#so yeah i have been mildly nauseous for the past 2 days because of this. thanks prof

[fearandhatred]

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[feynavaley]

50 Questions

I took this from @mandelene, thanks for the open invitation!

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1. What is the colour of your hairbrush? Light brown. (It’s a wooden hairbrush.)

2. Name a food you never ever eat. Well... I’m quite a picky eater but I generally try everything if I’m pressed (even though I end up not liking it). I won’t eat very spicy food though, I don’t have a good tolerance for it. Another food I used to enjoy but now I can’t even stand the smell of anymore – and even less I would eat – is almond paste. (Long story short, I came up with something – maybe labyrinthitis – that made me awfully nauseous and dizzy for a few days. I would throw up any time I even just stood up, I couldn’t eat anything. But my roommate had on her desk and almond paste cake, which has a very strong smell. Since I constantly smelled it while feeling so sick, now that’s what I associate that smell and taste with.)

3. Are you typically too warm or too cold? Generally, too cold. I handle being cold better than I handle being hot, though.

4. What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Translating from English to Italian some stuff my dad needs for work. (He doesn’t understand/speak English.)

5. What is your favourite candy bar? Kinder Bueno, Tronky, and Bounty.

6. Have you ever been to a professional sports game? No.

7. What is the last thing you said out loud? “No, I haven’t seen your glasses. Are you sure you didn’t leave them upstairs?” to my mother.

8. What is your favourite ice cream? If it’s good, Pistachio. It’s very hard to get right, though. Not many ice cream parlours can prepare it well, they tend to make it too sweet.

9. What was the last thing you had to drink? Water.

10. Do you like your wallet? Yes. Actually, I have two – one is a big red one where I keep basically everything, the other is blue and small and I just put in there a few banknotes and coins and the cards I need, changing them every time. I like both of them.

11. What was the last thing you ate? Chicken breast and salad for dinner.

12. Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? Nope. I’ve been confined home for almost one month and a half. 😅

13. The last sporting event you watched? I don’t know. I’m not a fan of sports so I don’t watch anything spontaneously. I only watch something if I’m with somebody who wants to watch it, but I don’t remember when the last time was.

14. What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Uhh... there are different flavours of popcorns? I only know one... 😅 I’m not a great fan, though.

15. Who is the last person you sent a text message to? An aunt of mine. (My mother’s youngest sister.)

16. Ever go camping? Yes and no. I’ve never gone with a tent in the wild or anything – however, my grandparents used to own a trailer that they kept in a fancy camping location/trailer park by the seaside. When I was a child, I would spend the entire three months of summer break there. I don’t know if it counts as camping, though. After growing older, my sister and I would sleep in a tent instead of the trailer (because the trailer was too small for everybody), but it was still in that fancy campsite which I don’t know how much can count.

17. Do you take vitamins? No.

18. Do you go to church every Sunday? Yes. I mean, not right now, clearly (all the Churches are closed due to Covid-19 lockdown) but I would go under normal circumstances.

19. Do you have a tan? No. And it’s very hard for me to get one, anyway. I’m as white as a person can possibly be. 😅 (I’m paler than an actual albino person I know at work. I wish I were kidding. 😓)

20. Do you prefer Chinese food over pizza? I prefer pizza. Very stereotypical, I know. 😅 (I’m talking about real Italian pizza, though.)

21. Do you drink your soda with a straw? Generally not.

22. What colour socks do you usually wear? White or black.

23. Do you ever drive above the speed limit? Depends on where I am and what the speed limit is. I respect the 50 km/h limit inside the cities and towns, but the 30 km/h that can be often found... yeah. 😅 (I’ve never met a driver who respected it, though.) If I’m out of the city and on a straight street across the countryside, I respect the 70 km/h limit but I tend to go faster if there’s a 50 km/h one. (Unless I know there’s an autovelox.) I’ve never gone above the 90 km/h limit, either – actually, I tend to go more around 80–85 km/h on those streets. I should probably also mention that I never drive much above the speed limit, though.

24. What terrifies you? Failure. Hurting or even just disappointing or upsetting other people. On the irrational side, I’m highly arachnophobic and I’m terrified of dogs.(Because I was attacked by a freaking SAINT BERNARD. Luckily, it just got my sweater, but it was completely mauled by the time somebody managed to get it back so... It also turned out I’m mildly allergic though, so me not staying around dogs is probably for the best anyway.)

25. Look to your left, what do you see? I actually don’t know how it’s called in English. I have a sloped wooden roof covering the left side of my bedroom, and I see it along with the skylight.

26. What chore do you hate most? Washing the dishes. Our sink is at a height that forces me to bend in an awkward way and makes my back ache if I have to wash more than a couple of dishes.

27. What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? “OMG what is that person saying?? 😭” I’m not a native English speaker so strong non-standard accents always throw me off a bit, at least at first. 😅 I need a few minutes to get used to them.

28. What’s your favourite soda? Citron soda (I don’t know the brand. It was one my great-grandparents used to have in small glass bottles, it tasted amazing and was so refreshing...), Fanta, or Coke Zero. I don’t drink soda often, though.

29. Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive? I go in. I think there’s only one place with a drive-through in my hometown. 

30. What is your favourite number? For some reason, I’ve always liked the numbers 3 and 11. They aren’t my lucky numbers or anything, I just like them. (Actually, thinking about it, I know why I like the number 11... In German, it’s ‘elf’, and I started taking German around the period I was obsessed with LoTR... 😅)

31. Who’s the last person you talked to? My mother.

32. Favourite cut of beef? I hardly ever eat beef (I eat meat about every other day, but it’s generally chicken or turkey breast), I don’t have a preference.

