#guess who came back from the dermatologist

[ayakashibackstreet]

I can't believe I got cursed and I have to pay over 100PLN to get the curse lifted smh

[ere-the-sun-rises]

Batfam and the Lazarus Pit

This isn't my idea, and I honestly can't remember if @frownyalfred or @bruciemilf came up with this idea first, but it's been living in my head rent free and I need to get it out.

There are Lazarus Pits under Gotham, even contributing to why the city's so cursed. The Bats have each used a Lazarus Pit at least once (maybe not Spoiler and Signal, but I'm not sure). I'm fairly sure it's also canonical that the more you use it, the more prolonged the effects are and it kinda changes you incrementally but permanently.

Enter the Batfam, who train like crazy and are Olympian-level athletes all on their own, and using the Lazarus to help each other on death's door. (They don't tell each other when they do this, and they think it's never been done to them - except Jason, he can always tell - but they also don't share when they've done it to others.)

As time goes on, everyone gets older, stronger, more proficient at their jobs. Some take on younger teams, some proteges, some fly solo or stick around home. It's one of the OG Leaguers who points it out one day when they're having a civilian lunch - probably Ollie or Hal. In my head Bruce is one of, if not the youngest, OG Leaguers. So it's not crazy when Clark or Barry start to wrinkle around the eyes or get grey in their hair well before Bruce would. Bruce is also a public figure - he's got appearances to keep up.

But then ... Bruce is over 40 and his hair is still as black as it's ever been. His wrinkles are from his scowling and focus, only crinkling around the edges of his eyes and mouth a little bit. Idly, Hal wonders out loud if Bat's eyes have always been so dark, almost like coals. Barry notes that Bruce is way bigger than he used to be, that he bulges the suits he wears to galas with his size. Ollie, who's own beard is greying, bitterly points out that even Bruce's stubble is still black.

And suddenly, Bruce hits 50 and he's still thick-chested and dark-haired. The other Bats only seem to get more and more ... more. No non-meta can spar with them anymore unless they hold back and they seem to have endless stamina and pain tolerance. Clark and Diana think nothing of it, but the other fully human Leaguers start to wonder what's really going on. If maybe Bruce had lied to them. But J'onn swears that in their own minds, all of the Bats fully believe they're human. Aside from the suspicion, there's no reason to believe otherwise. They still bleed and scar, no matter how beautiful they seem to remain. No matter that Bruce keeps going and going and going even after others his age have been retired for years.

Fed up one day, Ollie asks him how he does it. Dermatologists? Botox? Just For Men? Bruce snorts and rolls his eyes. He smirks, "Good genes, I guess."

Bruce is nearly 70 when the grey creeps into his hair and his body starts to slow. His children are still active as ever, and when Tim takes up the Batman mantle, Bruce retires to train new heroes. One young hero complains that Bruce hits like one of the Amazons she trained with but he only responds that he's never stopped being the Bat even with tbe cowl off.

And then ... Leaguers start dying. Gradually, age takes them one by one and they's succeeded by the heroes they've mentored and the children who followed in their footsteps. Grey is starting to creep into Dick and Jason's hair, but they're still as vibrant and lively as ever.

It's only when it's just him left of humans of the original group that he actually considers why. If anyone should have died young, it should have been him. And yet, he's nearing 90 and not nearly as withered as some of them had been when they passed away. The vitality he's always attributed to his genetics and continued activity can't explain why all his children remain as beautiful and capable all their lives as he has. So one day, he gathers his wayward children down in the cave like they used to 50 years ago and asks them to be completely honest with him.

"Have any of you used the Lazarus Pit on anyone here without telling them or reporting it?"

The silence he's met with is deafening.

[scientia-rex]

Saw a patient today who had been through a series of medical visits that epitomizes what I hate about multiple different kinds of care providers. Their VA dermatologist took a scoop out of them to remove a basal cell cancer. Fine. I’m not a dermatologist, maybe it needed those wide margins. (If it didn’t, going that deep should mean it was an excisional biopsy and they put in sutures to close it.) They gave the patient and his wife confusing instructions about wound care. They didn’t provide guidance around keeping it covered or moist. It got infected. His wife took him to Urgent Care. The UC doc took a swab of the wound and started antibiotics. They came to see me for a visit we scheduled ages ago for something else.

Here’s the thing. Wounds need to be kept at what I call the Goldilocks moisture level: not too dry and not too wet. If it’s pruny/white/mushy like it’s been in a bathtub, it’s too wet. If it’s cracking, it’s too dry. This is why you can’t say “cover it for X days and then leave it out.” That would be like telling someone with heart failure and lower extremity edema “take the diuretic for a week and then stop” without any instructions around dry weight, dizziness, etc. It’s more complicated than that.

This wound was too dry. No one had talked to them about keeping it moist. No one had even mentioned Vaseline.

No, they got a wound swab. Want to guess how good a wound swab is for an open wound exposed to the world? Pretty terrible. You can improve it a little bit by making sure you’ve removed some kind of layer and then expressing fluid directly from the wound with the swab, but it’s still bad. The only time I give a shit about what grows from a wound swab is when it was a) collected in the OR (as when the podiatrist gets a sample of osteomyelitic bone in a sterile environment) or b) when it grows pseudomonas. Everything else? I can figure out by looking at it. If it’s skin it’s probably either staph or strep. If it’s staph, it’s either MRSA or MSSA. If it’s MRSA, it’s making a lot of pus, it’s red, it’s hot, it’s painful. This wasn’t. So it was either MSSA or strep. So what are we going to do for systemic antibiotics? Probably the same thing we would have done anyway—Keflex.

And what’s the utility of systemic antibiotics in a skin wound? Not a lot, most of the time. This wasn’t cellulitis proper. It wasn’t red or hot or angry enough. A red border around the wound does not a systemic infection make. And if you don’t care properly for the wound itself, there’s no point in antibiotics, because it still can’t heal. Antibiotics can get where blood goes. Blood does not go into the slough that is the bacterial biofilm covering a wound.

So I sat there with gauze and saline and gently debrided the 100% slough off the wound. It’s yucky and it takes time and attention. It doesn’t get compensated. That’s why no one else had done it yet. The derm had blown it off as “it’s healing, it’s fine.” It wasn’t healing. It was developing rolled edges, where the wound edges couldn’t heal across the slough and so they started to curl back under themselves. If taking off the slough (and keeping it gone by MAINTAINING PROPER CONDITIONS) doesn’t let it heal, I’ll need to get him back in and rough up the edges with a Buck’s curette until it can heal.

Multiple professionals who should have known better tried to make my patient just go away, rather than heal him.

I’m pissed. I’m tired. I think I have a cold. I shouldn’t be doing the work the dermatologist or the UC provider should have done. And because of everything they’d told her, his wife was pissed at me for doing what was correct. “We’ve heard a lot of different things!” Yes, and I’m right. You’ll find out when the wound actually starts healing when we care for it properly.

The value of a model is in what it can predict. Wounds are great about making it clear when your model sucks.

[kingofpopmj]

Conscious Decision

Part 4

July 16th, 1988

*Michael’s POV*

“I think my mom is upset I stole you from her.” I said playfully. She shook her head laughing.

“Well, I am her favorite.” She teased. We were getting ready for the day. Together. For a moment, I imagined we were a normal couple getting ready for work. She was heading off to the hospital while I was off to the office. We lived in a beautiful house in a nice neighborhood. We lived nearby the school, so our kids could ride their bikes. Our kids were kids. We were happy. “She’s not mad. She loves us together.” Y/N added kissing my shoulder.

Thankfully, it took very little convincing to get Y/N to move into my suite. It’s a bit more spacious and more importantly there are two beds. We’ve shared a bed before, but given recent events in our relationship sharing a bed came with added pressure. I don’t want to rush anything and ruin this. This was a lifetime in the making.

As much as I want to completely immerse myself in Y/N, in our relationship, I have to be smart about it. I have to be careful. I’d never forgive myself if I put her in danger. I don’t want to be this paranoid, but so much has changed over the past few years. This life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I do my best to adapt to the circumstances without compromising who I am. I’m human. I’m not that different. I’m not weird even though people try mercilessly to label me as such.

I sit on the bed watching her style her hair and I could feel my heart rate increase. I remember doing this exact same thing throughout our relationship. When we were kids I nagged her, sometimes threw a pillow or two to get her to hurry. Then, as teenagers I had to fight the urge to stare- to admire her the entire time. It was some of the best and worst times of my life. We were so close. She was so close yet so far. And now, we’re here, where we belong.

Y/N is my safe haven. She always has been. She’s always the one I run to. When my dad lost his temper. When my brothers teased me. When I felt unworthy. When I felt I couldn’t handle the world watching me constantly. When I let the awful words of the press affect me. As long as I protect her she’ll always be there. She won’t have to struggle to adapt if I just keep her safe.

She’s everything. She’s my everything.

She was the first person I confided in when I noticed discoloration on my chest and legs. She didn’t wince at the sight, she didn’t call me names and above everything she didn’t treat me different. She helped me find the best dermatologist and she was with me every step of the way. I guess that’s one of the advantages of your best friend being a doctor. Y/N made sure I got the best care. She explained everything to me in a way I could understand. She protected me from being poked and prodded at. She refused to let anyone treat me like a walking circus act, which unfortunately has become my new normal.

“I’m ready.” I heard her sweet voice and immediately she had my undivided attention.

“After you my lady.” I smiled holding my arm out for her to take.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to tag along?”

“You’re only here a few more days. I want as much Y/N time as I can get.” I giggled as we piled into the elevator. I’m accompanied by guards everywhere I go, but lately it’s dawned on me just how abnormal it is. My life has changed so much and being with Y/N I can’t help but notice it all. She reminds me of everything I love. Everything I’ve been missing out on. Everything I never want to be without.

“I’m not ready to leave you.” She said softly wrapping her arms around my waist. She subtly surveyed the small space filled with giant men before pulling away from me.

“Don’t.” I whispered pulling her back into me. Usually, I avoid physical touch, public displays of affection, but that doesn’t apply to Y/N. She has her own set of rules. That means she could do absolutely anything she wants to me, for me, around me and I’m all for it. She makes me feel everything. She makes me feel. No matter what’s going on around us I can be myself with her. Our own little world; my escape. It’s a feeling I thought I’d lost forever, but I was wrong.

“Wait!” I turned to Y/N as the elevator came to a stop. The noise from outside becoming overwhelming as the doors opened. I stood for a moment trying to think. “Here.” I took my jacket off before throwing it over her head.

“Michael, what’s going on?” Her voice was muffled and slightly annoyed.

“Just trust me.” I secured my face mask before stepping out of the elevator guiding Y/N beside me.

“I can’t see.” She complained. “Is this really necessary?”

“I got you.” The screams intensified as we neared the exit. “We’re almost there.” I held onto her as the crowd enclosed around us. There was very little I could do while the guards formed a path to the car. Once the door was opened I helped Y/N inside and climbed in behind her. She ripped the jacket off her head revealing her messy hair.

