#genuinely worried i might have breast cancer

[bladeofthestars]

i wish it didn't take so long to get literally anything done in the american health care system

[whatsaudreythinkingabout]

i fucking hate being a hypochondriac. there are so many things i used to love to do as a kid or wanted to do in the future that now i’m terrified to do bc i learned there’s a risk (even a small one) that i’ll contract an incurable illness that i didn’t know about before & didn’t realize i contracted until it’s too late & the disease has already spread too far into my brain and I’ll die a slow, painful death because of a seemingly innocuous decision i made. used to love petting the stray cats that hung around my old apartment, now i’m scared i’ll get rabies without realizing it (not just from a bite or scratch; even from the minute possibility of contracting it through their fur if their infected saliva came into contact with it while they were grooming themselves). used to love swimming in the lake bc my (ex-)stepdad would take us there on the weekend, now i’m scared i’ll catch the brain-eating amoeba if even the smallest drop of freshwater goes up my nose. always wanted to learn how to make garlic confit bc it looks so delicious, now i’m too scared to bc any garlic-in-oil dish (if stored improperly) carries with it the risk of botulism & i don’t wanna take any chances. this is not exaggeration or sarcasm. i genuinely live in fear of these possibilities occurring every day.

and those are just (at least what i call) the big three; that’s not even mentioning things like heart attacks (one time i had my dorm call the paramedics for what turned out to be acid reflux, another time i went straight to the health center bc my arm was sore), strokes (every once in a while i smile in the mirror to make sure my face isn’t drooping on one side), cancer (ESPECIALLY skin & breast cancer; the scariest thing is that it comes in so many forms and can affect literally anyone, anytime, anywhere, in any part of the body), covid (which i’ve already had 3 times & fear the effects it could have on my brain), etc. i can’t even pop the pimples around my nose anymore (despite my absolutely debilitating dermatillomania; unstoppable force vs immovable object) bc apparently that area of your face is called the “triangle of death” bc there’s so many blood vessels there & if you pop it then it could cause an infection that spreads straight to the brain and (you guessed it!) kills you.

and part of me wants to reassure myself that it’s all in my head and that most afflictions like these are incredibly rare (at least the big three, the other ones are more common), but the other part of me knows that even if they are rare they aren’t to be fucked with and fears the 0.01% chance that it COULD happen and will happen the minute i let my guard down. and what of the girl who cried wolf? what if i keep worrying about it happening so much every time i think it could happen and every time it turns out to be nothing, and then the one time i second-guess myself thinking “it was nothing the last 50 times, why would it be anything now?” it ends up being something? or worse, what if i try to express this to someone else and they don’t believe me because i freaked out about it so many times already and every time it turned out to be nothing but this time it turns out to be something? i know very well the warning signs and that i should always go to the doctor if i suspect i might have contracted something life-threatening (ESPECIALLY one of the big three), i would NEVER downplay the severity of something as serious as one of these, but how do i know when something is truly serious enough to warrant a visit? am i just gaslighting myself? am i overthinking it, or am i right to be afraid? how do i know when it’s the right time to be afraid? how do i stop living in fear? do i even want to stop living in fear knowing what i know now, knowing that i was so much more reckless than i thought when i was younger and have only survived this long through sheer dumb luck? why must life be so cruel that even the smallest actions carry with them the smallest chance of an excruciating death? why can’t i have shit in detroit?

[golbrocklovely]

Hey, so I just want to give my own two cents regarding his reaction to this. It's not exactly the same situation but I genuinely do feel like Colby and I kind of have a similar personality when it comes to things like this in regards to like, how we handle potentially emotional situations or crises so here we go:

I had a breast cancer scare when I was 20, so almost ten years ago. In the end, it didn't end up being cancer but it did take me about two weeks to find out for sure and I had a very similar reaction at least to that part. I felt this overwhelming sense of peace about the whole situation, I was mentally ready to hear doctors tell me I had cancer. I was extremely calm. So calm that my dad thought I wasn't taking it seriously and had to be pulled aside by my mother to tell him to cool his attitude around me because it wasn't helping the situation. It wasn't a denial thing, I was fully aware of what was happening but it was very much a similar idea of 'I can either drown myself in this reality or accept that this is (or in my case, might be) my reality and work from there.'

I will say, this type of reaction typically comes from people who are a little more stunted emotionally - and I fully admit that I kind of am - and does sometimes involve putting up a front so people don't worry about you but it's also not the completely negative/red flag a lot of people seem to view it as. I've had many friends/family over the years tell me that I'm the best person to have around during a crisis strictly because that's my reaction to events like that. It doesn't mean we don't feel things, we do. We just push it down until we feel we're in a spot to allow ourselves to feel it.

I would wager he is probably kinda disturbed by the whole situation behind the scenes or even on his own when he's alone at night. When I had my biopsy to collect samples so they could determine if it was in fact cancer, that bitch of a bruise turned every color imaginable and I cried every night while changing the bandage cause it was so damn ugly for a while but I never showed that part of myself to people, they didn't need to see it. Again, positives and negatives to having that type of personality I suppose, and again, this is just me assuming he has a similar personality to me when it comes to this but that was my (totally not the same) experience and the reaction I had to it.

first off, i just wanted to thank you for sharing your story. and also, i'm so happy to hear that it wasn't cancer in the end.

as for colby, i do agree with you that i think you and him are similar in this vain. in the past colby has mentioned (and it's been obvious as someone who's been a fan of him for so long) that he is a bit… emotionally stunted. colby himself also said during the livestream last night "either i could cry and be upset about this, or i can be proactive about it." my dad was very similar when he was first diagnosed. he took it better than my mother did. he was just like "okay… what's the next step?" and he remained positive pretty much the whole time during his first battle with it.

and personally, i can understand wanting to remain calm and logical about all of this. take it one day at a time, accept that this is just how things are now, and move forward with the best plan. to be honest, i'm totally okay and happy to some extent that he is so positive about this. bc it does fill me with hope that if he truly believes he's gonna be okay, then he really is gonna be okay.

my fear is that a) he's ignoring his emotions or b) god forbid if it were to get worse, he's not gonna know how to handle it bc he never handled this first time. i think both things can be true - you can be proactive and logical, and you can be upset and cry. emotions will demand to be felt in one way or another, regardless of if you want them to be or not. and i get it, i think rn especially he just wants to reassure fans and make sure we're alright (which is fucking insane to me bc…. it's his health, it's not like this is immediately affecting us). and i'm happy he cares enough about us to want to make sure we're okay. but i hope he knows that if he does feel like shit, or needs time away bc he's emotional, that is 1000% valid. no one would fault him for feeling that way. it's not weak to feel scared or sad.

and if he wants to do that all behind closed doors, of course. i get that. i don't expect him to cry on camera or anything. i just want him to know that it's okay if he's upset about all of this. he's allowed to be.

i just want him to be okay. and if okay looks like crying and being upset some days, then that's what it is. if it looks likes being super positive and uplifting, then let it be that. or let it be both.

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Music is so good for the soul, and during these hard times we must all help each other to find moments of joy.

- Dame Vera Lynn (1917-2020)

Dame Vera Lynn, the beloved British singer, died 103 years old on 18 June 2020. Surprise at her death is swiftly replaced by the sad realisation that it marks the end of a chapter in British history. Many of those who grew up with her music have died during the Covid-19 pandemic. How poignant that her death should come on the day that President Macron arrived in the UK to mark the 80th anniversary of General De Gaulle’s rallying cry to the Free French and to give the Légion d’Honneur to London, the city that weathered the blitz in 1940.

From the battlefields of France, the Netherlands, Italy and North Africa to the Far East, whenever soldiers gathered around a radio set or gramophone, the smooth vocal tones of Vera Lynn were sure to be heard.

It is impossible to gauge whether the outcome of the war was swayed by songs like ‘There'll Always Be an England’, ‘We'll Meet Again’, ‘(There'll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover"‘ and ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’.

But for countless men in uniform, the lyrics and the slim, wholesome young blonde woman who sang them seemed to offer a vision of what they were fighting for.

To modern ears, the words might sound corny but at a time when Britain stood proudly against the Germans, their patriotic appeal was irresistible.

Vera Lynn epitomised an archetypical, essentially decent Britishness, practical and fair-minded - notions which shone through the songs she sang.

Even her version of the German soldiers' favourite song, ‘Lili Marlene,’ managed to sound like a patriotic lament, a far cry from the darker sexual undercurrents implicit in the versions by Marlene Dietrich and Lale Andersen - ironically both of them anti-Nazis who became the German forces' sweethearts.

Vera Lynn's most famous song remains We'll Meet Again, recorded in 1939.

Lynn’s wartime popularity was boosted because of the song.   The song’s appeal to love and stoicism - "Keep smiling through/Just like you always do/ Till the blue skies/Drive the black clouds far away" -- made it the perfect war-time anthem. It proved powerfully uplifting for departing soldiers, and it has endured as the defining song of the British campaign. The song re-entered the UK charts at No 55 amid the 75th anniversary celebrations of VE Day.

As she wrote later in her 1975 memoir, Vocal Refrain: “Ordinary English people don’t, on the whole, find it easy to expose their feelings even to those closest to them.” We’ll Meet Again would go “at least a little way towards doing it for them”.

In later years, the song, with its reminders of home and exhortations of courage, has become an indispensable part of national commemorations. And, with its swooping and strangely haunting melody, it has entered into popular culture. It forms an ironic accompaniment to the explosion of atom bombs in Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964); it is deployed with alienating effect in the Pink Floyd song Vera (The Wall, 1982); and it provides the eerie aural backdrop to the Tower of Terror ride in Walt Disney World, California.

But when Lynn began singing it at the age of 22, she had little idea that she would be singing it for the rest of her life.

Indeed the song found favour again this year when Queen Elizabeth II, in a rare public address to the nation, urged Britons to remain strong during the coronavirus lockdown.

"We should take comfort that while we may have more still to endure, better days will return: we will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again," the monarch said.

Vera Lynn was born in London's East End on March 20, 1917 as Vera Margaret Welch.

She began singing in local clubs at age seven and joined a child dance troupe, Madame Harris' Kracker Cabaret Kids, at 11. By 15, she was a teenage sensation as a vocalist with the Howard Baker Orchestra.

She adopted her grandmother's maiden name Lynn as her stage name, making her first radio broadcast in 1935 with the Joe Loss Orchestra.

She worked with another of the great names of the pre-war period, Ambrose, whose clarinettist and tenor sax player, Harry Lewis, she was to marry. The couple had one child, a daughter.

In war-time, Vera Lynn came into her own, hosting a BBC radio programme, "Sincerely Yours", appearing in a forces stage revue, and making three films.

So what did Vera Lynn have that propelled her to stardom during the war, when she became the “forces’ sweetheart”? Youth primarily. She was in her early 20s when war broke out – Elsie Carlisle, the iconic singer at this time, was in her 40s and recorded very little during the war, while Gracie Fields, who was astonishingly popular in the 1930s, had the temerity to marry an Italian and sat most of the war out in North America.

The country was aching for a new female singing star and Vera Lynn – youthful, toothily wholesome rather than glamorous, and with an innate modesty that suited an austere and dangerous age that had no time for displays of ego – fitted the bill. She had a powerful, bell-like voice – at times she almost recites the words and employs oodles of vibrato to underscore the emotion of her songs – that was perfect for a singalong. It is when the audience joins in with her songs that you get a lump in the throat.

She came to represent so much, especially to the service personnel she entertained tirelessly during the second world war. She visited Burma, Egypt and India to give concerts for troops stationed there, an act of courage that should not be underestimated. These were difficult, dangerous journeys and not for nothing was she later awarded the Burma Star. She symbolised resilience and indefatigability, embodying a strength of character that transcended mere art. Nazism had no chance against this winsome, optimistic, joyful yet tender young woman.

Lynn gave up singing after the war but was persuaded out of retirement in 1947 and began a whole new international career, with appearances in the United States in 1948.

She became the first British artiste to have a US number one with "Auf Wiedersehen, Sweetheart", her most successful record, in 1952. However Vera Lynn's career foundered in the rock and roll era and she cut back on public appearances.

Artistically, it must have been infuriating to be forever associated with the wartime struggle and she did attempt to move on, recording a few Beatles numbers in the 1960s and even making a country disc in 1977. But nothing could shift the way she was seen by the public: a symbol, quintessentially British, of that unimaginably long, bleak, ultimately triumphant wartime struggle; an icon frozen in time.

She accepted her status as a living museum of wartime music and culture with customary good grace. “I never thought the ‘forces’ sweetheart’ tag would stay with me,” she told the Radio Times in 2014, “but it has, hasn’t it? I thought it would last for the war period, then I’d just be another singer. Of course I’ve never minded that everybody always connects me with that time. It was so important.”

For decades, she was a beloved figure at celebrations to mark the anniversaries of the June 6, 1944, D-Day landings in France or VE Day, the end of the war in Europe on May 8, 1945.

Her last public performance came in 2005, at the 60th anniversary celebrations for VE Day in Trafalgar Square. She performed a snatch of We’ll Meet Again, and told the crowd: “These boys gave their lives and some came home badly injured and for some families life would never be the same. We should always remember, we should never forget and we should teach the children to remember.”

She was awarded an OBE in 1969, and made a dame in 1975, for her charity work. She has given her name to her own breast cancer and child cerebral palsy charities, and has also worked with charities for military servicepeople, including Forces Literary Organisation Worldwide (Flow)

In 2009, at the age of 92, she became the oldest living artist to make it to No 1 on the British album charts, with a greatest hits compilation outselling the Arctic Monkeys.

During the build-up to her 100th birthday in 2017, Dame Vera said she found it "humbling" that people still enjoyed her songs.

The Queen wrote to her: "You cheered and uplifted us all in the war and after the war, and I am sure that this evening the blue birds of Dover will be flying over to wish you a happy anniversary."

Her songs spoke to people caught up in war, trying to respond to its emotional extremes as best they could. They encapsulate fellowship and battling through, not jingoism, for all the flag-waving that accompanied her appearances at commemorative events. “We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.” The lyrics could not be more banal, yet her genuine spirit invested them with deep humanity. As HM Queen Elizabeth II herself understood, what keeps us going in times of war and pandemic is the thought that we will be reunited with our loved ones, when the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away.

RIP Dame Vera Lynn

We’ll meet again....

[kimpson]

My name is James kim.

This Is How I Came To Know What I Now Know, That I Am helping patients all over the world. Am putting this down now because I have had allot of patients asked how I do came about this protocol.

feel grateful to be able to tell my story that will make you aware of my background and how I arrived here.

Like so many people, I was scared, tearful and very distraught after my mother received her cancer diagnosis. Over the next 6-12 months the medical establishment tried, but nothing the doctors had to offer appeared to stop the metastasized cancer from taking over her entire body. She did what research she could about terms like; how to get rid of cancer naturally, holistic treatments and cures for metastasized cancer, and alternative cancer treatments that work.

Sadly, she never found anything that she thought would work for her.

My Father also had a real scare with a cancerous left kidney. His cancer hadn’t metastasized so his Doctors removed the kidney and he has been fine ever since. Then a day that I hoped would never come, came.

My mother said she did not think she was going to survive her cancer, the thought of which left me terrified and petrified thinking I was going to lose my mother to cancer.

Worse yet, the thought of her spending her last days in a hospice bed paralyzed me with fear and left me wanting to do nothing more than to curl up in a corner somewhere.

But instead of feeling sorry for myself and wanting to do what I could to save my mother, I chose to spend my time Googling terms like; how to cure stage 4 cancer naturally, natural lung cancer cures, natural treatment for lung cancer, natural cure for lung cancer, natural remedies for lung cancer and a whole bunch more.

My wife saw me doing these online searches, and she and the kids pleaded with me to accept the inevitable and to start preparing myself for the worse.

I was a useless wreck!

My Only Options :

(1)Pray, hope and plead while waiting for cancer to kill her

(2)Try to figure out how to slow down or stop her cancer long enough for her to die from old age instead.

As you might have guessed, I chose option 2 and then I aggressively launched a mission to save her life. Fear and desperation are probably two of the greatest motivators there are.

Available on the web were tons of books and hundreds of websites offering anywhere from a single product that cures every disease mankind has ever known, including those trying to tell you how to get rid of cancer naturally. To even more websites offering “2-299 guaranteed surefire alternative lung cancer treatments using the root from some plant that is only found in the Amazon Rain Forest or on a mountain top somewhere in India.

Common sense and research told me that all of these were a waste of time.

Common Sense and Research

Let me be brutally honest with you. I found no magic pill or secret drug out there that could cure cancer or keep her alive.

Especially after you’ve done multiple rounds of chemo and/or radiation. Odds are it’s over! Close the shades, update your will, finalize your funeral arrangements, and kiss your family and friends goodbye. I was seeing this first hand with my mother, and the saddest part is that the only certain thing is WHEN and not IF she would succumb to the cancer metastasis.

Many times I wanted to give up on finding a solution. I had almost come to terms with the reality that she’d be dead in 6 Months. I went through a gamut of emotions like fear, anxiety, dread and anger. But I channeled those emotions and went about the work of saving her.

Please allow me the pleasure of sharing with you the ” Eureka” moment when everything all came together. What I found is:

I quickly concluded that after many decades of waging war on cancer there had to be legitimate, valid and credible studies that revealed an effective alternative cancer treatment protocol.

After hundreds, if not thousands of hours of searching the web and reading hundreds of these research studies, my hard work and relentless efforts were rewarded.

I found several studies that had been rigorously peer-reviewed and which were supported by hundreds more rigorously reviewed university studies. What all of these studies did was to put together for me a genuine, scientifically validated treatment program that was virtually certain, at a minimum, to stop her cancer metastasis in its tracks, if not outright cure it!

The researchers declared this treatment as, likely to be “more successful than current approaches because it is based on the principles of evolutionary biology and metabolic control analysis” and that it could truly be an alternative cancer treatment and cure.

So if you needed an:

-alternative breast cancer treatment

-alternative prostate cancer treatment

-alternative pancreatic cancer treatment

-alternative liver cancer treatment

Then this is your ticket to a real chance to treat and beat your disease!

However, I like to be as close to 100% sure as I can get. So I looked at how The American Cancer Society (ACS) evaluates mainstream and alternative cancer treatments.

They do this by asking three questions:

1) Has the method been objectively demonstrated in the peer-reviewed scientific literature to be effective?

2) Has the method shown potential for benefit that exceeds the potential for harm?

3) Have objective studies been correctly conducted under appropriate peer review to answer these questions?

Fortunately, I was able to answer all those questions with a resounding YES! Every single piece of knowledge reinforced my belief that this truly would give me a great chance at keeping her alive especially since current mainstream protocols like surgery, chemo, and radiation had failed her.

The Well-Known Secret is Finally Available

It’s not a secret that Big Pharma makes some very vicious business decisions. So it should be fairly easy to see there is not a Big Pharma business person that would spend millions to educate MDs or the General Public about a cheap and effective treatment protocol. Even if it has been scientifically validated by elite research scientists time and time again. Just because it has zero potential to add to Big Pharma’s already massive net profits.

But what I learnt earn is the findings scientists have known about for decades.

That you stand an outstanding chance of defeating cancer if not outright curing it, IF the right protocol is used.

What your cancer cells need to kill you, are the nutrients (glucose and secondarily glutamine) that the blood vessels bring to them so that they can continue to grow and metastasize. Because cancer in and of itself won’t kill you. It is the ongoing and uncontrolled growth of cancer that eventually overwhelms your body and kills you.

So the key to not dying from cancer is to be able to slow down or kill enough cancer cells so that they don’t overrun your body.

Research scientists have known and proven this over and over again for decades. This protocol teaches you the specific details of what to do so that you can effectively starve cancer and then eradicate it while ensuring that your normal cells remain very healthy. And the best part is, this protocol does it very quickly, cheaply and most importantly very EFFECTIVELY!

The 70+years of clinical science that supports it, is overwhelming.

If you have cancer of any origin, no matter how aggressive it is, or even if it has metastasized, YOU DON’T have to be DEAD too soon.

Quite the contrary, you will have a plan, that is a whole body and systemic protocol that will suffocate, starve, poison and kill cancer anywhere in the body. It matters not if it has been declared untreatable cancer. Metastasized or still localized. It doesn’t matter the origin (lung, breast, liver, pancreas, etc).

You Won’t Have to Worry to Death Anymore

[im-the-punk-who]

Idk if ur the right person to send this to so feel free to ignore if you aren't but I'm beginning to realize that I might be a trans guy after years of thinking I'm enby and I'm really struggling with that? I've received a lot of the messages over the years about how men are bad and violent and I've also experienced a lot of gender based violence before I was out. I know intellectually that there's nothing wrong with manhood and yet I'm still really struggling. Idk do you have any thoughts on learning to accept your own manhood

Okay! Sorry this took a few days to answer but this is...definitely still a complicated thing for me, too.

First off I wanna say that whether you end up identifying as a binary trans man or somewhere in between that and nonbinary, that is very cool and valid and all of this can apply no matter where on the spectrum of masculinity you ultimately end up falling.

I saw a post which explains the basic thesis of what I'm gonna say, which is that your gender does not equal your morality. 

Tumblr in particular really likes to go hard on the misandry and it can be really hard not to internalize that. Especially when it comes in the form of so many jokes, and especially especially when some of it does line up with experiences you’ve had. The biggest thing to realize, is that just *being a man* doesn't make you inherently violent or toxic or bad. All of the things that Tumblr and feminism in general tends to equate to “being a man = bad” are things that are learned or encouraged over time, no matter how much terfs like to insist they are traits inherent in being born with a y chromosome. 

