#sincerely; someone who deals with chronic pain

[tscritical]

WAIT HOLD ON ARE PEOPLE BLAMING CRIT BLOGS FOR THOMAS’S TMJ???? THAT IS. LAUGHABLE

even if that is SOMEHOW the case, it implies that we shouldn’t criticize him because. it’ll make his disability worse? that’s some infantilizing ass shit. you want me to walk on eggshells with him because of his disability? you want me to gingerly hold his hand so he doesn’t get pain flare ups? as if he isn’t a whole ass adult that should be able to handle criticism? you’re not just a clown you’re the entire circus

and like if he really gets flare ups from people being like “why doesn’t thomas communicate with us as to why things take as long as they do” then he needs fucking therapy im sorry

[natasha-in-space]

I just saw your post about Zen with a disabled MC, now I can ask you to do the same but this time is MC who has an invisible disability, you can choose what invisible disability is that

Sure thing! I decided to go with two different options here :)

: ̗̀➛ It will take Zen some time to educate himself and fully come to terms with all the nuances of chronic pain or fatigue if you're someone who is dealing with it in their daily life. Though I don't think he is completely unaware of it either. As I'm sure I've stated before, he definitely has disabled fans with whom he has interacted before. It's pretty reasonable to assume that at least a few fans with chronic pain and/or fatigue would approach him or send him their letters of appreciation, detailing their lives to him.

But he will be upset for you.

The way you react to it is entirely up to you, but I do think he will go through a phase of accidentally smothering you with his worry for your well-being. Telling you to rest when you say you're fine, doing easy tasks for you that you can perfectly do by yourself, and constantly asking if you're experiencing a flare-up or not. He has good intentions. He really does. Zen truly does view you as such an admirable and strong-willed person, but it simply breaks his heart to think of you struggling with anything by yourself when you already have such a difficult battle to endure almost every day.

You will most definitely have to share many sincere conversations with him about the topic. Set clear boundaries and educate him on the specific needs you do have. It won't be picture-perfect from the get-go, but Zen loves you to the moon and back. If you thought he was hardworking before, wait until you see all the work and commitment he puts into your relationship.

With time, you two will work out almost everything, even the smallest of details in your routines. He understands what you require during a flare-up. He knows when to leave you alone and when you'd rather have him hold your hand and coo into your hair loving words of reassurance, placing kisses to the crown of your head. And he ensures that you always have all the medication you may need in easy access.

Zen learns to let you make all the decisions you need, and you learn to rely on him whenever you want.

: ̗̀➛ And if you have a chronic mental illness, it's not much easier. People often undermine just how much your mental health can affect every single aspect of your life. I think Zen may be a bit less knowledgeable here. You're going to have to educate him on your disability, and how it affects you specifically. But despite being a bit clueless, Zen is not disrespectful by any means.

He will listen to you to talk without interruption, his hands clutched together on his knees, and his eyes completely focused on you. Knowing how much you're struggling will make his heart ache for you. Especially hearing jusy how hard it can be get basic respect from people when your disability isn't immediately noticed by human eyes. You can count on him to place a gentle hand on your shoulder and promise to always be there for you when you need him.

It's not going to be simple. And both of you will face challenges navigating your relationship. Zen will especially struggle with communication in this instance. Much like him taking on a role of a caretaker as I wrote prior, he will end up making the same mistake here. Only this time, it'll be him neglecting his own emotional needs and being hypersensitive to your mood changes throughout the day. He simply doesn't want to worry you or to cause you any more stress... Especially when you are dealing with a depressive episode, for exactly. Communication is something you two are going to have to work at one step at a time.

But Zen is nothing but stubborn. And he's very much stubborn about his love for you. When he was considering giving up on himself, you have been there for him and believed in him like no one else did. He is determined to demonstrate the same level of dedication to you, if not even more so. No matter what hurdles you two face, he will always be there to hold you tight and remind you just how much he loves you, at the end of the day.

I also kind of think that you dealing with a chronic mental illness will increase his awareness of the topic of mental health as a whole. His fans will probably see him donating to mental health charities and research, promoting mental health awareness in Korea, and advocating for the visibility of chronic mental health disabilities.

[plague-of-insomnia]

WIP Wednesday: New AU, Sebagni Sickfic

This excerpt is from a new self-indulgent AU I’m working on. It’s set in modern Houston, like many of my fics, with a human Sebastian with a rare chronic illness, a heap of medical (and other) trauma he hasn’t processed, and his new live-in nurse, Agni.

Over the course of the story, Agni gets Seb to heal and accept his intentions as genuine, and the two of them become closer.

Here’s an extra-long snippet to hopefully get you as excited for this as I am, lol.

[No real TW here, but it does deal with medical issues, chronic illness, with minor references to PTSD/panic attacks.]

“This is Agni,” Tanaka said as they approached. “Agni, this is Sebastian.”

Agni smiled. In another life, Sebastian may have appreciated how incredibly handsome he was. He’d always been attracted to tall men, but that was behind him now. No one could look at him like this: stuck in bed, barely able to shift himself, a shell of who he once was, and see him as anything but an object of pity at best, or someone who should be euthanized at worst.

A stab of physical pain as a muscle spasmed in his side, blending with the emotional anguish these thoughts brought forth, the brief image of him that almost made Sebastian choke on a breath. He grunted, then did his best to shove it all out of mind. No way he could let his guard down around a new nurse. No matter how bad he was feeling.

“They outsourcing now?” Sebastian spat bitterly. He watched for Agni’s reaction. He didn’t even twitch, but continued to smile. They always seemed so nice and helpful and friendly when Tanaka was around. But as soon as he and Seb were alone—

“It is a sincere pleasure to meet you,” Agni said formally, without a hint of an accent Sebastian could detect. He felt a tiny sting of guilt for what he’d said, but he dismissed the thought before it could blossom. “Do you prefer I call you Mr. Michaelis, Sebastian, or something else?”

Eyes narrowed with suspicion, he replied, “Sebastian is fine.”

Agni nodded. He took a hesitant step closer. It hadn’t escaped Sebastian’s notice that Tanaka had unconsciously placed himself between them. “Can I ask how your pain is right now?” Agni took a tiny notebook from the pocket of his bag, along with a pen, and began to jot some things down.

Tanaka nodded as if to urge Seb to be honest. But what would that solve? It’s not like Agni could really do anything about his pain. Sebastian was used to it. He hadn’t had a single pain-free day in more than ten years. Unless Agni had a magic wand hidden in his bag, the best he could do would be meaningless platitudes. Like “the new anti-inflammatory medicine will start working and relieve your pain soon,” or some shit like that.

“Why the fuck do you care?” Sebastian spat, not in the mood to make nice.

A small frown crossed Agni’s stunning features before he shifted into what was presumably his sympathetic face. “I would like to make you as comfortable as I can. I’m not here only to attend to simple medical needs like giving you medication. I want to improve your quality of life as much as I can.”

Sebastian scowled. It didn’t help that breathing was harder, the pain magnifying, perhaps exacerbated by stress. If he’d had the strength, he’d have hurled something at him and yelled for Agni to just fucking leave him be.

Agni didn’t need to be a mind reader to gauge Sebastian’s mood, but he was either a very good actor or more patient than most, because he didn’t crack yet. “It seems like you’re uncomfortable right now. Could I examine you quickly?”

No. But behind Agni, Tanaka whispered in Japanese, “Behave. I have a good feeling about this one.”

Subduing a growl, Sebastian nodded. Braced himself for rough handling that would aggravate his pain.

Agni set his bag on the side table and removed some supplies, including antibacterial gel he used to clean his hands before pulling on a pair of blue gloves. His forearms were muscular without being excessive, and Sebastian found himself watching as the man worked, apparently not the type to make meaningless chitchat. That was good, at least.

He hated the ones who felt like they had to constantly fill the silence with their babbling, talking to him like he was a toddler and not a grown man in his 30s.

“Let me slip this on your finger,” he said, not reaching and forcefully grabbing Sebastian’s arms like most nurses would have, but instead waiting for him to offer an index finger for the little oxygen meter he clipped onto the tip. “And now I want to listen to your heart and lungs, if that’s all right?”

Sebastian sighed, winced when it pulled and spiked his pain, but quickly pushed his face into neutral. “Fine.”

Tanaka walked around to the other side of the bed, adjusting the curtains so the shifting sun wouldn’t be in Sebastian’s eyes.

Agni was delicate. He warmed the head of the stethoscope with his hands before slipping it under Sebastian’s T-shirt and listening intently in various spots before asking him to breathe deeply and slowly. He even managed to slide the stethoscope between Sebastian and the bed to listen to his back without him yanking him up and away from the mattress like a sack of potatoes. If Sebastian didn’t know better, Tanaka had told him exactly where his pain was bad today, and he was actually taking that into consideration. Had to be for show.

“How are you feeling right now?” Agni asked as he removed the stethoscope and replaced it in his bag.

“Well, I was going to the opera tonight, but I’m a bit tired, so I may have to cancel my plans.” Sebastian glared at the neglected electric wheelchair in the corner of the room. The one he’d been so excited for when he’d first received it, believing he would have newfound freedom with it, that he’d be less encumbered by his disability and illness. That he would have accepted him—

A wave of nausea overwhelmed him and he had to cup his hand over his mouth.