“Do I have to do that all the time?” She huffed trying to fix her hair.

“Maybe.” I smiled nervously.

“Why?”

“Look, I’m going to shout from the rooftops I have a girl. The best girl. I’m taken as far as they’ll know, but I want to protect you from the craziness.”

“I see. I guess I understand that.”

“They’ll find out everything about you overnight. It’ll be front page news in the morning. True or not. Unfortunately, fabricated stories sell better, so that’s usually what they strive for.”

“Thank you for protecting me.” She adjusted laying her head in my lap looking up at me. “Just like when we were kids. You used to throw dirt at those kids to get them to leave us alone.”

“I may have to bring that move back.” I smiled at the memory. “And it serves them right, especially, that Antonio.”

“Here we go.”

“He had a crush on you and he would bug me endlessly because you were always with me. Then, he had the nerve to ask you to prom in high school. That- that fathead.”

“Fathead?” She laughed uncontrollably. It was music to my ears. “I said no! I went to prom with you.”

“I remember.”

“I like you better without this.” She sat up untying my face mask. “There he is.”

“You’re making me blush.”

“Good.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Dance with me.” I pulled Y/N on stage with me as the band practiced.

“This is very discreet.” She playfully rolled her eyes.

“I trust everyone here. Plus, they really like you. They like us.” I booped her nose making her smile.

“I was thinking about our date tonight. What if we move it to tomorrow afternoon? I mean you’re going to be exhausted after the show. I don’t want to keep you from getting rest.”

“No! No. I already have everything planned. It’s happening. Prepare to be swept off your feet.”

“Oh, Mr. Jackson is that smugness I hear?”

“Nope. It’s not smugness, it’s confidence!”

“Confidence. Is that so?”

“Yes, because I finally got the girl.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The curtain closed behind me and I shrugged off my letterman jacket. As Karen touched up my makeup I looked over to find Y/N sitting off to the side. She was in deep conversation with my mother about god knows what. My mom smirked at me before making my stare known. Y/N winked blowing a few kisses my way. I instantly felt giddy. My face felt hot and I hoped no one else would notice.

“She’s a good one.” Karen whispered to me.

“She’s the one.” It slipped out and even though I meant it. It was a different feeling to say it out loud.

“I think so too.” She grinned clapping her hands. “Your mom and I kept wondering how long it was going to take you two. We almost put a bet together with Greg and the guys. I think it’s great. You deserve someone who makes you genuinely happy. Above all, she loved you before all this, she loves you in-spite of all this.”

“She did. She does.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive back to the hotel was about an hour. I couldn’t stop fidgeting. Our first date was minutes away and I needed everything to be perfect.

“Katherine wants to have breakfast together.” Y/N spoke from beside me.

“I think I have some press stuff early, but after works. It’ll have to be a brunch.”

“I’ll let her know. She really wants to see us. She has many questions, but I thought it’d be more fun to leave you to answer them.”

“Yeah, she’s been planning our wedding since we were twelve.”

“You’re lying!”

“I’m not. One day, Jermaine was teasing me because I was too chicken to admit I liked you. He threatened to put the moves on you since I was too scared to do it. My mom lit him up. She threw a biscuit at his head.” I let out a deep belly laugh as I recalled that explosive family dinner. “She told him- well everyone that you were going to be her daughter-in-law one day, but he would not be your groom.”

“Wow.”

“It was the best day. I’ve never seen anyone put Jermaine in his place like that.”

“She’s the best.”

“She really is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We sat in the car looking out of the tinted windows. The crowds outside our hotel had multiplied, but were slightly more controlled since barricades were put up.

“Michael, there are so many people.” Y/N said in awe. “You should stay out for a bit. Aw, look!” There was a little girl holding up a sparkly pink poster that read ‘It’s my birthday! My only wish is a hug from Michael!’

“Alright, I’m going to have Bill escort you inside.” I leaned in kissing her. I could feel her lips curve up into a smile. Oh, her lips taste like candy. The kiss intensified as our hands began to roam each other’s bodies. Goodness, she’s so addicting. It ended as quickly as it began when a loud knock on the window startled us. I gave her one last look before stepping out of the car closing the door behind me. “Please get her inside safely. I won’t be long wait in the lobby.” I told Bill receiving a nod in return. “Thank you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey there rockstar!” Y/N laughed as I entered the lobby. “Can I have an autograph too?” She pouted.

“You can have more than an autograph.” I teased as my arm found its place around her waist.

“You’re bad.” She closed her eyes as a blush painted over her face.

“You haven’t even seen the half of it.” We laughed loudly as other guests looked at us in confusion. “Let’s go before we get kicked out.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Michael, oh my goodness.”

“I went down to the shop, but I couldn’t decide they were all so beautiful.” I watched as she took small steps into our hotel room stopping to admire each flower arrangement. “I kind of just got all of them. They all have different meanings and each one reminded me of you.” She bent down touching the pedals of a white rose.

“Those mean eternal loyalty, love and new beginnings.”

“That’s fitting.” She smiled sniffing a light pink peony.

“Those mean love, honor and happiness.” Each step she took I was right behind her. The flowers lined the walls on both sides of us making the walkway very narrow, nonetheless, it was a stunning sight.

“Sunflowers mean positivity, strength and strong bonds. Red roses mean romance and passion. The white peony means-“ she twirled around cutting me off with a kiss.

“I can’t believe you did all of this.” She leaned into me. “It’s like my own private botanical garden.” She giggled hugging me tighter.

“The surprises have just begun my love.” I quickly lifted her off the ground throwing her over my shoulder and ran down the rest of the path.

“Don’t you dare drop me!”

“Let’s eat.” I placed her down and led her out onto the balcony. A candle lit dinner awaited us. I walked over to her chair pulling it out for her.

“How did you do all this?”

“I have my ways.”

“I can’t believe you did all of this for me. It’s beautiful.”

“I’d do anything for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After we finished dinner we decided to relax outside and do some stargazing. There was the distant sound of the city, but it was peaceful.

“Y/N, I really wish you wouldn’t leave.”

“I can visit again in a few months.”

“Months?” I loudly blurted which startled her. “Sorry.” I avoided her eyes as I stood up walking inside. I didn’t realize how fast I was walking until I heard her voice from behind me.

“You can visit me too.”

“I’m busy. My calendar is booked months in advance. I barely have anytime for myself.”

“Okay.. so what do you have in mind?”

“Stay. Travel with me.”

“Michael, that sounds incredible it really does, but I have a job I can’t just disappear.”

“Quit.”

“I love my job.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“I do love you.”

“Then I don’t understand the issue.” I shook my head falling back onto the mattress. I wasn’t necessarily proud of what was coming out of my mouth, but it was too late to back down now. “Anything you want or need I can take care of. I’ll do everything, anything for you.”

“Michael.”

“Y/N.” I retorted a bit more childishly than I intended.

“I love you. I want to be with you, but I can’t agree to that. I just can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You deserve to have people in your life that are there for you and only you. People that want to be in your life to add to it not take. You have so much to offer from here.” She said placing her hand over my heart. “And here.” She ran her hand along the sides of my head, tucking some hair behind my ear and kissing me sweetly. “I’m yours and I’m in love with you beyond words. I’d do anything for you, absolutely anything, but I draw the line at living off of you. I will not exploit your kindness, generosity, talent or privacy. I will never use you for my own personal gain. I will not take advantage of you. I will never betray you. I will never hurt you.”

I stood still for a moment deep in thought. I wanted to object. I wanted to fight for her to stay, but after that speech how could I?

“I understand.” I sat up looking at the wall.

“You’re upset. Please don’t be upset.”

“I like when you’re here.” I said hastily surprising even myself. “I don’t like being alone.”

“You’re not alone. I’m here.” She attempted to cuddle with me, but I moved away.

“You’re leaving in like two days.” I said, knowingly exaggerating her stay. She’ll be here with me for another week, but it wasn’t enough.

“Michael, it feels like you want to fight with me.” She said sadly. “This transition from friendship to relationship is difficult enough as is. If you don’t communicate with me and tell me what you’re feeling then this is going to be… it’s not going to be good. Please don’t shut me out. I’ve waited for you my whole life.”

“I don’t want to do long distance.” I made it to my feet searching for what to say next. “I don’t want to go months without seeing each other. We’ve done it before, but that was different. We weren’t dating. I had no right complaining about how much I missed you then. I know you’ve worked hard to get where you are now. I’m so proud of you. I just- I want to know what’s going to happen in the future- our future- because I want that- a future with you- what happens when we get married or have kids? Or have kids then get married I mean either order is fine with me as long as I’m with you. It’s really up to you I mean especially the kids part-it’s your body. And then how many kids? I love kids- oh I’d love to have a big family but if we want a big family we should probably start sooner rather than later. I think we’d have beautiful babies, especially if they take after their mother. I mean I don’t know do we want them back to back? I don’t mind either way. And then what kind of house do you want? Where do you want to live? Would you continue to work? Would you quit? What would we name them? I like Prince for a boy- you know like my grandfather. Unless you hate that. Would you be a stay at home mother? Do you have baby names in mind? Would you like Neverland as our home or should I start looking for a new place? I love Neverland, but we could just have it as a vacation home I guess. Can we have a trampoline at the new place? Wait! Do you want to take my last name? I’d love that! Mr. and Mrs. Jackson- so grown up of us- Would you want me to quit what I do? I mean I could be a stay at home dad. Or would you and the kids travel with me? I mean I’m not opposed to-“

“Michael. Honey breathe.” I felt her soft hands on my cheeks and the room stopped spinning instantly. “We can discuss all this if you’d like, but let’s breathe and slow down first.”

I pulled her into me and inhaled the lovely scent of her shampoo. I held onto her like my life depended on keeping her close. I feel myself relax as she ran her delicate fingers through my hair.

“I’m sorry.” I lowly spoke.

“Michael.” Her touch sent jolts throughout my body as she undid the buttons of my top. She looked into my eyes with an expression I’ve never seen before. Oh, I hope this isn’t the last time I see that expression. I could feel what was about to happen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.

“You’re beautiful.” I said into the kiss. My blue button down shirt fell to the ground as I felt her fingers fumbling with my belt. I gently held her hands in mine in attempt to slow things down.

“You’re perfect.” Y/N said as she left tender kisses down my neck. She knew exactly what I was thinking. I was afraid for her to see me- all of me- for the first time- our first time. Her hands slid down my chest to the hem of my white v-neck. I felt myself take in a sharp breath as she pulled it over my head leaving me bare. The pads of her fingers traced the uneven marks on my chest- beauty sprinkles as Y/N calls them- and once again I felt her lips against my skin. “You’re beautiful Michael.”

“Y/N?”

“Yes Michael?”

“Marry me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hunnies!!

