge to fix everything about yourself. You want the perfect body before the summer. You want your hair to grow longer faster. You want to get all your life goals written down and planned out dow not the last minute. You want to post a 1 minute video everyday on TikTok at exactly 3 pm EST and post at least 4 pictures to your instagram every other day. So you open the notes app and make an extremely specific, unrealistic, and way too intense routine to follow everyday. You set reminders, add 30 new alarms to your phone, you fill your amazon cart with stuff you believe you'll defiantly use. And after you make yet another playlist of YouTube workout videos you go to bed confident your life is gonna change forever after this...

Now one of two things happen:

You completely throw away the routine the minute you wake up the next day

Or, you do it for a few days but eventually burnout and find yourself back where you were before, now with just more useless junk you have no room for...

ミ★I have personally been both. But we can all empathize with this because if maintaining a routine was easy it wouldn't be such a successful phenomenon online. Out of the millions of views under "my morning routine" posts, many, if not majority, of them are people who wish they can live the way these people do. I think we as people have developed mindsets that are negative first, positive later. Ever since the quarantine we've been used to online overconsumption. The idea that "more is better", and the scare that was the virus has sparked this fear in us that is wasted time. Hence us wanting to build new giant routines in the middle of the night just to eventually abandon it because our minds and bodies don't evolve or develop like that overnight. Most the time the routines are grueling and just makes us feel exhausted over accomplished. When we don't see immediate change a lot people, including myself, give up then and there.

☆Im not here to tell you how to keep a constant routine or how to become more disciplined because all that information is in the palm of your hands. Honestly at the end of the day it's about your mindset. Realizing what is around you and remembering the reality you live in. You want that body? You want that hair growth? You want to post? It's all possible but here's where the issue lies:

ミ★We forget to forgive ourselves and to be patient with ourselves. We fall under the pressure to perform for social media as well. In this digital age we try to make social media real life 24/7 and put real life on the back burner. Everything must be aesthetic or else! Or if you can't keep a constant routine for a week you're a failure! But the reality is no one just wakes up in their perfect aesthetic one day and has this perfect routine down pat the first time. Another thing that we keep doing is what everyone else is doing. Another example of putting the online first before real life. We've forgotten the beauty of growth, and how things develop overtime. It reminds me of how small artists have the potential to blow up overnight. They suddenly have all these eyes on them and then the GP turns on them simply because their exceptions don't match the artist's personal growth. I think we do the same to ourselves. But regardless of what other people, social media or even what you might even say to yourself the best way to find a good routine is get to know yourself, not someone else. And to not go by others expectations. It's good to hold yourself to a high regard and to make ambitious goals. But you should remind yourself that you want this to last and you don't want to burn yourself out trying to perfect your life like it's a speed run.

☆When following creators who makes content like this I advise to follow people you relate to first. Not saying you can't follow those extremely aesthetic ASMR morning/Night routine videos because hell I watch them too. But know that I watch them for simply that. I've come to the point where I can watch that stuff and not feel incompetent or that I'm failing in life but I digress. Don't pay attention to the many trends and what's hot, just look for people who you might see yourself in, or people who have qualities similar to yours. Physically, mentally, ect. Because if you're a black girl who wants to know how to do a specific 4C hairstyle you're not going to the white girl influencers for tutorials are you? For me I watch Jackie Aina. Her and I don't even have the same tastes in certain aspects, specifically clothing and home decor but she reminds me a lot of myself and some of my values. Her content inspires me but doesn't make me feel like I need to reinvent myself overnight. That's not realistic nor healthy. I think subjecting yourself to that will just give you an identity crisis. Her content helps me feel confident and you should follow people like that too.

ミ★My purpose of this post is not "continue to be a slob" (I'm a Taurus stellium and Venusian. Girl we don't do that over 'chere.) it's to remind and to encourage. A reminder that what you see online isn't what real life is 24/7. Doesn't mean it's all fake, it just means that life doesn't just look like one thing. Social media just tends to make our vision a bit tunneled. Yes, some peoples lives surround what they eat in a day, what they do when they get out of bed, and the steps they follow in their nighttime skincare routine. But our attachment and overconsumption to these types of creators constantly fails to remind us that they're still human. Hell even when the human creators tell y'all "hey I'm human" they still aren't treated as such but guess what? They are! So are you. You are still human. Finding a groove that works for you will take time. And many times you will fail. You will probably forget to do something, you won't have the time for certain tasks, or an inconvenience will pop up out of no where that knocks you off course. But if at first you don't succeed, try again. Social media picture perfect propaganda (lol) has made us forget that life happens and that we will essentially always struggle with routine. Some things stick, some things don't. Some routines last a long time, some only stay for a day. We live in an age where everyone's trying to move as fast as they can to keep with the trends, keep up appearances, and to make up for lost time. And as much as I love the thrill of the fast life, how can I expect to see my growth, what I like, what needs changing and how to fall into a good rhythm when I'm too busy trying to keep up.

✧─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Xoxo, Sydney Mykah -☆

[fadeintoyou1993]

Weekdays. From 8:25AM to 3:01 PM, we adhere to a strict regimen. Everything in our lives controlled. But then something like the murder of Jason Blossom happens, and you realize there is no such thing as control. There is only chaos. Nevertheless, some of us strive to impose and maintain order in what is, fundamentally, an orderless world. A fact which would very soon be confirmed in ways none of us could have foreseen. [...] Whether you believe in order or chaos, in the end, it's the same… We are either in control of our lives, or merely think we are.

RIVERDALE (2017—2023) Chapter Ten: The Lost Weekend

[srbachchan]

DAY 5641

Jalsa, Mumbai                July 28,  2023                Fri 10:27 PM

🪔 .. July 29 .. birthday greetings to Ef Amar Brar aka Ef Renu UK 🇬🇧 .. and Ef Shardha Aggarwal from New Delhi .. wishes of good health and happiness .. from your Ef Family always .. 🙏🏻🚩

Birthday - EF - Amar/Renu Brar .. Saturday, 29 July .. love from the Ef family ..

The night is young as they would say .. and yes it is .. so at  2:23am of the next day, the 29th,  it is still in time for the DAY of the 28th .. though there have been many reactions to the manner in which I have been mentioning my days and dates here .. many feeling I am not doing it right .. 

If I have to write for the DAY of the day , within the time frame of the day .. then it is quite simple .. mention the day and date and all is well within the Ef WORLD .. BUT when the DAY of the day has passed the midnight hour, I mention 2 dates .. the one for which the day of the DAY is being written, and mention also that when the DAY is being written it has passed the midnight hour and on to the next day, else the timing that I give shall confuse the reader .. for the timing when the midnight has passed, shall reflect the next day .. hence ..  

Assertion in the lives of the many are an essential ingredient for the functioning of living .. many of the living feel or have asserted that they know without fault, that the assertion of the one they are employed for , is quite literally a waste of time , or they are unaware of the doings of the employed .. 

NO .. 

The employer with his or her checks and balances does find out and needs to find out the fault and immediately confront and correct .. 