Agni worked quickly, grabbing a kidney-shaped emesis basin from the table and quickly placing it beneath his chin, deftly sliding a hand behind his back to support him without causing him pain.

But Sebastian was able to swallow it down and shove Agni away as well as his limited strength allowed.

But Agni didn’t seem to mind. He nodded, checked the monitor, and said instead, “Your oxygen levels are a little lower than I would like. Are you having any trouble breathing?”

Sebastian glared, but the jerking of his stomach earlier had caused his entire rib cage to feel like it was aflame, and it was easier not to breathe until the burn got so bad he had to inhale. Despite doing all he could to stay focused and in control, he could feel panic setting in. No. Not now. Not with this new nurse he didn’t know from Adam.

Gasping and gripping the sheets, Sebastian felt darkness swirling in on the edges. He struggled against it, fighting himself, fighting his body, fighting traumatic memories that tried to yank him further away from control.

A warm hand on his head. A mask placed in his face. A soothing, deep voice urging him to breathe, to relax, that he’d be OK. Someone held his hand.

With the machine’s assistance, despite the pain, his lungs filled and emptied due to the shifting pressure, and the dizzy, swimming sensation faded to clarity. He hated relying on this thing. The bipap machine. But it helped when his muscles were especially weak, or in moments like this. Let him rest. Without fear he’d stop breathing.

Agni pulled something else from his bag. A small tube. “Have you ever used this ointment before? It’s a topical anti-inflammatory, and I’ve had many of my patients swear by it. I could put some where your pain is worst, if you’d like.”

Go fuck yourself, Sebastian wanted to say, but he was too drained.

Tanaka squeezed his hand as if to encourage him to accept Agni’s help.

“It absorbs quickly, so you don’t need to use too much. I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Sebastian offered a small nod and pointed lazily to his torso and back. His heart was still racing, and he would have preferred Tanaka do this, but that would take more energy to explain than he had right now.

Over the next few minutes, Agni carefully applied the medicated cream to Sebastian’s sides and back, Tanaka letting Seb lean against him to ease the strain as the nurse coated his back with it. Sebastian was almost stoic through it all, and yet somehow Agni seemed to have a sixth sense for where his pain was worst, concentrating his ministrations there while keeping his touch feather-light.

Then, with Tanaka’s help, he shifted Sebastian onto his side, layering pillows to support his most painful areas. Agni worked slowly so as to minimize spiking his pain. No nurse had treated him so gently or with so much consideration. If he hadn’t had dozens of bad examples, he might have been tempted to believe Agni actually did care.

“This’ll take some strain off your ribs,” Agni said in a low, rich voice.

Now that the adrenaline crash was hitting him, and the cream was dulling the pain, exhaustion began to pull Sebastian so strongly he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” Agni slipped the call button into Sebastian’s hand, petting it momentarily as if to give him reassurance, though it felt patrionizing. Still, it was considerate enough. Meant if he woke up in agony he wouldn’t have to move to call for help.

Tanaka stroked Sebastian’s arm soothingly before pulling the blankets up around him. “The heated blanket will help,” he whispered. “Sleep for a while.”

Sebastian gave up fighting and let his lids slide closed.

I hope you enjoyed this! If you do, let me know..!

I’m really hoping I’ll be able to post the first chapter of this this month.

Reblogs are always appreciated !!

Special thanks to @apocalypticromantic666 for all their encouragement and support!!

[littlestsnicket]

@kuwdora and @sassaffrassa

i did a thing! what sort of thing? a my creative process is a nightmare and i like to write bits of things to throw at a wall and see what sticks and if it doesn't work hopefully i'll be able to canibalize it for parts Witchyr app fic sort of thing.

for the moment, yen has a post transformation body--because the experience of being physically changed to be more palatable to others is an important part of her canon character for me, but who knows if that's what's going to work best for medical device hacker!yen in this fic--but deals with chronic pain. she has a migraine here because that's the only thing i have experience with to write without doing research, and i'm not at the doing research phase yet.

this is all pre-geraskefer vibes, because my current idea is that i can use their developing relationship to try and anchor this story to keep it from getting totally out of control, but i don't actually know if that will allow me to explore the political/economic cyberpunk nonsense i want to explore. we'll see. (another potentially useful piece of context is that--while this is a cyberpunk story in my head--it has none of the vibes that the genre usually has, as it's kind of supposed to be about how close we are right now to the dystopian elements of cyberpunk so i wanted it to feel more grounded in our present, but this fic snippet is not at all any of that yet.)

fic snippet under cut (1.1k, oops that's probably my median completed fic length)

Geralt felt completely useless. He was a witcher; that made him the target audience, not a useful participant in trying to get this startup off the ground. He had been silently, with increasing anxiety, watching Jaskier practically vibrate with tension for about half an hour before Jaskier finally snapped.

“As the closest thing we have to an HR department, I have to know, are you one of those asshat engineers who thinks anyone not directly contributing code is a waste of space or do you have a problem with me specifically?”

Yennefer looked sincerely offended for a moment, but she schooled her features into a bored scowl. “You specifically.”

“Oh, alright then, we can work with that,” Jaskier replied with deceptive calm as he tipped his chair back on its hind legs until it creaked in protest. Yennefer started forward, not even leaving her seat, but it was enough to make Jaskier flail. He was only saved from sprawling across the floor by Geralt’s witcher fast reflexes. 

Jaskier fixed his attention back on Yennefer as if the incident hadn’t even happened, standing up but not crowding into Yennefer’s space before Geralt had even fully stabilized the chair. “Do you think I’m a spoiled rich kid? Because by the gods, have I got news for you. I am! And you can get the fuck over it or find someone else to bankroll this operation and deal with lawyers and tear their hair out trying to put together a fucking business plan— ”

“Jaskier,” Geralt interrupted softly. 

Yennefer, surprisingly, levered herself out of her chair and left the room.

Jaskier sighed, deflated. 

“You’re not…” Geralt trailed off, thinking of the kid that had stubbornly subsisted off ramen noodles so he could pay his half of the rent even though it had been the heyday of the Witchyr app and Geralt could have—had offered to—cover it. Geralt had seen Jaskier act like an entitled prick, used to getting his way because of who his parents were, but he was also so stubborn, dedicated, and kind.

“I try so hard, Geralt,” Jaskier swallowed audibly, “but that’s the point. I have to try and it won’t do anyone any good for me to forget that.”

Jaskier shoved his chair over so it clattered against Geralt’s and plopped back into it to slouch to rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Should I try to talk to her?”

“Hmm,” Geralt responded, indecisively.

“I want her to like me. I want her to let me help. I want her to know she’s not alone. But she makes it so difficult… Fuck, I am so tired.”

“When’s the last time you are a vegetable?”

“What?” Jaskier straightened up to look at Geralt incredulously. Geralt raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve been drinking the stuff. You know, the green stuff? That you mix with water?”

“That’s code for you don’t remember.”

“No, it’s code for I’m almost 30, and despite my miraculously youthful looks my body is not as springy as it used to be,” Jaskier smiled slightly. “It may also be code for I don’t remember.”

“I’ll make you dinner, would be good for you to eat real food.”

“May I invite Yennefer?”

“You’re paying for groceries, you can do what you want.”

Jaskier hummed, taking a page out of Geralt’s book.

“We’re all tired,” Geralt said, letting some of his own instinctively concealed exhaustion show.

“Exactly, she’s tired too.” Jaskier stood and followed Yennefer through the door.

“Yen?” Yennefer’s back was turned as she stared out the window in the tiny reception space with the perpetually unmanned desk. She had been hugging herself, trying to force herself to breath, but had to steady her hand against the windowsill when she startled and the sharp movement made her vision spot. Her migraine was so bad at this point it didn’t even hurt.

Jaskier reached a hand out towards her. It hung uselessly between them for a long moment before he shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.

“What?” she snapped.

“Geralt decided I needed a break, and I’ve decided you need one as well. He’s going to cook dinner at my place.”

“And?”

“You should join us.” Jaskier’s smile looked hopeful and Yennefer had no idea what she had done to deserve this, neither the kindness nor the irritation.

He studied her intently and then nodded. “Good, you can meet us there in…,” Jaskier raised his voice and Yennefer wanted to drive a fork through her temple. “Geralt, how long will it take us to get groceries?”

Geralt pushed the door open and looked at Jaskier with poorly concealed fondness; Yennefer didn’t understand why he bothered. “If you’re involved, at least 45 minutes.”

“Ok, well, you have my address. Geralt will text,” Jaskier gave Yennefer a stern look like he was daring her to object. He flexed his fingers and wandered back into the other room, presumably to gather his things.

“You don’t have to,” Geralt said in a tone that Yennefer thought might mean he didn’t want her to eat dinner with them, but he was so bloody hard to read sometimes.

“No, it’ll be nice.” It would not be nice, but somehow, even though it shouldn’t, going back to her apartment or staying in their tiny office space on her own seemed even less nice.

Geralt frowned at her with careful thoughtfulness. “Any dietary restrictions?”

“No,” Yennefer smiled ruefully, “that is the only way my body has been remotely cooperative.”

