#and how much work to put in in case i psyched myself out of it yanno??

[rexscanonwife]

From the first time I heard him laugh...💘💘💘

IF YOU DIDN'T SEE ON MY OTHER GUSH POST LISTEN TO THIS DORK'S LAUGH PLEASE 😭😭😭

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg

@cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @tropicalgothships @little-miss-selfships @cupiidzbow @frozenhi-chews @limey-self-inserts

@candyheartedchy @space-sweetheart @halsinkisser @clancykisser @squips-ship @berryshipbasket @soulnottainted @homevideorentals

please let me know if anyone wants to be added or removed! 🫶

[ovaryacted]

FIND OUT

─ Dr. Samira Mohan x fem! reader || WC: 3.2k

SYNOPSIS: You and your friend, Samira Mohan, tread the line between friends & something else. During a night out, you both get a taste of what that something else might look like.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Alcohol consumption (everything is consensual). Sort of Dom! Reader/Sub! Samira (both are switches & fems though). Girls kissing passionately! Nipple play. Dry Humping. Fingering. Dirty Talk. Flirting. Making out in the backseat of a cab. Samira has a crush on reader & vice versa. Samira & Reader are residents at The Pitt (R3s). Samira & Reader are close friends & around the same age (29). Touch deprived! Samira Mohan. Both Samira & Reader are bisexual.

A/N: I truly can't explain how this happened, but lets just say I locked in so hard I blacked out. I just want to love on Samira Mohan, so I did. MOVE JACK IT'S MY TURN! I also took some inspo from the scene in Black Swan where Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis kiss, lmao oops. I made both Samira & reader bi considering I'm bi so I could relate to it and I hope others are able to enagge with it as well! (I almost psyched myself out of posting this okay be nice). Proof read by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

If someone had predicted where the night took you both, you would’ve laughed in their face.

It was supposed to be a simple night out for drinks. Both you and Samira had finally gotten a couple of days off; more like you forced the girl from going back to The Pitt when they didn’t need any help. You always told her the same thing: “If you keep going at this rate, you’ll get grays before you hit 35, hun.” She would only roll her brown eyes at you, a cheeky dimple poking out on the side of her face as she laughed it off.

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, two close friends sharing quality time with one another after their workdays ended. That was how it started anyway, through brief conversations and minor interactions with the resident whenever your shifts aligned. You could see right through her, how her job was all she had, how all she knew was the chaos of the PTMC to match the havoc of her psyche. Albeit, her gorgeous smile and kind demeanor hid it well for the most part, at least when Robby wasn’t grilling her, but when you urged her to go home to prevent an adrenaline crash, she actually listened to you most times.

Samira would bring tea in advance during the mornings you worked together, repeatedly warning you that your heart would give out with all of the caffeine you consumed on a daily basis. You simply shrug at her and chug the liquid out of your thermos, watching her as you do. It'd make her grimace, grumble even, but you’d take it so long as you got something.

“You should listen to me, you know. Try some tea, it won’t kill you as quickly.” Samira lectured, trying to bribe you with using brown sugar instead of the agave sweetener she likes.

“I’m not letting you take my coffee away from me, sorry. We will just have to accept our differences.”

“Forgive me for caring about your health. Let’s just hope I’m in the room with you when you’re tachycardic.”

Lunch times were your favorite, often opting to sit outside with Samira for a breather, sharing bits and pieces of your meal together, whether it came from home or you ordered it in advance. At night, when it was time to call it a day and repeat the cycle the next morning, Samira would be there to walk with you back to your place, or you would take her to hers. You’d give each other a rundown of the day, of the chest tube you had to put in or the new case study Samira was looking into and finally got to use in practice.

These little moments always eased your nerves after dealing with so much intensity on a daily basis, and it only took a couple of late-night walks to realize you liked Samira’s company, and more so you wanted it outside of working hours. On one particularly hard shift and a relatively quiet stroll, you knew you didn’t want to be alone, and even with the reassuring squeeze on your shoulder, a part of you craved her calming presence to tether you to the Earth.

“You want to go out for a drink? I know a good bar nearby. They make good margaritas.”

She nodded silently, offering an understanding smile, and walked side by side with you the entire way to the bar, stayed with you for the rest of the night, and even rode in the cab back to your apartment. When you woke up with a hangover the next morning, you were surprised to find Samira hovering above you, wiping your forehead with a cool compress, soothing the throbbing in your temples before the wave of nausea hit you.

“Wanted to make sure you were okay. You went a bit hard last night.”

The rest was history.

Tonight, she took your advice and said yes to your invitation for drinks at a club downtown, another location you had mentioned to her a while ago. Samira, ever the overthinker, came by your place to get ready, bringing a bag with some outfit choices, seeking out your input. She didn’t say anything when you told her to wear the halter top and mini skirt, coming towards her to hike her skirt even higher and align her boobs closer to the center of her chest, giving them a push-up effect.

“You’re a pretty girl, Samira. You’ve got legs and a face that can start wars, use them. If you flirt with the bartender, maybe we’ll score and get ourselves some free drinks.”

You told her that with a playful smile and a slight twinkle in the corner of your eye, your dark lashes emphasizing the flare. Samira watched you finish the touch-ups on your makeup, the heeled boots and leather pants you wore did everything to sell a fantasy of you she got to witness firsthand. She’ll never admit to watching the way the curve of your ass looked in the stretchy material of your pants, or how the low neckline of your top revealed the little pieces of ink along your shoulder and arms that were usually hidden under your scrubs. She occupied herself with grabbing the rest of her belongings and throwing them in her purse, oblivious to how you eyed her from afar, re-applying the last bit of your lip gloss before calling the Uber.

At the club, it was another story entirely. You held her hand on your commute and reassuringly squeezed her wrist when you started to woo the bouncer, batting your lashes at him and brazenly puffing out your chest. It seemed to work when security let you both in, leading Samira further inside and ignoring the people who bitched outside about you two skipping the line.

Some flirting with the bartender and three cocktails later, you and Samira were on the dance floor, swaying your hips to the upbeat song filling the space around you. You don’t think you’ve ever seen your friend so relaxed, so free; inebriated yes, but enjoying herself nonetheless. Samira’s face was craned up to the sky, the bass of the beat thrumming through her entire being, rushing from the top of her head to the balls of her feet. Her hair bounced with the rest of her, loose waves spinning around with every bop of her head and twirl of her hips.

You followed her lead, holding her waist and guiding her movements from behind. She laughed at the feel of you, clutching your wrist and bringing your hand to the middle of her lower body, keeping her in place while you synchronized the circular gyration of your bodies. Meshing to her back, she could feel you pressing up behind her. Tossing her head back over your shoulder, she granted you a whiff of her perfume, giggling in her ear in the process, teasing her with the ghost of a bite on the side of her neck.

Samira pivots on her heel and turns to face you, smiling wide as she throws her arms over your shoulder and around your neck, your hands taking their natural place on her hips, beckoning her to you. She was all teeth and dimples as she rolled into you, dancing chest to chest, eyes on you and tuning everything else out. Neither of you cared for the other people in the space with you, honing in on the way she felt in your hands, the material of her skirt, the open back of her halter top, the ease with which she danced with you under the dim lighting.

Closing the gap between you, whatever was left of it, her nose grazed the tip of yours, barely tasting the vodka on her breath. You watched her face, how her gaze drifted from your eyes to your mouth and rapidly returned back up. It was subtle; you’d almost miss it if you blinked too fast, and thankfully your strict attention made sure you caught it.

“I’m having so much fucking fun.” God, she was drunk, you think anyway from the way there was more black than brown in her eyes. To you, she’s never looked prettier, smiling without a care in the world under bright shades of pink and purple.

“I bet. That’s the liquor talking.” Placing a hand on her back, you sensed the faint shiver that washed over her. “You got a couple of eyes on you, sweetie. Think these guys want a dance.”

“I’d rather not, thank you very much.” She didn’t even bother to acknowledge the men in question who had been eyeing her up and down all night, opting to keep her regard on you the entire time. “I very much prefer dancing with you.”

Pride bloomed in your chest, fighting the urge to steal a kiss right then and there. You held off, your hands treading dangerously close to her lower spine, sneaking towards the waistband of her skirt.

“Good, that means I don’t need to worry about you scurrying off with a stranger and leaving me behind.” Samira laughs hard then, loud enough to filter through the music in the club. You savored the scene in front of you, taking her in as if she hung the moon and the stars, as if she were that.

Must’ve been the tequila catching up with you.

“Trust me, that’s not happening.” Her knuckles rasp along your jaw, the tip of a nail poking your chin and skimming your bottom lip, pulling away to move a loose curl behind your ear. “I couldn’t leave you behind, that’s a federal crime.”

You sure fucking hoped that was the case.

It was about 2 am when you and Samira called it a night, heading to your place and resting into one another in the backseat, tumbling into bits of cackles as your sense of direction remained skewed from the alcohol still coursing through your veins. Her head rested against your shoulder, your hand on her thigh to keep her nearby, absentmindedly painting circles into her soft brown skin. Her head lifts to look at you, doing your best to ignore the way the haze in her eyes sends a surge of warmth through your body.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Her voice trails off, leaning more into you in the backseat.

“If you have something on your mind, Samira, you can tell me. Probably the best time considering I’m seeing two of you right now so I won’t remember.” You both giggle again, the sound ringing in your ears with her sudden close proximity.

“Just wanted to say I had a lot of fun is all.” She beams shyly at you, breathing heavier in your direction and placing a hand on your side to keep her from sinking into the cushion of the seat.

“Yeah?” You quirk your face in amusement, the corner of your lips curling upwards at her eager nod.

“Yeah.” Her forehead is against yours, beaming almost to herself, boldly glancing at the shiny gloss still on your lips.

“You’re so silly,” shaking your head, your goofy expression was mirrored by an intoxicated Samira Mohan, both ends of her mouth flexing with a chuckle.

“Your fault. I forgot how many shots we had.”

“It was two big ones, but shit, I might be wrong I lost count.”

The bubble of comfort you found yourselves in extended beyond the backseat of the Uber, the hand on your side wandered up to stroke your forearm aimlessly, focusing on the tattoo on your bicep. Samira hums at the feel of your skin, following the intricate lines the ink left behind, trying to learn the story behind it and the patience you needed to endure the needle piercing into your flesh over and over again. It was strangely intimate, close enough to feel her light exhales on the side of your cheek and her heart pounding in her ribs.

“Samira.”

“Hm?”

“If you want something, tell me before I think I’m reading this wrong.” Taking a hand to the back of her neck, your thumb caressed her nape, causing her to bite her lower lip.

“I think…I want you to kiss me.” Her big brown eyes were glazed over when she met your gaze, the sight alone sending your heart racing.

“You think?” God, you could hear your pulse in your ears, or was that your second heartbeat? “Gotta be better than that.”

“Please, just kiss me.”

Fucking finally.