Eg., 

cctv cameras and staff that man them all day long 24 hrs in 4 shifts .. security at the gates and homes that maintain regimen 24 hrs in 4 shifts .. are employed to keep vigil .. make attendance and in and out movements with details of names and purpose on attendance sheets .. sheets which the employer checks before resigning for the night .. checks too at odd hours when unexpectedly through the cctv ap., on your phone you can discover personally what movements occur .. and a quick questioning to the staff manning property, keeps them attentive to the fact that they are being watched .. 

ASSERTION .. ladies and gentlemen of the Ef .. the essential ingredient of living .. never understood .. never misunderstood  .. never stood .. 

and when the defaulter is caught .. OUT ! out of the gates of the job .. find another place buddy .. warned several times, and when disobedience takes place often enough .. they must find another place where disobedience can be tolerated .. or not ..

The luxury of unknown disposition is a luxury, until the roof falls upon you  !!

Be in discipline  .. assertion be the norm .. the essential ingredient .. for the living in the lives of those that be employed for the job .. employed .. !!

A difficult naming .. a difficult practice .. but practice makes perfect  .. keep at it .. and at some stage the door shall open .. and if it does not ..  ‘jump’ - philosophically, or better metaphorically  - and enter  !!

Metaphorically  .. 😁 ..

Life is such a metaphor .. !!!

Amitabh Bachchan

[originalaccountname]

can i ask about the chuuya related stuff on the bingo?

(also hasn’t the chuuyas OG ability theory already been proven in sb or am i remembering it wrong)

the bingo

The bingo was made as a compilation of theories/speculations me and @videogamelover99 discussed! I may answer most of them

The "Chuuya's original ability" was included because while I fully believe in it being true and as the author intended, some people do not. It was included in the bingo as "perhaps it will be of use later", with very low expectations.

Chuuya owes Ango for something, as he said so in both Dead Apple and Gaiden (but refuses to provide context). The whole debt thing is probably in reference to the irl authors' shared history; they drank together and fought and stuff, I forget all the details. Sadly it's been too long since we came up with this specific bingo and I forgot what this one was. All I could find again was "Chuuya's debt to Ango was about getting records of his friends that died in DHC", so I guess it was about Chuuya asking Ango, who was at the time cataloguing all the dead PM members' identities so they wouldn't become numbers on a list, something about the friends he had just lost.

"Mori being behind Arahabaki", "Chuuya turning on Mori" and "Mori and Chuuya's real dad were pals" are all ideas that bounced off each other, but could happen independently. They came from this instagram post about the origin of irl Chuuya's name. irl Chuuya's father was a doctor in the army that worked under irl Mori (see the instagram post); plus, another man that worked under Mori with him was a certain Nakamura. He could be the inspiration behind SB's professor N.

bsd Mori had a leading role during the war on how to use abilities as weapons, his pet project being the Immortal Regimen with Yosano. At the same time, N was responsible for Project Arahabaki, the study of singularities to be used as weapons. That their paths never crossed would be very surprising, their fields being so similar. From that one photograph of kid Chuuya in SB, we can see that N knew Chuuya before being in the lab, and the epilogue revealed Chuuya's dad to be an ex-military doctor. Bringing back the Mori-Nakahara-Nakamura trio from earlier, it seems likely they would all know each other on some level (though, with bsd's habit of inverting dynamics, Mori probably wouldn't be everyone's boss here).

From there, our theories split: Vee envisioned a situation where Mori was the one to point Chuuya out to N through their shared connection, making the project take form (as the initial ability to create a singularity was hard to find), while I preferred a scenario where Mori knew about N's ideas, but was busy with his own stuff. They both result in Mori seeing the King of the Sheep in Yokohama with his gravity manipulation almost a decade later and going "HUH."

Chuuya turning on Mori could happen in a few different ways, but it was originally meant to be a response to Chuuya finding out about Mori's relative implication with project Arahabaki. But, no matter the shape it could take, it would need to come from broken trust between them, much like Dazai's was with Oda's sacrifice.

[gettingfrilly]

Can't get you out of my Ed

Chapter one of... 39 chapters lmao. This fic will kill me and I'll be damned if I don't take some of you down with me. Read it here or on ao3. Super mega thanks to @fish-bowl-2 for betaing and also for giving feedback on my massive outline.

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“Ppbbbbbbththtbbbhththtthhhhh.”

“Dude.”

“Dude yourself.” Eddy mutters, not caring if Kevin objects to his bored mouth noises. What else is he supposed to do? It’s Wednesday, five pm, and raining. No one's been in the candy store for hours, and ain’t no one gonna show up before they close at six. So he stands here bored out of his skull, full weight propped against the counter with his face squished in his hands, elbows velcroed to the permanently sticky wooden surface. He keeps his eyes where they’ve been glued for the last hour, which is directly on the nostalgic kitsch wall clock with plastic lollipops for hands and pounded sheet metal with a scene from some 50’s style soda shop superimposed on it for a face. It goes well with the completely non-functional jukebox in the corner, the rows of dusty, empty, retro soda bottles lining the shelves on the wall opposite the front door, and the 40 year old ice cream machine behind the counter that’s been out of order since last summer. Eddy had felt giddy when Kevin first got him a job here his freshman year, tickled by his younger self’s hypothetical jealousy over how easily he could pocket a jawbreaker here and there. The garish clashing of the puke green tiles and pastel pink walls had filled him with bittersweet memories of childhood, familiar and welcoming for a first time job.

Now he just finds the whole store ugly. 

“You could, ya know. Work.” Kevin suggests. “Clean something. Stock something. Anything other than standing there with your thumb up your ass.”

“Oh? And you can’t?” He asks while side eyeing Kevin, who is also currently standing around with his thumb up his ass. More specifically, he’s leaning backwards against the displays behind the counter, wide shoulders slouched as his arms dangle at his sides. The clean hairline of his crew cut frames his wide, blocky face with sharp angles. He’s been made up of solid, sturdy shapes since he started playing for the varsity team in his junior year, and his workout regimen has further defined his muscles in the years since. Eddy wouldn’t exactly describe him as beefy, but his build is athletic for sure. He’s also classically handsome, Eddy begrudgingly admits to himself, though he’s not really his type. Too much of a normie for his tastes, with his basic sense of style and outfit compiled of store brand athletic wear. Guy shops at Old Navy for sure. Well, more like his mom shops for him there.

“I’m the boss. I’ve got underlings to do that kind of stuff for me.” An annoyingly smug smile graces his shovel shaped chin, and Eddy can’t help but grind his teeth.

“For your information, bossman, ” he hisses the title, “shelves: dusted. Floors: mopped. Inventory: stocked. Windows: windexed. Hell, I even ordered the lollipops by color out of fucking boredom. There is truly not a single thing left to do.”

Kevin hums and scratches his ten acre chin. “Oh. Well. Pbth.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

‘ Come now, with your cleaning skills, surely you left something amiss. Did you wipe down the floor trim? Deep clean the register? I see plenty of snack crumbs wedged between those sticky keys. And you didn’t even mention the employee bathroom, for heaven’s sake. ’

“Shut up.” He mumbles under his breath. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Hey, how’s Nazz doing?” Kevin’s and Nazz’s shaky relationship isn’t exactly his favorite can of worms to open, but he’s starting to get bored enough to peel his eyelids off of his face, so he better strike up some kind of conversation. 