Geralt nodded, a frown still maring his expression. She wondered if he could smell how much pain she was in or something. She didn’t know much about how the mutagen enhanced witchers worked, but it was one of the cybernetic sensory enhancements available to higher level witchers now.

“You cook?” Yennefer asked, surprising herself with a sincere desire to know more about Geralt.

“Hmm. I can follow a recipe or execute on Jaskier’s vision. He’s a good cook but only—you’ve met him.”

Yennefer laughed at that; she could picture Jaskier walking out of a war zone with an oblivious smile and a perfectly golden crusted beef wellington. Laughing turned out to be a bad idea though and Yennefer had to fight through a wave of nausea.

Geralt had taken a few cautious steps toward her by the time she could focus on her surroundings again. 

“May I?” he asked. Yennefer made a vague affirmative noise even though she had no idea what he was talking about. His hand pressed against the base of her neck through her shirt. She had no idea what he thought he was doing, but his hand felt impossibly warm, and that warmth was energy she could channel into nudging all the muscles she was involuntarily tending to relax. Probably, Geralt had been around long enough to have a basic idea of how magic worked and knew exactly what he was doing.

Hollowed out weariness rushed in to replace the pain, but she knew it would be futile to try and sleep. Dinner would probably help.

[weavingroses]

horny oc thoughts

feldspar - transmasc butch king 💗 dom-leaning verse. impeccable strap game. generally masc 4 masc. unsurprisingly very into leather & bondage & d/s. has a lot of dysphoria & body related guilt so almost exclusively stone top & often tops w clothes still on. would bottom only in a very emotionally intimate context and would only take anal.

tala - despite being an older oc i am still figuring out their whole deal because i made them when i was less secure about doing horny stuff lol. chaotic verse switch. the most important thing for them is the banter & back and forth. despite making a lot of flirtatious jokes i think they are pretty vanilla. champ of going down o7

ilona - oh boy she has so many issues. tala is the first & probably only person she’s been intimate with. i toyed with the idea of her being dom with the thought she’d be more comfortable being in control of what is happening, but i think she just needs to chill out and have someone (tala) just be gentle and sweet and slow and help her relax. she probably ends up somewhere pillow princessy lol

seren - the biggest brat ever lol. literal energizer bunny & rope bunny. very bottom but might pack or strap sometimes for dysphoria reasons. r

peregrine - doesnt have as much of a sex drive as seren but is happy to service their princess (or teach them how to behave, depending). idk if peregrine has bottom surgery or not after having kids, but probably uses a strap either way. when pere’s injury/chronic pain is too much, seren rides them. plus its cute bc. bouncing bunny lol.

mari - had a lot of really bad sex w their (eventually ex) wife so is having a bit of a sexuality crisis in their 30’s. probably is into the adultery and hate sex w cedar because he feels more actively desired, compared to their wife who was sexually manipulative & used mari more as a sex object than anything. probably lands somewhere top/dom leaning but does not want to be treated as a femme dommy mommy or whatever

addinell - using sex as a coping mechanism for the multitude of internalized stuff (similar to crossroads). has a bad perception of their own limits. into degradation & impact play but way more comfortable giving than receiving. wouldnt know what to do with gentle or sincere intimacy.

clove - service top to melissanthe’s (warlock patron) power bottom. extremely submissive & wants praise. likes edging and bondage but probably anxious/insecure with her body being touched. winter eladrin temp play.

artemy - dom top leaning & likes it rough. into giving/receiving marks (scratches, hickies, etc). wouldnt know what to do with soft, sincere intimacy. i havent decided if she’d have too much trauma to be into bondage but its sexy so.

[footankleortho]

Treating Orthopedic Foot and Ankle Conditions – Foot ankle ortho

Treating foot and ankle orthopedic conditions is always a challenge. Unlike other orthopedic conditions foot and ankle pain has always been difficult to diagnose for orthopedic surgeons as this subject is less explored in orthopedic training.

Due to lack of awareness amongst general population and limited exposure for general orthopedic surgeons often foot and ankle problems get ignored or treated something extra in addition to adequately. A sub speciality of orthopaedic specialist under go specific training in dealing with fractures, deformity, and painful conditions of foot and ankle and are called fellowships trained foot and ankle surgeon which is s0in orthopedic degree.

So when we should consider seeking a foot and ankle specialist is when your pain in any foot and ankle region is not subsiding with medications or you are having recurrent pain or swelling.

There are more than 20 bones and joints in the foot and ankle making it very difficult to detect and diagnose the exact point of problem. So it is always better to be diagnosed by someone who is better trained and has the experience of dealing with many foot and ankle cases.

A 3 dimensional in depth knowledge and clinical examination is a must to deal with chronic foot pain. We sometimes do CT scan and MRI scans to confirm our probable diagnosis which gives a better 3 DIMENSIONAL knowledge of the foot disease. Once the diagnosis is done which is the most difficult part, we can start treatment. Multimodal treatment methods are available like medicines, key hole (Ankle Arthroscopic surgery) and open surgery.

Few special conditions in foot and ankle orthopedics

Plantar fascisits

Tendo achilles insertion pathology

Calcaneal stress fracture

Lisfranc fracture

Fracture around ankle

Deformity of foot

Deformity of toe.

Foot ulcers.

Ligaments repair

Ankle arthroscopy surgery

Diabetic foot deformity

Flat foot

Many more conditions exist like this but we are not able to guide the patients in the right direction and they end up hurting themselves.

It is our duty to diagnose the condition of pain and where it is generated from. My sincere opinion to all is don’t wait till it’s too late if analgesics are not working and problems are increasing.

Blog resources : https://footankleortho.com/treating-orthopedic-foot-and-ankle-conditions-foot-ankle-ortho/

[darsiared]

OBSESSION

CHAPTER 3 : WORTH OF A TOOL

╔══════ ≪��°✺°≪ ≫ ══════╗

"If my usefulness is my worth, what will you do to me the day I become useless."

        ╚══════ ≪≫°✺°≪ ≫ ══════╝

                ∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘

"You're a non - shaman." Gojo stated, the meaning of what he just said slowly sinking into his mind.

He was feeling pretty euphoric up until now for hitting such an unexpected lottery, but suddenly he felt as if he didn't have a control over where the situation was headed.

He sinked down into his seat and tried to analyse just what this unexpected encounter was going to result in.

A strange girl followed him, then stole his wallet. She then approached him to return it and but instead engaged him into a very tempting deal. She didn't have even an ounce of her own Jujutsu abilities yet she claimed to have a horde of rare cursed items and evidence to support her claim. And she was willing to keep trading them with him as if they were worthless to her.

She possessed an extremely powerful cursed tool that might as well had made her stronger than the majority of the Jujutsu sorcerers out there. And if her reason for possessing the cursed tool was actually because she was a part of the Shizuka clan, then he was positive that she was the leader. Because no one except the leader herself would be given authority over such a priceless commodity.

Okay, so the source of the cursed tools could be explained if that was true.

Her motivations were unknown. Clearly the head of the Shizuka clan didn't crawl out of hiding simply to generously give away her treasure to outsiders without seeking something incredible in return.

And he didn't even know what her end of the conditions and demands were going to be to seal the deal.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. The true problem was her.

Gojo knew that even if he rejected her proposal and tried to stay out of whatever was going on in that little head of hers, she wasn't going to stop. He had worked with way too many crack heads to know that she was bad news and whatever hell she was trying to raise was simply inevitable.

This woman knew how to corner someone and make them desperate and helpless.

Gojo sat up and looked deep into her unwavering eyes. It was people like this that he loved and hated the most. People who lived at the intersection of reason and insanity. People like him.

He knew that the more she mingled with the Jujutsu world outside of her domain the more trouble she was going to sprout.

Killing her would be the best option for him and his comrades.

They had gone centuries without those cursed objects, they still could.

Killing the clan leader was bound to cause a painful amount of trouble with the Shizuka clan but keeping her alive would be much more deteriorating than the power those tools would bring.

She was bound to be extremely strong being the clan leader, but Gojo was confident that he could defeat her. It would be very exhausting and tricky but he knew that he had an upper hand in strength.

He started thinking of ways to end the fight as quickly and quietly as he could and take the tools from her, then turn her dead body in for Shoko to examine.

"I am too dangerous to keep alive, right?"  she said, as if she read his mind. "I'm sure you must have realised a lot about my identity by now, so no wonder you are ready to take drastic measures."

"You're right. I am indeed too dangerous to keep alive." she said, her face suddenly showing a surprisingly soft expression, her lips tugged up in a bitter smile and her eyes radiating a chronic sadness.

"Aren't we all? People like you and me." she said, her words for the first time sounding honest and sincere.

"We were born different. Special. And people envied us for that. But they don't realise the price we had to pay to be special. The parts of us we had to kill, to let the beasts that we were born with survive within us. How this blessing is no more than a curse for those who have to live with it. A blessing that we never chose to have."

"This strength bestowed upon us, without our consent, is our responsibility that we never asked for. And the only people who see it as a blessing are the ones who can harness our strength for their own benefit."

She closed her eyes and picked up the cursed tool lying on the table and held it in front of her face, her forehead touching the blade.

Her eyes opened, glimmering with an anger that wasn't there before and glared at Gojo as if demanding an explanation for her distress.

