#I am currently putting off watching many many hours of lectures for my test tomorrow which is very fun and sexy of me

[in-class-daydreams]

Parlay | (Kuroo x Reader) | Chapter 7

- Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~3,800

Genres: Fluff, angstiest chapter thus far, general buffoonery

CW: Swearing

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

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Kuroo tried. He really did. For his best friend’s sake, he wanted to distance himself a bit from (Y/N) and her feminine wiles. Earlier that day, he’d lounged at home watching TV. The news reported that a serial mugger was at large around Tokyo U. Kuroo, being a rather large male, didn’t think much of it. Besides, all he had on him was his phone, his notebook, and a wad of gas station receipts, and a boatload of student debt that he’d love for someone to take off his hands. To him, it wasn’t really a big deal.

What was a big deal was that today was Tuesday, and it was also the first day he resolved to stop walking (Y/N) to work. She was a big girl, she had pepper spray, and he shouldn’t be giving people the wrong idea. But that plaid yellow skirt was making him nervous.

Despite his reservations, he managed to choke out that he wouldn’t be able to walk her to work that day, and (Y/N) gave no indication that she minded. They talked as normal before going their separate ways after class.

Kuroo Tetsurou was a weak human being. The girl hadn’t gotten more than 20 steps away from him before the memory of that god-awful news story got to him, and he was sprinting after her.

“Kuroo-kun? I thought you had somewhere to be?”

“I-- Uh, I have a little time?”

“But I don’t want you to be late! I can text you as soon as I get there?”

Kuroo hesitated. He really needed to put some distance between them, but could he really leave her to walk by herself? It was getting dark. Would he be able to forgive himself if anything happened to her?

“Look, a dog!” she excitedly pointed out a woman walking her corgi across the quad.

“He’s super handsome!” she called out to the owner, who offered to let her pet him. (Y/N) wore an expression of pure joy as she played with the little dog who was basking in the attention. Kuroo looked from her, to the dog, to her pretty yellow skirt, and he cursed himself for being so weak. Standing up, she thanked the owner, and brushed the nonexistent dust from her skirt.

“Please, Kuroo-kun, I’d never want you to be late because of me.” She was too sweet for her own good.

Kuroo meant to say either, “You’re fine, don’t worry about it,” but decided to say, “It’s a pretty short walk.” Then, he made the mistake of looking down at the tender look she was giving him.

The next thing he knew, he had mixed the two and said, “You’re pretty.”

‘Welp, I’m gonna curl up under than bench over there and never move again.’

“Oh! Ahh,” (Y/N) cupped her cheeks in her hands. Avoiding eye contact, she stared down at her shoes, “Well, ah, Kuroo-kun, you’re not bad looking, yourself… Okay, I’m walking away now! Come with me or don’t,” she squeaked and walked briskly in the direction of Chisai. On instinct, Kuroo got his legs to follow closely behind.

‘At least she’s flustered too. But that’s not the point! Come on, Tetsu. Fix this!’ he scolded himself.

“Sooo… about that test next week--”

“Yes! I meant to talk to you about that! Okay, so what I was thinking is--”

Kuroo was bewildered by the sudden shift in mood. She’d been passionate about school since day one, but right now she was… radiant.

“--and since your notes are so objective, I think it would be a huge help for me if we studied together!”

“(Y/N)what’syourmajor?” he rattled out.

The girl beside him quirked an eyebrow, “Pardon?”

Kuroo cleared his throat, “What’s your major? You just-- You just are so obsessed with--! Wait, not obsessed, I didn’t mean that! I just thought--”

“Kuroo-kun, it’s alright,” she chuckled. “I get what you mean. I know I can be a bit much when it comes to school.”

“It’s really--”

‘--endearing’

“--not a bad thing, though!” She waved him off with an easy laugh. They observed the setting sun over the horizon. The shining light of golden hour hit her just perfectly to give her face an angelic glow. She looked stunning against the autumn leaves.

“No, it’s not a bad thing, though it can be a bit troublesome sometimes. I’m undeclared.” That wasn’t the answer he expected. If she had said, ‘criminal justice’ or ‘neuroscience’ or ‘making people adore me,’ he would have accepted any of those answers as legitimate majors he could see her in.

“Undeclared? But you’re so… So…”

“So, what?” she looked up at him expectantly.

“So… passionate. About learning. I thought you’d thrive in whatever major.” In fact, her insatiable thirst for knowledge was one of the things that drew him to her.

(Y/N) gesticulated wildly with her arms, “That’s just the thing! There are so many things I want to do, I think I could be happy with anything! But there’s so much to worry about, like whether I’ll get a job after university, how long I’ll have to be in school, how much money I stand to make. There are a million things I have to take into account, but… I dunno, I don’t want to make the wrong choice. I don’t want to wake up one day, and wish I could go back to where I am now and make a different choice. Does that make sense?”

Kuroo stared at her with wide eyes. He never would have guessed that the sweet, caring girl who could make friends with a pebble would be feeling so uncertain about her future. Strangely, though, he quite liked it. The fact that she was having such a crisis made her more human, for lack of a better term. Right then, she wasn’t Kenma’s perfect sweetheart of a girlfriend. She was just (Y/N). She must have taken his silence for confusion, as she broke into his thoughts.

“Ahh, Kuroo-san, I’m sorry for going off on you like this. I think pre-finals week is frying my brain, and I’ve just been babbling like an idiot all day,” she recomposed herself.

Kuroo grabbed one of her hands and clutched it in both of his. The taller male looked deep into her eyes.

“No! Don’t apologize. I’m glad you shared this with me.” “That’s sweet of you, Kuroo-san, thank you for--” “And you don’t have to go back to calling me Kuroo-san. Use -kun or you can even just call me Kuroo. I don’t mind.”

Realizing the position they were in, he dropped her hand abruptly. Their walk continued in embarrassed silence. They bid each other farewell at the front steps of Chisai Tea House, and Kuroo made sure he saw (Y/N) get through the shop’s doorway. His amber eyes lingered at the spot she was standing for a moment longer. At peace from his time with her, he turned his back on the shop and decided he might as well be late for this one practice. Behind him, the front door jingled. He turned.

“Good, you’re still here,” (Y/N) panted, “I was serious about studying together. Are you free tomorrow?”

“All day,” he heard himself say.

She made a face like she was trying not to smile too wide, “Great. I’ll text you later this evening. Have a great night, Kuroo,” and she was gone. He ended up not being late to practice at all, and his teammates were commenting on the stupid shit-eating grin he wore the whole time.

~~

Kuroo’s eyes snapped open. When had he fallen asleep? The last thing he remembered, he was on (Y/N)’s bed poring over lecture notes and study guides reviewing the concept of binary fission and how DNA is read from the 3’ end to the 5’ end. If the pastel yellow walls were any indication, he wasn’t in his own bedroom, and the comfortable weight on his chest was definitely not normal. His heart nearly stopped when he looked down at his chest and saw a familiar head of sweet-smelling hair. The girl’s cheek was pressed against his muscular chest and she had one hand over his heart. One of their binders was wedged under her thigh and Kuroo felt a couple highlighters digging into his back. She was breathing softly, and Kuroo couldn’t help but notice how comfortable he felt in that position. Through the door, he heard plates and bowls being shifted around, but if (Y/N) was here, then who was out there?

It suddenly hit him, “Shit,” Kuroo hissed, ‘Oh my god, this isn’t Bro-Code, this is the exact opposite of Bro-Code. Crap, she’s so cute and-- No! This is my best friend’s girl! What happened to distance, Tetsu!? I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up.”

As gently as his haste would allow, he lifted the girl’s head and shuffled out from under her. Deciding he could come collect his stuff later, his mind went into overdrive, and he made a break for the door. He stopped mid-way and looked back at the girl’s sleeping form. Against his better judgement, he found himself removing his Tokyo U team jacket and draping it over her before making a swift exit.

“Hi, Kenma. Bye, Kenma.”

“Kuroo,” Kenma’s quiet voice stopped him from throwing himself out the front door. The middle blocker turned sheepishly.

“Yes?” he squeaked.

Kenma looked up from his breakfast, “Relax. Really, it’s not something to freak out about.”

“You saw that?”

“The door was open this morning.”

Kuroo sighed, “Kenma, I--”

“Stop,” his best friend cut him off, “You’re not a bad friend, Kuroo. Actually, about (Y/N)--”

It seemed the universe had a way of hitting Kuroo with the worst timing possible when the girl that was currently turning his emotions into a jumbled mess waddled down the hall sleepily, draped in his jacket with his name emblazoned on the back.

‘Nope. No, absolutely not,’ he could not have walked out the door any faster. It slammed closed behind him.

“Was that Kuroo that just left?” she yawned.

“Mhmm.”

“Thanks for your jacket, Ken-Ken, I was cold this morning.”

“(Y/N), that’s not mine,” he said through a mouthful of cereal, “It’s way too big.”

(Y/N)’s brow furrowed into her signature look. After a look of realization crossed her face, she raised her hand to her mouth with a quiet ‘oh.’ Her eyes drifted towards the door.

“But why would he--”

“Lately he’s been coming to practice sweaty and completely out of breath,” he told her.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It’s only ever on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“Kenma… What time are your practices?”

“5:30.”

(Y/N) gasped.

“You mean he--?”

“He’s never actually late if that’s what you’re worried about. I just thought you might like to know. Can’t you see how much he cares about you?”

(Y/N) slid into the nearest chair. She sat in stunned silence for a long while, with his jacket still wrapped around her, processing what Kuroo had been doing for her. Kenma waited a while before bringing her back to reality.

“I think you need to tell him about the bet,” he advised.

His roommate nodded, “I will. He really did all that for me?”

“Honestly, (Y/N)? I think he’d give you the moon, if you asked for it.”

~~

“Do you need something, Tetsu-chan? Or are you just admiring my handsome face?” the setter asked. Kuroo’s stare had been burning holes in Oikawa’s back all practice, and it was really starting to get old, which is why the brunette waited until all the other guys had exited the locker room before rounding on his teammate.

Kuroo jumped in surprise. “Don’t-- Don’t be so full of yourself, bastard,” he grumbled. The boy hadn’t realized how long he’d been starting at his teammate.

Oikawa clicked his tongue. He waggled his finger at the taller male.

“Ah, is that any way to get the answers you want? You want to know about my relationship with (Y/N)-chan, don’t you?” Aoba Johsai’s former captain smirked evilly.

“Fine. Yes, I do,” Kuroo growled, “But I didn’t think it was any of my business.”

“That’s definitely true, my dear Tetsu-chan, but because I am a man so pure of heart--” Kuroo rolled his eyes, “--I can’t blame you for being curious about the ex-boyfriend of the girl you have feelings for.”

“I don’t have feelings for-- Wait, what? You two were together?” the taller of the two asked in disbelief. It just didn’t make sense. He understood how anyone at all could fall for (Y/N), but he couldn’t understand how (Y/N) could like the shallow, dramatic man-child before him.

“Yup! For a whole two and a half years,” Oikawa crooned. Two and a half years was a long time. Was it possible the two of them still have feelings for each other?

“I still love her, you know.”

‘Well, that answers that question.’

Honestly, Kuroo was disappointed, but not one bit surprised. If she and Kenma fell through, (Y/N)’s handsome and talented ex-boyfriend still had feelings for her. It wasn’t like he stood a chance when kind, doting Kenma and passionate, charming Oikawa were options.

“I hear you’ve been avoiding her lately. Is that true, Tetsu-chan? Because I know (Y/N) very, very intimately,” he purred that last word, “And I know for a fact that if you distance yourself from her, she will not chase after you. The choice to be in her life is one you alone have to make.” Oikawa’s chocolate eyes were dead serious, his tone was nothing like anything Kuroo had heard from him before. But he was right. After that disaster in her bedroom, Kuroo had been dead-set on cutting contact with her until he could keep his emotions in check. He ignored her texts, stopped walking to work, he even hung out with Kenma at his own apartment instead of theirs. Every minute of it made his heart ache. Her texts increased in frequency as she grew more and more concerned until one day: nothing.

“I can’t do that to Kenm--”

“Get your head out of your ass, Kuroo,” Oikawa snapped. “You wouldn’t be on this team if you didn’t have a good head on your shoulders. So tell me, has anyone explicitly stated that (Y/N) and Kenma were dating?”

Well, it was-- Wait. Kuroo cycled through a hundred different conversations with the two of them and could not come up with a single utterance of the words ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend.’

“You don’t know, right? Okay, have either of them hugged, kissed, or done anything that cannot be anything except romantic?”

Now that Kuroo thought about it… No. Not once. But what was he trying to say? Oikawa walked over and got right in the blocker’s face.

“If (Y/N) still wanted to be with me, she would be. But, she doesn’t look at me the way she used to. Now she looks at you the same way she used to look at me, so you need to stop acting like a middle-schooler with no problem-solving skills and actually talk to her!”

“And who are you to tell me all this?” Kuroo bit back. “I thought you still loved her. Why are you telling me to go after her?”

Oikawa took several deep, shuddering breaths and looked up determinedly. Kuroo was taken aback by the tears shining in the Grand King’s eyes, “I promised I’d do anything to make her happy. Apparently that involves you now. So, what’ll it be?”

The shorter male backed off first, “Are you going to face whatever the hell you’re so afraid of, or will you keep ignoring her and punish her for your own insecurities?”

With that, the brunette snatched up his belongings and stormed out.

~~

The bonfire burned brightly and it felt like the entirety of the Tokyo U student body was there. After that conversation with Oikawa, Kuroo wasn’t sure what to think. Were Kenma and (Y/N) dating or not? Did (Y/N) have feelings for him? Did he have feelings for (Y/N)? He had spent so much time either being freaked out by her general existence or vehemently denying that he thought about her very much at all, that he hadn’t been able to work out his own feelings.

From: Kenma [9:36 pm]: Where r u? (Y/N) wants to talk to u

Kuroo wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. If he entertained the idea of being with her romantically, all he could picture was him giving her his heart and her deciding she doesn’t want it. Now, he was at this dumb bonfire watching (Y/N) party it up with her friends while he sat at the water’s edge getting sand all over himself. He felt the sand shift beside him and taking the drink offered to him, he said, “Whatever it is, I don’t think I’m in the mood right now, Kou.”

“Oh no, Bokuto-san’s been over there doing keg stands with his frat brothers,” said the absolute last person he was ready to talk to right now. Glancing over, he was met with moonlit eyes and a gentle gaze.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

(Y/N) set her drink in the sand beside her. Leaning back on her hands, she tilted her head backwards and stared at the stars. They sat silently in the cool night air for several minutes, each waiting nervously for the other to make the first move.

“Kuroo-kun? Did I do something wrong?” she asked quietly, as if she hadn’t meant to speak aloud.

He sighed. This wasn’t what he wanted at all.

“No, it’s-- It’s not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me? It’s been three weeks, Kuroo-kun.”

The boy beside her ran a hand through his unkempt hair and exhaled harshly through his nose.

“I know, I know, it’s just. I thought we needed some distance. I was just thinking about you and Kenma, and I don’t know what the hell is going on with that confusing mess of a relationship, and I recently found out that you and Oikawa were together for fucking two and a half years.”

‘That’s enough.’

Kuroo couldn’t stop. All his confusion and frustration was coming to a big, ugly head.

“We were getting close and Kenma is smart and basically internet famous, and Oikawa could have whoever he wants on this campus and he’d get back with you if you just said the word.”

‘Why am I saying this?’

"Every single one of my teammates has commented on how cute you are at some point and I just-- I didn’t want to be involved, you know?”

‘(Y/N), I don’t mean that, I swear.’

Beside him, he heard a loud crunch of plastic. (Y/N) had her red solo cup clenched tightly in her fist. The ripped plastic had cut into her palm and cheap beer was mixing with blood and dripping all over her exposed legs. Her jaw was clenched tight and the girl was shaking with rage.

“What the fuck, Kuroo?!”

“Huh?”

“You got all that crap about me and my relationships with Tooru and Kenma, and you’ve made all kinds of assumptions about me from shit your teammates say about me? Are you kidding me right now? You haven’t bothered to ask me shit! You’ve been skirting around me, asking the men in my life all about me and my relationships, and you say that I’m soooo cute and soooo smart, but apparently not cute and smart enough for you to come to me about stuff that concerns me!”

