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dr3amofagame · 3 years

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idk why but i imagined vegas 2.0 as two soccer moms (the politics bois) trying to outdo each other while their sons are dragged into it (green bois) in a rlly fvcked way. e.g.

maybe big q reconsidering dream's usefulness by saying sam's enough as protection and has other things to offer to the team as well. wilbur steps in by suggesting a duel between sam and dream then, to prove it then. maybe while it happens, wilbur whispers to quackity a list of what is still physically broken abt dream post prison (so many unhealed bones, barely healed muscle, he can barely stomach food so he had like 1 steak in the past few days, etc.) and of course, he mentions dream's most powerful asset, the revive book :)

-🐇

LMAOO

this is hilarious and also accurate as hell ,, thank you anon because the image of c!wilbur and c!quackity as PTA moms is completely sending me. this prompt (as most vt2 related things are) was really fun !! it also kinda ran away from me, which is why this ended up being almost 6k words instead of my usual 1-2k for asks, but i hope you enjoy it regardless :]

tws: implied torture/abuse, death, violence, blood, injuries, conditioning, dehumanization, panic attacks, emotional distress, trauma, unhealthy relationships (so many unhealthy relationships), smoking, dark contents, dark themes, vt2 au is always really dark so definitely proceed with caution !! dark portrayals of c!quackity, c!sam, c!wilbur, and c!dream

It starts, as many things do nowadays, with a board meeting - which seems to be as much of a sign as any that everything is going to go to shit. Board meetings for Quackity, much like Wilbur’s stupid group therapy sessions, are just a thinly veiled attempt for the two to fight for control of pretty much everything - ranging from the casino schedules to the laws still being written for Las Nevadas to what food to stock in the vending machines. As Sam is still sitting on his false throne of moral superiority and therefore less inclined to indulge himself in the same blatant corruption that characterizes their discussions, and Dream - more than anything - knows his place (which hardly gives him any position to wrangle for power among the likes of Wilbur and Quackity), the fights for control more or less remain restricted between the two. More often than not, they devolve into proving their superiority over the other by using their control of Dream (which naturally never means anything remotely good for him as a consequence) so when Quackity strolls over, all tight-lipped smiles and a cigarette held between clenched fingers, Dream really doesn’t feel anything other than dread.

Still, orders by Quackity are still orders - Dream knows this fact better than he knows that he’s alive and breathing, better than the fact that he’s out of the prison, better than he knows his own goddamn name - and Dream is far too well-trained to ever consider trying to rebel. So when the time comes - 7:30 pm, sharp - Dream is in his chair, spine straight and head alert like a goddamn dog, and he waits.

It doesn’t take long for the others to arrive. Sam comes over first, leveling him with a heavy, distrustful stare as he sits down in the chair across from Dream, the expression nearly enough for Dream to roll his eyes if it weren’t for the fear that rockets through him, still, at the sight of the Warden so close to him. Sam has made it more than clear from the very beginning that he has no trust at all for Dream, that if he had his way then Dream would be locked up for the rest of eternity in a labyrinth of blackstone and obsidian, forever guarded by his ever-present supervision. Dream feels his ears burning with heat as he dips his eyes low to the surface of the table, wanting no more than to curl up and hide under the scrutiny of the Warden’s glare.

Quackity enters next, throwing open the door of the conference room loud enough to make Dream jump out of his seat, looking at him with an upturned corner of his lip when he comes back to himself enough to notice. Dream stifles a shudder at his visible good mood, all-too-aware of what that usually meant for him in the cell, stiffening further with a growing ringing to his ears as Sam and Quackity talk and Quackity sweeps past his side to get to his seat at the head of the table, carelessly brushing his fingers along the back of Dream’s neck in a way that makes him freeze, stock-still, in his chair - feeling his fingertips ease themselves over the ridge present there from a thick band of scar tissue, a deep, jagged thing that had been carved from the blunter back edge of Quackity’s axe when he had lost his temper and let the thing slam against the back of his neck, hard enough that it probably would’ve paralyzed him completely if it weren’t for Sam’s use of almost a full chest of regens. Quackity remains over him for a few more seconds, leaning over his chair to talk to Sam as he runs a light, possessive hand over the topmost bumps of Dream’s spine, before settling over into his chair, watching him with a small smirk as he keeps a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.