"Gojo Satoru, this is the fate of people like us. We are mere tools, born with innate strength to be used by the ones who run the world to suit themselves. You and I are no different from this petty thing that you are here to trade with me for. A special object that grants you the power to satisfy your whims."

She fixated those saddened and dead eyes on him and exhaled slowly, making Gojo feel as if time had stopped momentarily.

"I've always wanted to ask you this. And if this really is my last day of life, I guess it won't hurt to take a risk." she said.

She tilted forwards and met his eyes, with no fear for the first time, her eyes almost filled with pity.

"How weak does it feel to be the strongest?"

Gojo felt as if he had been slapped across the face. His stomach sinking and chest tightening, all air left his body. He felt his gut twist and heart convulse and could think of no way to respond to the same question that he had always been asking himself.

"I'm not trying to win your heart or earn your favour but I know that there isn't a single word that I just said that you don't agree with. And it's okay. I'm not here to make you sympathize with me. Relying on people's pity stopped working for me years ago. That's why I decided to shape my life myself, but obviously, what I feel is not relevant to your job and the things you have to do to protect your friends. If you want to kill me, go ahead. No matter how strong I may be, I know that I can't match your level. I came prepared to die today anyway." she finished in a finalising tone.

Her sudden honest confession left Gojo overwhelmed. Her eyes bore into his and he felt as if his soul had been laid bare even though she was the one revealing the depths of her mind.

He tried to clear his mind and convince himself to get to the work on hand. He had already concluded that there was no safe way out of this situation than to kill her and his intuition told him that if he couldn't stop her now, he never will.

But he just couldn't do it.

He reached out and touched the cursed tool in the locket around her neck and she didn't seem to mind.

"I know you won't tell me anything else," he said while examining the deep red light shining through the locket, his voice very quiet. "but at least, I need to know your purpose for all this."

She won. And she knew it.

The sparkle returned to her deadened eyes and her face showed some more color. It appeared that she was indeed prepared to die and just realised that her death had been postponed.

She sat and regained her composure, keeping her hands on the table, her fingers intertwined, continuing business.

"First of all, I want everything that happened between us to be a secret. You are not allowed to tell anyone, anything about our agreement. Violating this rule will, obviously, have consequences." she said, her eyes making it obvious that her words were not to be taken lightly. "Just to make sure that we are on the same page, can I get an affirmation on your behalf to keep this affair private?"

"Yeah." Gojo said, not even caring about the formalities, his mind almost numb from the previous ordeal.

"Secondly, I want the access to the all the documents and reports of the assassination of the star plasma vessel, Riko Amanai, that are all safely stored somewhere unknown to everyone, but I'm sure you know where they are."

Riko Amanai? Gojo suddenly felt his brain explode as all the memories and emotions of that incident started flooding his mind.

What does she have to do with that?

Gojo could swear that he had never met this girl before and having had carried out the entire investigation and clean up of the assassination himself he couldn't think of any way he might have missed the involvement of any third person in the incident other that the ones directly concerned and reported in detail.

Was this girl somehow present and involved in the incident unbeknownst to anyone. Was she the reason a lot of dead bodies of important culprits were missing after the incident and thus couldn't be retrieved.

Given her secretive personality and skills of hiding her presence, it wasn't impossible.

"How... Wha..... Wh- Why is that something of your concern?" Gojo felt like he was loosing all composure and control as his time with her continued to extend.

"That is none of your concern." she replied, amused by his sudden vulnerability. "So as I was stating in my conditions, it would be the best if I could get those reports as soon as possible."

"And lastly," she added, her eyes suddenly lightening up, filled with a maniacal passion, "I want all the information you can possibly arrange about Megumi Fushiguro and his father Toji Fushiguro."

               ∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘●∘◦❀◦∘

[thebibliosphere]

ADHD reward system? Please tell me your secret!

My therapist has been helping me find a reward system that works for me, and as it turns out, gold star stickers are really helpful for making me feel like a tangible goal was met, and helps give me that sweet, sweet dopamine release that comes with completing a task, something which us ADHD’ers really struggle to achieve and are already coming at from a disadvantage with our brains regularly not producing enough “happy” hormones as it is.

It was supposed to be “a sticker for every time you finish a chapter”, but after some revision, my therapist said that was too tall of a goal, and that I should pick something smaller. So instead I now get a star every time I finish a 500-word milestone, placing the sticker in my writing calendar/journal thing that I use to keep track of my writing, and ironically, I have started to produce more work than when I was stiving for one chapter a day.

To give you an idea of how staggeringly effective this has been for me, I’ve written over 30k of original fiction in the last week. (75k total if you include my social media and blog stuff, which I currently do not but likely should.)

So this is what it looked like when I was attempting to do a chapter of edits and revisions a day during the month of December 2019 (note: I was supposed to start this in Nov, so you can see how well that worked out for me lol):

ID: A calendar showing days of the month with a shiny star sticker showing a completed task.

And this is what my writing journal looks like now that I’m doing a star for every 500 words:

ID: an image of a handwritten journal with the dates mapped out, followed by a shiny star sticker for every completed 500-word milestone. There are 65 stars in total for the month of January 2020. It’s also tinged by a green light cause I’m doing a chronic pain experiment, so far with positive results!

So as of today, January 8th, with ever star = 500 words, then 65*500 = 32500 words totalled in 7 days. This does not include, like I said, my social media output where I am far more productive, this is just my fiction and some editing work for friends.

(Which side note: this is not to flex, or to say that others should be able to achieve this level of output. I am a professional writer, this is my main job and only source of income. And also, I was forged in the fires of understaffed editing hell where we would be expected to churn out 100k+ a week in edits and revisions to keep on track. I have the time and a learned skillset I have spent years amassing to be able to do this and am working towards a rigid deadline. I simply have not been healthy enough in a long time to manage it, and am finally working my way back up to speed after years of illness. Don’t look at this and think, “I’m not achieving enough”, every victory no matter how small is worth celebrating. And I say that with the utmost sincerity, as someone who spent most of the last 2-3 years unable to get out of bed.)

I’ve also started using it to help keep track of bills and chores around the home. So every time something gets done/done on time, whoever completed the task gets a star on the calendar. This includes Oppy the Not-A-Roomba, who does a very good job of taking care of the house on a daily basis:

ID: an image of a chore calendar denoting various tasks that have been marked off with a holographic silver star sticker, including our robot vacuum who does an excellent job and deserves all the stars. (Our names got blurred out cause ETD doesn’t want his real name out there in the world, so that’s what is blurry.)

This system is useful for several reasons, the primary one being a sense of achievement and continued motivation, and the second, to allow you to review each month to see where you are doing well, and where you might otherwise be struggling.

For example, if I have a bad day for writing or decide to take a day off, I write that down in the calendar rather than leaving it blank, so that I have a record of what went wrong (or right, if I am electing to self care that day and take a day off) and how my overall progress is doing.

In terms of house stuff, this has been especially useful for ETD and myself, as it shows us where we are managing to do a good job with the house, and where our executive dysnfunction issues really trip us up and where we need to make improvements. And I don’t just mean in an “I should try harder way”, I mean you have to actively sit down and be like “hey! What is preventing me from completing this thing” and trying to figure out effective ways to either get around it or resolve a larger issue at hand.

So for us, the biggest thing we tend to miss is doing dishes after dinner, meaning we get left with a pile-up of dishes to deal with first thing in the morning, and my ADHD can’t handle that. It won’t let me eat until I’ve cleared all the mess, but I usually don’t have the energy to clean up if I haven’t eaten, so it’s this awful cycle of ineptitude. We’re doing better with the star reward system, cause it’s showing us our progress loud and clear on the fridge door, but we are both usually so fatigued and exhausted by the end of dinner that doing dishes is just one thing too many for our mutual disorders. So, the solution for this would, of course, be a dishwasher, cause if we had one of those, we could load stuff in, turn it on, and let those dishes get done while we go to bed then put them away in the morning. We can’t afford to do that right now, and we have other appliances we need to buy/replace before we can do that (still don’t have a tumble dryer, or a washer I can access, rip) but it does give us a tangible goal to work toward, and also, the motivation to keep on top of things because it goes from “an endless task with no end in sight” to “there’s a solution for this, we can manage a while longer.”

Now you could be saying, but Joy, I’m an adult! Surely I shouldn’t expect rewards for completing every day tasks that I should be able to do?!

To which I say, neurotypical people get rewards all the time and get an unconscious dose of dopamine/serotonin from their brains every time they complete a task. They’re playing the game of life on easy mode, the gold star is your achievement for completing it daily on Nintendo 99 hard mode. IF THE STICKER WORKS, TAKE THE STICKER

YOU’VE EARNED IT.

[comfy-whumpee]

Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

-

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

-

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

-

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

-

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

[milkandsnails]

victor after a mild inconvenience

---

EDIT (mini essay incoming): Looking back, this was likely seen as me poking fun at Victor's character himself for his obvious health problems, which wasn't my intention, and now ashames me deeply. If you knew me back when I posted about the novel, you'd likely recall how I objected greatly to opinions that reduced Victor to a mere monster or the only reprehensible character. I didn't enjoy the sense of schadenfreude that some people appeared to have regarding his severe mental and physical struggles. It was in part because, as a troubled 16-17 year old with their own mental and physical issues, I saw parts of my own pain and loneliness in his isolation and fixation on work over all else.