‘I didn’t know you felt that way.’

“And you know what? You should be fucking confused about me and Kenma because we’re not dating.” (Y/N) snapped to her feet and glared down the bridge of her nose at Kuroo.

“What, you broke up?” Kuroo asked, bewildered.

‘Shut up, shut up!’

“No, it was a bet, okay? Kenma and I made a bet that if we didn’t correct you, you’d never notice we weren’t actually dating.” It was Kuroo’s turn to stand up.

“I-- What-- You--? (Y/N), you made a bet over me?” he fumed.

“Yes, we did, and I admit, it was sort of shitty, but you know what? It wouldn’t have been a problem if you didn’t think you were so damn clever and actually ask me instead! If you were so confused, then why didn’t you just ask, Kuroo?”

He threw his hands up and huffed.

‘You’re right. I’m sorry.’

“I didn’t think it was any of my business!” he yelled back.

“Oh yeah? But my relationship history is your business? I try to be kind and friendly and keep out of people’s way, and my kindness somehow gives people the impression I’m like some shiny handbag that someone may-or-may-not ‘deserve’ to have, but guess what? I’m a human being, and you know what else? I can make my own damn choices.”

If Kuroo was in his right mind right then, he might’ve thought she was right. He might’ve said so and the argument would have been over. Sadly, his mind was reeling from the anger and betrayal over a bet that had him in emotional turmoil for months now. He couldn’t stop now.

“Well, if you hadn’t--”

“I’m not done. I thought you liked me, Kuroo-san, and I can’t believe you think I’d run back to my ex at the drop of a hat. You think I’d go back to Tooru, what, because he ‘could have anyone on this campus’? It fucking blows my mind that we could spend so much time together and, you still think I’m that shallow?”

‘No, you’re not. I’ve never once thought that. I don’t know what I’m saying right now. Why? Why? Why can’t I stop?’

“Well--” he began.

‘Please don’t. Just apologize.’ Kuroo hated feeling so trapped in his own body. It was like he’d been possessed.

“--you were with Oikawa Tooru for over two years. You know what they say about birds of a feather.”

‘No. Anything. Anything but that.’

The (Y/N) he knew, or thought he knew, was gone. She’d completely lost her composure and she gaped at him, wide eyed at his audacity. He thought since she was subdued most of the time, that meant that she only had one layer to her personality, and that was a mistake. The girl in front of him was all fire and passion and burning hot rage.

“How fucking dare you? You barely know him. You just know him by the mask he shows others and the way they treat him. Just like me. You don’t know either of us.”

(Y/N) stormed off towards the parking lot. Her friends tried to intercept her, but they soon pulled back after seeing the irate expression on her face. Kenma reached for her hand, which she snatched back. Looking over at where she was coming from, the dyed blonde locked eyes with his childhood friend. The setter shook his head in disappointment and took off after his roommate.

~~

Taglist: @joyful-jimin @nekomas-kuroo

[fatigued-but-trying]

First Post/Intrduction

Hi, I’m Fatigued-But-Trying (Not my real name obviously) , and I suffer from CFS/ME (chronic fatigue syndrome /myalgic encephalomyelitis. Ill be honest, I never thought id be writing a blog or really wanting to detail what my condition is like or what I go through, but in the past week, I’ve  been suffering from a viral illness, which when combined with my cfs/me, left me in a hospital overnight while they checked up my symptoms and made sure I wasn’t in danger.

As a brief summary of my life to now, I studied at a private school for high school, achieved excellent A level results and made it to a uni I honestly never thought id make it to.  Up until that point last October, I probably would have said my life had gone well and that I was enjoying it. Then, late October, I just lost all energy. I was on a medication to combat a potential separate condition when t basically stripped me of all my capabilities to move. So, I had the “Joy” of spending approximately 7 hours in a hospital A and E ( I won’t say where, but they were so good and helpful). I’d hoped to write it off as a one time thing, and hopped that maybe it was just a sign my other condition was improving. Then it happened again, and again. Two months on it was happening so frequently and to such a bad extent, I had to intermit and leave one fo my dream places to study to recover. And then Covid happened. That, that really sapped a lot of my energy and mental fortitude, and honestly it pushed me a bit with some of my friendships, partly as I couldn’t really do a lot, and partly as we just couldn’t see each other. It’d be a lie if I said I didn’t get depressed by it all (and it would be another lie in itself if I didn’t say I was still somewhat depressed right now). But, I took my time, I too everything slow, and I thought I was finally on the way to recovery and actually being able to go back to study. So I got everything in place and even put precautions there in case of relapses, and everyone was so supportive. I was hopeful that I would get back.

And I have. I am currently back at Uni. But, my energy is being sapped again. As I say I have caught a viral infection at the moment, and it has just reset my energy levels so much and left me a little confused/worried about my energy level state afterwards. So, I’ve decided to write this blog or whatever it ends up being, partly to give my perspective on the condition and how it affects me ( as if you are a sufferer or know someone who has it or has had it, it varies so much between person to person, and takes on so many different forms) and partly to just have my say on the world, and how the other stuff going on effects things.

Am I trying to be original? God no, I realise this has be done hundreds if not thousands or tens of thousands of times, it is a somewhat common condition. Am I doing it as I’m upset at the system? I suppose it could be argued that a part of this is aimed at that. The medical care in the uk is great, but is severely underfunded in so many places, for every miracle or timely intervention they are able to do, there are others where they are just too slow, and the worst part is the fault doesn’t really lie with them. I ma doing it to have my say, and to try and help someone else, even if it is the smallest way, as I know how hard it is to keep going or to just do the day to day with this condition.

I am also autistic. That however is all the label you need to give to it, unless you prefer from autistic spectrum disorder (I prefer to just say autistic as it easier), so there’s that too, which also complicates my cfs and day to day life. So, if another autistic person stumbles across this blog, and it helps them somewhat, that’s great too. I’m not however going to list here how my autism affects me, as it is so much more of a gay area then shows or films or many mediums would lead you to believe. For now, this is really all you need to know

 So then, my day. Well, the positive of the day is I managed to watch one of todays lectures, which is somewhat of a victory considering how hard it can be to concentrate someday (Yes I have Saturday lectures). But, I’ve also been confined to my room, partly to prevent my virus from spreading (Even though I’ve tested negative twice for Covid, and it is by my choice) and partly just because I would otherwise struggle to really get that far from it, even the bathroom or the door of my room has been a struggle today. Id rate my level of fatigue at around a 7, everything is taking my either time to save up the energy to do it ( such as moving around the room or watching a lecture) or requiring it to be the sole thing I am doing ( such as typing this blog post out). So, it could be worse, but it could also be so much better! I’ll also say this is my own scale, and for me anything less then a 4 is just about workable to be a halfway normal day, while a 10 is probably as close to  being comatose as possible ( and before the questions are asked, if they ever are, I have been like that)

 The posts likely won’t be that long, unless I’m talking through an actual aspect of my conditions in some detail, in which case I’ll try to be detailed (Also, expect loads of errors and spelling mistakes). I’ll try and answer questions if they are put on the blog, and maybe if it’s a good enough question i’ll make an actual post on my answer. I’ll try to be consistent in the amount of content, if not the time it is posted. Please, feel free to ask questions or that, but don’t say or spread negativity. If you ever want some advice on dealing with this, I cant promise to be able to help ( especially as for some sufferers I’m still considered to be very much in the early stages) but i’ll try, and if I can’t i’ll try to be positive still. I wont promise to be always positive in these posts either, I believe in honesty and choice as a key thing, so If I’m talking about a negative part of my condition, or a negative way it leaves me, don't ask me to remove it. If you want to share it please do, but don’t make me out to be anything special. I’m just a person, going through life and suffering from my conditions, its that simple ( reasonable) . Any questions please ask, otherwise, see you tomorrow ( if this is ever found).

[saundraswriting]

Need Some TLC Chapter 5: Groceries

SUMMARY: Steve and Bucky decide to step in for your health and a third conspirator joins the ranks

WARNINGS:None

Masterlist // Previous // Next

You stood looking at your front door for a moment or two before smiling and shaking you head. Glancing around, you noticed that your kitchen was clean, but the living room needed tidying up and the bathroom, your bedroom and laundry needed finished. "No time like the present." You muttered to yourself, deciding the living room would be a good start and quickest, you got to work. You straightened the throw blankets and small pillows and cushions. the knick-knacks were organized and DVD's were put away, in their proper cases. you bagged up all the trash and recycling and moved on to the next room.

Laundry was started once more, the bathroom scrubbed and you changed your sheets in your room. You cleaned up the dirty clothes in your room, both you not scrub hamper and scrub hamper, and gathered the old dishes and long-dismissed wrappers and protein shake bottles. You put away all the laundry in your clean laundry basket and dusted your hands off. "Done! That's it!" You cheered to yourself. You transferred laundry once more and got a few things ready for work and meals for the next few days. The clock read 8:00 PM. You had near 20 hours until you had to go back to work again, and your apartment was clean and safe and welcoming again, not the pigsty it was hours ago.

'Watch a movie? or Settle in early?' You thought to yourself. As you looked between your TV and bedroom door a buzz in your pocket distracted you.

'You still up for a pizza and a documentary? We don't want to impose.'  The text was sent by a known contact with the name "Bucky". You changed it to Sgt. Barnes. You thought about it and after everything that had happened today, the walls that had come down and the fire and finally being off, you realized you wanted company. 'Yeah, I can go to bed once we are done. Won't be too much later than usual.' You thought.

'Yeah. Come on over! Both of you, you have a key.' You texted him back.

"I nor Steve would abuse this privilege. We won't use our keys willy-nilly."Sargent Barnes replied.

'I only meant that you could let yourselves in. I know you won't abuse it. Jeez, didn't mean to offend your delicate sensibilities.' You send your message with a few smiles to not offend.

'I will be no more offended than you when I tell you that we already have pizza and am currently trying to get into your apartment.'  He replied.

 'Confident?'  you texted back.

"Yeah, a little. Can we watch and ocean documentary? With Attenborough? Please?" Sargent Barnes asked pushing his way through the door, keys slipping into his pocket.

"Yeah, I have a Blue Planet on Blu-Ray and with my TV it is almost like being there. Where did you learn to text? Not to bad Sargent." You sassed at him grabbing plates and cups on the counter, Sargent Barnes brought over the pizza while Captain Rogers looked for Blue Planet in your expansive collection.

I love this documentary. I just turned it on this morning when I got home to listen to, but I fell asleep too quick. Also after dinner cause it late-ish and I want to get a good night's rest, I am going to take my sleep aides. Just some melatonin. I want to be ready for my next stretch." You told the men in your living room. Captain Rogers and Sargent Barnes looked at you, brows furrowed and lips pursed.

"More meds? Is that a good idea?" Captain Rogers paused loading the first disc.

"Melatonin is naturally produced, I am only boosting my supply a little bit. The Advil will help with the sore legs and back I am sure to get. I want to relax cause I have some aide shifts coming up. I always hurt more after aide shifts." The three of you settled with your pizza and drinks.

"Aide work? What is that?" Sargent Barnes asked.

"Yeah, I am a registered nurse. But my job includes helping the aides-or rather patient care techs as they are called now-but sometimes there are not enough aides scheduled for a shift, usually the evening shift, and I will fill in. Aides or PCT's help with the activities of daily living, toileting and dressing and rehab and bandage changing and the like. I personally like doing both jobs cause it makes me appreciate what they do more and help connect with my patients on a deeper level." You explained. Not many nurses shared you opinion, thinking aides and PCT's were below them, they didn't realize that many programs and curriculums required clinical hours before and during the programs to be accepted. Most aides and PCT's were nurses-in-training.

"Oh. So with the short-staffing you really have to do everything huh? That is insane." Captain Rogers' awe was heard in his tone.

"Nope, When I go in for a nursing shift, I have 26 Patients and my 2-5 aides can have 13-15 patients. Also it builds up aide/nurse loyalty and report. You all know what each others knows and needs to keep track off and become a better team for it, give better care for it. It makes me better and them better." You were firm in your opinion, eyes lit with a determination and fire the men did not often see. They could tell this is a fight you have fought before.

"Does not everyone agree with you? That all makes prefect sense to me and Steve. Why would people not agree?" Bucky asked, hesitant.

"NO! They don't. I have too many aides and nurses come through my unit with this...this...chip on their shoulder. Like they are owed something for picking this job. We all work shitty hours and weekends and holidays. We all miss birthdays and parties and recitals. No one is missed for that, especially in healthcare. I don't get how you can go through schooling and testing and lectures and labs and still come out of this expecting something that you won't get. How can you start this career without knowing what you are getting into? Or staying in this field knowing what it is? You are to help people, They don't want to be here any more than you do. I'm sorry, we get paid well but not that well that the money can overcome the cancelled dates and missed appointments." You were ranting wildly, hands waving and hair flying. Bucky and Steve were in total agreement. They did share a look of confusion and empathy, they were unware of your temper that was hidden under all the pleasantness. You noticed and calmed down significantly. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. I was ranting. You can start the show. if you need anything, help yourself." You shimmied down deeper into the couch, eyes blinking blearily at the TV.

"No! it is fine. I like seeing you open up to us. You are in the right. We get it too, not like we have great hours either." Captain Rogers said. You blinked at him and smiled. "If you fall asleep we'll close up for you. Okay?" He said it like a question but you knew it was a statement. The men turned their focus to the documentary and knew that for now, you had lost their attention.

You only paid half attention to the program. The warmth of your blanket and apartment, the relief in having it clean and the silent company of people in a shared space lulled you quickly to a fugue state. Partially formed thoughts swept across your mind but disappeared before they fully formed. Thoughts about your schedule and patients; should you make more meals? The fear of a missed alarm pulled you to awareness enough to check you phone.

Minutes passed. The episode ended. Another one started. You still stare unseeingly into the TV, blinks and breaths slowing and lengthening. The calm narration and soft spoken comments from your friends easing your muscles even more.

You fall asleep between one breath and the next, succumbing to you body's demands with one last thought about packing a lunch for tomorrow.

"Bucky looked over to see you curled up on the couch, quiet and still-pardon your rhythmic breathing. "She's asleep. Finally. I am going to put her to bed in a little bit. She needs to sleep. I looked in her fridge, she didn't have much. What little bit she had, she probably meal-prepped it. She neglects herself too much." Bucky said. He was so worried, over the time of knowing them they'd seen your weight drop and skin pale.

"I don't know. We could order some groceries. Have them delivered using Tony's service? I can handle him afterwards. You can cook like a pro, we can freeze it and meal prep for her." Steve suggested. He saw Bucky's hesitance. He shook his head and sighed. "Buck. Please do it. I know for certain she wants someone who will take care of her, and you want someone to take care of. She has been alone too long. You can change that. I will handle Tony. I told you earlier, do something, do anything. This is both." Steve continued.

Bucky smirked knowingly. "You'll handle Tony alright. You tell me to move but you freeze every time he comes near you." Bucky lost his smirk. "I guess this is something I can do for her." Bucky picked up his phone and put a call into the grocery service that stocked the Avengers' Tower and Compound and their private places. They took calls at all times to accommodate their unusual clients. He ordered tons of meats and veggies, pasta, dairy products, deli things, and junk foods too. He ordered and ordered and ordered. He wanted enough to make enough food for three meals and two snacks for two weeks. He also ordered plastic containers for all the meals and freezer. He billed Tony and gave the address for Your apartment.

"They said in an hour, they pulled everyone together that was available to make it happen so quickly. I am going to put her to bed that way she doesn't wake up. Then we are going to make her food. and a lot of it. Hopefully it will last for two weeks if not it should be a good start." Bucky addressed Steve but was looking at you. Eyes lightly brushed over your figure worried his gaze would wake you.

"Very well. Let's finish what we started. Go, take your girl to bed." Steve waved his hand in the direction of your room, seeing Buck blush out off the corner of his eye.

Bucky didn't-couldn't-answer to busy trying gently to pick you up and carry you to bed. He maneuvered the corners careful to not bump your head or feet. You didn't even twitch as he laid you on your bed under the covers, glad you already seemed to be in pajamas.