(And yes, these misandry arguments ALL have their basis in gender essentialism and in arguing why trans people can’t exist.)

As this relates to trans men, it becomes akin to walking a tightrope our entire lives. In both society at large and LGBT spaces we're made to fit as close as possible into gender norms to avoid violence or oppression(or the insistence we’re really just lesbians or self-hating cishets). But we also have first hand experience of the ways in which men are *socialized* to behave being harmful and don’t want to perpetuate them and be labeled a ‘bad person’. So we have to constantly walk this line of, I suppose trying to act manly enough while also trying not to cause waves (And, AS A NOTE, does that sound eerily similar to the argument most feminists say is purely a feminine experience? Is it almost like the very system that seeks to free cis women through hatred of men perpetrates those exact same systems onto other marginalized communities?)

And I will say, this is something I still struggle with. A lot. It's not going to be something you can take a magic pill for and never have to worry about again. I started transitioning almost a decade ago and I'm still trying to find the balance. Cis men can spend their *whole lives* trying to find that balance. I know quite a few - in case it feels like this is a purely trans experience. Reckoning with the way that male privilege has socialized men to harm at the same time radical feminism has socialized everyone it can that all men intentionally cause harm is a universal experience among men who are aware of it. 

It's not easy, and I guess just...if you feel like you're struggling on that front as you continue your gender journey(Laynie i hate you i hate you i hate you) try to remind yourself that you're not alone. And that what you’re fighting against is a systemic socialization, not something inherent in yourself. You’re going to screw up - that doesn't make you a bad person or a bad man.

I listen a lot to Brene Brown. 

I know people are probably sick of hearing me talk about her, but she is a shame researcher who honestly helped me a LOT in realizing why I was feeling so bad about parts of my personality or my gender expression. She’s excellent. If you find you’re having a lot of trouble reckoning with being this thing you have perceived as bad for a very long time, I highly recommend listening to some of her ted talks and other speeches. Most of them are on youtube. 

For a long time I was trying to base my gender off of what I thought people would love. I went over the top, dressed in popular styles, was WAY more feminine than I actually feel, and tried to make myself as unassuming as possible - in part because of childhood trauma but also because I was genuinely ashamed to be a man(particularly a gay man) because I had internalized the idea that men - especially gay men - were woman-haters. (And, because I hated *myself* as a woman, I thought that I also hated women, and I thought that I must be one of those Bad Gays.)

But once I stopped trying to do that? Once I was like ‘no I’m actually a gay-up man’ and stopped berating myself for not liking my feminie body and hating the parts of myself that I didn’t identify with but felt forced to perform? Once I started looking at what made *me* happy and not other people? It became so much easier to not feel those things. 

SO I guess, what I’m saying is that the best way to deal with internalized misandry is to try to forgive yourself, and recognize that the things that men perpetrated against you and that people say are ‘toxic male traits’ are not *inherent* to being a man. They are things that are taught to men(both cis and trans) by society. And also that like, these are also things that are not just inherent to men. Any toxic trait that a man exhibits a woman can too - and yeah there’s a discussion about how the general power imbalance between men and women makes it less likely a woman would cause as much damage but honestly? If you’re on tumblr you’re most likely in female dominated spaces where arguably that isn’t true, especially with the number of fucking TERFS on this website. 

Also....you do not inherit cismale privilege just by identifying as a man. No matter how far you take your transition, you are *always* going to be at a different level of privilege from a cisman. Even if you transition as far as you are able to right now and live and pass as a cisman for the rest of your life, you are not a cisman and that is going to affect how you move through the world.

(That doesn’t mean you are not a *man* because you are not cis, btw. Just that there are things that cismen don’t have to worry about that are going to affect your life - things like ovarian cancer, breast cancer, hormonal dependence, corrective abuse, medical shortages, physical differences that out transpeople - there are a hundred things that trans men have to experience throughout their lives that cismen are never, ever going to deal with. And yes, this goes for transwomen / cis women as well.)

Something that helped me become comfortable living as a man was to look at specific traits of the men in my life. Why did I feel comfortable around this man, but not others, what red flags physically or emotionally did this behavior set off in me? And then focusing on those specific *behaviors* rather than the men themselves. If you can separate the individual traits from an overarching idea of 'manhood' that might be helpful in feeling like you can inhabit manhood without being toxic. 

Basically, my best advice is to tell yourself that what makes you a man does not make you inherently toxic. In fact what makes *all* men, men, does not make them inherently toxic. Men are not trash just because they’re men, and the fight against misandry *is* a fight for marginalized people. It hurts transmasculine people in exactly the ways you are hurting. No matter what TERFs say - no matter what male-critical or whatever they’re calling themselves to not have to call themselves TERFs say - men are not born evil, or bad, or trash. 

Toxic masculinity is a learned behavior. It is not something you are given the day you start identifying as a man, and it is not something you have to perpetuate. 

Calling it anything else does a disservice to everyone who identifies as masculine of center but especially trans men, who have to reckon with this exact knowledge that in affirming who they are, certain people are going to hate them and call them monsters and tell them they are trash and unworthy of loving without hurting. 

And that shit just isn’t true. It isn’t fucking true! Men are not toxic just because they are men, and you are not a bad person just because you are a transman. That’s, I suppose, the best advice I can offer you. I hope it helps, and I also just want to reiterate that I hope you find affirmation in whatever you end up deciding. <3 <3 <3

[wolfpackimagines14]

Lizzie Swan - Chapter 1

Word Count - 1.8k

A/N: thanks for being so patient! Paul isn’t in this chapter (he probably won’t be in the next one either). Also I didn’t proof read this so be warned!

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Bella, happy birthday to you,” Dad and I sang to Bella. I had woken up early this morning to make her pancakes for breakfast. Dad had insisted on the candles and the song, even though I tried to convince him that she would hate it.

“Guys,” Bella sighed. “I told you I didn’t want you to make a big deal out of my birthday.”

“Bella, you’re 18!” Dad replied to her dismayed attitude. “How can we not make a big deal out of it?”

“Ugh…” she groaned and pulled her covers up over her head.

“I tried to stop him,” I laughed, trying to pull the covers back.

“Not hard enough, apparently,” she playfully glared at me.

“Whatever, Bells,” I replied. “Just eat the damn pancakes I woke up 30 minutes early to make for you. You know how much I hate waking up early.”

“....thank you Lizzie,” she finally agreed to come out from under her blanket sanctuary to eat the pancakes I had made.

“You’re welcome!” I grinned at her. “Okay I’m gonna go get ready for school now!”

I left our dad to stumble his way awkwardly through giving Bella the presents that him and Renee had gotten her. Despite her living with us for nine months now, he was still just as awkward when he was forced to show that he cared.

We had definitely grown closer since Bella had moved to Forks to live with us. I wasn’t sure I had wanted her to move in at first, but having a full time sister had actually been really great. For the first 12 years of my life, Bella would come to Forks for one month during the summer. While I had enjoyed those visits for the most part, you could always tell that Bella hated it here. She’s always been easy to read and the disdain on her face when she would arrive in Forks was always apparent.

But starting in 2002, all of Bella’s complaining lead to our dad and her spending two weeks vacationing in California together instead. I had been invited, but I’d chosen not to go. Not because I didn’t want to, but because my mother was sick back in Forks.

When I was nine years old, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She’d had to get a mastectomy, but even that combined with the chemotherapy hadn’t been enough to save her. Things turned for the worst in 2004 and mom was tired after fighting so hard for five years. She passed away that year and not even eight months later, Bella had moved to Forks full time.

And though the changes had been tough, going to therapy had really helped. My dad had forced me to go and though it had helped, you don’t easily get over the death of a parent and the sad moments really do still hit me to this day.

But having Bella around more often really allowed us to get closer and I truly do love her. She was difficult to be around sometimes though. And she spent literally all her time with her boyfriend, Edward Cullen. Edward was nice enough, a little distant though.

“Lizzie?” I was interrupted from my thoughts when I heard Bella call my name from downstairs. “Are you ready? I’m leaving now and unless you want Charlie to drive you to school in the cruiser I suggest you move it along.”

“Just a second!” I called downstairs, now rushing to finish getting ready. Nothing was more embarrassing than driving around in dad’s police cruiser. I grabbed my sweatshirt and pulled it over my head before grabbing my backpack and rushing down the stairs and out the door.

The ride to school was quiet, but pleasant. I didn’t want to bother Bella with any more birthday talk and I had to review my notes for AP Chemistry in case of a pop quiz. It was only the second week of school and that class was already kicking my ass.

After parking her monstrous truck in the school parking lot, we were almost immediately bombarded by Alice Cullen.

“Happy birthday, Bella!” she exclaimed eagerly and I rolled my eyes at Bella when she shushed her. I found it amusing when Alice just ignored her and continued her assault. “Do you want to open your present now or later?”

“No presents,” Bella mumbled in response.

“Okay so later then!” Alice kept talking, not thrown off by Bella’s mood at all. “Did you like the scrapbook your mom sent you? And the camera from Charlie and Lizzie?”

Damn, how did she know about that already? Bella must’ve texted her about it I guess.

I looked down at my notes again as Edward approached us and greeted Bella.

“Lizzie,” Edward greeted me politely. “How are you?”

“Fine,” I answered, glancing up at him for a second. “You?”

“Fine,” he repeated my short, but pleasant answer. “Studying for Mrs. Cooper’s class?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “There might be a pop quiz today and I just want to be prepared.”

“Always good to be prepared,” he nodded in agreement. “But between you and I, I overheard her talking about having the pop quiz on Thursday.”

“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he nodded at me.

“Oh thank god!” I exclaimed. “I was not prepared for that quiz.”

“So what time are you two coming over tonight?” Alice interrupted us.

“I didn’t know I was coming over tonight,” Bella replied, definitely as confused as I was.

“Oh come on, Bella!” she complained. “We’ve been planning this party for forever!”

“I didn’t even know about it!” Bella exclaimed.

“Well now you do! Lizzie, can you come?” Alice turned her attention to me.

“I can’t,” I sighed, genuinely bummed out. “I have to work tonight. Plus I have to study for that pop quiz on Thursday.”

I worked as a waitress at The Lodge, one of the only formal sit down restaurants in Forks. I made pretty decent money and I was saving up to buy a car for when I turned 16 next year.

“I should get to class,” I interrupted Alice before she could make any excuses for me not to go to work. I really needed the money. “Thank you for the invite though.”

I quickly made my way to my first period class. Even though I was only a sophomore, school was tough. Between all my classes, my job at The Lodge, and my soccer schedule starting up soon I was really stretch out thin. But luckily my best friend, Jenny, was in practically all of my classes.

The day went by fairly quickly. Edward was right, there wasn’t a pop quiz in AP Chem, but there was one in Spanish. We were playing badminton in gym and my team had gone undefeated all class. Soccer tryouts were this afternoon; Jenny and I were really hoping to make the varsity team, but the odds weren’t in our favor because we were only sophomores. And work was pretty busy for a Tuesday night, which was good for me because the busier it is, the more tips I make. Luckily Jenny had already turned 16 and she had her license so she could drive me from soccer to the restaurant.

I got home late and was heating myself up some dinner when Bella walked through the front door of the house, sporting a new bandage on her arm.

“What’d you do this time?” I teasingly asked her.

“I tripped,” she muttered before making her way through the living room and up the stairs, greeting Charlie on the way.

“She’s gotta be more careful,” I told Dad as I brought my plate into the living room to watch the rest of the game with him. He just grunted in response, too engrossed in the game to continue the conversation.

The next few days were weird. Edward wasn’t around as much and Alice no longer greeted us in the parking lot at school in the mornings. I didn’t mention anything to Bella, not wanting to upset her.

I had made the varsity soccer team, but Jenny hadn’t. She was happy for me, but she was still upset and I couldn’t blame her for that. Edward had been right and on Thursday I had a pop quiz in AP Chem. I wanted to thank him for the heads up, but he wasn’t even at school that day and when I asked Bella where he was, she said she didn’t know. Which was weird because Bella always knows where Edward is.

I got home from work on Friday and was immediately bombarded by my dad.

“Have you seen Bella at all?” he asked me frantically.

“Not since this morning when we drove to school,” I answered cautiously. “I had soccer practice after school and Jenny drove me to work after.”

“She hasn’t been home in hours and she’s not answering her phone,” he was definitely panicking now. I was starting to get worried too. It was almost 10:30pm and it was a long time for her to be out without contacting us. “She left a note that she was going for a walk with Edward in the woods.”

“Have you tried calling the Cullens?” I suggested.

“No answer,” he sighed. “I’m calling the guys and putting together a search party.”

In less than an hour, there were police officers and Dad’s friends from the reservation in our backyard. Even Jacob and Billy Black were here. It had been awhile since I’d seen them, but this wasn’t the way I wanted to reunite with them.

People were searching for hours and I was really getting worried. Where the hell was she? It was approaching 3 in the morning now.

“What if we don’t find her?” I teared up as I talked to Jacob.

“We’ll find her,” he reassured me, pulling me into a hug.

It was at that moment that I saw Sam Uley, one of the older guys from the reservation come out of the woods. He was shirtless and was carrying Bella in his arms. She looked like she was passed out in his arms.

“Oh my god!” I exclaimed, running across the yard with my dad right on my heels. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Sam reassured me. “Just a little shaken up.”

My dad insisted on carrying her the rest of the way to the house, despite his back having been bothering him lately.

“Thank you,” I told Sam sincerely before hugging him. Wow, he was really warm considering the cool weather right now. “Thank you for finding her.”

“No problem,” he replied gruffly before turning to go talk to Billy. I ran to catch up with my dad and helped him by opening the front door for him so he could carry Bella inside.

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@ravenmoore14

@k-n-e

[whumphoarder]

You Still Got Us

Summary: Peter is having an off-day, which unfortunately coincides with an Avengers’ level mission. After watching the kid take a number of close calls, Tony has no choice but to bench Peter mid-fight.

Word count: 2,461

Genre: angst, emotional hurt/comfort

Link to read on Ao3

A/N: Written as part of @irondadsecretsanta 2019! Merry Christmas @garbotuesday! Hope you enjoy :D

Thanks to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading and to @awesomesockes for the idea

It was pretty clear that Peter was having an off-day.

Tony first noticed the signs during Steve’s pre-mission briefing that morning when the kid repeatedly kept sneaking glances at his phone. That seemed a bit out of character given Peter’s usual reverence toward the captain, but Tony excused it on the basis that a) it was a pretty straightforward mission, b) they’d been over the exact specifications of the building they were going to be infiltrating four times already, and c) Cap could be boring as hell.

Peter seemed a bit preoccupied during their flight to the rural New Mexican town, but nothing too out of the ordinary. He nodded along to all of the team’s tactical discussions and appeared to understand his role in the plan. Later, when the kid tripped over his own feet while exiting the quinjet, Tony chalked it up to nerves.

But the final straw was when Peter misread Steve’s hand signal to hold his position as an order to strike. That mistake is what caused the kid to charge directly into a room full of six heavily-armed guards, completely by himself.

Cursing, Tony quickly scrambles out from behind the crate that’s been shielding him from view. The rest of the team is already mobilizing, thankfully used to improvisation. Natasha takes out one of the men with a roundhouse kick to the jaw while Steve and Clint converge on two more, quickly disarming them.

Another guard hurls a heavy metal table in Tony’s direction and takes off running toward the backdoor. Tony’s just started after him when he hears Sam’s urgent warning over the comms.

“Heads up, Spidey!”

Tony whirls around. Peter—who is staring down at his own wrist, frantically tapping the side of his webshooter mechanism—barely has time to look up before the fifth guard aims his gun directly at the kid’s head.

Instantly, Tony raises his hand and blasts the weapon right out of the guard's grip. The man gives a strangled cry of pain as he clutches his now burned hand to his chest. Taking advantage of that momentary distraction, Tony switches his repulsor setting to stun and fires again. This time he blows the guard clear across the room. Under his faceplate, Tony grins.

(It’s the little things.)

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get to bask in the satisfaction for long. A split-second later, a burst of energy slams into Tony’s chest plate. The force sends him hurtling backwards into the wall. Tony grunts sharply as pain explodes in his ribcage.

Peter races over to him. “Oh god, Mr. Stark, are you okay?” he blurts out, his tone borderline hysterical. “I’m so sorry! My webshooter jammed and I—”

“Get down!” Clint shouts.

Tony swears sharply, yanking Peter down with him just as another photon blast shoots over their heads. This time it’s so close that Tony swears he can see smoke wafting up from the top of Peter’s mask.

“Shit, kid…” Tony gasps out, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” Peter assures him, gulping hard. He’s sitting on the ground now, looking more dazed than anything else. “I just, uh, didn’t see him there.”

Over the comms, Tony hears Steve report that the two remaining guards have just escaped through the southwest exit. Sam and Natasha immediately take off after them. Peter starts scrambling to his feet like he intends to follow, but Tony grabs his wrist.

“Oh hell no. Don’t even think about it,” he snaps. “You’re staying right here.”

“What? No!” Peter protests, trying fruitlessly to twist his arm out of his mentor’s iron grip. “I’m fine—I’m not even hurt!”

“No, but you will be if you can’t get your head in the game,” Tony retorts, his gaze traveling around the room. Out of the team, Barton seems to be the only one left. The archer has an arrow trained threateningly at the pile of groaning men on the ground.

“Yo, Legolas!” Tony hollers, causing the man to glance back at him. “You got this?”

Clint smirks. “Absolutely. These guys aren’t going anywhere,” he says, nodding his head toward the incapacitated guards. “Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.”

Tony rolls his eyes at the archer. "Yeah, well let me know if it gets to be difficult, difficult, lemon difficult..." he mutters. Still holding Peter’s wrist, he pulls the kid with him behind a stack of crates in the back corner of the warehouse. He retracts his helmet to look directly at Peter. “Alright, start talking,” he orders. “What is going on with you today?”

“Nothing,” Peter says tightly. Even in the mask, he won’t meet Tony’s gaze. “’m fine.”

“No, you’re not fine—you’re unfocused. You’re sloppy,” Tony argues. “Sloppy doesn’t fly in the big leagues, kid. Sloppy’s liable to get you killed.”

”Right, no, I know that. My webshooter is just clogged, but I can fix it!" Peter babbles. He resumes smacking the side of the mechanism. "I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, I just—” With a final smack, the blockage is released and a string of web shoots out of the device, adhering Peter’s foot to the ground. He groans. “Aw, c’mon...”

Tony heaves out an exasperated sigh as the kid proceeds to clumsily spray his foot with web solvent. “Alright, that’s it, I’m benching you,” he declares. “Go back to the quinjet and wait for us to finish up.”

“Wh-What?” Peter stammers. He shakes his head frantically. “No, no I’m fine, Mr. Stark! I’ll focus! It was just—”

“Nope,” Tony cuts him off. “If you can’t take this mission seriously, then you shouldn’t be on it.” He’s starting to get heated now. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you constantly on your phone this morning. I don’t know what you think is so important on there, but you can crush candy and fire angry birds at green pigs another time.”

“I-I wasn’t,” Peter mumbles, still looking down.

"Then what were you doing?" Tony demands.

Peter bites his lower lip. His voice is very small when he answers, “Waiting for a text.”

“A text?” Tony balks. He’s in genuine disbelief. “You’ve been begging me and Cap to let you come along on the real missions for months now, and when we finally do, rather than following orders and keeping up, you spend your time, what? Texting your girlfriend?”

Peter’s hugging his arms around his middle now. He shakes his head slightly, his words coming out in barely a whisper. “No. May.”

Tony frowns in confusion. “Your aunt?”

Peter nods, his lower lip starting to quiver. “She… um, she found a lump a couple days ago? On her, uh…” He gestures vaguely in front of his chest.

Tony’s heart sinks with the realization. He exhales slowly. “Oh bud…”

Inhaling shakily, Peter starts to ramble. “Like, it might be nothing and I know I shouldn’t jump to conclusions or anything before the tests come back because who knows if it’s cancer or just like, fatty tissue or something? She said it could be that and it might be no big deal so I shouldn’t get worried yet, but… but like...” He draws in another shuddery inhale. “May’s mom died of breast cancer when she was only like, forty. And I know that doesn’t mean that May has it or anything but it can run in families and so"—he sucks in a sharp breath—"I just, I mean...she’s all I have left, a-and…”

Peter breaks off into a choked sob, and Tony sets a hand heavily on his shoulder.

“I just… I ca-can’t lose her too, Mr. Stark!” he cries.

“It’s okay,” Tony whispers, rubbing his hand up and down over Peter’s arm. “It’s alright, kid…”

Through his earpiece, he hears Nat report that she’s just taken down the final guard. Sam cracks a quick joke about Black Widow’s head-locking skills before Steve reports that he’s discovered the weapons distribution area. It all sounds pretty well under control.

Lowering his hand, Tony steps backwards and taps his earpiece with two fingers. “Hey, I need to take the kid back to the jet,” he says quietly. “I’ll be back in ten or so to finish up.”

“Roger that,” Steve replies. “Is he injured?”

Tony hesitates. Peter has tugged his mask halfway up over his face now and is scrubbing at his cheeks roughly with the back of his hand. “Not physically," he replies after a pause. "But he’s… he’s done for today.”

X

The walk back to the quinjet is brief and silent, the only sounds being Peter’s occasional sniffs. He’s clearly trying his best to pull it together, so Tony just lets him be.

Once back onboard, Peter immediately sinks down into his seat, removing the mask entirely. Tony grabs a bottle of water and a protein bar from their supplies and holds them out to him, but the kid just shakes his head.

“I’m good,” he whispers.