33. Last song you listened to? This one. (You’re welcome.)

34. Last book you read? Fire and Blood by George R.R. Martin.

35. Favourite day of the week? Saturday.

36. Can you say the alphabet backwards? Yes, but only the Italian one (that is missing J, K, X, Y, W). I tend to mix up some letters in the English one. 😅

37. How do you like your coffee? Plain espresso.

38. Favourite pair of shoes? My ankle-height black converse.

39. The time you normally get up? Since the lockdown started, between 8:30–9. I’ve been having trouble sleeping so I’m always tired in the morning.

40. What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Sunset, the colours are gorgeous. Sunrise is still beautiful and so it’s the atmosphere, but the colours tend to be fainter.

41. How many blankets on your bed? One, at the moment.

42. Describe your kitchen plates. Kind of square, white with blue and yellow stylized flowers in the corners.

43. Describe your kitchen at the moment? Quite empty. We’re due a grocery run.

44. Do you have a favourite alcoholic drink? No, I don’t like any alcoholic drink. For some reason, I don’t like the taste of alcohol. (And there’s probably something genetic here as it’s also true for my sister, my father, and other relatives from my father’s side.)

45. Do you play cards? Technically, I know a few games but I’m not really good at them and I don’t play often.

46. What colour is your car? I use my mother’s car and it’s dark blue. We also have a dark grey car (belonging to my father) but I’ve never used it because it’s very big (you can go up to 7 seats), I wouldn’t feel comfortable with driving it, let alone parking.

47. Can you change a tire? No.

48. Your favourite state? I’ve never been anywhere in the US so I can’t say.

49. Favourite job you’ve had? The current one. The pay is very low so I’ll have to leave it as soon as I find something better, but I love these children so much. 😭

50. How did you get your biggest scar? I actually don’t have any big scar... I have several small ones. The biggest one is probably on my arm, from when I leaned against the toaster to unplug it and got this long, thin burn. 😅

———

I tag anybody who feels like doing this! And please tag me back, I’d love to read your answers! 😊

[gimmesumsuga]

Nine Months (2)

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (fluff)

Warnings: Pregnancy, Birth, and all the icky bodily fluids that come along with it.

Summary: Your due date has come and gone. Namjoon’s excited and you’re uncomfortable, but you’re both equally as impatient to meet your little girl.

Word count: 2.5k

This will be a series of drabbles I intend to post over the next few days, detailing the labour, birth, and early postnatal period. Expect a lot of fluff ♡♡

Part One / Part Two / Part Three 

“Ok, so.”  Namjoon’s head pops around the bathroom door, long fingers curled around the door frame as he watches you change your sanitary pad, disgust written all over your face.  As soon as you hear his voice your head snaps up, hands stilling.

“JOON! Get out!”  He rolls his eyes but at your continued glare he dutifully covers them with a hand, hiding you from his sight so you can carry on cleaning yourself up.  

“You do realise I’m gonna be seeing much grosser stuff than this over the next 24 hours, right?”  

“Yeah well, let’s try not to peak too soon,” you mutter, throwing the sopping wet pad into the bin, “Anyway, what did they say?”  Another twinge of pain gnaws at your lower abdominals as you move around, putting on a new pair of underwear and some soft, stretchy sweats.  Is it supposed to just keep coming out like this?  It’s never-ending.

“They said to make sure she keeps moving, make sure the water stays clear, and call them back when your contractions start,” Namjoon recites verbatim, and you can see him peeping at your through his fingers before he lowers his hand back down to his side once you’re decent.  “Or else in 24 hours, whichever comes first.”  

“Great, ok.”  You give a short sharp nod as he approaches you across the tile, arms already stretched out wide.  You’re starting to feel slightly nauseous, and something tells you it’s more to do with nerves than general pregnancy-induced queasiness this time around.  

Namjoon wraps his arms around you from the side, placing a kiss against your temple as he rubs reassuringly at your stomach.  He’s always been able to read you like a book; easily identifying  your anxiety from the way you’re chewing at the inside of your cheek, frowning hard.  

“They also said to avoid anything that’d risk introducing infection,” he says into your hair, rocking the two of you gently side to side.  

“Like what?” you query, placing your hands onto the arm that’s wrapped around you and tilting your head to look up at him.  

“Like… using those funky strawberry scented bath bombs you like.”  You ‘hmm’ in agreement, rubbing your thumbs over his arm as you look at your reflections in the bathroom mirror.  Namjoon looks gorgeous, as always, his white t-shirt setting off his tan skin just so, cheeks dimpling as he catches you look and gazes back, leaning his head on yours.  “Sex is off the table too, apparently,”  he adds, smile turning cheeky whilst yours completely disappears.  

“Seriously?” you choke, horrified at the mere prospect, “Are you really telling me that there’s people out there that’d think sex was a good idea right now?”  Namjoon just laughs, leaning in to kiss your cheek and then releasing you from his grasp as you try to forget it was ever mentioned.  

“C’mon.”  He walks out of the bathroom, beckoning you after him, and when you finally get back into the living - you’d had to stop along the way because of that damn cramping in your stomach - you find that Namjoon had apparently been very productive during the time he’d spent on the phone.

He’s switched off the television and turned all the lights down soft and low, your favourite chill out tunes playing quietly from the mp3 player stand.   The whole room is swathed in the glow of lamplight, a little bottle of massage oil waiting on the coffee table.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say Namjoon was trying to seduce you.

