#anyone else grow up with a plastic doctor kit?

[emmatheward]

[onstarsandiron]

Might As Well Face It, You’re Addicted To Love: Chapter 5

Ooooooh we’re almost there!! First, though, meet the gang. 

AO3 link here

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 [here] / ?

Jax

Jax sighed in satisfaction as he finally finished drying his hair. The upkeep was obnoxious, but you couldn’t argue with the results; few others could lay claim to a meter of silver hair. It felt nice to be showered, dried, and in fresh clothes. He could finally find some peace.

“Jax! Hurry up!” Ana called, banging on his door. Jax sighed again. Oh well, peace was overrated anyway.

“I’m coming!” He yelled back. Easy for her to rush him with a puppy following her around and helping her get ready. Jax tied his hair into a quick ponytail and grabbed the duffel of show-prep stuff he’d pre-packed.

He opened his door to find Di hurrying down the hallway saying, “Ana, you did not let me finish!” Maybe calling Di a puppy was harsh, but he wouldn’t if he didn’t look at Ana with those big old eyes of his.

Jax followed them down the hall and a set of stairs into the kitchen. Ana stood still for once in her life – as still as she could, anyway, a toe tapping away to some unheard song – as Di finished her braid. Ana wore her black hair in a long braid down the middle of her head, the rest of it shaved. She said it was because it was punk, but Jax knew it was for convenience’s sake. She had golden-brown eyes set into a heart-shaped face and warm bronze skin. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, which was typically a sign of either a show or trouble. Sometimes both.

Di stood behind her being the physical embodiment of all the patience Ana lacked as he carefully finished off her braid. He was pale and tall, recently grown from being gangly to actually fitting his height. His blood-red hair was currently tied in a knot, but it typically had a mind of its own, falling down around his sharp face. Paired with his dark brows and dark eyes he had a very serious look to him, but Jax had seen him cry over a video of a small robot being, “too cute,” so his reputation in that area was ruined already.

Riggs and Wick were playing a game of cards at the kitchen table. They were on the older side and rarely came to gigs – Wick’s hearing was bad enough anyway, and if Wick wasn’t going neither was Riggs – but they both always saw them off and welcomed them home. Riggs was gruff and permanently skinny with scratchy gray stubble decorating his chin. He had lost his family and his leg in a bad accident a long time ago. Once or twice he’d shown Jax a picture of his family he kept on a locket, two happy looking kids, a beautiful wife, and him. Jax didn’t know nearly as much history about Wick, dark brown skin saggy in that way old men got with gray dreadlocks pulled into a ponytail behind him, but he had all sorts of tall tales to tell and was the one to teach him guitar, so really what other history could matter?

Talle, short with black, pixie cut hair, was cleaning up some pots and pans at the sink. She wasn’t as old as Riggs and Wick, but she did have the start of crows’ feet and smile lines etched into her face.  “Hey, Jax!” she called, then pointed to a stack of plastic Tupperware in bags that held their dinners for the evening, “Can you take these out to the van?”

“Sure thing,” Jax answered, securing his duffel on his shoulder so he could hold the bags in his hands.

He was about to consider how to juggle the bags and the approaching door when the door opened itself, or rather Lenda opened it from the other side. She was a couple years older than him and squarely built with old scars from time spent in fighting rings adorning her arms like trophies well-won. Her brownish-blonde hair hung around shoulder length and framed her narrow brown eyes, and her skin was tawny with rose undertones.

“Oh, hey, let me take one of those for you,” she offered, and Jax handed her one of the bags in his hands. Before heading back out she called into the kitchen, “Hey, Ana! Siege says that if you want your drum kit, you better come and put it in the van yourself!”

“Coming!” Ana said, and the three of them walked through to the open garage and the van parked outside it currently being loaded up.

“There you are, Sparkles!” Elara greeted. She was short and curvy with short-cropped silver hair in a style that on anyone else Jax would refer to as “soccer mom” but on her simply made her black-eyeliner-and-lipstick look more dramatic. Her wide eyes were violet, and her skin was apricot compared to Jax’s too-often-mistaken-as-a-ghost white. She was helping Xu, her partner, pack up some of the equipment. Xu was tall with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and tanned skin. They kept their black hair long and didn’t typically style it except when Elara would take it upon herself to braid it this way and that. They were a quiet person for the most part, which was good since Elara talked enough for the two of them.

“’Bout time you two beauty queens got yourselves down here,” Siege said. Siege wasn’t particularly tall, but she stood in a way that made you think she was. She filled a room and commanded respect wherever she went. Her eyes were a sharp stone-green and she wore her black curly hair large and filled with pieces wrapped in golden thread.

Siege’s job was not a topic to be discussed, but if it were to be discussed it may err a bit on the, as some might put it, illegitimate side of odd jobs. The house was largely a boarding house for her crew, a group that waxed and waned as needed. Riggs and Wick had been with her and Talle for forever, Lenda and Barger were newer additions, and there were plenty of people who had stayed for as little as a night and as long as years before moving on.

It was an interesting place to grow up, especially compared to Jax’s previous living arrangements, but he thought he, Ana, and Di came out no worse for it. After all, they’re all well fed, educated – Di was studying to be a doctor for goddess’ sake – and Siege and Talle have always been there when they needed them. Like when Ana decided she wanted to start a band; Siege may have sighed about it and certainly set some ground rules, but she never missed a show, let Ana use the van, and was the one to even get her the drum set in the first place.

“Sorry, Captain,” Jax said, getting his duffel and the food into the van and then going to help the others, “But you know my good looks are he only thing keeping the fans coming.”

“Ah, yes,” Di said dryly, having followed Ana out (definitely a puppy), “The throngs of fans shouting your name. Plus, all 13 of our Instagram followers.”

“53,” Xu corrected, being the one that actually did most of the managing of the account.

“Wow, is it actually that many?” Ana asked.

“Yes,” Xu answered, “With an average of 16.3 likes and 1.8 comments per post.”

That wasn’t very much. The band they were opening for had something like 20,000 followers and, you know, enough to fans to be able to justify holding their own concert with an opener. Ana didn’t believe in small milestones, though. Anything that was forward movement counted as victory in her book. That kind of aggressively positive outlook was a big part of what made this all work. If Jax was honest, had anyone else asked him to join a band he would have simply said no. When Ana asked, though, he couldn’t imagine letting someone else play guitar in his best friend’s band. He was certainly glad for it now; it was one of the only things he looks forward to anymore.

As he helped pack, Jax went through a mental checklist of everything. Once this was all done, Siege, Talle, Di, and Ana would take the van and he would drive Lenda, Elara, Xu, and Barger in a separate vehicle – turns out a drum set and audio equipment take up passenger space, go figure.

“Has anyone figured out where the fuck Barger is?” Jax asked. He’d almost forgotten about the irritable and irritating man.

“When’s the last time you saw the old fart?” Elara asked.

“I have not seen him in three days and 20-some hours, since practice on Monday,” Di answered, always so precise.

“Me neither,” Ana chipped in.

“I think I saw him like 2 AM Tuesday?” Lenda said, “I was just up for a glass of water, don’t remember it much.” Barger technically lived with them, but he kept odd hours and went out often, so it wasn’t unusual to not see him for a few days.

“Hasn’t been responsive to Talle or I,” Siege said, the look on her face serious, “I’ve called around. With any hope he’ll show up at the venue.”

Not answering when the captain called? Jax would not like to be in Barger’s shoes. The man better be dead, else he’ll be wishing he were soon.

At this point, it was a bit late to worry about Barger showing. They were lucky to get booked as an opener and would be stupid to give up this opportunity, even if their songs would sound off without a bass. Maybe Di could save their asses with his synths or something.

Whatever happened, though, Jax was determined to have a good time. He was going to go on stage, play with his friends, get some applause – even if it was simply polite applause – and this awful day and that awful boy and his awful boss would be behind him, completely forgotten.

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 [here] / ?

[elisaphoenix13]

Behind The Mask

It had been a bad day. A really bad one, because some bullies had gotten a little too cocky and Harley had seen them trip Peter in the hallway before they grabbed him and stuffed him into the nearest locker. The older teen had pounced on them and a few blows were exchanged while Peter pulled himself out of his prison before he had stopped Harley and dragged him away. He didn't want his adoptive brother getting into trouble in the first week of school. Especially on his behalf. So he grabbed their discarded belongings, shouted a goodbye to Ned, and wrestled Harley out of the school building before any faculty members could stop them.

The first half of their walk home passed in tense silence as Harley prodded at his busted lip and cut cheek, but it was broken as soon as they got off at their stop at the subway station.

"Why did you let them do that?" Harley asks coldly. "Why haven't you said anything to Dad and Stephen?"

Harley wasn't close to the sorcerer despite what the man had done for him when he first arrived, and wouldn't call him by anything but his name. Peter suspected part of the reason the other teen wouldn't refer to Stephen as 'mom' was not only because he wasn't close to the doctor, but maybe because he felt it would be an insult to his mother's memory. Peter kind of understood, but he didn't really remember his mother so the guilt of giving that role to Stephen had passed over a short time. From the stories Ben and May had told him though, Peter was sure his mother wouldn't have minded. Just like Laura and Maggie didn't mind it when their kids called Stephen 'mom' too.

"Last time Mom and Dad found out about a bully, Mom almost ripped out their parents throats and Dad threatened to sue. Besides, it's better me than some other kid." Peter adjusts his backpack and looks over at Harley with a 'What are you going to do' look, but startles when he finds the other boy glaring at him.

"What kind of excuse is that?"

"I can heal way faster than anyone else and it doesn't even happen every day."

"Are you serious?" Harley asks angrily. "Tell-"

"No!" Peter interrupts. "If Mom or Dad freak out then I freak out and it's just so much easier if they don't know. They haven't seriously hurt me so there's no reason!"

Harley scoffs. "No reason. So stepping in to defend you was a waste of my time?"

"...sort of?" The vigilante waves his hands wildly when his adopted brother frowns. "Not that I don't appreciate it because I do! Just...I heal faster."

"You said that."

Harley huffs and they walk into the tower's lobby as soon as they reach the building, and they step into the private elevator that takes them directly up to the family floor. As soon as the elevator doors open when it reaches their destination, Stephen was waiting in front of it with an ice pack.

"Whoa...your sixth sense is crazy accurate." Peter says as the sorcerer presses the pack to Harley's cheek. 

"It's just a scratch. No big deal. I can take care of it myself." The older teen grumbles but makes no move to brush Stephen away.

"I'd like to make sure." The doctor says in a no-nonsense tone, and leads Harley over to the kitchen table.

As soon as the teen sits down, Stephen opens a small portal to grab the first aid kit from the master bathroom and he pulls a chair up in front of Harley to sit in. The sorcerer didnt bother using magic to steady his hands since it wasn't necessary. No stitches were needed. Just a bit of antiseptic and a bandage.

"I thought we told you to say something if bullies continued to harass you." The doctor speaks softly, but with a hint of disappointment.

Peter swallows thickly. "Who said anything about bullies?" He ignores the look of 'I told you so' that Harley shoots in his direction as Stephen looks over at him.

"Peter. I am a doctor. I know what the damage from a right hook looks like when I see it."

"It's no big deal." The younger teen mumbles.

"Tell that to my fat lip." Harley grumbles.

Peter glares at him. "I didn't ask you to defend me!"

"What, you just want to me to stand and watch while they stuff you in lockers, push you down stairs, and trip you up?!" Harley shouts.

"I was handling it just fine!"

"Enough." Stephen raises his voice just enough to get their attention. "Both of you go up to your rooms and cool down."

Both teens huff and go up to their rooms, and ended up staying there for the rest of the night. Stephen had called them down for dinner, but both boys were being stubborn and refused to see each other. Peter's stomach had other ideas around midnight though. It screamed at him to feed it so he had no choice but to crawl down to the kitchen via the ceiling and take one of the two plates that Stephen had put in the fridge for him and Harley. Peter took the plate that was very obviously for him based on the amount of food piled on it and tears off the plastic wrap before throwing it in the microwave.

Peter spins in circles as he hangs from the ceiling on a web, waiting for his food to heat up, and then falls into a heap on the floor when he hears a shout of surprise.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Peter hisses and rubs the back of his head where he had hit it on the island and he sits up to face a bewildered Harley. The other teen no doubt had the same idea as Peter and came down to eat, but got a surprise first. Harley's shout had woken their parents and both had come down to investigate the cause, one with a magical shield and the other with a gauntlet. When they figured out that nothing was amiss they looked between the teens in confusion.

"What the hell is going on?" Tony asks as he rubs his face.

Harley turns to them and motions toward Peter who was finally on his feet. "He's Spiderman?!"

Stephen and Tony look at each other and then back at Harley. "We thought you knew." The sorcerer says.

"Am I the only normal person here?!"

Tony folds his arms. "Harley, a lot of us are normal. The only superhumans are Steve, Bucky, and Peter. I won't even include Thor and Loki for obvious reasons."

Harley frowns. "Stephen has magic."

"I learned my magic." Stephen says calmly. "Tony, Natasha, Sam, Scott...they only have weapons or suits. Otherwise they're normal and they're just a few examples."

The microwave beeps loudly in the somewhat awkward silence that follows and Peter takes his food out before sitting at the table and practically inhaling his late dinner. Harley watches in minute fascination and then decides to get his own food and heat it up. Harley sits at the island with his own dinner once it gets hot and their parents return to bed with a roll of their eyes. Harley and Peter were still being stubborn and they weren't about to try anything this late at night. If they argued, they argued.

That didn't happen though. Harley actually grabbed his food and sat in the seat directly across from Peter and stares at his adoptive younger brother. "...now I know why you kept mentioning how fast you heal." He pokes at his chicken with his fork. "I sort of get it. You don't want to accidently hurt anybody...right?"

"Pretty much." Peter confirms quietly. "I can take what they do to me. Someone else though? Not so much."

Harley nods slowly and they eat their meal in silence. It was still a little strained, but definitely more comfortable than it had been just a couple of minutes ago. When Peter finally finished his food and got up to put his dishes in the dishwasher, he stopped and looked at Harley.

"For what it's worth, I appreciate that you defended me." The younger teen looks down at the floor. "Just...don't get into fights for my sake."

Harley scoffs. "No promises Spidey. You may look out for everyone else...but someone has to look out for you."

"That's what parents are for."

"And older brothers."

A small smile grows on Peter's face and he continues forward to put his dishes in the dishwasher. "At least try not to."

"Again. No promises." Harley replies with a grin.

Peter rolls his eyes and makes his way back up to his room where he flops into bed with a much happier stomach and falls asleep. The next morning, he startles awake when someone sits on his bed with a hop and he cracks one eye open to glare at the disturbance. Harley raises an eyebrow down at him with a smirk and Peter retaliates by throwing a pillow at his face. Harley pushes Peter to one side of the bed, the younger grumbling but moving so the elder teen can lay next to him with the thrown pillow.

"How long?" Harley asks.

How long had Peter been Spiderman?

"A couple of years. Since I was fourteen."

"Do you spit venom?"

Peter huffs into his pillow as he hugs it. "I don't spit venom, I don't lay eggs, I still don't know how far my webs go, and I can't summon an army of spiders."

"What can you do?"

"Crawl on walls...and my senses are dialed to eleven so I can smell the coffee that Dad is brewing and the pancakes Mom is making, I can hear Steve and Bucky coming up the elevator...oh yeah. I can stop a three thousand pound car going forty miles an hour."

"...badass." Harley sits up. "Did you say pancakes?"

Peter grunts in affirmation and Harley stands up and then turns to yank the blankets off of the vigilante.

"Dude..."

"Come on. We can have breakfast and then run some tests on your limits and what else you can do."

"Sounds like a chore." Peter groans.

"Maybe we can bribe Stephen into adding chocolate chips-" Harley starts until the bedroom door opens and Stephen smirks.

"No bribery needed. Breakfast is ready and I am not putting anything aside this time." The sorcerer says.

"Okay. I'm up. I'm up."