“Doubtful,” Tony replies. He sets the items down on Peter’s lap anyway.

Peter bends down to reach into his backpack, which is stowed under the seat, and fishes his phone out with trembling fingers. He scrolls through to check his notifications, and then sighs.

“Anything?” Tony asks.

Peter shakes his head. “Not yet.” He lowers the phone back down and looks up at his mentor. “I’m really sorry about the mission,” he says quietly. “I shouldn’t have come today. That was really stupid and I just put everybody in danger. I was just so worried and I thought it might take my mind off it, but...” A stray tear runs down from the corner of his eye.

With a sigh, Tony presses the button to fully retract his armor. He then plops down on the closest seat, wincing as pain shoots through his now unsupported ribs. “Look. I’m not going to say what you did was okay, because it really wasn't"—Peter bites his lip and gives a solemn nod—“But at the same time, I'd be lying if I told you I’ve never done anything similar.” Tony pauses for a beat. “Emotions suck.”

At that, Peter huffs out a short, empty laugh. “Yeah. Agreed.”

They sit there for a moment, before Peter asks hesitantly, “Uh, are you going to head back now?”

Originally, Tony was only intending to stay until the kid was situated and then get back to the warehouse to help confiscate the weapons, but the quiver in Peter’s lip is giving him pause. The team probably doesn’t need him, per se—the hard part is basically over.

Tony shrugs. “I think Cap’s got it handled. Plus”—he presses his hand gingerly to the bruise on his ribcage—“this could probably do with some ice. Do you think you could…?” He flaps his hand in the direction of the ship’s medical supplies.

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh! Yeah, of course.” He hops up from his seat and retrieves the first aid kit. He locates a single-use ice pack which he snaps and shakes to activate the chemicals.

“Here,” Peter says, handing it over. “Uh, how bad is it?” he asks nervously. “Do you want some painkillers or anything?”

Tony takes the ice pack with a nod of thanks. He’s had enough broken ribs in his life to know that these are likely just bruised—at worst, cracked. The injury is only ranking about a three or four on the pain scale, which is far below his usual threshold for sitting things out. But if the kid needs something else to focus on, he figures a break won’t kill him.

“Sure, if you’ve got any,” Tony says, keeping his tone casual.

Peter locates and doses out three Tylenol for Tony, shaking them into his mentor’s palm before grabbing him a fresh bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Tony says. He swallows them down and then adjusts his position in his seat, considering for a moment the best way to keep Peter's mind occupied while they wait. “Hey," he begins, "have I ever told you about the time Clint tried to free climb the outside surface of a three-story building?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Oh, it’s a doozy,” Tony remarks with a chuckle, settling deeper into his chair. “Alright, so it was Valentine’s day, which I only happen to remember because Cap insisted on making these heart-shaped pancakes for everyone, which set off the fire alarm...”

Over the next ten minutes, Tony recounts the story with as much embellishment and vivid imagery as he can muster. Peter gives the occasional single breathy laugh or nod as appropriate, which satisfies his mentor that his less-than-subtle distraction tactics are at least partially working.

“...luckily, Thor caught him before he hit the ground,” Tony concludes. “You know those viral videos where the firefighter catches the baby being dropped out of an apartment window? Same concept, except the firefighter was an alien god and the baby was a grown man in cargo shorts. Still screamed about the same amount though.”

With a short laugh, Peter checks his phone once more. He then sighs and shakes his head slightly before setting the device back facedown on his thigh.

Tony takes that as his cue to continue. “...Speaking of screaming, have you heard the one about how he once posed as a camel trainer in Australia, and led a group of—”

Just then, Peter’s phone buzzes.

Eyes going wide, his hand shoots out for the device so fast that his fumbling fingers send it clattering to the floor. He drops to his knees and picks it up, quickly turning it over to see the text.

For a few seconds, Peter just stares at the message, unblinking, and Tony waits for a response with bated breath.

Then suddenly, Tony’s watching tears well up in the kid’s eyes. His own heart drops to his stomach and all at once it's 1991 again and Jarvis is knocking on his bedroom door, informing him that a state trooper is here, that something terrible has occurred, that his parents are—

A choked sob from Peter knocks Tony back to the present. The kid is still knelt on the floor, pressing a fist to his lips, shoulders shaking from the effort of keeping quiet.

“N-Negative,” Peter manages to say through the tears. “The bi-biopsy was... it was negative. No cancer.”

Ignoring the protests from his ribs, Tony slides out of his own seat to join him on the floor. He pulls the boy in to his chest for a tight hug. “It’s okay, Pete,” he says quietly. “It’s okay. I got you.”

Peter’s sobs are wracking his entire frame, but Tony only holds him tighter as he cries.

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony breathes, rubbing one hand up and down Peter’s back. “You still got her. You still got us.”

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[scatteredcloud]

Top Surgery: What Really Happens pt 2

Tumblr decided I couldn’t put any chest pictures in sorry

See the first guide for details about getting ready and the pre-op appointment! This guide is about the day of surgery, pt1 is about getting ready for surgery

Getting Ready - Recovery- Drains

My surgeon was Dr. Jerry Chao, who’s based in the George Washington Medical School. If you’re looking for a surgeon on the mid-Atlantic, I would absolutely recommend Dr. Chao. He’s incredibly respectful and does fantastic work. He also does FFS, and breast augmentation, and while I can’t speak for those results, he certainly did an impressive job with my chest. He has a history of working with trans patients, and is really good at avoiding dysphoria-inducing language. It’s clear that he’s genuinely committed to helping you.

Leading Up To The Big Day:

-You’ll get specific details about when you have to stop eating and drinking before surgery, but for me, I wasn’t allowed to eat after midnight the night before, and I had to stop drinking anything three hours before my surgery, which was 10am for me. (Apparently you have to fast because you might aspirate while under anesthesia, which means that your stomach fluids could get sucked up in the breathing tube which is, you know. Bad.)

-My surgery was scheduled for 1:30pm, but they ask you to arrive 2 hours before hand. We got there at 10:30, just to be sure.  

- Like I said in the last post, bring something to do while you wait. It’s excruciating to be super nervous and then have to wait for a really long time with nothing to do.

-I’m not kidding about the waiting, once they call you back you change into your hospital gown, and then you wait another 30 minutes. My mom was able to stay with me until they wheeled me off for the surgery itself.

The Medical Stuff:

-The nurse came in to put my clothes and bag in a locker, and then she did my IV. I asked her to move it to my arm, because I’m really scared of anything happening to my hands. She said they do the lowest extremities by default so the tubes don’t get in the way, but you can definitely ask them to move it if it’s uncomfortable. She also put the pulse monitor on my finger, and that just gets taped on.

-This might not be true of other places, but I was specifically in with a bunch of other breast cancer patients who were also getting mastectomies, because it’s essentially the same procedure as top surgery. It made me feel a little dysphoric, but all of the curtains were drawn around people, so it’s not like they could see me or anything. It also meant my hospital gown was purple instead of a drab greenish grey, which I liked.  

-About a thousand nurses and doctors come in and out to ask you the same questions over and over. Be ready to read off your legal name (yeah it sucks) like five different times. They have to verify that you’re still coherent and that they aren’t getting their charts mixed up.

-Because the hospital I was at was attached to a med school, some students asked me if I wanted to be in a study for a new device to help place IV’s. It was a good way to kill a couple minutes, but obviously this isn’t standard.

-The original nurse came back in and gave me some pain killers ahead of time, so they’d already be working by the time I was out of surgery, which was a huge help.

-Eventually my anesthesiologist and his crew came in to talk to me about what the medications would be and what they did. One of them put an anti nausea patch behind my ear, which has done wonders. I don’t remember the name of it, but I’m sure you cold ask about it. Then they walked me through the process of what being put under anesthesia is like, but I didn’t actually end up being conscious when they were doing all the stuff they talked about.

-My surgeon came in and marked up my chest. I had a picture here but tumblr decided that an incredibly clinical and objective picture of my chest was too titlating. This is ehere you an ask any more specific questions during the procedure, you can also ask about specific aesthetic things, like nipple size and placement, scar shape etc. Obviously the surgeon knows what’s best, but mine at least was very accomodating.

-After that, the anesthesiologist came back in and put something in my IV to make me really drowsy. By the time we got to the operating room I was already out of it, I vaguely remember them adjusting my arms, but then it was lights out for me.

Recovery:

-Anesthesia really is like time travel, you’re being wheeled out one second and in recovery the next. That was the part I was the most nervous of, just like not being aware of anything happening, but I was too sleepy to be aware of that going in to surgery  -At least in my experience, recovery nurses are always more rude than the prep nurses. (My brother has to have MRI’s all the time so I’ve spent a good bit of time in the recovery room, some how they’re always kind of tactless) I doubt this is true of all recovery nurses, of course, mine was rushing me through the process though. They probably just want people out of there as fast as possible because of COVID. -I have on a compression vest, which makes my chest feel like the first time I put on a binder. It’s pretty tight, but it forces you to sit a certain way, and it helps the drains, well, drain. I know that some people just get wrapped in ace bandages, but either way, you’ll have some kind of compression on. This is what mine looks like: It’s going to look bumpy and weird with all the gauze on it, so don’t worry.

-I managed to sit up and drink some water right away, and I was just kind of groggy, which was good. The nurse brought my clothes back and I got my shirt on ok, but I was immediately too dizzy to stand right away. I ended up vomiting into the trash can next to me, but it didn’t last and I was able to get my pants on and they wheeled me out. -The nurse sort of explained the drains to my mom, but we ended up having to look up more information about them when we got home. THIS is the best source I’ve found for it. (Dysphoria warning, it’s a breast cancer site) Like I said, they were rushing. I was officially discharged at 5:30pm. -I don’t actually have a whole lot of memory leaving the recovery room and getting down to the car, I remember thinking that the nurse who was wheeling me out was going too fast.   -My mom had wisely brought a bag to throw up in, which I did one more time, but then I fell asleep again. -I was able to get into bed, and the pain killers knocked me out until about 9:30. I had a smoothie, took a sleep aid, and was asleep by 11:30. I woke up really early in the morning to go to the bathroom, and I took another pain killer. I fell back to sleep at about 5:45am, and then I actually woke up at about 9:30am. Overall, my pain level is super low. I feel sore, but I’ve been able to get up and walk around no problem. Honestly the most uncomfortable thing I’ve been dealing with is feeling my heart beat against the gauze, and that’s just weird it doesn’t hurt. It affects people completely differently though, so I don’t want to imply that minimal pain is the standard. I’m really grateful that this is how it’s working out for me.

I’ll make another post when I get my drains out, and when I can see my chest, but I hope this helps!

[bananaofswifts]

When Taylor Swift made the decision to post her first-ever political endorsement on Instagram in Taylor Swift: Miss Americana, a new Netflix documentary that premiered at Sundance Film Festival on Thursday night, the audience burst into applause. They applauded again when she told her publicist “f*ck that, I don’t care,” about the possibility of the president attacking her, and then again when a news clip announced Swift’s post significantly increased millennial voter registration. For a pop star whose reputation has been up and down and down some more, it seems Miss Americana has her poised for an upswing.

From director Lana Wilson, who won an Emmy for her 2013 doc After Tiller, and produced by Academy Award-winners Morgan Neville and Caitrin Rogers (20 Feet From Stardom) and Christine O’Malley (Wordplay, I.O.U.S.A.), Miss Americana presents the world with a new Taylor Swift.  By “new Taylor Swift,” I don’t mean a Taylor Swift who’s willing to tell Kanye West where to shove it—we already know she’s willing to do that. No, this is a Taylor Swift who’s willing to tell the American government where to shove it, and that’s very new indeed. Whether haters will be willing to hear the new Taylor out remains to be seen, but if they do, they would certainly find someone worth listening to.

Titled after her recent song, “Miss Americana & the Heartbreak Prince,”  the film begins where a lot of music documentaries have gone before: the trials and tribulations of being a world-famous artist. We open with Swift playing piano in her house, dressed down in simple overalls and a tee-shirt, perusing her old songbooks. From there Wilson launches into a fairly standard but still enjoyable rundown of Swift’s career.  It’s got everything you want and expect a music documentary to have, from adorable clips of Swift as a charismatic 13-year-old girl to a recap of her public feud with Kanye West. (Swift calls West’s infamous interruption at the 2009 VMAs a “formative experience” and “a catalyst for a lot of psychological paths I went down.”) Wilson also spends extensive time with Swift in the studio, giving fans an intimate look at her songwriting process as they’ve never seen before.

The second, more interesting half of the film is dedicated to Swift’s political awakening as an increasingly liberal activist. In 2016, while her famous friends were campaigning for Hillary Clinton, Swift stayed silent on the election. Some assumed that meant Swift was a Trump voter, an assumption she more or less blew to shreds in the 2018 midterm election when she came out—as a Democrat—in favor of Senatorial candidate Phil Bredesen, and strongly against Republican Marsha Blackburn in her home state of Tennessee.

Her decision to post that endorsement on Instagram—the first time she ever truly voiced a political opinion publicly—is easily the best scenes in the film. Her dad, a former Merill Lynch stockbroker, as well as several other members of her team, aruge with her, and tell her not to post it. They’re worried she’ll alienate half of her fanbase, and they’re also worried about her safety. She does it anyway, citing her regret for not taking a stand against Trump in 2016 as a reason why—as well as her recent, unpleasant experience going to court, countersuing a DJ who groped her, and then sued her when he was fired, something she says “no man in my family or organization can ever understand.”

“I’m sad I didn’t two years ago, but I can’t change that,” she tells her dad sharply in the film, on the verge of tears as she struggles to explain why this matters to her. “[Blackburn] votes against paid leave for women … It’s right and wrong at this point.”

Watching defy her father and her closest advisors through tears, it’s hard to feel that Swift did so for any reason other than believing it was the right thing to do. Here is the proof that so many have been asking for that her feminism is genuine, rather than something to be indulged in when it’s convenient and profitable for her. Following Bredesen’s loss in the 2018 midterm, we see Swift writing a new song, “Only the Young,” urging young people not to give up on politics when elections disappoint, which has not yet been released. (The song plays over the film’s credits and will be released with the film.)

Speaking of insights into Swift’s personal life, fans hoping for an update on Swift’s mom, who the pop star revealed was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015 might not get the answer they’re hoping for. Andrea Swift, 62, is present in the film and at one point jokes about bringing her “cancer dog,” into a family of cat lovers. Unlike the Instagram scene, it doesn’t dig in deep or get teary. Perhaps Swift feels that’s not her personal story to tell. (Last week the singe revealed her mother had also been diagnosed with a brain tumor.)

Swift’s public confrontation with former record label owners—Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta of Big Machine Records, who Swift claimed were preventing her from using her older songs on television, including in this documentary—is never mentioned in the film. According to Wilson in an interview with Variety, that’s because that drama went down too close to the film’s wrap. (Variety also reported in December that all of Swift’s songs were cleared for use in Miss Americana.) But the controversy fits neatly in with the film’s theme: No more Mrs. Nice Taylor.

I’m hardly Taylor Swift’s No. 1 fan, and like many of her non-fans, I’ve let my opinion of the pop star ebb and flow with the narrative of the moment. Miss Americana is undoubtedly a pro-Tay narrative, but it’s a good one. Wilson and her team captured moments that felt personal, vulnerable, and deeply authentic, and they did so with a skill and artistry that Instagram Live stories just can’t match. I was convinced that Swift is thinking deeply about issues of gender, sexuality, and politics in ways she never has before. To me, that’s a good thing.

I’m sure some will feel differently. How could an educated, privileged woman living in America in the 21st century be this slow on the uptake? It’s a fair point. But I’d argue many men before have had their awakening much later in life, and were applauded for doing so. One hopes it’s never too late to come to the light side.

Miss Americana will play in select theaters and on Netflix on January 31.

[profiler-in-courage]

So I started writing a story about a police detective and pictured Claes Bang playing him and now I’m SIX chapters deep.

For those of you that wanted me to post it, here is the first chapter. It’s long I’m sorry!

Chapter 1.

Emerson Woods sucked his hazelnut iced latte out of the green straw, while he simultaneously flicked his thumb over women’s Tinder profiles who were somewhere between 30 and 45. He was a hip cop. 

Detective actually, 10 years. He had made detective when he was just 35 years old.

And look at me now, he thought.

Forty-five and single, he had somewhat ashamedly resorted to making a profile on a “dating” website. His niece had told him about it. Which to him was even more pathetic. His niece was 16.

He sighed as he closed the app. What was he doing?

He glanced out his car window and scratched the side of his face. If you wanted to get technical, he was sitting in his silver ’63 Karmann Coupe Porsche. No, not bought from a detective’s salary, an inheritance from his father.

Emerson was on what the movies call a stake-out, but what anyone in law enforcement calls boredom. It’s not like TV. Nothing ever comes from sitting in your car for hours in the middle of the night, at least not in his experience. And there weren’t even donuts.

Well, at least he had coffee.

There had been a series of disappearances in the Connecticut city of Creekmore. All had been women, all from different parts of the city, from low income to high-income parts of town. They had been different ages as well. The oldest fifty-three, the youngest four. It had been going on for a few months now. No leads.

Emerson sighed, debating whether or not to open up the Tinder app again. It was nearing 11 pm, and he was tired. And bored.

The Creekmore Police Department had officers sitting in every neighborhood in the city, wary that since the last disappearance had taken place a little over five months ago. Whoever was abducting these women was due to strike again. 

He was stationed in a residential middle-class neighborhood. The kind of neighborhood he would’ve liked to live in. Once upon a time.

Trees lined the sidewalk along with painted white houses with dark roofs and watered grass. The typical picturesque street.

He pressed his thumb over the red and white app.

Kristy, age 39, occupation: elementary school teacher. 

Among her list of things she liked to do was:

Hit the bar for a night on the town.

He swiped left. He didn’t drink.

Emerson thought back to the last time he had tasted alcohol. A year after his wife died, which had been eight years ago.

He hadn’t taken her death well.

Who takes death well? he thought.

He supposed a better way to put it was he took it with a bottle of bourbon every day for a year.

Lyla had been 32 when she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. It didn’t take long.

Every time he heard the term he felt a silent rage build up inside him. Cancer felt like it had escaped a life sentence because of a technicality.

Emerson gritted his teeth. Eight years later, he had made peace with the death of his wife but not with the fact that cancer was still incurable.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, flecks of grey scattered throughout it.

11:30 pm.

His hazel eyes flicked back down to his phone screen. He rubbed the side of his Warby Parker Haskell frames. 

He had paused on a picture.

The image of a woman with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. He pressed on it.

Gwyn, 33, occupation: artist. 

Her bio stated:

Please don’t use slang and conduct your sentences like you’re somewhat educated. If you want a response. 

The corner of Emerson’s mouth tugged up into a smirk. It was something he could’ve written himself.

He swiped right.

He had a moment of regret only for a second when he wondered if 33 was too young for him. He mentally shrugged.

11:49

He was beginning to yawn now. Bored with sitting in his car, bored with his bachelor style life. He turned the keys in the ignition, about to press his foot to the gas pedal, but stopped.

He had to stay. He had orders to until sunrise. Though no one would know if he left.

You can’t, he thought.

However bored this stake-out was making him, his morals wouldn’t let him leave. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened. And with his luck it would.

He dropped the keys back into his shirt pocket.

His center console buzzed. His phone had vibrated. Gwyn had matched with him.

Emerson wondered if he should send her a message, or wait. His usual style was to wait. He had been using Tinder for a month and while he had sent the occasional message, the conversation had never gone anywhere. People didn’t know how to talk anymore. 

Through the conversations that had gone on for more than three days, came dinner dates. Three women so far, all had led to nothing except him buying their meal.

Not that he was looking for casual sex. He wasn’t, he just wanted to find someone he wanted to date. And more importantly, that wanted to date him. 

He’d found that a lot of women didn't fancy the idea of dating a police detective.

He didn’t know if he should find that concerning or not.

He swiped over to his own profile.

Emerson, 45, occupation: police detective, likes reading, people who know how to use their indoor voice, and the handful of people who take this app seriously. My niece says my style is professor-chique with a hint of cowboy.

The pictures he had of himself on there consisted of two selfies. One with glasses, one without. One clean shaven, one with scruff. Different light-colored button-up shirts. He figured he’d keep it simple.

He went to his phone’s weather app. It was currently 48 degrees. He could feel the cold settling into his car. The sweater and blazer he thought would be enough, apparently wasn’t.

His boots were doing nothing for warmth either but he had refused to go around wearing those clunky winter boots people on the East Coast seemed to love. He’d stick with his square-toed Ariats. 

Probably should have went with hot coffee instead of iced, he thought.

To take his mind off the cold, he began running it over the case. The only thing that connected the eight women who had disappeared was that they were all female. The pattern in which the killer chose, was hardly even a pattern. One a week, age of the victim varied. Sometimes it was back to back adult women, sometimes a woman then a young girl. All from different areas, all different races. Frustrating.

He worried about his niece. If it were up to him, he would be sitting outside of her house. Headstrong, fearless, sixteen, no regard for her curfew. His sister had her hands full with Abigail. Detective Burnham, his best friend, was stationed around his sister’s neighborhood.

They will be fine, he thought.

Still, it didn’t stop his brain from depicting scenarios. He had experienced tragedy once, there was no rule that said it couldn’t happen to him again.

After Lyla died he had moved from San Antonio to Creekmore to be closer to his sister and Abigail. They were the only family he had. 

He pulled up Abigail’s contact and typed a text message.

I’m assuming that since you are in high school, you are still awake at this hour?

The bubbles that meant she was typing popped up.

I’m safe in my bed, not abducted Uncle Emerson.