Dream hates the prickling shame and terror that keeps his muscles tense as he stares at the table’s surface, still feeling the ghost of fingers tracing over skin and bone along the back of his neck, keeps his burning eyes trained on the surface of solid wood as he tries to steady his breaths. It’s all he can do to press down his flinch when Quackity, with a frustrated yell, slams his fist against the table a few minutes later, rage simmering underneath his words as he speaks.

“Where the hell is Wilbur?” His glare slides across the room, landing on Dream, making him shrink back in his seat, heart thudding in his ears. Quackity doesn’t stop staring at him even as he pulls a cigarette and lighter from his pants pocket, lighting it and bringing it to his lips and letting the silver-grey threads of smoke fill the room and press against the inside of Dream’s lungs. “It’s ten minutes til 8 - I don’t have time for this bullshit.”

Sam digs his fingers into his temples, already looking exhausted. “If you want, Q, we can always start without him and catch him up later. Depends on you.”

“No, then I’ll have to repeat myself and it’ll be pointless and ugh,” Quackity makes a vaguely frustrated noise as he finally turns his eyes over to Sam, making Dream’s shoulders shudder as he finally finds the air to take a breath, “We’ll just have to wait. Fucking idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have worked with any of these fuckers.”

In true Wilbur fashion, it isn’t until fifteen minutes later when the taller man finally makes an appearance, the entire time tense as hell as Quackity takes slow, steady drags of his cigarette and taps his fingers impatiently against the table’s surface. He offers one to Sam, who goes on to decline, making a short quip telling Quackity to watch his health for the future that promptly falls flat. Dream thinks he’s a fucking hypocrite, considering his whole deal with weednip or whatever Ant has on him, but doesn’t voice the thoughts as he sinks down in his chair, wishing more than anything to disappear. Against the fabric of his shirt, the right side of his chest itches, and he presses his palm against the place where he knows there is a small, irregular grid of pockmarked scars from when Quackity had taken smoke breaks in the middle of sessions.

“There you all are,” Wilbur smiles as he slides into the room, a covered metal tray held in his hands as he kicks the door closed and slides the tray onto the table with an awful screech. “I’m sorry for being late,” he continues, sounding not very sorry at all, “but I made some food to make up for it!”

He takes off the cover with a flourish; underneath, sunny yellow squares, nearly blindly bright, look up blankly under the conference room’s overly harsh lighting. They smell sugary and vaguely sour, stinging his nose slightly, and seem to be coated with a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Lemon bars!” Wilbur grins, just left of sincere, “they’re gluten-free!”

“God,” Quackity laughs, sounding slightly incredulous, shaking his head. Dream’s gut rolls at the sound, Wilbur’s smile growing wider, even more dangerous, at the tone. It’s familiar, the way the two of them challenge each other, and in a rare moment of solidarity Dream watches from the corner of his eyes as Sam’s shoulders hunch as well. The two of them always bring trouble, even normally, but when they’re in this mood? Actively challenging each other, toeing the line, trying to find the limits and push them just because they can? Dream shivers in his seat, grip tightening on his own arms; this, he knows, is when they are at their most dangerous - and he has the scars to prove it.

“Gluten-free, huh? Really leaning into the whole ‘PTA mom’ schtick today, aren’t you?” Quackity smirks. “Should I call you Linda from now on?”

“I don’t know, Quackity, I was just thinking that I would make a little healthier treat for all of us, you know?” Wilbur brushes off the remark easily, taking a seat and immediately kicking his feet up onto the table. “If you want it, of course. I would hardly want to get in the way of your professionalism, Mr. President- do you have one of those? Or are you going for a more authoritarian approach”

“Fighting words from someone who rigged an election as President,” Quackity drawls, “and couldn’t even win it, might I add. “

“Oh, Big Q! You fail to understand, I wasn’t criticizing you at all,” Wilbur smiles, jagged, “we agree, I believe, on the failures of democracy. Unless you’ve forgotten our conversation, already?”