I will explain my flawed reasoning when making this post. I created it focused on the idea of his fainting and sickness as a general literary device Shelley continously used— à la the archaic trope of characters swooning excessively— to show a heightened response to situations of horror. The idea I was getting at is referenced here:

Unlike a straight faint, the literary swoon is never just a medical matter – it’s often the product of overwhelming feeling or the return of something repressed. Swooning has long been used by writers to dramatise moments of crisis, ecstasy and confusion, and the failure of language to express these extremes.

I was (poorly) making light of this as a frequent literary trope, not the actual character himself. A good deal of this is down to the fact we were simply taught this was the way to interpret his illness in our English Lit class at the time— as a device actively chosen by the author to heighten the Gothic themes of horror, in a way detatching these symptoms from the true constitution of the person who suffered them. His sickness, in this light, therfore was more equated to a literary method, rather than being rightfully rooted back into his actual character.

But teaching can still have questionable ideas or limited outlooks, so I should have reflected properly on what we were taught and come to my own conclusion.

This interpretation absolutely doesn't work when considering the post and my awful wording, and I deeply apologise. Even if this is a Gothic device Shelley used at points, and that some of Victor's illness could be attributed to natural reactions to hardship (such as at the beginning when meeting Walton), Victor still also shows signs of chronic health issues under a modern and understanding lens, more than any other character, so my original idea becomes invalid regardless.

I'm well aware of the way comments on Victor's health swerve into ableism, having been upset myself by terrible takes regarding his need for care during times of sickness— and the exaggerated, sarcastic tone used for this caption can easily be viewed that same way. Even if I had just broadened my joke to involve literary characters in general, who are otherwise able-bodied and healthy, rather than singling out Victor, it would have been clearer what my aim was. But nowadays, I would simply never make this sort of comment anyway.

So again, I'm sincerely sorry. This was almost 2 years ago; and 17-year-old me, despite not being a great deal younger, was a lot less mature and mindful at times! As someone who struggled mentally and had already developed my own chronic condition at that age, it was even more negligent of me to spread further bad-taste content about Victor's implied illness, unintentional as this interpretation was. I hope anyone who by chance sees this can accept my apology.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 22: Cognitive Therapy

Characters: Captain Logan “Sy” Syverson, Shane Benton (OFC) Various minor characters, new and established.

Summary: Shane has a successful counseling session, but soon finds herself in a predicament at the library.

Romance and Smut Abound HERE!

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Regular mentions of what happened to Shane throughout. A knife is held to a character’s throat and there are other graphic descriptions to go along with that. 

Author’s Note:  Guys, we are in the home stretch. I know it’s been utter ages since I’ve posted a new chapter to this story, but I think I’ve only got about two more to write before it’s done. Please know that when I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing. This story and your love for it haunts me daily, in the best of ways. I see new readers liking and sharing past chapters and I can’t tell you how encouraging that is. I would finish it no matter what, but the fact that you guys want it is a driving force behind the urgency I feel.

I want to talk a little bit about cognitive behavioral therapy, which I discuss briefly and in very little detail in the first part of this chapter, especially. For those of you who don’t know, CBT and EMDR therapy are both proven to be highly effective in the treatment of PTSD and other mental illnesses. If you are trying to process and heal from a past trauma, I urge you to seek out a counsellor or therapist who stays up to date on break through, bleeding edge treatment options. Our brains are so powerful, and more complex than any of our other muscles, but we let their health fall by the wayside so often. Which can, and often does lead to physical symptoms such as chronic fatigue, migraines, chronic pain, and many more health issues. There’s a really good video on the MedCircle YT Channel about the physical signs of past trauma that talks about the five most common signs and symptoms. Dr. Judy Ho explains it in broad strokes really clearly. I’m going to try to link the video here so you can check it out. MedCircle does a lot of great videos for free, but is also a paid service for more in depth access to the information. I don’t have a subscription, I just came across them when I was researching PTSD treatment for Shane and found the topics really interesting. My utilization of the treatments and terms in this chapter is very general and I’ve probably made a mess of it, but this is my first draft. I’ll let you all know when I get a publishing deal! ;)

Again, please take care of yourselves. Look for help, have someone help you find help, help yourself, anything, in any way you can. You’re worth the effort and you deserve to be happy and healthy.

I sincerely hope that you all enjoy this chapter of The Treatment of Captain Syverson.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism. This is an original work by me, Hannah. Please reblog if you wish to share. Please do not repost either in whole or part, as the work of anyone but myself. Thanks so much for reading!

Tags:

@onlyhenrys  @summersong69 @titty-teetee2 @bloodyinspiredfuck @agniavateira@oddsnendsfanfics @omgkatinka  @tumblnewby  @suavechops @radkesgirl83 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @heartfelt-pen  @geekycanuck @lunarstarknight  @coldmuffinbanditshoe @feralrunaway  @sugarpenchant @bichibibi @mzchievous-blog  @amberangel112 @snowyleopard93 (some of you new readers didn’t ask, but I took the liberty. If you want me to remove you, I totally will without hard feelings.)

If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!) Note: I’ve cleaned up my tag list because some blogs I was trying to tag are now deactivated. Hope everyone is doing great!

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Shane was seated across from her therapist in her cozy, bright office. It used to be a sort of back porch, or sun room. You could tell by the concrete, solid beneath the carpet, and the tall, almost floor-to-ceiling windows covered by stiff linen accordion shades. The walls that weren't essentially full windows were lined with shelves. There were many books, but there were also items that Shane knew would be practical in this trade. There were jars of marbles, of stones, sand, and small toys. There were bins of crayons and stacks of coloring books, and reams of blank paper. There was a clear tub very high with dolls and an assortment of clothes. A variety of stone sculptures and orbs, geodes, small, smooth crystals, and stuffed animals of all sorts. In one corner, there was a desk with a very comfortable looking task chair. It was obscured in part by a pair of matching, light brown sofas, one longer than the other, and opposite the smaller couch was an overstuffed armchair to complement the sofas.

It was all very cozy, Shane thought. This room and most of the items that occupied it fit very well into her aesthetic. Even so, she was far from comfortable. But then, that was the idea.

Although she was surrounded by safety, her eyes were closed, trying to recall a scene from the traumatic events in the basement. Dr. Mikkelson, or as she preferred to be called, Diana, had asked her to call up the experience like a film, and sort of pause it when she got to a certain point. The worst point. It was daunting, and it gave her a cramp in her stomach that was severe enough to have her wanting to reach for her Midol.

"Okay, Shane, I want you to pull that up in your memory, and hold it there for me. How is your body responding to that?"

Shane gulped hard, her body reacting to the nausea with that telltale hypersalivating.

"Honestly trying not to lose my breakfast. Was that the purpose of this exercise?" She asked, her eyes flying open in spite of herself.

Shane felt as though she MUST be visibly turning green. She was scanning the room for a trashcan, or receptacle of any kind. She was sure she'd need it in no time.

"We are going to try some EMDR therapy today. Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. It's designed to sort of, pull your focus from the pain of the memory, anesthetize your mind, if you will. So that you can process the traumatic event more fully than you did at the time."

Shane looked at the woman with a mild scowl, skeptical, but open to trying.

Diana held up her hand, index finger extended, and asked Shane to follow her movement back and forth as she thought. Reliving her abduction, assault, and violation in a flash montage. It hurt, still, but she thought a bit less than it had the few times she'd had to discuss it. The few that still felt like too many. It helped to be somewhat distracted by the movement. She had felt worthless after the incident. Like this awful event had tainted her and made her unfit to be with anyone. To even exist. But she thought, during this exercise, it wasn't quite as bad. More tolerable. Less upsetting. She was surprised at this. At the fact that she wasn't overwhelmed with self loathing. She was able to glimpse that former self-worth.

It was uncomfortable now, to think of how she used to feel. It was like driving past the high school she had attended, or the mini-mall that used to house the coffee shop she'd visit after or between classes when she was in college. It was ghostly without the attachment, the memories now all that remained of her connection to the spaces. The faces within now completely unfamiliar. Her face, itself, with a serene confidence in her skill, her looks, and her overall worth. It seemed almost haughty. As if she had been a puffed up shadow of the skittish and listless thing she now seemed to be. But maybe she could be that self-esteemed boss babe again…

Diana raised her brows expectantly, and asked "What spoke to you?"

"I went to the basement, of course. But it was…easier. Not much, but a little."

"That's really good. Anything else?"

"I sort of…saw myself in a new light? I guess you could say that. It was like I…almost like someone was playing me in a film, and really overplayed the confidence I used to have. I didn't recognize her, even though she was just me, at my best."

"And what do you think about that?"

"I think…I think it's going to be really hard to be that person again. If it's even possible. I don't know." She looked toward the covered windows, not because there was anything to see, but because she could not look at Diana right now. She'd gotten emotional, and just wasn't in the mood for it. She averted her gaze toward the window, despite the fact that its opaque shades were down. The soft glow of the evening sun provided some comfort to her irritated and damaged nerves.

"I think we're just going to keep working at it. You'll get close. I'm sure you will."