“ Man- ” Yup, here we go, “I don’t get what’s up with her. Ever since she moved to Buffalo she’s been acting all different and weird. Dunno what happened to the Nazz we used to know.”

‘ She grew up. Which is something you may want to look into yourself, Kevin. 19 years old and no interest in pursuing a higher education or a greater calling like our dear Nazz has. Tut tut.’

“Yeah, it’s almost like she cares about shit now or something.”

“Exactly,” Kevin bemoans, completely missing Eddy’s sardonic tone. “I don’t get all the polisci stuff she talks about. I’m just not a political guy, ya know? Why can’t things just go back to being simple between us? College wrecks people, man.”

On one hand, even Eddy can tell Kevin’s being pig-headed about this. On the other hand, he can relate on a very painful, squishy, sore, and tender level.

‘Well you are quite pig-headed yourself.’

“She just outgrew this small town shit. We all should. I know I’m getting out of here as soon as I graduate.”

“Speak for yourself. I like it here.” Kevin mutters while crossing his arms petulantly.

“Of course you do, mister former high school quarterback nepo baby. You already got shit made here. Doesn’t your dad own the candy factory now?”

“Vice president. But yeah, he’ll own it soon. And he’s thinking of expanding. But what are you complaining about? Aren’t you all set up to inherit your old man’s dealership? That place makes decent dosh.”

“I’d rather eat nails.” The words come grinding out of his mouth as if it were already full of sharp, pointy metal.

“What? No way, man, you used to brag about that place all the time. Said it was your legacy and that you were gonna make it the hottest place in the county to get a used car.”

“Times change.” That’s the only explanation he’s willing to offer.

Kevin just shrugs, much to Eddy’s gratitude. That’s probably the best thing about being friends with Kevin; guy doesn’t ask questions. Makes him a solid person to vent to.

‘Especially if you’re allergic to discussing your feelings.’

With a long suffering groan, Eddy literally peels himself off of the old counter to do another useless perimeter search of the shop. He knows he still won’t find anything to do, but at least it’ll get his body moving. His sneakers squeak against the freshly mopped floors (so bored he even got out the mop, for chrissake…) as he eyes the displays, watching his reflection warp and transform from one glass container to the next, an endless hall of funhouse mirrors mocking him with his own boredom, irritation, and overall misery. His fault for scrubbing them all until they were spotless. The hole punched cardboard pallet that holds a variety of different brands of lollipops is just as hue spectrum oriented as he left it, so this time he goes for ordering them by size and shape instead. Well, that killed two minutes. Walk by the freezers, rearrange  some mismatched soda bottles he missed before. 30 seconds. Scrape a fleck of taffy off of one of the sliding door handles. 20 seconds. Stare at the wall for five seconds. Bang his head against it. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang. Another second. Bang.

“I’m taking a smoke break!” He calls loudly over the shelves in the direction of the front counter, not waiting for Kevin to respond before frantically scrambling towards the backroom. He nearly trips over a broom as he bursts into the cramped space, swearing at it uselessly as he stumbles over to his locker. It gets jammed as usual, the damn thing, Eddy jiggling the handle with a growl before he finally tears it open. The hood of his windbreaker catches on one of the locker’s internal hooks, causing Eddy to shout obscenities until he finally shakes it loose and shoves his arms into the sleeves. He stomps towards the back door and bumps it open with his hip as he wrestles with the zipper, getting himself encased once he steps outside into the muggy July evening air.

The door slams shut behind him as he huddles under the small overhang of the dirty green awning adorned above the back door, fishing his pack of camel menthols out of the pocket of his windbreaker. The hush of rain against the pavement and rhythmic pounding of droplets plunking against the rusty metal of the awning harmonize well together, creating a nice soundscape to back up the click click click of his lighter. He mutters swears under his breath like a prayer, internally praising glory hallelujah once the cig balanced between his lips lights and he can breath in deep and slow, the mint flavoring tickling his nose hairs and soothing the burn of hot smoke in his windpipe. Smoke billows from his mouth and nose after he’s held in his lungful for as long as he can, his exhale audible and pointed heavenward, smoke catching and lingering on the underside of the sheet metal above. 

‘Those will kill you.’

“The sooner the better.” Eddy mumbles, letting gravity pull his loosening body down against the wooden door behind him, desperate for a paint job. He takes another grateful drag as he watches the rain bounce and slide off of trashbags, forming muddied puddles in the potholes below. The hit of nicotine puts a fuzzy blanket over the constantly firing nerve endings in his brain, making his eyes droop as he fights back a yawn. Double D doesn’t know what he’s talking about, calling nicotine a stimulant. Smokes practically put him to sleep. 

He sneers down at the ground. What’s he got to even do these days other than work, smoke, sleep, repeat? The only thing he has to look forward to are the occasional phone calls he makes to Ed at the military school his shithead mom shipped him off to last summer before they all started their junior year. Double D and Ed were inconsolable that day, clinging to each other and sobbing as Ed’s dad silently packed his red commodore with sparse necessities, the rest of Ed’s belongings in boxes marked for the salvation army. The memory still makes Eddy’s eyes burn, the same way they did that day as he blinked to hold back his tears, repeating to the other two that they’d call, they’d write, they’d visit, and once senior year was done in two years, the three of them would be out of here. Double D would definitely get accepted to some fancy shmancy school on a fancy shmancy scholarship, and the two of them would follow along, working whatever jobs available so that their combined income with Double D’s scholarship funds could net them a nice apartment in whatever fancy shmancy city Double D went to for school. They’d be free of this pimple on the map of America called Peach Creek, free from their families, free from public school, free to be themselves. There’d be a queer scene, he told Double D. They’d be accepted there, he told him. It wouldn’t be like it is out here in the boonies. They wouldn’t have to hide.

Well, his plan may have less people in it now, but he’s sticking to it. He can’t stand the boredom anymore, can’t stand the confinement. If he spends one more summer afternoon staring at his bedroom ceiling, has one more shift during the dead hours of the candy store, has to give his dad one more excuse as to why he’s not dating anyone now that he’s got a paycheck, he’s going to burst out of his own skin like some kind of insectoid, brain sucking monster from one of Ed’s B-rated black and white horror flicks and suck the noggins of everyone in a five mile radius. He’ll get out of this shithole come hell or high water. He has to get out.

‘And go where, exactly?’

‘Anywhere but here.’

‘To do what?’

‘Live. Breathe. Stretch out and run around and scream and cry and shout and kick and hit and go and go and go.’

‘With who?’

‘Ed. Or no one. Who cares.’

‘You’d be alone.’

‘I’ve always been alone.’

‘That’s not true. You know that’s not true.’

Water streams from the corners of the awning, creating a puddle dangerously close to his Air Force 1s. An errant raindrop lands right on top of the toe of his left sneaker, and he grumbles as he bends over to swipe it away, cursing himself for not looking at the weather report before putting these on. He curses louder when a chunk of ash falls from his cig and takes up residence where the water droplet just vacated, grabbing it from his mouth to hold it out to the side as he frantically brushes off his shoe.

