#pathology saturdays
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#deep sigh. it's gonna be one of these saturdays#hi peter#this is pathologic fanart but#not tagging this. but hi peter.#sorry weird crop on that painting frame but. well.
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my fave moments from the chat in @rathologic 's 24hr 1 million in pathologic charity stream :)
during the quest to fund Artemy Burakh (real)'s latest extreme sports car there were many silly moments along the way and i would like to share with u some of my favourites!
note that the final count ended up exceeding 1mil 😎
as a note: i was r3v3lator in the chat :) not sure of anyone else's social medias but if you somehow end up seeing this i would be happy to add you!
daniil would fit right in with patrick bateman 👍
we were kind of going a bit mad i think this was around the 14 hour mark. and we had been talking about pathologic microtransactions as well as what sound effects it would be funny to donate to get replaced. also we looked.. there is no pathologic obby in roblox :(
this just stuck in my head for the entirety of the rest of the stream and whenever mr. rathologic would encounter a rat i would be shouting PUNCH THE RAT TO DEATH
near the end of the stream he made artemy burakh (real) eat 81 lemons in quick succession right before reloading to sell them to add to the final count
at this point we were making jokes about who the real player character was and who it would be funny to pin the blame on for shelling the town. at this point jon misread me saying "he was in a crazy mood" as "he was in a sexy mood" and i have accepted that as official canon
+ no context extras
thank u for the fun stream :) sorry we made you do 30 pushups at the end
#this was very fun ive not been in a 24hr stream before nor do i really know that much about pathologic#thank you for such a fun charity stream idea#but it was very fun and silly and a great way to spend my saturday!#samposting#sillies#danillionaire
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So... The Marble Nest huh.
I finally played it myself and even though I knew the plot already it was still just. Fucking hell. The inevibitality of it all. The constant reminders that it's all happening in your head. And the idea of trapping a soul inside a nutshell? One of the most poetic concepts I have ever heard of. It actually reminded me of a polish sung poem by the lyrical cabaret Piwnica pod Baranami, titled "Ta nasza młodość" (eng.: This youth of ours).
She is the rapid light of a creek
Among the stones
She is the squirrels in the trees
She is dashing through the tree branches
She is the sparkle inside a stone
She is the milk inside a nutshell
She is curious of the world
Like a copper penny in a purse
(This youth of ours, made out of bone and blood
This youth of ours, that mocks time...)
(link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WkdAvj4M66I)
#pathologic#daniil dankovsky#pathologic 2#pathologic the marble nest#birdies birdies gather round the marble nest#evil saturday foul saturday#THEY TRAPPED HIS SOUL INSIDE A CHESTNUT-#yeah it's that hamlet quote what about it#originally there was supposed to more angelic light illuminating from daniil but it made it look waaaay more like a womb metaphor than it#already is#lol
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Ohh guy on olx is selling an old physical copy of pathologic... Wonder if i should get it, its like 30 zł
#i spent double that ammount on mcdonalds this saturday lol#guess ill wait for pizza tower to see how it compares#pathologic will never leave my mind that game was just so unique
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Oh Lawd...
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For those of you who like the idea of peer respites, I just want to say these are not the only alternatives to the mainstream psych system :] Here's a big ol' list, and many/most of them are peer-run. I live in America, so a lot of this is US-based, but I've tried to make it as internationally accessible as possible!
I'll start with the live-in options. So ya'll already know about peer respites, if you read my latest post about it. There's a few more similar things out there.
Soteria Houses - More long-term (months+) community homes for folks with lived experience of psychosis/similar extreme states, with peer support, that focus on a humane and person-centered approach. Much more freedom & agency than your traditional group home.
Hurdalsjøen Recovery Center - a "medication-free" (aka medication-optional) psychiatric hospital in Norway. Allows patients to choose whether to stay on or taper/remain off psychiatric drugs. Focused on healthy eating, exercise, and recreational therapy options.
Bethel House - Similar to Soteria Houses, a homelike environment in Japan for people with schizophrenia, etc. that focuses on social reintegration.
Organizations, clubs, groups, etc:
Students With Psychosis - A peer support community with programming for students with psychosis
International Map of Hearing Voices/Intervoice networks - Non=pathological support groups for people who hear voices, see visions, etc. US directory, UK directory.
Clubhouse International - Gives people with mental illness opportunities for friendship, employment, housing, educational, and medical services all in one place. Founded by a group of friends who survived a psychiatric hospital together.
Project LETS - A radical approach to peer support and healing that has a disability justice centered approach, giving people with lived experience a voice and focusing on mutual aid. They provide peer mental health advocates, self-harm prevention, and more.
The Mad Society of Canada: A grassroots community of practice that brings together folks who want to provide non-coercive, ethical, survivor-informed mental health services/policy.
Power to the Plurals: Resources and events for people who identify as plural/multiple/systems.
The Wildflower Alliance: Grassroots peer support, training, and advocacy community based in Massachusetts.
Alternatives To Suicide (Alt2Su): Peer support groups that allow people to talk about suicidal thoughts without fear of being committed to the hospital, etc
Trainings:
Intentional Peer Support = Trauma-informed peer support training
Emotional CPR - Trauma-informed mental health support training program for the layperson
Hearing Voices Curriculum: Targeted towards mental health professionals to better understand the experience of hearing voices. Warning: It's expensive!
Cities that have a particularly awesome way of dealing with folks in crisis/with mental illness/etc:
Geel - a farming community where residents welcome people suffering with severe mental illness/distress into their homes and live with them, share work, etc (Edit: apparently Geel is a small city with like 40,000 people and not a farming community lol, I was misinformed. Thanks to @roxbot for the correction!)
Trieste - a city with a community centered system of care that integrates housing and peer support
Warmlines (generally run by peers) and Crisis Lines that don't call the cops: (Most of these are taken from this post by trans-axolotl on Crisis Lines)
Trans Lifeline: 877-565-8860, 24/7
BlackLine: 1 (800) 604-5841, has texting options
The Plural Warmline (No number, check the site)
THRIVE: text message line at 313-662-8209, 24/7
Promise Resource Network: (833) 390-7728, 24/7
Project Return Peer Support Network: (888) 448-9777 English or (888) 448-4055 Spanish, hours are Monday through Friday 2:30 PM to 10:00 PM PST and Saturday and Sunday 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM PST
Wildflower Alliance Peer Support Line: 888-407-4515, hours are 7pm to 9pm EST Monday through Thursday and 7pm-10pm EST Friday through Sunday
Key Consumer Organization: 800-933-5397, hours are 8am - 4:30pm EST, Monday - Friday.
MBRLC Peer Support Line: 877-733-7563, hours are 4 pm-7:45 pm EST every day.
US Warmline Directory (unlikely to call cops, but check with the individual line first)
Misc:
CommonGround software - A software developed by Dr. Pat Deegan (an individual who was diagnosed with schizophrenia) that allows clients to communicate their needs to their doctors more efficiently to support shared-decision making with medication.
