#this took me five months and so many antidepressants

[dysphoriccanada]

The Storm

[atranswomansdiary]

Day 1

It happened in the worst possible moment...

Today's June 5th, 2020. It’s a Friday and I once again had trouble getting out to bed to go to work.

I’ve suspected for a while that I’m very depressed, for the umpteenth time. I had a painful breakup almost a year ago and, after that, I rebounced rather quickly because of many reasons, one of the most important being that I started a new job, perhaps for the first time in my life, under my conditions. In short: (sort of) a full salary plus benefits in exchange for working only 4 hours a day, from Monday to Friday. 20 hours a week. 80 hours a month.

In spite of this great situation (unique, in many senses) I've been having issues waking up and getting to work on time. Although I had the opportunity to take a company transfer and avoid any commute hassles (fee included), I almost never got there in time. And even though the company offices were only half an hour or so away, even on public transportation, I was still getting there late almost everyday—sometimes by a lot. I was also failing to show up to work a couple of days a month.

I was deadly afraid of losing this incredibly comfortable job in the first few months. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have enough money to make rent with my freelance stuff, so I’d have to return to live with my parents, in a house that literally has no space for me anymore.

I asked A.P. (he/him) to help me. After some back and forth, he prescibed me an “introductory” antidepressant and some mild sleeping pills, but it has been 9 months or so since then and my mood has improved a little (it’s true), but I’m still struggling with going to the office five days a week, let alone getting there on time.

Even more so once the pandemic broke out.

It’s been a couple of months now since the world basically went to shit and, although I’ve pushed and struggled and pleaded to be allowed to work from home—doing the same job I do at the office, but without having to struggle to get out of my apartment every single fucking day—my boss has been adamant that I still need to go at least some days to the office every week. According to him, it’s for my own good, to “protect my reputation in the eyes of my coworkers”. Picture my eyes rolling so hard that I can actually see my brain.

So: today’s Friday. As everybody else in the world, I didn’t feel any desire to go to the office, even less so given the current situation. I once again cursed my boss and took enough time to finally get up from bed that I left the small apartment I rent already late.

As with any time I go to the office (the company transfer is no longer an option, so I have to commute), Cheap Trick’s hit Ghost Town sounds in my head; the city looks deserted and abandoned. The few who are forced to leave their homes, as I am, move and act like specters, shadows of once-people—as do I, to be honest. We move slowly and fearfully through the streets, unwillingly risking our lives because, well, that’s the fucked up world we live in.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

I’d love to think that I’m just like everybody. Or, in reality, that everybody else feels just like I do.

I went out, almost running, and I already had a major decision to make: subway or bus. The bus is slow and unreliable, but there’s definitely less people in it and, what’s best, I get to sit down and read or just listen to music through the whole commute, mostly undisturbed. The subway, on the other hand, is fast and runs on a tight schedule but is a) filled with people and b) it gets me close to the office, but not exactly there. I have to walk around 15 minutes from the subway station to the office proper, through alleways and streets that are mostly deserted at this early hour and, what’s worse, have a reputation of being dangerous at any time of day.

Taking everything into consideration—and more on a whim than anything else, really—I chose the subway.

The journey was short and uneventful. I got out of the train station and I don’t remember what music was playing on my ears, but I do remember being tired and bored. Then, a remnant image of last night’s dream hit me, the one that I privately blame for being late this morning.

I don’t usually remember my dreams. When they’re emotionally charged I sometimes wake up with what I call “emotional waste”, the afterimage of the intense feelings that I experienced onirically but, apart from that, I just don’t remember many concrete details about them. Mostly sensations and blurry images, that’s all.

Last night I once again dreamed that I was a woman.

It was a throwback to the time when I was still in a relationship with perhaps the greatest partner I’ve ever had: L.M. (she/her). In the dream we were living together in the tiny apartment that was our love nest, laughing and talking about something I can’t recall. We were just standing there, having a nice conversation and loving each other deeply, as we did. But, in this dream, I was a woman.

As far as I’m aware, L.M. never had any experience with or interest in any women in their life. That’s kind of a new thing for me, since most of my previous (or posterior) partners had an “attraction for women’s phase” in their lives (their words, not mine) or were decidedly bisexual. So this dream is all kinds of impossible and, still, the joy of being a woman comes back with such strength—even just being the recollection of a half-forgotten oniric experience—that I openly smile for the first time in the day.

I change the music to an energetic track and start walking with something resembling the happiness or joy of doing so with a purpose. My heart aches a little bit: if only! I have this weird feeling—I’ve been conscious of it for a while now—that I would’ve been much happier if I had been born a woman. That maybe I wouldn’t be such a failure at 34 if, when my parents made me, my dad’s contribution to the whole affair had been an “X” instead of a “Y”. But, alas! It didn’t.

It’s too late for me.

Plus, I’ve never had any homosexual experiences or even any hint of erotic attraction towards men. Men are controversial figures in my life; I have few male friends and most of them are cis heterosexuals. I consider myself one as well. Cis and heterosexual.

I follow a number of trans women YouTubers, it’s true, and I consider myself an ally of the feminist cause (4th wave and intersectional, thank you very much!). I’ve read Beauvoir, Cisneros, and Butler. Woolf, Plath, Pizarnik, and Storni are among my favorite writers. Le Guin and Rice are my (seelie and unseelie) queens.

I’ve never felt as much of a “man”, except during that weird period in my life a couple of years ago when I tried to become a “manly man” after reading too many of Howard’s Conan stories one after the other while being extremely lonely and suicidal (as one does, of course). I’ve actually thought about tattooing a quote from those stories in my body. The quote reads,

"I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."

My only problem is with the “slay” part. I don’t think I could ever kill any human being. I have a hard time eating meat and I try to save spiders and other abhorred creatures whenever I can. I love Death—especially Sandman's version of her—but I don’t think I could deal in such violence.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s already too late.

I was crossing one of the streets and then an idea flashed through my mind. It’s OK: it is late. No one’s arguing that. I’ll never do anything about it. But, but… Is there any problem if I imagined a different reality? If I, excuse the mundane use of the word, fantasized with a world in which I was born a woman? No one would ever know about it. It’d be my little secret.

And then, it happened.

I was walking down these dangerous and deserted streets, the same I’ve traveled many times during the past year, but this time, it was different. I was immensely, indescribably, ridiculously happy. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt each step, I breathed in the chill morning air, and I was content. Yes, like the Conan quote above. I felt like myself, if only for those infinitely long in the memory—but painfully brief in reality—ten to fifteen minutes. During that time, I was me. I was a woman.

I was complete.

I got to work and reality crushed me. My name—the one I was given at birth—slapped me in the face as a friendly guard at the company’s door gave me a warm welcome.

The sensation faded away during the morning. Little by little, it disappeared completely… Or so I thought. It was fantasy and imagination, that’s all. I consider myself to be pretty good at those. But it was just that: a fancy, a whim, as concrete and real and solid as a fragment of a dream can be. Maybe one day I’ll remember what it was to be truly happy, thanks to no reason or excuse greater than just imagining what it would be like to be born in a body with a different sex and a whole lot of different expectations and experiences than my own.

But that is in a future I can’t even imagine and this was today.

Until then, with love,

ZZ

[fortheloveofwonderland]

War of the Heart - Chapter Six | Luke Alvez x Fem! Reader

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - after an awkward morning spent with Luke, you are forced to make a decision about your future.

Category - heavy angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Content Warnings - drunk reader, arguments, some violence, mentions of depression and antidepressants, swearing, tears, mutual masturbation.

WC - 4.6k

Chapter Six

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad 

The army had a strict policy on drinking, known as the 0-1-2-3 rule. Zero alcohol if driving. No more than one drink per hour. No more than two drinks a day over seven days. No more than three drinks at a given time. Excessive drinking could result in immediate discharge, thus ending one’s military career. 

However it wasn’t a secret that alcoholism in soldiers was exceptionally high. Being in the middle of combat, the stress, loneliness and boredom often racked up and many soldiers turned to the bottle. 

Luke Alvez wouldn’t say you had an alcohol problem, quite the opposite in fact. In the five months he’d known you he’d rarely see you drink at all. Which was why it was even more of a surprise to find you this way. 

It was clear to him instantly that you were intoxicated. He’d spotted you loitering a few hundred metres from the housing units, stumbling around in the sand. It was dark, but he'd recognise your form anywhere, he’d seen it naked enough times. If the captain was to find you like this you’d be out on your ass. So he knew he had to tackle this and quietly. 

You were tossing stones at the sand when he reached you, swerving around like you could barely hold yourself up right. He approached with caution, hoping to god you at least didn’t have your service weapon on you. 

“Private?” He called out when he got close. “Are you armed?” 

You spun around, almost tripping over your own feet as you did so. You wore nothing but your cargo pants and your oversized Ranger’s t-shirt. Despite the desert heat during the day, as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon the temperatures plummeted. Even in his jacket he felt the chill. 

“No.” You shook your head. “But I am loaded.” 

“Yeah, I can tell.” He came closer to you. “You must be freezing.” 

“Nah.” You shrugged, but the goosebumps on your flesh gave you away. 

Luke sighed and slipped off his jacket, carefully draping it around your shoulders. 

“Let me help you back to your room.” He tried to place his hand on your back but you moved out of his reach. 

“Don’t need help, Sarg.” You shook your head. 

“Y/N, come on, if anyone sees you like this you’ll be gone.” 

“That’s my problem, not yours.” You kicked the dirt, sending particles of sand flying around you both. 

“Let me help you.” He repeated softly. 

“I don’t need your help.” You spat. “You think you're some kind of martyr? Oh and what does that make me, a pathetic little damsel in distress?” 

“I didn’t say that.” He tried to remain calm, knowing better than to rise to it. 

“Sergeant Alvez here to save the day.” You scoffed. 

He may never have seen you drunk before, but he’d seen you angry. It took a lot to push you over the edge, not like him, but when you did get like this it usually ended badly for Luke. 

One time you’d given him a black eye when you threw his Polaroid camera at him. Another time you broke his stereo in a rage. He imagined you weren’t like this in the real world, army life caused these kinds of personality imbalances. Sometimes being on active duty sent people over the edge. 

“Please let me help you back to camp. You shouldn’t be out here.” 

“Leave me alone.” You turned away from him. “I don’t need saving, Sarg.”

“It happens to the best of us.” He spoke again, not one to be easily perturbed. “You can’t let it win, or there’s no coming back.” 

As well as being susceptible to alcoholism, depression was much higher in military personnel, it was quite often what led to the drinking in the first place. The suicide rate among military veterans was fifty percent higher than the civilian population for a reason. 

“What would you know?” You spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Luke heaved a sigh and dared to step closer to you. He didn’t relish having to have this conversation, but if helped you it would be worth it. 

“Because I’ve been there.” He sidled up next to you. “I’ve served for more years than I can count and I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve spiralled into that darkness Y/N. I’ve been on antidepressants for like, four years. Active duty is a bitch, it doesn’t make you weak for admitting you need help.” 

“Thanks for the pep talk, Sarg.” You shrugged your shoulders until his jacket fell to the ground behind you. “Now respectfully, please fuck off.” 

“Not gonna happen.” He picked up the jacket and put it back on before taking hold of your arms and turning you to face him. 

The moon above cast its light on your face and the tears that were slowly rolling down your cheeks. Your bottom lip was cracked and split probably from profuse chewing. He’d never seen anyone look so scared and vulnerable before. 

“Sarg,” you clenched your jaw, trying to fight against the tears. “If you don’t let go of me, I will not be held accountable for my actions.” 

He didn’t let go of you. If anything, Luke tightened his grip on you. You clenched your jaw again, the alcohol pulsing through your veins and causing you to act without considering the repercussions. You lifted your right leg, only able to do so without falling due to Luke’s hold on you. And then you kneed him square in the crotch. 

He instantly stumbled backwards, hands falling from your arms to where you’d just kneed him. He doubled over, spluttering a little and gasping for the air the blow had knocked from his lungs. 

“Fucking hell, Y/N!” He spat. “What the fuck was that for?” 

“I told you to leave me alone.” 

“I could write you up for that. Technically that’s assaulting a superior officer.” He groaned, still doubled over. 

“Try it and I’ll show them these.” You pointed to your arms, rolling up the oversized sleeves of your t-shirt. 

Luke tried to straighten up, still holding his throbbing crotch. Both of your biceps were purple with bruises, distinctly finger shaped bruises. It had been four days since you’d been together last but the bruises from him pinning you to your cot were still visible.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at the time.” He scoffed. “As a matter of fact, I seem to remember you enjoying it.” 

“Captain doesn’t need to know that though, does he?” Despite your tears, you smirked at him as you brushed past him. But once again, Luke was quick to grab you and spin you back to face him. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” He growled at you, his jaw set. 

“Get your hands off of me, Sergeant.” 

“I’m not letting you ruin my career.” He shook his head, keeping a tight grip on your arm. “And I’m not letting you ruin your own.” 

“Get your hands off of me.” You repeated. 

“Not until you calm down.” 

You didn’t calm down, in fact you did the opposite. You started fighting against him, trying to shake him off but of course he was stronger than you. He held onto you tightly, no doubt causing more bruises over the ones that already existed. More tears started falling from your eyes as you tried to fight him. 

“Get off of me! Get off! Leave me alone! I hate you! I hate you!” You started sobbing, your legs trembling to the point Luke was the only thing holding you upright. 

“You don’t hate me.” he sighed. “You love me.”

“No, I hate you. Get off of me, please get off of me!” You fell against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his jacket. 

Luke let go of your arms and wrapped his around you, keeping you on your feet with his firm hold. You cried loudly, nuzzling against him while weakly smacking your fists against his chest. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You wailed, still frailly trying to fight him. 

“You’re depressed, cariño. You need to speak to someone.” He whispered, trying to hold you close but you shoved him away in a surge of strength. 

“Fuck you, I am not.” You shoved him again so he wasn’t touching you anymore and suddenly raised your fist in the air and punched him hard on the nose.

Luke yelped, surprised by the force in which you’d hit him. His hands came to cradle his nose and he felt the blood dripping into his hand. 

“Fuck, Y/N!” he whined. “That hurt like a puta! You could have broken my nose.” 

“Maybe that will teach you that when someone says they want to be left alone, they mean it.” You spat, no hint of remorse in your voice. 

“Everybody feels this way from time to time, it's normal under the circumstances.” He tried to reason with you, still attempting to catch the blood from his nose. 

“It's not the war.” You rolled your eyes.

“What is it then? Maybe I can help you.” 

“You just don’t get it do you?” You shook your head. “You can’t help me, because you are the problem.” 

Luke frowned at you, assuming it was just the alcohol talking. He pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, wiping the blood from the other on his cargos.

“Don’t say that, you don’t mean that.” 

“What if I do?” You looked and sounded suddenly sober. “You want to know why I drank so much tonight?” 

“Why?” He sighed, trying to humour you.

“Because you were late.” You spat harsher than he’d ever heard you. “You were meant to be back at camp hours ago and then I heard reports over the comms about an explosion just a few miles from where you were. I thought you were dead, Sarg. So I drank. I drank even though it could have been the end of my career to do so, because I thought you were dead in a fucking ditch somewhere. I could have jeopardised everything I’ve worked for tonight because of you.”

Luke’s heart throbbed in his chest, replacing the pain in his nose. He stepped towards you, tears feeling like they were stinging his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He croaked. “But I’m ok.”

“You still don’t get it.” You backed away. “I was a strong, fearless soldier before I met you. You’ve turned me into something I don’t recognise. You have made me soft, loving you has made me weak. I won’t do it anymore, Sarg. The army is the only thing I have, the only thing I can depend on. I won’t let you stand in the way of that. I can’t…we can’t do this anymore.” 

“Don’t I get a say in this?” The bleeding had stopped even though his nose still throbbed and he let his arms fall to his side. “Last time I checked there were two of us in this relationship. You don’t get to just say it’s over without consulting me.”

“Relationship?” You laughed in exasperation. “What relationship? It was supposed to just be sex, Sarg!”

“It’s more than that, it always has been. And you know it.” He shook his head. 

“What do you really think is going to happen here? Are you so fucking naive that you think we have a future together? You think we’ll leave the army and settle down and have a family or some shit?” 

“Why not?” The hurt spread across his face.

“Because that’s so unrealistic! This isn’t real life, Sarg. The second this is all over you and I are nothing to each other.” 

“No, no, don’t say that.” 

“It's the truth.” 

“No it’s not. It can’t be.” He shook his head frantically. 

“Well I’m afraid it is. I’m sorry if you thought it was more than that, but it’s not.” You folded your arms over your chest. 

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, holding it in his open palm. The light from the moon reflected off of the shiny silver item of jewellery in his hand and caused your breath to catch in your throat when you realised what it was. You stumbled backwards a little but it had nothing to do with the alcohol this time.

“Luke?” You swallowed, looking from the ring in his outstretched hand back to his eyes.

“If it were true, if we really didn’t have a fucking future,” He spat, his tears breaking free suddenly. “Then why the hell did I buy this?” 

***

Present - Quantico, Virginia

The bodies on the jet had doubled since your journey over to Mexico, not only were IRT members Matt and Clara now accompanying you, but so was Spencer. 

It was bittersweet. He was only in attendance because he was being extradited back to the US after the discovery that Nadie Ramos had dual citizenship, but you all had a hell of a fight left if you wanted to prove he didn’t kill her. Spencer wouldn’t talk to you, let alone look at you. And to make things even more uncomfortable, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Luke. 

You’d both fallen asleep fairly fast last night, obviously something about being back in each other's arms had comforted you. It wasn’t until this morning that things had turned much more awkward. 

You were still laying in arms, your back pressed against him and he had one arm lazily draped over your waist. It reminded you of that morning in Brooklyn after Reynolds funeral. He was hard as expected, and didn’t try to hide it, in fact he even shuffled closer to you just in case you didn’t know. 

And then he’d started kissing your neck. 

“Alvez,” you whined at the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin. “Alvez, stop it.”

“Do you really want me to stop?” He grinded against you from behind. 

“No.” You confessed, him stopping was the last thing you really wanted. 

He continued to kiss your neck, sucking marks into your flesh that you hoped you’d be able to hide later. It was when his hand wandered from your stomach down towards your underwear that you started to pull away. 

“Alvez,” you scalded him. “No, no we can’t do this.” 

“Fuck, I know we can’t.” He groaned deeply, tearing himself away from you and rolling onto his back. 

You rolled over so you could look at him, knowing your cheeks were stained pink with your arousal. He lolled his head to the side and met your gaze. 

“It’s like having a giant jar of candy in front of me and being on a diet.” He tried to joke. 

“You have a girlfriend.” You shrugged. 

“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s not…we’re just dating.” 

“Still,” you rolled your bottom lip between your teeth. “You’re not single.” 

“You have no idea how much I wish I was right now.” 

A movement caught your eye and you looked down to notice something moving beneath the sheets. You quickly looked back up at Luke, wide eyed. 

“What are you doing?” A deep heat spread between your legs. 

“Not what you think.” He shrugged. “Not exactly anyway. I’m just trying to relieve a little tension.” 

As if to prove his point he moved the bedsheet aside, exposing his golden, toned chest and tight black boxers for which his hand was not inside like you’d expected. He was pressing the palm of his hand against the base of his hard length through his underwear, like he’d said, to relieve some tension. 

“Jesus, Alvez.” You sucked in a breath, it was almost as hot as seeing him touch himself. “Fucking Christ.” 

“I’m sorry.” He replied, not sounding sorry at all. “I can’t help it.” 

He noticed the way you squeezed your thighs together, clearly trying a little tension relief yourself. His toes curled and his stomach clenched. It was literally killing him not to touch you. 

“You should go.” You tried to look away from him but couldn’t. 

“Like this?” I can’t go anywhere right now.” He sounded exasperated. 

“Well what is it going to take for you to leave?” 

He pulled a face, he’d thought that was quite obvious. 

“I can’t see this going anywhere unless I come.” He admitted, moaning a little at the thought and pressing harder against his shaft. 

“Just think of something horrible. Dead bodies or something, that’ll make it go away.” You forced your eyes onto the ceiling now, thinking you may explode if you kept looking at him. 

“I’m laying next to my stupidly attractive, half naked ex-girlfriend who I know for is fact is fucking incredible in bed. Dead bodies aren’t gonna cut it.” 

You looked back at him, the tension between you was so thick it was stifling. A battle waged in your mind, trying to think of the outcome with the least amount of casualties. The most obvious option was to jump his bones, fuck him and deal with the consequences later. But that was such a terrible, terrible idea. 

Before you could sort through the rapid fire thoughts entering your brain, Luke moved closer to you and turned you back onto your side where you’d been when you woke up. His lips quickly fixed back onto your neck and you were powerless to stop him. 

You felt his hand move down between your bodies and you knew what was happening. The jerking motions that followed confirmed that. 

“Alvez,” you whimpered pathetically. 

“Call me Sarg, please, please god.” He panted into your neck as he stroked himself rapidly, needing to find his release. 

You moaned despite the fact he wasn’t touching you and somehow your own hand started to wander and found its way into your panties. Luke must have been able to see well enough to know as you heard him hiss when your fingers disappeared between your legs. 