Upon returning to the living room Bucky saw Steve hunched over his phone shoulders tense and cheeks pink. Bucky rolled his eyes in silence, for all his advice Steve was just as nervous when it came to one Anthony Edward Stark-Iron Man. "Make a move, punk. Any move. Isn't that what you told me?" Bucky commented from the other end of the couch. Steve refused to give Bucky the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

"I always give good advice, but very seldom follow it. I can't make a move on Tony. That is ridiculous. I will admire from afar, that's all I am allowed this time. Besides Tony isn't impressed by me in any sense." Steve was matter-of-fact in his words, a weariness hung around his shoulders.

"Then you are dumber than advertised. Tony is in love with you as you are in love with him. Just do something." With that Bucky left Steve to stew and played the documentary once more. Bucky watched and Steve split his attention between the TV and his phone for the next 45 minutes.

When a light knock sounded on the newly replaced door, Bucky and Steve went on alert. They silently paced to the door, avoided casting a shadow underneath. Bucky pulled a knife from his boot and Steve shook his hands before clenching them into fists. Anyone who wanted to get through to you would have to go through them.

"Delivery for Stark? Grocery delivery." Bucky looked at Steve and shrugged. They could take anyone. Bucky opened the door for the three men that had dollies full of groceries. And Tony Stark.

"Tony? What are you doing here?" Bucky asked while he and Steve moved to help unload the bags. After the dollies were emptied twice each then men bid their goodbyes and left.

"Well you did just bill me almost 500 dollars worth of groceries not 3 days after your last order. Steve told me it was for a friend, and I became intrigued." Tony spoke to Bucky but his eye kept flicking to Steve every other word.

"Her name is Y/N. She is a nurse. Lately she has been putting in too many hours. She is...amazing. She checks in and bakes for us sometimes. She constantly is working on bringing us up to date." Steve said, soft and fond. "We spend a lot of time with her when we are home. She understands what we do and likes us in spite of that. She is family." Tony froze upon hearing Steve talk about you so warmly. The fondness he had for you froze Tony's breath in his chest. He saw the ease in which Bucky and Steve moved through your apartment, Tony almost flinched but withheld. Bucky saw the hopelessness on his face and stepped closer.

"Tony. No. Please." Bucky murmured in his ear. Speaking louder he continued. "Y/N came home today and we hear her talking through the wall about sleep aides and next thing we know the fire alarm is going off and we had to break down her door cause she was sleeping through it. After fixing it and making lunch and her napping, I was griping at Steve who was teasing me, so I ordered this to help her. I wanted to take care of her, cause she doesn't take care of herself." Bucky had seen the thoughts forming in Tony's mind that you were Steve's girl leaving no room for Tony in Steve's heart. Bucky knew those thoughts had to be derailed instantly.

"Yeah, she is our only non-Avenger friend. She is alone and needed someone in her life. Today proved that. I am just glad we were home. I worry about her day and night. She works too much and to the point of illness. I gave her a key today so she had a place to go since she denied having F.R.I.D.A.Y. installed in here. It was the only way she would accept help, she refuses to burden others with her needs." Bucky continued. He could tell as Tony's shoulder relaxed and smiled softened he was successful in his mission.

Steve and Bucky moved about this stranger's apartment like they lived there themselves. Steve was putting groceries away as Bucky began to trim chicken to be frozen. It was strange, seeing these two giant men creep around your things to not disturb you, trying to do what they could to help what little family they had. "Steve can you grab the skillet? and grill pan? I will cook up some burgers and chicken and freeze them to be quicker meals." Bucky asked.

"Here and here. I am working on scalloped potatoes, they should freeze well. I will work on some salad mixes too. We can vacuum seal them to keep longer." Steve said, handing over the pans while looking for the peeler. Tony felt out of the loop but wanted to help this person who had helped his people.

"Does she have a steamer? I can help with steaming some veggies. We can make and freeze whole meals." Tony offered. Bucky looked up and smiled, thankfulness shining in his eyes. Bucky nodded and jerked his chin to a pantry. Tony went and set it up and began cleaning fruit and veggies. "I can make some fruit salad, won't keep well but I can make a small batch. We would look at high protein meals with low carbs and sugar. She is a nurse? She needed long term energy. We can freeze some fruit like pineapple and blueberries and grapes. They taste good frozen. she can snack on them too." Tony suggested. Bucky nodded emphatically. "You are right, Tony, snack are a great idea." Bucky's tension seemed to lessen with Tony's participation.

Tony picked up his phone and made a quick call, putting it down quickly. "I just called in another rush order. If we are going to do this, then we will do this right." Tony started working on cauliflower and broccoli.

"Tony, no. This isn't necessa-" Bucky started. Tony cut him off before he could finish "If she is your family, she is mine. I am more than glad to help." Bucky other took a quick breath and sent a small smile Tony's way. "Quick, we need to keep moving. I want this done before she wakes up." Bucky said.

The three men did just that. Bucky cooked chicken, burger, steak, pork, sausage. He froze it raw and froze it cooked. Bucky dated and labeled everything, even using up what little was in your freezer already. Steve made several casseroles to be frozen and labeled. Tony made his veggies and fruits and snacks and divided them up for easy access. He did freeze some bags with directions for smoothies, for the days when food would be too much effort.  They also kept some food in the fridge for easy grab and go for the next five days, hopefully they made enough food for her.

"Thank you both. I am glad she will wake up to see that this was done for her. She may just come to understand that she is cared for. Let's clean up and then we can hit the hay." He clapped Steve on his back and pulled Tony in for a hug. "Thank you especially Tony. For everything. Oh, and, remember he has loved and lost one already." Bucky pulled away, nothing on his face giving away what he had shared. Bucky looked around and saw your lunchbox and packed a well-balanced lunch and then some before scrawling a quick note and putting it on the fridge. 'We did as you asked and made ourselves at home. Steve, Tony and I took care of lunches for you and groceries. Everything is dated and labeled. If you have questions, call me. See you soon. ~xo Bucky.'

He then helped clean up their mess and shooed Steve and Tony out the door. Bucky made one last lap to ensure everything was off, cleaned and put away. He walked down towards your room and paused, fingers brushing the doorknob. "Go in, chicken." Bucky demanded himself. He crept in and watched you sleep for a small moment. Gathering his courage, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek and again on your forehead. "Good night, my darling. Rest well." He whispered against your skin. He left your room. He left your apartment. He used his key to double check the lock.

Bucky headed to his room and laid down, ignoring Tony and Steve's smug looks. Bucky listened to you faint breathing as he relaxed. Minutes later he was asleep.

Masterlist // Previous // Next

******************************************************************************************* Okay! That is the last update I have ready. Now, I actually have to type everything out. This is going to be fun! I have a Criminal Minds fic that I also have to post on here but should I have it typed out? It is awfully long...I will ruminate on this. Thanks for the support!

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Enter the Kitsune - Chapter 1

It took some time but I am finally able to put a main story chapter to this tale for you all.

Warnings: Strong language 

Masterlist

—

Chapter 1

“Well, now little one. Are you going to enlighten me as to how this occurred or would you rather, I take you to the dungeons and question you there?” Something in his tone snapped me back to the present like I was waking from a dream. Noticing how my own clothing had suffered from the fall I pulled the fabric tighter again. Seriously this thing is a nightmare even if it looks pretty.

“I would tell you that you don’t scare me. But aside from that being a fairly obvious lie I’m also certain you would see it as a challenge.” My mouth seemed to still have the ability to move and formulate words even if my legs felt as if they had been rooted to the spot. My retort made my rescuer in front of me chuckle with a large grin on his face. I had been right about you. You enjoy a game more when you provoke a reaction.

“And with your clearly enviable ability to make such quick suppositions you would be completely right my dear.” He had finished adjusting his clothing and took a step closer to me. Not once did his eyes leave mine. “I was impressed earlier. Usually, it is me who invokes such a passionate response from our resident altruist, but even I have yet to get a display that quickly.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry for stealing your chance to be the first. It was not as if I was planning to have two swords pointed at me in one day.” My bad habit returned to me. Sarcasm dripped from every word that fell from my mouth a poor mask to the fact that I was probably moments away from some sort of breakdown. I had no idea if it was emotional, physical or some kind of mental assault that would plague me first but I was doing my best to keep it together. I would have been happy to go my entire life without something like that happening to me. Guess fate decided to not give me that option.

“Two?” Mitsuhide quirked his brow at my outburst. Shit. He is defiantly good at gathering information. I guess its something to do with whatever he does around here. It would kind of be a waste if he did something that didn’t use a skill like that. Oh, well no point in hiding it. Not like wasting energy trying too is going to help me right now.

“After I returned to my room Masamune paid a visit.” I shuffled my feet attempting to free up my legs from what felt like a vice-like grip from where the under kimono had apparently decided it wanted to be a boa constrictor. Mitsuhide was watching me in amusement clearly aware of what I was struggling with but mercifully said nothing.

“My my we have been a busy little girl.” The unhidden amusement in his voice was both embarrassing and insulting in equal parts.

“The only thing I have been busy doing is trying to avoid all of you.” I couldn’t hold back my anger as I snapped. But as I managed to put a voice to my own frustration, I could feel something give way inside me at the same time. “I just wanted to go home. How is that so hard to understand?”

I wasn’t begging or pleading. All I wished was for someone to listen. From the moment I landed back in time, it felt like all that had happened was a lot of people were talking at me rather than with me and listening to anything I was saying. Mitsuhide’s face would have been a perfectly crafted expressionless mask had it not been for a brief moment where he gave me a wide-eyed stare.

“Then why don’t you?” Mitsuhide moved a little closer, his voice was low and even as he schooled his expression back to normal. That teasing grin was the only thing not to return to his face. Everything about him seemed different for some reason. He’s listening to me?

“I can’t.”

“If you are talking about Nobunaga and his ideas whilst he is extremely single-minded in his actions, he would not see you never return to your village for the rest of your life. He could arrange for a visit you could see your family and—” He placed a hand on my shoulder but I didn’t feel any bad intentions from the action. In fact, he had a soft expression on his face I had not seen before and a faint smile ghosting his lips. Is this empathy or pity?

“No, I can’t. Even if I asked, I can’t go back.” I cut him off, desperate to stop him from going further. Mitsuhide’s words were designed to alleviate my anxiety. I knew that and yet all they were doing was reminding me of things I had left behind. I brushed his hand from my shoulder and balled my fist up at my side. I will not cry over this. I can’t.

“You are aware my dear that you are sounding more and more suspicious by the second? You appear out of nowhere and save one of the most powerful men in the country and are gifted a life of comfort by his side. You are sneaking out of the castle at this hour and you have just admitted you cannot return to your home.” Mitsuhide was not smiling anymore. He was flatly outlining the facts of the situation; curiosity was evident in his eyes as he moved even closer to me. It was a little similar to how you would approach a wild animal you didn’t wish to startle.

“Yes, I am aware it all sounds highly suspect. I didn’t say I couldn’t understand how everyone felt but it doesn’t change the facts. Tomorrow I have no idea how many more times I will be staring down the wrong end of a sword. Or what I’m going to have to listen to by way of one of Hideyoshi’s lectures... You know what? You might as well drag me to that dungeon of yours Mitsuhide. I think I’d probably be safer in there than in this castle.” My words left me as I became resigned to the idea that I was not getting away from anything easily. I was tired, both mentally and physically. I didn’t ask to be a time traveller all I had ever wanted to do was work for a magazine in the creative design department and maybe get to be an editor one day. Playing historical Princesses in castles was not on my bucket list of things to do before I died.

“Oh, Princess you would be a very rare and beautiful flower among those dark and damp cells but I assure you, you would not find it nearly as comfortable as your room in the castle.” Now he was closer Mitsuhide could see she was close to her limit. It was never any fun to tease someone when they reached that point and he found himself curiously drawn towards her. The Girl who appeared from nowhere. Who spoke with unbridled passion and had a fast enough wit to catch most of the men off guard during a heated discussion. Who is she?

“I would seriously like to argue that one. Could you not call me that? I’m not a Princess. I never even wished to be one as a child either.” I sighed.

“It is your title my dear.” The most irritating part of that reply was the fact that the man saying it made it sound as if it was unimportant.

“Oh? And I suppose you really enjoy being called Lord and Master?” I scoffed and instantly regretted it as I saw the grin spread over Mitsuhide’s face. Fantastic work Aerion. Why not provoke the guy? That rounds off the night nicely.

“Are you trying to lure me, child?” His breath was on my nape and it was serving to prove exactly how close he could be to me without me even noticing he had moved. He’s dangerous.

“If I was then we’d both be having a lot more fun. And I’m not a child I’m a fully-grown woman.” I removed myself from his close proximity and put a little space back between us.

“Yes, my dear even in the waning light of the night sky I am aware of that. It still begs the question as to what you were doing? Clearly, the reason was linked to the display of swordsmanship. But to do something so reckless and apparently have no destination in mind should your grand escape been successful? Where did you think you were going?” Mitsuhide mused aloud as he looked up at the castle wall, the remnants of the homemade rope hanging tattered in the breeze against the stonework.

“Out.”

“That isn’t an answer.” Mitsuhide said as he suppressed a small voice in his head telling him he was sounding like Hideyoshi. Worrying over a slip of a girl and acting parental too boot.

“It is it just isn’t a very detailed one.” I shrugged. I couldn’t exactly tell him what I was trying to do. I had already suffered the fact that two men didn’t believe my story with a third that seemed to think it was believable after threatening my life. I really did not want to experiment and find out what delights this man would come up with to test to see if I was lying or not.

“Well then my dear as it is apparent you have a rather incomplete plan; I will escort you back to your room for the night.” Mitsuhide took my backpack from my shoulders, giving it a curious look before returning his eyes to me.

“You are going to take me back in? And they say chivalry is dead…” I scoffed attempting to hide the fact that I really wanted to have my bag back. Something of a memory flitted through my mind of an incident in school where some boys were playing keep away with a girl’s pencil case. I had a fairly good idea that Mitsuhide would delight in a game like that.

“Don’t misinterpret my dear. It is not appropriate for a lady to be wandering around alone at night in these troubling times. I would also hate to see how you faired should Hideyoshi in his current state find you alone in the corridors of the castle. You are the chosen Princess of Nobunaga Oda a man I have pledged my service too. If anything should happen to you…” He was speaking as if he were trying to talk to a troublesome child. I bristled at his tone rather than the content of the conversation.

“You are only doing this to make sure I am where I am supposed to be?”

“Naturally.” Mitsuhide started walking ahead of me. He was close enough that should I have decided to run he could have easily caught me if he wished too. “Or perhaps you are trying to hint at something?” He asked as he gave me a side-eyed glance over his shoulder.

“I am not and you know it.” I was following along behind as he knew I would. Honestly, this being subservient to everyone around me was a complete drain on my already depleted energy sources.

“If you protest too strongly my dear it is just as good as admitting your true feelings.” Mitsuhide stopped at my door holding it open for me as I entered. Slipping past him I nearly tripped on my kimono. There was no doubt they were pretty but in all honesty, they just reminded me a very difficult to move in long dress. I hate dresses.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are a huge tease?” I flopped my whole body down into the soft bedding that was still where it had been earlier. Mitsuhide deftly untied what was left of the rope and removed some blankets from it to throw over me.

“It might have been mentioned.”

---

Sliding the door closed quietly behind him as he left the Princesses room Mitsuhide found himself alone once more. He absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder as his body remembered the sudden impact from catching the girl falling from above. A wry smile crept over his face as he remembered the curious Princess.

He had arrived at Kyoto following information received that Nobunaga’s life was in danger, only to find the temple turned to crumbling cinders and his lord standing in a tent looking perfectly fine. At first, he had thought the small female sitting in the tent had been a survivor from the incident and had just been kept near his lord as a distraction so he paid her very little attention. It had never crossed his mind that she of all people would have been the one to apparently save Nobunaga’s life.

The closer he looked at her the more unusual she seemed. Her hair was white similar to his own but the ends of it seemed to be stained in different shades. Do you put ink in your hair to get it to do that? Her clothing was normal but he did notice when she shifted in her seat and the hem of her kimono moved that she had some strange looking boots on her feet.