Open Dialogue- An psychosocial approach to psychiatric services that focuses shared decision-making and dialogue between client, providers, and family (if the client wants family involved), and often more minimal use of medication.
Integrative Psychiatry - A holistic form of psychiatry that focuses on nutrition, exercise, therapy, and psychosocial factors, where medication is just an aspect of treatment. US database of integrative psychiatrists here.
I will also give a somewhat honorable mention to Mobile Crisis Teams. They are a fairly new alternative to the usual "call the cops on your local mentally ill person". They are composed of nurses, therapists, social workers, occasionally peer support workers, etc. They hook the individual up with support/resources - which can often mean forced hospitalization/forced treatment FYI - but it is a step up from being killed by cops. Look up "[city] Mobile Crisis Team" to find out if there is one in your city.
A note: Something being on this list =/= it is perfect, just that it is an alternative to what we've got. So don't come at me, lmao. Feel free to add on if you know of anything else!
#long post#VERY long post lol#mental health#psychiatry#psych critical#psychiatry critical#psych wards#mental illness#neurodivergency#police brutality#antipsych#antipsychiatry#anti psychiatry#peer support#oh i'm gonna write a book on all this stuff btw uwu#WHAT ELSE CAN I TAG THIS WITH SO IT SHOWS UP FOR PPL???
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Rumortracking Anon, here’s my take vis a vis Hazno(fill-in-the-blank) on the broad timeline of BP’s announcement that KCIII has cancer. We were told that cancer was discovered during KCIII’s benign prostate surgery, and that it was “in a different part” of his body. It’s quite common for undiagnosed malignancies to be discovered in this way (a good thing). It could be in another part of the genitourinary system (eg, the bladder), was detected via scope through that organ system, and biopsied. It could be hematological and have been detected via bloodwork. We just don’t know. However, as with all suspected cancers, it would have to be confirmed by pathology testing, which usually takes 7-10 days, depending on which tests are required.
IMHO, KCIII and Camilla were informed of the potential cancer immediately after the prostate surgery was completed, and then William and Anne (at least) were informed soon thereafter. They all still had to wait for over a week for pathological confirmation, during which time they kept it 100% private. Once they had confirmation, and a treatment plan/schedule was finalized, only then did BP make an official public announcement - necessary because KCIII would be immunocompromised from treatment (whether chemotherapy, radiation, or immunotherapy) and would have to cancel public appearances.
They waited to tell H in California until just a few minutes before BP released the public announcement. That way, he (ie, Meghan) had zero time to leak the news to Scooby Doo the press. In other words, H found out 7-10 days AFTER KCIII, Camilla, William, and Anne (and others as well) knew. Even on the very slight chance that H/MM wouldn’t have leaked (as if lol), H still would’ve hopped on a plane to London pronto, alerting the press anyway that something was amiss.
Harry truly has been PNG’d by the BRF. He’s out of the royal loop, totally ostracized. Never again will they be able to trust him - with anything - and he did it completely to himself. No family secrets, no intimate family holidays, no impromptu meetings with KCIII or William, they don’t even trust him to stay overnight at a royal residence anymore…“go to a hotel, Harold.” Where’s Shakespeare when one needs him? Imagine the play (a history? a tragedy? a comedy? all three?) he could write of this royal saga! It would have to be in 3-15 parts, though.
***
All of this tracks and makes sense to me. I do agree that Harry was called at the last possible moment. Another anon and I were discussing earlier tonight the speculation that Meghan was leaking to Scobie/other reporters about the Queen’s illness and her death before the family was ready, and the family was later made fully aware. So in that case, it is completely believable that the BRF waited until just before the news dropped to avoid the same scenario. Could you imagine the panic that would have been if someone other than the official BP spokesperson announced the King had cancer? I mean, there was plenty of panic when it was under BP’s control.
And you’ve just reminded me of something - Charles ended up stayiing an extra day at the hospital. I think he was originally meant to leave Saturday/Sunday, but instead he left on Monday. At the time, I had thought Charles delayed his departure so as to distract the gathered media so Kate could leave unnoticed. Now, however, I wonder if the extra day was so his doctors and care team could do some additional testing.
And really, who needs Shakespeare when South Park is available? 🤣🤣
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📖"First Taste"
Rated: Explicit
Pairing: Steve Kemp x reader
Tags: doctor/patient, medical kink, body image issues, oral sex (f!rec), fingering, dub-con, pussy worship, (inference of background cannibalism (b/c it's Fresh), but nothing to do with the plot or reader)
Summary: Steve Kemp sees a new patient for a consult about a rather ... intimate procedure.
Steve gets into the office at his usual time, coffee cup in hand as he catches the elevator. He sees Cassie jogging in from across the lobby in her colorful scrubs and holds the door for her. They greet one another amicably and ask how each other’s weekend was. She tells him about her new kickboxing class, he tells her about the pâté he made on Saturday.
“Liver?” She says dubiously as the two of them enter the office. She’s wrinkling her nose and laughing at him. “You’re some kind of Chef, Kemp.”
“I prefer the term gourmand. By the way is that Barbie on your—”
“Yep.” She goes behind the nurse’s station and hands him a clipboard. “Your morning appointments. Dr. Hickory went into early labor at like four am, so you’ve got some of hers.”
Steve’s eyebrows raise as he takes the clipboard and gives it a look. “What is she, thirty-eight weeks?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Should be fine,” he mumbles. He frowns at one of the patient slots on his clipboard. “I see I have an FGM consult at eleven,” he says, eyes flicking peevishly back up to Cassie.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” she says, checking on her computer. “Yeah, Ms. Moreau. Be nice, she’s new.”
Steve narrows his eyes at the info. “You know I’ve tried to get away from doing those anymore,” he says, giving Cassie a look. Everybody in the office knows how he has a problem with the fact that Hickory’s turned their office into such a chop shop. Steve would’ve thought a woman would know better. Female solidarity, progressiveness, autonomy, kumbaya, whatever.
Cassie rolls her eyes at him. “Yeah yeah. Dr. Brendan the activist.”
“Hey, I told you, it’s—”
“‘Pathologizing the pussy’,” she recites with finger quotes. “We know.”
“Mm,” Steve grunts, assumes the ‘we’ is in reference to all the nurses at the practice. Those girls share a level of groupthink that is frankly eerie.
Steve works in plastics. He’s a vain man himself, so he knows he shouldn’t have gotten involved in a career field like this if he wasn’t prepared to be surrounded by other people’s body insecurities 24/7. It’s just… not how he pictured it.
Good thing he’s got this new side business venture going. He’s hopeful about it. Just last month he’d been able to send in the final payment for his student loans. Pretty soon he’ll have enough to get a house. He's entertaining the idea of a custom build, still scouting properties south of Portland. “I’ll see you later,” he tells Cassie. “Send my nine o’clock to exam three when they get here.”
“You got it.”
