#my mental health really took a hit today its all been piling up on me for so long idk how much i have left in me. god damn

[vampyretaemin]

horrible day thank god its almost over 🫡

[sailtoafarawayland]

The Things We Don’t Say (modern AU - Actors)

Summary:  No one is perfect, and sometimes, two people are just so perfectly flawed that those pieces fit together and make something beautiful. When sparks fly between two leads of a new hit show, is there a happy ending in sight, or will their own mistakes overshadow any chance they had at something worth fighting for.

Rated: Explicit    

Warnings:   This is a joyfully Captain Swan story, but there are a few warnings. It does start with Emma/Neal and Killian/Milah. I don't write non-CS, so there won't be any sexual anything happening 'on screen', so to speak, between those couples, but I won't guarantee there may not be a mention. This story contains numerous episodes of cheating. If any of these things make you squick or are not your bag, carry on.

AO3 - FF 

- or read below the cut - 

As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged for further updates. 

Tag list: @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @teamhook @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @kmomof4 

Chapter One

Emma scrolled through the email her manager had sent detailing the new role she was being offered. It was something fresh, something different from what she normally focused on—no hint of a police procedural in sight—and based on the tone, it sounded like they were very interested in getting her signed for one of the leads. She stretched her legs out along the couch, digging her cold toes underneath the pillows in search of some warmth, only to yank them back when she encountered something both crinkly and wet.

“Dammit, Neal! What the hell is this?” she growled, glaring at the brown sludge coating her foot.

She leaned forward, careful to angle her toes away from any other surface, and peeled the throw pillow from the couch. Smeared across the white fabric and the expensive leather was what looked like the remainder of a milky way bar, the wrapper still clinging to the puddle of caramel and chocolate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Neal!”

The only response she got was the sound of something hitting a pan full of oil in the kitchen, the apartment filled with the sizzling hiss of something frying. Dropping her phone and forgetting all about the email she’d just been reading, she hobbled down the hall into the bathroom to clean up, wondering how in the hell to get out a chocolate and caramel stain. Why he couldn’t just learn to clean up after himself was beyond understanding. Sometimes it felt like she was living with a teenager who never wanted to grow up, and she couldn’t help but long for the days when her apartment was clean and didn’t smell like whatever weird odor it was that Neal always brought home—grease and cigarette smoke, maybe.

Her foot finally clean enough to be walked on, she headed into the kitchen to get some paper towels only to be greeted by what looked like every dish she owned spread out on the counters and island. Every surface was dusted in flour and drips of batter, measuring spoons leaving trails of oil and sugar across the floor and counters alike.

“Oh my god,” she cringed, knowing the mess would be left for her. “What are you doing?”

“I was wondering when you’d get off the phone,” Neal poked, giving her a quick glance over his shoulder before motioning proudly over the mess that just seemed to get worse each time she looked at it. “I’m cooking.”

The casual way he always stabbed at her phone use was exactly what she didn’t want to hear right now. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend so much time working if he bothered looking for something himself. He’d had a recurring role on a family comedy when they met, but he’d been fired not long after, and for the last six months, Emma was pretty sure he hadn’t even gone to any of the auditions she’d mentioned. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if he had an agent anymore. 

“When was the last time you had a Milky Way?” she asked, choosing to ignore his snide comment. She just wasn’t in the mood.

“That’s a weird question. I don’t know, maybe last week? You didn’t pick any up the last time you ran to the store.”

Emma nodded, her lips drawn tight as she tore paper towels from the rack and returned to the living room, pulling what she could of the melted mass from the couch and thinking she’d need to resort to Google to get the rest out. Her anger bubbled with every sticky string of caramel that wrapped around her fingers. Why couldn’t he go to the store on his day off? He only had seven of them. She stomped back into the kitchen, hitting the garbage can a little harder than necessary and tossing the mess of chocolate and paper inside.

There was just enough room in the overload sink—what had he used the colander for—that she could wash her hands.

“There’s leftovers in the fridge. What was so important that you had to turn the entire kitchen into a complete disaster?” she questioned, already adding up how much time it would take her to wash and wipe everything down.

She’d be lucky if she was able to get back to her manager before tomorrow as requested.

“You remember that travel show we watched the other night?” he prodded, his eyes glued to the pan as it hissed on the stovetop, a spatula held ready in his hand. “You mentioned you hadn’t had good churros since that trip to Mexico, so I thought maybe I’d make you some.”

The anger that had been just about to boil over slipped away to that place far enough below everything else that she could just go back to ignoring it.  

“Neal,” she sighed, suddenly more exhausted than anything else. “Thanks.”

“Of course, Ems—anything for you.”

In the living room her phone blared to life, the dark tones of The Imperial March echoing as it vibrated across the coffee table.

“Work calls,” Neal sniped, a trace of resentment running beneath the pleasant smile he fixed in her direction. “Wouldn’t want to keep Regina waiting.”

It was amazing how quickly that anger came right back to the top of everything, and she found her feet pushing her as far away from Neal as possible, snatching her phone from the table and forgetting entirely about the couch as she stormed into the bedroom.

“What?” she hissed, slamming the door behind her and clenching the cell like it was something she wanted to crush. “What is so important that you couldn’t give me a few more hours, Regina?��

The other end of the line was silent, as if Regina had either hung up, or was waiting for an apology. Well, she wasn’t getting one—not today.

“Is there something you needed, Regina?”

“Are you okay?” Regina asked, not as a friend, but as an employee that was curious to know how soon she would have to contact Emma’s PR team and inform them a mental breakdown was imminent.

“I’m fine. It’s just a bad time. I got the details you sent. I just haven’t read through everything yet.”

“Well, that explains why I haven’t heard from you. Honestly, I thought you cared more about your career than that. I was quite clear this was urgent. Don’t take your time with this one, Miss Swan—they want you, but they can’t wait much longer.”

The line went dead after Regina had delivered her scolding and Emma sighed, dropping to the bed and rolling onto her back as she flicked back into her email and started again from the top. It was an interesting premise with even more depth than she’d originally thought—a new series that centered on the mental health of a man who had developed delusions after a car accident that took his brother, leading him to believe everyone in the hospital was a character from a fairy tale world—but then she got the part that Regina really focused on, the money.

“Holy shit!” Emma gasped, double checking the figures and thinking how she’d never seen such a good offer—not for someone in her bracket. It was unheard of. “I guess they really do want me.”

It wasn’t until she read through the rest of the itinerary and details that she wondered if the big paycheck wasn’t recompense for the filming location and duration—the middle of Nowhere, Maine, as if Maine wasn’t already considered the middle of nowhere.

She read everything twice before she shot Regina a quick text.  

E: I’ll take it

The message had only just sent and there were already three ellipses following. Emma could practically hear her manager’s smug response.

R: I knew you would. I’ll be in touch.

There should have been nerves fluttering in her stomach, or at least a solid pit of dread at the prospect of having to walk into the kitchen and tell Neal, but there was nothing. It was a big decision to move across the country for what could be a long-term role, but it was still her decision to make.

Hopefully, he would be happy for her, he would understand that this had the potential of lifting her out of her rut and providing great income for the foreseeable future. There were some great names attached, veterans of the industry that were looking to branch out into a new genre.

She was excited for the first time in a long time.  

She didn’t need to feel guilty, at least that was what she told herself as a niggling pang of guilt worked its way into her chest.

It would be good to break it to him gently though, to put a good spin on it.

The minutes ticked by and she finally realizing she couldn’t put it off any longer, she wandered into the kitchen, her arms crossed in front of her as she looked for him, but the apartment was empty. The stove was turned off and a plate, probably the last clean one, was waiting on the counter with a pile of golden churros perched on top of a greasy paper towel.

Next to it was another torn paper towel with a note scratched onto it in sharpie.

The boys called and I’m heading out for a few beers. Don’t wait up. Enjoy the churros.

She waited for the anger to bubble back to the top, but there was nothing—no anger, no guilt, just a deep, hollow nothingness that grew and yawned as she fingered the scrap of a note transparent with oily fingerprints. Feeling like maybe this job had come at the best possible time, she picked up the plate of churros and walked over to the trash, watching them slide in with the rest of the garbage.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Grounded pt1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon, John

Re-watched Buried Treasure and Venom and this little muse dug its claws in - Scott took a bit of a beating in the former, and then doesn’t pilot TB1 or even the pod even though speed is of the essence in the latter.  This isn’t finished - don’t know if the eventual thing will be a oneshot or multichap on AO3/FFN - or even proof read because it’s midnight and I’ll get yelled at if I don’t go to bed now, but muse wouldn’t shut up, so here’s 4k words of whatever this is gonna end up being.  Title is also still a wip.

It was an exhausted Scott Tracy that dragged himself into his shower at the end of what had been a day he honestly wished had never happened.  A trip into a trash mine had never been on his bucket list – and even if he’d known about the things before today, it still wouldn’t have featured on his bucket list – and after the chaos that had ensued, he would be delighted if he never had to enter one again.  Somewhere in the big brother part of his mind labelled Gordon was a mental note to make sure his second youngest brother never went in one again, either. While Scott was all for his brothers making friends, he had concerns about his budding acquaintance with the woman known only as Scraps.

He wasn’t entirely sure Gordon had told the truth when he said he’d never gone scavenging himself, and he certainly wasn’t sure Gordon wouldn’t if the opportunity presented itself. After the hydrofoil, the blond had gained a ‘if today was my last day’ attitude and refused to let new experiences pass him by; it was understandable, but more than a little stressful for Scott at times.

The mission had been a success, but it hadn’t felt like it when both his accompanying brothers were stewing in angry silence over the comms on the way back, Scraps (encouraged by Gordon) had insisted he fork out the quite frankly ludicrous price of the stretchy toy, and the owners of the site were breathing down his neck about destruction of their property.  Apparently they didn’t care that it was Scraps who had damaged their WRM when IR had wrecked their park and were well known to be the Tracy family – that is, known to be filthy rich.  It had been a very expensive day for both him personally and the family at large, and just to compound it all he’d come home to the news that while the Mechanic was now willingly working on the engine, the price of that had been the Hood finding out about their plans.

Brains’ furious lecture about the mole pod had just been the icing on the cake.  Scott had tried to save it and nearly got himself munched by the mechanical monster in the process, but apparently trying wasn’t good enough.  He understood – he did.  Every time Brains had to build them a new pod so they could keep functioning at full capacity was another delay on the T-Drive engine.  It was just one more thing he didn’t need in a day where the only highlight was the fact that at least their rescue hadn’t failed where it counted – Scraps was alive, and being treated for shock and a fractured rib at her local hospital.

Speaking of ribs…

Four long, gruelling hours after the rescue finished, Scott finally had the chance to peel his dirty, mud-splattered uniform away from his aching body and assess the physical damage he’d sustained.  His suit was reinforced and designed to protect him, but it had its limits, and Scraps’ shrill scream to stop forcing Gordon to make an emergency stop – just for the sake of a damned toy – had slammed his torso into the rigid exoskeleton of the dragonfly pod.

Just because their pods couldn’t stand up to a WRM didn’t mean they weren’t solidly built.  Very solidly built.  Scott had felt a sadly all-too familiar sensation of at least one rib breaking at the contact, but with their lives still decidedly in peril hadn’t had the chance to do anything about it.  Their frantic flight for the surface, where he had nothing but his uniform and what shelter he could glean from the front of the pod to protect him from their forceful resurfacing, hadn’t done him any favours either.

It spoke volumes that both his brothers were so annoyed with him – one of them for reasons outside of his control, which was very unlike Virgil – that neither of them had noticed how stiffly he’d been standing.  They hadn’t even glanced at him twice despite knowing that he’d been on the outside of a pod travelling at high speeds through a tunnel, and while there was always a part of Scott who hated to worry his brothers and hid injuries he found himself wrong-footed at the fact he’d got away with it.

The painkillers he’d popped the moment he was back in One, out of sight, had done their job to get him home, but after four hours they were wearing off, pain stabbing its way through his chest.  He should go to the infirmary, get a scan to see how bad it was and maybe even reluctantly tell someone, but he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Virgil might be in a bad mood with him, but he’d instantly feel guilty for not noticing, and Grandma would not go easy on her favourite grandson for neglecting something as basic as a health check after a dangerous manoeuvre, no matter how annoyed he’d been with the person in question.

He had a stock of painkillers in his ensuite, like they all did, for minor things like bumps and bruises. They weren’t supposed to be used in relation to any unreported injuries, but Scott had already decided he couldn’t report it, and besides, he was the commander.  He could bend a few rules – it wasn’t his first rodeo with broken ribs, anyway.  He knew how to treat them.  Painkillers, ice if he could get some without causing suspicion, and rest when he could snatch it.

This was a case of snatching some rest – it was dinner soon, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped Grandma’s cooking and it wouldn’t be the last.  It wouldn’t raise any eyebrows if he wasn’t there; he doubted his brothers would be if they could escape.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, it was clear straight away that he’d taken quite a hit.  Mottled bruising decorated his torso and shoulders – the first from the collision with the pod, the second from breaking through the surface.  Tentative probing with his fingers told him what he already knew as his chest flinched away from the touch with a spike of pain.  At least one broken rib.

He’d sneak some ice from the freezer once everyone else was in bed, but for the time being he had a long overdue date with his shower and popped a fresh dose of painkillers before easing himself under the water.  Ideally, Scott wanted a hot one, but the broken rib meant he kept it cool in an attempt to soothe the swelling.  Brown water swirled around his feet, finally washing away the dirt he’d acquired in the trash mine, and he let himself relax as the painkillers kicked in.

The mission finally felt like it was over.  He couldn’t say the day was over, because he still had the never-ending pile of reports for both the GDF and Tracy Industries to write up and there was never any telling when the next emergency call would come in, but no more trash mine, no more furious gardeners or landowners.

Just Scott and-

“Scott, sorry to interrupt your shower but there’s another situation.”  John appeared suddenly and Scott jumped, muffling a curse as his ribs informed him that painkillers or not, that was not appreciated.  He sighed instead.

“F.A.B.”  He rubbed his face tiredly, beyond glad their bathroom cameras didn’t transmit anything below the neck so his decorative torso was hidden from his ever-attentive brother… who had apparently also missed that he’d been slammed hard into the pod.  “I’ll be in the lounge in two.”  He wanted to say five, but it normally only took two minutes and longer would make John suspicious.

“See you there.”  John vanished and he let out another breath, turning off the water.  Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t fly with a broken rib, or go on a rescue at all, but as long as he took it easy it would be fine.

Two minutes later found him in the lounge, apparently the last one there.  Virgil and Gordon didn’t acknowledge his arrival and he tried not to let it sting.  They’d work with him on the rescue – it wasn’t the first time they’d gone on a rescue mid-row, and no doubt wouldn’t be the last.  The perils of living and working full time with siblings.  Alan, at least, gave him a big grin and he returned it as best he could before turning to John, who was hovering impatiently in the middle of the room.  He was always impatient when they weren’t all immediately available; Scott didn’t take it personally.

“Good, you’re here,” John acknowledged.  “We’ve got a collapsed mineshaft with a worker trapped inside in Cornwall, England.  His colleagues all got out okay but they don’t have the gear to get him out without risking a bigger collapse.”

“F.A.B., John,” Scott replied.  “I’ll go on ahead in Thunderbird One.  Virgil, Gordon, follow me in Thunderbird Two.”  Another underground rescue, and another mole pod needed.  Typical.  Still, if it was really only simple, he wouldn’t be needed for more than co-ordination. He could handle that.  “Virgil, have you had the chance to replace the lost gear from the trash mine?”

“All replaced,” Virgil confirmed, heading for his launch chute.  “We’re out of spares now, though, so we’d better not lose this one.”  Scott winced – that wasn’t good.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he said, reaching up towards his lamps and pulling them down towards his chest as always, glad that the painkillers had more or less kicked in so the movement didn’t make his ribs flare up in pain.  The last thing he saw before being whisked around into his chute was Alan, looking somewhat dejected at being left behind, again.

They’d barely needed Gordon for the mission – if Scott was at full health he would have entertained leaving him behind – so there was no reason to bring Alan.  Still, there was a scolding voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Grandma telling him he should have let Alan take Thunderbird One and take a rest himself.

If Thunderbird Three was needed while they were gone, Alan would be fit to pilot, he argued back.  Thunderbird One would be tough, but he conceded that there was no way he could launch into space with at least one broken rib.  The voice quietened but he knew it wasn’t pacified.

The painkillers diluted but didn’t entirely quash the pain of suiting up, but with no-one around to see he could gasp without fear of being caught, and soon he was scrambling into his pilot seat – still muddy; cleaning his ‘bird had been next on the priority list after the shower, because apparently his brothers had decided not to help him out on that front.

If suiting up was bad, launching was worse.  He’d anticipated that, throwing his comms onto mute – John knew better than to interrupt during the launch sequence unless it was truly urgent so there shouldn’t be anyone to see him – as he gasped for breath against the stinging of his chest. Full speed was out of the question, but as it was a rescue they already knew what they’d need, he didn’t have to get there much before Thunderbird Two, so he settled for an almost bearable Mach 10 and flicked his comms back on, hoping John wouldn’t ask questions.

Presumably John had reached the same conclusion as him, as his decision of half max speed wasn’t commented on when his brother made contact a few minutes later to continue the debrief with additional information coming in from the danger zone.

It was a textbook rescue, a fact Scott was incredibly glad for as he let Virgil take the mole pod down, followed by Gordon with stabilising foam to stop the mine collapsing any further.  In and out, no complications, no injuries.  The trapped worker emerged from the pod shaken but otherwise fine and Scott watched Virgil check him over thoroughly to be safe as he and Gordon secured both intact pods back inside the module, where they belonged.

“I’ll see you back at base,” he told his brothers as he headed back to his ‘bird.  Gordon gave him a crisp nod while Virgil gave no indication that he’d heard – as he was still checking the rescuee over, Scott hadn’t expected one. Gordon’s reaction told him everything he needed to know – the attitude was still professional-only.  He wasn’t yet forgiven for whatever transgression it was Gordon was mad at him about.  It was nearing midnight at home, though; they were all tired and Scott fully expected it to all blow over by morning, once they’d had some sleep.

The site supervisor was waiting for him as he approached.

“Just wanted to say thank you again,” the woman said, sticking out her hand.  He took it and hid a wince at her particularly vigorous shake.  It was too soon for more painkillers, but this particular dose was wearing off already; the flight home was not going to be fun.

“Just doing our job,” he returned, polite smile on his face, and carefully retracted his hand.  She let him.

“Your job’s an impressive one,” she winked at him, before her gaze wandered slightly.  Scott wanted to groan – he knew that look, and normally he’d play along, maybe even see if he could score if he was feeling particularly lucky, but he was physically tired, emotionally drained, and in pain. No flirting for him today.

He just nodded at her, smile slightly more genuine because regardless of the situation it always gave him a bit of a boost when he got attention of that sort – not that he’d dare admit that to his brothers, or they’d never let him forget it – and she laughed.

“I’d say another time, but I’d hope we don’t need your assistance again,” she grinned, and before Scott realised it was coming, there was a playful elbow in his ribs.  Nothing hard, not even something he’d normally react to, but his ribs screamed and he gasped, instinctively doubling over before forcing himself straight again.

He fervently hoped his brothers hadn’t noticed, but didn’t dare glance around to check.

“Oh, I’m so-”

“You’re right, hopefully you won’t need us again.”  He overrode her apology, sent her another small grin, and got himself back inside the safety of his ‘bird as quickly as he could without seeming like he was running away. His ribs burned and he eyed the first aid cabinet, sorely tempted, but squashed the impulse.  Piloting in pain wasn’t advisable, but piloting overdosed on medication was potentially fatal.  Taking a moment to settle, he opened up a link to Thunderbird Five.

“I’m returning to base now,” he informed his brother.  “Rescue complete; Virgil and Gordon are finishing up with the worker, but they’ve got it all in hand and I’ve got a shower to finish.”