Part 4! 🙈

Oh my! This was a challenge. Hopefully I did Michael justice in this chapter. It was fun writing from his perspective.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

[stormyoceans]

As someone who doesn't like vice versa I dare you to try make me like jimmysea

SKFGDSKFGSKDGFSKDGF I—i mean if they're not really your thing i doubt anything i could say is gonna make you like them but YEAH OKAY SURE WHY NOT I CAN TRY

let's meet our boys separately first!!!!

jimmy. actor, doctor, babygirl. frankly has my undying admiration even just for being able to juggle his acting job while also studying to become a dermatologist and somehow succeeding at both literally could never be me. people tend to dislike him for his role as wai in bad buddy, but you only need to watch any bts video from the show to see how much he is adored by everyone and if anything that should be proof of the absolute range he has as an actor. avocado enthusiast and self proclaimed extrovert (is he tho. is he really), don’t get fooled by his quiet and responsible appearance, he’s actually the most deranged man in the industry. i still remember the day an anon told me he improvised nomming on his co-star's face and using a pillow to suggest stripping said co-star down and eating him out all in the name of Acting™ because i've never been the same ever since. the me before and after i was given this information are completely different people

sea. actor, athlete, dog dad. you won't get a single objective thought out of me because i am: Disgustingly Fond. debuted with a killer performance in the show 55:15 never too late as a supporting character, the fact that he's somehow still so underrated when he's one of the best actor in GMMTV makes me want to bark bite maim kill. he is an actual ray of sunshine with a smile that could light up the entire world and also the perfect example of an introvert: he has the innate ability to somehow disappear from any social gathering, but if he wakes up in a silly goose mood you will find him shamelessly twerking in front of everyone and being an absolute goofball. he's also a great singer and goes along with everything jimmy does because he is a big Simp™ (who's more deranged, the one who noms first, or the one who noms back, this is the question)

and now onto them as a pairing!!!!!

jimmysea. with a 5 years difference between them, they are actually the pair with the biggest age gap in GMMTV, which could have come in the way of their on- and off-screen relationship, but from what we are privy of i think you can see in every interaction they have that they clearly adore and are incredibly fond of each other. maybe it's because they share the same kind of derangement, or maybe it's because they both are very hardworking and humble boys who always try to give their best, but somehow they work. as the older one jimmy is always there to help and guide sea however he can, but when he needs it sea is ready to step up and carry the weight for him. they may not possess the kind of chemistry that's all sparks and fireworks, but they have a quiet gentle intimate one that makes them look like they've been married for years, which is also helped by their insane ability of looking at each other with so much love and adoration in their eyes it feels like your heart is getting curb stomped against the sidewalk. they don't really know what fan service is and they can go weeks without seeing each other (the drought eras), but when they do hang out they usually go out to eat and swim together (preferably at the pool in sea's condo after jimmy drives him back)

..not sure why this came out as a sales pitch tbh ;;;;;; honestly there are a lot of things i could add and if i were to convince you to like them i should probably send you links to videos and stuff like that but. im not really good with this sort of things ;;;;;; (i guess i could still suggest you to watch their praew interview to have an idea of their dynamic)

in the end all i can tell you is why i personally like them, which is mainly because what transpires of their relationship feels very genuine to me and they seem to be really sweet boys who just stand in their introverted corner minding their business doing their own thing portraying high romance and giving incomprehensible levels of adoration derangement goofiness talent ability skills. THEY ARE JUST SO COMFORT SHAPED TO ME IDK WHAT ELSE TO SAY

[sevenrenny]

Went to the dermatologist today. New doctor. Had to fill her in on my list of health issues, medications, history with doctors, and so on. We bonded over the fact we both had chronic migraines. She was very nice.

She asked about my past dermatologists, and while I was explaining, keep in mind I was very tired cause I'd waited two and a half hours in the waiting room. I was already deep in burnout and recovering from a respiratory issue and a mild migraine.

I had no spoons left to mask in public and looked bored as heck while explaining to her, "One doc said it's eczema, but he didn't even look at me and I know what eczema looks like so forget him. One said it's sunburn. Not sunburn.

"One said it might be fungus and did a skin scrape. I got the results via phone call that it's not fungus. Went back and asked to see Doctor Mariam or whatever her name was back then, and the front desk told me they didn't have a Mariam-or-whatshername. I showed him the paper from the other day I got at the hospital that clearly had her name on it. He looked her up on his system, couldn't find her or something cause he just told me she doesn't work here. So I guess I had a ghost doctor or she went to Mars or something cause my doctor told me I had no fungus and then vanished.

"Found another dermatologist who told me to lift up my shirt to check then proceeded to grab my tits to do a surprise breast exam but that's a whole other thing. Didn't go back. Then there was my last doctor-- said it could be an autoimmune thing but stated, 'Honestly, I have no idea what this is.' And I'm kinda glad said he's clueless rather than pretending he knows. Last doctor to check on my skin was maybe two years ago."

Think I mentioned some other stuff and my ADHD derailed the topic into other things but I forgot about what. My dermatologist morphed between laughing and having this mortified 'wtf' look on her face.

she asked to do a skin scrape to look for ''′spaghetti and meatballs′"

I thought I misheard, cause she casually talking with me in Arabic but then switched to English to say ′spaghetti and meatballs′. Apparently, that's what they call it when they look for fungus and such under a microscope.

She confirmed, "You have meatballs."

Diagnosed with meatballs. I went from eczema to sunburn to fungus-but-no-not-fungus to tiddie-McGrabby to autoimmune disease-but-who-knows to meatballs.

Even though Dr. Ghost Mariam said I did not have meatballs. Fungus. But I'm still unsure if she even existed so her credibility doesn't have a leg to stand on, I think.

I've been misdiagnosed a billion times but I'm more confident this might be it. I don't think a doctor who has no idea what they're doing would've had the self-assurance to tell me I'm positive for meatballs like that. Gonna go on a pill later to see how well that works.

Note: it's called Tinea versicolor (severe with me cause, according to the doctor, I went so long without proper treatment so it sticks out) but I didn't mention it because she said meatballs and I'm still stuck on that.

Second note: Not associated with the topic but I came home after the appointment to find out we got robbed lol (my stuff and the cats are okay. Just my dad's stuff got stolen, and I don't like him much so that's okay.)

[pbandjesse]

I accidentally took a two hour nap this afternoon so now I feel very much not ready for bed and also daylights savings continues to confuse my body. So it's after 10 and I'm just starting this.

I had a good day though! Just busy. I slept a little better last night. But waking up was super hard. I would get out of bed and found myself just with a stiff neck and feeling really tired. I was just moving really slow.

James had jury duty today. So they would leave right after me. I wore the wrong jacket and would be very cold. But it was fine. The car would be warm enough.

I stopped for breakfast and went over to the museum.

We had a highschool tour first thing. None of us realize it was an extended tour. So once the school was there we were like. Okay!! Add in transportation and pharmacy. And it was fine. They were such good kids. Some of the other groups apparently weren't very chatty but our little group was and they were really fun. Had excellent questions and made me laugh. At once point in the begining I asked them what industry meant and they were all quiet and one goes "guys!! We gotta get this!! Our teacher is gonna kill us!!" And it was just so funny.

We didn't have much time after the tour to grab a drink. Because we had a 1st-3rd grade tour right away. We don't normally have tours for that age. And it was funny jumping right into that from 11th graders. It was a nice tour though and the kids were super sweet. I also liked the teachers a lot. They were Monasori kids so I was looking forward to seeing how they approached balls and track later one.

We would have a break for lunch. I ate my sandwich and worked on my knitting. I would finish my first ball of yarn before the end of the next program.

And the kids enjoyed building. But also just watching me knit. Kids are so funny though asking if I can give them my project when I am done. And I'm like. I'm not going to be done before you leave?? Silly geese.

They would soon leave me. After a visit to the car. And I would sit in the back talking to Gaby and Mubtasin about toy collecting and how stupidly expensive thrift stores have gotten. And then I had to go.

I went to get pizza at 711. And then drove to my rhumatologist for my appoint.

And everyone there is so nice the woman at the front desk is always so lovely to me. The doctor is great. The medical assistant. The woman who does the injections. The only person who gives me weird energy is the phlebotomist. She just seems so annoyed at me every time and I don't understand it.

At least the nice guy who checked me in last time was there. And I got to show him my art and we talked for a bit. And then the doctor came in and she said she isn't to worried about my nose but wants me to get set up with a new dermatologist anyway so this is a good time to start working on that. And then it was time to get some blood taken. Which again. Weird energy. She also said I was dehydrated and my blood was moving slow. So I gotta be more mindful of that next time I get blood taken I guess.

The injections went just fine. Quick. Only a little pain. My one leg bled a lot for some reason but it was fine. I set up my next appointment and headed out.

I got really really tired in the drive home. I drank all my water. And had a snack and made it back in one piece but man was I tired.

I would get inside and get in bed and wait for James to come home. They did not get picked to be on a jury. And would lay in bed with me for a few minutes. Eventually I fell asleep.

They woke me up around 6. And I was very disoriented. But I was okay. I had a salad and a vegetarian chicken patty for dinner. And made two more bear designs.

Auni suffered a make one based on a former congresswoman that was known for her hats. And so I did that. And made an old bay themed one too. It was fun. Eventually I would move to the studio to try to cast some bears. I'm still struggling getting my resin to set consistently. But we will keep trying.

Brandon came over tonight. And we talked for a bit while I worked on my knitting. And now James and Brandon are watching a show and I'm hanging out with Sweetp and texting with Laura about America-core and it's very funny to me. I hope she comes back to camp this year.

Tomorrow I have my first class at the hospital! I hope it's fun. And then I have my meeting with the craft castle. Fingers crossed cause I think it could be really great!! Goodnight everyone! Be safe!!

[californiaroadtoad]

Rule of law.

While everyone continues to argue about whether or not Donald Trump belongs on the ballot, or if he should be elected whether or not he should be allowed to serve, permit me to offer another view of this.

Back in 2000, we had one of the most contentious elections in recent history, that of George W. Bush and Al Gore. (Disclosure: in 2000, I lightly held my nose and went with Bush, thinking at the time, he was the better candidate. History, of course, will judge people like me harshly, as it should. Or do I need to remind anyone of the statement that we had Saddam Hussein dead to rights, that he had WMDs? How’d that turn out?) Gore campaigned on a number of issues, critical among them was that when Social Security was first established, all funds were supposed to be held in trust, a “lock box” as he phrased it. It wasn’t supposed to have gone into the General Fund as is presently the case, with promises of payment when people came of age. (And don’t give me this nonsensical argument that the Democrats are solely responsible for this. That’s an outright lie, since it’s been rare for either party in power to have an absolute lock on Congress. Enough Republicans went along with it to make it happen.) Had Gore’s plan gone into effect, it might not have put Social Security in solvency, but it would have pressed matters closer to that goal. (Today, Republicans want to eliminate Social Security.)

Just a reminder that the state which served as the linchpin in this was Florida, with just under 600 votes separating the two candidates. While Gore originally conceded, when it became clear that the margin between the two candidates was closer than expected, Gore did what he should have done and rescinded the concession until an accurate and fair recount could be completed.

There have been some serious questions whether it was an accurate or fair recount. Granted, Bush’s brother, Jeb, was Governor, and the campaign director in Florida for Gore was Bob Butterworth, the Attorney General. But the real concern for someone like me was Secretary of State Katherine Harris, who was later recorded as saying she saw it as a duty from God to ensure Bush got elected.

