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riverdamien · 7 months ago

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The Kingdom of God Is Within You!

https://storage.penzu.com/g/DdVibsKaYp8rfXYy

"Sloughing Towards Galilee!

The Kingdom of God Is Within You!

As we enter the political season we hear more and more of God's will in the election; and as I work with people on the streets, I see individuals come out and tell them how to be "saved"; I was raised in that environment.

Fr. Richard Rhor clarifies for us the reason this approach is so prevalent:

I suspect that Western individualism has done more than any other single factor to anesthetize and even euthanize the power of the Gospel. Salvation, heaven, hell, worthiness, grace, and eternal life all came to be read through the lens

of separate egos, crowding God's transformative power out of history and society. Even Martin Luther's needed "justification by faith" sent us on a five-hundred -year battle for the private soul of the individual, thus leaving us almost no care for the earth, society, the outsider, or the full body of Christ".

Soren Kierkegaard put it:, "purity of heart is to will one thing." This is the message of Jesus when he said the pure of heart would see God(Matthew 5:8). They alone keep their eyes in one constant and consistent direction, and thus overcome the divisions created by divided hearts and loyalties that plague our nation and us.

St. Francis of Assisi was connected to the Source. He truly experienced real, and radical participation in God's very life. Knowing his value and true identity he was willing to let go of status, privilege, and wealth. Francis knew he was part of God's plan connected to creation and all beings in communion and in love. Francis taught his followers to own nothing so their possessions would not own them, "And the Lord told me. .he wanted me to be a new fool in the world of God."

People are terribly in need in this world of division, and electronics; we are afraid of life, losing our Center.

I frankly make people angry, or uncomfortable when they find out I am a priest, they have been hurt by the institution of Christianity, very hurt, but so have I.

Through the last thirty years, I have been going through a decentralization process, of struggling with who I am regarding the "institutional Church," and through the process, I discovered that I was hounded about "sins", cussing, having a glass of wine, and so on; my son was adopted out without anyone knowing because of my sin of sex and ultimately I committed the ultimate sin of being queer; but through many struggles, I have prospered; but have seen, listened to, counseled, and buried many who were frankly destroyed in being discovered. It is only this week in their national conference that my former denomination is considering removing the haunting phrase, "intrinsic evil," and will continue to be haunted, as are the other denominations that have opened their doors by the ghosts of the past. You do not simply remove a phrase and open your doors to ordination, without looking back and repenting and working towards truly being a group that reaches all; that is what is going on in the racial struggles in our country today, we pass the laws, we give blacks the right to run for election, win, and many gain wealth, yet the majority remain in poverty, and feel the oppression of past slavery still remaining. Those of us who are white have not faced our own continued racism, after all, we changed the laws, and the past is the past.

Through the "decentralization" of my life and ministry, I am "outside the Gates" Hebrews 13:12, where Jesus was crucified.

The heart of what I hold dear in my relationship with God is found in I Corinthians 15: 3, ff: "For I handed on to you as of first importance what I, in turn, had received that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day, and he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve..

He died because humanity has failed to honor his commandments of love of our neighbor--to feed, clothe, provide housing, non-violence in actions, visit them in jail and prison, and stand with them as they die. I have spent thirty years on the streets seeing violence after violence, having myself covered in blood, and holding the hands of young men and women as they suffer and die and for me whatever comes after death only comes as we work for his reign here, and all will be included. The only way no one will be included is if they walk away, and I have a good hunch the loving God will reach out and bring them back.

We suffer the consequences of our actions but the Source of our being is ever-loving and welcoming and calls us to be his hands and feet.

The more life is decentralized, the more alive Jesus becomes in my life, yet he is but one of many streams to the Source.

I believe we need to narrow our focus, become like Jesus more single-focused, and find the Source of how inner beings, and in doing so find ourselves more alive, more single-focused on others.

When we come to our inner selves, when we live in pure hearts, and let our nakedness our naked being we become more real. We're able to draw from the abundance and share freely with others.

By being more naked with our inner selves we can be "Story Catchers", who catch the story of one in need, without judgment, and bring care to another, for loneliness kills, and we need relationships.

Father Henri Nouwen gives us a prayer form, to assist in finding The Kingdom of God is "Within You:

"The Jesus Prayer, or any other prayer form, is meant to be a help to gently, empty our minds from all that is not God, and offer all the room to God alone.

But that is not all. Our prayer becomes a prayer of the heart when we have localized in the center of our inner being the empty space in which our thinking and feeling, knowing and experience, ideas and emotions are transcended, and where God can become our host. "The Kingdom of God is within you."(Luke 17:21).

The prayer of the heart takes these words seriously. When we empty our minds of thoughts and our hearts from all experiences, we can prepare in the center of our innermost being the home for the God who wants to dwell in us. Then we can say with St. Paul, "I live now not with my own life, but with the life of Christ who lives in me"(Galatians 2:20.

Then we can affirm Luther's words, Grace is the experience of being delivered from experience. And then we can realize that it is not we who pray, but the Source who prays for us.

Narrow your path into seeing the One God who loves all of us, and become a "Story Catcher" for others. Do Gratias! Thanks be to God!

===================================

Wednesday, May 1

We Celebrate the 91st birthday of the Catholic Worker Movement!

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We have a special rosary prayer for this day If you would like a copy email me at [email protected].

Fr. River Damien Sims, D.Min., D.S.T.,Director

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

www.temenos.org

425-305-2124

Please give: Pay pal, or check

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5-falsehoods-phonated · 4 years ago

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Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

To Cure the Inevitable

Summary: Roman is so tired of endangering himself and everyone around him everytime he changes. Logan promises to help cure him, an old agreement never straying far in his mind

Warnings: major character death, body horror, gore, injury, needle, injected euthanasia.

Prompt: Painful Transformation, requested by Nico on AO3

Ships: Logince QPR (Logan x Roman)

WC: 2303

“Logan if none of these work-”

“One of them has to.”

“Shut up and listen for a second.” Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. “I know how hard you're working and I love you so much for it but...if none of these work- Logan I can’t keep doing this.”

Logan knew. He knew how hard it was for Roman every month, saw it in the scars tracing his body and the guilty conscience he bore every time after. Months of repeating the same thing over and over again without coming close to what they wanted. Logan knew but he was still loath to hear it.

“If these don’t work I want to die.”

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“Logan.”

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face.

“Roman I- this is it.” Logan held up the syringe full of liquid, the smooth glass reflecting the full moon’s light shining through the window. The room was dim save for that; dim lighting didn’t make for accurate scientific endeavors but Roman hated the bright lights, especially when he- well, he cared more for his friends comfort than any rules he learned getting his degree. He supposed it was odd, going from working in a small research lab to making one of his own out in the middle of nowhere. An unassuming cabin with just enough homey touchy to assure no one would break in on the assumption it was abandoned. Enough furniture had been moved to it that it was a comfortable weekend stay to any who may wish it, fireplace stacked with wood and no perishables shoved into the cabinets for overnight stays. It was comfortable but he and Roman usually only came here once a month. Two days out of the month this was their home, though they usually stayed in the basement.

The basement that was also well stocked but with very different supplies. First aid kits lay on practically every surface with more advanced surgical supplies within easy reach anywhere you happened to stand in the room. Sterilized countertops were a;ways optimized to have something laid on them for examination and two big industrial sinks were set on either side of the room considering how messy the work often was down here. A dolly and cart sat nearby the steps to get any supplies Logan needed from upstairs to down in the basement and ample shelving space provided room for it all. The biggest installment however, was a rather large, iron and silver coated cage; Logan didn’t know if those metals really helped anything but when it came to this he wasn;t sure if “overprepared” was ever a word he’d use.

Roman sat cross legged in the middle, hair tousled messily from running his fingers through it all night from stress. His too large hospital gown pooled around and left him looking small and vulnerable, which was a far cry from his normally boisterous and extraverted self. He was only twenty-five but the lines on his face spoke a different story, wrinkles pulled far too many times from stress and pain and regret, bags sagging under heavy eyelids as he struggled to even look Logan in the eye. Par for the course when they were down here together, neither of them ever quite ready to address what they knew was coming whether they ever wanted it too or not.

Logan gripped the vile tightly, the needle covered for now as soft music played in the background. Everything was tuned to Roman as much as Logan could possibly make it. Soft disney instrumentals played to fill the tense air, lights turned dim so the brightness never hurt his eyes, hospital gown made by him and Logan themselves using softer but cheap materials so it was comfortable but didn't cost too much to fix or replace when it was torn to shreds. The clock was put in plain view for Roman to see since he often got time based anxiety when he was down here, which Logan could hardly blame him for. They had tried lining the cage comfortably with pillows and carpet and blankets a couple years back but it hadn’t gone over as well as they had hoped so they had spent a couple days extra at the cabin cleaning up the unexpected mess before agreeing that unfortunately, a bare cage worked best for their purpose.

“Logan.” Roman twisted his fingers together and looked up at him finally, face tight and eyes wide as they caught the time and the angle of the moon. “Can you...not the whole time obviously but...can I maybe hold your hand?”

Logan had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check even through the most painful situations. Scientific research often had you making tough calls and difficult decisions that needed to be made fast with any guilt pushed to the background as you carried out what needed to be done. But hearing Roamn ask for such a simple thing, voice hesitant and quiet, his heart nearly cracked at the mere thought of denying him though they both knew how dangerous it had the potential to be.

“Roman, of course.” Immediately he was on his knees, vial stored safely in his pocket and reaching out with his now free hands to clutch at Roman’s desperately, squeezing every ounce of reassurance he had into the gesture as he smiled thinly. His chest grew tight at the realization that this really was all he could do, hold onto Roman pale, shaking hands through a cage while they both sat on the floor and waited. Both of them let the simple ambiance of soft violins wash over them as the minutes ticked away, their hearts beating rapidly through their hands.

“I said- I said goodbye today. Just in texts I- normal send off from talking about nothing. They don’t know that I might...I didn’t make it obvious.” Roman hung his head. “We don’t know if this one will be the cure right?”

Logan swallowed thickly, not daring to look up. “No, we don’t”

“If it doesn’t work...I don’t want to leave.”

“I know.” The last one hadn’t worked, and Logan was determined for this to be the most comfortable setting he could muster. He wouldn’t break, not yet, not while Roman still needed him. Over the past month he had hid his expenses from his friend, setting things up he knew Roman would enjoy. He could tell Roman had an idea it was his “just in case” plans and played along accordingly. Logan didn’t have the heart- no, the courage to tell him he had known it was the end a month ago. The last “cure” he had tried had failed to reverse anything like it was supposed to. Years of research carefully poured into a mix of perfect chemistry failing miserably and settling its weight on his heavy shoulders every time he had taken Roman to that restaurant he liked, or the park where they had first met, or the hill they had first danced on. All of the memories that brought joy and laughter to Roman’s face spoiled in Logan’s eyes every time the thought that he had failed him entered his mind.

He had successfully kept Roman in the dark however, knowing how hard Roman would take it. They had discussed this before, Roman knew on some level that this was coming, it was Logan’s job to tell him when. But...Roman had said his goodbyes. He had lived as best he could, he trusted Logan to know what was best. Even if Logan felt as if he was simply taking an old dog through the motions one last time, the thought made even worse with the fact that he had stolen enough euthanizer from a vets office to serve his purpose. But Roman was relatively happy, he was still hopeful, he still clung to Logan like a lifeline; so Logan couldn’t tell him there was no cure left. There was nothing at all but a syringe full of death that Logan would use when Roman had turned because it was easier to see the pain of a beast's eyes rather than the pain of the person he loved most.

He fell backwards suddenly as Roman shoved him away, face already twisted as his limbs began twitching. Logan forced himself not to look away- this was his punishment. He had to watch every second of this to burn it into his memory as petinance for what he had done, what he was going to do. He hoped it tortured his mind every second until he died and continued to do so while he burned in hell. He hoped Roman hated him for it, resented him and told him so in his dreams if he ever managed to sleep again. He watched wide-eyed and stiff as Roman curled into himself, a pained whine escaping through his mouth as his back spasmed and split, instantly soaking the gown he wore with thick, dark blood and splattering on the bottom of the cage. Twisting limbs slid on the slippery surface as joints popped and bones cracked under the force of his transformation, becoming longer and bent to accommodate for the hulking form finally shredding the gown as it flopped to the floor. His face was the worst, mouth open in a shrill scream that echoed in the soundproof basement as rows and rows of teeth shattered the pre existing ones and the jaw jutted forward to accommodate them all. Acid spilled from it, making the swelling tongue writhe in pain and temporarily cut off the scream, replacing it with a dull gurgling that had haunted Logan’s worst nightmares for years. His hair fell in clumps as his ears tore from their usual place to reposition themselves, becoming pointed and alert before folding back as his body shifted one final time to adjust itself to the beast it had become.

Roman’s new forn barely fit in the cage, twitching muscle pressed painfully into the bars as the skin worked desperately to knit itself back together, sticking to the bars in its haste and being torn away as he attempted to turn in the small space. Growling low the beast swiveled its massive head to look directly at Logan, as if he knew exactly what was going to happen as Logan slowly stood and wiped the annoying rivulets of water that ran down his face. He wasn’t crying, he needed to hold it together for Roman. Roman needed him right now, more than he ever had in the years after Logan had found out about this, in the years he had studied to be able to help him, in the months leading up to the final try. Roman needed him and Logan would be damned if he wasn’t there for him as he needed him to be.

Taking shaking steps forward he fumbled in his pocket for a second before grabbing the syringe and bringing it out. The beast looked warily at the needle as it was exposed, the glint from the moon flashing briefly in his eyes. Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He took a steadying breath as he reached the cage, bringing his hand up slowly, both of their eyes locked onto Logan’s hand as he positioned it correctly on the plunger. With a quick movement the liquid disappeared from the glass, the caged beast jerking away as far as he could but only succeeding in distancing himself an inch or two. The empty syringe dropped to the floor at the same time Logan’s knees hit it with a resounding crack.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his features softening as he saw the worry in his friend’s face. He brought his hand up to lay on the bars of the cage, trying his best to smile in reassurance. Roman's eyes flashed once before they began to dull, muscles finally untensing as he slumped to the floor slowly. Watching as he closed his eyes Logan reached in carefully to take his deformed hand in his own, squeezing it gently despite the burrs that dug into his skin. He held it long after blood began to run from his much softer flesh, long after it grew cold in his palm and the blood dried and the fingers relaxed, long after the sun came up and went down again and enough time passed for whatever it was that plagued Roman’s body to leave once more leaving only a small, scarred form behind. A form that was far too cold and stiff to be Roman’s but one that Logan forced himself to accept that it was. His back hurt and his legs were numb while his stomach growled and his dry throat spasmed in unspoken sobs but he refused to move.

Moving meant he had control of his actions. And that meant he had had the choice of doing what he had done. He could have tried and convinced Roman to bear through the pain just a few months longer while he tried to find something else. But he hadn’t.

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, his expression set in death to haunt Logan with its misplaced hope and fear and trust. He hoped Roman had finally found peace even as he prayed he himself never would. The lights buzzed faintly as Logan looked at their hands still intertwined together as comfort for him or Roman he couldn’t remember.

This work is also available on AO3!

Logan jerked his head up to meet Roman’s desperate gaze, and let go.

If you like this, please consider reblogging, as sharing a creator’s work is very encouraging to us and helps our creations reach more people!

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mcnypieces · 4 years ago

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A month later and at last I come bearing an update once again. It’s bound to be incredibly lengthy as life has not been its most placid, but I am here nonetheless.

TL;DR for those also struggling with their time recently: Life stressful, Bun scare, WoW fun but friend/Mythic+ group is a mess due to losing a friend to toxicity, I will likely be remaking this multimuse blog and starting fresh there to give me more incentive to be around to write comfortably in a fresh, happy, non-cluttered place, complete with a new Birkan OC I talked about some months before now. Though I haven’t technically decided and was going to ask opinions, I will likely still be remaking, as everything here is a mess. Lulu’s blog will remain as is for now, as I am attached to it and has retained more activity from me ( not much more, however ), though I have also considered moving her with everyone as well to keep everyone in one place and maybe make my mind feel more focused in a collective space. I’m still very much on the fence about it. Thoughts on that are welcome.

There was a bit of optimism at the beginning of my break to play WoW. However, a little less than a day into the launch, I noticed something off about the youngest of my rabbits. Hazel, a netherland dwarf gifted to me by a neighbor down the way during Christmas a couple years ago so she had friends and wasn’t alone during the day, developed a head tilt. It was enough to be noticeable, but nowhere near the cases most see posted in pictures. Head tilt in rabbits is often a very serious thing, as it can cause permanent damage and even death if not treated immediately. Anything from an injury to unkempt ears to a common parasite ( which is technically classified as a fungus ) to neurological troubles - the range is about as vast as self-diagnosing with WebMD. Torticollis in rabbits has a bunch of different causes, very few of which are relatively mild.