She huffed, accepting, rather than agreeing with her therapist's opinion of her potential for recovery. She encouraged her own patients in a similar fashion, especially when they were really frustrated. And it wasn't as though she thought Diana was being less than genuine, but…she was definitely finding out how much harder it was to take encouragement than it was to give it.

She left through the glass-paned door at the end of the room. It was nice to be able to leave and not talk to anyone. See anyone she might know, waiting to go into the space she'd just left. It was more information than she wanted out there to just anyone. Not that she was embarrassed, but she often left sessions in a state of emotional upheaval, and was not eager to display her tears to people who might lack the couth to let her ruminate without asking her questions.

She sat in her car a few minutes to process the exercises Diana had given her and to look for some of the books she recommended on the library website. She pre-checked one and reserved the others for when they came back.

She called Sy on the way to the library. He liked getting report from her about how her sessions went.

"Hey sunshine, how ya doin'?" his warm tone was so comforting and full of love.

"Hi bear. I'm leaving the therapists office right now. We tried something new today, and I think it helped a bit."

"That's great, babe!"

"Yeah, she gave me some homework and recommended some books. I'm on my way to the library to pick one of them up now. Do you wanna get dinner somewhere after?"

"Yeah, may be a bit though. I'm helping Matt drop off a car in Rolla, and we're just about there. I'll be at least a half an hour. But I'll meet you wherever!"

"Okay, ummm, Ruby Tuesday?"

"Love it. Meet you there in about 45 minutes?"

"Great! Love YOU!"

"Love you more, bug." he said deep and low. Sincere.

"Not possible. Bye."

"Bye."

As Shane made her way to the library, she thought about what her therapist had told her today. After all Shane had been through, she still had the capacity to heal. To grow. That was evident to her by the way she felt about Sy, and the emotional wounds beginning to knit themselves closed. They were still very much present. Very tender. And very tenuous. Especially given the fact that Elliott was still at large. Not a sign, a whisper, a hint of him anywhere on the wind, but he was in it. She couldn't help but dread rounding a blind corner or opening a door. Not if she was alone. Not without Sy.

Her coworkers had noticed. She'd only just gone back to work two weeks ago, and it still didn't seem like enough time. She'd requested the secretaries avoid putting male patients on her schedule unless they were kids or elderly. She knew none of her patients would attack her, but new patients…what if…she shook the terrifying thoughts from her head. It didn't merit considering such horrific and wildly unlikely scenarios. It just served to cause her more stress.

She found herself parked at the library, no recollection of the drive there…thankful that she was in one piece, but also hopeful that she hadn't mown down an entire Girl Scout troop on the way…that was always a scary thing.

The scent of used books, dust, and coffee filled her nose as she walked in to the hallowed hall of enlightenment. It wasn't the library of the old world, with stone columns, walnut shelves, and oak desks with those green and gold lamps you so often saw. No, this was a library for the modern world. A fancy coffee bar near the entrance with free and cash drinks, free fruit and cheap baked goods and sandwiches. There was a line of computers near the checkout desk, large cubicles with comfy chairs, power outlets and USB ports for those all day study sessions. Three of the building's four sides were made up of floor to ceiling windows to maximize natural light. There were partially enclosed booths for study groups, cozy chairs in the designated "quiet space," and free Wi-Fi so fast you could almost feel the thrum of information being dispersed and exchanged on the airwaves. She loved it here. It felt safe. Cozy. Inviting.

She walked up to the friendly librarian, a short, bubbly brunette in a lightly distressed "McGonagal-Sprout 2016" election tee, dark skinny jeans, weathered red Converse, and a navy cardigan. Shane smiled at the subtle Harry Potter refence on her shirt and started a conversation with the girl about how different the world would be today if the pairing on her shirt would have been elected that fateful year.

"So, I reserved a book online. Do you have it pulled for me?"

"Yeah, I think! Shane, right?"

Shane nodded and the librarian strode over to a stand of cubbies. She pulled out a large manilla parcel, placed it on the desk and started doing mysterious library computer things.

"Okay, so with this book, it's reminding me to read you a disclosure. 'This title is listed as a workbook, containing various pages that a single reader might fill out if it were their own property. Please do not write in, highlight, dog-ear, or otherwise mark up or alter this title. Doing so could result in significant cash fines to replace the title, and the permanent termination of your Scenic Regional Library membership at this and all other branches of the SRL.'"

Wow, they meant business.

"Truthfully Shane, as long as you fess up if anything happens to the book, we can usually let you slide by just paying the replacement fee, which is based on the book's current market price point. And I can also make you copies of any pages you want to work on."

"Wow, thanks! And did you say when the other's would be in?"

"Hmm, one is about a week past it's due date, but the other is expected back tomorrow. We'll send you a text, email, or call you when either come in. Whichever you prefer."

"Oh, text would be perfect. Thanks."

"Sure! Anything else for you today?"

"Mmm, don't think so!" she noticed some bookmarks in a small display. Various character silhouette's and clever sayings about reading.

Reading will send you to Wonderland.

To Read, or Not to Read…no question!

Girls who read always find their Mr. Darcy

It's Elementary! Reading solves all cases of boredom.

And so forth…

"Are these…free?" Shane asked.

"Sure! Take a few! We've got tons. They're like our business cards. Hand them out if you like!"

Shane thanked the librarian, who she finally noticed was wearing a nametag identifying her as Liz, and started to her car.

She was really looking forward to diving in to some of the exercises Dr. Mikkelson was talking about. Cognitive Behavioral Therapy was fascinating from what she'd learned so far. She immediately started skimming pages and landing on section titles she found intriguing as soon as she got to her car.

Her first mistake was staying there. Instead of going directly to meet Sy. But she told herself she had loads of time.

She was wrong.

Her second mistake was not locking her door immediately after closing it. A habit she had formed while attending college in the city. A habit lost to the years of small town life. Of safety. Of a simpler time. An era never more bygone than at this very second.

This second, her front passenger door flew open, slammed closed, and now, locked. All by hands not her own. She felt cold steel at her throat, turning the shriek of horror she had been summoning into nothing more than a whimper of fear and defeat. She was afraid to make a move to turn her neck and look at the assailant next to her. She lifted her hands, dropping the book and her phone onto the floorboard at her feet. Fuck, she thought.

"My purse is in the back seat, I don't have a lot of money, but I have some credit cards. Take my wallet, just please leave me alone!" Shane squinted, trying not to cry. To relive that horrible day so many weeks ago that felt like yesterday. "I won't even be able to tell the police what you look like because I've never seen your face!" she pointed to her closed eyes.

"Oh, yes, you have, sweetheart." A familiar voice breathed the words into Shane's ear like a poison. She felt the knife's edge twist and skid slightly, breaking the skin and coaxing a few tiny droplets of blood to it's surface. Her stomach churned and her head swam, dizzy under the weight of her current reality. She should have known. She should have been prepared. But it was all too late now.

"Elliott." She spat, trying to maintain what little strength she could find within after the last time they'd seen each other. She remembered her mindfulness training, by some miracle. Observed this moment for what it was and let her emotions live their purpose and pass. She knew every second they were together would beg new instances. Constant application of this tool as her emotions flowed and then ebbed again.

"The one and only. Here in the flesh." she could almost feel the lecherous slime drip from his mouth onto her shoulder, its undetectable vapor clouding her head with pure rage. This feeling was harder to let go of because his mere presence created a constant storm inside her. A storm that she was now certain would mean her end.

But she wouldn't go without a fight.

"Haven't you caused me enough pain? What else could you possibly take from me?"

"Oh, please. You're still employed, with a roof and a car, you still have that meat head lumberjack warming your bed. Or has he decided to cut you loose after your time with my friends? I still owe him for what he and all his little soldier boys did to them. And unlike my friends, YOU still have your LIFE!"

"You really expect me to feel any remorse over that bunch of rapists, especially after the HELL they put me through, personally? Keep dreaming. Sy and his boys did the world a favor when they took them out." She could have scoffed at his inventory of her life. She was unable to enjoy any of the things he mentioned, especially Sy, to their fullest since he'd had her abducted, imprisoned, and defiled. Even if she was working on healing, the wounds were still painful, deep, and slow to even scar, much less disappear entirely. She doubted that would happen. But she wouldn't be giving him anymore satisfaction. He wouldn't learn that he'd ruined her life, even if he hadn't taken it. Yet.

"Shut up and start the car."

"Why should I?"

"Because you don't want me to kill you in a library parking lot. Where any innocent schoolgirl might happen across your corpse, blood flowing from your neck, and all color and life gone from your cold flesh. It would scar her for life. You're too good a person for that."

The compliment was hollow. Meaningless coming from such a monster. But he wasn't wrong. Plus, any extra time she could give herself could mean time to come up with an escape plan. She did as she was told and left the parking lot, following Elliott's instructions to the letter.

She tried to tune out his droning about what he was going to do to her. There was no point listening. She'd honestly rather not see it coming.

But then, there was a glimmer of hope. Sitting across the intersection from her, waiting for a green light, as she was, was a big blue F150. Sy. He was looking down at his phone. Dammit. She had only seconds to signal him. Her mind raced. Suddenly she got herself into a coughing fit and asked Elliott to reach into her back seat to grab her water bottle. He was reluctant, but as her coughing continued and worsened, he switched his knife to the other hand, resting it at her shoulder and started rummaging in the back seat. She began flashing her lights rapidly. After a few rounds he looked up and waved at her. She shook her head at him, grim faced. She could see his confusion turn to horror as he took in what was happening and noticed her passenger sitting back in the seat, fruitless in his search for her water.