“Sarg, fuck, this is such a bad idea.” You whined, using your own hand to get you off while he did the same behind you. 

“I’m not touching you. You aren’t touching me. It’s probably not as bad as it seems.” He panted heavily, moaning slightly. “God I wish it was your hand.” 

You moaned loudly into the pillow, Luke’s body heat causing you to sweat. He propped himself up on his free arm so he could get a better view of you. You were still wearing your underwear so he couldn’t see exactly what you were doing but the way your hand moved inside of the fabric was enough. 

He picked up his pace, the bed rocking beneath the two of you with your combined movements. Luke was already close and he could tell you were too by the way your thighs squeezed around your hand. 

“You gonna come, cariño? Let me hear you come.” He brought his lips back to neck, then to your ear where he nibbled on the lobe. 

“I’m close, Sarg, real close.” You mumbled. 

“Me too.” He agreed. 

It was you who came first, clamping your thighs around your hand as you did but screaming the word Sarg. Luke was close behind, hearing you moan his nickname was what pushed him over the edge. He came between your bodies, on the back of your t-shirt and on his own stomach. 

The room was filled with a crescendo of heavy breathing while you both came down from your highs. You removed your hand from your panties but refused to turn and look at him, the guilt of what you’d done setting in. 

After a few minutes Luke rolled over, wiping himself on the bed sheets as he did so. 

“Now I should probably go.” He swung his legs out of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You agreed but continued to face the wall.

It would have almost been less awkward if the two of you had actually had sex. Somehow what you’d done seemed even worse in a weird way. It had felt sordid, wrong on so many levels. Luke was dating someone and Spencer was in prison and the two of you had been masturbating together. What the fuck was wrong with you? 

The flight home felt so much longer than the way there, the jet filled to the rafters with tension from both Spencer and Luke. And suddenly it hit you with startling clarity what you needed to do. 

While the team was busy fussing over Spencer before he was taken to the county jail, you followed Emily to her office, closing the door behind you. You were sure she knew by the look on your face what you were going to say before you said it. 

“I know this is the worst possible time for this.” You inhaled deeply, desperate to stave off the tears. “I want to help find Scratch and prove Spencer’s innocence but I can’t do that whilst being a part of this team anymore.” 

Emily let out a long breath, her mouth hanging open a little as she looked at you across her desk. 

“You want to quit?” Her eyebrows knitted together. 

“I need to quit.” You sniffed. “I got pretty bad depression when I was serving in Iraq. Weirdly enough though once I was transferred to Afghanistan I was fine. And I never really experienced PTSD, not the way I’ve heard other soldiers suffering from it anyway. Recently I’ve found it manifesting again, and I’ve realised that there is a common denominator in both my service in Iraq and now.” 

Emily's frown deepened and you could see the cogs turning in her head as she pieced together what you weren’t saying. You noticed the moment she figured it out, the way a lightbulb seemed to go off in her mind. 

“Alvez?” 

“Yeah.” A tear escaped your eye. “I am madly in love with him but our relationship was poison to my mental health. He’s like a drug I can’t quit. I know it’s bad for me but I just can’t stop, you know? And being around him again is bringing up all those old feelings, the good and the bad. So for my own sanity, I have to leave.”

“I don’t want to lose you from the team. But I understand, your well being comes first.” She looked sadly at you. The last thing she needed was to lose another member of the team but she could see in your eyes how much Luke’s presence had broken you. 

You withdrew your firearm from you holster and placed it alongside your FBI credentials on her desk. 

“Thank you, Emily. If there’s any way I can still consult on Scratch, I’d really like to be able to help clear Spencer’s name and put Peter Lewis behind bars where he belongs.” You took a few steps back towards the door. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” 

You nodded and Emily simply watched you go. You slowly made your way across the bullpen which was thankfully still empty as everyone was still by the elevators with Spencer. 

You bypassed one desk in particular, slipping the post-it note you’d written on the plane out of your pocket and sliding under his keyboard. Then you tore yourself away and forced yourself to not to look as downtrodden as you felt as you headed towards the elevators. 

You tried to keep your head down and get out without having to look at any of them, but of course it was never going to be that easy. 

“Leaving without saying goodbye?” Spencer’s voice croaked and when you looked up at him, he had a hint of a smile on his lips. 

You smiled back sadly, stepping closer to him and practically throwing yourself at him. He couldn’t hug you back due to the handcuffs that were covered by Luke’s FBI jacket. You wrapped your arms around his neck and snuggled as close to him as possible.

“I won’t rest until we bring you home, ok?” You whispered in his ear. 

“I know.” He simply replied.

You placed a chaste kiss on his cheek before tearing yourself away. You averted your eyes again as you headed to the elevator. The doors opened and you stepped inside, pressing the button for the ground floor. As the doors started to close you couldn’t help but glance up, right into the eyes of Luke.

His eyebrows were knitted together, something wasn’t right and he could tell. But seconds later the doors were closing and you vanished behind them.

Your tears started falling immediately after the elevator doors closed. You gave a brief thought to Luke finding the note and hoping he’d understand. You hoped he would see how much this was destroying you and take the hint and just let you go. 

Not for the first time Luke Alvez had been your downfall. It was like it was thirteen years ago all over again, making that decision to walk away before you self-destructed. Once again, you’d let Luke push you to extremes you’d never thought you could be pushed to. Why should this have been any different from leaving Iraq? 

Back on the sixth floor, Luke excused himself and rushed into the bullpen, intent on finding Emily and asking her what was going on. But as he passed by his desk a little sliver of pink caught his eye, poking out from under his keyboard. He detoured over to it and quickly slid the post-it note out. He recognised your handwriting immediately, and his heart constricted in his chest as he read over the simple words inscribed on the note. 

Loving you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. There have been too many casualties in this war raging in my heart. If you love me, you have to set me free. 

Goodbye Sarg. 

***

2010 - Diyala, Northeast Baghdad 

You sat fiddling with your thumbs in your lap, the captain's gaze heavy upon you. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but it was one you had to stick by for your own well being. This place was killing you slowly, day by day taking tiny pieces of your soul and eventually there would be nothing left of you. 

Your head wasn’t in it anymore, you weren’t the soldier you once were and you knew as long as you stayed here, as long as he was here, you’d never would be. 

The captain leant forward on his desk, scrutinising you in such an intimidating way you felt like a small child about to be reprimanded by their father. The stare off seemed to last hours before he finally spoke. 

“Let me make sure I’m getting this,” he sat back, a stern frown on his ageing face. “You’re asking to be reassigned?” 

“Yes sir.” You swallowed thickly. “I know there are jobs out in Afghanistan and I know they’re in need of good soldiers out there more than here at present. In truth, I don’t feel I am able to flourish here anymore. I feel I will be of more use somewhere else.” 

It was a long shot at best and you knew it. It wasn’t entirely rare for soldiers to be transferred or reassigned but it wasn’t usually requested by the soldier. In the military, you went where you were told, where you were needed. You hoped the need in Afghanistan was your way in. 

He continued to scrutinise you, clearly not used to such an ask. It was a long shot. You kept telling yourself that, but you kept a small window of hope that the outcome would be positive.

You couldn’t stay here any more, it wasn’t the same as it once had been. Iraq was no longer where you belonged. To save yourself, you needed to leave. Because falling in love with Sergeant Luke Alvez, you had no doubt, would be your undoing. 

Next Chapter

Taglist

@carolinesbookworld @wooya1224 @littlebeanwrites @randomrambling @telepathay @lukealvezswifey

[running-in-the-dark]

I've got an appointment with my psychiatrist/neurologist tomorrow and I think I'm going to mention all my weird sleep issues. I've had multiple people tell me it kind of sounds like narcolepsy, and then a few days ago I listened to a podcast episode where someone talked about their sleep issues - they sounded exactly like mine, and the story ended with them being diagnosed with narcolepsy 😬😬

I'm really nervous about bringing it up (because how could I have something relatively rare, I just can't sleep, that's perfectly normal right 😬😬) but I'll try (I won't say 'hi I think I have narcolepsy', I'll just explain the symptoms I have).

Just to sum it up for myself, here's a list of my sleep issues:

without the antidepressant I'm currently on that makes me sleepy, I wasn't able to fall asleep. it's always been hard but for about 6 months before the meds, it took me 1-4 hours to fall asleep every night (sometimes I just couldn't fall asleep at night at all)

... and I'd also wake up at least three times a night

I'm always tired/exhausted - I need at least 9-10 hours of sleep to feel slightly rested, but I could basically sleep all day and still feel tired (I do regularly sleep 12-14 hours, and usually sleep through any alarms I set too)

I have very vivid/real-feeling nightmares that often wake me up (that's much worse now with my meds)

I get sleep paralysis somewhat regularly (also worse with the meds), and now usually feel like my whole body is shaking when it happens too.

when I'm half asleep I often can't tell if something really happened or if it was a dream. I wouldn't call it a hallucination, I think? though sometimes when I fully wake up later I'll ask my husband if he came into the room and said a specific thing earlier and he usually says no, but I know I was awake when that 'happened', so. who knows.

if I'm sitting down and not actively doing something, it's pretty likely I'll fall asleep (like when I'm watching TV, reading, listening to an audiobook, in the car as a passenger etc.) - but it doesn't happen if I'm the one driving or anything that means I'm really alert/tense/active like that

I've fallen asleep in class/similar situations many times, but I think that's normal? like, that feeling of trying really hard to stay awake and focus because you can tell you're getting very very sleepy and it takes like a few minutes but eventually I just doze off (for a few seconds I think? obviously I can't tell because I'm not awake...)

that happened very frequently when I did my apprenticeship (it was awful - I'd be entering client's receipts and fall asleep over and over again while doing it. it was a problem because obviously I made some pretty big mistakes and people weren't happy...) - that was when I slept about 12 hours a night because I was too tired to stay awake once I came home from work.

I've fallen asleep in the cinema several times too (usually during movies I was really excited to see)

I dream even when I only sleep a few minutes. like if I fall asleep on the couch for five minutes I'll still dream. apparently that's not normal?

also if I'm watching something, for example, I'll fall asleep over and over and over again, each time for a few minutes. then I wake up, rewind what I was watching, and immediately fall asleep again. that goes on for hours sometimes and it's very frustrating because I try so hard to stay awake.

I don't know what this is exactly, but it sounds a little bit like very mild cataplexy... I think? sometimes I'll just suddenly be really really weak like my muscles aren't working. I can't grip/hold anything, can't lift my arms or legs, can't move/hold up my head (it feels too heavy), can barely speak, and just have to stay sitting/lying down like that until it passes. but I can't remember if that was because of intense emotions or anything like that because I had no idea that could be related. I think it does often happen when I'm really scared/anxious but I think that's just because that's exhausting?

my hands especially do often stop working right when I'm really stressed/overwhelmed. like I can't grip anything/use them properly. it's especially bad when someone is watching me write/do anything else with my hands - I get so anxious that my hands don't work right. and my knees/legs go really weak when I'm standing and I get very anxious (like during a presentation). but that's just anxiety I think?

I did fall to the floor when someone scared me once because my legs gave in, but that was like 20 years ago so it probably doesn't count (and isn't that normal anyway?). though, now that I'm thinking about it... that has actually happened at least twice after that 🤔 (my nephew scared me once, my legs gave in so I fell down, and he did it again another time because he thought it was funny)

oh yeah and I was so scared during my driving test that my legs stopped working and starting shaking uncontrollably while I was trying to park, so I had to wait a minute or more until it passed

okay I just googled what cataplexy really feels like because I just don't understand it at all, and apparently going super weak from laughing really hard isn't normal?! that can't be right. that happens to everyone, doesn't it? like when you laugh really really hard and your arms are like giant useless noodles? (that actually sums up that muscle weakness that I get pretty well: my limbs are like floppy noodles that I can only sort of control)

(I've seen several people give tickling as an example now.. but everyone goes completely limp when they're being tickled right?? like no one can move in that situation right?? lol this list is so stupidly long now that no one will get to this point but if you do, please tell me if that's normal or not.)

I don't know. It's probably nothing. Or maybe it's something else, like sleep apnea? Or I'm just overly sensitive or whatever.

I usually just put all of this weirdness down to 'oh my brain is just being weird again'. But I guess it can't hurt to at least mention it? 😬 It seems like a long list when I actually write it down but I tend to exaggerate things, probably? I guess most of this is normal anyway, so I'm sure it's nothing. But it is very annoying either way so I will at least mention it once.

[ratbastarddotfuck]

I'm sorry, but you're just wrong here. It is overwhelmingly difficult for disabled people, chronically ill people, fat people, trans people, anyone with ovaries, people of colour - the list goes on - to get adequate care from a doctor.

Maybe you're a good doctor! I'll give you the benefit of the doubt here. But I've been almost killed by fatphobic doctors multiple times, because they refuse to listen to what I'm saying.

Disabled & chronically ill people are considered "chronic complainers". I'm not listened to when I show up at the hospital with debilitating pain, because I'm not acting like I'm in pain enough - I've had chronic pain since I was a teenager, and I am incredibly good at subconsciously hiding my pain because if I wasn't, I would be showing it all the time.

I had a doctor attempt to push weight loss surgery and drastic dieting on me to fix a neurological condition, before even looking up what my other diagnoses are (after explicitly saying "oh, I've never heard of [condition]"). Same doctor in the same appointment did not warn me about the recovery time for a lumbar puncture, actually told me I'd be able to go back to work the next day. I was throwing up with pain for three weeks. Because she was too busy trying to tell me I NEEDED to buy scales despite my own concern of past unhealthy weight fixation.

I had a different doctor withold my antidepressants because she decided I wasn't doing enough exercise - despite walking 5km per day, working on my feet for 8 hours, and having a chronic pain condition - because I was still fat. Do you know what happened? I didn't go back to that doctor, and I was too afraid to visit another doctor about my depression for a year afterwards. In that year, I became extremely suicidal and mentally unstable. Because one doctor decided that she knew my exercise habits better than I did.

You show up anywhere with abdominal pain and cramping, and you've got ovaries? Bad luck, it's just period pain, maybe it's pregnancy, nope it's just period cramps, just your ovaries, even if you haven't had a period for two fucking years.

Don't even get me fucking started on now trans people are treated when they try to seek gender affirming care. Don't even get me started on how autistic and other mentally disabled people are often not trusted to understand their own bodies, their own pain, their own care. About how so many of us can only actually get our concerns heard by bringing a support person who the doctor can speak to on our behalf.

Tell me why it took five months for me to find a doctor who would scan my back, after I'd already been to hospital once for immobilising back pain? That scan showed a bulging disk. And it took months for me to convince a doctor to send me for the scan, because - I don't really know why! They just wouldn't fucking listen!

I've shown up to offices with a dislocated hip, and been told "you should lose some weight" as my main treatment plan.

It took me five years to find a doctor who would prescribe me any type of painkillers for more than a week. Because I know better than to ask for medication, lest I be labelled as drug seeking.

For fuck's sake. These are just my personal experiences. Go talk to any other chronically ill person, fat person, etc about this and see what their experiences have been like. Because it happens to most of us.

And funnily enough, whenever we try to talk about it collectively, I seem to find doctors in the comments and replies saying "this never happens, you're all lying", even though everyone else says it's been their universal experience. Which sounds just like every experience I've ever had with a doctor, btw.

If you're going to add tags like that onto a post like this, don't fucking do it while reblogging from me. Listen to sick people when they tell you about their bodies, for fuck's sake.

This ABSOLUTELY works.

I have used this for many years. Definitely b do it.

[xtruss]

Illustration by Nicholas Konrad / The New Yorker

2022 in Review: Eight Times Science Exceeded Expectations in 2022! From Asteroids to A.I., This Was a Year of Scientific Superlatives.

— By Matthew Hutson | December 28, 2022

It’s no surprise that we keep finding and building cool things. But the things that we find and build can still surprise us. 2022 was another year full of science and technology advances. It’s too soon to identify the most important developments of the year; science takes time to mature. But here are eight moments that were remarkable to me, to experts in their respective fields, and even to those doing the work.

We Nudged an Asteroid

Our solar system is something of a minefield. Between the sun, the asteroid belt, and the planets and their rings and moons lies a sprinkling of smaller rocks, some of which cross paths with Earth. We’d like to avoid sharing the fate of the dinosaurs, and so have endeavored to spot potentially troublesome intruders; currently, we know of no asteroid larger than a hundred and forty metres across that poses a serious risk of collision in the next century. But what we don’t know can still hurt us, and we must prepare for the unexpected.

Last year, SpaceX launched a nasa mission, led by Johns Hopkins University, called dart—the Double Asteroid Redirection Test. As David W. Brown explains, in his blow-by-blow recounting of the mission, its target was an unassuming pair of asteroids, seven million miles away, dubbed Didymos (measured at nearly half a mile across) and Dimorphos (a bit more than five hundred feet across). At the time, Dimorphos orbited Didymos every eleven hours and fifty-five minutes. The dart spacecraft, whose mass at launch exceeded half a ton, was not meant to obliterate either object. But it could nudge one or both of the bodies off course—a proof of concept for the idea that humanity could change an incoming asteroid’s trajectory, averting a collision with Earth.

Success was defined as a head-on collision with Dimorphos that would alter its orbital period by at least seventy-three seconds. On September 26th, dart hit its mark at roughly fourteen thousand miles an hour, reducing the orbit by a full thirty-two minutes. (Earth-based observations measured the effect by tracking how often the two bodies eclipsed each other.) It might have been a shot heard round the solar system, if not for space’s deafening silence. Scientists are still analyzing data on the aftermath.

In the movie “Armageddon,” from 1998, Bruce Willis’s character detonates a bomb on an Earth-bound asteroid, preventing the movie’s titular event. A quarter century later, we have the technology to achieve a similar aim more elegantly. dart-like spacecraft, teamed with careful observation and early detection, now gives us the ability to defend the planet we’re otherwise doing so much to despoil.

Magic Mushrooms Reduced Depression

Many people who’ve taken psychedelics understand their healing powers. I’m one of them: twenty-seven years ago, I profitably enlisted acid and ecstasy in my battle with depression. Because of long-standing laws restricting recreational, therapeutic, and even scientific use of the drugs, research is still catching up. But, this year, findings on the efficacy of psilocybin—the magic in magic mushrooms—against depression have left even some scientists dazed.

Though antidepressants are often a first line of defense in treating depression, they frequently fail to provide relief. More than a quarter of a billion people worldwide face what’s known as major depressive disorder, according to estimates, and some studies indicate that at least thirty per cent of them contend with so-called treatment-resistant depression. This past month, The New England Journal of Medicine published the results of the largest-ever clinical trial of psilocybin, in which two hundred and thirty-three people with treatment-resistant depression took part. They each received just a single dose—one, ten, or twenty-five milligrams—under professional guidance. Three weeks later, those who’d received the largest dose rated significantly lower on depression than those in the lowest-dose group.

Another study, published in Nature Medicine, demonstrated the benefits of psilocybin over the antidepressant escitalopram (whose brand name is Lexapro). Using neuroimaging, the researchers also explored some possible mechanisms for the treatment: they found that the patients who received psilocybin experienced an increase in the integration of activity across the networks in their brains. Perhaps psilocybin, by increasing cognitive flexibility, allows people to escape ruts of thought. Another study, published in the Journal of Psychopharmacology, looked at patients with major depressive disorder who’d received two psychedelic sessions. A full year later, seventy-five per cent maintained at least a fifty-per-cent reduction in their depression scores.

Authors of all three studies told me that they were surprised by the treatment’s durability. Work remains to be done—but these findings suggest that some people may be able to find a way out from under a disease that was previously immovable.

Earth Got Hotter—and Hotter

In an era of global warming, we expect temperature records to be broken. But they are now being broken with surprising frequency, and by surprising amounts. In July, the United Kingdom suffered a historic heat wave: the previous high had been 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, but at least forty-six weather stations met or exceeded that temperature, the hottest by 2.9 degrees. Of more than a hundred weather stations that had been collecting data for at least half a century, the majority broke ceilings. One village cleared its hurdle by a hold-my-(warm-)beer 11.3 degrees.

The U.K. wasn’t alone. Other countries in Europe saw records topple, and the continent as a whole experienced its hottest-ever June-through-August, on average. Huge wildfires spread across the continent. Meanwhile, India suffered an apocalyptic heat wave this spring; several continents experienced drought; and China weathered its hottest and longest heat wave on record.

In August, an international team of eleven scientists published an analysis in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences titled “Climate Endgame: Exploring catastrophic climate change scenarios.” They argue that the international target of maintaining temperature increases well below two degrees Celsius (3.6 degrees Fahrenheit) has led research to focus on lower-end warming scenarios, leaving us unprepared for more drastic changes. Carbon-dioxide-caused loss of stratocumulus cloud decks could heat the planet by an additional eight degrees Celsius by the end of the century. “Particularly worrying is a ‘tipping cascade,’ ” they write. Damages to the environment are likely to be nonlinear, leading to low-likelihood outcomes that should be looked into. The article notes that climate change might trigger or exacerbate blackouts, famine, pandemics, mass extinction, nuclear war. In short, we should expect the unexpected.