That’s not a red flag. That’s a Mayday Parade.

First and foremost, Harris’ job as Secretary of State was to ensure fair and lawful elections. That was it. If she wanted to serve her God, then her first responsibility was to make damned sure elections were honest, and not to favor one candidate over another. (The media, for some reason, seemed to focus on how much makeup Harris wore, particularly before the cameras. I guess it’s just me, but I seem to think that something like that is a matter best settled between the Secretary of State and her dermatologist, some talking head on CNN.)

Florida had more than a few criticisms leveled at it, particularly from the U. S. Commission on Civil Rights. These included efforts to freeze out voters of color, especially those in predominantly Black communities, which right there should have prompted a Congressional investigation into what happened. (It might have redeemed Congress for its idiocy in trying to figure out if President Clinton benefited from being hoovered while Yasser Arafat waited outside the Oval Office for a discussion of Peace Talks in the Middle East.) This was far more important than any “pregnant” or “hanging” chads during the recount, and even if Bush had won after an investigation, it would have bolstered the integrity of American elections. (See the USCCR report here: https://www.usccr.gov/files/pubs/vote2000/report/exesum.htm .)

Still with all of the irregularities, with the fight over whether or not absentee ballots should have been counted, (yes, they should have, regardless of the margins), with questions of the role of Katherine Harris, Gore did something that should have been a message to everyone in political life in America.

He said, “It’s time for me to go.”

Time has shown us that Gore and Lieberman did the right thing in vigorously defending the Constitutionality of their case. They did the right thing in discussing and arguing about the vote and voter irregularities in Florida. You might not like it, but they didn’t simply have a right to argue the matter, it was their Constitutional responsibility as American citizens and as leaders in American politics. Most of us accepted this, because the Constitution says it’s our right.

Trump, the “stable genius,” should have learned from this. Had he said, “I concede,” and left the stage, he could have laid claim to higher ground. Since he made it clear he intended to run again, people would have been hard pressed to argue the point: he’d conceded the loss to his opponent, Joe Biden, and like Grover Cleveland, he’d have returned to face the voters again. I wouldn’t have voted for him, (I’ve never supported him, and never will), but at least those who did could in some way be considered loyal, at least to the nation.

Instead, we had a mob of “Chairborne Rangers,” many of whom were armed, attacking the United States Capitol, resulting in the death of Brian Sicknick on the 6th, and the suicides of four other responding officers. (Claims that the mob was unarmed don’t hold water after law enforcement officials found caches of weapons on the Capitol’s grounds.) Ashli Babbitt and three other attackers died as a result of the attack. 174 officers were injured, with 15 being hospitalized, according to Wikipedia.

While this was characterized as a “mob attack,” the reality is that for the most part, it was planned. The goal was to overthrow the lawful and duly established government of the United States.

The number of injuries and deaths as a result of Gore’s loss in 2000: 0.

Gore insisted on the peaceful transfer of power. Trump did not.

There are multiple parties who are responsible for this: Newt Gingrich with his “win at all costs” strategy did much to inflame this. In spite of his statesmanlike book’s thesis, To Renew America, his goal was not negotiated, discussed, or even rationally argued. Rather, Gingrich outside of the bookshops advocated that Republicans brawl their way to the top. It was a view that was preceded by Pat Buchanan, (who famously told an aide that he never wanted to hear how someone in the media was a friend: Buchanan asserted they were always the enemy, according to Leslie Stahl of 60 Minutes.) I can go on, including Lee Atwater, and a number of others, but I think the point’s been made. The very idea of a peaceful transfer of power became Anathema to a great many of Trump’s supporters, as they made baseless claims regarding Qanon, (proven false, and the “Q” in question had a dubious background himself), Pizzagate, and “stopping the steal,” which all went along with the continued racist and false claims that Barack Obama hadn’t been born in the US, long ago disproved by his Birth Certificate.

(A friend had lived in Hawaii at the time, and she took the time to go to the State Records office in Honolulu. She paid her dollar, took her chances, and posted online Obama’s Birth Certificate. I learned two things: first, he was born in Hawaii. Citizen. Second, DAMN, that was one big kid! No wonder he’s an only child!)

Just on this point alone, Trump does not belong in office. He never should have been elected in the first place, and he shouldn’t be returned to office now. EVERYONE who participated in the riot on January 6th, 2021 should be in prison, and those who have been convicted so far should be doing far more time than most of them have been sentenced to. The right to keep and bear arms, critical to the nation’s defense, did NOT give these people to attack our nation’s capital, ever. Supporting Trump is a more passive attack on the nation, but it’s still an attack. To support a man who called our nation’s veterans “Suckers and Losers” is shameful, and those who would support that will ultimately owe everyone they’ve slandered with that sobriquet a genuine apology, regardless of their own status status regarding the nation’s service.

You don’t have to like Biden. You should be questioning his policies and proposals as a citizen of the nation. But Biden has at the very least subscribed to the Rule of Law. Trump denounces this, claims no one can hold him to account for his actions under the law, and is doing all he can to undermine the rule of law. The man is a demonstrated acolyte of Roy Cohn, who amplified the actions of Senator Joseph McCarthy, and ultimately destroyed the lives of American citizens whose sole crime was disagreeing with those in authority, which was their Constitutional right. (I don’t believe there were anywhere near as many Marxists in American Government as Tailgunner Joe claimed, which right there should have cemented his position, and the positions of those who backed him, as being far more Unamerican than Gus Hall.)

Trump should not serve, never should have served, and is not qualified to serve. He recited his oath of office with his fingers crossed behind his back. Al Gore, when it was clear there were irregularities in the 2000 election, acted in a lawful manner, and upheld the Constitution. Trump has already declared that once he’s elected again, he will shred the Constitution. Biden’s demonstrated he will uphold it.

That the Senate did not convict is due to Senator Mitch McConnell, not the facts. McConnell should have been expelled for his actions, and Trump convicted. We cannot change history, but we can at least acknowledge the former – and never should have been – President is not fit to serve.

[luminescentwind]

1008.1

Every year I convince myself I have some form of cancer or other common disease. I have occasionally wondered if I could be a hypochondriac, but I’m not entirely conviced that I am. My reason for believing this is that I do experience one or two symptoms that raise my initial concerns. However, I also know that this sounds like a rationalization.

In any case, I noticed a slight redness in my left breast some time ago. It coincided with my yearly checkup, which includes a breast ultrasound. Turns out I have a small cyst in that area, but I’ve had them before and I know they are not dangerous. There were no other anomalies and my doctor, who is very patient with me, told me that everything is good as usual.

However, the redness worries me. I have tried not thinking about it but everytime I have a shower or I go to sleep, I check to see if it’s still there. There more I think about it the worse I feel. Because of this I have decided to go see my doctor next week.

It won’t be the first time I’ve showed up at her office asking for reassurance. Every single time it has been some misinterpretation of symptoms on my part. Fair enough, I prefer being told I’m wrong rather than waiting it out and developing some disease. Again, this sounds like a rationalization from a hypochondriac.

Last year I had good reasons to think there was a serious problem with my eyes. I kept getting pink eye, and after some time it wasn’t even pink eye, it was an awful redness and tiredness in my eyes. I was worried sick. No one really seemed to know what it was or how to treat it properly, since every time it was cured, it came back not long afterwards. I always thought it may have been the swimming pool I was going to. People said to me that I should wear goggles, but I was already doing that. I wore them so tightly that not a single drop of water could get into my eyes.

That all lasted until one day I could finally have an appointment with my ophthalmologist, and he said that whatever I did I shold be very careful because I was really risking my eyes. I decided not to go to the pool for a few weeks. My eyes got better and I decided to stop swimming. I felt awful because it was the first sport that I actually enjoyed, but I was so relieved that my eyes were better that I never looked back.

There was also a time, quite a few years ago, when I went to see my doctor, who recommended a dermatologist, and then I went to see her because I had some mean bruise-like spots on the back of my legs. I had no idea what it was and I thought it may have been some circulatory problem. Nope. It was winter, and I’d been standing in front of the heater, my back turned to it, for long periods of time. The spots were the result of my skin reacting to the heat, simple as.

Coming back to the breasts, not long ago both of them were very itchy, which also worried me. I decided to start washing my bras way more often and the itches almost disappeared. I think wearing a bra all day does come with some small issues, even if it’s only some mild skin discomfort. So now they don’t itch or anything, and this had led me to think that maybe the redness is a result of scratching or simply skin irritation, which would be a much more commong explanation.

Guess I’ll find out next week. Can’t believe I wrote all this about diseases. What’s more, I can’t belive I my memories about this are this detailed.

I feel better now though, having removed it from my system.

A friend of mine says I worry excessively and I know she’s right, but I only get true comfort from a professional opinion, and sometimes my own writing.

[turtle-steverogers]

i was thinking but do you know the unsent project? it is this website where you can write a message to your first love that you never sent to them. now imagine steve writing one (or multiple) to bucky after he came out of the ice after nat told him about it... yeah

hello hi anon this broke me and it was too perfect not to turn into a ficlet klafjldskjfalskf thank you

-

Unsent Letters

To:

Steve’s fingers freeze over the keyboard, the cursor blinking at him. It feels like it’s taunting him-- teasing him with the burden of choking out a name. What should he even say? The sender is anonymous, but how many people are named Bucky out there? Would anyone even care?

To: Bu

Steve huffs and backspaces, his hands trembling as he curls them into fists. He isn’t sure what provoked Natasha to tell him about this website. It’s a cruel tease to everything he wishes he could say-- wished he could say before Bucky slipped through his fingers. And now his only option is yelling into an abyss. The text box is black and daunting. He turns it yellow. No, too happy. Green. Yes, that’s fine. Bucky’s favorite color was always green.

His gaze wanders away from the screen of his hefty Dell laptop and out the window of his apartment. DC’s low rising buildings span out in front of him. His gut aches; he misses New York already. But he knows being there would only mangle his soul further, seeing his already alien home torn to shreds by literal space whales. He huffs, thinking of Bucky’s comics. His stories came to life after all. Bucky would have probably vibrated out of his skin if he knew there was other life out there.

To: My astronaut

How’s space treating you? It’s treating me pretty badly, if I’m being honest. If only you could see what it’s done to Brooklyn. I think you’d be pretty mad at it if you knew…

Steve hesitates, reading back over what he’s typed. It’s stupid as hell, and he cringes, but he doesn’t backspace. His fingers find the keys again.

I miss you something awful. I don’t think that even encompasses how much I’m hurting without you. I feel so lost right now-- space is much bigger and scarier than you’d think. I know you’d love it. I wish you could see bits of it, but god, I just want to go home. I want you to come home.

Steve freezes again and finds the screen blurry where tears have welled in his eyes. His jaw clenches as he pictures the way Bucky would laugh at him-- teasing him for his dramatics and ruffling his hair. He wishes he could be there now, rolling his eyes and nudging Steve’s shoulder.