“I thought you said sex was off the table?” you ask with a smirk, one eyebrow raised.  He chuckles softly, grabbing your luminous purple birthing ball from where it’d been gathering dust in the corner and placing it in front of the sofa.  He sits himself behind it, a leg either side, and then pats it in invitation.  

“It’s all oxytocin, baby,” Namjoon tells you as he helps you ease yourself onto the ball and get your balance, “Making a baby, having a baby...  it’s all the same hormones that are involved, and they all work better with the lights down low.”  

“I knew it was a mistake for you to read all those birthing books,” you say right before letting a groan inadvertently slip as Namjoon starts to massage your lower back right where it aches the most, the scent of mandarin filling the air.  

From the moment you’d discovered you were pregnant Namjoon had started digesting every single titbit of knowledge he could find about pregnancy, labour, birth and babies.  There’s not a single question you’ve asked along the way that he couldn’t answer, and whilst it can sometimes be mildly irritating - anyone would think it was him having to give birth - it’s also been very reassuring to have your own pocket encyclopedia on hand.  Especially when that encyclopedia happens to be very skilled with his hands.  

Another bout of cramping comes and goes, but bouncing gently on your ball while Namjoon rubs your back really seems to help.  If this is what labour’s like, then this will be a breeze!  

“Hmm,” you sigh happily, letting your head tilt to the side and your eyes closed, “I could get used to this.”  

Oh.

Oh you were so tragically mistaken.  

What had started out as a bit of general discomfort - a mild tightening of your stomach every ten minutes or so that was pretty manageable with Namjoon’s encouragement - has all too quickly ramped up into something infinitely more intense.  It’s coming every three minutes now, taking away your ability to speak for almost a full minute as your bump turns rock hard.   Every contraction is like a wave, rising to a peak and then receding again just as quickly as it came, leaving you slightly breathless in their wake.

You wish you could go back in time and smack past-you in the face for being so blasé about this whole thing.  In fact, if time travel were an option you might just go back and never get pregnant in the first place.  

Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.  

“Do you want to get back in the bath?”  Namjoon offers, trailing around after you as you pace the living room restlessly.   You know he’s starting to feel out of his depth - you can tell by the way he’s wringing his hands when he thinks you’re not looking - and honestly you can’t blame him.  Neither of you anticipated just how intense this might be, and all the book knowledge in the world hasn’t helped him prepare for raw reality of it.  

“No, Namjoon, I don’t want to get back in the fucking bath,” you snap, stopping at the back of the sofa and bracing yourself on it as you feel another contraction brewing.  You shouldn’t snap at him really - Namjoon’s trying his best and you know you’re being a bitch.  A nice warm bath might have helped a couple of hours ago but you’re a bit beyond that now.   

Despite having had his head bitten off Namjoon is right there with you through it, rubbing your back firmly as you try your best to breathe steadily, eyes closed, fingertips digging into the sofa cushions.  Once it’s faded you’re suddenly aware of tears leaking down your cheeks, and as soon as you can straighten yourself again you’re turning around to face your husband and wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face in his chest.  

“Can you call the hospital again, please Joonie?” you ask quietly, rubbing your tears on his t-shirt and then peeking up at him, anger and upset fading almost as rapidly as your contractions.  God, you really are all over the place right now, aren’t you?  “I don’t think I can manage anymore.”  It’s been a good few hours since your last phone call, so you feel as though you’ve given it your best shot.  If it’s too early the midwives can always send you home, anyway; though you think you might cry again if they do.  

Namjoon nods almost instantly, looking a little relieved as you slip out of his arms to begin pacing once more.  It feels better to keep moving; sitting is unbearable - lying down a fate worse than death.  You listen to Namjoon explaining everything over the phone, calmly and thoroughly answering each question the person on the other end might have, and though you’re in pain you still feel a little swell of pride right in the centre of your chest as he speaks.  

You couldn’t have hoped to ever have a better husband than him.  Sure, he might burn the dinner and break almost everything he touches - he’s also late a lot of the time, and his fashion sense is questionable at the best - but no one could ever be more supportive, more loving than Namjoon.  You’re fairly certain he’d tear off his own arm and give it to you if he thought it would make you happy.  

“Ok,” he says as he disconnects the call, stuffing his phone in his back pocket and then running his hand briefly through his hair, “I’ll grab the bags and then we’ll head out.”  

Oh god, does he really intend to be the one who drives?

“Call Yoongi.”  He stops halfway across the room, turning back to you with his mouth slightly agape.  

“Baby, it’s 4am-”

“I don’t really give a shit, Joon,” you interrupt through gritted teeth, another contraction brewing, “He volunteered his services, day or night, he knew the risks.”  

“But I can-”

“Namjoon you’ve had your license for two months.  You bunny hop at the best of times, especially when you’re nervous, and me yelling at you from the passenger seat isn’t going to help anything.  And I will yell, we both know it.”  You say this in one big rush, leaning over the back of the sofa with one hand on your stomach, trying to get all the words out before you’re rendered speechless again.  “Call.  Yoongi.”    

You see Namjoon hesitate for just a second, eyes fleeting back and forth between your own before he succumbs and reaches back into his pocket for his phone with a sigh, relenting.  He might not be on the receiving end of any harsh words from you, but you’ve no doubt he’ll be getting some from Yoongi once he realises what time it is, and Namjoon doesn’t look too enthusiastic about it.  