Tilting forward, your lips mesh together like you’ve been dreaming about all night. The kiss was messy, clumsy even as Samira’s brain caught up with the rest of her, slithering her tongue along your bottom lip to ask for permission to taste more of you. Opening your mouth, your tongue quickly found hers, swirling around it while holding her face with a hand on her jaw. She sighs happily against you, her exhale landing on your top lip while attempting to bring herself closer to you, sitting with one of her thighs between yours.

The Uber came to a stop in front of your apartment complex, forcing you to part from her with an embarrassed grin. You reiterate a hasty thank you and take Samira’s hand with a coy smirk, speed walking into the lobby of your building to catch the next elevator up. Swiftly grabbing your keys for the front door and unlocking it as fast as you could, you shut the door behind you as Samira kicked her heels off and tugged you forward for another kiss.

“Hold on, hold on. Let me…fuck…wash my hands.” She was busy staining your cheeks with her lipstick, touching any part of you she could get her hands on.

“Mood killer,” she jokingly muttered over your lips, landing a few kisses down the column of your throat and biting at the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulder.

“Old habits die hard. Plus, do you know how nasty clubs are? You’re supposed to be the smart one here, darling.”

Smooching her pout, you were able to peel off your boots along the way to the kitchen, rinsing off your hands with Samira next to you doing the same. Impatient as ever, she dragged you to the couch once the paper towel flew out of your grip, sitting you down and crawling into your lap with your arm wrapping around her waist. She practically climbs over you, needy lips finding yours again and humming at the feel of you, her palms riding up your chest and landing on your shoulders before running through your hair.

A moan punches out of her, instinctively shifting her hips over your thighs as her skirt rides up her body, revealing more of her to your greedy hands. Littering kisses down her neck, you went to undo the knot of her halter top, jerking the material down to expose her breasts to your eager sight. Kissing along her collarbone and sternum, she arches towards you, presenting more of herself without shame. Deciding to provoke her a bit more, your lips glide over the swells of her breasts, grinning at her unsteady exhales, a sign that she was anxiously lusting for more with every smooch you give her.

“Stop teasing me.” She almost sounded like she was on the verge of tears, desperation laced in her tone the more you dragged this out.

“Can’t I have a little fun with you?” You quipped, eyes widening a bit when she took one of your hands and placed it on her ass cheek under her skirt, guiding you over the thong she wore underneath.

“Touch me.” She damn near growled against your lips, a hunger unfamiliar to her overriding her senses.

“Yeah? You need me to make it better, Samira?” She nods, gasping the second your free hand reaches up from between her inner thigh to stroke her cunt through her panties, marveling at the wetness already soaking through the cotton. “Need me to touch you right here, hm?”

“Fuck, yes, please,” she cried out, bucking her hips to grind into your hand, bumping into your fingertips at the right angle that would give her aching clit more of that delicious friction.

Not wasting another second to toy with her, you plucked her thong to the side and gravitated to her slick pearl, the first contact of your fingers against her forced a whine out of Samira as she closed her eyes and deepened the curve in her back. She didn’t care how desperate she sounded, her whimpers and breathless keens turning your living room into a choir for you to enjoy, reveling in every mewl she willingly offered you. Rubbing circles over her clit, her hips bucked into your hand, oblivious to your lips inclining back to her breasts, wrapping around one of her nipples.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Samira clutched at your head, keeping you in place as your tongue flicked over her saliva-covered breasts, clenching around nothing with her arousal dripping down your fingers.

You don’t think you’ve ever heard her curse so much before, groaning around her perky nipple and nipping at it lightly, moving to give the other neglected breast equal attention. Keeping your thumb on her sensitive nub, you plunged a digit inside her, noting the loud moan turned to a whine when you burrowed another, curling them to the roof of her entrance.

“How does that feel, pretty girl?” You mumbled, grasping her hip to keep her steady above you, keeping your eyes on her the entire time.

“So good, so damn good.” She was lost in the pleasure, stars fired under her eyelids as she fucked your hand, chasing her own pleasure. “God…I’m going to cum.”

“Yeah?” You upped your ministrations, pressing your thumb harder against her clit and pumping your fingers with more force. “Come for me, ‘Mira. Want to feel you around me. Just let go, baby.”

A few more drives of your fingers and Samira’s cunt tightened around your digits as she fell into release, crying into your mouth when you snatched another bruising kiss, swallowing all of her little noises for yourself. She came much faster than you both anticipated, but you didn’t mind, not when she slumped against you and struggled to catch her breath. Her head rose to peer at you chuckling below her, slipping your soaked fingers out of her twitching entrance and clasping her shaking thigh.

“What’s so funny?” Samira blinks slowly at you, cupping both of your cheeks and holding your face in her palms.

“Just didn’t think you’d sound like that. You’re loud.”

“Shut up.” Heat creeps up to her face and you laugh harder, squeezing her ass affectionately.

“I don’t mind.” You kiss her slowly once more, biting her bottom lip playfully and coaxing a huff out of her. “Kinda want to see just how loud you can get, if you’re up for it.”

Samira was never one to back down from a challenge, humming in competitive intrigue. A lone finger moves over the neckline of your top, tracing over the lining that still kept the rest of your body hidden from her curious eyes. Tugging at the side of your top, she stares down at you, smirking as the same ravishing throb she felt before beats between her legs.

“Show me what you got.”

It was going to be a long night.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Mood:

[coffyao]

emotionless

link to my a03: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaloopsyland

---

summary:

made a playlist for this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0TvrAOVlHNdCEzRXI1flgE?si=qn3LB2m_Q36n5uMnsEFGCA

As a new investigator, you find yourself drawn to an enigmatic senior, developing a crush on the CCG reaper.

--

When I came to work for CCG, freshly graduated and only a rank 2 investigator – assigned to measly grunt work and tiresome office days – I would occasionally see him walk past. Sickly white hair, sharp specs and a stoic stare.

CCG’S reaper.

First-hand witness and instigator of bloodshed, for many, many years. Never flinched at the face of a terrifying ghoul characterized by the following: blood-shot crazed eyes, remorseless cannibalism and saw humans as running livestock, just for them to eat alive. there might have been the superstitious rumour roaming around that he was secretly a ghoul, but the main consensus rang true.

he was a one-of-a-kind genius.

Naturally, I was in awe of him.

-

a few weeks into my work, we exchanged words for the first time.

"welcome to the team," he said, his cold hands shaking my own.

His eyes were similar to his hair. dead, and devoid of any emotion.

So, my assumption was that he must have been numb to the gruesome killings that he had to deliver. This made me think of what I would need to do in the near future, and my heart, trembled in anxiety.

the thought of cold blood and ghoul guts running down my face made me shivery.

so naturally, I sympathised with him. 

-

It was only a month later when I started being assigned for cases with him that I saw another side. With his quinque, he slaughtered a group of ghouls. They weren't overly threatening, being mere gang members who patrolled the street like hungry hyenas, and impersonated real power. nonetheless, he left no room for mercy, and once they surrounded us, the battle was over as soon as my pupils dilated from the sudden flash of light. when he finished delivering righteous retribution, he calmly wiped his quinque off with a napkin, saying nothing at all. but the message was clear enough.

He was disappointed that we didn't act sooner. it was worse than being openly reprimanded.

Naturally, I became nervous of him.

-

after witnessing that, I mostly kept to myself, but when it was time to act; I did, under his aloof, and calculated commands. much like The Queen on a chess board, he was in control of everything, and he was always twenty steps ahead. If my teams plan fell through, he was our black joker, a card that I started to become dependent on.

When I took a ghoul's life for the first time, I think, in his own way, comforted me by remarking how well I dealt the final blow to their skull.

"well done."

the mystical reaper that everyone talked about complimented me. after we finished the mission, I kept thinking about what he said, as unorthodox as it was.

 naturally, I became curious about him.

-

He had a collection of books, in which varied from historical fiction to literary works containing many pages.

He told me he rarely read them these days anyway, so he lends a few to me. I noticed that he hadn't done this for anyone else, but I didn't want to assume anything beyond needing to get rid of them, as it was convenient enough to give it to the quietest one in the group. Despite preconceiving his intentions, I read most of the books he gave me, and it became my therapy when I started to have recurrent nightmares about the ghouls I've taken.  They were coming to life to pull me down to their hellish grave with them.

When it became too much for my psyche, those nightmares slipped out like ice during a practice spar that we had. I didn't expect a sympathetic response, as I already knew the nature of our work.

But he stopped, and parted words that impacted my spirit.

  "...the nightmares are temporary, but the cause your fighting for is permanent."

from there, I put my trust in him fully.

-

over the next couple of months, we dealt with cases both within Tokyo and outside of it, in which my own life was dangled as a carrot. however, like he accurately predicted, those nightmares became a few and far between. my soul became intertwined with this dangerous lifestyle, but it was worth it if it meant I could always fight alongside him.

There was one time where our team decided to make a pit-stop at a café. this was one we went to often, as it was quiet and didn't attract much attention due to its old exterior. while we made our orders, I realised that I had forgotten his first name. the persistent chaos that had ripped through the world made my memory fuzzy, plus, referring him as kishou was my way of respecting him and his authority. since he never corrected me, I assumed what I did was right.

but, I wanted to be closer to him.

when we finished our time at the cafe, and walked behind the others, I worked up the nerve to ask him. his reaction to my question wasn't what I expected.

"oh. is that why you have called me kishou this entire time?"

it was a split second, but his lips slightly curled, indicating a flash of amusement.

another first. I got to see him smile. 

from then on, I wanted to see a thousand more.

-

outside of our schedules, I didn't know much about him.

the line of work that I carried out didn't allow many friends into my vacancy, so I spent many long weekends at home, counting the hours where I could finally return to work. I quickly realised that was unproductive, so I created a internal goal; learn about arima and what he likes. 

when Friday evening came around, I finally had the opportunity to slip into his office. when I came, it always had a distinctive, bookish smell, with paperwork on his desk neatly layered, where it always stayed. I often wondered where he managed to find the time to clean up.

predictability, he was sat straight on his chair, and his computer screen covered half of his face. entering the room, I held a cup of americano, and brought to his desk, trying to sweeten the mood.

"I hope this is to your liking," I said.

"thank you," he responded, continuing to type away on his laptop. 

when I thought about it, I don't think there ever had been a right time to approach him casually, as we were either working on a case, training or he had shut himself somewhere, in solitude and out of reach.

like those times, this was painfully true here, since he seemed to have no time for conversation. 

but when I stood, tense and cogs turning as I tried to figure out how to even talk to him, he sensed my discomfort.

"is there anything you wanted to say?" turning his laptop away, so I could see him.

"...I wanted to know what you like eating."

he remain straight-faced, which made it harder to express myself.

"...but you seen me eat before, haven't you?" he inquired, sounding perplexed.

"No I meant...your favourite food."

although the question was dull, that was the only one I could think of as I felt his steely eyes on me, dissecting my motives.

"I don't have one," he states, and he goes back onto his laptop.