I was - to say the least - in absolute hysterics. She was off balance, tripping over herself, curling up into herself trying to keep footing. To somebody that’s never seen it in person before, it looks like you’re watching an animal on the verge of passing from something neurological. I had no idea what was going on. To be frank, I was absolutely terrified. It was 1AM and very few vets were 24-hour, especially in this crisis, much less ones that could look at rabbits. I steeled myself to call the closest one for recommendations on what to do and where to go. Naturally, I was told there was nothing this place could do besides euthanasia ─ which, in my very emotional state, I was incredibly offended by the mere immediate suggestion of. Hazel had been acting completely normal up until then, and she still had her energy. She was trying to climb all over the place despite having no balance, and she showed no other symptoms of anything besides just tilting and falling over herself. At this point obviously I know they were simply stating that was the only thing they could do as they don’t take exotic pets, but in the moment, being offered it as the first and seemingly only solution made me upset. I’m sure that would be anybody in that situation. So, of course, I refused, and they told me of other places that would be able to at least see her at that time and give me more sound options.

I find a 24 hour emergency pet clinic about thirty minutes away. There’s a place that for sure takes exotics, but it’s 2 hours away and closed at this hour. Okay, fine, I don’t have time to wait with this. I call the 24 hour clinic. They tell me they do see exotics and can treat the basics but they don’t have the equipment to properly diagnose anything for certain. Unfortunate, but I don’t have any other options at this point. They say they will take her and monitor her behavior to figure out where I should go from there. I take her there. I try not to break down again on the ride there, I try not to break down as they take her padded comfy box from me. They tell me they have another, more serious case they have to see to immediately but will monitor her and do a basic check-up. It will take them an hour at minimum, and I was welcome to stay in the parking lot. I decide against it, go home to clean up and prep a space for her while trying to steel myself more. It takes a couple hours for them to call back.

Lo and behold, they have no idea what’s wrong. As stated when I called, aside from the head tilting, she is acting completely normal. Eating, going to the bathroom, has her energy, no leg or eye issues that are common with the usual problems that lead to head tilting. What tests they can run are absolutely normal. They gave her what they referred to as “a bunny feast”, and she delighted herself in it with no problems, and they even brushed her down for me ( I didn’t get the chance yet, her winter coat was just coming in ). She just has a head tilt all of a sudden, out of nowhere. This is great news, but it’s also upsetting, because I still have no idea what’s going on. They give me medication for an infection and Metacam for the potential pain she could have been in, and sent me on my way to monitor her at home. If anything changed for the worse, I would take her to the vet in Raleigh two hours away to have actual tests done.

Okay, so I’m still in the dark on what’s wrong, but I have medication. Great. I watch her for two weeks, give her the infection medication every 12 hours and the pain medication the first 4 days. And, in time, her head tilt begins to disappear. That tells both the doctor and I that it was either 1) an ear infection, which was now cured, or 2) an injury. My mind has me leaning towards the latter, if only because I know how fast she runs all over the place and Jolyne, my cat, does play with her. They have done so for years now without issue, often times Jojo will be running away from Hazel rather than vice versa. Hazel will do loops back and forth and then suddenly charge at her in an attempt to catch her off guard. I have not let her out with Jojo since then in case roughhousing was in fact the cause, but Hazel is back to running around like the crazy thing she is. I’m still watching her every day, and all the rabbits will hopefully be getting new, large hutches for Christmas. Hazel’s has been ordered. To this moment, I still have no idea what caused her head tilt. What I did learn, however, is that there are a lot of rabbits that get euthanized due to head tilt, when most of the ailments - if caught early enough and with lengthy TLC - can be cured. Rabbits can even live happily with the tilt should it become permanent ( which it can be! ). Here is a happy bun who lived a wonderful life with a permanent head tilt. Much worse than the way Hazel’s was, but the common bad tilt nonetheless. I called to tell them the great news, how grateful I was they could do anything at all, and they were ecstatic to have me call them back. Things in that regard are now back to normal, but I keep an eye on her as per usual. Definitely not the kind of scare I was expecting out of nowhere, but one I received nonetheless.

During the time I monitored her and kept her close at my side in her hutch ( I went out of the way to move her hutch in with me when I cleaned it, because why wouldn’t I? ), I enjoyed the launch of Shadowlands. My main WoW friend group, A/B/C/D/E, were all playing and content with what was happening. We even were talking to old friends, thinking about raiding, had two new friends coming to learn to play the game. It was great! But then base Mythics came out, and things went sour out of nowhere.

One of our long time friends in our original Mythic+ group became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. We’ve all had our disagreements and issues with said friend for some time, as he has been very negative the past few months and a hamper on the friend group even before launch. Everyone knows things are at an all time low, and the world is not in its best state - but we come to play games to get away from the realities of things. We’re here to have fun and kid around, not to mope. This is not to say we’re not here to be supportive if something is genuinely wrong, or that sadness just isn’t allowed ever. That would be silly. We’re always here to support each other in rough times, and such is the reason we’re as tight-knit as we are to begin with. Always has been the case.

However, this was not your typical sad sort of negative. This was the permanent “Glass is Half Empty” mentality. Everything had to be negative. Win a BG match? He didn’t have fun because he got targeted down one time when he was alone on a caster. Clear base Mythics for the first time of the expansion? No time to celebrate, because he didn’t get a piece of gear out of it, or he didn’t do the burst he wanted on a trash pack because we didn’t cater to his pull plan. During the second week of Mythics, he was constantly complaining about not getting gear drops to the point it was making other members upset. No one likes doing eight dungeons, getting one or two drops, and both being pieces you don’t need. Hell, I did Mythic+ this entire week since it came out and I still have a Heroic neck on my body because it has a socket and great stats and I’ve not gotten another drop since. But to complain about not getting a drop and dunking on people who are getting the upgrade ─ which, in turn, betters the group ─ is just ridiculous. This was not exclusive to just WoW, either. Everything they played together when I was not present, he acted the same way ─ negative, upsetting, and very, very defensive whenever someone would tell him to knock it off. He’d pull the “oh you don’t care about me” card. He constantly felt like people were coming after him, even when nobody ever was, and that everyone just had something against him and we kept him there out of sheer pity ─ which was infuriating to all of us, the people who still considered him a friend and cared about him to tolerate the toxic behavior and try to work through it. He’d pretend to be a victim if you tried to call him out on bad behavior, acting as if he was being singled out, while also bad mouthing other people and poking fun at them and then disguising it as a joke ( or in his case, “a meme” ). When you’d do the same back, he’d pull the whole “dude that’s not cool, I get you’re joking but it’s not funny” attitude every time. He had to be right all the time, and if you tried to tell him he was wrong, he’d fight you on it until the bloody end, even when proven wrong earlier. He wanted to be catered to and, if things weren’t going the way he wanted, he was negative. If he wasn’t having fun, nobody else was allowed to have fun.

Friend A, who is essentially our leader that brought everybody together and often makes calls for the group ( though in reality we’re all just an aimless bunch of friends messing around and having fun ), has known Friend C for a longer than any of us. He considers him his best friend, and they have been close for many years since Cataclysm. We’re all friends, of course, but A and C have been close for a very long time. They are very supportive of one another, regardless of what happens, and always have been. However, even Friend A is getting very frustrated with Friend C’s behavior. Friend C has not always been like this. In fact, he used to be the complete opposite. He loves the guy to death and back, but the other members, particularly Friend D, is getting into mini verbal fisticuffs during dungeons disguised as friendly fun being poked and forth almost every night. Friend D complains about Friend C behind his back ( which he has been asked to tone down and, some nights, has been agreed with based on the issue at hand ). A new coworker of Friend A who is also a very chill, cool person had her own reservations about him when she joined due to his behavior and it kept her from joining voice calls. Hell, I got into an argument with him a week before launch due to his behavior, to which he tried to invalidate my argument by claiming I was “coming after him” and therefore my side was automatically invalid because I had a “personal vendetta” against him and me “shit-talking” him while making my points “comes off a certain way” ─ when the point I was making had absolutely nothing to do with him personally. Again, the same “I’m being attacked” mentality, when no such thing was happening.

Eventually one night while he was complaining about loot, Friend A had a talk with him about not complaining about not getting loot anymore, as it was wearing on everyone’s nerves. Mythic+ would come out soon, loot would be flowing in, and everyone would eventually be geared, including him. This wasn’t the first time he was talked to in regards to the way he’d been acting in general. He agreed to tone it down, and that was that. But guess what? That didn’t happen. The next night we finish up our Mythics, and he has to physically stop himself from making a comment and covers it up with “nope, I promised I wouldn’t complain about loot” with a tone that sounds like someone is struggling really, really hard not to say something and is holding back. Normally this would be something nobody cares about and is part of the process but this isn’t the first time he said something about it. He then proceeds to complain anyway, spends night questioning the tank’s ( Friend D at the time ) pulls and complaining about being beat in DPS every other pull because “oh I don’t have gear cause the game hates me so-” when he’s not even doing his AoE rotation properly ( found this out later after everything fell through ). His attitude is so negative it’s affecting the way he plays and, to put it bluntly, he’s playing and acting like shit.

So Friend A sits him down. Again. At this point he’s still trying his absolute best to work things out with him, but his foot has come down. His behavior for months has been toxic. People are getting fed up. He’s bringing down group morale. Everyone is worried his attitude is going to make the new people who are trying to learn the game quit because he’s constantly shit talking the game and pretending the world is ending in voice. Friend A tells him he’s here for him still and how he’s always here to talk if life is a mess and Friend C is still welcome, but he needs to get his shit straight. By the end of the chat, Friend C claims “that’s just how he is” and he can’t do anything about it ─ which is just such bullshit. We know good and well how he really is, and this ain’t it. He’s just too lazy, full of himself, and down on his luck to acknowledge he has a problem. He says it’s shitty of us not to “accept him for who he is” and how we all know his life is shit and that he’s justified. Friend A essentially tells him he doesn’t want somebody like that in his group. Friend C takes this as “oh I don’t want you here period”, essentially says “well I don’t want to be in a group that just pities me and takes me along because they feel bad and not because they’re actually my friends”, leaves the discord group, removes Friend A from discord, removes friend A from Battle.net, then blocks him in both places. Out of nowhere. Friend A then comes to announce that Friend C will no longer be a part of our group. This is a TL;DR, since I wasn’t there for the conversation and it’s been a little bit since I’ve asked Friend A exactly what was said and feel it inappropriate to ask for specifics again since it’s all behind us now and that night still upsets him to this moment.

Since then, Friend C has come back to try and make amends to everyone, especially the group, as he dropped without telling anybody out of frustration and essentially said “fuck you” to the entire group because he was upset at his best friend. Friend A was very emotional about it after it happened as, like said, this was his best friend who essentially just claimed he didn’t care about him at all and just pitied him despite doing everything he could to try to keep everybody happy and even catering to Friend C at times against his better judgement. Despite that, however, Friend A has stated multiple times he would not even take Friend C back as a friend unless he had a life evaluation first. Friend A and Friend C sat down to have another talk after the dust settled so Friend C could apologize, as Friend C reached out supposedly to do so, but he still acted as though he didn’t do anything wrong. He swore constantly on his dog-who-he-loved-dearly’s ashes he didn’t say the shitty things he said to Friend A that night. He didn’t own up to anything he said or did, only apologized for leaving immediately and dipping on everyone else, as he worried he’d “burned the bridge”. Friend A did not welcome him back with open arms but told him his doors were still open to talk and were never closed to begin with ( Friend C closed them himself by leaving suddenly, after all ) and that he could talk to him again when he figured everything out. Everyone is at least on speaking terms again, but he has not rejoined the discord nor the game group, and wasn’t even playing for a time. Now he’s supposedly playing and having fun again on his own terms and doing things we haven’t. Supposedly. So our Mythic+ group had a gap in it, which was filled by one of the new friends who just started playing. Both new players in our group are learning fast, but it has slowed our progression down, which we accept. People have swapped around classes to find accommodations as well, with Friend A now tanking and Friend D healing as they did before, delaying progress further. But now with things decided and in place, we will begin to push again. After all, it’s only the first week of Mythic+. We haven’t really lost any important progress.

Friend A was very upset and felt like there was more he could’ve done, but everyone in the group has told him day in and day out there was nothing else he could’ve done. Friend C still has a lot to sort out and has seemingly taken absolutely nothing from this situation.

Both of these situations, on top of the seizures the person I consider a second mom to me still happening ( which she went in for today to be looked at again while she’s being treated for something else ), has made writing nigh impossible. I have been having a lot of fun playing WoW and the issue with Friend C, while a big hamper on things in the moment, hasn’t stopped me from enjoying it as is. Both the major hospitals near me have recently announced they are at full capacity on virus patients and will no longer be accepting more of them and, so long as there’s no immediate reason to do so, have asked people to stay inside as much as possible because of it. With Hazel’s emergency making me miss my dad’s small Thanksgiving as I was up all night that night and it was the next day, this means I will also not make it to his Christmas. I did not go to my mom’s get-together for Christmas either, as it was at her restaurant where she works and the number of people there made me nervous. She was sad, but there’s nothing I could really do to justify the risk. The fact people still want to have any kind of gathering even for the holidays blows my mind.

That all being said, things have calmed down enough for me to consider making another attempt at writing again and retuning to the blogs I have missed dearly. The breaks are always nice, but I’ve had to take far too many of late, and struggling with the energy and mindset to write for months is really starting to get under this bun’s blue fur. In the time I’ve been away I’ve thought about remaking this blog, as it’s a complete mess and riddled with old things that are no longer a part of it. My tags are messed up, my info is all over the place, and I feel as though a fresh place filled with friends who are still active might speed up the process of getting me back on track. In addition to that, I’ve thought more about the OC idea I brought up some time ago and will be adding said OC to the roster once things are set-up, assuming I go through with the idea. I’ve also considered adding Lulubelle to the multimuse as well to keep everyone in one place, but as I’m attached to her blog and hers is more organized, I’m reluctant to do so. It is a thought and consideration, nonetheless. It will all take some time to do, but afterward, assuming it goes as expected, activity will resume once again.

It will take some time, but hopefully things will be back to the way they were soon enough. ♥

#❥ // * the rabbit stowaway ( ooc. )#❥ // * shouting from the scaffold ( psa. )#❥ // * ever running on stories of the sea ( long post. )#|| holy moly this is so long I'm so sorry #tl;dr is plenty enough of an update.#but it felt reassuring to type out the hectic events of the month.#I know it's unnecessary but explaining my absence makes me feel better about it.#I have high hopes and nothing will stop me from kicking down the proverbial door.#I will return as I planned if it's the last thing I do.#I swear on my little bunny life. ||

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coppercatwrites · 5 years ago

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Save Me- Sherlock x Reader

Chapter 2: Little Details

A/N: Hi again! Glad to be back. I can't wait to sleep after I post this lmao. All my writings will be posted slowly because I have to do longer shifts for work. Anyway, please enjoy Chapter 2 of Save Me!

Pairing: Sherlock X Reader Word count: 1,013 synopsis: You, Sherlock, and John talk about what lies ahead and your next plan of action.

Tags: @bakerstreethound

Before you knock, the door swings open. In shock, you stand at the entryway looking at the person who opened the door.

“Hello, Mr.Holmes.”

He sighs and lets you in. “Please, just call me Sherlock.”

As you enter the living room, John sits in his chair reading a paper. “Did your cat like the tuna?”

Your eyebrows furrow and you turn to Sherlock. His eyes are glued on you like he’s waiting for a response.

Turning back to John, you shake your head. “I don't know what you mean.”

Sherlock chimes in. “Oh, but I think you do. I believe we heard it straight from your mouth… ‘I found a can of tuna and some bread at Sherlock’s flat. Hopefully, this will hold you off until I can find you some actual cat food’.”

“You were the one outside…” Before you attempt to cover it up, you decide to be truthful to him. He’s helping me after all… “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn't have taken it, but I did. If you’d rather not help me, I’ll find someone else.”

John sets his paper down and stands. “Alright. I don’t care why you did it, but don't do it again. I’ll be nice only once. If you take anything, I swear I will have you arrested the minute you do so."

You put your head down and shift your feet. "Yes, sir."

"What I would like to know…" Sherlock moves into view. "What did you do with all the money you scammed?"

“Well, I-”

Sherlock cuts you off. “I know when you’re about to lie, give me the truth.”

Damn okay….

You sigh. “I’ve been sending it to my mother. I’ve opened multiple accounts and sent the money in a non- trackable way. She has a hard time living and I figured she would need the money more than I do.”