Still, poor timing on your behalf or not, Yoongi manages to turn up outside your apartment not twenty minutes later.  He honks the horn to alert you to his arrival and leaves the engine running - unconcerned with what the neighbours might say - and once Namjoon has helped you hobble down to the car with bags in hand, Yoongi is waiting in the driver’s seat with a smirk on his face and bags under his eyes.  

“You’re not gonna go leaking all over the seats are you?”  he asks, voice croaking as he turns to look at you over his shoulder, one hand still on the steering wheel, “I just had this cleaned.”  You give him a withering glare whilst Namjoon helps you in, one that Yoongi just grins at in reply.  With much grumbling you allow your husband to put on your seatbelt, already horrifically uncomfortable from just having to sit down and grimacing as Namjoon takes his place next to you, slamming the car door behind him with a thud.  

Yoongi pulls away from the curb almost immediately, making you groan in pain as the car lurches.  

“Can you go a bit faster, hyung?” Namjoon asks his friend, mistaking your general groaning for another contraction.

“No, don’t!” you disagree quickly, Namjoon’s head snapping round to face you with a frown, “Just… smoothly, please.”  Yoongi gives you a little nod in the rearview mirror and you smile back at him weakly, leaning into Namjoon when he puts his arm around your waist and kisses the top of your head.  

“Are you ok?” he asks, peering down at your tenderly.  He places one hand on top of yours atop of your bump and rubs circles with his thumb as you slowly nod, giving him the same feeble smile you did Yoongi.  

“Just about.”  

“And what about our little passenger?” Namjoon glances at your bump and again you nod, touched by his concern.

“Still kicking away,” you assure quietly, leaning your head on his chest.  It’s as that moment that Yoongi’s tyres meet a speed-bump, jolting you up and down with a shout of pain, despite him having taken it slowly.  

“Sorry, sorry,” Yoongi sheepishly mutters from the front seat, hands flexing around the wheel, and Namjoon tells him not to worry because you’re too busy trying to collect yourself and not unintentionally lose your shit for something purely accidently.  

Everything feels so low, like her head is sitting right in your ass, and it’s so uncomfortable, especially when you’re jostled around.  You try to focus on your husband’s comforting presence and the gentle way his fingers are trailing up and down your side, watching the streetlights speeding past the windows in the blink of an eye, but then another contraction starts and all those good intentions are abruptly cast aside.

“Ow, ow, fuck this one hurts,” you huff, grabbing onto Namjoon’s hand and squeezing it tightly, screwing your eyes closed and tensing your jaw to try and bare it as best you can.  How can they still be getting stronger?  This one feels even more intense, even longer lasting than they did just ten minutes ago, and to make it all the more unpleasant you seem to be draining more water each and every time.  Yoongi really might need his car cleaning again after this…

“Try to keep breathing baby, it’s gonna hurt more if you tense up,” Namjoon whispers into your ear, earning him a sharp smack on the leg.

“Easy for you to say!”  you grit out, but you try your best to take his suggestion anyway, knowing that he’s probably right.

“They really hurt that bad, huh?”  Yoongi asks, turning to look at you whilst you’re sat at a red light.  You give him the finger mid-pant and with that he turns back around, turning on the radio to drown out your groans.  Charming.  

You have at least another five contractions that you practically hyperventilate through before you arrive at the hospital’s maternity department, and with each one that’s gone by you’ve noticed Yoongi’s becoming more and more worried.  Well… simultaneously worried and amused by Namjoon’s seeming inability to get anything right.  And it’s not concern for your welfare that has Yoongi frowning; you know that.  He’s probably just freaking out that you’re going to have the baby right there in his precious back seat, placenta and all.  

He calls ‘good luck’ as Namjoon hauls you out of the car, earning another scalding for pulling on you too hard, and you can’t help but wonder to which of you it’s directed as he takes off, hurrying home, back to his bed. 

Either way, you have a feeling that both of you will need it.  

I hope you like this guys.  I know it might not be everyone’s cup of tea and it might actually be little boring for some - but this is my passion so I enjoy writing about it, so bare with me ^^ <3 <3 

[perlukafarinn]

what’s there to talk about, ch 1

an edited version with a brand new though not at all different ending part 1 / part 2 / part 3 (ao3)

Dean has a friend.

It’s weird. Sam can’t remember the last time Dean made friends at a new school. He has girlfriends all the time but that’s not really the same thing.

It’s not like Dean can’t make friends. Sam’s seen him do it plenty of times, easily. People like Dean. It’s always been one of the things Sam envies the most about him (not that he’d ever tell him). But Dean doesn’t like people, at least not other guys, and hasn’t for a couple of years.

So what’s so different about this guy?

From what Sam can tell, he’s a dick. He wears a leather jacket, like Dean, except his isn’t way too big and obviously passed down from his dad. He’s got greasy, shoulder-length hair, and he’s always smoking. His name is Tyler. Everyone named Tyler is a dick, that’s just scientific fact.

He also always calls Sam Sammy, and ruffles his hair when he greets him. Dean does that too, but he’s Sam’s brother. Tyler is just some guy who Dean inexplicably decided was worth hanging out with.

Sam doesn’t get it.

 They’re staying at an apartment this time, not a motel room. Dad’s gonna let them stay until the end of the semester, though he’s not around much, constantly off on hunts.

It’s honestly better when he’s gone, because there’s only one bedroom in this apartment and when he’s here, Sam and Dean both sleep in the living room. At least when he’s gone, Sam gets the living room to himself. Dean takes the bedroom, of course, and whenever Tyler comes over they lock themselves in there. Sam’s not sure what they’re doing, but there’s usually music playing, and they always come out smelling like smoke.