"There's nothing back there." Which she knew.

"Hmm, I could have sworn I'd put one in that back cup holder as a spare." she sputtered, ending the fake coughing fit.

She tried to drive slowly so Sy had a better chance of keeping up with them.

"The speed limit's 45 through here." he chided. She covered with a sigh.

"This feels familiar. Can you not get off my back about the driving? Are you permanently mounted there to criticize my every decision? Even now that we're not together?" He'd always been like that. She couldn't do anything right. Even driving. "I was trying to drive under the radar. You don't want to get pulled over, do you? Because I could drive with reckless abandon hoping to be noticed by someone in a squad car. Say the word!"

"Just get us there sometime before midnight, okay?"

"Might be easier if I knew where 'there' was…"

"Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough."

Shane's blood ran cold at the implication of doom in Elliott's tone. As if the Grim Reaper himself had uttered the words. She prayed as she never had before. If Sy didn't catch up with them, she'd need a miracle to get through this alive.

Up Next: Chapter 23-Tactical Defense 

[bondsmagii]

I’m rereading Vicious and after knowing everything about Vengeful everything that Eli did on vicious makes so much sense.

The first time I read Vicuous I always wondered what exactly went through Eli’s head, what was he thinking? When he looked for Victor when Victor was about to replicate his experiment? Was Eli concerned about Victor or was Eli was acting for selfish reasons? What was he thinking and feeling after he got his powers? What was he thinking when Victor attacked him and why was he so quick to think Victor was a devil in disguise? What was his last thought when he was about to become an Eo and how does it relate to healing? What was his thought process when he was trying to give up his life to god and when he decided that killing EOS was the “right” thing to do?

And after reading Vengeful everything becomes so much clearer, his last thought was probably about how he wanted to be “healed and saved” he internalized so some much religious trauma that it affected the way he acted and his thogught porcess, he witnessed his mother suicide on a bathtub and that’s probably why he chose that method both times before and after becoming an EO, his father used to beat him as a kid because he supposedly “had the devil in him” and he does feels like one through his life, doing his best to act as “normal” as possible.

His mother death also explains why he was so worried about Victor and even in the first book Eli talks very fondly of him even referring to him as his best friend and he explains to Serena he thinks Victor died and something sinister replaced him after becoming an EO and this conclusion although rash, it make sense he would try to rationalize and in a way justify the awful things that Victor did after turning into an EO.

And even in vengeful he started imagining Victor to kept him company when he was going through hell, he admits to himself that Victor was the only person who ever truly “saw” him and understood him, pretty much confirming that the “rivalry” Victor and Eli had was mostly one-sided and Eli really did loved him and consider him his best friend.

This also explains his weird behavior towards Victor when Vic himself was trying to turn himself into an EO, Eli witnessed his mother death and probably didn’t wanted the same to happen to Victor after Eli himself almost died trying to recreate it.

The first book also explains that he tried to take his life a second time after Victor got arrested begging for God to take away his power if it had been a mistake, he seemed to externalize all of this negative experience and feelings through his purpose of exterminating the EOS because he sincerely believed that was the right thing to do, his faith although horribly used and mishandled seemed to be genuine based on how we was him literally begging to god to take his life back if everything had been a mistake.

Everyone one of his actions seem to be driven by his childhood and religious trauma and it’s incredible sad to me, he wan’t a sociopath or a psychopath he was just very broken and delusional individual.

And his experience with Serena who forced herself into him also didn’t helped the whole “EOS are devils in disguise” perspective , even since I read the first book (when I didn’t knew anything about Eli yet) I was very repulsed by what Serena was doing to him, to the point that even though I greatly disliked Eli at first I kind of hated Serena more for what she was doing to him. I am also a little disappointed in how the fandom barely acknowledges that what Serena did to Eli was incredibly wrong and messed up.

I have already said this, but the fandom seems to treat Eli very unkindly, they brush over all of his story and just label him as a “sociopath” or “psychopath” barely understanding and completely missing the point of why he behaved the way that he did.

I don’t mind if people hate his character, I did so at first, but the way everyone brush over all of his trauma and the way people completely misinterpreted his character and actions don’t set up right with me.

It’s a little surprising how people can praise Serena, Victor and Marcella despite their awful actions while they hate on Eli for the same reason, overall Eli seems to have been the one to receive the shorter end of the stick by the fandom.

honestly I've read this so many times because you're so right and it's such a relief to know that somebody else out there is capable of critical thinking skills lmao. I think the problem with people's response to Eli is that they think his backstory is an excuse, when in actual fact it's an explanation. go figure, kids who grow up in abusive households will turn into adults with a boatload of issues, and some of those issues are more likely than not going to cause harm of their own. it's totally possible to be both a victim and someone who causes harm; yes, Eli thinks he's in the right, but his actions are still wrong. it's possible to understand both of these things and it's possible to still like his character and sympathise with him, while still understanding that damn, he maybe needs to chill on the serial killing.

it wouldn't bother me as much if people didn't think that Victor was absolutely innocent. people seem to revere him, and it's because in the narrative he's set up as Eli's opposite. the whole point of the story is that there's no good men in the game, but because Victor wants to stop Eli, people see him as the good guy and overlook how cruel he was to Eli throughout their entire friendship, and also how cruel he is to the others. (Mitch is probably the only one there of his own free will. Sydney was an injured 12-year-old child when Victor picked her up, and he did so only because she had information that he wanted -- his first thought was to torture it out of her, but when she gave it willingly and kind of hero-worshipped him in the way a neglected child would hero-worship their saviour, he decided she could stay. Dominic is there by force, because he's a disabled man in constant chronic agony that Victor fixes with his EO abilities, and if he does something to displease Victor or leaves him, Victor has threatened to bring the pain back even worse.) people rewrite both Eli and Victor's personalities to fit this, with Eli being cast as this unfeeling psychopath and Victor the person standing up to his evil, and in actual fact Eli is absolutely not a psychopath -- he's a traumatised adult recovering from a highly abusive childhood -- and Victor is not standing up to evil; he's settling a score. a score he kind of started in the first place, by being a jealous asshole towards Eli's thesis, trying to dominate it because his own sucked, seeking glory off the back of Eli's hard work, and then when he succeeded in his goals and became an EO, immediately murdering Eli's girlfriend and torturing Eli because he was jealous Eli's idea was correct. like, Victor Vale is a little bitch, on god. the reason it ended like this was because he was a god-awful friend to Eli, who was literally Victor's only true friend because he was the only person who would put up with him. go figure that the only person who could deal with Victor's behaviour was a grown abused child. nobody who hadn't been indoctrinated into believing that behaviour was acceptable would ever voluntarily deal with Victor.

literally every decision and action Eli takes can be traced back to his trauma, but go figure that nobody on this website can treat trauma with the nuance it deserves. people on this site seem to think that if you're traumatised you're always innocent and vulnerable; if anyone acts outside of this idea, they're written off. I take Eli's treatment very personally because I've seen people quite literally do this to real life people, myself included. because I wasn't a quiet, easy-to-deal-with traumatised person, I got all kinds of shit. it's the exact same with Eli. because he acts badly, because he does bad things, people seek to dehumanise him and set him aside because he apparently makes abuse survivors look bad or whatever -- when in actual fact acting badly is a very common response among abuse survivors, because we were brought up in an environment where that was normal and we don't know otherwise. not to mention the fact that the kind of mental illness Eli shows -- PTSD, mainly -- has many symptoms that make for unpleasant actions. it's not a crime to show the impact these things have, but people take it so personally. I've even seen people say it's ableist to portray characters like Eli because it gives people with trauma or mental illness a bad name, but no. that's literally not how it works. people with trauma and people with mental illness act badly, they fuck up, they can abuse people, sometimes they do harm or even kill people. ignoring this isn't going to get us anywhere, and if anything's ableist, it's looking at a clearly traumatised, mentally ill person and saying that he's a psychopath and evil and irredeemable. like, come on.

Eli didn't catch a single break for his whole life. everyone he's ever met has abused him horribly. you don't have to like him, but the people who can look at this and see nothing sympathetic about him? genuinely I don't trust them.

[sockknitterporg]

The main bulk of my suffering is directly related to the manufactured "opiate crisis" that has caused untold pain and suffering for so many millions of people for so many, many years. In this essay, I intend to place my experiences in their proper context, as one of a sharply growing series of victims of medical malpractice stemming from the fundamental shift in our society from seeing pain patients as people to be treated, to deriding them as addicts to be suspicious of.

Though it says volumes about our society that we see addicts as fundamentally 'bad' people who deserve homelessness and death instead of as human beings, often times human beings who are suffering greatly and turn to the only thing that makes life even mildly bearable. But that's neither here nor there. (For more information about addiction, see https://tinyurl.com/rat-park )

Our story begins in 1996, when Purdue Pharma (Stamford, CT, USA) released OxyContin, a sustained release oxycodone preparation that is also sold here in the UK. In the US, where such things are legal, it was aggressively marketed and promoted as less dangerous and less addictive than other opiate preparations. (Source & more information about OxyContin's marketing: https://tinyurl.com/oxymarket )

Anyone who thinks a $200 million a year marketing campaign would not spill over to the UK is more than merely obtuse, but likely willfully ignorant. The entire 'opiate epidemic' is an American import, and it started there: with an unscrupulous American company that would stop at nothing to make money.