He smiled, she was intuitive. And for once not out partying. The stories his sister Eve had told him, it almost made him glad he didn’t have children. But not quite.

Abigail was typing again.

So…any new matches?!

Since she had persuaded him to download Tinder, she had amusingly become interested in his personal life. 

He remembered her saying something along the lines of,

“Stop being a stereotypical lonely detective and get yourself a love interest!”

Emerson responded.

One. Go to sleep. School tomorrow.

He could picture her rolling her eyes as she read it.

His phone vibrated. Gwyn had sent him a message,

G: Hi Emerson.

That was it?

Though something about the simplicity of the message intrigued him. No one had said a simple “Hi,” to him on here, they usually began with,

“What’s up.”

Or,

“What are you doing?”

Somehow this felt more personal. More genuine.

E: Hi Gwyn.

He had faith that sending an equally simple response wouldn’t stop her from sending him another message.

As another one from her popped up, his phone rang. It was his precinct chief.

“Woods, get to Wilshire as soon as you can. We have bodies.”

He clenched his teeth. He had a bad feeling.

Even when called to a homicide the chief always had some sly remark or joke about Emerson’s whereabouts and why he wasn’t already at the scene.

This time there had been nothing. Only a quick order.

He put his keys in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

As Emerson drove down the barren streets his stomach started to churn. He felt sick almost, like the sort of feeling you get when you’ve eaten something that’s been sitting out for a while. 

That happened to him sometimes. Though only when something really bad was about to happen. It was like his own version of seeing the future. 

It had happened the day his wife had told him about her breast cancer, the day his parents had been in an accident, but never before seeing a body. 

He was good with crime scenes, even the really gristly ones. 

So why did he have this feeling?

He pulled up to the yellow caution tape and walked out to where he saw the chief and Detective Rawley standing. Wilshire was on the outskirts of town, the street was in between two fields that went on for a couple of miles. 

This is weird, he thought. 

All of the other bodies that had been found had been in the city. 

Just as Emerson was thinking they might not be victims of the town serial killer, the chief caught his eye.

No, it’s him. 

“Woods,” the chief nodded in greeting.

Rawley looked up at Emerson in uninterested acknowledgment.

“Chief…..Rawley,” Emerson nodded to each of them. 

He hadn’t even seen the bodies yet and Emerson was already in a bad mood. He couldn’t stand Rawley. Arrogant, rude, loud. All qualities he despised. 

He stepped over the marshy parts of the field to get to where the tarps were covering the victims. 

“What do we know?” Emerson asked, as he lifted up one of the tarps.

It was a female, white, blonde, age anywhere between 13-17 he would guess. 

“First one is Halley Reece, age 15.  Judging from the backpack it looks like she has been missing since school got out this afternoon,” said Chief. 

Emerson lifted the tarp on the other. Female, white, brunette, same age range.

Chief sighed, “Her friend is Melanie Myers. Fifteen, also looks like she had been missing only since this afternoon. Both of their ID cards say they went to Creekmore High.”

Emerson’s eyes wound over their bodies, studying where the blood had pooled. 

“Stab wounds cause of death?” he asked. 

“Yes, different from last week,” Chief answered. 

That was another erratic thing about the killer, his methods were all over the place. 

One week it was stabbings, the next it was gunshots or strangelings. But always female. That was the only constant. 

“Dude must have a bad ex-wife for him to hate women this much,” Rawley joked.

Emerson rolled his eyes. 

“Do we have someone talking to their families?” he asked.

Chief nodded, “I have the patrol cops who found them handling it.”

That was the one thing Emerson did not miss whatsoever about being a beat cop, being the first to inform next of kin. 

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose, 

“Have forensics been here yet?” 

Chief let out a curt laugh, “Are you kidding? You know how long those guys take. I swear they intentionally wait 20 minutes before getting their asses out here.”

Emerson glanced at his watch, it was almost 1 am. He was tired and wanted to go home. If forensics hadn’t even been here yet and patrol were taking to the families, there was really nothing he could do right now. 

And my stomach hurts 

He couldn’t shake the doom feeling. He needed to sleep it off. 

“Anything else Chief? I should get home and start looking over the case files, see if anything matches up.”

Lies

Chief said he could leave and he would see him tomorrow. Emerson quickly evaded the muddy puddles and headed back to his car before Rawley could say some gaudy remark about going home and fucking one of his many one night stands. 

How the chief put up with him he would never know. 

Emerson pulled into his driveway and just sat in the car for a moment. Thinking. 

He still had that feeling in his stomach and he knew it was because of the killings. 

They were speeding up. It had started as one every couple months, then went to one every couple weeks, and now it seemed like it was one or two every week.

With no leads. 

The killer left absolutely nothing behind. No prints, no hair, no signatures. 

Nothing. 

At this rate, the whole city would be dead in a couple years if they didn’t catch him. The town was in a cloud of panic.

It was mind boggling. Stomach churning. 

He grabbed his phone from the center console and went inside. By the time he showered and got into bed it was nearing 2 am. His stomach hadn’t stopped hurting yet either. 

As he leaned over to set his phone on the nightstand, he remembered he had gotten a message from Gwyn right before Chief had called him. 

He opened up Tinder.

G: Inside voices huh? What about when in bed?

He smirked.

E: If the bed is inside the rule still applies. 

He saw message bubbles pop up.

G: Hmmm so you’re a whisper in the ear kind of guy? I like that. Takes the pressure off having to fake it, or having to scream, “YES ALL POWERFUL WIZARD WIELD THAT STAFF!”

Emerson raised his eyebrows.

E: Have you actually said that before?

While he waited for her reply he checked the local news. The story hadn’t broken yet. 

G: Never let a friend drag you to a World of Warcraft singles mixer. Also, never sleep with someone from said mixer. 

He scratched his nose, he wasn’t that great at banter but Gwyn’s easy going humor made it a little less challenging for him.

E: Are you not someone from said mixer?

This was certainly the most interesting conversation to come from Tinder.

G: No, I was dragged there, against my free will. Come to think of it, you should probably arrest the woman who dragged me there. 

Emerson chuckled. 

E: I would say I need a warrant but I think this is grounds for an exception to the law.

G: Thank you. 

E: You’re welcome. 

He could barely keep his eyes open at this point, and decided that discussing arrest tactics with Gwyn would have to wait till tomorrow. 

His stomach felt better though

[notwhoiwanttobeyet]

tumblr journal [1]

NOTE: hi pLeasE don’t read this. this is just a way of coping with my mental illnesses. this is completely unedited, highly personal and i stRonGLy advise you look away. i hope you’re having a good day! happy holidays :)

also don’t mind the spotify links along the way; just some songs i almost or did cry to while writing this 

tw: suicidal thoughts, anxiety attacks, (breast) cancer

hey tumblr, 

it’s been a while since i’ve really vented. a lot of us use tumblr as a copying mechanism (me included) and i think it’s important i evaluate my current situation and break things down. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/1WVunZLZM2zLTm5rAvKZkF?si=a94u_JAsRX2VCWOD6z4l-Q

exam season is over; i’m on summer break. and that’s great. no more school. no more exams and assignments and testing and all that FUCKING BULLSHIT THAT THE SYSTEM PUTS US THROUGH. i’m sorry, i’m trying to stay calm but it’s so fuckiNg hard. i’m literally going to cry i- so yeah, as we know, towards the end of the year school fucked me over and i really, reaLLY, REALLY wanted to die. so when school finished i was like “oh i must be all good now, right?” but i wasn’t. i was left feeling so numb, to be completely honest (and cliche).  

then i got sick which was soooo fucked. apparently a lot of people who went to our small friend kris kringle gathering got sick which sucks but because i spent so much of this year in isolation, i forgot what it felt like to be sick and oh bOY it fucking sucked. i over exaggerated because i’m sensitive and wanted to die. i was sick for like a week and my parents quarantined me because my mum is recovering from a breast cancer surgery and couldn’t afford to get sick so i was like locked in my room- on my own- which yeah, i do anyway but this felt sooo different. this felt like, completely fuckEd because my parents were wearing masks around the house and would leave food in my doorway, etc. i felt like a complete MONSTER to the people i love. i also obviously couldn’t hug them or anything, leaving me touch starved and ugh- it just wasn’t a great experience. 

also my mum is recovering fine and stuff but it’s an emotional fucking time for everyone and i’m so stupid i haven’t told anyone about my mum being sick and all. like people don’t ask why i’m acting up because i’m ALWAYS acting up. i’m always sensitive and angry and having mood swings. that’s just me, being mentally ill. so no one asks why i’m worried. my mum has/had BREAST CANCER- brooo. she’s had one surgery which went well and will most likely have to have chemo and/or radiation in the coming year. we get the results back after christmas. so that’s a thing. 

i have a secure group of friends which i’ve always wanted, but it doesn’t feel right. it never feels right. like today the three of us went shopping and THEY WENT CRAZY- i was so stressed and had literally like 6 different mental breakdowns in the 2 hours we were out. they were bumping into people, running around, trying on every item of clothing ironically in every store. that shit stresses me out. and there’s nothing wrong with that- they’re good people and they’re not doing anything wrong really - it’s just normal teenage stuff. but i’m note normal, i’m super anxious and everyone was looking at us and it made me sooo uncomfortable. like- i could elaborate more but thinking about it hurts. i felt like i was their mum or something, shepherding them around and making sure they didn’t break anything else. they- UGH// they broke a perfume bottle and rudely ran away from a teacher i have a good reputation with. like i said, they’re just normal teenagers but it fucks me up. it’s not them, it’s me. on the bright side i saw this same lesbian couple i saw the other day again :) i never see wlw or mlm couples in public really so it makes me soo happy when i see them :) i also saw this girl in an unnus annus hoodie and i was gonna say something but i’m too *anxious* so i just stared at her until she looked at me weirdly and i ran out of the store. oH and there was a girl in an mcr shirt ahh-- she was really pretty but i was too busy running it was a whole thing like my mum was coming to pick me up and i had 10 minutes so i ran up from one end of the mall to the other and then upstairs to this store to but this fucking wonderwomen shirt and then i had to run all the way back and i’m not the most athletic to say the least and i wanted to CRY but yeah. what did i learn today? people aren’t for me. friends aren’t for me. and again i know i’m built to be alone. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/7wTqEW5nrMhvyEhEyTnOMd?si=ata2BwOPQji3twov9wTZWg

i’m really thirsty. ew not like tha- i fucking hate society

cinnamon rolls not gender rolls. wait my friend got that on a poster let me see if i can find it,,,

yeah here it is ^^^^

also: my hair. i’m so happy having it the length it is but mAn i just- i just- i hate myself lol. like i don’t know what else to say. i think i’m ugly and every time i look in the mirror i want to cry, and it’s going to be like that forever so i need to just except that. i am ugly, i hate myself. like- bro come on. it’s been like this forever and it’s going to continue to be like this forever so i need to stop fucking crying over it.

https://open.spotify.com/track/05JtBVWRtSzqLoj7jj30kn?si=30W4pt7dT8G3cbzaUMqldw

oh my god this song i’m about to cry. this is what i want. why can’t i just be- not me!!! 

these past few days i’ve literally been playing minecraft bed wars all day. like all day. and it was okay but now my eyes hurt and my head hurts and my hands hurt and i hate myself and everything hurts. 

also- music doesn’t feel right. it’s been like this for a while now, it’s getting better though. before i couldn’t listen to any music at all - now i’ve been listening to kid krow on repeat : ) 

god bless you, conan. my number one song currently is *cough* E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE (which they are btw) which is- fucking terrifying and funny at the same time. i genuinely like CORPSE though- i’ve watched every among us stream and i love his songs- in the past i would have considered myself a simp (?) maybe (?) but i had a nightmare about it and i can’t awifjisenf simp no more. i still appreciate him, i just- had an awakening. 

sexuality crises also suck a whole bunch. there was a 1-2 day phase a few weeks ago where i was low key PRAYING to be a lesbian lmfao. like it sounds stupid but i was crying over that shit. background info: no i’m not one of those straight girls, i’m a bisexual female who’s almost a full on raging homosexual except i am attracted to men. and i wish i wasn’t, believe me when i say that. but i have realised i am bi so it’s okay. i thought i was a lesbian and awilfjnawr labels but no, i am slightly attracted to men sometimes. but to answer your question if i am lucky enough my future wife and i will be married and living in a cottage. 

ugh. life. bru h i’m actually a train wreck- i had an anxiety attack crying trying to find my childhood tinkerbelle and friends dolls the other night. and then to make matters worse, i found them in a box with a whole bunch of other dolls in the same box including StRawBerrY ShoRtCaKe doLLs and i smelt my stawberry shortcake doll hesitantly while crying and she still smelled like her strawberry scent and i was DEAD. 

https://open.spotify.com/track/1F6IbA7di42uPc3cff8PXV?si=COKcG_UbQh-GhKYJ5vtIgg

ugh. so this has been my update so far. oh wait-

christmas. holy shit how is it christmas. i want dEatH like. reasons why i’m sad for christmas: it doesn’t feel like christmas so i feel like i’m not going to enjoy it, i’ve had no motivation to clean my room so the contents of my wardrobe is all over my floor because i was mid resorting the drawers when i got sick, i’ve wanted to ask for doc martens and my chemicals romance + other artists’ merch all year but i have SEVERE ANXIETY so of course i didn’t and now my parents have gone and bought me a new phone or something which of course i’m grateful for but my iphone 6s works just fine. it’s a waste of money which we need at the moment but because i’m too anxious i didn’t ask for anything this year so my parents have just chosen to spoil me and- aW SHIT! i can’t=

anyway so that’s my bullcrap life. i mean my bullshit rant. am i glad i did this? yes. do i feel any better? kinDa? i don’t know okay. what am i going to do now? i don’t know. probably lie on the floor and drown in self pity in hopes of melting into the abyss. i might read my book which i’ve yet to finish. maybe reading can be my knew things, seeing as i have zero hobbies. i read like once in a blue moon.

this is it for now, good luck, future me. 

sincerely, 

jordan ♡

https://open.spotify.com/track/7B3z0ySL9Rr0XvZEAjWZzM?si=HyWPKutjRTuPumafim7_Vw

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 6: The Walking Dead

Deep down we all know our lives can change in an instant. We all hope it will change for the better. We hope that we’ll find that dream job. That girl we’ve been searching for will show up, smile at us, and agree that she’s was searching for us too. That some prince will come and whisk us away from our problems.

We also know that things can change for the worse. In that same instant, our lives can be taken, as if by some strange magic, and everything we’ve been working for crumbles to dust. All we can do is pick up the pieces, start over again, and be grateful we survived.

When I woke up at the hospital, I couldn’t talk about what happened. Nono, at my bedside, tried to get me to say something about it, but my mind could not form the words to describe the chaos I remembered. If I focused on the memories too much, they overwhelmed me the way the strongest emotions do. They were pure sensation, coming over me faster than my intellect's ability to register them. 

There were details, focal points that my mind latched on to after the world went blurry.

The shocked look of a young man’s face when he realized he was going to die the instant before he did. The pulsating waves that were visible when blood oozed from a severed artery. The life and death struggle of a living person between my hands. Despite the clarity of these memories - or maybe because of it - their horrific nature stunned me into speechlessness.

When Nono was unable to get me to answer her questions, she said, “I think we need to get you some help.” She stood up and left me alone in the room.

I laid on my side picking at the thin threads of the soft pillow case. When the door creaked open and footsteps approached, I didn’t turn to look.

“I am Doctor Toyama.” A gentle male voice greeted me.

When he didn’t say anything more, I turned my head to see if he was still there. He had light brown eyes in a young face and a thin well manicured goatee that traced around his upper lip and chin. He wore a lab coat with a tag hanging from his pocket as an identifier. He held a notebook and pen.

That much acknowledgement of his existence was enough to make him smile. “I have a few questions for you. You don’t have to say much about this incident. The College is well aware of many details about Isaac and his… activities here. It’s unfortunate that it had to end up this way.”

He pulled up a chair and sat next to my bed. I averted my eyes from him as he continued to speak. “You’re probably blaming yourself for what happened. I’m here to tell you that it wasn’t your fault.”

He didn’t wait for me to respond. “People here all have a certain percentage of dragon DNA. The higher the percentage the stronger they are. But there is a cost.” He kept his tone soft and clear.

“If someone’s percentage of dragon DNA is too high, it begins to overwrite the human. It grows, much like a cancer and they cease to be recognizable as a human. They turn into what we call a death servitor. That is what happened to Isaac.”

“It happened to Isaac because of what I did though,” I whispered. My throat squeezed shut. My lip trembled. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn’t return his gaze.

“Oh? How so?”

I chewed my lip and pressed my face into the pillow.

“I’d really like to know. There are surveillance cameras in the library. As far as we can tell after watching the footage, you walked into a conference room together. The rest is hard to make out but it’s clear you disappear. You went…” He let the sentence hang.

“I wanted to see my family.” I said shakily. Tears wet the pillowcase around my eyes.

“Why? You were only here a day. You miss them already?”

I nodded.

“Hmm…” I hear his pen click. “Did you inform one of your class advisors?.”

“Yeah. He told me that… I couldn’t see my family because the rules said I had to stay on campus… I couldn’t even call them.”

“Ah… I see. You’re very close to them then?”

“Mhm…”

“You must be  if you were willing to follow a stranger into the dark on the off chance you might get to see them. Tell me, what do you plan to say to them?” There was genuine curiosity in his voice.

“Everything here is secret… right?” I peeked up from the pillow.

“That’s right.” He's writing in his notebook.

“Well, I’d … tell him that there’s a lot of boys here. And they make me nervous.”

He stroked his goatee. “Ah… I see. What else?”

“Everything is really extravagant… and I don’t think I’ll fit in. And that I failed my first exam.” Now that I’m looking at him, he offered me a tissue box. I sat up to accept it.

“Very good.” He made a few more notes  “I’ll submit this to the board members and see if they can make a bit of an exception for some forms of communication. It’s… rare we get people like you. Who actually come from loving non-hybrid homes.”

He clicked his pen and put it back into his breast pocket. “But since you still have so much to say to them, that means you didn’t go back to your home, did you? Where did you go?”

“I don’t know where it was. There were others too. They were dressed in Japanese clothes. So maybe Japan?” I blew my nose.

“Japan? Hm…” He made a note. “That’s … odd. Why do you think he would take you there?”

“Maybe that’s where his family lives?” I looked to him for confirmation of my guess.

“His family? I thought you were going to meet yours?” He raised his eyebrows.

I explained.  “He said I shouldn’t have failed my test. He said he wanted to test me… before I went home.”

“There was no way you could have known what that meant.” He told me. “You must have … fought hard to escape.” He looked at me expecting me to fill in the blank, but I fell into an abrupt silence. My eyes were downcast. My fingers kneaded at the pillow case.

“Alright…” He said quietly. “What’s one thing you can tell me. Just one.”

My continued silence stretched on.

“Just one thing? I promise, I won’t ask any more questions.”

I didn’t reply but Doctor Toyama continued to sit and wait. My mind remembered, indexed and sorted what happened into a large pile of secrets. There was one memory that I felt comfortable revealing.

“He saved my life. I would’ve died. But when he held me, my wound healed. He brought me back before he turned into that monster.”

He watched me wipe away tears, keeping his expression neutral. “I see. Thank you.” He made another note. “I’ll leave you now. Feel free to contact me any time.” He left his card on the table next to my phone.

After he was gone, I examined the card. His title was Campus Psychologist. My phone lit up, attracting my attention. It displayed an overwhelming number of notifications. I ignored them in favor of visiting my social media page.

At the top of the feed, the official administrators had pinned a message.

This page is now restricted, only those with access may view it. If you have questions about the restriction or feel you’ve been blocked in error, keep it to yourself because you haven’t been.

Below that stretched a long string of posts by other Cassell students.

“How does one kill a servitor in a single hit?”

“Well, this new student is promising. Anyone get her number?”

“Wish she’d left some of that fight to me.”

“How can I date her please.”

“DMs are blocked :(“

“Anyone have her phone number? What about email?”

“How do you even get that strong?!”

“10/10 would watch again.”

My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. I didn’t want to talk to or meet any of these people.

In my notifications, I found a text from Nono. “Hey, hope you’re feeling better. You’ll be getting a message from the Principal soon. Don’t be nervous, just do your best. If you need me, just call me alright? Please, if you want to talk, don’t hesitate to call me. I know you miss your family, but you can’t go back to them right now. Not without talking to him.”

The phone sang its jaunty ringtone. The caller ID was just ‘EVA’. “Hello?”

Her voice was cheerful but her words were to the point. “You passed your E3 exam with a high level of resonance with a draconic cipher. This along with your unique dragon ancestry puts you at Rank S.”

“What do you mean I passed? I didn’t write anything?”

“Most record their ciphers. In your case, this was not the correct medium. Determining your ability will take further research. Therefore, we are admitting you. Welcome to Cassell College. I’m EVA, the school AI butler. Let me know if you need help or have questions."

“AI…? A computer…?” I stammered but couldn’t form a complete sentence so she continued.

“Your meeting with Principal Anjou is in half an hour. I’ve sent Mingfei Lu to guide you there. Your uniform is there in your room. Please dress and get ready to meet him. Don’t worry. He’s very nice.”

“Wait! Who is…?”

The phone beeped to tell me there was no longer anyone on the other end. I returned it to the nightstand and slid my legs over the edge of the bed to get up. I found my purple and black uniform on a hanger in the open closet across the hospital room.