He tries seeing what they do, once, but when he peeks through the keyhole the key is in the way. Then Dean rips the door open, like he somehow knew Sam was outside, and tears him a new one for spying.

���I wasn’t spying,” Sam protests. “Why are you sneaking around? Are you drinking?”

Dean grabs him by the shoulders, and steers him out into the living room. Sam tries to dig his heels, but it’s no use. Dean is way stronger than him.

“Don’t be stupid,” Dean tells him. “We’re not doing anything you need to worry about. Now go do your homework, nerd.”

Sam does go do his homework, but just because it needs doing, not because Dean told him to.

 Sam’s class gets assigned a group project for English. Most of his classmates have been ignoring him since he got here, so he ends up with the other outcasts, two guys named David and Noah. They decide to meet at the library after school.

Dean usually walks him home, even though Sam is thirteen years old and can be trusted to walk down the street by himself, thank you very much. Sam should probably tell him he doesn’t need to today (not that he ever does), but he’s not in the mood. With Sam out of the way, Dean can just hang out with Tyler some more.

So after the last bell of the day has rung, Sam ducks out of a side-entrance before Dean has any chance of spotting and following him. Despite that, he’s only been at the library with David and Noah for twenty minutes when Dean finds him.

“Shoulda known you’d be here.”

Sam turns around, startled. Dean is standing right there, looming over him with his arms crossed, and he looks pissed.

“We had a group project,” Sam says, but he knows it’s a weak excuse. He’s preparing to come up with a better one, when he spots Tyler leaning against a bookshelf a few feet away. “What’s he doing here?”

Dean’s head swivels around. When he turns back to face Sam, his cheeks have turned pink. “Look, just get your ass home before dinner. And let me know where you’re going next time.”

He leaves with Tyler, and Sam is left feeling baffled. He expected Dean to drag him home or give him a lecture or something. Not for Dean to basically fold and let him be. He turns, and David and Noah are both looking at him with strange expression.

“Was that your brother?” Noah asks, and Sam should have known this was coming. If anyone ever cares who he is, it’s only as Dean’s brother. Because Dean is older, and cooler, and much more interesting than dorky Sam. “Is he seriously friends with Tyler Brooks?”

That catches Sam off guard. Who seriously cares about that dick Tyler? “I think so. Why?”

David and Noah exchange looks.

“It’s just…” David says. “There’s some rumors about Tyler.”

“What rumors?” 

“You sure you wanna know?”

Sam huffs, growing impatient. “Just tell me.”

“People think he’s a homo,” Noah blurts.

“Dude,” David says. “You don’t just come out and say it.” He looks back at Sam, apologetic. “But, yeah, people do say that. Someone saw him giving another dude a blowjob in a Gas ‘N Sip bathroom.”

“I heard it was at a Burger King.”

Sam glances between them, shocked. That can’t be why Dean… even if it’s true about Tyler, there’s no way Dean is like that. It just doesn’t fit. Dean likes girls.

“That’s just what people say,” Noah adds. “Maybe your brother hasn’t even heard.”

“Definitely not,” Sam says quickly. He doesn’t care about people spreading rumors about Tyler, but like hell is he gonna let Dean get caught up in that. He doesn’t deserve that, even if he has been a douche lately. “He would never hang out with him if he knew.”

That seems to appease David and Noah, and they get back to working on their project. Sam does his best to help out, but his mind is preoccupied. What if it’s true what they say about Tyler? Does Dean know? And if he does, does he not care or is there something more to it?

Now that it’s been brought up, Sam can’t just let it go. He has to know for sure.

 The next morning, Sam tells Dean he’ll be going to the library again after school.

He waits out back for thirty minutes after school lets out. That gives Dean and Tyler plenty of time to get back to the apartment, if that’s where they’re hanging out today, and then Sam can sneak in without them knowing and find out what they’re always doing by themselves.

Not that he’s expecting anything. Because Dean isn’t like that. But this way he’ll know for sure.

On his way home, Sam starts planning out how he’ll get a look into the bedroom. The keyhole won’t work, but maybe he could slide a mirror under the door or something? He’s seen people do it in movies.

He gets home, opening the door as quietly and carefully as he can, and finds out immediately that he doesn’t need a plan.

Dean and Tyler aren’t in the bedroom. They’re in the living room, on the couch where Dean sleeps when Dad is in town, and they’re kissing.

Sam freezes in the doorway. He didn’t make any noise, so they haven’t noticed him yet. Dean is lying down, Tyler on top of him, and they’ve got their hands all over each other. It’s such a surreal image that Sam can’t even process that it’s happening.

He takes a step back, pushing the door closed with a soft click, and Dean’s eyes immediately fly open. He sits up, pushing Tyler off him, not taking his eyes of Sam.

“What are you doing here?” he says. His face has gone completely pale. Sam hasn’t seen him looking so scared since Dad blew his gasket about a hunt Dean botched up. “You said you’d be at the library.”

Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Dean and Tyler both stand up, Tyler looking between the two of them awkwardly, before saying, “I should go.”

Dean doesn’t protest. Tyler raises a hand towards him, then drops it. He grabs his jacket from the couch and shoulders his way past Sam, out the door. Leaving the two brothers by themselves, Dean staring at the floor and Sam staring at Dean.

“Why are you here?” Dean finally asks, still looking down at the floor instead of at Sam.

Sam swallows. Guilt and regret both twist in his gut, making him feel mildly nauseous. “I just wanted to see what you and- what you were doing.”

“Well.” Dean gives a hollow laugh and throws out his arms. “You saw.”