“F.A.B.,” John acknowledged, a small grin on his face at Scott’s mention of a shower.  “I’ll see if I can get the world to wait on getting itself into any more trouble until you’re done, big brother.”

“That would be nice,” Scott grinned, settling back in his chair more comfortably and ignoring his ribs. They both knew John couldn’t control that, especially not with the Hood and his Chaos Crew running around, but sometimes it was nice to pretend.  “Thunderbird One out.”

He muted his comms again – against protocol, but he doubted Virgil or Gordon would be calling him up for a chat given the way they were cold-shouldering him and he’d already addressed John – before taking off.  VTOL launches were far gentler with the G-forces, but unlike earlier, he wasn’t riding high on the full effect of the painkillers, so it hurt worse as he accelerated.

Mach 8 would be plenty to get him home, he decided, unwilling to risk anything faster than necessary, and once he was cruising he unmuted his comms, confident he wouldn’t have missed anything.

“-ott.  Scott.  Thunderbird One are you listening to me?”

Virgil sounded furious. That didn’t bode well.

“Reading you loud and clear, Thunderbird Two,” he replied.  “What’s happened?”  He reached out in preparation of turning his ‘bird’s nose back the way he’d come.

“What’s happened, he asks,” Virgil steamed, hologram materialising.  He was standing firmly upright, arms crossed and one hand tapping on his arm.  “The site supervisor wanted to know why you’re working with a rib injury.”

Dammit.

“Virgil-” he started, not quite sure how he was going to deflect the accusation.  His brother didn’t give him a chance.

“Don’t Virgil me,” he snapped.  “Get back here so I can see why she thinks you’re injured.”

“It’s fine,” Scott lied. “Nothing serious.  I’ll see you back at base.”  He cut the call, which in immediate hindsight was stupid decision, but to his surprise, Virgil didn’t immediately call back.  Still, he switched his comms back to mute and eyed his speed.  If he wanted to get back before Thunderbird Two, Mach 8 would be enough, but if Virgil pushed his ‘bird, it wouldn’t leave him with much time to grab a shower and smuggle some ice.  Gritting his teeth, he pushed her up to Mach 10, swallowing the grunt of pain from the additional pressure.

Almost immediately, Thunderbird One started to slow.

“Hey!” he yelped.  The absolute last thing he needed was his ‘bird crashing.  It might give him enough injuries to hide the fact his ribs were already broken, but wrecking his ‘bird was not worth avoiding a lecture.  He tried to correct it, but her controls jammed under his hands. “Oh you’re kidding me,” he groaned, preparing himself to stand up and get to the reset.  What had even happened?  She hadn’t been damaged since the Icarus, and Brains and Virgil had both sworn through and through that she was fully functional again.  There was no reason for-

His holographic display lit up with the icon for Thunderbird Five.

Ah.  Dammit.  Virgil had got John on his case.

Reluctantly, he unmuted his comm and immediately got blasted with three brothers all yelling at him. The temptation was there to simply mute them again, but instead he sighed and leaned back in his chair, waiting for them to stop.

“-t mute your comms ever-”

“-swer us you-”

“-re you an idiot-”

They didn’t, but their voices were getting more and more frantic, and he realised they were starting to panic at his lack of a response.  He groaned.

“You don’t need to shout, I can hear you just fine,” he told them.  “John, what are you doing with Thunderbird One?”

“Landing,” his brother said abruptly.  “You’re just coming up over the Sahara so I’m putting you down there.  Thunderbird Two is en route.”

“This really isn’t necessary,” Scott complained. “Can’t we deal with this at home?”

“You mean in another two hours, providing we don’t get another callout or distraction so you can slip away again?” Virgil asked dryly.  “No, we’re doing this now, and if I find anything worse than a minor bruise you’re finishing the trip home in Thunderbird Two’s medbay.”

Scott groaned, having absolutely no desire to be subjected to that.  “Seriously, guys, I’m fine.”  Thunderbird One’s VTOLs fired as her speed dropped, and he felt her land.  Looking out of the viewing window, he saw sand and more sand.  The Sahara, as John had promised.

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Gordon scowled.

“Thunderbird Two is five minutes out from your location,” Virgil informed him coolly.  “Stay where you are.”

Thunderbird Five’s insignia was still firmly ensconced in the holographic display, informing him that John had not retracted his override.  As much as he wanted to, there was no way he was going anywhere until his brothers had satisfied themselves.  He groaned again and eyed the medical cabinet once more.  It was still too soon to take another dose, but he knew there was no way any of them would be letting him pilot the rest of the way home anyway.

The relief from pain would not be worth the lecture from Virgil and then Grandma.  Reluctantly he turned away from it and closed his eyes, listening out for the engines of Thunderbird Two.  His brothers kept the channel open, talking to each other and occasionally shooting a question his way – presumably to make sure he hadn’t passed out on them – which he answered reluctantly.

True to Virgil’s words, five minutes after John had landed his ‘bird there came the sound of Thunderbird Two’s VTOL overhead, and he jabbed at his seat controls to leave his ‘bird, seeing no point in sitting and waiting for them to descend on him when he’d be dragged into Thunderbird Two anyway.  Some battles weren’t worth fighting.

“Scott!”  Virgil strode across the short distance between the two ‘birds, grabbing his arm as soon as he was in reach as though he thought he’d flee if given the chance.  With John still controlling his ‘bird, Scott thought the gesture unnecessary.  “You absolute idiot.  Thunderbird Two, now.”  The hand gripping his bicep didn’t give him much of a choice, forcibly guiding him towards the lowered hatch.

Gordon was waiting in the cockpit, arms crossed and eyes like fire.  Beside him, the cockpit’s stretcher had been lowered.

“Sit,” Virgil snapped, dragging him over to it.  Scott obeyed reluctantly, and scowled at the medical scanner immediately deployed.  It didn’t take long to flag up amber along his various bruises, and red at his ribs.  He didn’t hear what Virgil ground out under his breath, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t language he’d use in front of their grandmother.  “John, take One home.  Scott’s piloting nowhere.”

“F.A.B.”  Scott knew his brother well enough to hear the anger in those three letters.  His ‘bird’s VTOL roared to life and he watched her take to the sky through the cockpit windows.

“When did this happen, Scott?” Virgil demanded, setting the scanner to one side and tugging at his zip. Scott batted his hand away, taking over. He still had enough pride to not be undressed by his brother.  Two sets of brown eyes narrowed dangerously as the bruising became visible.

Caught, there was nothing to be gained by lying.  “Last mission, when the pod stopped suddenly.”  A flash of guilt swept across Gordon’s face.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” the aquanaut demanded.  He shrugged, then winced when his body reminded him that the painkillers were all but worn off.

“Didn’t exactly get the chance,” he said.  “Couldn’t do anything about it at the time because we were trying not to become WRM food, then there was the thing with the Mechanic and the Hood, and the landowner wanted compensation for the damaged WRM and park, and-”

“And most of that could have waited for you to get checked over,” Virgil interrupted, a gentle hand lightly touching his bruised torso.  Scott’s body flinched away from the contact unbidden.  “Why the hell did you come out to Cornwall?  Gordon and I could have handled it by ourselves.”

“It was a rescue,” Scott protested.

“Which you’re now grounded from for six weeks, minimum,” Virgil growled.  “Lie down.  What have you taken for the pain?”

He didn’t get a chance to protest before both brothers were carefully but firmly pushing him down onto the stretcher.

“Two Tylenol when I left the trash mine seven hours ago,” he admitted.  “Two more just before this mission, three hours ago.”  Virgil frowned.

“You’ll have to bear with it until we get home,” he said.  “Once the Tylenol’s out of your system, I’ll give you something stronger.”  Scott scowled.  “Gordon, get some ice on his ribs.  Scott, stay still.”  Virgil had the gall to strap him down, avoiding putting pressure on his ribs.  “We’ll be talking about this when we get home.”

It was a promise, but just before he turned away to head to his seat, Scott saw the one thing he’d hoped he’d be able to avoid: guilt.  Virgil was well aware he’d missed the signs because of his flare-up about the topiary, and wouldn’t be forgiving himself for it any time soon.

“Virg-” he started, only to interrupt himself with a hiss as a cool sensation spread across his chest. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them to find Gordon stood next to him, ice pack in hand.

“Not right now, bro,” the blond said quietly, and the same guilty pain was in his eyes.  “Give him time.”

“Gord-”

“And me,” Gordon interrupted him.  “Just… not yet, okay?  Wait ‘til we’re home and you’re all smothered better in the infirmary.”

Scott didn’t like it, but he understood it – they’d find it easier to deal with once they knew he really was okay.  Broken ribs sucked, but in the grand scheme of injuries, they were relatively minor.  The real fear his brothers carried was what if it had been worse – a punctured lung, for example.

In answer, he pulled a face, showing exactly what he thought of being ‘smothered better’ as Thunderbird Two roared to life beneath him.  A small grin tugged at the corner of Gordon’s mouth and he considered that progress, settling back comfortably as his brother’s ‘bird carried him home.

next...

[naturallyalisia]

Today Was A “Bad Day”...

And that’s okay ! Today wasn’t one of the best days, I knew it was going to be a bad day from the moment I woke up. I felt it last night when I missed my 2nd dose of Wellbutrin to mingle and socially drink because I could not for the life of me connect with the people around me.  I was aware that I was emotionally shut off, a few people  even asked if I was alright because of how low my energy fell. I didn’t panic or feel bad and fortunately my partner ushered me to rest upstairs but I was completely void of any emotional reaction at all.  That, mixed with a missed dose and alcohol ( I managed to eat a shit ton too and unintentionally ate cake with walnuts that I’m allergic to) threw me off that night and the following day. Today I was physically and mentally weak.. I could barely walk or muster the energy to do anything. I made sure to take my medication at my normal time in the morning and this feeling lasted all the way until it was time for my 2nd dose. I’ll share with you below how I managed my “bad day”. Maybe it can help you manage yours.

Find Your Reason To Wake Up

  Waking up this morning was difficult. I didn’t want to I just wanted to stay in bed. The reason why I didn’t was because if I did, I knew I would feel horrible about it later. Even more so now I’m working on establishing a routine and structure to help me go through my days. My days now consist of waking up early (8am,9am) going for a decent length walk, and coming home to chart out what I need or what to accomplish for the day. So far I’ve been consistent and I know it would break my heart if I didn’t do it. It’s important to me.

Today I  Don’t Feel Like Doing Anything, But I Have Responsibilities..

  On days like these, I don’t want to do anything like.. at all. Dishes piled up in the sink and on the counter ? New kitchen appliances need to wiped and put away ? Food ? That’s still a thing ? Do I really have to call them today ? The answer is probably yes. Today was difficult I didn’t do nearly as much as I wanted but I still tried. I didn’t overwhelm my brain by bouncing from one thing to the next ( I didn't have the energy to do so anyway) I just took things a step/thing at a time. Luckily I had my husband  to help me with the most daunting tasks and lend a hand with the things I couldn’t manage by myself. If you have a support system utilize it, ask for help if you need it and appreciate it if you’re blessed enough to have it. If not, do not do not beat yourself up. You are trying your best everyday and thats all that matters. One task at a time, Just start. 

Don’t Beat Yourself Up For How You're Feeling

  Sometimes tired is an understatement. You could have gotten 8 hours of sleep and still wake up feeling like the walking dead and like you've been hit by a truck. You’re feeling gross ? sad ? Or just “bad” overall ? That’s okay. It happens, these feelings will pass. It’s not permanent and its nothing to feel sorry over. This was and still is an issue for me, somehow I believe that feeling this way and being “immobile” is a major inconvenience to those around me especially my partner. I’ve come to understand that you should be kind to yourself in these moods. Be open with how your feeling to yourself and the person in your life if you have one. Allow yourself to rest and rejuvenate. Give yourself Grace. If you can understand that for someone else. You can understand that for you too.This too shall pass (and it did)

Give Yourself A Positive Affirmations

  I love affirmations don’t do it as much as I should but I do. While I acknowledged today was going to be a “bad” day, in the same breath I said “but, I will try and make the best of the day and find the good” So I kept that in mind all day. Acknowledging my feelings but finding little ways to enjoy the day (i.e, messaging friends, listening to music etc.)

Decompress When You Can!

  Rest and Rejuvenate. I mean that. After a certain point in the day my body was like nope. I laid on the couch, curled up and rested. My partner brought me a pillow and played some brain games to strengthen my focus and other stuff on Luminosity. I didn’t do anything else at this point. The only thing I did do afterwords was sort through photos and that was after my energy rose abit. Energy levels are vital in structure and routine. I will write about that a another time

Bonus * Take Your Medication On Time Regardless of The Circumstance*

  There’s a reason why you take your medication at a certain time so why stray from it if your doctor didn’t say otherwise ? This was my responsibility to make sure I took my medication and not drink alcohol when I know it could cause an adverse reaction. I didn’t. I was irresponsible just for the sake of comfort and blending in which probably was the cause for this “bad” day. So unless directed otherwise take your medication as your doctor or primary care physician directed. It could really mess things up. it’s definitely easier said than done but don’t let saving face or shame make you make decisions that could be detrimental to you health wise. I wanted to avoid questions or conversation on why I wasn’t drinking. I didn’t want to say I was on medication because it leads to “oh what are you taking?” Then it gets awkward. I hate awkward. So my goal is to find a way how to deal with conversations like this and share them with you in the future. My other goal is to never let that happen again. Health First.

And that’s my personal experience with “bad days” and how to manage them! Be Well! We Made another day!

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 30

Thirty chapters already?!? What the pants?! And these boys are still just children! Yikes, it’ll be Ch 300 by the time they’re teens....

Don’t care, I love little Sans and Papyrus far too much to rush. Plus, well, a lot happens to them, as you’ve seen. So.... Here’s to 30 more! :D

As always, thanks for reading! :)

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.  

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.  

First  

Previous  

Next  

Three days had passed before Sans started feeling like himself again.

He had spent the last few days resting, drinking plenty of warmed water, eating foods that didn’t require a lot of preparation, and bundling up in warmed fabrics. The fire room had once again become host to a slew of draped fabrics soaking up heat, getting switched out every few hours. He still had the occasional chill, but he was grateful that his shivering was long gone—aside from a shudder every now and then—and that his strength had mostly returned.

Papyrus was still bedridden, recuperating from his fractures and broken bones.

Sans had checked the state of his injuries the morning after they had returned from the rotten mounds, and was glad—and impressed—to see that Papyrus had healed himself perfectly. His missing rib had reformed as if it had never been gone, and the rest of his injured bones were fully intact. He still suffered aching stiffness, especially in his neck and lower spine, and was exceedingly tired, but that was to be expected. Sans would give him several days before he started helping his brother stretch out his stiffness, which would help alleviate his pain.

In the meantime, Sans made sure Papyrus ate plenty of food, rested constantly, and drank several cups of warmed up water.

As Sans watched his brother sleeping on that third morning, he gave a sigh of gratitude that they both had had full nights’ sleep for over a month before the incident. Had it not been for their extra HP gained each night, they never would have survived their ordeal. Even after the incident, they were both well over 200 HP of their maximum HP. Sans was glad that he was understanding more about how sleep, food, and caution affected their health, appreciating the wisdom of their parents’ maxims and warnings from when he was younger and didn’t know better.

Papyrus was especially fortunate. Sans shuddered at the thought of how hard he must have hit the water to cause such damage to his tough bones, and couldn’t help but wonder if his attempt at blue soul magic had saved Papyrus by slowing his fall down considerably before it failed.

He shut his eyes tightly and grit his teeth. When they returned to their magic lessons, he was certainly going to practice that blue soul magic. Never again did he want to see his brother fall like that and not be able to rescue him.

Sans slipped out of bed, careful not to rouse Papyrus from his much-needed rest, and stood up. Having extricated himself from the nice, warm bed, a shiver went through him. He rubbed his upper arms and hunched over, giving a hushed “brrr!” before shuffling over to the pantry for a cup.

As he entered the fire room, the magical flame washed over him with its gentle warmth. He poured himself some warm water that had been melting in the pot overnight and sipped it as he stared into the ever-flickering flame.

He was too tired to attempt his morning routine, so instead, after wiping his emptied cup dry and putting it back on the shelf, he grabbed a pear for breakfast. He returned to the fire room as he munched, not wanting to sit on the snowy floor. As he finished, his face had warmed to the point that he felt flushed.

His ears perked when he heard the pained grunt of his brother waking. Sans put the pear core in the waste bag and grabbed a banana, then headed over to the bed.

“Morning, Pap,” he grinned, sitting on the edge.

“Monin, Sas,” Papyrus answered with a grunt, his face grimaced in the discomfort from his stiff, sore bones.

“How are you feeling?” Sans asked, cracking the peel open by the stem.

“Mmmh,” the little skeleton grumbled.

“Yeah,” Sans answered, raising his eyebrows in sympathy. “It will take a while before that goes away. But here, this will help.”

He handed a chunk of the banana to his brother. Papyrus grasped it and took a big bite. He hummed happily as he chewed it, enjoying the taste.

“I’m going to go to the market today,” Sans said, breaking the rest of the banana up into smaller bits. “We’re running low on a lot, and I feel well enough to head out again.”

Papyrus looked up at him, his mouth full of banana as he nodded.

“I want you to keep resting,” his brother said, giving him another piece.

Papyrus nodded again. “M’kay. Pa tired anyway.”

“Yeah,” Sans grinned sadly. “I know.”

Papyrus finished his banana, then drank a cup of warm water while Sans switched out the haversack for a warm pile of fabrics for a pillow. He cuddled up with Teddy as his brother tucked him in.

Sans put on his jacket, shoes, and the haversack, which was emptied of the items stuffing it. He wasn’t taking gems or compost because he wanted to make it a short trip. He felt bad for not having any mushrooms this time to donate, but he had intended on collecting them at the end of their excursion in the darkened area the day Papyrus was swept down the waterfall. He sighed, making a mental note to bring double the following week.

When he was set to leave, he leaned over the bed to nuzzle his brother, who had been watching him through half-closed lids.

“I’ll be back soon, Pap,” Sans whispered. “You rest.”

Papyrus nuzzled back, giving a murmur indicating that he would.

Sans stood back up and shifted his sights on Papyrus’ bear, looking him in the eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

“Teddy, you take care of him, ok? Make sure he doesn’t get out of bed, and protect him while I’m gone, all right?”

Papyrus giggled softly, burying his face in his soft teddy bear’s fur. Sans rubbed Teddy’s head, then his brother’s, with a grin.

Sans moved to the center of the room and turned back to face his brother.

“Love you,” he said, smiling warmly.

“Love you, too,” Papyrus answered softly, returning the smile.

Papyrus watched as Sans closed his eyes, took a step, and was engulfed by the large blue flame for an instant before the fire and Sans were gone.

 -

 Sans ran through the list of things they needed in his mind as he walked swiftly down the winding streets to the market, hoping to get what they needed quickly.

The streets of the city were filled with monsters rushing here and there, as usual. The breezes that trailed the passersby slipped into Sans’ pulled-up hood and down his shirt collar, sending shivers down his spine. He kept his head down, walking faster, eagerly looking forward to sipping more warm water by the fire when he returned.

The first shop he visited was the tailor’s. He perused through the fabrics in the hopes of getting a large piece to serve as a thick blanket. He had wanted to replace the scraps of fabric with a single covering for a while, and the recent events underscored their need for one.

However, the materials that would serve as a blanket were far more expensive than Sans had hoped. Although he had enough gold to purchase a piece of soft, thick fabric the size of their bed, the single cloth would cost more than four months of food. It would be nice to have it, but they were already making due with the scraps that they had, and food was more important than the luxury of one blanket.

He left the shop empty handed and slightly discouraged, but grateful that they were fortunate enough to have found the scraps that kept them warm when they easily could be sleeping with nothing but the clothes on their backs. With a sigh, he moved on.