‘Please, Eddy, be careful! Think of how much money your mother spent on such a frivolous purchase.’

Eddy snarls, sick to death of this incessant nagging. “Just shut uuUGHH!”

The smack of the wooden door against his ass throws him completely off balance, staring down at his shoes one second then catching himself on his hands and gazing at a puddle inches from his face the next. Adrenaline rushes through his body, making his lungs seize up and his eyes go wide, the rain falling on the back of his head feeling far colder than it should be on a warm July evening. He keeps himself propped up on one hand as he swivels around to identify his attacker, blinking owlishly when he sees Kevin standing in the lit doorway, giving Eddy the same, wide eyed look.

“Dude. You okay?”

Anger quickly intermingles with his gut-dropping fear, gritting his teeth as he pushes himself back onto his feet. “Watch where you’re going, shovel chin!”

Kevin places one hand on his hip while he holds the door open with the other, expression blasé. “Doors are for opening, man. Anyway, we’re closing up. Just wasting money at this point.”

He finally catches his breath, raising his cigarette to take another calming drag, only to feel something unpleasantly cold and soggy touching his lips. Damn it. His hand must have landed in a puddle. He groans and pushes his now wet hair out of his face.

“These ain’t fucking cheap.” He grumbles, flicking the unlit stub to the ground.

“Did you even hear me, man?”

“Huh? Oh.” Calmer and less distracted now, his brain finally catches up with what Kevin said. “Yeah, great idea, bossman!” The title is used in a much more jolly manner than before, giving Kevin a pat on the back and leaving a stubby, wet handprint behind as he pushes past him and back into the backroom to grab the rest of his stuff. He kicks off his nice sneakers to trade them for the ratty back ups he keeps in his locker, stepping into the worn pair as he puts his multi-colored Nikes into his water proof backpack for safe keeping.

Kevin sneers and murmurs something Eddy is sure was insulting as he looks behind himself and at the back of his shirt. “I’ve got to count money and lock up if you wanna stick around to help-”

Eddy’s locker slams abruptly, echoing loudly in the small space as he slings his drawstring bag over his shoulders and puts his hood up in quick, jerky motions. “Bye, seeya later, hasta la vista, sayonara, annyeong.” He half-jogs out of the back room before finishing his goodbyes, ignoring Kevin’s jeering as he slips through the door to the front room. He continues his half jog past the candy displays, snagging a jawbreaker and shoving it into his pocket next to his smokes before heading out the door and back out into the rain.

He breathes in a deep breath of freedom as he stretches his arms out to his sides and then over his head, making his way back to the cul de sac with a skip in his step. The world is his oyster now that he’s off of work. Now he can… he can… well.

The skip turns into a slow trudge as Eddy remembers he doesn’t actually have anything post work to look forward to, mood sinking further and further with each dark and empty store he passes by. Looks like Kevin wasn’t the only one who decided to close up early; all of downtown is dead. And it’s just not the cafe, the butcher shop, and the shoe store that are dark. It’s too early for the street lights to come on, but the sky is thick with heavy rain clouds, keeping the sunlight prisoner behind the bubbling veil of black and gray. His eyes turn down to the wet cement of the sidewalk with its divots and potholes, floating cigarette butts in the puddles that formed within them, scowling at his feet as they pointlessly move beneath him. What’s he even going home to? Another evening zoning out in front of the TV? Maybe lying upside down on his bed and listening to saccharine sweet slow dance songs? Then whatever he does will just be followed by chain smoking in the backyard until he’s tired enough to pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow, welcoming oblivion as an alternative to being left alone with his thoughts. It’s the same damn thing every day. And it’ll keep being the same damn thing every day until he gets out of here or dies. Dying may be the more convenient option at this point. It’d be a lot easier than having to finish high school before he beats it. All he has to do is wait for a car to come by and then jump out in front of it.

But no cars come. No one coming, no one leaving, a town stuck in stasis, the white noise enough to deafen him. His shoes are getting soaked. He’s gonna get cold feet.

Christ, he needs to quiet his fucking mind before he ends up as roadkill. He reaches into his pocket, fingertips brushing against the cool metal of his lighter before he finds his pack of camels, grasping onto it like a lifeline. He takes out the light with it, shaking a cig loose from the pack and into his waiting hand. He balances it between his pointer and middle finger, bringing it up to press it between his lips and under his hood so he can attempt to light it-

Only to immediately pull his hand away when he tastes blood on his tongue.

“The fuck?” He squeaks out, high pitched and startled. He looks at the cig and finds fresh red blood smeared on the paper and filter, but that’s not what’s most alarming; what has him wince and hiss under his breath is the sight of his hand, dark, slimy globules clotted together in the center with dried and flaky trails of blood running down between his fingers, some of it gathered under his nails, in his nail beds, and around the gold band on his ring finger. Rain splashes down into his open palm, the droplets saturating themselves with blood before they roll down the sides of Eddy’s hand and down his wrist, leaving trails of pink behind. He swipes his thumb gingerly over his palm and squints, scowl deepening when he discovers the cut beneath, small but deep. 

Damn it. Must have happened when he fell. Probably glass from a broken bottle. How did he not feel it? Stupid Kevin. Stupid door. He clicks his tongue and keeps walking, placing the cig back between his lips; he’s not gonna waste another one of these. It brings him minimal relief once it’s lit, his frayed nerves further agitated by the site, smell, and taste of his own blood. He’s had e-fucking-nough of that for one life time. Thankfully the shops start to become far and few between, with residential houses looming on the horizon. He’ll walk in through the back door to his room before his mom gets a chance to see his hand and starts freaking out. He’ll clean his hand, dry off his feet, and get out of this fucking rain. That’s something to sort of look forward to. Isn’t it?

When he turns the corner of rethink avenue several minutes later, all thoughts of the creature comforts of home disperse like a warren of rabbits intruded on by a fox. His cig, burned down to a stub at this point, dangles from his parted lips, eyes frozen on the looming portend of the past come to haunt him currently parked in his own fucking driveway. He’s freezing suddenly, all heat sapped out of him like someone pulled the plug, lungs becoming a vacuum as cosmic background radiation burns within them, singed by his only source of heat. It’s like he’s falling again, shoved from behind and just barely managing to protect his face from scraping the pavement. An unknown attacker from behind, the familiar sound of him breathing through his teeth.

He tastes blood on his tongue.

The cigarette butt falls from his lips as he turns away from the sight of the whale shaped trailer in front of his house, breaking out into a jog to the only other house he can think to go to, nestled right on the corner he just turned. His bedroom lights are on. His parents, as usual, aren’t home. He misses him with an ache deeper than anything else he’s felt in a long time.

He hopes Double D actually lets him in.

[mcatmemoranda]

Core symptoms of PMS and PMDD – The core symptoms of premenstrual syndrome (PMS) include affective symptoms (such as depression, irritability, and anxiety) and somatic symptoms (such as breast pain, bloating and swelling, and headache). The symptom(s) must impair functioning in some way and must remit at menses or shortly thereafter. Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) is a more severe form..)