“Of course not,” Quackity snorts, and Dream doesn’t miss how his gaze shifts towards the side of the room, landing on Dream and making him curl further in his seat. “I’ll save you from me trying to pick your brain, this time, but don’t worry. You make yourself…rather hard to forget.”

Wilbur claps, seeming satisfied with this round of verbal sparring, and the sharp sound of his hands meeting together nearly has Dream jumping in his seat. “So! Lemon bars- does anyone want any?”

Dream is keenly aware of two pairs of eyes landing on him, Wilbur and Quackity watching for his reaction with bated breath and narrowed eyes. Panic crawls up his throat; he knows the purpose behind their stares, knows that he’s once again become the object of one of their power struggles. Quackity’s orders rattle in his brain, his thoughts a messy jumble of pins all knocked loose from his time in the prison, hopelessly unorganized and running on little more than instinct. Wilbur is expecting him to eat, to give into his sweet pastries and sweeter words; the lesson not to eat, move, think without permission, hammered into him between chunks of potato and battered ribs and blood gathered in the crevices of his skin, keeps his hands at his sides instead of reaching towards the pastries still set in the middle of the table. Even with Quackity at the opposite side of the room, Dream swears that he can still feel the pressure of a hand against the back of his neck, pressing just hard enough to make itself known from the feeling of fingers pressing into either side of his spine - he doesn’t even quite feel himself shaking his head, only really realizes what he’s done when he hears Wilbur sigh in frustration and meets Quackity’s satisfied gaze.

“I’ll take one,” Sam says, sounding exhausted, eyes flitting from Wilbur to Quackity to Dream with an increasingly long-suffering expression. His face twists around the first bite of the bright yellow pastry, nose scrunching as he puts it down, missing a half-moon bite along one corner, and drags his fingers over the table to ease off the remnants of powdered sugar. Wilbur watches him, seeming amused, and Quackity rolls his eyes as he pulls a binder out of his inventory.

“Now that everyone is finally here,” he starts, directing a particularly dead-eyed stare at Wilbur, “we can finally get on with the meeting. I was thinking we could go over the budget, today, if that’s alright with the rest of you.”

It sounds innocent enough - which is the first sign of many that this meeting, whatever it is, is going to be anything but pleasant. The grin that steadily grows on Quackity’s face does nothing to assuage Dream’s anxieties, only pushing them higher as the man flips open the binder and messes with it for a few seconds longer before seemingly finding what he’s looking for.

“I think we all know that until Sam finishes with the bank, funds around here are going to be a little bit tight,” Quackity begins, waiting for all of them to nod before continuing, “And we really need to save wherever we can. I recounted the budget yesterday, just to make sure that we’re all on track, and- well,”

Quackity points to a circled series of red numbers that Dream doesn’t understand but can assume mean little good for them. Sam makes a low, considering noise, sounding strangely concerned, and Wilbur actually seems to close his mouth and lean forward in curiosity.

“We have a deficit,” Quackity continues when they’ve all settled back into their seats, “and we’ll get it all back once Sam gets the bank up and running, but for now our funds are...limited. I don’t want to stop progress on Las Nevadas, of course, we really don’t have time to waste. So I thought we’d have a meeting today to discuss the budget and eliminate any expenses that we might find-” Quackity gestures with a smooth twirl of his wrist, “expendable.”

Sam hums. “Do you have anything in mind, Quackity?”

“A few,” Quackity flips to the next page, where he’s seemingly jotted a few notes - different things that they can put off for the moment, it seems, and the money that would be saved for forgoing them temporarily. Dream reads down the list quickly, stilling at the last item.

“Quackity,” Sam sounds twenty times more tired already when he speaks, tone flat and a little irritated. “Why is Dream on the list?”

Quackity shrugs. “Hear me out, now- most of our money right now is going into living expenses for the four of us. Having more people here, until everything becomes more sustainable, is a huge drain on our resources. I’m just listing all our options.”

“So what do you want to do?” Sam huffs. “Throw him back in Pandora?”

Quackity shakes his head.