"but, if you want to try finding that for me, go ahead."

when he said that, that miniscule crumb of letting me in, I couldn't take that invitation lightly. 

from then on, I started to make and bring food for him to try.

-

To destress from missions, I suggested to my team that we occasionally come together to play board games. It was my time to contribute, I bought a pack of card for tonight. We gathered snacks for the table, as well as alcohol if things became especially interesting.

I usually handled my alcohol well, but I couldn’t say the same for the other members. ten minutes into the game, one member kept asking if Arima could join, even though I explained that he didn’t want to.

I knew that because I asked him before I let the others know.

One or two glasses into the game, at the corner of the room, I noticed how intently he read his book. More than wanting to know what he was reading, I wanted to know what he was thinking, while reading it.

Is it engaging? Does he resonate with the characters? Is it escapism for the current world we live in? Is he amused, but on the inside?

While I was terrified of his eyes before, I wanted him to look at me more, analyse me. Judge me and acknowledge me.

 Yet, he never lifted them once, even while the game became competitive, and we yelled over each other.

to be candid, when I yelled, it was a different reason from the rest.

I wanted him to pay attention to me.

-

While I usually handled myself with care, I underestimated the toll the missions had taken on my body - from the combination of fatigue, and the pressure to fulfil my work obligations, I had suddenly hit a wall. after fighting a ghoul with a unexpectedly strong kagune, I could no longer hold myself together and collapsed during the altercation. 

When I woke up, IV attached to my arm and blanket covering my upper half - I was disappointed in myself; I couldn't meet arima's expectations. I wondered what he thought of me as I failed to hold my own - which also made me resent him at the same time. 

But I wasn't allowed to stew in my thoughts for too long.

"...your awake."

his eyes were darker than usual, and his tie was loosened; his perfectionist edge was little to be seen. he sat at the edge of the sofa, which was rare, even for him. It was a pleasant contrast to the rigid composure I grew used to. nonetheless, facing him at my rawest was too emotional of a burden to bear, and I couldn't hold my front up.

"I-I couldn't keep up," I stuttered, putting my hands against my aching head, "I couldn't beat them."

"It's not about beating them," he replied, retaining the same emotionless expression, "its about knowing your limits."

"I-I know that," I said, my regret contorting into anger, needing to reason with myself and him, "but I wanted to try, I wanted to keep fighting."

"but your pushing yourself unnecessarily."

even though I've grown to appreciate his introversion, I've grown to abhor his robotic ways of dealing with me and everyone else. at that moment, resentment had become my voice.  

"that's something you could at least try to understand, couldn't you?"

the silence followed by my outburst was deafening. Although he didn't say anything, his gaze slowly lowered towards my arm, then the IV. he seemed to be in introspection - I had no rebuttal to it. when he finally looked up at me, it was akin to someone who had been tired for a long time.

"...I do. which is why your priority should always be surviving, not winning."

he was still in mentor mode, and I hated it but, I found it strangely soothing. 

"your life is my priority," he said, and the deadness in his eyes that always presented itself became livelier, another glint into someone who is human. He turned away, but as my heart thumped against my chest, I had finally confirmed it.

I have feelings for arima.

--

I only found this out in a passing conversation my teammate had with another. I didn't mean to gossip, but I pried, and they told me that it was in-fact, arima's birthday.

as close as I thought we started to become by his own standards - I was far from really knowing him. someone, who likely lived his life in secrecy, and kept everything within him - was also capable of hiding his birthday. when I found out more, the distance grew, and the questions never seemed to stop running out. 

does he not care about his birthday? is the day painful for him? why did I have to find out from someone else?

ironically enough, I didn't even have that right to ask, since he never told me.

Maybe it would of just been worth letting it go - but that insistent nag wouldn't leave me. it was telling me I shouldn't leave this alone. I wanted to infiltrate his space and close myself in. I had to inspect the matter and give him something that could be of worth. something sweet - something like...

cake.

I  went to the bakery in the afternoon - there were many choices. 

red velvet, lemon drizzle, triple chocolate.

But I decided to go with a flavour befitting for him.

vanilla.

I had it wrapped in a white box, and when he was out, I left it on his desk. I wrote a paper note, which indicated that I knew - but there was no pressure. no grand gesture, no upcoming party. he could decide, all on his own.

"for you. I hope this is to your liking."

the day carried on as normal, but my nerves were tense. I waited, to see if he would acknowledge my deed, but he was indifferent. I wondered if I made a mistake.

However, as I packed my utilities up and went to my desk to check if I had missed anything - there was a small note stuck on top of it. 

"you managed to find my favourite food."

palpitations filled my heart. I was on the right track.

whether our relationship stilled as mentee and mentor or it evolved into something more, I was grateful.

his acknowledge became my fuel.

--

--

a year has already past, and I've begun to see a unexpected change.

after his birthday, he's been giving more and more parts of himself.

affiliation with the CCG since his teens. eighteen years as a investigator. his burdensome but fulfilling responsibilities. the inevitability of loss. I've yet to know about his formative years, but his musings suggested that it must have been difficult. 

he only opened up when the sun disappeared, and the sky became tangerine. like wax, he melted, but when the next day came, he hardened. However, that was more than fine. I took these private moments as his way of connecting with me, and I listened. I absorbed it into my skin.

I've also noticed something else.

when we sparred - 

it was usually with sharp, and deadly tenacity. recently, i sensed that within our exchanges of our weapons clashing against each other, there was a undercurrent of something electrifying brewing. occasionally, there would be times where he would let me gain the upper hand on purpose, and when I took as much advantage as possible, he pushed back -  just enough to give me room to exceed my limitations.

there was one time he had me stuck against the wall - quinque pierced through, and inches away from my face. rather than being uneasy - I was exhilarated by the adrenaline that pumped through me, secretly concocting on what I could next to blindsight him.

I've observed him to the point where I could notice hints of playfulness when we fought - with every "move faster," there was a "you surprised me." with every "you need to focus," there was a "not bad at all."

if anything, I could take what I can get.

when I sat with him on the same sofa, I was bed-ridden on and he talked about his wishes on what he wanted the world to become - I slid my palm onto his hand, hoping to at least sooth his worries. I noticed his eyes linger on me longer than usual, so I pulled my hand back, hoping to rectify the confusion I've caused. 

he resumed, but it was hard to stop my thoughts from going to...

unsanitary places.

could I live like this forever, just being content working by his side?

I felt more unsure as the days lingered on...

---

the only place where I could reflect on my own thoughts was at the top of the building - the rooftop. From there - I could look down at the city from a birds-eye view, where it made all kinds of noise, and the sun radiated above me - giving me momentary clarity on what to do next. 

The rooftop was calling for me.

As I ran up the stairs and stepped outside, dark grey clouds loomed above me. There, at the edge of it, stood arima, the impending storm surrounding his figure. excitement surged within me, letting me know how long I've been waiting for this moment.

could this be the day?

drizzle started falling from the sky as I slowly approached him from behind, putting my hand on his shoulder.

when he turned, surprise flickered across his face.

"what are you doing here?" 

his voice was steady yet laced with curiosity.

"I just wanted some quiet time..." I lied, regretting it as soon as it left my lips.

the rain began to fall heavier, turning arima into that of an ethereal angel instead of a reaper, his hair becoming damp, and droplets running down his face. between him, and the city that illuminated below, it was a sign that I had to listen to. 

"...I don't believe you." he said, skepticism or perhaps, a challenge being hinted through his tone.

"why not?"

"because I can see your restlessness," narrowing his eyes, analysing the unspoken language in my body.

"why would I be restless?" I countered, stepping closer, indignance running through my veins.

"because your hiding something."

so he could tell. he could tell this entire time.

I tethered between the wash of relief, and the hurricane of panic, as my layers are forcibly peeled off, by only the sharpness of his words.

"...what's there to hide?" I admitted, the viscosity between the water uncomfortably sticking against my skin, and what I planned to say next.

"...maybe I just wanted to find you."

his analytical mind usually had something of substance to say, but for the first time - he looked to be in a state of genuine perplexity, akin to when a system undergoes downtime.

Only when the rain starts to downpour at rapid rates, does he manage to say, "it's getting too heavy. let's go inside."

--

as we walked down the stairs, any fear I had about the silence between us was overwritten by the resolution that had settled in my mind.

once we made it into his office, I called out to him.

"...arima."

the boundaries that were delicately in place before, I wanted to tear them into pieces.

"I can't hide what I feel for you anymore."

instead of sitting in his seat, he leaned over on his desk and his eyes settled on me, unwavering in the face of my sudden admission.

"...what is it that you feel?" he questioned, as if searching for confirmation.

I became braver, attuned to the difference between his previous indifference, and this slight opening for vulnerability.

"your an observant person, you could already tell long ago, haven't you?"

I held my breath, carefully gauging any change to his face, anything that could indicate cracks to his intricately crafted persona. I continued.

"I wouldn't risk our professional relationship, if I didn't think this was worth it,” intentionally appealing to his cautious nature, closing in on our gap.

his resolve seemed to be weakened, remaining tight-lipped, but visibly struggling under the emotional impact of my confession.

" So please, tell me. do you know what I feel? for you?" 

I finally said it out loud. everything that I've experienced, what I've felt, and the unexplainable tension that I could hardly put a finger on.

it's simmered beneath the surface, and now it's imploded on me, and hopefully, him. 

if he will allow me in.

"...I know. I know what you feel." his voice was low, almost a whisper, taking in the air between us.

it was as if we were in our own world, raindrops thumping against the glass like a synchronised melody. it was simply the backdrop - it was waiting for the chorus. I almost leaned in, the desire becoming insuperable to stop, but it was interrupted - 

"is it just you, here?" he muttered, breaking the spell that I was under.

"I-I think so."

He reiterated his question, "did you see anyone, prior to you coming here?"

"I-I think..." wavering against his intense stare, wondering if I had truly made the wrong choice.

when I managed to finally look him in the eye, his hesitation seemed to settle, becoming more confident in his decision. in his own way, this must of been confirmation some way or another...

"that's good enough," he said, and before I could digest his answer, he caresses my cheek with his hands. they felt warm despite the dampness of his skin. As he started leaning in, I could sense his apprehensiveness, despite the want in his eyes.

I decided to lean as well - pressing my lips against his - albeit clumsy, but all the same, what I've needed for so long.

as our kiss deepened, his hesitation started to dissolve and I became enveloped in our connection, the collision of our worlds - it was coming together in this union. but I was desperate, and he was affected by the same affliction. He pulled my face to his, and I responded by climbing over the desk - pulling his face to mine. I held onto his lapels, dragging him in until I was laid on it.

he took off his jacket and resumed with his attack - his hands moving towards my waist, with my body flourishing against his gentle touch. I was under a state of pure euphoria - I visualized this moment many times to the point that it became maladaptive - but now that it was coming alive - couldn't I indulge in it?

it was a domino effect - my skin became his canvas, decorating my throat with long, searing kisses - marking it as his own paint. I was enriched by his artistry.