Brain Cells in a Dish Played Pong

A staple of science fiction (and philosophy) is the notion that you’re just a brain in vat, connected to the real world through wires. Another is that you’re just a simulated being in a virtual universe. An experiment reported this year in Neuron combined elements of both tropes. Layers of brain cells wired up to a computer experienced a world consisting of a variant of the video game Pong, and learned to play.

The researchers grew some brain cells out of human stem cells, and collected others from mouse embryos, then placed about eight hundred thousand mouse or human cells onto arrays of electrodes in dishes. (A human brain has roughly a hundred thousand times more neurons than that.) The electrical activity of two regions of neurons on each array were translated into the up-and-down movement of a paddle on a video screen. The position of the bouncing ball was fed back to a different set of neurons in the network; when the paddle connected with the ball, all the electrodes delivered a series of zaps, reinforcing the neurons’ behavior. Within a few minutes, the system could handle rallies of a few hits.

Karl J. Friston, a neuroscientist at University College London who is one of the paper’s co-authors, told me that, although the team had hypothesized that the neurons and silicon would be able to speak the same language and learn in this way, they weren’t at all sure that their “DishBrain” would work. “It was the same kind of surprise one might have if you came across a talking dog, ” he said. “Moreover, the fact that human neurons were able to sustain play longer than mouse neurons was a bit like discovering that dogs are better at talking than cats.”

The setup is more than a party trick. It allows for exploration of weighty questions: how cells communicate, how biological and synthetic intelligence combine, what happens in brain disorders such as epilepsy and dementia, and how drugs affect the brain. The group now plans to test the effects of alcohol on their system. “How would a ‘drunken DishBrain’ cope with playing Pong?” Friston asked, in a recent press release. Beer pong just got serious.

A Blockchain Reduced Its Energy Use by 99.95 Per Cent

Few mortals understand blockchains. What you may have heard is that they’re somehow related to cryptocurrencies, such as Bitcoin, and that they use prodigious amounts of energy. Crypto assets consume more energy than many countries—a big problem.

In September, an important blockchain altered the way it verifies transactions, drastically cutting its energy use. Bitcoin, the first blockchain-based cryptocurrency, verifies transactions through a system called “proof of work”: computers around the world race to solve complex puzzles, and the winners get some cryptocurrency and the ability to add blocks of transactions to the ledger. It’s all the problem-solving that’s so energy intensive. By contrast, the Ethereum blockchain, launched in 2015, was meant to use “proof of stake.” Would-be validators would place their own cryptocurrency into a kind of escrow; when a block is added, they’re rewarded in proportion with their stake. (If the block’s contents are fraudulent, you lose a portion of your stake.) Proof of stake is far more energy-efficient—but it was so devilishly difficult to develop that Ethereum launched using proof of work instead.

In 2020, the Ethereum developer community created a parallel ledger called Beacon Chain that used proof of stake. After nearly two years of testing, they set a date for the Merge, which would combine the two chains into one that used proof of stake. Many people worried the Merge would overturn crypto markets; some experts compared the procedure to swapping plane engines mid-flight. But, on September 15th, the Merge succeeded with hardly a hitch. A developer named Tim Beiko told me that the blockchain looked so surprisingly stable afterward that he “had to double-check” the performance graph.

Ethereum was already more important than Bitcoin in many ways. It undergirds not only a cryptocurrency but, also, one-of-a-kind digital art works called N.F.T.s, automatically executing “smart contracts,” and many computer applications for finance, entertainment, and communications. The Merge now makes Ethereum transactions faster, cheaper, and more energy-efficient, by an estimated 99.95 per cent. In a Merge viewing party hosted by the Ethereum Foundation, one developer commented, “This is just an incredible feat. . . . People using the network will have no idea that anything has changed. But everything has changed.”

We Found Two-Million-Year-Old Mastodon DNA

DNA is fragile, geologically speaking. The double-helical molecule that gives cells their marching orders starts disintegrating as soon as we die—and even while we live—as our own enzymes cut it up. It’s also not immune to water, air, or microbes. One study estimated that its chemical bonds have a half-life of around five hundred years. Discover a very old specimen of DNA, and you have to assemble especially tiny puzzle pieces if you want to put the genome back together.

Last year, however, researchers managed to reconstruct DNA from two Siberian mammoths that were more than a million years old, using material extracted from their molars. That work nearly doubled the record for oldest DNA sequence. This year, a second group of researchers nearly doubled the record again. As they reported in Nature, they found their DNA not in a long-in-the-tooth tooth but in sediment deposits at the mouth of a fjord in northern Greenland, where, around two million years ago, plant and animal remains had washed up. The researchers found DNA in forty-one soil samples at five sites. Much of it had adhered to quartz or clay, which may have protected the delicate strands from the ravages of enzymes. “The preservation of the DNA and our ability to extract and sequence it has been a major leap for us,” Kurt H. Kjær, a geologist at the University of Copenhagen and one of the paper’s lead authors, told me.

The team was able to gather genetic material not just from one or two species but from more than a hundred types of plants, as well as animals including mastodons, reindeer, and horseshoe crabs. The researchers figure that the landscape, which is now a frozen wasteland, must once have been about twenty degrees warmer. The work provides clues to an earlier way of life, and demonstrates what’s possible going forward. Scientists have a hope of reconstructing biological lineages and pictures of entire historical ecosystems. They may even extract genes to help today’s plants and animals cope with a changing world.

Artificial Intelligence Learned Diplomacy

You’d think we’d learn our lesson: we set challenges for artificial intelligence, say it won’t meet them anytime soon, and then find that A.I. has vanquished us before we expect. It’s happened with chess, Go, poker, and StarCraft II. In 2019, Noam Brown, a computer scientist at Meta, had wrapped up his work on A.I. for multiplayer poker and was casting about for a new challenge; he chose one that he thought would safely keep him occupied for at least a decade.

The task was Diplomacy, a board game in which seven players controlling army and navy units vie for control over a map of Europe. Players can attack or support each other, and each turn begins with a round of nonbinding negotiation. You might propose back-scratching, then deliver backstabbing. It’s a game of trust and deceit, hammered out through the placement of pieces and the crafting of language.

As Brown told me, a bot for Diplomacy sounded like sci-fi. A.I. can strategize (see AlphaGo) and it can speak (see ChatGPT). But most language-spewing A.I.s have no notion of truth or falsehood. Meta, however, developed a system, called cicero, that learned to ground its utterances in context and goals. After observing human Diplomacy games and playing copies of itself, cicero joined an online community and played forty games. In a paper published in Science, Brown and his team reported that it outperformed nine out of ten players. Moreover, its written speech was so slick that only one player noted his suspicion of its silicon insides. On one occasion, the system, playing as France, went down for ten minutes due to a technical fault. When it came back online, it replied to England’s appeals—“Would really love to hear from you!”—with a made-up excuse: “i am on the phone with my gf.” Humanity is not ready.

We Generated Fusion Power (Finally, Sorta)

What counts as an expectation? In fusion power—the shotgun marriage of atoms to create electricity—progress is perpetually (and paradoxically) expected to underwhelm. An old joke holds that fusion is always thirty years away.

This month, though, researchers inched closer to controlled fusion power. Nuclear fusion, which occurs inside stars, requires intense heat and pressure; most fusion-power experiments heat hydrogen and confine it using magnetic fields, while others blast pellets of hydrogen with lasers. The National Ignition Facility, at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, in California, takes the second approach. The facility’s main aim is to contribute to nuclear-weapons research, with sustainable energy as a kind of by-product. Completed in 2009, at triple its initial budget, it was originally expected to achieve “ignition”—in which the energy emitted from the fusion reaction exceeds that imparted by the lasers—by 2012.

Progress was slower than expected: ignition finally occurred on December 5, 2022. A hundred and ninety-two lasers briefly blasted a cylinder the size of a pencil eraser, which emitted X-rays, which compressed a contained pellet of frozen hydrogen atoms, some of which fused into helium, releasing energetic neutrons. All told, the target received about two megajoules of energy (enough to light a hundred-watt bulb for five hours, but condensed into a flash) and released more than three—a little more energy than the scientists expected. The outcome both missed and surpassed predictions.

Science moves in fits and starts. Don’t expect the stadium-size National Ignition Facility to lead to a neighborhood fusion reactor anytime soon. For one thing, while the lasers conveyed two megajoules of energy, powering them required three hundred. So much for net gain. And any reactor made using this design would require rapid-fire lasers that blast multiple targets per second. The new fusion results are exceptional—and yet everyday fusion is still, probably, at least thirty years away. We’ll just have to manage our expectations. ♦

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! If you're comfortable, I would definitely be interested in hearing about your upcoming experience with Adderall as an adult taking it for the first time. I'm 30 and will be inquiring about an ADHD diagnosis later this month, but Adderall scares me a little (probably unfounded, I've just never taken any kind of psych med or non-allergy daily med, and if I forget my allergy meds I just get a nasty headache and nothing more) and everyone I asked about their experience is under 25 and has been taking it for many years. I'm really interested to see how you feel while taking it, if you're willing to share 💙

I've had quite a few requests like this so I'm definitely going to keep talking about it when there's anything to talk about, under the Sam Has ADHD tag. :)

FWIW, this is my first experience with a drug like this, which affects brain chemistry -- the only other comparable experience I’ve had is weed, and I’ve never been an especially heavy user of that either. Never took antidepressants, mood stabilizers, sedatives, anything like that, so I’m in much the same position you are, although I have taken daily medication for other health issues before. 

10mg of Adderall, which is a pretty low dose, clearly had an effect, which is good; the recommendation was twice daily, five or six hours apart depending on how I feel, on an empty stomach, so I took it at 5am before breakfast and again at noon before lunch. I had...a real weird evening, because while I wasn't doing a ton more than usual I did end up somehow staying up until around 10pm, which for me is very late, without really noticing. So today I thought I'd try just a single dose that would see me through the majority of the workday, and took 10mg at 6:30am after having eaten breakfast at 4am.

It kicked in yesterday right at the half-hour mark after taking, but this morning after half an hour I thought perhaps not taking it on a totally empty stomach had fucked with my ability to absorb the dose.

But then around 7:15 I cleaned out my front hall closet.

That wasn't something I'd been planning on and did give me a very "opening sequence of The Salton Sea" moment (the movie opens, after a brief history of meth, in a party house where among other things two women on speed are frantically organizing a sock drawer). Still, it did need doing, and now there's space to install some boxes to keep my winter sweaters. Which means my reward this evening is a trip to Container Store. And also a puzzle I get to do which I found while cleaning out the closet.

I am clearly going to have to learn to aim my new ability to focus, since unless I make a deliberate decision I just appear to pick Something To Do and do it, but that's a calibration issue and I’m pretty sure I can master it as long as I remember it exists.

The sensation is a little odd because after about an hour I can definitely tell my brain is working differently. It's kind of like being high, there's that same sense of calm, but my thoughts feel clear instead of clouded the way THC affects them. And things just get easier, like I'll think "Oh, I need to throw out that empty shampoo bottle" and instead of pretending I'll remember to do it after the shower, I just reach into the shower and pick it up and throw it out. I have done so many dishes in the last 24 hours, you guys. And right on the dot, at five and a half hours after taking it, I could feel my brain whirr to a stop. 

Anyway it is rather validating to be reacting to a drug in the way I'm meant to, because I did get the distinct impression from the evaluation clinic that they felt my ADHD was too mild to require treatment. I don't actually feel high, or manic, or even really very different. I just do more stuff. Like someone tightened two or three screws in my brain and the gears no longer misalign as often. At least for five hours or so. :D

[awheckery]

so. uh.

cut for frank discussion of chronic illness and the serious failures of the american healthcare system. tw for fatphobia and gaslighting.

Last July, I got sick. It wasn’t too bad at first: some fatigue, body aches and a slightly elevated temp, until suddenly it was bad and I wound up in the ER. It took three rounds of steroids, a round of antibiotics and a more powerful inhaler to get my feet back under me, but I never fully recovered.

I didn’t talk about it here, except for answering an ask in October and blaming my lack of creative output on depression. It really, really wasn’t depression; it was my health progressively collapsing, one system after another until the avalanche of symptoms that flattened me just after New Year’s.

For the last four months, I’ve spiked a fever over 100°F nearly every single day. My joints hurt. My knuckles are knobbly and swollen, and occasionally my fingers are so painful and weak I’ve had to literally tape my pen to my hand at work. I get rashes at random that itch so badly I claw myself bloody. I overheat and have hot flashes in temperate rooms. The skin on my face and neck and shoulders turns red and hot to the touch, like I’m burning for hours with no immediately discernible provocation.

Some days, I wake up and I don’t have the strength to get out of bed. Some days I can’t wake up at all. I’ve slept through deafening alarms for hours, long enough for my phone battery to run out and die. I can only stand up for ten minutes a day without being hobbled by the effort, and every extra minute beyond that I pay for in hours spent bedbound by exhaustion and pain.

I keep losing words. I’ll arrive at the middle of a sentence and stumble to a halt, because the word I need isn’t there. It’s not true aphasia, and it’s not all the time. I comprehend written and verbal communication perfectly well, but I can’t get my own thoughts out without tripping over them.

I am, to quote a friend attending school to be a nurse practitioner, “a textbook case for SLE,” and I agree, but somehow I can’t pay a doctor to treat me seriously.

In January, I was referred to a rheumatologist after the bloodwork my PCP ordered indicated I had autoimmune activity of some kind.

To date, that’s my only test for anything that’s come out definitively positive for any kind of disease state at all. Ever. I tested negative for celiac disease on a technicality nine years ago, despite how specifically and intensely sick gluten makes me, so I was dismayed but not too surprised when follow-up bloodwork for lupus came back just barely inside the range of “normal.” Despite that, I wasn’t prepared to be jerked around as much as I have been.

The first rheumatologist I saw, back at the end of January, had barely been in the exam room for thirty seconds when I could see he’d already made up his mind about me. He was dismissive and perfunctory and condescending when he told me that “plenty of perfectly healthy people have positive ANA results,” and he referred me back to my PCP for an exercise program and antidepressants to treat my “fibromyalgia.”

Putting aside that I’m not a “perfectly healthy person,” I’m a Fat Lady living in America, and I’ve experienced medical fatphobia for decades at this point. You learn the key words and phrases pretty quickly, and “exercise program” has never not been a euphemism for “weight loss.” (Which is heavily ironic in this particular situation, because before I was Fat, I walked 2-3 miles a day for funsies and spent 15-20 hours in the gym every week. I only stopped because I somehow shredded both my ACLs in one summer. I’d love to get back to that if a rheumatologist could help me figure out how to be active and uninjured at the same time.)

I was frustrated after that first appointment, enough to request a referral to one of the best teaching hospitals in the country. Why not go to the best, right? There was a five month wait for an appointment, but I am stubborn, and I made use of the time by documenting every bullshit symptom my body threw at me. I have a daily symptom journal, full of subjective entries like my pain and fatigue levels, as well as objective entries like daily temperature changes and photos of my rashes and my burning face and my goddamn mouth ulcers.

I thought I had enough logged to be impossible to ignore, and then I saw the second rheumatologist three weeks ago, and the first sentence out of her mouth was the beginning of an interrogation on my blood pressure, and whether I was taking medication or if I was on a fucking exercise program for it. I tried to get the appointment back on track by sharing my symptom diary, and she turned back to my just-under-the-wire test results, and told me, “many healthy people have positive ANA results, it doesn’t mean anything without other positive test results for specific conditions.”

I said, “Healthy people don’t run a fever for months.”

And then she told me that a "fever is not associated with any of the conditions a rheumatologist treats." I was so startled by the confidence and authority with which she stated the lie that I was unable to speak to rouse a defense or contribute anything else for the rest of the appointment. After an insultingly brief examination, in which I never took my face mask off and she declined to look at any of my photos, she said that she “didn’t see anything that could be rheumatologically wrong with me.”

I asked her what she thought could be wrong with me, and she grudgingly admitted it’s possible, though rare to have an autoimmune disease and test negative for everything, so she would order more tests and refer me to appropriate specialists for my various symptoms. She ordered a referral to an infectious disease specialist for my fevers, and a referral to a dermatologist for my “rosacea” (that she’s assuming I have, because I would like to again note she did not see it, at no point did she actually look at my face or a photo of it), and a referral to an ENT for a salivary gland biopsy for my dry mouth, and a referral to a neurologist for my “stroke-like” memory and speech problems.

It was, all told, an unbearably shitty appointment. I cried in my car for an hour in the hospital parking garage so I wouldn’t do anything impulsive like lying down in traffic, and then I went home, cried some more, and went to bed for three days.

On the fourth day, I woke up enraged. It’s one thing to be blown off by a doctor when you’re just reporting symptoms without proof, it’s a wholly different thing for a doctor to ignore your proof and lie about diagnostic criteria to your face.

It’s hard enough not to think you’re crazy when your test results come back negative over and over; it’s that much harder after being told that your major concrete measurable symptom is diagnostically irrelevant, when it really, really isn’t.

(for the record, just going off the symptoms I can concretely prove I’ve experienced in the last week alone, I land a 16 on this chart, which is the most up-to-date, widely agreed-upon diagnostic criteria)

I have decided, for the moment, to play ball. I don’t have the energy to jump through all the hoops this rheumatologist wants, but I'm angry enough to drag myself through them. Tomorrow I’m supposed to see the infectious diseases specialist. On Wednesday I see the dermatologist. In two weeks I see the ENT, and I’ve got a neurology appointment tentatively scheduled for December.

I’m going to be blisteringly forthright with all of these doctors about why I’m there, and that I’m looking to exclude diagnoses other than the lupus I pretty obviously have. (Except with the ENT. Apparently they treat allergies, and I’d like to be able to go outside long enough to walk a dog, someday.)

I’m supposed to see this rheumatologist again at the end of November. Depending on how this week’s appointments go, I’m aiming to either move up my appointment with her when one becomes available, or just send a firm yet diplomatic email asking why the diagnostic criteria apply to everyone but me.

If anybody else has gotten through this fucking nightmare successfully, I’m open to suggestions, it’s not like it can get worse at this point.

[antiporn-activist]

The Children of Pornhub

Why does Canada allow this company to profit off videos of exploitation and assault?

By Nicholas Kristof, Opinion Columnist, Dec. 4, 2020, New York Times

This article contains descriptions of sexual assault. It’s also really long.

Pornhub prides itself on being the cheery, winking face of naughty, the website that buys a billboard in Times Square and provides snow plows to clear Boston streets. It donates to organizations fighting for racial equality and offers steamy content free to get people through Covid-19 shutdowns.

Yet there’s another side of the company: Its site is infested with rape videos. It monetizes child rapes, revenge pornography, spy cam videos of women showering, racist and misogynist content, and footage of women being asphyxiated in plastic bags. A search for “girls under18” (no space) or “14yo” leads in each case to more than 100,000 videos. Most aren’t of children being assaulted, but too many are.

After a 15-year-old girl went missing in Florida, her mother found her on Pornhub — in 58 sex videos. Sexual assaults on a 14-year-old California girl were posted on Pornhub and were reported to the authorities not by the company but by a classmate who saw the videos. In each case, offenders were arrested for the assaults, but Pornhub escaped responsibility for sharing the videos and profiting from them.

Pornhub is like YouTube in that it allows members of the public to post their own videos. A great majority of the 6.8 million new videos posted on the site each year probably involve consenting adults, but many depict child abuse and nonconsensual violence. Because it’s impossible to be sure whether a youth in a video is 14 or 18, neither Pornhub nor anyone else has a clear idea of how much content is illegal.

Unlike YouTube, Pornhub allows these videos to be downloaded directly from its website. So even if a rape video is removed at the request of the authorities, it may already be too late: The video lives on as it is shared with others or uploaded again and again.

“Pornhub became my trafficker,” a woman named Cali told me. She says she was adopted in the United States from China and then trafficked by her adoptive family and forced to appear in pornographic videos beginning when she was 9. Some videos of her being abused ended up on Pornhub and regularly reappear there, she said.

“I’m still getting sold, even though I’m five years out of that life,” Cali said. Now 23, she is studying in a university and hoping to become a lawyer — but those old videos hang over her.

“I may never be able to get away from this,” she said. “I may be 40 with eight kids, and people are still masturbating to my photos.”

“You type ‘Young Asian’ and you can probably find me,” she added.

Actually, maybe not. Pornhub recently was offering 26,000 videos in response to that search. That doesn’t count videos that show up under “related searches” that Pornhub suggests, including “young tiny teen,” “extra small petite teen,” “tiny Asian teen” or just “young girl.” Nor does it necessarily count videos on a Pornhub channel called “exploited teen Asia.”

I came across many videos on Pornhub that were recordings of assaults on unconscious women and girls. The rapists would open the eyelids of the victims and touch their eyeballs to show that they were nonresponsive.

Pornhub profited this fall from a video of a naked woman being tortured by a gang of men in China. It is monetizing video compilations with titles like “Screaming Teen,” “Degraded Teen” and “Extreme Choking.” Look at a choking video and it may suggest also searching for “She Can’t Breathe.”

It should be possible to be sex positive and Pornhub negative.

Pornhub declined to make executives available on the record, but it provided a statement. “Pornhub is unequivocally committed to combating child sexual abuse material, and has instituted a comprehensive, industry-leading trust and safety policy to identify and eradicate illegal material from our community,” it said. Pornhub added that any assertion that the company allows child videos on the site “is irresponsible and flagrantly untrue.”