Peter rolls out of bed and follows Harley and Stephen down to the kitchen and immediately pulls some chocolate chip pancakes onto his plate. Stephen stops him after the fifth one so the other three can get their servings. Breakfast passed with normal conversation, and Peter found out that Steve and Bucky only came up to grab a few things before leaving again. Toward the end of breakfast though, Harley had asked Tony if they could help Peter test his limits and abilities and their father grinned.

"I've been meaning to do that so absolutely. Underoos, suit up." 

"Seriously?" Peter asks.

"As a heart attack."

"Don't joke about that Tony." Stephen says with a wince before sipping his tea.

Harley grins. "Can I shoot him with my potato gun?!"

Peter gawks. "No! What is wrong with you?!"

[peacenik0]

In A Dark Place

by @peacenik0 and @observeroftheuniverse

This part is pretty PG-13, some graphic imagery and disturbing stuff though. But what can I say, the title fits.

Summary: Scully works to regain her power, and define her relationship with Mulder in the wake of their ordeal with Skrinavich.

Read Chapters 1-3 on ao3 I promise you won’t regret it.

Tagging @today-in-fic, @improlificinsarcasm

Last time on “In a Dark Place”...

“Anything…” SMASH!  “You say...” CRACK!  “Can and and will... “ BAM! Mulder pummels Skrinavich’s face in time with his words. “Be used against you in the court of law…” The other man doubled over, crumpling as Mulder strikes him again and again.

“Agent Mulder!” He hears Skinner’s voice, feels distant hands on his shoulders trying to pull him back, but he shrugs them away, laser focused on beating the shit out of their former captor. Mulder is insane with passion and fury as he slowly brings his fist back one last time. Skrinavich cowers underneath him, whimpering and bloody.

“This is for Scully, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” With all his might, Mulder smashes Skrinavich’s temple with brute force, knocking the other man out cold. Again there are hands on his shoulders, desperately trying to restrain him. This time they finally succeed in pulling Mulder off Skrinavich. Skinner steps in front of him and forces Mulder’s arms down to his sides. Behind him another agent assists. Mulder struggles for a moment, panting hard, before his rage leaves him in a rush.

“Mulder, what the hell were you thinking?!” Skinner shouts. He clenches his jaw and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Are you okay?”

Mulder doesn’t answer. The room is suddenly swimming. The back of his throat tastes like fear and bile. His eyes dart around, searching for Scully in the swarm of agents.

“Scully?” he calls, feeling desperate and empty. But Scully is gone. Gone.

---

Part 4

Scully watches as Mulder attacks Skrinavich with an unusual sense of pride at his display of physical revenge. She almost wishes she could join in on the pummeling. Honestly she has never wanted to shove a gun up someone’s anus and pull the trigger so badly before. The other agents seem to share a similar sentiment; a couple of them help Skinner grab at Mulder’s shoulders, but it’s their first few attempts are half-hearted. If there is a lawsuit to be had here, they have clearly decided to cross that bridge if and when they come to it.

She is so engrossed in the display that she does not notice the EMT come up next to her. She startles as she feels a blanket being wrapped around her shoulders. A pair of EMTs lift her up on a stretcher. The EMTs examine the splint on her ankle, shine lights into her eyes, and ask her questions, but she struggles to focus on what they are saying. They quickly wheel her outside of the shack like structure, and load her into the ambulance.

“Wait! What about Mulder?” Scully asks a stocky female EMT with short curly hair. Her voice is on the edge of commanding and desperate. “My partner, Agent Mulder; I need to make sure he’s okay!”

“I’m not sure ma’am,” the EMT begins in low voice as she carefully unwinds Mulder’s crude splint from Scully’s ankle. Scully briefly glimpses the insignia on the EMT’s uniform - Barb -  but Scully doesn’t care what her name is, she just wants to see Mulder. “I believe he’s being taken to the hospital in another EMS vehicle.”

“Which hospital are you taking me to?” Scully winces as Barb places a saline IV in Scully’s arm. Scully has barely had any water for many hours, and she knows she must be dehydrated at this point.

“Frederick Memorial.”

“I want like him to ride with me.” Scully demands. Barb applies a cold pack to her ankle. Scully had almost forgotten until that moment. Relief soon floods her body as the swelling starts to go down.

“Look ma’am, I don’t make these decisions, I’m just here to treat your injuries and get you to the hospital as soon as possible.” Barb continues to work quickly and efficiently to take off the splint Mulder made for her. “This splint isn’t half bad, especially considering what I gather about the circumstances when you made it.”

“My partner helped me.” Scully watches as Barb goes to put Mulder’s belt in a resealable plastic bag. “Wait, I want to keep that. I want to make sure he gets it back.”

“Okay, fine.” Barb hands Scully the item, and she clutches it tightly to her chest. A wave of affection wells up inside her as she remembers the way her tenderly cared for her injury. “Your ankle looks broken. That splint helped reduce the strain and swelling. Smart thinking.”  Scully reluctantly holds still while the EMT begins fitting her for a medical grade brace.

“Yes well, I am a medical doctor…” Scully says with an air of superiority.

“Ah, well now that makes sense… doctor’s are always the worst patients.” The sound of sirens fills her ears as the ambulance rushes away from the scene.

---

Just over an hour later, Scully sits alone with her thoughts in a hospital bed. As soon as she reached the hospital, she was asked if she wanted a rape kit, which she vehemently refused. Dried on sweat, dirt and seamen cling to her skin, leaving a grimy film all over her. God, what she wouldn’t give for a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and a large pizza with everything on it.

Now, she looks down at the white plaster cast on her leg, grateful that she only suffered a hairline fracture to her Fibula. The doctors estimate about six weeks in the cast, and a few more weeks in a walking boot. This means that she will be unable to return to the field for a while, a fact that frustrates her to no end. If she can focus on work, then she won’t have to think about what just happened to her. Scully looks up as she hears a knock on the door. A female agent with mousy brown hair and a clipboard enters the room.

“Agent Scully,” the young agent begins in a soft voice. “My name is Lizzie Kray, I’m from the Baltimore field office, how are you feeling?” The other woman pulls up a chair next to Scully’s bed.

“Fine, despite the circumstances.” Scully says, attempting to stuff down her feelings. Agent or not, she does not need to rehash everything with this stranger.

“Yes, well, you’ve been through quite an ordeal.” Lizzie says pulling out a pen from her suit jacket. “I have a few questions about what happened to you and Agent Mulder.” Scully immediately perks up at the mention of Mulder’s name.

“How is he? When can I see him?”

“The last I heard, Agent Mulder was being checked out by hospital staff...” Lizzie clears her throat, and looks like she is trying to summon up some courage that she does not yet possess. “Uh, Agent Scully, I’ve been told that you are to refrain from seeing Agent Mulder until you’ve both been fully debriefed, and our people are able to fully assess the situation.”

“What?” Scully grits, her anger rising in her throat. “No…I want to see him right now!” Agent Lizzie’s eyes bug out of her head.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully,” Lizzie swallows hard. “But I’ve been told we need to follow the FBI protocol on this case.”  Scully’s shoulders tighten in frustration at the red tape and bureaucracy of working for a Federal agency. “Witnesses say that Agent Mulder was on top of you in an... aggressive position when federal agents entered the room. He also physically attacked the alleged perpetrator... ” Lizzie pauses to look down at her clipboard. “Damien Skrinavich.” Scully scoffs, and rolls her eyes.

“I’m sorry, have you even read the casefile on Skrinavich?” Scully asks the younger woman, unable to believe they would send someone so unprepared to take her statement.

“No, not yet. I am only in here to get your version of the events. From what I gather, Mr. Skrinavich took you and your partner hostage, and at some point during this ordeal Agent Mulder sexually assaulted you.”

Scully’s stomach turns over at that word. Is that what they think?

“No, you have it all wrong. Agent Mulder did NOT sexually assault  me.” Scully grits out darkly. “And I don’t want to hear you or anyone else use that word to refer to what happened, am I understood?”

Her voice is too loud, too forceful for this poor woman who surely means no harm, but Scully doesn’t care. She will not allow what happened to be twisted into making Mulder out to be a villain.

“If you had bothered to read the file,” Scully grits through clenched teeth. Lizzie cowers in her chair. “Then you would understand. It’s all part of Skrinavich’s M.O. He chained us up and threatened us at gunpoint to perform sexual acts for his own sick amusement. Agent Mulder didn’t want to go through with it. I was the one who insisted on…” Scully trails off, realizing she does not have a word that really describes what happened between her and Mulder. “...to save both of our lives. I am telling you with utmost certainty that Agent Mulder didn’t assault me.”

“I believe you Agent Scully,” Agent Lizzie says timidly, she is shaking like a leaf. “I’m just trying to do my job.”

“Well, you’re not doing it well enough! I can’t believe the Baltimore field office sent in some junior agent, unprepared, to a handle a high profile case like this! They should be ashamed of themselves!” Her nostrils flare in disgust. “I want to speak to your SAC. No, better yet, I want to speak to A.D. Skinner!”

“Uh… yes ma’am.”

“And here’s a lesson from a more senior Agent, Liz-zie” Scully begins with venom in her voice “Next time, before you question a victim, try reading the goddamn casefile!”

---

A half hour later, Scully still hasn’t been fitted for her crutches, or been able to see Mulder.  Growing restless, her mind immediately goes to all the worst possible scenarios: Mulder handcuffed to a hospital bed, arrested after beating up the Skrinavich; Mulder alone and racked with unnecessary guilt; Mulder being interrogated like a perp, accused of raping her... Scully shudders at the image of some other uninformed, incompetent agent shouting at Mulder in a vain attempt to make him confess to something he didn’t do. She quickly makes up her mind that she is going to see him, one way or another. She presses the call button on the side of her bed. After several minutes of arguing - culminating in a threat to walk on her broken ankle if she has to - she is finally able to convince the nurse to take her down to the ER.

They get to the triage desk, and Scully clears her throat loudly to get the attention of the nurse on duty.

“Excuse me, you have a patient, Fox Mulder. I’d like to know what room he’s in.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, I am not supposed to give out that kind of information to anyone other than family due to HIPPA guidelines.”

“I should be listed as the emergency contact on his forms. My name is Dana Scully.” The duty nurse looks at her blankly, making no move to check the computer in front of her. “His date of is birth ten thirteen nineteen sixty one.” Still the nurse does nothing.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I need to get your request signed off on by a doctor or the hospital admin.”

“Then do it!” Scully says, the anger rising in her voice. The duty nurse falters, and Scully almost feels guilty for yelling. Almost.  “Listen, it’s been a long day, and you have no idea the hell I’ve just been through. I am tired, hungry and covered in a whole slew of substances. All I want is to see my partner. And one way or another I am going to see him, even if I have to walk down there myself.” Scully points to the cast on her leg.

“I’ll, uh, see what I can do, ma’am.” Finally the nurse picks up the phone, then types a few commands into her computer. After a few moments, her efforts are successful. “He’s in room, two-o-three.”

“Thank you.”

When Scully first sees him, his back is turned to her. Her breath catches in her chest for a moment. She is reminded of the first time she saw him when he got back from Tunguska, the unmatched feeling of joy she felt when he walked into that senate hearing. She clears her throat, and he turns to face her.

“Hey…” Scully can’t help the smile when she sees him in front of her, safe and sound.

“Oh, hey!” Mulder’s eyes light up, and his expression goes soft. He looks like he might want to run up and embrace her, but he holds himself back. “Look we’re wearing matching outfits,” he cracks. A smile tugs at the corner of Scully’s mouth.

“Yes…” Scully looks down at her blue hospital gown, then back up at him. She’s never been so glad to hear one of his lame jokes. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” he says softly. “I was just about to come looking for you. How did you get down here?”

“Oh, I had to bully a junior agent and a few nurses… but all in a day’s work, you know.” She says dryly, Mulder chuckles lightly, and she’s glad to see his smile after all that they’ve been through.

“Uh,” he scratches the back of his head. “How are you feeling? I see they got you all fixed up.” He gestures to the cast on her leg.

“I’m fine, despite the circumstances.” Scully clears her throat, and picks at her fingernail. “ I wouldn’t mind a long hot shower and a decent meal though…”

“Me either, it’s been… quite…” Mulder drifts off, pulling at the loose collar of his hospital gown.

“You don’t have to say it… “ Her voice is soft, but firm.  She doesn’t want to talk about all of that right now. “Skinner is putting me on two weeks of medical leave, at least four visits to an FBI psychologist, and then another four weeks of desk duty until I’m able to return to the field.”

“Ooooh, ouch,” he smirks.

“What about you?”

“The doctor says I’m mildly concussed. Other than that and a chafed wrist, I’m fine. Skinner’s put me on mandatory two weeks of paid leave, then a psych eval.” He scratches the back of his head. “What’s a workaholic to do with all this time off from work?”

“Well you could start by cleaning your apartment,” Scully raises an eyebrow, and Mulder smirks. The air between them changes, and Scully finds herself unable to look away from his lips. Flashing back to the moment that she kissed him, she gulps as she remembers that their first kiss was in front of Skrinavich. She blushes deeply, eyes shifting away from his face as she thinks of how she let her feelings get the best of her. Clearing her throat, she says, “Actually, I think the mandatory leave might be a good thing. I could use some time to… sort things out, perhaps get a new perspective on what happened to us…”

“Oh…” Mulder mumbles, looking down at his shuffling feet. “Yeah...you are always telling me to take some time off.”

“Yes…” From behind her, she hears a nurse clear her throat nervously.

“Uh, Miss Scully, I’m sorry to interrupt but your doctor has a few more questions for you, and   they are ready to fit you for your crutches.”

“Uh, well I better go…” She gestures towards the door.

“Yeah, you better…” The nurse begins to wheel Scully out of the room. Before she gets very far, she feels Mulder’s hand on her should. “Hey, Scully. Over the break is it okay if - can I call you?” Scully reaches back and places her hand on top of his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Give me some time.” Her throat tightens, imagining the rejected look she is sure Mulder has on his face. “I’ll call you when I’m ready… I promise.” And with that, the nurse wheels Scully out of Mulder’s room.

---

Her apartment is a much different place when she is forced to be there. The haven becomes a prison. In the space of two afternoons, Scully runs out of things to do. Her laundry is caught up, her dishes are washed, her CD's and books are re-alphabetized. She is listless, bored. Reclining on her couch, bad ankle elevated, she tries four separate times to get absorbed in one of the many books on her backlogged reading list. Even the most recent medical journals fail to hold her attention.

The silence of her apartment - normally a source of calm - is suddenly deafening. Her mind wanders, flitting from subject to subject until it invariably lands on the events in Maryland.

A few days into her mandatory medical leave, her boredom gets the best of her. She decides to throw herself into the one case file she had on hand: Skrinavich’s. She already knows most of the stomach-churning details of his crimes, but there were a few things she picks up on that she had somehow missed. A plan of sorts had started to form. The thought of visiting Skrinavich and confronting him begins to ruminate and in this moment she knows what she has to do.

After she puts down the file, she is left again with the loneliness and silence. She wonders if this is why Mulder likes to keep his television on when he is home alone: to drown out the thoughts and memories. Except her memories are tactile. No matter how high she turns up a bad laugh track, she cannot drown out the memory of Mulder’s hand on her face, his lips surprisingly soft against hers. There was something in the way he touched her that night, something in the way he looked at her that she hesitates to name. Intuition tells her its love, but what kind she cannot be sure. There were moments where she was convinced she saw romantic love in his gaze, felt it in his body. Now she wonders if those feelings were merely what she wanted to see.

These thoughts come to her unbidden at all hours of the day and night. When she closes her eyes, she sees Mulder looking down at her, gaze penetrating straight into her soul as he enters her body.

She wishes she could return to work, to normalcy. This has always been her method of dealing with trauma: move on, don’t think about it. If she is able to function and move forward with her life, that is good enough for her.  She knows that is not how it’s supposed to work, but it has served her well enough. Why deal with hard and painful truths lying deep within her psyche if she doesn’t have to? Besides, remembering and dwelling on a trauma cannot fix anything. Talking to someone and replaying the event cannot undo what happened. So why bother?