“Wilbur does have the revive book knowledge, you know,” he says, and Dream’s blood runs cold. He can’t run, can’t move; he’s stuck in his seat, heart hammering faster in his chest as the other three hardly spare him a second glance. Sam purses his lips, a considering expression flashing over his face, as Quackity presses on. “Seriously- listen, Sam. There’s nothing that Dream is really offering, at the moment, that the rest of us can’t handle. Wilbur has the revive book, you can act as security to take out any threats - really, we shouldn’t be pissing anyone off until everything officially opens, and we can always retrieve him then when we need him. He’ll be out of the way, which means he won’t be able to start any fucking trouble,” Quackity laughs, short. “It’s a win-win.”

“I don’t know, Quackity,” Sam says, the words slow, but the tone is familiar enough for Dream to know that he’s already mostly given in. “It’s a risk, isn’t it? None of us but Dream have really used the revive book, before.”

Wilbur doesn’t even look at him when he chirps a reply. “That won’t be a problem, Sam. I’d be very happy to test it out, if you want.”

Quackity leans forward, and Dream nearly gags; he’s preening in his spot, eyes dancing as he smiles up at Sam. “Anything else you can think of?”

“I don’t know,” Sam trails off, and Dream looks down, only barely staving off the panic squeezing around his lungs and tears burning in his eyes. It’s nothing he hasn’t envisioned before, nothing he hasn’t expected, but this- he feels like such a fool, for hoping- “If we get ambushed, Q, I really don’t know if gear is going to be enough. You remember what Technoblade did last time.”

Quackity huffs, sounding annoyed, but nods to concede the point. “That is...fair. But then again, we don’t exactly know how good Dream is either, do we?” Quackity finally leans over to look at him, and Dream feels himself choke on his own breath at the dangerous gleam in Quackity’s eyes, all-too-familiar in their scrutiny, looking at him the same way they had pinned him to the floor of his obsidian-walled hell. “Anything to say, Dream?”

“I-” The words shake on Dream’s tongue, and he only barely manages a dry swallow as he struggles through the rest of his sentence, shrinking back from the heavy weight of three pairs of eyes fixed on his own, “I can be useful, s-” he only barely manages to bite down the word, a new wave of shame making him shrink back further past the fear. Quackity’s lip twitches upward.

Wilbur twirls a pencil in one hand, looking spectacularly bored; Dream’s chest shrieks with a harsh spike of envy at his composure. “How about you prove it?” His eyes are laughing when Dream gets a good look at them, amusement clear at the idea. “Put on a show?”

Quackity rolls his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

“You want to know if Sam can serve as an adequate replacement for Dream’s combat prowess, no?” Wilbur leans back in his chair as he talks, still focused on spinning his pencil over and between his fingers, “Why doesn’t he prove it? Let them duel, one on one. If Sam kills Dream, then you’re right, we’re done, and we can all move on with our days. If Dream wins, then he’s proved his worth, and we can figure out the rest of the budget after. What do you think?”

Quackity’s lips press together, seeming displeased, but he doesn’t say anything in return. Sam, ever practical, drums his fingers against the table.

“That sounds...fair,” Sam purses his lips. “How would we judge this? Equal gear?”

Wilbur only smiles wider as he shakes his head. “I was thinking we would make it a little more accurate to reality, if Dream’s services were truly to be needed. Sam, you can keep your own gear, and Dream should use his own. I guess on your end we can fight until you yield, but for him…”

The words are left unsaid, but Dream flexes his hands underneath the table as he catches onto the implications. For him, it’s a fight to the death.

Sam shrugs. “That works for me. Dream?”

He doesn’t really have a choice, does he? “Okay.”

“Wonderful!” Wilbur claps, bringing his hands to his chest and looking thoroughly thrilled at the prospects of the potential duel. Quackity glares at Dream but doesn’t say a word, and Dream hunches into himself, nearly folding himself in half as he ducks as far as he can down his seat. Sam pulls out his sword, flipping it around and testing its weight, and Dream doesn’t quite manage to suppress his full-body shudder at the sight. “Let’s get started, then.”