“Dean-”

“I’m gonna go take a nap,” Dean mutters.

He stalks to the bedroom before Sam can respond, slamming the door behind him.

 Dean doesn’t come out until dinner time. Sam’s been sitting on the couch (not the one Dean and Tyler were on), trying and failing to do his homework. He looks up when Dean opens the bedroom door, but Dean doesn’t look his way.

He stalks into the kitchen, out of view, and Sam gets up to follow him. When he gets there, Dean's rooting through the cabinets, pulling out cans of soup.

“You hungry?” Dean asks, not turning around to face him.

“Yeah,” Sam says quietly.

He sits down at the table, feeling completely at a loss. He still can’t process what he saw. Seeing Dean right now, it’s like looking at a stranger. Sam just wishes he could take the whole past week back. That way, he’d never found out about Tyler and about Dean. It would have been better.

Dean reaches into a cabinet, pulling out a pot, which he puts down on the kitchen counter with a heavy slam. He pauses for a moment, then finally turns around to face Sam.

“You’re not gonna tell Dad, are you?”

“No,” Sam says, because that’s an easy question to answer. He has no idea how to handle this situation, but he at least knows that bringing Dad into it would be a bad idea.

Dean nods, looking relieved. “How about your friends?”

It takes Sam a moment to realize that Dean’s talking about David and Noah. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

“Okay.” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, good.”

“But they know about Tyler. Everyone does.”

Dean leans against the counter, looking very tired all of a sudden.

“You should stop hanging out with him,” Sam suggests carefully. “I mean, otherwise people are gonna talk about you too.”

Dean doesn’t answer. He goes back to making dinner, and Sam knows the conversation is over. They’re not gonna talk about this again.

 Dean seems to take Sam’s advice, since Tyler stops hanging around. The only times Sam sees him after that is briefly in the halls at school, and then they both pretend not to see each other.

Dean gets a girlfriend. Her name is Jennifer. She’s blonde and pretty, and she lasts about a month. After her, there’s Charlotte, and then Katie, and then Tina.

Eventually, Sam convinces himself that Tyler was some aberration. Dean is clearly into girls; he’s way too much of a horndog to be faking it.

Still, he’s relieved when Dad comes back and says they’re moving. Once they’re in another state and Tyler is nothing but a memory they’ll be able to leave this all behind them. Dean can go back to being the person Sam’s always known him to be.

[chloes-pirate-booty]

whats been your experience with top surgery? did you like your doc and all

Yeah! Top surgery went well for me! I mean, I would have liked a friendlier doctor - the guy I went to was pretty dull and quiet and was all business so at times I felt kind of uncomfortable with him. But he knew what he was doing. He seemed shady when I asked him to show me pictures of past patients’ results, but I realized that the reason he was hesitant was because almost all of the photo comparisons he had were of patients who had far more complicated chests than mine so it wouldn’t have been an accurate reference for me anyway. A couple of them had previous damage from improper binding so their results didn’t look too good but it was not the doctor’s fault, it was their fault for binding with tape.

So here’s the story of the actual surgery: My surgery was done at around 7:30 AM on October 3rd 2016. I was honestly pretty relaxed going in there. It wasn’t too busy or noisy at the little surgical center I went to (which was connected to a larger hospital) so I didn’t have to lay there on the cot waiting and waiting and waiting to go in. I went in the little curtained room thing, answered some questions, they had me change, the doc marked up my chest, they hooked me up with an IV, sat for a couple minutes, and then they pumped that happy drug in and rolled me through the doors. I remember getting into the surgical room. I was too high off that relaxant at that point to even be bothered by the fact that they’d already started strapping my arms down like Jesus on the cross. I remember looking around and seeing like 20 people which was not what I expected at all.  Then I was out like a light. The surgery took about 2 hours, and I woke up high as a kite in the same curtained room. There were two nurses. I remember being so fucking happy looking down at my chest and seeing it bandaged up. I lifted up the lip of the bandages and honestly couldn’t see anything underneath because it was so tight but I knew my chest was flat as a board. Nothing hurt (yet). I didn’t even notice the drains. I was just chilling there all loopy and I kept waving at people when they passed by the open curtains. Pretty sure I asked the same nurse how the surgery went like 10 times. Then my doctor came in and said everything went well and that he did need to put drains in (he told me to plan for them but it was never a promise that I’d need them.)At that point, I was awake enough that they moved me over to a big chair, switched me from the johnny to my flannel shirt + sweatpants, and gave me some water. I wasn’t nauseous, thank god. And I wasn’t loopy anymore either. I could feel the drains now that the hospital-strength pain meds were wearing off.Then I was literally ECSTATIC when I saw my Mom, Dad and (surprise) Grandma coming towards me. (Yes, Grandma was a surprise. I did not know she would be visiting. I guess my Mom and Dad went to hang out with her at her house nearby until I was done, and so she figured she’d come visit.) I was so excited and showing them how flat my chest was even with the bandages on and showing them how weird the drains looked. I’m really chill with my family. They were nervous about me getting the surgery, obviously, but there was definitely a good vibe in the room now that I had made it past the ‘big’ part. My Grandma impulsively bought my family the biggest party tray of cookies I’ve ever seen. After my Grandma left, the nurse showed my parents and I how to empty the drains and measure the drainage. They gave the little drainage chart and a little study guide about how the drains worked. Every 12 hours I would have to empty the fluids from the drains into a little measuring cup [PHOTO - blood warning] Then my parents helped me get my sneakers on and the nurse wheeled me out to the car. I was given my cell phone back at this point, of course, so I spent the whole ride home messaging my friends that I survived, lol. One unusual thing that happened though is that my seatbelt was too tight on the external portion of my right drain. About 5 minutes away from home, my right side started feeling very warm. And then I didn’t note anything of it until we were parked in the driveway and I unbuckled my seatbelt to find a gigantic patch of blood on the bandages. I went into panic mode thinking I broke the drain (I didn’t think something was wrong with my chest because there was no obvious pain). But after figuring out that nothing was actually wrong and that the blood was just unable to travel downwards through the drain (therefore traveling back into the drain port and leaking out from there), I was fine and just mildly pissed off that my ace bandages had a blood stain. [PHOTO] Thankfully, my Mom had foot surgery 3 months before and she had extra ace wraps that I just used instead. Be careful with seatbelts, guys.  