It wasn’t until the rain stopped and the sun peeked out from behind the building that he paused his painting, whispering, "...what you feel, I feel it too," looking at me for one tender moment before letting me go.

whatever we were meant to be after that, at least I knew, that he wasn't truly emotionless.

--

[trips2saturn]

towl spoilers below!!!!!!!!!

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late briefing but it’s here and that’s what matters!!!!! let’s get into this episode! ❤️‍🔥

this episode was amazing. no notes. angst fuels me, so keep it coming in episode four along with some loving intimacy! 🤝

michonne is the most clever, headstrong, charismatic, fearless powerhouse of a woman in the entirety of twdu. there is no situation nor circumstance that she cannot handle. no matter the time, skill, or hardship that woman is going to do whatever she fucking wants. she’s such an admirable character, and yes this is just a fictional show but she means so much to me. tv mom forever and ever and ever. my lovebug!!!! 🫶🏼

rick… my og lovebug. his selfless, tender hearted yet courageous and dangerous personality is sooo missed recently because of these losers who love to keep playing hide the donkey. he’s been so beaten down and forced into the caged mindset, also known as stockholm syndrome. it hurts so much to see it affect him so deeply, especially in this episode. we truly get to understand just how horrified he is of losing michonne, losing judith, losing their home. it’s so layered that he’s come to the conclusion that he has to do whatever it takes to protect his wife and their children (judith for now until further notice). even going as far as pretending to break michonne’s heart just to get her to go back home for the sake of a safe and secured future. and as much as it rips his entire psyche into shreds, this man is a family man. his priority in life is to protect the ones that he loves by all means necessary.

and thank fucking HEAVENS that despite their years apart, michonne knows her husband like the back of her palm and can read him like a book!!! every word that poured out of his mouth was utter bullshit merely for safety purposes and i’m soooo glad that she understood that without even having to retaliate verbally.

she retaliated by throwing them out of a moving chopper LMAOOO 😭 MY GIRL, MY LEADING LADY!!!!!! CAN WE MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE CRAZIEST CHARACTER IN THE ROOM. thank youuuuuu! i digress.

“we needed a timeout” shdjshdhsjdjs well yes! please knock some sense into your traumatized husband. he needs his wife!!!

moving forward. the phones!!!! “believe a little bit longer”!!!!! CARL MENTION!!!!!!??????!!!!! 😨🫨🥺☹️😖 rick not mentioning any names for three years and never liking any drawings of his son because they could never be depicted perfectly 😣😣😣 try not to cry challenge [FAILED]. punching me in the gut would hurt less. still hoping for a random chandler cameo too :D

i know that what rick said was absolutely fake and futile but as a fierce michonne lover… HER FACE AS HE SPOKE??? if we don’t see him loving on her endlessly in episode four… i might throw myself out of a moving helicopter.

one hundred percent positive that they’ll be pouring bisquick and making pancakes next episode. i’m sat.

thorne is a D. not an A. she’s a piece of shit and will be dealt with eventually. michonne will handle any light work. i rest my case.

jadis is a sexual predator and a grade-A loser with a shit haircut. i almost pissed myself laughing when rick said that. he’s been waiting and so have i!!!! 😁 but yeah she sucks. die asap.

RICHONNE KISS IN THE WOODS AFTER BEING A POWERHOUSE COUPLE. ��� reminded me so much of when they took those cars and drove into that herd of walkers. ugh. please put their entire love story into the louvre.

last but not least because i’m tired — unsure what beale is up to. he’s so sketchy, and also SO CONFUSED about rick supposedly having a briefing with him about being promoted?! NO. no thanks we didn’t ask for him to ever be a leader nor get kidnapped in the first place!!!! scared to see what lies ahead for the next three episodes :(((((

in conclusion, michonne is the most beautiful angel to walk the earth. she looked so hot in every single scene. episode three is hands down my favorite episode yet, despite the hardship. again, angst fuels me. so excited to see what’s in store next week, and every other week after that!!!! it’s only up from here. ❤️‍🔥⬆️

okay that’s it. hope everyone enjoyed the episode!!!! this is such a wild ride, and i’m happy to have my television parents back on my screen, making things happen again. 🌟🔥

[abcd-adventures]

Not an "easy read"--feel free to skip.

Friends, it has been a week. I am so. freakin. happy. to have zero plans today (other than, of course, catching up on a million chores). B even slept in until 6am. I was so grateful I'd turned my alarm off because that meant that I also slept in until 6am; I honestly cannot remember the last time I've done that. Even my mother coming out here to disrupt our quiet morning and make a jab at me about not going to church isn't going to derail this sense of peace. *eye roll. She's been sick, so I just casually asked her if she was going to church today. She responded, "Yes. Are you?" Look, man, I fully support anyone's spiritual or religious choices and practices so long as they're not harmful to others. Personally, I have never felt further away from my own sense of spirituality than I do in a church. It's not for me; I wish that didn't translate into my mother constantly in anguish about me going to hell, but what can you do. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, on Monday, I left work to take a friend to the psych ER for severe SI and a transfer to inpatient. Let me tell you, that process is horrific. As a therapist--and just...you know...a human--I actually cannot think of much worse for a person having a mental health crisis than to be put into what is essentially a cell in a psych ER. (And, please don't come at me to explain why they are the way they are because I do actually know all of that but my statement stands.) Thankfully, I was able to stay with my friend and eventually even able to transport them myself--SEVEN HOURS LATER--to the inpatient hospital, but everyone else was there alone. I honestly cannot imagine. While there, I got a call from CPS...nothing like that to scare ten years off of your life. They were actually calling about one of C's siblings because they needed an adult relative to release said sibling to or they were going to have to spend the night in CPS custody. I am not actually a relative, but I explained that my son is and gave them his number and then called him to prep him and talk him through the situation. Holy. Shit. Our house is already full to bursting, so I gave him money to get a hotel nearby and some essentials and dinner. Then, the SAME NIGHT, my husband had to call in a wellness check on my MIL and said, "It just feels like this is the night I'm going to hear that they've found her dead." That was not the case, but she is...not doing well, but was doing well enough to refuse EMS intervention.

I am very grateful to be able to support the people I love in facing difficult things. My friend is doing so much better already. My son is making me very proud of how he is being there for his sibling, and my husband and I are making a plan for what we can do for his mother. It is a lot, and it is heavy, but quiet days at home help. And, I would take the heaviness any day if it means that we have the privilege of being there for others.

[horsefreek151]

The amount of work I put in, despite having disabilities, is absolutely wild. Not only do I have to keep track of my disabilities and their health requirements. But if I want to go out for the day, I have to predict how much energy that will take, what mobility aids I should use, and how much energy I will have left to do silly little things like take a shower, or do the dishes. I have to prepare myself for what roadblocks ill face and how much it will take to deal with them (IE don't bring my service dog to the Asian Grosser because they don't really get the concept and I don't want to stress them out, but make sure that Jacob is always an Isle away in case I do pass out.). On top of all that, thanks to my immune issues, I'm much more likely to get sick than other folks, so I have to take into account that risk, as well as the risk of injury, which I am also at a much higher risk of. This does not include the PTSD stressors of the doctor's office or the hospital, of which I am visiting regularly to make sure my specialists are up to date on my fluctuating state of health and making sure I'm getting the care I need. This week? I had to go to my psych's office for my appointment and go to my new ENT cause my voice has been gone for a month now. And because of my conditions, the numbing agent hadn't kicked in when I got scoped, so I felt everything in that process. My throat and sinus then went numb in the lobby, setting up our next appointment, which made Jacob and me cackle because of the ridiculousness. I'm spending hours per day managing all this, let alone coping with my Autism and the needs that it causes. This is all to manage the disabilities. I also run my Rattery and take care of my animals, cook dinner, and help with the house, and more. It's a full-time job I'm not paid for. I'm doing it on half the energy and resources of most folks on a good day. Jacob is having to help me even with his part-time work and full-time schooling.

Im not trying to complain Im trying to provide perspective. When 45, RFK Jr., and DOGE try to gut government-funded healthcare and violate disability rights, they are telling the world that Me and My Life doesn't have value. When they defund programs meant to work on DEI initiatives and wipe DEI from government websites, they are destroying systems that disabled people like me use for survival and silencing our voices. DEI includes disabled people like me, and lifting our voices so that we don't get murdered because we want a life of dignity, but the state doesn't want to help because they don't see human life as worthy unless it pays taxes or is too rich to pay taxes. RFKJRs own family lobotomized his aunt Rosemary instead of getting her the healthcare she needed because it was inconvenient to have someone with mental health issues in the family. He said that kids with autism will "who will never pay taxes. They'll never hold a job. They'll never play baseball. They'll never write a poem. They'll never go out on a date. Many of them will never use a toilet unassisted." Well, I've done/do all of those things and independently of my Husband, with whom I've been in a relationship for over a decade. Even if my poetry is rubbish and I'm not great at baseball doesn't mean I deserve a life of dignity. Folks who can't do anything also deserve a life of dignity.

Everyone, and I mean everyone, deserves a life of dignity and basic human respect.

[castielific]

20 questions for fic writers

How many works do you have on A03? 25

What's your total word count? 454 434 words

What fandoms do you write for? Supernatural. My first english fics were about Teen Wolf. Before that, I wrote in french about House MD and Stargate Sg1.

Top 5 fics by kudos:

Baby One More Time (sterek): 4 142 kudos

Carry You Home (sterek): 2 157 kudos

Fancy and the Tramp (destiel): 1 147 kudos

But she's the Devil in Disguise (sterek): 1 030 kudos

Grace my Soul (destiel): 891 kudos

Do you respond to comments?

Not all of them. Mostly because sometimes I'm not sure how to respond and feel ridiculous saying the same thing again and again. I appreciate them all though. They all make me so happy and I'm grateful to those who takes the time to leave one. They always make my day.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Like Clipped Petunias (destiel). This is my darkest fic. I've had people telling me they had PTSD from it. The end is really angsty and horrifying. It was not supposed to end this way, but this is where the story took me. In the end, I think it fits.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Grace my Soul (destiel) comes to mind. Baby Jimmy is such a delight and the last chapter of that fic is my favorite one.

Do you get hate on fics?

I don't remember ever getting any. I did have a few problems with people stealing my stories or posting them elsewhere. In the past, I also had a few stalkers/stans sending messages that creeped me out (especially for my french fics).

Do you write smut?

Yes! I didn't used to for Teen Wolf, but I've realized that fic with a higher rating tends to get more views (which I get because I rarely read pg13 or under myself), so I started writing it. I both love and hate writing those parts. It always feels kind of awkward to share those imageries, I'm never sure what words to use or how far I should go.

Craziest crossover?