●Diagnosis – A clear diagnosis of PMS or PMDD should be established before treatment is considered. In particular, women must be symptom free during the follicular phase. This can be best discerned by having a patient chart her mood and physical symptoms daily over the course of at least one but ideally two menstrual cycles.

●Management

•Mild symptoms – For women with mild premenstrual symptoms that do not cause distress or socioeconomic dysfunction, we initiate targeted behavioral therapy and/or lifestyle measures such as regular exercise and stress reduction techniques (algorithm 1).

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Algorithm 1:

PMS: premenstrual syndrome; PMDD: premenstrual dysphoric disorder; COC: combined oral contraceptive; SSRI: selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor; GnRH: gonadotropin-releasing hormone. * Symptoms are charted prospectively using a Daily Record of Severity of Problems (DRSP) form to confirm the diagnosis of PMDD. ¶ For women who desire hormonal contraception, we start with a COC; usually one containing 20 mcg of ethinyl estradiol with 3 mg of drospirenone. A COC administered continuously is a second option. Δ For women with documented PMDD who do not want hormonal contraception, we suggest an SSRI, which can be given continuously, during the luteal phase only, or as a "symptom-onset" regimen. We typically start with citalopram or escitalopram. We suggest a 2- to 3-month trial, typically starting at a low dose and titrating up to an optimal dose; switching from an intermittent to continuous regimen if needed, and trying a second SSRI if the first does not provide adequate symptom relief. ◊ Many women with PMDD require therapy until menopause except when pursuing pregnancy.

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A course of cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) may be beneficial for some women. However, this approach has not yet been studied well, and identifying clinicians who can provide this treatment can be difficult.

•Moderate to severe symptoms – We suggest selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs) as our first-line options for women with moderate to severe premenstrual symptoms, especially for those who experience depressive and anxious symptoms (algorithm 1 and table 3) (Grade 2B). SSRIs can be administered as a continuous daily therapy, luteal phase-only treatment (starting on cycle day 14), or symptom-onset therapy, but one must be sure that the patient is asymptomatic during the follicular phase to avoid undertreatment (table 3).

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Table 3

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If contraception is the patient’s top priority (in addition to treating the premenstrual symptoms), many women prefer to try a combined estrogen-progestin oral contraceptive (COC) rather than an SSRI as first-line therapy (algorithm 1). We typically use a COC containing drospirenone with a four-day pill-free interval as our first-line pill. If symptom relief with a monophasic COC with a shortened pill-free interval is inadequate, an SSRI can be added. Again, amelioration of depressive and anxious symptoms may be inadequate with COC only treatment.

•Refractory symptoms – For women who have not responded to or cannot tolerate SSRIs or COCs and continue to experience severe symptoms, we typically initiate a trial of gonadotropin-releasing hormone (GnRH) agonist therapy with estrogen-progestin add-back (algorithm 1). (See 'GnRH agonists' above.)

Medical therapy of PMDD is usually successful. As a result, surgery is considered only as a last resort (eg, in cases with severe, disabling symptoms that have responded to GnRH agonist and hormone add-back therapy for at least six months). Guidelines that must be met before considering oophorectomy are outlined above.

[thaisibir]

the Phantom Thieves as medical specialties

disclaimer: I’m in the medical field, specifically anesthesiology, and I’ve worked in the ER/emergency medicine before pursuing anesthesia

Ren: emergency medicine -jack of all trades -the Swiss Army knife of medicine -can do everything from suturing cuts to reviving people from cardiac arrest -bikes to work -hits up the batting cages to decompress -has seen some real gnarly shit -can keep a cool head when someone comes in actively dying

Ann: dermatologist -has the bougie lifestyle that everyone in the medical field wants -no calls, no weekends, always living her best life -perpetual glowing complexion -knows a billion clinical terms to describe skin -knows the perfect skin care regimen for all her friends

Ryuji: PM&R (physical medicine and rehabilitation) -helps patients literally get back on their feet -knows all the therapies to correct gait and posture but his own posture is shit -always reminds his friends to stretch -knows every conceivable way the human body can break (mostly from personal experience) -almost went into orthopedic surgery but didn't want to do more school than he could take

Morgana: anesthesiologist (my field!) -makes you go to sleep -won't shut up about patient safety/advocacy ("watch your health!") -would sedate a combative uncooperative kid with a ketamine dart -expert at glaring at surgeons over the sterile drapes -would complain out loud if the medical student is chosen to close skin -more than happy to cancel cases and make surgeons throw a fit -crossword puzzles

Yusuke: pathologist -attention to detail, visually oriented -studies pretty slides all day -constantly mesmerized by the patterns in microscopic cells and tissues -always in search of the perfect beautiful specimen

Makoto: neurosurgeon -been in school/training forever -lives in the operating room -the queen of said operating room -in a profession that demands both physical stamina and immaculate precision -would stand for 10 hours straight correcting someone's spine with screws and rods -would make anesthesia stick an IV in her arm and hydrate her with an IV bag so she can keep operating (yes I've done this for a neurosurgeon once. She was pregnant too. Neurosurgeons don't fuck around.) -appointed as chief of surgery and regrets it sometimes

Futaba: radiologist -rich in the dark -never sees sunlight -stares at the computer all the time -has to be dragged outside by her friends so she can get her daily vitamin D -knows her patients inside and out without speaking a word to them -goes ham on trying out the latest medical tech -hangs up (generic) CT scans and X-ray images in her room for the aesthetic

Haru: pediatrician -wears cute cartoon badge holders -also wears cheery pastel-colored scrubs -keeps calm and polite even before the most anal unreasonable parents -can soothe any crying baby in seconds -very sharp eye for catching signs of child abuse -would rather take the lower salary working with kids than dealing with adults

[whumperhive]

PT51734 - Rules

@bbu-on-the-side

Contents: Guard Dog whumpee, Pet whump(?), Nonhuman Whumpee, Male whumper (offscreen)

Takes place in the same universe as Double A! Woagh, two Days in one?? Amazing!!!

They didn’t mean it.

Truly, they didn’t.

They had rules, a routine, everything good and simple. Something a pet should know.

Something they should have known.

9:00 AM, sharp, they were to patrol the grounds. Usually they were paired with another Guard, something about having a pair of eyes behind you, Mrs. Altringer had said.

The morning was cool, the dew on the blades of grass from the mist that was fading in the slices of sun rays that cast from between the trees that surrounded the estate. Elody made a mental note to inform Mr. Altringer about the height before it got too out of control. He liked it being at a certain height, and they knew that this was becoming a bit too long.

Their ears twitched as they looked around, a small cloud of wariness settling over them at the feeling of absence behind them. Markus was sick this morning, Miranda and Orion were patrolling the other side of the estate, and August…

They pushed aside the sickly feeling pooling into their stomach at the thought of the fellow Guard. He had made the mistake of becoming distracted a few weeks ago when the Altringers were out; poor little Anastacia had nearly become lost in the large market they had attended. The last time they had seen him was the night they had come back; the whites of his eyes visible, canine ears pinned against his head, muzzle all too-tight around his face and brows pinched in pain. He had been dragged to the back, Mr. Altringer’s booming voice nearly snarled as he berated him.