When I put the uniform on, I examined myself in the room’s bathroom mirror.  The open collar displayed my pendant over my collarbones. I turned my back to see if there was any sign of where that man had knifed me. There wasn’t.  My heart began to pound as I remembered the spear of light impaling my attacker, how his jaw dropped open in shock. I started to wonder how much of that really happened, hoping some of it was a dream.

A knock on the hospital room door frightened me so badly I stumbled backwards into the wall. Trembling, I peeked outside the bathroom to see a gangly young man with brown doe-like eyes and a mop of messy brown hair.  He gives me a cheerful wave. “You must be the newbie!”

He slowly lowered his hand when I didn’t echo his enthusiasm.  “Don’t be shy! I don’t bite! I promise!” He gave a little nervous laugh. “I’m not good at this…” He mumbled.

“Good at what?” I asked him.

His eyes snapped back to mine. “Huh? What? D...did I say that outloud?” He looked at me for confirmation so I nodded. “Sorry. Um. So, You can just call me Lu. I’ve been here for a little less than a year.”

His shoulders sagged at my silence, “So…” He steeled himself, forcibly perking himself up. “My roommate happens to run the gossip column at school. He told me what happened. It was pretty incredible. Where’d you learn to do that?”

I closed the door again, wondering if he was one of the people who posted on my feed. I leaned against it, glaring at the ground. “I wouldn’t say it was ‘incredible’.”

His voice sounded from the other side. “I know it's hard but I can help you. I… I know what it’s like okay? Just bear with it. You’ll do fine!”

I took a deep breath and cracked the door open. “Sorry…” I whispered.

“You’re fine okay?” He said, peering through the small space, his voice trembling with nervous laughter. “We just need to get you to the principal’s office. You don’t have to do anything. Oh and don’t forget to grab your coat. It’s pretty windy out there.”

As we walked down the campus paths, Lu kept glancing down at me like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to start. “So… what’s your name?”

I felt a chill run down my spine, recalling the results of using my childhood name. “I don’t like my name.”

“Oh… then… what do you prefer to be called? I feel bad just calling you, newbie.” More nervous laughter.

“Newbie is fine.” I told him. “But if there’s a name you like, just call me that.”

His nervousness turned to surprised dismay. “What? I can’t just call you whatever I want! What if someone else calls you something different?”

The corners of my mouth turned down. “You’re Mingfei Lu, right? You said, just call me Lu. Does everyone call you Lu?”

“Ah… good point.” He rubs his chin in thought. “But… What if I call you something you don’t like?”

I chuckled. “Then I’ll tell you. Like I said I didn’t mind, ‘newbie’.”

He rubbed the back of his neck but didn’t continue to object.

The administration building grew larger into view, fronted by a stone staircase. People hurried up and down, anxious to get out of the cold.

Once inside, Lu led me to the main office. We paused at the wooden door carved with the word ‘Principal’. Lu knocked before going in. Like most things at Cassell, the principal's office was larger than it needed to be. It was fancy, with black mirror tiles and a sleek glossy desk. Behind it sat Anjou who greeted me with a sympathetic grin. I couldn’t bring myself to smile back. That man fooled me into coming here and denied me access to my family. This was all his fault.

Johann and Caesar stood in front of the desk. Johann crosses his arms at my dour expression.

Caesar was bemused at my silent snarling. “It’s good to see you up and healthy. We are all grateful you made out alive.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I mumbled, my shoulders rising to my ears.

Johann's soft voice echoed in the roomy interior. “That’s Mingfei, he’s our other S-ranked student.”

“You’re S-ranked too?” I turned to him in shock.

Mingfei Lu held up his hands in self-defense.“ Don’t look at me like that! I’m just ranked as S! I don’t actually have any abilities at all.”

Anjou stood up from behind his desk, as tall as I remembered, smoking a cigar. He paced, massaging his beard as he began. “Now that we’re all here. We can start the mission briefing.”

My eyes lifted at the word ‘mission’, glancing at the others.

“Our intelligence is reporting the signal of a dragon embryo off the coast of Japan. This signal may be what we have been dreading. Analysis indicates that it is the signal of a first generation dragon lord. So we’re sending you as a team to meet with the Cassell College Japan division.”  

He took a drag of the cigar and let it out slowly. “This mission is Grade SS. We will need all of you."

My hand tentatively rose but he ignored me and continued.

“Our Japan branch is very secretive. This situation calls for the utmost discretion and sensitivity. However, I have maintained contact with Masamune Tachibana. He welcomes our assistance. Please, view this as a stepping stone for bringing our branches into closer cooperation.”

Filling with dread, I recalled Isaac’s Japanese companions and wondered if there was some connection to what I had done.

“Caesar, you’ll be the one leading on this mission.” Anjou nodded to him.

Caesar opened his mouth to speak but Johann responded. “Of course, that’s for the best.”

Caesar scowled at him. “Don’t steal my lines!” He cleared his throat. “We’ll complete the mission in no time at all, Principal Anjou! With time to do some souvenir shopping!” The blue-eyed hybrid waved a hand at me and flashed a smile, “In fact, I’d like to outfit you in the finest silk kimonos…”

“If that’s what you want to do.” I replied, reluctantly smiling back.

His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “This is your first mission as part of our team! That’s surely something to celebrate.”

“Wait… I'm going?" My smile turned to confusion. Somehow, I’d passed my E3 without writing anything. I killed my fellow students the night before. Now, he assigned me to work with top students and sent me to Japan.

While I struggled to grasp my new reality, silent seconds ticked by. Johann cleared his throat. Caesar glared at him. “You have something to say?”

Johann returned his gaze with a calm expression. “Nothing at all.”

“If you have something to say, you should say it!”. Caesar turned to fully face him.

Johann looked at me instead. “I promised you I would show you a frozen dragon specimen. But now you’ll be seeing the real thing.”

“When was this?” Caesar demanded of him. "Don't ignore me, Johann Chu!"

I looked between them both, baffled at Caesar’s sudden aggression. Lu hid his face behind his hand in embarrassment.

Anjou puffed on his cigar chuckling. “I have to interrupt.” He addressed me next. “My dear, your performance in the library tells me that you qualify for this dangerous mission.”

I frowned at his use of the word performance. “But I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, my voice trailing off.

He turned to the others. “I’d like to have a private word with our new student.”

As they walked out, Caesar continued to menace an unflappable Johann. “Keep in mind that it was Nono and I there at her arrival here…”

Lu followed them, glancing over his shoulder at me in worry before he was forced to jog after them to catch up.

Anjou sat down and gestured to a chair for me.

“You know,” he said. “Of all the recruits, you have outstanding resilience. You come to my office after everything you’ve been through.  After you hear that I’m sending you on a dangerous mission after this incident, you don’t immediately object.”

“Do I actually have a choice in any of this? You’re just throwing things at me and I’m trying to just survive here!” My voice shook. “You’re not going to let me leave, are you?”

He settled his cigar down on a silver ashtray. “Your talent is a Class S… the strongest kind. But it is extremely unstable. The injection Johann gave you is a temporary experimental measure. I’m hoping that the Japan Division might be hiding research that can aid us in preventing you from turning into a monster like Isaac.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice lowered to a whimper.

His uncharacteristic seriousness lent weight to his words. “What happened to Isaac could just as easily happen to you. I am committed to preventing that. You’re here to today because of that effort. Had you turned servitor after the injection, we would have had no choice but to eliminate you. You did not. So there is still hope.” He said this frankly, looking into my eyes. His expression turned grim. “I cannot keep you here against your will. I can only tell you the truth. Your chances of survival are slim outside of Cassell College.”

My self-protective sense of humor faltered and I found my desire to contact Robbie lessened. If this was to be my fate, then it would be better that he never saw me again. “And if there’s no cure?” I asked quietly.

“Let’s take courage and hope. We’re working on it.” His positivity returned.  “You remind me so much of my friend Manecke. When I look at you…” He took another puff.  “I see brilliance. Something will come up.”

My throat started to close and my eyes burned.  “Can I go?”

He nodded. I stood up and rushed out of the office.

Lu was waiting for me, but I pushed by him before he could say a word.

I managed to make it back to my apartment before I gave in to the shattering grief inside. My shadow twin appeared, kneeling next to me. She tried to catch my tears but they fell through her hand to the carpet. I wished I had never accepted the offer to come to Cassell. But if I hadn’t accepted, who knew what might have happened? Had I blissfully gone through life, I might have suddenly turned into a beast. I imagined myself as a ballerina, graceful and elegant, only to morph into a horrible monster a few years into my career. Maybe even on stage. It would have been awful.

My emotions began to subside and I picked myself up off the floor. Packing for the trip wasn’t difficult. Most of my things were still in my suitcase. As I went through my belongings, I wondered what I wanted to wear on my last few days on Earth. ‘Whatever felt comfortable on a plane’ won out.

I wrote in my school notebook what I wanted people to find after I was gone. I confessed that I hadn’t just killed Isaac, but possibly six or seven other people. I was a waste of everyone’s time and effort, especially Robbie and Mom’s.

My phone buzzed. Nono was trying to talk to me but I didn’t want to anymore. It was better if she forgot I ever existed. I turned the phone off.

My heart beat fast all the rest of the day and into the night.  I spent most of that night pacing around my apartment. The racing pulse made it impossible to sleep and robbed me of my appetite in the morning.

The next morning while I was turning out the lights and getting ready to meet the others to go to the airport, someone knocked on my door.

I opened to Nono, her crimson eyes narrowed. “You know, I don’t take it lightly when someone ignores my messages. Especially someone I’ve tried to be nice to.”

My shoulders lowered and I sighed. “Nono, I…”

She cut me off. “No, you need to listen to me. I know what happened was hard. Maybe even harder than most. But you have got to pull yourself together.”

“Life as a hybrid will never be fair or easy. Not one of us has had an easy and happy life. You’re one of us now. So buck up and do what needs to be done!”

I shrunk under her stare, swallowing hard.

“You’re going on a dangerous mission with Caesar and the others. And I can’t have you getting into a funk, slipping up and then someone else dies because of it.”

When I stood silently she took a step forward, her voice rising. “Do you understand? Do what you have to do to stop moping. If something happens to Caesar, I won’t forgive you.”

“Yes ma’am.” I whispered.

She turned, her heels clicking against the tile as she departed.

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Go back to the Beginning

[opheliawillowbrook]

Let the Record Show

A/N: So as stated, this fic has been written to provide closure to the infamous arc brought about in Nightwing #93 in which (if you are unaware-so spoilers!) Nightwing is raped by Tarantula (Catalina) after the death of Blockbuster because, (if you think like Devin Grayson) why the fuck not, right? Thankfully for those of you reading this, I don't. But in any case, my friend (Embrlee Frith) and I have discussed this arc in-depth and thought it (aside from most untactful) very poorly handled. Which is a shame since there really were some good bones to discuss, not just about rape, but also male rape victims in our society and the aftermath that all victims of sexual assault and rape survivors go through. However, as most of you are probably aware, DC and Devin Grayson sorta dropped that ball and refused to pic it back up. Though, to be fair, Ms. Grayson, being, well-Ms. Grayson, did try and clarify the scene by referring to it as "non-consensual sex" which is probably the most accurate example of an oxymoron one can bring to fruition, but that's a subject for another time. But given the sort of "mishandling" of the canon, I was commissioned by our lovely Ms. Frith to cover this subject matter and try and bring some closure to this event for both the reader and the character.

I'd also like to apologize to anyone offended by my words of Ms. Grayson. I'm clearly not a fan of her work (as I'm sure I've made it very clear) I just think as a writer this subject matter deserved far more respect than it got and this is my attempt at providing that.

I Also recently re-edited this story and hope the changes help make it feel finished. Please let me know what you think :) I also found a great song to go along with this fic. It's called "They're Not Horses, They're Dead Unicorns" by Bayside. So if you like a little music with you reading, you might enjoy it!

So if you're still reading this, I'd like to thank you. Let me know what you think and let's see if we can put this ghost to rest now, shall we?

As Always, With Love

-Ophelia

“She was a termite, Eating away at my roots. I was just a lost soul, who needed a home, I was filling, a void, with you.” --Bayside

He sat in a dark corner of the crowded bar at a small table by the foggy window. This was far from how he'd normally spend an evening, but tonight was far from a normal night. It had begun to rain over Gotham, the air thick with its dewy metallic scent. It almost smelled like blood—like her . He looked down at his half empty beer bottle, a little distressed that he was three drinks in, and the edge still wasn't off.

Drinking was always something he'd avoided, something he looked at as unnecessary and otiose, but in the wake of the past year, he'd built something of a tolerance to it. It was all he could do to cope at times. He didn't consider himself an alcoholic; he mostly only had a drink or two, but he still wasn't proud of the fact it was something he required now, that it was the only thing that came close to washing away that bitter taste.

It had been a year since he'd lost everything he'd worked so hard for. A year since he'd lost friends, his city, and the thousands of innocent lives within it. But worst of all, he'd lost a significant piece of himself, and he blamed himself for all of it. All because of one night, one choice and her.

The thought of her was nearly enough to make him sick as he downed a sip of beer to try and flush her foul taste from his mouth. However, the cheap beer and whisky was not enough to drown out the bitterness—that rotten taste he could just never get off his tongue. It was like he'd unknowingly bitten into a spoiled piece of fruit, only to find its sweetness was replaced with decay and maggots. He could still feel the invasive parasites crawl beneath his skin every now and then. At just the right moment, with just the right touch, or the right set of words. The feeling always left him feeling dirty, and no matter how hard he scrubbed or scratched, her touch would never wash off him. He'd wear her mark for the rest of his life.

What was worse was that he'd never told anyone about what had happened to him; he himself had a hard time believing its validity. In his mind, he tried to tell himself that what he thought happened was nothing of the sort. That the trauma of watching a man die was the reason for his physical and mental discord. Or at least that's what she'd told him.

Still, it never mattered how many times he tried to talk himself down, or how many times he tried to tell himself that what happened, hadn't happened at all. He could still never get that bloody taste out his mouth. He could even taste it on the air.

"I would have never pegged you as the drinking alone type," he heard a familiar voice say.

He looked up to find a single blue eye staring down at him, her lily-white hair draped around her black leather jacket.

"Rose," he said in a genuine shock, "what are you doing here? Why aren't you with the Titans ?"

"Yeah, about that," she said, taking a seat next to him, "that wasn't exactly hooking up. So I'm currently between jobs right now."

"Okay," Dick replied perplexed, "then what are you doing here?" he asked, entertaining some guilt that she'd gone out on her own. He was after all her mentor.

She shrugged somberly. "Well, I just found out that the closest thing I had to a best friend died…"

"Eddie…" he said ruefully, recalling that Tim recounted the incident, but he hadn't mentioned that Rose left the team. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a weak smile and stole a sip of his beer. "Don't be. Eddie died a hero, and in my book, he couldn't have gone out like more of a badass." She paused a moment, clearly remembering her friend. If anything, she was sad for herself, but refused to admit it. A lot like him.

"But with that being said," she added, "I'm here to drink my feelings and have a meaningless hook-up… Care to help a girl out, Grayson?"

She smiled at him coyly. He'd like to have thought she was joking, but he knew she wasn't. If Rose Wilson was anything, she was brutally honest, and he respected that.

"I can help you with the first half of your missions of self-destruction, but you're on your own with the latter."

"Eh, it was worth a shot," she shrugged, "but it's your loss."

"Somehow I'll live."

Sadly enough, part of him wanted to take her up on her offer. The idea of losing himself in another for a few hours was a tempting way to momentarily ease him of his current torment. However, he knew once the sheets were dirtied and the sweat was dried, he'd be right back where he began. Rose was also a little too young for him, and he didn't feel like adding statutory to his already stained morality. Though it seemed to be the least of her worries. But if nothing else, she'd make good company for his misery.

He ordered her a drink, mostly because he knew that if he didn't, she'd find someone else who would. And he'd have much rather been the man feeding her alcohol than one of the many seedy low-lives who'd jump at the chance to hinder the autonomy of a pretty 17-year-old girl. Not that Dick worried about Rose's ability to take care of herself. He knew she was more than capable, but if breaking one rule prevented her from making a horrible mistake, then he didn't see the harm in it.

The two sipped their beers and talked about their losses and gains. Though somehow they felt their losses were what made them who they were.

Dick took notice at how much Rose had matured, she'd oddly grown up a lot in the past year. She was still very much the same: Hot-headed and unpredictable, but she'd begun to understand how to use those things to her advantage. Dick couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. At least he'd done something right.

They both finished their drinks, and when Dick glanced up to the bar to get a second round, he froze.

It's never gonna stop...

Rose noticed his sudden shift, his face paused, his eyes staring blankly ahead.

"You okay?"

He snapped out of it and looked at her. "I have to go."

He took out his wallet and threw a couple bills down on the table, hurrying himself to leave. But it was too late, she saw him.

She stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to fix her drink. She looked like she were dressed for a funeral, as though she were burying her third husband. Her black dress was low, showing off the prominent curves of her breasts, her lips painted red, like they were stained with his blood. But it didn't matter how pretty she looked. For beneath that low black dress and behind that lipstick smile she flashed at him, he could see just how ugly she truly was.

Suddenly it was like the world stopped turning and the ground fell from beneath his feet. He was back in that moment again, like the scar had been ripped open with a dull knife, the blade delving deep into his dignity.

It's never gonna stop...

"Dick?" He could hear Rose's voice, distant, like she were 100 miles away. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know..."

He took off, practically running out the door, pushing past the crowd of people until he was out in the pouring rain. It was as though he couldn't breathe, like his lungs had filled with a toxic smoke, smothering him in with past he just couldn't shake. He could feel the rain hitting his face, a sensation he'd once found clean and refreshing, only now it felt like an affliction, like a cancer burning into his skin. Convicting him with the sins he'd committed, and the ones committed against him.

Rose had immediately run after him, knowing something was deeply wrong.

"Dick! Dick, wait!" Rose called, her platinum hair looking grey beneath the foggy rain. "Are you okay—what happened?"

He didn't stop, he just kept moving, not sure what to say. "I just need to go home, Rose."

It was a terrible excuse, but it was the best he could come up with. Plus, what could he really say? He couldn't even admit the truth to himself, never mind a teenage girl who held him in such high standing.

"It's okay, you can tell me," she urged, but he still wouldn't stop. "It was that girl, wasn't it?"

He stopped. The rain beating down on him like it had in that very night a your ago.

"She did something to you, didn't she?"

He turned, at a loss, not even sure what to say, but before he could speak, he saw her again.

She'd stepped out of the bar, just under the overhang, looking out at him through falling sky. He stared at her for a minute, part of him wanting to show her how badly he hurt. How deeply that scar through his heart ran. But another part of him was still too afraid to even look her in the eye. For a moment he thought she'd try and approach him, but she didn't, and at first, he couldn't understand why. Then it hit him. And no, it had nothing to do with melting Wicked Witch of the West style.

Rose...

She had now locked her eyes on the woman beneath the overhang, keeping herself from the damp air.

Dick wasn't sure what would come next. Part of him wondered if Rose would, well, pull a Rose and throw a right hook across Catalina's face. Or if Catalina would say something in an attempt to dismiss the younger girl. Something he knew wouldn't go over well.

However, Rose surprised him. She turned her scowling face away from the woman in black and walked toward Dick.

"Come on," she said over the percussion of rain. "This place will let anyone in, we're better off at your place."

The whole speech was a jab at Catalina. She didn't need her mentor to tell her anything, she already knew. Like she could smell that primal fear radiating off him, or possibly even something about the way that woman looked at him. Her smile gilded with something predatory, hungry for self-satisfaction and the taste of blood on her tongue.

Rose took him by the arm and led him away, the rain still pouring down around them. It's humid smell rising from the flooded pavement beneath his feet. Dick could still feel her eyes on him, a feeling of shame ricocheting down his spine as he was whisked away by his own protégé, the old one merely watching as she did so. He'd faced murderous mad men, violent Metahumans, and bloodthirsty demons, but somehow, a simple human woman was the greatest monster he'd ever faced. A woman he could have easily overpowered, yet somehow couldn't. The thought left a deep wound in his masculinity, like he failed as a man, like maybe he'd let it happen. These poisonous thoughts were something he'd become accustomed to ever since Catalina had taken matters into her own hands.

By the time they made it back to Dick's apartment, they were both soaked to the bone. He could feel the filthy rain collecting along his jaw and dripping heavily from his chin as he unlocked the door. Rose noticed his hands were shaking and he cursed at himself as he struggled to steady them. He finally got the key into the lock and turned it, looking around before entering the safety of his home. They entered the reasonably sized studio apartment, and Dick flicked on the light. He closed the door behind them, locking the knob, deadbolt, and key chain. Rose, of course, thought it was a bit overkill, but given his reaction to the woman at the bar, she'd have done the same thing.

"She's really got you on edge," Rose said, pulling off her soggy coat. "Who is she?"

"No one."

"Well, then she's a whole lot of no one ." Rose grimaced. "I'm sensing "They're Not Horses, They're dead Unicorns," vibe?"

"Something like that…" he sighed, wiping the rain from his brow, "only in the darkest context possible."

"What do you think she wants?"

He looked up at her. He hadn't really thought of that. It had been a year since he'd seen her last, since he just walked away and never looked back. She got what she wanted, why would she come back now?

"Fuck," he huffed blankly and sat down. His mind digging up an old thought he'd once had, one he prayed wouldn't come to fruition.

Rose could see the lost look in his eyes and the disparity quaking in the space where his heart used to be. This was nothing new to her. Whatever he lost, he'd lost it before they'd met. Only now she was beginning to understand what that was. She could now see just where that jaded and cynical nature came from, exactly what cracks left him shattered. Unlike many, she was actually about to see exactly what slipped through those cracks, exactly what had been taken away from him.