Even as she longs for her usual coping mechanisms, she cannot deny the truth of her situation. This trauma is different from the others, because it didn’t happen only to her. Mulder was there too. They were both robbed of something that night. While she would be perfectly comfortable dismissing the implications of the attack for her own sake, she cannot. It wouldn’t be fair to Mulder. She cannot make that choice for him.

So, as much as she yearns to return to work, she also dreads it. Returning to work means seeing Mulder, and they are going to have to talk. There is so much to unpack from that night, including their emotions: the love she thinks she saw in Mulder’s eyes, and her own feelings she struggles to come to terms with. Expressing her emotions has never been her strong suit; just the thought of having that conversation with Mulder makes her mouth run dry.

She sits on her couch trying to run through possible conversations in her head.

“Mulder, we need to talk.”

No, that sounds too much like she is about to break up with him.

“Mulder, about the other night… I need you to know that I don’t blame you. The other night when I kissed you, I did it because I wanted to. You didn’t do anything that I haven’t already dreamed about.”

Not a terrible start, but it reveals too much too quickly.

“Mulder, the other night brought up some questions...Do you have feelings for me?”

Definitely not.

She cannot seem to come up with an opening she likes. Even in her mind, she cannot get very far in the conversation before she gets overwhelmed. After what Skrinavich did, she already feels too cracked open, vulnerable. She just isn’t ready to face Mulder yet.

---

Every night she goes to sleep waiting for the nightmares. It takes four nights before she sees Skrinavich in her dreams. She is back on that filthy mattress, handcuffed to the headboard. Skrinavich's dark, sallow eyes move slowly over her naked body, prickling her skin and making her gorge rise. He moves to loom above her. Cold metal brushes against her thigh. Skrinavich drags the gun barrel up toward the juncture of her thighs and Scully bristles. For a moment thinks he is going to-- but then he jerks away.

In a transition that makes sense only in dreams, Scully finds herself chained up to a wall, watching Skrinavich glare down at Mulder on the floor in front of her. Bruises have appeared on Skrinavich’s face. His eyes are ringed with black, the bridge of his nose is bent, and his lower lip split.

“Your partner here did quite a number on me, Red.” Skrinavich slurs. He grins, showing off teeth tinged with bright red blood. “He’s got a nice face. Shame what I’m going to do to it.”

With no further preamble, Skrinavich pulls back and slams his fist into Mulder’s face. Mulder cries out, blood dripping from his nose. Skrinavich punches twice more, his fists coming away red as more blood bursts from Mulder’s nose and mouth.  He kicks Mulder hard in the ribs.

“Stop it!” Scully yells.

Skrinavich ignores her and kicks Mulder in the ribs. Scully watches in horror as Mulder starts coughing, spitting blood. Skrinavich kicks again, and this time she can hear the sickening crack of bone.

“You’ll kill him!” Scully struggles against her restraints, heart pounding, until her wrists are raw. Pinpricks of blood bloom on her skin. “Mulder!”

Skrinavich keeps kicking. Mulder’s head drops to the ground, lolling.

“You son of a bitch!” She screams, voice cracking. Pulling and twisting her wrists, she continues to work at the restraints, but her efforts are fruitless. She is utterly powerless to do anything but watch as the iron scent of Mulder’s blood fills the air and the light in his eyes grows dim.

“Mulder!”

---

Scully jolts awake with Mulder’s name on her lips, the bitter flavor of adrenaline in her mouth. Her limbs are still heavy and her thoughts foggy as rolls over and grabs the phone from her bedside table. Without thinking, she dials Mulder’s number.

By the time she catches her breath and realizes what she’s doing, the line is already ringing. She blushes, feeling foolish. It’s the middle of the night, she didn’t even look at the clock before calling him.

Scully pulls the phone away from her ear, preparing to hang up, when he answers.

“Mulder.” His voice is thick, groggy. She must have woken him. And, God, she really has missed him. Just hearing his voice again is putting her at ease..

“Mulder, it’s, uh, it’s me.”

“Scully? What’s wrong? It’s -” she can all but hear him squinting at his alarm. “It’s almost three in the morning.”

“Oh, r-right.” She closes her eyes and mentally kicks herself. That’s what she gets for calling without looking at the clock. “ I’m sorry. I thought you might be awake anyway, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

“No, don’t -- I mean, don’t worry about it. What were you calling about? Can’t sleep?”

“I just had a… dream, that’s all.” It sounds even sillier when she says it aloud.

“About Skrinavich?”

“Yeah.”

“What -” he breaks off, silent for a moment. She can hear the gears turning in his head, trying to decide what to ask, whether he should ask at all. Finally he settles on: “I’ve been having dreams too. I guess they’re really more like nightmares.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about them?” She will gladly talk about his dream if it means taking the focus off of hers. Unless they are having the same dream. She wonders what the chances of that are.

“I’m not sure there’s much to talk about. They’re - I keep seeing parts of what happened. And some things that didn’t.”

“Like what?”

“Well, in a few of them I can tell that I’m… you know, hurting you. I want to stop but Skrinavich won’t let me. Then, afterwards, you won’t look at me.”

“Mulder…” Her heart clenches at how pained his voice sounds. She can only imagine what those nightmares must be like for him. He already blames himself, he doesn't need to be haunted by what could have happened on top of it all. It seems clear to her that he is afraid she blames him. “You didn’t hurt me. And I don’t blame you for what happened. It’s not your fault. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know you’ve told me you don’t blame me,” Mulder says carefully. “But…I guess I’m worried that even if you aren’t upset… that you’ll still be uncomfortable working with me, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“Oh.” She breathes. In truth, she is worried about the same thing, but not for the reason he probably thinks. Her fear is that she will not be able to look at him without seeing that tender look on his face as he pushed into her, or hear his voice without remembering the way he groaned her name in ecstasy. It had felt exquisite to come around the solid, hot length of him; she can’t forget that. Her face grows warm at the memory. She shifts and ignores the warmth starting to grow between her legs. She pauses to collect her thoughts. “Mulder,  I don’t want what that bastard did to come between us. I know we can get through this. I think there is more to say here, but I’m not ready yet.”

“I get it. It was a lot. Take as long as you need, Scully. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.” He says gently.

“Thank you.” She murmurs.

“I’m going to see him tomorrow.” She admits quietly.  They both know who she’s talking about.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” If she cannot exercise control over Skrinavich in her dream - a dream she suspects will become recurring - then her best option is to take control in real life.

“Yes. I- I have something I want to tell him. I feel like it’s important for me to confront him for myself, to show him that he hasn’t won.”

“Well, I’m sure you will use your best judgement around him. After all, I’ve seen you make bigger men shake in their boots.” Scully can hear his smirk over the line, it makes her smile.

Silence falls between them. Fabric whispers across the line, the sound of Mulder repositioning himself. Scully imagines him making himself comfortable, cuddling up with the phone pressed to his ear just as she is. She shifts and settles herself back against her pillow, drawing the blankets up around her in a protective cocoon. If she closes her eyes and listens carefully she can hear Mulder’s quiet breathing, almost like he is there with her. It is the ideal circumstance for her right now; a way to be with him without actually being with him. She wants his presence, but the reality of actually physically facing him - and all that encounter will entail - is too much.

“Mulder? Can you do me a favor?” She rolls onto her side. This shared space between them makes her feel safe. It emboldens her to ask: “Can you talk to me until we fall asleep?”

“Of course. I’d love to.”

And he does.

------

The next morning Scully wakes with the cordless phone still in her hand. The lack of dial tone tells her that she must have hung up at some point during the night, but she does not remember. She hopes she at least said goodbye to Mulder, unless he was asleep.

Scully makes a few calls to make sure everything is in order for her visit to Skrinavich at the federal prison. Showering and dressing take her longer than usual with the cast but by ten thirty she is ready. She calls a taxi, and directs him to take her to the locker where the evidence she located resides. On the way to the prison, she goes over the file inch by inch. Scully feels a sense of pride in her impeccable investigative skills. Her desire for justice is unmatched.

Once she reaches the prison, she confidently flashes her FBI badge at the front desk. The correctional officers immediately get her a wheelchair, but Scully declines; she is too proud for that. She holds her head high as she escorted through the many prison hallways. She stops for a moment, reaching in to touch the evidence hidden away in her trench coat pocket. Getting there on her crutches is a journey, but she knows she will command more power when she is standing tall. The sound of the clanging metal doors goes right through her. With each step she feels the angry fire within her being stoked.

When they finally reach his cell, Skrinavich is wearing an orange jumpsuit, and facing towards the cinder block wall. Scully clears her throat, and Skrinavich turns around. Just like in her dream, his face is a mess. One of his eyes is the greenish-yellow of a fading bruise, and there is a crease in his bottom lip where a split is starting to heal.

“Oh, well lookee here.” Skrinavich leers at her. Scully swallows a wave of bile in her throat; the injuries to his face certainly have not helped his looks.  “Red decided to pay me a visit. Couldn’t wait to come back for more, could ya?” Scully’s mouth form a hard line.

“Agent Mulder and I have petitioned the judge. Do you want to know what we asked her for?”

“Life in prison. I already know that, Red. ” Skrinavich sneers, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t seem to be taking Scully very seriously, and this only serves to make her angrier.

“Exactly. So take a good look around you,” Scully tells him firmly. She gestures to the cinder block walls around them. “Because this is the only view you’re going to get for the rest of your life.”

“Maybe so, but I still got what I wanted: to see two pretty people fucking like jackrabbits.” Skrinavich smirks. Scully feels the disdain and hatred coursing through her veins, her nostrils flare. “Whether you admit it or not… I know you liked it. I heard how you begged him to fuck you. I think you’re a little more bent than you give yourself credit for, Red.” Skrinavich taunts her. Scully drops her crutches, and lunges on one foot towards their former captor.

“Shut the hell up!“ Skrinavich laughs at her. Rage consumes her body, every nerve ending crackles with it.  “Right now, these metal bars are the only thing keeping me from coming in there and picking up where my partner left off, you sick BASTARD! ” She screams at him.

“Ooo-eee Red, I almost forgot how feisty you were. I think that partner of yours is too much of a pussy to handle you, ain’t he.” Skrinavich lets out an insane cackle.

“But none of that matters, because I told you that we were going to make you pay, and I fully intend to keep my word on that.” Scully smiles to herself. She is about to utterly destroy Skrinavich.

“Lisa Bailey and Zachary O’Donnell,” she enunciates the names very carefully, looking for a glint of recognition in Skrinavich’s eyes. “Do those names ring a bell to you?”

“Not that I recall…” Skrinavich itches his nose. A classic sign of lying, Scully is well aware of this.

“Well, they should. It seems to me that you got a little cocky, didn’t you?” Scully pulls a VHS tape out of the oversize pocket of her trench coat. “I was able to procure this video, in which you can clearly be seen coercing Miss Bailey and Mr. O’Donnell  to engage in numerous sex acts.”

“Do you think you’re giving me any new information here, Red?”

“Don’t get smug, Skrinavich.” Scully glares at their former captor. “All this would be bad enough, except for one pretty incriminating detail… Lisa and Zachary were both underage at the time of the incident.” She watches his face fall.

“They… they were?”

“Yes, and I talked to the judge this morning. It looks like we could also get you on two counts each of sexual assault of a minor, child pornography, and child prostitution.” Scully looks down feeling a sense of justice that is finally being served for those victims.“So that makes you a pedophile…do you know what they do to pedophiles in prison?”

“Red…” he gulps audibly.

“So it seems to me that you’ve messed with the wrong redhead, haven’t you, you sonovabitch!” Scully says in a clear authoritative voice.

“You see;  I’ve looked into the eyes of killers and monsters like you, I’ve seen more evils than even you can fathom… and you know what?” Skrinavich shakes his head.

“What?”

“I’ve won... EVERY. SINGLE . TIME!”  

---

When it really comes down to it, she misses Mulder. When you spend nearly every day with someone, you get used to them. They become part of you, in a way. Scully thinks back to all of the things that they have been through together: monsters, deaths of family members, abductions, cancer. All of these things would break many people, but they have become stronger through them.

Scully thinks of the way his body felt against hers. She couldn’t ignore it; the way he made her tingle inside and out. She remembers gasping in earnest as he pushed into her for the first time. Even now she feels her inner muscles clench at the thought, trying to grasp at something that isn’t there. Then she had felt it. Her first orgasm seemed to come out of nowhere, but at the same time, it had been building for years. Scully tried to fight it, but it overtook her body like a tidal wave.  She tried to hide it from Mulder, unsure if she was ready to show that part of herself to him. Certainly she had not wanted him to find out about her feelings that way. That was what made her the most angry - the fact that Skrinavich had taken something special away from them. Like their first time was forever tarnished, robbed from them by the sadistic ways of a madman.

Truthfully, during the act itself, there were times that she really had forgotten that Skrinavich was in the room watching them. Times when she looked into Mulder’s eyes, and was surprised to only see herself looking back. She hates that every time she thinks of her first time with Mulder, Skrinavich will always be there. If only she could go back, erase the bad parts, and start over.

It seems like an insane idea, but perhaps they could. Maybe they could take something that had been broken, and make it new again.

She needs to see him.

But no.

What if she gets to his apartment and Mulder tells her it was all an act? That their experience with Skrinavich was simply a way to make sure they stayed alive. In the moment, and even looking back, it felt so real, so genuine. But what if she was wrong? What would he say? Sorry, Scully, you know I care for you, but not in that way.

She hobbles around her apartment, thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn’t see him. What is she going to say anyway? Hey, Mulder, when we were forced to have coitus with each other, it kinda forced me to acknowledge that I have feelings for you… It sounds so stupid. She can think of a thousand reasons not to go… one thousand one, one thousand two.

Then she sees it. His black belt, coiled neatly on top of her dresser. Under her fingertips, she feels the creases in the well-worn leather. In her mind’s eye, she sees Mulder kneeling down, fashioning her splint with so much tenderness and care. Her heart wells up to the brim.

She touches her lips, and feels his kiss; passionate and sweet and loving all at once. You can’t fake that, can you?

So she hobbles down to the corner and hails a taxi. The cabbie looks her up and down before he throws her crutches in the trunk.

“Hegel place…” she begins. “Um… wait.” Her mind breaks apart.  She remembers his eyes, dark and deep, the way she saw herself in them. “Yes, Hegel Place, Alexandria. Thank you.” The cab jolts forward into traffic. Scully clutches Mulder's belt tightly in between her fingers. 

A life-line in the darkness.

TO BE CONCLUDED IN PART 5/ EPILOGUE

---

Tagging friends: @defnotmeyo, @contrivedcoincidences6, @bevh78, @illnevermeettheground, @scully-eats-sushi, @storybycorey, @tngbabe, @iloveurscratchybeard, @monikafilefan, @monaiargancoconutsoy, @shyromanticfreak, @piper-scully, @frangipanidownunder, @babygirlmulder1018, @vespagirl04, @country3living, @baronessblixen, @danaedaniels, @damn-mulder, @spiritedballroomdancer, @skullsmuldon, @pickingoutchinapatterns, @greekowl87, @lappina, @pearsalot, @lifeisshortdrinkthewine, @txf-fic-chicks, @msraddicted, @xfimnotdone

[lonely-bored-writer]

Is Everything Okay? Ch. 8

Daniel snapped a piece off of his protein bar, chucking the piece into his mouth. His eyes scanned across the students, who had chosen to have lunch outside, from his perch on the roof of the school. It took some persuading, but he was able to convince his two friends that he would be fine. The two have become much like helicopter parents since this whole incident. The two did not fail to notice the decline in their friend's health, even just the few days have done some damage to Danny.