“What’re you upsetting yourself for?” He’d say, gently closing the laptop and coaxing Steve into his arms. “I’m right here, pal.”

And if Steve closes his eyes, he can almost feel Bucky’s warmth enveloping him. But he’s not there. He’s dead, and Steve’s a goddamn ghost, drifting through a future that doesn’t know him.

He opens his eyes and stares at the text box, then clicks submit.

The screen loads, and his message is gone, his pain forever documented in the abyss.

-

For someone who fought aliens two weeks after waking up from his impromptu seventy year sleep, Steve’s life is pretty monotonous. He contemplates this unfortunate fact as he stands in front of his toaster, hair sticking up on the back of his head as he nurses a mug of coffee and waits for his toast to pop.

It’s 5:45 in the morning and he tries to remember a time when he didn’t rise this early. Before the war, perhaps. Though, he’s always been a bit of an early bird. His home life was sporadic to put it lightly and he’d learned from an early age that the sooner he was awake, the better it was for everyone. Vigilance is not a new concept for Steve.

He hasn’t always stayed up late, though. That’s certainly new, and he feels this fact viscerally as he catches sight of his reflection in the microwave. There are bags under his eyes that will be gone by mid-morning thanks to the serum. Dermatologists hate him, Natasha says. Steve thinks he’s pretty lucky that the serum more or less equipped him with a built-in anti-aging agent. His father had started balding by thirty.

His toast pops and he starts a little, blinking blearily at the slightly burnt bread as he pulls it out of the toaster with his thumb and forefinger. He spreads on the same raspberry jam and butter that he uses every morning and tries not to think of how bland it tastes in his mouth as he eats it standing at the counter. Another routine.

He tries not to look at last night’s dishes in the sink as he stacks his plate and silverware on top and doesn’t bother sorting out his hair before pulling on his sneakers and slipping out of his apartment. The sun hasn’t quite risen yet, only the beginning tendrils of light sneaking over the low tops of the DC buildings, and Steve vaguely regrets not grabbing a sweatshirt before he left. It’s not quite Summer yet and the mornings could still get pretty cool.

He’s about to take off down the street when he freezes. Natasha is sitting on the steps of his complex, wearing a pair of pink tinted sunglasses and tossing up and down the keys to her car. Steve blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. Nope. She’s still there.

“Nat?”

Natasha looks up at him and smiles. “Hello.”

Steve shifts, uncomfortable. “Hi. You need something? Is there a mission?”

“No,” Natasha says lightly, standing. “You’re not running this morning, though. Come on, I’m taking you to Starbucks.”

“What?”

“Starbucks. You’re going to try it.”

“I don’t want--”

“Steve, you do the same thing every day. Step out of your comfort zone a little.”

Steve frowns, but Natasha’s right-- he really doesn’t ever stray from his routine.

“Fine,” he says, and twenty minutes later, they’re strolling into the nearest Starbucks.

He’s only been in one before, and that was to use the restroom while on a run. He’d bought a water bottle in an attempt to not be rude and use their facilities without giving them any business, but he hadn’t even considered the expansive menu. All the fancy names were too daunting.

They’re just as daunting now as he stares up at the board, heart hammering out of his chest as he’s faced with indecision. Natasha takes one look at his face, and reaches out to squeeze his arm.

“I’ll order something for you,” she says. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

Steve gives her a pained look. “Um… just coffee?”

Natasha quirks a smile and orders him something called a caramel macchiato. He’ll take it, he guesses.

The drink is too damn sweet and sugary and he almost gags. Still, he was always told to finish what he was given, so he drinks the whole thing.

-

To: Mr. Sweet Tooth

You’d fucking love it here. Everything is packed with sugar and sweetness-- enough to make even my teeth rot. I had something called a caramel macchiato today and it tasted like someone took your ma’s caramels and condensed them into a cup. I couldn’t stand it, but I know if you were here, you’d want at least twelve. I hope you’re enjoying all the sweets you can up in space.

Love, Mr. Boring

-

Steve’s fingers are stiff and frozen as he works at the straps of his stealth suit. The tangy taste of saltwater still sits heavy on his tongue, and he clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering too harshly as he finally peels off his suit. It’s not much better, being naked, but at least the wet fabric isn’t clinging to him anymore.

The mission had been pretty straightforward until some alien tech managed to blast the quinjet to kingdom come, and they all free-fell straight into the freezing Atlantic.

Steve had managed to keep it together as they took down the goddamn mad scientist that fucked them over, but now that he’s home and alone, he can feel the adrenaline crashing.

He’s shaking from more than just the cold as he draws himself a warm bath, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe through the panic that wants to engulf his entire being.

He loses time for a bit, and comes back to himself lying in his bed, burrowed under several thick layers. He feels so cold, down to his very soul-- a chill that he can never seem to truly shake, even when he’s warm.

Not for the first time, he wishes Bucky were there to hold him. He slips off to sleep thinking old, comforting thoughts of Bucky rubbing his hands between his own, coaxing his head under his chin to engulf him in that natural warmth of his. He always was a fucking furnace.

But when Steve wakes an hour later, shaking hard enough to move the bed with the force of the nightmare he’d dropped into, Bucky is not there to soothe away the ice.

-

To: JB

im so cold and i cant breathe ever and nothing feels right. I dont know what to do, u were always the problem solver between us and i cant think straight right now and i just want you here please. I cant do this anymore, im so tired please come back. I need you please

-

The Winter Soldier file sits in front of Steve-- a horrifying nightmare wrapped up in a neat brown folder. Residual nausea swirls around in his gut as he comes down from the horrible high of reading through the contents. His hands shake where they grasp the thick paper. His heart clenches hard in his chest.

Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive, and he’s been unmade.

Steve doesn’t know where he is-- if he’s escaped, or if Hydra found him again. It’s been three weeks now since the helicarriers, and he’s only just gotten the courage to sit down and wade through the shit that is Bucky’s reality.

He just hopes he’s safe. God, he hopes.

Sam says he’ll help him look, and Steve needs to know he’s at least out of danger, but he barely knows where to start.

And he’s sorry. He’s so fucking sorry.

Blinking out of his reverie, Steve looks at his laptop. He feels strange and detached as he reaches for it and logs in.

To: Bucky

And yes, that feels right. He should use his name, since he suspects no one has for a long, long time.

I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurting so quietly for so long. I understand if you’re not ready to come home-- I understand if you never are. I just hope that you know that there will always be a place with me that is safe. I love you so much and I’m here, forever and always.

Love, Steve.

He’s not naive. He knows it would be dangerous to submit that particular message, so he doesn’t. But that’s okay. That one’s just for him-- for them.

-

“Steve? What is the… Unsent Project?”

Steve frowns and pokes his head out of the kitchen. Bucky is sitting on the couch in the living room, using his laptop, because his own is having storage issues.

Bucky looks at him. “It’s one of your saved tabs. What is it?”

And oh, fuck. Steve had forgotten to remove that from his homepage-- it really wasn’t needed anymore. He blushes all the way to his ears.

“Oh, it’s-- nothing. Not anything important--”

But Bucky has already clicked on the tab.

“The Unsent Project,” he reads aloud. “A collection of unsent text messages to… first… loves…”

He trails off as he processes what he’s looking at, and Steve can’t quite read his expression when he looks at him again. His eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s looking at Steve like he’s some sort of kicked puppy. Steve shifts, uncomfortable.

“Were you sending me… messages? While I was dead?”

Steve swallows. “Um…” and now that Bucky says it out loud, it really does sound quite sad. He shrugs. “It’s Natasha’s fault?”

Bucky shakes his head, clicking on the search bar. He starts to type his name, but Steve shakes his head.

“I didn’t use your name.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, then frowns at him again. “What did you use?”

Steve blushes harder, sitting next to Bucky and taking the laptop from him.

“Um…” he hesitates, then types what he was sure he used as his first alias.

My astronaut

The screen buffers and loads, then fifty or so messages pop up. Steve scrolls down-- it doesn’t take long to find his.

They’re both quiet as they read, and Steve cringes. Jeez, he really had been pretty dramatic. Next to him, Bucky makes a hurt noise.

“Oh, honey,” he murmurs, taking the laptop back from Steve. He reads the message again, then once more, and reaches out for Steve. “Aw, I’m here now.”

Steve huffs, embarrassed. “I know,” he says. “That was way back, like, three weeks after I woke up.”

Bucky stills. “You fought aliens three weeks after you woke up?”

“... More like two.”

Bucky hums. “Are there others?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, reaching out to type on Bucky’s lap, because Bucky is holding him now and he’s quite reluctant to move. He thinks for a moment, then types in the next one he remembers.

Mr. Sweet Tooth

Bucky laughs, and Steve finds himself smiling.

“I find this funny,” Bucky says. “Because caramel macchiatos are definitely one of my favorites now.”

Steve laughs, too, and butts his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“If only I could tell that to myself back then-- he’d be thrilled.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says. “Any more?”

Steve hesitates, thinking of the one he’d sent after that nightmare-- when he was low and hurting. Incoherent. He isn’t sure he wants Bucky to see that particular side of his soul, but Bucky has been more than generous in letting him in on his pains nowaday, and it’s not like Bucky hasn’t witnessed Steve’s own current nightmares.

He bites his lip and types in JB. That seems to yield a lot more results, and it takes a while for Steve to find the message.

He hides his face in Bucky’s neck as he reads. Bucky’s arms gradually tighten around him, and a moment later, he feels him kiss the top of his head.

“Honey, I hate that you were hurting so bad,” Bucky mutters against his hair.

Steve shrugs. “We both were,” he says, and it’s true. There’s something to be said about the guilt they both feel for not being able to save the other person at their lowest, but life hasn’t been kind to them. The vitriol, Steve thinks, should be directed at the goddamn universe for keeping them apart, not themselves for fucking dying. They’re working on it.

Bucky’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he says. “Is that it?”

Steve shakes his head. “But I never sent the last one.”

“Why not?”

“I wrote it after DC.”

He feels Bucky squeeze him again, and he squeezes back.

“Oh.”

“I just-- I wanted you to know that you didn’t have to come home. That I just wanted you to be safe; needed to know you were safe, but it was up to you. I just needed you to know I was here, if you needed me.”

Bucky pulls back then and cups his face, kissing him soundly. Steve’s surprised for only a moment before he’s kissing back.

“I did know that,” Bucky says against his lips. “I needed time-- I was lost-- but the first thing I knew when I remembered who you were was that you were a safe person, because you’d never force me anywhere.”

Steve kisses him again, then pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you knew that.” It’s warm, where their chests meet, and Bucky is solid beneath him. Real. He isn’t speaking into an abyss anymore.

-

There’s a sticky note on Bucky’s pillow next to his head when he wakes up the next morning. Steve’s side of the bed is already vacant, and he can’t hear him downstairs. He must have already left for a run.

Propping himself on an elbow, Bucky plucks up the sticky note.

To: My Bucky

Thank you for choosing me to be your home, and thank you forever, for being mine.

I love you with everything I have.