You arrive early for your appointment, plunking yourself down in the waiting room chair after the long walk from the train. You feel unpleasantly sticky underneath the cotton of your sundress. The office is cool, but it’d been hot outside. The near-boiling summer temperatures made you work up a sweat as you made your way across the city for this appointment.
Now, sitting in the chair, you can feel the sweat that’s formed on your body. It’s at your hairline, between your breasts and at the creases of your inner thighs. You worry about it, because soon you’ll be baring yourself to the doctor and you had specifically showered right before leaving for your apartment, used a pH balanced feminine hygiene product, just in case you were somehow scent blind to your own body. You didn’t want to be sweaty and gross when Dr. Hickory was going to be looking down there.
“Miss?” The receptionist smiles at you, holding out a clipboard from over the desk. “You need to fill this out, please.”
You stand, hurrying to go get it and the pen that she offers you as well. “Sorry,” you murmur. They’d told you that you would need to be there fifteen minutes early for paperwork. You return to your chair, feeling like such a hot sweaty mess, whereas the receptionist lady is so pretty and poised. You tuck some of your blonde hair back behind your ears and cross your ankles in an attempt to be even a fraction as put together as she is, you powder blue espadrilles knocking together as you prop the clipboard on your lap.
The office’s air conditioning is making the perspiration cool to your skin now, clammy and unpleasant. You read over the intake forms and fill them out. The second page has a line drawing of a naked woman’s body, front and back. It asks you to circle the areas you’re there to address. You bite your lip and circle the drawing’s pelvis. The anxiety you tend to get creeps back up on you, but you take a deep breath and let it out. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Dr. Hickory does this all the time. It’s her speciality. She will have seen it all, and you’ll be nothing new to her.
The door to the waiting room opens and a younger woman in hot pink scrubs peeks her head through. “Ms. Moreau?” she says brightly. She has café au lait skin, wild curly hair, and a genuine smile that helps put you at ease.
“That’s me.” You stand up, the only person in the waiting room. “Obviously,” you chuckle, grabbing your purse and following after her.
“I’m Cassie,” she introduces herself. “Hop on up here and let’s get your weight.” You step on the scale backwards and open your mouth to tell her that you don’t need to know the number, but Cassie cuts you off with a wry look. “Don’t worry,” she says, thumbing at her own chest. “I know how it is, girl.”
You flush and nod, glad that you don’t have to veer into that explanation. She records your weight on her clipboard and tells you to follow her to an exam room. Inside, she hands you a painfully thin paper gown and tells you that you can change. You fidget uncomfortably. “Um, actually I wore a dress so that she could just…” you make a gesture, “ah, dive right in. Is it alright if I just stay like this?”
Cassie nods and doesn’t try to foist the paper gown on you any further. “Have a seat,” she tells you. “The doctor is just finishing up with another patient.”
“Okay,” you whisper, getting up onto the exam table. After Cassie leaves, you look around the room, taking everything in. You’ve never been in a plastic surgeon’s office before. Everything looks just like any other doctor’s office would, except that instead of posters talking about BMI and heart disease, there are advertisements for laser therapies and Botox.
You spot a tray of breast implants over on a counter and can’t stop yourself from going over to look. You pick one up and poke at it, feeling it wobble in your hand. You giggle a little, before bringing it up to hold in front of your chest. Your own breasts haven’t ever bothered you much. They’re small-ish but have a good shape. One of your exes had complimented them excessively (though other parts had received thinly-veiled criticism). You pick up another of the implants, this one bigger and more viscous, and hold the two shapes up to each of your breasts, trying to imagine what it would look like…
“I wouldn’t recommend either of those for you,” a male voice cuts in, and you nearly jump out of your skin.
You spin around. You’re still holding the implants near your chest, startled as you blink at the man who’s entered the room. He’s wearing a doctor’s coat over scrubs, and his nametag says Brendan Kemp, MD. The bigger of the two implants rolls out of your lax hand, landing with a comical ‘plop’ right by your shoe. “Oh jeez. I’m sorry!” you say in a hurry, feeling like a child who’s gotten caught doing something bad. You rush to bend down and collect the implant from the floor. “Sorry I was just—”
The man steps closer with a smirk on his lips and gleaming eyes. He seems amused at you. “Everybody wants to grab the boobies,” he says, gently taking the implants out of your hands and setting them back onto the tray on the counter. “You’re fine, Ms. Moreau.”
You blink at him, stuck in place. He knows your name. “Oh,” you say, voice hushed, still embarrassed. This doctor is very good looking. He has a commanding presence, too. Something about his eyes draws you in, makes you want to be the object of his attention. He smiles warmly at you, perfect teeth flashing for a second, and you huff at yourself and try to laugh off your foolishness. “Yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Guess I was just curious.”
“Hey, at least you weren’t juggling them. I walked in on that, once.” He winks. “What’s your accent? French Canadian?”
“Ah, y-yeah. I’m from—” You watch as he barely listens to your answer, his eyes sliding down to the level of your chest and staying there, assessing. You flush under the scrutiny. But you don’t feel like you can move away without being rudely dismissive. You squirm, uncomfortable. “Um, I’m not—”
“I’m Dr. Kemp,” he murmurs offhandedly, still staring at your chest. You see his hands twitch, as if he’s thinking of touching, but stopping himself. “A woman with your frame wouldn’t look right with ones that big,” he says, meaning the implants you’d just been holding.
You feel the need to defend your own taste. “Oh I know that. I wasn’t—”
“These,” he says softly, taking one of the more modestly sized implants from the tray and holding it up in front of you to see. You’re caught looking more at the sight of his strong, elegant fingers than you are the implant. “These would suit you better. Though I honestly wouldn’t recommend augmentation for you.” His eyes finally return to your face. “Your breasts are lovely.”
You feel your lips part in shock. “Um…” you feel an odd combination of flattery and confusion. Is it normal for a doctor to talk to a patient like this? Maybe it’s different with plastic surgeons, you think. They are paid to focus on their patients’ looks, after all. Comments on what is and isn’t aesthetically pleasing must be par for the course, here. “Thank you?”
But then there’s his gaze, the way he stares at you. It feels like he’s not just looking at your body for his job, but also looking for himself, as well. There’s too much interest there to be purely professional. Your breath catches when you feel your nipples starting to tighten beneath your dress, and sure enough, when you glance down they’re very visible through the fabric. Shit. You see Kemp’s eyes look back down.
“Sorry,” you say in a rush, turning away from his assessing gaze. You should’ve worn a bra, you chide yourself. You try to take a deep, stabilizing breath while you have your back to him. “I’m here for… for something else.” You look down at your pebbled nipples, which aren’t softening as much as you’d like, and you sigh in defeat. No doubt Dr. Kemp has seen plenty of nipples in his day. You need to just get over it. You turn around and climb back up to sit on the exam table, the paper crinkling under your butt as you settle. “I’m just waiting for Doctor Hickory,” you explain. “For a consult. They said she’s with another patient.”