Sans made his food purchases swiftly and was about to search for an empty alleyway to transport home, when he glanced at Ashen’s shop and hesitated. As much as he wanted to get back to the shelter, he really could benefit from a visit with his galline friend.

Ashen was sitting in her chair behind the counter—knitting as always—humming a soft, cheery tune. As Sans approached, she put her knitting in the basket he had made her and stood up to greet him.

“Why, hello, Sans!” she said happily.

The smile on his face faltered when he saw her—the grey hen was looking much thinner than the last time he had seen her. His voice caught in his throat for a moment.

“A-Ashen,” he breathed. “Are you...are you all right?”

She cocked her head in confusion, then realized why he seemed so worried.

“Oh!” she said with a small laugh. “Sans, I’m fine. I’m moulting right now, so I look a bit slim.”

Sans sighed with relief. “Ah, ok. Sorry, I just.... I was worried you might be sick or something.”

“No need to be sorry,” Ashen smiled as she looked down at herself. “I’ll only be this trim for a little while, then I’ll be back to my normal, filled-out self.”

She gave a shudder that made her reduced feathers ruffle as she twisted herself to look towards her tail, seeming to admire her temporary, slender figure.

As she turned back, she pulled her wing around, causing a slight gust that hit Sans softly, sending him into another shiver.

“Speaking of sick,” she said, her own face now the picture of concern. “Sans, are you feeling ok?”

Sans rubbed his upper arms and huddled slightly until the chill was gone, then straightened himself up, putting a grin on his face.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered. “It’s nothing.”

Ashen furrowed her brow worriedly, but didn’t pursue the matter.

They went on to chat about their weeks, their projects, and other such things. Sans omitted to tell her about what they had just gone through, especially since he hadn’t disclosed that he and his brother were living outside the cavern.

He purchased a pair of thick, fluffy red socks in Papyrus’ size before leaving, then the two friends bid their farewells.

 -

 Sans opened his eyes, having returned to the shelter. He smiled at the sight of his little brother in the bed, fast asleep, curled up with Teddy.

He put away the food, took out the socks and laid them at the foot of the bed, then warmed himself by the fire, sipping his warmed water. His trip to the cavern had been quite short, but he was still rather tired. He sighed as he looked into the magical flame, mesmerized by its undulating dance.

His eyes drifted down to the small bits of wood that fueled the fire, sighing again deeply—they didn’t have much left in their woodpile. For a moment, he thought about the numerous pieces of wood down on those mounds of refuse. There was enough wood there to last them for decades.

Thinking about that place caused his face to involuntarily contort in disgust. That place, with its vile stench, piles of decayed muck, and not a dry inch to be found.

Part of him hated that place for what it had done to them—to Papyrus. He would be happy never seeing that terrible place again.

But part of him knew that they could use the valuable wood. He could just pop down there, grab some, and be back in no time.

A shiver ran down his spine as he thought of the place. Of all that water. But the wood....

Honestly, if they were that desperate for wood, they could always destroy the torches for their lumber. But if any of the monsters left the cavern, returned down the path, and saw the missing torches, they would know someone else was in the valley. They might even send out the Royal Guard to search the area, leading them to find their shelter. They’d be found and split apart....

Sans ran his hand over his face in frustration. He didn’t know what to do—taking the wood from those wet depths would be safer, but he didn’t like the idea of calling the place that almost killed his brother safe.

He heaved a grumbling sigh. He didn’t want to think about this now. He was too angry at that place for what it did to Papyrus.

He shut his eyes and stifled a sob. He was too angry at himself, too.

Ever since they had returned, Sans had replayed what had happened over and over again in his mind. And the more the memory repeated, the more he saw how he failed to prevent it.

He knew the waterfalls and the edge were dangerous, that they emptied off into nothingness. Why didn’t he create a bone fence along the edge?! It would have caught his brother as he was swept down the waterway. The only reason Papyrus was still alive was because he landed in the water below. His brother could have fallen into a bottomless pit, or ground made entirely of rock. But he didn’t take the intelligent precautions necessary to stop his brother from falling over the edge. He’d created a fence before at the cavern hole. Why wasn’t he smart enough to have done it again?!

But Papyrus never would have fallen into the water if he hadn’t been startled. Why did he shout out at Papyrus like that?! Couldn’t he have said it quieter, instead of scaring his brother so he would tumble in?!

Why did he even take Papyrus to such a dangerous area?! As soon as he looked over the edge, he should have left that place immediately. Were cattails and gems worth risking his brother’s life?!

He wasn’t even near him when he fell—he had left Papyrus all by himself, surrounded by rushing, deep waters, close to the edge of a void, and he left him to go get the stupid cattails. He was supposed to take care of his brother, not leave him!

He was supposed to take care of his brother....

Take care of Papyrus.

His mother’s dying wish echoed in his mind.

What would she think if she saw what had happened to Papyrus since leaving them in the cave? How many times had his life been threatened? How many injuries had he sustained?

She would be so ashamed of Sans. She trusted him, and he let her down.

Sans clenched his teeth, furious with himself. He felt the hot tears coursing down his face as he leaned against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat in a heap, his knees against his chest. The cup fell out of his hand, the last bit of water spilling out onto the floor as he buried his face in his hands, weeping bitterly.

I’m so sorry, Mommy.... I let you down.... I’m so very sorry....

He should take Papyrus to the cavern. To the orphanage for smaller children.

He should take his brother to those who will actually take care of him.

He should have his brother torn from him, because that’s what he deserved.

He should have been a better brother. Papyrus deserved more.

He should—

Papyrus tossed and turned, waking at the sounds of his brother’s stifled cries. He was moaning slightly from his discomfort.

“Sas?” he called out. “You home?”

“Yeah, Pap,” Sans answered, raising his voice to a joyful tone. “Just drinking some water and warming by the fire. Be there in a moment.”

He couldn’t let Papyrus see him like this. It would upset him, adding to his failures as a brother. He took a handful of snow from the wall and scrubbed his face and eyes with it, erasing any signs that he had been crying. He dried his face with a bit of rough cloth, made sure all his tears were held back, put a grin on his face, then entered the main room.

He couldn’t look his brother in the eyes yet, so, instead, he focused on the socks at the foot of the bed.

“Look, Pap!” he exclaimed, holding them up as he stuffed down the fury at himself. “I got you something!”

Papyrus gasped softly, his eyes widening at the sight of the fluffy socks. “Wowie!”

Sans shut his eyes, hiding them in a grin. “They match your scarf! I’ll put them on!”

He slipped the socks on his brother’s bare feet, giving them a squeeze when he was done.

“Whaddya think?”

“Dey so soft!” he said, rubbing his feet against each other as he looked down at them where he lay. “Fanks, Sas! I love dem!”

“I’m glad,” Sans answered. “They’ll keep you nice and warm.”

“Dey feel like Teddy,” Papyrus grinned, giving his bear a loving nuzzle. “Teddy for my footsies!”

“And that’s not all,” Sans’ grin was becoming more genuine by the moment.

He headed over to the pantry shelf and pulled down a small pastry bag. He pulled out one of the contents to show his brother.

“Cookie!” Papyrus cried out happily. He would be jumping for joy had he been able to.

“Yup!” Sans replied, stuffing the cookie back in the bag. “I got you some for desert for the next few nights.”

The little skeleton gasped with joy at the thought of more than one cookie. Sans turned, putting the cookies back on the shelf.

“Sas, you da bestest bruver in da whole world!”

The words cut through Sans’ soul like a sharp knife. He was glad his back was to his brother, so he couldn’t see his face. He shut his eyes tight, gritting his teeth, as livid arguments against that statement pierced his mind all at once.

No. I’m not. You deserve better. I upset you all the time. I can’t even take care of you. You’ve gone hungry because I couldn’t feed you. You nearly killed yourself over the falls because of me. You nearly froze to death because of me. You lost Mommy because of me. I’m the worst brother in the world.

You’re better off without me.

“No, Pap,” Sans said through clenched teeth, his voice low.

He turned around, his mouth upturned in a perfect, false grin.

“You’re the best brother in the whole world,” he continued with a wink, his voice light and happy, not at all betraying the bitter hatred for himself that was clawing at his chest.

Papyrus’ smile and little laugh were so warm, it made Sans’ charade all the more easier to keep up.

The winds outside the shelter curled small currents of snowflakes as they picked up in strength. Snow was falling steadier as a gentle snowsquall brewed.

The storm emerging out in the valley was nowhere near as tumultuous as the storm that was developing inside the skeleton within the little shelter.

[southwindscoffee]

Um so I had an amazing year

You cannot get poor enough to help poor people thrive or sick enough to help sick people get well. You only ever uplift from your position of strength and clarity and alignment. – Abraham/Esther Hicks

 So.

 I had an amazing year.

 And I’m embarrassed to say it because I’m not dumb. (At least I hope I’m not.) I look around and can see suffering. Upheaval. Sickness. Poverty. I’m not denying those things exist or minimizing anyone else’s experience.

 But I wanted to share why I had an amazing year with the intent of uplifting someone else.

 Maybe you.

 I’m ending the year feeling happier, healthier, richer, more creatively fulfilled, and closer to my family than I have in a very, very long time. I credit this to a few small but key things—and overall, to one book.

 Last year about this time I listened to Atomic Habits by James Clear. I’ve lost track of how many copies I’ve bought of this book. Maybe four? At least two hardback copies, because I gave one away. Simply stated, the audio changed my life.

 Just—if you’re sick of listening to yourself complain about your bank account or weight or whatever, and you’re serious about changing things, go read/listen to this book.

 AND THEN ACTUALLY DO WHAT HE SAYS. The little, dumb, tiny changes. Because they add up.

 Last year I got sick of complaining about the same things year after year. And since I mostly complain in my journal or in my own head, it was a very boring place to be. I got sick of wondering why the balance in my bank account didn’t change, why I wasn’t losing weight, and why I wanted to write so much and wasn’t getting anywhere, even though I tried.

 But these things (richer, slimmer, more creative) were also what I really desired, deep down inside. I wanted to feel more financially stable, healthier (defined by weight loss), and to write more. (Well, I already wrote plenty. I wanted to write stuff and put it in public where people could actually read it.) These dreams felt very special and secret, but I think they’re somewhat universal—at least for authors.

 (Please note: I know that mental health can get in the way of taking any action at all. I’ve written about my depression and anxiety before. If this blog entry makes you feel overwhelmed, please know I’ve been where you are. Focus on taking care of yourself in whatever way you can and don’t worry about all this aspirational ambitious stuff I’m writing. Because the aspirational and ambitious can simply be getting out of bed and taking a shower. I’m proud of you for hanging in there.)

 After listening to Atomic Habits, I decided to do the following macro habits all throughout 2020—and I checked these off on a little grid in the James Clear journal:

 1. Take my vitamins.

2. Save $5 every day.

3. Write 10,000 words per week.

4. Post a blog entry every Wednesday and Saturday.

5. Go to the gym 3-5 times a week.

 I thought that these were things that could get me to my goals—richer, slimmer, more creatively fulfilled. And overall—happy.

 I also had some habits I already did. These were:

 1. Meditate for 10 minutes every day. (I usually use a guided YouTube video).

2. Write three pages longhand as Morning Pages (per Julia Cameron). (Incidentally, I’ve done this for decades and credit it to the reason I don’t get writer’s block.)

3. Take a Swedish lesson on Duolingo.

 I just wanted to keep these up.

 I have lots more habits … like brushing my teeth or whatever (and I actually floss because I bought the stuff and leave it out where I can see it), but the ones above are my more unusual habits.

 Well, what happened?

 1. I took my vitamins. Boring, but I’m also quite healthy, so maybe it helps my overall wellbeing. I haven’t been sick all year. I keep them by my bed where I see them and remember to take them.

 (Yes, I wash my hands all the time and don’t touch my face. And yes, I stayed home in quarantine. Yes, I wore a mask when I went out. But I think taking vitamins helped.)

 2. I ended up saving $5 every workday not every day. I either transferred the money to a Capital 360 account because it’s hard to transfer it back or put $5 into a Stash account. I sometimes would skip Starbucks or something similar and feel virtuous about transferring the $5. Other times I just transferred it.

 At the beginning of the year, the Capital 360 account had $5. It now has $806.

At the beginning of the year the Stash account had $50. It now has almost $2500. (Buying $5 here and there in March when the stock market was down ended up making about $500 over the year, a 23% increase.)

 Um, so that’s like $3200 I just kinda now have. Incidentally, $5 per day is $1825 over the course of the year, and I’ve almost doubled that because I invested it, not just saved it—and also sometimes I’d transfer like $10 or $25 if I was feeling wild. Over the months, I saw how the account balance would get close to an even number (like $500), so I’d transfer enough to make it that amount. And it just kept going.

 (Also, I’m not intending on this to be money advice. Go talk to someone who actually knows. My thought process was to hedge my bets with doing both safe and speculative—a savings account that earned interest and then various stocks. I also wasn’t spending money I needed for food, shelter, etc. I barely felt the expense, but I very much feel the accumulation of savings.)

 There really is magic in just starting to do something small, because it really does compound and snowball into good things. 

 Maybe in the grand scheme of things $3200 isn’t that much. To me it feels like I have this cute little cushion I literally created out of loose change in a year.

 Honestly, it feels like a lot, not “cute” or “little.” If I don’t compare myself to millionaires, it’s kind of amazing.

 What would happen if you transferred $1 or $2 a day? By the end of 2021, see how much you have…

 Another money habit: I wanted to stop buying so much online and one-clicking so many ebooks—even free ones—because it was just too much. I had like 800 unread books. So I kept track of the days I didn’t buy anything or download any books. My ecommerce moratorium ended up being streaks of time I didn’t buy anything and then a day where I would buy everything off of Amazon or whatever all at once. Not sure it did much except make me feel marginally better. With ebooks, while my TBR count is less than what it was at the beginning of the year, it isn’t the zero I’d hoped it to be. But I seriously read about 300-400 books—about 1-2 a day. (I read fast and don’t sleep.) My “read” pile jumped from 800 to 1100. Not sure what to make of it except I read so much and it was really fun. So, I still have about 680 books on my TBR pile for next year. That can be another habit to work on.

 3. I’ve written more than 530,000 words this year. The habit I tied it to incidentally, was opening my laptop. If I open my laptop—and that’s a habit I record with a tick mark on a grid—it’s a lot easier to get into the document and start writing. So the way I trick myself to write is I tell myself all I have to do is open my laptop. Simple. I check off the box that I did it and I feel virtuous. To reward myself for actually getting the word count, I have a little jar with binder clips in it and every 1,000 words I put a binder clip in a small old milk bottle. Then I can see the words add up.

 I also did a spreadsheet to know what I’ve written this year. I’ve never done one before because it felt too quantitative rather than qualitative. Writing is supposed to be this outlet for me, not something to beat to death with statistics. But I’m glad I did it because writing can be so amorphous. Putting parameters on it made it feel real.

 Oh, and I’ve finished one book, set to be published in February. I have a contract for another, and it’s (today) at 77,000 words. Three more books are 50% or more done. And I did NaNoWriMo. So, yeah. It was a productive year.

 I also learned that I like juggling projects. Focusing on one can make me stagnant. If I get stuck on one, moving to another really seemed to keep my momentum going.

 But I’m now focusing on getting them done and shipped. One at a time. Because they’re all just so close I can feel it.

 4. Before this year, I’d published eleven blog entries from 2017 to 2019. This year, I’ve posted 97, not counting this one. I missed a time or two at the beginning, but um, yeah… That’s a big difference.

 The reasons I wanted to focus on posting blog entries were multifold. I’d felt “out of it” as far as publishing, having worked on one book for so long that wasn’t gelling. I’d felt frustrated and jealous of those who got their work done. I needed the instant gratification—so to speak—of putting something out there while I worked on projects that took longer. I also wanted to inure myself to the fear of putting myself out there. With each entry—still—I feel fear, but I wanted to do it anyway. So that when the time comes to publish more fiction, I can go, “yeah, I’ve hit publish (literally) 100 times, what’s the big deal?”

 My guiding point for writing a blog post has been my gut feeling—tempered by wanting to reach out and help someone else. But to keep up a streak, there is a document on my computer called “Default blog post.” This is what it says in its entirety:

 Default blog post

 I told myself I just needed to post a blog every Wednesday and Saturday.

 Here is me keeping that promise.

 If you see that, well, you’ll know how the week is going.

 Is there an endgame here? What am I going to do with these blog posts? I can see me taking some ideas and expanding on them and creating some sort of nonfiction/self-help kind of book. I’ve always wanted to do that. I do see them as steppingstones to something bigger.

It also lets me be okay with imperfection. Typos. “Think-Os.” Whatever. This is me with no editor.

 5. So, the gym. Well, until it closed, I was going. My trigger was that I just had to check in. That was how I checked the box. Like opening the laptop, actually getting to the gym is the hard part. Once I was there, it was easy.

 But the gym closed and is still closed. Like all of us, I needed a Plan B. (C? D?)

 I’ve done short walks and long. Currently, I’m just working on doing pushups. I can do a lot of pushups with my knees on the ground. But I can only do a few “real” ones, so that’s what I’m keeping track of. I’m focusing on doing them slowly and properly, not faking my way through them. Faking them is easy, but I’d rather be able to do them right and have the actual arm strength. My trigger for when I do them is when I close my journal, I have to get down and do pushups. (Currently it’s seven.) To someone else that goal might be ridiculously easy. To me, it’s rather difficult and a little embarrassing to post, but whatever. I’m being honest.

 I’m ending the year a few pounds lighter than last year—and lighter than I’ve been in years—so I’m calling it a win.

 With the other habits, meditating keeps me happy as does dumping my brain in the morning pages. Oh, and I’m on day 622 in a row of Swedish on Duolingo. It feels like I’ve taken about a semester of college Swedish. Not enough to actually converse with someone but getting the hang of it. I’m motivated by a desire to go to Sweden and see some ancestral places—and actually understand some of the language, even though I know most Swedes speak better English than me.

 With COVID-19, like most of us, I’ve spent more time at home, but I’m temperamentally suited to that. I know it’s hurt extroverts hard, but as far as I’m concerned, I got to see my family more—even when I went to the office for work.

 What am I looking forward to next year? I like the habits I started for 2020. I just want to keep these systems up, because they seem to be working for me. I hope that by using these systems I end up with four to five books happily published in 2021 and I look forward to seeing how the exercise and money habits work out as well.

 This entry is about two or three times my usual blog entry, so if you made it this far, thank you. I hope it inspires you to take a small action and then keep taking that small action over and over again. They really do add up.

 I wish you the most amazing year ever in 2021. Know that it’s possible.

[newstfionline]

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Enrollment drops worry public schools as pandemic persists (AP) Rather than wait to see how her children’s Florida public school would teach students this fall, Erica Chao enrolled her two daughters in a private school that seemed better positioned to provide instruction online during the uncertainty of the coronavirus pandemic. The virtual lessons that Emily, 8, and Annabelle, 6, received in the spring while enrolled at a Miami-Dade County elementary school became a “free for all,” Chao said. The private school classes, by contrast, hold the girls’ attention, and their mother no longer worries they will fall behind if she doesn’t attend school with them at home. “For the first time since March, I was able to walk away,” Chao said. Parents across the country have faced similar choices about whether to keep their children in public schools as the pandemic extends into a new academic year. Some opted for private or charter schools. Others are dedicating themselves to homeschooling, hiring tutors to oversee multi-family “learning pods” or struggling to balance their children’s educations with work when school times and technology keep changing. Such personal decisions could exacerbate the financial problems of public school systems that receive a set amount of state funding for every student they enroll, which are the vast majority. With preliminary figures showing unexpected enrollment declines in many places, school officials used letters, phone calls and volunteers going door-to-door to persuade parents to register their youngsters before this month’s fall student census.