Danny sighed when he noticed his bar had been finished. He wasn't in any mood to deal with the students in the cafeteria, so he'll just eat something later. When he meets Sam and Tucker at the nasty burger. A frown etched it's way onto his face when he realized that's the only other time he eats anything. He's been so focused on getting his work done and trying to figure out how to fix things that he forgets too often he still needs fuel.

"I didn't know anyone else at lunch here." Danny jumped, turning he was met with a student. Immediately Danny knew he was one of the potheads of the school. "Mind if I sit?" Daniel hesitated for a moment, everyone knew when you invite a pothead to sit with you, your inviting them smoke near you. At least that what happens in his school.

"Sure why not." Danny nodded, taking in the teen's appearance. He reminded him of Sam, dressed in mostly black. His purple hair was flopped to the side, the other was shaved. Aside from his hair, the nose and eyebrows piercings were the most noticeable feature. "I'm Danny." He offered his hand.

"Yea, I know. I'm Chris." Chris shook Danny's hand, offering him a smile. "Came up here to dodge the masses?" Danny chuckled, rubbing the back of his head.

"That obvious?"

"Nah, I do the same." Chris smirked, popping a piece of brownie in his mouth. "Want some?" He offered Danny,who politely refused.

"I haven't seen around much" Danny commented offhandedly, hoping Chris would explain. This prompted a laugh and a shake of the head from the other male.

"Probably cause I skip pretty much all my classes." Chris tilted his head, brown eyes staying on the students below them. "I moved here, like a month or so ago, since then I've just been dodging most of my classes. Some teachers don't even know what I look like." The playful tint by the end of Chris's sentence caused Danny to laugh.

"Can't lecture you there." Danny laughed, shaking his head. "I've skipped so many classes... or showed up really late to them." Chris laughed, pointing a finger at the teen.

"Brother of Jasmine Fenton not a golden student? I'm shocked." Chris chuckled, his features sobering after the short laugh. "Don't you just hate it when people compare you to family?" He asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Tell me about it." Daniel sighed. "I have to a be genius because of my family. You?" Chris tossed the plastic wrap that held his brownie off the roof, chuckling when it hit a jock's head.

"Doctors." Chris ran a hand through his hair. "My dad's a neurosurgeon. My mum was a pediatrician. Damn shame, I'm planning on being an artist" Chris laughed, taking a glance at the watch secured to his wrist. "Well, looks like it's time for-" The school bell cut his sentence short.

The pair traded goodbyes. Chris stayed on his perch on the school roof, while Daniel made his way to the last period of the day. Anxiety drummed through his veins as he made his way through the halls. His mind drifting to what it would be like to live with his teacher...

Danny's eyes watered slightly at the view of his living room, the only light came through the slightly opened curtains. Daniel floated softly through the room, a plain black bag thrown over his shoulder. He made a mental note to ask his mum and Jazz why they weren't staying at the house... Or at least ask Jazz. He sighed and shook his head, he needed to hurry and get his things.

He floated through the roof, into his bedroom. Forgetting his mission to make it seem like no one was there, Danny planted himself on his bed, looking around his room. He never thought after only two days away from his home, he would miss it so much. He never thought he would regret complaining about his parents, or how much he'll do anything to hear Jazz's psychobabble. He'd never expect two days could change things so much.

The sudden ring from his phone startled the teen, causing him to phase halfway through the bed. A soft laugh escaped him, lightening the mood that had settled, he pulled himself up. Shaking his head, he walked forward to float before his Dumpty Humpty poster. He phased his hand into the wall, quickly locating a small plastic bag. Taking a look in Danny nodded, placing the bag into the one that was laid on his shoulder. In that smaller bag rested a small first aid kit, and a few snacks.

Phasing off into the bathroom, Danny sighed. He had ten minutes before he needed to be back at the holding home. Time to make quick work of the remaining stashes.

Danny tugged the sleeves further down his arms, his pacing continued it's slow rhythmic pattern. He had made it back to the home with three minutes to spare, and it has seemed like an eternity since he landed in his room. Lancer should be arriving soon, and Daniel was nowhere near ready for any of it. Given Danny didn't really have any hard feelings for what Lancer did, he more so was angry with himself, so that wouldn't be an issue. No, the issue was the fact that he would be staying to live with a teacher. For god knows how long.

The teen groaned, falling back onto the bed. He seriously needed to stop this anxiety from growing. Everything will be just fine, him and his friends will figure this all out. He won't need clockwork, and it will all be just fine. Danny sighed, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Maybe if he thinks like that enough, he might start believing it himself.

"Danny!" A call came from down the stairs. "Lancer is here." Danny strained his ears, he caught the soft murmur of voices. Standing, he shouldered on the black bag that held his small group of possessions. He could do this, it'll all be okay. He pulled open the door and made his way down the stairs, living with Lancer can't be so hard, right?

Daniel groaned, dropping his head into his hands. Living with Lancer wasn't going to be easy, he now knew that for sure. Lancer had insisted he eat something because he hadn't seen Danny at lunch. He didn't help when Lancer decided to pull a Jazz and talk about how something traumatic can cause eating issues. Just the few hours he has been here, he was met with a different side of Lancer.

A side in which Danny realize that Lancer would make a great father. He had made sure Daniel had everything he needed before he left. Danny snorted, he just registered that he never caught why Lancer left the house. The teen flopped back, picking up his phone. He had a meeting with Sam and Tucker at the Nasty Burger, then he would have to come back, pretend he went to bed, and sneak out for night patrols.

A yawn escaped him, quickly followed by a shiver and a cold release of air. Yet an other groan passed from his lips, annoyance filling his veins. As much as he had misplaced aggression, didn't mean he always wanted to release it on a ghost. His eyes slide closed, he really did not feeling like dealing with anything right now.

However, the ghosts had different ideas. Another violent shiver raked through him, a freezing puff of air escaping his lips. A frustrated groan sounded from him, he jumped into a sitting position. Moving he phased the small bags he gathered into the walls of the home, two in his room, one in the bathroom, another in the kitchen, and lastly in the living room. Making a mental note to remember where he placed them, he shifted to Phantom and went on his way to deal with the ghost that insisted on bothering him.

With a soft thud, Danny fell into the bedroom he was staying in. A hand pressed tightly at the bleeding cut that laid across his chest, he propped himself up off the floor with the open windowsill. He focused his hearing for a moment, holding his breath in hopes that Lancer wasn't home. He heard the soft breaths of someone sleeping, a relieved sigh escaped him.

Daniel had met up with Sam and Tucker after a run in with Johnny 13, and Kitty. Before he could even tell them about Lancer, more ghosts decided it would be a great idea to cut their meeting short. They kept popping up one after the other and they had to make a few stops to the Fenton Ghost Portal to empty out the Fenton Thermos.

Grabbing a bag from inside the wall, he flopped himself onto the bed. He shifted back to Fenton, and pulled his shirt off. A wince escaped him when his eyes landed on the gash currently leaking out red blood with little specks of green. The knowledge that the cut was still bleeding told Danny his healing factor wasn't going to be kicking in. Whatever Skulker hit him with still stunted his healing.

His eyes dropped, a yawn made it past him. He tried to blink away the tired tears, he needed to get this clean and covered... Well, maybe he can do the cleaning in the morning. Stifling another yawn, Danny grabbed the gauze and wrapped it tightly around his chest, wincing at the pressure it gave. He fell to a lay, the bag of medical supplies sprawled across his bed.

He could close his eyes for just a little. He'll be up soon before school started, and he could clean and properly bandage his wound then. For now, Daniel would give in to his exhaustion. Just a few hours, turning he set an alarm onto his phone. He needed to be sure he was up. With a yawn, cobalt eyes slid close and Danny fell into a deep slumber...

[ronnievwrites]

it’s a matter of life and death

flash fiction based on these two prompts by @writing-prompt-s

They never took a break. They never did anything but their work. There was always work to be done. As the population grew they got busier. There were periods of time when they couldn’t stop for a single moment, staying in one place, collecting one soul after another. Humans called these “war” and “plague” and “famine”, but to them it was just a busy day.

Humans mastered technology and suddenly plague and famine took less and less. But war grew stronger. Humans got so efficient at killing they wondered if maybe some human will take over their job.

Then suddenly they got very busy. They were busy for a long time and then suddenly they were not. It wasn’t just that they weren’t busy, they didn’t have any assignments at all.

At first, they were happy. It was the first time they felt such emotion - maybe the first time they felt anything at all - but it was also the first time they had time to think for themself. They roamed the earth, reading books and trying new things. They were all alone, but that was nothing new. They were always alone. But they’ve never even ran into a single human, and after some time it started to bother them. Not enough to do anything yet. They’ve never meddled in humans’ affairs, other than their one domain, of course. They’ve never really done anything, over their impossibly long existence, and they weren’t really sure how.

Until they got a case.

Infection, humans called this particular ailment. There was nothing they could do. They took the soul away.

But they lingered, watching the group of humans curiously. Humans had different ways of grieving and they’ve seen them all. This group of humans was devastated, but they were holding themselves together. They have all met Death before. They knew them, intimately. They saw them everyone.

There was only a handful of them. Death went back to roaming the earth, this time with a purpose, but they never found anyone else.

It was just them. They were the last humans on earth.

They stayed near the group. It was like in the beginning. No use straying away from the only population.

“Mom?” a young one asked an older human.

“Yes, dear?”

“Why does it smell like a hospital in here?”

Death stared at the boy curiously. They were nowhere near a hospital. The humans would love to be near a hospital, because their supplies were limited, but they haven’t been very lucky lately.

“It’s just the chemicals, sweetie,” the mother answered, but they could tell she didn’t really believe it.

They knew that hospitals reeked of them. Humans would imagine they’d sense them in cemeteries, but they didn’t tend to linger after a job well done. Until now.

“If we don’t find more medication,” said a different human, far from the small ones. “We’re going to lose someone again.”

“We’ve been walking for so long. Exhaustion will kill them just as surely.”

“We’ve already raided everything that was left here, Sam. We need to move on.”

Death got up and walked and walked and walked until they found a place that wasn’t just rubble. They grabbed a first aid kit and several bottles of the most common prescriptions. They’ve spent so much time in the emergency rooms during their long life. They knew exactly what to get.

They got back. It was nighttime now, but still the same day. Time worked differently for them than it did for the humans. They put the things down, making sure they were outside of the field of vision of the humans keeping watch. Only then did they think about what they’ve just done.

They weren’t supposed to help, were they? This job didn’t really come with an instruction manual. They didn’t exist until they were needed and they’ve only ever did one thing.

What happens to a creature with only one purpose when that purpose is over? Humans would imagine retirement, but was there such a thing for a creature such as them?

Deep down they knew there wasn’t. There would be no one to reap them. They would just cease to exist.

The morning came and the humans rejoiced. This was what they needed. They kept asking each other Was it you? Do you know who’s done this? Where did they find it? and Whoever you are, thank you.

Death didn’t think anyone’s ever thanked them. Not like this, certainly. It felt…good. Their job was one thankless task after another. They never asked to do it.

They stayed. Occasionally they’d overhear the humans talking about something they needed and they’d go out and return with it. The humans moved around, trying to find a place they could call home, a place they could live and grow food and Death left maps in their backpacks, hoping it would help.

They were just packing up their most recent camp. One of the human’s pregnancy was progressing and they needed to get to a civilization, or at least a place that used to hold a civilization, soon. “Molly!” an older human called. Molly was one of the children. She was clutching a teddy bear that Death brought back from a trip for children’s things. “That’s your pendant, isn’t it? You should pay better attention to your things, dear, we’re not coming back here.”

“I know,” she nodded, with all the wisdom of a child who’s been forced to grow up too soon. “I left it here for them.”

“For who?”

“For the one who brings us things. The one who smells of hospitals.”

The old human stared at her. He knew who she was talking about, of course.

“I think,” said an older child, one who would almost not be considered a child anymore. “That it’s the other way around. Hospitals smell of them.”

“Yes,” agreed Molly. “But we knew it as the hospital smell before we’ve started noticing them.”

The humans moved on, but death stood there. They picked up the pendant. It was made out of plastic, a terrible tacky color, but it held a great emotional significance to Molly. And she gave it to them.

They put it around their neck and continued on with the journey.

With the help of the maps and old signs along a road, they finally found a village. It was empty and barely standing, but it was a place they could stay, a place they could rebuild. It didn’t have a hospital or a big supermarket, but it had a pharmacy and gardens and cars with just enough petrol to go exploring further.

The humans didn’t need them so much now, but they stayed anyway. Kept an eye on the children when the adults were busy. One day they were looking for a lost ball with them, when they heard that the pregnant human went into labour.

They rushed to the house she was occupying with the human who used to be a doctor. “Deep breaths,” ze told her. “It’s going to be okay.”

It wasn’t. They’ve been present during childbirth so many times, but they’ve never ended well. The doctor had the right equipment and another humans helping zir, but the other humans were clueless. They’ve never done anything like this.

“Help me,” the doctor said. “I know you’re here. I know you know what to do. Help me. Please.”

“This is not my job!” they screamed, knowing no one would hear them. Their voice sounded strange, probably because this was the first time they’ve used it. They’ve never felt panic before and they found they did not like it. “This is the exact opposite of my job!”

But they were needed. The human asked them for their help. Ze talked to them. No one’s ever done that.

They helped them, not caring that all the others saw was cotton balls and scissors levitating in the air. The cat was out of the bag anyway. And after the longest five hours of their life, there was a new tiny human in the arms of the tired mother.

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking away from her child briefly to look at where she thought they were. “Thank you.”

They went outside. They didn’t bother cleaning the blood off of themself. There was always dried blood on them.

“Salma had her baby!” one human excitedly told another. “They’re both okay. Thanks to Life.”

“Life was there,” someone else said. “They helped.”

“It’s a girl!” Salma’s older child told his friends. “I have a sister! Her name is Aisha. It means life, because Life saved us.”

They watched the humans. They’ve never seen them this happy.

And for the first time in their long life, Life smiled.

[dxmedstudent]

dx I'm on my first placement where I'm living in hospital accommodation and I'm finding it really hard to leave work behind me at the end of the day. because I can't get any physical distance from the hospital I think, and I'm doing acute care and don't know anyone's outcomes, it hangs over me. not really sleeping at the min. do you have any advice?

Hello! I can empathise, I’ve had outfirms since 3rd year of med school, and stayed in in hospital accommodation for a lot of that time. I’ll be honest, hospital accommodation can be pretty grim; unlike private accommodation, hospitals put very little (read: no) effort into making it feel homely or even vaguely nice. It can feel like an extension of hospital. And I’ve lived close to hospital often enough to agree that it’s hard to distance yourself when you can literally see your workplace from your bedroom window. It’s also difficult to maintain sleep hygeine when you basically live in one room. For that, I’d suggest taking walks after you finish uni for the day, if it’s not too late. Explore the local area, and find the nice places to be, if there are any. Part of your problem is the ‘trapped within four walls’ feeling that comes of living in hospital accommodation. I recommend looking up sleep hygeine, and seeing if there’s anything you can improve on, though it can be tough when we live in a constricted area. I’d also recommend befriending the other students living there, if at all possible. When I’ve liked who I’m living with, it doesn’t much matter to me what the flat itself is like, because living with people you get on with makes it fun. Whereas if you’re kind of alienated from each other, then it’s more miserable for everyone. Try to get everyone to have tea, or cook together once in a while, it might make a big difference. Perhaps even go out together as a group, particularly if you’re all stuck miles away from wherever you all live during termtime. That’s the most fun part of outfirms; the way everyone kind of bands together when you’re stuck in the middle of nowhere. I’d also recommend changing your room environment to make it feel more like home. I could never get my friends or colleagues who lived in hospital accommodation for months or even years, but brought so little of themselves to their rooms. Like they looked really bare? That’d make me feel miserable.  The only thing I would not recommend is candles. The fire alarms are always suuuper sensitive. But there are lots of other things you could do. Little things like:

Bring a blanket from home; even if they give you bedding, it’s always really impersonal. Half the time it’s standard hospital stuff.Something from home can make a real difference.