He eyes you for a moment and turns over to his desk. “I can tell you’re still hiding something but for now it's irrelevant. I guess first things first, how many jobs have you taken?”

You cross your arms. “I have taken about three.”

“About three or three?”

“Three.”

John hums. “How do you know they're all after you?”

Sighing, you explain your reasons. “I’ve been shot, I’ve been poisoned, and my last home exploded. I don't think that's a coincidence.”

Sherlock pauses. “The house over by Woodman Avenue?”

You sigh. “Precisely.”

“W-wait hold on, you said you’ve been shot and poisoned? How are you still alive then?” John buts in.

You sigh and roll up your sleeve. “One span to my right and I would have died instantly.” Sherlock walks up closer to examine your arm.

John takes a glance and crosses his arms. “You said you were poisoned. How do you know?”

Before you answer him, Sherlock brushes his thumb across your scar. Taking a shaky breath in, you briefly make eye contact with his gaze before turning away.

“I was… um... I was under-dosed by the same drug used to euthanize animals. There was some of it leftover in the dart that I pulled out of my shoulder.”

Sherlock hums. “By the size of the scar you were hit in the arm by a sniper round. Because of the angle, it looks like this was shot from a taller building. I’m guessing you were in town when this happened?”

You move your arm out of his hold. “Yes. I was.”

You swear you see a bit of softness in his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came.

Rolling your sleeve down, you explain your point. “Each client that I worked for had a request for me. The first one wanted their victim to be poisoned. They didn't care how, but they preferred poison. The harder it is to find the reason for the death, the harder it is to catch the person responsible. Less risk the client has to make. The second client rathered guns. Easy, simple, and with a little risk. The last client I had wanted to go big. He wanted explosions. He didn't care how many people were affected, he just wanted his number one target dead.”

Sherlock sits in his chair and brings his hands up to his face. “Names?”

“Usernames. There’s a website where clients post ads. Hitmen and assassins bid for each job. We meet up once to accept a down payment if there is one.”

Sherlock hums. “I need to talk with John for a moment.” Both him and John walk out of the room.

With a sigh, you sit down in Sherlock's chair. As you sink into it, you discover a faint smell of vanilla. Closing your eyes, you attempt to focus on it.

“So we’ve concluded that it's too dangerous for you to travel back and forth.” The baritone voice draws you out of your haze and back to reality.

“John and I decided that it would be best if you stayed here.”

You jump out of the chair. “Really? I’m already putting you in danger for being here. Now you want me to stay?”

“Yes. What case is there to work if my client is dead?”

His words brought you down a little. Not really understanding why it made you sad, you decide to not dwell over it.

“What about my cat? I can't leave him there alone.”

John sighs. “I guess he can come too.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

“Don't make me say it twice.” he holds his hand to his forehead.

“There is a high risk that you might die if you stay two days…” Sherlock pauses.

You and John share a confusing look before both turning to Sherlock. With his eyes widened, he rushes to grab his coat from the chair you were sitting in.

“Oh! This is brilliant. John, grab your coat. We’re staying at (y/n)’s tonight.”

“What?” you and John say simultaneously.

Sherlock physically deflates. “Can't you see! If I’m right they will be planning something tonight because she,’ he points to you, ‘will be in the same spot… twice.”

Next chapter: --->

Tag List: @germansarechill @reveluvspecial @sassy-potato-yall

#sherlock #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock BBC #sherlock holmes bbc #sherlock fanfic #sherlock holmes fanfiction #sherlock x you #sherlock holmes x you #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock holmes fanfic

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etraytin · 4 years ago

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Quarantine, Day 134

July 23

The kitten room feels so empty tonight! For the past month or so I've been journaling from in here while keeping one eye on the boys' nightly rampage, occasionally taking breaks to stop them from bouncing off walls or to dangle the cat dancer for them. But this afternoon I packed them up and took them back to the shelter where they will go on to big kitten finishing school before going up for adoption. My kitten room is quiet and peaceful, perfect for tiny neonates who need lots of sleep and cuddles in order to grow, but not exactly the best environment from which to dump two scared not-quite-feral-anymores into the controlled chaos of the kitten room at the shelter. It is frustrating that the rescue coordinator cannot see the difference in them from six weeks ago because they are still so scared when they go into the shelter, but I am hoping that spending a couple weeks in the different and much more fluid environment of big kitten foster will help them adjust better. They are so sweet, they're just scared of change!

With the kittens off to their next adventure, our attention turns to getting ready for the trip. Tonight I need to clean up the kitten room, both because it will get extremely stinky and gross if I just leave it for ten days and because I know that as soon as I get back they're going to give me new kittens. There are so many kittens, y'all! We knew it was going to be like this all the way back in March when the spay-neuter clinic had to close down and our trapping was curtailed by health concerns and curfew. Still, you just have to do what you can! Our numbers this month are good so far, even with a full week left to go. We've TNR'd 15 adult cats, put 17 kittens into foster, and only had to euthanize one sick and suffering cat. We also raised nearly enough money to cover our own costs for the month, which is very important! The rescue operates on a thin margin at the best of times, but with adoptions down and intakes up, they can't afford to kick a lot of cash our way for surgeries. Getting money from the people who ask us to catch cats for them helps some, but we don't not help cats just because somebody can't pay. So far our best vehicle for fundraising has been finding the very photogenic kitties and telling their stories to Facebook with the donate button activated. People do like to help sad kitties, thank god!

Besides cleaning the kitten room, I also need to get the kitchen and bathrooms clean so nothing unpleasant grows while we are away, and clean out the van so we can fill it with stuff to take with us. We still haven't gotten that bookshelf out because it rained this afternoon. So lots of cleaning, packing suitcases (my husband did all the laundry because he is a generally amazing person), getting the plants set up for slow watering, and making food for the trip is all on the agenda for tomorrow. Plus it's our anniversary, which is at least an excellent excuse for takeout and not dirtying up the kitchen. Also it is the cat's birthday! She is officially old enough to drive now, so be careful out there!

In lieu of watching the kittens wrestle while I write, I'm keeping an eye on the local Facebook group melting down over the school board task force recommendation that the first nine weeks of school be all-virtual. You can definitely tell who in the comments has never even visited an elementary school since their own student years. It's an interesting mix of people concerned about spreading the virus in schools, people concerned about the logistical nightmare of social distancing in schools, people who are so desperate to get their kids back into school (for a variety of reasons) that they would risk just about anything, and a smattering of people insisting that this is all a hoax and that somehow Nancy Pelosi is winning if we keep schools closed (???) The Pelosi part just seems to be one guy who is posting a whole lot.

I put in my two cents and bowed out, which is that if they open the schools they are just going to have to close them again as soon as they run out of teachers. Even assuming that every teacher is willing to go back and that anybody who can retire or afford to quit doesn't bounce at the last minute, COVID-19 exposure requires a two week family quarantine. If the teacher gets exposed, or if one of their kids gets exposed, that's a teacher out for 14 days, which is a nightmare sub scenario in normal times. The division says they have 350 subs, but nobody sent me a survey along with my "welcome to 2020, substitute teacher!" letter to ask if I was actually planning to teach. My answer, and I suspect the answer of a lot of subs, is no. And real talk, last year I could've subbed all day every day if I had wanted to, because there were never enough subs to cover every spot even in good times. How many teachers do you lose with no available replacement before you have to close a school and not even teach virtually?

Oh, and the other cat thing I did today was dropping off the drop trap (ha!) at a new site to get the cats there trap-trained. Trap training is great if you can manage it, set up the trap and prop it so it stays open, then start feeding the cat in there for several days in a row. The cat gets over their jitters about the trap and gets used to the food being there, so when you actually set the trap to catch them, they walk right in. This time we are trying to catch a mama and two half-grown kittens and we are hoping to get them all in a single drop. This lady whose house I was at was very nice and clearly very affluent, and she is paying the freight for all three cats which is great. She showed me what happened to her TNR cat from a few years ago, who was TNRed as a kitten and then lived in her garage over the winter because it was cold but she was still pretty feral. They decided they could not keep her in the house because she didn't get along with their dog, so they basically built her an efficiency apartment out of half the backyard shed. This thing is an insulated room with lights, air conditioning, television, a heated cat bed, a cat tree, and a little cat door leading out to a screened-in catio. They put an antenna on the shed so the cat could get more channels, and there is a comfy human chair so they can spend time with her. I felt all the feelings simultaneously and elected to settle on being happy that this cat obviously has a super excellent life, and that the humans are taking care of their other feral cats, probably dumpees from the nearby trailer campground.

All right, I've dawdled enough for one night, time to actually get some work done. Oh, and in one last bit of COVID trivia, only one urgent care chain on the Peninsula is giving tests for people without symptoms, and their turnaround time is 7-10 days. That's a pretty good indication that whatever our infection rate is, we actually have no idea how many people have got this thing.

#quarantine #feral kittens #back to school #tnr

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baepsaetan · 4 years ago

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Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters: pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 4.7k

A/N: After a very long hiatus, here’s another chapter. I dunno if anyone is reading this at this point, but if you’re keeping up with it, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy, and as ever likes and reblogs are appreciated!

---

Meet me at the corner of Skymont and Anpan @ 11. He reads the text one more time, just to be sure he got it right, reassuring himself that there’s no way Yoongi could have meant eleven at night, and that he is, in fact, on the corner of Skymont and Anpan. The little 11:21 on his phone sits with depressing certainty on the top right of his screen, and Hoseok shakes his head, short and anxious. This late and Yoongi still hasn’t sent him a message or anything? What the hell is wrong?

The evils of seeming needy and childish are small compared to his concern, so a minute or two later Hoseok sends, Hey are you good? When he’d arrived, all he’d been thinking about was the upcoming exams and project deadlines, half-chiding himself for agreeing to meet with his boyfriend for something that might take hours (but also not earnestly regretting it, either). Now he shifts in worry, fingers drumming on his thighs. When there’s no reply, immediate or otherwise, he calls Yoongi’s phone; it doesn’t ring before going to voicemail.

Struggling with something close to panic, he continues his somewhat awkward loitering, trying to convince himself that the guy behind the counter in the shop behind him isn’t giving him the evil eye through the display window. It’s uncomfortable just standing there, sometimes having to dance around large groups of people moving down the sidewalk – sunny Saturdays on Skymont are always packed – and as even more time passes, his anxiety only increases. Another phone call yields no more answer than the text had. Had he been the one to mess up the time? Was Yoongi okay? Should he go to Born Tiger? But what if they managed to miss each other? Would Yoongi be pissed? Why were they going to meet, anyways? Yoongi had said it was a surprise, but what if… what if it was some stupid prank? What if –

He puts a pretty hard stop to that train of thought. There’s no way Yoongi would do that to him, and it’s dumb to worry about it. Although that doesn’t explain where his boyfriend is. Or if he’s okay.

That’s a good question, isn’t it? If Yoongi is okay? It’s a question he’s been asking himself – unwilling, shrinking – for – well, hasn’t it been for forever? For as long as he’s known Yoongi? Only it used to be a small voice, a whisper in the back of his mind easily brushed away because it was too hard to consider. Now it’s – well, it’s almost screaming. Sometimes, if he thinks about it too closely, if he really lets himself feel the mounting panic and pain that’s growing like cancer in his chest, he feels like screaming. Because it doesn’t make sense. Because it can’t make sense. Because Yoongi is okay, isn’t he?

11:38 rolls around with no sign of the other guy and with two more unanswered calls, Hoseok’s just deciding he needs to head to the tattoo shop when a small shape suddenly comes into view down the street, hands shoved into pockets and head down. Yoongi’s walking so fast he almost takes out an equally small old lady, avoiding her only at the last second and ignoring her startled exclamation. For a half second Hoseok thinks he’s going to walk by, but the artist halts in front of Hoseok, yanking his hand out of his pocket and rubbing at his neck.

“Sorry,” Yoongi mutters, not looking up. “Some asshole was a fucking pansy and it took forever to finish his stupid tattoo. You ready?”

The abrupt apology and question make Hoseok’s brow furrow, but though he’s annoyed, there’s something too wrong with Yoongi’s voice – it’s choked, way hoarser than usual – for him to be properly offended. He ignores the question and asks one of his own. “Are you okay? I called you a few times…”

“I know I’m late,” Yoongi snaps. “Like I said, I was doing someone’s tattoo. Come on, we need to hurry.” And without waiting for a reply he starts walking, his shoulders hunched, black beanie pulled so low it’s almost over his eyes. Hoseok hurries to keep up with his slouching but still rapid stride, struggling with his irritation and concern both. What the hell, Yoongi?

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and if the question is closer to a demand than a light inquiry, the student can’t help himself. And he’s not even that ashamed of it.

Like a halter over his hurry, the question jerks Yoongi to a dead stop, and when he looks back, there’s something a little pitiful about the struggle apparent across his face. Some negative emotion tightens his jawline even as his lips press together, and he shakes his head in jerky, infinitesimal denials of a truth he hasn’t disclosed to Hoseok. After a moment, and with a breath so deep it could have reached into hell, the harsh lines ease, his lips soften, and his body ceases shaking. His smile misses the latch as he tries to hook it on, though, falters and fades away altogether as he pushes himself into motion again.

“Sorry, Hobi,” is his quiet repentance. “Sorry for –” A pause. Another, shorter struggle, during which Hoseok hopes with a desperation that appals him that Yoongi will tell him the truth he can feel looming at their backs, blocking the sun in shades of trepidation. He’s disappointed. “Sorry for being late. I know you’re really busy right now with all your school shit, but…” The small man snorts, abruptly impatient with himself. “Look, I, uh, know I missed your birthday, okay? And I wanted to make it up to you and I hope this will, but then I got a call and had to go to – I mean, someone made an appointment and then took way longer than they should have. It pissed me off so bad I forgot to text you after it was done, just left straight away and we’re gonna be fucking late which is just great and – sorry, I’m still pretty fucking pissed.”

Having this sprung on him isn’t even remotely what he’d expected, not with the wave of emotions pouring off his boyfriend. “How’d you know about my birthday?” is the first thing he can think to blurt out, although words along the lines of why the hell are you lying and what are you lying about hover dangerously close to the fore. Because Yoongi – for all his swearing and scowling – isn’t angry. Hoseok doesn’t know how he knows it, except that he knows, and it’s a wretched twist in his gut, like missing a step on the way down the stairs. Yoongi isn’t angry, but he’s – he’s drowning, or suffocating, and how do you ask someone about that?

The other man’s face smooths even further. “I figured it out,” he replies, another lie, though this one Hoseok grasps with something other than intuition.

“Jimin told you.” Who else would have mentioned it? How else could Yoongi have ‘figured it out?’

Yoongi’s shrug is noncommittal. Hoseok is annoyed, a little, because he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday, but that’s nothing in the face of his sudden conviction that his boyfriend is hiding something. Something a lot worse than a birthday surprise. It’s such a powerful certainty that he can’t even summon any curiosity about where they’re going, and there’s a rapidly growing, sinking sensation in his stomach. Because this isn’t a shock. Because this isn’t actually sudden at all, is it? It’s just that suddenly, Hoseok is having a very hard time ignoring it, pushing it to the back of his mind and hoping it goes away. There’s something too immediate about Yoongi’s expression – about the raw tension it’s settling across his nerves.

But what to say? What to do? Should he ruin whatever Yoongi has planned just for the sake of figuring this out? Should he make an accusation he doesn’t even have evidence to support? And what even is that accusation? And what if he’s wrong and he’s just being paranoid and it starts a major fight, like the one at the bar? Wouldn’t that be even worse than whatever they’re feeling now?

Slowly Hoseok talks himself out of his distress, out of the sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff and preparing to jump. The cool logic is accompanied by the nagging conviction that he’s circled the wrong answer on a multiple choice exam – but you’re not supposed to change your mind, right? You’re not supposed to second guess yourself? The questions die a whimpering death in his head, euthanized by his fear of something being wrong, and when eventually Yoongi glances back at him, one eyebrow raised, he manages to organize a grin.

It doesn’t stop his boyfriend from asking, “Are you okay?”

His reply of, “Oh, yeah,” isn’t bought, and Yoongi’s searching expression doesn’t ease.