With Americans anxious to go out, walking tours pick up pace (AP) With an eerily quiet and empty stadium plaza behind him, the tour guide tried to help people picture what they would have seen there more than 160 years earlier. His audience of eight, all on foot, peered over masks at maps as he described hundreds of groceries, saloons, blacksmiths and 100,000 people living across two square miles—one of the pre-Civil War United States’ most congested areas. For so many Americans, this is a time of being cooped up, of being unable to interact with fellow humans and, in many cases, with the landscape itself. COVID-19 and its impact have kept many away from air travel, cruise ships and crowded beaches. Enter a decidedly unplugged alternative, a very concrete antidote to a suddenly more virtual life: the walking tour. Maybe not the most exciting outlet, but far better than being surrounded by the same four walls. “Our mental health matters also, and it’s very important for us ... when we’re really feeling extremely alienated from each other and feeling trapped in our homes, to walk our streets, in the safest way possible,” said Rebecca Manski of Social Justice Tours in New York City. Such tours have picked up in popularity for people seeking outdoor social activity while maintaining health safety precautions and staying in small groups.

With whipping winds, Delta drenches Louisiana, Mississippi (AP) Ripping tarps from already damaged roofs and scattering debris piled by roadsides, Delta inflicted a new round of destruction on Louisiana as it struck communities still reeling after Hurricane Laura took a similar path just six weeks earlier. Delta hit as a Category 2 hurricane, with top winds of 100 mph (155 kph) but rapidly grew weaker. By Saturday morning, it dwindled to a tropical storm with 45 mph (75 kph) winds. Still, forecasters warned of danger from storm surge and flash floods across much of southwestern Louisiana and parts of neighboring Texas. Mississippi also got its fair share of rain overnight.

Fishy idea (Foreign Policy) As the United Kingdom tries to beat a path out of the European Union, demanding a significant increase in fishing rights as it leaves the bloc’s common fisheries policy, Belgium’s Ambassador to the European Union Willem van de Voorde made an unlikely invocation on Wednesday: a charter signed in 1666 by King Charles II granting 50 fishermen from Bruges “eternal rights” to fish in England’s waters. It’s not unprecedented for centuries-old documents to play a role in British diplomacy today; the Anglo-Portuguese alliance of 1373 still stands and was invoked during the Falklands War. Although unlikely to sway the negotiations, the ambassador’s intervention underscores how fraught discussions over fishing rights have become.

Europe’s Economic Recovery Is a Summer Memory (NYT) What faint hopes remained that Europe was recovering from the economic catastrophe delivered by the pandemic have disappeared as the lethal virus has resumed spreading rapidly across much of the continent. After sharply expanding in the early part of the summer, Britain’s economy grew far less than anticipated in August—just 2.1 percent compared with July, the government reported on Friday, adding to worries that further weakness lies ahead. Earlier in the week, France, Europe’s second-largest economy, downgraded its forecast for the pace of expansion for the last three months of the year from an already minimal 1 percent to zero. Over all, the national statistics agency predicted the economy would contract by 9 percent this year. The diminished expectations are a direct outgrowth of alarm over the revival of the virus. France reported nearly 19,000 new cases on Wednesday—a one-day record, and almost double the number the day before. The surge prompted President Emmanuel Macron to announce new restrictions, including a two-month shutdown of cafes and bars in Paris and surrounding areas. In Spain, the central bank governor warned this week that the accelerating spread of the virus could force the government to impose restrictions that would produce an economic contraction of as much as 12.6 percent this year. The European Central Bank’s chief economist cautioned on Tuesday that the 19 countries that share the euro currency might not recover from the disaster until 2022. Summer increasingly feels like a long time ago.

North Korea parades huge, new ICBM, but Kim Jong Un stresses deterrent nature (Washington Post) North Korea showed off what appeared to be a huge, new inter-continental ballistic missile at a military parade Saturday, although leader Kim Jong Un stressed the deterrent nature of the weaponry on display—and even held out an olive branch to neighbor South Korea. The military parade, marking the 75th anniversary of the ruling Workers’ Party, featured a vast array of modernized military systems, from small arms through antitank and air- defense systems. The most closely watched, however, was what looked to be four huge, new liquid-fueled ICBMs, rolling through the main square in Pyongyang on 11-axle vehicles. Military experts—monitoring the parade through North Korean state television—said the new missile would be one of the largest road-mobile ICBMs in the world if it becomes operational, and could represent the threatened new “strategic weapon” Kim had talked of at the start of this year. For the international community, Kim’s message was: North Korea was a military force to be reckoned with, but not a threat.

Azerbaijan and Armenia Agree to Cease-Fire in Nagorno-Karabakh (NYT) Azerbaijan and Armenia negotiated a limited cease-fire early Saturday after almost two weeks of fierce fighting over a disputed province, with the goal of pausing combat long enough to collect bodies from the battlefield and to exchange prisoners. The Russian-brokered agreement, which takes effect at noon on Saturday, was short on specifics. The issue of the how the cease-fire would play out on the front lines was left to the sides to agree to in “additional” talks. People fleeing the fighting on Friday described the violence as more intense than what took place during the yearslong war between Armenia and Azerbaijan in the early 1990s that killed some 20,000 people and displaced about a million, mostly Azerbaijanis.

Clashes erupt between ultra-Orthodox and police, youth set fire to city (Jerusalem Post) Clashes broke out between police and dozens of ultra-Orthodox people late Thursday night in Modi’in Illit as a gathering was held in a synagogue in violation of coronavirus and lockdown regulations, Walla reported. Several ultra-Orthodox were arrested, and youth set aflame trees and vegetation throughout the city in outcry. A video of the scene shows dozens of ultra-Orthodox people in clashes with the police as violence erupts among the crowd, and the congregants yell “shame on you,” at the police.

Nigerian protesters demand end of an anti-robbery police unit that robs people (Washington Post) The police officers accused him of speeding, but Dare Olaitan felt that wasn’t true. The 29-year-old filmmaker in Nigeria’s biggest city, Lagos, recalls requesting proof. “Then they slapped me, yanked away my phone and keys and said, ‘We are going to an ATM,” Olaitan said. The men, who’d pulled him over in an unmarked van, identified themselves as part of the Federal Special Anti-Robbery Squad, or SARS, a Nigerian police unit that has been tasked over the last three decades with fighting violent crime, including banditry and kidnapping. Similar tales blazed across social media in recent days as thousands of protesters filled the streets in several Nigerian cities, urging the leaders of Africa’s most populous nation to disband the squad, which they say routinely commits the kind of crimes it is supposed to thwart. Human rights activists have campaigned against SARS for years, but violent videos that surfaced online this week shoved a fresh spotlight on what demonstrators condemned as police brutality. A number of Nigerian celebrities took up the cause, helping #EndSARS go massively viral. As pressure mounted, Nigerian President Muhammadu Buhari vowed Friday to investigate the squad.

[chuffyfan87]

Growing Pains. Part 22a

Cowritten with @disastrousintention. Trigger warnings for discussion of illegal drug use.

-x-

The entire house was asleep, or at least that’s what Louis thought. He crept out of his bedroom, a pile of books in his hands and quietly walked along the hall. Reaching the stairs, he made a mental note of which floor board squeaked and climbed down them. He didn’t want to wake the house up, he’d be too embarrassed if anyone found out what he was doing. He cursed quietly when he ended up standing on the squeaky floorboard and found himself dashing down the stairs.

Lottie rolled over sleepily. "Did you hear a noise?" She mumbled to Tilly.

Tilly nodded, “Probably Em.” She mumbled back.

Louis reached the bottom step and listened out for any noise. Satisfied he hadn’t disturbed anyone, Louis wandered into the kitchen. As he reached the doorway, he dropped a book that hit the floor and echoed around the house.

"For someone so tiny she's so noisy!" Lottie grumbled, pulling her pillow over her head.

Tilly sat up, “Lottie? What if we’re getting burgled?”

"Someone else can deal with it." Lottie shrugged.

“Shall we call mum?”

"She's just finished a run of eighteen hour shifts - she won't thank you..!"

“Dad then?”

"I thought he was working..?" Lottie yawned.

“Shit! I’m getting mum! I’m scared!” Tilly got out of bed and quietly moved to the door.

"Wussbag!" Lottie teased.

“Shut up!” Tilly frowned and went out of her bedroom. As she reached the door of her parents room, she heard another thud from downstairs and pushed open the door. “Mum?”

"Mmm?" Duffy yawned.

“I can hear noises downstairs and I’m scared.”

"What?!" That got Duffy's attention.

“Noises downstairs. Like banging.”

"OK. You go back to bed and I'll go take a look. It's probably nothing."

“I’ll come with you?” Tilly swallowed nervously.

"There's no need." Duffy reassured her daughter as she reached for her dressing gown.

Tilly nodded and kissed her mum’s cheek before going back to her room.

Duffy crept down the stairs slowly. The light was on in the kitchen so she grabbed a shoe which she held aloft as she burst into the kitchen.

Louis jumped off his chair, “Bloody hell!!”

Duffy let out a startled squeal, not expecting to find her stepson in the kitchen.

They both just stared at each other for a minute before Louis moved to try and hide the things on the table. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

"You didn't, Tilly did." Duffy attempted to get her heart to stop hammering.

“Sorry.” He smiled sadly, “I know you’ve been working eighteen hour shifts so I didn’t want to disturb you.” He managed to close the notebook.

"She thought we were being burgled." Duffy smiled. "What are you doing?"

“Oh... Erm, nothing.” He looked down at the floor, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

Duffy stooped to pick up a book that still lay on the floor. "Looks like you dropped part of your nothing..." She remarked, handing it back to him.

He looked up and took the book. “You won’t laugh if I tell you, will you?”

"Of course not."

“I’ve been studying for my exams.”

"Why would I laugh at that? That's a good thing."

“Because I know people don’t think I can do it.” He admitted sadly, “But I want to go to college.”

"And you will."

He smiled. “Sorry about waking you up. I find it easier to study down here.”

"That's OK. I'll leave you to it."

“Goodnight Duffy, love you, sorry once again for waking you.”

She squeezed his shoulder and placed a soft kiss on his hair. "Don't stay up too late. You've got lessons tomorrow."

“I won’t, I promise.”

She bid him goodnight before heading back to bed, stopping on the way to reassure Tilly that they weren't in fact being burgled.

“Who was it?” Tilly asked as she lay on her side in bed facing the door. “I can sleep now, mama?”

"It was just your brother getting a drink. He dropped a cup." Duffy explained. "Yes, you've got school in the morning missy!"

“Love you mama.”

"Love you too."

It didn’t take Tilly long to fall back to sleep. As promised, Louis spent an hour downstairs studying before going to bed.

The next morning Duffy pulled Louis aside once the other children were at school.

He was just getting ready to go out. He was still anxious about taking trips on his own in case he bumped into his old friends and wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation. “Yes Duffy?” He asked.

"After last night I was wondering if you'd like me and your dad to look into increasing your lesson contact hours?"

He nodded enthusiastically. “You and dad would do that for me?”

"Of course. You've shown that you're taking it seriously and committing to it."

“I’d really love that, thank you.” Then he paused, “That would mean more time at school though, right?”

"It would. But it would be like now - you'd still be with the teacher one to one."

He nodded, “Ok.”

"You're worried about spending more time at school?"

He nodded, “A little bit.”

"Is there a particular reason for that?" She asked gently.

“I worry I might be tempted.”

"Would it help if me or your dad drove you to school and picked you up after?"

He shook his head. “I need to face it. I can’t avoid it for the rest of my life.

"If you're sure..?"

Louis nodded. “I don’t want to ever use drugs again. But it isn’t always easy to avoid temptation.”

"It'll always be there but you have us to help you."

“I’m grateful for that.” He smiled.

"Its what families are for." Duffy smiled.

He smiled. “How are things with you?”

"I'm ok." Duffy smiled.

“Good.”

"Did you want a packed lunch or would you rather eat in the school canteen?"

“I’ll eat in the canteen today, if that’s ok?”

"Saves me a job." She smiled.

Louis opened his bag to stick in his textbooks, a comfortable silence between him and Duffy.

Duffy finished clearing up from breakfast. "What lessons do you have today?"

“Double English and Maths and Biology and IT.”

"Sounds like a busy day."

“Yeah it is.” He smiled.

"How do you feel you're getting on with it all?"

“Some of it is ok, some of it I’m finding difficult.” He admitted.

"Which subjects?"

“Physics I’m finding difficult and sometimes English.”

"It might be worth chatting to Peter about physics." She mused.

“Peter’s good at physics?”

"I know he's good at chemistry and I'm pretty sure he's good at physics too."

“I’ll ask him. Thank you.”

"That's OK. We may need to look into a tutor to help with the English."

“It’s not always but sometimes I find it difficult to follow what’s going on.” He sighed, “I think that’s me though.”

"I would suggest you could work with Emily's tutor but I'm not sure how she'd feel about that."

“Would it be OK if I asked Em?”

"I have no issue with you asking her."

“I will after school. If she says no, that’s fine. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

"OK."

“Thank you for the idea though.” He kissed her cheek before zipping up his bag. “I suppose I better get a move on.”

"Yes, don't want you being late!" She smiled.

“No, it wouldn’t look good.”

"Both me and your Dad are so proud of how much progress you've made these last couple of months." She smiled.

Louis blushed, “I’m really trying.”

"You are and that's wonderful." She smiled. "Now off to school with you!" She chuckled.

He smiled, “Yes Duffy.”

Duffy smiled as she watched Louis head out the house. She was thrilled that he seemed to be making such good progress.

Louis was desperately trying to be better. He was still awaiting an appointment with the mental health team. He hoped it would come soon because every now and then, he’d get some really horrible thoughts.

Arriving at school he was greeted by his English teacher.

“Hi,” He smiled.

"Good morning Louis. Did you manage to read the pages of the text that I asked you to?"

“Yes Miss, I did. I quite enjoyed the text.”

"That's good. We're going to work through some exam style questions on that section of the text today."

“I’ve been practising.”

"That's good. As you know you'll be given an option of three questions in the exam." She passed him a previous exam paper.

He took the exam paper and opened it up.

"Pick which question you want to attempt and then we'll discuss it."

Louis listened to the teacher’s instructions and began to read the question. He circled key words to help him.

He looked up briefly as his teacher sat down at her desk. She smiled before starting to work through marking some homework from one of her classes in the lower years.

Louis looked down at his paper and re-read the question: “What is the importance of Cathy in the play DNA and how does Kelly present her.” He smiled, he loved that play! He began to write his answer.

By the time his teacher told him it was time to stop he'd written two sides of A4.

He placed his pen down. He felt oddly positive about the experience! It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

"You're smiling." His teacher remarked.

“I am?” He blushed.

"Yes. I'm presuming you were happy with that exam question?"

“It wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.”

"That's good. Exams shouldn't be scary."

“I’d really like to go to college Miss, so I know I need to pass my exams.”

"Well you're making good progress towards that goal." She picked up his paper. "Let's have a look through your answer now shall we?"

[justsomeiimagines-blog]

No Matter What

note: hi! im back hooowaaaa! writing was hard for me to do because i had school and semi mental health problems! i graduated high school last month and been taking time to write! for this baby i have another two parts to this one in the works :) i wouldve added it all in one but its already over 9000 words so doing this in parts is easier :-)

word count: the app i was using to write this said this was 6808 words but idk (which is why i decided to do all this in parts!)

"Y/N I like you, I mean like like you," Your friend Liam, said as you two stood in the middle school hallway. You gulped and hid away your fear that was trying to burst through, you had words to say but you couldn't find them, you froze up.

"Are you going to say something? Y/N?" Liam said waving his hand in front of your face snapping you back into reality. You nodded your head and pushed past him making your way to the front school doors. You felt your wrist being softly grasped, you looked up and met his eyes that were full of desperation, you were going to try to find something to say when you felt your phone vibrate it in your pocket, taking it out you saw Sams name and text letting you know they were out front.

"I-I uh I-I got to go," You said in a trembling tone as you flashed the text Sam sent and released your self from his grasp and dashing out of the school door.

The whole ride home you were quiet and staring out the window.

"Everything go okay?" You heard Sams voice, looking up you see him glancing at you and Dean eyeing you while he drove. You nodded your head "y-yeah um just tired, that's all," You said as you gave him a reassuring smile before turning back to the window as your mind ran fast with confusion and fear.

He gave you another concerned glance before sharing a short glance with Dean who just shrugged and turned up the Led Zeppelin and sitting back down.

When you all piled into the motel room you rushed towards the bathroom, closing the door (locking it behind you of course). Your brothers shared another glance at each other and then looked at the bathroom door, "maybe she just really had to go," Dean said as he shrugged again as he threw himself on the bed and grabbing his laptop getting ready to research more on the hunt,

Sam, on the other hand, had a feeling there was something off, he looked back at the bathroom door once more before grabbing a book and dancing his eyes on more lore, his mind trying to figuring out what could be up with you.

You just stood there watching yourself in the mirror, what felt like second to minutes hearing a knock on the door, you then heard the soft voice of Sam, "Hey you good in there, kid? its been over an hour." You furrowed your brows before opening the door revealing your brothers standing there with a concerned look to there eyes. You nodded "Yeah yeah I'm fine, jeez has it really been an hour?" You checked your phone seeing they weren't lying, you pushed past them heading to the mini fridge grabbing yourself a coke.

You could almost feel their concerned eyes burning into your soul from behind you, "You know you suck at lying Y/N" Dean spoke up as he walked towards you, Sam slowly behind him. You turned around and faked being offended "Uh, No I'm not," You said taking a sip of the cold sugary drink.

"Y/N, we can't help if you don't tell us, kid."

"You know you can come to us for anything, we won't judge you,"

You groaned and looked up at the ceiling and back down at the ground as you felt your heart ache a little at the last sentence, "there's nothing to tell my dear brothers, I'm fine, pinky promise," You lied looking at both brothers as you put down your soda on the counter behind you and held out both of your pinkys and had a small reassuring smile to them as you.

Both still unconvinced they reached out and grabbed your one of your pinky with theirs, you kissed both of your thumbs and released.

You took your coke back into your hands and heading to one of the beds laying down and turning on the TV, leaving your brothers having a silent conversation with each other.

You couldn't sleep later that night, you were laying on your side back away from a sleeping Sam you were sharing the bed with. You replayed the actions of today and felt the tears you were holding back come rolling down as you got lost in thought.

'What's wrong with me?'

------

*4 years later*

You were sixteen now and finally figured out who you were, you were relieved and happy but you couldn't also help but feel a little ashamed in who you were. You couldn't be open, you couldn't really experience who you were.

You entered the bunker, your heart beating a mile a minute as you tried to fight and hide the fear that was coming through, but you were losing that battle. You walked down the bunkers stairs and made your way to the library to see your brothers consumed in lore. "Hey guys," You said faking a happy tone gleeful smile "Hey kiddo, how was your day?" Dean asked as he smiled back at you as Sam looked up to you. "It was good, the usual," you huffed sitting on the table across from your brothers, "I actually had something to tell you, both of you actually," You said as you felt the fear in you is kicking in faster, your heart beating faster. "What's going on? everything good?" Sam said as he pushed the book full of lore away from him and turning his attention to you, you eyed both of your brothers "I- I I'm uh um.." You could hardly get those two little words out of your mouth.

'Why was this so hard?'

"You're not pregnant, are you? Who was it? I swear I'm going to rip their throats out!" You heard Dean rambled and exclaimed about a boy who didn't even exist, You raised your eyebrows in amusement and shock, watching as Sam was now silently in the same mood as Dean. you were going to say something but he kept going. "OKAY, OKAY DEAN!" you groaned out causing him to stop to look at you and Sam to snap out of his thoughts. "There are two major things that came out of your mouth that were all over the place on your first rant," You said putting your hand up in a circular motion making Dean furrow his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what he said and Sam just looked up at you with the same furrowed confusion.

You took a deep breath looking at the ceiling of the bunker

here goes nothing.