So once I was in the house, I basically stayed there for the next 5 days. I was upstairs 24/7 pretty much. The only time I went outside during that time was when my rat Ozzy died 3 days after my surgery and I went with my Dad to bury him in the yard. That fucking sucked. But aside from the dead pet, those 5 recovery days were aesthetic as fuck. Since it was October, I made sure to decorate the shit out of my room while I could still lift my arms. I had Halloween lights up every where [PHOTO], and I had a bunch of Halloween candy to pig out on [PHOTO]. I ate like a fat ass when I was hungry, but I wasn’t very hungry due to to percocet (oxy) that I was prescribed for pain. I actually ended up losing 5 pounds in 5 days due to not eating big meals (plus my high metabolism) even though I certainly ate a lot of cookies, candies, and Frostys (my aunt kept calling me and insisting she come visit and bring me Wendy’s, lol. She’s an occupational therapist and so she was very intrigued by how I was recovering and visited almost every night to talk with me). I’d also bought a new TV a few days before the surgery too. So I had my TV and PS4 set up right in front of my bed so I wasn’t ever lacking entertainment. I watched Breaking Bad during the day and then Bob Ross before going to sleep. The pain meds made me so sleepy so I usually would just pass out watching Bob Ross, haha. I made a habit of it too. 10/10 would recommend passing out while watching Bob Ross. Usually the end credit music would wake me up and remind me to turn the TV off, haha. Also, @xrdpan gave me this very cute little guy as a gift - [PHOTO]And yeah, this is getting a little off topic. But I definitely had a memorable week of recovery. Sometimes I wish I could do it again for another day or two. Cause despite how uncomfortable the drains were and how much weight my scrawny ass lost, I was so relaxed and got to watch a LOT of TV.

So back to post-op care - I was not given a binder after surgery. I had to use the ace bandages while I still had the drains in, and then I was given a prescription for a compression tank top (that i literally had to go to this lingerie store to get) once the drains were out. That was kind of annoying. I had hoped for a decent surgical vest like what most people get, but yeah. 

My drains were in for 10 days. They were uncomfortable, but I didn’t have any bleeding complications or any complications at all so they definitely did their job. It didn’t hurt when they came out either. It felt awesome once they were out and I could really get a good look at my chest. The drains caused snake-like lumps all throughout my chest and it looked weird. Drains in - [PHOTO]Drains out - [PHOTO]

And as for sensation, my chest was very numb for about 1 month including the nipples, and then was half-numb for another couple months. But after the 3 month point (which was around the time I didnt have to wear anymore compression), the sensation was coming back on it’s own very well. I’m 7 months post-op now and have all sensation back except for my right nipple which isn’t 100% numb but doesn’t really react to touch. I have a couple small fleshy spots, mainly on the left side, where they almost have too much feeling and are tender if pressed down on. It feels like a muscle thing. 

Uhhh so that’s an essay if I ever saw one! Hope you got something useful from it! I’m always down to talk about my experience and make everything more clear and possibly less scary for everyone who’s interested in top surgery. I had a good experience overall! No complications! 

Here’s some recent pics if you’re interested!

2 months - [PHOTO]4 months - [PHOTO]6 months - [PHOTO]

[badmuslim-blog1]

Don’t you have a heart?

Oct 4

So I broke it to my Iraqi suitor when he finally spoke to me today about wanting to marry me. He said he’s come to like me. like-like. Which happens to be the same word as love in Arabic. So it was awkward. My first real face-to-face rejection, at 21! it was kinda exhilarating not gonna lie. But also made me feel uncomfortable and kind of embarrassed. But I was prepared for this, I read the room before I even entered the room and I knew what was going on so when he asked me to think about it first I was able to say I already had, plenty.

I knew going into this that I was a catch, the pick of the litter, a purebred of sorts. Educated, born in a reputable, clean country. Canadian citizen, bilingual, *cough* green card *cough*. Yeah, I’m pretty sure we have a bad case of de ja vu going on here. Let me explain.

My mother is an Iraqi woman who migrated with her family during the war and eventually landed in a Canadian town, going to Canadian schools and one day was married off to my father by her father. He was living in Iraq and upon their union he moved to Canada, worked as a taxi driver, making mad money. Nothing he ever cared to spend on his actual immediate family, penny pincher was an understatement. All the while he would periodically return to Iraq to send money and gifts to the family back home as well as setting up business’, buying real estate, cars, making money there as well. Investing big Canadian bucks within an Iraqi economy went a hell of a long way. Until finally I supposed he decided he didn’t want to return to his Canadian life and had milked quite enough out of it so he decided to leave behind his four kids and wife to return HOME. He then pretended to be mentally ill, riddled with “dark magic” for 7 years he didn’t contact us, didn’t call or email. I’m not supposed to know this but he even got himself a second wife and I’m sure some more kids. Until we came to Iraq for a family vacation, seeing my mom’s side of the family as well as visiting religious shrines. Seeing his 3 daughters all grown up, one ripe and ready to pick, of course, he wanted to pawn me off and make use of me the same way my mother was used. Deliver one of Iraq’s great minds, a worthy educated, pretty boy, someone in the family of course, to the land of success, and recognition. The place where his children and most importantly sons would be birthed into greatness.