II.

At 14, Serena K. Fleites was an A student in Bakersfield, Calif., who had never made out with a boy. But in the eighth grade she developed a crush on a boy a year older, and he asked her to take a naked video of herself. She sent it to him, and this changed her life.

He asked for another, then another; she was nervous but flattered. “That’s when I started getting strange looks in school,” she remembered. He had shared the videos with other boys, and someone posted them on Pornhub.

Fleites’s world imploded. It’s tough enough to be 14 without having your classmates entertain themselves by looking at you naked, and then mocking you as a slut. “People were texting me, if I didn’t send them a video, they were going to send them to my mom,” she said.

The boy was suspended, but Fleites began skipping class because she couldn’t bear the shame. Her mother persuaded Pornhub to remove the videos, and Fleites switched schools. But rumors reached the new school, and soon the videos were uploaded again to Pornhub and other websites.

Fleites quarreled with her mother and began cutting herself. Then one day she went to the medicine cabinet and took every antidepressant pill she could find.

Three days later, she woke up in the hospital, frustrated to be still alive. Next she hanged herself in the bathroom; her little sister found her, and medics revived her.

As Fleites spiraled downward, a friend introduced her to meth and opioids, and she became addicted to both. She dropped out of school and became homeless.

At 16, she advertised on Craigslist and began selling naked photos and videos of herself. It was a way to make a bit of money, and maybe also a way to punish herself. She thought, “I’m not worth anything any more because everybody has already seen my body,” she told me.

Those videos also ended up on Pornhub. Fleites would ask that they be removed. They usually would be, she says — but then would be uploaded again. One naked video of her at 14 had 400,000 views, she says, leaving her afraid to apply for fast-food jobs for fear that someone would recognize her.

So today Fleites, 19, off drugs for a year but unemployed and traumatized, is living in her car in Bakersfield, along with three dogs that have proved more loyal and loving than the human species. She dreams of becoming a vet technician but isn’t sure how to get there. “It’s kind of hard to go to school when you’re living in a car with dogs,” she said.

“I was dumb,” she acknowledged, noting that she had never imagined that the videos could be shared online. “It was one small thing that a teenager does, and it’s crazy how it turns into something so much bigger.

“A whole life can be changed because of one little mistake.”

III.

The problem goes far beyond one company. Indeed, a rival of Pornhub, XVideos, which arguably has even fewer scruples, may attract more visitors. Depictions of child abuse also appear on mainstream sites like Twitter, Reddit and Facebook. And Google supports the business models of companies that thrive on child molestation.

Google returns 920 million videos on a search for “young porn.” Top hits include a video of a naked “very young teen” engaging in sex acts on XVideo along with a video on Pornhub whose title is unprintable here.

I asked the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children to compile the number of images, videos and other content related to child sexual exploitation reported to it each year. In 2015, it received reports of 6.5 million videos or other files; in 2017, 20.6 million; and in 2019, 69.2 million.

Facebook removed 12.4 million images related to child exploitation in a three-month period this year. Twitter closed 264,000 accounts in six months last year for engaging in sexual exploitation of children. By contrast, Pornhub notes that the Internet Watch Foundation, an England-based nonprofit that combats child sexual abuse imagery, reported only 118 instances of child sexual abuse imagery on its site over almost three years, seemingly a negligible figure. “Eliminating illegal content is an ongoing battle for every modern content platform, and we are committed to remaining at the forefront,” Pornhub said in its statement.

The Internet Watch Foundation couldn’t explain why its figure for Pornhub is so low. Perhaps it’s because people on Pornhub are inured to the material and unlikely to report it. But if you know what to look for, it’s possible to find hundreds of apparent child sexual abuse videos on Pornhub in 30 minutes. Pornhub has recently offered playlists with names including “less than 18,” “the best collection of young boys” and “under- - age.”

Congress and successive presidents have done almost nothing as this problem has grown. The tech world that made it possible has been mostly passive, in a defensive crouch. But pioneering reporting in 2019 by my Times colleagues has prodded Congress to begin debating competing strategies to address child exploitation.

Concerns about Pornhub are bubbling up. A petition to shut the site down has received 2.1 million signatures. Senator Ben Sasse, a Nebraska Republican, called on the Justice Department to investigate Pornhub. PayPal cut off services for the company, and credit card companies have been asked to do the same. An organization called Traffickinghub, led by an activist named Laila Mickelwait, documents abuses and calls for the site to be shut down. Twenty members of Canada’s Parliament have called on their government to crack down on Pornhub, which is effectively based in Montreal.

“They made money off my pain and suffering,” an 18-year-old woman named Taylor told me. A boyfriend secretly made a video of her performing a sex act when she was 14, and it ended up on Pornhub, the police confirmed. “I went to school the next day and everybody was looking at their phones and me as I walked down the hall,” she added, weeping as she spoke. “They were laughing.”

Taylor said she has twice attempted suicide because of the humiliation and trauma. Like others quoted here, she agreed to tell her story and help document it because she thought it might help other girls avoid suffering as she did.

IV.

Pornhub is owned by Mindgeek, a private pornography conglomerate with more than 100 websites, production companies and brands. Its sites include Redtube, Youporn, XTube, SpankWire, ExtremeTube, Men.com, My Dirty Hobby, Thumbzilla, PornMD, Brazzers and GayTube. There are other major players in porn outside the Mindgeek umbrella, most notably XHamster and XVideos, but Mindgeek is a porn titan. If it operated in another industry, the Justice Department could be discussing an antitrust case against it.

Pornhub and Mindgeek also stand out because of their influence. One study this year by a digital marketing company concluded that Pornhub was the technology company with the third greatest-impact on society in the 21st century, after Facebook and Google but ahead of Microsoft, Apple and Amazon.

Nominally based in Luxembourg for tax reasons, Mindgeek is a private company run from Montreal. It does not disclose who owns it, but it is led by Feras Antoon and David Tassillo, both Canadians, who declined to be interviewed.

Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada calls himself a feminist and has been proud of his government’s efforts to empower women worldwide. So a question for Trudeau and all Canadians: Why does Canada host a company that inflicts rape videos on the world?

Mindgeek’s moderators are charged with filtering out videos of children, but its business model profits from sex videos starring young people.

“The goal for a content moderator is to let as much content as possible go through,” a former Mindgeek employee told me. He said he believed that the top executives weren’t evil but were focused above all on maximizing revenue.

While Pornhub would not tell me how many moderators it employs, I interviewed one who said that there are about 80 worldwide who work on Mindgeek sites (by comparison, Facebook told me it has 15,000 moderators). With 1.36 million new hours of video uploaded a year to Pornhub, that means that each moderator would have to review hundreds of hours of content each week.

The moderators fast forward through videos, but it’s often difficult to assess whether a person is 14 or 18, or whether torture is real or fake. Most of the underage content involves teenagers, the moderator I spoke with said, but some comes from spy cams in toilets or changing rooms and shows children only 8 to 12.

“The job in itself is soul-destroying,” the moderator said.

Pornhub appears to be increasingly alarmed about civil or criminal liability. Lawyers are circling, and nine women sued the company in federal court after spy cam videos surfaced on Pornhub. The videos were shot in a locker room at Limestone College in South Carolina and showed women showering and changing clothes.

Executives of Pornhub appear in the past to have assumed that they enjoyed immunity under Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act, which protects internet platforms on which members of the public post content. But in 2018 Congress limited Section 230 so that it may not be enough to shield the company, leading Mindgeek to behave better.

It has doubled the number of moderators in the last couple of years, the moderator told me, and this year Pornhub began voluntarily reporting illegal material to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. After previously dragging its feet in removing videos of children and nonconsensual content, Pornhub now is responding more rapidly.

It has also compiled a list of banned content. I obtained a copy of this list, and it purports to bar videos with terms or themes like “rape,” “preteen,” “pedophilia” and “bestiality” (it helpfully clarifies that this “includes eels, fish, octopus, insects”). Diapers are OK “if no scatophilia.” Mutilation depends on context but “cannot depict severing parts of the body.”

So while it is now no longer possible to search on Pornhub in English using terms like “underage” or “rape,” the company hasn’t tried hard to eliminate such videos. A member called “13yoboyteen” is allowed to post videos. A search for “r*pe,” turns up 1,901 videos. “Girl with braces” turns up 1,913 videos and suggests also trying “exxxtra small teens.” A search for “13yo” generates 155,000 videos. To be clear, most aren’t of 13-year-olds, but the fact that they’re promoted with that language seems to reflect an effort to attract pedophiles.

Moreover, some videos seem at odds with the list of banned content. “Runaway Girl Gets Ultimatum, Anal or the Streets” is the title of one Pornhub video. Another user posts videos documenting sex with teenage girls as they weep, protest and cry out in pain.

While Pornhub is becoming more careful about videos of potentially litigious Americans, it remains cavalier about overseas victims. One Indonesian video is titled “Junior High School Girl After Class” and shows what appears to be a young teenager having sex. A Chinese sex video, just taken down, was labeled: “Beautiful High School Girl Is Tricked by Classmates and Taken to the Top of a Building Where She Is Insulted and Raped.”

“They’re making money off the worst moment in my life, off my body,” a Colombian teenager who asked to be called Xela, a nickname, told me. Two American men paid her when she was 16 for a sexual encounter that they filmed and then posted on Pornhub. She was one of several Pornhub survivors who told me they had thought of or attempted suicide.

In the last few days as I was completing this article, two new videos of prepubescent girls being assaulted were posted, along with a sex video of a 15-year-old girl who was suicidal after it went online. I don’t see how good-faith moderators could approve any of these videos.

V.

“It’s always going to be online,” Nicole, a British woman who has had naked videos of herself posted and reposted on Pornhub, told me. “That’s my big fear of having kids, them seeing this.”

That’s a recurring theme among survivors: An assault eventually ends, but Pornhub renders the suffering interminable.

Naked videos of Nicole at 15 were posted on Pornhub. Now 19, she has been trying for two years to get them removed.

“Why do videos of me from when I was 15 years old and blackmailed, which is child porn, continuously [get] uploaded?” Nicole protested plaintively to Pornhub last year, in a message. “You really need a better system. … I tried to kill myself multiple times after finding myself reuploaded on your website.”

Nicole’s lawyer, Dani Pinter, says there are still at least three naked videos of Nicole at age 15 or 16 on Pornhub that they are trying to get removed.

“It’s never going to end,” Nicole said. “They’re getting so much money from our trauma.”

Pornhub has introduced software that supposedly can “fingerprint” rape videos and prevent them from being uploaded again. But Vice showed how this technology is easily circumvented on Pornhub.

One Pornhub scandal involved the Girls Do Porn production company, which recruited young women for clothed modeling gigs and then pushed them to perform in sex videos, claiming that the videos would be sold only as DVDs in other countries and would never go online. Reassured that no one would ever know, some of the women agreed — and then were shattered when the footage was aggressively marketed on Pornhub.

Girls Do Porn was prosecuted for sex trafficking and shut down. But those videos continue to surface and resurface on Pornhub; last time I checked, videos of six victims of Girls Do Porn were on Pornhub, which continues to profit from them.

One of the Girls Do Porn women I saw on Pornhub is now dead. She was murdered at 20, allegedly by an angry ex-boyfriend who is about to go on trial. I’m not disclosing her name because she should be remembered as a vibrant college athlete, and not for a sex video that represented her most mortifying moment.

VI.

So what’s the solution?

I had expected the survivors to want to shut down Pornhub and send its executives to prison. Some did, but others were more nuanced. Lydia, now 20, was trafficked as a child and had many rape videos posted on the site. “My stomach hurts all the time” from the tension, she told me, but she doesn’t want to come across as hostile to porn itself.

“I don’t want people to hear ‘No porn!’” Lydia told me. “It’s more like, ‘Stop hurting kids.’”

Susan Padron told me that she had assumed that pornography was consensual, until a boyfriend filmed her in a sex act when she was 15 and posted it on Pornhub. She has struggled since and believes that only people who have confirmed their identities should be allowed to post videos.

Jessica Shumway, who was trafficked and had a customer post a sex video on Pornhub, agrees: “They need to figure out who’s underage in the videos and that there’s consent from everybody in it.”

I asked Leo, 18, who had videos of himself posted on Pornhub when he was 14, what he suggested.

“That’s tough,” he said. “My solution would be to leave porn to professional production companies,” because they require proof of age and consent.

Right now, those companies can’t compete with mostly free sites like Pornhub and XVideos.

“Pornhub has already destroyed the business model for pay sites,” said Stoya, an adult film actress and writer. She, too, thinks all platforms — from YouTube to Pornhub — should require proof of consent to upload videos of private individuals.

Columnists are supposed to offer answers, but I struggle with solutions. If Pornhub curated videos more rigorously, the most offensive material might just move to the dark web or to websites in less regulated countries. Yet at least they would then not be normalized on a mainstream site.

More pressure and less impunity would help. We’re already seeing that limiting Section 230 immunity leads to better self-policing.

And call me a prude, but I don’t see why search engines, banks or credit card companies should bolster a company that monetizes sexual assaults on children or unconscious women. If PayPal can suspend cooperation with Pornhub, so can American Express, Mastercard and Visa.

I don’t see any neat solution. But aside from limiting immunity so that companies are incentivized to behave better, here are three steps that would help: 1.) Allow only verified users to post videos. 2.) Prohibit downloads. 3.) Increase moderation.

These measures wouldn’t kill porn or much bother consumers of it; YouTube thrives without downloads. Siri Dahl, a prominent porn star who does business with Pornhub, told me that my three proposals are “insanely reasonable.”

The world has often been oblivious to child sexual abuse, from the Catholic Church to the Boy Scouts. Too late, we prosecute individuals like Jeffrey Epstein or R. Kelly. But we should also stand up to corporations that systematically exploit children. With Pornhub, we have Jeffrey Epstein times 1,000.

[sinigangsta-ao3]

Thursday Thoughts: How fanfiction helped me to reconnect with my identity as a writer

A little under three months ago (and after nearly one year of consuming fanfiction late at night, when my kids were asleep, and on incognito tabs on my mobile Chrome browser), I decided to take the plunge and enter the world of fanfic as a (GASP!) writer.

First, a little storytime...

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I viscerally remember receiving a Bugs Bunny diary when I was maybe five or six years old and faithfully recording my thoughts, observations, and daily happenings. Every. Single. Night.

I took special care to hide my diary key someplace safe so that my parents couldn't unlock that tiny journal and read my childish musings (which, when I think about it, were probably misspelled descriptions of my kindergarten crush or complaints about my siblings).

From there, I eventually graduated to managing blogs (specifically, and to date myself, a Xanga), scribbling poetry in the margins of my textbooks, and attempting to write my own stories — original fiction and, yes, fanfiction (Harry Potter and LOTR, to be exact).

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, writing was not just a hobby; it was the most useful tool at my disposal to process what was happening in my life. Especially since I was one of four children, growing up in a very religious household, and I didn't have many outlets or spaces outside of my family, my school, and my little hometown to explore. To question. To articulate the multitude of thoughts that plagued my mind.

I was very sheltered. And not always seen or heard because, simply put, there just wasn't enough quiet or space for my voice to cut through all the chaos. So writing was my outlet. Writing allowed me to condense really convoluted and complex thoughts into something discernible — and, finally, people heard me. They understood me.

And I loved it.

And I was good at it.

So good that, when the time came for me to go to college, I decided to enroll as an English Literature and Communications double major. And I decided to use my four years in university to study and hone my craft. I declared emphases in Creative Writing and Literary Journalism. I wrote stories for my campus literary journal. I served as editor for two sections of our campus newspaper. I was a teaching assistant for creative writing and journalism classes. I got internships for external publications. I had ambitions to work for a magazine after I graduated and/or write long-form, special interest pieces as a freelance journalist.

... But then I got really depressed. For a multitude of reasons. But some big ones were:

Feeling marginalized on a predominantly white and very affluent campus, while my family was dealing with very serious socioeconomic problems back at home (another topic for another Thursday Thoughts blog post, I think...); and

Approaching graduation in the middle of an economic recession — and questioning my decision to pursue a fucking English degree when I needed to think about how I was going to support myself.

Sadly, this led to my (conscious or subconscious, I'm not really sure) decision to abandon my ambitions of writing professionally. And I got a job in Human Resources once I entered the workforce.

And I did not seriously write again for over a decade.

Fast forward to today...

Amidst a multi-year, global pandemic and an ongoing global social justice movement, I experienced another serious depressive episode and a major case of burnout. It caused me to take medical leave for half a year. I started antidepressants to cope with the extreme emotions I experience daily.

And it also forced me to start to do a lot of self-reflection (with full support from my partner and a licensed therapist).

For the first time in over a decade, I had time to pause. To remove myself from the capitalist grind of producing and working and never resting. And I asked myself: Who am I as a person? What is important to me? As I continue to live my life — and particularly now that I'm a mother and someone whose professional life is so grounded in taking care of others — how can I continue to take care of myself? And model what it means to live unapologetically and authentically?

Now, I'm sure you're probably thinking: "What the hell does this have to do with writing porny stories about cartoons?"

And this is my whole point: when I started writing fanfiction a few months ago, it helped me remember that part of who I am — part of who I've always been — is a writer.

And I had lost sight of that part of me when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career.

As a space, fanfiction was easily accessible to me. I didn't have to worry about any barriers to entry, like finding an editor, or a publisher, or a distributor to share my stories.

I could just write. And post it online, regardless of whether or not it was "good enough" or "perfect."

So that's what I did.

I started to write a little fic about a young woman who was mourning the loss of one of the most important relationships in her life (it was really my excuse to channel my own grief of lost relationships).

And people started reading what I wrote. And they started conversing with me. And they began to share how much my writing meant to them, how I was able to make them feel things.

And then they asked for more. So I wrote a sequel about a young man who was dealing with major depression — and who needed to reconcile the mistakes he made and learn how to make amends with those he had hurt (truly, an excuse for me to write about my own experiences with depression and feelings of inadequacy and regret and wasted potential).

And people kept responding. And then I eventually started connecting with other fic writers — who quickly became sources of inspiration and help and shared commiseration. Who, above all, became friends.

And it reminded me of why I loved writing in the first place: because it helped me to feel seen. And it helped me to show other people - I see you too.

Writing has been the best way for me to make sense of the world. Writing has been the easiest way for me to connect with others. Writing has always helped me to understand myself better.

And, in a really silly yet beautiful way, writing fanfiction helped me to rediscover that part of me — the part who is a writer. The part that I thought I had completely lost sight of when I, unfortunately, abandoned my plans to pursue a writing career. The part that I thought I would never be able to find again.

Now, I feel very inspired. I feel connected. I feel creative. And, most importantly, I'm having fun.

I feel like myself. And if continuing to write little stories about cartoon characters is going to continue to help me feel this way...

Then goddammit, I will keep writing little stories about cartoon characters.

[thedeskside]

What It’s Like to Take Medication for Depression & Anxiety

Fact: I have been on selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors since my early 20s, and it’s changed my life—mostly for the better. But I would be lying if I said it was a great, smooth ride. Oh, yeah. I’m doing it. I’m going to be real…on the internet. I’m writing this because I needed to get it out, so, why not?

Also, mental illness awareness is important. I have a chemical imbalance that has affected my life, and I know there are so many other people out there that are just like me. Maybe this could benefit them. (But also, don’t follow me, I don’t know where I’m going either.)

It started a decade ago, right after my twenty-first birthday, I hit my emotional rock bottom. Somehow, I clawed my way out of an abusive relationship and crawled into a freelance career, but it was only because I finally decided to talk to my doctor about antidepressant medication. I started with Zoloft, and it really worked…until it didn’t.

My anxiety disappeared, but so did a lot of my feelings. Like, all of them. I had gone so long feeling numb that I hadn’t even realized what was going on until I reach my boiling point with my medication. For years everything was fine, or at least my version of ‘fine’. Frankly, I didn’t know that there was any other way to be or feel.

During the tail end of my Zoloft experience, after nine years of taking the medication daily, I went through a good six months of deep depression. I couldn’t get out of bed, or find the energy to feed myself, or bring myself to shower—and every single shower ended with a good five to fifteen minutes of uncontrollable sobbing. (Because, hello, depression!) I was failing at work because I couldn’t concentrate on a single task for longer than twenty minutes without a fog of disdain washing over me for every little thing that I did. Nothing was good enough.

My fiance tried, repeatedly, over the course of those six months to push me to get help, but I just wasn’t ready (or didn’t feel worthy of getting better). It was up to me to get better, and finally, after I reached the end of my Zoloft prescription, I agreed to talk to a therapist about trying another medication.

I started taking Wellbutrin, and slowly withdrew from Zoloft. It was a very odd time. On top of my depression, I had to deal with the common side effect that came with my new medication. I almost stopped eating altogether—my stomach was so fucked. I was nauseous for about three to four weeks straight, and couldn’t bring myself to crave anything. I had to force myself to eat popsicles and down multiple sodas to keep up my calorie intake because cooked food made me nauseous. Just the thought of some of my favorite fried foods made me gag. It led me to drop 15 pounds, but luckily these side effects were temporary.