His eyes flitted around and spotted something else in the tent that was out of place by her side. It was obviously a bag of some sort but it had metal sewed onto the fabric and two straps. Do you use that to attach it to a horse perhaps? There was no doubt the girl was an enigma to him and the more he looked at her the more questions he seemed to have.

Aerion had bolted out of the camp like someone had set a fire under her. Without care for her own safety, she disappeared into the darkness. They had tried to call out to her but she didn’t even so much as look back at them. Mitsuhide chuckled at the sight. Nobunaga had temporarily lost that self-righteous indignation of his. Hideyoshi who had just spent that last few minutes suspiciously and aggressively interrogating the poor girl was now looking worried. She really is rather entertaining.

Mitsunari had returned to inform us that Masamune had arrived. When he discovered that the girl had run off into the night he also looked just as concerned as Hideyoshi. In a typical display of delegatory leadership, Nobunaga announced we were returning to Azuchi and sent Masamune and Hideyoshi off to retrieve the mysterious Aerion.

From the little snippets of information, he could glean from Mitsunari on the way home he discovered that she had indeed saved Nobunaga. She appeared to him to be ill from the smoke as she was rambling about not being from here and her clothes were also apparently strange even for one of the Nanban. With nothing solid to go on and the only chance he had to get a clearer idea on the facts running away into the forest, he had dropped the topic.

Part of him was hopeful that she had escaped. When it was time for a formal introduction he offered to go and bring her to the hall. She was quiet as she dragged her feet along the hardwood. In an effort to distract her and amuse himself he took her hand… and kissed it. Why had he done that? He was aware of his nature to tease but he hadn’t exactly intended to take it that far.  And in the meeting when she had defied Nobunaga invoking the wrath of Hideyoshi. There was a light in her eyes that was like looking into a campfire. It sparked, cracked and danced. She was fast in her responses and seemed to show very little of the fear that she clearly would have felt. There was no doubt this Princess was different.

“I’m sorry to have kept you, my Lord.” A familiar voice drew him back to the present.

“Kyubei. I trust you have information for me?” Mitsuhide turned to the man standing in the shadow of the corridor. Kyubei was his most trusted man and loyal vassal. He had been walking around wasting some time in the castle’s corridors while he waited on his man’s return when the Princess dropped out of the sky. I wonder what news he has found about the incident at Honno–ji.

“Yes, Lord Mitsuhide.”

“Good.” Mitsuhide nodded. He was still a little distracted by the woman he had saved. From what he knew she was in a no-win situation. If she couldn’t return home then she could stay in the castle but by staying in the castle she was also marking herself a prime target.

It was certainly not going to be easy for her. Whilst thinking this his mind attached to a lingering thought that she had looked uncomfortable in her kimono. She was struggling to move freely which was only going to add to her dour mood in the long run. If she was a simple village girl before all this happened then perhaps it was the quality of the kimono that was the issue. Still, she didn’t strike me as the type that took easily to standard convention.

“Is something the matter my lord?” Kyubei enquired noticing Mitsuhide had fallen silent.

“I shall be returning to my manor. Bring the report there but before that, I have an errand for you.”

--- 

[seasonalherpes]

Gratefulness Post on the Eve of my 21st Birthday

I never write text posts, but somehow I had to get this joy nugget off my chest. When I was a kid, my only dream was to work hard, live in a big town, and work in a lab. My childhood idol was Marie Curie, so while it was rather vague, I knew that at some point in my life I wanted to write some stuff down in a chart while wearing a white coat.  Two years ago, I got accepted in the Psychology program at McGill, which is a few hours from where I come from. I also got accepted (with bursaries covering full tuition) at some universities near my hometown, and my parents offered to pay for an apartment back home for my partner and I to live in. I didn’t have savings past a few thousand bucks, which apparently is not even enough to buy all your textbooks for the first semester, but I knew what I wanted to do. I moved to Montreal!!!! It was so scary!!! So many of my close friends were genuinely hurt - and I felt their pain - because I chose to move away and my dedication to my studies and work was gonna prevent me from visiting. I also had little to no money, and I had - at the most - two friends in this new town. My boyfriend was finishing up a contract back home before joining me, so I spent the first two months fully alone, sleeping with a hunting knife like a mature and responsible adult. Two weeks after I moved was my birthday, and I was working at Walmart at the time. It was honestly extremely humiliating, because people in big towns apparently love dehumanizing retail employees, and I would get belittled so many times a day most of my breaks were spent crying. And I have been in retail since I was 14; I have had my share of assholes. However, there had never been so many so often, and it was almost impossible to handle. So on my 19th birthday, I worked a whole eight hour shift at Walmart, ate my lunch in silence in a terrifyingly small breakroom, got a plate thrown at me because I said we ran out of bubble wrap, and then left at 4pm with absolutely no clue what to do with myself. I ended up eating a crêpe at a frozen yogurt place, and then went to the movie theater all alone. Honestly, the second I heard my first lecture, it felt like a thousand additional plates could have been thrown at me and it would’ve been worth it. I really thought it was only gonna be uphill from there. But then I made a bunch of mistakes, and out of a true lack of confidence, missed out on a ton of opportunities. I tend to be a very assertive and bold person when I want to, but that trait always gets turned off when I don’t know what I’m doing. And I definitely did not know what I was doing then. So I stayed in a cute little corner, sent a few emails around looking for work, and actually never found anything remotely close to my field for my first summer break. So, on my 20th birthday, one year after moving to Montreal, I worked on that exact day as a phone lady for a furniture company. I had to lie to get the job, saying I was taking a break from my studies, and the lady seemed weirdly excited to meet me. I quickly found out why: while I tend to show up at every workplace in incredibly chic, professional clothes, everyone there was dressed like they had given up on life. I had also studied everything about that company to get that job, making me sound like the next CEO of Apple.

So on my 20th birthday, I showed up for my first day at a job I didn’t intend to do for more than a month, and actually got sent to the boss’ office to be told I was going to be trained to become a manager in a few months. For someone who wants a job in customer service, this would have been a dream. But for me, who had lied my way through thinking there would be no repercussions, it was nauseating. I was terrified of letting this nice woman boss down, I was terrified of all the employees getting to know me and seeing that I was a major nerd who would never ever quit school, and worst of all I was terrified at the thought of riding a train of lies for forty hours a week for the next month. So, I spent the entire day working, hiding in the bathroom, and running out as fast as I could at 5 o’clock. I remember discovering that the next bus out was in 30 minutes while I was straight up in the middle of an industrial desert, and choosing to run back home in my fancy loafers because I was terrified of staying near the office for a second more. 

That night, I went to dinner with my partner, tried not to cry the entire time, and then I ran back home to work on my disappearance. I made all of my social media accounts insanely private, blocked the company’s emails, blocked the company’s fifty phone numbers, turned my wifi off, put my phone on airplane mode, then put it on night mode on top of it, and then finally lost my mind and took the SIM card out of my phone and cried myself to sleep. I never showed up for work the next day, staying off the grid for the following week (I even took my friend’s phone to call my parents and tell them I was doing a “technology cleanse”.). 

This takes us to this last year. That year, something in me changed. I realized that as long as I was working towards my goals and doing what I wanted, nothing could take me down. I took out a loan to stop doing crazy jobs, booked some extra classes to advance me as a student, and vowed to be “extra”. 

Being extra meant always going one step further. I would show up to class dressed up. I would go see the teacher after class. I’d send them emails about fun youtube videos related to class materials. I’d contact every single person who worked in a Psychology lab in town. I would go to all the mixers, regardless of how long it would take me to recharge. Knowing I was aiming for a doctorate, I studied for entrance exams exactly one year before most people would start thinking about taking them. I kept up with current researchers like a true stalker. If you want to know what Simon Baron-Cohen is doing right now, trust and believe that I can tell you. 

I can’t actually say this was easy, because it was honestly the hardest year of my entire life. My partner of countless years briefly left me because of mental health issues we both had not seen coming, I spent a whole month selling my book collection to pay for groceries, I failed one of my favourite classes because I kept falling asleep in the days before the final, then learned I was falling asleep because I had contracted mono, and two weeks later I was told I needed heart surgery due to a disease I had had under control since birth. I actually started laughing in the cardiologist’s office, because of how ridiculous that year was. He did not laugh, but I was thorougly entertained.

Still, being extra paid off. In November, an Honour student asked me to help with her research project, and I got so excited I spent night after night in the school’s library. I read and tweaked and rewrote pieces of her paper countless times, and she got an A! She loved my work and energy so much that she recommended me at her lab, and they immediately hired me!!! Then, some fantastic profs agreed to help me with my applications, and with their help I was handpicked to work at a top hospital in a rehabilitation program. As an undergrad!!!!! At that point, I could already have died happy.

I actually took a step back for a month to get my heart fixed, so while this incredible interview happened a few weeks ago, I only started working today. On the eve of my 21st birthday. In the morning, I went to my lab, put on a white coat, pulled out my files, and tested some participants. Then, I had a super fun conversation with a friend from work, who giggled at the sunburns my partner and I got at the waterpark this weekend. He also told me I got the approval on one of the projects I want to run, so (if I work hard enough) I will now have numerous projects under my name published even before I graduate . Then, in the afternoon, I took off my white coat, walked a few meters to the neurological hospital, put on another lab coat, took the cart with the girl training me, and we went around helping out patients. The work was so unbelievably gratifying, I still can’t believe it. One patient was apathetic when we arrived, but actually grew so happy that by the time that we left, she thanked me for reminding her of her youth again.

That was the eve of my 21st birthday. After two whole years of messes, confusion and fear, I actually finally got everything I was aiming for. Since I want to be a Clinical Psychology Doctorate student, I still have a long way to go before I get where I want to be. But for now, one whole year before I finish my Bachelor’s degree, I am already changing people’s lives in a concrete, tangible way, and writing up research that will influence my field and hopefully make a dent in the mystery that is the human brain. 

I work hard, I live in a big town, and I work in a lab. I don’t have everything figured out, but on the eve of my 21st birthday, I got to write stuff down in a bunch of charts and wear a white coat. 

Tomorrow, I cleared my schedule so I wouldn’t have to work. Thankfully, my budget can now handle it. I am going to go eat a crêpe at a frozen yogurt place, before watching a movie all on my own. I want to relive that 19th birthday as a way to commemorate it, as a way to remind myself that it will always get better. Those crêpes are gonna be delightful, and I won’t be wearing a Walmart uniform while eating them. And that movie is gonna be so great; I will go see it because this type of movie is my guilty pleasure, not because I am alone in a big scary town. 

Remember that things always get better. They don’t always evolve at the speed we would want them to, and god knows there are going to be numerous setbacks on the way. Your mono could put you to sleep right as you’re cramming for that big final, your relationship could be on a break for weeks, or your heart could quit on you just for the heck of it. That’s okay. You can do it. You can lift mountains, you can split oceans apart, and you can absolutely conquer the world. Keep holding on, stand by everything you believe in, and your hard work will pay off. 

[bctvega]

A confession.

I'm still alive.

On Sunday, April 29th, 2018, I contemplated ending it all.

(I'll put a trigger warning here. Also, there are a couple personal details, after the jump)

I know myself better than anyone else. There was no sudden build up. No aggressive trigger event, no sour words exchanged between myself and some other person, not even a note. I just felt like disappearing that night.

When I got home from my cousin's birthday party, I was in a rather mellow mood. I looked at what little work I had gotten done in my two-week study leave off of uni. Frantic scribbles, an attempt at making basic designs at levels, based on words I wrote lightly detailing how I wanted the level to go. But really, nothing worth the time I spent on it. I looked at the two Voxel drawings I did of the start of the level, unfinished and minuscule compared to the rest of Stuart's current build of the game. With just a simple netbook, I can't run our build. I can't help, I can't test. So what else did I have to do? I offered to bite off more than I can chew, and write up the entire narrative of the game! Surely, two weeks is enough for a simple short story, right? 2 pages, 8 paragraphs, 10% of what I wanted to write. That's alright, at least you read one short story from the book you borrowed to help you write, right? Tomorrow we go back to uni, and I think to myself:

You did nothing.

I went to bed, laying there, in silence, staring up at my ceiling. I waited until my parents went to bed. I went to the kitchen, picking out my mom's sharpest knife. I went out for a walk, towards one of the secluded parks littered around Auckland's suburban area, and I waited. I drew the knife out from my jacket pocket. A small thing, like a pairing knife, but kept razor sharp. I felt like I wanted to test it, so I pushed the tip into my finger until I drew a drop of blood. I stared at it, watched it well up with wide eyes. I felt fear. I felt tired. I sat there on a bench, staring at the knife in my hand... for what felt like hours. I touched the edge to my arm. To my neck. Thinking about which would hurt less. And I just sat... staring at it.

Just a little push. Just a little harder.

But I don't want to... my team needs me!

Of course, you want to! That’s why you’re here! You've let your team down. You've let your family down, again. You've let everyone down, including yourself. AGAIN.

I need to catch up!

There's no hope for you to catch up anymore after this. There hasn't been for years.

Why can't I at least try?

Why try? Why can't you? You know exactly why! It's the same reason you never wake up early! The same reason you've skipped class so much this semester! The same reason you never follow up on something you've missed! They're same reasons you tell yourself lies, to make it feel better for a minute longer! You know exactly what it is, you hedonistic hypocrite!

I'm scared. These thoughts, they echoed loudly in my head. I continued to toy around with the knife, but ultimately, I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Sometime later, I woke up, nearly 2 hours later at about 3 am, still in the park. Still on the bench. I had leaned over, sleeping on my side like I was a homeless person, the knife having dropped to the dirt in front of me. I picked it up, pocketed it again, and snuck back into my home to put everything back the way it was before, my family none the wiser. I lay in my bed, shivering cold, and I wept until I passed out again.

I woke up the next morning with a fever and a migraine. I pretended to do my morning routine since my parents and my sister leave earlier than I do every morning. I stayed home. I slept. I missed class, I turned off my phone, my computer. I wanted to hide from the world. From my responsibilities. I didn't want to finish them. I couldn't even finish myself. I was... am scared. Of so many things, real, imaginary.

I have never been one to fall victim to my own darker thoughts. I've memories of helping others who'd been in situations just like that one. I've memories of failing to help. But I always stood like a pillar for them. I didn't let myself worry about myself. There wasn't much time to do that. Brush it off, pop your medication, and go about your day. Just push it away, you forget about this kind of thing quickly, Jacob. That's something you're good at. I let it build up, over many years. I let it fester. And I was overcome by it.

Is this an excuse? Yes. Is it a good one? I don't think so. I caved in then. Just another excuse of yours you came up with to hide behind. It's always been my own fault. It's not the workload. It's not the responsibility, nor the stress, nor the medication, whether or not it works. I'm the one who makes the choices, after all. Not my parents, not my teachers, not my friends, family. Just me. And I suffer for it. And I can't stop. Even now, as I write this, I feel nothing but loathing and regret. At myself. At my actions. At my lack of discipline and poor judgement. And I know after this I won't change. Not soon. I'll come in the next morning, hopefully early. I'll wear the same smile I always do outside. I'll apologize to my team. I have to apologize to Stefan for ditching my midterm. Beg for another chance, though I know I might not get one. The doubt eats away. I'm back to square one.

I'm sorry I'm being so dramatic. I'm sorry to the people I've made worry. I'm sorry to my team. I'm sorry to my lecturers and the school staff. I'm sorry to my family, that I've kept these kinds of secrets from.

I need to get better. I need to learn how to be better. I'm going to get help. That's all I can promise for now, but it's a promise, nonetheless. But I know myself, better than anyone else.

[mumbleybummie-blog]

Cleaning (M)

Park Jinyoung (Got7) x Reader

Word Count: 2,090

Genre: Smut

“Jinyoung, I am not cleaning my room tonight. I will do it tomorrow like I said. Now let’s go pick a movie to watch before you ruin the night,” you bargained.

Jinyoung cocked his head, an eyebrow raised and a smirk graced his lips, “Are you going against my word,” he asked.

“No. I am not. I-,” you tried to refute.

“Because is seems like you are, baby,” he said, his eyes bore into yours and you knew you were in for it.

“Wow, this place is a mess,” Jinyoung chastised.