Love, your Steve

Bucky smiles, heart light as he folds the notes. He’ll keep that one with him, he thinks. A little bit of home to bring wherever he goes.

-

anyway yeah fslkjflaskjfls i-- ouch. anything to do with letters w these two hurts me immensely

[sgt-paul]

Paul McCartney Is Still Trying to Figure Out Love – The New York Times Magazine

By David Marchese, Nov. 29, 2020

Paul McCartney, like the rest of us, this year found himself with an unexpected amount of time stuck indoors. Unlike the rest of us — or most of us, anyway — he used that time to record a new album. The pandemic-induced circumstances of its creation may mark “McCartney III” as an outlier in the former Beatle’s catalog, but as its title suggests, it does have precedents: Like “McCartney” (1970) and “McCartney II” (1980), the album, out Dec. 18, was primarily recorded by McCartney alone, with him playing nearly all the instruments and handling all the production. “At no point,” McCartney said, “did I think: I’m making an album. I’d better be serious. This was more like: You’re locked down. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Which was a gas, as always. “What I’m amazed with,” McCartney explained, “is that I’m not fed up with music. Because, strictly speaking, I should have gotten bored years ago.”

It seems to me that working on music by yourself, as you did on the new album, might allow for some insights about what you do and how you do it. So are there aspects of “McCartney III” that represent creative growth to you? 

The idea of growing and adding more arrows to your bow is nice, but I’m not sure if I’m interested in it. The thing is, when I look back to “Yesterday,” which was written when I was 21 or something, there’s me talking like a 90-year-old: “Suddenly I’m not half the man I used to be.” Things like that and “Eleanor Rigby” have a kind of wisdom. You would naturally think, OK, as I get older I’m going to get deeper, but I’m not sure that’s true. I think it’s a fact of life that personalities don’t change much. Throughout your life, there you are.

Is there anything different about the nature of your musical gift today at 78 than in 1980 or 1970 or when you first started writing songs? 

It’s the story that you’re telling. That changes. When I first said to John, “I’ve written a few songs,” they were simple. My first song was called “I Lost My Little Girl” — four chords. Then we went into the next phase of songwriting, which was talking to our fans. Those were songs like “Thank You Girl,” “Love Me Do,” “Please Please Me.” Then came a rich vein as we got more mature, with things like “Let It Be,” “The Long and Winding Road.” But basically I think it’s all the same, and you get lucky sometimes. Like, “Let It Be” came from a dream where my mother had said that phrase. “Yesterday” came from a dream of a melody. I’m a great believer in dreams. I’m a great rememberer of dreams.

What’s the last interesting dream you had? 

Last night’s was pretty good.

What was it? 

It was of a sexual nature, so I’m not sure it’s good for the Kids section. Pretty cool, though. Very interesting, dreams of a sexual nature when you’re married. Because your married head is in the dream saying: “Don’t do this. Don’t go here.” And just to let you know, I didn’t. It was still a good dream.

You know, I was conscious of not mentioning the Beatles early in this interview, and you’ve already mentioned them a few times. So let me ask you: The band broke up 50 years ago. You were in it for roughly 10 years. When you’re not doing interviews or playing concerts, how central to your own story of your life are those 10 years from half a century ago? 

Very. It was a great group. That’s commonly acknowledged.

Generally speaking. 

[Laughs.] It’s like your high school memories — those are my Beatles memories. This is the danger: At a dinner party, I am liable to tell stories about my life, and people already know them. I can see everyone stifling a yawn. But the Beatles are inescapable. My daughter Mary will send me a photo or a text a few times a week: “There you were on an advert” or “I heard you on the radio.” The thing that amazes me now, because of my venerable age, is that I will be with, like, one of New York’s finest dermatologists, and he will be a rabid Beatles fan. All of that amazes me. We were trying to get known, we were trying to do good work and we did it. So to me, it’s all happy memories.

“McCartney III” will come out very close to the 40th anniversary of John Lennon’s death. Has your processing of what happened to him changed over the years? 

It’s difficult for me to think about. I rerun the scenario in my head. Very emotional. So much so that I can’t really think about it. It kind of implodes. What can you think about that besides anger, sorrow? Like any bereavement, the only way out is to remember how good it was with John. Because I can’t get over the senseless act. I can’t think about it. I’m sure it’s some form of denial. But denial is the only way that I can deal with it. Having said that, of course I do think about it, and it’s horrible. You do things to help yourself out of it. I did an interview with Sean, his son. That was nice — to talk about how cool John was and fill in little gaps in his knowledge. So it’s little things that I am able to do, but I know that none of them can get over the hill and make it OK. But you know, after he was killed, he was taken to Frank Campbell’s funeral parlor in New York. I’m often passing that. I never pass it without saying: “All right, John. Hi, John.”

And how about your perspective on the work you did together? Has that changed? 

I always thought it was good. I still think it’s good. Sometimes I had to reassure him that it was good. I remember one time he said to me: “What are they going to think of me when I’m dead? Am I going to be remembered?” I felt like the older brother, even though he was older than me. I said: “John, listen to me. You are going to be so remembered. You are so [expletive] great that there’s no way that this disappears.” I guess that was a moment of insecurity on his part. He straightened me up on other occasions. It was a great collaboration. I can’t think of any better collaboration, and there have been millions. I feel very lucky. We happened upon each other in Liverpool through a friend of mine, Ivan Vaughan. Ivan said, “I think you’d like this mate of mine.” Everyone’s lives have magic, but that guy putting me and John together and then George getting on a bus — an awful lot of coincidences had to happen to make the Beatles.

People always ask you about John. I’ve noticed they rarely ask about George, who of course also died relatively young. 

John is probably the one in the group you would remember, but the circumstances of his death were particularly harrowing. When you die horrifically, you’re remembered more. But I like your point, which is: What about George? I often think of George because he was my little buddy. I was thinking the other day of my hitchhiking bursts. This was before the Beatles. I suddenly was keen on hitchhiking, so I sold this idea to George and then John.

I know this memory. You and George hitchhiked to Paignton.

Yeah, Exeter and Paignton. We did that, and then I also hitchhiked with John. He and I got as far as Paris. What I was thinking about was — it’s interesting how I was the instigator. Neither of them came to me and said, “Should we go hitchhiking?” It was me, like, “I’ve got this great idea.”

Why is that interesting? 

My theory is that attitude followed us into our recording career. Everyone was hanging out in the sticks, and I used to ring them up and say, “Guys, it’s time for an album.” Then we’d all come in, and they’d all be grumbling. “He’s making us work.” We used to laugh about it. So the same way I instigated the hitchhiking holidays, I would put forward ideas like, “It’s time to make an album.” I don’t remember Ringo, George or John ever ringing me up and saying that.

How strange is it to share an idle recollection from your youth, as you just did with that hitchhiking story, and then have the person to whom you’re sharing it — in this case, me — know the memory? It seems as though it would be weird. 

It’s quite annoying, David. It’s like people at dinner yawning when I’m telling stories. This keeps happening to me.

I even know the details. You and George slept on the beach. 

That’s right.

Some Salvation Army girls kept you warm. 

Yes.

Then at some point you sat on a car battery and zapped your ass? 

That was George who did that! I have a very clear recollection. He showed me the scar. Let’s set the record straight: It was George’s ass, and it was a burn the exact shape of a zip from his jeans.

Do you remember the last thing George said to you? 

We said silly things. We were in New York before he went to Los Angeles to die, and they were silly but important to me. And, I think, important to him. We were sitting there, and I was holding his hand, and it occurred to me — I’ve never told this — I don’t want to hold George’s hand. You don’t hold your mate’s hands. I mean, we didn’t anyway. And I remember he was getting a bit annoyed at having to travel all the time — chasing a cure. He’d gone to Geneva to see what they could do. Then he came to a special clinic in New York to see what they could do. Then the thought was to go to L.A. and see what they could do. He was sort of getting a bit, “Can’t we just stay in one place?” And I said: “Yes, Speke Hall. Let’s go to Speke Hall.” That was one of the last things we said to each other, knowing that he would be the only person in the room who would know what Speke Hall was. You probably know what the hell it is.

Yep.

I can’t amaze you with anything! Anyway, the nice thing for me when I was holding George’s hands, he looked at me, and there was a smile.

How many good Beatles stories are there left to tell that haven’t been told? 

There are millions. Sometimes the reason is that they’re too private, and I don’t want to go gossiping. But the main stories do get told and told again.

Can you think of one now that you haven’t told before? 

Hmm. I will rake through the embers. Oh, I’ll tell you one! I thought of one this morning. It’s pretty good. I don’t think I’ve told it. You’re going to have to say in the article, “I forced this out of him,” because it’s a bit telling-out-of-school.

I am hereby twisting your arm. 

So when we did the album “Abbey Road,” the photographer was set up and taking the pictures that ended up as the album cover. Linda was also there taking incidental pictures. She has some that are of us — I think it was all four of us — sitting on the steps of Abbey Road studios, taking a break from the session, and I’m in quite earnest conversation with John. This morning I thought, I remember why. John’s accountants had rung my accountants and said: “Someone’s got to tell John he’s got to fill in his tax returns. He’s not doing it.” So I was trying to say to him, “Listen, man, you’ve got to do this.” I was trying to give him the sensible advice on not getting busted for not doing your taxes. That’s why I looked so earnest. I don’t think I’ve told that story before.

Tax filings — that’s some deep arcana. 

I have dredged the barrel.

I know that your goal with making music is to do something that pleases yourself. What’s most pleasing to you on the new album? 

I’m very happy with “Women and Wives.” I’ve been reading a book about Lead Belly. I was looking at his life and thinking about the blues scene of that day. I love that tone of voice and energy and style. So I was sitting at my piano, and I’m thinking about Huddie Ledbetter, and I started noodling around in the key of D minor, and this thing came to me. “Hear me women and wives” — in a vocal tone like what I imagine a blues singer might make. I was taking clues from Lead Belly, from the universe, from blues. And why I’m pleased with it is because the lyrics are pretty good advice. It’s advice I wouldn’t mind getting myself.

There’s a song on “McCartney III,” “Pretty Boys,” that is kind of unusual for you in how the music is sort of unassuming but the lyrics have an almost sinister edge. What inspired that one? 

I’ll tell you exactly. I’ve been photographed by many photographers through the years. And when you get down to London, doing sessions with people like David Bailey, they can get pretty energetic in the studio. It’s like “Blow-Up,” [the director Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1966 film thriller about a fashion photographer, thought to be loosely based on David Bailey] you know? “Give it to me! [Expletive] the lens!” And it’s like: “What? No, I’m not going to.” But I understand why they’re doing that. They’re that kind of artist. So you allow it. Certain photographers — they tend to be very good photographers, by the way — can be totally out of line in the studio. So “Pretty Boys” is about male models. And going around New York or London, you see the lines of bicycles for hire. It struck me that they’re like models, there to be used. It’s most unfortunate.

“Lavatory Lil” is another song I was curious about. That’s quite a title. 