After a few weeks, I could finally see the light. I absolutely felt different, but there is still a lot of give and take when it comes to mental illness. The Zoloft provided me with something crucial (er, or more like, it took it away)—I was emotionless, and I hadn’t even known it. I wasn’t feeling…anything while taking Zoloft, and now, I feel EVERYTHING. It’s quite a scary change.

People used to praise me for my ability to brush the worst things off and pick myself up quickly whenever I failed. I was unbothered by it all, and that was because of my medication. I used to think I just easily fell into positivity, but the truth was that Zoloft had blocked all of my emotions from coming to the surface. Now, I am a mushy mess.

I can’t believe the things I’m able to feel now—but this also includes pleasure. It’s a learning curve. I’ve learned to journal and meditate to try and calm myself long enough to understand what is going on in my head and body when I become overwhelmed.

Today I am in a lighter, brighter, more positive place, but I am still catching up in so many ways. I needed to stop fighting my own chemistry and work with it instead. I’m still not 100% at my best; my anxiety is in a whole different arena now that I’m getting in touch with new feelings that had been previously stumped out for nearly a decade by my other medicine.

I am a firm believer in freedom of choice, I by no means am trying to push anyone to seek meds when they don’t need them. That’s the thing though, some of us need them. And that’s perfectly fine, and nothing to be ashamed of. There were certainly times when I chose to take breaks from my medication and stopped taking them altogether. (Please don’t try this—I deeply regretted it every single time!) From those moments, I’ve learned that my body and my brain deserve kindness and clarity.

If you ever hear that terrible voice in your head telling you that you deserve this—you don’t deserve to get better. You are garbage and you deserve to feel like garbage…it is WRONG. I’ve heard this voice so many times, and it’s only kept me from getting better. In fact, that is when you should listen and do the exact opposite of what that little voice is taunting you with.

You may also like…

[giorno-plays-piano]

Rx Queen

Pairing: criminal!Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: obsession, stalking, non-con, breeding, minor depiction of violence.

Words: 2567. 

Summary: James Buchanan Barnes was the most difficult patient you had ever treated as a criminal psychiatrist. His release from prison doesn’t make things easier for you. 

_____________________________________ 

You turned off the phone and threw it on a chair, clenching your teeth. Whatever Dr. Strange wanted you to do, you wouldn’t stay another day in this goddamn place, waiting to be abducted or even murdered. It was too much. Today you found the new bottle of your favourite perfume on your nightstand. It wasn’t there before you went to bed last night. In fact, you could hardly remember the last time you bought yourself a perfume.

It all started two months ago when James Buchanan Barnes, the patient you had been working with during those seven long years, was finally released from State prison after serving 15 years of life sentence. The Soldier, as prisoners called him, once gone mad and murdered his commander. Bucky – that’s how he asked you to call him during your first seance – had PTSD, antisocial personality disorder, and severe depression. You could say he became better after all those years of treatment, including insane doses of antidepressants and mood stabilizers, but it was not enough to set him free. He was dangerous, psychotic even, yet devilishly clever: he knew how to portray a man who had reconsidered his life choices and deeply regretted taking someone’s life. 

You knew he had never truly cared. Patients like him did not have capacity for remorse.

You started treating him once you became a criminal psychiatrist; Bucky was among your very first patients. Now when you thought of it, you could hardly believe Dr. Strange just transferred a patient like him to you, a young girl with too little experience to handle an unpredictable psychopath hiding behind a façade of a victim. Of course, you made many mistakes, starting from telling Bucky about your own past and some mental issues. That time you believed you can gain trust of your patients by being more open about yourself. You were a complete idiot.

Now there was not much to do once his time in prison was up. You didn’t have true evidence to make him stay. A part of you wasn’t even sure you wanted it – when a riot had started in the prison three years ago, it was Bucky who shielded you with his own body from Brock Rumlow, a serial killer and your second most dangerous patient. Bucky was the only reason you were still alive.

But he was also the reason why you were leaving in haste, packing only necessities. 

It all started quite innocently with him sending you flowers and thanking for everything you had done for him. It didn’t alert you that he knew what your favourite flowers were. You thought it was just a coincidence since bouquets like these were sold in any flower shop in the city.

Then you stumbled upon him in a café where you often had your breakfast on weekends. It could alert you, but Bucky was sitting with a charming red-haired woman, her manicured hand resting on his thigh. She didn’t quite strike you as his sister, especially since you knew he had no relatives left after his violent father died in a car accident. Seeing such a beautiful woman with him just two weeks after Bucky was released from a prison was surprising, but you knew how seductively charming Barnes could be. Besides, he looked really good in his biker jacket, his tight black jeans showing his strong muscular legs.

In the end, you just talked to both of them a little and gave your advice on which dishes to choose. You walked away, praying you were wrong about Bucky and hoping he could settle peacefully like some of your former patients. Actually, even though many of them were imprisoned again, others were able to return to normal life. Some even had families now – from time to time you received thank-you notes with nice photos and many heartwarming words. It was probably one of the few things that made you keep your job.

It was over now. You were not going to stay in a place Bucky break into multiple times. Maybe you were not sure before, but the bottle of perfume was an obvious sign. It also meant that when a week ago you woke up and smell a man’s scent on your sheets you were not delirious. Bucky was there. He was laying beside you on your fucking bed.

How did it happen? Why didn’t you see his obsession growing with each day? You were his psychiatrist; you knew him better than anyone. How could he hide his infatuation with you for so long? Of course, you knew he had some feelings for you, but it was never that bad. You thought he would forget about you once he would be released. In the end, now you were not the only woman he saw around.

You kept stumbling upon his beefy figure more and more often. You realized Bucky was stalking you when after a month of his release you saw him watching your house from the forest. He was hiding behind the trees and bushes. It was a miracle you managed to see him at all – after 15 years he was still the Soldier, his skills remaining keen.

You tried talking to Dr. Strange. It wasn’t your first time being followed by your former patient, and police had always assisted you. But Barnes wasn’t like any of those stupid psychos who left tons of evidence behind them. Police had nothing to work with.

Well, you weren’t going to sit there and wait for Barnes to come and get you. You had no idea what was going on in his unstable mind, and you weren’t ready to take risks. You had already booked a flight to Austria tonight.

It was scary, thinking about wandering around a city you had never been, in a foreign country where you had neither relatives nor friends. But Barnes would have a hard time following you there, and that’s what mattered.

You threw a pack of salted cashew in the bag and returned to the bedroom to grab your phone from the chair. It wasn’t there. Although you dropped it just five minutes ago, your phone simply wasn’t there.

You were so fucked.

Next minute you were in the kitchen grabbing a knife, but a strong muscular arm knocked it out of your hand, and you felt Bucky’s musky scent. He stood behind your back, caging you with his bulky arms. You froze and held your breath. You knew you better obeyed the man instead of provoking him to become violent.

“And where were you going, honey?” His husky voice was enough to make you tremble. “It’s not nice to leave without saying goodbye, is it?”

“Please, Bucky.” You did your best to hide how frightened you were. “Stop.”

“No, honey.”

He leaned closer to you and buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its smell. His rough hands were already caressing your body through the clothes.

“You’re free to start a new life. You can find a good woman, have a family if you’d like.” Panic was rising in your chest. 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“No, Bucky, it’s not.” You said in a calm voice. “It will only get you back behind the bars. Don’t throw away your life, please.”

“What life?” He growled, turning you around harshly, and you almost fell on his chest, his arms holding you still. “I have no life. I should have never left my cell, you know this better than anyone else. I’m rotten. Damaged goods. I will never have the life I’ve always wanted. Do you know I have nightmares every fucking night again?”

“It’s because you don’t take your pills.” You carefully put your hands against Bucky’s chest. He tried manipulating you, you knew that. “When was the last time you had thioridazine?”

“Stay with me, and I’ll take whatever pills you want me to.” He grinned suddenly, cupping your face. 

Bucky’s strong athletic body emanated heat, and you were already sweating from both his closeness to you and an extreme agitation. Why did it take you so long to leave? You should have done it the first thing in the morning, just grab your documents and money and run to the car. Maybe then you had a chance. Unless Bucky had already been hiding inside your house…

“Why do you want to make a wrong choice again?” You felt his heart beating loudly with your palm against his chest. “You are given a chance to start over. If you want me to consult you still, I can figure something out. I can continue helping you, but you need to find your way. Don’t you think it’s good to meet new people, have friends, find a job, date a girl?”

“Who wants to deal with a psychopath like me?” He let out a chuckle, his expression darkening. “No one can handle me, doc. No one but you. Do you know I wanted to commit suicide before you showed up seven years ago? If not you, they’d already buried me.”

Before you opened your mouth to protest, he turned you around again and gently nudged you towards your bedroom. You broke out in cold sweat. If Bucky was able to outpower Rumlow, that beast of a man, he would have no problems forcing you to do whatever he pleased. It took three strong prison guards to bring someone like Bucky down. You were helpless.

“No one out there is good enough.” His breath was tickling your ear. “You’re the only one, can’t you see? Maybe I’m rotten to the core, but you still helped me. You made me better.”

You stopped in front of your bed, the white cotton sheets and blue blanket crumpled. You stormed off early in the morning once you saw a bottle of perfume on the nightstand and didn’t care to make your bed.

You needed to keep calm. As far as you could see, Bucky didn’t plan to murder you, not when you would accept him, that is. He obviously had a nice plan how to make you stay with him without police knowing, but as long as he kept you alive you still had a chance. You needed to play along.

“On the bed.” He let out a low growl, and you felt the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass.

Shivering, you took off your slippers and sat on the bed facing him. His erection was obvious; Bucky was breathing heavily, his pupils dilated. The next second he was pulling his black t-shirt over his head, and you saw his shredded body littered with scars. You saw one particularly long one on the side close to his waistline: this was the one Rumlow gave him when Bucky was protecting you during the riot. The man let out a quiet laugh when he saw your eyes focused on a nasty pink line.

“Why are you frightened, honey? I know you want a family too. You good-for-nothing ex wasn’t able to give it to you, but I can.” His hands landed on your bared shoulders, and you flinched a little. “Let’s get married, and I swear I’ll do whatever you tell me to.”

“Bucky, relationships don’t work like this.” You whispered, withholding a cry when his hand pushed you down on the bed. 

“Don’t they?” The man smiled and cocked his head to the side, removing his black leather belt. “You do something for me, I do something for you. That’s what I learnt in prison.”

You dragged yourself back as quickly as you could, but your back was pressed into the wall once Bucky put his knee on your bed. There was nowhere to run.

“Don’t be scared, honey.” His sweet voice broke the silence, and he crawled to you, slowly caging you with his bodyweight. “Let’s make a deal. You marry me, you bear my child, and I will return to prison. I don’t care if they’ll give me twice more pills or make me a lethal injection as far as you take care of my kid. You’ll love my kid, won’t you? You’ll take care of them. You’ll make them a better person than I am.”

The more he spoke, the more feverishly he touched you, his left hand pinning your palms above your head. He traced his arm along your breast, ripping your shirt with so much force that its green buttons ended on the floor. You realized your cheeks were wet with tears when Bucky kissed you on the forehead and wiped your face with his other hand.

He wanted to have kids with you. Why? Why you? Why did he consider you a perfect mother? Why did he consider returning to prison? Why was he ready to trade his goddamn life for a chance of having a child? Why couldn’t he have a child with someone else and just keep living?

Oh, of course he couldn’t. Bucky loathed himself. It wasn’t uncommon for the patients with Cluster B personality disorders, and it was probably true he wanted to end his life since you saw his self-destructing behavior. In the end, even his effort to save your life back than in the prison might be some kind of a suicide attempt. 

And the reason he wanted you and no one else… Well, you were the one who had been taking care of him all these years. The only one to navigate him through his nightmares when everyone else gave up on him. He saw good in you. He wanted it for himself. He wanted to make sure his child would never be treated the way he was.

You cried out when Bucky suddenly forced his cock into you. It felt like he was ripping you apart – he was huge. Your eyes flooded with tears again, and he cooed at you softly, pressing his chapped lips to your burning face. You couldn’t even remember when was the last time you had sex since you broke up with your ex a year ago. Thankfully, Bucky gave you time to adjust. He kept whispering filth into your ears and stroking your naked thighs. When did he take off your jeans?..

He kissed the top of your head, playing with your hair, and moved his hips slightly. You hissed in pain, but then realized it was a bit better – the pleasure started building up slowly, and you squeezed your eyes shut. No, no, you were not disgusting, your body tried to cope the best way it could, nothing else, it was a perfectly normal reaction, you knew that. Then you felt Bucky licking up the shell of your ear and whined desperately.

“It’ll be ok.” He whispered and kissed your temple. “I’ll take you to a nice place, and we’ll be there all alone. Once I make sure you’re pregnant I’ll return to prison, I give you my word.”

You bit down on your lip to muffle the noise coming out of your mouth.

“If they keep me alive, I might become your patient again.” He sounded almost ecstatic, rutting deep into you. “I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll stuff my mouth with your pills. Please, just stay with me.”

Staring at the white ceiling, you bit your tongue so hard your mouth filled with blood. You’d survive this. You’d get him behind the bars again. 

You wouldn’t stay.

[nbrook29]

💞 My ultimate Sobbe fic recs 💞

Recently, I have gone through Robbe/Sander tag on ao3 and I decided to compose a list of fics that are absolute gems for me. A few disclaimers first:

✔ I didn’t include works in progress (WIPs), however I did include fics that are only on tumblr

✔ the order of the fics below is random

✔ this is the list of my personal favorites so if your favorite fic is not on the list it doesn’t mean it’s bad or that I consider it bad - we just vibe with different things :)

✔ if there’s a fic on this list that you decided to give a shot and loved it, please remember about leaving a comment under it to let the author know that

✔ I’ve been trying to add the “read more” thingy but it doesn’t show, I’m sorry, I know long posts are annoying af

under 1k

we’re keeping it simple by noobishere | G

Summary: Sander comes over unannounced and attacks Robbe’s very person (a.k.a the one where Sander teases Robbe on Eenvoud)

This is a guaranteed mood lifter. It’s short, sweet, to the point, and oh so funny. The banter. And I’d die to see that in the show. 

1k - 5k

Fizzy Colas by Foxsake5 | M

Summary: Let’s say this is a clip (hopefully not as short as the standard 1:40 of this season) with Sander as the main on a ‘bros night out’ 🍻

This author is my queen/king alright? They take a simple idea and turn it into the most lovely/cute/soft story. This fic is exactly that. Sobbe’s chemistry here is out of this world and the banter is to die for.

high for this by flowersmaze (@bowieskam) | G

Summary: In which Sander remains a Flirt™ and in love with Robbe even when he can’t feel his face after a medical procedure

The summary says it all. Loopy Sander is the cutest and funniest thing.

Pull Me from the Dark by TheOceanIsMyInkwell (@theoceanismyinkwell) | T

Summary: Sander discovers that Robbe has recently been prescribed antidepressants, and Robbe opens up to him about the night he almost stepped off the bridge. Only love will show how much they’ve grown and pull them through.

This time, the boys talk about Robbe’s mental state which is unusual in fics. This oneshot is communication 101. And this line is just 👌🏻 “But after the dust of their first kiss and their first vows of commitment settled around them, Robbe took a look at the space in which he floated and realized, somewhere along the line, that finding the love of your life doesn’t fix you.”

diminuendo by noobishere

Summary: Waking up feels like an ordeal. His eyes are heavy, arms a dead weight, he isn’t sure if his limbs are even in the right places, but eventually, Sander comes to. (a.k.a a take on how Sander fairs after Robbe left for school.)

Sander’s POV after Dinsdag 7:27. It’s a great insight into his headspace during that time. This could be a scene in the show because it fits so well.

you’re wonder under summer sky by nothingbutniall | M

Summary: Two city boys go camping. What could go wrong? (Everything, apparently.)

Those boys are a chaotic mess okay? They’re such dorks. This fic has the best kind of grumpiness there is and sobbe is written so in character here.

if we can make it through december (maybe we’ll make it through forever) by nothingbutniall | G

Summary: Robbe and Sander at the Christmas market.

Can you imagine those two dorks at the Christmas market? Well you don’t have to anymore because this fic is everything you need and more. And this line “Couldn’t,” Sander sulks. “You can’t hold hands properly with mittens on.” makes me go all gooey inside every.single.time 😍

A New Sunday Feeling by Foxsake5 | M

Summary:  Sander before Robbe: Ugh, Sundays 😒 Sander after Robbe: 😏🥺🥰

The way this author writes sobbe’s intimate moments is just pure talent. They have such way with words.

memories painted with much brighter ink by nothingbutniall | G

Summary: Saint Nicholas is the perfect excuse for an evening of gifts and banter with the flatshare. (Basically all five of them being cute together, and then Robbe and Sander being cute with just the two of them.)

This is the perfect fic for an October evening, when Christmas is just around the corner and you’ve just made yourself a cup of coffee and want to read some heart-warming well-written christmassy fluff. 

5k - 10k

Let’s Dance by msleviss (@sander-driesen) | G

Summary: Robbe and his friends go to a club to check out Amber’s DJ cousin.

THIS PERSON PREDICTED DJ SANDER Y’ALL. And Robbe thirsts over him. And there is an instant connection. And Robbe dances. And it’s so cute.

video phone by tokyometropolis (@luludemauryyy) | E

Summary: AKA OH MY GOD, THEY WERE QUARANTINED…except not together, because life is cruel. Thankfully it’s 2020 and when Robbe has an…er…intense dream about Sander in the middle of the night, all he has to do is press one button and Facetime him about it. Thing is…sometimes FaceTiming isn’t enough.

Look. I get that smut fics are not everyone’s cup of tea. And that’s totally fine. But. If you’re looking for a well-written smut that’s in character and where you can feel the love between the characters, this is it. Hands down. Sorry not sorry 💁🏼‍♀️

10k - 20k

our camp of dreams by robbesanderx (@robbesdriesen) | M

Summary: a summer camp!AU where robbe and sander are both co-counselors

Misunderstandings lead to pining. Teenage angst at its finest. I really like camp stories, it’s my thing.

Falling For You by silver_etoile (@azozzoni) | T

Summary: Robbe only knows one thing about football: that Sander Dreisen is the hottest player on the FC Utrecht team. When Jens drags him to a match, the last thing Robbe expects is to meet someone so perfect, and it’s all he can do not to mess it up, but will he succeed?

Sobbe in a different setting with a bit different dynamic yet still having that special something. It’s a nicely written story of the development of their relationship, first meeting, falling in love, ups and down, all the best things in fics. And Sander as a soccer player is a pretty 🔥 concept (and I think Robbe agrees).

This isn’t our first time around by noobishere | E

Summary: One moment they are in the kitchen of their shared apartment, the next, they’re in this strange but familiar room.(a.k.a the au in which they accidentally go hopping through multiple universes)

The universe takes matters into their own hands and shows those silly boys that they are meant to be. Sign me up for the ride.

Coffee and Croques by peaceoutofthepieces (@peaceoutofthepieces) | G

Summary: Sander works at the on-campus coffee shop with Eliott, and he might just have a crush on the cute boy in the brown coat.

I’m a sucker for coffeshop fics. There is just something so good about them. This one is the coffeshop!AU that sobbe deserves. Oh the pining, and the secretive looks, the silly boys, and a pinch of Elu. Me likey ☕

The finest of the meadow by allforyoumylove | M

Summary: The universe brings two lonely boys together in a flowering meadow. They fall for each other fast and hard among delicate daisies, warm summer breezes, and shooting stars.

This is magical. My comment on the work was “So soft, so beautiful, so THEM, ugh.” and I MEANT that. This is just the right amount of sweetness. This is a must read. I’m not messing around. 

two side of the same coin series by MajorAccent (@acespaceacepilot) | E

Summary: the valleys and mountains of sander’s bpd

How the boys handle Sander’s ups and downs. Robbe being the best boyfriend ever. I love how good he is for Sander, being there for him, not treating him like a baby, and not controlling him. How much he tries to make it at least a little bit easier for him. If you don’t want to read explicit stories, at least give the first part a try since it’s not E rated. 

Zaterdag 9:58 by Foxsake5 | M

Summary: What happened after the croissants dropped to the floor 🥐����💕

I meant it when I said Foxsake5 has great way with words. Every single piece of theirs is just “chef’s kiss”. This fic is a definition of a domestic fic. Oh, and it happened. Totally. It’s my headcanon now.

its an unrequited love by eggsntoast | G

Summary: Sander works part-time at a museum every Sunday. Robbe is a frequent visitor.

A Sander POV fic. I was sold from the beginning. The development of their relationship here is so cute, and they’re being so stupid with their pining instead of just talking to each other and you just want to shake them but at the same time you’re rooting for them so hard. Oh and did I mention pining?

20k+

Jij Verliest series by ravenbrenna09 (@djsander) | M

Summary: For the past three months, Robbe’s life—and what it once was—had been stripped away and rearranged. Now, if anything, his life had become a bit repetitive: homework, stream, ignore Thomas’s Instagram, repeat. But one Friday evening, Robbe meets a hurricane in the form of a platinum-haired tattoo artist who just might show him everything that he’s been missing.