Warm clothes. Sometimes the heating really sucks. One particular winter when I was a student, I ended up wearing a scarf to bed because the heating just wasn’t functional at all during a cold snap.

Fairy lights. I also like fake flowers; they don’t need watering or replacing, and they don’t die.

Houseplants. I have several, and they keep growing, and now I have to think about how I cart a 25cm cactus everywhere, but I still recommend  having some greenery.

Get a couple of nice cushions.

Print photos of all your friends and family. Stick them on the wall. Lots of hospital accommodations have cork boards or something, but otherwise they tend not to care what you do with the wall too much. I have pictures of friends and family from a while back, but also graduation photos to remind me of how hard I worked to get here.

It doesn’t just have to be photos of loved ones. Put up postcards you like. Or inspirational quotes. Or artwork you like. Or pictures of cats. Or pictures of your favourite series, or celebrity crush, or favourite car, or football team, or favourite memes or whatever. It doesn’t actually matter, as long as it’s stuff that makes you happy. In the past, I’ve put up my own art on the walls. Currently, my walls are covered in nice landscape photography, Alphonse Mucha’s art, and cupcakes, all from calendars over the years; I tend to keep the photos I like for putting up when I need cheering up.  I haven’t bothered framing anything nice yet, because its much easier to move around loose paper than framed artworks or photos. One day, when I settle down I’ll have proper framed stuff on the walls. 

Bring something that you do to unwind. Knitting, art materials, ereaders,  games etc. I’ve seen students bring their gaming consoles. I’ve had colleagues bring their keyboards. Have stuff there that helps you to relax. It may be a room you work in, but it also needs to be a room that you can relax in. You can’t really relax if you haven’t brought any of your hobbies with you. For me it’s art materials. I can’t live anywhere without something to create with. It doesn’t even matter if I’m too busy to draw, I still have to have some nearby, just in case I get some spare time.

I bought a colourful plastic tablecover because the tables are usually nasty. Now I look at cupcakes when I’m studying.

Your favourite books or films or CDs etc. You don’t have to bring a huge collection, but it helps to have some stuff that makes you feel happy. I always feel better when my room isn’t just filled with medical books or notes.

Bring the medical books you most find useful, leave the rest at home. You do want at least a few books, because your local hospital library will be much smaller than your university library, and they won’t have everything. If you can leave stuff in your old room or with your parents, it makes it easier because then you don’t need to bring everything.

All hospital accommodation usually has things like table lamps, microwaves or kettles. All of them give you a desk and a chair. There’s usually a dustbin. The flat should have ample cutlery and crockery. If any of this is missing or not working, let accommodation know so they can replace it.

If they don’t have a working kettle, I recommend getting an affordable one from the supermarket, because life is miserable when you can’t even make yourself a cup of tea.

Some basic cleaning kit. Even if there are cleaners (there usually are), I’ve always found that accommodation can be cleaner. Making sure your environment is up to your personal cleanliness standard will probably make you feel better.  Since you can’t burn candles or incense, you can get an infuser or something else to make your room smell nice.

These things can all build a feeling of being ‘home away from home’, particularly if you take them with you from placement to placement. As for acute care, I always found that tricky about being on-call or working in AMU myself. I felt that I never really saw the full effect of our treatment, because no sooner had we started treating, then we shipped them off to another team. On the plus side whenever I did ward cover on-calls, I recognised so many of the patients because they’d all come through our AMU. It made dealing with sickies on the ward a lot easier.  The good news is that you can actually follow patients up with  a modest amount of effort:

When seeing patients, note down their hospital number, initials and DOB. Perhaps ust keep a small pad just for it. Don’t write anything about their clinical conditions, you want this to be anonymised.

Or keep slightly more detailed notes, but keep these in the doctors’ office at hospital. Legally, any identifiable patient information shouldn’t leave the hospital or be left where anyone can see it. Regardless, you should throw the pad in the ‘ confidential waste’ bin when you finish your rotation. Don’t take patient identifiable information with you!

When you have free time, go up to the ward clerk and ask them if they can find out which wards some of your patients ended up on. It’ll take them seconds to find out, if you give them the hospital number.

When you have time, go up to those wards, and after introducing yourself to the ward team, you can either ask them what’s happened to your patients, or ask if you can peruse their notes to catch up. I’d be more than happy for students to be checking up on patients they have seen, and I don’t see why any clinicians or ward staff would object, as long as you’re wearing ID and don’t look suspicious!

 Patients seem genuinely touched to know that you’ve come over to see how they are doing, so you can always pop by and ask the patient themselves.

For me, it’s easier, because I can chase things like blood tests or Xrays on the system myself. But even I have to ask the ward clerk where my patients have gone, and I too sometimes have to get a hold of the day team looking after my patient if I want to check that they are OK. I still do it when I can, because it helps me get feedback on my initial diagnoses. Following up on patients is an important part of our learning process as clinicians, so it’s a great skill to get into the habit of.

I hope this helps :)

[adenil-umano]

spones with Spock's vulcan lyre?

[Also on AO3.

Prompts // Patreon // Ko-Fi]

The night the end of the world rained down upon his ears Leonard was sleeping fitfully on a cot in the break room.

It began first with sirens. Long accustomed to hearing the comings and goings of emergency vehicles Leonard paid no mind until the first detonation struck. It shook the building and he tumbled from bed, half-asleep. Dust collected in his hair at the second detonation.

He went to his patients because he had nowhere else to go. He stood over them, comforted them, protected them, and then finally when the hospital began to shake and fill with smoke he wheeled them out one after another after another. People who were more than just their broken bones, stitched bellies, bandaged heads. Who were more than the crying of panic and the screams of terror. He went back in. He came out with an old woman who fell to the ground beside a young man with a broken leg. They could not have met previously, yet they clung to one another with a fervent need. The building burned and his lungs filled with black smoke. He went back in. He came out. He went back in.

He did not come out.

Later, much later, when running made his lungs scream in agony he would blame this smoke.

He awoke the morning after the end of his world to cool hands on his forehead. A damp cloth. A pool of water at the corner of his eye. The hands brushed hesitantly over the soft skin lidding his eye, wiping away the smoke residue that still clung there.

Leonard was too weak to move and so he lay there, listening. He could hear the figure moving. The cloth plunged in water. The torrential downpour as it was wrung clean. Then the shuffling movement and the hesitant breathing of his savior.

He opened his eyes.

The other man was not human. He was Romulan, as far as Leonard could tell. He’d only ever seen pictures of them–grainy and blurry at bad angles. But the ears. The ears told the story. The man merely looked at him and said nothing.

He closed his eyes again and thought, I’m going to die.

His second breach of consciousness on the disturbingly sunny afternoon of that first day of the new broken world was quite different.

The Romulan made him sit up and drink a cup of water. “Did you nurse me back to health just so you could poison me?”

The Romulan arched an eyebrow. “It is no poison. If I wished for you to die there would be more logical ways to accomplish such a goal.”

Leonard had to agree and so he sipped from the tin camping cup. Now that he was semi-vertical he could look around at where he’d found himself and he didn’t like what he saw.

They were in a hollowed-out shell of a burnt building. At first Leonard assumed it was the hospital, but the look of it was all wrong. This was a house, he realized, a house which must have burned far longer ago than last night. The roof was cave in and at certain points Leonard could see plants and grass poking through the soot layering the ground. A stream of sunlight fell through the slotted beams of the roof and Leonard had the sudden thought that somewhere in the galaxy people were happy. Somewhere someone was getting married, or singing, or dancing. But not here.

“What is this place?”

The Romulan looked about as if he had never noticed the building before. “My home.”

“Uh-huh. What are you, Romulan? Some kind of leftover from the attack? We must have gotten a few shots back at your armada.”

“I am certain Earth’s defenses did indeed return fire, but it is unlikely they were successful in destroying even a fraction of the armada. Regardless, I am not a Romulan.”

“Those things you call ears beg to differ.”

He reached up and touched one. “I understand your error. I am a Vulcan.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“We are an insular species. We do not have your warp capability. Now, rest.” He pushed Leonard back to lying down. “I will explain everything later.”

Leonard wanted to argue but he was already exhausted and winded from just their brief conversation. He told himself he wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t let his guard down, and he was still telling himself that when he woke later up that evening.

Spock was his name. He gave Leonard that much, but his promise to explain everything never materialized.

“We must leave this place,” Spock said. “Romulan foot soldiers are sweeping the area.”

“Now wait a minute! I’m not going anywhere until you get to explaining what’s going on.”

“I do not know why the Romulans chose this moment to break the treaty.” Spock was packing a backpack with his supplies: a first aid kit, camping pots and pans, a stove, some food packs, a sleeping bag. “If you are referring to how I brought you here, I went to the hospital to seek medical aid. When the strike hit I was there.”

“Medical aid? Are you hurt?” In spite of himself, Leonard scanned Spock for any sign of injury. He couldn’t see anything, but who could tell with a Romulan–or a Vulcan, if that’s what he wanted to call himself.

“I am not. The need for a doctor has passed. Now please, we must leave.”

Leonard could tell Spock was about to leave without him and so he scrambled to his feet. Spock shouldered the backpack and then picked up another large black plastic case and swung it over his shoulder. Leonard wasn’t sure what was inside it, but it must have been important judging by the way Spock protectively curled one arm around it.

They ducked through the broken door frame and Leonard squinted in the half-light of the moon. They were in the woods. He didn’t really know the surrounding landscape of the city, but he knew that the woods were pretty far off. There was a dilapidated car in the driveway and Spock began to fill it with gasoline from a red container. And to the left of that was—

Leonard blinked. Fresh dirt, recently overturned. Perhaps five feet of soil. Someone was buried there.

The person formerly needing a doctor? Or something more insidious? And how had they died, anyway?

He was starting to grow more uncomfortable with the situation but he didn’t know what else to do but follow Spock into the car. There was a war on and he didn’t know where he was. He had no food and just his grimey, stinky scrubs between him and the elements. He basically had to follow Spock if he wanted to stay alive. He would keep an eye out for escape, but for now he couldn’t risk just running.

Car gassed, they loaded up, and it took Spock three tries to get the engine to turn over. The world had moved on to shuttlecars decades ago but the streets were still passable if you drove slow. At least, Leonard thought, the Romulans probably wouldn’t be looking for cars.

Spock took them into the night. He rolled down the windows so the air fluttered in, drying out Leonard’s eyes and leaving him cranky. But he could tell Spock was listening with those long ears of his; listening for foot soldiers or passing airships. Maybe Spock was a defector, Leonard thought. Or maybe it was a trap.

He trailed his fingers through the passing air outside the car, letting the wind catch the palm of his hand. Leonard thought of the fins of a shuttlecar and wondered when Earth’s counterattack would begin. He hadn’t seen anything yet.

They drove until the sun peeked above the horizon and then Spock drove the car into the ditch. The two of them piled tree branches over it. It wouldn’t fool a foot soldier, but from the air they were camouflaged. Then Spock started a fire in his camping stove and rehydrated some eggs.

Leonard watched Spock eat first and wondered if Romulans could be poisoned as easily as humans. But he was hungry, and so far Spock hadn’t tried to harm him. He decided to eat, tucking away with haste once he had his first taste. He hadn’t eaten in almost two days, he realized. He was starving.

“Tell me why you were at the hospital.”

Spock looked at him, and then away. “As I told you, I was seeking medical assistance.”

“Someone died.”

“Yes.”

Spock wouldn’t say anything more. When Leonard pressed him he merely got up and crawled into the back of the car. He lay down on the seat and held the black plastic case against his chest. Leonard left him alone.

He tried to walk away but there was no where to go. They were deep in the middle of nowhere. Once he saw a vehicle pass overhead and he thought about waving to it, but instead he hid. Better the devil he knew, he thought. He walked back to the car and napped fitfully in the front seat. He wondered if the old woman had gotten away. He thought about Jocelyn and Joanna, three states away. He wondered if Spock would take him there if he asked.

When Spock woke up he did ask. Spock didn’t answer, but Leonard was pretty sure they started heading a different direction once night fell.

When they crossed state lines they got their first radio signal.

Leonard hadn’t even realized the radio was on. It must have been dialed too low for him to hear. But suddenly Spock pulled over to the side of the road and turned up the knob and a grainy voice filtered in.

“–vivors recommended to take to the countryside. There are better chances of survival there. If you’re caught in a city and someone says they have heard of an evacuation plan do not listen. Repeat: do not follow anyone who claims there is an official evacuation. There has been no official word from the Federation or Starfleet regarding evacuation. Rumors of evacuation may be a Romulan plot intended to—”

Spock pulled back onto the road and they listened to the dire report on constant repeat until the voice faded out again, some three hundred miles later.

“Maybe he was lying,” Leonard said, mostly to himself.

“It is possible.”

Leonard turned to look at Spock’s profile, sharp and distinct in the darkness. Spock drove without lights and claimed his vision was superior. Leonard hoped to hell he didn’t drive them right into an ambush. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“As I have said I am not Romulan.”

“Then why do you look exactly like them?”

Spock was quiet for so long that Leonard thought he’d gone mute again. But then, “I do not know.”

They left it at that.

They crossed into Georgia just as the sun rose and had to quickly find a spot to make camp. They parked the car behind a burnt-out farmhouse and hoped no Romulans came to check that the job was done.

Leonard was afraid to look inside the house but he couldn’t stop staring at it. “What do they want with us?”

“Slaves, most likely. Romulans are not known for colonizing even conquered planets.”

Leonard spun around. “You shut your mouth!”

Spock blinked. “You asked, Doctor.”

“We aren’t conquered, you son of a bitch!”

Spock winced bodily. “Your people are dead.”

Leonard swung at him. Spock barely dodged, but the second swing didn’t come as much of a surprise to him. He caught Leonard’s arm and twisted it, and Leonard screamed in his face, cursed at him, tried to bite him. He tried to kick Spock and Spock knocked his legs out from under him and they went down in a tangle of limbs. They scuffled in the dirt until Spock had him pinned to the ground and Leonard realized he was sobbing.

Spock held him tightly, but they were no longer fighting. “I know,” he said. “Nam'uh hayal. Ni'droi'ik nar-tor, tushah nash-veh k'odu, ni'droi'ik nar-tor.”

Leonard didn’t understand what was happening. He sobbed into Spock’s shirt as Spock rocked him, muttering into his hair those alien words again and again.

Tushah nash-veh k'odu. Ni'droi'ik nar-tor.

He awoke later in the backseat of the car. He cracked open his eyes and saw Spock sitting in the passenger’s seat, the black plastic case on his lap. Spock ran his hands over the cracked plastic, long fingers catching on the indentations. Leonard closed his eyes again, exhausted. He slept.

They had not seen an air vehicle since the one Leonard had spotted their first night on the run. Leonard thought this was a good sign. Spock told him that the Romulans had likely taken all the slaves they could and would leave the rest of Earth to pick up the pieces so that they might return later, perhaps in one hundred years or so.

Leonard was too tired to argue.

When they arrived in Atlanta Leonard refused to let himself hope. The road here was less passable, and it took Spock several hours to pick his way around the city to the suburban sprawl just on the other side. There Leonard realized he was a fool. He had let himself hope.

There was nothing for them there. Not a person in sight. No signs of human life. Each identical house stood empty, hollowed out. They parked beside Jocelyn’s house and Leonard stepped out of the car. His feet carried him automatically up the walk. The door was ajar.

He stepped inside. “Jocelyn? Joanna?”

Silence.

He searched the house with Spock trailing behind him like a damned shadow. Joanna’s room was like a snapshot in time. As though she’d just stepped out to see her friends. The bed was unmade. There was an open textbook on her desk. On the wall was a poster of that ustart Commander Kirk that was always making the news. Leonard had hoped that meant she’d pursue a career in Starfleet someday; more likely, it was because fourteen-year-olds thought space travel was romantic.

He tore the poster off the wall. His heart thudded against his chest as he shredded it, fingernails digging against plaster, and then he stared in horror at what he’d done. He’d destroyed Joanna’s poster. She loved that poster.