Elody took a deep breath, feeling the collar around their neck tighten as they did. The familiar feeling brought them back to reality, brushing away the memories. Of course he’d be fine, training was necessary with the ownership of pets. Still, they had remembered their days down in the basement, begging cries going unheard, the gnawing ache in their stomach, the itchy feeling of drying blood against aching wounds struggling to scab over. They clench and unclenched their hands, focusing on the thudding of their hooves beneath them, tilting their ears this way and that to analyze the surroundings. Not the time to get lost in thought, not now.

Instead, they focused on their schedule, reminding themself of the rules given to them by Mrs. Altringer.

9:00 AM: Patrol the Front of the Estate.

They will follow every command anyone of the Altringer family gives them. Without questioning.

10:00 AM: Take post at the front gates to the estate.

Speak when spoken to. Dogs do not have voices.

12:00 PM: Return home for lunch.

Keep a strict workout regimen, Mr. Altringer has provided you and the others with what will be acceptable.

12:30 PM: Take post at the back gates of the estate.

Muzzles will be used at our discretion, it will be our choice if we feel the need to —

Though the reminders are calming, familiar, they accidentally distract. Elody comes-to when their body instinctually jolts at the sound of a branch snapping as if a gunshot had gone off. Their eyes snap to the foliage close to the house, grand bushes blooming with flowers that smelled so strongly they weren’t sure if the noise was a stray animal or a threat.

Ears pinning back, they went on the defensive, stomping towards the noise. The noises alerting to others unseen, nonexistent. They feel the need to lower their head, shake around the small antlers resting in front of their ears towards an unknown threat. They don’t, of course, but the feeling, the instinct, the need, is still there like something heavy hanging in their chest.

Suddenly, another snap, this time to the right. Their eyes hone in on where it comes from, closer to Mrs. Altringer’s garden. The lady of the house hates having it messed with, and that sends a spike of fear through them like a dagger. They grit their teeth behind thin lips as they approach, heart hammering in their chest. It feels strange, wrong, to be the one sneaking up on a threat. They feel the need to turn tail and hide, to run away from whatever this was, unseen, unknown. All of it screamed of danger, danger — run run run run and hide and flee and protect and snap and bite —

They dig their hand into the bushes covered in sickly-sweet smelling, soft pink flowers and yank back something screeching and kicking and yelling. They let loose a growl that comes from their throat, unfamiliar and unnatural feeling to use.

Their vision is tunneling as they throw the figure to the side, nose and eyebrows pinched and teeth shown in an attempt to seem threatening as they stomp a hoof once more. They can feel their tail displaying the striking white against black to warn, for a nonexistent group to run and hide and find safety.

“Dude, what the fuck?!”

Elody blinks and their eyes clear as their heart drops.

Fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Laying on the ground is the eldest son of the Altringers, Elias, holding his arm and face wrenched in a pained, shocked scowl. Dirt is smeared on his freckled face, jet black hair that usually is clean and shining covered in leaves and petals. The penned up suit he usually wears is discarded for a hoodie and sweatpants, now littered with a few tears.

But what makes them freeze is the cut on his cheek, a thin crimson line dripping down to his chin.

“Oh — Oh goodness, I didn’t —”

“Shut up.” The order is followed by their jaw snapping shut with an audible click, a barely-hidden wince as they bite down on their tongue.

“Do you know what you just did?!” His voice is raised now, and he should quiet down, Mrs. Altringer needs her rest and Anastacia wakes in an hour and God only knows how long they’ve been out; they need to get to the front gates, that’s at 10, and they need to go because that’s rule 6, to be on time, and they follow rules: rule 1, rule 2, rule 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 7 days are in a week and 4 weeks in a month and 5 months until —

Elody nearly falls to the ground as they’re manhandled, pin striking down their skull as Elias grips one of their antlers harshly, pulling on the outermost tine. Even if he’s told them to shut up, they’re begging, blabbering like some child about to be punished, chest rising and falling in heaves as they stumble over tile. Their hooves aren’t made for such surfaces, they’re meant outside, they’re meant to be guarding, it’s their purpose, please, please!

“P - Please, I didn’t mean i - it! I thought y — an outsider! I thought you were an intruder — please, please, sir! Please, it was an accident, please!”

Their pleads go unheard, and soon it’s back to the darkness, the cold, the aching.

And what irony was it that their company was one and the same with them.

Rulebreakers.

[catohphm]

Weekend With The Grays 2023 Day 2 Prompt - Welcome Ball III

Once again, thanks, @endlessly-cursed for a fantastic event! Prim belongs to her. I also have mentions of Malcolm by @gaygryffindorgal and Roxie by @mjs-oc-corner, who also owns Bella, Danny's ship partner. This short piece of content reveals a brief fashion emergency the couple has before the third Welcome Ball that becomes a funny story for later.

On the day before the Welcome Ball, Danny and Bella spent the hour before the 6 PM deadline re-exploring the spacious expanse of Winbourne. They found their usual guest room in the course of that. An attendant had been there to receive Danny's broom and the couple's rucksacks when they first landed down near the gates. Their belongings were left where they'd be staying during the solstice celebrations. 

Warm laughter and mingling took place that night and the morning before the ball. Friends took the time to catch up with each other and reminisce about the passing year. One friend in particular Danny and Bella hung out with was Roxie, a fellow auror-in-training of his. It was in part due to Roxie’s camaraderie and friendship that made the intense regimen a small part easier for her and Danny. She was best friends with him and even helped foster his romantic relationship with Bella. The former Ravenclaws were like siblings and were inseparable in their bond.

However, a small rush of panic took place for Danny and Bella before the ball. The necklace for her dress was missing before Lady Primrose and Lord Malcolm were to assemble everyone together in the hall.

She realized she had forgotten her necklace. Bella felt around for it and wasn't wearing it.

“Where did my necklace go, love? I had it when I showed it to Prim a few minutes ago.”

“I mean, we can wait until after the ball to find it.” offered Danny.

Bella immediately started for the small seating area where they chatted with Prim. It was adjacent to the dance floor. “Not that, I'd rather have it now so I don't have to worry later.”

He caught up to her. “Relax.” He checked his pocket watch. “Still five minutes until the ball starts. Let's relax, not get hasty. Can you remember where we sat.”

Bella took a deep breath. Alright, okay. Prim… was in the armchair there. We were on the sofa to the left.” Danny pointed to it. “So that's where you think the necklace should be?”

“Yes.” confirmed Bella. “I know Prim couldn’t have saw it because she left right after giving it back to me.”

They approached their sofa. There was no necklace, but Danny had a hunch.

“This is silly, but I think it sunk into the sofa. We should look between the cushions.”

“It's on me, Danny. I heard the announcement for everyone to gather on the dance floor and got up right away without a second. I never thought to look. 

He sent her a reassuring smile before they started digging in the couch. “All's well once we find it.”

Within a few seconds, Danny felt the neck loop and Bella’s hand! They looked up at each other with wide eyes. Both uttered “wa-lah!” They pulled it up together. It flew out of their grip into the hair and into her cupped hands. 