This is a long series okay? But oh so worth it. It’s captivating and you don’t want to stop until you finish. And once you finish you’re sad it’s over even though you’ve just spent 8 fucking hours reading it. It’s amazing. But you probably know that because it’s quite popular (rightfully so). The best thing is that you expect it to go bad halfway through because it’s difficult to keep the quality on the same level in a fic that long. But it doesn’t.

Visitations by lucidpantone (@lucidpantone) | E

Summary: Does Robbe and Sander’s relationship survive into adulthood. This fic takes place in two simultaneously timelines: the past and the present.The present occurs in one entire day. Both timelines are completely out of chronological order. Everything is in clips.You can be dropped in at anytime of the day in any timeline. So clip by clip you will need to piece together what happen to Sander & Robbe and why the present looks the way it does and what happened in the past that got them there.This love story is a journey. So be prepared.In the words of one of our Even’s. It’s a complicated love story between complicated people.

This is not a regular fic. The author put so much thought into it, there are so many gems, so many little things that you have to pay attention to because it.all.matters. And there is not one interpretation. Don’t you just love when a story forces you to think and use your brain? Cause I do. Not gonna lie: this story hurts, and like the author says themselves, it’s a journey. But oh my god get in because it’s amazing. And the ending is just sjsjsjsjsddhdhsdsgdsg 🤯

the night we met by themoongirl (@dearsander) | T

Summary: Robbe Ijzermans has a brain that won’t let him sleep, a chest that feels far too heavy and thoughts that never stop.During his first year of college he meets Sander Driesen. Robbe finds what he never went looking for.

A college AU. This fic is a journey of pain and fluff and humor. It has awesome friendships. And sobbe falling in love. And liminal spaces. I read it a while ago so I don’t remember it as well as the others but you know what? I still remember that it was great and I’m lowkey happy I don’t remember it that well because now I can go and read it again. 

The Stars Look Very Different by @peaceoutofthepieces 

Summary: Robbe is bored. He’s bored of listening to his friends talking about girls, and his other friends making out, and no one ever doing anything. He’s tired of having to put in all the work, of making his own fun. He’s tired of feeling nothing so he doesn’t have to feel like nothing. His party stunts are pushing the limit, his thrill seeking beginning to worry even his friends, and his carelessness is toeing the line of dangerous.

He’s a little tired of being ‘dangerous’, too.

Sander may or may not have a crush on the older boy with the apparent death wish. He wouldn’t mind a little danger.

Once I started reading this fic, each day I was waiting for an update at the edge of my seat which was a feeling I expected from s4 that did not deliver. TSLVD definitely delivered. My favorite sobbe social media AU

Ziggy Stardust Series by skamsnake (@skamsnake) | M/E

A collection of fics taking place throughout the season. Most of them are E rated so be aware of that but it’s a really cool mixture of fluff and spice *fans myself*

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

For you fic called Satisfied. I wasn’t even reading it and I couldn’t help but be curious about the alternative ending. I know you said that you didn’t plan on continuing it, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my head because I really want to see the batfam’s reaction to Marinette trying to kill Batman.

You know, I was going to do some cute fluff for Valentine’s Day... and then I got this and I was like neW PLAN

Also, I think I’ve gotten worse at angst since starting antidepressants. Now that it happened it's obvious, but >:(

original

batboys’ feelings

@solangelo252 wanted to be tagged if I ever continued so here’s how the bats would react

She swung her legs absently as she waited for the bats to come home. She’d turned on the fire, and then taken a seat on top of the fireplace. It was a testament to just how long she’d been there that she was pretty sure her legs would catch if nothing happened within the next few minutes.

Not that she would have cared, really.

Her eyes swept over the room for what felt like the millionth time in her boredom.

She decided she didn’t like this living room. Too many couches. Rich people are weird.

And then there was the pictures…

She eyed the picture frames from across the room. She’d turned all them around a few minutes after she’d come in. There was something uncomfortable about looking at them… or maybe her problem was them looking at her? Either way, she didn’t like it.

Besides, she was probably going to be seeing them in person in a few minutes, and they definitely wouldn’t be having those smiles then.

Marinette didn’t quite know who would get home and when. She could have figured it out if she’d wanted, could have studied them for days on end, but why would she?

She knew Cass and Duke were asleep in their apartment, at least. They’d patrolled together all day. They wouldn’t be involved.

But any of the other batboys were fair game to show up at any moment.

Not that Marinette wanted them to. She didn’t know how she felt about most things anymore, really, but she definitely didn’t feel like killing them.

She could. If she absolutely had to. With her powers it would be easy… but she hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

She was pulled out of her musing when she heard chatter coming down the hallway. They were close. Maybe. She couldn’t tell. Her ability to tell volume had been greatly diminished since her ears had been cut off.

She strained her not-ears to try and discern Bruce’s voice from the mix. She didn’t think she heard it…

They were definitely coming this way, though, so she’d know for sure in a few moments.

After all, there was no way that they wouldn’t hear the crackling of the fire. It was why she’d set it up, to bring them there.

The door swung open. Her legs stopped swinging.

Wow. Really? She knew her luck was bad, but really? How had she managed to get four out of the five people in the house to come in and not one of them was her actual target.

For a moment, the five of them stared at each other wordlessly.

She bit the inside of her cheek. Should she just portal out…?

No. They’d already seen her. If she left the bats would be more on guard the next time she saw them. This was probably her only chance.

But that meant --.

“Mari?” Dick’s voice broke through the silence.

Could she play this off as just her coming back? Sure, Harley likely wouldn’t approve of how long that would take her… but then again Harley likely wouldn’t approve of her coming home empty-handed, either.

She brought a hand up to rest over the tiny pin on her lapel. It was broadcasting everything that was happening straight to Harley and Joker…

She wondered, vaguely, what they were thinking.

They were probably laughing.

“Is that really you?” Said Jason.

She considered the question for a moment, then brought a smile to her face. “Maybe.”

Dick took a couple steps forward. A hand reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt, holding him back.

“You’re pale,” observed Tim.

Of course he would notice.

She giggled a little. “Yeah. Lack of sunlight and chemical baths do that.”

“Chemical baths?” Repeated Damian cautiously.

“Don’t worry, I was only thrown in chemicals… once? Well, I was thrown in once and pushed under twice.”

This didn’t seem to console anyone. Shockingly.

She hopped down from her spot on top of the fireplace. The bats tensed a little.

She gave a mock pout. “Don’t trust me?”

“Sorry, kid, you’re just acting… weird,” said Jason.

Weird? She hadn’t thought she was acting any different but, then again, she couldn’t really remember how she used to act.

“None taken,” Marinette said. “But, really, if I wanted you guys hurt, you already would be.”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Is that so?”

Her eyes narrowed.

Dick sighed. “Why would you challenge her? Why did you think that would be --?”

“Well, I might as well prove him wrong, don’t you think? I mean, I could kill you guys with a couple portals if I wanted. A little snip --”

Two portals appeared dangerously close to Damian’s head and then closed again.

“-- or a good hit --”

She opened a portal underneath herself and touched ground behind the bats. She poked Tim in the back and smiled when he turned around, reaching out and stealing the pen attached to his chest pocket.

“-- and then there was this thing I learned how to do a little bit ago!”

She tossed the pen in the air and, with a brief flash of blue light, it was gone.

“... I still don’t know where things go when I do that,” she admitted.

Everyone stared at where the pen had just been, more than a little concerned about their own safety.

“How…?” Said Tim carefully.

She tipped her head to the side as she considered the question. Should she tell him the truth? That Nygma had asked her what would happen to an object if she overlapped the portals? Or should she lie and say that she used it to escape?

… probably the escaping thing. That might make them less wary of her.

“Well, after…” How long had she been in there? She didn’t know. “... after a while, I figured I should take my escape into my own hands.”

The boys flinched a little at that. Odd.

“I figured out that when I press portals close enough together whatever I catch in them just kind of… collapses in on itself? Or, at least, they stop existing. It’s hard to tell.”

They were all silent.

Except for Jason, who shook his head. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. You would have just escaped if you could have done that. And didn’t you say that you needed to know where you were to make a portal?”

And now they were all way more suspicious. She could see them all properly raising their guards.

Even if they were all dressed in their civvies, she knew them well enough to know they had to be hiding weapons on them. They were paranoid bastards, even in their own home. On the off-chance that they didn’t actually have anything on them, they were still trained in hand-to-hand combat. It wouldn’t be a fun fight.

“Where’s Bruce, by the way? If we’re going to have a reunion, he needs to be here, don’t you think?” She tried.

“You don’t need to know,” said Dick.

“... he’s in the Batcave, isn’t he?”

Jason shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You don’t know how to get in.”

Damn. True.

“Any chance we could skip the next hour or so and you guys lead me there?”

“I think we all know the answer to that,” said Dick.

She sighed lightly. “Yeah…” She detached her lasso from her waist…

And then portaled behind them and took off running.

Marinette didn’t know where Bruce was, but they definitely did.

She waited until Dick had almost caught her before dropping through a new portal and clinging to the rafters of the next room. She watched him come to a halt, the rubber of his shoes screeching against the hardwood floors, and then look around.

The other bats weren’t far behind, coming to a stop beside him.

She watched their hands carefully to make sure they weren’t about to use their comms, straining her not-ears to hear what they were saying:

Damian checked the shadows of the room before clicking his tongue. “Does she know where to go? Should we report to father?”

“She’s on comms,” said Jason.

“Doubt it. If she still had access to comms she would have said something over the past five months,” Dick pointed out.

Damian raised a hand and she readied her lasso --.

Tim stopped him. “Don’t. It’ll put him on guard, but he’ll probably…” His blue eyes scanned the room as well. “... he’ll…” She tried not to move as his eyes passed over her. “... it might give up his location. She doesn’t know where Bruce is yet and she’s probably waiting for us to lead her to him trying to help.”

Alright. Fuck it. She may have had a crush on Tim back when things were good but he had to go.

“So what do we do?” Said Jason.

“Split up. We’ll text each other who is going to be the one to see him. She can’t follow all of us.”

Yep. Definitely had to go.

The four of them split off.

Tim and Jason had gone back the way they’d come, Dick and Damian had headed off in the opposite direction.

She waited for a while after Tim and Jason had split up, enough to make sure Jason wouldn’t hear and come to his aid, and then dropped from the rafters silently.

His steps came to a stop and he gave a tiny sigh.

“I know you’re there.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because, Bean, I know you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the old nickname.

He pulled his hands from his pockets and she saw the outline of his collapsible bo staff extending even in the dim light of the hallway. He spun on his heel to look at her.

“Any chance we can talk this out?”

She took a short glance around. They were in a hallway, so he couldn’t wield his bo staff quite the way he liked.

Then again, he wasn’t really trying to beat her. If he’d known she was going to follow him, then he was just using himself to buy more time. That was probably why he hadn’t outright attacked her yet, too, the longer he could drag this out the better.

Should she leave…?

No. He was too big of a problem for her to leave.

“I… I just want you to know that none of this is personal.”

“I know,” he said gently.

She raised her fists to fight and advanced on him slowly. “Oh, and if you do somehow knock me out, be a dear and don’t take off my glasses? I’m pretty sure I’d die. Apparently, it’s been five months and I wasn’t fed much.”

He winced ever so slightly.

And then he changed his stance. Business mode, then.

“Noted.”

She dodged his first swing with ease, he always started with a right swing.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as he attempted to jab her with the staff. He nearly stumbled in her haste to get out of range. They both knew that it would be over if she got in close, she’d be able to get a hit in and he wouldn’t be able to get any force behind his attacks.

She took a chance to look back to see how far they were from the nearest room. A good bit, he’d have to force her back quite a lot to get into an open space…

She turned around just in time to get hit in the jaw. She groaned and fell back, then did a quick backroll to get back to her feet.

“You’re out of practice,” he said.

She swallowed back blood. “And you’re a bitch, but you don’t hear me saying anything about it.”

They looked at each other in silence for a few beats…

Their fight styles were both calculated, albeit in different ways; his attacks were always meant to do enough damage to bring someone down quickly, hers were meant to use other’s habits against them. Tim had the disadvantage, what with her miraculous making his attacks less effective and her knowledge of him beforehand, and they both knew it.

She ghosted her hand over the lasso on her waist, wishing for her yoyo. A weapon she was used to would have made this go by far faster...

But it wasn’t the time to be sad over her loss of Tikki, she had other things to do. People to beat.

He ran forward suddenly, bo staff swinging, and she narrowly dodged the right swing. However, that was apparently not his goal, because swiftly used the staff to vault over her and rush towards the room for better mobility.

She grit her teeth and opened a portal on either end of the hall and he narrowly avoided running through it.

His eyes met hers and she sent him a smile.

“Worth a shot,” he said.

“Was it?” She teased, slowly advancing on him.

“I think so,” he said smugly, his eyes focused on a place over her shoulder.

On instinct, she turned to look. Then, when she found nothing, she mumbled a curse.

The end of the bo staff slammed into the side of her head and she stumbled back to try and avoid the worst of the pain. Stars danced in her eyes from two consecutive blows to the head, but she couldn’t concentrate on that. She shook her head a bit and brought her hands up to fight again.

“That should have taken you out. I hate your miraculous right now,” he decided.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one.”

He frowned. “Isn’t it the only thing keeping you alive?”

“See? You get it.”

His frown, somehow deepened. For a moment, he dropped his guard a little.

“What happened to you?”

“I’m sure you have a guess.”

She lunged forward and for once he was the one taken off guard. He quickly dodged the blow to his face and brought his staff towards her shin. He was trying to sweep her legs out from under her, but she had been ready for that.

She hooked her leg around the staff and brought it up. His body jerked forward, pulled by the staff. She drove her elbow into his back and Tim fell to the floor.

She moved the bo staff to her hand and pressed it to the back of his neck before he could get up.

“Any chance you’ll tell me where your father is?”

“Jason would be sad to hear you call him my father.”

“I... don’t care about him right now. Tell me where Bruce is.”

“Nope.”

She felt a little annoyed despite knowing that was going to be the answer. She hit him as hard as she could in the back of the head and winced when he went slack. She dug in his pockets for his phone and turned it on.

Thank kwami you could see notifications even when the phone was locked.

Redhoodiewastaken: should be there soon

She bit the inside of her cheek and pushed herself back to her feet. Her eyes flicked over Tim’s still unmoving body.

It couldn’t be that easy…

Right?

She didn’t know.

She nudged him onto his back with her foot and delivered a blow to his knee to slow him if he woke up too soon (she had a rope, but she wasn’t fond of tying him up with her miraculous weapon, and killing him was off the table if she could help it).

She rolled him onto his side gently and tipped his head back to make sure he could breathe.

She started back the way she came. She needed to decide who she was going to follow next.

Marinette needed to logic this out. Dick would be the best option to go look for their father, he was the most experienced and could hold his own… but Damian would likely want to go for his father because of his weird ‘blood son’ thing… but Jason had sent the text… but Dick was the best fighter… but Damian had a complex… but --...

… aaaaand now she was going in circles. Literally and figuratively.

She stopped her pacing.

It didn’t really matter, did it? She didn’t quite know where any of the people were. She knew the general directions they had gone off in, but that wasn’t enough. The mansion was huge… because it was, y’know, a mansion.

Whatever. She’d open portals in random rooms throughout the house and see if she could find a batboy that way.

After a few more attempts than she’d like to admit, she’d managed to catch sight of someone right as they left a room. She silently dropped into the room and then followed after them, Tim’s stolen bo staff in hand. Maybe it would give whoever it is pause if they saw her.

Damian. She was tailing Damian, she realized as she noted the glint of his shuriken.

Great. The one who was most likely to outright kill her. She loved her luck.

He had opted not to turn on lights because he was currently sneaking and he’d been trained by the League to use the shadows to hide. This was good, she could also use it to hide.

This was unfortunate, too. It meant that she only caught brief flashes of him to follow.

A shuriken sailed past her head when she was halfway through the hallway and she froze up instinctively.

Damian stepped out of the shadows.

“What gave me away?”

He considered her for a second before shaking his head. “Nothing, I just happened to look back at a good time.”

She nodded her understanding and then raised the staff. “Just tell me where your dad is. I don’t want to fight you.”

“That’s your mistake,” he said.

She dodged his next shuriken and collapsed the bo staff for the confined space. If nothing else, she could use the metal to pack more of a punch.

They sized each other up. They both knew that the first hit was usually a disadvantage unless you could get a knock-out first try. Neither of them were eager to put themselves at a disadvantage when so much was on the line.

She’d let him attack first. He’d get impatient at some point, and she needed to think of a strategy.

She couldn’t take him down. Physically, yes, he was probably -- no, definitely -- better than her at fighting, he had years of training on her... but she also needed him to be taken out of the equation. The less people she had pretending to search for Bruce, the better. He likely wouldn’t go if he thought she was tailing him…

A portal opened at her feet. She sent him a wink and a wave before hopping through.

She’d meant it when she’d thought he was a paranoid bastard. Now that she knew where he was and had proven that she could tail him without him noticing (unless he was lucky, which hardly ever happened twice), he would constantly think she was after him.

Tim’s phone buzzed and she looked down.

Therealdamianwayne: Drake is down. She’s armed with his weapon. Assume she has his phone. Everyone else confirm.

Idontwantpicturesthatsjustmyname: haven't seen her

Redhoodiewastaken: me neither.

That was the entire chat.

Nothing about Bruce and who was looking for him. Fair enough, they were assuming she had the phone, but still disappointing.

She started checking rooms again, head resting on her hand as she looked for a flicker of movement and strained to hear anything.

She managed to catch sight of Jason inside his father’s study. He’d changed into his Red Hood gear. She wasn’t sure if she should interpret this as him going to protect Bruce and wanting to be as geared up as possible or him attempting to be as good a distraction as he possibly could be.

Either way...

She dropped down behind him, letting her feet hit the ground louder than usual.

Jason whipped around at the sound and she couldn’t see his face behind his helmet but she didn’t think she wanted to.

Her eyes scanned over him briefly. He was wearing thick padding and armor, she knew…

Wait, was his outfit different? She looked at the red bat on his chest, which was brighter than she remembered it.

He clenched his fists. “You don’t want to do this, Mari, you hardly ever beat me when we spar together.”

“I have more to lose than a bit of honor, now,” she said. She extended Tim’s staff.

“Same here.”

She scowled and twirled the staff in her fingers. She eyed Jason carefully. He wasn’t wrong about her track record. He was all about pins rather than actual hits (or, at least, he was when she was involved), and that was hard to use against him. There were too many variations, too many ways to improvise.

And he had a weight advantage.

And he had very few vulnerable parts at the moment with his outfit. None, possibly, but… she had an idea.

She swung the staff at him and a small groan of frustration left her lips when he let it hit him dead on without budging.

Okay. Fine.

She jabbed the bo staff at his helmet and watched him actually step back to avoid it.

Her eyes narrowed.

She opened a portal above him and dropped down, her bo staff aimed for his head, and she scowled when he ducked to the side.

No matter, she thought as she latched onto one of his shoulders on the way down. The sudden addition of weight, light as it may have been, pulled him off balance. He went crashing into the desk.

Hands struggled for purchase as he drowned in her dress. She grabbed his helmet and started attempting to remove it, bo staff discarded for the sake of getting even one viable place to hit him.

Straddling one of his shoulders, she felt it.

A jolt of electricity ran up her leg and her body seized up in a mix of shock and pain. This was definitely not a good reaction, because she was still touching the stupid taser that he’d had installed in his outfit kwamI DAMNIT THIS HURTS --.

She managed to tear herself off of him, every muscle aching in a way that was way closer to the way the chemicals had burned her for her liking.

And then the pain was gone. Or, at least, the thing administering it was. Her body still tingled with electricity. Every little involuntary spasm only seemed to make it worse.

Jason leaned over her, the bat on his chest back to the shade of red she was used to.

The fucker CHEATED.

He pulled off his helmet and looked down at her mostly unmoving body, his lips drawn in a frown.

She glared up at him as much as her face would allow through the pain. It would be so easy to kill him. A little portal was all it would take.

He reached out and closed her eyes for her.

~

She forced her eyes open and cringed at what she saw.

The walls and ceiling were white and featureless. She had no clue where she was.

She remembered, vaguely, that Jason had once told her Bruce had contingencies for everyone, including his kids. She’d laughed at the time. Now…

She shifted out of the bed they’d put her in, ignoring the dull ache of her muscles, and explored the room. There was a door on one wall, she wasn’t surprised when she found it to be locked. Beyond that… nothing.

Except for a speaker. Her breath caught as she looked at it and she tried to fight back the sudden wave of panic.

What if this wasn’t Bruce?

This could just as easily be her punishment from Harley and Joker for failing. They’d put her in a white room before, this could just be the upgraded one since she’d actively disappointed them.

Would they have given her a bed if they were mad at her? She was pretty sure they wouldn’t, but then again it could just be one of their experiments.

She shuddered a little bit at the memory and suddenly found herself wishing for a jacket.

What would help her figure out if this was Joker or Bruce?

Her eyes scanned the room for any glass and found there wasn’t any observation windows. Point towards the bats.