Lol, as-if.

So back to the suitor, he’s my cousin. Which isn’t a big deal if I’m being honest, biologically speaking there’s a whole lot of stereotyping and stigma that doesn’t hold. Anyways, he’s cute, smart, charming, successful whatever but I knew what he was after before my eyes finish checking out his chevy. He wants out of this country, even it’s citizens recognize it as being a trap, void of opportunity and progress. He really thinks he can charm me into giving him an out to all that at the expense of my own freedom. No. He thinks he can trick me into thinking I won’t be giving up anything by marrying him.

Ever since the talk where he told me he likes my values and personality and like-liked me he’s been calling me things like “lover”. At first, with his accent, I thought he was saying “my liver”. I was mildly concerned about what could be wrong with his liver. When I realized what he meant I just felt nauseous. Grossed out, creeped, appalled, insulted, cheap, disregarded, disrespected, all of the above, take your pick. Please tell me how one goes from being rejected after saying “I love you, wanna marry me”, to thinking it appropriate to using pet names, using words like “sweetheart”, “lover”, “my love”. Was I just not mean enough?? I clearly need to be more direct, I thought when he asked me if I had a heart after I continuously told him no that he got the picture. Apparently not. Now he’s trying to love bomb me into submission! Into giving in and becoming his wife. The most frustrating thing about the entire ordeal was-is my inability to proficiently deliver my feelings of disdain and woe in Arabic. Unfortunately, my Arabic vocabulary is a third of the size of my English one.

I Just might google translate this post and send it to him. :) If only Iraq’s government wasn’t so shit and they weren’t currently censoring everything from Google, to Facebook, to Tumblr to dictionary.com right now :’)

*2 days later*

So today I had enough, after a full day of, well, sexual harassment I was ready to blow. I thought this vet guy was more put together than this, I thought he was above Iraq’s grossest primal male habits of harassing women, in the streets and in close proximity but I was wrong. Now granted I do recognize part of this epidemic they have going on in this country is due to heavy gender segregation. Men don’t know HOW to respectfully treat women, they don’t know when a woman is not responding positively, is giving dirty looks, is turning their back, ignoring, and walking away from you and your advances, it means she DOESN’’T  like it and you should stop. Plus they’re not used to being told no, being rejected to their faces, by women no less. However, that is no excuse, nor proper justification. I’ve felt utterly uncomfortable, unsafe, and violated multiple times in the past two days. From having this man attempt or feign touching me multiple times, swiping my glasses from my head, getting too close as I literally take strides in the opposite direction of him over and over again. To cringing at every inappropriate disgusting and demeaning name he throws my way. “3ainy”, my eye, “lover, “my love” all seemingly harmless and light but dripped acidly, densely, heavy with the weight of a brick, being slugged my way. This is sexual harassment people. And oh did I tell him.

At the end of the day, I asked him to see me outside because we needed to talk. This was no movie or romance novel where some white knight was going to pop out of the bushes and ask me if this guy was bothering me. No one was going to save me from the situation I was in. Ironically the vet used that as a selling point, saying if I were to chose him he would help me and be my support in anything I needed, making sure I would be able to go back and finish my studies whether my parents allowed it or not. If I was a weaker naive individual I may have crumbled at that, and sold my soul to the devil but I’ve come too far to give in now and fall in tow 10 steps behind a man for a favor. No one was going to save me but myself, this is my burden, my trial, my obstacle to overcome and grow stronger from. If I don’t end up dead in the back of some creeps cab of course.

The fact that he was smiling, pleased with himself indicated to me that he truly believed his actions the past few days had gotten him somewhere. He really thought that he was harmlessly flirting with me and didn’t understand the damage he was really doing to me and to his chances. It was time for me to tell him that I had thought more about it like he had asked and I hadn’t changed my mind. I exploded on him and he was definitely not expecting it. I don’t suppose men usually get these talks here, I mean it even took me a while to see the signs and understand the situation I was in. At first, I was wondering if I had said or done anything to make him think his behavior was acceptable but it wasn’t. And that’s never really the case when it comes to sexual harassment. That’s what makes it sexual harassment. I explained to him that that is what his behavior is called back home and he had proved me right in saying there are certain things within Iraqi men, instinctual things that the people who are born here tend to do, things within their nature that I could never be tied to. He thought he was different but he really wasn’t, and any hint of doubt I may have had about my initial decision was gone. No matter how many promises to change he made, any change one makes within themselves has to be purely a selfish one, something they want to do for themselves, their own decision, not for someone else, those just don’t hold. The universe made this one easy for me, gave me an extra push in the right direction. And I’m grateful.

Since the talk, he hasn’t repeated said actions, I think he’s just been trying to save face a little, being a prideful man and all. Trying to show he’s actually a good guy and all. I mean he did end up apologizing. That’s not going to stop me from returning the medallion he gifted me with a slip of paper that says “sexual harassment” in the box. In truth I really just want him to look up the word and educate himself about it because he’s not a bad guy, just made some fatal errors.