She looked at her love and giggled. “Now that's a new meaning to we found it together.”

Danny grinned. “Bravo, Bella. I'm glad for two, that's us.”

She was adamant now to get back to the dance floor. “That’s enough, silly Danny.” she joked as she ran her arm through his and motioned forward with him. “We got a short window, Let’s leg it back now, love.

After the Welcome Ball commenced, the couple expressed relief at their quick save.

“I dunno,  I would've probably ransacked the chairs and sofa if you hadn't helped me, Danny. Prim wouldn't-

“Worry not.” he finished. “I'm just happy we got your necklace back. You're splendid with it.”

Bella put her hand on her partner’s shoulder and remarked “Thank you, Danny. It's a special one-of-a-kind. Honestly I wouldn't know I'd react if it was truly lost.”

“You're quite welcome. Of course, you got to think differently when the belonging can't exactly be replaced.” he replied.

“I'm glad you understand. Now enough worrying about the past. Let's see what you got this great night.”

Danny reached his hand to Bella’s shoulder, and they began their dance moves. With nothing else clouding their thoughts, they took in the sight of seeing each other's beautiful face. No matter where and how fast they twirled, the blur was at bay, and the sights between them were clear. In a grand collage of music, sweet swaying souls in the arms of the festive hearth, Danny and Bella were at peace.

[theandersbjork]

— whoa! ANDERS BJÖRK just stole my cab! not cool, but maybe they needed it more. they have lived in the city for 13 YEARS, working as a CFO. that can’t be easy, especially at only 44 YEARS OLD. some people say they can be a little bit COMPLEX and INTENSE , but I know them to be WELL-ROUNDED and STOIC. whatever. I guess I’ll catch the next cab. hope they like the ride back to MANHATTAN! — 

BACKGROUND

Anders Björk’s life has been shaped by the significant pressures and expectations that come with being the firstborn son in a prominent family. Born into the illustrious Björk family in Stockholm, Anders' path seemed clear from the start: to excel in the business world and uphold the family’s legacy of success and leadership.

As a child, Ander felt the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, striving to meet the high standards set by his parents, Linnéa and Baldur. He was always the model student and dutiful son, excelling academically, athletically, and more or less embracing his role as the responsible older brother. His early years were marked by a determination to live up to the family’s expectations, with no room for emotions, to carve out his own place within the world of finance.

Anders' dedication to business was evident throughout his academic and professional journey. He pursued a degree in economics with relentless focus, eventually securing a prestigious role as CFO in a top consulting firm.

Amid his professional achievements, Anders' personal life took a delightful turn when he met Emma, an American woman with a vibrant personality and a warmth that contrasted his stoic, reserved, structured, high-pressure world. Their meeting was a serendipitous blend of chance and destiny. Emma, with her fresh perspective and grounding influence, brought a new dimension to Anders' life. Their connection grew quickly, built on mutual respect, love, and shared values.

Emma’s arrival in Anders' life introduced a new chapter filled with joy and partnership. Their relationship blossomed into marriage, and together they embarked on a journey of family life that enriched Anders' world in ways he had not anticipated. They welcomed three beautiful daughters into their lives, each one adding their unique charm and joy to their family.

The past few years have been a time of profound personal growth for Anders. The continual navigation of relationships with his siblings and parents to balancing a high-stakes career with the responsibilities of fatherhood and marriage. Nothing in life comes easy, but Anders remains determined to keep his ivory castle untainted.

MISCELLANEOUS

Has three daughters: Alma (12), Elsa (8), and Vera (4). Takes the job responsibility of being a "girl dad" very seriously. They can't date until they're in their 50s.

Has a strained relationship with his siblings, but his wife has been persistent on him mending those relationships. He's indifferent, but working on it.

Operates on a strict regimen that start at 4:30 AM that starts with a run and goes all the way until 11:30 PM, reading a book in bed with his wife.

Travels at least once a month anywhere from three days to two weeks.

Can teach a master class on how to BS and rub elbows with the elites of his New York. Would rather gouge his eyeballs out.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Bruuuuh period cramps are no joke. One time I literally did nothing all day cuz they hurt so bad 😭😭😭 I hate to sound like this, but men will never understand the pain periods can bring.

Period cramps really do suck. As well as the change in appetite, change in mood, change in bowel regimen, change in energy—

You know what, though, PMS really freaking sucks too, mine’s gotten so bad that I ask for my period to start so the PMS phase is over 😅🥴

[singdreamchild]

@kadavernagh replied to your post “I was advised to ask you about death stan pins....”:

My associate, who is a leading expert on stans. You're goth, are you not?

​I think you would benefit from spending a day in a modern-day high school. I think you'd learn a lot from the trendiest reusable water bottle to the best skincare regimen that a 15-year-old definitely needs for their aging skin. The answers to those are Stanley and Drunk Elephant, by the way. In case you need to know these things.

I am goth, but that does not mean I know where to find tacky pins. I don't wear pins. I lean more toward the Victorian Goth side of the spectrum than a trad goth, who would probably wear those pins.

[pm] Here, this is the best I can do. [User links to a pin that says "I ❤️ Death." It's written over the silhouette of the Grim Reaper.] I didn't find this because I'm goth, I found this because I know how google works.

[lackablazeical]

What's a usual day for the gang + usagi?

Leo: during nights when his brothers sleep, he usually dicks around NY or the hidden city (also mostly when he gets his stalking time in), or he may read comics, watch TV, etc. During day, typically the same thing but may spend time with his brothers/keep an eye on them.

Mikey: either wakes up 4 am or 1 pm, no in-between. He often does his stretches, cooks breakfast/lunch, and then will run through show routines and paint. He usually has nighttime shows, he comes home like 3 am a lot of the time, if he does come back home in the same day. He may also cook dinner if he's able, as well. He also is the one that does most of the grocery shopping since he's the one who cooks.

Donnie: most of the time he's in his lab or the living room, working or gaming. He may go to the surface to scavenge or search for subjects, but he's a home body and likes staying home in his routine.

Raph: mostly just lounges with Splints or one of his brothers all day, watches TV and stuff! He also follows his brothers around, so him and Leo adventure around or Raph will carry all of Mikeys recent shopping spree items :P

Usagi: wake up at 5 am, go through his training regimen, go to work, work, run errands, come home, cook/read/relax, nighttime training regimen, sleep at like 10 pm. With Leo, get about 3 hours of sleep, be with Leo for about 8 hours, maybe get some free time if Leo leaves to do other things.

[substituted-shinigami]

Tick Tock

(Characters: Byakuya, Renji, Rukia (implied RenRuki), Genre: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Rated: G)

AO3

Part of the "We Can't All Be Winners" anthology series of oneshots.

Chapter Summary: Connecting is…difficult. It takes time. Occurs between the Soul Society Arc and the Advance Team Arc.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

The sound of the ticking clock filled the silence of the room, interrupted only by the scratching of brushes against parchment.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Paperwork shuffled, then more brush scratches.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

A barely muffled yawn came from one side of the room. Then a quiet apology.