I have a WIP that was a Psych/Teen Wolf crossover.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. More than once. I've had a few cases of people putting their own name on my stories, but mostly people repost it without my consent on other websites such as wattpad. Ao3 is the only place I post, so if you see one of my story elsewhere, it's been stolen. Please warn me if you do.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! It's such an amazing thing to think about! I have had translations in spanish, russian and chinese.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Once or twice. To be honest, I think I'm too OCD for it to work, I want it exactly as I want it lol. Help from betareaders is precious though, sometimes they write a couple paragraphs for me, or help me reformulate some things better, or just brainstorm the stoyline with me and give me brillant ideas. Fics are always better with some help.

All-time favorite ship? Destiel forever bb

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Frozen Inside (sterek) is the only WIP I've ever posted. I feel terribly guilty about it because it's been more than half a decade now and people are still asking me for a sequel. Sometimes I read it over and try, but it's just...done. Thankfully, the last chapter could be taken as a end. Kind of. God, I feel awful and I'm so sorry.

I also have tons of unpublished wip that are nearly over. I wish I'll be able to end them, because there are some stories I really really like.

What are your writing strengths?

Hyperfocus. My best stories come out that way. I'll write fifty thousand words in two days or not at all. Sadly, I can't control it. Inspiration also tend to come at the exact moment I can't possibly write, which is sooo frustrating.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Description and world building. I tend to focus too much on the action and dialogues, but forget to tell about where they are and when. I let readers fill the blank way too often, which is something I really need to work on. I've been trying to rewrite some of my fics into original stories and that made it very obvious to me.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

It depends. Sometimes the translation is in the end note and it can put me out of the story, especially if it's an important part of the dialogue. If it's just a few words or if it's done in a way you understand it anyway, it can be beautiful!

First fandom you ever wrote in? Stargate SG1.

Favorite fic you've written?

The Guy Next Door (destiel), I think. I laughed, I cried, I squealed, I facepalmed. I must have looked like a maniac writing that story. Castiel was very fun to write for that one. Dean...I wanted to slap Dean so many times while I wrote. I had no control over him, I swear, he kept on being an idiot and made me scream at my screen.

I was surprised earlier, that this fic is not in the top five stories because it's one of my personal favorite.

This exercise was very fun to do. I won't tag anyone, if you feel like doing it, just do it, I'm curious to read about all of you!

[halfbaked00q]

one interesting character note I've noticed present in more than one fic & which I myself do like/find fascinating, is the like. When Bond gets upset or triggered about something, and it upsets Q... his first impulse after he, like, can gather himself a moment, is, like, what he can do to make it up to Q for upsetting him in turn. Or like how can he apologize/reassure Q.

And it's such a fascinating... trend? trope? characterization point? Which does still scan as ecologically valid to me as far as characterization goes, but also speaks to some fascinating insights into this construct of the Bondian psyche. Like yes sure it's a very results-focused sort of approach, of like. Oh no this had an undesired reaction, what can I do to get the desired reaction? So you can argue it's utilitarian, and also in keeping with that like spy-driven chameleoning to be what he needs to be (or what he thinks he needs to be) for a given situation.

But like, view it slant, and to me it also reminds me of a sort of fawning trauma response-type behavior. He immediately dismisses the validity of his own feelings, and often his own feelings altogether, for the sake of trying to figure out how to mediate *other people's* feelings & reactions.

It's such an interesting dichotomy and speaks to that sort of knife-edge fracture that runs thru the inveterate spy's psyche - at once highly confident & secure in their persona, but also that that persona almost necessarily be built on a highly changeable (although I suppose if you put it more nicely you could call it "adaptable" - put it less flatteringly and you could call it "unstable") foundation.

And obligatory yeah yeah in the field this serves him well, he's gotta be able to adapt to situations on the fly and also not take things personally cuz like even if he is playing a "version" of himself it's still a role, he has to be able to put aside ego to get the job done in many cases.

Unfortunately this is not exactly a healthy way for a civilian to be navigating civilian life lmao 8)

And this is getting long but basically it also got me thinking about, like, the process of unlearning these sort of good-for-survival but bad-for-everyday-living habits & behaviors? And that it must involve some degree of, like. allowing himself to feel anger. or maybe, more nuancedly, anger on his own behalf. Like,. it's *okay* for him to feel some kind of way about things, *on his own behalf.* But I imagine that must also be - or at least seem - difficult to him, cuz like whereas your average person may work through that with relatively little concern of the *dangers* of anger,. Like, there's very real danger in a 00 or former 00 feeling (""giving in"" perhaps? or is that too Star Wars lmao) to anger.

And that'd be, like. another layer of *stuff* to work through/around/about. How do you get a guy who can and has caused Very Real danger to be able to feel anger on his own behalf without, like, tipping over the edge.

Anyway. for me at least. much to think about

[bomberqueen17]

quick turnaround

The first chicken processing day is this coming tuesday. so we got back into town around 7pm last night, and I immediately put a load of laundry in.

This is mostly me wittering about chores and medical stuff, so, cut for boring, LOL.

it's cold and rainy here so I hung last night's laundry up on drying racks in the guest room, so mostly it is dry this morning-- delicates, so they didn't need to dry in the sun really-- and now this morning i've put in a second load and it's already on drying racks and some is on the line, it's not raining but it's cloudy so it'll dry slow, but like, trousers and t-shirts do better on the line than on racks. Yes I do own a dryer-- a gas dryer actually-- but it beats the fuck out of my clothes and I don't like to use it if I can in any way avoid it. (Mostly I use it to tumble towels and dress shirts for fifteen minutes, and then I hang them out once they're steaming and hot, and they dry without wrinkles that way. Yes I'm on the OCD spectrum, yes it mostly manifests about laundry. Hilariously, my farm BIL is also on the OCD spectrum, farther along it toward where it's actually a problem [mine is SO mild I don't claim it as a disorder at all, i just have things i Care About for Reasons], and has done tons of work on himself and tries to mask it, but once I understood that about him I understood that most of our lil workplace quarrels were our compulsions clashing, so I started making more concerted efforts to decide when to bow to his compulsions and when to advocate for mine, which in many cases are informed by superior knowledge as I've worked in food service more than him. I bow to him more on cleaning now because he does have prior janitorial experience. Unless I can prove he's wrong, LOL.)

I went off Ritalin mostly while on vacation-- I took it the morning I went fabric shopping because I thought it might help me actually make decisions, and that went well so maybe it worked. But that means I have extra pills, so I'm going to try to today take a morning and midday dose, while I have So Much To Do to prepare for the coming couple of weeks, and see if that plus the structure of this massive to-do list help me get anywhere. I just feel like if I can have this data before my next $300 3-minute psych consult I'll make more progress. Ritalin is better than Adderall (less brutal comedown, less getting "stuck")-- I *think*, but it's hard to tell. Vyvanse was also very hard to evaluate, is the problem, because that one I never did have any spare pills so I could never try an effective dose.

I do get it, i do get not giving me high doses when I'm so unsupervised, but-- for all of the medications, the first couple of days were weird and I had trouble hydrating and I was jittery and stuff, but it went away so quickly, I would have been fine with "take half dose two days, then ramp up to effective dose and see how it works" type directions, instead of "take what we know absolutely will be too little for you for two weeks and then come back and try to guess whether it helped", which has just meant I don't really have much data to on on here.

But. I've spent almost forty years needing this kind of medication and not able to access it at all, so I'm reminding myself that this is very rapid progress really.

So I figure I'll do a double dose today, a single tomorrow while I'm driving (maybe I will take that sole dose at midday, since driving is easy and boring but then I have work I need to get done all afternoon), and then I'll try either single or double dosing for the week of farm work until I can get my next appointment, depending how many pills I have. I want to be consistent but lol. It's not in my nature and it's not in my circumstances, so it can be a goal.

I also should write down what I realized about my sciatic nerve. I was joking that my knee caught a haunting in New Orleans somehow. Because it went from being a classic sciatic nerve pain situation-- starting in hip, through back of leg, ending at back of knee-- and wound up just being this horrible pinching pain right inside my knee, like not in the joint but somehow manifesting in a dimension extending from the back of my patella into Hell somehow-- and it was keeping me awake both when trying to nap during the day and also at night when trying to sleep. So I gave up on sleeping and sat on the couch to bitch about it in the complaints channel on the Discord where I'm mostly at home (it was a witcher server and over the last two or three years has mutated into just this ragtag group of us bitching about unrelated things and occasionally dumping fanworks on each other, sometimes about unrelated media)--

but here I'm gonna let you in on a secret, which is that complaining works sometimes. What? Yes. So in order to elicit maximal sympathy from my pocket friends by describing the problem really well (they're very good pocket friends, and many of them know things so describing stuff well sometimes means they have good advice, but even if not, I take satisfaction in communicating well, so I at least feel better about having done that), I really started paying attention to the pain, and I realized that what was happening was that it was sort of slowly throbbing on a cycle. I always knew where it was, but then it would get painful enough that I felt I had to move and change position, and it would stay at that level of pain for three or four seconds, and then taper off until I only just was aware of it, and then it would repeat-- and it was on a thirteen-to-fifteen-second cycle, and this is the crucial thing, it was unaffected by movement. I had been tossing and turning because what would happen was that it hurt badly enough that I felt I had to move it, and I would move and the pain would ease, and I would try to settle into a position, and then the pain would come back, and my half-asleep exhausted self thought that it was something I was doing. So it meant I was constantly moving, which meant I could not sleep. I had finally gotten out of bed and was alternating stretching and pacing, which seemed to be helping but then it was coming back, and the pacing sure as fuck wasn't helping me sleep, and I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong, until finally I stood still and timed it, and then moved and timed it, and realized it was the same.

Realizing that it was happening regardless of movement made me able to hold still while it hurt most acutely, and then sure enough it faded away. And once I knew that moving wouldn't help, I could ride out the urge to move. And once I wasn't constantly trying to find a comfortable position, I could rest. And once I was resting, I could fall asleep. Because this is the annoying thing-- the pain wasn't that bad, even. It's not the agony it has been in the past. I could move through it, easily. It was just too much to hold still through, until I realized that was what I needed to be doing.

So anyway-- traveling home it was mostly fine, it does not like standing in lines, and mostly i sat as much as possible, which isn't good for me long-term but i know over the next couple of weeks i will be doing a shitton of walking and standing so. we'll figure out tactics then.

so along with the ritalin i will be working out my ideal regimens of ibuprofen, aleve, and weed, LOL. Routine! I can make a routine. I can hinge my routine off other people's, which is what works well for me at the farm, and i can see if i can master the art of the amphetamines and maybe get some of my shit done.

Unfortunately all I want to do this week is sew, I watched all of the tourists and locals in NOLA and looked at what they were wearing and now know exactly what I want to make.

and i don't have time to do any of it. but. if i think about it and make concrete plans, i already own much of the fabric and most of the patterns i need. so i can do this. But I'll post separately about the Fashion Lewks I want to do, LOL.