The both of you were currently standing in the doorway of your bedroom, which, you could admit, was a true disaster zone. Clothes were strewn over every surface, zero amount of the floor is visible, and you swore that there was a desk underneath all of your stuff. If Jinyoung hated one thing, it would be untidiness. He could not stand it, and you knew it. That is why you tried your hardest to prevent him from walking into your room. You knew he would freak out, and give you another lecture about how you should keep things clean. It irritated you to no end, and you did not want to have to deal with that tonight.

“I know it is. But, I had so much work to do for school and I was working more hours at the shop, so I haven't had the time to clean,” you said hoping that he would give a break just this once because you much rather spend the night cuddling with your boyfriend than picking up your room. And, Jinyoung will absolutely make you spend the night hours cleaning up the mess that you created. Even if that meant he had to help you.

Jinyoung’s gaze shifted from the floor to you, and then said, “We are cleaning this tonight.”

“Come on. I promise to clean it all up tomorrow. Can we just relax for tonight?” you begged.

Jinyoung shook his head, and you sighed. You wish he would leave it be. It was not like he is your parent. Not even your own mother would nag you this much about the cleanliness of your room. He can be insufferable sometimes.

“I will even help you,” Jinyoung offered, as if this made the situation any better.

“Jinyoung, I am not cleaning my room tonight. I will do it tomorrow like I said. Now let’s go pick a movie to watch before you ruin the night,” you bargained.

Jinyoung cocked his head, an eyebrow raised and a smirk graced his lips, “Are you going against my word,” he asked.

“No. I am not. I-,” you tried to refute.

“Because is seems like you are, baby,” he said, his eyes bore into yours and you knew you were in for it.

Another piece of information that not many people seem to know about Jinyoung is that he is a very dominate man. Even though he is an introvert. Jinyoung likes orders and rules, and enjoys making sure you are following them to a T. If he catches you not adhering to the rules set in place you are punished. And, standing in your room while back talking Jinyoung, you knew that you were about to get punished. But, he was still somehow going to make sure you clean your bedroom.

“Pull down your pants, “ Jinyoung demanded.

You stared into his eyes, hoping to get some information about what is to come, but Jinyoung did not give anything away. So, reluctantly, you pushed your pants down just enough for gravity take over and they fell and pooled at your feet. Jinyoung approached to you, his eyes never leaving yours. His wide eyes serious, but there was clear mischief in them. He was going to relish in what was to come. His hand brushed against your clothed mound as his fingers trailed upwards to rest at your waist, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He quickly placed a kiss on your mouth. Just a tease, for the only purpose of making you want him more.

“Wait here,” he whispered into your ear, his plump lips catching your earlobe causing shivers to run all the way down your spine. Then he was walking, carefully, over to your closet. It was at that moment you knew that the punishment that he planned was not going to be an easy one. You realized what he was going in there for. Jinyoung glanced back at you, his gaze landing on your pout, and he chuckled to himself before continuing to get what he wanted from you closet. He soon found what he was looking for. An unassuming box was held in his hands. If people just saw this box they would not think anything of it, but that box held every single one of your sex toys. Vibrators, dildos, blindfolds, ties, rope, buttplugs, nipple clamps, and many more items that Jinyoung could use to torture you. You had an absolute love/hate relationship with that box.

With a look of glee and anticipation, Jinyoung sat the box and himself on your bed. He riffled through it for a couple of seconds before finding what he was looking for. With the toy in hand he made his way back to you.

“Do you want to see what I picked out for you, baby?” he asked excitedly, as if it was Christmas Day.

Before you even had the chance to think about answering, Jinyoung presented a small clitoral vibrator in his hand, and laying next to it in his palm was the wireless remote to it.

“I am going to place this vibrator in your panties, right on your clit, and I am going to keep the remote with me. You are going to clean your bedroom while I play with you. You are not to cum unless directed to do so, but don’t expect it any time soon. Do you understand?”

You nodded your head yes, “Yes. I understand.”

“Good,” with your confirmation Jinyoung placed the vibrator in your underwear, resting it snugly against your clit, giving a small pat before removing his hand from your underwear/

“Let’s give it a test,” Jinyoung stated, jubilance clear in his voice, as he pressed down on the on button.

The vibrator whirred to life.

“Oh my,” you moaned. Even on the lowest setting the vibrations fierce.

“Perfect, now pull up your pants and start cleaning,” Jinyoung ordered as he moved back to his place on your bed.

Gingerly, you bent down to pull up your pants that gathered at your feet, and you started off picking up the clothes that were in your immediate vicinity. The constant buzzing between your thighs made things a bit more difficult to do. You were moving at a much slower pace than you were used to, and there were moments that you had to stop for seconds before being able to continue due to the pressure on your clit. Once you cleared a space on your floor, you decided that sitting might be a better solution because all the bending over you were doing simply pressed the vibrator harder against your clit. So, you dropped to the floor being careful as to not move the vibrator around too much. But, as your butt hit the ground you felt the vibrations get stronger. A moan involuntarily left your mouth. You glared back at your boyfriend who was lounging around as if he did nothing.

“Oops,” he chuckled, “my finger slipped.”

Without giving him the satisfaction of a response, you went back to your sorting and folding of the clothes on the floor. However, as you were folding a pair of jeans the vibrations began to intensify once again. Your legs spread on instinct and you threw your head back as you let the pleasure consume you. Folding of the jeans were quickly abandoned in your hands as you grasped onto them wishing for them to provide you with some stability. Your panties became increasingly wet as the vibrations continued. You could not keep the moans from coming even though you kept biting your lips to keep them in. It had only been a couple of minutes and you were already aching to cum.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?” Jinyoung sassed, reveling in the whole situation.

Before you could acknowledge his question Jinyoung increased the level of the vibrator. A whine  broke through your locked lips, and your thighs began to quiver. Sweat began to paint your skin and your clothing was becoming increasingly warm. You were so close to an orgasm. Then the level of the vibrator was upped once again.

“Fuck,” you gasped. An orgasm was right there, your walls began to clench and your panties were soaked with your essence. You began rocking against the vibrator that was tucked into your underwear, chasing that release.

Then the vibrations were gone. Your body sagged against the floor and your labored breathing was the only sound in the room.

“I told you, you are not cumming till I say so. Continue with your cleaning,” Jinyoung commanded.

After a scowl, in your boyfriend’s direction, you sluggishly began to continue to clean what was left of your mess.

Jinyoung maintained his punishment as you slowly worked your way around your room. The teasing and edging felt as if it went on for hours. Your thighs were sticky with your wetness. Your hair was plastered to your forehead, and you felt as if your legs were going to give out at any point. Your body was exhausted and desperate for an orgasm as your finished putting the last item away. You flopped back onto your bed, carefully to not land on Jinyoung, even if he deserved it. The light buzzing between your legs not forgotten.

Before you could say anything to Jinyoung, you felt the vibrations begin to strengthen once again.

“Jinyoung,” you moan softly.

You were right on the edge, after all of the orgasm denials your body was ready to cum at the slightest bit of pleasure. However, you were still waiting for Jinyoung’s order. Until then you were forced to endure the assault on your body.

“Come here baby,” Jinyoung commanded gently, his arms open to you.

You carefully crawled over to Jinyoung, and sat down in his lap, straddling his thigh. His erection obvious against your thigh. He instantaneously wrapped his arms around you to secure you. Your arms reached around to lock behind his neck as your pressed your face into the crook of his neck. Your breathing was shallow against his skin, as you plastered kisses along the expanse of skin.

“You did such a good job, baby. I am very proud of you. I am going to let you cum, but on my command, okay?” Jinyoung whispered to you.

“Yes.”

Jinyoung lips met your neck and exposed shoulder where your shirt had fallen down. Sucking and biting at the skin, you could feel marks beginning to form. And, then as you were distracted by Jinyoung’s mouth he switch the vibrator to the next level. You were panting and grinding your hips against Jinyoung’s thigh as the vibrator’s level switched. Jinyoung’s hand clutched on to your hips, guiding you as you rode against him. His breathing came in irregular pants, and a moan escaped his mouth when your leg pressed against his hard member.

“More. Please more,” you begged breathlessly.

With your desire building, Jinyoung increased the level a few more times placing it on the highest intensity setting. As you worked yourself on Jinyoung’s thigh you felt your lips drip with your juices, everything was soaking wet, and you are sure it had permeated through to Jinyoung’s pants. But, you couldn't care less about that right now. Your grinding became faster and more erratic as the vibrations brought you closer. And Jinyoung was meeting you thrust for thrust. You had stopped trying to conceal your moans. Your throaty noises filled the room. Your fingers tangled their way into Jinyoung’s soft, black hair as you held onto him, your orgasm impending.

Then Jinyoung said the magical words, “Cum for me.”

With his permission you were cumming. You orgasm was overwhelming. Your legs were shaking and your mouth was open in silent screams. Your bucking hips hitched back and forth as the orgasm tore through your body. Your walls clenched around emptiness, wishing that you were stuffed with something before being allowed to cum. Your fingers clutched onto Jinyoung’s locks. Your legs trembled and your toes curled. Your back arched as you felt wave after wave roll over your body. Your orgasm lasted for what felt like minutes. Everything was so overwhelming.

Once your breathing had mostly evened out, and the aftershocks of the orgasm had ceased, exhaustion hit you like a truck. There was not a chance that were going to be able to stay conscious for much longer. So, with a quiet, “I love you,” to Jinyoung and a gentle peck on the cheek, you were asleep.

A/N: So, that is it! I loved writing this one. I had troubles of course but I hope it still turned out well. I hope that you enjoyed reading it. I apologize for any mistakes or errors! Thank you so much! Don’t hesitate to send me a message! I love being able to talk to others. Lots of love xxxxx

[sithhoplite]

The Duel

Lakadimos was fairly certain she had never trained as hard in her life as she had in the past three weeks, even on Felday when she should be resting she would train and it was paying off. She was once again able to hold her ground against her coach and had renewed confidence in her abilities. The hesitation she had shown earlier regarding her head injuries was gone. Lak attacked with full force and no fear. She did have to alter her attacks to a more hit and run style which compensated for the strength and experience that Emperor Marr had. The last thing she could have happen was to get in too close for too long. Once that happened his experience would show and the duel would end in short order.

Tomorrow would be the day she stepped into the ring with the Emperor and dueled him one on one. With the Dromund Kass Dueling Tournament starting, as the reigning Imperial Champion she would open it with an exhibition match. She had asked the Emperor to be her opponent not really expecting him to agree but he did. Lak considered it an honor that he agreed and was thrilled for the chance to face him in the ring. A small part of her was ruffled when she realized the Emperor would be the crowd favorite, not her. Despite the nerves that hit her the night before, she fell asleep fairly quickly next to Domisan.

Awaking the next morning she went through her usual pre-match routine, finding comfort for her nerves in it. Heading to the Veledrome three hours early she stepped out into the dueling ring and looked around the empty arena. Last time she set foot in here she had realized her dream and become the Single Saber Dueling Champion, the celebrations later that night were just as memorable. It was then that she and Darth Gravus had become lovers. Lak let the memories flood in and used them to steel her determination. Pulling out her saber she went through some general exercises to limber up and get a feel for the ring under her boots.

Darth Septum walked out and observed her doing her basic run through, waiting until she was finished, “ How are you feeling Lak? Nervous, scared, excited?”

“ Anxious but not nervous or scared. I look forward to the challenge. I won’t go down as easily as many people think.”

“Be mindful of your arrogance Lak, being confident is one thing, arrogant is another. You are the best among your peers, the Emperor is a whole other category.” Septum lectured

“I am well aware of that coach, all I am saying is those who think I will lose in under a minute will be disappointed. I have no illusions I will actually defeat the Emperor but I won’t be embarrassed either.”

“ Good. I am glad you are being realistic at least. For a moment I thought you might actually think you could beat him.” Septum teased

“Yea I might be confident in my abilities but I am not blindly stupid about them either. Marr has been holding a lightsaber longer than I have been alive. If I can manage to last more than 5 minutes that will be a victory for me. “

“Come on,” Spetum motioned,” Let’s get you ready, people will start coming in soon.”

Domisan and Darth Mortis walked into the locker room and saw Lak sitting in her locker, eyes closed, head bobbing to the music coming from her headphones. Her armor was polished but she had chosen to not wear her cape for the duel. Looking up at the two she nodded. Domisan gently probed the bond they had and found it open.

Are you ready Lak?

As ready as I am going to be. This will be the biggest challenge I have faced but I am ready and looking forward to it.

I look forward to seeing you out there, I love you

Love you too Dom

Domisan noticed she smiled at the same time she told him she loved him then the serious look came back to her face, all concentration. Mortis watched the interaction between the two realizing they must have been talking via telepathy. 

“Shall we head to my box Domisan?”

“Yes my Lord of course.”

The energy of the Veledrome was electric, Imperials and Sith alike placing bets on how quickly the Emperor would dispatch Lakadimos. The Imperialis stood guard at the Royal Box where the Empress stood talking to her two apprentices. Mortis frowned at the sight of her still taken aback at how Marr had not only named her Empress but planned on marrying her as well. Darth’s Atroxa, Otium, Vowrawn and Tenere were in attendance for this exhibition bout.

Looking over at Domisan, his loyal second and now current love interest of his daughter he shook his head. He could not ignore the positive influence Domisan seemed to have on Lakadimos and the bond they had created seemed strong and firm. Mortis never would have guessed when Lakadimos returned to the Citadel after the debacle on Leritor her path would have taken her the way it had. She had seemed to heed his warning about being careful with their relationship. While he had been told they were often out on the town together they never let it influence their work thus he had been happy to let it progress. He ideally wondered what Gravus would think about her choice in lovers if he was still alive.

The crowd began to quiet down as the time for the duel approached. Over the loud speakers the announcer began.

“Welcome all, Lord and Imperials to the Veledrome. Tonight we will be treated to an exhibition match between two excellent swordsman. Their bout will usher in the beginning of the Dromund Kass Dueling Tournament!” A loud roar of applause came from the crowd. “ Coming out first, she is the current Imperial Single Saber Champion and will be defending her title in a years time, Lord Lakadimos.” Lak nodded to the crowd. Mortis noticed she was sans her helm.

“Her opponent is an Imperial Legend, a Sith whose record in battle is unparalleled. Let us welcome our Emperor Darth Marr.”

A loud roar came from the crowd as the Emperor entered the ring. Lak had to admit she was still getting used to seeing him without his mask. They both entered the ring, Lak bowed at the waist towards Marr then unsheathed her saber. He ignited his and they circled one another.

Looking at him with a smirk on her face, “I may fear you outside of this ring Emperor and I have the utmost respect for you, but this ring is my playground. I look forward to testing myself against you.”

She was barely finished when Marr leapt at her with a fury, she stumbled back and assumed her fighting stance. He tried to reign down a series of blows but Lak dodged to the side and parried them never getting too close. She lunged and stabbed to try and draw him off balance but he just swatted her strikes away. Realizing she was going to have to go in for quick bursts to do any damage at all she leapt and drove Marr back. He was on the defensive but quickly recovered. Turning away she could feel him take the initiative away from her and that was her cue to back up quickly. More than a few bets on how long she would last were paid up as they hit the three minute mark.

Lak almost lost her footing when Marr used a double handed blow, augmented by his strength advantage but she was able to absorb it. It was at this moment she realized Marr had been toying with her and was going in for the kill. Knowing she was no match for his strength or skill she pulled back and tried to put distance between them, Marr however was having none of it and closed just as quickly. Lak was now totally on the defensive and fighting for her life, she wondered for the briefest moment if Marr was going to actually kill her tonight.

She was trying everything to get him away from her but it wasn’t working and she knew it. There was only one thing left for her to do, go down swinging. Her pride would not let her do anything less. Knowing this bout was already lost she decided to give it everything she had before he won. Calling on all the anger, rage and skill she had she lept at him. Parrying his blows she lunged and tried to push him back. She could see he had an amused look on his face and that angered her more. Marr absorbed the strikes and a few times had to parry her well timed lunges but they never really were a threat to him. In the end he let her deplete her energy as she attacked while he conserved his. With a lunge he turned to her right,  and caught her in the jaw with his hilt. Lak stumbled at the vicious hit and with one more blow she fell onto her back and looking up at him. It was over and she had lost.