"I take it whatever she did to you, you're not over it?"

He looked at her with an ill expression and ran his hand through the fringe of his damp hair. "I don't know if I'll ever be over it," he said ruefully. That was the closest he'd ever come to admitting it, to saying it aloud.

Rose looked down, that was all she needed to hear. He didn't need to say more.

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

He glanced up at her and smiled at a loss, but also for the fact that she didn't laugh at him, that she didn't seem to judge him for it. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do," he admitted. "Some days I can live it, then come days like this, where I can barely get my shit together."

She could understand that feeling, knowing how it felt to want to shed the scars that bind you, only you can't help but be who they've made you.

"You can talk about it if you want."

"Thanks," he said, and smiled falsely, "but talking about it is something I'm still not quite able to do." He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, like it were they that had betrayed him. "I just don't understand it completely. And honestly, I just wanna forget it ever happened."

"But your body won't let you."

He nodded painfully, almost feeling like he had to vomit. He had to change the subject. "Sorry I ruined your night."

Rose smiled and shrugged nonchalantly. "No big deal, you probably saved me from making a poor life choice."

"That's probably true," he conceded with a nod.

"Yeah, seriously. Once my brain tastes alcohol it's like it's go time! Let's make some fucking mistakes! And see how quickly you can ruin the life you work so hard for..." she broke into a slight giggle. Rose was often amused with her on sense of humor.

Dick shook his head, well aware that Rose Wilson and alcohol were not meant to be in good company with each other. That girl could do a whole lot of damage and end up with one hell of a hangover. But he laughed anyway.

"But hey, now I can technically say I went home with Nightwing. I got braggin' rights now."

He shook his head at her shit-eating grin, realizing she'd probably use that to piss off daddy . It would also do little for either of their dwindling reputations, but he had bigger problems to worry about.

"I know you don't wanna talk about it, but I get the feeling you think she found you," Rose said. "Is she capable of that?"

Unfortunately enough, she was. She was an ex-FBI agent, after all. She probably knew exactly where he was this entire time and he never even thought to look behind him. But truth be told, he didn't want to know. It was easier if he didn't go looking for her in every shadow that haunted every corner.

"Yeah."

"Do you think she's been following you?"

He didn't want to think of that either, but he wouldn't put it past her. "Yeah, and it wouldn't be the first time."

"Jesus." Rose scowled. "When was the last time you saw her?"

"A year ago."

"So what's she doing, slinking up from Hell for some fresh air, thinking she'd just drop by, say hello?"

Dick grimaced. "I'm honestly really afraid to find out…" The look on his face hardened, consequence tying his tongue.

"Oh…" She paused a minute, thinking about how devastating that would be. To have something so heavy thrust upon you; forever tied to the person who'd already taken so much. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, and I really hate to say this, but there's no way she'd look like that if she'd dropped a fucking kid like three months ago."

Dick looked up at her. Only Rose would say something like that.

"I mean her tits would be like on the floor," she added crassly. "She could take a fucking eye out with those puppies, and I should know."

He glared at her, not sure whether to scowl or laugh. On one hand, her banter was oddly amusing, and on the other, he had a really hard time accepting humor in that moment. But maybe that was his problem.

"Rose, I know you're just trying to help, but if you could stop talking about how hot Catalina is, that would be great."

"Hey, I never said that walking gash was hot, I just said her fucking boobs could have their own gravitational pull," she corrected. "Life's not fucking fair, man," she added referring to her own humble cup size.

"Yeah, it's not," Dick accorded coldly, and he couldn't have agreed more.

His life had literally become one horrible montage of one bad thing after the next, and it all started the second she showed up. In the beginning, he actually felt guilty for feeling that way, like it was somehow unfair of him to blame her for things that came of his own volition. But with time, it simply just became part of his coping mechanism. Catalina equaled death, devastation and rape, and he just couldn't see past that. He liked to think if he'd just never met her, or if he'd just thrown her ass in jail when he had the chance, that everything would be different. Maybe nobody would have died, and that Blüdhaven would still be standing today.

What was worse, and the thing that ate at him the most, was that he'd willingly invited her into his life. He'd delivered himself like some naive lamb to slaughter because he'd actually once felt sorry for her. That's what it had always come down to. She had a shitty life, it wasn't her fault. If he had just been a better man, or a better mentor , she wouldn't have turned out like that. It didn't seem to matter that she was a grown woman and should have known better, he still made excuses for her. But now, he couldn't excuse that she was stained in his blood and the blood of others, and he couldn't do shit about it. Catalina was literally like a flesh-eating bacteria to him. A termite eating away at his body and soul.

"You've never actually confronted her, have you?" Rose asked, once again pulling him into the now.

He sighed and shook his head. "Not really—no. There was so much going on after it happened and I was still kinda in shock. She told me I wasn't thinking straight and that the trauma I'd experienced made me look at it that way. I believed her because I wanted to, but as the shock wore off and I began to see how far she'd burrowed into my life… I knew I was right."

He seethed a moment, that foul metallic taste overcoming his mouth.

"She was literally taking over my life, acting like she'd done nothing wrong—acting like she belonged with me. I couldn't take it, so I left."

"That's when you started mentoring me…" Rose said, having a rough idea of the timeline.

Dick looked up, it really was ironic. He'd been so badly burned by one protégé, and the other was the only thing keeping him from crawling out of skin.

"Yeah, you turned out fine, though."

"Yeah, because of you," Rose urged. She owed him everything. Without Dick Grayson, who knew where she'd be. "Without you, I could never be a hero."

He looked at her fondly, but he knew she didn't feel like one. He didn't feel like one either.

"Y'know," Rose began, "sometimes you gotta take your pound of flesh and just walk away."

"I'm really not one for revenge, Rose."

"I saw the way you looked at her, Dick," she said, sitting next to him, "like if you could kill her and get away with it, you would."

He didn't say anything, but that was exactly how he felt, only he knew it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't fix him.

He rose from the couch and walked to a drawer, he opened it and took out an old shirt, throwing it over to Rose.

"You should change out of those wet clothes. There's a laundry room downstairs if you wanna throw your stuff in the drier."

She caught the shirt and nodded. "Yeah, there's no way in Hell I'm leaving you alone tonight. Not with Psycho Bitch on the prowl."

He smiled. "Wanna order a pizza?"

"You paying?"

After that, the two talked about why Rose left the Titans, and why she felt she didn't really fit there. They talked about Eddie, and how Rose had asked him to leave with her. That was a little painful.

Rose asked how things with Barbara were going (they were supposed to get married, after all.) However, the answer was nowhere. Apparently Dick was having a hard time functioning in the relationship, specifically because Barbara was always so micro-focused on everything he did. From what she understood, that was nothing new. Barbara had a reputation for being a little unforgiving, especially when it came to Dick. And Rose could totally understand why he didn't feel comfortable opening up to her about what he'd been through. He wanted her to see him as strong and competent. He'd probably feared she'd think he were exaggerating, or scold him for being too trusting with Catalina in the first place. And though his fears weren't necessarily warranted, she understood why he felt that way. Nobody wants the love of their life to see them as damaged.

He apparently tried his hand at a few other relationships, but nothing really seemed to fit. Everything just seemed uncomfortable, and in some cases, much like with Barb, they just didn't have the patience for his newfound affliction. It's like everything just felt so disconnected.

His concept of touch was altered, and not the violent sort, the intimate kind. Little gestures made his stomach sink, especially if he wasn't expecting them. There were times when a woman he was deathly attracted to would lean in, and he'd pull away without a second thought. It had just become instinct. Even something as simple and comforting as a hug had become a perversion of itself. He hated how things of such simple kindness now held such rue and disdain. Things that once breathed of love and strength were now among the things he feared most. It was like the ties to his humanity were cut clean from his bones.

Dick looked at the time to find the hour was far beyond late, and he was beginning to feel it as well.

"I think I'm gonna turn in," he said. "You can take the bed."

Rose shook her head. "No, I'm good with the couch. Unless, you wanna share the bed with me," she said with a sly grin.

"No offense," Dick said, and smiled, "but I'd rather take the couch. Nice try, though."

"What can I say, I'm not a quitter."

"And I admire that, but you're off-limits."

She smirked at him, as if his comment gave her some vague validation. "Yeah, but if you change your mind, the offer's still on the table," she added mischievously. "But for real, I'll take the couch. You're much taller than me, it's not really fair to make you sleep on it."

"You're not making me, I'm offering."

"And much like my offer, I'm not taking yours."

"Okay, then," Dick said, picking up a pillow. "Oh, and Rose…"

She turned and looked over at him questionably.

"If you pull that shit you pulled on Tim, I'm gonna kick your ass."

He threw the pillow at her and she smiled, actually looking a little embarrassed.

"Um, I plead the fifth," she replied, catching it. "But, I will say that I was absolutely shit-canned that night and my crowning achievement of the evening was that I didn't die."

"Sounds like you made some fucking mistakes."

"Oh, you know it."

"Night, Rose," he said, crawling into bed.

"Night, Deathwing."

He rolled his eyes. "I hate that name."

"I know."

He didn't get much sleep that night. For even in the still silence, his brain would not shut off. His body desperately ached to shut itself off, but this primal force would not allow it. He lay in bed, just staring at the ceiling, shuffling through the thoughts and fears. Counting the losses, wondering if there was anything gained through any of it, but he just couldn't seem to find anything.

Rose was fast asleep, curled up in a ball on the couch. He took a deep breath, both out of loss and boredom.

He couldn't help but wonder where she was then, where'd she'd been. If she'd been there this entire time, and he just hadn't seen her until now. What did that say if she had?

He finally found the word that he'd been searching for. The word that best described the vile taste in his mouth. The one that brought validation to the feeling he'd been struck with when he'd noticed her dressed all in black.

"Violated," he whispered into the darkness. That's how he felt—how he'd felt ever since the moment she'd touched him. Everything she'd done after that, and even before, was a violation of his life, his morality, his body and above all—his sanity.

He wondered if she'd even seen it that way. If there was one thing wrong with Catalina, it was her moral compass, but he couldn't see that as an excuse any longer. He couldn't accept that she just didn't know any better. If anything, that made it worse.

When the morning finally came, Dick had managed to snag a few meager hours of sleep, but it was better than nothing. He got up, showered, and made some coffee, the smell rousing Rose from what he could only describe as a near coma.

Lucky little bitch.

She stretched out on the couch like a lazy house cat who wanted her belly rubbed, but she wasn't so lucky.

"It lives," Dick said, bringing her a cup of much-needed coffee.

She smiled tiredly, sleep fresh in her eye. "Yeah, there were a few hours there where my soul was like, I should probably go …"

"Well, then consider this coffee the rejection notice to your DNR."

She took the mug and thanked him, taking a generous sip.

"So where you off to from here?" he asked, heading back behind the counter.

She shrugged. "Not sure yet. I'll probably just wander around until something sticks."

"And what if it doesn't?"

"Then I'll revise the game plan," she replied flatly. "Or maybe retire to Florida and die."

"You're kinda young for that," he laughed.

"When has age ever stopped me?"

He raised a brow. "Good point."

"What about you?" she asked. "What's next for Nightwing? "

"Breakfast." He took a carton of eggs from the fridge and a package of bacon. "You like bacon, right?"

"Uh, yeah," she replied, stretching again. "Anyone who doesn't can't be trusted."

"That's what I like to hear. Eggs scrambled?"

"Sure," she laughed, rising from the couch and leaning against the counter.

He noticed the shit eating grin on her face, he had to ask. "What's so funny?"

"Um, I'm wearing your T-shirt and you're making me breakfast, and the best part is, I didn't even have to blow you."

God, she has no filter, he thought. If that was her way of flirting, then at least one would always know where they stood with her.

"Well, I hate to ruin your little school girl fantasy, but would you mind beating the eggs?" he said, handing her a bowl and a whisk.

She smirked and opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off at the pass. "And do not say what I know you're about to say."

"Oh you're no fun—I'm only kidding."

He laughed. "Rose, we both know you're not kidding."

She smiled coyly. "Guilty, but what do you want from me? At least I'm fun—unlike Kara. Now that girl's got a serious problem. You should see her Pinterest page. It's fucking creepy, and so is Cassie's…"

"I don't even understand what Pinterest is."

"Keep it that way, I wish I had. Girls get uber creepy on Pinterest." Rose paused a moment. "Speaking of creepy. I can only imagine what Cuntberry's Pinterest page looks like."

"Now I'm really happy I don't know what Pinterest is."

They went on to make breakfast and eat, continuing their banter, going on about old teammates and who was where. Dick offered to clean up while Rose took a shower, not that she needed an excuse to skip out on the cleanup. When she was done, she got dressed and ready to head out.

"You need anything," he asked, walking her out of the building, "like money or—"

"Thanks," she said, cutting him off, "but I'm good. Plus with a face like this, free alcohol won't be in short supply."

"I meant like... for food and a place to stay." He scowled playfully.

"I'm fine, my mom left me some money. So I'll be good until I figure out what the hell I'm doing."

"Well, I think you should go back to school."

"I have my GED, that's fine."

"A degree would better," he replied, pushing the door open. "You're a smart girl, it would be a shame to waste that."

"That coming from the boy who dropped out of Hudson University ... and became a cop."

"Hey, I got great benefits with that job."

"Yeah, 'cause being a trust fund brat doesn't pay, right?"

He pushed her playfully, and she punched his arm. "Ah," he whimpered, forgetting how strong she was. "So violent."

"Like you can't take it," she said, stepping out on the sidewalk. "So I guess this is me…"

He shrugged looking back at her and stepped out the door. "So where you staying?"

"Shitty motel, other side of town."

"Sounds swanky."

"It's kinda charming… if you like crime scene tape, the smell of burnt cigarette ash and a gratuitous amount of prostitution."

"Sounds a lot like your childhood."

She burst out laughing as if she didn't laugh she'd cry. "Sadly true. Lord only knows the damage I've suffered at the hands of my parents."

He smiled, reaching into his pocket, and took something out. "Here," he said, holding a pre-pay phone. "My number's already programmed in it. If you need anything, let me know."

She smiled gratefully and took the device. "Does that also include—" she began mischievously, until Dick stopped her.

"3am booty calls—no."

"Damn," she sighed. "Worth a shot though. And thank you… for putting up with me and my nonsense."

"Well, your nonsense actually helped me get through a pretty tough night so… thank you."

"Well, if you need anything, I'll probably be around later."

"I'll keep that in mind." He smiled.

She began to turn, but stopped and turned back to him. "Y'know how you're always telling me to not be so hard on myself and that I shouldn't be dwelling on the past because I can't change it and all that shit?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, vaguely."

"You should do the same," she replied. "You can't change what happened, but you can be stronger for it."

He looked at her a moment. She may not have been without her faults, but she really did possess a heart of gold. And he couldn't have been prouder of her.

He pulled her into a hug, slightly taking the girl by surprise, but she quickly relaxed into it.

"Thank you," he whispered. "It's nice to know I did something right."

She smiled against his shoulder. "You saw the good in me when I couldn't, I thought you deserved the same," she said, then finally pulled away. "Well this has officially gotten far too sappy for my liking. I'm off like a prom dress, Grayson."

"Bye, Rose!" He waved. "And be good!"

A smug expression fixed on her face. "I can make no such promise," she droned, "but for you, I'll try…"

He watched her leave, hoping she too, would find her place in the world. It would be a shame if she didn't. When she was gone, he turned to go back upstairs when a thought crossed his mind. A thought that raised the hair on the back of his neck. He looked around, it was like he could feel her , like he knew she was there, but he just couldn't see her.

I'm just being paranoid, he thought. I need to stop thinking about this.

He grudgingly shook off the feeling and headed back into his building. When he reached his apartment, he dug into his pocket, and his heart dropped.

"Damn it," he hissed, realizing he'd misplaced his key.

It wasn't really that big of a deal, he was more than capable of breaking into his own apartment. He just didn't really feel like doing it. He looked around, and noticed an old bobby pin lying on the floor, not far from where he stood.

"Perfect."

He picked up the pin and bent it back, he'd have the lock picked in no time. He placed his hand on the knob and inserted the pin, but before he could go to work on the lock, he realized the door was unlocked.

He froze. "No, it can't be…"

He turned the knob with an unsteady hand and slowly pushed the door open. He peeked his head in, looking around to see if anyone was there. He finally found the nerve to step inside. Part of him actually contemplating calling Rose and asking her to come back.

Fucking man up, Grayson , he thought, silently scolding himself, especially since a year prior this would have been nothing to him.

He looked around, nothing seemed to have been touched or out of place, everything was just the way he'd left it… except for one thing.

His eyes fell on his pillow; there was something lying there, something that just didn't belong. He approached his bed, slowly, readying himself for anything that came his way in that moment. Deep down, he hoped he was just over-exaggerating, that maybe Rose had left it there for him. But any hope of that was dashed when he peered down at the envelope and saw her handwriting, scratched across the white paper in red.

Mi Amor, it read as he picked it up, a vile mix of anger, fear, disgust and bitterness pressing into his flesh as he held it.

She was here…

His knees buckled and he collapsed, too overcome by the thought that she'd been in his home. That she could, and did, actually take that security away from him. How could she? Did she actually think this tactic was romantic? Or was this simply just a power play? How long had she been waiting for him to leave? She had to have been watching him.

He felt sick and threw the letter down, scrambling for the waste basket, his body violently purging the contents of his stomach. He dry heaved a few times, his breath tight, his heart pounding in his throat. His face was hot, everything was hot.

He tried to focus, and pull himself out his current state of duress. "Think of something else…"

But he couldn't. And the truth was, that was what she wanted. She didn't want any other thought to cross his mind, she wanted that space for herself. She wanted to consume him.

He sat there a while, forgetting about time, his mind just completely racing until it finally grew numb. Everything went numb.

He resented it—feeling like a victim, but he was one, and he hated her for it. He hated how weak he'd become and how easily he crumbled at the mere thought of her. He hated that she'd infiltrated him and festered in his mind. That she was the source of such rotten memories, each one decaying as he slept, the infection spreading through his consciousness and destroying his sanity cell by cell.

He looked down at his hands, flashing back to an image that had burned itself in his mind, one that made him recoil. He could see her face through the billowing shadows and the silver flecks of rain, her eyes cast down on him. Through the still frames, his quaking hand reached up to stop her, but failed to do so, his objection falling on not a deaf ear, but an ignorant one. He felt empty, like he'd died, his heart ceasing to beat, but somehow, left watching from his empty shell. Like a cage with a dead bird inside.

Now, in that very hand, he held the letter, nearly forgetting it was there. He didn't want to open it, he didn't care what she had to say, or how she felt, or how fucking crazy she was. None of that mattered, she'd already taken too much. She could kill him for all he cared, at least then it would be over.

He pulled himself together and tore the envelope open. He took out the piece of fine paper, a faint scent hitting him like a ghost he was far too familiar with. It was her perfume, an odious blend of mahogany and teakwood. It was slightly musky and wreaked of her cruel brand of femininity. The smell was enough to force his flesh to crawl, his hand aching as his eyes flashed with the loathsome image of her shadow in the rain.

He took a heavy breath and unfolded the note, the same red ink staining the purity of the pale page, his stony blue eyes growing grey as the storm rolled in.

To my dearest Amor, Mi Tesoro,

(And if that wasn't enough to induce vomiting...)

It's been far too long, I know. My time away from you has been nothing but agonizing. I tried—I really did—to stay away like you asked of me, but… I just couldn't. And to be honest, if I could find a way to tie you to me so that you'd never leave me again—I would. No one could ever love you the way I do, or as much as I do, Mi Amor.

As for the last time we saw each other, I forgive you. I know you were in a dark place then, and I'm hoping you'll let me help to ease that pain. I would die for you, I hope you know that.

I'm sorry to contact you like this, but I cannot stand the thought of you rejecting me in person—not again. I want to start over with you, I want things to be different between us. Please meet me tonight at the bar. After seeing you last night, I can't wait any longer. I don't know what I'll do if you don't show… Please just give me this one thing.

If for whatever reason you decide not to show, just know I love you with my dying breath, and know I always will…

Todo Mi Amor, Catalina

Her words read like sugar laced with cyanide, delusional and so far removed from the suffering she'd caused. Like she'd come back to rip what was left from his half-empty chest. The letter still hung in his hands, the red ink somehow disturbing to him. Granted, the whole gesture was disturbing to him. She'd violated his privacy, his home, his body, and written down every word of it as though it were love. And maybe it was-the deadly kind .

He looked again at that last line, those deathly sweet words bring him back to one moment.

It's never gonna stop…

And, indeed, it was never going to stop.

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes, trapped in grief. He just didn't know what to do. He tried running off, he tried sending her away. He'd literally had her locked up and thrown away the key, and still, she somehow managed to slither her way out of that. What could he do now?

He finally removed himself from the floor and made sure every window and door was locked up tight. He immediately ripped off all his clothes and took another shower in a feverish, angry fashion, the water so hot it nearly blistered his skin, and remained that way until it finally ran numbingly cold. But he still felt dirty.

He got out of the shower and looked at his worn face in the mirror. He felt as though he'd aged about a thousand years, yet he was trapped in the body of a twenty-something year-old man. A shell of who he used to be. That foul taste still sour in his mouth, mixing with the sick taste of bile. If only she were like old gum to him, momentarily sweet, but tasteless, something he could spit out and forget. He did his best to brush away the putrid flavor, but like so many nights he'd endured, he just couldn't rid himself of her aftertaste.