I won't see my physical therapist again until like maybe early June. I counted it out and I've been doing physical therapy for about sixteen weeks at this point. My sister graduated from her physical therapy program and is out on her own now, having hugely improved. I can tell the bad hip is much improved but not healed-- sitting on the plane yesterday someone walked by and bumped my knee and it absolutely did make the cartilage flap go "pop" so that's not healed, but it hurt a lot less than that sort of thing used to. At the last appointment I had, the PT said I should just keep doing the exercises as my circumstances allow, and if they're too easy just increase reps etc., and we'd re-evaluate when I finally saw her again, because obviously I've had all these underlying cascading problems that can only be slowly solved by getting slowly stronger, so who knows.

I don't have concrete goals for that but I would really just. Like to be not-disabled, mostly. Every person has limits, every person is going to have to sit down sometimes, every person is going to have to think hard and make choices about what they do with their bodies-- it's just part of getting into your mid-forties, really-- so I can't just set my goal as being able to do whatever whenever. But I would like to be able to walk for longer distances, I would like to be able to wait in a line without paying for it for days, I would like to just generally be in better shape. So I guess I'll try to work toward that.

idk. and sometime in july my doctor wants me to re-test my fasting blood glucose because the only thing she cares about of my health is that i'm fat and she thinks putting me on metformin will make me not-fat. you'd think she'd have had some interest in diagnosing the pain that was making me unable to exercise but that was not on her radar i guess.

anyway. that's what i'm going to do to get me to june. it's all farm time for the rest of the month and i'm going to do physical therapy and take meth. we'll see how that goes.

[arwenkenobi48]

Ok everyone, I need to get serious for a moment

The levels of burnout I’ve been experiencing for the past six months have affected me in ways I didn’t fully recognise until now.

It was only when I woke up from an extremely vivid nightmare that legitimately messed with my perception of reality that I realised just how much I’ve been struggling.

It’s because of this - and a general increased awareness of the full extent of my CPTSD - that I now have a set a boundary. It may seem unreasonable or even cruel to some, but it has to be done.

I am no longer going to be able to donate to Palestinian fundraisers.

A constant flood of messages begging for help that I can’t provide, accompanied by the fact that I’m unable to work and have my own human rights under threat as a trans man, has lead to an increase in flashbacks and general trauma responses that isn’t good for either my mental or physical health.

This isn’t sustainable and I can’t carry on subjecting myself to it.

So I have to say it; please do not contact me asking for money. There’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can give aside from my prayers for the safety and survival of you and your loved ones.

I will continue to do what I can to support Palestine, such as attending protests and continuing to boycott, but that’s all I can afford to do.

I’ve spent years trying to undo the guilt that’s been drummed into me from a very early age, including guilt for literally just existing. It’s been getting worse as of late, since October last year in particular. I’ve lost track of the amount of times I’ve just broken down in tears over everything, then immediately been plagued by guilt over whether or not I even have the right to be so emotionally distressed. It feels like my birthgiver’s in my head, berating me and tearing me apart.

It’s about time I put a stop to this.

So I’m sorry, but for the sake of my sanity (what’s left of it) I can’t continue to do this. I have neither the funds nor the emotional capacity to continue with it. I can’t even bear to look at my messages most of the time.

Please understand that I’m not doing this to be selfish. This is not coming from a place of apathy or hostility, but because the only other option will most likely result in me winding up in a psych ward. And after the last time I was in something akin to one, I don’t want to experience that, ever.

Thank you for understanding. I’m sorry that it’s come to this. But at least I recognised it now.

I’m praying every day for Palestine to be free. Everyone who’s reached out to me, I’m praying for you too.

If I do make any donations, it’ll most likely be to the Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund, but that’s when/if I’ll be able to manage it.

I understand that some who read this post won’t see me in a positive light, but I’m alright with that. I just need to look after myself first and foremost. It’s about time I started properly healing from this.

Burnout is difficult enough for someone who doesn’t have CPTSD, but in my case the effects are much more severe. The last thing I need is for my condition to worsen.

Again, thank you for understanding.

[an-aura-about-you]

so y'all are not ready for the family drama that got back to me today.

content warning: discussion of abuse with a focus on threatening suicide as a manipulation tactic

so I haven't really mentioned this very much since it's not my news to tell, but my sibling and dad have been looking for an apartment to live in so they can move out of the house and not have to live with my mother. which says a lot, especially since I've put an emphasis on them doing whatever they wanna do without necessarily doing what I did. (though at the same time I'm Not Surprised By This Turn Of Events, especially the bit with Dad not thinking this move will be permanent. I'm not saying it will be permanent, but damn I'm tired of him getting abused for so long.)

my mother has been. upset about this, to say the least. we're talking huge crying fit once Dad finally broke the news to her. and then after that she was Weirdly Nice? but come to find out yesterday that she was only being nice because she thought if she could be nice they would change their minds as if this hasn't been a pattern over the last 40-50 years but that's not how this works and they're moving out for real. (she also threatened to move out herself, a thing she's done before, and the reaction was very much that Futurama bit with teenage Bender threatening to run away.) and the more I learn about different kinds of abuse like emotional neglect and financial abuse, the worse it all gets. in any case, Dad and my sibbie are not deterred. (though my sibbie came to hang out with me at my place yesterday after this happened.)

but today she decided to hit the family with the Classic™️ tactic If You Do This I Will Kill Myself. this is not the first time she's said something like this, as she once told my sibling that if he should choose to cut her off the way I did, then she would kill herself.

now, my sibling and I saw this for the manipulation tactic that it was and knew she wasn't going to do this for real.

Dad, on the other hand.

well, while he only recently learned how bonkers some of the stuff my mother's been saying really is, like how she apparently wants to sue him for "not paying attention to her," he took this very seriously and drove her to the ER.

and now apparently she has to stay overnight and she might have to go to a psych hospital like an hour and change away from here. I think she maybe didn't think he was going to call her bluff because at the hospital she was like, "can't you just give me some meds to calm me down and send me home?" the medical staff apparently didn't even humor this idea.

now, I'm not in favor of institutionalization for a suicidal patient against their will, but seeing my mother Find Out after she's been Fucking Around for so long is personally pretty satisfying.

[evelinessa]

Hot take(maybe? I’ve seen many people disagree with its this so): I think that Psyche locks are great as both a plot device and as a game mechanic and the anime taking them out did a disservice to the story.

Strongly agree | Agree | Neutral | Disagree | Strongly disagree

I do like the magatama as a game mechanic. It's one of my favorite, actually. The main thing I found disappointing with it was when they made it too easy in DD/SOJ (by knowing you already have all the evidence you need by the time you see the psyche locks).

As a plot device, I've heard mixed things about it. I like how they were used in 2-4. I've heard that it makes the twist too obvious, but I can't really comment on that myself. My first time playing the case, I was already almost completely spoiled on the twist (knew enough to almost confirm it), so I can't see it from the perspective of someone going in more blind.

The main problems I've heard with using the magatama as a plot device in that instance, is that it causes it to make less sense that Phoenix doesn't do this for every client, or wondering why we don't see psyche locks when people lie in the courtroom. I've also seen people mention that there are times we're directly lied to in the investigation segments, and we don't see any psyche locks (or psyche locks popping up when the person isn't truly lying, like during one of the conversations with Luke Atmey, I believe).

The inconsistencies don't really bother me, since I easily look past them.

As far as for the anime, I was disappointed when they didn't include them. The only bit we get of them are a scene of locks breaking during that moment in 2-4. All I could think of when I saw that part of the scene was how confused anime-only watchers must have been. Anyone who played the games would understand what that meant, but it would be out of nowhere for anyone else. I don't know why they bothered adding that bit when there wasn't anything else of the psyche locks in there. There's also the physical versions of the psyche locks in 3-5 that I suppose would mean less to someone who didn't know what psyche locks were (anime-only watchers).

But I don't think their exclusion really changes much with the anime, as they're mainly used for gameplay. I don't think finding a way to add them in would have improved much.

I love the anime, especially the anime original episodes, and the little interactions they put in that I think added to the characters' relationships. I also think the anime improved on the games in certain places.

But the biggest issue with the anime is how the story is rushed in certain areas and how some things had to be changed or cut to work with having less time to cover the story.

Adding the magatama wouldn't do much to improve the overall story, in my opinion, and realistically, if they tried to fit it in (especially to the extent it was in the games), they would end up cutting from somewhere else. And with how the anime already sufferers in places due to being rushed, it could end up harming the story even more.

See the fandom hot takes ask game here.

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

i was talking to lestat the other day about poetry. i have a friend whose art i love and admire dearly but their poetry is weakened by their need, or perhaps simply their tendency, to write into their poem an explanation for everything they feel. not a justification necessarily but an overarticulation, more words to carve out the shape of the unspeakable thing

they do not come to me for poetic critique and so i do not give it to them. but in discussing this, and other poets, with lestat i of course had to use poetry to explain my own feeling about why i dont think poems work if you put too much effort into explaining them

as anne carson puts it:

its not that we want to understand everything or even understand anything we want to understand something else

i think this extends to most fields of art. david lynch notoriously refuses to explain his films. many authors disdain readers who try to "solve" their books. i suspect i am a mediocre poet for the same reason i am an altogether skillful cartoonist. there come multiple points in the process of writing (longform) prose where i shake my head and imagine pulling my manuscript out of my readers hands and say no no no i wrote it all wrong, im doing you a disservice by feeding your imagination the wrong thing, let me just show you instead. not out of a lack of faith in my readers sevicable imaginations (though maybe this is the case on my more misanthropic days) so much as a glaring self-consciousness that my words mean less when not juxtaposed against another movement. (and i wonder if musicians and lyricists feel this way towards poetry as i the graphic novelist feel towards novels.) my ability to articulate that "something else" requires more than one axis of imagination. if im feeling bad about myself i will point out that this means i am inefficient and prone to making more work for myself. if i find some generosity and compassion for the plight of the cartoonist i inhabit i will point out that this meaning is multiplicative, and only some stories can come out in this form without suffering some kind of mutilation.

i dislike thought bubbles in multiple levels for multiple reasons, partly because they also overexplain. i wont deny thought bubbles have their placeand im even outright fond of the manga tradition that blends it with narration wherein western comics theyre much more distinct but for the kind of comics i read and write, the characters' inner psyches are the one place i need to go alone, without the author. if i do my job right my comic will help my readers go there on their own path, and thats a privilege solely for them

is the thought process that Zizi goes through here even able to be articulated in a manner where one word can be put after another in a comprehensible order? if it was, is that more important than the reader moving through these emotions with them, and coming to these conclusions? im not so egotistical to presume i get to tell my readers how to feel or think or understand. its only my hope that through my art they find out what they want to understand something else.

[stormratyaps]

BPD characters (hc)

I want to follow the anti psych tag so bad but it is FULL of triggering words :// anyways to distract myself here's a list of characters I hc with BPD.