Lak looked up at him, defiance written all over her face even as his lightsaber was pointed at her heart. Seconds seem to turn into minutes as she waited for the death blow to come. Instead of a lightsaber running her through she felt his boot on her right arm holding it down. Crying out in pain she began to turn to try and knock it off but was stopped by his boot kicking her back down. His foot pressed harder on her arm, pain ripping through it she cried out again.

“Do you yield?” it was framed as a question but for her to say no would mean a broken arm at the least and more than likely death

Mortis and Domisan stood up in his box watching this unfold. They could both feel the pain,  anger and defiance coming from her. Through their bond her father’s voice came through clear.

Yield dammit, that is an order

Looking up at Marr, pain etched in her face but defiance in her eyes she nodded and gritted out through a clenched jaw, “I yield to you my Lord Emperor.”

Suddenly she felt her lightsaber force pulled from her hand. Marr clipped it to his belt and looked down on her ,”This will make an excellent gift for the Empress, she thanks you.”

Lak was beyond angry and knew he was taunting her, for a moment she wanted to say something but didn’t. She was already trapped and she could feel the bones in her arm starting to crack.

Turning to the now silent crowd Marr brought the full force of his boot onto her arm and it snapped.  Her cry of pain  rang out across the now silent Veledrome. Mortis hand dropped to the hilt of his lightsaber as he glared at the Emperor. Marr looked up at Mortis letting him know he saw where his hand was, his threat was not missed.

“Let this be a lesson to you, one can be an excellent swordsman as she is, but if one lacks respect for their superiors punishment will meted out to correct their behavior.  Dueling is more than just a blade, it is also using your opponent's weaknesses against them. She fought well but using her eagerness to win she depleted her energy and left herself open to my assault. Even the best swordsman will get beaten when exhausted.”

Finally the pressure from his boot lifted off of her arm and she scurried backwards as quickly as she could. Fear was clear in her eyes as she retreated from the Emperor, he watched her leave wounded and afraid. Clutching her arm to her chest she walked back to the locker room, her pride wounded, arm broken and defeated for the first time in over a year in the dueling ring. Waiting for her was Dr. Wager, Darth Septum and Domisan.

“How long did I last out there?” she asked trying to deflect any yelling  that may be coming her way

“A little over 6 minutes Lak, not bad.” Septum told her

“My Lord let me look at your arm please. I need to see how badly it is broken.” Wagner asked

Reaching out to Domisan with their bond,

How angry is Mortis?

He is rather angry, although less at you and more at the Emperor. Why did he take your saber and break your arm?

Our Emperor thinks I didn’t show him enough respect at the start of the duel and felt I needed to be punished.  

Lak cried out as Wagner splinted her arm gently. “What the hell Doc you know it’s broken.”

“Look at me like that all you want, perhaps your arm wouldn’t be broken if the Emperor hadn’t put his boot on it my Lord. You need to come to the medcenter. The break is bad Lak, you are going to need surgery.” Wagner told her, showing no fear of her

“You could at least act like you fear me once in while Doc.”

“I will take it under advisement my Lord.”

Mortis came into the locker room, Lak quickly looked away still cradling her arm preparing herself to be punished by him. “Would you like to explain why the Emperor felt the need to take your lightsaber and break your arm? Think carefully as to how you answer this apprentice.”

“He told me I could have it back when I learned respect Master.” she told him,  her voice quiet and posture submissive

“I see, and what did you do or say to him that made him think that?” his voice was cold and Lak knew that meant he was holding onto the last thread of his temper.

“I told him that I feared him outside the ring, but not in it. I looked forward to testing myself against him and the ring was my playground.” she braced herself for whatever was about to happen to her but nothing did

“Once again your inability to control your mouth has won over. I am proud as to how well you fought, much better than I expected but am very disappointed at your inability to show a modicum of maturity. That is not to say I am not unhappy with the Emperor humiliating you  by breaking your arm and taking your saber.” He could feel her disappointment and self loathing.

Dropping to one knee and ignoring the shooting pain in her arm. Her head was bowed and eyes cast to the ground in total submission, “I’m sorry I disappointed you once again Father. I expect no mercy for my actions. My life is yours to do with as you wish.”

Mortis took a moment to decide what to do with her, she knew she had made a rather large mistake and had paid for it with a broken arm and public humiliation. As her Master he was in his right to punish her for her disrespect but in the end decided against it.

“Go to the medcenter Lakadimos and have Wagner fix your arm then tend to your wounded pride. The humiliation meted out by the Emperor is enough for tonight. Go be with Domisan.” Mortis turned to walk away when he felt an enormous surge of guilt, self loathing, and pain coming from her. Even with their bond muted he could still feel it.

The battle between the father and master was waging for Mortis. Part of him knew he should just leave and let her learn from this and another part, the steadily growing familial part wanted to comfort her. In the end he decided to let her tend to her own wounds and pride for the night. He was angry at the Emperor for breaking her arm but realized the need for her to be punished as well. One day he hoped she might actually listen and learn to control her mouth. Looking back he could see her leaning into Domisan, cradling her arm.

Dromund Kass  General Hospital

Domisan arrived with Lakadimos at his side, the pain from her arm was radiating out. Doctor Wagner walked out and guided her to an examination room. As he looked over her arm, and the scans from it he had a grim look upon his face.

“I will be frank with you Lak, your arm is badly broken. This won’t be just a cast and wait, you are going to need at least a small plate and two screws in it. The Emperor’s boot didn’t just break your arm, in a few places it crushed it.”

“How long will I be out?” she gritted out

“At minimum 8 months, the plate, new bone and screws need to fuse and that is without a possible infection or your predilection for going back into training before being fully healed.” seeing the look on her face and knowing the question she was going to ask he answered it for her, “No, you will not be healed in enough time to defend your title. “

Two hours later

Lakadimos slowly came back to the land of the conscience and looked around. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton and it took her a moment to get her bearings. Next to her Domisan was sleeping in a chair. A few moments later Wagner walked into the room and picked up her chart.

“Welcome back my lord,how do you feel?”

“Woozy and still out of it.” she shook her head trying to clear it. Domisan awoke and walked over to her, he brushed a lock of hair off her forehead. “How bad was it Doc?”

“It could have been worse but it was still bad. You now have three screws and a plate in your forearm. If all goes well it will take at minimum a year to get you back to normal and that is if you have zero setbacks, which honestly is very unlikely.”

“Thank you doctor.” her tone told Wagner he was dismissed

She turned her head away from Domisan as a tear ran down her face, the reality of what happened just hours before started to dawn on her. Closing her eyes and trying to force herself to say in control she closed herself mentally to Domisan and Mortis.

Domisan however was not going to let her do this. “No Lak you are not going to shut me out, not again. I am here for you even if you don’t want that right now. You would have done the same thing for me when I was injured a while back. Let me help you.”

Turning to look at him, the despair was clear in her eyes.

“So much for defending my title huh. Has anyone spoken to my father since I went into surgery?”

“Wagner has kept him updated on your condition. I would wager he will be here tomorrow to see you. Rest tonight agapi, you need it. I will be asleep next to you.”

Lakadimos drifted off to sleep despite the pain and despair she felt. Her dreams of defending her title crushed, her arm badly damaged and ego bruised. As Domisan watched her sleep he knew the recovery from this was going to be long and not just physical but mental and emotional as well. He also hoped that perhaps tonight the brutal reality of her actions would finally get her attention and put her right.

@inquisitorhotpants see how mean Marr is. ;) 

[not-tryin-2-have-a-debate]

i want to keep my original long draft for an essay abotu my Psych Ward Expirience somewhere so i’m post it here under readmore bc its super long

When most people hear the phrase “Psych Ward,” they think of settings in horror movies. They picture 1800’s sanatoriums, dark and crumbling asylums full of dangerous murderers. I don’t know if hollywood or a general societal ignorance towards mental disorders should be blamed more for that, but living with a serious mental illness is one of those things that “outsiders” never really seem to understand. That misunderstanding extends to treatment as well.

    Therapy comes in many shapes and sizes, different types and intensities. There are different amounts of work expected from the patient, different ways the therapist can try to work through their issues, but the biggest range of differences is probably in the environments these sessions can take place in. One-on-One appointments with a therapist, Group therapy that meets once or twice a week, specific support groups, and anger management classes are all things that we in the business would call “outpatient” treatment. Some programs are dubbed as “intensive outpatient” or “semi-inpatient” programs, for when they want to hospitalize someone but aren’t allowed to for whatever reason (usually because they can’t pay for it, or the family in charge of their affairs won’t allow it, or they're actually a good and understanding doctor that sees the problem with taking a mother away from her job and kids from three days to three months depending on the program.)

Group homes, halfway houses, and stays in mental hospitals would all be on the “inpatient” or residential side of things. Some places are specifically “Crisis Hospitals,” a place where suicidal patients go for one or two days until they aren’t considered an active threat to themselves anymore. Depending on the hospital and how much they actually care, the patient may run out the clock of their stay and can sent to a different center or dropped back into society while still in the middle of their crisis. Every psychiatric hospital has protocol for patients on suicide watch and many have specific rooms for it, open cubbies in a big long hall with no doors or front walls, so the staff can be watching you at all times.

When someone’s in treatment for any mental issues extending beyond mild depression or anxiety, being hospitalized is a kind of vague threat always looming on the horizon. If they say something a little too dark, or they fly off the handle a little too often, the question comes up asking if they’re in need of more ‘intense’ care.

Most patients that have been around a while know how to quickly deflect a nervous doctor. We get told our own horror stories; tales of prisons with heavily medicated inmates, friends recounting abuse from their nurses, being locked up in a place that claimed to help them but in actuality just held their lives/times for ransom until they stopped complaining.

I’m asked about my safety every time I see my psychiatrist. I sit in Brian’s office once every three or four weeks and discuss how much of a failure I am at pretending to be a human being. Every time, near the end, he looks me in the eye with an uncomfortable grimace and asks me how safe I feel. We both know it's a strange and impossible question. I could say no for so many different reasons. Realistically I will probably hurt myself before our next appointment. There will definitely be at least a few times I think of dying, go over the details in my head. I could point to my paranoia, or my childhood, and tell him I haven’t felt safe in a long, long time. But he knows all of that, and he knows my honest answer, and we both know that him asking how safe I currently feel is just secret code for whether or not I want to be sent to a hospital. So I shrug and tell him I’ll be just fine.

I guess I was having a pretty rough time at fourteen. I say “I guess” because I can’t remember most of it, but what I do remember wasn’t particularly any worse than two years before or the year after. It was mainly just that when I was fourteen, people were noticing more, and feeling more guilty, and I was saying some wrong things at the wrong times.

I’d already been in regular therapy for years; I’d been through one group until my therapist got transferred and an “intensive outpatient therapy plan” after that.     Every two weeks or so one of my parents would dig me out of bed and drive me to the one small therapy office in my town. I would wait for at least forty minutes past my appointment and then be called back to see the nurse, Mellisa. (Her name was spelled with two L’s and one S; I know about that because she would get very upset with the other staff for spelling it wrong.) Every time I went to that office, Mellisa would have me take a pregnancy test, no matter how many things about me made its results obvious, because when you’re a kid medical professionals will never trust a single word out of your mouth: especially if you’re crazy.     My mother and I would go and sit in an uncomfortably warm room waiting for my psychiatrist go come online. I would study the boring, mass-produced ocean painting on the wall, finding anything to look towards but my mother.     My psychiatrist at the time was an attractive nigerian man that I was only ever introduced to as Dr.O; one time I asked Mellisa what his full name was, because I felt disrespectful not knowing it, but she’d brushed it off as too hard to even try pronouncing. Dr.O lived somewhere else in the state and would see me for our appointments through a computer monitor, setup on a cheap wooden coffee table across from some chairs. My parents always complained about having to drive all the way to the office just to have a skype call; I always just wondered why they bothered setting up the fancy room, since you could hear what everyone was saying through the walls anyway.     Dr.O mainly saw older patients and I could tell that he usually thought I was being overdramatic. I would keep my head down, trying my best to speak up so he could hear me through the microphone on the table (and often being chided by him and my mother to move closer to it when he still couldn’t hear me.) I would stay silent as my mother talked the whole time, giving half of the story with none of the context. I would stiffly and awkwardly be made to stand up and show a man on a screen the words carved into my arms, motion to where the cuts went on my legs. I would look at noe one and try not to think of the mostly-screamed “lecture” that was waiting for me once we were done there, where both of my parents sat me on my bed and stood there with crossed arms, telling me they weren’t angry, they were just frustrated, telling me they just didn’t understand why I did these things to myself. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t just come talk to them.

Dr.O decided once, while my mom was in the middle of telling him her version of what I was going through, that I needed to be hospitalized. I snapped back to attention, stopped picking at the scabs on my arm, asked what I did. I barely remember what the real reasoning was: something about how I was already suicidal and they were going to take me off my anti-depressants which were making me more depressed on top of causing me to gain weight, and I would probably feel even more suicidal when I was in the withdrawal from those so I needed to be monitored, or something. That’s a series of events that I’ve gone through about five or six times with five or six different drugs, and that one (paxil, for anyone wondering) wasn’t the first. I’m still not sure why that time it was any different...maybe those reasons were an excuse for some kind of psychic doctor vibe he was getting from me.     My mother was, of course, completely furious for all the wrong reasons. I was calmly sent out of the room to wait with Mellisa while she screamed, asking if he was really about to lock up a fourteen year old girl with a bunch of “violent drug addicts” because I was having “some issues adjusting.” When I was younger my mother would often refer to my ‘adjustment issues’--i was never sure what it was I was trying to adjust to.

My mother called my father and I thought to myself that this was a really bad way to make me not want to die. He entered the building crying and confused, probably having only been told a vague three word explanation by my mother, leaning down at me chair, caressing my face like I was dying or like we would never see each other again. For all I knew, we wouldn’t; for all the information I’d been given, I was about to be shipped off somewhere for life. We spent probably another hour in that office, me sitting in my chair, watching everyone else argue and talk and come and go and give me weird looks for split seconds and then continue on talking about me like they’d already sent me to the terrifying gate of hell that a mental hospital apparently was. Mellisa tried to comfort me and pointed out that I was crying.  She put a hand on my shoulder and I accidentally, involuntarily, blurted out for her not to touch me. My mouth says a lot of things I don’t want it to. That’s one of the times I’ve most regretted it.     I was eventually told I would go home, pack my things, and drive to the hospital that night. That had set my mother off again right when she’d started to calm down--     “Tonight!?” she’d barked at Mellisa. “We can’t even wait til tomorrow?!”     Imagine what a dinner that would’ve been.     I assume I did as I was told. I remember packing the stuffed animal my internet boyfriend had hot-glued together for me, and a (paperback) Robert Louis Stevenson novel that I was trying to read and pretending I understood more than half of. You aren’t allowed to take a whole list of things with you to the hospital; anything that could possibly be considered dangerous to you or to anyone else is prohibited. No shoes with laces or pants with drawstrings. No mirror, hair brushes, toothbrushes, or soaps either, because the hospital would supply those. At one point I bitterly argued with a nurse that I could shove a sock in my mouth a choke on it if I really wanted to, and she threatened to take all my socks away. I decided to stay quiet on the realization I had that if I got really desperate I could just try to bite off my own tongue.     The drive was two hours long and completely silent. My mother spent the first twenty minutes determined to squeeze as much as she could out of the time we had left til arrival, but I was in a confused haze and she was tired from screaming at doctors...or tired from dealing with her defective daughter. She tried to comfort me, assuring me that this would be good for me, that maybe this hospital would straighten some things out and set me on the road to true recovery after all this time spent struggling. I looked at the moonless sky outside and chose not to tell her that she had finally admitted something was wrong with me. It was almost midnight when we actually reached the hospital; we passed it once on accident since we could barely make out the sign. My body was working on its own again at this point. I took mechnical steps, looking straight ahead, hand held in my mother’s because she needed the comfort.