Leonard was suddenly outside, heaving into the bushes. He felt a hand on the back of his neck, soft fingers gently rubbing. Soothing him. He gasped for breath and sobbed as Spock curled around him, holding him and rocking him. Weak, Leonard turned into him and held back as hard as he could. The touch was violent; he would have hurt Spock if he could. But Spock was impervious to his anger.

Spock lead him to one of the deck chairs and helped him sit down. Softly, Spock brushed his hair from his face. His touch lingered as though he were crudely checking Leonard’s temperature.

“I’m a mess,” Leonard said.

Spock tilted his head to one side, quizzical. “I am sorry they are not here.”

Leonard gasped. He sucked in a deep breath. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“I will get you some water. I will be back in less than a minute.”

Leonard watched him go, counting the seconds until he’d need to start panicking. The counting distracted him just enough that the gaping darkness inside him close for a brief moment.

Spock returned in fifty seconds.

He had his backpack and his plastic case. He set both down and rooted through the backpack, coming up with a bottle of water and a tin cup. He offered it to Leonard and Leonard guzzled it in one long swallow.

Leonard swiped at his face with his sleeve. “Spock, I need you to tell me something.”

Spock tipped his head to the side again as though he needed to focus all his energy into listening. “Yes?”

“What’s in that case?”

Slowly, Spock turned and looked at it. He was always carrying that damn thing around like he was terrified of losing it, but now he seemed terrified that it existed. His eyes were wide with concern. He didn’t say anything.

“Don’t close up on me,” Leonard begged. “Please, Spock. Not now.”

A moment of deafening silence, then another, and then Spock shook himself. He pulled the case over and opened it.

It was an instrument.

Spock didn’t take it out of the case. Leonard reached out and touched the strings, his pinky catching against one and drawing out one haunting vibration. The note hung in the air for longer than seemed possible. An echo.

“Do you play?”

“Not anymore.” Spock closed the case decisively. “It was my mother who always encouraged me.”

“Is she…” Leonard trailed off, unable to complete his sentence. He didn’t need to. The look on Spock’s face told him enough. He reached out and took Spock’s hand. Spock was hot to the touch. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Leonard swallowed heavily. “We should… Can we get out of here?”

Spock nodded. They gathered up their things and packed up the car. Spock disappeared into the house and came out again carrying several bottles of water and a bag filled with canned food. Leonard didn’t have the energy to protest that Jocelyn and Joanna might need that. He just watched Spock place them in the trunk and slam the door shut.

The pulled back onto the road and Leonard let his arm trail out of the car, fingers dancing through the air. He looked up at the starry night sky and wondered if there was anyone up there having a good day.

He hoped so. He closed his eyes, and slept.

[coopdigitalnewsletter]

5 Nov 2019: Cities and boxes. Health data. Political ads.

Hello, this is the Co-op Digital newsletter - it looks at what's happening in the internet/digital world and how it's relevant to the Co-op, to retail businesses, and most importantly to people, communities and society. Thank you for reading - send ideas and feedback to @rod on Twitter. Please tell a friend about it!

[Image: Brittainy Newman/NYT]

Cities and boxes: convenient delivery is a growing problem

It’s all in the delivery: Amazon makes grocery delivery free with Prime, ends $15/month fee under pressure from Walmart, whose rival click and collect service was cheaper. Wider picture: the first map of America’s food supply chain.

This is a great read, and shows you what online shopping does to cities: 15% of New York City households receive a package every day - that’s 1.5 million packages, and it’s putting the city under a lot of stress.  

“In some neighborhoods, Amazon’s ubiquitous boxes are stacked and sorted on the sidewalk, sometimes on top of coverings spread out like picnic blankets. ‘They are using public space as their private warehouse [...] That is not what the sidewalk is for.’” 

The delivery networks (Amazon, Fedex etc) are building warehouses closer to customers, to cover the “last mile” more efficiently. But even so there are traffic, carbon/pollution emissions and safety arguments in favour of click and collect, as long as the collect bit reduces the number of car and van journeys.

It feels as if internet-era retailing is now back to being a last-man-standing game of tremendous capital spending and lowered gross margin to win and keep customers who want speed and convenience. You wonder if all of this can ever be sustained.

Health data

Google is buying fitness-tracker company Fitbit, the second-largest product in the “wearables” sector (and the company would probably still be independent and thriving had Apple not done so well with its Watch). There’s an interesting question about the data though. 

“Similar to our other products, with wearables, we will be transparent about the data we collect and why. We will never sell personal information to anyone. Fitbit health and wellness data will not be used for Google ads. And we will give Fitbit users the choice to review, move, or delete their data.”

Now, some readers might be suspicious about that. There’s history of arms-length health tech acquisitions eventually being absorbed into the corporate parent (see Deepmind, though maybe they’ve been diligent about keeping the Deepmind data separated, you cannot know). 

There are wider health concerns because Fitbits are used by some insurance companies to provide proof of activity, which makes your insurance premia lower. Here’s a UK/US example: Vitality. It isn’t crystal clear what data Fitbit sends to Vitality, but their page for a different device says “The Vitality Member app takes your step and heart rate workout data from Apple Health and uses that data to reward Vitality activity points [...] Opening and refreshing your Vitality Member app is the only way to send Apple Health data to Vitality to sync your activity.” (There were also some concerns a few years ago about a Facebook-owned app getting access to Vitality data.)

But you’d hope that the potential reputational risk would be really significant if it later came out that Google just scooped up the Fitbit data and used it to target you with ads for hedge trimmers and retirement planning. Significant enough that it wouldn’t be worth doing, you’d hope! Maybe this whole thing is just a big tech company fearful that it might miss the next big thing, so it’s trying a bit of... everything. Or preventing someone else buying Fitbit.

The wider context for Google is that it’s about search: Google is “looking to make it easier for doctors to search medical records, and to improve the quality of health-related search results for consumers across Google and YouTube”.

Is anything else happening in Big Tech x Health Data? Yes.

Amazon is buying Health Navigator, which does “online symptom checking and triage tools to companies that are looking to route patients to the right place”. Amzn will offer Health Navigator to employees as part of its internal pilot of Amazon Care clinics.

Facebook vows strict privacy safeguards as it rolls out preventive-health tool.

Sustainable John Lewis

“John Lewis has stopped selling 5p single-use plastic carrier bags at its Oxford store as part of a major trial to test and change shoppers’ behaviour. The sustainability initiatives, which were unveiled on Monday, are aimed at encouraging a “reduce, reuse and return” culture among customers and could provide a model for its other shops.”

Facebook and political advertising

Following on from last week, Facebook decided to leave all political speech and ads up [1] and said it’s about free speech and debate, and “it’s not about the money”. It probably *isn’t* about the money - it’s that Facebook are culturally allergic to activities that don’t scale or aren’t algorithmable (so eg effective content moderation will always be resisted at some level).

Twitter took a better position, and one that’s a decent swipe at FB, Twitboss pointing out that “it‘s not credible for us to say: “We’re working hard to stop people from gaming our systems to spread misleading info, buuut if someone pays us to target and force people to see their political ad… well… they can say whatever they want! ””.

[1] There are exceptions though. Someone made some pro-Brexit ads that FB rejected because the ads didn’t say who were promoting them. And in the US someone announced they’d stand as a candidate and deliberately use fake ads - FB didn’t like that. 

(Also from Facebook: a new logo for the parent company, to distinguish the company from the product. The logo has both a shouty ALL-CAPS style and a retro all-of-the-colours 2014 feel. 2014 was a simpler, easier time for FACEBOOK.)

Money

Perhaps all platforms eventually expand until they include financial services? Facebook has a patent for a method of comparing a user’s financial transactions to their peers. If you own several social platforms that are about performative showing-off communicating with friends, it probably makes business sense to lean in to “keeping up with the joneses”.

And Uber announces deeper push into financial services with Uber Money.

Other news

Co-op Bank starts trial of Good Loop’s ethical ad tech.

Tesco and Co-op bosses join forces with plan to fix unfair system: Our solution to reform business rates and save the High Street - “First, cut business rates for all retailers by 20 per cent. Second, level the playing field on tax between online and high street shops by introducing an online sales levy of 2 per cent on the sale of physical goods.”

Why internet-era CTOs hire developers (rather than outsourcing).

News for all of Office365’s fans! Microsoft is combining Word, Excel and Powerpoint into a single mobile app for Android users. And Yammer is being updated and integrated more closely with Outlook, Sharepoint etc.

“The farm has both left- and right-wing troll accounts. That makes their smear and support campaigns more believable: instead of just taking one position for a client, it sends trolls to work both sides, blowing hot air into a discussion, generating conflict and traffic” - life working on a troll farm.

History of the design of the Bloomberg keyboard (the Bloomberg terminal is the Wall Street trader’s computing workhorse). This story is surprisingly interesting as it goes from mad, custom designs to something more like a standard computer keyboard.

Previous newsletters:

Most opened newsletter in the last month: Uber buys grocery delivery co. Most clicked story: Workshop Tactics kit.

News 1 year ago: Just walk out - unintended consequences in checkoutless stores.

News 2 years ago: Politically weaponised social media and election influence.

Co-op Digital news and events

Co-operate: why we prioritised ‘What’s happening’ - “Balancing and satisfying user needs and commercial needs is our top priority in Co-op Digital. But in Co-operate’s case, it was more efficient for us to lay some groundwork first. Choosing to focus on What’s happening as the first product meant we could move quickly and boost team and stakeholder morale, and thinking ahead about what would be sensible and beneficial to us in the future influenced what we built first.”

Public events, most of them at Federation House:

Human values in software production - Tue 5 Nov 6pm.

SenseMaker workshop: exploring the potential for sensor journalism - Wed 6 Nov 6pm.

Practitioners Forum: vital lessons for key co-operators - Thu 7 Nov at the Studio, Manchester.

Northern Azure User Group November Meetup - Tue 12 Nov 6pm.

Content Design Manchester Public Meet-up - Wed 13 Nov 6.30pm. 

Pods Up North , an event for podcasters - Sat 23 Nov 9am..

Mind the Product - MTP Engage - Fri 7 Feb 2020 - you can get early bird tickets now.

Internal events:

All hands - Tue 5 Nov 2pm at Fed defiant.

Co-operate show & tell - Wed 6 Nov 3pm at Fed 6.

Data management show & tell - Thu 7 Nov 2.30pm at Angel Sq 13th floor breakout.

Membership show & tell - Fri 8 Nov 3pm at Fed 6 kitchen.

Food ecommerce show & tell - Mon 11 Nov 10.15am at Fed 5.

Delivery community of practice - Mon 11 Nov 1.30pm at Fed house.

Health show & tell - Tue 12 Nov 2.30pm at Fed 5 kitchen.

Targeted marketing and data ecosystem show & tell - Wed 13 Nov at Angel Sq 13th floor breakout.

Membership show & tell - Fri 15 Nov 3pm at Fed 6 kitchen.

More events at Federation House - and you can contact the events team at  federation.events@coopdigital.co.uk. And TechNW has a useful calendar of events happening in the North West. 

Thank you for reading

Thank you, beloved readers and contributors. Please continue to send ideas, questions, corrections, improvements, etc to the newsletterbot’s keyboard gerbil @rod on Twitter. If you have enjoyed reading, please tell a friend!

If you want to find out more about Co-op Digital, follow us @CoopDigital on Twitter and read the Co-op Digital Blog. Previous newsletters.

[howellrichard]

Eco-Friendly Vegan Leather: Everything You Need to Know

Hiya Gorgeous,

I was blown away by the response to one of my recent blog posts, What the Fast Fashion Industry Doesn’t Want You to Know. I know how passionate this community is about the environment, animals and other humans. But your overwhelming positivity, support and enthusiasm for this topic really knocked my socks off!

Your excitement also left me more determined than ever to band together to save our precious planet. When our individual contributions start to add up, we have the power to change the world.

Something else stood out to me about the fast fashion blog post: I got a lot of questions about my favorite ethical, sustainable and cruelty-free brands. Many of you wanted more specific eco-friendly shopping how-tos and tips. I’m thrilled to say that today’s post is the first in a series all about that—and we’re kicking it off with the ultimate guide to vegan leather!

What’s the problem with leather?

If you read my post about the fast fashion industry, then you’re already aware of some of the issues that come along with exploiting animals for their fur, skins, etc. Animal agriculture requires massive amounts of land, water, fuel and feed. This industry is responsible for more greenhouse gas emissions than all of the world’s transportation systems combined, and percent of the Amazon rainforest has been cleared to make way for pastures or for growing feed crops (source).

When it comes to leather specifically, the picture doesn’t get any better. The leather tanning process is often incredibly toxic. People who work in tanneries or live near them are exposed to harmful chemicals used to process, treat and dye animal skins. This often takes place in developing countries where child labor isn’t regulated, proper waste management systems aren’t in place, and workers aren’t well-protected or paid (source).

And our innocent animal friends endure horrific conditions. They’re often confined to overcrowded indoor spaces without access to sufficient food, water or fresh air. They suffer through painful procedures without anesthesia (like castration and branding) and face countless other forms of unimaginably cruel treatment (source).

We can do better. Animals, other people and the environment do NOT need to suffer for our wardrobes. That’s where eco-friendly vegan leather alternatives come in!

What is vegan leather?

Two vegan leather alternatives you may have heard of are PVC and PU. PVC is a petrochemical product that is heavily processed from start to finish. Many companies have moved away from using it because it requires fossil fuels to produce, contains toxic chemicals like Phalates (not safe for the environment or people!) and creates an enormous amount of waste (source). If you see PVC or its derivatives on a tag, you can bet it’s not a sustainable vegan leather alternative.

What is PU leather?

PU (polyurethane) is a popular vegan leather alternative. Many brands say it’s more eco-friendly than PVC, but do a little research and you’ll find a lot of mixed opinions. Some say that PU production results in just as many toxic emissions and waste as PVC, and that calling it sustainable is simply not true (source).

PU proponents, on the other hand, say that it’s a better option than animal exploitation and overall its environmental footprint is smaller than that of leather. My team and I did a lot of research on this since we know PU is widely used by the brands we’re sharing later in this article. There’s no easy or straightforward answer, but for the most part we agree that PU does less harm than leather.

A note on conscious consumption.

That brings me to an important reminder: Products of all kinds (purses, shoes, sheets, kitchen tools, you name it!) are only as sustainable, ethical and kind as the company they come from… no matter what they’re made of. Know the brands you buy from. Learn about the materials they use, their factory standards, how they treat their workers and how they manage waste. A purse made with PU from a brand with strong environmental and social practices is very different from a similar bag from a less conscious brand.

And here’s a hint: If a brand doesn’t provide clear, specific info about how they’re protecting people, animals and the environment, proceed with caution. Companies who prioritize this stuff speak up about it. Let’s demand more transparency!

Love the environment as much as I do? Get more sustainability tips and my free Starter Kit:

A peek into the future: more sustainable vegan leather alternatives!

Some brands are creating truly innovative vegan leather options out of organic and recycled materials. They’re more eco-friendly than the standard alternatives we discussed above, but are often more expensive, harder to find and not as broadly appealing (either because they don’t mimic the leather look and feel people want, or aren’t as high-end looking). But as the demand for sustainable vegan leather grows, I suspect we’ll see these options continue to improve and become more widely available.

Here are some of the coolest, most innovative materials that stood out to me:

Piñatex: Fruit is even more awesome and versatile than I thought—this incredible vegan leather is made from pineapples! It’s beautiful, watertight and durable. Plus, the company that manufactures it has some fantastic sustainability and social practices (learn more about them here). My fave cruelty-free watch brand, Votch, has an entire  collection of piñtatex watches.

MuSkin: This vegan leather is made from another one of my favorite plants—mushrooms! More specifically, it’s made out of the cap of a parasitic, inedible variety called Phellinus ellipsoideus (source). I don’t see a whole lot of MuSkin products available yet, but I bet that’ll change soon.