They move out in a roughly single-file line out of the conference room, Wilbur making idle chatter as Sam continues to examine his armor and weapons as they walk. They settle into an open space in the still-unfinished casino that Wilbur looks around for a second and then deems appropriate for the duel. Sam sets down an enderchest to gather his necessary materials, and Dream settles in front of it himself afterwards, shifting the lid open with shaking hands as he tries to work through his inventory.

He’s started the process of building up his gear again in his spare time, but he’s not had the time to finish gathering netherite for both himself and Wilbur - Wilbur meets his eyes with a sly wink before equipping the set of netherite armor that Dream had crafted for him, and Dream stifles a desperate snarl. He doesn’t even have the other set (still a gleaming blue from unplated diamond) enchanted, outside of a Sharpness book that he had slapped onto a diamond axe. He gathers the rest of his supplies with careful hands, trying to press down the increasing trembling of his limbs from his growing panic, flexing his arm around the weight of a shield once again and pocketing steaks and golden apples from his hoard.

He has no potions, no good weapons, not even a properly enchanted crossbow to offer the slightest bit of an advantage. Dream lets his eyes flick up to where Sam is waiting at the opposite side of the room, standing up straight with enchanted netherite covering him head to toe and a familiar axe slung over his shoulder, and tries not to break down right then and there. It’s too familiar, too reminiscent of obsidian walls and netherite pressed against his ribs and demands that he behave, and despite the glittering white walls and high ceiling and cold night air he swears he could fall just from the memories alone. Drowning within them, he distantly remembers a duel long-past under a bright blue sky, Sam laughing under a swirl of potion particles on the grass surrounding the Community House lake, and wonders which of the memories hurt more.

“Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream stills in his place, slamming the lid of the enderchest shut as his heart hammers in his ears. Quackity watches him intently, expression twisted in disappointment, and some beaten, instinctual part of him whines uncomfortably at the sight. “Hurry up.”

Dream nods, because of course he does, and stands with the results of his mad scramble to gather anything that could be useful in the duel to come - a few gapples, steaks, a sword, a bow lacking any enchantments at all, and an axe and shield. It’s a rather pathetic ensemble, but it’ll be enough. It’ll have to be enough.

“Ready?” Wilbur takes place as referee, standing off to the side with a smile on his face as Dream stands across from Sam, holding his axe with a white-knuckled grip as the Warden - expression unreadable through the shadow of his helmet and the mask fixed over his face - squares his own stance in preparation for the fight. “Good luck.”

Wilbur’s arm cuts a line in the air as it drops, and the Warden explodes into action, lumbering forward as he raises his axe over his head to bring it down. Dream tumbles in the opposite direction, letting a long held back, battle-trained part of himself take over as he rights himself back on his feet, swinging up his shield to catch on the downward arc of Warden’s Hammer, frantically pressing back the dregs of fear and panic staining the corners of his vision black as he moves.

The Warden hits slow but hits hard, too big and bulky to really avoid any quick attacks but too well-armored to be easily defeated despite that. He’s a classic tank - Dream skitters out of the way of another hit as he reaches for memories of him that won’t leave him gasping, information on his opponent that didn’t come from within the prison and all its horrors.

He’d dueled Sam before, he knows; it wasn’t the same, as Sam was trying out a Turtle Master potion and intent on proving the superiority of Resistance IV against Dream’s own combat prowess. He’d failed, then; Dream forcefully steadies another breath as the sound of the Warden’s armor clanking against the ground almost sends him into another panic. He’ll have to fail now, too.

Fortunately, he’s been allowed food to heal - without it, this fight would probably be near impossible. As it is, even without the potion, the principles of this duel are the same. Dream swings up his axe, catching the blade hurling towards him in the crook where the head meets the handle just long enough to pull himself out of the way and let the Warden’s weapon fall uselessly to the ground. Dream raises his head in the second he has, tracing his gaze over the Warden’s armor in search for places to exploit. Even the best defenses aren’t perfect. All he needs to do is survive for long enough to chip through it.