The small man reaches out his hand, and gratefully Hoseok takes it, glad for the tactile grounding. Whatever their issues, ever since they had first slept together, any kind of physical contact with Yoongi feels like finding something to grab just as you lose your balance. A rock solid support. And Yoongi’s voice, gravelly and a little anxious, just reinforces the feeling flooding his gut. “Seriously, you’re not pissed? At like – whatever? Jimin said you don’t like celebrating your birthday, which I guess is why you didn’t tell me about it, but this isn’t a big deal or anything, so…”

They’re walking quickly now, Yoongi pulling him along, but not so quickly that Hoseok can’t feel a flush of embarrassment at his companion’s words. He hadn’t told his boyfriend about it – hadn’t planned to, ever, really, which was maybe just a little nearsighted – and the discomfort of having people spend time and effort on him is a comfortably familiar terrain. It’s easier to focus on his faults than on the near-crippling concern for Yoongi, so the student – almost relieved – quickly insists, “No, no, I’m not pissed off at all. I should have told you about it, but I didn’t want – I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t, but honestly, you didn’t – you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi replies, a bit of bite in the word. “I want to do this. Just wish I hadn’t fucking forgotten to ask about your birthday in the first place.” As Hoseok tries to protest, abruptly feeling something worse than mere discomfort at the thought of Yoongi beating himself up about it, the other man talks over him. “Whatever, Hobi, you don’t even know what we’re doing. Maybe you’ll hate it.”

“Yeah right. But what…” They turn the corner, evading a large group clustered around someone watching a video on their phone, and Hoseok lets his question fade. He’s familiar with this street, and even more familiar with the building they’re shortly standing in front of. He’s been here at least ten or fifteen times in the last year.

It’s not exactly hard to figure out why they’re there.

For the first time in the last hour, he forgets his concern for Yoongi. The smile that breaks across his lips is so large it feels too heavy for his face. One glance at Yoongi – who stares at him like his joy is an antidote to everything wrong in the world – confirms that this is exactly what he thinks it is. Suddenly his breath is a little hard to catch, and he’s swinging the hand that’s clutching his boyfriend a little too wildly, and each step is more a skip than anything. They were actually – they were – it was the Spring Day music festival!

In about thirty-seven seconds, his fears and objections would reanimate – Yoongi shouldn’t have bought the tickets, how much did they cost, Hoseok would pay him back, could he afford to spend time here during crunch season, was he wasting Yoongi’s time. But for those few seconds, Hoseok feels something so delighted it stabs and twists inside his chest, alive with an electric current that sends little pinpricks skittering across his skin. It isn’t a wave or a weight, drowning out his worries; it’s an absence of those fears altogether, a lightness, like any second he could take off soaring.

And of course he would take Yoongi with him. Hell, to judge by that gummy grin, by the almost-skip that’s a match for Hoseok’s suddenly bouncing pace, it might just be Yoongi himself who’d be doing the flying.

Flying, that is, until thirty-seven seconds have gone by and Hoseok, glancing once again at his boyfriend’s face, notices what Yoongi hasn’t yet. The clot of red just barely seeps from the artist’s nose, a liquid warning flag, and for once – finally – Hoseok heeds the warning. He plummets out of the sky, lands bruised and shaken on the pavement, and slams to a halt.

“Yoongs,” he chokes out, just as the first droplet of blood loses its fight with gravity and falls. It’s quickly followed by another – another – until the drops have turned into a trickle, and now Yoongi lifts up a hand and swipes at his nose with the heel of his palm. It comes away smeared with red, and the tattooist stares at it for a long moment, a little knot of frustration resting between his brows. More blood drips down, and he does nothing to halt it, still inspecting the sample on his hand as though it belongs to someone else.

It’s Hoseok that ends up being the first to try to stop it. He fumbles in his coat pocket, pulls out some crumpled Kleenex that have seen better days. Yoongi doesn’t take them when he offers, and he has to physically force them into the artist’s hands, to start to help him clean his palm, before the other man responds. Inhaling sharply between his teeth, Yoongi abruptly seems to wake up, and instead of shoving Hoseok away – as he’d dreaded – the fingers on one hand curl around Hoseok’s, helping him clean away the blotch of red on his skin. With his other hand he gathers the majority of the Kleenex, shoves it against his nose.

Yoongi isn’t swearing, angrily or otherwise. That’s – there’s something wrong about that, about the stony silence. Gut wrenchingly wrong. For some reason Hoseok can hardly look at his boyfriend, but when he manages it – in twitching glances that hurt like pins and needles – Yoongi is devoid of colour. His face isn’t devoid of emotion, but the irritation is a cover-up, as ill fitting as a shirt two sizes too small. It’s such a tight expression it feels like they’re both just waiting for it to rip. And what’s underneath? Fear? Rage? Horror?

Once he’s managed to wipe the blood from his boyfriend’s hand, Hoseok waits a few more seconds, pressure filling up his lungs; a balloon threatening to pop his ribs off their hinges with the force of its expansion. Yoongi doesn’t break the silence – because of course he doesn’t – and eventually Hobi exhales, hard enough to hurt.

“You need to go to the doctor.” Even behind the wad of Kleenex, Hoseok can see the scowl that crosses the other man’s face, and he feels his fingers tightening around the bloody tissue he’s still holding. “This is, what? The fourth nosebleed this week? That I’ve seen? And who knows how many you haven’t told me about.”

“Hobi, come on, just…”

“Just ignore it, right?” Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes falling down, and Hoseok feels a throb across his collarbone, at the base of his throat, like something alive and scorching is curled up there. “Screw ignoring it. You have to go see someone. Whatever’s got you – like you are, it’s better to get checked out.”

“It’s nothing. Some shitty little flu or something.” Even his voice is pale, washed out and muffled through the tissue, and whatever Yoongi is trying to sell, it’s obvious even he’s not buying it at this point.

“That’s lasted a month?” Or more, Hoseok thinks but doesn’t say, because he should have said something a month – or more – ago. When the artist’s thin lips tighten, Hoseok knows that they’re headed for an argument, an argument that’s going to go exactly nowhere if he doesn’t change where they’re moving. This has happened time and time again. Hoseok pushes – Yoongi shoves back. They get nowhere. Once again, Yoongi is putting him off, and once again Hoseok can feel that automatic temptation to let it happen, to – just ignore it.

How long can you ignore thunder before you get hit by lightning? How long can you ignore a growl before you get bit?

“I’ll get over it.” There it is, that digging in, a familiar stubbornness that brings exasperation to a low simmer in Hoseok’s stomach. What is it with Yoongi and doctors? Hoseok hasn’t ever known anyone who gets so violently ill, so often, and yet refuses to see anyone about it. He knows why, at least to some extent – it’s not like Yoongi never makes sarcastic reference to what his dad called him whenever he got sick – but this seems excessive. Childish, even. And it’s also a lie, written in the blood that had dripped down to the pavement at their feet before Yoongi had managed to stem the tide.

It’s hard to smile, and Hoseok’s uncomfortably aware of how much he’s aiming to soothe his boyfriend, to back him off the instinctive obstinacy. He’s even more uncomfortable with the idea that’s stirring to sluggish life at the back of his mind. But it’s not manipulation when it’s for someone else’s own good, right?

“Get over it? Yeah, you will,” he says with a laugh that’s only a little too brittle. “Because you’re gonna go to the doctor and get some drugs or whatever. We’ll go together. I’ll even hold your hand if you’re scared.” The teasing isn’t natural – not with the fear still thick and suffocating at the back of his throat – but he can’t get as angry as his worry is urging him to be. If he does, Yoongi’s going to shut down, close off. Just another hurtle they haven’t quite managed to get over together.

Responding to the light tone as Hoseok hoped, Yoongi shakes his head without much conviction, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose. “For a bloody nose? I mean…”

“Not for a bloody nose – for me. If you want to think about it that way.” Yoongi’s dark gaze cuts to him, and Hoseok’s grin softens into something pleading, almost apologetic. “I’m… worried about you, Yoongs. I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but if you went, I’d – I know I’d feel a lot better.” The words are sincere, but how honest can he afford to be when he’s struggling to keep his balance atop Yoongi’s evasions? The answer: not as honest as he wants to be.

It almost makes him sick, the tremulous smile Yoongi hauls onto his lips in response. “Y’know, if I go, you won’t have any excuse for failing any exams. No sleepless nights worrying about your worthless boyfriend to blame for not studying. You really ready for that?”

His jaw tightens before he forces it to relax, and Hoseok nods with mock seriousness. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Fine.” Yoongi heaves in a breath, pinching his nose harder. “I’ll go sometime this week.”

“Or… you could go today. Right now.” He’s not entirely kidding, the joy of the music festival fled so quickly the after-image of it is drifting like smoke across his mind.

With an ill-advised snort, Yoongi replies, “Fuck that. We still got some films to sit through, remember? We’re late as is.” Although somehow the urgency has totally left both of them by this point, and they make no move to enter the theater, ignoring the weird looks they’re getting from passersby.

“Then afterwards. At least make an appointment afterwards.” Unconsciously Hoseok’s hand rises, pressing through his shirt against the tattoo that’s coloured such an ashy shade that the original blue tinting of the flowers is all but gone, and the white may as well be called grey. The petals are so wilted and sparse he’s taken to wearing clothes that cover them up, ashamed of and sickened by the failure printed across his collarbone and neck. Afterwards. What’s he going to do after the flower dies completely?

He’s trying to face things more head on, but it’s a question filled with too many tears and Hoseok blinks them away, the pressure suddenly heavier than he can handle.

Yoongi is watching him, little creases at the corners of his eyes. For a moment Hoseok thinks those same dark eyes are wet, and an answering pain lurches in his chest, his throat, almost like his tattoo is trying to rip away from his skin. Except then his boyfriend tosses his head, shoulder jerking. “I’ll call, yeah. Right after.”

On impulse, Hoseok stretches out his hand. “You promise?” he asks.

The other man hesitates, his free hand rising to rub at the skin behind his ear. Which just means there’s yet another evasion, another not-quite-truth, stirring in the breathless air between them. For the first time today Hoseok feels something far less convoluted than panicked concern and a grief for things he doesn’t understand, for things that haven’t come to pass. He feels… he wants to call it impatience, or annoyance. Something shallow and easily brushed away. Except it’s not either of those things. Honesty – sick and compelled and unhappy – forces him to acknowledge what it is. It’s anger. Betrayal, even. Why – why won’t Yoongi tell him the truth?

He still can’t confront his boyfriend, though. Still can’t bear the thought of bringing this – whatever this is – out into the open. Better by far to swallow the anger, the fear, the nausea. At least until he’s sure of what’s happening.

After a moment, Yoongi accepts his hand, holds it tightly, as though that alone can make up for what’s wrong. “Promise,” he says, and smiles. But for all that a familiar feeling of warmth surges in Hoseok’s stomach in response to the contact and tone and smile – for all of that, his responding grin is hollow. And he hates that it is.

It’s only the plan, taking uncertain shape while his thoughts and emotions churn, that lets Hoseok keep it together as Yoongi leads him into the theater. It’s only his conviction about how much he loves the other man that stops him from breaking their clasped hands apart and demanding more than Yoongi is willing to give. Neither of those are enough to ease the sick anxiety, and even the prospect of going to see the art he loves isn’t enough to remove from Hoseok the certainty that in the near future – be that days or weeks or even months – something between he and Yoongi is going to change.

And given how happy he is with his boyfriend, how can that change be for the better?

---

On the towering screen in front of them, some dude is monologuing to his dog, and though Yoongi supposes that there’s a time and place for talking to a pet, he kinda wishes the guy would get on with it. That’s maybe a bit harsh – there are tears and snot and everything, the guy is grieving so hard, and the dog even looks like it’s sympathizing – but to be honest, Yoongi’s not really in the mood. They’re only on the second film, and a cramp is slowly swelling to fill the space on his left side. It feels like the pain is making out with his ribcage. That’s not unusual anymore, but normally moving around eases it, and he can’t right now.

Gnawing on his cheek – at least Hobi probably can’t see in the darkened theatre – Yoongi shifts, just a little. Even that tiny change catches his boyfriend’s attention, and though Hoseok doesn’t look away from the screen, his hand slides over, palm up, an offering no trashy modern god could resist – and Yoongi ain’t as strong as any god.

The second their skin makes contact, a slushy wave of contentment sloshes through his body, not quelling the pain but distracting him from it. Entwining their fingers is a thrill all its own, and though they aren’t speaking to each other, in a way they are. It’s one of Yoongi’s favourite parts of the bond. He doesn’t know how to describe this silence that isn’t quiet at all, but it’s like they’re communicating at a level totally beyond anything as physical as sound waves. Higher than Hoseok’s stress, clearer than Yoongi’s cancer, it’s above anything as basic as bodies. Hoseok can’t feel it in the same way, because he obviously doesn’t know about the bond and thus can’t embrace it, and that’s a shame, but it’s there, and it’s wraps around him in the same way Hobi wraps around him when they lie in bed.

It comforts Yoongi, and he needs that diversion. This morning had been absolute shit, and the trickledown effect has hardly paused as he passed into the afternoon. The thoughts are there – his doctor’s strained face as she’d told him the new results, the way she’d all but begged him to bring someone with him to the next appointment, the nosebleed that had continued the ruining everything trend – but for now, Yoongi ignores it. Hoseok had been upset outside the theatre, and Yoongi suspects he’s still upset, even now, but the films will smooth things over. He hopes. At any rate, wallowing in any of this, particularly in Hobi’s company, isn’t going to do anything for either of them. He just wants Hoseok to have a good birthday gift.

Clinging to his boyfriend’s hand, it really feels as though that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Things are coming to a head. The appointment this morning confirmed that. Yoongi feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice, and every direction is down. What way can he go, now? Backed into a corner, sitting in the frying pan, there’s nothing left but concrete walls and a fire. Nothing he can do. It’s not about money anymore; he’d made enough and started taking the drugs, just in time to be told it was probably too late for them to help. The ratio of diseased cells to normal ones suggested he was well into the accelerated stage. Maybe even blast. More tests needed. Why was it called the blast stage, anyways? He sure as fuck wasn’t having one.

He might need something besides drugs. A bone marrow transplant. The waiting list is very long, Yoongi. What right did his doctor have to look so stressed and sympathetic as she told him that? Who gave her permission to have a heart for his sake? Can you think of anyone who might be willing to donate, and might also match? Your father, a brother... maybe a friend?

Five friends, and a lover who almost definitely matches, given the literature he’s read on soulmates. He can’t ask any of them, though, because that means telling them the truth. Yoongi can’t do that. He’s too far gone down this path. And anyways, if Hoseok volunteered for the transplant and it failed – which was entirely possible, soulmate or no – it would kill him. Knock him right off the self-worth spire that Yoongi’s been helping him build, a sweaty brick at a time.

So, no. Yoongi settles more deeply into the theatre seat, even as he settles into his deceptions. When he squeezes Hoseok’s hand, the other man mutters under his breath, fusses with the armrest between them until he figures out how to haul it up and out of their way. From there, it’s easy for Yoongi to slump into his boyfriend’s side, breath relentlessly even and peaceful.

He wishes he had told Hoseok when they first met. He wishes he’d told him at the bar. He wishes he’d told him during any of the million of moments they’ve shared.

He wishes.

#yoonseok #sope #sope fanfiction #yoonseok fanfiction #networkbangtan #yoongi #hoseok #my fanfic

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all-hail-the-witcher · 5 years ago

Text

are you drunk, high, or sober

so kids

today is,,,,mikeys birthday!! my lil bean boi is growing up awww

anyway though, so, obviously we did not go to high school together cause fuck distance so for this Special Occasion I decided to combine my freshman bio class, my senior English teacher, and a bunch of mikeys 1 am bullshit together to create what I think could be an accurate rendition of how we would have met if we had gone to high school together.

really it’s just a crack fic about evolution and hot cheetos.

_____

ship: platonic (bro) ralbert

genre: straight crack

words: 2529

editing: I was about to say no but I actually did !!

warnings: Race is a raging bromosexual, hot cheetos, danny devito, conspiracy theories, fish are untrustworthy monsters, yaks, lactaid, bros bein bros, albert just wants his pencil back okay

_____

Albert fidgeted in his seat slightly, highly uncomfortable in his priest clothes. Well, okay, they weren’t priest clothes, they were his graduation robes. Except he had bought them a size too big accidentally and they now looked like priest clothes. Race had made fun of him endlessly, even commenting that they should cosplay as priests sometime. Obviously, Albert had flat out refused, but that didn’t stop Race from sending him the occasional Psalm or slightly incorrect Bible passage.

But enough about Albert’s priest clothes. Let’s get back to the matter at hand: graduation.

It was a daunting day for both of them: a relief that they had finally made it and yet also sad because they wouldn’t get to pelt each other with spitballs during psych anymore. High school was where Albert had met Race, all because of a particularly cursed biology lesson during freshman year. It had never been established if Race had been entirely sober during that first exchange. Albert had always claimed that he was hungover at the least. Whatever the case though, Albert felt a smile stretch slowly across his face as the voice of the valedictorian faded into oblivion and he recalled the events of that day…

•••

“-in fact there was a time when people thought that giraffes were just horses who decided they wanted to eat leaves.”