He didn't bother getting dressed, he just crawled into bed and lay there, wishing he could sleep, but such a mercy was not granted to him. As the hours passed, he thought about the yesterdays: The long sleepless nights, the following days after Blockbuster's death and what came of it. Each frame passed by him like a fog, like ghosts without names, aimlessly moving through him. Their cold hands removing pieces of him and burying them beneath wilting flowers where they'd lie forgotten, rotting away into nothing.

After a few hours of silently wasting away, he looked at the time. It was a little after 5pm. He was hungry, but he didn't really care, mostly because it didn't matter what he ate, he'd still taste her.

His phone rang, startling him. He missed the days when he wasn't so jumpy. Now if someone so much as touched him, his skin would crawl. He didn't want to bother getting it, but knew if he didn't, it might raise some concerns on the other end. He just hoped it wasn't anything important. Or better yet, he hoped it wasn't her.

"Hello?"

"Hey," he heard Rose say, "whatcha up to?"

Lying in bed contemplating killing myself. "Nothing, thinking about making dinner. You?"

"Eating dinner, and binge-watching Dexter. "

"That sounds… like a weird combo…"

"Yeah, this show makes me hungry, as do most things, really."

Dick shook his head. She really did take after her uncle Wade.

"So did you just call to tell me about how watching a serial killer dismember other serial killers makes you wanna polish off a second plate of ribs, or did you actually need something?"

She giggled a moment, but then got back to the matter at hand. "No, I was calling to see how you were. Y'know, that whole song and dance…"

He smiled vaguely, but felt guilty. He didn't want to lie to her, but that was exactly what he was going to do.

"I'm fine, Rose. You don't need to worry about me," You have enough to worry about…

"You sound a little…" She paused, trying to find a delicate way to put it. "Y'know, like you're thinking of going down the street instead of across it." Well… delicate for her.

He sighed. "It's not like that."

It kind of was.

"Anything I missed?"

He looked down at the letter. "Nope, just still a little shaken from last night, that's all."

"Y'know, if you want me to, I can come over…"

Part of him really wanted the company, but the other part of him didn't want to drag her in any deeper than she was. "I'm fine, Rose. I'm still trying to figure shit out."

"I know," she replied. "I just know how hard it is when the very thing that emptied you is out there and you know it."

She may have been young, but she knew a lot about betrayal, abuse, and heartbreak. Though in Dick's case, heartbreak wasn't at all the right term. It was more like having his heart cut out.

"Do you think if I confronted her," Dick asked cautiously, "it would be a bad idea?"

There was a pause from Rose's end, and he could hear her breath hitch slightly. "No," she finally began, "I think if that's what you need to do, then you should do it." There was conviction in her voice. She understood all too well. "But Dick…"

"Yeah."

"If you do, just know that it will probably end badly. You never really know what you're capable of when someone who's hurt you that deeply is standing right there in front of you… You might not even know what she's capable of."

She wasn't wrong. Dick could think of one particular moment where he'd come dangerously close to bludgeoning Catalina to death. His outburst frightened him. He'd never before been that angry or volatile, and the fact was, in that moment, he wanted kill her.

Maybe I shouldn't go…

"But I understand that maybe you need to face her, let her see what she did to you. Let her know what will happen if she ever tries to do that to you again…"

He took a deep breath, he'd never really gotten the closure he needed. He was too wrapped up in everything else. Not to mention, part of him was still in denial, trying forget it ever happened. But it didn't matter how many times he told himself it was a simple "misunderstanding," or how many times he tried to chalk it up to guilt, it still happened, and it happened to him.

"So what do you have on the agenda tonight?"

He could hear Rose click her tongue, and she replied, "I was gonna polish off a third plate of ribs," she joked, "but if you have a suggestion, I might be down…"

"I was thinking of getting a drink… "

A few more hours had passed. Dick had gotten dressed and finally left his apartment, which took more effort than he liked to admit. However, it helped to know that he wasn't going into this situation blindly or alone.

The rain from the night before had dissipated, the air cool as the wind blew over his shoulder. The street was unusually quiet for once. It was peaceful, but unnerving, much like the past year. Hopefully that meant something—something good.

Each step took a little more persuasion than the last, each muscle recalling the touch of her cold hands, the stink of the rain and emptiness that followed all of it. The only thing that drove him was the notion that this might lead to the end. That whatever followed tonight was for the better. He just hoped, silently prayed it was true.

He finally approached the bar, and that uncomfortable feeling grew tighter in chest. It reminded him of how he felt after he'd lost his parents. The loss and uncertainty colliding together like the harsh winds and rains of a hurricane, leaving a lifetime of devastation in its wake.

He paused when he got to the door. Part of him wanted to turn away and just forget about the whole thing. However, he wasn't sure what would happen in the fallout if he did. He took another deep breath, and pulled the door open. The bar wasn't overly crowded, unlike the night before. The table by the window was open, and he sat himself down like he'd never left. He looked around, trying to get a better sense of his surroundings. Rose was already sitting in the back corner, polishing off what looked like a Mai Ti, the poor guy next to her probably striking out. She glanced over at Dick with a sly grin, and bit into the cherry left in the boozy remnants of her drink.

Yeah, the poor bastard's not getting very far with her.

Dick looked around. Catalina was nowhere to be found, and part of him hoped it would stay that way. But he knew he wouldn't be so lucky, she'd show eventually, and if she didn't, he didn't even want know what would happen then.

A period of ten, then twenty minutes went by. Rose was already finishing her second drink and chewing through her second guy, while Dick hadn't even taken a sip of his beer. He heard the door open and he looked up, a cold wash of fear running straight through his veins. She looked over at him and smiled, disturbingly, as if nothing were amiss. Like she couldn't even see that he was practically crawling out of his skin.

She went straight to the bar, happily flirting with the bartender who remembered her. He fixed her a glass of red wine and poured a few fingers of whisky. The whole time Dick glared at her, noticing her lip color was the same, her frame now covered in a form fitted black coat. He heard his phone vibrate, and quickly checked it.

Rose: Something tells me Tits has your whole funeral planned out on Pinterest.

He shook his head and replied: Seriously, she looks like she's dressed for the occasion too!

"What's so funny?" he heard, and looked up. There she was.

She set down her wine and pulled out her chair, placing the whisky in front of Dick.

"I thought you could use this," she said, pulling off her coat and sitting down.

"I think I'm good," Dick replied, pushing it away. "I remember the last time I accepted a drink from you."

She was still wearing black, this dress being a little different from the last, but cut just as low and shamefully short. Once again, she looked like some rich trophy wife burying the husband she killed.

"So you do blame me for that ?"

"You got me shit-faced and tried to make me marry you," Dick scowled, "how is that not your fault?"

Catalina smiled as if nothing were wrong. "I didn't come here to argue, Mi Amor, I—"

"DON'T, call me that ," Dick snapped angrily.

She glared at him, nearly speechless. "I've always called you that—"

"Well, I don't want you to," Dick growled. "I never did."

"Like I said," Catalina continued cautiously, "I didn't come here to argue, I came here to talk."

"You have five minutes and that's all you're getting from me."

She lifted her wine and fraughtly sipped it. "So I see you're still upset with me."

"You could call it that, yeah."

"I thought giving you time would help, I guess I was wrong." She peered down at the drink she'd bought him, still untouched. "You're really not gonna drink that?"

"No," Dick replied coldly, "I don't want anything from you."

She looked back at him, insulted. "I didn't know what I was doing then, okay? I was just as lost as you were."

"Really, because it felt like you were leading the way. Leading me right off a damn cliff."

"Because you let me," she asserted. "You did the moment you got out of my way."

His stare hardened, and for a moment, he almost saw red. "You bitch," he hissed. "You still want me to believe that it was my fault . You still want me to feel guilty for what you did."

"I did what needed to be done." She lifted her glass again. "I did what you couldn't."

"Because it was wrong. "

"Sometimes a little wrong can serve a great right." She smiled at him, like she didn't feel anything. "I know you have a hard time seeing that, it's why I did what I did. So you didn't have to."

"So what, you want me to thank you?" Dick asked bitterly. "That's what you want, isn't it? Because if I thank you, then I own it, right?"

"No," she replied with a chill, and placed her glass on the table. "I wanna know it was worth it."

"I've given you enough, I'm not giving you that too."

"You really believe that?" she asked, wounded. "You haven't given me nearly what I've given you."

Dick laughed patronizingly. "You're a liar. The only thing you have ever done is take, Catalina. And I don't know what else you want from me, but I have nothing left for you to take."

Her face softened, but he wasn't sure why. "I don't know what you mean… but heartbreak can bring out the ugliness in all of us."

He thought he was going to lose it.

"Heartbreak?" he questioned. "Fucking heartbreak!"

"Keep your voice down, people can hear yo—"

"No, Cat," he declared, leering at her, "you didn't break my heart, you ATE it. That way I could never get it back!"

She grimaced. "I don't understand where this is coming from, Mi Amor. I would never intentionally hurt you like tha—"

His hand fell on the table with a slamming percussion. "Then why did you fucking rape me, Cat?" Dick hissed, so that only Catalina could hear him.

Her brow creased as she leaned in. "What the hell…" She was speechless, a little taken back. "What are you even talking about? I would never do such a thing to you..."

"The rooftop, Cat! What, you don't remember? Was me telling you not to touch me just a minor inconvenient detail to you?"

"We went over this," she reasoned, hushed, "you were in shock, you didn't know what you were saying—"

"Then why the hell would you think it'd be a good idea to fuck me then?"

"There is no need to be vulgar. I—"

"Vulgar," Dick laughed. "I'm sorry my choice of words is making you uncomfortable—I mean you raped me, so I guess I owe you some sense of decency, right?"

"Stop saying that—it didn't happen like that."

"Yes, it did," he insisted. "You fucking raped me and you do it every time you sit there and act as if you're entitled to a part of me—to a part of my life . Or when you act like it's me—like I'm the one with the problem!"

"Because all I've ever done is love you and you've given me nothing!" she spat, her face beaming red.

"So you fucking took it, you bitch," he seethed, his voice poisonous.

"You never appreciated anything I did for you," she hissed. "I almost spent my entire life behind bars for you!"

"For what you did, in my name," Dick corrected. "How the fuck do you think that makes me feel?"

"Loved," she replied with a warning, like it was some end all-be all. "I did it because I love you, because I saw how much you needed me, how much you needed me to do that for you . And you let me. Tell me that isn't love ."

He was honestly frightened. He could see that deep in her eyes she believed what she was saying. That she thought by killing Blockbuster, it would make him love her, but it didn't. It only pushed him away, and she couldn't let go of that.

"You need help."

"I need you," she countered. "I love you more than anything, and I can't live without you ."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Dick asked. "Because I'm not falling for it, not this time."

"So what? Blockbuster's death is a stain on your conscience, but my life, what—not so much?"

Dick looked away from her, he knew she would probably play this card. The truth was, he would care if she did something to hurt herself, especially to spite him—it terrified him, in fact. But if he played into it, she'd win, and he'd never be free of her.

"No, of course I'd care, but if you really loved me, you wouldn't leave me with that guilt. That would destroy me, and you know that. How is that love?"

He could see her blood practically boiling. He had her cornered logically, she wasn't getting out of this one.

Lucky for her, she didn't have to. The bartender approached them, standing behind Cat and looking at Dick as if he were the bad guy.

"If there's a problem here, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave," he said, obviously addressing Dick.

He looked over to the man, he was just doing what he thought was right, rescuing the damsel. Dick would have done the same if he didn't know any better. But still, it made him sick that everyone would assume she was the victim—that she actually thought and acted like the victim.

Dick pushed out his chair when Catalina turned and raised her hand.

"There's no problem here," she said calmly, "this is just a simple misunderstanding ."

She looked over at Dick, she wanted him to agree. Only he wasn't interested in doing what she wanted—not anymore.

"It's okay," he said, letting his eyes drift down to Catalina, "I was getting ready to leave, anyway."

The Bartender looked over at Dick as though he were one lucky son of a bitch, and smiled at the Catalina. "Well if you need anything, just let me know."

Yeah, wait till she bites your apple, hero, Dick thought a little bitterly as the man walked back over to the bar, his eyes still trained on Dick like a hawk.

Dick began to rise from the table, but the black widow protested. "We're not done here."

Dick looked back at her warningly. "I am."

She sneered from across the table and stood up as if to block his exit.

"Well I'm not."

Dick looked back at her, a little intimidated, not so much for the fact that she was standing in his way, but for the fact that if he even touched her he'd probably get his ass thrown in jail, and she knew that.

He peered over her shoulder to see Rose stand up, ready to kick "Tits" into next Tuesday if need be. Dick looked back at her, visually telling her to stand down. He couldn't allow her to take the fall for him—as much as she wanted to.

Catalina noticed his line of sight and looked behind her, a thick scowl casting over any beauty left on her face. She trained her sight back on Dick, the scowl taking on a mocking expression.

"What? Not man enough to face me without your little pet ? Nice, Dick."

Like she had any right to talk about pride or strength. She didn't know the first thing about being strong or brave. He needed to let her know that.

"You're the one who's jealous of a 17-year-old girl, but if you really must know, she replaced you, and she's ten times the hero you could ever dream of being, Catalina. You'll never be anything to anyone."

Out of anything he said, that seemed to hit her the hardest, but he wasn't sure why. Was it because he'd replaced her, or was it because he valued the replacement more than her? Or was it because he took away her validation as a hero?

She looked down bitterly, and made a fist. "Fine," she growled, "if that's how you feel, fine! But this isn't over…"

He didn't like the way she said that, but regardless, he let her continue.

"…Not by a long shot," she continued harshly. "So when you're done playing with little girls , I'll be waiting."

She leaned in as if she were going to kiss him, his lips hardened and cold, but she only smiled mockingly, hoping whatever stains she'd left on his soul would fester one last time. She placed her fist in his hand, her smirk deepening, feeling him writhe at the contact, but he still held his ground. He felt a small piece of paper fall into his palm and she closed his fist around it, holding her hands around his. He knew she was aware that he could do nothing, that's why she was doing it. He leered at her with a burning hatred, but that was all he could do. For now.

"Until then, Mi Amor."

He watched her walk out the door, the bartender still glaring at him. He wanted him out, and Dick was happy to oblige.

Rose finally moved from her corner, trying to mask the fact she was nervous for him, but covered it smugly.

"Ready to go?" she asked, and he nodded.

Within moments, the two were nearly out the door, but not before one last outburst.

"Wait," the frat boy who'd bought Rose a few drinks said, "you're going home with him? He didn't even buy you a drink!"

Rose looked back at the guy like he were wearing a helmet or something. "Yeah, last time I checked, buying a girl a few drinks was about as binding as a pinky swear. Stop acting like you bought me a lobster."

Dick shrugged at the guy, as did the bartender. Yeah, it sucked, but hey, home girl owed him nothing.

"Ready to go, Rose?"

"Like a prom dress."

And with a roll of the bartender's eye, they left.

They walked outside, the wind blowing a little harsher now. The sky above was clear, the stars managing to shine over the cityscape despite its dull radiance lifting into the air.

Dick admittedly felt a little freer, like some of the weight he'd been shouldering was alleviated, the space in his chest aching less. He'd said everything he needed to say to her, even if she wouldn't own up to any of it. He wasn't stupid, he knew she'd never acknowledge her wrongdoings, but it would have helped if she had. He may have even held some hope for her, but he knew now he should have never placed such a fragile thing in her hands to begin with.

"So was it worth it?" Rose finally asked, uncertainty bleeding from her eye.

Dick took a breath and nodded. "Yeah, I'm not fixed, but I'm better. And that's a good start."

Rose smiled weakly at him, she knew what it was like to feel that way. Just always short of whole.

"Yeah, it gets better with time."

Dick shuddered at the thought. Time was something that had become unbearable to him, to think it could actually help mend his wounds, seemed a little deceptive.

"I hope you're right." He walked over to her and placed his hand on her shoulder blade, guiding her down the street. "Thanks again. I don't know if I could have faced her without someone I trusted to back me up."

Rose smiled coyly. "You trust me?"

"Yeah," Dick said, and looked at her oddly. "I wouldn't have pushed for you to be a Titan if I didn't. What makes you think I don't?"

Her eyes fell on the ground. "Cause no one really does. Eddie did, but he's gone now. You just never really said it, so… I don't know—I guess I wouldn't have blamed you if you didn't…"

He stopped and turned to face her. "Trust is something that you shouldn't have to say out loud, Rose, it's just something you feel. I trust you because at the end of the day you wear your heart on your sleeve and you don't bullshit anyone. I know you think you're not a good person, but you are, and deep down, you just want people to see that. You're a hero because you want to be a better person, and when you help people, you do it because it's right, not because you're looking for a favor, or to be favored."

"That's because you haven't received my bill yet, Grayson. You've racked up quite the tab, too," she joked, trying to get the focus off of her. "I'm kidding, by the way."

"I know. Humor is how you deal with crazy shit, it's that or anger. I'm glad you're turning to the former."

"I learned that from you," she said softly. "I saw how much you were hurting, yet you still found a way to make light of everything. I thought I'd give it a try."

"I'm glad you did."

They reached her Harley and she turned to her mentor with a sentimental half-smile. "Well, it's been real, but like every great adventure, my time here has come to an end."

"Yeah, I'm really gonna miss you. I'm shocked you haven't made a sexual innuendo all night."

"Well, it didn't seem appropriate given the circumstances, but, I found out the age of consent is 16 in the state of New Jersey… So y'know, if you wanna make out with me before I ride off into the horizon, I'd be cool with that."

Dick smiled and shook his head. "I'm aware what the legal age of consent is, and no, no offense."

"You and your morality, Grayson," she said, picking up her helmet. "Maybe I'll have more luck with your brother."

"My brother?"

"You know, the guy with the red helmet, what's his name?"

"Oh… Jason," Dick said, less than enthused, "he comes with a lot of baggage."

"And you don't?"

"Touché."

"Well, I'm gonna head off now," Rose laughed. "No more psycho stalkers, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he said with a smile. "No more letting creepy guys buy you drinks."

"I let you buy me drinks."

He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. "Please take care of yourself, Rose."

She looked up at him and nodded. "I will, I promise… Deathwing."

"Okay, now get the hell out of my city and stop calling me that."

As he watched her go, he realized he finally understood. Understood why Catalina, a self-centered, ego-driven narcissist wanted to be a hero. It had nothing to do with helping humanity, or even making one life better. She had no need for that, it was all about power. Everything she did, every move she made was self-serving or a display of dominance. Killing Blockbuster, that was simply her playing God, forcing herself on Dick; that was taking what she wanted, but couldn't have, and she'd just reminded him of that. She couldn't leave him until she'd had the last word, till she'd sunk her fangs in him one last time to poison him. She just had to take away his power. Well, not anymore. If she wanted to act like an insect, he'd just have to crush her like one.

She waited, a glass of wine in her hand. She took as sip and looked down at her phone, recollecting the call she'd received. She was a bit shaken when she heard his voice, her heart teetering on its tipping point. He told her he was too rash, that he let his anger get the better of him, but he was ready to talk now. Ready to hear what she had to say. That he couldn't wait. She'd smiled at that, she knew he'd come around, he always did.

Without a second thought, she gave him her address and invited him over, telling him she would make it all better and left him with that.

She took another sip, her anticipation pumping through her veins, the heat of the wine mingling with her blood. She'd been waiting an hour, though it felt like a decade, but that hour was nothing compared to the lifetime she'd spent waiting for him.

A knock rapped at the door, and her heart skipped a beat. Her breath hitched and she placed her glass down on the table and went to the door, taking a moment to check her makeup and fix her dress. She composed herself, taking a moment to quell her near giddiness. She finally opened the door, doing her best to display her most convincing bedroom eyes and found him in their fabled stare.

"Mi Tesoro," she said, sickeningly sweet, "I knew you'd come."

He smiled at her subtly. "You gonna invite me in?"

"Oh, of course, Mi Amor," she said huskily, "you're always welcome."

She shifted out of his way and he stepped inside. He took a quick look around. Her apartment wasn't big, but none of them were in that neighborhood. He should know—it was his neighborhood, after all.

"So tell me, darling," she began, closing the door, the faint click of the lock following, "why the sudden change of heart?"

He looked over at her and shrugged nonchalantly. "You were right, I was just upset. I wasn't being fair to you… I'm sorry ."

She smiled, flashing a hint of victory. "I forgive you," she said, walking toward her prize. "Now why don't you let me heal you, Mi Amor." She placed her hands on his chest, a sinful look in her eye. "I promise, baby, I'm gonna take good care of you now."

He brought his hands to her face and smiled, cradling it as she closed her eyes, leaning in to seal her prey's fate. Only Dick had other plans.

His hand slid to the back of her neck and his face hardened to stone. His grip on her became cold and tight as he suddenly conjured an unnecessary amount of strength. Channeling every ounce of hatred, every violation, and every last bit of fear he held for her. He threw her, face first, into the high table beside them. She collided with the object with a violent force, the tempered glass surface cracking, and her wine glass shattering as it hit the the tile. She collapsed to the floor, blood pouring from her nose and into her mouth. She lifted her head, her body still in shock, as a rough hand tangled itself in her hair and pulled her motionless body around to face him.

He knelt down, hovering over her with an infuriated look in his eyes. She tried to look away from him, but he gripped her jaw and forced her to stare in his direction. She was going to hear this, whether she wanted to or not.

"If you so much as cast a shadow in my fucking direction, I will finish this job," he growled in a low voice. "As far as I'm concerned, you're dead to me, Catalina—and I never wanna see your fucking face again! Got it?!"

She whimpered a little and nodded, but refused to cry in front of him, as though she could keep some sense of dignity if she didn't.