She looked at her lapel and she whimpered a little when she found that the bug Joker had put on her was gone. It had been mostly hidden by the natural ruffles of her outfit. It wasn’t impossible that the bats had noticed it, but it was definitely unlikely. Point towards Joker.

… what else was there?

She didn’t need to wonder for long, because the speaker crackled to life:

“Marinette, we’re going to come in to talk to you about some stuff we found out while you were out, if you can promise not to attack us.”

She bit the inside of her cheek as she considered it.

“Fine. As long as it’s not Jason, I won’t attack.”

She could practically hear Jason’s whines. And maybe she could. Who knows, the others might be just outside the door.

Probably not, because it took an entire minute before the door opened to reveal Tim.

Well, they appeared to be Tim, at least. She wasn’t going to discard the idea that this was some new fear toxin-induced nightmare just yet.

He stepped through and it closed behind him.

She took a seat on the bed and he came to a stop a few feet from her. They didn’t trust her.

Fair. Tim’s head and knee were still wrapped in bandages from when she’d attacked them.

She allowed herself to wonder, momentarily, why he had come in alone when he was injured. She brushed this off, though. She’d already proven her goal wasn’t really hurting him or the other batkids, and the way he had come in had made it clear he didn’t actually have a key or anything on him.

She rested her head on her hand, scrutinizing his expression. He was trying to maintain a neutral facade, but she recognized the slight downturn of his lips.

“So? You had some findings?” She prompted when he didn’t say anything.

“Right.” He looked down at the clipboard in his hands. “I checked your vitals, and…” He cleared his throat. “You were right. Your miraculous is the only thing keeping you going, your cells haven’t had anything to go on for a long time. You’re… pretty much dead.”

She decided that this had to be real, not fear toxin. Or, at least, if this was fear toxin it was the worst batch Scarecrow had whipped up in a long while.

“... yeah? What’s your point?” She said, waving for him to get on with it.

This only seemed to distress the man in front of her.

“Bean, I don’t think you heard me, you’re dead. Like… not going to come back dead.”

She giggled. “I’m dead inside. Literally.” She held up a hand for a high-five.

He high-fived her on instinct then gave his hand a betrayed expression.

She smiled and put her hands in her lap, running her thumb along where her hand had touched his.

“Please take this seriously,” he pleaded.

“It’s not news to me, I’m the one who brought it up to you. I had, I think, seven granola bars, a cookie, and a few glasses of water for five months. Not exactly three square meals and eight glasses of water a day.”

He gripped his clipboard so tightly his knuckles had turned white. “Your ears were also cut off.”

“No? Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Please just… react normally!” Said Tim, his voice a mix of exasperated and saddened.

She didn’t bother looking at him. “If you haven’t noticed already, I don’t care.”

“You should! You’re dead!”

“What’s the point? I’ll die when I take off these glasses, whenever I’m ready to do that, and that doesn’t change whether or not I want to overreact about it.”

“WE AREN’T OVERREACTING! YOU’RE UNDERREACTING!”

She flinched and reached up to wipe the tears trying to form behind her eyes.

The reaction was instantaneous. Tim dropped his clipboard and, despite her having recently attacked him, dove towards her. Hands locked around her wrists and forced them back into her lap.

She blinked a few times, her brain struggling to figure out why he’d done that. She stared at the hands that had moved down to gently rest over her own, at the thumbs rubbing circles into her skin. She hadn’t done anything good. Why was he…?

She saw the way he looked to be on the verge of tears as well and it clicked.

Ah. He’d thought she was going to kill herself.

Marinette swallowed thickly and looked back down at their hands, trying to ignore the wave of happiness that had decided to rush through her at the tiny action. It wasn’t because she was good, she told herself, it was because he’d thought she was going to die.

She’d be useless if she was dead.

Not that she was very useful right now. She hadn’t succeeded at the one thing she’d been asked to do.

Now she was definitely crying.

So was he, actually.

Wild. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him cry before.

She hesitated, unsure what she was allowed to do, and then slowly leaned her head on his shoulder.

He rested his head against hers.

“We were so… we thought you…” He trailed off, unable to finish any of the thoughts aloud.

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

She didn’t answer.

Time passed them by as they sat there, leaning into each other, their fingers intertwined.

But...

Should she ruin the moment? She had something she had to tell him. She was pretty sure he already knew, but if he didn’t...

She bit the inside of her cheek.

“Tim,” she whispered.

He nodded slightly to say he was listening.

“They have the ladybug miraculous.”

“We know,” he said quietly. To her surprise, he didn’t pull away. “That’s not what I’m worried about right now, though.”

“It should be.”

He shook his head slightly.

“What happened to you?” He repeated his question from when they’d fought.

Her eyes fell on their hands and she tried her hardest to ignore the tears sliding down her face. “Nothing much. Harley and Joker said they wanted to break me like they tried to do with you.”

He stiffened under her but didn’t say anything.

“But after one trip to the chemical vats Harley changed what they were doing. Put me in a white room like this one. Sometimes they’d dose me with fear toxin, most of the time I would just sit around waiting for Harley to come to try and talk me into killing Bruce. I think that was daily, I don’t really know.”

He drew back a little bit to look at her and she tried not to whine at the sudden cold that came over her.

“That’s… are you okay?”

“I think so. Like I said, it wasn’t much.”

He looked more than a little skeptical. “Okay, so why did they let you go?”

“Wanted me to kill Bruce.”

“But they trusted you to do it without running away, and you did.”

She shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

How do you say ‘I crave the validation of a supervillain’ without saying it? Because even saying it in her head makes it sound pretty bad.

And it wasn’t bad, just… abnormal?

Yeah. That was it. Abnormal.

Shit. He was looking at her for an answer and now that she was trying to think of literally any other sentence to say her mind was just blaring the same words over and over again.

“Uh… didn’t cross my mind?” She said lamely.

He stared at her for a few moments. “You want me to believe that you left the place they had been keeping you in, traveled all the way here, waited however long for us to come home, and fought us… and you didn’t think about leaving once?”

“... yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying happened.”

“I’m not buying it.”

“I’d be concerned about how stupid you thought I was if you did.”

He cracked a tentative half-smile before pulling her into him. “I don’t know what happened, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just… I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Won’t be safe for long. Do you know who’s using the miraculous?”

“Catwoman. She was a little upset she couldn’t keep up the ‘cat’ thing, but I think she doesn’t mind much anymore because of the whole ‘can summon anything at any time and fix every mistake she makes’ thing.”

“Makes sense.”

She breathed a sigh of relief.

She pressed against his chest to pull away from him. “Right. Can I have a marker or pen or something?”

He looked a little confused before he dug into his pockets and found a pen for her. He handed it over. “Sure. Why?”

She twirled the pen in her fingers as she considered the question.

“I need to make a plan to get it back. Obviously. Now get out, I need to think.”

She attempted to shoo him, only to have him catch her wrists again.

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll be fine. Can’t work myself to death if I’m already dead, right?”

He looked reluctant to leave her after that, but she was already pushing him to the door. She watched him step through, trying to catch sight of the space beyond where they’d trapped her, but he was careful to leave in a way that blocked her view.

They still didn’t trust her.

Fair enough. She clutched the pen tighter in her hands.

She fell back on the bed. Even if there wasn’t an observation window here, there was sure to be at least a few hidden cameras to make sure she didn’t do anything to contact Harley and Joker.

And she probably would have if she could. They’d taken the bug on her and the cheap pager she’d been given in case something like this had happened, though.

Her brain wandered to Tim’s question from earlier. Why was she so determined to help Harley?

She’d thought it was just affection. But that couldn’t be it. Tim had given her some affection while he was there and, while it was nice to have someone touch her in a way that wasn’t violent, it didn’t have nearly the same effect as Harley’s hugs and praise did.

Marinette scooted up until her head rested on a pillow and closed her eyes.

Whatever. She could plan. She was good at those.

The options were to a) behave until she was allowed out or b) wait to be visited by Bruce and then put the pen Tim had given her to good use.

She didn’t like either of those options, but they were the only ones that would have a chance of working if she wanted to kill Bruce.

She let herself drift off. She had a lot of waiting to do.

[particularemu]

Insanity | A Hwang Hyunjin Series | Part 1

Part: [Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Epilogue]

Word Count: 5046

Type: Angst

Warnings: violence, drugs, descriptions of anxiety, panic disorders, fucked up hospitals, a sassy Jinnie boi, and corruption.

Author’s Note: Without further ado, I present part 1 of Insanity. Please understand that I’m no doctor, and I have 0 medical knowledge, so if I make a mistake, shoot me a message and school me so I can fix it :3 

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he stepped off the bus, hand tugging his suitcase behind him. There it was — Rosewood Psychiatric Institution — the medical facility he was going to stay and work in for the next couple of years. Hyunjin would stay longer, but he had strict plans to start his own institution after getting some work experience. Judging by the beautiful landscape — it looked like he picked the right place. 

The land rolled smoothly under the thick, luscious grass, the picture-perfect landscape looking as if it was sculpted by the gods. There were several colorful plants and shrubs along the cobblestone path, leading Hyunjin directly to the gates. After being waved through by a couple of nice-looking guards, Hyunjin made his way over to the living quarters for the staff. Thank goodness the way was pointed by various golden signs, otherwise, he’d surely get lost in the big institution made up of several buildings. 

Hyunjin’s lips parted in surprise as several sprinklers turned on, watering the beautiful lawn for the first time that morning. Wow… they obviously had a passionate landscaper who thrives on taking care of all these plants. It must take the man (or woman) all day to water the plants, cut the grass, and pull each and every weed out of the landscape. 

The institution was incredible. Most mental health facilities he visited during his university years weren’t this large — or as aesthetically pleasing. The boy couldn’t help but gawk at the beautiful architecture. 

Hyunjin cursed as his watch beeped, signaling the start of his shift in the next hour. He opened the door to the living quarters, gasping at the luxurious decor coating the walls. This doctor must make loads of money off this place to be able to afford decor this nice. It was nice to know that Dr. Douglas took care of the staff. Hyunjin quickly made his way over to room 108, grateful that he wouldn’t have to drag his suitcase up 3 flights of stairs. Hyunjin tucked his suitcase under the bed, brows creasing when he saw the pure white uniform laying across his bed. 

Fuck, he hated white. Of course, he expected he’d have to wear the typical white coat, but usually, he was allowed to wear blue scrubs. Why the hell were they forcing the staff to wear some 1950s style uniform? Oh well. Hyunjin changed into the uniform. 

Dr. Douglas must be obsessed with the look of white — Hyunjin assumed because all the rooms were coated with white paint, decorated with white knick-knacks, and beds were made with white sheets and comforters. Hyunjin would have to find a poster or something to go on the wall, or he might have to check himself into the institution. 

Hyunjin rushed out the door, checking to make sure it locked before heading over to the main building. From what he could tell on his map, he would be working in the largest building. Hyunjin headed inside, eyes scanning the room for some sign of where he should go. 

“Hello, how can I help you, sir?” A kind woman dressed in some 1950s looking nurse uniform caught Hyunjin’s attention. 

What is with these old-fashioned uniforms? Maybe they were trying to keep things timeless for those who’ve been in the institution a while? Or perhaps Dr. Douglass just enjoyed vintage things. Either way, Hyunjin thought the uniform choice was odd. Throw some dirt, grime, and blood on them and the uniforms would look like they’re straight from a horror movie.  

“Hi, I’m Dr. Hyunjin. It’s my first day. I’m supposed to start today.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but gawk at how clean everything looked. All hospitals should be clean but this — this institution looked as though it was scrubbed top to bottom with bleach. There was no scuff mark, footprint, or speck of dust in sight. 

“Ah, Dr. Hyunjin welcome.” A kind-looking man on the other side stepped out. “Come on over.” 

Hyunjin squeezed through the door and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to met you Dr?” 

“Dr. Henry.” The man smiled at Hyunjin. “We’ve been understaffed for so long. I’m happy they finally have someone to take over the day shift for Miss ______.” Dr. Henry handed Hyunjin a medical chart packed full of your medical history.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he scanned the papers. Twenty-five sedations? In just over two months? “Umm, excuse me for asking, but why has she been sedated 25 times in the past couple of months?” 

“She is a feisty young thing. If she doesn’t get her way she starts hitting and screaming.” Dr. Henry laughed. “So we typically have to sedate her before she hurts one of the doctors or herself.” 

Hmm… That still doesn’t sound right. Hyunjin brushed it off until he spotted an obvious problem in your chart. “Hey, why is she getting a stimulant?” Hyunjin frowned. 

“What do you mean?” Dr. Henry leaned over Hyunjin’s shoulder to look at your chart. 

Hyunjin pointed to a spot. “It says right here that she’s dealing with intense anxiety, panic attacks, manic, nightmares, and I’m not sure why it says etcetera there, we should be listing all her symptoms.” Hyunjin paused and pointed to another section on her chart. “Then over here, it says she’s taking Adderall — a stimulant.” 

“The doctor prescribed it for her ADHD.” Dr. Henry smiled. 

Hyunjin pursed his lips. The chart claimed that she had no memory of her life before the institution — and there were no notes stating she was diagnosed with ADHD. “We might want to consider taking her off of it. Stimulants can increase panic episodes. If she’s still having intense panic attacks, why are we still giving her Adderall?” Hyunjin pulled a pen out of his breast pocket. “We should remove that from her list.” 

“Don’t do anything yet.” Dr. Henry pat Hyunjin’s shoulder. “The doctor has to approve any prescription changes.” 

Hyunjin cocked his head in confusion. They were all doctors… Why did they need to have medication changes approved? All doctors had the ability to prescribe and change prescriptions. Whatever… Maybe it’s just a safety precaution?

“You guys have her on a steroid too.” Hyunjin pointed at your list of medications once more “Betamethasone? What’s she taking that for?” 

“You know what? I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask the doctor about that.” Dr. Henry smiled. “I only started working with her recently, so I’m not aware of her entire medical history.” 

Okay, is this guy really a doctor? Hyunjin sighed in frustration as he scanned your chart. How could this man be taking care of you, and not even care about your previous medical history? Hyunjin couldn’t help but feel grateful that he was taking over your care. Maybe he could give you a fighting chance.

“Ergotamine? Does she get migraines?”

“I don’t know.” Dr. Henry sighed, crossing his arms in annoyance. 

“The reason I’m asking is Ergotamine contains caffeine. Adding prescriptions full of steroids, stimulants, and caffeine is only going to make her anxiety worse. No wonder she’s having such a hard time.” Hyunjin couldn’t help but glare at the man. 

“Like I said. Take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry snapped. “Why isn’t she getting a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunjin was baffled. SSRIs are typically given to patients who suffer from panic attacks. The medication prevents serotonin from being absorbed by the nerve cells in the brain. Stabilizing those serotonin levels reduces anxiety and panic. “She should be taking Prozac or Lexapro,” Hyunjin mumbled as he flipped through your chart. 

Dr. Henry scoffed. “She doesn’t need an SSRI. The doctor doesn’t like prescribing those unless the patient has gone through a successful therapy session.” 

What the fuck equals a successful therapy session? 

Hyunjin flipped through your chart, spotting the therapist’s notes over the past few sessions. Sure enough, panic attacks, anxiety episodes, refusal to cooperate, violence — you had it all. Hyunjin decided that he should sit through one of your therapy sessions to see what might be triggering your panic episodes.

“Okay, then give her a serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor?” Hyunijn sighed in frustration. “Those prevent the absorption of serotonin and norepinephrine. It’ll calm her down in stressful situations.” 

“I know what they do.” Dr. Henry slammed his hand on the counter.

“Okay, then why aren’t you giving her any?” Hyunjin raised his voice as well.

“There aren’t any that are approved by the drug administration jackass.” He scoffed. 

“Yes, there is dumbass.” Hyunjin sighed and slipped your medical chart in his bag. “Venlafaxine. If you don’t have any in this hospital you need to get some.” 

“We have it, but it’s an SSRI.” 

“No, it’s not.” Hyunjin raised his voice and pointed to one of the computers. “It’s an SNRI. Look it up.” He frowned, “Besides, there are so many other options out there for her. You could give her tricyclic antidepressants, monoamine oxidase inhibitors, or beta-blockers instead of letting her suffer.” Hyunjin spat.

“Take it up with the doctor.” The man yelled back in Hyunjin’s face. 

Hyunjin leaned forward, piercing eyes glaring at the other man as he crossed his arms. “Fine, I will.” 

“First, come meet your patient, then you could see if she’s worth the trouble.” Dr. Henry turned and walked down the hall. 

“What?” Hyunjin asked as he followed the man. Everyone is worth the trouble. Even if you were a psycho looking to attack everyone in that hospital, you were a human being. Besides, Hyunjin could imagine you weren’t being treated the best under Dr. Henry’s care — based on the way the asshole was treating him. 

“Here she is pretty boy.” Dr. Henry gestured in the room. 

Hyunjin’s heart broke at the sight. You were huddled in the corner, arms wrapped around yourself as if it was the only comfort you had in this mental institution. Your room was empty, save for a bed and a thin blanket that probably provided little to no warmth. Your arms were filled with scratches, from what he assumed to be your nails — but in this hospital, there was no telling. 

Hyunjin slowly stepped into the room, smiling at you as your big glassy eyes met his. “Hello there,” Hyunjin spoke in a low even voice, hoping to prevent scaring you further. “I’m Dr. Hyunjin, your new caretaker. I’m looking forward to helping you the best I can.”  

You quickly got up and stumbled towards the man, tears running down your cheeks as you frantically clawed at his chest. Hyunjin gasped and wrapped his arms around your waist to steady you, heart-shattering when you wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, “Please you have to help me. You have to get me out of here, please.” 

Dr. Henry grabbed your arm and practically threw you across the room. “No touching the doctors. Do you want another session in the lightning room?”

You grabbed the bedpost, body shaking as you cried, “No I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” 

“Hey!” Hyunjin yelled, pushing at Dr. Henry’s shoulders. “That wasn’t necessary, she’s just scared.” He darted to your side, resting his hand on your arm to try and soothe you. You flinched away from his touch, mumbling apologies here and there. “Shh, you did nothing wrong,” Hyunjin whispered. 

“What is the lightning room? Is that electroconvulsive therapy? Do you have the right permits to do that?” To say Hyunjin was concerned was an understatement. 

“Of course.” Dr. Henry scoffed. 

“Why are you using it as a punishment?” Hyunjin raised his brow. “Electroconvulsive therapy is quite beneficial if done right. Do you guys put the patients under with anesthesia?”

Dr. Henry crossed his arms over his chest, eyes filled with pure hatred as he looked at Hyunjin. “No, we mainly use it to get their act straight.” 

“So you’re inducing seizures on your patients to get them to stop rebelling?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Smart.” 

“Look smartass, I’m just doing my job. If you have a problem with it, take it up with the doctor.” Dr. Henry stormed off, leaving Hyunjin alone with you. 

Thank God he’s finally gone. 

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you.” Hyunjin reached his hand out to you, pausing a safe distance away so he wouldn’t frighten you. “When you feel comfortable, I’m right here.” He held his hand out to you, palm facing up, giving you full control over the situation. 

You turned to look at the beautiful man, noticing the way his eyes lit up when you made eye contact. He sure was gorgeous. Most caretakers wouldn’t have stayed this long, but Hyunjin stayed in front of you, hand out for you to touch when you were ready. You slowly lifted your shaky hand and gently pressed your fingers into his palm, making Hyunjin smile brightly.

“That’s it.” His voice sounded like heaven to your ears. You felt safe in his presence, even more so when he slowly closed his fingers around yours. God, it’s been months since you’ve felt such a comforting touch. “Will you let me check your vitals?”

You cocked your head to the side, confusion evident in your features as Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “Oh sorry, you might not remember. I’m going to check your pulse, your temperature, your respiration rate, and your blood pressure just to make sure everything’s okay. After all, you did get thrown to the ground and since we don’t know what triggers your panic episodes I want to make sure you aren’t experiencing any symptoms of anxiety or panic which could be increased heart rate, temperature and —” Hyunjin paused a second. “Sorry, I’m rambling. I do that a lot. I’ll just check your temperature.” Hyunjin pulled a thermometer out of his bag and placed it in your mouth, hand resting on your forehead for a second to make sure you didn’t feel abnormally warm. 

You found the gentle touch comforting as his hand shifted to rest on the pulse point on your throat. His beautiful lips moved as he counted, eyes fixed on his watch. You couldn’t help but notice the beauty mark underneath his eye. That’s not something you see every day — especially in here. It felt like everyone looked the same — well… from the few people, you’ve seen during your various attempts to escape this godforsaken place. You flinched when Hyunjin pulled out his stethoscope, which didn’t go unnoticed by the ebony-haired beauty. 

“You look like you’re breathing fine.” Hyunjin smiled softly as he shoved the stethoscope back into his bag. “Why don’t we skip that for now.” Hyunjin pulled the thermometer out of your mouth and smiled at the results. “Good. It’s normal.” 

You sighed in relief and pulled your sore body up off the floor, plopping on the bed so you could rest. Hyunjin stood up and scanned your knees, noticing the bruises already starting to form. He couldn’t just sit there and let these damn people hurt you like this. “I have a couple of things I need to talk to your doctor about. Will you be okay here?” Hyunjin smiled when you nodded. “Awesome. I won’t be long.” 