Albert tuned back into the biology lecture he had effectively been ignoring when the blonde kid next to him with the dead fish hair swatted the pencil he was sketching with out of his hand.

“Dude!” Albert whisper screamed. “Give me that back!”

The kid, who was an asshole for stealing his pencil, instead twirled Albert’s pencil thoughtfully. “Nah, you're missing the best part of the lecture! I’m doing you a service!”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Look, people were dumb. It’s not my fault that some idiot 500 years ago thought that a giraffe was a horse in disguise.”

Asshole glared at him sideways in a manner that Albert could only describe as disappointed.

“What?”

Asshole sighed heavily. “Some people don't appreciate the cryptid animals of the world.”

Now it was Albert’s turn to stare disappointedly.

“Okay so like,” asshole’s eyes lit up and he threw Albert’s pencil with such force it landed two rows away from him before bending forward to stare into Albert’s soul, “you know about fish right?”

Albert’s disappointment was beginning to morph into annoyance. Plus he really just wanted his pencil back. “...yes?”

“Okay so essentially, fish aren’t real.”

“Wrong. I have three.”

“They’re government spies!”

“No they’re not! I bought them myself from petco!” Albert considered for a moment. “And besides, one of them is paralyzed.”

“He’s malfunctioning!” Asshole slapped the table so hard that the people in front of him looked back slightly to see what was going on. “It’s a glitch in the system!”

“What? No. He’s just...dying? I guess?” That was actually kind of sad now that Albert thought about it. Maybe he should just euthanize Rudolph…

“No, dude, I’m telling you. Fish aren’t real!”

“And I’m telling you that you're wrong!”

“Look,” asshole was starting to sound exasperated now. “Have you seen a fish since the government shut down?”

“Yes, I literally just said that I have three at home!” Albert leaned down to grab another pencil out of his bag so he could continue drawing. He was about done with this conversation.

Asshole sighed heavily. “You're a horrible person. A non-believer. When your robot fish report you to the government for hoarding all the lactaid for yourself in your basement then I will say I Told You So.”

“First, they’re not robots. Second, I’m not even lactose intolerant?”

“Well.” Asshole paused to pull a bag of hot cheetos out of his bag. “I am. And I fully intend to hoard all the lactaid myself when I take over the world with my seven yaks so you better have a good security system.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Albert paused looking for a pencil to stare at the asshole next to him.

“My master plan to take over the world with seven yaks,” asshole said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“And what does that have to do with fish?”

Asshole considered for a moment before pulling off one of his white converse high tops and pointing to his socks that were covered in- wait were those cryptids?

“You see my toes?” Asshole said, wiggling his foot around for emphasis. It was then that Albert began to question whether or not this kid was entirely sober.

“Yes…?”

“They can fuck them. Honestly. Fuck fish and fuck everything they stand for fuck them.”

“Okay.” Albert gave up searching for a pencil, deciding that talking to a potentially high person was more entertaining than doodling shitty flowers in the margins of his notes. “Do you have any other opinions about animals that I should know about?”

Asshole considered for a moment while crunching loudly on his hot cheetos, effectively getting orange spicy dust all over the table and Albert’s notes.

“So, whales,” he said finally.

“What about them?” Albert almost regretted asking.

“They sLap. But also, they’re BIG,” He turned to face Albert, his eyes wide, “and they don't need to be.”

“I mean, they do eat a lot of fish, they have to store it somewhere.”

“They could just, like, shit it out.”

“That would be a lot of shit.” Albert tore a piece of paper out of his notebook and began to fold it into a paper airplane. “Also I’m pretty sure that they already shit, so that doesn’t solve the problem.”

“But they could shit like, POOF!” He threw a small handful of cheetos in the air for emphasis.

Albert stared in confusion at the pile of orange crap now littering the lab table. “You want…..whales…….to have explosive diarrhea…..so that they can be smaller?”

“Yes,” asshole said confidently, beginning to eat the cheetos off of the table.

“That's...interesting.”

Asshole threw a cheeto into his mouth casually. “You know if you made out with a whale technically it would be brushing your teeth.”

Albert turned his head slowly to face the asshole seated next to him. “I’m sorry. What?”

“You heard me.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to,” Albert muttered under his breath.

“Also-”

“Oh no.” Albert put his head in his hands.

“Hey! You asked for my animal opinions!”

“That was before I knew they included making out with whales who have explosive diarrhea!”

Asshole threw a hot cheeto at him.

“Fine, fine,” Albert sighed, brushing hot cheeto dust off of his shirt, “let’s hear it.”

“Well, no offense to anyone who actually likes them but kiwi birds are weird and why did they need a fruit named after them and why are they fuzzy and who gave fruits the right to be fuzzy like what the fuck- WAIT-” he flung out his arm so that is wacked Albert in the chest and stared into oblivion as if he had just seen the ghost of shrek, “WHICH CAME FIRST THE BIRD OR THE FRUIT?”

“I don't know?” Albert said unhelpfully.

“God they’re as cryptic as whales,” asshole groaned, all but slamming his head into the table.

Albert chose to ignore the mess of a person next to him and pretend like he was still taking notes, as the teacher had grown suspicious of what was happening in the back of the room and was beginning to eye them. But, Albert still didn't have a pencil so it didn't really work.

“What does a kiwi bird look like anyway?” He asked once the teacher’s eyes were off them.

“Your worst nightmare.” Asshole turned his face on the table so that he was looking at Albert.

“Alright then.”

Albert decided that if he was going to pass this class he better take out a pencil and at least pretend to take some notes. However, after digging a pencil from the very depths of his bag, he discovered that the asshole was still intently staring at him.

“Aren’t you going to take notes?”

“Notes and my brain don't mix well,” asshole said, eating another hot cheeto. Albert wasn't quite sure how there were that many in the bag considering he had thrown at least half of them on the desk. Maybe he was a wizard. “Ask me more questions about animals.”

“Can’t you tell me your name first?”

“You've sat next to me for two months and you don't know my name?” Asshole clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Tisk tisk Albie.”

“Oh no, you are not allowed to call me that,” Albert groaned. He hated that nickname more than anything. Well, he potentially hated kale more, but only cause it tasted like unwanted veiny leaves.

“I’ll call you whatever I want until your sorry ass learns my name, Albie.” Asshole smirked. “Now, ask me about animals.”

“Alright, uhhh…” Albert’s eyes wandered across the doodle-filled pages of his notebook until they landed on a drawing of a shittly looking smiley face sheep. “Opinions on sheep?”

“I want a sheep,” Asshole whispered wistfully. “They seem fluffy. And precious. Like clouds.”

“Good to know.” Albert doodled a sheep jumping on a cloud. “What about, uh, crickets?”

“Hmmmm. They’re kinda scary.”

“Are they now?”

“Yeah. One time one got stuck in my brother’s dorm room and he was so scared he sent me a snapchat video of him screaming.” He paused to monch another cheeto. “Yeah. Crickets are scary but rubbing your legs together under a blanket as such is nice so crickets make some points I guess.”

“Rubbing your legs together under a blanket?” Albert asked incredulously.

“Yeah like, when it’s 4am and you can't sleep? Have you never done that before?”

“No…?”

“Oh.” Asshole looked disappointed for a minute. “Well, you're missing out bro.”

“Oh so now I’m your bro?”

“Of course, bro. You’re my bro, bro.”

Albert scribbled down a line about Darwin from the board. “Stop saying the word bro.”

“No bro. I gotta let everyone know we’re bros, bro.”

“No bro.” Albrt sighed loudly. “Fuck, now you got me doing it!”

“Isn’t it great bro?” Asshole used his finger to draw a heart in the cheeto dust that was still sitting on his desk. “Bro, look that's us!”

Albert glanced briefly at the cheeto dust. “Isn’t that kinda gay?” he asked, returning to his notes.

“It’s not gay if you have socks on,” Asshole said quickly. “And I definitely have socks on, so we’re good bro.”

Albert stared long and hard at his seatmate.

“Got somethin’ to say, bro?” Asshole smirked.

“Are you high?” Albert finally asked.

“Nah bro. My body is a temple. I only do-” he paused to wink “-brocaine.”

“Okay, that’s it,” Albert said definatively. “Never talk to me again.”

Asshole shrugged and went back to eating his hot cheetos. Albert went back to taking notes, pausing every few minutes to flick cheeto dust off of his paper.

Eventually, the teacher said something about cheetahs and the asshole next to him sighed deeply.

“I wish I could be a cheetah,” he said wistfully. Then he looked down at his bag of cheetos. “Or a cheeto.” Carefully, he pulled one out and inspected it. “Danny DeCheeto.” he decided, popping the cheeto into his mouth and crunching loudly.

Albert burst out laughing. He just couldn’t help himself. There was something about the way that he has said it so bluntly that made him have to laugh at the terrible pun.

“DASILVA!” The teacher, Jeff, who Albert lovingly referred to using his first name because he was a crappy teacher and didn’t deserve formalities, yelled.

“Oh now you’ve don’t it,” asshole whispered excitedly.

Albert elbowed him in the ribs.

“Stop interrupting my lesson with your absolute idiocy! I’d give you detention if I didn’t run it!” Jeff yelled halfheartedly. Albert didn’t particularly care.

“It wasn’t my fault!” he called back. “This kid’s been talking all through your lesson and it’s really distracting!” He pointed at the asshole next to him. “I was really enjoying your lesson on cheetahs!” he added just to be a kiss up. Albert always made it a point to kiss up to teachers who hated him because it just made them hate him more.

“HIGGINS!” Jeff yelled again, this time at his seatmate.

“I’m not on a sports team so that’s not my naaaameee!” he singsoned back, also just to annoy Jeff.

“RACE!” Jeff yelled instead.

“Yeeees?”

“Stop distracting my students who actually want to learn!” Jeff gestures wildly with his hands. “It’s rude! There are some people in here who want to actually hear about cheetahs, not about whatever you’re doing back there with cheeto dust!”

“Terribly sorry!” Asshole, or, Race, called back in a way that was clearly not sorry at all before Jeff returned to his lesson.

“So,” Albert whispered, “Race, huh? I thought I wasn’t allowed to know your name.”

“Oh be quiet Albie.” Race scowled, licking cheeto dust off of his fingers.

“Hey! I told you not to call me that!”

Race pointed a cheeto dust covered finger at him menacingly. “One more word out of you and I’ll have my yaks come lick your eyeballs.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Albert gasped in fake horror.

“I would,” Race said just as the bell rang.

Albert watched as he swiftly brushed all of his cheeto dust into the floor, scooped up his bag, and gave him a mock salute. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“If you bring cheetos I’ll have to steal your socks!” Albert called after him.

As he scrambled to put his stuff away, Albert couldn’t help but think that this was the start of a really good, yet definitely weird, friendship.

•••

Albert was pulled out of his memory by the crowd clapping wildly for the valedictorian. Soon after the student council President was announcing that it was time to move their tassels and then everyone was filing out of the rows back out to behind the field.

From somewhere in the crowd, Race materialized, attacking him in a giant hung.

“WE DID IT BRO!” Race yelled, jumping up and down.

“YEAH BRO!” Albert yelled back.

After a few minutes of celebrating, Albert reached into his pants pocket for the bag of hot cheetos he had stashed there, handing them to Race, who immediately started laughing.

“Do you remember the first time we met in Jeff’s class?” Albert asked. “You were being an asshole and got cheeto dust all over my notes.”

“I remember,” Race smirked. “I was literally talking out of my ass to try and get you to laugh.”

“Well, it worked.”

“Oh yeah, he got so mad at you.” He picked up the bag of cheetos, smirking. “You know, the funny thing is, I don’t even like hot cheetos. They’re too spicy and they make my mouth burn.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Albert chortled.

“But, since they’re a gift from you bro, I’ll cherish them forever.” Race made awkward kissy faces at Albert who shook his head in response.

“That’s gay bro,” he said mock seriously.

“It’s alright,” Race reassures him, winking. “I have socks on.”

________

see I told you it was cursed

hbd b r o (o no I don’t have soccs on :o)

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the tag list

tag list @fairly-awkward-trashcan @well-the-kids-do-too @racetrackcook @ughwaitwhat @aw-jus-let-em-try @elmerss0cks @voice-foundshoe-lost @stopthe-presses @ridin-in-style @pinecovewoods @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @bencookisagod @be-more-chill-evan-hansen @stellar-alpaca @saxoph-ella @smolcanadiankid @disney-princess-sized @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @insane-tomato @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @have-we-got-news-for-you @thatfancyclam @myidkwhatmynameisblog @legoflambwrites @not-a-scam @albertdasillvaprotectionsquad

@entschuldigung-bitches @thebroadwayaesthetic @tea-and-theater @seasickdolphin @auspicioustarantula @newsies-of-ny @mrs-higgins @spot-me50-papes @papesdontsellthemselves @deathcast-s @the-poodles-of-pulitzer @hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters

@humanracoon @irondad-spiderson-duo @holistically-eating-cookie-cake @nico-nasty

#saphie scribbles #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #newsies #newsies fics #theyre so crazy #wait that means we’re crazy #i mean #thats not wrong #saph and mikey are fuckin ICONIC #sometimes #the other time we are just plain disasters with a sense of humor so bad it’s almost funny #YEET ILY DUDE

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drmannimal · 6 years ago

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So you want to be a veterinarian...

Ask a handful of children what they want to be when they grow up and there’s a good chance that someone will say veterinarian. It has long been a dream career of many animal lovers, but is it right for you?

I fall into the “it’s all I’ve ever wanted to be” category. For as long as I can remember I was telling my parents that I was going to be a veterinarian. Human medicine? No, thank you. While I thought I had a pretty good understanding of veterinary medicine before I started veterinary school, I soon realized I didn’t know it all. That being said, veterinary medicine is definitely the right career for me. This post will go over the process of becoming a veterinarian, and the pros and cons of the job.

How do I become a Veterinarian?

To become a veterinarian, you must attend veterinary school. In North America, these programs are typically four years long.

Pre-Veterinary School Depending on where you live, there are prerequisites you must complete before applying to veterinary school. Many programs require completion of a four year undergraduate degree, taking some specific required courses. Some schools only require 20 prerequisite undergraduate courses (two years) in order to apply. The admissions process is competitive so keeping competitive grades is advantageous, though a 4.0 is not necessary. Good, but not great, grades do not mean you’re immediately cast aside. There are other components to your application. Many applications include veterinary/animal experience and extra circulars. During high school and undergraduate you should participate in a variety of clubs and volunteer activities. This makes you a more well rounded applicant, and also can be quite enjoyable. Some examples: - volunteer at a veterinary clinic: I personally believe everyone should spend time in a veterinary clinic before applying to veterinary school, regardless of importance for application. This will allow you to see what the job actually involves. - volunteer at farms, wildlife clinics, SPCAs etc. - 4-H or similar. - Student government (leadership, communication). - Pre-vet society/club. - Any other club/society on campus, ie. biology society, GSA, yearbook etc. Some schools, especially in the USA, require letters of recommendation. The school may specify who they are looking for letters from (i.e. vet, professor, etc). Make sure you make positive connections with the people you work with in order to allow for a positive recommendation. Finally, standardized testing is required by most veterinary schools, specifically the GRE (Graduate Record Examination). More information about this can be found online.

As a Canadian student, you may only apply to your regional Canadian school, unless you would like to apply internationally. As an American student, you can apply to a large number of schools within your county. Research each school as many have specific areas of interest, different cost, different living style etc. After applying to veterinary school, many schools will then invite candidates for an interview. The type of interview varies depending on the school so make sure you look into the specifics of each school you will be interviewed at. Veterinary School I will give you specifics of my education as an example, though all veterinary schools differ. In general, be prepared for a lot of work. You will be taking many classes at once. For example, I was often taking 10 courses per semester. Many of these courses included a laboratory component. A large number of classes equates to a large amount of home preparation and studying. Midterm season at my school was typically weeks long. The work load is certainly manageable, don’t let that alone scare you off, though it does take a lot of dedication and planning. The most important piece of advice I have in regards to course load is to make sure you still find time for yourself. Without taking care of yourself and constantly studying, you will burnout. My school had three years of course work, followed by one year of clinical practice. During the three pre-clinical years, we did have exposure to animals throughout labs and shifts in the clinic. We first perform surgery in third year under supervision of the course doctors. For the most part, the pre-clinical years followed a pretty general schedule (other than surgery duties). Starting class at 8 and being done by 4. There are opportunities outside of courses to get involved with clinical/medical activities. Veterinary school have a large variety of clubs that may offer these extra opportunities - ie. pathology club necropsies, exotic animal club medical producers, internal medicine club cadaver labs... There may be opportunity with a local stray spay/neuter program through your school to get extra experience with surgery as well. Clinical year is a whole new ball game. At my school the year was broken into three week segments. Each segment you are placed somewhere new - i.e.. three weeks in the surgery department, three weeks in radiology, three weeks at an external clinic of your choosing... This year takes you away form the classroom and puts you into “doctor” mode. Keep in mind that each veterinary school operates on a different schedule (some introducing clinical earlier in the program) and that this is my personal experience. What your duties are will depend on the school as well. During my clinical year, student are involved in client communication, history taking, diagnostic planning, treatment administration, clinical skills, participation in surgery, etc. All under direct supervision. The hours for this portion of schooling are not predictable and definitely do not run 8-4. Many placements include after hours care of the patients, on-call work, lengthly paperwork, etc. All while studying for the dreaded NAVLE. Even though it was often dreadful, clinical year was my favourite year of veterinary school. Everything started to come together and honestly, it was a lot of fun.