A fumbled dodge leads to the Warden’s blade skimming past his skin, carving a thin red line in the skin of his upper arm. He hisses as he dives out of the way of the next blow, the twinges of pain from the area almost enough to make his vision unfocused, almost enough to send him tumbling head-first into the part of him screaming submit submit submit if you don’t fight back they won’t hurt you more. He grits his teeth as he swings forward, knocking away the axe coming towards him with his axe long enough to push forward with his shield and knock the Warden further away from him. He can’t afford to flinch, can’t afford to let fear take control of his movements as it has so many times before. The keening desperation running through his veins is familiar, but desperation can fall both ways, can make him fight or flee - and there’s only one real option that will end with him getting out of this alive.

Dream stands and forces himself to meet the next swing hurling towards him dead on, raising his shield to catch the blade and pushing forward past the shuddering shock in his left arm from the force of the blow. His own blade arcs downward in the next second, scraping against the Warden’s netherite armor with a metallic screech. He manages to get in two more blows before the Warden’s next attack has him backing away to dodge, shaking off his arm to get his shield ready for the next attack.

He has to stay on the offensive, keep pressing the Warden back and forcing the other to play defense. He’s still weak from the prison; in terms of brute strength, he’s no match from the Warden, not after months of starvation and torture stuck in a box with hardly enough room to stretch his legs. All he really has going for him is his speed and his experience, neither of which will do him any good if he teeters over the edge into the panic attack he’s been trying to hold off the entire time. Dream runs forward, not giving himself more than a second to breathe as he rushes the Warden once again, switching weapons mid-leap to a sword that will allow for quicker blows in the time that he has the Warden off-balance enough to attack freely. He scores a series of glancing hits on the Warden, none doing any major damage but altogether enough to make the Warden back off, wary, with a gasping note of pain, and Dream shakes his head to force himself to focus before running forward once more.

The Warden pulls out a shield of his own, and Dream switches back to the axe and swings it squarely into the shield, then twists himself around to the Warden’s unprotected back to catch him with another heavy blow that leaves him reeling in the second he takes to recover. He’s clearly untrained with a shield, his left arm clumsy as he tries to block Dream’s blows, and Dream uses the opportunity to score another few solid hits to the Warden’s sides and legs, getting a good blow with the blunt side of his axe into the back of one of his knees, leaving the warden limping when he pulls away.

Dream has hardly come off unscathed in the fight - he wheezes out a heavy breath through his teeth, chest aching from a hit that had broken one of his ribs. The exertion and anxiety still pressing at the back of his throat has left him light-headed, and he bites through a crisp, almost sickeningly-sweet bite of golden apple to close a wound bleeding sluggishly on his side. Neither of them can go on for much longer; the Warden’s grip tightens on his axe, and Dream swallows past the shudder that arises from the sight.

Once again, he raises his axe and runs into the fight, parrying the coming strike and twisting out of the way to strike at a joint of the Warden’s armor with the flat of his blade. The Warden’s arm raises, and Dream bites off a yelp of alarm as the handle of his axe is levied against his unarmored side, knocking him off-balance and falling back onto the ground, too disoriented to catch himself. He lands on his left arm, and his vision goes white as it gives out with a sharp crack.

Through half-lidded eyes, he can make out the Warden stalking closer, axe raised and ready to end the fight - end him. His chest shakes in a pathetic wheeze for breath, arm completely useless from where it’s screaming in pain underneath him. He needs to move, now, if he wants to survive this - fear swells forward, unhindered as his focus is broken by the vice grip the pain has on his skull - he’s shaking, now, the terror so familiar he can taste it - salt and iron and sticky-sweet health potions against the backs of his teeth-

The Warden raises his axe.

No.

Dream raises his sword just in time to catch the blade hurtling towards his neck, uses his foot to kick against the Warden’s grip on the handle. The axe clatters out of his grip, falls forward - Dream rolls away, breathing harshly around the pain threatening to make him black out. Unarmed, the Warden takes a second to grab a sword from his inventory while Dream forces himself back to his feet and kicks the axe as far away as he can.

He’s so flooded with panic he’s choking on it, broken arm hanging limply by his side as he charges forward, sword in hand. He won’t die, not after all this time, not after all this effort - he throws himself at the Warden, batters him with jabs and thrusts that force the other man to back away and parry, snarling wordlessly as he brings his sword to slash forward again and again.