The sterile white walls and fluorescent lights in the front lobby were blinding coming in from the night. I squinted at the woman who came up to meet us, shook my dad’s hand, my mom’s, glanced at me for maybe half of a second. A man named Jesus took and searched my things while we were guided into a more traditional room for this setting, corporate representations of calming moods. Light blue or green walls, wicker and tweed furniture, mass-produced ocean paintings. I focussed on how much I hated paintings of the beach while my parents filled out forms, until the woman finally turned her attention to me. I was comforted and assured, again, that this would be good for me, and then assured that they legally weren’t allowed to use electro-shock therapy. I was told I would do regular groups and that the security wouldn’t use force unless I posed a violent threat. She explained expressive therapy to me, as if I’d never heard of art, while I signed a form saying I consented to being medically sedated if need be. I asked how they would sedate people. She asked if I was afraid of needles.

After signing my name a hundred times, with one of my parents signing after each, it was time for us to say our goodbyes. I’m sure I cried, but I can’t honestly say I remember.

Jesus reappeared without my belongings, telling me before I could ask that they were waiting on my new bed. He led me about three steps out of the conference room to a set of wooden double-doors, like the entrance to a school cafeteria.     “This is the Ad Ward…’Ad’ stands for ‘Adolescent.’” he told me, shuffling out an ID card to unlock the doors. He quickly ushered me through and it the first door on the left before I could nothing anything other than a hardwood floor. Jesus handed me a paper hospital gown I never noticed him holding and instructed me to put in on, pointing at the spot on the floor on the small empty room where I should put my clothes. He said a woman would come in shortly to search them and me and then took his swift exit before I could ask any questions. I did as I was told as quickly as possible, nervously trying to make out the muffled voices right outside the door.     The second I’d put my clothes in their neatly folded line the head nurse came into the room, making good on Jesus’s word. She went down the line of clothed I had made her, picking up and shaking out every part of my outfit without saying a word. When she was satisfied with them, she turned to me.     For those of you that have never been strip searched, please know that it is every bit as strange and mortifying as you would expect, and that no matter how many times you’ve been through it, it’s going to stay just as weird. As my mostly-naked fourteen year old self squatted and coughed before the eyes of a stern older woman with a clipboard, I wondered again how this place was supposed to make life seem worth living.     After that, and her metal detector being set off by my braces, I was regifted my clothes (but not my shoes) and handed off to my last stop for the night before bed. I finally got a good look at the Royal Oak Hospital Adolescent Ward: one long hallway with a nurses station near the exit, an elevator, and a long line of almost closed doors.     A younger nurse took me into one of them, again completely different from the others I’d been in, and sat me down on an expensive medical equipment looking chair. The girl’s name was Rebecca, she told me sweetly, in the first actual human conversation I’d had in hours. She tried at mostly one-sided small talk with me and she gave me some kind of vaccination or shot. I remember being told it was just a precaution, but I can’t remember what it actually was. The second she was done with the mysterious syringe, though, Rebecca turned on me, bringing out a clipboard and a volley of emotionless questioned that seemed routine to her, but invasive and a little nerve-wracking to me. Asking if I ok with having a roommate or if they had to move my stuff to a different bed was one thing, but at the time I was tired and scared and every question after seemed to strike just the right nerve. She got about halfway down her sheet and asked, casually, what my sexuality was, before I started sobbing. She went back to the good Rebecca and sent me off to bed. We could finish the questions tomorrow.     I wouldn’t get to really get a look at my new room and roommate until the morning, as all the other patients on ward were already asleep (or were pretending to be). I slid into the bed, noting the plastic covering on the mattress and the starched, motel room feel of the blanket. Jesus peaked in the doorway to tell me it needed to stay open at night and that he and another man would keep watch on the hall. He said if I couldn’t sleep I was allowed to come sit out there and talk with them; there was usually at least one kid that took advantage of that at some point in the night.     I thanked him but chose to stay where I was, holding my handmade stuffed animal so tight it hurt my wrists and staring at the cracked door. I listened to Jesus and the other man talking quietly for hours until I finally passed out. I finally drifted off some time after Jesus lamented about how little time he was getting with his daughter after his divorce.     Morning Routine in the hospital was as follows: wake up at 8 a.m. and line up in the hallway for Checks. Roll was taken and an always different nurse that didn’t know our names would check our blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. People who took meds in the morning were given their pills and some water in two small paper cups, and David, the nurse that later became my favorite, would ask everyone who they wanted to call on the phone that day. (Phone time was allowed during a break after lunch; we could only ask to call people on an approved list of phone numbers written during admission.) Then, and only then, were we allowed to cram into the one elevator that led from the ward to the basement, and eat breakfast in the cafeteria. After that our daily routine mainly consisted of therapy, one-on-one conversations with a psychiatrist, and school, if it was a weekday.     My first morning I was greeted with a great enthusiasm by the eight other kids on the ward. Most of them were older than me by a year or two and I was quickly taken under their collective wing as a newbie. My roommate introduced herself (I’ll call her L) and wasted no time in getting to the stereotypical “what are you in for” conversation. Since my answer was pretty much a vague shrug she made up the difference, telling me a fabulous story embellished highly in her favor about how she punched her school’s superintendent in the face and was given the option of juvie or the hospital. We agreed that it was stupid of the school to give her that choice.

L loved to see how far she could cross the line before she got in trouble, but in the middle of testing people’s limits she would get angry and fly off the handle. She bragged to me that by the time I got there she had been restrained twice and medically sedated the second time. Eventually I had to change rooms when she started an altercation with Jesus and had to and was put on restrictions.     There’s an immediate air of understanding and camaraderie between patients on a ward, even between people that kind of hate each other on a personal level. I think it makes perfect sense given the environment, and the fact that in a short time there everyone is going to learn a lot of deep and personal things about everyone else. I remember most of the kids I met there well:     M was a small blond and the youngest on the ward at thirteen. He was extremely proud that he was old enough to belong with the teenagers. He was one of the most adamantly alive people I have ever met. He was very upfront about the fact that he had anger issues. I think I was the only one there who didn’t.

G is a girl that I think about very often, fondly and worriedly. She was such a genuine and lovely person, a heavy and pretty girl with long curly hair that was always smiling and talked with her hands. I worry about her because I was never able to contact her once i was out of the hospital; she didn’t give anyone contact information because she wasn’t sure where exactly she was going to end up after her stay there. Knowing what i did learn from her about her family...I still worry about her. But i also worry that trying to look her up now would be weird, but also only make me sad no matter what i found, even the best answers would feel bittersweet. I think that for now i prefer to just remember G fondly as a very dear friend i only got to spend a precious little amount of time with.     R was nice but was also the most actively angry about being there, and none of us could blame him. From what he told us (looking back on it now I’m still not sure which side was truthful) his parents had forced him into his stay after blowing an argument completely out of proportion. R as I gravitated towards each other magically, drawn by our innate ability to Tell. from my experience there were always two or three kids on the ward or in the group who aren’t straight, and we would always find each other and group together as quickly as possible.     D was the third or the two or three gay kids. I was told she made advances at me but I don’t remember noticing any of them. She really liked naruto and would tell me dramatic stories that I knew were mostly lies but listened to anyways because we were friends.     J was a surprise in a lot of ways. He showed up very suddenly and had the staff scrambling. He was tall and wide and older than most of us, with gauged ears and angry eyes. I feel guilty for the amount of time I spent compulsively strategizing self-defense plans against him before we got to know each other. J had been in juvenile detention before coming to the ward as a way to ease his transition back out into the “real world.”     The only person I didn’t really get along with was K, but I wasn’t the only one; she sat on the ‘normal people’ side of the social rift and didn’t particularly want anything to do with the rest of the group. Her choice.     The rest I don’t remember by name anymore; the teenage mother who got transferred to a different hospital, a boy who would not talk talk about anything other than weed every time I heard him speak. A quiet boy who’s name started with a D and had a nurse communicate things for him.   

The usual length of a stay at Royal Oaks was around a week, so people were usually coming and going every other day, making a rotating list of patients for David complained about because it complicated his job and phone call cataloguing. L left on day four, the weed guy the night before her. We vaguely celebrated when someone was left; we could have done more, but it would have meant celebrating almost every night, and jesus didn’t have enough change for the vending machine. We would say our goodbyes before we went to sleep, and part ways at breakfast. The new kids would be greeted with stories of who they replaced, and would be taken under our collective wing, and the cycle would continue.     I never personally got to see them, but there was a ward for Adults somewhere on our floor and one for “Pre-Ads” (children under the age of thirteen) downstairs, with the classroom, cafeteria, and ET room. The full layout of the Ad Ward wasn’t much more complicated than what I had observed the night before; one mysterious room was the “Lounge,” a baby blue nightmare where we spent free time, and another was a shower--yes, the whole room, that was it. A twelve-by-twelve cube of brown tile from floor to ceiling, with a small drain in the middle of the floor and a sad faucet with the water pressure of slow falling tears on one wall. About a foot in from the door there was a haphazardly installed shower curtain, and right below the faucet was a wall-hanging soap dispenser, like same kind you find in most public bathrooms. I’d heard of 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner before, but never All-in-1 general showering goo.     Every other room in the hall was a bedroom, and most of them looked identical. Blue walls, two beds set in wooden box frames, and a strange storage-shelf-table-sink hybrid on the other wall. Each room also had a small closet with a toilet in it (two of the rooms had actual bathrooms with their own, normal shower, but most of us weren’t as lucky.)     Bathroom doors weren’t allowed to be closed unless they were actively being used. We could only close the door to our room if we were changing clothes, or “with permission,” which meant we could only close the door when we were changing clothes. We were each given a plastic basket of toiletries with our name on it, given it us from a locked space in the nurse’s station after break and before we went to sleep.     At some point in the afternoon we would each be called away separately to go meet with a psychiatrist for a bit; a rotating door of short indian men that usually didn’t introduce themselves. The psychiatrists were nice but impersonal, concerned but not well-informed about your situation, fitting with the general theme the hospital seemed to have going. Once one of them took me outside to have our talk, in a little fenced in area with a basketball hoop but not enough room to really try playing with it. I don’t remember anything we talked about other than how I was feeling, how I felt about the hospital, same old thing again and again.

Every night after dinner, two patients that behaved well were allowed to order 1 soda and 1 candy bar from a vending machine outside our reach in the ward. I got a twix and a coke on my first full day, and all the other kids were simultaneously very jealous and proud.     The art therapy room was, like all walls in my world at that point, blue, but now with past patient’s art hung up and painted onto them all over, which was a welcome change. Art therapy only involved making art about three of the times that I went. Other times We’d have another group therapy session, or try and fail miserably to play ping pong, or be forced to watch the movie “Freedom Writers” and then talk about our feelings on it. My feelings were that it was a bad film with a nice idea.

The hospital had a Classroom right beside the cafeteria that the ad and pre-ad patients had to attend for three hours every school day. We went separately; the wards weren’t allowed to mix, especially after it turned out that a girl on our ward was the cousin of a kid on the pre-ad. Every week a new sweet older lady would be our teacher, a good samaritan volunteering her time to the hospital. Most of us were old enough that we would just work on our own homework from our school; i was lucky enough that my high school didn’t want to work with the hospital at all, and was unwilling to give me any assignments but the one’s I had brought with me. When I finished those halfway through the first day of class I was given general middle school level work packets and left to my own devices. When i finished those i started trying to help the others, usually M with his science worksheets, or I would spend as long as possible with one of the medical student interns going over a graded french test. I told G how to pronounce her name with a french accent, and she excited told every member of staff about her new name for the rest of the day.

The food, unless you were on suicide watch or “Finger Foods.” Finger Foods was the general terms for when someone had their privileges taken away after an outburst or trying to hurt themselves. You could only use crayons to write, couldn’t handle any sharp objects, were out of the running for a night time candy bar, and obviously, good only eat food with your hands in the cafeteria. Suicide watch Included all the rules of being on Finger Foods but with an added element of direct surveillance at all times; there were some people on suicide watch who were still allowed to be rewarded or participate in activities with supervision, because the restrictions were meant more for their protection than as a punishment. For my first two days at every meal a bulimic girl on my ward would be light-heartedly threatened with a feeding tube if she didn't eat. She and the nurses all seemed to think it was funny, so i just accepted it.     At one point we were promised a pizza for our good behavior. We never received that pizza. I’m bitter about that to this day.

Group therapy came in two flavors: there was actual group therapy where we would do therapy, but in a group, and then there was what group normally meant, which was “a nurse is going to come talk about some topic no one cares about for a while.” riveting topics covered in our sessions included personal hygiene and the importance of not doing drugs if you don’t already do drugs, which half of us did. Actual group required more emotional effort but at least I wasn’t going to be bored to tears by the end of the hour. The ward’s main therapist was a nice guy that happened to look exactly like sigmund freud. He also happened to not enjoy it very much when i blurted out that he looked like sigmund freud.     We were told multiple times a day by various nurses that shoes were a privilege and you would earn back your shows after you showed staff you were deserving of them. I never saw a single person earn their shoes, and not for lack of trying.     This was a problem because if a single person on the ward was without their shoes, we weren’t allowed to have time outside. Every time I’ve ever recounted this to someone they’ve seen the Immediate flaw in this system, but it apparently slid past all members of staff on a daily basis, despite continued incredulous whining from a dozen barefoot teenagers.On the fourth or fifth day, I was whisked off with no explanation to get an EEG (a test where they part sticker attached to wired attached to a machine on your head and listen to the electricity in your brain.) i was never told the results on that test or why i was getting it done. The lady washed my hair afterwards, which maybe up for the fact that i had to miss breakfast but didn’t make up for the strip searches before and after i left the building. At the very least it made G jealous i’d gotten to wash myself with anything other than the suspicious shower goo.

At some point i started routinely being woken up about a half-hour before everyone else to a nurse that would take my blood pressure. Then i would lay there, tired and confused, until we all had to wake up and get in taken as a group anyways. I asked about this every time they did it and was never given an answer as to why this was necessary. Honestly I think they might have just been messing with me.

We were supposed to refrain from asking for personal information about each other, and told that if we wrote down another patient's email or phone number whatever it was written on would be thrown away if found. Obviously we all worked around this; one girl secretly wrote names on her stomach an hour before she was processed for release, another kid wrote phone numbers in code. For me it was as simple as just remembering people’s last names so I could find them on facebook.

The hospital existed in a kind of twilight zone half in and half out of reality, where a crisis would occur every other hour but in the between times we were all bored to tears. Surrounded by such an intense atmosphere, staff trying to force an understanding of our lives being in our own hands, and we would just sit there, nodding our hands and coloring with our crayons. In a way the hospital was a sanctuary; no family to get into screaming matches with, no classmates to end up in a fist fight with. An environment meant to be scrubbed clean of all the stressors of day to day life.     Visiting hours happened twice a week; kids with visitors would go down into the cafeteria while everyone else hung around in the lounge. Usually it was just me and M waiting down there for our families; the visits were always entirely uncomfortable. My parents wanted to be sure I was being treated right, and held my hand with a guilty sadness that I didn’t really want to acknowledge. Free time didn’t offer very many options. We would play cards and coloring mandalas printed out on copy paper. I finished coloring about six of the things before a decided it would no longer be a helpful part of my mental healing journey. Our card game of choice was called “BS,” initially because it was the only game everyone who wanted to play cards seemed to know. BS became a highlight of our day, because of M. The hospital had a lot of rules about how to conduct yourself. We weren’t supposed to yell, run around, or touch each other unnecessarily. We also weren’t supposed to curse.     The name of the card game “BS” is short for “Bullshit.” the rules of the game are very simple--cards are passed out and someone decides to go first. In turns, everyone goes around, putting some cards face down on the pile and announcing what value those cards supposed were (someone put down two cards and says they had two jacks, etc.). Multiple cards have to be on the same value, if you think someone is lying, putting down more cards than they had to win faster, you point to them and call out that you think they’re lying. The challenged player turns over their cards, and depending on if they were telling the truth or not one of the players in penalized.     Usually the thing you yell out when you challenge someone is “Bullshit,” but we weren’t allowed to say that and were told to call it something else. M thought that this was a personal affront to him and everything that he stood for as a person. Every single free time, two or three times a day, we got into the routine of playing this card game solely to see this scene play out. We would start out normally and do as we were told, politely pointing out lies. M wouldn’t say anything. We’d go on for as long as we could, before someone would make an obvious play, putting down three jacks after someone else put two or saying they had five aces. Then, ecstatic, M would heave air into his lungs, jumping up and pointing at the other player and yelling as loudly as he could: “BULLSHIT!!”