Dr. Kemp sighs and holds up his clipboard. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. I’ll be seeing you today.”
“What?” You sit up straighter, alarmed. “But…” You’d specifically sought out a woman doctor for this. The idea of a man looking critically at you, there, is mortifying. “But, but Dr. Hickory—”
“Is having a baby,” Kemp says. “She went into preterm labor this morning. But we hear everything’s going well.” He smiles at you, as if this is good news. “She’ll be out on maternity leave for at least six months.”
“...Six months,” you repeat weakly. You hadn’t even known she was pregnant. They hadn’t said a thing to you when you made the appointment. You’d been counting on her being your doctor. And now this guy, this Dr. Kemp, was stepping in? You swallow nervously, uncomfortable with a man (let alone a very, very handsome man) being your doctor. Not for this. “Um, well I…”
Dr. Kemp is already looking over your chart on his clipboard. He’s going to see what you circled, you realize, mortified. You watch helplessly as he reads all of your private details. “Dr. Kemp…” you say meekly,
“You're here for a consult for…” he reads, eyes scanning further down the page. “Oh. You’re the Labiaplasty.”
You flush bright red at the word coming from his perfect mouth. You squirm uncomfortably. “Um, well… yes.”
“Don’t worry,” he tells you, placing a hand on your knee as if in comfort. He pulls it away before you can process it. “I’m more than familiar with the procedure. I trained down in L.A.” He says this like it’s supposed to explain something, and he winks at you again. It’s… upsetting.
You swallow thickly. “The thing is, I’d been hoping for a female doctor.”
Kemp’s eyes fly to your face as he realizes how uncomfortable you are. “Oh, Honey. I see.” You blush and he gives you a tender look. “You’re shy? That’s understandable.”
“Thank you, I—”
“But I’m sorry to tell you, Sweetheart, there aren’t any other women doctors in our practice.”
“Oh.” Your heart sinks. Getting this consult appointment had taken months, and you’d wanted to go to a place where you knew they were very good, very experienced. This place had been recommended as the best. “I see.”
Dr. Kemp looks pityingly at you. “Did you want to reschedule your appointment?” he asks gently. “Dr. Hickory won’t be taking new patients until after her leave, but I can have the receptionist take a look at next year’s calendar.”
You look at him with wide eyes, disappointed. “Next… next year?”
He makes an apologetic face. “Yeah, sorry.”
Sighing, you try to put on a brave face. You’re an adult, you tell yourself. Buck the fuck up. You’ve put up with male gynos before, after all. None of them ever looked like Dr. Kemp, but you shouldn’t hold the man’s good looks against him. He’s just here to do his job, to help you. “It’s okay,” you say, trying to approximate a friendly smile. “It’s fine. You can… you can be my doctor.”
Dr. Kemp’s eyes flash in satisfaction, but there’s something about it that’s more than just professional. “Good girl,” he says, and he says it all chipper and like it’s a normal thing to say to a patient, like it isn’t supposed to make your panties feel a little bit damp (and honestly, the sweetheart’s and the honey’s and the your breasts are lovely’s has probably contributed to the situation in your panties, too). “So,” Kemp says, sitting down onto the physician’s stool and rolling over. “Why don’t you tell me what makes you want this procedure.”
He’s giving you his full attention. He’s not even holding the clipboard anymore, and you find that it’s nearly impossible to meet his gaze for long. You look down at your lap instead, at your clasped hands against the white fabric of your sundress as you tell him, “Um, well I guess I just don’t, ah, don’t really like how I look… down there.” You nearly whisper the last words, ashamed.
“What don’t you like about it?” he asks softly.
“It just doesn’t look right,” you say, echoing the things your boyfriend had told you, things that you couldn’t help but to come to see as true. “It’s too much. Too big. It looks like…” you can’t even bring yourself to say the words that he’d used. “It’s just not pretty,” you whisper, cheeks burning in shame. “I want it to be prettier. Like other girls.”
“Other girls,” he repeats. “What other girls are we talking about?”
You scoff quietly and frown at your lap. “Like… you know. Like what you see in, in—”
“Porn?” Kemp says, voice tight. When you look up you’re struck by his darkening expression. He looks pissed off. “Let me guess,” he says, jaw working. “Boyfriend?”
You gape at him. “Ahm… no. Ex-boyfriend,” you murmur. Dr. Kemp looks very displeased, and you shrink back into yourself. “Is it… isn’t this like, a common procedure?” you ask meekly, wary of the man’s expression. “I looked at the website. There were lots of before and after pictures.” When you don’t get a response, you prod, “Doctor?”
“Steve,” he says, his expression lightening up somewhat. “You can call me Steve.”
You glance at his name tag that says Brendan Kemp, MD. “But—”
He scoots forward and puts his hands on your knees, rubbing over them. It pushes the hem of your dress up by the barest degree, but you ignore it. He’s looking you closely in the eyes. He looks sweet, and kind. And because of how handsome he is, how sure of himself too, it’s intimidating as hell. “Why don’t I have a look first, hm?” he says. “Give you my professional opinion, before you go deciding what needs fixing.”
You gulp and manage a tiny nod. “O-okay.” This is the part you’ve dreaded. Dr. Kemp (Steve, he’d told you to call him, but that just makes this whole experience feel more uncomfortable, more personal) scrutinizing your most private place.
He pulls out the stirrups from the end of the table and instructs you to put your legs up. “Take your shoes and underwear off and get comfy,” he says, smiling nicely at you as he says it, as if “comfy” is something you could possibly be while doing this.
He scoots away on his rolling stool to go over to the room’s counter and don latex gloves, giving you an illusion of privacy as you untie the laces of your shoes and slip them off your feet. They land on the floor with a muted ‘clunk’, and you slide your panties down your legs and tuck them under your lower back. They have a little wet spot on them that you don’t want Dr. Kemp to see. You slide down the table and put your feet into the stirrups, getting into the familiar, yet never-not-humiliating, position. You feel impossibly exposed, the cool air hitting between your legs and making you want to close them. As a useless, last-ditch effort, you straighten out the fabric of your dress so that it covers you to your knees, serving as a sort of barrier between you and him. “...Ready,” you say quietly, when it seems that he’s not going to return without your say-so.
He sits on the stool and rolls up close between your legs. You start trembling a little and you shut your eyes to try and calm down. “...Hey,” Kemp says, getting your attention. When you open your eyes again you see him standing over you, looking at your face instead of between your legs. “Honey,” he says gently. “You seem really nervous.”
You wince. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He looks kindly at you. “I just wanted to double check. You didn’t indicate any history of sexual assault on your intake form.”
You blanch. “Oh! N-no I— nothing like that.”
“Okay,” he says gently, patting your knee again. “Just wanted to make sure.”
You’re struck by how sweet that is of him, and you try to relax to show him you’re grateful for his care. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” you tell him as he sits back down on the stool. “This just… sucks, you know?”
“Mm.” You gasp as his gloved hands appear on your ankles and give an indicative tug. “Scoot down closer to the end of the table, Sweetheart.”