His attacks are messy, uncoordinated, but the Warden is tired and disoriented from the loss of his weapon - he flinches back as Dream hits him in the jaw with the hilt of his sword, only barely matching his blows as he continues to push forward. Any hits that he scores on Dream are brushed off with a growl of pain and his sword moving even faster in his fury, and it’s not very long at all before he’s knocked flat on his back with a sweep of Dream’s legs, gasping for air as Dream pins him to the ground with a blade pressed against his neck.

Dream meets his wide eyes with his own, lips curled back in the same desperate rage that had moved him forwards despite the black creeping into the corners of his eyes and the lancing pain tying its strings around his neck and leaving him gasping for air. The sword in his hand bears threads of blood along its edge, pressing deeper into the Warden’s neck and drawing crimson up to the surface - a thousand fearful, angry thoughts swell up to the front of his skull in a singular, white-hot point. It is the Warden underneath his feet, at the end of his blade, cowering beneath him as he had cowered before - the Warden, the cause of his pain, the reason behind the ache in his gut and the stinging pains in his limbs and the piercing agony from his arm and chest. It would be so easy to push just a little harder, to press the sweet blue blade down and down and down until the Warden is gone and the Warden is dead and the Warden can’t hurt him anymore-

“Down, Dream,” Quackity snaps, and Dream backs off immediately, losing his grip on his sword as the command has him dragged back by the neck like an invisible leash and collar pulling him away. Sam settles back in a sitting position, still wide-eyed, wincing as he moves and bringing a golden apple from his inventory to heal the worst of his injuries.

“Eat,” Quackity commands again, and Dream only barely manages a stiff nod through the nausea and dread curling around his chest as the adrenaline begins to fade away, fumbling with the golden apple he finds in his inventory and nibbling at it to tide off the worst of the pain.

“Bravo, bravo,” Wilbur grins from the side, clapping slowly as he walks back into the middle of their makeshift arena - he’s taken his armor off again, but it doesn’t make the sight of him any less intimidating. “What a show! We should do that more often, what do you think?”

No, Dream almost screams, I can’t- but Quackity beats him to it, glaring at Wilbur with an incredulous expression.

“We don’t have the time to waste on your fucking ‘shows,’” he snaps, crossing his arms as he swings his gaze over to Dream. “Fine. You’ve proved yourself. Now hurry up - we have to clean up all of this shit and then figure out the rest of this fucking budget.”

Dream pulls himself to his feet, watching from the side as the Warden does the same.

“Make yourself useful and clean off all your fucking blood from the floor,” Quackity meets his eyes with a vicious glare, waiting until he stammers his way through an agreement before turning to the other two in the room. “Sam, Wilbur - with me. I want to get this money issue figured out tonight.”

Dream watches them go as he shuffles to the cleaning closet, feeling a shudder crawl up his spine once they’re out of sight. Make yourself useful, Quackity’s voice rings in his head, and Dream bites his lip, only stopping when he accidentally breaks through skin and the taste of blood floods his tongue.

He has a feeling that those words are going to haunt him for a long, long time.

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courtofcravings · 3 years

Text

Another you (1)

Context: In which you get stuck on a planet and have to save kirk, whichhe admits feelings for you and ya both land in the Med Bay.

Warning: Some blood, needles, minor injuries. mild choking

Feb 2nd/21

I always find it funny that my go-to thing is to have the reader afraid of needles, but I myself am actually trained to give vaccines and take blood.

This was also my first Kirk x reader in a long time// It’s hard to write flirty confident characters because it is the exact opposite of who I am, yet it’s the personality i love in my men and women so xoxo

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Dr. McCoy was again trying to coerce you down to the Med Bay; he really thought offering to get the Captain involved would change anything. “I’m telling you right now, Y/N, you can’t go on your away mission without your immunizations for this planet. Have you have heard of the Quazulu VIII Virus, no? That’s because there is a vaccine for it!”