TW: this post mentions symptoms of BPD including sewerslide ideation, substance abuse (nothing graphic)

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

blitzø - helluva boss

okay I'll get to angel in a second but I feel like no one really talks about how BPD coded blitz is? He's actually quite relatable for me. He suffers from extreme self loathing, self destructive behaviour, unstable relationships, splitting, obsession with FPs (millie and moxie), impulsive spending, isolating himself, anger outbursts... and especially in apology tour (but also earlier episodes if you ever allow me to yap) we see how this pattern is something he isn't actively choosing and that he actually really wants to get away from. I know most of his character traits and behaviours are for the sake of comedy which is why making a deep character analysis is always a bit tricky in this case but I just think he is so bpd coded and I hope they give him a good healing/self discovery arc in the rest of the series.

angel dust - hazbin hotel

Okok let's talk about everyone's fave. Struggles with feeling of emptiness, low self esteem overcompensated by a sense a grandiosity, substance abuse issues, hypersexuality and not to mention increeeeedibly emotionally unstable (let's not forget how euphoria is also a common bpd experience, we not only see him miserable but I think accurate displays of euphoric episodes as well, as is the case for Blitz btw)

saira - we are ladyparts

I was struck by how bpd coded this character was to me - I believe I was just figuring out that I have bpd when I was watching this show, so that might have had sth to do with it. She has this episode where she splits really hard on her friends and consequently isolates herself and. yeah. It's been a while since I watched it so I can't really point out other details rn but I remember thinking this so I reccommend you go watch this show and see for yourself.

blackbeard - our flag means death

Oof ok. I know season 2 was a MESS. I did not like it. But. However. That being said. The BPD representation is real. Do I love that there were basically no retrubitions for how Ed (blackbeard) treated the others during his split/episode? No. I don't love to see that. I wish he'd gotten some kind of genuine redemption arc with introspection and feelings of guilt and putting in the work to be better and all that. But yea. Season 2 sucked ass. Anyway him splitting on Stede (his FP) is so real and the subsequent borderline episode that follows is. Yeah. He has all the textbook symptoms (not only in season 2!!) impulisivity, unstability, extreme moodswings, no sense of self, mirroring, FP attachment, substance abuse issues and self destructive behaviours, paranoia/flashbacks, sewerslidality...

carmy - the bear

me when???when he???this representation means so much to me actually personally. !!! The paranoia, the anger issues, the self distructive behaviour, the intensely low self esteem, the flashbacks (ptsd babey), the hallucinations - Idk if they're hallucinations or just some kind of metaphorical liberty from the showwriters but I choose to hc how I choose to hc !! he also just! splits all the time!! He needs therapy so bad omg . This show is basically an anxiety attack with a few pauses so you can enjoy looking at the food ig

merlin and morgana - merlin

I feel like this is my least well defendable hc. Like I just relate and think that they kinda have BPD. But also if you said bitch where I wouldn't really be able to tell you. So yea. I feel like Merlin developed it throughout the later seasons and Morgana shows symptoms from the beginning. Both are just extremely traumatised and definitely have PTSD. So there's that.

[gking10]

Liveblogging TMAGP 8: Running on Empty

I relistened to Fatigue from TMA a week ago. The title makes me think of that. Running empty of caffeine?

CAT2RBC3366-12072023-28022024Architecture (liminal) -/-hunger [coursework]

Huh. Liminal space definitely fits the Fatigue vibes. Why is 'coursework' a subcategory of hunger? What does it even mean? Someone sets out to do a project for multiple days for an architectural course and doesn't eat an entire thing the entire time? When I get really into a project, I don't eat. I don't even drink water. It's not that I don't notice I'm thirsty or hungry, I just keep telling myself "I'll do it later" because I really want to finish whatever is in front of me. I'm really prone to that type of thinking, of sometimes just bashing myself against the brick wall deliriously until it finally caves. Mostly because if I ever stop in the middle of something, I usually just kinda give up? I've been trying to be less all-or-nothing, but it's a whole thing. The incident elements involved perception of time and reality warping, which matched Spiral... and then there's also cannibalism. Now I'm thinking of Confession and Desecrated Host (which ARE Spiral statements by the way, you will not convince me otherwise.)

1:34 - "Coursework assessment report 13718B" Wow, okay, we're just going right into it! Also I just noticed... the video itself titles the episode as "Hostile Workplace". But this involves a school course, doesn't it? Where does a workplace come in? Or does it just mean "workplace" as in where the student does their work? The liminal architecture, maybe? It could be like the garden in Putting Down Roots, a space the lures people in.

2:13 - "Extenuating circumstances: Serious Medical Condition, Trauma, Miscellaneous" What did Terrance go through? And this is just the extenuating circumstance for why Terrance submitted work late... 2:28 - "Title: Forton’s Brutal Liminality, a case study of architecturally induced psychological stressors as a result of prolonged exposure to liminal spaces in the Brutalist mode as exhibited by Forton Service Station." Huh. So maybe this is the "workplace". I'm not quite sure how Brutalism intersects with the presence of liminal spaces. To my understanding, brutalist architecture involves minimalism and leaving structural features exposed rather than hidden. Designing for efficiency without adding anything superfluous. I'm not sure how this type of design leads to prolonged exposure to liminal spaces. Liminal spaces are points of transition, places you aren't expecting to spend much time in. That's why its weird when you have to focus on one. Like hallways. Or places that should be in use but just... aren't. Are defined by people using them but are seen completely empty. Perhaps the liminal space is a long tunnel within the service station. A place purely for walking through. And I guess the brutalism would be the fact it is merely a tunnel and not a lobby or anything else? I'm unsure.

3:43 - "This often results in exposed raw materials, stark forms, repetitive geometric shapes and monolithic structures." Repetitive. Monolithic. Like a hotel hallway lined with identical doors that stretches on and on forever. Like a dull grey staircase where every floor you stop at can only be differentiated by the number. Okay, I think I'm starting to see the vision, actually.

4:23 - "Specifically, it creates an effect of absence despite presence, an “architectural hunger" of a sort" What does this mean? A hunger for architectural variety, I guess? Terrance honestly seems like a Robert Smirke. He's researching architecture and its affects on the psyche. It's a shame Terrance is probably going to eat a man alive before he gets the chance to analyze what other anxieties different structures may instill. 4:38 - "Service stations such as Forton were originally conceived of as a location in and of themselves rather than merely a pause in a journey. However, with the widespread adoption of personal automobiles and the subsequent overdevelopment of UK road infrastructure, these spaces transitioned into liminal spaces." Fuck cars. Is the architectural hunger... the hunger of the architecture itself? A hunger to be filled, to be in use? In all the long car rides I've been on throughout my life, being driven out of state to visit family, I've never really thought about the gas stations. Earnestly, I spent a majority of my time on those trips asleep, mostly to avoid the tedium of simply sitting and waiting. I guess because of that, being awoken to a stop never really felt uncanny or unnerving to me. Although, now that I think about it... I think that's only really true with the small gas stations. The bigger ones? I would start to feel lost in those. And Buc ee's? I've only been the Buc ee's twice in my life, and each time, it has been overwhelming. The sheer size of the crowds, of people just walking by each other, it is. A lot. They have good burritos though, so worth it. I think the big places get to me because you say there longer. With a small gas station, you just use the bathroom, maybe buy some chips and candy bar, and then you're gone. Each stop and Buc ee's lasted 30 minutes. Or at least felt like it. Too big. Too long. A nice place to visit, but not somewhere I'd like to stay.

4:59 - "Not only this, there are perceived time distortions associated with such spaces exacerbated by the deliberate absence of clocks (to encourage longer stays)" I thought they just did that in casinos but... have I ever seen a clock in any gas station? Fuck. 5:28 - "they have thus become dislocated from humanity’s shared mindscape" "In essence, I believe the “architectural hunger” of a space that resents its own transitional nature can be dangerous" I looked at the wikipedia article for liminal spaces and found the idea of a non-place. This what is is. A nonplace. A place that isn't a place because no one intends to stay there and no one knows anywhere there nor wants to be known by anyone there. But not just that. Terrance is describing a place that's just been... cut out of the shared subconsciousness. A place people just refuse to think about. Psychological abandoned and resentful. It makes me think of a line from an SCP that's sat with me for years. "There's only so much that hate can build up in a place before it starts hating you back…" I'll be surprised if this doesn't begin to touch on hostile architecture. Not the fictional hostile architecture of "oh this building is going to eat me alive" but the spikes put the stop skateboarders and the useless fake benches with unnecessary dividers put up explicitly to keep homeless people from being able to sleep. Ever since I first learned of the concept of hostile architecture, it's made my stomach crawl. And it would be all in service to keeping a space liminal, wouldn't it? It's directly to prevent people from being able to stay, because god forbid people have a place to be that isn't their own home or work. I'm not sure if this report is going to go there though, there's no warning of homelessness in the incident elements. Still, I would appreciate it being tackled. 6:48 - "No-one has eaten there in decades." That's sad. The restaurant actually sounded pretty cool. But I guess, that's the thing. This isn't a place to stay. It's not a place to really visit. It's a place to stop and that's it. So why would you need a restaurant when some random fast food chain gets the job done without any extravagance? Why stop to enjoy something? The only stopping here is now done out of pure, utilitarian necessity. Although, doing a tiny bit a research, it seems like Pennine Tower was also closed because it wasn't fire safe. Which does match with a rise in brutalism, of needing buildings to be built explicitly to purpose, but also like... fire safety is important? I don't think that's a wild take. Still, I don't know. Abandoned places are sad. The fact it's a restaurant though? And there's going to be cannibalism? I think we are going to see someone eat there soon. It will not be pretty.

7:41 - "until finally, one night, I realized that I had not seen a single person." Yeah, fuck that. I said it during Personal Screening, I'll say it again, spaces that should be filled with people but are not are BAD and you do NOT WANT TO BE THERE. 8:39 - "I maintain that the phenomena was accompanied by a disquieting sense of absence. Of hunger." Terrance keeps insisting on this hunger thing, which doesn't make sense with what he has said so far in this essay, and it is unnerving. It's just uncanny language. A sign that something is wrong with the way he is processing things. The lights were red, white, and yellow. Bright colors. Associated with hunger.

9:22 - "That’s when I realized why this all felt so familiar. Timelapse." So he's just seeing... a timelapse of people and cars? Traces of directions, all the paths their move in, without any of the actual life to accompany it? Feels like Lost in the Crowd. A crowd without people. A night at a service station without cars. All of the lights and movement and yet no cars. This is surreal. I like this. 10:17 Helen? Surely not. But god, the way the colors are described as a cloud of mist, pure gaseous sensory overload chasing after him, it gives me chills.