Lulled into a false sense of security by Purdue's claims of minimal risk of addiction, doctors began prescribing OxyContin much more liberally and for much more than they originally would have. This increased availability set many people up for addiction and overdose deaths.

To most people, that is the bulk of what the 'opiate crisis' is. But there is a secondary crisis unfolding quietly behind closed doors. In the USA, there are "Don't Punish Pain" rallies that at least try to draw attention to the situation ( https://dontpunishpainrally.com ), but here in the UK we are entirely forgotten and buried under the British 'stiff upper lip' mentality. It is completely hushed up, no one talks about the fact that the pendulum has swung too far in the opposite direction. (For example: https://tinyurl.com/opiate-pendulum )

The government and/or the NHS have enforced involuntarily tapering of chronic pain patients' medication. Medication we need in order to not spend our lives screaming in agony. The pain management clinic has already warned me that it is, direct quote, "when, not if" I will find my own medication terminated, ready or not.

But there will be no 'ready'. Chronic pain does not get better with time. Chronic pain does not go into remission. If you know someone with chronic pain who appears to be 'getting better', I can promise you it is merely that the sufferer has learned to better conceal it. It's a saying in the chronic pain community, "We don't fake being ill. We fake being well."

We have learned that the average person only has about two weeks of compassion in them, after that you're treated as a freak for not getting better already, or outright accused of malingering. After all, with all of modern science, can't you just go to the doctor and get a pill and be done with it? Our concept of illness is either 'you go to the hospital, get treated, and come out okay' or 'you go to the hospital, waste away, and die'. Chronic pain patients, who never get better, but aren't actively dying, don't fit in to our society's 'concept' of illness.

People who offer to help us out for the social brownie points of helping the poor cripple soon discover that we're not going to die, we're going to continue to need help for the forseeable future. Rather than gracefully admitting that they don't have the ability to help us in perpetuity (which would be perfectly understandable!), most people choose to lash out at us, we must be abusing their kindness, they helped so we must surely be better by now. Compassion fatigue seems to hit every single human being that interacts with us, as if merely existing while disabled is wearing on their ability to remain civil. (Compassion fatigue: https://tinyurl.com/2-week-fatigue )

Doctors have even less compassion than that. In the backlash of the 'crisis', they have begun to treat anyone who complains of pain, unilaterally, as a drug seeker. And those of us already in treatment? Are addicts in need of rehab. (More examples: https://tinyurl.com/drs-no-compassion )

Despite study after study (Studies: https://tinyurl.com/no-taper ) showing that tapering chronic pain patients unequivocally causes severe harm, up to and including death, the pain management team said to my face that I am, direct quote, "addicted to heroin" and "no different from my four year old grandson, demanding a choccy biscuit because he doesn't know they'll rot his teeth. And I have to smack him and tell him NO! And I'll smack you, too, if it'll get you off those drugs!" (Somehow my complaint that a doctor had literally smacked his hands in front of my face to demonstrate that he was sincere in his threat to physically assault me.... mysteriously got lost.)

I have been denied treatment for other (non-opiate) methods of reducing my pain because, direct quote, "it doesn't matter as long as you're on those drugs, opiates actually make you more sensitive to pain in the long run, so there's no sense trying anything else if you won't get clean." They talk to me like taking my medication responsibly, as prescribed, is the same as shooting up black tar. All in the hopes of bullying or shaming me into "voluntarily" tapering.

Honestly just living under these conditions alone would be enough to snap my mental health in half, but you have to remember that I'm not only facing all of this systemic bullying and professional misconduct while also living with pain that has often been compared to late stage cancer and chemotherapy ( https://tinyurl.com/fibro-chemo ), as well as debilitating fatigue, and a shroud of fog hanging around my brain and clouding my memories and judgments (and at times, my ability to speak English). Everyone's first reaction is "did you report them? you should report them. why didn't you report them!" as if I'm too stupid to have thought of that myself. But I don't have the energy for the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare that is dealing with the NHS's administration, especially not when I could have my entire life destroyed by a doctor's bruised ego penning into my file "patient was uncooperative and combative, suspect drug abuse".

It's only a matter of time before I choose suicide over another sleepless night of laying in bed and praying for death. And when that time comes, I hope that my name is added to the long, bloodstained list of people who have killed themselves not out of any sort of depression, but because their entire existence is built on pain and suffering and enough becomes enough for the last time. Drop my body on the steps of the CDC, which is the main driving force behind the opiate witch hunt. Maybe death will at least bring me some measure of peace.

[silverlightqueen]

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess​ for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s’mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?’ he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

[lyrishadow]

random RL stuff

Ok for a change I am not depressed I just need to talk it out so... my friendly Tumblr corner I am heading here to do so. As always with my posts, ask anything you need to know, but don't feel like you must read it. 

On the 13/01 was our 20th wedding anniversary.:

.^here we are as a couple of crazy kids. This was 5 1/2 months after we got engaged (2hrs after he met me in person) Ah and hint we don't look like this anymore lol Anyhow.. I just wanted to shout it to the world: my husband is awesome. I still love him. He can annoy the crap out of him but at the end of the day, I still think he’s awesome.  My one complaint? It was our 20th... a fairly decent marker.. and we didn’t hear a peep from his family :/ and nothing from mine either.  Still we didn’t get married for them, and some of them thought we would only last 6mths. (hahaha we win!)   Of course anniversary, Valentines.. and then my birthday... this year has not started well for me. Mid last year I was diagnosed with degenerative disc disease and it is getting worse as I go. My neck (which is strangely not the spot I thought I would have to deal with ?) has a damaged nerve. Pretty much have nerve pain in my left arm, and numbness in my thumb and finger and arm down that side. It hurts like hell. I have chronic pain “normally” and live at about 7/10 but this pushes it to a high 9/10 or a 10. I cannot do anything. I am scheduled to get a shot on the 29th March and it is looking so far away.  Today we had to go to appts for hubby (who isn’t near as well as I’d like him to be and having watched him get sicker and sicker pre-dialysis I don’t want to go through that again) anyhow I was just in the car, along for the ride (supervising a Learner driver, hes good, but he has not been well enough to go sit his test) anyhow, my neck was killing me... like my head was too heavy, and now, home I have issues sitting because of my back, and my knees... I feel like this old lady with so many issues. I sincerely HATE this, it isn’t at all what I planned for my life (ok I didn’t exactly plan my life past 20 but...) I know valentines and my bday are going to suck again - my bday has often sucked because of family dynamics. I know i just need to ride out the storm but I could use a little less pain while I am trying to. Oh and I expected my back to get worse before my neck did, I have 2 bulging discs in my spine, have had deep muscular bruising and a few horse riding accidents that have contributed to this situation.  I keep hoping for something good to come along, someone to accept their role in the damage or something, but maybe I am hoping for a miracle there.  Anyhow, I am just talking this out, because pain sucks.

[lifewithchronicpain-original]

How do you cope with people you care about not wanting to hear about your pain anymore because it “brings them down and they’re already aware you’re in constant pain?”

Honestly, when I felt this way I made this blog. I wanted to find a chronic pain support group initially but I can’t find any near me. So I decided I’ll just make a blog and create an online support safe space. For some running a blog like this might not be the answer, but there are all kinds of ways to find online support groups like on Facebook or forums.

Finding people who understand doesn’t solve all the problems of compassion fatigue, but when you can focus the venting you need to have elsewhere, yor family gets less of it and then when you have something serious where you need their help, they are more able to fully appreciate how serious it is. Let me tell you, being able to complain into the void at a blog meant just for complaining into the void has worked very well for me and I have noticed I’m not demanding as much emotional labor from people close to me. So when I do need it, the conversation can be so much better and nurturing.

You have every right to want to vent about your pain, but they have the right to not want to be your therapist, so it’s a balancing act, you know? And just because someone is expressing compassion fatigue, it doesn’t mean they don’t care at all, but our brains can only care for so much at one time or it can be literally unhealthy. So I don’t want to imply in any way you’re intentionally trying to mentally harm anyone, that’s Not the takeway I intend. It’s just sometimes two people’s needs at a given moment can just clash and we have to accept it and find a new outlet. Meanwhile, they have a responsibility of not lashing out at you either or saying ableist shit. We’re not a bad person for having problems that it’s impossible for us to not talk about all the pain we suffer, but we can just be a little more aware of who is open and ready to deal with it. And professional therapy is a far better way of coping than an untrained friend or family member, because yeah they’re going to unintentionally say ableist shit a therapist trained in disability help would know to avoid, granted it’s a good therapist and not a shitty one.

So my ultimate message is don’t feel guilty, but find support elsewhere. They should absolutely support you to some level, it’s just family and friends should be able to put up limits when it becomes too much because they get their own problems too, you know? I sincerely hope you can find a safe place to vent and strike a reasonable balance with your friends and family to talk about the pain you suffer.