Apple peel leather: You read that right! An apple a day does more than just keep the doctor away. Companies like Veggani are using industrial apple peel waste to create environmentally friendly pieces like this gorgeous crossbody bag.

Recycled materials: Recycled rubber, recycled car tires, recycled plastic… oh my! Lots of companies are repurposing materials that would otherwise sit in landfills (or the ocean, rivers, forests, etc.) by creating shoes, bags, belts, etc. out of them. Rothy’s, for example, uses plastic water bottles to make their super cute (and machine washable!) shoes.

Get the ultimate guide to eco-friendly vegan leather alternatives—the best materials, top brands and more!

18 Eco-Friendly Vegan Leather Alternatives

There are so many wonderful companies out there dedicated to making fashion a kinder, more eco-conscious business, and I’m thrilled to highlight some of them today! This list is purely for your info and to support you on your eco-friendly journey—I’m not sponsored or getting paid to promote any of these brands. 

Note: These brands use a variety of materials. There are plenty of options if you want to avoid PU!

GUNAS (maker of high-end purses, wallets and shoes) believes that just being vegan isn’t enough—they’re looking out for other humans and the environment, too. And here’s something that really sets them apart: They encourage conscious consumerism. So rather than pushing you to buy fast and often like so many of the brands we’re familiar with, they want you to take your time and make careful decisions. I love this more purposeful, minimalist approach!

Whatever the season or occasion, you’ll be able to find the perfect pair of vegan leather shoes from Bhava. I’m eyeing these strappy sandals—what color is your fave? Bhava also does a great job explaining some of the problems with leather and fast fashion, along with what they’re doing to change the face of footwear.

Svala helps protect animals in more ways than one. Not only is their line of purses and wallets cruelty-free, they also donate a portion of the profits to charities like WildAid, whose mission is to end the illegal wildlife trade. Svala also buys carbon offsets to reduce their environmental footprint and uses recycled plastic bottles to line their bags—yay!

Rafa makes beautiful, hand-crafted vegan shoes in Los Angeles, California. While they keep a few things in stock, most items are made to order. This allows the Rafa team to dedicate time and quality craftsmanship to each unique pair. Check out this short and sweet video about how (and why!) they do what they do.

This is a trend I didn’t think I’d see again—fanny packs! HFS Collective’s belt bags are designed to “free you from your baggage.” That means more hands to pet every pup you meet, carry green drinks and do other stuff you love.

I mentioned Rothy’s in last year’s eco-friendly holiday gift guide, and this is still one of my fave brands for comfy shoes that can be dressed up or down. Their pointed toe flats are the perfect versatile basic. The uppers are made of 100 percent post-consumer water bottles, and the other parts of the shoe are made of a mix of recycled, non-toxic, vegan materials. Even their shoe boxes are biodegradable!

A pair of easy-to-wear slides is a must-have for the warmer months of the year, and Indosole has totally nailed an eco-friendly option. Not only do they come in some great colors, they also give a second life to a pervasive waste product—car tires!

Noani (meaning No Animal—yes!) has vegan leather belts for everyone in your life. They use innovative eco-friendly materials like eucalyptus and apple fibers. Plus, they’re committed to maintaining safe, fair working conditions for everyone involved in creating their products.

I love how transparent VEERAH is about the materials they use to make their luxury, sustainable, vegan shoes (check out a detailed list here!). Plus, can we talk about these gorg bright blue pumps made from apple leather? Anyone who thinks eco-friendly and fashionable don’t belong in the same sentence should get a load of those!

MooShoes is a vegan leather lover’s dream. Unlike the other brands on this list, this store is a hub where you can get goodies from a variety of cruelty-free brands. Their NYC location was the first cruelty-free retail store of its kind when it opened back in 2001 and they’ve since expanded to LA. But no worries if you’re not close to either of those locations—the website is easy to use and jam-packed with shoes, bags and more that’ll satisfy all style sensibilities.

I think that Angela Roi makes some of the most beautiful cruelty-free purses out there. That said, I’d love to see them expand the info available on their site about their sustainability practices and working conditions. Transparency is where it’s at, folks!

Looking for some comfy kicks for walking the dog, running to the store and everything in between? You’ll love Native Shoes, which are cruelty-free AND easy on the planet. In fact, Native has committed to making all of their products 100 percent lifecycle managed by 2023 (learn more about what that means here).

This circular purse from Hozen is so cute! And there’s a lot more than meets the eye here—Hozen donates 10 percent of their profits to Mercy for Animals (one of my favorite orgs!) and makes their products in small batches to avoid wasteful excess stock.

Nae (stands for No Animal Exploitation—so good!) has something for everyone. These desert boots are a great wardrobe staple. And who doesn’t need a simple, everyday black belt?

One of the wardrobe essentials I’ve had trouble finding in cruelty-free form is a vegan leather moto jacket! Then I came across this piñatex stunner from Altiir. It’s certainly not cheap, but could be a worthwhile investment if you wear it a lot and keep for years to come.

Labante London makes gorgeous purses, wallets and other accessories out of recycled materials. According to their website, they’ve already saved 10 million plastic bottles from languishing in landfills! I’m a big fan of this functional, timeless wallet.

Beyond Skin has a wide range of sandals, boots, heels, flats and more available in a variety of fun prints and fabrics. They’re also really upfront about their business and sustainability practices, which means you can buy with confidence. And how about these must-have mustard sandals? Love!

Have a favorite sustainable, cruelty-free brand I didn’t mention? Shout them out in the comments below!

I want to hear from you!

What other topics would you like me to cover in this eco-friendly series (home goods, skincare/makeup, etc.)?

Peace & cruelty-free fashion,

The post Eco-Friendly Vegan Leather: Everything You Need to Know appeared first on KrisCarr.com.

[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

from MeetPositives SM Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2OBbmcJ via IFTTT

[itsiotrecords-blog]

http://ift.tt/2uYILUG

Professional fighters, newborn babies, and the supporting cast of Deliverance aside, pretty much everyone has a mouthful of teeth. We use our ivories on a daily basis, mashing up food and smiling at friends, but we often take our thirty-two teeth for granted. And that’s just too bad. As it turns out, the human tooth is incredibly strange and is surrounded by weird and wild facts like…

#1 Actors’ Teeth There are quite a few actors out there who lose or gain a few pounds for a role, but that’s nothing compared to the stars who attack their teeth. For the 1999 classic Fight Club, Brad Pitt knew he needed to radically alter his appearance to play anarchist Tyler Durden. After all, if you start up an underground boxing club, you probably won’t end up with a movie star smile. Pitt paid a dentist to chip away at his chompers, giving Durden a much edgier look. But you don’t need to be an A-lister to go all method on your mouth. For his role as Stu Price in The Hangover, comedian Ed Helms also made a quick trip to the dentist. If you’ve seen the film, you know Stu pulls out his own tooth on a bet. Of course, the actor wasn’t willing to go quite that far in real life. But Helms was a man literally born to play the part of Stu. Helms was born missing a tooth, and at the age of fifteen he filled the gap with an implant. When it came time to star in The Hangover he simply removed the fake. The process was probably a bit painful, as it involved unscrewing the implant and screwing a plug into the gap in his gum. Talk about dedication. However, the award for hardcore dentistry has to go to Viggo Mortensen. While filming Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, Mortensen was busy bashing orcs at the Battle of Helm’s Deep when things got out of hand, and Aragorn accidentally broke his tooth. But instead of stomping off to his trailer, Mortensen wanted to keep  filming and insisted that someone glue his tooth back on. Fortunately, director Peter Jackson decided to cut and sent Viggo off to receive proper medical treatment. Still, you have to admire the man’s work ethic.

#2 The Norwegian Tooth Bank There are all kinds of bizarre biological banks, from sperm banks to blood banks to banks full of eyeballs. But in Norway scientists are busy working on an even stranger special facility just for storing milk teeth. Also known as deciduous teeth, milk teeth are the extras we lose as children, and researchers from the Norwegian Mother and Child Cohort Study (MoBa) hope parents will donate these little incisors and bicuspids to their ever-growing tooth bank. Scientists are currently working with 100,000 children in the hopes of building the largest tooth bank in the world. But why would anyone want milk teeth in the first place? It turns out that these temporary teeth are excellent indicators of what pollutants are in the environment. By studying them, along with blood and urine samples from the parents, MoBa researchers can learn how environmental contaminants affect a child and mother’s health. As of 2013 the bank had 17,000 teeth, all kept in envelopes and locked away in the University of Bergen where no tooth fairy can ever find them.

#3 Teeth Tattoos They might sound like something out of a sci-fi novel, but teeth tattoos are actually quite popular these days. Applied to a cap or crown, these images are permanent and come in all shapes and sizes, from pictures of George Washington to sail boats to phrases like “Bite Me.” Scientists at Princeton and Tufts are taking teeth tattoos in a completely different direction. Instead of ink, they’re using graphene, and it isn’t for art’s sake. These tattoos are actually electronic sensors, and they’re a bacterium’s worst nightmare. Imprinted on silk, the tattoos are placed onto a tooth, and after water washes the silk away the graphene remains and monitors the mouth for bacteria. Powered by electrodes and an inductive coil, the tattoo uses antimicrobial peptides to latch onto germs. Thanks to the electricity in a bacterium’s cell membrane, a signal is sent to a nearby antenna which scientists use to determine what kind of bacteria is crawling around inside your mouth. You still need to brush, though.

#4 The Fake Braces of Asia In the west, most people think of braces as geeky, ugly and kind of uncomfortable. But beauty is relative, and in Asian countries like Thailand, Indonesia and Malaysia, braces are considered super cool… and super illegal, thanks to the rich kids. In cities like Bangkok braces can run up to $1,200, which is a little expensive for most Thai kids. But like everything else owned by the rich and powerful, braces suddenly have an air of wealth and status about them. That’s where fashion braces, or kawat gigi untuk gaya, come in. Running about $100, these braces are sold in markets, beauty salons, and online, and can be customized in all sorts of styles like Mickey Mouse and Hello Kitty. You don’t even need a dentist to wear fashion braces. Do-It-Yourself kits are extremely popular, despite the fact that they’re against the law in Thailand. In 2012, two teenagers developed deadly infections thanks to fashion braces. Authorities were also worried about the amount of lead found in the wires and were concerned kids might choke on loose pieces. Wanting to prevent any further deaths, the Thai government outlawed the practice, threatening to punish producers with up to six months behind bars. But that only gave rise to a thriving black market for braces.

#5 Buddha’s Teeth When most people think about relics, they generally picture Christian artifacts like the Holy Grail, the True Cross and the Shroud of Turin. But Buddhism has its share of holy objects as well — many are from the Buddha’s own body, including quite a few plucked out of his mouth. If you ever visit Sri Lanka be sure to drop by the city of Kandy, where you’ll find the sage’s left canine on display in the Temple of the Tooth. After the Buddha’s cremation, the tooth became a symbol of power. Whoever owned the canine had the right to rule Sri Lanka, and it was passed down from monarch to monarch. As you might expect, quite a few people squabbled over the tooth, and holy men were forced to hide it from time to time until it finally ended up in Kandy for all the world to see. On your next trip you can stop by the Buddha Tooth Relic Temple and Museum in Singapore, where you can admire another one of the philosopher’s pearly whites surrounded by prayer rooms and ornate dragons. However, the weirdest of all the Buddha’s teeth is without a doubt the one in Rosemead, California. Worshippers claim the two-inch molar is actually still growing and even possesses miraculous healing powers.

#6 John Lennon’s Tooth Michael Zuk isn’t your average dentist. This Canadian has filled plenty of cavities, but when he isn’t pulling teeth Zuk is busy working on an odd experiment that involves John Lennon’s tooth. How did a dentist from Alberta get his hands on one of Lennon’s pearly whites? In the 1960s, John gave his rotten molar to his housekeeper, a woman named Dot Jartlett. He thought it would be a nice gift for her Beatlemaniac daughter, and the tooth stayed in the Jartlett family until 2011 when they sold it for over $30,000. The buyer was Michael Zuk, and he had some very weird plans. He’s used the tooth to draw attention to mouth cancer and even let his sister use a fragment for her sculpture of Lennon’s head. However, his ultimate goal is to clone the rock star. Zuk has allegedly teamed up with a group of scientists who’ve begun sequencing Lennon’s DNA. If all goes according to plan, the singer will make his big comeback in 2040. Only this time Zuk will make sure Lennon stays away from “drugs and cigarettes.”

#7 The Incredibly Creepy Jesus Statue Visit any Catholic church and you’re bound to spot an icon of Jesus or the Virgin Mary. Most of these statues are made out of wood or plastic, but if you take a little trip to San Bartolo Cautlalpan, a small town outside Mexico City, you’ll find a figurine that’s a little more lifelike than the rest. In early 2014 experts from Mexico’s National Institute of Anthropology and History were restoring an icon of Christ known as “The Lord of Patience.” This 3’8” wooden statue depicts Jesus moments before his crucifixion, sitting down and staring into the sky. Dating back to the 18th century, this statue was scheduled to undergo restoration, but when researchers started X-raying the piece they noticed something extremely odd about its teeth — they had roots. Upon closer examination, the researchers found that the Lord of Patience was fully equipped with eight human teeth, and judging by the size they were probably removed from a healthy adult. But why would anyone put real teeth inside a wooden statue? Well, perhaps it was a way of scoring points for the afterlife. Back in the day, believers would offer up hair clippings to make wigs for icons. Researchers believe that a faithful churchgoer probably yanked out a few spare ivories as a way of proving his or her devotion to God. That brings a whole new level to the Biblical “tooth for a tooth” business.

#8 The Boy With 232 Teeth Ashik Gavai was a seventeen-year-old Indian boy in a lot of pain. The right side of his jaw was swelling up like a balloon, and the local doctor didn’t know what to do. Worried the culprit was cancer, his parents took the boy to a team of specialists in Mumbai. Once they started poking around inside his mouth the doctors made an incredible discovery. Ashik was suffering from a complex composite odontoma. A benign tumor was growing on the teenager’s jaw and essentially turned Ashik’s gums into a tooth factory. Over a seven hour operation, doctors removed 232 “pearl-like” teeth from the boy’s mouth. The four surgeons even discovered a “marble-like” brick and were forced to use a hammer and chisel to break it apart. Hopefully the doctors removed every rogue tooth in Ashik’s mouth. If not, there’s a chance the odontoma might return. At least there’s a bright side to this macabre little tale — the world record for tooth removal from an odontoma is thirty-seven, so perhaps Ashik might get his name into Guinness.

#9 The Man With A Tooth In His Nose Nose bleeds are pretty common. In fact, three out of five people will suffer from “epistaxis” before they die. But if you’re experiencing nose bleeds once or twice a month, then there might be a problem. A twenty-two-year-old man was getting tired of constantly having to shove cotton balls up his nose, and after having multiple nosebleeds over three years he finally went to see his doctor. What the physician found was kind of horrifying. There was a tooth growing in the man’s left nostril. It was about one centimeter long and had erupted through the floor of his nasal cavity. Surgeons were able to remove the tooth without any problems, but why was it there in the first place? Well, about 0.15% to 3.9% of people in the world actually have spare teeth. Known as mesiodentes, these extra chompers turn around and grow the wrong way, occasionally popping up inside the nose. It’s kind of disgusting, but at least it’s understandable. But sometimes our genes get screwed up, and then things get really freaky. Take the case of Doug Pritchard. Back in 1978, Pritchard was a normal 13 year old kid living in North Carolina when his foot started to hurt. He put up with the pain for several weeks, but when he couldn’t take it anymore he went to the doctor… who found a tooth growing in his foot. Sounds like a bad horror movie.