"In order to get pregnant I need to be attracted to the opposite sex," You said in a rushed sentence, seeing both brothers confusion to more confusion then realization, "and two just outta curiosity how would you rip out a throat? You going to ask the nice vampire in the house next block over to turn you for 24 hours and heal yourself?" You said nervously trying to change the subject before they could say or do anything.

You stopped yourself from going further heaving out a sigh, you lightly hit the table with your hands and closed your eyes, "What I'm trying to say is Sam, Dean I'm gay," You said as you kept your eyes closed not wanting to see the hatred on their faces.

The silence in the room grew what felt like hours, when really it was just seconds, you could feel the hot tears beginning to rush down your cheeks, you jumped off the table and started to head to your room when you felt someone grasp your wrist in a gentle but firm hold and quickly crashing you to their chest, holding you close.

You were taken back a little by the sudden movement you took in the scent of Dean, you wrapped your arms tightly around him as the tears still flowed down, creating a wet spot on his shirt.

"I- we love you no matter what, we just want you to be happy and be who you are, always." You heard Deans soft yet gruffly voice rang through your ears, you smiled into his chest "Thank you," you whispered and squeezing him a little tighter before releasing from each other grasps.

You were pulled into another pair of arms. Sam. You smiled softly in his chest as you took in his scents. "I'm so proud of you kiddo, and like Dean said we love you no matter what, okay?" He said as he rested his chin on your head, holding you close to him a little tighter.

You softly nodded into his chest and rested into his arms a little longer before letting each other go. You stood in front of your brothers and softly smiled at them "I love you both too, Thank you" was all you could manage to say while the smile stayed stuck to your face.

"You don't ever have to thank us for something as simple as this, kid, thank you for telling us," Dean said, Sam nodded in agreement as they both smiled back at you.

You huffed out in relief through your nose and looked at the ground,

I did it.

You looked back up at your brothers and clapped your hands, "okay enough of this sappy stuff, you guys catch a case?"

They chuckled slightly and nodded as they sat back down again, filling you in on a possible case.

just like that, that small feeling of being ashamed started to fade.

part 2 coming soon :)

[suicidalcatz]

DOG DAYS ARE OVER : CHAP 11

Pairing : Jake Kiszka x reader

Genre : College AU

Previous parts : Prologue ; Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2 ; Chapter 3 ; Chapter 4 ; Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7 ; Chapter 8 ; Chapter 9 ; Chapter 10

Masterlist : here

AN : It is wednesday, my dudes! This part and the next ones are like 90% fluff, 10% angst... like bittersweet. You’re still heartbroken but try to keep your friendship with Jake, while doing all of your homework... A lot to handle. Actually I had to cut the chapter in half because it was too long (9-10 pages). I really hope you’ll like this chapter because I liked writing it! Feel free to tell me what you thought of it, send me dms or questions, and thanks for reading me x

Chapitre 11 : Would you cook for me ?

Ignoring Jake's texts or avoiding him was useless. But hanging out with him was a challenge I wasn't ready to handle, never asked for, and yet was pushed into. Pretending I didn't see him when we crossed paths in the hallways, or that I didn't receive any of his texts was petty, there was no point in doing so. I couldn't avoid him without giving him any reason, and I couldn't tell him why I needed some time far away from him either because it meant revealing the truth and 1) I wasn't ready, 2) he'd be the one avoiding me like the black plague if I did. It brought me to the conclusion that I would simply pretend nothing happened at all. Jake hadn't noticed the whole situation anyway, so to him it'd already be like everything was normal, just like it always had been between us. It was the best I could think of. For him, for Josh, for anyone. For me ? Not so much. Of course I was still heartbroken, of course it'd take me some time to get over him, and staying by his side would be like rubbing salt on a wound while demanding for it to heal. But I wouldn't risk to break our group's dynamic for selfish reasons. So I sucked that in, everything. The sadness, and painful pang of my chest every time I saw his face, while repeating myself it was for the best.

That aside, I had some other things coming. For the worst. My useless self got so into self-pity and deprecation that I had totally forgotten about homework... And my drawing teacher would be less than pleased as we were all supposed to hand her five new portraits on Monday. Realization hit me during breakfast with Josh who had slept here, when I saw Mandy pack her things and idly noticing out loud that I wasn't carrying a lot of stuff for once. This. This was the cue. But it was too late now, I thought as I walked down the halls by their side. On our way to the amphitheater we saw Jake, waiting in front of the door for the teacher to come. Other students were here too, chatting and yawning with their backs against the walls or sitting on the floor. Josh looked at me like he wasn't sure if he should greet him but the brunette was the one spotting us, gesturing us to come join him. My eyes were probably still a bit puffy but with the makeup it could pass for lack of sleep. Of course he knew Josh stayed at our place last time, I had made sure the boy texted him, and the jerk had taken this opportunity to ask his brother to bring him all his school supplies, backpack included. Unbelievable.

- Your stuff, said Jake handing Josh his bag.

- Who's the big brother again ?, I jokingly asked with a raised eyebrow.

- He's 5 minutes older, replied Jake.

- You'll never live it down !

We all chatted quietly, and I never felt more conflicted in my entire life. My heart didn't know if it should beat faster or hurt like hell, so it seemed to do both, making me feel weird just by being next to Jake. My body was in total contradiction with itself. I couldn't hold back the smile that crept across my face, but at the same time wouldn't meet Jake in the eye, disguising it by cracking joke after joke while my stress level kept rising the more time passed. My thoughts were running wild. In a few hours the drawing teacher was going to yell at me in front of the whole workshop and I couldn't handle it. I'd surely burst into tears and feel even more ashamed. I'd probably-

- Hey, you alright ?

A soft touch caressed my back and I involuntarily jerked forward, out of its grasp, before realizing and suddenly feeling bashful at my reaction. I could tell Jake was surprised by it but it lasted only a second before his face showed concern.

- Yeah, I just didn't finish my work on time... That witch is gonna murder me and ask the others students to draw a perspective of my corpse I'm sure.

I heard his chuckles before the tutor cut him off, passing by us with the keys in hand to unlock the door, separating the sea of students in half like an artsy Moses. Jake was at the other side when the crowd engulfed through the small door, letting us no choice but to keep our bodies to the walls.

- Do you wanna sit together today ?, asked Jake above the loud stomping noises.

Because of the students between us I couldn't really see his face, but was glad because it meant he couldn't see mine whitening. Josh and Mandy on the other hand were just next to me and clearly witnessed my expression change. To think that a week before I would've been on cloud nine being able to sit next to him for two whole hours... Oh how things could change fast.

We were now the three last people left outside and Jake held the door for us, continuing speaking.

- You guys are always exchanging notes, we should just, ya know ? Sit next to each other and... quietly chat.

As backup to his words, he murmured the last part in a very exaggerated fashion, in a failed attempt to make me smile. I couldn't just say no to him without looking weird because I had no reason to. Even if I knew he wouldn't push the matter, there was no way he wouldn't question it, right ? Josh came to the rescue, playfully elbowing him.

- But then where's the fun in that ? Right girls ?

Both agreeing, we rushed to our usual seats, letting a dumbfounded Jake close the door behind him. In their habitual fashion, Mandy and Josh threw paper balls at each other, while I was for once too focused on the lecture to participate in their shenanigans. I needed to get my mind to focus on something and right now Gilgamesh sounded like a good deal, so I took as many notes as possible. A task proven even more difficult because in the corner of my eye, I could see Jake staring at me.

Saying my drawing teacher killed me was a little bit of an understatement. She scared the shit out of me with her scolding. To be fair, even in a normal mood she was a scary woman. The already quiet   class went completely still and silent when she barked at me, admonishing me with charming names such as « useless », « disappointing » and the timeless « lamentable ». A classic. Truth to be told it hurt much less than I previously anticipated, mainly because I was already half dead inside, with the emotional range of a cactus, and my self-esteem nearly reaching zero. Nothing much to attack, really. Nevertheless, she demanded that I hand her all five portraits plus the five others we had to do this week by the next monday. Meaning I had ten to do in a week. It physically hurt just thinking about it, and I could hear a quiet « oof » escaping some of my classmates' mouths. It's with a huge relieved sigh that I found my bed this afternoon once school was over. This day had been a catastrophe so far, so there was no other thing I wanted to do more than put on my Pjs, put some music on, and slowly work at my desk, thinking Tuesay will be a better day.

Tuesday was not a better day. Wednesday either. All my homework slowly started piling up on my desk to the point where it was starting to be difficult to keep track of it. And sleeping four hours a night wasn't doing my mental health any good. I knew I had two possibilities now ; sleep less but do my work, or skip some classes to work. It was beginning to get ridiculous, skipping classes so I could do my homework. I knew art schools were difficult, awfully so, but like most people I hadn't realized until then, in this very moment, standing in front of my desk completely covered in paint, canvas, my computer, sketches, inks... some brushes had fallen on the floor, staining it in their passage. My laptop was so dirty it wasn't in its original color anymore. There were blotches of paint, ink, and charcoal here and there that I couldn't remove the harder I had tried to, forcing me to give up. At some point I got so tired I put my paintbrush into my cup of tea/coffee, mistaking it with the goblet of water.

- ...Are you alright ?, enquired Mandy on Thursday night.

One look at my face and she had her answer. Bless her soul, she didn't need any more to bring me an energy drink from the fridge.

- I still have five portraits to do. Four pencil ones, and one painting. They all have to be from different angles, and I can't find any models, I complained while throwing my hand in the air in an act of pure desperation.

Mandy knew better than to sit at the edge of my risky desk with her designer clothes, so she leaned on the doorframe, slowly nodding her head in a pensive manner while I kept explaining the situation.

- All week I couldn't find anyone because they all had homework to do, and now most of them are skipping tomorrow's lecture to go home early so nobody's available !

My rommate crossed her arms, thinking hard. I already did almost all my paintings, asking for both her and Josh's help. Both of them were glad to help and even more so to figure on a monochrome painting on a canvas.

- Can you draw the same person multiple times ?, she finally asked.

- Actually... I don't know. I don't think that would be a problem as long as the work is done ?

Hopping on her feet, Mandy lifted an eyebrow before dragging a chair to sit on.

- Let's get into it then, we only have one lecture tomorrow, you can skip it I'll take notes for you.

Having a good night of sleep never felt this good. No. Waking up at 8, slowly realizing everybody was sitting on a lecture except me, and then getting back to sleep was way better. I sketched poor Mandy two times last night but the results were good, and she looked pleased herself. I didn't have time to redo any of these anyway, I still had other work to do. Waking me from my well deserved nap, my phone vibrated under the pillow, the screen blinding me despite the sun peaking through the curtains.

« The boys asked where you were. Told them about the portraits situation. Jake wants to help. Couldn't stop him. »

If the beginning of the text made me smile, the end completely shook me awake, making me sit hurriedly on the bed, rereading the words multiple times. Scratching my face, I quickly glanced at the hour. They were out in a few minutes. My fingers tapped the next message as soon as they could, asking her how and when, while I ran to the showers with my towel, soap and toothbrush in hand. At this hour, and a Friday, they were all available. The other residents were all either drunk as hell and passed out in their room, or in their hometown with their family and friends. The buzzing of my phone vibrating reverberated against the shower walls and it almost got drowned in the sink when I caught it to look at the screen. It was Mandy.

« They kinda invited themselves over to eat. Josh's idea.»

What the hell Joshua we're not your moms ! Throwing my phone to the nearest flat surface, I jumped on some discarded overalls and put on a sweater, wet hair dripping everywhere on the floor, table, but mostly on my clothes, making me sneeze in the process. The whole week I was so overwhelmingly busy with work that not only did my fingers hurt but I didn't have any time to see the Kiszkas let alone think about them since our shared lecture on Monday. I even skipped the Lunch Club in order to get back to the dorms and work on my assignments. Which thankfully saved me a lot of time, but I still had 2 pencil drawings to do and one painting. Once I had put on some makeup, I took a moment to look around me. Our place looked like a dump, no less. Clothes and art furniture were everywhere, the trash was overflowing with empty cup noodles and fast food leftovers, it smelled like perfume and soap mixing with rotten food, paint and cold tobacco. It was terrible, and made me shocked that I even got used to that. A life achievement of some sort. Everything on the floor I put it on a trash bag, running in the stairs to throw everything outside with the others'. My phone vibrated in my pocket, a new notification popping on the screen.

« They bought some stuff at the store, they wanna cook us something. Jake's idea. »

Okay, time to clean the kitchen.

By the time they got here, I looked even more tired than before, owing my guests looks of concern. If was funny, how they put on the exact same face while seeing me. It was like I just mirrored a picture. Their similar features would never cease to amaze me.

- Mama you're very pale.

- Did you not sleep well ?

- I did, don't worry, I dismissed their concern. Had to clean up a bit.

Mandy bit his lip, knowing damn well the place had been a war field when she left. Unaware of anything, the boys put the bags of groceries on the table before apologizing for intruding. We all sat around the table to have a pleasant talk, my friends always making sure I wasn't next to Jake to avoid any brutal peak of awkwardness / sadness. But some habits died hard, I realized when Jake asked if he could have a tour of our dorm. Ignoring glances, I stood up and gestured for him to go first, into the biggest room, were Mandy and I's workshop and beds were. The boy let out a low whistle that flattered me. He looked impressed by everything around him, touching odd looking brushes and browsing illustration books. I knew better this time, and had put his painted portrait under my bed, wrapped in an old sheet. Just as his brother did, he liked to take in his hands everything that came by, caressing it with his fingertips or idly lifting the weight of it in his palms like he was discovering an unknown world. Unmoving, I let Jake do his little tour, watching the street view by the window, sitting on my disheleved bed, jumping slightly to make the mattress bounce like he was testing it before buying.

- So this is where you're gonna paint me, he said, pointing at a chair between my desk and me.

My pale face grew some colors at the thought of it before I nodded quickly, in a childlike way, caressing the wooden chair's back.

- I'll try to be fast so you won't get bored, I assured without looking him in the eye.

It was this moment Josh chose to appear at the corner of the doorframe.

- Jakey we should start cooking or the potatoes will never be ready on time. Come on, doll.

He took me by one of my overalls' straps, pulling me inside the kitchen, making me laugh and pushing my shoulders so I stayed on my seat. Mandy and I gazed at them with awe as they poured us drinks while Jake asked where the spatula was, and Josh was washing the vegetables, already familiar with his surroundings.

In silence, I looked at Jake removing every one of his rings to put it on top of the fridge where no one could kick them, before tying his hair in a tight ponytail. Maybe it was because I only ever saw him with long brown locks framing his face, but he looked even better than usual. If he caught me staring, he didn't adress it, only smiled at me, turning his back to us to help his brother.

- Do you need any help ?, I asked while showing them where the frypans were. You guys are our guests it doesn't seem fair...

Of course the kitchen wasn't a real one, there was only a microwave and some hotplates fixed to a cabinet by the sink. Putting more than one person behind the counter was impossible without bumping into each other, and I could smell the accident from afar when Josh maneuvered the hot water filled pan at the same time Jake opened up a cupboard right above his curly head. Curiously so, probably because they had way more cooking experience than I thought, the boys handled the situation neatly, and Jake was the one preventing me from bumping into his brother.

- Go sit and relax, we've got this, he said while turning me around by the shoulders.

Watching boys make lunch had got to be some sort of ASMR because just watching the muscles of their back move while they were chopping onions and peeling potatoes had some real therapeutic effects on me. We continued chatting together, all the while answering their questions on « Where are the knives ? » and « Where do you keep the salt ? ». Kind of surprised that Josh had the permission of holding a kitchen knife, by the way, this part made me feel the absolute opposite of ASMR but he did a pretty good job, from what I could see. Mandy put on some music on the speakers, argued with Jake over the sound of it as to what was acceptable or not music-wise, and Josh made a show of crying because of the onions, yelling about becoming blind until Jake gently slapped the back of his head. It was all laughs and good conversation, like we've been friends for years, and at the same time I couldn't shake these feelings I had towards Jake. There was something extremely erotic about seeing a dude wearing a dishcloth on his shoulder. Or was it just Jake wearing it really well ?

They refused to tell us what we were eating, muttering to themselves and sometimes asking if we were allergic to this or that, only announcing it while putting the plate on the table, with Josh making grand gestures as usual, using his best waiter voice.

- Crêpes au zucchini accompanied by a fresh salad decorated with feta and its apple slices, ladies.

- Bon appétit, added Jake.

The table was already set because it was the only thing we were allowed to do, so at least the boys could now rest. It looked really good. Way less fancy than what Josh had announced of course but it smelled wonderful, the sweet scent settling in all of our dorm. And the taste, oh Lord. Everything melted in my mouth, the onions they fried were just crispy enough to add something to it, and I learned this day that cheese and apple were really good and refreshing together. A new snack idea I'd keep for my sleepless work nights at the desk. And as dessert, the boys brought beers. Of course.

[trashyswitch]

Natural Cure For Stress

Shawn is overworked, and making mistake after mistake. Marvin notices this, and decides to show Shawn another use for his paintbrushes...

Shawn Flynn is in his office, working on his bendy dolls. He had a paintbrush in his shaky right hand, a bendy doll in his left hand and a small pile of unfinished bendy dolls. He was trying to paint eyes and mouths on the bendy dolls, but was struggling. He had been stressed from overworking, and his painting mistakes were not helping matters. He has been painting crooked smiles again. No matter how much he tried to fix it, the crooked smiles were still noticeable. On a normal day, he would've had the patience to turn his reoccurring bad habit into a joke. But not today. His patience was wearing thin, and Shawn couldn't get away with mistakes as easily as one may realize. The thing is, Joey Drew and Shawn Flynn's personalities were very similar. There were times where that was helpful, but mistakes like this were the big downfall of such a personality shared between a toy maker and his boss.

Shawn placed the semi-finished doll onto the 'finished' pile, and grabbed another unfinished doll. After loading the end of the brush with some ink, Shawn held his loaded brush towards the bendy doll. Before making contact with the doll, Shawn tried to calm his shaky hand so he could draw a normal, uncrooked smile. His hand calmed down a bit, so he allowed the brush end to hit the doll. He managed to draw the eyes with little issues, but the mouth was still causing some issues. No matter how much he tried to calm the bouncing nerves in his dominant hand, he couldn't...draw...a...normal...SMILE!

Presenting:

Another crooked smile.

That was the last straw for the stressed man. He dropped the bendy doll, and threw his paintbrush across the room. he let it clink against the wall, and fall onto the hardwood floor. Breathing heavily out of pure anger, Shawn walked up to his bed, and started letting out all his anger into his strong bed. He punched the mattress, threw his comforter off the bed, screamed into his pillow and wrestled with the comforter on the bed.

Every punch felt good. Every scream felt relieving. Throwing his comforter and wrestling it like a mad man, was surprisingly helpful. He knew he couldn't win against an inanimate object, but it still felt good to get his anger out in this fashion. After lots more wrestling and muscle clenching, he abruptly stopped. He let his body lay with his back against the balled up comforter, breathing deeply in exhaustion. Despite his anger lessening after his outburst, he still felt the need to cry. So, he let it out. He let every tear fall down his face and didn't bother wiping them away. He felt every tear fall from his eyes, and drip onto his pillow. He let out every sob, every whine, and every loud crying noise leave his sore throat.

"Shawn? You okay?" someone said. Shawn didn't even hear the knock on the door, let alone the door open. Shawn moved his body to face the door and see who it was.

It was Marvin.

"I heard some noise in here...It...looks like you completely demolished your bed..." Marvin said, looking around at the semi-naked mattress. The bed sheets had been knocked off, the sheets below the comforter were laying on the floor, and his comforter was in a big ball on the mattress...With Shawn laying in it. Despite Shawn's body being covered in the comforter, his head was still visible. His eyes were puffy, and his face was covered in tears.

"What happened?" Marvin asked, genuinely worried for Shawn's mental health.

Shawn sniffed, wiped his eyes as best as he could, and sat up.