NAVLE In North America, in order to practice veterinary medicine, you must past the licensing examination, the NAVLE. This is a 360 question multiple choice test that encompasses everything you have studied throughout veterinary school. Your school will help you apply and register when the time comes. You will technically be preparing for the NAVLE all of veterinary school but will specifically study for it in your final year. There are preparatory courses that you may purchase and your school may host review classes. The test is written in December and April.

So those are the cliff-notes of how to become a veterinarian. Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions, would like clarification or would like me to go further into detail.

So after all of that, what are the pros and cons?

Lets not beat around the bush, starts with the cons:

Debt - veterinary school is NOT cheap and the income does not match the level of debt obtained. The majority of students will graduate with $100,000-$200,000+ in debt. This is not unmanageable, though it can be daunting.

Extensive training - veterinary school is not easy, and it is not for everyone. You will need to be knowledgeable about many species and many subjects.

Working with owners - “I want to be a vet because I don’t like people”, just no. This is a customer service career. You will speak to people every day. You will have to convince people to spend hundreds or thousands of dollars on their pets. You will get yelled at, told you’re in it for the money, probably threatened at some point.

Working within a budget - unlike human doctors, we really need to think about the cost of each and every thing we do. You will often have owners come in with $100 dollars to their name and a very sick animal, you need to figure out what the options are in each instance.

Euthanasia - many people find this one of the more difficult parts of the job. I personally believe it’s how you look at it. Euthanasia can be a wonderful gift. I do not euthanize healthy animals.

Work-place hazards - our patients can be aggressive and difficult to handle. This is often due to stress or being scared, but it is a danger to veterinary staff. You need to understand how to read signals and prevent dangerous situations from happening. Veterinarians are also exposed to chemicals, radiation, heavy lifting etc.

Hours - depending on where you work, the hours can be gruelling. Not everyone has the luxury of a 40 hour work week. We often stay late (for no extra pay) finishing cases, tending to patients, calling clients, doing paperwork, etc. Many veterinarians must perform on-call duties. This may lead to 2 hours of sleep between shifts.

Responsibility - every decision we make is life or death. The type of drug, the dose, surgery, etc. The job carries a huge amount of responsibility that can be very stressful for certain people.

Ok, so despite all of that, I’m still a veterinarian. I still love my job. Why?

Debt - yes, I have a huge amount of debt. Is it manageable, yes. There are many people in the world who have more debt than me. I hate that its becoming normal for people to have debt, but it is.

Extensive training - vet school sucked, but it was also awesome. I know so much about so many things. I’m proud of the level of knowledge I gained while in vet school. I’m proud of the person I have become through my extensive training.

Working with owners - the vast majority of my clients are absolutely wonderful. There are owners that light up my day, that I look forward to talking to, that remind me how much I love my job. We have many lovely reviews written about us, cards sent in, treats brought in for staff etc. For every person that gets mad at me for cost, there are many more that are understanding and work with me to find a solution within their budget

Working within a budget - this is a con no matter what way you look at it, though I can say that when you’re willing to work with owners and help them within their means, they are often very thankful. There are many cases you can help within a tight budget.

Euthanasia - I tell every owner that euthanasia is a gift. We get to take away pain and suffering. This makes it much easier for me to deal with this on a daily basis.

Work-place hazards - proper training and education can help minimize hazards. Low stress handling, proper restraint etc.

Hours - not every job has horrible hours. I work, on average 40 hours a week. Some days I stay a little late to finish up, but it usually doesn't bother me. Yes, I do on-call but it is not very often. I have a great work life balance. You need to take this into consideration when looking for a job.

Responsibility - you get to call the shots, you get to save lives, help pets, help owners. You do not have to do it alone. There are so many resources out there to help. It’s definitely scary and daunting the first few years out, but its also very satisfying. Confidence grows day by day.

You get to live you dream job.

You get to be a part of an amazing team that shares the same goals as you.

You get to impact the lives of so many people and their pets.

You get to be an ambassador of the animals.

You get to go to work and learn something new every single day.

So, still think veterinary medicine is for you? Reach for the stars <3

#veterinary medicine #veterinarian #vet #vetmed #vetblr #vet student #vet school #veterinary #veterinary school

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the-quackson-claxon · 7 years ago

Text

Puppy Love (Harrison Osterfield)

Oh my god guys, this is terrible. It had so much more potential, but I was struggling. I’m sorry it sucks... Anyway, I’ve been working on this for ages and finally decided to just go ahead and post it. Hope you enjoy this trash.

Word Count: 1,559

"What?!"

The sudden exclamation that echoed across the break room startled Y/n out of her reverie, causing her to look up from her book for the first time in what felt like hours, even though she logically knew that it had only been around five minutes since she'd sat down to have lunch. Her surprised gaze shot across the table to her best friend and coworker, F/n, who was clutching the piece of paper in her hand so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Sorry," F/n said, glancing around the room and taking note of the glares sent to her from all corners of the room. "Y/n this is terrible, I can't believe this! What am I going to do?" She began to tear up slightly.

"Wait wait wait, slow down," Y/n responded, flustered and confused. "What's happening?"

"Oh god, it's terrible, Y/n. You know I'm moving away; leaving tomorrow in fact. Well my land lord just got ahold of me today and-" she hiccuped, trying to hold back tears. "And he said that due to complications, they are no longer allowing pets. Y/n what's going to happen to Percy?" At this point, F/n completely broke down.

Y/n stood up and moved next to her friend, wrapping her arms around F/n and attempting to comfort her. The problem was that there was nothing she could say that would help... or so she thought. So instead of searching for the words that would dry her friend's tears, she opted for sweet nothings, "I'm so sorry"s muttered as a hand passes through hair.

They stay like this for a few minutes, a constant flow of comforting words flowing from Y/n's mouth, and she's hardly aware of what she's saying when the words slip past her lips, "Oh, F/n, I'm so so sorry, if it makes you feel better, Haz and I could take him."

"Really?" F/n perks up immediately at the thought of Y/n taking care of the puppy, and Y/n's gaze widens in shock as she realizes what she'd said. Although she regrets the words, she knows that there's no way to take them back without disappointing her friend, so she repeats the phrase.

"Yeah, of course! I'm sure Haz won't mind, he loves dogs." Secretly though, she wasn't sure how Haz would react. They had never expressed an interest in getting another dog, but she just couldn't say no to her friend. "I'll swing by your place after work to pick him up."

"Oh my god thank you so much, Y/n, you're a lifesaver."

After swinging by F/n house to pick up the golden retriever puppy that she had so graciously offered to adopt, Y/n was in the car driving back to her and Haz's flat. The dog was in its crate in the passenger seat of the car, and was letting out excited little pants.

Her gaze flickered over to the pup as she started to speak. "Aw, Percy, you sweet puppy. You and Monty will get along great, I'm sure." After a minute of silence, she spoke again. "Oh shit. Haz is gonna kill me. Thank god he's not getting home till tomorrow." She paused, thinking. "Maybe if I call him right away when we get home, he'll have time to calm down? Maybe?" Why she was asking the dog, she didn't know, but it's not like anyone else was there. "Yeah, yeah. That's a good plan. A surprise FaceTime, that's all. Nothing special..."

But when she got home, she forgot all about the call.

There was so much to unpack. She had to move in Percy's crate and all of his toys, along with everything else her friend hadn't needed for the dog anymore. By the time she was finished, she was exhausted. Collapsing to the floor, she leaned her back against the kitchen cabinets.

Suddenly, she heard keys rattling outside the apartment. Acting quick, just in case it was her sister or mom, who were both oddly terrified of dogs, Y/n locked Percy in his crate, which was right next to her.

The front door could be heard opening, and she let out a rushed whisper. "Shhh, baby. Just stay right here. I'll be right back."

"Y/n? Are you home?" Her boyfriends voice rang throughout the house and she sprang to her feet in a sudden burst. She raced the the entrance to the kitchen, before attempting to casually lean against the doorframe.

"Harrison!?" Her voice was slightly higher than usual; it did that when she got excited... or nervous. "I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow!" The instant he saw her face, he knew something was up. She was always terrible at keeping secrets from him: her eyes always gave it away. However, he let it slide momentarily for the sake of their reunion. He'd been away with Tom for a few weeks, but could last much longer than that without Y/n by his side.

"I wasn't, but there were going to be storms tomorrow so they moved us up to today." Before another word could leave his mouth, Y/n had run up and hugged him, pulling him down so she could tuck her face into the side of his neck.

"I missed you, Haz," she whispered against his skin, causing him to grip her tighter against him.

"I missed you too."

They stayed like that for a few moments before Harrison pulled back far enough that he could press his lips to hers in a greeting. He was just about to deepen the kiss when a long, quiet whine ensued from the kitchen. Harrison pulled back in surprise, turning his head towards the noise. "What was that?" he asked, more to himself that Y/n. He began walking towards the doorway, away from her, but she called after him frantically, her voice loud from slight panic.

"Harrison, wait."

"Why?" He furrowed his eyebrows in slight confusion, before his face turned to one of slight realization. "What did you do?" he finished with a sigh.

"Haz..."

"Y/n... Tell me what you did. What is it?"

She hesitated, slight worry etched into her features. "I-" she paused. "Y'know what? Go ahead. Walk in there. Just," she pleaded, "don't be mad, please."

Before she had even finished her sentence, he was already heading for the door. "Come on, Y/n, what did you do that was so-" his voice cut off as he entered the kitchen, standing there shocked for a few moments before spinning around on his heel and looking at her with a look of pure shock and accusation.

Y/n looked up at him through her lashes, giving him the sheepish look that she knew he couldn't stay mad at for long. "So, uh, yeah, Haz, meet Percy."

Harrison seemed at a loss for words as he took in her words and what was sitting in the room behind him. It was quiet for a few seconds before he spoke.

"You bought a dog?" His words were harsh and disbelieving.

"Well, no, not technically, you see-"

"Y/n, you bought a dog." He ran his hand through his hair as he let out a long sigh. "What were you thinking?"

"Harrison, I didn't buy him, and if you'd hear me out-" Her boyfriend's voice cut her off once again.

"What do you mean you didn't buy him? There's a fucking golden retriever puppy in our kitchen, that you 'didn't buy', and you didn't see fit to tell me about it until I was already home?" he accused, obviously not believing that she hadn't bought a puppy while he'd been away.

"In my defense, I was going to call you about it tonight, because you weren't supposed to get here until tomorrow," she pointed out. "And Haz, I really didn't buy him. One of my coworkers is moving away and they couldn't keep him. What was I supposed to do? Let him go to a shelter where he'd be taken care of for a few weeks until it became apparent that no one was going to adopt him? Let him get euthanized? Haz, love, look at him."

The boy's striking blue gaze flickered over to the crate, where the golden retriever sat wagging his tail and giving one of those large puppy grins that make hearts melt. Y/n could tell that he was starting to crack when he let out a slightly exasperated sigh. He bowed his head, rubbing his temple as he obviously contemplated the pros and cons of having another dog.

Hoping to be helpful, Y/n gave one last effort to convince him. "Love, you know how lonely Monty gets when you aren't around, and now that Tom seems to have decided to take Tessa with him everywhere, he doesn't have any other dogs to play with. Please?" She gave her best pleading face, and when a grin cracked through the facade he'd built, she knew she'd won.

"Fine, we can keep the dog. But," he added, "you are lucky I love you so much." Y/n let out an enthusiastic squeal as she ran and jumped into Harrison's arms, causing him to stagger backwards slightly.

"Thank you, Haz. Thank you so much."

Thanks to the several people I asked for help from throughout the months I spent working on this. @suit-lady @hufflepuffholland

@parkerroos

#harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagines #harrison osterfield #tom holland #peter parker #sam holland #harry holland #mcu #harrison osterfield fanfic

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sapphicsugden · 7 years ago

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Hi yes hello whats the 411 on Jurassic Park robron? Im desperate.

oh hi melody ( @robertisbisexual ) my love my horror :))))

well i mean the jurassic world robron is coming along nicely, but the jurassic park robron?... well...

backtrackaaron/robert, adam, vic, whites etc, jurassic park au :)))))

Lawrence gives him an unkind smile. “Pity, then, that Victoria is currently on a plane headed for the island.”

Robert’s chest seizes in panic, and his body goes cold. “What?”

Chrissie’s sitting across from her father, looking nonchalant, and Lawrence seems to find some thrill from Robert’s discomfort.

“Oh? She didn’t tell you?” Lawrence sits back in his chair, pen tapping against the table. “She came to me, asking for a job. I told her she could cater the next expedition.”

“Tell me you’re joking,” Robert says, voice hard. His hands curl into fists and he’s struggling to find breath. “I will kill you-”

“Threaten dad like that again, Robert, and I’ll-”

“You have no fucking idea where he’s sent her, do you? Do you even know what your dad had on that island?”

“A theme park,” Chrissie says, eyebrows raised. Robert hates her in that moment, just a little, and it overrides any regret he might have had over their divorce.

“What kind?” Robert challenges, tilting his chin in Lawrence’s direction, daring him to say anything.

“Chrissie,” Lawrence starts.

“Dinosaurs,” Robert says, before Chrissie can open her mouth. “A dinosaur theme park.”

Robert thinks in another life that she might have laughed, but he knows better. She has to have seen the papers after the disaster of the endorsement trips. She has to have heard the condolences in the news, the stories told on television, despite them being dismissed as crazy. Robert watches her face and knows she gets it.

“Dad euthanized those dinosaurs,” Chrissie tells him eventually. “There’s no danger there. Whatever dad’s doing out there-”

“He sent an expedition,” Robert snaps, slamming his hands down on the table. Chrissie jumps, and even Lawrence looks discomfited. “You left some alive and you’ve sent my sister to that island and she’s going to get killed!”

“It’s safe,” Lawrence tries. “I wouldn’t have sent her-”

“Yes you would!” Robert shoves back from the table. “I swear if anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

Chrissie doesn’t object this time.

Robert stalks out of the room, shaking with anger, and knows exactly where he has to go.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Adam snaps, wrenching open the door.

Robert’s been banging for give minutes, yelling loud enough to wake the neighbours, but he’s panicked and pissed. “I need Aaron.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Adam says immediately, moving to close the door.

Robert jams his foot in the entryway before he can, hand slamming against the door. “Lawrence sent Vic to the island.”

Adam freezes, eyes wide. “What?”

“She went to Lawrence for a job. Why did she do that?”

Adam blinks. He pulls open the door a little more. “She was worried about money, wants to try for a kid.”

“Jesus,” Robert says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why did she go to him?”

“Because he asked for her.”

As if Robert’s anger couldn’t get any worse. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Mate, I wish I could,” Adam says, and the reality of the situation must be setting in. He’s pale, hands shaking as he gestures for Robert to come in. “When?”

“Lawrence said she was on a plane, so I assume she’ll be there in a day or two.”

“Fuck,” Adam mutters.

Robert steps into the small living room, uncomfortable with its familiarity, and he stays as close to the door as he can. “I’m going after her.”

“No way,” Adam says. “You know that’s suicide.”

Robert snorts. “She’s my sister.”

Adam runs a hand over his face. “Don’t do this to yourself.”

“I’ll do what I need to to help her,” Robert says. “I’m not here to ask for Aaron to go with me. I just need his help.”

There’s a pause.

“Need me for what?”

Robert turns, breath catching in his chest. He hasn’t seen Aaron for months and it hits him like a physical punch. He looks good. “Vic’s gone to the island.”

Aaron pales immediately, but doesn’t hesitate to say, “What do you need me for?”

Aaron sits on the edge of the couch, palms of his hands to his face. “Robert, you can’t go.”

“You’re crazy,” Robert snaps. “I’m going to bring her home. She has no idea what she’s getting into.”