"Bitch," he huffed in her face, a faint spray of saliva hitting her cheek with a hateful breath.

He released her heartlessly and got up, storming out of her apartment as quickly as he'd struck her. She heard the door slam shut, cutting the last tie left between them. She flinched at the sound, like it hurt, and began to cry. She was finally afraid of him; she didn't have any power left to play. She had lost him, for good this time.

Dick threw on his hood, stepping out onto the street and into the cool night air. The wind had subsided and for the first time in a year, he felt his stomach calm. He didn't feel the need to look over his shoulder anymore. The bleeding in his chest had finally quelled.

He couldn't change what had happened to him, and he couldn't change what happened in the wake of it all. But he could change who he became as a result of it all. He knew he wouldn't be cured overnight, but he knew, in time, he'd be fine again. He could move on now. He could finally breach the surface and breathe—he could live. And for that, he could find enough strength to embrace the tomorrows and move out of the yesterdays.

The air somehow smelled sweeter—cleaner, even. Like the smoke had lifted, and the fires burned out, no longer hindering his senses. He could see beyond the rubble to a path beyond the ruins. He took a deep breath, taking the cold air in like it was the first time he'd ever done so.

Clarity, he thought, feeling the ground beneath his feet again, the world indeed still there. He wasn't afraid anymore. He wasn't waiting for some unspeakable thing to pull him into its undertaking. No. For the first time in so long, he was free of her. Free from her hold and presence, and more importantly, free of her memory.

He couldn't taste her anymore.

[tervacious]

Since I’m getting a little pushback on my post about “Female Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder”:

Let’s go.  From the website ASHA, the American Sexual Health Association:

There are many potential causes, both physical and psychological.

There are a number of physical conditions associated with HSDD, including breast cancer, diabetes, depression, urinary incontinence, thyroid problems, and multiple sclerosis, among others.

An imbalance of neurotransmitters (chemicals) in the brain may be the cause, as the chemicals that can cause (or inhibit) sexual desire and excitement may be out of balance.

Diminished libido may be a side effect of certain medications, including medications used to treat depression, anxiety and high blood pressure, as well as some medications to treat pain.

Relationship issues may play a role for some women. If there is conflict or a lack of trust in a relationship, women may lose interest in sex with that partner as a result. (Although it should be noted that a woman may experience HSDD and not be in a relationship).

Some psychological conditions may be associated with the development of HSDD, including depression, anxiety and low self-esteem.

So here we have a lot of wiggle words (”may be associated with”, “potential causes”, “may play a role”) and a bit of questionable science (brain chemistry), but what stands out is the enormous variety of reasons that might cause women not to be in the mood for sex for prolonged periods of time.  A relationship issue has nothing in common with thyroid problems, for example, which bolsters my argument that this is not a “disorder”.  FHSDD implies there’s a discreet thing, singular, rather than what this list expresses, a myriad of potential issues.  (The list doesn’t mention other obvious potential causes of not being turned on, such as capitalism and the exhaustion that comes with that, being put in the position of primary caretaker of children and often times adult males, patriarchy generally, which I did in my post.)

Also I found this exact same list, over and over, in various sources, but interestingly the actual diagnostic criteria specifically excludes medications and other medical conditions.  In other words, you can totally be experiencing an utter lack of sexual and physical desire and experience distress because of it, but your medical conditions or medications are considered the cause, not the vague “Female Hypodermicalogical Blah Blah”.)

HSDD is treatable and can be manageable, so the first step if you are concerned about a lack of interest in sex is to talk to a healthcare provider to see what options are available. The provider may ask a series of questions called the Decreased Sexual Desire Screener (DSDS) to help diagnose HSDD. The first four questions are:

In the past, was your level of sexual desire/interest good and satisfying to you?

Has there been a decrease in your level of sexual desire/interest?

Are you bothered by your decreased level of sexual desire/interest?

Would you like your level of sexual desire/interest to increase?

If a woman answers ‘no’ to any of these questions, she likely will not be diagnosed with HSDD. If she answers ‘yes’ to these, she will also be asked about other factors that may be contributing to her low desire, including physical and mental health conditions, recent childbirth, her relationship with her partner, her level of stress and fatigue, and other issues.

Treatment may include sex therapy or counseling, alone or with a woman’s partner, to address any mental health or relationship issues that may be present. Medications may be evaluated as contributing factors, and underlying medical conditions may be addressed.

Again, this makes it very clear there is no such thing as FHSDD.  There are a whole slew of issues women have.  Men have some of these problems too, but generally speaking when you start talking about male sexual desire the bent is not to assume he is “frigid”, it’s to talk about “performance”.  The reason for that is to boost sales of overly prescribed drugs like Viagra, which is driven less by the fact some men with say high blood pressure, for example, have a difficult time getting it up, and more about getting healthy men anxious.  Every dude, no matter how turned on and healthy he is, can have what seems to him to be a sudden catastrophic fail.  Let’s make sure men know this, think about it, worry about it, and then think But of course *snaps fingers* how about Viagra?!  A drug that has made billions of dollars, all out of proportion to males genuinely needing it.  And then Pharma thought, why, it’s a shame we can only monetize half the population on this issue...  *snaps fingers*

Let me lay this article from Healthline on ya, if you think this isn’t basically yet another way in which women are being told we are inadequate and broken for being perfectly normal:

Hypoactive sexual desire disorder (HSDD), now known as female sexual interest/arousal disorder, is a sexual dysfunction that causes a lowered sex drive in women.

Female SEXUAL INTEREST/AROUSAL DISORDER oh my.  You are experiencing less interest in sex than your partner?  You don’t find yourself easily aroused?  Read on!

Many women will pass off the symptoms of HSDD as the inevitable effects of aging or changes in their body.

If your sex drive is affecting your quality of life, it may be time to talk to your doctor.

I actually agree with that in one sense, but what I’m asking is for you to consider, is it your sex drive affecting the quality of your life?  Or is your sex drive being AFFECTED BY the quality of your life.  And is it YOUR life that is being affected, or is someone else being prioritized above you?  Like say a dude?  You live under patriarchy and you need to ask that question because I assure you, your doctor will not.  There’s no money in it.

While it’s healthy for sexual desire to fluctuate, a woman with HSDD will usually experience a lack of sexual desire for six months or more.

If changes in sexual desire are so extreme that it’s affected your relationships or self-esteem, it could be HSDD.

Symptoms associated with HSDD include:

little to no interest in sexual activity

few to no sexual thoughts or fantasies

disinterest in initiating sex

difficulty getting pleasure from sex

lack of pleasurable sensations when the genitals are stimulated

How do doctors diagnose HSDD?

Unlike other medical conditions, there is no specific test to diagnose HSDD. Yet, there are a few methods used by doctors to diagnose the condition.

Start by telling your doctor about your symptoms. Your doctor may ask questions about how your low sex drive is impacting your well-being.

Your doctor will try to identify an underlying cause for the condition. These causes could be physical, emotional, or a combination.

Physical causes of HSDD can include:

arthritis

coronary artery disease

diabetes

decreased estrogen or testosterone levels

hormonal changes during or after pregnancy

fatigue or exhaustion due to a grueling work, family, or school schedule

taking certain medications that affect sex drive

Again, according to the actual diagnostic criteria, those things aren’t supposed to be considered.  Yet here it is.  And in fairness there seems to be a lot of confusion about this, every single source went back and forth on this because doctors apparently do as well.  Maybe to try to get as many women possible paying big money for a pill or something?  Who knows.

Emotional causes of HSDD include:

a history of anxiety, depression, or low self-esteem

a history of sexual abuse {??????}

trust issues with a sexual partner {??????}

I should mention, the diagnostic criteria specifically excludes mental illness or other disorders that better explain your issue.  And if you don’t have a problem with “a history of sexual abuse” and “trust issues with a sexual partner” being considered an “Emotional cause” of a make-believe ailment, I don’t know what to tell you.

Your doctor may also conduct a pelvic exam to identify any changes that might have affected your sexual desire. A blood test to check for affected hormone levels might be performed, as well.

However, sometimes there is no specific underlying cause for HSDD. This does not mean that HSDD cannot be treated.

Am I making my point now?  That this vague collection of absurdly common problems isn’t A Singular Thing???

I’m gonna skip to the payoff and point of pretty much all of these articles, since you can follow the link and read the whole thing if you’re interested:

Another treatment option is the FDA-approved pill flibanserin (Addyi). This medication has been shown to boost sex drive in women with low sexual desire.

However, the drug is not for everyone; side effects include hypotension (low blood pressure), fainting, and dizziness.

Lifestyle changes could also relieve stress and help improve a woman’s libido. These include:

exercising regularly

setting aside time for intimacy

sexual experimentation (such as different positions, role-playing, or sex toys)

avoiding substances that affect sexual desire, like tobacco and alcohol

practicing stress-relieving techniques, such as mindfulness-based interventions

Don’t underestimate the effect a decreased sexual desire can have on your well-being. If you feel symptoms of HSDD have impacted your quality of life, talk to your doctor. There are treatment options available.

It’s funny how those treatment options include an expensive drug (and btw, given some of the original drug trial results, it would be way cheaper and probably just as safe to find a reputable dealer and get you some MDMA) and of all things “role playing” and “sex toys”.

For kicks, here’s a spin through the not terrible Wikipedia article.  The highlights:

In the DSM-5, HSDD was split into male hypoactive sexual desire disorder[3] and female sexual interest/arousal disorder.[4] It was first included in the DSM-III under the name inhibited sexual desire disorder,[5] but the name was changed in the DSM-III-R. Other terms used to describe the phenomenon include sexual aversion and sexual apathy.[1] More informal or colloquial terms are frigidity and frigidness.[6]

Low sexual desire alone is not equivalent to HSDD because of the requirement in HSDD that the low sexual desire causes marked distress and interpersonal difficulty and because of the requirement that the low desire is not better accounted for by another disorder in the DSM or by a general medical problem. It is therefore difficult to say exactly what causes HSDD.

And this is my favorite, because it really displays the gendered ideas behind this bullshit:

In the DSM-5, male hypoactive sexual desire disorder is characterized by "persistently or recurrently deficient (or absent) sexual/erotic thoughts or fantasies and desire for sexual activity", as judged by a clinician with consideration for the patient's age and cultural context.[3] Female sexual interest/arousal disorder is defined as a "lack of, or significantly reduced, sexual interest/arousal", manifesting as at least three of the following symptoms: no or little interest in sexual activity, no or few sexual thoughts, no or few attempts to initiate sexual activity or respond to partner's initiation, no or little sexual pleasure/excitement in 75–100% of sexual experiences, no or little sexual interest in internal or external erotic stimuli, and no or few genital/nongenital sensations in 75–100% of sexual experiences.[4] (Bolding is mine omfg.)

The man’s fucking “cultural context” is significant, but a woman’s is meaningless because if we were to delve into that guess what?  WE WOULD BE BACK AT MY ORIGINAL POST ON THIS SUBJECT, WOULDN’T WE, GYNS!!!

And that’s why I am now going to double down and repeat my original assertion:

There is no such thing as Female Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder. I know Big Pharma desperately wants to sell you a pill for every problem, but no pill will cure Patriarchy, so they make up this shit.

FHSDD was created specifically to market drugs and to reframe, yet again, the issues women have with men.  To medicalize Patriarchy.  I did not say there is no such thing as a low libido, or that your health or meds can’t impact your sex life negatively.  Literally no one says that.  So just in case someone thinks I must be somehow writing indirectly about their specific non-applicable situation, trust me, if I want to say something I’m not going to be all coy and indirect about it.

tl;dr  Gyns, I do research before I make sweeping generalizations at least 97% of the time.  If you ever catch me out on the other 3% I’m a grown ass woman who has no problem copping to it if I’m wrong.  

[maljean89]

I turned 30 and got my tubes tied

Just shy of a week ago I had my very first surgery — I got my tubes tied. Although, “getting your tubes tied” is sort of an out-of-date term these days come to find. Nowadays, removing your entire fallopian tubes is the standard for a couple of reasons: removing them completely (as opposed to tying, clamping or cauterizing) can prevent the occurrence of an ectopic pregnancy and can reduce the risk for Ovarian Cancer. Dude, I have so much cancer in my family, if I can reduce my risk for one kind, I’m down. 

I’m really glad I’ve never had surgery before because going into it blindly was probably the best thing for me. I had no idea what to expect and if I had I think I would have been even more of an anxious mess than I already was. I am the queaziest, most fainty human being on the planet, so the entire experience of having the 3 attempts to put my IV in was a little hellish. But being put under felt pretty cool and before I knew it, I was waking up and it was all over. It took a solid 3 days of doing nothing but laying on my back and hobbling to the toilet before I started to feel like a human again. And let me tell you — having a boyfriend with an amazing sense of humor kind of sucks when laughing causes you pain. But he took the best care of me and 6 days later I’ve got a way less bloated and swollen tummy (looked like I was pregnant for a couple days) and my insides feel like normal again. I’ve got these 3 sweet battle wound scars — two on either side of my lower abdomen and one in my belly button — and I can officially say that I’m sterile as a cotton ball. 

I’m pretty excited that I now have a response when people inevitably ask “So when are you and Jonah going to have a baby?” I’m going to enjoy it a little too much to be able to say, “Never actually. I had my tubes tied.” Telling people you don’t want kids makes them incredibly uncomfortable for some reason. I’ve never really understood it, but one of two things usually happen. One: they get real awkward and change the subject, never to be visited again. Or two: the barrage of questions begins. Some people are genuinely interested. Some people feel the same way and I get high fives. Some people do the whole, “well, you’ve got plenty of time to change your mind” routine. 

The thing that probably kills me the most though is when people ask why. 

“Why don’t you want to have kids? If you don’t mind my asking,” they’ll say.

You got a few hours? People ask this question like its a simple answer. Dude, if its a simple answer, I highly recommend that you don’t get sterilized because one simple answer isn’t sufficient. I have scores of reasons! And the reasons why I don’t only stand to inform the actions I would take if I oddly changed my mind someday. 

I thought I’d share some of my many reasons with you all. Some are emotional, some are physical, some are financial — they’re all over the place. If you don’t care — thats cool. If you think I’m stupid — you’re entitled to your opinion. But I do think it would broaden your vision a bit to read why someone might not want to reproduce. If you’re one of the people judging me, I encourage you to take a moment to learn about someone different than yourself.

1. Physically, I legit can’t handle it. I know every woman is probably terrified of actually giving birth, but I literally could not handle it. I have to lay down to get a flu shot, and stay laying down for a solid 10 minutes or I’ll pass out. Getting my blood drawn makes me faint every time. And just discussing the process of inserting a NuvaRing with my gyno made me lightheaded and have to lay down. Getting my lady exam every year makes me so nervous I often present with high blood pressure because my nerves get the better of me so badly. Don’t think I could handle 9 months of discomfort, thinking about whats happening to my insides, and then the inevitable pain of actual birth. And even if I somehow could handle it — I don’t want to put myself through that. No thanks, I’ll pass.

2. Financially, I don’t want the burden. People may think thats a cold reason to not want kids, but I’m just being honest. I’m a fucking millennial for god’s sake — I’ll be drowning in student loan debt until the day I die, paying off only the interest on my income based repayment plan each month. I’m just now at 30 years old feeling stable with my own income for the first time ever. And to be 100% honest with you, I want to spend my money on me and my partner, not a small person who doesn’t even understand what money is and how hard I have to work for it. If you can look past that — high five to you, but I can admit that I’m not that big of a person.

3. I don’t want the strain on my body. I’m not special in that I’ve struggled with my body image my whole life. And sure — you can argue all you want that having kids is more rewarding than having a hot bod. And I’m sure thats true for some people. But vainly, I just don’t want to ruin my body like that. I’ve got enough stretch marks on my inner thighs and love handles from when I was heavier. I shall opt for keeping my bladder and vagina and breasts in tact for as long as I can. #SorryNotSorry

4. It’s not what I want my day to day life to be about. I enjoy being around kids of a certain age for a very short amount of time, and somehow that window gets smaller and smaller as they get older. I don’t have enough time for myself, I can’t even imagine having every moment be about feeding and changing and crying and being sick and everything else. Worrying about myself and the people I love is all I have the energy and time for folks. Its wonderful that some people are happy having every day be about play dates and going to the park and doing whatever Mommy-and-Me crap you mothers out there do — but thats just not who I am. I enjoy traveling and seeing the world, experiencing art and theater and music, trying really hard and failing at making alone time for myself, falling in love with Jonah more and more every day, searching for a woman to fall in love with at the same time, and a million other things I could spend hours writing about. In everything I want for my life, there just isn’t a kid running around in that mix.

5. I’ve got some weird Mom-related reasons swirling around in my noggin, too. My relationship with my mother was very special to me. I was an only child raised by a single mom and that, my friends, creates bonds unlike any other. In the three years since she’s died, I’ve realized how sacred my time with her was. I even had a window of time where I thought I was going to cancel getting my tubes tied because I had this morbid realization that by having a baby, and possibly a little girl, I could have a piece of my mom back again. Thats not a healthy way to think. I talked my feelings out with my loved ones and ended up back at my decision to have the procedure. Somehow, the mother-daughter relationship that I had with her is the only one I want to have in my life. 

6. Other areas in my life deserve my love and attention more than a child. First and foremost — my love life is too important to me. Jonah is my world. And aside from the fact that on our first date he told me he didn’t want to have any more kids (he has a daughter from a previous relationship), our life doesn’t have room for an infant. Our life together — my career, my company, other creative and business ventures I have brewing in my head, Jonah’s music,  our love life being polyamorous — all of these things deserve my love and attention more than having a baby. And guess what? As mentioned above, I already get to have a daughter in a sense! I get to have this super cool friendship/stepmom/parent-type thing with a wonderful little girl that came from the man of my dreams. I can’t wait to see her blossom into a young woman and see what she’ll achieve in life. ALSO, I have an amazing nephew who is about the same age and even though I don’t get to see him every day the way his mom saw me every day, I love the bond I have with him and getting to see him grow into such a sweet and upstanding young man. All of this and more deserve my love and attention more than creating another human.

7. I don’t think its necessary to populate the world with more people. If I lose anyone big time with any of these reasons, I think this one might be it. We as human beings are literally ruining this planet. There are too many people in existence as it is. We’re polluting the ocean at an alarming rate, global warming is all our fucking fault, and every year more and more animals hit that endangered species list or worse, become extinct. Don’t get me started on animal rights! More people just create more garbage, more waste, more problems. I’m sure you love your big family and think you’re not part of the problem, but guess what — we all are. I don’t want to add to it. I can help not add to it by the following...

8. I would choose adoption over reproducing any fucking day. When I had my initial doctors appointment to schedule my tubal ligation, my doctor obviously asked me why I wanted the procedure done. I rambled off a few of these reasons I’ve just shared with you and closed with this: “If for some crazy reason I want nothing more than to have a child 10 years from now, I would want to adopt anyway.” And that was the end of that conversation. There are so many children that need foster homes or to be adopted. In Minnesota alone, an article from this past January from Kare 11 states that “this year alone some 17,000 children will need temporary, out-of-home placements.” I saw an adorable little boy at the grocery store the other day running in front of his parents. For one second I thought, there are I don’t even know how many little boys just like him that need homes across the globe. The thought broke my heart. If I wake up 5 years from now and want nothing more than to be a mom, I want to change someone’s life and give them the loving home they otherwise might not ever have.

9. I’ve never had a strong will to be a mother. Sure, when you’re in grade school you might trade future baby names with your girlfriends at recess. For me it was Hayden for a boy and Aslynn for a girl. But as a teenager and adult, that daydream disappeared. I’ve never longed to be a mother, or to have any sort of a conventional life for that matter. It’s always seemed really boring and expected and normal. One of the very very few positive things that came out of my relationship with my ex-husband was the day he helped me realize that I just assumed I’d have kids someday because thats what society had drilled into me. The moment I stood back and really honestly asked myself, “Do I want kids?” I had my answer. No. And I’ve never looked back.

10. Most importantly, my body was made for more than reproduction. I know we don’t live in medieval times — this isn’t Game of Thrones no matter how much I wish it was. We live in an age of being a career mom and female empowerment up the wazoo. But theres still this thing floating around out there in the world that its expected of me to reproduce. Ridiculous abortion laws like the one that just passed in Georgia that makes it illegal to get an abortion after 6 weeks makes me feel like we’re only glimpsing the tip of the iceberg of whats coming down the pipes. The only person who can control what I do with my body is me goddamn it. My female body can do just as much (AND MORE) than any male body can. Maybe its just me being stubborn or thinking I’m more important than I am, but I firmly believe my body can do a million more important things shit out children. I truly believe we are heading to a Handmaid’s Tale existence, and I won’t be a part of it. I refuse.

I didn’t write this blog to make you feel like shit if you are a mother, and enjoy being a mother. Everyone is different. I respect that. But we all have different perspectives. And I truly believe that there are a lot of moms out there that didn’t think long and hard enough about this life-changing decision, and now they’re stuck with it for life. At the end of the day — you’re going to do you, and I’m going to do me. But maybe you have a little insight into what goes on in a head like mine, and why motherhood doesn’t have to be your future if you don’t want it to be.

I’ll be honest with you — I sort of have this weird feeling that for once I have total control over my own body. Pregnancy has been this fear stamped on my love life since I took that dive at 14 and I finally feel free from it. I don’t know, maybe I’m blowing it out of proportion. I could be feeling that way because I just bought my first house and have this cool, new perspective on taking control of my life. But somehow, I’ve never felt more in control in 👏🏻 my 👏🏻 life 👏🏻

Watch out world. The only one in control of my life and my body is me.