"I...I'm just frustrated." Shawn explained briefly in a hoarse voice.

"Just frustrated? You look like you're going through a meltdown." Marvin said, better explaining Shawn's emotional state from just looking at him.

"I...I guess so..." Shawn replied quietly.

"Why are you having a meltdown?" Marvin asked. Shawn's pent up sadness had decided to break open then and there, leading to Shawn being stuck in another loud crying fit. Marvin watched from a distance, giving Shawn some space to le it all out.

"I keep messing up the bendy dolls." Shawn explained with an angry voice, pointing at the pile of bendy dolls with crooked smiles.

Marvin walked up to the desk, and picked up one of the dolls with crooked smiles. It looked like it was kinda crooked, but more so messy from the attempts to wipe off the ink and replace it. He shrugged his shoulders, and placed the doll back. Marvin walked up to Shawn's bed. He picked up the sheet and placed it on the other side of the bed. Not entirely sure what to do, Marvin decided to start by showing support without words. How would he do this? Why, by laying beside him on the bed. Shawn let his body fall back onto the comforter. Laying on his back, he stared at the grey ceiling above him, and counted the tiny blotches of ink he had accidentally splattered on there over many years. Beside him, Shawn had broken into a smaller crying fit, and started pulling his comforter closer to his chest for comfort.

"I'm tired of being a perfectionist. *sobs* Everywhere I look, there's a thing out of place, or *sob* *sob* a-" Shawn took a break for a second, to calm himself down a bit. "Or...a mistake out of reach for me to fix it." Shawn explained with a slightly less shaky voice.

"You're not a perfectionist...I've been around you enough to know." Marvin replied.

"But how do you explain this?" Shawn sobbed, showing Marvin another bendy doll with a jittery, crooked smile.

Marvin smiled patiently. "You're a workaholic." Marvin explained. Shawn dropped the doll and placed his arm back in its previous position. "Working at Joey Drew's Studios has done a number on many of the staff, including you. Your scars just happen to be more hidden than others." Marvin explained.

Shawn let out a laugh that felt out of place for the situation. "Some people are dead, others have gotten similar jobs, a few have settled down and made families, and I'm stuck here trying to practice the one skill I have." Shawn added.

"Well sure...others have done bigger things with their lives, but they still live with the haunting memories of that place. Some of them most likely, will have PTSD from such an experience." Marvin mentioned.

Shawn sighed, staring at the ceiling. "Yaaaa..."

"I think it's cool that you still make these dolls. A little unhealthy maybe, but still interesting." Marvin explained as best he could, without hurting his feelings.

"Do you think I'm dwelling on the past too much?" Shawn asked, looking at the messy bendy doll.

"Well...I think it's good to dwell on the past a little bit. It helps a person heal the scars they've got from their past." Marvin replied, being as optimistic as possible.

"So I am...You could've just said that." Shawn said, frowning as he lazily threw the doll away.

"Well...I don't know about how good or bad it can be...And, I'm an optimistic person." Marvin explained.

"Ya, that's one of your good traits." Shawn said with a small smile.

"You know, you have some good traits as well." Marvin mentioned. "You're hilarious, hard-working, and down to earth." He added.

Shawn giggled. "Thanks...I would be more laid back with my toy making as well, if it weren't for Drew getting to me all the time." Shawn mentioned, showing Marvin the only genuine smile he's shown in the last 15 minutes.

"That's yours. Taking on that personality trait is the scar you gained from working at such a place. But hey, you were right all along: That place was terrible." Marvin replied, chuckling.

"Agreed. I like my room workshop a lot better." Shawn agreed.

"It's really nice! Reminds me of old fashioned creativity!" Marvin explained.

Shawn laughed louder. "Well DUH! Of course it does! Bendy was a black and white cartoon! And everything based around that had to be black and white as well!" Shawn explained, stating the obvious.

"Why do you not use color now? We have endless amounts of markers, thanks to Chase's kids being here! Why don't you use those?" Marvin asked.

"Cause I can't imagine Bendy, Boris or Alice any other way." Shawn replied. Marvin nodded. "-And cause I wouldn't wanna steal them from the kids." Shawn replied.

"Aw come on! The kids can survive without the markers for one weekend." Marvin complained.

"No, they can't! They love those markers! Especially the younger one." Shawn defended.

"True..." Marvin muttered. The two adults fell into a comfortable silence. Marvin was trying to think of some art jokes, while Shawn went back to counting the blotches of ink on the ceiling.

"Hey, did you hear about the new blonde paint?" Marvin asked.

"Uhhh...what? no..." Shawn said, clueless to what Marvin was referring to.

"It's not real bright, but it's cheap, and it spreads easy." Marvin said, shooting Shawn a pair of gun fingers at him.

Shawn's face was blank at first...What was he-Oh...it's a joke...Shawn rolled his eyes. "Oh my god...Really?!" Shawn reacted.

"Come on! It was clever!" Marvin defended.

"Clever, but corny." Shawn argued. Marvin smiled, and thought of another one.

"A gentleman visits a museum. Suddenly he stops and says to the guide: 'Ah, it's ugly!' 'I beg your pardon that's a Picasso' the guide answers." Marvin explained, giving the gentlemen and the guide different voices. His smile grew bigger as he reached the punchline. "Further on, he exclaims again: 'Ah, it's really ugly!' 'That sir, it's a mirror!'" Marvin ended, giving a little chuckle.

Shawn body jumped as he unexpectedly laughed. "Pffffffft...Ohohokay, I like that one." Shawn commented.

"Did you here about the attempt robbery at the museum?" Marvin asked.

"Nope. What happened?" Shawn replied.

"They had ran out of gas a few blocks away when the police caught them, and they said, 'We didn't have the Monet to buy Degas to make the Van Gogh'." Marvin ended, smiling at the punchline.

Shawn shook his head and rubbed his nose. "That is so bad..." Shawn reacted, feeling a goofy smile take over his lips.

"Aw come on, you smiled." Marvin teased, giving him a few pokes on the arm.

"No I didn't!" Shawn argued, trying to hide his smile to prove it.

"Oh really?" Marvin asked, poking Shawn a few more times. Shawn was using his right hand to cover his mouth, and his left hand to swat Marvin's hand away.

"Really! I did NO-AHA! Stop!" Shawn defended, before being interrupted by a laugh of his own.

Marvin's eyebrow raised. "What did I do?" He asked, completely unaware of what he did.

"N-nothing. Just stop poking me." Shawn replied, trying to shut down the question. However, Marvin was not leaving until he got his answer. Marvin grabbed Shawn's upper arm, and started poking different sides of the arm.

"Hey! What did I just say?! Stop! Marvin, please!" Shawn yelled, raising his voice louder and louder, to get his point across.

"If you stay still, this'll be-" Marvin started, before watching the poking finger slide to Shawn's side.

"AAH!" Shawn yelped, jolting and freezing for a second.

Marvin felt his lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Are you ticklish by any chance?" Marvin asked.

"Uhhhh........no?" Shawn replied hesitantly.

Shawn could just see the gears turning in his brain, which wasn't too good for him. Well, it was kinda good...Shawn had mixed feelings about it. He hadn't been tickled in a very long time, and he's kinda missed it. But at the same time, this is Marvin we're talking about! He can make you laugh harder than you've ever laughed before.

"I think someone is lyyyyying!" Marvin teased, stretching out the last word for extra emphasis.

"Okay, I'm a little ticklish. But please! If you're gonna tickle me, go easy..." Shawn warned.

Marvin's smile grew. "Promise." He replied, before diving in.

Marvin started out on the spot he accidentally poked earlier: The sides.

"Ahahahaha! Ehehe! Hahahahahaha!" Shawn laughed, squirming back and forth almost immediately.

"Alright! Starting off slow. Is this okay?" Marvin asked.

"Yahahaha. Thihihihihis ihihis gohohohohood." Shawn replied through his laughter.

"Alright. If you want me to go harder or softer, just let me know." Marvin suggested.

"Ohohokay." Shawn replied, nodding his head slightly as he laughed happily.

After a few more minutes, Marvin decided to switch up tactics. "I'm getting bored of this spot. Where should we go next?" Marvin thought out loud. He thought about the many spots he could try, as he looked at Shawn's upper body. Marvin reached his hands out, towards Shawn's lower part of the shirt. "How about here?" Marvin asked, before wiggling his fingers on Shawn's stomach.

"Wahahahait! Mahahaharvihihihin!!" Shawn yelled, going right to squirming and pushing away again.

"What? I'm just giving your tummy some attention!" Marvin teased, before dipping a finger into his belly button.

"WAHAHA! NOT THE BELLY BUTTON! ANYTHING BUT THE BELLY BUTTON!" Shawn begged loudly.

"Really? But Shaaaawwwn, I really want to! How about..." Marvin started, before using his magic to make something appear in his hands. "...I use a feather instead? Would that be better?" Marvin asked. Shawn visibly froze, staring at the white feather that Marvin was spinning in his hands.

"Uhuhuhuh...I...I don't know..." Shawn replied, hesitantly.

"Perhaps a little flitter-flutter will make up your mind?" Marvin said with the biggest smirk he had ever seen on a man. Before Shawn could say anything, Marvin had pinned his hands above him with one hand, and dipped the fluffy part of the feather into his belly button with the other.

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut as he let out a high-pitched squeal. "EEEEEEK! EHEHEHEHEHEHEH!" Shawn giggled loudly.

Marvin gasped, dropped the feather, and covered his mouth to stop himself from letting out a squeal of his own. "YOUR GIGGLE IS SO ADORABLE! I wanna hear more of it!" Marvin cheered, bouncing and clenching his empty fist excitedly. Immediately after, Marvin picked the feather up again and fluttered the feather in Shawn's belly button again.

"EEEHEHEHEHEHEHE! PLEHEHEHEHEEEEEASE!" Shawn yelled through his squeals.

"Please what? 'please tickle you more?' Why of course! Your wish is granted!" Marvin cheered with pure confidence. He fluttered the feather inside the belly button for a little longer, making sure to touch the very outside of the belly button as well.

"THAHAHAT'S NAHAHAT WHAHAT I MEHEHEHEHEANT! NAHAHAHAHAHOHOHOHO!" Shawn argued through his high pitched laughter. Everywhere he squirmed and swayed, Marvin would still find a way to get the feather back in its rightful place. Marvin happily enjoyed Shawn's laughter as he fluttered the feather.

"Oooh! I'm curious about something: How's sensitive is your neck?" Marvin asked teasingly, lifting the feather away for a few seconds. Shawn took in as many breaths as he could, without causing himself to erupt into coughing fits.

Marvin lowered the feather towards the side of Shawn's neck, earning a few wobbly smiles and nervous squeals.

"You ready?" Marvin asked, keeping the soft feather millimeters away from Shawn's skin. Shawn nodded his head rather frantically. It seemed like Shawn wanted to stop the suspense and get on with it! So, Marvin granted his wish with a simple flutter of the feather. However, it wasn't just one, but many repeated flutters! They never seemed to stop, and the sensation was driving Shawn up the wall!

Shawn threw his head back and let it out. "EEEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA! OHOHOHOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAD! THIHIHIS IS SOOOOO BAHAHAHAHAHAD!" Shawn yelled, switching from adorable, high-pitched giggles to hysterical belly laughs.

This kind of laugh was truly genuine! Marvin could tell. He had known Shawn's neck to be fairly sensitive (mostly because JJ accidentally leaked the news to him), but he didn't know that THIS would be the result! Such wholesome laughter! Unbelievably adorable! Much cute! Marvin was practically dying from cuteness overload as he sat there, covering several sides of Shawn's neck with light, tingly tickles.

"Does this tickle? How about here? What about right back here? Which is worse? This? Or this? Or, is THIS worse?" Marvin asked, fluttering the feather in a different spot every time he asked a new question. Shawn was scrunching his shoulders, hiding/exposing certain parts of his neck, and doing everything he possibly could to lessen the phantom tickles that still lingered in his neck. But no matter how much he fought, nothing could prepare Shawn for the next few seconds...

Marvin had used his magic once again, to create another feather. With Shawn's hands free to squirm and 2 feathers in his hands, Marvin happily attacked both sides of Shawn's neck. At one point, Marvin even fluttered the two feathers under Shawn's chin for a few seconds. That earned him a well deserved squeal and a few high-pitched giggles.

"MAHAHARVIHIHIHIHIHIHIN!" Shawn yelled through his helpless giggles. Despite his hands being free to cover the spot, Shawn only kept his hands scrunched up together on his chest.

"I must say, your giggles and laughs are super adorable." Marvin admitted. Shawn let a wobbly smile show up on his lips, as his cheeks started to glow a dark red from embarrassment.

"W-What...What am I supposed to say to that?!" Shawn replied frantically, unable to cope with the feelings of being flattered and bashful.

"A simple 'Thank you' will suffice." Marvin replied happily, his cheeks showing a light red as well.

Shawn accidentally let out a few nervous giggles and covered his mouth with both hands. Utterly embarrassed to be responding to such an odd compliment, Shawn said the very thing he was told to say, but through his hands rather than outright.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Marvin asked, bring his ear closer to the flustered man below him. Shawn felt his face flush a darker red, as he realized he was gonna have to repeat his response.

"Sssssan-ku..." Shawn repeated through his teeth.

Marvin frowned. "I'm afraid I still can't hear you under those hands of yours. It's rather a shame, actually. Would you please consider moving your hands so I can hear you better?" Marvin asked, in a teasy, but polite way. Shawn felt his smile grow wider under his hands. There was no way he could do that in this state! So, Shawn frantically shook his head.

"Oh...Well, perhaps you need a little...encouragement..." Marvin said, before showing Shawn his wiggly fingers. Shawn's eyes widened. He scrunched up his shoulders and let out a high pitched squeal. Marvin lifted up Shawn's shirt, before dipping his finger into Shawn's belly button and swirling it around a bit...

That broke the dam right open.

"eeeeEEEEEEKK! NAHAHAHAHAHA! EHEHEHEHEHE! OKAYOKAHAHAHAHAY! THAHAHAHANK YOU! THANK YOHOHOHOU! I SAHAHAHAID IT! NOW PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAP!" Shawn yelled through his hysterical laughter. Marvin smiled and removed his finger.

"Indeed you did! And you should never forget it." Marvin replied, smiling happily before helping him up.

"Ihihihi woohohohohohon't..." Shawn said, still giggling from the tickle attack.

"Good." Marvin said, winking before walking away.

The strange part about the whole experience...was those tickles actually worked wonders! Who knew Marvin would be so good at helping him?! I guess Marvin is someone he could go to in a time of anger and frustration...Strange how things work out, isn't it?

[dropintomanga]

G Is Not Only for Gintama, But Also Gratitude

So it really is over, huh?

Gintama was everything I wanted despite its shortcomings near the end. The final chapter was a toast to what made the series a cult hit to many fans - blunt humor, hilarious characters, touching interactions and lessons on how to live in a world that doesn’t hesitate to beat you down.

One of the funniest things about the final chapter was Hideaki Sorachi’s awareness of the final chapter shams he was pulling off. Most of the major characters tried to come up with some silly endings of their own. Yet in the end, the status quo still remains the same in a joyful way.

There’s a moment I want to focus on in the final chapter and it’s the final interaction between Gintoki Sakata and his master, Shoyo Yoshida. While teaming up to save Edo and the rest of the world one last time, Gintoki tells a revived but dying Shoyo that he wanted to let him know how much he’s grown. He tells him that he found people of his own, Kagura and Shinpachi Shimura, to help people in need. What makes this scene memorable is that the Yorozuya are all together helping Shoyo. Shoyo replies by telling Gintoki that he turned out to be a great man after being born a “demon child.” In a way, it speaks to how much people want notable approval from peers and mentors.

When you’re a parent/teacher/caregiver/guardian or any person that has some sort of hierarchical relationship with someone below you, you try your best to set them on a path where they’ll do just fine. You might worry about how they’ll turn out as obstacles pile up. You hope your advice rings through to the end even if you might be suffering inside.

And when you’re on the other end, you want to make your mentor proud. They helped to change your view of the world when it was limited. They gave you opportunities that probably no one could/was able to give you. You understand that it’s possible you wouldn’t be here today without their support.

I feel the strongest lesson of Gintama is gratitude towards anyone who’s been with you along the way - even the people who may not be the best of friends. All the Gintama characters aren’t super-close (i.e. the Yorozuya and Shinsengumi have a somewhat testy bond), but they know and respect each other to the point where they’re visibly appreciative of whatever help they get from one another over the years.

People always talk about how working hard will make all your dreams come true when it’s not totally true. I feel that Gintama is in some ways, a stand against the idea of meritocracy. The residents of Kabukicho have all been cast aside by alien rulers who felt justified that only their success matters. If your life sucks, then you didn’t put enough effort or so they say.

Throughout Gintama, there’s no training arcs. In a series like this where most of the characters’ problems stem from situations beyond their control, it makes sense. No amount of physical training can help you completely process guilt and trauma. That’s what Gintoki, Katsura Kotaro, and Takasugi Shinsuke had to deal with when Shoyo died in the first place. Time and time again, Gintoki made it clear throughout the series that the one person he fights against the most is himself.

It takes a group of mutual peers to help get through whatever pain you’re going through. Gintoki not only had Shinpachi and Kagura, but he had Tae Shimura, the Shinsengumi, Otose, and a whole slew of people to list. They all gave him renewed faith in humanity when he was about to give up. Sure, everyone was judgmental from time to time, but they knew the right things to say/do when times got tough. They were good enough and that’s important to note as we sometimes get too caught up about the types of people we want to be around.

There’s a notable speech by Gintoki way back in Volume 2 of the manga when Kagura and Shinpachi were kidnapped by space pirates. He tells Katsura that he’s determined to rescue them much to the former’s dismay. For a while, Gintoki was hesitant to take on the burdens of other people. He felt that he’s just standing on a pile of dead bodies when it’s all said and done. Gintoki was tired of it, but out of of the blue comes two kids who would later help him overcome his guilt 75 volumes later. He remarks that being around people (even if unwanted at first) makes life a lot more fun.

It really takes a village for someone to grow, though in the case of Gintoki’s, it took an entire town. Just look at the cover comparison of Volume 1 and the final volume, Volume 77.

Practicing gratitude (the right way, of course) can help you a better person in the end not just for yourself, but the people around you. That’s the grand lesson of Gintama. Groups of solidarity matter. I try to take this lesson to hand as I know that without the help of a bunch of people to help me handle my mental illness, I wouldn’t be here.  Overcoming mental health issues should never be a solo journey, but it more often than not, is that way. I wish Gintama’s ending to happen for those having a rough time right now because that’s the kind of ending will give the soul a nice silver gleam.

Thank you, Hideaki Sorachi, for 15 years of utter zaniness and showing readers what it means to be a human being with all the beauty and ugliness that makes one. I’m forever grateful for having followed Gintama and finding fellow fans along the way. I’m grateful for realizing that even though the good things in life eventually end, the least we can do is move forward and perhaps celebrate what made them good to the world for our sake. 

That’s what a certain naturally-wavy haired samurai would want, wouldn’t he? 

[a-sweeter-solarsystem]

Happy Pride Month to everyone, especially those whose identities aren’t often included in pride celebrations!  Big love to all of you!!   (~￣▽￣)~ ♥♥ I think I’m comfortable enough to share my coming out story to the world.  Its not full of homophobia or dark thoughts like a lot of other folks, but I feel like it’s just as important to share the stories of those who had the support system that they were afraid that they wouldn’t have.  There are people out there who can support you!  There are people out there who love you!  Coming out is scary, but don’t automatically jump to the idea that no one will accept you because that’s the only story you’ve ever heard.

I came out in February of 2014, after weeks of questioning and experimentation to figure out what labels fit me best.  At this point in my life I was transitioning from 8th grade to 9th grade, already hitting the strongest point in my depression.  I wasn’t eating, I felt terrible, my mental state was breaking and I didn’t know how to feel anymore.