#10 Tooth-Eye Surgery We’ll end with one of the craziest surgeries ever invented by man. In 2009, Martin Jones was a forty-two-year-old man who’d never seen his wife. Years before his wedding day he’d been blinded by an explosion of molten aluminum, but a corneal specialist named Christopher Lui promised to restore his vision with a radical operation known as modified osteo-odonot-keratoprosthesis (MOOKP). And it involved Martin’s front tooth. After removing one of his canines, doctors drilled a small hole in the tooth and placed a lens inside. Next, they stitched the tooth into his cheek, allowing it to develop vessels and tissue before sticking the canine into Jones’ right eyeball. With the new lens firmly in place Jones could suddenly see everything, including his wife’s face. Despite its effectiveness, MOOKP isn’t used much in the United States. American surgeons prefer a technique known as Boston Keratoprosthesis, which involves a prosthetic cornea. However, later in 2009 a team of doctors at the University of Miami became the first surgeons to perform the MOOKP operation in the U.S. The patient was a woman named Sharron Thornton who’d lost her vision due to a condition known as Stevens-Johnson syndrome. Thanks to one of her teeth and some mucus-filled cheek tissue, today Ms. Thornton can see everyone and everything around her.

Source: TopTenz

[yas-surveys]

134.

posted this a year ago and now i’m answering the same survey again.

1. What are you currently angry at? - nothing rly

2. Who is harder to please, you or your lover? - me? lol 3. There is a nuclear war and your fallout shelter has room and supplies enough for two. No one knows about the fallout shelter but you. Who do you choose to take in (Remember, the person you choose is the only person you will know in 5-15 years when you can come above ground again)? - um probs, kirsten or nelly?????? 4. What do you do when you are home alone that you cannot do when other people are at home? - um, i have a thing where when i read book, i kind of comment loudly on what they do, so that’s that or i sing very loudly HAHAHA

5. Do you read on the toilet? - yes

6. How often do people try to talk to you while you are in the bathroom? - most of the times? bc sometimes, i talk to them lmao

7. Have you ever swam in the ocean? - yes 8. Have you ever built a sandcastle? - nope :( 9. Do you feel comfortable in a bathing suit? - um yeh sure?? 10. What would be the best season of the year to get married? - there’s only 2 seasons here in the philippines lol but i would like it to be autumn tbh lol

11. What are 2 things that the perfect ___ would do? Boy/girlfriend: - trust you and be loyal Parents: - support you and believe in you Friend: - cheer you up whenever you’re down and always has your back Teacher: - treats everyone fair well and teach well Doctor: - be approachable and assure that their patients are comfortable 12. If someone you loved was seriously miserable for a long period of time what would you do to help cheer him or her up? - make sure they know that i’m always there for them, that if they need someone to talk to, just call me or smthng, and i’ll keep you company, and i’ll bring the emergency human burrito kit lmao i just made that up but that would involve blankets, s’mores, chocolates, all the comfort foods, movies, yaz. 13. What was the best year of your life so far? - still 2015 14. When people are born is it predetermined whether they will be a good or bad person? - no, it depends on the things they learn or what they see as they grow up 15. Does the weather affect your mood? - yeah, especially if it’s hot 16. If you were underground for 5 years what would you miss the most? - OoOOh, beach, wind, the sky, clouds, THE RAIN FEK I LOVE THE RAIN. that’s sad :( 17. If you were on death row (if you don’t feel evil enough to really ever get there, imagine that you have been wrongly accused and wrongly convicted) what would you want your last meal to be? - fish & chips tbh HAHAHAHAHAHA && bacon 18. How would you want to die (electric chair, gas, lethal injection, hanging)? - lethal injection 19. Who would you want with you when you died? - no one lol 20. What would your last words be? - can you really say your last words like not stopping mid-sentence??? i mean how can you finish a whole sentence and just die after????? i mean how do you exactly know when you’ll die, what if you said something that you wanted your last words to be a few minutes early, then you have to wait to die???? um. (those are my last words. i’m kidding lol)

21. Has anyone ever broken a promise to you? - yes 22. Have you broken a promise to anyone else? - yes 23. Do you eat red meat? - yea 24. Have you ever broken someone’s heart? - i guess? 25. What are the most cruel words someone could say to you? - that i’ll never be successful in life

26. If someone offered you $1,000 to cheat on your boy/girlfriend, would you do it? - no 27. Would you rather date someone 3 years younger than you, or 15 years older? - 3 years younger 28. Which is better, the rush of kissing a new person for the first time, or the comfort of kissing the same person a hundred times? - comfort of kissing the same person 29. Would you rather lose your bathing suit to a huge wave right in front of a cute lifeguard, or your whole family? - cute lifeguard lol 30. Have you ever looked in anyone’s wallet that wasn’t yours? - um??? i guesS? yes 31. What time and date is it? - 1/8/2017, 2:01PM 32. Could you survive without: Electricity: - no, that’s hard Heat: - nooo Air conditioning: - NOOO, it gets pretty DAMN HOT here in the philippines TV: - yeah Radio: - yeah A car: - sure 33. Would you ever consider shaving your head? - if it’s for a good cause then why not 34. What is one thing that will happen to you less than 24 hours from now? - i’ll be going to school fek

35. What age would you want to stay forever? - 18 or 19 36. What is the softest part of your body? - cheeks? jk scratch that, the back of my hand 37. What would make your day if it happened right now? - if all the world’s problems were solved 38. What are you thinking about? - how i have to go eat brunch after this and clean my room 39. Are you on: Drugs: - vitamins lol The crazy train: - do u mean life lol JK 40. Do you say everything to people’s faces or do you talk behind their backs? - well there’s stuff you can’t stay to people in front of their face ya know, but sooner or later, i tell them too. 41. Have you ever made love in an elevator? - no 42. Have you ever wanted a picture painted onto your car? - no why would i  43. Are you clumsy? - at times, probably 44. As you get older will you let your looks go or have plastic surgery? - natural 45. If you wear contacts or glasses would you ever consider laser eye surgery? - no thank u 46. What is the most expensive thing you own? - my laptop??? 47. What do you think of when you hear the word ‘cell’? - phone 48. Have you ever had goat’s milk? - nope 49. Do you care how Jennifer Anniston lives her life? - no, it’s her life 50. Do you treat your pets like family members? - yes 51. Have you ever eaten tofu? - no 52. What would you like to have 435 of (anything but money)? - books 53. How many people know the password to your tumblr besides you? - 0 54. Have you ever thought of deleting your blog? - well, if someone i know found it, but i just probably put it on private 55. Do you like American Pie? - never seen it 56. What is the last law you broke? - well i download music from the internet sooo 57. Have you ever run away from home? - no

58. Did your parents pretend there was a tooth fairy and slip money under your pillow? - no 59. Is there a difference between art and crafts? - crafts is making the art #/craft 60. Have you ever tried out for something? - i once “auditioned” to be a model in a tween magazine when i was in the 4th grade 61. Did you make it? - no lol

[ellenlucasonlinedatingblog]

Making My Hair Mine

Katie Klabusich

My adoptive mom’s hangups convinced me I was an ugly duckling with noticeable imperfections. Turns out, it was about her, not me, and certainly not about my hair, which isn't the enemy she -- or I -- thought it was, either.

I have a bit of an obsession with the Instagram feeds of my friends who parent. All those pics and videos of their kids being… well, kids! At 39, my inner child’s heart bursts with appreciation for all that praise of their uniqueness, the silly moments alongside them, and even encouragement for them to experiment with whatever clothing and hairstyles feel right to their personalities, genders, and whims.

A few years ago, my good friend and fellow writer Avital Norman Nathman wrote about why she “lets” her son — who inherited her whimsically curly, often multicolored locks — grow his hair past his shoulders. She’d fielded comments from self-professed, well-meaning bystanders who worried he’d be confused with a girl. As both a fierce feminist and loving mom, she rejected the false gender binary — which taught her son that he’s unique and valuable just as he is, however he is.

My own experience growing up was different.

Parents (and guardians of all titles) are people. They have their own emotional baggage, insecurities, habits, and idiosyncrasies that are part of their personalities. Because they have authority over us, it is naturally hard to see them that way when we’re growing up. Their words and actions have power long before we’re able to see themselves outside their role as the chief influencers in our lives.

Meanwhile, they incorporate those insecurities and habits into their relationships with us. In my house, my adoptive mom’s primary obsession was my hair — all of it: the length, the color, the style, and the amount of curl. And most importantly: how much it made us alike or different.

When a parent has and expresses a particular and constant attentiveness to your appearance — be it praise or criticism -- that constant feedback takes root. When I had light blond hair and soft baby ringlets through age four or five, she LOVED my hair. She played with it like I was a doll. I remember wanting to run around, but having to sit still while she brushed or braided it.

As I got older and let my hair grow, it got thicker, browner and straighter. I hit a couple of growth spurts and lost my chubby baby cheeks, too. Overall, I started looking less and less like her — triggering her insecurities about having had to adopt a child rather than being able to carry and give birth to one. At a glance, anyone who cared to take notice and didn’t know I was adopted would've simply assumed I was going through a phase where I just looked more like my darker, Hungarian father.

But people stopped commenting about how remarkably alike we looked. For her, every new trait pushed us further apart and made me less hers. I’m positive this would've been true even without a birthmark on my scalp for her to focus intently on.

Since reuniting with my birth mother last year I learned that my delivery was long. Like, so long she wasn’t particularly sure which date she’d given birth on. I was born after almost forty hours of labor, and that makes the birthmark — a dime-sized bald spot with a small bump in the middle — likely a result of the doctor using forceps to help me along. It’s always been there, just left of center midway down my skull in the back. My hair has always been thick, so it’s always been covered. But the fear that it could be seen — what if I did a cartwheel? or the wind blew at recess? — pushed my mom to cater hairstyles around it, narrating her thought-process as she did.

At some point she noticed that the hair around the bald spot was curlier than the rest of my hair. It was also darker (probably because it was covered and never got bleached by the sun like the top layer). With a furrowed brow, she sat me down in front of a movie and cut the curlier hair down to half an inch, creating — of course — a larger bald spot. Three times the size of the original, in fact. I couldn’t leave it alone because it was new and felt weird. And thus, an almost thirty-year-long tick was born. Beating it would take therapy, meds, and an intense desire to cast off all the insecurities I have that are tied to her.

In the ten or so years between the first time my mom excised the “extra” curly hair and when I won the battle to control what was done to my head just before my senior year of high school, she went through various phases — which meant I had to go through them with her. At one point she was so grossed out by this thing that made me weird and different and ugly (or at least that’s how it made me feel) that she leaned down and, in a giggle-whisper voice like we were both ten years old, said: “It’s almost like ya got pubic hair back here!”

What kid wouldn’t get a complex? I think that now, but I would never have asked a peer for validation or their opinion. I was terrified of just the idea that someone would see it.

She’d also been frosting my hair at home for what felt like forever. For those who don’t know, frosting was a do-it-yourself highlighting kit from the olden days (the 70’s). It was something my friend’s moms usually did for themselves while we kids played with less permanent homemade concoctions for our hair made from different Kool-Aid flavors.

Frosting first required brushing your hair to within an inch of your poor scalp’s life, and then squeezing a plastic cover, like a swimming cap, over your head, eyebrows, and ears. Then, a tool that should only be used for crocheting is poked through the cap 75-200 times, to pul a few hairs through at a time. Once you look like a potato that’s been allowed to sprout, all those pulled-through hairs are brushed again (OUCH!) and a packet of chemicals is mixed using a mask. Why a mask, you say? Because the fumes are f’ing toxic. My hair usually took half an hour to get tugged, completely stripped of color, super dry, and extra frizzy.

It is perhaps unsurprising that I did not undergo this process willingly.

By the time I got to middle school, I’d completely adopted my mom’s paranoia about the hair around the spot and the spot itself. The popular hairstyle in my peer group was “The Rachel” (from “Friends” — flat, straight, with just one or two playful layers in the front to fall in the face). My hair was never going to be flat, but it hadn’t totally transitioned to curly, so I was still trying to wrangle it smooth. That two-or-so-inch ring of trimmed down hair was making most of the hair near the crown of my head poof out noticeably. I was willing to do something more time and money intensive.

Lye had already gone out of fashion as a chemical in hair straighteners because it burns like hell. It feels like your scalp is being literally fried. I — voluntarily, this time — let my mom take me to a stylist who applied the old-school formula and brushed it in, dragging a comb over the skin of my bald spot. The back of my head hurt for days afterward. We repeated this every three or four months.

Eventually, I told her I was tired of messing with it. I’d never picked up her love of a two-hour morning make-up and hair routine. I was going to be taking a “zero-hour” class at 6:50am before the regular school day started the following Fall. I was smartly looking to cut out things I didn’t need (or want) to spend time on. I must have sounded sensible enough (I often cited my academic goals when I needed something), because I got to drop all the extras, and so I also got to see what my actual hair looked like. Luckily, the 90’s had loosened up a bit (or I had) and my curly hair was either a non-issue (better than being bullied!) or people liked it because it was different.

Even though it felt like a HUGE victory to have wrested control over my hair back from my mom at 17 (and without a fight!), it would be another two decades before I was truly comfortable with it. Appearance is about our features, and my often waist-length curly hair was my most distinguishing one. I’d let Mom talk me into cutting it the month before I went to college and it’s the only decision I regret. So I let it grow. And grow. And the more I heard how cute it was short, the more I grew it out of spite.

More than seven years after disowning me the first time (just before Christmas in 2011), when I looked in the mirror I still saw the result of choices that have been about defiance.

Why was anything this toxic person had ever said about my hair to me or anyone else still defining what I did with it?

I think about my hair every day, even if it’s just to pull it back out of my face. So every day a tiny piece of that trauma plays out in the back of my head — right underneath that damn spot causing all the trouble, LOLsob — even if I don’t consciously notice.

Then I thought: what if I just cut it?

I realized I didn’t care if it was perfectly even (a big step for someone with even my mild form of obsessive-compulsive disorder). I didn’t care if my current partners would like it. I popped by a drug store and grabbed decent scissors. I flipped my head upside down over a towel and started chopping!

I didn’t expect to feel so lightweight and fancy free.

I brushed it. I washed it. I ran my fingers through it. I posted a selfie three full days after washing it, sleeping on it, putting it up and taking it down for work, and otherwise playing with it because it was new. As people popped up to say how great it looks, I didn’t feel my typical trepidation and immediately launch into rejecting or mitigating the compliments. I thought, “Yeah. It does!” By the next day, it’d been elevated to my favorite haircut EVER.

I had a date with my primary partner/boyfriend who I’d been with for almost two years. This is someone who has seen my body at various weights and shapes as my health fluctuated, different versions of my hair, with and without makeup. I've never been perfectly comfortable naked in front of a partner; like most of us, I have an insecurity or two. But I believe him when he says he loves my body — including my hair, which I always wear up when we have sex.

Every time my hair got in the way during a sexual situation and a partner groaned (not in the good way, but usually not intentionally) I had a jolt of mood-killing insecurity. Which lead to me automatically pulling it back. I didn’t realize it until very recently, but those unintentional disapproving sounds definitely triggered memories of my Mom’s judgemental noises as she snipped the tight curls around my birthmark.

Even though my current boyfriend has said it isn’t/wouldn’t be in the way, and I believe him about that too, I never wanted my hair down. I just didn’t want to have to manage it — or be distracted by it, or think about it at all — during an enjoyable, but admittedly often messy, activity. Even though wearing it up was a long-standing habit, it hadn’t ever occurred to me that it was affecting my overall body image.

Well. Two weeks ago I found myself unconsciously taking my hair tie OUT OF MY HAIR as things were heating up with Current BF! When I realized it — I realized it felt GOOD. That I felt good! I didn’t feel any kind of insecurity. An hour later when I was all blissed-out I didn’t even try and picture what I looked like — what my hair might look like. I didn’t care. It was just part of the rest of me.

Of course it was. It is! IT’S MY HAIR. It always has been, but now it feels like it is.

body image

self image

self esteem

family

growing up

identity

comfort

hair

appearance

parents

adoption

sex

relationships

working it out

empowerment

Bodies

Pregnancy & Parenting

Etc

from MeetPositives SM Feed 4 https://ift.tt/2UbnYwz via IFTTT