12:26 - "I tried to listen to any one conversation it was just… noise. A muffled murmur that sounded like speech but held no information." God, it's this part of the Lonely. Something about this really affects me. The idea of normal idle life just being... imitated. Being fake, not real. The Lonely doesn't much scare me when it's just being alone, but when it emphasizes the idea of being surrounded by people and being completely unable to connect, relate, or even understand? Everything just becoming... background noise? God. I feel like every one of these starts with me declaring the incident one TMA entity, and then halfway through deciding its a different one. "This violin is Slaughter- no, actually Flesh." "These volunteers are Desolation, no, Stranger, no, EXTINCTION!" "This is clearly going to be Spiral, oops, it's Lonely." If the entities have become blended, they are doing a really good job at it. 12:54 - "there were even recurring features iterating on different faces: the same green eyes on two women, identical moustaches on three men." Hey, I hate that actually. Very glad this is a podcast and I do not have to visually see that. It's an uncanny valley thing with me, I cannot stand that.

13:44 - "They were gaping square holes and beyond them was nothing at all" And my stomach became a gaping hole upon hearing those words. There's nothing out there. There is no outside. There is no past. There is no future. There is just here. You are here. Stay awhile. And then they start eating Terrance... 16:41 - "though I am painfully aware that no missing person report was filed with the police since apparently none of my colleagues, tutors or fellow students noticed my absence." Shit, no wonder something related to loneliness targeted him. That's depressing.

17:16 I keep hearing mechanical sounds. Like a camera flicking back and forth and refocusing. I'm just taking notice of the scene notes on the transcripts. The incidents have always said "CYBERSPACE", which I haven't taken much notice of. But this scene? "CCTV". That's what this is being recording on. That's what's watching them. I really should have been paying attention to the diegetic reason why we, the viewers, have even been able to hear all this.

18:21 - "and did you hear Lena put Colin on “mental health leave”" Well, Colin's gone. Hopefully he was actually put on mental health leave and not... shot.

19:01 Sam's phone. The scene note is Sam's phone. Something escaped. Something got in.

19:07 - "Sorry for the mess, I wasn’t expecting anyone." GERRY! I was spoiled that Gerry appeared at some point, it was impossible to avoid, but GERRY KEAY? HERE? NOW? THIS EPISODE? And Sam just knows him????? 19:58 - GERTRUDE "That would be me." I was wrong last episode. This will be the death of me. I somehow did not hear about THIS and I am glad because WHAT THE FUCK I guess Sam and Celia and investigating the Magnus Institute? Gerry is so cheerful and nice here. Like, he's so happy he doesn't even sound the same. It makes his fate in TMA even sadder.

20:39 - "What exactly did you say was your business with my grandson?" Is this an act? I think I remember Gerry was often mistaken for being Gertrude's grandson in TMA, so is she just leaning into it? Or did Gertrude full-on adopt Gerry? Was Gerry raised by Gertrude instead of Mary Keay? It would explain why Gerry does not see to be miserable.

21:05 - "I see. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t think Gerry can help you-" It's subtle, but the static rises here. Is Gerry getting compelled? But by who or what? It wouldn't be Gertrude, she's trying to hide it. 23:03 - "I’m trying to look into… Weird physics stuff: time travel, other dimensions, teleportation, all that good stuff." DID CELIA CROSS OVER SOMEHOW???? 23:21 - "You’re not doing research for that podcast you were on, are you?" THE FUCKING WHAT 23:27 - "Then yeah. I’m doing a favor for Georgie." FOR WHO? Celia on What the Ghost? Hello?????? That's the episode. I wondered again why "coursework" was a subcategory of hunger... Then I realized that the brackets are different, that's the format of the statement, not a subcategory. So I'm an idiot. I am also realizing there is chicken in the oven I should have pulled out 30 minutes ago.

[walker-extended-universe]

Hunters Suck

Relationship(s): N/A

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe- Government Agency, Fear, Ghosts, Anxiety, Hurt No Comfort, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Sam Winchester Being an Asshole

Summary:

Hunters were government contract agents. They were responsible for handling the monsters of the world- once they landed in the United States at least. It was a difficult job, one of the highest mortality rates outside of the military. It took lots of specialized training and various levels of psych evaluation to even be considered for the job. Sam and Dean Winchester were the best in the business. They came from a long line of hunters that started as early as the first iteration of the D.S.P. (Department of Supernatural Phenomena). They had the highest scores in their training class and the highest kill count out of anyone else currently working in the Hunter Division. The worst part was: they knew it.

Written for @augustofwhump day 21: Set up to Fail, Bitter

Taglist: @theladywyn, @ihavepointysticks. @klaatu51, @itsjessiegirl1, @neptunium134

---------------

“Walker, got a minute?”

Cordell looked up at James. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really.”

He sighed and followed his former partner into his office. “What’s the bad news, Cap?”

“Does it have to be bad news?”

“If we’re in your office and I have no choice, it probably is.”

James shrugged. “Fair enough. Remember the Winchesters?”

Cordell’s stomach dropped. “Wh- No. No. I don’t care what the job is or how many people have died. No.”

“Walker-

“No! No, I don’t care! They- They can’t just walk in here and force me to be their bait every time they get sent to Texas! I’m not doing it again! I refuse! I-I’ll turn in my badge! They can't make me if I’m not a Ranger….”

James sighed. “You can’t quit over this and, unfortunately, they can just come down here and request you specifically whenever they get a job in the state.”

“No. No, I’m not doing this again.” Cordell stood up and started pacing. “There has to be a way out of this. Can’t you say I’m already busy with something else?”

“You know these cases take priority.”

Cordell groaned. “Okay, then I’m sick. They can’t make me work if I’m sick.”

“The only way that would work is if you’d already put in the time off before the orders came in. Which you didn’t. And, before you ask, I’m not risking my badge to fake the paperwork for you.”

“Is- Is there anything else we could-”

“No. And if there was, I would’ve done it instead of telling you about this.” James sighed. “I know how these Hunters are. If you ask me, they’ve got way too much sway over local law enforcement, but I’m not in charge of that. All I can do is tell you they’ll be here after lunch and they want to get started immediately.”

Cordell groaned. “Great. I’ll just go home to tell my family I love them one last time and make sure all my affairs are in order.”

“Walker, they’re not-”

“Do NOT tell me they’re not that bad! Did you forget what happened last time?! That djinn almost drained me before they finally took care of it!”

“And you were adequately compensated for the medical and therapy costs.”

“I still have nightmares.”

“Unfortunately the government doesn’t care about that.”

“I know; the best part of this job is that I don’t have to rely on the fucking VA for my healthcare.”

James shrugged. “I’m sorry, man. I really am. But I can’t stop it and you don’t really have much choice. Besides, their research says it’s just a ghost. It shouldn’t be that bad.”

Cordell snorted. Last time, their research had assured him it was just a vampire. He wouldn’t be surprised if this “ghost” turned out to be a demon or some low level god. He swore they did half-assed research on purpose just to make him suffer. “Whatever. I’m going home to prepare myself. With any luck, you’ll actually see me again in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure to include your enthusiastic cooperation in your performance review,” James said dryly. “And try to be on time. You know how those Hunters get when they’re inconvenienced.”

“Oh, yeah, we’d hate for them to be inconvenienced,” Cordell muttered as he stormed out of the office.

This was just not going to be his day.

—-----------------------

Hunters were government contract agents. They were responsible for handling the monsters of the world- once they landed in the United States at least. It was a difficult job, one of the highest mortality rates outside of the military. It took lots of specialized training and various levels of psych evaluation to even be considered for the job.

Like most government agents, they enjoyed rubbing it in the faces of state and local law enforcement whenever they rolled into town. They also had a tendency to ignore the basic rules and policies that their training academy supposedly drilled into them. As long as the monster was killed, they were free to do almost anything they wanted. Granted, most of them were pretty tame and saved their antics for when they were off the clock. But, some of them, the ones that knew they were too good to be fired for anything they did in the field, took it to the extreme.

Sam and Dean Winchester were the best in the business. They came from a long line of hunters that started as early as the first iteration of the D.S.P. (Department of Supernatural Phenomena). They had the highest scores in their training class and the highest kill count out of anyone else currently working in the Hunter Division.

The worst part was: they knew it.

They knew very well that they could waltz into any law enforcement office, ask for anyone they wanted, and their wishes would be granted. Once the monster was killed, they could blow their work credit cards on the best hotels and craziest parties to celebrate a job well done. They were the annoyance of every fine establishment and state-level agency from the California coast to the very tip of Maine.

And, for some reason, they enjoyed picking on one tall Texas Ranger.

Was it because of his height? Did they work with him once and have a little too much fun? Did they just get a kick out of seeing him get all flustered? They’d never tell. It’s no one’s business anyway. As long as the monster is dead, who really cares how it got done?

—-----------

“Do you two really need me for this? Aren’t you guys the best in the business? Why do you need me for a simple salt and burn?” Cordell didn’t care if he sounded like he was whining. He felt like he was entitled to a little whining after almost a decade of this treatment.

“Didn’t you read the file?” Sam smirked. “It’s not just one ghost. We’ve got a set of twins.”

Cordell groaned. “Still, only two ghosts. That should be easy enough for you.”

“Yeah, but it’s easier when we have bait.” Dean winked. “Look, they were buried in the backyard. We can handle that part. You just gotta keep those freaky girls busy so they don’t come after us, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cordell muttered. “What triggers them again? Just being in the house or-”

“Being in the house and being male should do it,” Sam said. “They both murdered their husbands after a little cheating scandal.”

“Great.” Cordell picked up the iron crowbar and salt container. “See you on the other side I guess.”

“Have fun!” Dean quipped as he entered the front door. Cordell resisted the urge to flip him off.

—--------------

Cordell grunted as one of the sisters threw him against a wall. “How long does it take to dig a grave?” he muttered to himself. He knew there was more than one body but they were buried close together, basically in the same grave. How hard could it be?

“Foolish man! How dare you enter our sanctuary!” The other twin swooped in and claws at him. 

He hissed as her fingers burned across his chest, leaving long claw marks in their wake. “Dammit,” he groaned, trying to sit up. “Any minute now, jackasses….”

The crowbar had been lost about an hour ago and the salt was quickly thrown into the fireplace after that. Cordell was basically defenseless in here and he would bet any amount of money that those Winchesters were taking their time on purpose. They always seemed to, for whatever reason.

The twins continued to bounce him around the house. He lost count of how many broken ribs he got- which probably had something to do with his head injury- and he just wanted this to be over. He almost didn’t care if he walked out of this house alive. It might be fun to haunt Sam and Dean for a bit. 

At one point, he was able to crawl over to the fireplace and grab one of the iron fire pokers to field the twins off. It wasn’t much, but he’d take that over a potential coma.

He tried to look out the back windows to see how much closer Sam and Dean were to the bodies, but the graves must be somewhere he couldn’t see from the windows. Otherwise, he might think the Winchesters just left him there.

Thank God they got paid not to do that.

After far too many minutes, Cordell finally got to see the twins burst into flames. Unfortunately, one of them caught his hat, so he almost lost some hair on top of it all.

All in all- it could’ve been worse.

He stumbled out of the house toward his truck. “Thanks for taking your time,” he muttered as the Winchesters were packing up.

“Oh, quit your whining. We dug that grave double time for you,” Sam insisted.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Cordell was just going to quit today. He was never doing this again. Ever.