I came out to my friends first, figuring if they wouldn’t understand there would be no way my parents could.  I remember sending out that text message through instagram.  I was just so scared because I’ve heard so many stories of people coming out and being shunned, tossed aside, or even disowned for being LGBT+.  I was still very new to the community as well, and with no other family close to me at the time the last thing I wanted was for something like that to happen.

But to my surprise, they understood!  They were supportive and cheered me on!  And they sat there with me over text messaging just going back and forth while I talked to them about what it would be like for me to be who I wanted to be.  I told them about my mental health as well, explaining the causes for me feeling comfortable as being bigender.  I told them about how I wasn’t comfortable with my past self, and that I wanted to change for the better so that I didn’t have to suffer mentally anymore.  And then my friend group grew more and more and they were there to support every step of my recovery.

A day or two after I came out to them, I came out to my parents.  I wrote my mom an email, figuring she would be the hardest to get through first.  I want to share a little of what she told me in the email because it still makes me tear up with joy going back and rereading it:

“ Thank you thank you for confiding in me.  I am honored that you felt comfortable coming to me. First though, let me tell you I love you.  I will love you and respect you no matter what, whether you are a guy a girl or purple and brown spots, you are my kid and I was blessed that you came into my life. This is a very difficult time in your life.  It absolutely normal to question your gender and maybe try being the other for awhile.  If dressing and looking gender neutral helps you feel more confident, then fine.  Let me know the types of clothing or hairstyle and we’ll go.  You have a rough couple of years coming up with high school and i want you to feel and do what you need to get through it.  This is something that will take time to decide.  It won’t happen over night and while one day you might be ok with how you look, your body will through a wrench and change some more. These years are not easy!  I remember. Just grin a bear it and do your best.  But I will be there for you. Do not doubt it. “

A few days later I came out to my dad.  We took a drive around the area and talked things over, and he brought me to a small diner where we just relaxed and had pie together.  He told me I needed to start being more open with things, and to tell people when something was wrong.  But you know?  He was there to dry my tears and tell me silly jokes to make me feel better. The first step was cutting my hair short.  I pulled out a few haircuts that I liked and my mum took me to the best LGBT+ friendly barber she could find.  The lady was so kind and gave me advice on how different styles would work with my hair.  I remember laughing at the large pile of fluff on the ground as my shoulder length hair was cut short.  It was so freeing!  And looking into the mirror I felt like an entirely new person! I went to therapy not long afterwards, another step to my recovery.  My first therapist was so kind and understanding, and I shared with her so many thoughts that I just couldn’t speak about without sobbing.  She would give me a small notebook to write in in case I couldn’t talk, and she would smile with the patience of a parent as I vented my thoughts out to her.  Before I had switched to a psychiatrist she gave me a small stress toy with a story behind it.  I gave her the biggest hug because I felt so blessed to have her in my life. A few months down the line and I bought my first binder.  I was so cheery!  I wore it the whole day, just smiling to myself because I finally felt comfortable in my body.  I took so many photos that day, just me smiling wearing my first binder.

I didn’t really have to come out to either of my brothers.  I was comfortable with my family using my birth name, but had just requested that they call me Lukas in public.  Even throughout high school the worse I ever experienced were a group of upperclassmen guys who would harass my friends and I during lunch.  We brought it up to my principal and he walked with us to lunch the next day and dragged the group of guys all the way across the cafeteria so they couldn’t bother us any longer. There’s been times that I’ve been asked about my name as well.  There was a sweet old substitute teacher who came up to me during class and told me that she’s here to support me no matter what I choose.  And sometimes at work customers would come up to me and ask if I was transgender.  I’d correct them, explain what being bigender meant and they would nod and talk with such kindness and understanding it almost brought me to tears.  I distinctly remember hugging one of the customers in the self checkout line, a complete stranger, but he was so understanding of my identity and so curious to learn what it was like with my identity I just couldn’t help it. This year was my first year on my own, hours away from home and in university. I was able to just be myself without an explanation.  I got to be in an entirely gender neutral dorm, with gender neutral bathrooms in a community of folks like me.  I made so many friends in one short year.  I owe a few of them so much kindness, especially my closest group who I was able to confide in with some of my strongest mental issues.  We were there for each other, to help each other bounce back and just laugh and be happy.  We could feel comfortable with who we were without ridicule.  It was so heartwarming! I am lucky to have such a comforting community supporting me: my friends, my family, my university and my work all supported me every step of the way.  If I’m ever asked questions I give them an honest answer.  I try not to hide my identity anymore, and instead be more open about who I am. It took about 5 years now before I can safely share this story and feel confident in my words.  It took five years of hard work to get to where I am today, a place where I am comfortable with myself and my labels.  I still have doubts and fears, but I’m sure we all do.  And for particularly harsh days I know that there will be someone out there to talk to and get me through the hard times. It is a long and winding road to come out.  I know not everyone has the same support that I did.  I was lucky, but I have to remind myself that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.  This is proof that there are people out there who will support and love you.  Proof that you’re not alone in whatever fight your facing physically, mentally, or even spiritually.  There are people who care.  There are people who listen.  And you just have to be there to find them.  You don’t have to suffer alone. I am so fucking proud to be bigender.  I’m proud to be asexual.  I’m proud to be biromantic and I’m so fucking proud to be akoiromantic even if it doesn’t seem like it at times.  These are aspects who make up who I am.  This is me.  I’m not some sad kid anymore.  I’m happy, I have so much to be thankful for.  And I have so many people that I want to thank for being in my life that there’s simply not enough room to share it all. Happy pride month to all of you!  I love each and every one of you!

[kaikhaos]

The Hurricane Sandy Saga Continues…

So here’s the story of my life since October 28, 2012 and all the chaos that has come with it. This is not a happy story, so far, but I’m hoping you guys can help make it one, or at least help prevent a bad end. This is a story of corrupt banks, government bullsh*t, and a 25 year old disabled trans queer who just wants to go home. Over the next five thousand words, I hope you realize the extent of how life has repeatedly NOPED at any sense of logic. At the end of my story, I’m going to ask you to help me out if you can and to spread the word either way.

The tl;dr version is that my family is facing homelessness for the fourth time in eighteen months and I really need you guys’ help to get us back into a stable situation so this never happens again. The mortgage company has screwed us yet again and is holding on to $250,000 that is supposed to be ours. So while we own one house and one newly demolished lot, we have nowhere to live. If you can at all help out, please do. My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

My name is Aleks. This is my story.

First, let’s get one thing out of the way: I’m disabled. I have been legally recognized as disabled since I was 18. I have a combination of mental health issues and physical health issues that make it so my capacity on any given day varies greatly from “I made it through a day at a con thanks to lots of painkillers!” to “I brushed my teeth today and didn’t cry doing it!” But I try. Anxiety, depression, C-PTSD, & ADD are just a few of the things I’ve been diagnosed with by my therapist and psychiatrist, paired with diagnoses from my doctors of migraines, fibromyalgia, and a degenerative connective tissue disorder known as Ehlers-Danlos that all combine to leave me in fairly constant pain basically everywhere. My brain and my body attack me constantly but I still try to do what I can. Unfortunately, it means I can’t just go out and get a 9-5 or retail job to help fix my situation. I can only do what I can do and I have to know my limits.

I live with my mother and my QPP Luca who are both also disabled.

You may know in 2012 we were hit by Hurricane Sandy. If you don’t know that, you’re about to find out. We had six feet of water in our house and my grandfather’s house next door (AKA: my inheritance) floated off of its foundation and was straight up condemned. Ever since then, life has been, in a word, chaos. It’s gotten to be a theme in our house that if it can go wrong, it will go wrong. Even my therapist has given up on making any kind of treatment plan and is basically just focusing on damage control. And honestly, at this point, I just wanna go home.

But Aleks, it’s been seven years, why aren’t you home yet? Oh boy, I am SO glad you asked. Let’s get into this history.

First, a prequel. I’m not rich, my family isn’t rich, but we get by. Our house wasn’t big, but it was beautiful. In 2006, my mother bought two tiny houses next door to each other from an old man who wanted to sell them to a family the way he’d grown up in the smaller house while his parents lived in the other house. The one house was a six hundred square foot bungalow that would become my grandfather’s and its neighbor was a seven hundred square foot house that would become mine and my mother’s.

Our house was gorgeous and cute. Built in the early 1900s by a tinsmith with scraps from all of his jobs, all of the walls were tin instead of sheetrock or plaster, the floors were gorgeous hardwood, and the three bedrooms were each under a hundred square feet. It was tiny but it was ours.

On August 28th, 2011, that house was hit by Tropical Storm Irene. Our house was flooded by two feet of water on the first floor. The Atlantic Ocean took out our floors, cabinets, appliances, electrical outlets, the bathroom tile, and the furniture, not to mention rusting the heck out of the bottom of the tin walls. It took six months to get the final eighty thousand dollar settlement out of the insurance company.

The check was deposited by the mortgage company who said they would hold onto it and dole it out as we hired contractors or finished repairs. But here’s the thing: The settlement barely covered enough for the supplies, so we maxed out credit cards and depleted personal savings and finished our repairs a few months later with the help of very few contractors and a lot of DIY.

We installed our kitchen appliances as the last step and called the mortgage company that day to ask them to come and inspect and verify the repairs were done so they could release the other seventy thousand dollars that they were holding onto. They said they were backed up and that they would come and inspect in a month.

Our new stove was 22 days old when Hurricane Sandy hit us.

Where Irene was manageable, Sandy was devastating. My grandfather’s house floated on the storm surge and landed three feet away from its foundation. The legs of our lawn table were bent and sticking out from under the house like the damn wicked witch or something. Our house on the other hand shifted by an inch. Not much, you’d think, but enough to break every pipe in the house and damage the entire structural stability of the house.

The town building department condemned my grandfather’s house and wrote ours up as “more than 50% damaged”.

Needless to say, both houses were left completely and totally uninhabitable.

The mortgage company inspector came and said because everything was wet and ruined that they “couldn’t certify the repairs were completed” even when we were standing there with a stack of receipts and before and after pictures, clearly proving everything had been replaced since most of the materials had been changed. So they decided they wouldn’t release the $70,000 they were holding onto from Irene until the new SANDY repairs were done. Even though we’d already spent that money on repairs and run up debt because of it, they decided they were just going to hold onto it for longer.

And honestly? Fuck those guys. They are the root of some of the most evil parts of this, as you’ll see.

So back to the Sandy damages. First, the insurance company offered us a FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLAR damage assessment. Fifteen thousand bucks when we had six feet of water in our house. For perspective, fourteen months before Hurricane Sandy, Tropical Storm Irene sent 24 inches of water into our house and the insurance company gave us eighty thousand dollars to make those repairs. So yeah, fifteen thousand wasn’t gonna do it. The construction estimates for the repairs were coming in around two hundred and fifty thousand.

So, of course, we appealed. Our engineer said parts of the house were outright dangerous from the damage and had to be torn down and replaced. We told the insurance company this and they told us they would send their own engineer. And… well… they sent SOMEBODY. Was that guy a licensed engineer? Nope. Did they tell us he was? Yup.

So then we appealed to FEMA. The judge from FEMA told them outright to send a LICENSED engineer in his decision and left it at that. So then they did. This guy now said he thought fifty thousand was gonna do it. The insurance company looked at his report and went “mmm… so how about thirty thousand?”

So… no. So then we had to hire a lawyer and took them to court. We weren’t the only ones, thousands of people had to file these lawsuits. The lawyer told us not to let the mortgage company cash the $30,000 of checks we’d been given for the storm so far because it could be argued to be us agreeing to that number. He said we just had to WAIT. So the checks got too old to cash.

The Visiting Nurse Service started sending a therapist to our house once a week for each of the three of us to help with “Hurricane-Related PTSD”. Yup. Cool. On top of my regular C-PTSD. Awesome. But the guy was nice and having therapists to talk to twice a week (my regular one and this guy) was helpful. And he gave me some worksheets that helped me kind of have more of a tool kit. Everything still sucked but hey, we all trudged on.

Pretty sure this was around when the first roofing shingles started falling off of our rental house. We told the landlord that this was a problem and that the property was going to start getting leaks in the roof. We pointed out that it said in our lease that he was supposed to fix this little ‘issue’.

Repeatedly.

Including in writing and by sending him photos of the slowly growing stack of shingles that were not on the roof anymore and the leaky window.

And he still did diddly squat about it.

For five years.

Meanwhile during this whole… process, New York State started the New York Rising program to help rebuild the houses who were tied up in lawsuits like ours or who didn’t have insurance like my grandfather’s. We applied right away. It seemed like an answer!

…So then uh… New York Rising LOST our file.

…Uh… Twice.

And when they finally DID decide to properly process our application, they gave us a grand total of $88,000 and put us in the ‘Build a whole new house’ category. Our house is, as I said, under 900 square feet in size. You literally cannot build a house in our area for that price at that size. Especially when it’s a property that needs 14 foot deep helical pilings and a nine foot high foundation to comply with current code. The foundation alone is $50,000. The lowest estimate we found from any construction company after no less than TEN bids was $180,000 NOT counting the architect who’s another $15,000. NY Rising expected us to be able to rebuild for a fraction of that. So we started looking into finding other financing possibilities while waiting on the lawsuit to continue going through.

We decided to hire our neighbour’s architect because he was something resembling almost affordable. We gave him a deposit. …A few weeks later, he had a heart attack while leaving the building department’s office. …A few weeks after that, he started being investigated for embezzling money from his clients.

At this point, we’d been out of our house for years. And more and more shingles kept falling off of the roof of the rental. Then a siding tile fell off too because the landlord’s son’s landscaping company crashed a lawnmower into it.

We started looking at houses to buy so that at least we would own something.

Then my grandfather (who had been a major contributor to our household finances) had a severe stroke. Six months later, he died. Suddenly we were $3,000 tighter per month. The possibility of buying a house went out the window. But we made do as best as we could.

FEMA was paying for the rental house we were living in while going through all of the appeal and lawsuit procedures and, when we hit their funding cap, New York Rising’s IMA program stepped in to pay “whichever is less, your rent or mortgage”. It still meant higher costs as the rent around here is more than our mortgage, but it made it so we could get by.

The one silver lining was that once my grandfather was out of the picture (since he’d been living with us in a shared rental since Sandy), I was able to start on testosterone injections. January 28, 2015, I was able to start my injections and officially begin the medical side of my transition.

Then New York Rising hit a cap on IMA funding. Which… sucked pretty fucking hard because then there was a few thousand a month more money we had to find to shell out. But then the program was extended and that was awesome.

Then our cat, Pickles, developed severe kidney problems. She was my best friend since the day she showed up on our doorstep a week after we bought our house in 2006 and wandered into the kitchen demanding petting. She moved into our lives and never left. I couldn’t give her up without a fight. So I spent all of my savings on her medical bills and started giving her saline injections twice a day every day to help her kidneys flush the toxins they couldn’t handle themselves.

Then the IMA ran out again. So back to the land of suck. They told us we would be eligible for a little more funding. But only if we demolished the existing house.

In order to legally demolish the house, we had to pay for a construction company to do it under their license. New York Rising expected us to be able to demo the house for $5,000. The lowest bid we received was for $9,000. When we told them this, their reaction was essentially “yeah, yeah, we know, just make it work”. Make it work is a cool and funny phrase when spoken by an aging fashion consultant on television. It’s not so cool or funny when it’s being told to you by the people who are supposed to help you fix your house. It is stressful as hell.

Then Pickles got sicker. And sicker. And her at-home dialysis wasn’t enough to keep her going anymore. Pickles passed in May 2016.

In 2017, we finally won our lawsuit. The judge ruled the insurance company had to release a full payment to the policy maximum of $250,000! Those jerks tried giving us $15,000 and the judge was like “Uh… no, this is $250,000 of damage”. Victory! But we were still out our legal fees because, unlike homeowner’s insurance where the insurance company pays the fees, flood insurance is federally underwritten so you’re not allowed to get the legal fees paid for. Some flood insurance companies realized they’d fucked up and as a result agreed to pay for the legal fees. Our flood insurance company… wasn’t so generous. But a check was still generated by the flood insurance company thanks to the judge. Huzzah, light at the end of the tunnel!

…Then the lawyer refused to sign the check.

Apparently our lawyer has had dealings with our mortgage company before and run into the same problem as we had with their “we’ll release your funding at the end” theory. Except for him that meant “we won’t pay out your legal fees until the house is finished” and he didn’t like that. So they wanted him to sign the check over to them and he wanted them to sign the check over to him. They spent years arguing over a piece of paper with some dollar signs on it while we got needlessly further into debt.

Then one of my ferrets, Wasabi, my emotional support animal, got really sick really suddenly.

By the time the vet scrambled to find out what was wrong, it was too late and he was gone. It turned out that he had a rare autoimmune condition caused by heavy metal exposure from the water. His sister survived, but now Lemon was alone and she and I were both devastated. Watching the way she would get excited and then sad any time we brought out a toy with Wasabi’s scent on it broke my heart so I replaced her toys.

A month later, people came knocking on our door offering free water filters if they would let us track the toxic plume of decades old industrial chemicals and waste spreading unhindered through the groundwater supply that had apparently reached us and was contaminating our pipes.

Eventually, during all this, New York Rising started to realize that their $160 per square foot amount just wasn’t enough when it came to houses like ours. So they started a program called the Recon 100 program. The goal of this program was supposed to be that New York Rising would take over the build process, they would hire contractors and architects in bulk, essentially hiring them for ‘bundles’ of 10 or 20 properties at a time to get them to accept a lower profit per house because they would be guaranteed months of solid work. We were signed up into the program.

Now, as a condition of this program, we had to stop doing any work on our own, we’d have to return whatever hadn’t been spent on repairs already, and we’d have to give them any insurance checks. But New York Rising was bragging about how they had programs that would allow you to repay the funding over several years because they knew everyone was using a little bit here or there to make ends meet. And that was all well and dandy because once the repairs were done, the mortgage company would release what they were holding one way or another. They would have to. …Right?

Meanwhile, our rental assistance hit the next cap. New York Rising told us not to worry because once this paperwork was approved, we’d be eligible for a higher cap of extended rental assistance. It was just a matter of waiting for the paperwork to get approved, they said.

Then our caseworker at New York Rising decided she was going to deny our receipts for the funds already spent. And that she wasn’t going to file the appeals to that denial that we explicitly asked her in writing to file.

Then on top of that, we discovered that at some point our NYR caseworker had decided to NOT sign us up for the extended timeline repayment thing because… fuck knows why, honestly? And that now she wasn’t going to apply us for it because “oh it’s full now”. So NY Rising decided that, before they’d do anything, they wanted us to give THEM the money that was still sitting in those pre-lawsuit paper checks that went old immediately. The government decided that we either had to magic the money of an un-cashed check out of thin air or else it was up to us to: 1, get them reissued, 2, get them deposited by the mortgage company, and 3, somehow get the mortgage company to issue that money to New York Rising.

And they wanted all this done in less than a week because they decided this in the last phase of our approval process and there were other deadlines really close. …Needless to say, the mortgage company was like “lol um nah” even to the theoretical idea of giving the money to NY Rising for the repairs, nevermind the hassle of getting the checks reissued by the flood insurance company with an active lawsuit ongoing.

New York Rising only said “too bad, figure it out yourself and PS because you’re not in this program anymore, we won’t give you the continued rental assistance, why aren’t you done rebuilding your house yet?” Meanwhile, we were waiting on them for months because they told us it was just waiting for the paperwork to go through.

Meanwhile, we had a new jerk of a builder/flipper neighbour. He’d bought the house next door to us when the family with the new baby decided it wasn’t worth waiting so many years to have their own house fixed. Let’s call him Fish Head. He decided to have his building supplies delivered to our neighbour’s yard WITHOUT her permission because there wasn’t enough room on his property. Straight up, he had a whole pallet of building supplies just dumped on her yard. She complained, obviously, and her husband threatened to call the cops. So he moved his shit to to OUR yard because we happened to not be there that day. It took WEEKS to get him to move the shit, even WITH calling the cops.