Hyunjin slowly closed the door behind him before rushing down the hallway to Doctor Douglas’s office. He was only here an hour and he feels like he’s starting all sorts of trouble. The hospital was filled with incompetent doctors — or so he assumed judging by the information in your chart. And then there was Dr. Henry… 

Hyunjin nearly opened the door to the doctor’s office when a woman stepped in front of him. “Doctor Douglas is busy now sir. Please come back later.” 

Of fucking course. “I’m so sorry miss.” Hyunjin smiled. “He called me down here, so I thought I’d come right away. It sounded urgent.” 

“Oh, I must be mistaken. Go right ahead.” The woman moved out of the way and sat back down at her desk, obnoxiously typing a response to an email. 

Wait, that actually worked?

Hyunjin quickly slipped into the office before she could see the victorious grin on his face. He frowned when he turned around, spotting Dr. Douglas sitting in his chair, playing a random game on his phone. Yeah, okay he was real busy. 

“Welcome Hyunjin!” Dr. Douglas beamed. “I was hoping you’d make it here okay. I trust the drive up wasn’t too bad?”

“Thank you, sir. The drive was fine.” Hyunjin shook Dr. Douglas’s hand. “Pardon me for intruding, but I have a few questions about my patient.” 

“I expected a few.” Dr. Douglas laughed. “Why don’t you introduce yourself first?” 

Hyunjin ignored Dr. Douglas’s request and pulled out your chart. “After. This is urgent. You have my patient on Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, all three are known to have anxiety and panic episodes as a side effect.” Hyunjin paused, wracking his brain for information. “There was this case study a few years ago —” 

“Hyunjin please.” The doctor gestured for him to stop. “Why don’t we get to know each other first?” He chuckled. “I’m Dr. Douglas. I’m sure you know that I run this hospital, considering I was the one who hired you.” 

“Yes,” Hyunjin shook his hand. “But sir, we —” 

“Hyunjin.” 

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, feeling like a two-year-old ready to throw a tantrum. He felt like his childish nature was justified, considering no one in this damn hospital seemed to care about your condition. 

“I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I was top of my class at Southfield University and I dedicate my time helping my patients.” Hyunjin’s brows creased as he shoved your chart forward. “The one I have now needs help and I need you to approve some things so I can help her.” Hyunjin’s eyes hardened as the Doctor laughed, acting as if none of this was a problem. 

“Prestigious school Mr. Hwang.” Dr. Douglass sighed and looked at your chart. “What do you need approved?” 

“I want to take her off all the excess medication and put her on Prozac. I believe the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine is making things worse for her. She’s already dealing with so much in an unfamiliar place — so let’s put her on Prozac and see if it helps.” 

“And what will Prozac do that Venlafaxine won’t?” Dr. Douglas’s eyes bore into Hyunjin’s, making the boy nervous. 

“E-excuse me?” Hyunjin stuttered. 

“She’s taking Venlafaxine.” 

“Umm, no she isn’t.” Hyunjin panned through her chart and pointed to your list of medications. “She’s getting these six medications, which is way too much for someone without existing health problems.” 

“She’s in a mental facility.” Dr. Douglas chuckled. “They are all to help her.” 

“Yeah? What does this one do?” Hyunjin pointed to a drug on the list. “Peroproxine?”  Hyunjin frowned. “I’ve heard of Proproxen, but that’s an anti-inflammatory drug.” 

“Peroproxine is an anti-anxiety medication.” Dr. Douglas stated as if it was common knowledge. 

Okay, what? Hyunjin couldn’t stop the obvious annoyance taking over his features. He spends a LOT of his free time researching new and existing medications out there. If there was a drug by the name of Peroproxine, he probably would have known about it. “Why haven’t I heard of it?” 

Dr. Douglas laughed. “You’re new in the business son.” Hearing the word ‘son’ come out of that man’s mouth pissed Hyunjin off.  “I’m not your son. Please just approve this so I can help her.” 

“I can’t do that.” Dr. Douglas sighed. “She’s improved drastically since she started taking those medications. I won’t set her back again. It’s just not humane.” He chuckled. 

“Sir, she’s been here six months, and it appears her mental stability has gotten worse. And, Dr. Henry is being violent with her. He threw her to the ground —” 

“Hyunjin enough!” The doctor slammed his hand on the desk, startling the boy. “Give her the medications on her list, or you’re fired.” 

Hyunjin paled — it was clear he crossed a line. 

“I will not have you slandering one of the most trustworthy doctors in this institution. Get back to work.” Dr. Douglas turned in his chair, cutting off the conversation. Hyunjin’s heart dropped as he left the office. 

Sure, he could always quit and work somewhere else that wasn’t fucked up, but he couldn’t leave you. Something told him that you shouldn’t be there — that something else was the problem. He sulked down the hallways until he felt someone grab his arm and pull him into one of the Janitor’s closets. 

The beautiful man flipped the light switch, allowing the dingy old light swinging above their heads to flicker on. So there was a dirty room in the institution. 

Hyunjin scanned the man in front of him, noticing the name tag on his chest that read ‘Minho.’ He could tell Minho worked at the hospital — unless he was a crazy patient who murdered his caretaker and stole the uniform. 

“Look, you’re a very beautiful man, but I have to get back to work,” Hyunjin muttered and tried to push past Minho. 

“What? No, you dumbass.” Minho paused a moment and smirked, wiggling his eyebrows before saying, “But thank you.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes and tried to push past Minho once more, only to be shoved back against the brooms and mops hung on the wall. Minho blocked the door with his arm. “I’m trying to help you keep your job because someone is looking to get fired.” 

Hyunjin sighed. “I don’t want to get fired, I just want to help my patient.” 

“I know.” Minho’s mood shifted — a melancholy look replacing his once emotionless expression. “Just listen for a second.” 

Hyunjin nodded and leaned back against the wall. “Ok fine, you have five minutes.” 

“First of all, I’m older than you so you can fuck off with that attitude.” Minho snapped. “Second of all, you need to stop asking questions.” Minho paused, trying to figure out how to word his next sentence. “Just keep your head down and do your job.” 

“How do you know I’m not older?” Hyunjin snickered. 

“Dude really?” Minho sighed. “You look fifteen. Out of all that I said, that’s what you decided to comment on?” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but chuckle at the older boy’s expression. “Look, I’d be happy to keep my head down if my patient wasn’t suffering.” 

“I know.” Minho paused. “But this hospital isn’t like the others. You have to keep your head down or you’ll be admitted.” 

“What?” Admitted to the hospital? That doesn’t make any sense…

A loud scream echoed through the hallway, frightening the two boys. “Fuck… That sounds like it’s coming from my patient’s room. Here take this, it’s her medication. Please tell her to take it.” Minho opened the door and rushed down the hall. 

Hyunjin stepped out of the closet and stared at the little plastic cup in his hands. From what he could tell, he had two options. One, he could give you the medicine, keep his job, and allow your mental health to deteriorate until you were clinically insane. Or two, he could simply dispose of the medication and see if you improve. His feet took him to your room, figuring it’d be best to give you the medicine for now and speak to Minho later. Perhaps the older boy could give him more information about you.

From what everyone has told him, you were a pain in the ass to deal with. Hyunjin just saw a girl who was confused and scared. He couldn’t imagine you being violent and deliberately trying to hurt someone. 

Hyunjin opened the door, smiling sadly when he saw you curled up underneath the thin blanket. “Hey, it’s time for your medicine.” 

“Don’t want it.” You mumbled into the blankets, turning your back to Hyunjin. 

“I don’t blame you...” Hyunjin trailed off.

You turned to look at him, eyes wide with surprise. Usually, the caretakers would hold you down and force the pills down your throat. They didn’t have any mercy at this hospital — they’d do whatever it takes to get you to take your pills.  

Hyunjin chuckled at your surprise and slid the pills into his bag. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” 

There was something about that smile of his that made you feel like you could trust him. Hyunjin wasn’t forcing you to take anything, he seemed genuinely concerned for your mental health, and he was treating you like a real human being. 

“Can I sit next to you?” His soft voice shook you out of your thoughts. 

“Yeah.” You sat up in bed, giving him space to sit beside you. 

Hyunjin stayed silent, trying to think of questions he could ask you. He needed to know more about your medication and how you feel after taking them, but he didn’t want to trigger any painful memories. “Do you feel anxious after you take the medication?”

You thought about it for a minute before nodding. “It comes out of nowhere. I’m usually fine until I have to take my medicine during the day.” 

Okay, so the medication is definitely giving you anxiety. Was it the mixture of Adderall, Betamethasone, and Ergotamine, or was it that new drug… Peroproxine?

“Are you feeling anxious right now?” Hyunjin asked in a low voice. 

You nodded before mumbling. “A little bit. I don’t know you very well.” 

“I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself.” Hyunjin chuckled. “Would you like me to tell you a bit about myself?”

You nod, noticing the way Hyunjin smiled at your answer. 

“Well, I’m Dr. Hwang Hyunjin. I graduated at the top of my class from Southfield University.” He paused. “My father committed suicide when I was young, so I decided that I was going to study psychology so I could help people struggling with depression. Then I discovered that the medical side of psych would give me the ability to prescribe and help those at a medical level.” Hyunjin chuckled nervously. “You probably don’t want to know about all that though.” 

“No, I don’t mind.” You smiled. “I hear about how crazy I am day-in and day-out, so it’s refreshing to hear about someone else.” 

Hyunjin frowned. “Do they not give you time to socialize?”

You tucked your hands underneath your thighs, “Well, I get to talk to my therapist. The caretakers don’t like us to socialize with other patients. They said that we could get crazy ideas or something.” You frowned. “I don’t really remember.” 

“That’s not normally how things work.” Hyunjin pursed his lips. 

“Yeah?” You cocked your head to the side. “How do they normally work?”

“Typically you live in a room with a roommate — someone with a similar mental illness...” Hyunjin trailed off. “But you’d also have meals with the other patients and usually there’s a rec room where you guys can play games and chat.” 

You bounced on the bed, eyes filling with excitement as you grabbed Hyunjin’s arm. “We have the gardens!” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile at your excitement. “The gardens?” 

“The doctor likes pretty things, so he has a big garden in the back of the asylum filled with all sorts of flowers. He has some exotic ones in there that smell really good.” You smiled brightly. “I like to go see the pretty flowers, but we aren’t allowed without our caretakers. Dr. Henry would never go with me.” 

So Dr. Henry was your old caretaker... Why did that asshole lie about not knowing your information? He’ll have to look into that later. 

“I’ll take you to the gardens as often as you want. I love to look at flowers.” Hyunjin smiled. “Actually do you want to go now?”

You smiled sadly and shook your head. “I’m feeling tired. I want to sleep.” 

“That’s fair. You’ve had a big day so far.” Hyunjin smiled. “Can you answer one more question for me?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw Hyunjin’s boyish grin. 

“Thank you. You’re such a big help.” Hyunjin rested his hand on yours. “Do you remember how you got here?” 

You closed your eyes, thinking about it for a moment. This was the question you’ve been asked every single day over the past six months. You never had an answer. Your brain only showed you flashes of a van and your cries for help, but the whole memory was foggy and unclear. 

Hyunjin paled when he felt your hand shake underneath his. “Hey, hey it’s okay.” He rubbed soothing circles on your back, smiling when you opened your eyes. 

“I’m so sorry I don’t remember.” You panicked, tears running down your face. “Please don’t tell them I’m not cooperating. I’m trying my hardest.” 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Hyunjin’s eyes widened when you crawled into his lap, head resting on his chest as you sobbed.  His heart completely shattered with every tear that ran down your face. 

He couldn’t imagine being in your position. Everyone at the hospital sucks, you weren’t allowed to talk to anyone, you were being given horrible medication, and to top it off, you had no one you could trust. Hyunjin felt honored that you trusted him enough to be this close to him on the first day.

“Your missing memories aren’t your fault.” Hyunjin ran his fingers through your hair, noticing the way you melted into his touch. “Some stressful experiences are so traumatic, the memories hide in the back of your brain like a shadow. So they can’t be consciously accessed. There are exercises and treatments we could do to retrieve those memories, but for now, I think it’s best that we get to know each other a bit more.” 

“I don’t feel safe here.” You sniffled and nuzzled into his chest. 

“You shouldn’t.” Hyunjin rubbed your arm, brows creasing as he tried to figure out his next move. 

The door slammed open— the loud noise startling the two of you as Minho ran into the room. 

“Hyunjin! There’s an emergency. I need your help.”

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt, pt.15/finale

Summary: Life moves on and for Ethan and Y/N it has ups and downs, but they brave each storm together.

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, talk of depression 

Word Count: 2000

A/N - best to read while listening to Next to me - Imagine Dragons

Hurt - Masterlist

Tiny fingers curl around Y/N’s pinky. She watches the baby peer through brand new eyes at what must be such a strange world after life inside the womb. Her legs kick in a tiny jagged motion, looking for that resistance they are used to, but finding nothing but air. Y/N wonders if that's unsettling or a relief. It must have been pretty cramped in there with her brothers. When she stretches, her hands barely rise above her head and she can’t help but think of how lucky she is to have this feeling of absolute exhaustion wash over her. She considers herself lucky because after going into labor a month prematurely and without her cervix dilating, her babies nearly died more than once that night.

‘’I’m sorry, but this is for a C section.” Doctor Sonia decided, tired of waiting and risking the babies suffocating inside. Y/N’s contractions were perfectly well-timed, but her cervix was no more than three centimeters dilated and the medication doctor Sonia gave had no effect.

Sweat rolling down her forehead, her heart struggling to beat, Y/N released a shaky breath as her hand squeezed Ethan’s tighter. He was just as terrified as she is, but he didn’t let it show. He was brave for both of them in that moment when he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s temple before nodding.

“Do it. Whatever is necessary to save them all – babies and Y/N.”

“Ethan?” She whispered as if the words she’s about to say are scandalous.

“I love you.” Hearing those words again, for the first time since what it felt like forever, Ethan knew everything would work out eventually. They meant so much more after waiting so long to hear her say it - not out of habit or because she thought she had to, but because she felt it, because she meant it.

“I love you too. Infinity times infinity.”

The night turned into a blur and what was meant to be a happy occasion turned very gloomy when only two of the babies cried. Twins, separated in a completely different amniotic sac, boys at that. But the baby girl who spent her eight months alone, that was much smaller than her brothers, she wasn’t breathing.

“Why isn’t she crying?!” Y/N croaked in a panic that constricted her chest, her eyes settling on the small, blueish baby instead of the twins who were pressed up against her chest, both wailing for being brought out into this world a month too soon. Well, they’re Ethan’s kids, they’d still wail even if they were overdue, simply because they wanted to sleep in.

“Take her to the NICU!” Y/N didn’t know much about medicine, but she knew what that meant from being around Edward so much. A part of her wished he was there as well. She trusted him with her babies, she trusted he’d do whatever it takes to save them. He’d tell her what is happening instead of leaving her in the dark, because that was scarier than hearing the bad news. Not knowing is always more terrifying than hearing what’s happened.

Before she had a chance to react, her twins were taken too and all she had to cling to is Ethan’s hand as they cried together, not knowing what will happen next.

The boys spent a week in the NICU too, but they were allowed to be held and fed by Y/N. Her baby girl was a different story – a full month in the NICU and all she could do is touch her hand through the incubator. She had so many tubes coming in and out of her body that Y/N would cry her heart out whenever she had to leave. It was damaging for a mother to watch her infant daughter struggle alone while she couldn’t do anything to help.

Little did she know her little girl had a guardian angel who had loved her mother and by extension, he loved her too. Edward spent every waking moment making sure that baby survived, never once interfering when Y/N or Ethan were around. He respected her choice and wishes, even if they hurt him, tore him apart. He didn’t resent her for it, but Edward hoped that one day she’d change her mind. However, he was pretty sure that would never happen, especially when he saw her when she was taking the twins home with Ethan. They looked happy and while it made his heart bleed, Edward swore he’d be happy for her and make sure that smile grows wider when she takes her daughter home too.

“I’m so happy you’re home now, but I think your brothers are already jealous of the attention I’ve been giving you. Your father is just as crazy about you too. His little princess, he calls you.” Y/N smiled as little Rose opened her tiny mouth to yawn, smacking her lips a few times before continuing her slumber as if she knew her mother was near, watching over her.

Satisfied she managed to put all three babies to sleep with a little help from Ethan who changed their diapers while she fed them, Y/N slowly moved to the bedroom. She was exhausted, barely keeping her eyes open, especially knowing that in two hours the cycle would start again. The worst part? It was only five in the afternoon and it was just an hour since Ethan got home from work.

While it wasn’t full hours spent in the office and he definitely cut all traveling for some time, Y/N still didn’t feel it was right for him to go back to the company so soon. The Hollywood scene could survive without him a while longer, she couldn’t. 

A little piece of information – his secretary is now a very married man and not a hot ex-girlfriend. Regardless, the two have been going strong - turns out, communication really is the key. No matter how bad things get, being open with each other had helped them settle back into a life they were used to, except it was better somehow, richer with laughter and pure adoration.

In the end, it turns out we’re all addicts struggling with our very own drugs of choice and as much as Ethan was hers, she was his as well.

Just a step inside her bedroom, she found Ethan on the bed, lying on his stomach as he stared blankly in the distance. With one look at him, Y/N knew it was one of the bad days that have taken his mind hostage. Most days, Ethan was perfectly fine, but he still had moments when he’d drift off and he stopped hiding them from Y/N because she understood it wasn’t her fault he would suddenly become uninterested in conversations or the movie she wanted to watch.

Dragging her feet, she sat on the bed, attracting his attention. She didn’t touch him, nor did she try to push him into talking because he never wanted to talk much, usually using grunts and humming to reply to her.

“Is this a ‘I don’t want to talk or be touched’ mood or is it a ‘hold me till it gets better’ mood?” She asked quietly, considering his feeling and needs in these moments when he’s at a low. When he hummed on the second one, she smiled kindly before getting into bed. Mingling her left arm under the pillow to support his neck, she let her left hand wander the short hairs at the back of his neck. Her right arm rests on his ribs, her right hand rubbing his back soothingly. Her face is hidden in his chest, her head reaching just below his chin and he leans down to rest his lips atop her head. He didn’t care about her hair getting into his nose or about the fact she smelled like a mixture of baby powder and expired milk, he just wanted her close. 

She whispered to him: “It’s okay, love. I’m here. I’m always here”, and despite feeling heavy, Ethan felt a smile tugging at his lips. 

It took two years for him to get off antidepressants, but his monthly therapy sessions continued.

“How do you know? Huh? What if I lose myself again? What if I fuck up our lives again?” Ethan was scared, Y/N knew that. He’s be prolonging his medication therapy for months now, despite knowing he doesn’t need them anymore. She knew he used them as a crutch of sorts, but the negative effects weren’t worth it. 

“Because I won’t let you get lost again. I’m here and I’m a lot better at seeing the signs and we’ll keep our truth or not policy. You have me. You have the kids. Those pills you’re so worried to let go of? They’re holding you back, but I promise to keep you afloat if you let go. I’ll be your parachute if you start to fall.”

Ethan’s bottom lip quivered as he put a hand at the back of her neck, leaning down to press his lips against hers, drawing his strength from her love. She was right, he knew that. After all this time, he believed she’d be there to catch him if he needs it. He could trust her.

** About four years after the birth **

“Holy shit, Danny isn’t here.” Ethan slapped a hand over his mouth, counting all the kids again. Grayson’s Katie and October were both there, but so was his newborn Chloe who was soundly asleep in her carry-on. His Rose and Shawn were both by his side, holding his pinkies for attendance report.

“Okay, this is it.” Grayson and Ethan crouched down to their kid’s level, knowing it’s happening.

“We’ve all practiced this before. Operation ‘Mommy can never know’ can commence.”

Half out of their mind, Grayson and Ethan had been speeding through the store, each with a kid on the arm. The older ones ventured around, calling out for Daniel in hopes of finding their missing brother. No one in that family considered themselves as cousins. In their minds, they were all brothers and sisters, as bonded as any family can be.

“I’m telling you, he’ll be in the freezers!” Ethan insisted, knowing his devilish little boy’s knack for finding ice cream anywhere they go. After all, it was his fault Daniel had wandered off. To let go of his hand in a store was always suicide. If Y/N and Clara truly knew how many times he and Grayson displaced their children and how long the ‘Mommy can never know’ had been running, they’d be dead by now.

“Danny?!” Ethan’s shrill scream startled the adventurous foodie, turning to his father with a small chuckle and a bucket of ice cream in his hands.

“Grayson, gather the agents!” Ethan send Grayson to get the rest of the kids, turning to his spitting image of a son who had a personality of someone who would give his dad a heart attack before he turns forty.

“Mamma can neva know?” Danny asked in his tiny little voice that made Ethan both melt and want to pull his own hair out.

“Yeah, bud. Mommy can never know.”

However, the moment boys walked into the house, Rose and Katie walked right up to Y/N and revealed themselves to be double agents.

“Mommy, mommy! Daddy lost Danny! AGAIN!”

In a split moment it took Y/N to turn around and face her husband and brother in law, their lives flashed before their eyes.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

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