“Lavatory Lil” is a parody of someone I didn’t like. Someone I was working with who turned out to be a bit of a baddie. I thought things were great; it turned nasty. So I made up the character Lavatory Lil and remembered some of the things that had gone on and put them in the song. I don’t need to be more specific than that. I will never divulge who it was.

I have another bigger-picture question. In your experience, how is the love in a marriage different at different stages of your life and in different marriages?

I don’t think it’s different. It’s always a splendid puzzle. Even though I write love songs, I don’t think I know what’s going on. It would be great if it was smooth and wonderful all the time, but you get pockets of that, and sometimes it’s — you could be annoying. To Nancy I’m pretty complex, with everything I’ve been through.

In what ways? 

I’m some poor working-class kid from Liverpool. I’ve done music all my life. I’ve had huge success, and people often try to do what I want, so you get a false feeling of omnipotence. All that together makes a complex person. We’re all complex. Well, maybe I’m more complex than other people because of coming from poverty.

And how do you think about money these days? 

It has obviously changed. What has stayed the same is the central core. When I was in Liverpool as a kid, I used to listen to people’s conversations. I remember a couple of women going on about money: “Ah, me and my husband, we’re always arguing about money.” And I remember thinking very consciously, “OK, I’ll solve that; I will try to get money.” That set me off on the “Let’s not have too many problems with money” trail. What happened also was, not having much money, when anything came into the house, it was important. It was important when my weekly comic was delivered. Or my penpal — I had a penpal in Spain, Rodrigo — when his letter came through, that was a big event. When they had giveaways in comics with little trinkets, I kept them all. Some people would say that’s a hoarding instinct, but not having anything when I was a kid has stuck with me as far as money. You know, I’m kind of crazy. My wife is not. She knows you can get rid of things you don’t need.

You’re a hoarder? 

I’m a keeper. If I go somewhere and I get whatever I bought in a nice bag, I will want to keep the bag. My rationale is that I might want to put my sandwiches in it tomorrow. Whereas Nancy says, “We’ll get another bag.” In that way, my attitude toward money hasn’t changed that much. It’s the same instinct to preserve. One of the great things now about money is what you can do with it. Family and friends, if they have any medical problem, I can just say, “I’ll help.” The nicest thing about having money is you can help people with it.

Something that has been a constant for you musically is your ability to keep coming up with melodies. It’s there on the new album — the melodies all flow. Is your facility for writing a catchy melody ever an obstacle to getting the songs to be more than just catchy? Because a good tune by itself is not always enough to make a good song. “Bip Bop” would be an example of that. Do you know what I’m saying? 

No, I know. “Bip Bop” is not lyrically stunning. I was always embarrassed about that song. Literally, it goes, “Bip Bop / take your bottom dollar.” It’s inconsequential. But I mentioned that to a friend, a producer, a few years ago, and he said, “That’s my favorite song of yours.” So you don’t know what people like. It’s enough if I like it and enjoyed putting it on record and don’t particularly want to think of any more lyrics. I don’t want to sweat it. Sometimes maybe it would be better if I sweated it. Once or twice I tried to sweat it, and I hated it. It’s like, What are you doing this for?

Sixty-something years into writing songs, do you feel any closer to knowing where melodies come from? 

No. There is something with my ability to write music that I don’t think I’m necessarily responsible for. It just seems to come easier to me — touch wood — than it does to some people. That’s it. I’m a fortunate man.

[depizan]

Turns out I was right to be suspicious of the suspicious looking mole. The tests came back positive for melanoma - a thin and not actively growing one, fortunately. I’ll have to have out-patient surgery to remove a bit more skin and “biopsy” (really “remove”) somewhere between 1 and 3 lymph nodes from whatever batch of lymph nodes is in charge of the area where the mole was. (Did you know that lymph nodes are not a lymph node in a place, but a bunch of them? I did not. Or had forgotten, if I knew at some point.)

I also need to take more precautions about sun exposure, and visit the dermatologist for a full body check of moles and anything else that needs watching. They suggest doing that every three months for a year, and then, if nothing else turns up, every six months, and then every year - which, I guess, is what they recommend people do anyway.

Not the best news, but also not the worst news. There are downsides to being a fair skinned person with a lot of moles and freckles.

(Also a reminder that we need universal health care, because something like this being a bit scary and mostly an inconvenience should be the worst it is for everyone. Not dependent on having a job with good insurance.)

I am a lot less anxious after talking to the surgeon (who is in the same practice as the guy who did my gall bladder and stuff surgery a couple years ago - small world). Though I am still anxious, for obvious reasons.

*buys sun hat and sun clothing*

Maybe I’ll just become nocturnal.

[thisdreamplace]

Hey, you're amazing. Okay so I've got acne ever since my early teens. It's as if it's a part of me. They said it would 'go away' when I reached my early 20s. Nope. I don't really mind it anymore (as in no more obsessing over it) especially considering the tears, the dermatologist-prescribed ointment I've used so many times (and it only gets... less acne-ridden. For a while. Then boom, guess who's back? Lol it's just always there y'know?), the tactless and not-so-tactless comments, the secret longing of looking at others whose acne did clear up, or grimacing inside when someone exclaims: "oh no. I've got a 'pimple'" 🙄 "Why don't you try doing so and so?" "Try this mask, it works for me!" "Wow, why do you have so many spots on your face?" U get it?

Anyway, I'm thinking... Why don't I try manifesting, seriously, all this away? (Don't get me wrong, I have been using skin subs somewhat regularly for about a year (and like, idk, it's like a 'no pressure, imma put on the skin subs playlist while I study or chill or whatev' gig.) And like... Y'know, the only thing is, the acne waxes and wanes like a moon aka no real difference ig?) So, I mean, that's what the Law is all about yeah? Taking control of my life and myself? As I started working on my self-concept and wiring in new thoughts in my brain, lately it came to me: Why can't I get clear skin? Don't I deserve experiencing what that feels like just once in my life? Why did I give up? Why not me?

So, my amazing Law teach', here's the thing. I, as in the human whose body this consciousness is currently occupying, have got acne. Nbd. But Imma wave bye to the old me who 'had acne that wouldn't go away' for over a decade now. It's okay, I accept it. I accept I could've enjoyed life, especially school life, more had I not had others pointing out the acne or being inadvertently reminded of how I could've enjoyed looking 'okay' had I had the clear/okay/not-always-acne'fied skin. I let go of the old me and embrace new possibilities of great, fantastic, non-acne skin

So, applying the gorgeous Law to this matter. how? What do I do? I deserve having okay skin, man, right?

Tell me, guide me, direct me, dear friend 🌟💙

PS: i don't mind if the law'll help me get fine skin or not. I've been disappointed enough times in the past regarding this skin matter so... Ig that's actually a good thing? Detachment and all haha 😆 I want to try this out as an experiment+ rack up xp with the law lol

Hi! Thank you! :)

Okay so as I read through your ask, you really seem like you're approaching this from a place where you really know what you're doing. Actually, I was going to say the first thing you should stop doing is continuing to identify so deeply with the version of you who had bad acne. And you even hit on that yourself in the ask! By saying you let go of the old you. Yeah, that's exactly what needs to happen here. We cannot bring the "old man" into the new story. There's no room for them there!

Although you identified like that for so long, it doesn't have to continue for a second longer. So where do you go from here? Well, congrats! You have consistently clear skin now. You have seen it in your mind's eye, so therefore it is so. What does it feel like? What do you think about, now that you have the perfect clear skin you always wanted?

Answer those questions, then embody your answers every day in your mind. Become the person with clear skin within. You don't need validation from the mirror to know you have clear skin. You already have clear skin and the mirror must end up showing you this as true. Whatever you have/are within yourself, the outer world must reflect it. It is law.

Remember, even if you get thrown off sometimes it really doesn't matter. Neville said it's about the state you embody that most that constitutes your dwelling place. So, if you are embodying the person who has clear skin most of the time, and only get thrown off sometimes, it's not big deal at all. As long as you spend more time knowing you have clear skin within, your mental efforts will matched by the outer world.

Hopefully this helps! 💖

[crimeronan]

2020 in review

it’s been a weird year for me.

by all accounts, it Should be a bad year.  

lots of bad things happened to me this year.  i found places i adore in my new town - a certain cozy chair in the library, a corner table at a 24 hour coffee shop, a park bench in direct sunlight for most of the day - just in time to lose them all.  i started pursuing health answers in january, only for all the hospitals to close on my birthday, rendering answers impossible to find.

i waited months for the hospitals to open again, from home, unable to pursue any of the nightlife or queer meetups or community theater i’d vowed to get involved in.  eventually i found out i have scoliosis and a serious vitamin D deficiency.  i hoped to get better by treating these things.  instead the health problems continued, worsened.  i slept through most of may and november, i had intermittent weeks where i’d sleep for 20+ hours a day and be in too much pain to get out of bed upon waking.  i missed rent a few times.  borrowed money too many times.  relied on my loved ones way more than i’ve ever been comfortable with. (it’s the adam parrish ass in me.)

i developed a painful deformity in my leg.  spent stupid amounts of time in urgent care and the ER.  thought it was a dislocation due to connective tissue issues, but my x-rays came back clean.  so did an ultrasound for blood clots.  my doctor referred me to a dermatologist, who did a biopsy.  not super pleasant considering i faint when punctured with needles, but i’d already had my blood drawn and IVs stuck in me, so whatever.  found out i have an autoimmune disorder.  went from the most-perceived-as-able-bodied person in my house to the one most likely to get killed by the pandemic in the span of a single phone call.  might have a shortened lifespan, might not.  don’t know yet.  probably will know by the end of the year.

so it should be a bad year.  none of this was pleasant.  i’ve had spans of time where i’ve cried harder than i’ve ever cried in my life.  had to keep myself from calling my mom and telling her i needed her, because i knew she’d drop her job and her responsibilities and her plans to race across the whole-ass country, and i didn’t want to do that to her

but i don’t think it was a bad year.  not really.

it was my first full year living in the portland metro area.  which, don’t get me wrong, deserves some of the Cringe Hippie Liberal Anarchist Moron reputation it gets.  but it meant living in a city full of queer people and openly trans-friendly businesses.  it meant having enough healthcare providers near me that i could actively seek out ones who could treat my complex mental and physical health issues without some of the biases i’m used to.  it meant that i found an adequate psychiatrist within 10 minutes of me, an adequate primary care doctor within 20.

i used to live in rural new hampshire.  i drove 70 minutes to see my psychiatrist.  i never found a primary care doctor for physical health issues.  i would have had to go to boston, and i don’t like driving in downtown boston.  (masshole reputations are real and boston’s city planning is hell on earth.)

i also had the very strange experience of being taken seriously by every doctor i interacted with.  i am not used to this.  without getting too deep into it, i have been pretty badly scarred by experiences with having my autonomy violated because of my status as a psychotic individual, even though my fears were not psychosis-related.  also less scarring but equally off-putting experiences with being a perceived-as-woman individual whose pain was shrugged off by men as, like, normal hysterical woman agonies.  or whatever.

so, i had a leg deformity.  and doctors took me seriously.  because it was a visible, inexplicable symptom.  and because a lot of them looked at it and thought, oh fuck, this girl is dying.