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG

The clock rang five pm, the work day was done. From the same side of the room as the previous yawn, came the sound of a stretch and the scraping of a chair being pushed away from a table. Two large feet marched up to the captain’s desk.

"Here is the finished paperwork for today, sir."

"Very good, Vice Captain Abarai Renji, you may put it in the usual spot," Kuchiki Byakuya replied without looking up. Renji carefully put down the paperwork into the correct pile.

"Do you require anything else today, sir?"

"No, that will be all."

After this daily formal exchange, Renji usually just immediately left. But he stayed put.

"Um, sir…How was…your day?" Renji asked hesitantly, scratching the back of his neck. At that, Byakuya did look up.

"Were you not here to witness most of it, Vice Captain?"

"Oh…yes…sorry to bother you, sir," he said, and quickly turning on his heel, he left. After he shut the door, Byakuya finally put down his brush. He folded his hands neatly on the desk and sighed.

_________________________________

Clink

Clank

Clink

Clank

The clinking sound of chopsticks and spoons being used filled the silence of the room, interrupted only by the chewing of expensive food.

Clink

Clank

Clink

Clank

The sipping of tea, then the quiet clatter of the cup returning to its spot.

Clink

Clank

Clink

Clank

The swish of a napkin concealing a quiet cough. Then a quiet apology.

Clink

Clank

Clink

Clank

The setting down of chopsticks, and the sound of ruffling fabric as a small figure slowly lifted herself from her seat.

"I'm finished, Niisama. Thank you for the meal," Rukia stated as she bowed to him. Byakuya looked up.

"Very good. You are dismissed from the table," Rukia turned to go, and then turned back.

"Um…Niisama?"

"...Yes?"

"How…was your day?"

"Adequate. "

"Ah…" There was silence then.

"...How was yours?" Byakuya asked.

"Oh….same…." Another pause, "Have a good night, Niisama." And with that, Rukia left. Byakuya put down his chopsticks and neatly folded his hands on the table. He sighed.

__________________________________

Tick

Tock

Tick

"Hey, Captain?"

"Hm?"

"Have you had a chance to look over the new training regimen?"

"Yes."

"What…what did you think?"

"Adequate. "

"Ah…good."

"......"

"......"

"....It…" Byakuya continued slowly. Renji perked up, "Succeeded in properly pushing the recruits without overexerting them. Also, you used less exclamation points in your report, as requested."

"Oh….thank you, sir," Renji said, looking a little surprised. Byakuya nodded and returned to his paperwork.

__________________________________

Clink

Clank

Clink

"Um…Niisama?"

"...Yes?"

"The weather is nice tonight. Do you wish to go for a walk?"

"I…have work to do."

"Of course. Forgive me, Niisama." And with that, Rukia quickly turned to leave, but Byakuya spoke up.

"Rukia…"

"Yes?" She asked, turning back.

"There is a full moon tomorrow night. That may be a better night for walking if you are not already occupied."

"Oh! No, I'm not, Niisama! Thank you, Niisama."

"Good, it's settled then," Byakuya declared, and returned to his food.

__________________________________

Tick

Tock

"Abarai Renji?" Byakuya began. Renji immediately sat up straight in his chair.

"Yes, Captain?"

"How goes….the Sixth Division’s futsal team?" Byakuya asked. Renji stared at him wide eyed.

"Oh! Pretty well, Captain! In fact- well I'm sure you don't need all the details…"

"I would not have asked if I did not want a detailed report, Lieutenant."

"Oh…right…. Anyway, Rikichi has really improved! And our goalkeeper, you should have seen him last game, he-" Renji went on for a while like this, and Byakuya listened and nodded at the appropriate points.

"I see. And who do we play this weekend?"

"Oh, the Eleventh, sir. They're really strong, but their strategy is weak. Well actually Ikkaku's strategy is good, it's just the Eleventh Division’s teamwork which is weak. Each of them keeps trying to be the one to complete the most goals, you know how it is. I think we got them in the bag as long as our Eighth Seat doesn't run away every time he sees them coming at him full speed."

"Hmmm," Byakuya hummed, "I think I may come see it."

"Really? That would be a great boost to morale, sir!"

"It is decided then," Byakuya declared, holding up his paperwork to reshuffle it, "Let me know if you need to take off a little time to make sure they are properly prepared."

"Yes! Thank you, Captain!" Renji declared enthusiastically. Behind his paperwork, Byakuya almost smiled.

__________________________________

Clink

Clank

"Rukia?"

"Yes, Niisama?" Rukia asked, sitting up in her chair. Byakuya folded his hands neatly on the table and stared straight at her.

"I heard from Captain Ukitake that you enjoy art."

"Oh…um…yes?"

"I too enjoy participating in artistic endeavors. May I see your artwork?"

"Oh well…I don't know, Niisama. I'm sure it pales in comparison to yours."

"Art is not simply about the quality, it is about the expression. I wish to know what you wish to express."

"Oh, well, I have a couple of instructional pieces I used to explain the role of a shinigami to Ichigo. But I'm not sure if…" Rukia hesitated.

"Hmmmm… Tell you what, if you humor me by allowing me to see your art, I'll show you mine as well." At that, Rukia beamed. She took out her sketchbook.

"Okay, in this one, the shinigami is defeating a hollow. And in this one they are performing konsō. And then in this one-" Byakuya patiently looked at the sketchbook, nodding at each page. Finally Rukia got to the end.

"So…” she said hesitantly, “What do you think?"

"I think…" Byakuya stated slowly while Rukia held her breath, "that if your art was used at the Shinigami Academy, we would have a lot more competent shinigami."

"Really, Niisama?!"

He nodded, "Yes. In fact, are you not due to return to the World of the Living soon?"

"Yes?"

"Good. I will set up a meeting time for you and my vice captain. He has been tasked with explaining the concept of the Arrancar to Kurosaki’s crew, and I believe your drawings will help greatly."

"Thank you, Niisama! Although, you don't have to set up an official meeting between me and Renji. I know how to track him down."

"Yes, I did notice him taking lunch in the direction of the Thirteenth quite often as of late," Byakuya replied casually as he sipped his tea.

"He's…uh…helping me train, Niisama. I've been out of the game so long, and he's helping me find my footing again."

"Indeed."

Rukia cleared her throat and changed the subject, "In any case, you promised to show me your art, Niisama."

"Oh, of course, one minute," He said, settling down his tea cup, and bringing out a small sketchbook from his sleeve. He flipped through a few pages and finally passed it towards her.

"Here he is, Wakame Ambassador, my own creation since small, and refined throughout the years." Rukia stared at it.

"It's beautiful…" she said with reverence.

"Yes, I hadn't drawn him in…sometime. But I've recently started drawing him again, and that is all thanks to you.

"Me?"

"Yes, you inspired me to get back into it."

"Thank you, Niisama…" Rukia said, a bit teary-eyed.

"Would you like to learn some of the secret Kuchiki art techniques?"

"Of course, Niisama!"

"Then it is settled. Come to the study after dinner, and we shall get started, " Byakuya declared, picking up his tea cup once more.

"Yes, thank you, Niisama!" Rukia said, enthusiastically. Hidden behind his tea, Byakuya actually smiled.