Turns out, cops don’t give a shit if someone puts hundreds of pounds of building materials on your yard. They’ll tell you you’re well within your rights to move it yourself but if you don’t have a forklift or a whole team of burly humans to assist you in the move then too bad so sad.

Thanks, Fish Head.

But back to the housing. We were months overdue on the rent because we were “just waiting for the paperwork to finish processing”. They told us we’d get all the back stuff in one lump payment. They lied and now we were up shit’s creek.

Our scummy landlord finally sent a notice saying “I’ve waited long enough, get out”. So that was… cool. We were able to keep him from coming after the back rent by pointing out that he was a slum lord and that we’d notified him in writing about being a slumlord, but it still meant we had to move out immediately and in a rush. Thankfully, it was May.

So on June 1st 2018, we moved into our RV parked at a local campsite. Three adults, a cat, and a ferret, crammed into an RV that was anything but recreational.

We installed cameras on our house around this point because Fish Head kept having his workers trample all over our property and they kept breaking things and leaving garbage everywhere.

Then the engineer said he thought he could figure out a way to save the main body of our house and raise it, that we’d only have to demolish off the back room and possibly the bathroom in order to raise it. It was another light at the end of a repeatedly lengthening tunnel. So we changed tracks completely and had him start drafting stuff up for us to raise the existing house, rebuilding only the porch.

Now, here’s the thing about the local campsites, we don’t have many of them and they sell out pretty quickly. Especially for the height of the summer. So they didn’t have any of their ‘full hook-up’ sites, AKA the ones that get you electricity and everything, but we had water and a bathroom and a shower facility and the barbecue to cook food, and it was… survivable. Not exactly comfortable but survivable.

We started doing the work to repair the house instead of following the line of thinking of rebuilding it. We cashed in everything we could and scraped together every scrap of money we possibly could, we sold things, we asked for help where we could, we got a very understanding contractor to give us the lowest prices we could. We managed to get the mortgage company to pay out some of the Tropical Storm Irene money directly to the contractors. Remember that guy, wayyyy back in 2011? And the mortgage inspector who missed a pre-Sandy inspection by a week? Yeah. They still had that money. So even though it was technically Sandy damages as we’d already done the work from Irene, we managed to get them to pay that out. But WHATEVER. It got it paid.

We had a looming deadline from New York Rising that they wanted the house raised by December 31st. Or at least that they wanted it lifted and pending the new foundation. They call this ‘cribbing’ and it basically means your house goes up on Jenga Towers and that you can’t live in it for a while until the foundation is done and it goes back down. So we had to somehow make that happen. But first things first, the campground was closing for the season and we had to have a place to live.

On November 1st 2018, we were able to move back into our house.

Temporarily, at least, while permits and construction drawings and everything went through for getting the house raised.

So we applied to the mortgage company to get the remaining $40,000 that they had from Tropical Storm Irene, the full final payout. And, amazingly, we got it. In it came and went right back out it went to the contractors who were supposed to be working on raising the house because that December 31st deadline was still looming.

Then Fish Head who we keep running into issues with, FINALLY got a stop work order on his house for not having the right permits. Serves you right, Fish Head. But, in retaliation, he decided to lie to the building department that we were living there without utilities? Somehow? When we literally had all our utilities? And had gotten the “90% complete” inspection from our mortgage company? So THAT was a whole mess to try to straighten out. When we met with the head of the building department, he literally turned to the guy next to him and said “See, remember I told you about this guy? This is the retaliation I was telling you about” because he was the guy who had personally signed the stop work order on Fish Head.

So the next big concern was that December 31st deadline. Everyone kept debating whether or not New York Rising would extend it at the last minute again (as they’d done that once before), and we started scrambling to try to find somewhere to live while the house was raised. Ideally, we were looking for somewhere that WASN’T the cold tiny RV in the middle of a New York winter. We applied to a few apartments but because we were paying the mortgage and everything our debt to income ratio didn’t qualify.

On December 24th, 2018, we got the $250,000 check from the flood insurance company with our name and the mortgage company’s name. It seemed like a Christmas Miracle. So we immediately sent it over to the mortgage company so they could cash it and we could apply to have those funds released, remember, our house was FINISHED and HABITABLE, except for needing to be raised per the new flood zoning stuff. At the very least, we had the 90% inspection, and on our next inspection we got a 99%.

So we immediately started applying for the final permits for getting the house raised and my grandfather’s house demolished. The lady at the building department is… nice but not very organized. So we had to deal with the town jerking us around with the permits taking forever to get done, well past the time estimates they tell you on the phone when you call and ask about time estimates.

We rushed to have our disconnects done. Water, electric, sewer. The house was all wrapped up in a pretty bow ready to be raised. We moved into a hotel. All we needed was the final elevation permit and the money from the mortgage company.

So back to the mortgage company and that $250,000. The mortgage company denied the payout 3 times saying, “Oh we don’t have… this paper or that paper” for papers we had confirmation they had. The guy on the phone one time when we were like “….We submitted that one on x date while speaking to Z employee”, he tried saying, “Oh this fax isn’t legible…” and we were just like “…FAX… you mean the scanned in PDF we submitted via your web upload?” And he was like “…Oh. hold please…” and suddenly he could read the form. Magic. So basically they were just LYING to us. Why? Fuck knows.

Then it was, “Everything is fine and it’ll be issued in 3 days” on the 23rd. And we got the elevation permit! And the demo permit on my grandfather’s house! Everything was rolling along and it was all going to be fine! Right?

Not so fast.

On the 31st we still had no check. We called and it was, “Oh it has to go to this other department because it’s over $70,000, but everything is approved and they’ll issue the check in 5 to 7 days, HONEST”.

We called back on the 5th and THAT lie had turned into “Oh well… we sold your loan effective the 4th, you’ll have to ask the new guys”. The mortgage company SOLD OUR LOAN to another company WHILE our payout was “APPROVED AND SENT TO THE CHECK ISSUING DEPARTMENT”.

We called the new guys who told us, “Oh we don’t even have a ID NUMBER assigned for your loan yet, call back in a week to get your loan number and then it’s another week until we can even see your funds and start your payout claim oh and we probably need to schedule our own inspection.”

So it’ll be easily a month OR MORE before we get the money.

We are trying to expedite this whole process as best as we can. We managed to get the ID number in only 4 days. They seem to be arguing with themselves about whether or not they need a whole new inspection or not.

Meanwhile, we only really had the money for the hotel for the lift time but all the disconnects have been done (there is no heat, water, or electricity) so it’s not like we can just go BACK HOME during the delay either.

We have $250,000 on the way and we’re about to be homeless. Again. For the third time in 18 months.

If we can just get $5,000, we can pay to have the house RECONNECTED AGAIN to everything so we can wait these fuckers out and get the payout.

Every little bit helps.

Please.

The other option is living in the RV again just to have a roof over our heads. But unlike last time when it was warm, it is February and we are in NY. It snowed yesterday. RVs aren’t designed to keep warm when there’s snow out.

Please help me and my family stay in a house.

My paypal link is here: http://paypal.me/mihaelkai .

I am also taking a limited number of 1000 word or less commissions! That’s about the limit of what I can handle committing to right now! DM me for details!

(Mutuals/Friends: If you can’t donate but you can loan us some for two months or so, we can pay you back as soon as we get that check? Please let me know if it is a donation or if you would like to be paid back so I can keep a record.)

[a-woman-apart]

Old Obsessions

In the spirit of trying to write at least one post a month- and out of a genuine desire to get a few things off my chest- here I am, writing a post.

I will begin with the life update portion of the post. My health has been somewhat imperiled. I won’t go into details on here (yet), but I’m getting some tests done because I’ve been dealing with some pain. I already have trouble getting out of the house because of depression and anxiety, and these problems are being exacerbated by issues of pain and fatigue. Whatever it is, I’m hoping for a diagnosis that A) shows that it’s an actual thing and I’m not just crazy, and B) is an actual thing that is easily treatable. In the coming weeks to one month I should find out what I need to know.

The second thing of note is that at the end of the month I will be returning to the community college where I graduated from to take some CORE classes. Since most of my courses were in music, and I only took a few COREs, I have two semesters worth of classes to take. I am doing this to save money, and to ensure that when I go on to the university in the fall of next year, I will be jumping immediately into undergraduate-level courses. I am in fact taking so many COREs that by the time I am done I will have an Associate of the Arts degree in addition to my Associate in music- all before I even make it to the university. I do have to take physical education to make that happen- a course that wasn’t required by the university- but that is just one extra thing.  

I have “mixed feelings” about returning to school this fall. It is true that I got the whole summer off, for the first time in years, but it still feels so soon to be returning. The thought of being piled on with classwork all over again has brought out feelings of depression and sadness in me. I know that I am following the path that I have set out for myself. My goal is to be college-ready in the fall, but it all feels so overwhelming. I feel excited about the thought of getting another degree in the process of taking all these COREs, but I’ve been in school for 4 years already and I really feel it.

Another discouraging aspect about going to school again is the fact that I probably won’t have the time or energy to get a second job to help pay for my living expenses, unless it’s a side hustle that I can do from home. When I got on SSDI, it meant losing my Medicaid, so I now have $134 taken out of my monthly check to go towards Medicare. In addition to that, I am required to pay $38 a month as a copay for the insurance I get for my mental health visits. That doesn’t sound like a lot of money, but my total income from my job and SSDI is not very much (S/N: I will probably talk to my clinic and see if I still need their insurance now that my Medicare part B has kicked in). Adding almost $200 to my monthly expenses is no joke.

I want to be able to take care of myself. I have always known that I needed to find more hours or better employment. In a way, going to classes again (full-time) is in fact a help to me, because I usually get a Pell Grant refund after my books and classes are paid for. That extra money helps me to put a little in savings and to pay pressing expenses. I’ve always known, though, that I can’t go on depending on those refunds forever. Before I got SSDI, I had SSI, and I was caught between a rock and a hard place where I worked too much to get any meaningful help from them, but too little for the help they did give to cover my expenses. That was the summer that I had to get a second- and for a while a third job- and literally almost killed myself in the process. Later SSI too gave me a huge refund (probably because they had withheld too much from my check) and I used that money for all sorts of things, like paying off my credit card, paying a big portion towards my car note, saving for emergencies and travel, and even giving a bit to charity.

Like I said, though, I want to be able to take care of myself. Whether it’s depending on the Pell Grant or my SSDI, I am still dependent on the government in a huge way. I know the way that my mental health deteriorated when I had my summer jobs was a sign that maybe I’ve been declared disabled for a reason, but I still sometimes feel like I am “not disabled enough” to deserve to still receive services. Without government help, though, I wouldn’t even have insurance for things like my medicine, therapy, and doctor visits, let alone just having enough money to keep my car and stay in my apartment.

When it was just a choice between working and not working, 35-40 hours a week was not a big deal. I worked that plenty of times when I worked in the food industry. I would put in the hours and SSI would give me my check- that had been reduced by around 75%- and together with that and sometimes having food stamps I had a comfortable life. Now that I am a student- and have even more expenses- I just can’t do that anymore. During the summer last year I worked 15 extra hours on the weekend in addition to my 20-hr-a-week library job. I was taking very condensed summer classes as well that took up a huge chunk of my time. My dad was also starting to get sicker that summer and later in the fall someone did a hit-and-run on my vehicle. It is true that today the circumstances would be different. I’ll be doing full-time, but it’s a regular semester. Maybe I could work weekends if I really needed to and if I really tried. The truth is though, that I don’t know if my mental health can withstand that.

Maybe some people can say, “Well, you don’t have to be a student” and that is very true. What is also true is that I may never be able to rise above the poverty line and become self-sufficient if I don’t go to school. Just like working, going to school is an effort to improve my well-being and my contribution to society. The government investing in me now will definitely pay off for them in the future. Even though I now believe that capitalism is bonkers, there is some part of me that takes satisfaction in being able to say that I help feed the economy. Until we have something better and everyone living below the poverty line- not just disabled people like me- gets a basic income from the government, this is the best that we have.

Now I am going to make a total 180 and talk about something that had been the main purpose of this blog when this first started- my religious journey. I think the last time that I wrote a post about where I was with my religion was a couple months ago, when I visited a couple of Universalist Unitarian churches. I haven’t been back since my initial visits, for various reasons, but maybe one is that I am starting to agree with my boyfriend- what I am looking for probably can’t be found inside a church organization.

When my dad passed away in January, I wasn’t angry at God. I had already decided that if there was a Higher Power, it was very possible that said Power didn’t have complete authority to intervene in earthly matters. What it demonstrated to me instead was the failure of the Christian Word of Faith movement and how it sometimes hurts and disappoints its adherents. It didn’t prove to me that miracles never happened, just that they were far less commonplace than evangelists led us to believe and probably explainable using natural terms. It also demonstrated something that is obvious to me but not to many, that people who try to “sell” miracles are misguided at best, or are all liars and charlatans at worst.

I guess that the main reason that I haven’t been writing about it as much is that I’ve just stopped caring. In one post, I mentioned the quote that states that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but apathy. When you hate, you are still giving energy to a person, object, or idea. When you are apathetic, that energy simply isn’t there. This is destructive in its own unique way. Somehow, the ideas of Christianity have lost their place in my life. My family members are all still Christians, but we don’t talk about it. I’ll hear about Girl Defined and shake my head ruefully, but I haven’t put a lot of energy into dismantling their ideas. I’ll skim through my recommendations from Patheos, but no articles jump out at me that I really want to read. I can hear a sermon or see a person preaching on a street corner and feel nothing. I used to want to be able to answer every argument, and I would take aggressive or passionate people stating their beliefs as a personal attack. Now it’s all so blasé to me. “What’s new?” or “Who cares?” are all that I can manage to ask myself in those moments.

In a way, getting here is a personal victory for me. I know that when topics of religion come up, I will always have a point of view to contribute. Crafting that point of view, however, isn’t central to my life anymore. Right now, I am concerned with getting to the next stage in my life. I am about to go to a big university for the first time, and I’m scared. My boyfriend and I have gotten really serious; we want to move in together and share our lives, but we are more than 2000 miles apart and we barely have any money. My youngest brother is preparing to go to college, and my other younger brother is a supervisor at his job. My older brother and my sister-in-law want to build a house on my mom’s property. My little sisters are learning to drive and they want to start working. My mom wants to travel but needs to find some way to get the farm taken care of. We’re all growing older.

Maybe, in saying that, I’m proving the point that it’s important to start thinking about things like “eternity.” To me, it proves the opposite. It takes so much energy just to be focused on the here and now, why waste time planning for an eternity that might not exist? I do know that my dad held on to the hope of eternity until the very end. He burdened himself by worrying that his loved ones might not be able to share it with him. I could never give him the assurance that he needed, but I think he believed that God would make everything right in the end, and I’m happy for him for that. Sometimes it saddens me to think of his way of life dying with him, but ultimately that way of life was not the one that was best for me.

I am turning 28 at the end of next month. Maybe getting older is finally starting to afford me some perspective about the things that really matter. Maybe I will have that zero-fucks-left-to-give attitude that everyone says that you get when you hit 30. All I know is that right now things are looking much clearer to me now. I still feel inadequate as hell, but maybe that never goes away. All I can do is keep moving forward.

[maximuswolf]

Anxiety attack today, its been about 5 months since I've had one... Support? via /r/Anxiety

Anxiety attack today, its been about 5 months since I've had one... Support?

Hi, I had a severe anxiety attack today resulting in depressive/the worst of the thoughts and eventual numbing. Looking for moral support, reminders that this too shall pass.

​

I am feeling much better now after being horizontal all day. I won't get into history/cause as I don't feel like it, but will share what I've taken herbal/prescript as I'm looking for advice there. Just coming to land back on planet earth after being in orbital angst! I used my grounding techniques, breathing, touching items, reminding myself to calm down but the future waves came too intensely and I broke down again. My 2 pets were there to help and kept coming up to me to cuddle. I haven't been on anti-anxiety or meds since 2015 where I went on citalopram for 1.5 yrs. other than progesterone treatment (very low peri-menopausal hormones due to stress, for early 30's)

I have a doc appointment tomorrow that was already booked so I'll bring up what happened today. I'm considering asking to go on meds again as it is scary to feel how I did today, despite having so many tools and doing so much work to change my brain with neuroplasticity training.

I observe that future thinking/planning and financial concerns are what tips me over these days. I thought I was doing good but I think the past 5 months came flooding in where I had a pile up of stressful events and it all came out at once today, it felt like deep waves of grief and overhwelm, where I realised I've been swinging from getting back to regular activities as my energy levels and tolerance to exercise are increasing to unable to handle responsibility of watering plants, that feeling like an intense task. I thought I was doing good as I said but it hit me today that most of the time I make myself do these tasks to 'normalize' and it feels forced not because I want to. It feels like work/burdensome to even water my lovely plants! I'm tired of feeling this way. I am scared to go back on meds as I remember coming off I had experienced intense brain-sparks for 2 weeks. But I also remember I felt pretty normal then with taking them.. the mental chatter was disappearing. I would have likely stayed on longer but I had a shitty relationship situation where this person was pushing me to get off meds (I think too soon as I was completing a degree and needed the support) and the meds I was on were refilled at a new location and were generic that time. I had all the symptoms of withdrawal for a week before reading (on reddit!) that generic may not work the same as brand name. So I discontinued on my own after realizing I had likely withdrawn from them and the feeling was so shitty plus this person was really advocating saying I didn't need meds (que controlling abusive relationship). I felt okay for a year or so after thinking I was done with citalopram. about 2 years after stopping I had symptoms showing of limbic system impairment and then a full blown crash/adrenal/energy etc. for the 3rd and worst time that left me bedridden. I feel like I'm rambling but thats what this place is for isn't it?

Advice on SSRI support? Should I try citalopram again (or any other suggestions) if its worked before to support leveling my emotions and raising my positive neurochemicals? Not asking about doc advice, just your own and what you've tried. Getting ideas/names of other med/natural support options. I'll ask my doc tomorrow when we chat what he thinks. He is a hormone/recovery specialist. I know that there is no way to tell what will work for someone and the way things are prescribed so seemingly generically is not the way to go. After all my experiences, self-education on recovery topics etc. I have come to the conclusion that there is no perfect method for anyone, to find a catered recovery path is pretty much non-existent, but there are those of us who have similar temperments/dna structure and more that could be supportive to more efficiently discovering a pathway that works better than others.

I've taken all the herbals too, used a herbalist, my docs recommended methods etc. Phosphatidylserin is the docs most recent OTC prescription for sleep in october when I had a car accident that I was in shock for a few weeks after, relora, cortisolv blend, ashwaghanda, GABA, L-Theanine, Magnesium up the wazooo including Magtein for blood brain barrier crossing, Mag malate for fibro, many nootropic and adaptogenic herbs not yet listed, and L-glutamine protocols for leaky gut (which directly affects the brain/mood circuitry), cutting out dairy/wheat (I had a piece of regular gluten/cheesey pizza yesterday at work which I never eat, thought I'd test myself, and my gastric system and mind have been paying for it since last night.. UGH maybe the pizza took me out?! Scary.) I'll forever be taking B vitamins due to poor methylation absorption. Maybe I need something else I haven't heard of or to get back on something I'm no longer taking If I seem to be struggling? I am struggling to work more than a few days a week, I am on disability assitance for chronic fatigue/limbic system impairment, work/life balance may never return. I'm ok with not working 9-5, 5 days a week, nooe should have to all the time! Not sustainable. Being able to work more than 2 days without feeling exhausted would be great financially and for mental health routine!

Thanks for any advice, feedback, support.

Hugs and love to all of you during this interesting time to be alive.

Submitted January 21, 2021 at 07:36PM by RevolutionFox via reddit https://ift.tt/3pcUfPW