He stopped being scolded for it around the fifth time because most of the staff thought it was hilarious. We’d stop playing the game immediately after that, our point achieved, all of us having got what we came there for.     We sat in the hall and shared stories about when each of us had lost our virginity, or the first time we’d been punched in the face. He giggled at Jared as he mimicked grasping at his bleeding nose. The nurses didn’t seem to find it as funny.         There was a general, noticeable disconnect between us and them, even the nurses we all likes the most. Not  really because of age, or because they were on the job. It was a feeling of disconnecting, not quite meshing with normal people, that all of us already went through life with separately-- and here, where we had community, that only intensified. For many of us this was the first time that our abnormalities had really been accepted and even admired by others. Being with the other kids in my ward was a time i felt freest, even in our restricted and controlled environment. None of them cares if i’d twitch and fidget, none of them minded my shiness or were caught off guard by the things I’d say. While the nurses would squint at me suspiciously if i repeated that they said or spiralled into babbling from our conversations, my new friends had all accepted these things by the third time they came around. I was allowed to express myself and allowed to not be able to, and it felt effortless to return the favor, because who was i to judge. Little outbursts, conversations that trailed off into blank stares, people needing to go walk around or cry or smack their seat five times before they sat on it, these things were all easy to look past. It was hard, however, not to notice the trouble staff still saw with them, and not to turn on them a bit for that. My friends accepted that i spoke weird, while the nurses would roll their eyes if i stammered. G would nod understandingly when I confided in her about the past while staff would react uncomfortably, their only help in offering to make police reports i didn’t want made. If I told the others i felt like hurting myself, they would show sympathy and talk with me about it; the one time I told a nurse i was “having urges,” like we were supposed to, I was put on finger foods.     This tension culminated in one particular group session. A thin older woman replaced our usual freud impersonator, loitering outside to chat with the nurses as long as possible before having to deal with us. We whispered to each other; no one had met or before, or seen her around the building. That was probably a bad sign. She told us to call her Olivia, I think.     Olivia was the worst therapist I have ever seen in action, and that should be frightening.     She commanded direct eye contact between her and the patient speaking, and that no one else speak until directly spoken to (interruptions are one thing, but discussion is just about the entire point of doing therapy in a group.) She gave us all a question she assumed would be simple enough for our tiny broken minds. “What do you think is keeping you here?”     I started echoing the hard way she said “What” and clamped my mouth shut as soon as possible. Usually I could keep the parrot in my head around doctors, with some effort; being open with my impulses around the others made it hard to start shutting up again. She took my weird reflex as volunteering to go first, and looked to me expectantly.     Its honestly the most stupid and annoying question you will ever be asked in a therapy setting. I never heard it asked in a tone other than condescending, and it's never failed to be ignorant; ‘Why do you think you’re here?’ is therapist code for ‘why are you messing up your life, and can you convince me it isn’t on purpose?’     I had a routine for this question that seemed to be shared with the others; attempt to answer honestly, listing all the things in and out of your control, your life and environment and symptoms, the fact that you are a complex human being with feelings and a past. Then, try not to sigh at your doctor and list some rehearsed line about how you guess you’re just a disrespectful child acting out for attention. I ran through it as quickly as possible, feeling restless and trying not to avert my eyes from hers or change my position too much as she would impatiently observe every movement. Usually I’d have something in my hands to funnel my stress into, but this had to be the one time I forgot to take one of my hoarded stress toys from the pile in my room.     Three more kids went after me, in the same routine, with varying degrees of sass. Then Olivia set her eyes on G. The rest of us shared a silent realization and looked to each other with worry, straightening up, thinking up ways to deflect Olivia onto something else. It was too late when G shrunk, laughing nervously and not meeting the womans eyes.     G’s home situation was truly heartbreaking to hear retold. I love and respect her too much to retell the details of it here, but Olivia spent what seemed like unending years of punishment pulling this story out of the girl, giving us a demeaning hush if we objected. It was surreal and we didn’t know what to do, stuck in a room with one authority figure under threat and tranquilizers, watching the friend we all openly adored the most be forced to recount such a cruel thing in such complete detail. Obviously she was crying, most of us were too. J sat alone on a couch beside Olivia’s, hands in fists, and I focussed on my fear for him instead of my fear of him. I was sitting beside G, being shushed at every concerned whine that forced its way out, unable to think of an escape plan because I couldn’t turn off my ears. It was when she reached a specific point of the story, G cut herself off and let out a sob and my hand automatically went to her shoulder. Olivia barked out, in the coldest tone I think I have ever heard, “No Touching.”     The room exploded, every one of us reacting at the same time with a vicious intensity. The others jumped to their feet, protectively leaning towards G. M pointed and yelled a few choice words hand selected for our doctor, R went for the door to get other staff, someone else just cried out at her hysterically. J lunged at the woman as G slid into my arms, looking away from what was happening and sobbing into my shirt. I put my hand on her hair half to comfort her and half to make sure she didn’t look back.     A dozen staff members crowded around the doorway of the room but only three actually entered; I don’t remember how it felt watching my friend try to choke out an old woman and be pulled away by security, but the picture of it in my head is crystal clear. A nurse, Cecily, had her arms out low but wide, making a barrier between us and the gasping doctor. Everyone was yelling, us at staff and staff at us. The intern that helped me with french came to guide Olivia out of the room and M screeched that he was a traitor, throwing a stack on coloring sheets in their general direction. Olivia said something under her breath as she left-- something about how we were terrible demon children, or how ‘never in all her years in the field’ something like this had happened, I think I forgot because her words aren’t worth remembering. We locked eyes for a split second before the slid out of the room, and I muffled “Occupational Hazard” into G’s hair.

For an hour after we were forced to sit and have alcohol poisoning explained to us until Freud Jr. Appeared. We were happy to see him but still furious, all on the same side against Olivia once we were finally asked what had happened. Everyone recounted the same story, agreeing loudly with each other, stopping to comfort and apologize to G and ask if she was okay. We stayed in that room for another hour, giving our testimony and demanding J shouldn’t be punished, or more begging they didn’t send him back to juvenile. Freud nodded solemnly as he listened to us the way only he and Jesus and two of the nurses did, meaning at all. He told us he’d see what he could do. We didn’t see J for the rest of the day and come morning, Jesus was his new shadow. He was on some kind of reverse suicide watch, with all the restrictions, but the league of nameless psychiatrists and hospital directors had agreed or been swayed to agree that J’s only real crime was being physically violent with staff. After dinner that night, I asked if he could have my candy bar, and threw it in the trash when I was refused.

    I was discharged after nine days on the ward, feeling no more or less suicidal, no more or less recovered, not more normal but not more different. I remember Rebecca calling me into the hallway to ask if i was afraid to go home. Of course I was, I told her! I was leaving friends I had connected to more in a week than I had with anyone in years. I was returning to a town of people like the staff, strangers that didn’t understand and only pretended to want to. I would be returning to my second month of high school, gone for the last week of September, though I’d barely showed up at all before then. I asked her what I had not to be worried about, but then dropped it, because I knew we were only having this conversation in case my answer alluded that my parents weren’t safe to go home to.

    The goodbyes I was given before 8 o’clock lights out were short and sweet and always, turning our attention back and forth between them and “Oh Brother, Where Art Thou!” playing on the television. I only slept an hour through that night, feeling about everything I could think to. In the morning, I was given my shoes while the others were lined up, in the middle of Checks. I waved silently at them and heard M call out “Bring a better book next time!” Before Jesus closed the double-doors behind us.

[ecotone99]

[SF] Disgraced Soldier or Manchurian Candidate?

I’m gonna be Frank, this sounds crazy, even to me, and I have been diagnosed bipolar one. I met this guy in Three west. Three west is a fancy military psych ward. This isn’t from my disorder but it’s in his memory and He don’t know why, so I am gonna share it here for him. I will share it, as a sci fi short story none of you would ever believe to be true.

The morning of February 14, 2004, Valentine’s Day, Valerian’s Birthday, the day T never expected to destroy his life. T was so excited, it was the day he finally got to respond for his worst day ever. The morning of September 11, 2001, T was on his way to school with his then crush Xan. Xan was so cute, she was wearing blue jeans and a cute tight white shirt and T was just so happy she had agreed to ride to school with him, finally. He was making a turn in his 1981 Carolla hatch, ugly white with even uglier wheels, no sound system or stereo, and power steering that didn’t always like to work.

The car decided that at this moment, that last problem would make an appearance, and the CD player between him and Xan also decided to skip. T, being a stupid 16 year old, reaches for the CD player with one hand while attempting to turn with the other and stare at Xan. The steering wheel stops turning smoothly and the car careens into a mailbox, sending glass and debris all over Xan. The car then slides across the road into the ditch on the other side slamming onto its side. T, being a super tough strong Jock, opens his driver door, slams the car back onto its tires, peels out of the ditch and drops Xan off at her dumb blonde friends driveway to catch the bus. By the time he gets to school the first tower had already fallen. He had gone home to get cleaned up and tell his mom what had occurred, they had no Tv in their house so T didn’t get the news until he walked into that hushed class.

The class was glued to the Tv. The smoke billowing from the towers rubble. Seconds later the news came, the pentagon had been hit. T’s father was currently working in DC. He ran out of the class room. He had to get home, he ran past teachers, security, and the principal, hopped in his beat up car with its crushed windshield and sped home.

That memory was what fueled T’s rage, his hate, his menace, for years while he lashed out at the system that wasn’t doing enough. He wrote report after report, got F after F for topic and subject not quality of research or production of point but he didn’t care anymore. He knew what he had to do. His Grand Father was in the Air Force in WW2 and he was gonna do the same. He just didn’t realize how closely that would occur till today.

As he cleared his head of the past, and looked at the next few steps too his future, T hugged his mom and his friend Valerian goodbye. No one else has found the time to come see him off. That Valentine’s Day would forever burn in his mind as his last day of civility. He spent basic training at the top of his class in all fields and even tested for SOCOM but decided the academy was his route. After technical training he was sent to his first duty station. This is where the story really begins.

T arrived in Alaska, the final duty station of his Grandfather as an Airman, his first. His grandfather had served as a bomber pilot in the 3rd Operations Group, Bombardment Group during WW2. He was so excited, he was going to make his father, and grandfather proud. The night his mother left is when the things started to get, weird. Today, T maintains that he has two memories of the events that occurred following July 17, 2004 and November 18, 2004.

To make matters worse T has been unable to find his official personnel file, DD-214, or Medical records since his discharge and transfer from Alaska back to VA. He has made several requests for the information. His pay stubs are missing, his GI bill payments come back as unfunded, his copy of his medical records mysteriously disappeared from his home along with his copy of his DD-214. He has odd dental work and a strange circular embellishment on his right cranium. No doctor will give him an x-Ray or cat scan even after being offered cash upfront as payment. He has been hospitalized forcibly twice as a civilian without reason and once as an airman. This poor man has been through it all.

In October of 2004 T is charged with heinous crimes as well as undergoes a testicular amputation preparation course, by November he is opened up and the testicle is removed. The first real memory he can describe is waking from that event. Everything between the night of July 18, 2004 and November 18, 2004 are described as “one memory is a picture with sound, and the other, a full on movie.” This will try to put together, in the best way possible, the duality of T’s memory from those times.

————

July 17, 2004

I am at a gas station with K. Two girls are broken down. I help them get their truck started by banging on the starter while K turns the key. I haven’t found out yet K is part of my soon to be Unit on Elmendorf. K and I drink all night with Athena and Shannon. K takes me back to the hotel my mom and I are staying at before I have to report for duty tomorrow. I call my brother at 0100 to freak out about the sun going down and coming up in the same freaking place. I pass out in the bed next to my mom.

July 18 2004

I report to Munitions Storage as ordered and meet up with White and K. K and I spend the morning meeting the airmen and getting accustomed to life at storage. Around 1300 we are sent to the FTAC.I remember falling asleep in a briefing from OsI at the FTAC center and waking up to be told I have been picked to leave in support of operation enduring freedom as part of TF Olympia. I get up and head to the deployment center and get my gear and am on a plane headed for Kuwait by 1800.

I also remember a picture of Athena and my watch saying 1800, a bottle of Soco 100, and a military ID that says she is 17 as we are driving onto base.

July 19 -27 2004

No picture memories of these dates but vivid video of loading and unloading Mk 82 pallets on a C-7 in Okinawa and Hawaii. Then heading to SK.

July 28 2004

Some where near the DMZ, I encounter my first live fire experience as NK forces attempt to over run a small OP we are restocking. My 7.5 ton truck is clearly stuck in a mud pit as I attempt to turn around. We were delivering T rounds for their MGs and mortar rounds. The SK forces cleared us out the mud quickly and we were back on our way. Picture memory of a strip club and a Quarters Order breech claim by an unknown Airman. Picture of me standing in front of a commander in FTAC being yelled at about what I did wrong. Audio memory of being lectured and me arguing I left after midnight so I didn’t breech the quarters orders of 24 hours from three days earlier.

July 31 - Aug 23 2004

Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Baghdad. Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Fallujah Classified orders, Task Force Olympia, Mosul

Aug 29, 2004

Picture memory: Truck, tires, burning flesh.TF Olympia patch on the ground. Location: Mosul. Time 1800 local according wrist watch.

Picture memory: Athena and I having sex, Athena’s dependent ID saying she is 19 on my bed side. Location: Chennault Ave, Elmendorf AK. 2200 local according to bedside clock.

September - October 2004

Picture memories of hospitals and briefing rooms Locations: Ramstein, Virginia, Alabama, California, Alaska

Picture memories: drunk strip clubs all the time Location: Anchorage Alaska

November 2004

Picture memories: OSI briefing rooms and hospital beds.

November 18, 2004

I remember waking up and the major telling me I may not be able to ever have children but the surgery was a success. Everything before this memory is so fuzzy. I don’t know what is real or fake. I am unable to find Athena for several months. I finally track her down, she claims we never dated and she doesn’t know who I am. Her military ID says she is 25 years old. Athena is the first and last person I remember being with and the only person I remember dating during that time. My new girlfriend Angie confirmed that Athena was indeed 25, and went to high school in Alaska with her. Athena was the child of a SF commander. ————- So as you can see by reading his own accounts, it’s a little crazy. Out of respect to the source, I am omitting some events names and ranks. He is under the impression he did something or saw something that he shouldn’t have, T is also worried he might be a sleeper. His mind is really messed up. He can recite names and dates and places that can be fact checked. That is the weirdest part to me. His facts, check out.

So, take it as a grain of salt, but this poor man’s story deserves to be told. After his testicular removal he was systemically railroaded out of the military. He ended up going before a court martial and being exonerated of all charges with prejudice against his command for unlawful command influence, but not after spending 3 months in the brig for his own safety and others. He has many memories since of words setting him off for no reason. Weird flashbacks, and strange people randomly following him places. His paranoia even heightened my own at one point while I absorbed his tale of espionage and intrigue in the early 2000s.

He has, since discharge, struggled. Most recently he has been unemployed and collecting SSdI. Another one of the little things that makes him feel weird. He got his disability without an attorney, without the need for a hearing, and without even talking to anyone. He has been committed by judges who have apologized to him and said they had no choice. He has had doctors tell him he is not medically unstable and ask him which drugs he wants to take. He has also been forcibly taken by police with no charge and no outbursts. The poor man has been beaten senseless by the system he was so anxious to serve in 2004. If you are looking for light at the end of this story, there isn’t any, he has done everything he can to find the truth, the truth has eluded him the harder he tries.

He hasn’t given up, he now runs a small recording studio. He raises a small boy. He takes care of his niece and his fathers land. He is a good man still today, just confused, lost and broken. He is incapable of trusting even the schools with his son. He is scared of the internet and terrified of public appearances or employers. The man has been totally undone by the system he once swore to protect. No help, no real answers, just tranquilizers and indifference are his reward for his scars.

His story really got to me. T was an idealistic American boy. A Boy Scout, fire fighter, EMT, and Airman. He deserves more from the society he served his whole childhood. I hope this story entertained you. I hope his misery brings you some joy, you heinous monsters. Sorry, like I said, his paranoia got to me a little too.

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