Heat floods you as you do as you’re told, putting your ass right to the edge of the table like he wants. It’s so humiliating. You want to cover your face with your hands, only refraining by gripping the edges of the padded table instead.
“Shh. Good girl,” he praises you, and you feel your belly clench at the words. Below you, he chuckles and self consciousness floods you as you think of what he must be seeing. You’re suddenly, horribly curious if you’re at all wet. Good God, you hope not. But your panties had been damp, that one little wet spot on the crotch… You tense again as Kemp’s hands appear on the inside edges of your knees, pushing them apart. “Open up for me now.”
You realize you’d been closing your legs together somewhat. “S-sorry,” you whisper.
He rubs your inner thigh—close to the knee but still shocking. “It’s okay. I know this is hard. I can tell you’re a woman who doesn’t spread her legs for many men.”
Your lips part as your mind reels, offended and horrified that he’d say that. Nevermind that it’s true, or that it sounds like he’s praising you, like he’s just calling you a ‘good girl’ in a different way. You seal your lips shut to keep yourself from scolding him.
The next thing you feel is him leaning closer. You swear you can feel his breath down there, but surely he wouldn’t be getting so close. You grit your teeth and try not to let your mind run away with itself. “So,” you say to try and make conversation, to try and prove to him and yourself that you’re a mature woman who can handle this. “So y-you can see. See what I mean.”
“Mm, still looking,” he says thoughtfully. You inhale sharply when he touches you, but you quickly slam your eyes shut and try to take calming breaths. You knew going into this that you’d need to be examined. He drags his fingers over your mons and down the puffy outer lips of your pussy. It’s extra sensitive to you because you’d shaved yourself completely bare before this appointment. Silly, maybe, but you’ve always thought that hair down there was unsightly, gross, and you didn’t want Dr. Hickory to have to deal with it.
Not that she’s dealing with you at all, now.
You bite your lip as you feel him exploring you slowly, with the barest of touches. He’s touching you in a way that feels more like a lover than a doctor. His thumbs gently dip into the crease of your outer lips and pull them apart, baring everything between. “Look at that,” he whispers, and you nearly cry out in mortification. You must whimper or something, because Dr. Kemp pauses and checks, “Still okay?”
You nod, eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Fine,” you say breathily. Deep breaths. He does this all the time. It’s no big deal to him. Just take deep— “Oh!”
He’s stroking the hood of your clit with the pad of a finger, just the barest, gliding touch. It’s slippery with something, and you feel halfway sick as you have to wonder if it’s a medical lubricant he’s somehow fetched, or your own arousal that he’s gathered up and is using to explore you. No, you think, it couldn’t be. He wouldn’t…
“You have a gorgeous pussy,” he breathes from between your legs.
“I… ex-excuse me?” you stutter. This time you can feel it when you clench and slick comes out of you. Dr. Kemp groans as if he’s seen it happen, and you feel your face flame. “I’m sorry,” you apologize, humiliated that you’re getting wet from this. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Shh sh sh,” he hushes you, one of his gloved hands smoothing over your inner thigh, this time much further up. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Your body’s just reacting naturally to being stimulated.” His gentle explanation does absolutely nothing to help with your situation, and you feel your belly tighten again in arousal. You whimper helplessly, somehow wanting him to comfort you. And he does. “Honey,” he breathes, going back to tracing the hood of your clit. His fingers move down, following the line of your inner lips, spreading them out and gliding over the thickest parts of them. Shame curls in your gut as you remember the words you ex had used:
“Fucking luscious,”
You blink at the ceiling tiles, shocked. Those had most certainly not been the words he’d used. “Um,” you start to say, but he interrupts you in a firm tone,
“Baby, listen to me, okay?” You’re frozen, unable to respond so he takes your silence for compliance. Between your legs, his fingers trace up and down the wet folds of your cunt. There’s no interpreting it any other way now—he’s caressing you. “This?” he says, whispering the words what feels like only inches from your skin. “This is your labia minora.”
You exhale shakily. “I—I know that.”
“Mm.” He keeps tracing them, keeps gliding around in the wetness that’s now becoming obscene. “It’s natural for you to look like this.”
“I just…” you stammer, still trying to bring this examination back into the realm of productive. “I th-think they’re too big. There’s too much…” you tense up at another wet stroke over your clit. “Too much...meat,” you grit out.
Between your legs, Steve makes a displeased sound. “That’s what the ex told you, huh?” He doesn't wait for you to answer, one of his thumbs sliding down, down, until it starts rubbing down at your taint, pushing right up against the edge of your pussy. You gasp and he shushes you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong, here,” he murmurs, his breath a hot whoosh against you.
You whimper at the realization of how close he is to you now. “Please,” you whisper, “Dr. Kemp—”
“Steve,” he corrects gently, still thumbing circles of pressure into the thin skin at the edge of your hole, almost teasing, almost threatening with how close it is and how with only a little bit more pressure, a different angle, he could slide it right in. “I told you to call me Steve.” His other hand splays out over your mons, the thumb dipping down to swipe up and down over the hood of your clit. It’s a slick, gliding, barely-there touch. He’s hardly applying any pressure but that’s how you like it. You’re so sensitive there, and you can’t hold in the pitiful little moan that leaves your lips. Steve hums in approval. “Yeah,” he says, voice low and quiet. “You’ve got a prominent clitoral hood.”
You toss your head on the table, a whine building in your throat at his bold, clinical language. It doesn’t match his tone of voice or the way he’s touching you. This is so wrong. But you can’t stop it. You like it. He intimidates you horribly, and you like that, too.
He’s still stroking you there as he says, “What was that word you used, hm? ‘Meat’?”
You cringe.
“Well it is,” Steve says lowly. “Very meaty.” He traces your folds again, this time holding your labia delicately between his fingertips and rubbing the sensitive flesh. You just about die.
“St-steve, please,”
“And these lips,” he says, ignoring your pleas. “These gorgeous …juicy fucking folds.” he says, nearly growling the words. “Makes a man wanna lick, and suck…”
You go rigid at the first touch of his tongue. “Ohmygod,” you whisper, hips jolting up against his mouth without your permission. You’re about to apologize, but before you can, Dr. Kemp is loosing the filthiest, most appreciative groan, the tail end of the sound becoming muffled as he mashes his whole mouth against your pussy. “Holy—” Shit, you finish in your mind, unable to force words past your throat anymore. Steve mouths at you like he can’t wait, like he’s desperate, and you feel it as his tongue swipes broadly over your entire cunt. Your fingers spasm, digging painfully into the edges of the exam table as your whole body tenses up. “Oh, god,” you moan, hips jerking against his mouth.
He makes a muffled sound of pleasure and sucks everything he can into his mouth; your clit, your lips. He sucks, hard and sloppy, releasing it all with a loud, wet sound. “Fuck, honey,” he pants. “Never wanted to suck on a pussy so bad.” His hand returns to your mound, his thumb taking up the same swiping motion over your clit, only now you’re drenched and swollen, throbbing with sensitivity.
“Shit,” you whine, pressing up against his hand without realizing it at first.
He holds you down easily and flicks his thumb a little rougher, a little faster. “Yeah? He breathes, kissing at the edge of your sex, near your thigh in a move that is surprisingly sweet. “That feel good for you, Sweetheart?” You make an unplanned noise of assent, and he hums darkly. He’s pleased. “Good girl,” he says again, and flicks his thumb. “Such a big fat clit, and these pretty pink lips. Mmhm, so fucking plump. I could play with it all day, looove it.”
You toss your head, unable to take the words he’s saying. And he’s growling it all at you like it’s a good thing, like your pussy’s the best thing he’s ever seen. You can’t doubt for a second that he means it, but you’re just so overwhelmed by what he’s saying…
You make an embarrassingly high pitched sound when he presses a finger into you. “Oh!”
“Shsh,” he warns you, smoothing his other hand up the apex of your thigh, up under the fabric of your dress, over your belly. “Shh, honey. Don’t want the nurse to walk in, do you?”
You gasp, suddenly afraid of that possibility. He feels you get still and silent and soothes you with a heavy lick over your lips, the finger that’s inside of you curling. “You’re okay,” he promises, kissing your clit, sucking it and letting it pop from his mouth. You sob. “Shh. You’re okay.” He moves his finger shallowly, stroking you from the inside. It feels nice, and you exhale shakily, trying to calm yourself down.
“Steve,” you breathe. “You shouldn’t. We… I shouldn’t….”
All of a sudden he rises from the stool, standing to his full height and moving to the side of the table as he keeps his hand on you, in you. He stares down at you, his expression rapt but tender. It’s so much worse with him looking at you like this. It’s almost harder than when he had his face mashed against you and half your sex inside his mouth. It’s even more serious like this, you think as you blink up at him with parted lips. It’s more personal. He looks you right in the eyes, unfaltering, as he slips in another finger. You keen, and your hips press up into it, seeking. His lips curl, pleased. He moves his hand in such a firm, practiced way. He’s not pulling out very much at all. Not thrusting so much as he is rocking, grinding.
Inside, something starts to feel tight and desperate. You watch him watching you, watching it happen. He’s smiling, smug, he knows what he’s making you feel. “You’re soaking my hand, honey,” he murmurs, and you feel your cheeks flood hot with shame. “Uh uh,” he corrects you, stern. “No, it’s beautiful.”
He changes it, starts rocking deeper, curling against your walls and jabbing harder at that spot. It’s not an orgasm you feel so much as an urgency, and you squeak as the pressure builds. “S-something,” you try to say, try to tell him that something’s going to happen. But his eyes gleam in pleasure, like he already knows. Above your clit, the thumb of his hand starts rubbing in downward strokes: down down down. Holy fuck does it feel good. Your eyes slam shut as you feel it building, building and tightening. Oh—
“I want you to promise me,” Kemp says, and you’re shocked at how close his voice is. You open your eyes. He’s bent over, his face mere inches from yours as his hand keeps working. “Before I make you cum, I want you to promise me,” he growls. “Promise me that you’ll never let anybody cut on this fucking perfect pussy.”
You gasp, his words jabbing at the core of you almost as much as his fingers inside do, “Ahh-oh!”
“Promise me, Angel,” he says, rocking his hand harder, faster, harder. “Promise me now.”
“I… I…ha-oh! I pra–hom–mi–ssss!” Your eyes slam shut and your hips jerk against him as it happens. You cum, you cum hard. You hear him curse and know that he’s moving back down between your legs to look at your clenching cunt. He never stops jerking his hand into you, drawing the pleasure out. You’re loud. You squeal and shriek and jerk wildly through the whole thing, unable to control your body. It’s never felt this; this urgent, this out of control. You buck against his hand, feeling the wetness soaking everything beneath you, until finally it comes to an end.
He pulls out of you and uses both hands to spread your lips apart, staring. You whine and squirm, and then you really feel the extent of the wetness down there, and you blanch. “I—Oh no.” You try to sit up, try to pull away from him and get his hands off you, panicking. “I… I peed.” You struggle, mortified, pulling your feet from the stirrups and swinging them to the side of the table, trying to close yourself to him, trying to get off the table and—
“Heyheyhey, no. Hang on baby, calm down.” Steve stops you, his hands at your waist, keeping you seated on the table. He crowds you, holding you in place. “You didn’t honey, you didn’t. You’re okay.” He laughs. He’s laughing. You can’t believe it as you watch him. You begin to scowl, ready to be hurt and mad, but he hushes you with a kiss to your mouth.
You gasp and go silent, somehow more taken aback by this than anything he’s done yet. His mouth is so sure and confident over yours, his lips pillow soft but commanding. He pulls back from the kiss and looks at you. “You squirted, honey,” he explains, amusement still clear in his eyes, only now you’re calm enough that you can see the affection there, too. The satisfaction, the desire. He’s not making fun of you.
“What?” You look down to the end of the table, where you’d been splayed open for him. The paper covering and the vinyl padding of the table are soaked with a clear liquid. You look down to your lap, which is barely covered by the material of your bunched up sundress now. Between your thighs, it feels wet too. “I… I did?” you nearly whisper, astounded.
He laughs affectionately and leans in to kiss your forehead. “Yeah, Angel, you did. It was amazing.”
You flush and tuck your head down, feeling tingly from his obvious approval. The things he’d said about your body… “You really meant it?” you ask. “All the—”
“Yes,” he says firmly. He tips your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Hey,” he says gently. “Remember what you promised me.”
You squirm uncomfortably. Maybe he finds you attractive, but you can’t help but to worry about other guys, about the future partners you’ll have. Steve might like it, but he’s just one man. The fact remains that down between your legs, you still look like most of the before halves of the before and after pictures. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, apologetic to dismiss his opinion of you. “But I just… I want my next boyfriend to think I’m pretty, there,” you say reluctantly, glancing up at him.
He has a fierce gleam in his eyes as he boldly tells you, “He already does,” and then surges down to kiss you again.
It’s been a long day. With both his own patients and a bunch of Hickory’s to see to as well, Steve is pretty tired by the time 5:00 rolls around and the office staff is closing up. He changes out of his scrubs and lab coat, back into his gym shorts and sneakers that he’ll jog home in. That’s how Cassie finds him. “Brendan, check it out!” She holds up her phone for him to see the picture of a wet, vaguely purple-colored newborn. “Boy,” she tells him. “Five pounds, whatever ounces. Small but healthy. She says they’re naming him Grady Harrison.”
Steve grins. “Awww.” What a horrible name.
Cassie puts her phone away and tilts her head at him. “A bunch of us are going for drinks. You want to come?”
Steve shakes his head. “I’m beat. Gonna head home soon.”
“Mm. You know your nickname is Boring Brendan,” she teases, grabbing up her purse and heading for the exit.
“It is not,” he laughs, waving her out the door. “I’m just gonna finish up with a few notes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She waves goodbye and the office door falls shut, locking behind her because he’s the last one there and the office manager already left. Steve walks behind the partition of the nurse’s station and sits down, booting up one of the computers. He clicks the mouse over a few folders, typing in his password when it prompts him for entry into the patient data files. There’s one in particular whom he wants to learn everything he can about.
He finds the folder marked with her name:
Moreau, Ann J.
The corner of his mouth ticks up and he clicks to open the file. “Ann,” he murmurs the name, remembering the taste of her cunt against his tongue, filling his mouth, his senses. Mmm. She’d been delicious, exquisite. Not taking his eyes away from the computer screen, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tiny scrap of lace she'd left behind in her hurry to escape him. He holds the panties under his nose, inhaling. Fuck, he thinks, remembering her delicate body in that delicate cotton dress, how she'd cried out and creamed herself for him. So sweet.
He wants to learn more about her, fully plans on tracking her down and taking her on a date. On many dates, if he can.
Because he’s never been the type to be satisfied by just one taste.
Masterlist
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#sebastian stan#sebastian stan characters#fresh 2022#fresh movie#steve kemp#steve kemp x ofc#steve kemp x you#steve kemp x reader#au fanfiction#fanfic#fanfiction#sebastian stan fanfiction#fic writing#reader insert#reader fanfiction#reader fic
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"Casual" Saturday morning with a 50 pages article reading *cries in breast pathology*.
At least the weather is getting warmer, finally springtime ✿
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OUGH OKAY uhm!!! @rowanthefierce
all of the gang works for valka's dragon sanctuary!! valka in my au is more like valhallarama from the books in that she's moreso absent for long periods of time & when she's there she's relatively detached but!! hiccup takes over the sanctuary (at like. age 15 but shhhh. valka & stoick still pay for everything but hiccup runs it rlly)
so from like, 15 to 17 the gang are learning abt dragons & begin education programs to help ppl understand dragons better!!! the dragon academy does become a thing!!!! after they graduate high school tho (yes this is all while they're juggling high school!!!) they all start kinda going separate ways (and obv eventually come back together full time but!!! it's uncertain for a while!!)
more under the cut bc this is gonna be LONG!!
hiccup, astrid, fishlegs, & the twins get into the same university.
snotlout doesn't, he gets denied (it's a whole Thing™️ for the gang)
however they all pursue different things
hiccup, as like, predictable as this is, pursues engineering & tries to get as many certifications as possible. he's doing AS MUCH as he can, as hands on as he can. he wants to learn to be able to help make the world a better place for toothless (and all dragons!!) once he graduates he's back at the santuary full time & helps design new parts as they expand & get bigger! also new stuff for dragon care & just!! yeah!!!
in his free time, hiccup has a motorcycle he rebuilt from the ground up, loves zipping around town, he also draws, & ofc spending as much time with toothless as he can (maybe sneaking toothless out of the sanctuary.... a lot)
fishlegs goes into environmental science with minors in plant pathology & geology!!! this also ties back into dragons & their care through their environments best suited for them as well as dealing with climate change & stuff!!!! he applies what he learns to the berk sanctuary!!! he also goes back to the academy but he also works at the berk public library part time!!
fishlegs also collects so so much music, so many records, tapes, cds, 8tracks, u name it!!! he also has a rock collection ofc!!! he also spends as much time with meatlug as possible (maybe sneaks her out)!! he also gardens!! & does yoga on saturdays with astrid!!!!
astrid gets a double major of kinesiology & nutrition!!! this is more human oriented obv HOWEVER she's constantly trying to remind everyone around her to take better care of themselves for the love of everything!!! although she still is able to apply what she learns to dragon training!! u can not move the ways dragons do but motor skills are still important as well as eating right!!!! either way, dragons gotta learn this stuff to but in their own way!! she graduates & goes back to the sanctuary & helps with that!!
astrid does axe throwing in my modern au. she goes & practices often to blow off steam. also a track & field person FOR SURE!! like, discus throwing, hammer throwing, the godt damn works!! she's a weight lifter too!! i need astrid to be buff so bad!!! also yoga with fishlegs on saturdays!! she wouldn't call it "sneaking" but she does like to take stormfly out & about :)
ruffnut is pre-med and does go into veterinary school. she stays in school the longest out of the gang which shocks EVERYONE but it's what sounded interesting & it gave her a challenge. plus working at the sanctuary, u end up caring for a lot of sick & injured dragons. fishlegs helps her BUT she becomes The Medical Expert™️ & even uses the sanctuary for her dissertation & specializes in dragon veterinary medicine!!!
as for hobbies, ruff is still a chaotic being who loves destruction & explosions. she & tuff do mythbuster type shit!! she also is very much into theater!! she sometimes participates in local theater & did a performance or two in college!! i also think she longboards!! loves sneaking barf and belch out of the sanctuary!!
tuffnut gets his degree in theatre with a minor in chemistry!! the minor was more of an accident. he took the classes bc he thought they were interesting & ended up getting enough credit for the minor!! after he graduates he works at a few local theaters part time to help with either cast or crew (he acts but also sometimes he will do costuming, stage production, etc!!) but he also goes back to the sanctuary after he graduates!!
tuff's hobbies overlap with ruff's in that they do mythbuster type shit LOL!! but also he's in a little sewing club with snotlout!! he also longboards with ruff!! AND ofc, he raises chickens on the side :) loooves getting barf and belch out of the sanctuary.
snotlout. snotlout, snotlout, snotlout. this boy's got it kinda rough. he gets denied from the university everyone else goes to & it hits him hard, so he keeps working at the sanctuary full time while going to community college & trying out classes that interest him, but he feels lost. he finds himself doing a lot of music oriented classes & just gets a two year degree in music. later he'll go on to be a high school band & choir director of all things but that's down the line :) before then while working at the sanctuary he works part time at a local biker bar (once he's old enough)
snotlout's hobbies are a bit of a mish mash. he plays guitar, has a harley davidson motorcycle (goes riding with hiccup!!), is in the sewing club with tuff (has an etsy store on the side shhh), & loves sneaking hookfang out of the sanctuary!! also loves american football & sometimes does hammer throwing with astrid.
do they all have one big mutual thing they all share & do besides sneaking their dragons out of the sanctuary? yes. yes they do. they have a long running dungeons & dragons game & they also love multiplayer video games in ANY capacity. any way to be competitive!!!!!!! minecraft, smash brothers, mariokart, marioparty, runescape, call of duty, halo, ANYTHING they can get their hands on, old and new.
#httyd#httyd headcanons#hiccup haddock#astrid hofferson#fishlegs ingerman#snotlout jorgenson#ruffnut thorston#tuffnut thorston#i gotta actually come up with my own tag for my modern au i realized AH#rose rambles#long post#httyd modern au#dragons off the coast au
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evil saturday... [crossed out: foul] Exceptional sunday......... set a reminder for the 20th of november everybody!!
ruby's playthrough/stagings/analyses of pathologic have always done the game justice and this one is no exception. it was a huge honor and delight to get to do the thumbnail for this one!
youtube
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saturday, november 4th 🩶 yesterday!
checked out a new coffee shop + brought my journal! ☕️ i didn’t get pics of my schoolwork but i finished a lab on muscles and an ethics paper. the paper was different than what i’m used to bc it’s not as concrete as physiology/pathology, but i had fun using a new frame of thinking!
🎧 jay shetty podcasts episodes: dr. amen + joe dispenza + deepak chopra
#study blog#studyblr#nursing studyblr#student life#study aesthetic#study motivation#study space#medical studyblr#studyspo#nursing school#study nursing#nursing student#college student#studying#student#university student#college life#soft life#dark academia#academia aesthetic#cafe aesthetic#study notes#study session#study sesh#studyinspo#college studyblr#studyblr community#study inspiration#study inspo#warm academia
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been thinking about the funniest characters to put in pathologic to deal with the plague:
nadia russian doll ("saturday! what a concept!" "life is a box of timelines you feel me?" "i am not a cockaroach whyy do you call me a cockaroach")
dale cooper twin peaks ("diane, i am holding in my hands a box of little crushed pills. the locals call it a shmowder." )
the entire cast of the bear ("i suffer from anxiety and dread" "who doesnt")
happy to take more input
#i feel like russian doll in particular is thematically very seamlessly parallel to patho#pathologic#russian doll#the bear#twin peaks#mine
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I know I'm posting a lot today but this is my blog to collect my thoughts so here are some more:
Babydog made me super proud on Saturday. I was sitting on the ground with Zaku in my lap and Kermit next to me, when a competitor's small child (~6 years old) sudden ran over and hurled herself to the ground so that she landed partially on top of him, and then she started petting him. Zaku turned his head towards her like "oh hi! :D"
Kermit then ruined things by barking ("not allowed!!") so Zaku started boofing. I told the girl she needs to ask before petting strange dogs and she ran back to her mom. I am incredibly proud and amazed Zaku's instinctive response was to just. not react at all. What good genetics. What good nerves. What a good baby. Because holy shit.
He made me proud again on Sunday. My roommate had her two greyhound puppies out while we were waiting for awards, so I let Zaku play with them a bit on leash. Once things got a little too exciting I broke them up and just worked on keeping calm while the other two puppies horsed around. All I was requiring was a loose leash and all four feet on the floor and Zaku repeatedly offered sits, downs, and eye contact all on his own. It really gives a glimpse of the adult dog he'll be once he's over this teenage nonsense.
I got a lot of compliments from the flyball people on Zaku's temperament. I guess they'd had some negative experiences with other Belgians, and they told me Zaku is what a Belgian shepherd should be like. I told them that I am pathologically afraid people will hate my dogs and one of them paused, then looked at me and said, "I've always admired how much work you put into Bindi. But you don't have an aggressive dog anymore. You can relax. It's okay."
And it had a really profound affect on me because she's right. I don't have an aggressive dog anymore. Obviously there are behaviors that come with the WL Belgian shepherd package that I have to stay on top of, but Zaku's never going to be like Bindi. He's so much more stable. The incident on Saturday really proved it.
#zaku terv#I don't know I'm just feeling emotions about what a nice puppy I got#I waited for him for so long and he's so good#I miss my girl so much but I never want another dog like her#it's going to be okay
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The rathologic theatre is pleased to unveil Fall 2023's streaming repertory (of course, this will be overridden if we get bachelor gameplay):
P1 Haruspicus route, with original translation: Saturdays 5pm EDT (subject to change). The run will use RoSoDude's Reputation, Survival and Disease Overhaul! This mod rebalances items and scripts to make late-game survival a real challenge, restoring mechanics that were underutilized or unimplemented in the original game. It's a huge stride in P1 modding that I'm super excited to try out :-)
Casual nights: Wednesdays 6pm EDT. Time for playing something that doesn't fit in the Saturday recurrent series. Might be Pathologic related (especially p2 and the alpha/techdemo versions), might be another game, tiny chance of modmaking.
Most importantly: I'm participating in Extra Life this year! On November 3-4, I'm streaming a 24-hour challenge run of the Bachelor's Route to raise funds for my local childrens' hospital while trying to earn the Bachelor 1,000,000 Money. See my participant page for the info and milestones! Donations (open until and through Game Day) are direct to SickKids, tax-deductible, and greatly appreciated. Mark your calendars 😄
#stream schedule#SO hyped to see the difficulty mod in action after having seen its development... nothing of its kind scriptwise has been made before#& it's my first time doing extralife (after watching a colleague's for a few years) it'll be a fun time :-) incentives include uploading a#photo that I'll replace a painting with for the whole run. or renaming the bachelor himself!
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When you become the handiest person on your block, lesser homeowners will flock to your door in order to seek your counsel. Sometimes there is a pretext to it: just need to borrow a tool, oh, and while you’re here, do you understand what the fuck “grout” is? That kind of thing. Usually, when confronted with home-repair questions, I pretend not to be able to speak English anymore (I have a forged doctor’s note explaining that it is a pathological mental condition brought on by unresolved childhood trauma) and eventually they go away.
Once in awhile, though, there’s a job so interesting that I can’t help but get involved. You might think that these are hard jobs, or at least ones where I can learn something. Nothing doing: when I’m helping out a neighbour, it’s because I suspect that there will be a really funny story afterwards. Such a currency will never depreciate, and in fact will probably allow me to get a couple free beers at the local watering hole when they get a new bouncer who doesn’t recognize my face.
My neighbour, who we’ll call Hal because I think that’s his name, wanted to fill in the old swimming pool behind his home. It was dug into the ground decades ago by the bourgeois previous owners, who were capable of comfortably maintaining a household with children on a single income. Hal knew that this era was over, and in either event that he would never be able to afford the water bill required to fill such a pool, and so he decided it would be a nice way to extend his yard. Having a large and featureless yard also appealed, but mostly to me, because I knew there was a pretty good chance I could later leverage my helping-out into him letting me park a parts car or two there.
Filling a hole in the ground with dirt is not difficult. So why did Hal ask me for help? It’s really very simple. Human beings are social animals, and doing home maintenance without someone nearby to shoot the shit with is torture. Many hands make light work, even if the only hands actually digging and tossing are yours, and everyone else’s hands are just holding your craft beer and pointing at cool cars driving past. After a few hours of a well-spent Saturday, the hole was filled.
This is where the trap is sprung: drunk on our success, we were already making plans for the rest of his house. Maybe we’d put some solar panels on the roof. Fix that crack on the driveway. Hell, we could do anything. Unfortunately for Hal, I remembered the presence of my rare affliction just in time, and quickly slipped into a string of coprolalia while fleeing, until I was well out of his earshot.
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