(i could still be dying, i guess.  just a lot slower than they worried i was.  i’m not about to keel over from a blood clot or from my rotting bones decaying into my bloodstream.)

this has gone a long way toward alleviating my intrinsic fear of doctors.  being SICK is scary, sure, but it’s odd to be able to (cautiously) expect that doctors will try to help me instead of hurt me.

it was also my first full year living in an apartment of my own, with the family i chose.  my first full year of having my own space that i built.  my first full year of being independent, aside from the times i wasn’t.  my first full year of interacting exclusively with people who make me feel happy and loved instead of people who drain me.  and i felt better, mentally, than i have in a long time.

which is reflected in my creative work.  this was my most creative year in... ever, i think?  even though i was so sick and slept through so much of it.  even though the pandemic kept me from seeking out inspirational experiences.  i made a lot of fandom friends & got closer to friends i met last year.  i got a lot more confident in writing what i wanted to and talking about what i wanted to and not worrying about pleasing anyone but myself.

i published over 150k words of fanfic.  the vast majority of it was exploring feelings about chronic illness.  i outlined an original fiction project from beginning to end, added about 30k words to it.  i started fucking around with digital art a bit, although i have nothing even Remotely worth showing people.  i gained something like 900 tumblr followers from a combination of shitposting and earnestly talking about my feelings re: chronic illness, mental health, fictional meta.  i gave some ppl life advice that i guess was helpful.  apparently i inspired some people to survive the year, which is very weird to think about, but also very nice.

so, uh.  that’s my year i guess.  should be bad, but it wasn’t.  dunno how to conclude this so i will simply say:  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[idisofrohan]

I went most of my life not thinking of myself as physically disabled, first because my symptoms were in their emerging state, or not yet diagnosed. Later because people around me didn't talk enough of what physical disabilities were. People in wheel chairs, obviously - the visual shorthand for physically disabled people, used everywhere, was after all a stick figure in a wheel chair. Blind and deaf people were talked about enough to also make it into the category. As I got older I also came into contact with other people with obvious enough disabilities to make it onto my mental list, for example a teaching asistant at my school who had a limb difference. But all this did was to cement the concept of physical disabilities into something obvious, something ever present, something unchanging. Not like me.

No one ever talked about my allergies in terms of disabilities, no matter how they controlled my life or my body. They wereonly ever just that, allergies. A horrible, ever changing mess that hurt my body in a multitude of ways. It started with minor rashes, and because I had been in contact with nuts just before, those were excluded from my diet. My mum went to the pharmacy to get creams to treat the rashes with. This was when I was in pre-school.

Yet the rashes got worse and eventually we got to see a dermatologist. Unfortunately, the standard tests they did was unfeasable due to my autism causing me to react with meltdowns to the idea, blood testing was as far as things could go at the time. In either case, the dermatologist found two possible culprit substances, so everything solved, right? Wrong. Turned out those were present in basically everything food-related. In fruit, nuts, spices, preservatives, colorants, etc. My school would not accomodate it and the lunches were mandatory, which meant treating eczema became my new normal, and the things I started reacting to grew from food-based to more. I developed a pet allergy despite having had a cat for my entire life. I started reacting to pollen.

Somewhere here is when my present main allergy develloped, though when, I don't know for sure. The symptoms were near identical at first, and the previous allergy went away somewhere during the time this one was developing, so there was no markant increase, at first. The only thing that marked it as something diferent was that my eczema started affecting areas of my body that had previously been untouched. My scalp. My face. And lastly, my hands. That was when we realised things had changed. As a test, we tried excluding anything with perfume. I can't recall why, as we didn't go back to the dermatologist with this, and most people won't think of perfume allergies in terms of skin conditions. But it helped. The difference was markant enough to make it clear that I had a contact allergy towards fragrances. And yet it didn't quite.

Excluding contact with perfume sounds much easier on paper than in reality. Even things that don't advertice with a scent will have it. Many of the standard cleaning products, used everywhere, have them. They are even naturally present in things you might find in an every day kitchen. Citrus peel will trigger a reaction. And until I got my own flat, I had to deal with a shared laundry space for roughly 50 households, most of which used perfumed products. Residue from one laundry, left in the machine, was enough to trigger a reaction. But the worst of my areas of reaction was my hands.

The amount of physical contact with different surfaces which are transfered through the hands is impossible to ignore. It stood as no surprise that the blunt of the damage to my body would be there. Far from staying as a mild rash on the surface, the eczema there would travel into my joints, and make the enterity of my hands into one entire scab. My hands would lock into position for weeks upon end after a particularly bad contact, rendering them horribly sore and impossible to use for almost anything. Even now, when all perfumed products have been eliminated from my home, and I've been careful not to touch surfaces outside as much as possible due to the pandemic, I still have some eczema on my hands. It is much more manageable than it was, but the fact that careful as I might be, there's no way around it, is frightening.

Even when my eczema was at its worst, I still had not come to realise that what I had was a physical disability. It is first recently that I've come to realise it, among much second guessing myself. And I know there are so many things out there that could have helped me when I lost, and kept losing the usage of my hands. Things that I've seen used for other disabilities. And sometimes it hurts so much because of the life that I could have had through the worst of it, if only there was more visibility for the multitude of different ways physical disabilities can manifest. Mine was both very tangible and actually visible, yet I did not know to call it that.

[grimoire-of-seven]

Hey, idk if you’re taking requests but, if you have time, hcs for the boys finding out MC has a really *angelic* singing voice? Something like, MC doesn’t sing often and them finding it out by accident 🥺 thank you 💜

PROMPT: “House of Lamentation’s Debut”

Rating: SFW

Words: 800-900

Characters: Demon Boys + MC / Gender-Neutral Reader

Notes:  I have to say.. At this point, they better rename their group chat as the Gossip Girls for all these gossips they have to their little human.

Anyways, I hope you would all enjoy it!

Breakfast at House of Lamentation had been according to Lucifer’s wishes.

“GUYS! YA WON’T BELIEVE WHAT I GOT ON MY HANDS!”

…

No wonder the dining was all too cozy and fine.

Not that cozy, but cozy enough for his brows to maintain their distance.

It lacked a particular cute clown.

Mammon.

“You have your phone on your hands, my sweet one-digit IQ brother.” Satan remarked, greeting his second eldest with a smirk.

“Hey! Ya better start giving me some respect. I’m your older brother.”

“But not smarter than me.”

“You son of Lu—“

“What is it, Mammon?” Belphegor butt in, the whole argument cut short as the youngest sparked the great Mammoney’s interest back to his discovery.

“Just make it quick.” Beelzebub added; “I still have to work-out what I ate before classes.”

Pouting his lips in defeat for a moment, the atmosphere to his rear in hues of purples and blues all turned to a grin because he, the Avatar of Greed, could sense the bewilderment and curiosity that only he is sure to kill.

“Be prepared, brothers ‘cause for sure y’all be payin—“

“Just play it!” their peach boy demanded, sounding so different from the cheerful flirty tone on his voice.

So much for getting some coins to pay his unpaid bills.

Pressing the triangular button by the center of his last recording, all voices lowered down as the volume blasted to its maximum that even the mere zephyr of the wind shushed down.

Way back when

I was just ten

Simple and sweet

Everywhere

Fellas would stare

Out on the street

And I felt used

Kinda confused

I would refuse to look in their eyes

But now I really love creepy old guys!

We all–

…

“Is that……our little exchange student?”

Lucifer took the first guess before the voice clip could even loop back from the start. It was quite difficult to decipher the recordings with the room’s reverberation and water intervening throughout the voice clip but sure enough, with them accustomed to their little human’s voice, doubt could not seep through from their realization; “Mammon?”

“Yep?” the greedy boy with a greedy smile grinned, unprepared.

With his fingers inviting the black sheep forward, he motioned to be whispering of sorts that only he would know. Of course, for the Avatar of Greed himself, what’s there not to take?

“WERE YOU RECORDING OUR LITTLE HUMAN WHILE THEY’RE ON THE SHOWER?!”

“Whoa!” raising both his hands up without a second thought to it; “Calm down, Luci! I—“

“Calm down?! Do you realize what invasion of privacy you are up to, pervert?!”

“It’s not like I mean it.. I was gonna invite—“

“You did not mean?!!”

“Hey! I was just putting much thought on our band on my way here and hearing our human sing, I thought they could deff. help us out and share it with you before they arrive!”

“For the foremost time in all the millennia I have inconveniently spent with you, that statement made sense.” The shortest of the group piercing through the conversation, making Mammon confident against the Avatar of Pride himself;

“I ain’t taking that as a compliment but think about it guys!” Mammon spoke out, already feeling the dryness on his throat early in the morning; “Our little human could definitely be the lead singer of the band!”

With heads going up and down to that consideration, for the first time, digesting and agreeing with the Great Mammon that he even had Lucifer rubbing his chin, a siren wailed from the chorus of harmony, making all heads spun around;

“lEaD sinGER?!” Nearly choking to his own words, Asmodeus could only describe his facial reaction as something every dermatologist’s nightmare; “But I am the lead singer!”

“You could just be the back-up singer.” Mammon blatantly suggested.

“BACK-UP SINGER?! EXCUSE ME?! WITH THIS GOD-GIVEN BEAUTY, I’LL BE AT THE BACK END OF THE SPOTLIGHT?!”

“Well, our little human has a nice voice. And they are a part of the House of Lamentation.” Beelzebub reasoned out.

“ARE YOU SAYING THAT MY SINGING IS BAD?!?!”

“Well, you provided us with that idea just because you want to highlight your looks.”

“Or you could just have the tambourine. Choose your poison.” Belphegor added, irritated already from the fuss.

“But I came up with the idea!”

“And you are still a part of it.” Adding insult to the injury, it was Satan’s words that made their beauty queen walked off, nose high and eyes unable to reflect how betrayed he is, making his brothers question what is it that made him tick.

Silence.

“So…” Interrupting the dead silence that ensued, Mammon took this as his cue to speak; “Who’s gonna ask our human to take the lead for our first debut?”

Bonus! (´ ∀ ` *)

“Leviathan,

since you are the most attached to subjects within the human world,” Barging in between the not-normie demon’s playlist, it took a while before Lucifer could have the Otaku’s attention; “what was our little human singing?”

“Why?”

“It is quite concerning if our little human think creepy old guys are fascinating… subject.”

Going through his blinky box, rolling his eyes to press pause on his favorite anime OP-ED, being with the eldest felt like being surrounded by a bunch of old people who do not know how to use a browser. Nonetheless, he went on to type on his search engine rather than explaining how.

CREEPY OLD GUY SONG

“It says it

came from Beetlejuice: The Musical, The Musical, The Musi…cal.”

Why so many “the musicals” Leviathan wondered as he bid

farewell, leaving his seat for another lecture as the eldest was soon left alone to ponder on the subject.

“Betelgeuse?”

“Why is that name so familiar?”