“You’ll get killed,” Aaron says, but Robert knows him better than anyone else; he can see how desperate he is to help Vic.

“I don’t care.” Robert’s voice breaks. “Do you understand? I can’t let her face what I - what we - Aaron, I have to bring her home and I’ll do it with or without you.”

The plane ride is awful.

Robert’s pressed up against two crates, the small cargo plane rocking enough to keep him permanently off balance. Adam and Aaron are sat across from him, the former watching Robert closely, Aaron’s head on his shoulder. Robert wishes he could sleep.

His hands are still shaking, and clenching them into fists isn’t working anymore.

“Are you sure about this?”

“How many times are you gonna ask?” Robert snaps, irritated. “Of course I’m not sure, but Vic’s worth more to me than whatever that island holds for me.”

“Aaron-”

“Has nightmares enough of his own,” Robert says.

“Vic told me,” Adam says softly. “About the T-Rex.”

Robert shudders, head tipping back against one of the crates. “She should have kept her mouth shout.”

Adam lets out a huff. “She was worried about you.”

“Now I’m worried about her,” Robert admits, closing his eyes. He desperately wants to sleep, but anxiety is keeping him on edge. He just wants to get Vic and come home again.

Vic’s a day or so ahead of them and Robert can’t stop thinking about her landing, finding out where she is and what she’s doing and realising Robert’s nightmares are about to come hers.

“This is my fault,” Robert mutters, lacing up his boots. There’s a jeep waiting to take them into the heart of the island, to the expedition Vic’s apparently a part of.

“You’re mad,” Aaron says, handing Robert a backpack. “This is Lawrence’s fault.”

Robert gives him a look that speaks volumes. “I was going to be his son-in-law and I didn’t care about Chrissie when I asked for that divorce.”

Aaron doesn’t refute those points. “He made his own choices after that, Robert. Vic’s here because of Lawrence, not because of you.”

Swallowing, Robert nods, letting Aaron’s faith wash over him. Aaron’s face softens, fingers trailing slowly away from Robert’s.

Robert remembers all too well the last time they touched-

("You would have let me die,” Aaron snaps.

Robert stares at the ceiling and says nothing, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“Look at me, you asshole.”

Robert breathes through his nose, throat tight with tears he can’t shed.

Aaron’s hand grips his tight, and he leans over so Robert can’t help but look at him. “Did any of it matter?”

“Yes,” Robert says, voice hoarse.

“Liar.”)

- and turns away from Aaron.

“Come on,” he says, waiting for Adam to climb into the jeep before clambering in after him.

Aaron says nothing, but Robert can tell from the twitch in his jaw that he wants to.

They’re halfway to the expedition spot when a familiar noise rips through the air, birds scattering from the trees.

Robert’s blood runs cold.

Aaron’s blood slick on his hands.

He tries to even his breathing, refuses to acknowledge the way Adam’s looking at him.

“Come on, Rob,” Adam says, getting his arms under Robert’s armpits.

Aaron’s back has stiffened, fingers white on the dashboard.

“Is Aaron safe?” Robert slurs, leaning heavily against Adam and Bob.

“Pick up the pace, mate,” Adam snaps, slapping the driver on the shoulder.

Triceratops, Robert thinks hysterically.

Aaron’s eyes are wide, the same awe and appreciation from the first time.

Robert wishes he could look at them like that, except he’s-

-T-Rex screaming, Aaron’s bloody body under his hands, running across a bridge waving a torch and screaming, the hot breath brushing against his back, pain racing up his leg and back, death a breadth away -

“Robert!”

“Vic,” Robert breathes, catching Vic as she leaps at him. He presses his face into her hair. “I had to come.”

“I’m sorry,” Vic says, voice wavering. “I wouldn’t have come but I had no idea it was this island.”

Adam takes over hugging duty and Robert steps away, eyes on the Triceratops.

“Your hands are still shaking,” Aaron says, fingers on Robert’s wrist.

“They won’t stop,” Robert says.

“There’s a T-Rex here,” Vic’s expedition leader says, eyes wild and interested. “We plan to bring it back with us.”

So that’s what Lawrence was planning.

“You’ll kill everyone,” Robert says, chest tight. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“The White Corp wants a T-Rex, the White Corp gets a T-Rex.”

Robert pushes away from the table, breathing harshly, panic edging across his vision.

“Robert,” Aaron says, hand on his elbow. “Hey, we’re in the toilet, it’s okay.”

Robert blinks, realises where he is and his knees buckle. Aaron catches him, lowers him to the floor. He’s still shaking. “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

“Hey,” Aaron says, cupping his cheek. “What’s going on?”

Robert holds Aaron’s gaze, feels the words bubbling up from his chest against his will, unable to keep it in. “When you - you were attacked by the raptors and Adam tried to get you back-”

“He did,” Aaron says, frowning.

“-there was the T-Rex,” Robert says, ploughing on, “and it was going to attack you and Adam and I couldn’t let that happen-”

Realisation ripples across Aaron’s face. “Rob-”

“It almost - it’s the reason I broke my leg and ended up in hospital. I needed you safe and I-”

“Rob,” Aaron says, sounding wrecked. “You didn’t say anything. Adam never-”

“I didn’t want him to,” Robert says, as Aaron tugs him forward. Robert buries his face in Aaron’s shoulder. “He promised he wouldn’t say anything.”

Aaron frowns. “Why? You saved my life.”

“I love you,” Robert blurts out, fingers on Aaron’s sleeve. “I didn’t want you to think I was only doing it to make you like me again.”

There’s a long silence and Robert can’t bring himself to look up.

“You idiot,” Aaron snaps, tightens his grip against Robert and holds him close. He sounds sad. “I love you, Robert, and that fight was stupid. I was worried we were going to die and you didn’t get it, you were acting like you were invincible and I-”

“I’m sorry,” Robert mumbles into the fabric of Aaron’s jacket. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron promises, fingers curling in the hairs at the nape of Robert’s neck.

“They’re gonna bring the T-Rex back, Aaron, and I can’t- I can’t handle that, alright?”

Aaron pulls away, cupping Robert’s face. He rests his thumbs against Robert’s cheeks. “Oi, you’re a Sugden, alright? Since when did ya sit by and let it happen?”

Robert breathes out slowly, letting the fear and worry fall away. His lip curls up into a smile. “A Dingle, 2 Sugdens and a Barton, eh?”

“Right,” Aaron says, grinning. He strokes his thumb back and forth. “Wanna take down a corrupt businessman and his expedition with me?”

“You know I do.” Robert snorts, leans into the kiss that Aaron presses gently to his lips. When he pulls away, he lets himself feel the vulnerability again just for a beat. “I don’t know how-”

“I love ya,” Aaron says gently. “That’s enough.”

“’course,” Robert says, eyes soft. “Always.”

#fic by me #robert sugden #aaron dingle #robron #otp: he's everything #siri writes fic #robertisbisexual

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strongfromourveryweakness · 7 years ago

Text

Family Is What You Make of It: Coming Out As Female-to-Male Transgender

I was born to a very conservative Christian family in 1995 and assigned female.

I grew up in Colorado. My birth mother and father read their Bibles every day, squeezed me into tights and dresses to go to church every Sunday, and every Christmas before we opened presents, my father read the Christmas story right from the Gospel of Matthew. Religion was everything to my birth family. "You don't skip church unless you're dead or impaled on a stick!" my birth mother once exclaimed when I said I was "too tired" to go to church after going to a Christian concert.

I grew up with Jesus and his followers shoved down my throat at every turn. In our evangelical church, they encouraged questions and told you if you had doubts, that was okay. But it wasn't. You were supposed to doubt, then turn for correction. You followed. You listened. You didn't ask questions after it was explained to you, and you certainly didn’t look to non-Christian sources for answers.

I was told from a young age in the church that if I didn’t save my friends, they would go to hell at the end of time and burn in a lake of fire while Satan pointed and laughed at them. As a kid terrified of fire and extreme heats, I couldn’t think of anything worse. So I would “work” on my friends. People became “projects” to me. My wife today used to be a project...who was also my extremely beautiful and brilliant best friend. I didn’t want her to burn in a lake of fire. No one wants that for their friends. Of course I’d try to convert my friends. If I didn’t try, that’d make me an asshole.

I experienced my fair share of doubts growing up in the church. Like why the fuck does Jesus care about a little shit like me? He’s a big boy. Why does God need so much moral support? He’s God, isn’t that enough? Why do we have to tell him how big, magnificent, and incredible he is? He’s the only omnipotent being in the universe, isn’t that kind of a given? If a bunch of fruit flies complimented me on how big, magnificent, and capable I was as a human being,

capable of driving a car or a plane or lifting a single grape in one go, I’d be like,

But as a fruit fly in God’s real-life Sims game, it was kind of surprising that all the people told me he cared about me. As a kid whose mother and siblings who were constantly making fun of her about anything and everything and with a father who, I felt, only seemed to showed up when discipline needed dishing out, it was nice to be told such a huge powerful thing cared about my insignificant ass. I didn’t feel I got much one-on-one attention as a middle child, so when people were like, “God thinks about you!” I was like, “Wee!”

I never doubted my Christian faith, even after I turned 21 and couldn’t find friends at university in Christian groups because I was too different.

Weren’t Christians supposed to be open and accepting? Not judgmental and excluding? Wasn’t Jesus the one that allegedly ate with the social outcasts? I didn’t doubt even while developing the biggest crush on my best friend. I didn’t doubt while I shared a bed with her when I visited her the first time and wanted to do nothing more than kiss her shoulder and bury my face in her sweet-smelling curly brown hair.

I doubted, instead, after I came out as (then, as I understood myself to be) bisexual and genderqueer to my conservative family. First, I came out to my birth brother, who hit me with Bible verses that, to him and most evangelicals, preached against loving, respectful homosexual relationships. I cried, I moved on. I came out to my birth sister and her husband, who said they didn’t know what God meant about gays, but they still loved me. Relieved, I moved onto my birth parents with an emotional letter and a plan to leave and visit Ashley - my then girlfriend, now wife - immediately after so I could give them time to process without me being there. I brought two of my friends as emotional support while my birth parents read the letters with blank faces. They were quiet, they didn’t cry. They didn’t do anything. They wouldn’t say anything. And they wouldn’t say anything until my emotional support left. Then, they clobbered me with words like “abomination” and “sin”. Bible verses. Rhetoric like, “I know these feelings feel real”, telling me I needed to think about this more. As if I was a child who didn’t know how to think for herself. As if I hadn’t already spent months torn up about this, thinking, and researching.

I had a plan to stay at my childhood best friend Ruby’s mom and dad’s house for the night before getting a ride from them to the airport, but my birth father wouldn’t let me leave. He and my birth mother were going to take me. That was final. You don’t question, you follow.

I left to visit my girlfriend, and my birth father told me not to post about our relationship on social media yet because he didn’t think I was ready for the backlash. I was ready, I don’t think he was. I had a wonderful week with Ashley in Canada before returning to a home that didn’t feel like mine. My birth parents hadn’t gone to the session I set up with my therapist for them. In fact, they fired her with a nasty text message for encouraging me to be myself. There were books about homosexuality written from Christian authors laying on the table (which I was encouraged to read). I didn’t read them. I knew what they would say. The books I gave my birth parents to read were either not touched or read - but skeptically annotated.

My birth mother wouldn’t look at me or speak to me unless I spoke to her first. We didn’t speak about the elephant in the room. One time my birth mother and I had a conversation, but I had to get up and leave the conversation while I fought tears of anger; because she wasn’t hearing me, just lecturing. They said they were listening, but in their hearts, they didn’t want to understand what I told them. They were stone giants and I felt immeasurably small. I dealt with a dead home for two months before I was having massive panic attacks and rocking back and forth in my bedroom because I was so scared of my birth mother and father. I knew they needed to talk about what was going on, but they weren’t ready to listen to me when I spoke. It was useless. I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do.

My university schoolwork was ages behind and I was failing in more than one class. I spent several nights at Ruby’s parents’ house because being at home was too stressful. And then my dog, living at my birth parent’s house, came down with an oral infection I couldn’t afford to treat. I knew I couldn’t afford to move out and take care of myself if it came down to it if I blew all my money on a surgery for my beloved dog, but I knew that was becoming a real possibility. It was my life or my dog’s, and I knew my dog would understand. No one was going to win in this situation and Joe would have wanted me to be safe, not living in my car or in a LGBT shelter in Denver. I packed some bags, put them in my car, and took my dog to the vet’s where she was euthanized.

I stayed at Ruby’s parents’ house for a week before making the executive decision to move out of my birth parents’. Joe had been the one stabilizing element at that house and with her gone, I no longer recognized the place. I had bought a one-way plane ticket to Vancouver Island and my mind was made up. I was going to stay with Ashley. That week at Tammy and Tom’s, my birth parents had never called, and only sent short messages the first few days asking if I was there still. They assured me of their love, but without loving actions to follow, their words felt empty.

Tammy and Tom took me back to my birth parents’ and we gathered the boxes I had packed just in case, plus a few boxes of other things I would need if I never returned. My birth mom was home when we first arrived, but didn’t show up. A few minutes after gathering my things, we heard movement downstairs, but no one came upstairs to see what was going on.

We started carrying boxes out the front door, no one got up to see what was going on. After all the boxes were outside, my birth father came out and tried to talk down to me like I was making the worst decision of my life. He criticized my plan to quit school and move. I ran back inside to get a few other things, and my birth mother was crying, asking me what I was doing. I told her and she cried harder. She asked if she could still be in touch and I said of course. It felt like, “Oh, so I have to move out for you to notice me and care?” They both reprimanded Tammy and Tom for enabling me to make this decision. I tried to explain it was my idea, I asked them to come.

I cried all the way back to Tammy and Tom’s. I couldn’t believe that my birth parents weren’t who I had thought they were. I had given them so many chances to learn, I had tried to talk to them about my side of things, I tried, I tried, I tried. I gave them every chance and they never once took it to find out how I felt about things. They never called when I was gone. I was the villain. I apologized so many times to them, but never got one in response.

I met with my birth sister and brother and my birth sister’s husband at Starbucks before I finally left for Canada. The day before, I messaged my birth sister about how I realized I was transgender, not genderqueer or bisexual. I didn’t think it was a big deal to let her know this way, seeing as she took me being bisexual so well. Wrong. She and my birth brother were so incredibly upset with me for how I had treated our birth parents.I guess our birth parents had conveniently left out how I had been treated in their home.

Never did they ask how things had been for me, they just believed anything they were told about it. Not only that, but everyone in my birth family agreed I needed a psychological assessment before I left. Because I believed I was transgender, I was therefore having a psychotic breakdown. Of course.

They did not consider that I could have instead been driven out of my home and failing my classes because of real factors such as the stress of coming out; suicidal because of the rejection I’d faced at the hands of, well, everyone.

Of course I’d go to be with the one person in the world who can ever handle me when I can’t think of a reason to go on.

The next day, my birth parents picked me up from Tammy and Tom’s to take me to my psychiatrist. My birth mother looked terrible, like she’d been crying since the second I left. Funny, because she hadn’t called once since I left - just sent a nasty message to Tammy about enabling me and putting ideas in my head. It was a tense car ride. But I’d prepared, I’d taken a long walk before leaving to help with my anxiety, and eaten a good breakfast.

The psychiatrist met with me alone first, and told me I was the sanest and most relaxed he’d ever seen me. He said he’d always sensed an underlying anger in me, and underlying unhappiness, but had never been able to put a finger on it. This was it. He told me to fill out a form to rate me on a bipolar scale, since my birth family was convinced I was way off-the-scales manic. I rated myself maybe a 2, and he said that’s the highest he’d score me if he had to scale me at all. He told me my birth family had rated me as high as 32 - hypersexual, eccentric clothing, crazy ideas, inflated ego. But he didn’t see any of that. I told him my new name: Steven.

When my birth parents came back in, he told them his opinion. I was fine, I was just transgender.

That wasn’t the answer they wanted, I could see it in their faces. He told them what he’d rate me, and I remember one of them saying incredulously, “Really.”

I was sent out while they talked to my psychiatrist for another ten minutes before we all left.

my birth father asked me.

“I knew I was fine the whole time,” I said. “It was you who thought I was crazy.”

They wanted to get coffee before they dropped me off at my university to finish some legal stuff regarding withdrawing. They grilled me about my plans, essentially told me they were bad plans, told me not to get married, called my “sins” (and therefore myself) and abomination again, and told me they’d never come to my wedding. They actually told me they’d have to think about being in their grandchildren’s lives. They had to think about that. (”We’ll have to think about that” is of course parent-speak for “no”, and the way you’d talk to a defiant toddler.)

I said I’m all done and would like to go.