“Dr. McCoy, It will be a quick up and down to the planet to grab some specimens; I won’t stay for diplomatic reasons like the rest of the party is.” You justified to him. You had almost finished packing everything you needed from the research ward before your ship’s chief medical examiner ambushed you.

“As a scientist, I’d figure you would be one of the most appreciative of vaccines.” He replied, helping you collect tubes from the drawer beside him. “Ah contrary, as a scientist, I am well aware of how dirty hospitals and MedBays are.” The doctors face contorted,

“You do realize you are going on an away mission, on a un sterile planet. There is a risk of injury; are you just not going to receive first aid if something goes wrong on the planet?” He’s not wrong, and you knew it. You just hated needles. They grossed you out.

“I won’t get hurt then,” You confidently stated, which earned a scoff from the young doctor.

“What if I bring the vaccines to your research lab? And gave them to you here?” You admitted that wasn’t a bad compromise. The Med Bay gave you more of a bad feeling than needles do. You always found that most people you had to bring to the Medbay or hospital didn’t always come out. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of dread when you go in.

“Fine.”

“You remind me so much of Jim.” He said while pulling out the vaccines. He had the vaccines here!? He already knew I wouldn’t agree to go to the Med Bay and thought ahead. You really have left an impression on the doctor.

“Who? And you really knew I’d say yes?” Referring to the cooler filled with the vaccinations. “Ah, you see, they are not just for you,” He said. Taking one of the two doses you needed into one of his hands and pinch “Done.”

Oh, that wasn’t horrible.

The doors swooshed opened behind you, but you couldn’t open your eyes, knowing there was another needle coming. “Bones, you called me here?” Immediately recognizing that voice as Captain Kirk

“You Actually Told The Captain On Me!?” You stood up to look accusingly at Dr. McCoy. He only shrugged his shoulders, looking between the two of you. “You need to get your inoculations, Jim; why don’t you explain to Y/N here how important it is to get them before an away trip,” He said while getting another dose ready. “You do have a lot of experience of finding out the hard way.”

You met the captain’s eyes, so blue. “Captain,” You correctly addressed him, “Y/N, will you be coming tonight?” He asked, his voice so alluring.

“I will, sir,” He smiled at you, taking a seat. “So, Bones here is giving you trouble?” He grabbed your backpack, taking a glance inside at what you were going to bring. It reminded you of a kid who couldn’t sit still.

“Bones?”

“Do not call me that,” Dr. McCoy said fast. pinch “Ouch, I wasn’t ready for that one!” You growled, rubbing your arm, earning a small laugh from the captain sitting across from you. You watched Dr. McCoy draw up his last dose for you and started to feel sick to your stomach.

“Captain, I believe you were explaining to Y/N how important the vaccines are,” He asked the Captain. Funny, it’s not often that Dr. McCoy will address the Captain formally like that. You think Captain Kirk noticed as well as he looked caught off guard.

“Well, as your Captain, I have to inform you that it is mandatory, and Starfleet regulations to get your vaccines before the away mission. Otherwise, you can compromise the health of my crew,” He said professionally. Looking at bones with a thumbs up.

You couldn’t help but get distracted by his deep blue eyes while he talked more about it. You were not really paying much attention to his words. “All done,” Dr. McCoy said, cleaning up his tray of discarded utensils. You were so distracted by the captain you didn’t feel that last pinch.

You pulled your blue shirt back down to entirely go over your arm, “Well, if that is everything, I should be preparing for the away mission,” The captain said, dismissing himself.

“No, No, No, Jim.” Dr. McCoy stood up fast, grabbing the Captain by his arm before he could get out of his chair. “You just lectured Y/N on the importance of inoculations; I do believe it is your turn,” You figured that was why the doctor brought those extra doses. This was his plan all along.

“For the well being of the crew and all,” You spoke up, paraphrasing his own words. Dr. McCoy let out an agreeable laugh, while the captain just sat there, defeated.

“Alright, alright, just make it fast,” The captain lifted his shirt enough to sneak his left arm out. Your first instinct, of course, was to look around the room at literally anything else.

“I was just telling Y/N how alike you both are; I mean, she’s basically another you,” Dr. McCoy said. You couldn’t help but scoff at this, you and the captain having something in common? