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09kags · 4 years

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Happy Haikyuu Day!

Sorry for the bad quality first off T^T I keep having to resize these so that they’re smaller for Tumblr and it ruins the quality. But more importantly, happy Haikyuu day! (at least it is Japan already!) This edit embodies some of my favorite moments within the series and below, I’ve written some of the thoughts that went into this piece/my feelings on these moments! Manga spoilers ahead (I'm pretty sure I’ve kept them to a minimum but just to be sure, please proceed with caution!), and I hope you enjoy this edit! (Overlays: accio-glow, aulia-chan on dA; PSDs: hurtears, hallyumi, yangyanggg on dA) 1. “Today might finally be the day we get the chance to let our talents bloom… it could be tomorrow. Or maybe next year. Or maybe it’ll finally come when we’re 30. I’m not sure if physique has anything to do with it but I do know for sure that if you don’t believe that day will come, it never will.” This quote is a testament to Oikawa’s growth and is a symbolic representation of Oikawa freeing himself from the shackles of “geniuses” and “prodigies.” So what if your opponent is a genius? So what if they possess more innate talent? As his mentor and inspiration Jose Blanco states, “Are you saying you know what the limits of your abilities are already? Even though you aren’t yet finished growing physically or mentally? Even though you haven’t mastered all the skills you can master? If you’re going to complain that someone with more talent than you will always be better than you… no matter how hard you work, how many tricks you learn and how many great teammates you have… do that only after you’ve given everything the very best effort you have.” There will always be someone better in the world. But to claim that you cannot hope to compare to the likes of them is to resign yourself to a predetermined defeat as well as dismiss both your own efforts and theirs. There’s no guarantee when your efforts will pay off. As Oikawa declares, it may be today, tomorrow, or even when we’re 30. But if you don’t believe in yourself first, if you don’t believe that you will bloom in your own time, “that day will never come.” The flower in the background is the iris. It is known to represent trust, faith, and hope amongst many other ideals. I chose this particular flower because of the manga cap used in this panel. I cannot emphasize how much I love the bond between Oikawa and Iwaizumi, especially this particular moment when Oikawa points at Iwaizumi with such authority and determination as if saying, “This ball, this moment, is meant for you.” Not to mention the pairing with the iconic “Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you hone” quote. An absolutely masterful sequence of scenes that always gets my blood rushing.

2. “Don’t look down! Volleyball is a sport where you’re always looking up!” This moment gives me chills every time. It’s something so fundamental and simple and yet, when Ukai yells this, it instills that feeling of “You can do it.” It makes my heart flutter and I feel so excited because it’s such a beautiful way of saying “Don’t give up, it’s not over yet.” And even if the ball has dropped for the last time or you have lost this match, there’s always tomorrow. There’s always the next match where you’ll have to look up. This quote gives me the same feeling as when Takeda-sensei says, “For the rest of your lives, you can do anything you set your mind to!” You only truly lose when you stop trying or you give up. 3. “It hurts. I’m tired. This is painful. I don’t want this to ever end.” / “The ball hasn’t dropped yet!” Whenever Haikyuu characters say “Just one more!” or “The ball hasn’t dropped yet!”, the tension and desperation is almost palpable. It’s so incredibly moving to see them strive to save that ball just one more time, to focus purely on what is in front of them. Even if they don’t all pursue volleyball as a professional career, the passion they all have for the sport is real. That sort of passion is beautiful to watch and admire, and I wish I could have that kind of passion for something in my life. 4. “The underhand only uses two hands. The overhand uses 10 fingers. That’s all the more to support your spikers with, which is what it means to be a setter.” / “To cut through the wall that looms before your spikers, that is the purpose of a setter.” This particular panel depicts the two ideologies of Atsumu and Kageyama respectively, two of my favorite setters and characters in general. Atsumu “may be pretty cocky at times, and overwhelm his teammates with his thirst for victory, but he treats his spikers with more sincerity and selflessness than anyone else.” He may be overbearing and an asshole at times, but his love for the sport and the art of being a setter is second to none. On the other hand, there’s Kageyama who’s so damn cool with his one-liners. Kageyama’s passion and drive to win may blind him to his surroundings and teammates but he truly believes that the setter is the one who clears the path for their spikers. When their spikers feel cornered and the walls are closing in, it is the setter who “cuts through the wall that looms” ahead. The old Kageyama who was a prisoner to speed is no longer, and his growth as a player brings me to tears every time. 5. “Someone once asked me, ‘Do you ever feel bitter over the fact that you’re not a regular on the team, and amongst your juniors there’s a genius to boot?’ I never understood the exact definition of what it was to be a genius to begin with, but upon hearing the question, I understood the general gist of what they were getting at. Every so often there will be someone who thinks that ‘people like Atsumu’ were ‘good’ from the get-go. But the thing is, if I practiced something from 1-10 every day, then people like Atsumu would have done it from 1-20. Or, they would have done the same 10 but in a more efficient or concentrated manner. They might also ask ‘Instead of doing it 1-10, how about I tried it from A-Z, what would happen then? Now doesn’t that sound interesting?’ They’re the kind of people who think about stuff like that. Even if they fail, even if they are hated and get ostracised by others, no matter whether they’re right or they’re wrong, even if they subvert something the rest of us hold in high regard, they’re the kind of people who can’t sit still without giving it a go. Even if they start coughing up blood from their lungs, they’re the kind of people who want to keep on running, no matter what. There’s going to be a lot of people in this world who make you go ‘Wow, I’ll never be able to defeat them,’ and it’s only natural that you think they’re amazing people. I think that to be able to keep charging ahead is a talent in and of itself. You can call people like them whatever you like, the term ‘genius’ isn’t exactly an insult. That said, to think they were ‘good from the get go’ is to condemn yourself to a predetermined defeat without even playing a match against them, and I also think it’s very rude.” This quote, hands down, is one of my favorite quotes of all time. It is not genius or natural talent that makes individuals truly great, but it is grit. Without a doubt, people are not born equal. There will always be someone with more innate talent or latent capabilities. We all begin at different starting lines. But those who truly stand out are those who go the extra mile, like those dubbed to be the Monster Generation (Kageyama, Atsumu, Hinata, Bokuto, Ushijima, Oikawa, etc.). To others they may seem like natural prodigies but behind their flawless technique and precise ball control lies countless hours of training. They trained harder than anyone else, sacrificed in order to hone their abilities, and ran farther than the rest of the pack. They’re the type to fixate on what lies before them without much regard to anything else.They eat, sleep, breathe, and live volleyball with every waking second. They’re always trying new things (Atsumu pulling off the freak duo quick in the middle of the Inarizaki match) and continually looking for ways to improve (“But the thing is, if I practiced something from 1-10 every day, then people like Atsumu would have done it from 1-20. Or, they would have done the same 10 but in a more efficient or concentrated manner. They might also ask ‘Instead of doing it 1-10, how about I tried it from A-Z, what would happen then? Now doesn’t that sound interesting?’ They’re the kind of people who think about stuff like that”; Kageyama keeping a volleyball journal). It is not what they were born with that makes them great; it is their overwhelming desire to win. 6. “‘Yesterday’ has already disappeared behind us. Many, many yesterdays have become a part of our muscles. What shall we do, today?” This quote, chills. There’s no point ruminating about the past or what has already passed; you can’t change it. (In retrospect, I wish I included another quote from Inarizaki in this panel: “One time is enough. We rise to the challenges of today.”) You learn from the mistakes of yesterday and use them as stepping stones for tomorrow. I wish I could eloquently phrase how much I love this quote or my interpretation of it but alas, my writing is fancy Garbage. 7. “But if… just if… that moment comes for you, that will be the moment you really get hooked on volleyball.” If you didn’t get chills when Tsukishima blocks Ushijima, I have no words for you. Tsukishima-it’s-just-a-club Kei, Tsukishima-I’m-the-normal-guy Kei — Tsukishima Kei, who always underestimates his own capabilities and relies on what he can see in front of him, blocking the Ushijima Wakatoshi, one of the top three high school aces nationally. The character development from someone who did the bare minimum (as noted by other players/coaches at one of the training camps) to someone who finally had their moment to get hooked on volleyball is one of my favorite progressions of all time. Seeing him fall in love with volleyball gradually and then all at once is truly heartwarming and beautiful to witness. 8. “No matter what other people may say, we are the protagonists of the world.” This quote is incredibly empowering to me. Even if your days consist of mundane activities, you are the protagonist of your own story every day. You may not be the main character in a shounen manga or an adolescent seeking to usurp the government in a dystopian novel, but this is your story. No one can tell it like you do and no one can replicate your story. It is yours and yours only. And that concludes my Haikyuu word vomit! I really do wish I could have properly conveyed my pure adoration and love for this series better. I truly do love Haikyuu so very, very much. It will always have a special place in my heart and I will never forget the memories and lessons it has taught me! Thank you, Furudate-sensei, for such a beautiful story. And thank you Haikyuu, for everything. For all the losses and victories we shared. For all the smiles and laughter, and for all the tears we shed. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

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ushidoux · 3 years

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Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 3)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~2.5k words)

Warnings: again poor communication!!! angst, no sex in this chapter

A/N: Let me know what you think!

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

---

“Oi, you fucking bastard, you knew!”

Iwa losing his temper over the phone wasn’t exactly atypical, even if it had become a less frequent occurrence, but for once Oikawa was actually genuinely surprised to hear his friend this angry over the phone. Especially given that it was almost 2pm in San Juan, which made it the very early AM in Tokyo, so whatever had worked him up had also kept him up way past his bedtime, given that Iwa was now extremely careful about his sleep hygiene.

Oikawa took enough time to properly swallow the bite he’d just taken of his choripan before answering.

“What did I know, Iwa-chan?” He finally inquired, setting down his sandwich in the wrapper spread across his lap before leaning back into the park bench on which he was sitting. It was a wonderful sunny day, the type of day where it was a shame you were being yelled at, he mused briefly.

“About ___ and Ushijima.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows furrowed, not that Iwa could see the confusion on his face. There was a short pause which Oikawa broke eventually.

“Am I missing something or…?” His genuinely confused tone didn’t serve in any way to make Iwa less irritated.

“You didn’t say anything!” He hissed loudly enough that Oikawa winced, holding his cellphone a good distance from his ear before answering. “You used to tell me about that motherfucker’s every move, and now that it’s useful information, you have nothing to say?”

Oikawa frowned.

“Why are you blaming me for your communication issues, Iwa-chan?!” He all but whined.

When Iwa’s voice grew silent on the other line, Oikawa grew slightly nervous. But he was right. This was a particularly severe lapse in communication between Iwa and you that he was now projecting onto him, severe because clearly it had ended up being a bigger deal than it should have been in the first place.

As much as Iwa didn’t want to admit it, yesterday evening was evidence that something was very, very wrong in his relationship with you, or at the very least a residual tangled web of feelings to sort out, and it wasn’t exactly something he could easily fix or improve on his own.

Not that he wouldn’t try.

“What happened?” Oikawa finally asked, and Iwa retreated.

“Nothing. I’ll… talk to you later.”

The phone cut off on Iwa’s end and Oikawa sighed with mild irritation before returning to his lunch thousands of miles away.

On the other side of the globe, Iwa made his way from the balcony to the bedroom, setting his phone down on the nightstand and taking a glance at you who had appeared to be finally sleeping soundly, but betrayed by the intermittent soft hiccups of someone who had been crying just moments earlier.

He hadn’t meant to make you cry. In fact, he hadn’t even meant to force another discussion at all, but hours after the last guests had filed out, none the wiser about the fight that had just transpired earlier (even if Hinata had made a single innocent comment about the bruise blooming on Ushijima’s cheek), the elephant in the room had grown entirely too large for him to bear. Unfortunately, the simple demand for clarification had spiraled out of control and ended up with a shouting match which had culminated in you bursting into tears.

It wasn’t a good look for him to behave like this.

Even so, Iwa couldn’t stop thinking about how the subject of your argument had replied to his grumbled apology with the admission that he probably deserved the hit for all he’d done. Somehow, the persistent remorse in his voice made Iwa consider hitting him a second time for good measure.

That wouldn’t be the right move either. There wasn’t really a right move, was there? All Iwaizumi could do was hope that everything would blow over.

You loved him after all; he was sure of it.

---

you knew, didn’t you?

knew what?

You grit your teeth at the quickly returned text message, then set your phone down at your desk letting out a hushed but aggravated sigh, before picking it up again and typing furiously.

you texted me, ‘how’s everything going?’ right before all that shit happened.

that could mean literally anything??? What???

You didn’t know how much longer your friend was going to feign innocence, but it looked like not very long because once your eyes flitted back to the unfinished project proposal you had been working on, your phone quickly buzzed again.

By the time you had told her what happened this morning on your morning commute to work, she had grown a little too quiet, interjecting very little as you spoke and not asking any clarifying questions. You had assumed that she had just been being extra considerate, but now that it was early afternoon and there was a lull in your concentration, it occurred to you again just how clearly she must have anticipated the awkward situation.

YOU said you didn’t follow sports anymore + it’s been 3 years. HOW was I supposed to know you were going to overreact?

Overreact?

There was a small pause in which you saw her speech bubble pop up and then down, and then up again.

Not overreacting I guess, but I’m just confused… Don’t you and Iwa talk? How did it become a huge deal?

You decided you didn’t really have an answer to that. All you could do was return a noncommittal idk, letting the conversation die out and returning back to the task at hand.

---

“Mommy, why does he look like that?”

Ushijima glanced for a split second at the small child pointing openly at him, giving a small, understanding nod to the mortified mother trying to quiet her son’s whispers before continuing on his way back to his hotel.

His face didn’t exactly throb anymore, but the bruise he had been gifted with was very noticeable even if he had to be thankful he didn’t have a black eye. Iwa had hit him surprisingly hard, which was good. At the very least, he could count on him to protect you.

Getting hit in the face by your athletic trainer wasn’t ideal but he and Iwaizumi were both professionals. They could put it past them.

Even if they didn’t have a deep friendship, there was a sort of camaraderie since they’d met in California years ago. That relationship didn’t have to sour, he told himself.

He just needed to give you two a wide berth.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to. It was the right, mature thing to do.

Even if he didn’t miss on the court, he’d missed a crucial set in life.

He had no right to demand a second chance.

---

You hadn’t traveled home alone in a while, you realized, as you set pace towards your apartment after a long shift. The subway was cramped as usual, but the closeness of the quarters felt more noticeable and uncomfortable now that Iwa’s hand wasn’t holding yours and keeping you close to him. He’d messaged you about an hour before you were about to leave work to give you a heads up that he would be returning late, and for a moment, you wondered if it were really true or if he was still mad at you.

But you knew Iwa well enough to be confident that he didn’t hold grudges, and if he were still uncomfortable he would tell you - he would never actively avoid you.

Then again, you hadn’t had a conflict like this before.

I don’t love him, I only love you, you’d said to him almost screaming, defensive because Iwa’s voice had sounded hurt when you failed to come up with the words to explain why you were so shaken still.

You’d meant that with your whole heart. So why exactly did you react so poorly?

Maybe it was the final death rattle of unresolved feelings, rearing their ugly head before being banished to whatever realm past hurts went once they were healed.

When you finally made it to your apartment, you stood for a moment at the entryway after flipping the light switch, taking a couple of seconds to blink away the fact that things didn’t look quite right.

For a moment, you couldn’t remember exactly when you had replaced your TV - was that before or after Ushijima? Had that couch always been in that position?

Fatigue even made you wonder where your houseplants had gone, until you remembered you had all but given them all away, telling yourself that those last vestiges of your relationship would have to vanish before you could truly count yourself moved on.

Now that the plants were gone, were you truly over it?

You let out a sigh and set your keys down before shooting a message to Iwa to let him know that you had made it home. That proposal wouldn’t write itself, and you could tackle it anew once you’d treated yourself with a warm bath and a modest glass of wine.

---

Seated in his soon-to-be minimally used office, Iwaizumi leafed through the short stack of papers before him, including prior athletic history and a formal written statement from the team physician. Satisfied, he gathered the documents and gently pushed them across the desk towards the silent, patiently waiting athlete sitting across from him.

“It looks like you’re cleared for practice tomorrow,” he said, offering a measured smile to Ushijima.

“Not that I expected any issues,” Iwa continued, compelled to keep speaking from the lack of response from the man before him. While he didn’t exactly sense hostile energy from Ushijima, it seemed like he was even more difficult to read than usual.

Then again, Iwa was unsure if he was projecting; he acknowledged that prior to this very moment in time, he had been more standoffish than usual, having avoided unnecessary interaction with Ushijima during the day’s orientation activities.

He took a surreptitious glance at the wall clock above his head. There were only two more members to clear after Ushijima and then he’d be done for the day and could go back home to you, maybe picking up sushi on the way home as a peace offering.

Ushijima didn’t exactly look like he was getting ready to leave, but Iwa hadn’t explicitly dismissed him.

The two sat in an awkward silence and Iwa wondered if he should apologize again to settle the stagnant air between them, not knowing that the man before him was considering the exact same thing.

What happens now? seemed to be the question du jour.

“How’s your father?” Iwa asked abruptly, shifting in his chair and leaning forward on elbows propped onto the desk, maybe a little too forward, in attempts to keep his mind off the fact that the volleyball player before him had also played with his love’s heart.

“He’s been well. Thank you for asking.”

Another pause ensued and Iwa was running out of ways to tell him politely to get out of his office for his next client, but for once Ushijima was the one to break the silence.

“I want us to have a good working relationship despite everything.”

The statement hung in the air for a second before settling and Iwa could feel irritation start to bubble in the pit of his stomach once again, but instead he forced a pleasant smile.

“Of course.”

---

With feet tucked beneath you, your laptop perched on the glass coffee table and a half-drunk glass of white wine (refilled once) atop the end table next to the couch, the sad truth was that you had only written about five lines in the past 45 minutes.

Instead, against all the advice you’d ever been given in your life, you had sleuthed your way into your ex’s Instagram and Facebook accounts, gleaning as much information as you could about what had happened after you were two, after you’d blocked him cold turkey on every social media application and vowed never to look back.

As expected, the pictures and life updates he posted were few and far between, but there were still some to learn from, especially when you looked through those snapshots taken by others in his life. You were initially surprised to see old pictures of you together still up if you went back far enough, but clicked past them quickly because the fact that you looked so happy was more irritating than sad at this point of time.

You took another sip of your wine, feeling a soft warmth in your cheeks and a light pleasant haze fill your head while you kept perusing. Some pictures you recognized from his prior team here, Schweiden Adlers, and then there were other promotional images from a new team, Orzel Warsawa... He had even traveled to Poland without your knowledge, you mused.

You took special note of women he looked all too close to for friendship as you browsed, noting a gorgeous, tall blonde in several pictures he appeared to have dated for a brief stint of a couple of months.

1 short relationship in three years. It was a shame, you thought. They could have had the prettiest kids.

And there, you finally realized your internal monologue was crazy. Why were you doing this again?

You threw back the final bit of wine and switched back to your Word document. Maybe writing while a little tipsy wasn’t the best of ideas but any words on the page were better than none.

…

It didn’t take long for you to doze off and your boyfriend to find you sprawled on your belly on the sofa, your glass empty and precariously placed at the edge of the sofa, and your laptop placed just inches above your head.

Iwa’s smile was immediate as he admired your silly position while setting down dinner, quickly walking over to gather you up for bed.

You murmured slightly as he scooped you into his arms, your face instinctively nuzzling his chest. He couldn’t help but think of how cute you were, kissing your forehead softly before tucking you under the covers. You had been so exhausted lately from work, so he’d let you get some early shuteye rather than disturb your peace.

Leaving the bedroom to eat dinner alone on the couch, he noted your laptop in suboptimal location, moving it to the table before sitting down to avoid a future accident.

It flashed on with the slight movement, revealing a lengthy document with heavy blocks of text, which he saved just in case because autosave failure would bring you to tears. He then clicked out, only to see the results of your cyberstalking session.

His heart may have skipped a beat or two but he closed your laptop instead, leaning back into his chair to finish eating dinner.

The uneasiness that filled his stomach instead had to be related to the raw fish he’d brought home.

There was simply no other explanation, couldn’t be.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwa x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #ushijima #haikyuu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #series: be my last #mae.writing

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wordsinwinters · 3 years

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Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color.

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain.

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them.

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself.

Okay.

Alright.

No distractions.

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal.

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way.

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself.

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them.

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again.

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two.

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too.

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat.

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?”

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times.

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us.

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second.

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one.

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?”

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents.

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing.

Flash nodded.

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started.

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god.

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp.

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake.

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition.

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

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#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #marvel imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman x you #peter parker #tom holland

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whisker-biscuit · 3 years

Text

In the Name of Science: Chapter 5

Fandom: Sonic Movie (2020)

Rating: T for unethical experimentation, implied violence and gore, and implied torture

Summary: Tom and Maddie didn’t make it in time to rescue Sonic from Robotnik. Hopefully it’s not too late to save him now. Unfortunately, hope is hard to come by in the labs of the mad doctor himself.

------------------------

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, M.D. Log 5

Day two since procuring specimen. Subject slept fitfully in periods of roughly two hours at a time throughout the night. It is currently unknown whether this is subject’s regular sleep cycle or manifested due to stress of new environment.

Despite potentially diminished resting period, subject appeared fully recovered from prior injuries at superficial examination this morning. More thorough examination to be completed at this time. If subject is at full physical health, analysis of abilities to be completed afterwards.

Edit #1: Subject has become rebellious with full recovery. Measures have been taken to combat this.

……..........................................................................

“Your physical state seems to have improved significantly,” is the first thing out of Robotnik’s mouth the next morning. He sounds pleased, and that’s what sets Sonic on edge the most. “Look who was right about you needing sustenance? Not that there was any doubt about me being right.”

The hedgehog wraps his arms around his stomach, glaring at his captor without a word. After yesterday’s humiliating ordeal, the only thing he wants to say to this man starts with an “F” and ends with a “you”, and he’s not keen on the reaction he’d get from that no matter the momentary satisfaction it would bring. But he’s finally feeling one-hundred percent better and it’s given him enough confidence to be mad.

Defiant, even.

“Of course, I’d like to confirm my prediction with more than simple visual observation. So!” The doctor snaps his fingers and down come the bots again. They hover above the cage, as usual, and Sonic flattens himself against the wall, squishing his hands behind his back. Robotnik sighs.

“Are you really going to try and be difficult? After all the progress we made yesterday?”

Sonic doesn’t respond verbally. His face scrunches up and he sticks his tongue out.

“Ah, yes. How could I forget I’m dealing with a child.”

The ceiling hatch opens and the teen lets out a noise in protest as his wrists are yanked up so hard it nearly pulls the muscles in his shoulders. This time, as he’s pulled out of the cage, he throws his legs up to kick at the nearest bot before they can grab his ankles.

It’s a valiant attempt – his flexibility and range of reach is nothing to sneeze at – but he’s unsuccessful in even landing a hit. The bot swerves around the flying feet right as restraints around his ankles lock together, making them easy to grab. Sonic finds himself hanging belly-up like a hog tied to a horizontal pole.

The mad scientist sneers. “Was that supposed to be an escape attempt? Pathetic. I’d be embarrassed if I didn’t find it absolutely hilarious.”

“Still plenty of time for you to be embarrassed,” the hedgehog shoots back, jerking at his caught limbs so much that he starts swinging back and forth. “Soon as I’m free, you’re gonna be embarrassed in record time.”

“Uh huh. And when is this quote-unquote freedom happening?” Robotnik makes a show of looking at the monitor on his wrist. “I don’t see it anywhere in the schedule for today.”

“I’ll make it quick, just for you.”

“Belligerent and mouthy today! You’ve most certainly recovered, how delightful!”

A few finger presses on the palm of a hand, and the robots back away from each other. It stretches Sonic out almost completely flat in the air. He stops struggling, eyes wide, as his captor steps up close. The man has the teen at chest level and there’s an uncomfortably intense look on his face.

“You know,” the doctor begins, pulling out a pen from his coat. “All things considered; I’ve been incredibly patient with you.”

One end of the pen presses under Sonic’s chin, forcing him to tilt his head up just a little bit. He swallows.

“I could have kept you sleeping this entire time, waking you only when it was convenient for me.”

The pen moves upward to tap at the hedgehog’s left temple, where there had once been a bruise from his impact with the Main Street of Green Hills. No discoloration, no pain, no more bruise. Sonic flinches with each tap anyway.

“I could have the muzzle stay on you twenty-four/seven. It’s not like you have anything worthwhile to contribute to a conversation of my level of intellect.”

Down to a tan chest. Tap, tap, tap; no injuries to be found there anymore. The teen doesn’t dare blink as he keeps his gaze locked with the scientist.

“I don’t even have to keep you alive; did you know that? Your quills are so powerful even in a ‘dormant’ state that I could power my machines indefinitely with them. Just pluck them straight from your tiny, wriggling body, one by one, until there’s nothing left to pluck and I’ve got an entire army’s worth of robots to use. Five-thousand, nine-hundred, twenty-four different robots, and a cold alien corpse to dissect.”

Robotnik’s free hand finds a quill near Sonic’s face, and yanks it out with a terrible smile. The hedgehog grits his teeth and can’t quite contain the tremor that runs down his spine.

“Excuse me. Five-thousand, nine-hundred, and twenty-three different robots.”

The pen slides underneath the teen to poke at his back, where he’d received the full brunt of an exploding missile. There’s no burns or bleeding anywhere. Not even a scar to show for the damage the doctor had done.

“But you see,” and oh, how excited he sounds, “it’s for reasons like this that I don’t do any of those things. The astounding healing factor you seem to possess. The exponential, impossible-to-calculate limits of your powers, if there even is a limit to be found. Your behavior, your speech patterns, your reactions –”

Sonic’s upper lip curls in disgust as a gloved hand flicks his ear and makes it twitch.

“– all of it is part of the scientific marvel of evolution that is you. And I couldn’t really call myself a scientist if I let any of it slip past my study of you, could I?”

Robotnik leans in close, drinking in every terrified line of his subject’s face. The little hedgehog is doing his best to bluff bravery, but there’s no hiding the trapped, almost hypnotized look in his eyes.

“So if I were you, Sonic, I’d think long and hard about the kind of behavior I should be taking part in, and what would be most beneficial to both of us. Before that behavior inclines the scientist to induce some very particular experiments to examine some very specific reactions.”

They stare at each other, and not even the hum of the machines around them can break the tension.

Sonic looks away first.

Robotnik smirks.

……..........................................................................

Edit #2: Measures successful.

End Log

---------------------

A/N: I’m back.

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #sonic movie #sonic movie spoilers #dr robotnik

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wulfies-kpop-fanfics · 3 years

Text

One Photo → Mark Lee [2]

↳ Pairing: Mark Lee/Reader

↳ AU: Soulmate!AU - The first touch of two soulmates permanently scars their bodies.

↳ Word count: 2,610

↳ Chapters: Prelude | 1 | You Are Here! | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

⁙ Summary: For an end of the year photography project, you’re tasked with taking a photograph for your favourite group, NCT127, and coincidentally, discover your soulmate.

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

TUESDAY - 2

The next day you get up to your alarm, a little groggy and on autopilot. You mumble a greeting to Rhiannon who is already in the kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. It's not uncommon for you to be undressed in front of her, so she barely reacts for a few moments when you reach into your clean clothes hamper in the living room and begin to change right there.

However, in the midst of putting on your bra, Rhiannon squeals in excitement, nearly making you pee yourself.

“What the hell?!” You exclaim, now convinced that you're fully awake.

“You-your front! Your entire torso! Look!” Rhiannon stands from the little dining table and approaches you, poking your stomach. You nearly let out a scream yourself when you see it.

Your entire torso, from collarbone to hip is completely covered with scar tissue, as well as the underside of your arms and the palms of your hands. “Rhiannon, I-”

“Turn around.” She spoke quickly, and you obey her. She is silent for a little while, which is freaking you out even more than you already were. When she traces an outline over your right shoulder blade, your skin twitches in response. “(Y/N), this is the largest soulmate scar I've ever seen,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I-” You're barely able to stutter out any words. You stand there, half-naked as your best friend examines you.

“Does it hurt?” Rhiannon pokes and prods on the newly formed scar tissue, primarily focusing on your shoulders.

“N-no, not at all.” You purse your lips. You feel like normal if not a bit overwhelmed.

“This has got to be from a hug,” she concludes, nudging you to turn you back around. “There are perfect handprint scars on your back, too. You hugged Mark yesterday, right?”

“He, uh, hugged me three times,” you confirm. “Johnny and Jaehyun hugged me twice.”

“Then it's one of them!” Rhiannon is squealing with delight. “That is so exciting!”

Your face fell a little, finishing putting on your bra and shirt you picked out for the day. “Yeah,” you say softly.

“What's wrong?” Rhiannon is beginning to look concerned, ghosting a hand over your shoulder.

“It's Mark,” you state, “I can feel it, but…”

“But what?”

“If that's true, everything changes. When he leaves, am I going to be able to handle it?” you finish getting dressed and stop to look at your hands. “I… I already know I won't be able to handle the depression and separation anxiety, I won't be able to handle being constantly sick… I was never taught about any of this and I never even thought it would happen to me.”

“(Y/N)...”

“I need to go. I have class.”

You took in a deep breath as you gripped your tablet pen. You had been spending the last month's worth of photoshop labs on drawing a picture of Iron Man for your digital rendering final, and you had been doing well enough until today. Now that your hands had part of your scar, they gripped your pen differently and you were slowly growing more and more frustrated.

It's not that you were angry that you had found your soulmate, and you were definitely happy it was Mark- but everything was happening so quickly. What were you going to say to him? Would his scar ruin his career? Were you ready for any of this? You looked up to your computer screen, seeing your reflection in the black screensaver. Seems like you had been overthinking long enough for the monitor to go to sleep.

You can see the buds of forming tears in your reflection. They were totally uncalled for and you knew it. Finding a soulmate was a happy time. In a world where all of this was completely normalized, you had no idea why you suddenly started feeling like a freak. On your way to class, you had already started to feel eyes on you. Most scars were small, dainty and cute, like a handshake or a poke to the shoulder- not a giant one that covered your entire chest, the inside of your arms and the palms of your hands. Scars larger than an apple were extremely rare, and ones like yours were the rarest of all.

What a wonderful scar, you heard your teacher say when you walked into class that morning. They say that if your scar is big, you're meant to be together for more than one lifetime.

Maybe that was true, and it felt like a big responsibility you weren't ready for. You jumped in your seat when your phone vibrated in your pocket.

Mark: Are you in class?

You: Yeah, but it's almost done

Mark: What is your classroom number? I'd like to pick you up if that's okay

You: Are you sure?

Mark: Yeah! I wanted to spend more time with you today, I feel like it wasn't enough yesterday

You: You're cheesy

You: My classroom is 103A in M building

Mark: You know it

Mark: See you soon

You found yourself smiling at his texts. Talking to him eased some of your anxiety, but it still lingered in the back of your head. You put your phone down and shake your mouse so the screen comes back to life. Iron Man stares back at you, and you almost close the program. Your thoughts were irrational, and the only thing your scars were stopping you from doing was finishing the touch-ups of the last few pixels of this piece.

Your hands will get used to it, you scold yourself, this is a good thing, (Y/N). You're not your parents.

You're snapped out of your thoughts again as your classmates begin to pack up, the quiet rustle of backpacks filling the room. You look back at your piece, over a month's work put into it and all you needed was maybe five minutes more of touch-ups and it would be perfect.

The next time this classroom was going to be used was later tonight for the college's dungeons and dragons party, so you didn't think anyone would mind you staying to finish up.

The five minutes of touch-ups turned into 20 minutes of improving mistakes you've noticed, and 20 minutes of improving mistakes turned into an hour of being completely absorbed in your work. You had been so focused on everything that you barely even perk up when you hear one of the computer chairs rolling closer to you.

“I thought you went home, Moose,” you say casually, sticking your tongue out and swiping a line of light reflection onto a strip of red plating.

“You have a friend named Moose?” The voice replies, and you nearly jump out of your seat, the pen swiping across the tablet and drawing a large white streak across Iron Man's face.

“Mark,” you sigh, placing a hand on your chest and trying to take in a deep breath. “You scared me.”

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Sorry…” he looks at your computer screen. “I didn't mean to ruin your piece.”

You smile gently, hitting ctrl z on your keyboard. The streak disappears, you save the piece and turn off the computer. “It's okay. I'm just lucky I don't have autosave turned on.”

Mark sighed with relief. “You kinda scared me,” he starts, looking you in the eye. “You didn't come out of the classroom for so long that I thought you might have forgotten. I probably would have left if your teacher didn't recognize me and say it was okay for me to come inside.”

Your frown at him and avoid his eye contact, deciding to focus on zipping up your backpack. “I'm sorry,” you say dejectedly. “I was dumb, but I would just be a downright moron if I stood you up on purpose.”

Mark laughed softly, watching you pack up. “What did you want to do today?” he asked, voice softer.

“I don't know,” you say, standing and slinging your backpack over your shoulders. “I would like to drop this off at my dorm, though. It's kinda heavy.”

“Okay,” Mark nods. “We can start with that and go from there.”

While you travelled back to your dorm, nearly all of your anxiety about your scars disappeared. You talked about anything but the scar that was easily noticeable through your summery outfit. The more people looked at you, the more you wonder if Mark was keeping quiet out of courtesy for your aversion to his first question on the subject.

Mark was sweet, complimenting your outfit and keeping up a strong conversation about marvel movies.

“Have you seen Endgame yet?” you asked him once you got back to the subject of Iron Man, and Mark laughed sadly.

“To my disappointment, no,” he answered, letting you board the subway first, pulling up his face mask. “Haven't had the time.” he stood close enough to you on the busy subway car that you could still hear him properly.

“Well, if you want we could see it,” you offer quickly, blushing and looking away as you saw his smile through his eyes.

“Are you asking me out, (Y/N)?” he asks, nudging you gently with his elbow.

“N-no,” you respond, swearing up and down mentally that you were as red as a tomato.

“I would graciously accept, but how about we wait until tomorrow? I want to catch up a little bit, I haven't watched any of the films in a while, I've been so busy preparing for the tour.” Mark smiled when you turned back to look at him again.

“Okay, well, I have all the films at my dorm,” you say, biting your lip.

“Would your roommate be okay if we stayed in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, she would be more than okay,” you tell him, which causes both of you to start laughing. “She will probably faint if she sees you again.”

“I think I've had my lifetime fair share of people fainting in front of me,” he says humorously.

“I wouldn't worry. She is working on her finals today and probably won't be back until after you leave,” you say. “We will have the place to ourselves.”

“Okay, that sounds good. I'm looking forward to catching up. Do you have popcorn?” he asks sheepishly.

“Yeah, we-” the subway comes to an abrupt stop at your station, and you nearly lose your balance. Mark catches you before your face ploughs directly into his chest. He’s holding your arm gently as you exit the subway car, and it is then you truly notice that Mark's scars are clearly visible, from his palms to the edge of his t-shirt, just like you.

When you get back to your dorm room, you place your bag and your shoes in the hallway, leading Mark inside. He pulls down his mask and sighs happily, joining you in removing his shoes and placing them on the shoe rack.

“I remember when my dorm was about this size,” he says wistfully, looking around. You frown a little.

“You mean everyone in NCT used to live in a place like this?” you ask, walking into the kitchen to prepare a pack of popcorn.

“Not exactly, the different subgroups all had their own dorms, but they were all tiny, for more than 3 guys to live in at once.” Mark wanders over to you in the kitchen, leaning back on the counter and crossing his ankles.

“I'm sorry,” you say. “I hope it's different for you now.”

“Yeah,” he replies, watching you put the popcorn in the microwave and press the appropriate numbers. “We all live pretty comfortably now.”

You smile at him. “Good, I'm happy. You deserve to live in a place where you're comfortable.”

Mark is silent for a moment. The microwave finishes and he moves out of your way as you grab a large mixing bowl to put your snack in. He’s watching you diligently, and you feel that too familiar pinch in your chest. It's more intense than you've ever felt from just watching internet content of him on your laptop.

“What film did you want to start with?” you ask, leading him to the living room as you pull a tote bag out from under your coffee table that contains your Marvel movie collection. “We can just watch Infinity War if you want, or we can watch them in story order if you're feeling a little daring.”

“You know the order to watch them chronologically?” he asks, sitting down with the popcorn bowl in his lap.

“Yeah. Rhiannon and I watched them all in order up to the release of Endgame.”

“Wow, I'm impressed,” Mark comments, popping a couple of pieces of the snack into his mouth. “What's the order of the last three films?”

“Let me see… it's Thor Ragnarok, Ant-Man and the Wasp and Infinity War,” you answer. “Wanna watch those?”

“Yeah. Let's do that.”

A few hours later you both are now watching Infinity War, about halfway through the film. A blanket had made its way over your laps and the popcorn bowl has been long empty, sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You can tell Mark is nervous. You're sitting close, your legs nearly touching, and you wonder if you should say something. You hoped you didn't scare him away from saying anything when the topic was brought up the night before. You didn’t want your bitterness to ruin it all.

Once you spare one glance from the movie to look over at him, you notice Mark has already beat you to it. His gaze pierces right through you, and somehow you feel as if Mark is seeing your soul.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, half-smiling at you. “I don't want to repeat yesterday's mistake.”

“It's okay,” You say softly, “you didn't know.”

“But I should have.” He sounds serious and definitely looks the part, too.

You lick your lips as you watch him. There's something that hits you, like a wave of anxiety that is different from your own.

“Mark,” you have to pause to gather your words. “You've known me for two days. Mistakes are bound to happen, and I… I don't actually hate the premise.”

“Would you be okay with, um, talking about it?” The movie is playing in the background, the flashing images reflecting different lights onto Mark's face.

“There is not much to talk about, is there?” you asked, holding up your scarred hand. “It's here, on both of us, and I'm happy. Scared, but happy.”

“You're not upset about it?” he asked, and it was almost like he was bracing for rejection.

You took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “No. You said you wanted to know someone so well that you didn't have to think about it, right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Mark returned the grip, his eyes glancing between your eyes and your hand. “You're right, we don't have to think about it.” Mark smiles softly at you, freeing his hand from yours so he can wrap his arm around your shoulder, guiding you to lean into his side.

It's maybe two hours later when you're stirred ever so slightly by the jiggling of the lock to your front door. You don't open your eyes, trying to ignore the sound and continue to cuddle into the warm body squished against you on the couch.

Soft voices are muffled through your ears, and in your half slumber you can't exactly make any words out. Fatigue eventually grips you once again, returning to the vivid dream you were engrossed in just moments ago.

#mark lee #mark lee x reader #mark x reader #nct #nct127 #nctu #nct scenarios #nct imagines #reader insert #fanfiction #kpop fanfictions #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

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turtle-to-eternity · 2 years

Text

My Final First Step

I resolved to actually get going with my self improvement, since my fancy new dumbbells arrived yesterday.

The 300 days to remake myself still started back on Nov. 21st, my birthday. Since then;

~ I've constantly overeaten

~ I've never exercised

~ I've slept most of my free time away

~ I've spent the rest on YouTube videos and games

~ I've barely showered

But I've also come to terms with a cruel fact. The only way I'll feel good enough to start being productive is to start being productive.

So today I got up on time, did 15 minutes of exercise, brushed my teeth, took a shower (and used conditioner!), applied moisturizer, did 5 minutes of stretching, and took my medicine. All in 1 hour.

I still feel like I could sleep for another 5 hours, mostly because it took me 2 hours lying in bed to fall asleep, but I'm going to stay up today.

I have all the hope that this is my final first step towards a new life.

#life blogging #self improvement #adhd #actually adhd #depression #weightloss #weight loss

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Friday 4.. October 1833

7 ½

11 40

very fine morning F62° at 7 ½ am – at German – breakfast at 10 - note from lady Harriet asking for my letters Mr Brown still in town - sat down immediately (at 10 20) and in ¾ hour added a line or 2 what I wrote to V- last night (chitchat - affectionate enough) to ask her to get me any information about Norway - what best worth seeing - what carriage to take and wrote 1 page and 1 end dated this morning of envelope

SH:7/ML/E/16/0119

to lady Stuart - what I wrote on Monday good account of the de H-s the large handsome house - their very great kindness to me - the children much improved - both draw well etc and mention of my good passage from Lubeck and having gone round by Bremen and being 5 days (from rain and my bad cold) at Göttingen - how this prevented from going to the Hartz mountains - like Copenhagen - shall have plenty of society - learning German mean to stay the winter - should be delighted to see Lord Stuart here - shall envy him the sight of Heckla – mention of Mrs. Stuart Courtenay – sleeps with her maid for economy, and, does not pay her debts – mention Lord Kerry (M. of Lansdowns’ son, and Mr. Colville) having arrived from Stockholm yesterday at noon and embarked in the evening for Lubeck – Mr. Peter Browns’ difficulty about having them to dinner asked the Spanish to let them dine in his room, and to get his cook cook for them – no! but would receive them as his friends if presented – that would not do – would he then order the dinner at a restaurants’ – declined – so our poor chargé d’affaires obliged to contrive as he could – said I should write as oftener as Lady Harriet did – and as oftener as I could get my letters sent – at 11 sent off Thomas with my letter to ‘the honourable Lady Stuart’ enclosing my letter to ‘the Lady Vere Cameron’ undercover to Lady Harriet de H- with my thanks and adding if she was not here at 2 ½ I should go to her – finished dressing – read the Hamburg Reporter of the 1st instant – an American Troy-built coach runs from Mexico to Vera Cruz, in 5 days – 70 dollars each person – thus one can go across the passes of the Andes as across the Green mountains – the American fur companies steamers have gone 2,100 miles from the mouth of the Missouri, and in high water, steamers of light draught can ascend 2600 miles – the Mississippi is navigable between 600 and 700 miles above St. Louis - M. Christiani from 12 35 to 2 5 lesson 9 – then writing out my bit of translation from English into German and then what I had read aloud of Kotzebue into English till 3 20 – out at 3 40 to Lady Harriet – had been gone about 10 minutes left little note to beg me to go this evening or write what I had to say about the carriage – did the latter saying I must write letters this evening – said my German took up my time terribly – said I had promised to dine with Comtesse B- at 3 tomorrow and spend the evening with them, but as Lady Harriet was a [later] person would call and ask if she was at home at 9 – asked for the carriage at 3 50 pm tomorrow – walked round the citadel – beautiful sea view and the fortification and fossés all round very pretty – the grass so green, the water so clean, everything so neat, the town looking so well only half hidden, and the country in sight so well wooded the woods still [?] all along great Kings’ street etc. etc. home at 5 ½ - dinner at 6 in 50 minutes then wrote the last 24 lines till 7 ¼ - my cousin came gently just after breakfast absent since twenty one August and for sometime before came every three weeks – from 7 ¼ to 10 ½ writing out some literal French translation (Voltaire’s letters) and from 8 ½ to 10 ½ at German – Lady H- de H- had called just after I went out – very fine day F62° now at 10 35 pm

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ivarthebadbitch · 3 years

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 15 summary: Ubbe attempts to turn on the charm for Aldreda, and Ivar has some unexpected visitors.

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: None

Word count: 2466

Notes: Yes, I know I said no chapter this week, but lucky(?) for you, I actually got my shit together. No promises for next week though!

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 15: All we can do is...

Although Aldreda had by her own choice been sequestered in a spare room for much of the day after speaking to her grandfather, with no particular desire to see or talk to anybody, the news of the unexpected arrival of Ragnar Lothbrok and his son Ubbe around sundown had trickled in nevertheless. Not for the first time, she wanted to be a thousand miles away from this place. Getting herself smuggled out of the palace in a wine barrel increasingly sounded like a reasonable solution to all her problems. Maybe Ivar had been on to something after all.

But before she could start planning her escape in earnest, there was a knock on the door. She reluctantly got up to answer it. It turned out to be her father, with a vaguely familiar-looking Northman hovering behind him in the hallway. Her heart immediately sank.

“Aldreda, may I present Ragnar Lothbrok’s other son, Ubbe,” he said with a strained smile, motioning for Ivar’s brother to step forward. She was extremely relieved in that moment that she was still dressed and did not have to meet Ivar’s brother while wearing her nightgown.

After glancing at Aethelwulf, Ubbe hesitated and dipped into what Aldreda supposed was some sort of bow. Then, to her surprise, he took her hand and kissed it. “Hello,” he said in English.

She let go of his hand and curtsied back awkwardly. “My lord Ubbe, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

He stared at her in confusion. Her father nudged her and murmured, “I don’t think he knows our language.”

“Oh,” she said. Embarrassingly enough, though Ivar’s English had improved to a remarkable degree in the past couple months, the same could not be said for her Norse. She frantically tried to recall her vocabulary. “Ah...how are you?”

He seemed relieved to hear her speak his language, however badly, and he smiled at her. “Our journey was long and difficult, but I am better now that I have met you.”

She had no idea what to say to that in either language. “Thank you,” she finally replied. Then she turned to her father. “I would like to speak to you,” she said in English.

He looked surprised. “Oh, of course. Right now?”

“Yes.” She tilted her head at Ubbe. “And alone.”

“Right.” Her father grasped Ubbe by the elbow and then escorted him back into the hallway with a polite smile before closing the door in his face.

“What is going on, Father?” she demanded once the door was closed.

He took a seat at the desk and ran his hands through his hair wearily. “Should the annulment proceed—and now it certainly will—Ragnar Lothbrok has proposed that you marry Ubbe. Your grandfather was receptive to the idea.”

She supposed she should have expected this: to be handed off immediately to the next available suitor with no say of her own, or even the faintest gesture that her feelings might have mattered in the least. Somehow, foolishly, she had thought that maybe this time would be different. But clearly she was mistaken. Judith had been right after all.

“And you?” she asked in a small voice.

Her father sighed and looked away. “I did not like the idea of you marrying Ivar,” he said. “Neither of you even had time to get to know each other before you wed, though I admit I was too quick to judge him. You did your duty, of course, for the good of Wessex. But sometimes our hearts pull us in other directions, and that is no sin. Though your grandfather and Ragnar Lothbrok would like this matter resolved quickly, I have requested that you be allowed to decide whether the match is to proceed, and that Ubbe be baptized into our faith. They have agreed to these conditions.”

She threw herself into his arms without hesitation. “Thank you,” she whispered, hugging him tightly. Then she stepped back with a frown. “What will happen to Ivar?”

“The king has decided that the annulment can be formalized the day after tomorrow, once the final details have been worked out with Ragnar Lothbrok,” he said. “Afterwards, Ivar will return to Kattegat with his father. Ubbe will remain here and preparations will be made for the engagement. Tomorrow, you should spend at least a little time with him.”

She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. It is for the best, she told herself for the thousandth time. Ivar could hate her if that was what he needed. She hoped he wouldn’t.

Her father squeezed her shoulder. “All my life, I have tried to do the right thing for my country, and my father, and my god,” he said. “I believed that if doing the right thing came at the expense of my personal happiness, then the cost was worth it. But now I see that these two things may not always be in opposition to each other. Sometimes happiness can be the right thing, and I would very much wish for all my children to be happy. I am sure that your mother would have wanted the same.”

“Yes, Father,” she whispered. She was a woman now; she knew she should maintain her composure and not weep in front of him. Once she started, she would not be able to stop.

It must have been obvious. “Oh, my dear,” her father said gently, pulling her close and touching his forehead to hers, and she lost herself entirely. She sobbed in his arms for what felt like an eternity as he patted her back and murmured soothing words. Finally, as her sobs began to subside, he poured her a cup of water from the pitcher on the desk and gave her his handkerchief to wipe her eyes.

“You always raised me to understand my duty towards others came first,” she said once she could speak again. She blew her nose and returned the handkerchief. “In a way, that made everything easier, because then I could say I didn’t have a choice. But what if I make the wrong choice now? What if I make a mistake and I don’t know how to fix it?”

He squeezed her hand. “We can’t always fix everything,” he said. “All we can do is the best that we can.”

With that, her father smiled and left her. Alone in her room, she undressed, blew out the candles, and climbed into bed. She didn’t think she would sleep at all that night, but somehow she had exhausted herself. Within minutes of closing her eyes, she was fast asleep.

When Ivar woke in the morning, the sun was already shining high in the sky and flooding the room with light. He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long. Usually, Aldreda would wake before him, and she would eventually nudge him to get up. But she hadn’t slept there last night, presumably having found herself another room for the time being. Of course, it hardly made sense for them to continue to share a bed if they were no longer going to be married.

His stomach growled and he suddenly realized he was ravenous. He might have elected to stay in bed all day otherwise, having nowhere else to go and nothing to do, but he finally forced himself up, washed his face, and slowly got dressed. Then he crawled over to the door, and finding it still locked from the outside, he banged on it until an annoyed guard opened it and glared down at him.

“Does King Ecbert mean for me to starve?” he snapped.

The guard closed the door in his face without a word, but within ten minutes, a servant came by with a plate of food and then hurried out before Ivar could make any additional demands. He wolfed his breakfast down in minutes. Once he was done, he picked up the plate and turned it around in his hands a few times. Even though he felt a little better after eating, he thought he would feel much better if he threw the plate at the locked door.

The moment it left his hands, the door opened without warning and his father stepped inside. The plate struck him squarely in the chest and bounced off. It clattered around noisily on the floor until Ragnar bent down with a groan to pick it up and set it on the table.

“Father,” Ivar said in what he hoped was a steady voice, staring up at him.

“Ivar.” Ragnar sighed and sank down to the ground with his back to the door and legs splayed. “I am meeting again with King Ecbert today. Tomorrow morning, you’ll go to the priest and the marriage will be annulled. Then you and I will return right away to Kattegat while Ubbe remains here to be formally engaged to Aldreda. You will do this without making a scene and embarrassing your people, your family, and yourself. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” he said dully.

“Hm.” Ragnar tilted his head back against the door. “Do you have anything to say to me, boy?”

He had spent hours since yesterday working through various defenses and excuses for his behavior, but in that moment, his mind went blank. He picked at the fabric of his pants, overcome by emotion. “You left me,” he said at last, his voice suddenly breaking. “You left me again and you didn’t even bother to ask how I felt about it.”

Ragnar watched him in silence. As a child, Ivar had seen his father as a giant, unreachable and untouchable, but in this moment, sitting across from him—all he looked like was a tired old man, nothing like the great king and warrior he had always idolized.

“I remember, you know,” Ivar continued. “Sigurd said I just dreamed it and I couldn’t possibly remember because I was only a baby back then, and maybe he’s right, but it doesn’t matter. I remember looking up at your face. I remember you leaving me somewhere cold. You said you did it because you thought my legs were a weakness and I would die anyway. But I don’t care anymore why you left me. I just want to know if you’re sorry that you did it.”

Without taking his eyes off him, Ragnar slowly got to his feet. “Do you think you’re the first child to be left by his father?” he asked harshly. “I survived. You survived. The gods willed it. It doesn’t matter whether I’m sorry or not.”

With that, he turned and left as abruptly as he had come, leaving Ivar sitting alone on the floor. He sat there in silence and watched the shadows creep along the walls and listened to the sounds of the servants walking by in the hall, laughing and arguing cheerfully. If the door had been unlocked, he would have been tempted to charge out of the room, snarling curses to make them turn and run, but Ragnar had of course been careful to lock the door behind him. Even if his father was not sorry, he was ashamed of what he had done, Ivar realized. It still hurt. But he remembered what Aethelwulf had told him in the carriage: that he didn’t have to make the same mistakes as his parents; that it was possible to be better. He hoped he was right.

With nothing else to do, Ivar finally hauled himself back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling as the sun gradually sank below the horizon. He tried without success to avoid thinking about Aldreda, who was probably off having dinner with Ubbe and blushing when he smiled at her. His brothers all knew how to charm women; a skill he had never bothered to try to pick up—what was the use? He’d never be like them.

He unsuccessfully tried to wrench his thoughts away from Aldreda and Ubbe and plan for his future back in Kattegat, but he just couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. If Ubbe really could make her happy, though...if this was really what she wanted...well, maybe that was what mattered most. Maybe he just had to figure out how to let her go.

At some point in the evening, the servants came in to light the candles and bring him another plate of food, even though he had no appetite. He lay back on the bed, shut his eyes, and firmly ignored them, which no doubt made them happy. He even let himself doze for a while. His dreams were fragmented and hazy: he was lying in a tent in Mercia with Aldreda curled up at his side; he was on the boat to England again, watching Jormungandr rising out of the dark water to strike; he was sitting on the throne of Kattegat before a room full of cheering skeletons; he was his own father, looking down at the helpless infant in his arms. No other way, my son.

He woke to a hesitant knock at the door. “Fuck off,” he snapped sleepily in Norse. It was probably Ubbe dropping by with some long winded explanation about how this was all being done for Ivar’s own good. Ubbe was the last person on earth he wanted to see right now.

He sat up in surprise when Aldreda poked her head inside. She had a hesitant look on her face, as though she thought he would shout at her. “Sorry, I thought you were my brother,” he explained sheepishly, rubbing his eyes.

“Can I come in?” she asked. Before he could answer, she quickly added, “You can say no. That’s all right too. I just...I didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

Some part of him wanted to refuse out of spite; to say don’t worry, you’ll be rid of me soon enough and won’t have to look at me anymore, just like you wanted, same as everybody else. He could watch her expression turn from uncertainty to shock before slamming the door. Then she would go back to her own room and he would lie in bed awake all night, and he would only see her one last time in the morning to formally annul the marriage before getting sent home. That would be the end of it.

She hovered in the doorway, hair loose over her shoulders and dark circles under her eyes for lack of sleep. In that moment, she didn’t look like a princess of Wessex or the granddaughter of a king: just a girl, not much older than himself, and no more certain about the future than he was. He sighed and shifted over on the bed to make room for her. After a few seconds, she stepped inside, shut the door, and joined him.

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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skgway · 3 years

Text

1823 Aug., Wed. 20

11 1/2

Soon began on the erotics last night. Her warm, then [e]ncouraging. I said this was not like keeping our promise. She answered, ‘no’ and reached a towel to put under us to keep the bed clean on account of her cousin. I had retired too early for her. ‘Am I too soon for you?’ ‘Yes, rather,’ said she, and I resumed, determined she should have a sufficiently good kiss before I had had one. She said she had and we fell asleep.

Both awoke at five in the morning and talked till seven. Asked if this was not better than my sleeping in Micklegate. ‘Yes,’ but it was prudence # on her part. She had a feeling she could not describe. Would make any sacrifice rather than have our connection suspected. She seemed very affectionate and fond of me. Said I was her only comfort, she should be miserable without me.

Lou has got rather out of ∂ [Charles]’s good books she – Lou never got up to breakfast living with her uncle has given her very independent notions – He waited for her – Consulted her in everything – She told C– [Charles] one morning, she got up at the hour that suited her convenience – ∂ [Charles Lawton] has therefore been sadly out of his best humour this summer and π [Mariana] sadly fidgetted –

Told M– [Mariana] that she did not understand one 1/2 my letters, and misunderstood the other – That my aunt said (speaking of the regard between us), it was “much more on one side than the other”, – On my side then hers – Miss Pattison had blushed up to the sears, and told her at Manchester that ∂ [Charles Lawton] complained of her being cold and she wished she would try to be warmer when she returned. π [Mariana] said she and ∂ [Charles Lawton] very well knew the reason of that that she could not seem warm if she did not feel so.

π [Mariana] once sat next Miss Pattison’s uncle at dinner there and he said of her she looked like one who could love. I agreed, then reverting to ourselves, ‘this is adultery to all intents and purposes.’ ‘No, no,’ said she. ‘Oh yes, π [Mariana]. No casuistry can disguise it.’ ‘Not this then, but the other.’ ‘Well,’ said I, choosing to let the thing turn her own way. ‘I always considered your marriage legal prostitution. We were both wrong. You to do and I to consent to it. And when I think of blaming others, I always remember nothing can at all excuse us but our prior connection.’

I did not pursue the subject, nor did π [Mariana] seem to think much of it. The fear of discovery is strong. It rather increases I think. But her conscience seems seared, so long as concealment is secure. She said yesterday of Harriet, if she had never liked Milne I could have made more excuse for her. Thought I to myself, if none but those who were without sin threw the first stone.

Harriet, like the woman taken in adultery, might escape – Told her she needed not fear my conduct letting out our secret. I could deceive anyone. Then told her how completely I had duped Miss Pickford # and that the success of such deep deceit almost smote me, but I had done it all for her, π [Mariana]’s, sake. ‘Why should it smite you? ‘It is deceit that does no one any harm.’

I made no reply, but mused how sophistry might reign within the breast where none suspected it. How might not this argument best retched from one deceit to another. Mary, you have passion like the rest, but your caution cheats the world out of it. Scandal and your courage is weak, rather than your principal strong. Yet is it I who write this.

She’s true to me, yes, but she has not that magnanimity of truth that satisfies a haughty spirit like mine. She is too tamely, worldly, and worldliness is her strength and weakness her foible and her virtue. She loves me, I do believe her, as well as she is capable of loving. Yet her marriage was worldly, her whole conduct is worldly to the farthest verge that craven love can bear.

How often has it struck me that years ago when once talking to Lou about this marriage and the powerful circumstances that almost compelled it. ‘Well,’ said she, ‘you do not know π [Mariana]. She is worldly and the match was worldly altogether.’ This did indeed strike me at the time but it never struck me as it does at this moment – (Thursday 21 August 3 55/60 p.m. 1823) –

It now opens upon me as the key of all that all I have never yet been able to comprehend in her character. I have doubted her love, I have doubted her sincerity. How often with an almost bursting heart have I laid aside my papers and my musings because I dared not pursue inconsistencies I could not unravel. I could not deem the dial true, I would not deem it false. The time the manner of her marriage to sink January 1815 in oblivion. Oh how it broke the magic of my faith forever. How, spite of love, it burst the spell that bound my very reason suppliant at her feet. I loathed consent but loathed the easing more. I would have given the yes she sought, tho it had rent my heart into a hundred thousand shivers. It was enough to ask –

It was a coward love that dared not brave the storm; and, in desperate despair, my proud, indignant spirit watched it sculk away – How few the higher feelings we then could have in common! The chivalry of heart was gone – Hope’s brightest hues were brushed away – Yet still one melancholy point of union remained – She was unhappy. So was I –

Love scorned to leave the ruin desolate; and time she has shaded it so sweetly, my heart still lingers in its old abiding place, thoughtless of its broken bowers, save when some sudden guest blows thro’, and scrunching memory is disturbed – But oh! no more “the heart knoweth its own bitterness,” and it is enough – “Je sens mon coeur, et je connais les hommes. Je ne suis fait comme aucun de ceux que j’ai vus; j’ose croire n'être fait comme aucun de ceux qui existent.” Rousseau's Confessions volume and page first.

She loves me. Tho it is neither exactly as I wished, nor as I too fondly persuaded myself. ‘Ere years had taught me to weigh human nature in the balance or unlock the loveliest of bosoms with the key of worldliness. Yes, she loves me. My own feelings shall descend to hers. They have done so in part. How I could have adored her had she been more of that angelic being my fancy formed her. No thought, no word, no look, had wandered then. Surely my every sentiment towards her had had less of earth in it than heaven –

How like “the visions of romantic youth”! I know she might have realized then – Je sens mon coeur – But no more – No more – I seem unable to return to the dry detail of a journal –

At seven an hour before getting up asked her to get out of bed and wash. We both did so. Then got into bed again and had a long quiet good kiss and then a comfortable nap. Got up at eight. I laughed and said we must really both of us get well as soon as we could. We owned she thought I was worse than she was, and said jokingly ‘do you forgive me for it?’ ‘Of course.’ I set her at ease on this point, but yet the characteristic difference between us always strikes me. I am sure I should even shew twice as much as she really feels –

Went downstairs at 8 1/2 – Breakfasted etc. etc. Sat next Mrs Milne. Had been very properly attentive to her. Asked π [Mariana] if she was satisfied etc. etc. Said I would act as she liked but I could not decidedly change my manners to Mrs. M[ilne] unless my real acquaintance with her conduct might be acknowledged. She has been foolish again in corresponding with her cousin, Mr. Dannett. This was the thing Eli [Eliza Belcombe] alluded to when I was last in York –

Took leave, and off from the B– [Belcombe]’s (Dr. B– [Belcombe] had had rather a restless night but was nevertheless no worse). As the minster clock struck 10 found the horses to the mail at the Tavern door, to start at 10 1/4 instead of 10 3/f as I supposed – Asked the coachman to wait a minute or 2, and hurried into Micklegate – Only just time to wish then good by, and say I should be passing thro’ again in a fortnight or 3 weeks to spend a fortnight with M– [Mariana] at Scarbro’ –

Did not see Mrs. Duffin this morning – Miss M– [Marsh] whispered last night, she had had a paralytic affectation about a fortnight ago, and had been almost gone – I perceived no difference in her as I saw her sitting round the table last night – She did not attempt to move, but this being unnecessary, did not strike me –

Got into the new mail, and drove off from the D– [Duffin]’s door at 10 1/2 – Only 1 gentleman besides myself – Beyond Tadcaster took up a nice decent elderly woman – I never uttered all the way – Wrapt in musing – Thought of π [Mariana] and the three steps business, then about my manners and appearance. Building castles about their improvement, elegance, engagingness, etc. etc. The good society I hope to get into, etc., etc.

Thought of consulting Mr. Simmons, the surgeon. George Streetman, Chester. π [Mariana] consulted him. He feared some uterary of or belonging to the womb. Determine yet might judge from the effect of Scarbro whether Steph was right in supposing it merely weakness. He had treated her judiciously. She ought to be examined, but would not submit –

At Leeds at 1 – Got out for 1/4 hour and off again (from the Rose & Crown) at 1 20/60 – Beautiful day till we got to the New Dolphin Clayton heights, and from there to the Pine-apple

H–x [Halifax], a smartish, sunshiny shower – Got out at the Pine apple at 3 40/60 – Fair and fine immediately –

Got home at 4 – Went into the stable for a moment – Caradoc had gone on well – Then went into the house, and sat talking to my uncle and aunt till 5 40/60 – Then dressed for dinner – My father and Marian called in the evening, and staid till after 8 – I was absolutely asleep almost all the time –

Came up to bed at 9, at which hour Barometer 1 1/2 degree below changeable Fahrenheit 60º – Put by my things – Read the 1st 13 pages volume 1 Rousseau Confessions –

A bowel complaint. Dawdling to stick the pot up the chimney to prevent smell. Could not manage it. All this hindered and kept me up. E [three dots, times treating venereal complaint] O [three dots, signifying much discharge] A great deal on my linen. Saw it when I washed thoroughly before dinner, first with water then alum lotion –

[in margin]

#Tuesday morning 26 August 1823 This is very well in its way, but she has more of it than love –

# Did not give the slightest hint of P[ickford]’s real character, nor does π [Mariana] at all suspect the truth. I merely said she was the most learned woman I knew and had therefore more penetration than the world in general – π [Mariana] thought she should feel under restraint before her –

#anne lister #anne lister code breaker #shibden hall 1823 #mariana lawton #frances pickford

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polymetis-23 · 3 years

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Diary Entry Sept. 26th, 2021

Day 1 - The hunt begins

I spent most of today working on updates to my hero gear based off the trial runs these past few weeks. First I removed the giant skirt from my costume and replaced it with a utility belt. Sure those might not have been the most iconic thing about steampunk but they tinkered a lot so I'm sure they were around plenty. I hope to make more gadgets as time goes on so this will be a good place to store them. For now it is a simple belt with pockets as found at hardware stores. I know, it's ugly and doesn't really fit and I wish I had time to be proper about it, but with The Eye out there it seems somethings will sadly have to be function over form.

In addition to adding the tool belt, I have been working on the wrist crossbows (told you I wouldn't forget about them). I've moved them down from the back of my hand to around my wrist and made the bow limbs out of a semi-bendable metal. They work like springs and shoot the dart out fairly fast … or at least that is the current theory, I've really only added the wrist strap, had to finish some homework.

As the sun started to set, it was finally time for me to find The Eye (seriously does anyone have a better name for this person?) I could've sworn I was in a movie. The sky was overcast but no rain and everything seemed eerily quiet. Without a better idea I started from where I last saw them, the eye was still on the wall and it didn't look like anyone had been home in a while, I hope she didn't kill him. Anyway, I wasn't about to break into someone's house because that is illegal so I sat on the roof and surveyed for any mysterious red lights. It may not have been the most efficient way to find them, but hey that red glow is the only thing I have to identify them at the moment, and well the eye. I saw a few flashes over the course of the night, and a few more eyes around the city. Some the crime was obvious, another breakin or general vandalism, but others a dark red eye was just on a wall, nothing around to denote why.

Day 2 - Uh yeah, exams are a thing

How, might I ask, are we in the third week of classes and I already have a quiz. Like seriously what are we supposed to have learned at this point? Even if they had taught us something, this is the absolute worst time, now I have to spend all day studying and I can't go out tonight. I was getting so close last night to actually catching up to The Eye. Sure I hadn't actually seen them, but I was getting quicker at navigating the city so the time between red flashes and my arrival at a scene was getting less and less, it was only a matter of time until I caught them.

Day 3 - Crossbow work

The forecast for today is rain, lots of rain all day and I don't really fancy going out and getting soaked or slipping and falling on my butt while hunting for Eye, so I guess today is a design day. It actually works out really well because now I will have the wrist bow ready for when I finally do encounter her. Next thing I need to work on is tranquilizer darts, I don't want to permanently hurt those I bring in, after all I'm not the judge, jury and executioner, I just bring people in to meet justice.

After today's tests the bow seems to be great … or at least manageable. I still need to improve the aiming, for some reason the bolts won't group together. And I need to make an automatic reloader attachment, I have plenty of darts held on the cuff, but it would be nice for the system to be semi automatic incase I miss a shot or more probably I am fighting more than one opponent and need to incapacitate them both in quick succession.

Day 4 - The Evil Eye

Finally a semi-free day. I was able to make a few small adjustments to my weaponry between classes then waited until dark to roam the streets. The clouds from yesterday blew by leaving not a trace and letting the nearly full moon illuminate the streets, although that could also be from light pollution … I guess it is good that I can see and not trip, but I would've liked to be able to see the stars.

The night started relatively calmly, I was finally getting used to the red haze that settled over the world when I used my goggles. If I ever learn how to actually code, I'll have to write a program to filter out the ambient light, but for now I would just have to let my eyes adjust. I got lucky in my positioning tonight, I hadn't seen any pattern in how The Eye chose their targets so I had decided to sit on a random tall roof top and was rewarded with a beam of red two blocks over. Although I had previously only seen an aura of red indicating The Eye's (this is gonna stick now isn't it?) presence, it wasn't hard to imagine that they had the ability to focus it.

I ran across the rooftops, which were thankfully connected, I'll have to figure something out for when they aren't. I guess I could run at street level but that is more crowded and less direct, plus heroes are known for leaping across roofs right? Regardless I soon arrived at where the beam had been and looked for the source. Below me on the street there was a fight going on and sure enough one of the combatants' hands were surrounded by an aura of red. Upon closer observation I was shocked to find out this wasn't a fight, it was a beating. The man The Eye was 'fighting' was just laying on the ground not even trying to defend themselves. It was clear to anyone watching that the fight was over and didn't need to be continued so why was The Eye still there? I called 911 and reported the situation so her victim could get some help. I doubted they would be moving by themselves any time soon.

After placing the call I turned my attention back to the street to apprehend The Eye myself, but they were already gone, an eye left on the ground above the injured man's head. I could already hear the sirens of the ambulance and knew he would be okay. I waited until the paramedics started treating him, then left. I spent the rest of the night searching for another sighting of The Eye to bring them in, but they seemed to have gone silent for the moment. I suppose I will have to try again tomorrow now that I had seen they were not only bad, they were straight up evil. Attacking someone for no reason at all.

Day 5 - The Conversation

So classes were normal today and nothing special happened except well, I finally got to talk with the eye. I went out a little earlier than I usually did planning on scoping out some of the roofs on campus. Although I was currently preoccupied taking down The Eye who seemed to operate across the river, I knew I would be coming back to stop crime on campus eventually. There is a really nice iconic roof space above the main lobby of campus where I was planning to start. Up there you can see all around campus, sure it wasn't the tallest building, but it did have a great view.

Anyway, I was up there planning to see what was what and keeping an eye out for any red flashes in the city when from behind I heard:

"I thought they blocked off all entrances to the roof" they had, I have just been practicing picking locks. Yes I know that skill is rarely used for anything good, but sometimes it can come in handy, like tonight with the door

I turned around expecting to see some other student, while it wasn't a common hang out spot, people definitely still came up here. Instead I was confronted with The Eye herself, what was she doing on this side of the river and at my school no less. Of course I immediately confronted her about her illegal activities and she scoffed at me. I mean she literally scoffed and called me naive, how am I naive when I saw her commit those crimes? Like seriously? It quickly became apparent that she wasn't remorseful at all and needed to be brought in. We had a brief altercation which I definitely nearly won if she hadn't taken a cheap shot and knocked me on my butt I would've had her. As it was I landed with a loud smack and was slightly dazed. The only sound I heard was "stay down, this isn't the world for you" When I got my bearings again, she was gone and I was alone on the roof.

I layed back down and stared at the sky. This is going to take more work than I thought, but I'm sure it can't be that much more.

Day 6 - A day to relax

Not much happened today, I ended up sleeping through my alarm which I guess is a natural consequence of staying up into the early hours of the night every day for a week. I did my laundry, bought a few groceries and sloughed through some homework and … that was about it.

Day 7 - Coding is still the worst

So I have a problem set due for my coding class and I swear this class should be worth twice the amount of credit listed on the syllabus based on how long it takes me to write a 'simple' program. I guess I am learning some things because I can follow the code examples given in class, but I definitely can't recreate them. I'm gonna need to find another way to code my goggles or get someone to do it for me. Superheroes have a man in the chair right?

I eventually got the problem set turned in and started to draft ideas for the semi-automatic wristbow, still very rudimentary though.

#fiction #oc #writeblr #writing #vigilant series

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joshslater · 4 years

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The Reformatory

A rewrite of jd07201990′s swimmer story. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

T -1

Dear diary or however you are supposed to start.

So tomorrow is the big day. Dad and I are sleeping at a Holiday Inn at the other side of the state. Well, I'm obviously not sleeping. How could I? So I thought I should start a journal of some sort to document this experience.

Some background. Two months ago I was in a fight with Mark Samberg on the football team. It had gotten pretty bad between the football schmucks and us swimmers. The jockheads were constantly harassing us, calling us fags and prissy boys. It happened often and was getting boring. As the captain of the swim team I asked Mark to knock it off and get his players in line. Idiot as he is he tried to knock me out instead, and I lost it. In our scramble I managed to knock him down and was about to kick him in the shin when he shifted and instead I connected with his knee. Apparently it fractured. He'll be able to walk and even run, but he'll not be able to play again for years, so he lost his Scholarship.

His family sued everyone they could. Me, the school, the swim coach. In the end all the lawyers sat down in a room with a local judge and came up with something they all could agree to. Mark gets some study assistance to get his grades up, the school had this quickly brushed under the carpet, and could pretend I was never student there. Me not graduating wasn’t really a blow, as my college fund now went to pay for Mark’s education, as compensation. They were rich enough to afford it anyway, but they wanted to see punishment. I get the honor to spend the next 180 days at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where I will "participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs". They can tack on some extra days for bad behavior without going back to the judge, but essentially I get 6 months at bad boy camp for standing up to bullies.

What will I do there? No idea. The website talks a lot about work ethics and responsibility and working together with the local community. Sounds like labor camp to me. I'll guess we'll know tomorrow. But first we have to visit the hospital for a check up. My first day in prison will mostly not be in prison!

Day 1, Monday

We started with a checkup at the hospital, and man did they do a thorough job. Our appointment was at 10, but before that I had to fill out a form with 100 questions. The doctor spent more than 30 minutes doing the most extensive check I've ever had. Not only that, but after the check we had to go to the sample lab to draw blood, and finally I had a CT scan at noon. After that, and a quick lunch, we drove to the actual reformation center, which was in a smaller town 2 hours away.

It's an old boarding school building that they've turned into this "Reformation Center", and it clearly looks more like a prison than a school. Just a heap of two story brick and concrete buildings out in nowhere. Not much of security, but then everyone was there "voluntarily", meaning that we all had a proper punishment waiting for us if we left. I hugged dad goodbye and was shown to Mr. Kerwin’s office by the entrance guard.

Mr. Kerwin was a lean, ripped man in his forties that oozed military discipline. He explained that he was responsible for my rehabilitation and that he wouldn't start soft. He would give me a packed schedule, and if I didn't pull my weight he would add more days for "noncompliance". If I didn't like it I could run back to judge Stephenson and ask to start over in juvie.

Perhaps that would be better, because the schedule he showed me was totally insane.

4:30-5:00 Breakfast 5:00-8:00 Exercise pass 1 8:00-12:00 Work pass 1 12:00-12:30 Lunch 12:30-14:30 School 14:30-17:30 Work pass 2 17:30-18:00 Dinner 18:00-21:00 Exercise pass 2 21:30 Lights out

He explained that my breakfast, lunch and dinner would be pre-portioned and I was required to eat all of it. The exercise passes would be lead by himself or one of the assistants. Again, I would have to follow every instruction. The work passes were done at local businesses that wanted an extra hand, and changed depending on demand. The school passes were done as a group on whatever subject Mr. Reed selected.

Next he ordered me to get naked and place all my clothes on top of my bag and move to the other side of the room. Having done so he pointed at a stack of clothes on the table and told me to pick my size and get dressed. I quickly dressed in one of the track suits from the table. There was a baseball cap also, which confused me, but was told that it was instead of sunglasses when working outdoor.

With that I was given a rule book to study and was led by an assistant to my room where a dinner was waiting. Turkey, rice, water. I was reminded of lights out at 21:30 and wake up at 4:30. The assistant left and locked the door. 10 minutes later he came back with my journal book and pen, and told me that they'll keep the rest for now.

Having eaten the dinner and having three hours (I'm almost sure 21:30 is 9:30 PM) to kill before the lights go out I'm now summarizing the day. I'm sitting in something very similar to a prison cell. Bed, toilet, sink. Everything is clean, though somewhat worn. Looking into the mirror is kind of depressing though. I look like some jailed gang member.

It's kind of weird that I haven't met any of the other inmates, sorry students, here. I saw some of them while coming in, but perhaps this is their kind of hazing, or they do an official presentation tomorrow. Anyway, I should study the rule book and go to bed, since I didn't sleep much last night.

Day 2, Tuesday

So much to write about, so little time. I might have to split this into several entries since lights out is in 20 minutes.

I was awaken at 4:30 and given a tray with a large bowl of porridge and berries and some chalky smoothie or shake or whatever to drink. After that an assistant lead me to the gym room where we went over various machines, mainly for cardio. Elliptical, bike, treadmill. Weird thing was that it was only us two in the room during all three hours.

Sweaty and a bit tired I was then taken outside to a bus where some of the other boys where chilling. Apparently everyone else had breakfast between 7 and 8. They had no idea why I didn't join them there. The bus then drove around town and the driver announced who should exit where. My group of four people exited at a farm before town, only about 5 minutes away. I don't know exactly since I haven't been given my watch back.

There we spent hours just moving hay. Don't they know about tractors? Sweaty, itchy, tired and hungry we were then picked up and driven back. At lunch was the first time I saw the real common area. To my surprise there were more boys there than had been on the bus.

Everyone else could pick what they wanted from what was served, but I was given a ready tray with an heap of salmon and pasta. I was starving though, so it wasn't a problem to eat it all. I didn't have much time to talk, but the guys at my table were nice. Somewhat rough, as could be expected. Apparently you were chosen for the different work assignments, and if you were not picked you stayed at the center for sports or craft or similar things.

After Lunch followed a session with Mr. Reed. The first boring hour was on English grammar and the second boring hour on US geography. I aced the quizz getting all 50 states and state capitols right, so I didn't learn anything new after that. Then Mr. Reed announced who had work assignments, and I was again selected.

This time I and Troy were dropped off at a different farm where we spent almost three hours helping with fencing. Mainly carry posts and sawing them to length.

For dinner I had some meatballs with roasted sweet potatoes while everyone else had meatballs with tomato sauce. Mr. Kerwin picked me up and led me to the gym. Unlike the morning session this was all about weight training. Most of it was on finding my limits for different exercises while Mr. Kerwin pointed out how I could improve my form. You could tell that this was what he liked to do, and encouraged me to push a bit further. Once we were done I had a bottle of post workout mix of some sort and a very quick shower before rushing back to my room.

Here's the thing. My room is on a different floor than the other guys. Also, my schedule appears to be different and much more rigid than the rest of the guys. I also

Day 3, Wednesday

I couldn't finish the last entry before they cut the light. My entire body is in pain right now. I woke up like that, and it didn't go away all day. Same schedule as yesterday, but different tasks and different dishes. The assistant really pushed today during the morning session, so I was exhausted already at the bus. Planting bushes at the city park all morning didn't help. I got some rest during Reeds rehash of elementary math. Then back to doing fences, and top it all off with weight training. I asked Mr. Kerwin about the schedule and why it was so different from everyone else’s. He said that everyone's schedule is individual and that he'll adjust mine as needed.

One more weird thing before I fall to sleep. Everyone else is using their normal clothes. I haven't gotten mine back yet.

Day 4, Thursday

FUCK! I was back on moving hay today again, with Sam, Trevor and Rick. I'm still hurting like hell and Rick is one lazy motherfucker, so old fart Farmer Joe decided to complain. The end result is that I am getting 2 days added for noncompliance. Sam, Trevor and Rick got nothing. WTF!

Day 5, Friday

We were carrying merchandise all morning and Troy heckled me on how I got more days because of the piece of shit Rick. But he then said that it was a weird coincidence that every work shift I've been on has been the toughest one.

Instead of going to class I met with the doctor from the hospital who made a visit. He asked me about how I felt, where I was sore etc. Then he gave me an injection which he said would ease things for me. I didn't feel much different, but I was getting really sleepy getting back to Mr. Reeds class, but it might just be that everything he did was too simple and boring.

Apparently while I had a check up Troy had shared his theory about me being a work magnet, so there were some groans from the guys placed in my group. God damn fence work again.

Man, I'm tired. I was tired even before Mr. Kerwin gave me the toughest weight pass ever. Fuck, I'm tired.

Day 6, Saturday

So the weekend schedule is different. There is still a morning work pass, basically only used by the local farmers. But the afternoon is free both on Saturdays and Sundays. Conditions and terms applies, apparently. Since I haven't done any cleaning or dishes all week (how could I?), I'm assigned washing clothes, sheets etc. Man, how much better it is to carry laundry than hay. Best job assignment all week. Lots of downtime. Only real drawback is all the humidity. It’s steamy AF here.

Still fucking 3h workout pass in the morning and evening. The other boys were pretty vocal in mocking me on my way to the gym.

Day 7, Sunday

So the day started out as any other so far. Woke up sore. Breakfast alone and 3 hour gym session. There are no work passes outside LARC on Sundays, so I was hit with cleaning, together with Kyle G. and Rick. Rick ghosted after like three minutes, but KG did a solid work. It took us all the time til lunch though to finish it.

Then my first free couple of hours all week. It’s insane. The other guys were low key avoiding me, so I did what Mr. Kerwin had suggested and had a walk in the forest. It was actually kind of nice, and for some weird reason I didn’t feel like sitting still.

Day 8, Monday

Same shit again. Mr. Kerwin gave me a shot in the arm this evening. Apparently I’ll have one each Monday from now on. Whatever.

Also I found out today that the others don’t have formal lights out. I’m on my own floor so they can lock me up and cut the power. What the fuck?

Day 9, Tuesday

That fucker Rick slacked off again, taunting me about another two days. Ha! I got 10. Mostly for kicking him in the teeth. They locked me in my room, so I had lunch there and sat in this boring ass cell during class and work. Fuck, I don’t know what’s worse. I had to do some body weight exercises to keep sane. Fuck this shit.

Back again. I still got to have my evening workout. Kerwin was pushing harder than ever. The order of exercises was different too. Apparently to make the major muscles tired so smaller muscle groups then get to work. Or something. I don’t give a shit.

Day 11, Thursday

They fucking work now, don’t they the little shits. They know I ruined someones career to get here and another one for slacking off. They better pull there weight

Day 14, Sunday

I think I’ll stick to just write on Sundays. There is only half an hour from evening gym to lights out, so there isn’t much time for writing. I’ve even skipped shower a few times. It’s not like it matters when you start every fucking day getting soaked with cardio. Not like there are any girls around to impress either. Sunday has a different vibe tho. Cleaning, running in the forest and taking a long shower.

Starts and ends with fucking gym time though.

Day 21, Sunday

I really fucking like the forest runs. Its like you don’t have to think and can just run wherever and grab whatever and smash whatever. Fucking love it

Day 28, Sunday

Yay! A full fucking month!

It’s crazy though how much stronger I’m. I have gone up one size larger track suite and 2 sizes larger sneakers. Working hard to make me the best I guess.

Day 42, Sunday

guess i forgot about writing last week. i think the monday shots make me angry or something because last week fucked up someone else on tuesday. at least they all give me fucking respect at least.

Day 92, Monday

i dont give a shit abot reeds borin ass lessons and they fuckin repeat on a loop or some shit. today he was back on gramr and the states. i most time dont fill out his shit but wanted to do it again today. fucking aced most of the states. not so good on the capitols tho

Day 203, Sunday

only 2 weeks left tomorrow lol then im gonna yeet the fuck outta here !!!! adios motherfuckas

Mr. Kerwin enters the room, carrying a folder, and walks behind his desk, not even looking at me. I am sitting in his precious fucking antique chair I pulled from the corner. He’s sitting his ass down, rifles through the papers in the folder and starts to read from one of them.

“John Hamlin agrees to 180 days of rehabilitation training at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center, where he will participate in all scheduled exercises, activities, therapies, meals and medication programs, with a possible extension of 30 days for noncompliance and a possible extension of 60 days for infractions as described by the Juvenile Rehabilitation Act (JuRA), section 1103 (b).”

He looks up at me. It sounded like easy shit when I said yes to it. I thought half a year in a bad boy summer camp, or worst case something like prison, but that would have been miles better than this fucking non-stop hard labor shit. And 180 days was a fucking joke. They never fucking intended that to be the actual time. Have someone else slack off and the slap another 2 days to the time. Kick a chair to pieces, 5 days. Punch a guy for being a cunt, 10 days. I’m close to having another fucking outburst again. It must be all that fucking shit they put in the food or shakes or whatever. I fight it. I don’t want to show any emotion in front of him. I don’t think he buys my shit.

“There is another document in the agreement that you haven’t heard. This one between Mark and judge Andrews.”

He pulls out another paper from the folder and read it.

“The state hereby directs Mark Samberg, or person(s) by him so designated, to design and oversee the rehabilitation program of John Hamlin to be administrated at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center. This includes physical exercises, physical therapy, education, consoling, dietary plan and medication, as long as it fulfills the positive development criteria (Appendix D), is within the available services at the Lepinski Adolescence Reformation Center (Appendix A) and within the given budget (Appendix C). Additional services require external financing and approval from the Reformation Center management (Appendix B).”

That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Why the hell had the judge put Mark in charge of my schedule? I understand why he’d want to make the experience suck as much as fucking possible for me, by why had everyone agreed to it? Kerwin looks at me as if he can read an open book.

“You are wondering what has happened to you. What was the meaning of all this? Stand up.”

I jump to my feet. There are still weeks he can add to my time here, and I don’t want to give him any fucking reason to add some shit.

“Stand with your feet as close together as you can.”

He’s never asked me to do that before. I can easily tap me feet together, but I can’t really stand still with my feet right next to each other for long. What the fuck is this bullshit? My thighs are too massive for that.

“Sit down again.”

He leans back and watches me with a bemused smirk.

“Imagine that you’d been away from swimming half a year. Even if you kept in shape it would take you months to be back in good enough technique to clear the swim team tryouts. But you have not kept in shape, have you? You have a completely new shape.”

The blood is draining from my face. I understand where this is going.

“With your upper body build you can physically really only do butterfly strokes properly, but if you can’t bring your feet together the leg kick will just be a wild thrashing of water. You swimming medley would be a hilarious joke. We haven’t even talked about you almost doubling in weight, and how much more oxygen you would need to swim. Sure, you are much stronger now, but old you would swim circles around new you. And that is of course the point. If Mark couldn’t have his sports career, he didn’t want you to have yours either. And the judge agreed.”

I’m surprised that the chair doesn’t break, as hard as I’m squeezing it. I’m boiling with fucking rage. I have to really focus to not to act on it.

“Now the judge specifically set out that this transformation couldn’t be punishment in itself, but rather that you were trained in a way that just wasn’t optimal for swimming. We may have gone a bit overboard with the body building to leave you many options though. You’ll obviously never be competitive in anything with speed or agility, like football or boxing. The metabolic conditioning, hormone treatment and gene therapy have far to long lasting effects to change you back from where you are now. You could try wrestling or weight lifting though, unless you mind showing your erection through spandex.”

“What the fuck?”, I said, as much as a general question to all the things he’d said. What does metabolic conditioning mean? Gene therapy? Erections?

“The medical regimen that Marks family found for you kind of put the feet on both the gas and the break at the same time. It forces the body to grow a lot at the same time as we try to stop it, so it has to try even harder. By injecting stem cells with the right CRISPR-modified DNA we could get rapid, major and long lasting changes. Well, I say we, but all I did was to make sure you kept to the exercise regimen, for a little cash on the side… Surely you didn’t think you got larger feet and dick from eating much and working hard?”

I don’t understand exactly what they done to me, but the result is pretty fucking clear. There was no way I would swim competitively ever again, if I could even fucking swim at all now. I would come out of here looking like a fucking balloon animal muscle jock, and shedding the muscles back to where I were would take shitloads of years.

“The hormone treatment finished two weeks ago and last blood sample shows that your natural hormone levels will keep you muscled and pumped probably well into your forties. So this morning I also cut you off from all suppressive medication as well. That is going to spike your hormone levels and mess quite a bit with you, so we need to see just how badly fucked up you are before we can release you.”

“The good doctor say that you’ll be more irritable and have more excess energy than before. Both something you can work on with regular, hard exercise. But I want to see where you really are at now, so starting today you’ll have no required gym time and labor passes. You can wake up when you want, eat what you want and do what you want.”

“You said erections?”, I asked.

“Yeah, the suppression medication should have kept you limp. You haven’t jacked off while here, have you? Well, you heard what I said about gas and break and compensation. Your body has been pumping massive amounts of hormones into your blood, and will continue to do so. But now that you don’t have the suppressives anymore you should expect to be horny for the next decade or two. You’ll be nothing but a lumbering muscle dildo.”

There’s a crack somewhere inside the wood of the armrest. Fucking fourteen more days, I have to remind myself. Don’t fuck any shit up before then. If I let go of the chair I’m quite positive I will knock him the fuck out. Fourteen fucking more shit days.

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portela-diez · 3 years

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Draft Ratings - Fantasy EPL 2021

Yes, spent way too much time on this. But it had to be done.

Draft Rating: C+

- Overview: Big Greenery. The name says it all. Bradley AKA “Ted Lasso” went for power with this year’s draft. Mr. Lasso may have found a loophole in the current fantasy format and will surely look to win his key battles in the air. With the likes of Van Dijk, Wan B, Tyrone Mings, Declan, Bissouma, Jannik, and the monstrous Benteke, you know that racking the 0.5’s Aerial Duels will occur week in and week out. The towering prowess of the squad may nod a couple baggers, but will certainly score a few own goals. However, it must be said, do not underestimate the man that may consider “football” his 5th favorite sport to watch and made the 2015 playoffs final.

- Threat: Benteke

- Sleeper: Mbuemo (hate saying that word)

- Last remark: Healthy status of the entire squad is the only reason there is (+) tailing the C rating.

Draft Rating: B-

- Overview: You would think being an Arsenal fan, Chasqui would hedge his bets, learn from past mistakes, and keep Arsenal picks to a minimum. But it seems like the true gunner spirit can never be suppressed. Nor relied on. Despite having the best defender in the league, this squad seems to lack depth and the almighty 90-minute studs. What IS going for him, though, is his new team name. With an updated name like Chasqui, and a fresh tattoo to match, this manager will never let a shitty draft ruin his year!

- Threat: Emi Martinez

- Sleeper: Ivan Toney

- Last remark: Chasqui, the Peruvian messenger will surely have a message for me after this gets published.

Draft Rating: A

- Overview: This team may have it all. His Kinko’s cheat sheet print out may have proven to be a wise move. Unlike Chasqui, Jon Fryer wants to improve on previous historical mishaps. Did he choose Man City players? Most definitely. But, did he pick the seemingly obvious Cityzen starters this year? Absolutely, mate. On top of that, the dark tabloid freaks still say HurriKANE has a chance at wearing his colors this year. Either way, his #1 pick guarantees goals. With a sneaker Shaw #2 pick, a late Auba #5 pick, and even a #9 Wilson pick, Jon Fryer may have decent season. However, wildcard Jonnie may need to be wary of the new FAAB spending budget. He has the tendencies to go all in, so let’s hope City doesn’t sign anyone else during the transfer window close, for his own sake.

- Threat: Harry Kane

- Sleeper: Milot Rashica

- Last remark: Please get a new team name. Barn!

Draft Rating: B+

- Overview: jvdV has 2 laws in managerial handbook: (1) Being the staunch defender that he is in REAL life, he will always draft 6 defenders. And there will always be a Ben Mee type player somewhere in there focalizing his back line. (2) Allan Saint Maximin and Richarlison belong to him. This man does not care if he picks them up in 2nd and 3rd round. They are his, do not even attempt to trade. The day that jvdV does not get to manage this pair, the world may slowly stop spinning, and begin spinning backwards.

- Threat: Romelu Lukaku

- Sleeper: None (lol)

- Last remark: The Vardy Party is always on, it never stops.

Draft Rating: B-

- Overview: Welcome to the league Phil! Now let’s talk about Cesc. The “Brentford” of the league, this wiz have may have a novato stamp on his forehead, but he surely has the tendency to turn his analytical art into a full blown legendary Leeds squad, capable of knocking down the top dawgs. With his Bundesliga 2 turtleneck, his never-before-seen data spreadsheet, and his Mount/Coufal/Harrison picks, this manager does not seem like he is here to mess about. Upon squad review, gaps exist. So much so, that at the time of this notation, he has already dropped 4 players. Best of luck to the Welsh gentleman!

- Threat: Mason Mount

- Sleeper: Leon Bailey

- Last remark: No one tell him that he has to actually wake up sometimes early on weekends, cuz that boy can sleep!

Draft Rating: A+

- Overview: Ellis got the Poodle Magic that every manager desires on draft day. Despite drafting a potentially injury-ridden Eze (that he was completely blind to), the team takes the cake from the sheer looks of it. The best pundits will tell you to snatch a premier defender in the 1st couple rounds, but the lad from Shrewsbury selfishly robbed all with 2, followed by a Werner and Rashford 5th / 6th round out. On top of all that, he commendably offered Jimenez a spot on his team. Not only a great manager, but charitable. Hats off.

- Threat: Thomas Soucek

- Sleeper: Patson Daka

- Last remark: Hopefully the Wolves’ wingbacks don’t whip in too many crosses to the Mexi talisman. Feet only.

Draft Rating: C

- Overview: Little did we know but looks like Evan may have some long-lost family in Leeds! That, or, he has a lot of trust in Bielsa. With 4 players from Leeds, and interestingly so, this team may have a similar level of volatility. A quick peek at the crystal ball will tell you that this team’s future has lots of massive point hauls with demanding victories, surely, but the hangovers could be worse, just like mine from yesterday’s draft. With a couple depth tweaks, the team may take him out from beneath the bottom of the barrel.

- Threat: Jack Grealish (or Chris Wood, actually)

- Sleeper: Kalvin Philips

- Last remark: If you don’t get a couple quick victories and bounce from last season, then you may always walk alone.

Draft Rating: A-

- Overview: Sonless is no longer sonless. Last season proved to be difficult without his star man, so he’s gone the extra mile this year to snatch him quick and change his luck. The question is… how will his #1 pick perform if his lethal strike partner vanishes off to another club? Time will tell. Until then, his defensive moves were that of an astute gaffer. His midfield will demand set plays and minutes. And his attack is good enough to pop him into the upper half off the table.

- Threat: Son

- Sleeper: Ibrahima Konate

- Last remark: Lewis Dunk is a world class defender. Anyone that disagrees is an imposter.

Draft Rating: A-

- Overview: Some may say he has the advantage living 10 hours ahead in Tel Aviv, where he gets to drink pints during matches without remorse under the shadows of the moon, compared to the rest of us that have to feel the wrath of our girlfriends hearing our 6AM Saturday alarm clocks, but either way, he is the reigning champ with the #1 pick. Anyone with Bruno Fernandes is destined for greatness. It’s just the way it is. Throw in the likes of the Tarkowski commander, the rough diamond of Benrama, and a triggering Leicester midfield, and this gaffa may be super gluing his hands to the imaginary cup.

- Threat: Bruno Fernandes

- Sleeper: Adam Armstrong

- Last remark: Will the Zern ever give up on Hudson Odoi to make his big splash? Don’t stay awake for this one!

Draft Rating: A+

- Overview: The fact of the matter is gold talks. Even though he is undoubtedly the best fantasy manager, he has yet to get 1st place. EVER. Call it the commissioner’s curse. But this year, things are different. You know why? Because Messi left Barcelona. This will crack the plates, shift the fault lines, and force his misfortunes to flip over into luck. Somehow, with 4th pick, he landed last years PFA player of the year, KDB. Likewise with a 11th Ziyech pick. That already has to mean something. The only reason this rating did not get A++, is because his team may be heavily relying on some unknown sleepers. That, and he never picks a solid backline, which directly translates to his lack of defending in REAL life. But that’s just his game!

- Threat: KDB

- Sleeper: Cucho Hernandez

- Last remark: If he were to rely less on players that speak Latin-rooted languages, then he may actually have a chance.

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