I left a few days later to go to Canada. Tammy and Tom took me to the airport and 20 hours of obscure flights later, I was in the arms of my girlfriend and knew everything was going to be okay.

God that feels like forever ago.

I had limited contact with my birth family for a few months until it came to light my birth father never paid my tuition like he had promised. I talked to them over Skype and they basically told me no, they would not pay it because I dropped out and skipped town, even though I dropped out and left home for mental health reasons pertaining to my survival. (Maybe because those reasons were attributed to them, and me being transgender.) I had to go through a long process of a medical withdrawal from my classes to get my F’s turned into W’s, and have my tuition and fees excused. I was hurt because my birth father likely would have paid the tuition if I was cisgender and straight and had had a mental health emergency.

After this debacle, I was more skeptical than ever every time they told me they loved me. No, they didn’t love me, Steven, they loved their daughter and wanted her back.

The last conversation I had with my birth family was in May, when I told them I was getting married and telling them, one last time, they could come to the ceremony if they wanted. My birth sister wouldn’t even let me call her because she was still too hurt. I blocked her number. My brother said the same. I blocked his. I called my birth parents. I knew they wouldn’t want to come, so I didn’t ask, I just told them. I told them I wanted to be called Steven, one last time, and be referred to with male pronouns or else I wouldn’t speak to them again. I wasn’t going to put up with their transphobic bullshit anymore. They said they’d have to think about it.

They’d have to think about speaking to me again because they had to consult their religion, which had done nothing but hurt, and continue hurting me the last year. They asked how my faith was, and I said I don’t believe in God. Upsettingly, they seemed more concerned about my not believing in God than them not being able to speak to me again.

I told them my fiance and I were moving, they asked if they could have my address. I said,

because two can play at that game.

We ended the conversation and I broke down. I made the decision then to take the SIM card out of my phone, which they had insisted and insisted on paying for. Today, I haven’t spoken to any of them for three months. I won’t speak to them for another year and nine months. I’ll check in, see where they’re at. If they’re where they were, that’s it, I guess. I had originally thought, if after a week in Canada wouldn’t get them to consider me and love me as I was, maybe if I moved out it would. Then I thought maybe if moving out wouldn’t do it, I’d go to be with Ashley. If that didn’t work, I thought, I’ll not talk to them for a few months. Then I thought I’d tell them I won’t speak to them again if they don’t call me my name. That didn’t work. So, maybe after two years, they’ll get it. If not, I don’t think they ever will.

A while after that conversation, I received a letter from my birth mother. It was addressed to Steven. This was our final correspondence. It was basically a plea for me to return to Christianity, because without it, I was fucked apparently. She recounted how devoted I used to be. (Yeah.) She told me that if she wasn’t a Christian, she would probably be divorced from my birth father (Oh?), she’d be bitter, she’d be angry. (Funny how if I had to pick two words to describe the letter, they would be “bitter” and “angry”. And, might I add, “extremely hurtful”.) She listed things she and my birth father did for me as a kid, like take me to doctors appointments and give me emotional support after being sexually abused by my high school boyfriend. (You know, things parents are generally expected to do when they have a kid and life happens.) She knew I was moving and this was potentially our last correspondence, yet she chose to devote a majority of the letter telling me to come back to God.

No apology for what I’d been put through, no acknowledgement of my feelings. No indication she’s done any soul-searching to see if she can accept me as her son, rather than her daughter. No indication she’s willing to admit to any mistakes. Nothing. Please come back to God, your birth father and I were amazing parents, your “path to homosexuality” is an abomination.

Hell no.

If that hadn’t been enough, the person who was going to be my best man at my wedding but “couldn’t make it” reached out to me and told me she couldn’t call me Steven or use my pronouns because of her beliefs.

We’d been best friends since ninth grade and she waited eight months to let me know she couldn’t do this small, small thing for me that means everything to me. She wanted to find a compromise so we could both be happy and be friends. I told her that I cut out my family because they couldn’t accept me, and she wasn’t special. She chose religion. I cut her out too. I respect myself too much.

I’m a different person than I was a year ago. I’ve experienced the worst kind of heartbreak - the rejection by your family based on your gender and who you love. The realization that your family loves religion more than they love you. They love their rules, they love their cruel edition of God (the one who says what’s between your legs is more important than love), more than they love you.

But it hasn’t all been bad. I’ve gotten married to the most incredible person I’ve ever met in my life. She loves me for who I am, and she is my family. Her family is my family. Her brothers my brothers, her nephews my nephews, her niece my niece.

Tammy and Tom have unofficially adopted me as an honorary member of their family. I have a new “Mom”, a “Dad”, a sister, and a gay brother. I have family. They may not be the family I was born into, but they’re the family I chose; and the family that chose me. There’s something special about that. Fucked as I am, they chose me.

I spent the day with two of my nephews, my brother-in-law, and my mother-in-law yesterday. The older of the nephews watched me login somewhere with the last name “Vomacka” and said, “Hey, that’s my last name too!”

The littlest said, “Me too! And daddy! And grandma!”

“That’s right!” I smiled. “We’re all Vomackas.”

In that moment, playing video-games with my little nephews, I felt like family. I was their Uncle Steven. I had a family. My new family might get my pronouns wrong most of the time, but sometimes they get it right. They may get my name wrong sometimes and call me my birthname out of habit, but at least they get it right more often than not. They don’t care I look the way I do. They talk with me. They laugh with me. They love me, as an action word.

And isn’t that, ultimately, what family is all about?

Stay Brave Out There, Steven Thomas Vomacka

Note: I should note that the purpose of this post was not to shame my birth family. (I was very careful not to use their names or any kind of visual depiction of them so they could not be identified.) The purpose of this post was to let other transgender individuals know they are not alone in their struggle, especially if they’ve experienced rejection like I have on the basis of religion. After all, 57% of transgender people will attempt suicide if their family rejects them. 50-52% will attempt if bullied.

I want these people to know that no matter what, they should respect themselves and who they know themselves to be. No one can tell you who you are. Pursue your happiness and don’t let anybody get in the way. I know the hurt that you’re feeling is worse than anything you may have ever felt in your life, so bad you may be questioning whether there’s even a point, but this post was to let you know things get better. They do. This is not the end of your story, don’t let this be how it ends.

If you are in a desperate situation right now in the United States, you can call or text 1-866-488-7386 for the Trevor Project (which also has an IM suicide hotline here [x]), and LGBTQ+ help center aimed at eliminating suicide in LGBTQ+ individuals.

Other resources: - (US & Canada) Trans Lifeline: (US) 877-565-8860 (Canada) 877-330-6366 - (Canada) KidsHelpPhone Ages 20 Years: 1-800-668-6868 - (USA & Canada) National Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 - (Australia) Lifeline: 13 11 14 (plus online chat if you go to the website) - (Australia) Kids Helpline: 1800 55 1800 - (UK) HOPEline UK: 0800 068 41 41 - (All Other Countries, please, follow this link!)

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dont-ever-show-weakness · 7 years ago

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Text post from my phone because where is the laptop? Work with me.

I’m disappointed with myself because I’m not handling things as well as I could/should be. On Friday I had an appointment with the doctor (2nd time in a week) to remove another deep closure stitch that had made its way to the surface of my knuckle (I’m finally healed btw). Prior to leaving for that appointment I had a vet emergency for the kitten I had to have euthanized and so I ran out the door without being fully prepared for the kids. I was already upset over the kitten and by the time I got into the room to be seen, the kids are needing shit I don’t have because I was rushed (sippy cups). When the Doc walked in, she asked me how I was doing in the most sincere way possible and I just lost it and had a crying meltdown. I’ve been powering through bad feelings for a long time and it’s exhausting. I’ve always loved kids and I’ve always known I wanted them. I’ve had a baby on my hip most of my life and it has never been a problem for me. I was so EXCITED to finally have an opportunity to have a baby, I was excited through the whole pregnancy, too, but a few weeks away from his due date a sense of dread started coming over me and I haven’t been able to fully shake it off a year later. This dread is like a dead weight I’m forced to carry around and I’m feeling real physical effects from it. I think I’ve forgotten to take care of myself as much as I need to. Part of me even feels like I’ve forgotten HOW, but I have to admit there’s a huge sense of accomplishment and pride when I can say that I’ve done it all for not just 1 baby, but 2! I’ve tried a few SSRIs over the last year and a half but they haven’t helped much. There might have been a brief period of improvement, but it usually ended almost as quickly as it began and I’ve been left feeling the same as always, or worse. My doc has known that I’ve been struggling with depression because of new fatherhood but i wasn’t as honest with her as I should have been until Friday. There were times when Henry was under 3mos that I wanted him dead (I’ve never hurt him and never would, he has always been cared for regardless of my feelings in those moments). There have been times I’ve oscillated between love and hatred for him. On some occasions I seriously considered suicide to escape. Thankfully I don’t have thoughts like that anymore, but during waves of depression I’ll think about going out for cigarettes and never coming back. I think it was so bad for me initially because I was so overwhelmed, sleep deprived, my schedule and routine disrupted, adjustments to major life changes, financial stress, and a high need (needy, not special needs) baby I had to care for with very little help. Not long after baby #2 came in the picture and she was a high need detoxing drug baby. Its.not.easy. It was not easy telling these things to my Dr but I just couldn’t keep it all buried any longer. It’s also not easy saying things in a forum that allows strangers to pick me apart. She said Henry is clearly not a child that’s abused or neglected and that I’m saving baby #2 because of the importance of these early years and their lifelong impact, but it’s time to save me. She sent a medical assistant in to babysit the kids away from us and another out to buy sippy cups and juice. I was informed that this goes beyond just post partum depression and that these life events and stresses from them have most likely exacerbated symptoms of pre existing mental illness. She’s concerned I may have bipolar 2 and that the effexor has made me worse. The good news is that we have a game plan. She arranged for me to have free sessions with a very good and very expensive therapist (tbh I think she paid for it), I have a psychiatric evaluation on Saturday, I’m cutting back on the effexor and most likely will be trying mood stabilizers, a relative is staying with me right now and helping me, my bff has talked with me a lot and we’ve validated each other, I’m keeping very open and honest communication with doc (they’ve offered me to drop off the kids if I’m slipping), and just taking it one day at a time. I can honestly say I think this runs a lot deeper than becoming a parent. I think I have a lot of trauma to work through from past experiences, and life experiences as a man with a trans history, and now as a father with a hidden trans history. I think I’ve blocked a lot of things out. I really do want to be better for my family, for myself, especially for my son. I’m going to be as proactive as possible with this and if you’re going through a similar experience, know that I’m here for you.

#ftm dad #also i got a giant steroid shot in the ass today laced with lidocaine #and tons of meds to stay ahead of the illness that's trying to take over my life #they call the shot magic bullet #hoping it lives up to its name

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lynxtheshifter · 4 years ago

Text

Our world: Part 2/2

Part two!

I don’t own Undertale, the Undertale AUs, or Dragonball. They all belong to their respective owners.

Roost (Rusu) belongs to Roost on Discord. Check him out!

Enjoy y’all!

Part 2: Patience and a simple smile

“Huff... huff...” she scanned her surroundings. Where was she? Was she in the lab again? Was she in the Underworld?

Wait, no. There’s snoring.

Very loud snoring.

“Huh...?” she turned to her side to see her husband sleeping soundly next to her. “Oh... I-I’m still at home. Phew.” she leaned back on the bedboard and wiped the bright pink trails flowing down her face. Tears, she internally groaned. She was made of magic and so her tears would follow the colour of it.

It seemed it would be one of those nights.

She chuckled and wiped her eyesockets. She had another nightmare.

When she first escaped the house she lived in, all she could think of was how bad it was there.

She was nothing like the demons of the Underworld, and the King, Asgore, wanted to kill her. Her brother, Papichianasaka (Roost calls him Papyrus or Pap), sent her to the mortal realm so she had a chance to survive. He also gave her his pentagon so she had some of acknowledgement of her origin.

She was taken in by Dr Gaster, a skeleton mortal who studied about the ‘Beasts of Hell’ - The Amalgamates. The Amalgamates were once mortals, melted and fused together in a horrible accident when they were under the care of Dr Alphys, one of Gaster’s students. She couldn’t take the fact this happened and committed suicide, and all the Amalgams were locked up and shipped to her professor. He experimented and tortured the Amalgams, and Lynx hated every bit of it.

When he got angry, Gaster to resort to beating her and sometimes starving her. She was unhappy, always trying to get him to love her the way she loved him. She wanted him to call her ‘daughter’ with the actual intent of calling her such. Her kind nature always prevented her from doing any damage towards her abuser.

Eventually the Amalgamates were euthanized and she ran away from home that night, suddenly she felt like she wasn’t going to survive in that crazy place after all. She wasn’t safe in the place she was sent to.

She couldn’t recall how long she ran. She simply remembered running and running until she stopped in a meadow. She was sure she was far enough from Gaster that he wouldn’t find her so easily, so she could take a rest for the night and plan her next move in the morning.

That was where she met her husband.

She smiled at the sleeping form next to her. He was everything she could’ve asked for. She never asked for much, but she felt what she wanted was impossible to be granted and yet he was here. By her side.

She closed her eyes and cried silently, as she always did when she had a nightmare. She was a big emotional mess and often she needed a longer time to collect herself.

"Hun? What's wrong?" She gasped as a warm palm touched her cheekbone.

"O-oh, sweetheart! You're up. It's 3am you should go back to sleep-" she felt the bed shift as the Saiyan moved himself so he was sitting too.

"You're crying. You have the glowing pink trails." He wiped them with his thumb. She allowed him to, but tried to push him down once he was done.

"T-thanks for that, hun! But you should go back to sl-" she was hushed by a finger on her 'lips'

"Not another word darling." He pulled her onto his lap and she responded by resting her skull on his chest.

She began to calm down with the soft thump of his heartbeat.

"So... Care to tell me what's wrong?" He extended the invitation to listen.

She called to him and he was willing to listen.

It could take a long time to get the story from her, but Roost knows. Patience and a simple smile will work for them.

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vet2pet · 5 years ago

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Avalon vet Repost

Veterinary medicine, like human medicine, has its share of excellent and bad practitioners but i have been seeing an alarming trend within the area of medicine . Avalon vet There was a time when vets treated animals for the love of animals and since they cared. medicine had gotten as bad as human medicine and in some ways even worse! At least many of us have medical insurance and there are programs for people that need medical aid . For pets, yes, there's medical insurance available but compared to the numbers of pets, coverage isn't wide spread yet. And yes, there are some low cost programs available but they're mostly spay/neuter programs and vaccination programs. Veterinary medicine has became 'big business,' revolving door, 'bottom line' watchers. Most vets require 75% upfront payment for any quite surgery and if there's any doubt about paying the bill, which may easily mount within the thousands of dollars, they will not touch your pet. Vet visits and surgery cost dog owners almost $800 and cat owners $500 last year, consistent with the American Pet Products Manufacturers Association. And this is often just an average! Few vets are willing to line up payment plans. I've encounter several stories within the news lately that have really bothered me, vets holding dogs 'hostage,' threatening 'death' over bills. People doctors don't even do anything like that, so how can vets escape with it? Because animals are considered nothing but 'possessions?' Read more Josh Gomez of Gwinnet, Georgia, say that his vet, Dr. Garry Innocent of PetFIRST Animal Hospital in Duluth is holding his black Border collie , Pilot, hostage and is threatening to send him the an animal shelter where he might be euthanized. Gomez has already paid Innocent the agreed on amount of $1,125 for the treatment of the pup's virus in August. subsequent thing he knew there have been all types of additional charges that had not been agreed on. The bill jumped to $1,640 and has been increasing daily, with the vet holding the puppy, due to a $27 each day boarding charge. As of the 14th of September, Gomez owed almost a further $1000 over what he initially agreed to pay Dr. Garry Innocent and PetFIRST Animal Hospital. As a 22 yr old, reception teacher , Gomez says he just can't afford to pay the outrageous charges. He's already run up $400 on his girlfriend's credit card and used a $750 loan from his employer. And just what does Dr. Innocent need to say about this, "He's being such a twit, he just must pay his bill." How's that for understanding and compassion? On Tuesday the vet plans to send Gomez's dog, Pilot, to an animal shelter. Gomez has filed a lawsuit in Gwinnett court in the week to dam Innocent and PetFIRST Animal Hospital from handing Pilot over to animal-control authorities. His lawyer, Ed McCrimmon, says the Georgia law is unconstitutional because it enables pet clinics to require people's property without 'due process.' In another story from San Antonio , Texas, Jacqueline Hines rescued a touch Chihuahua off the streets. She was just being an honest Samaritan, helping an animal in need. And in fact when the small dog, who she named Macho, got sick, she took him to the vet.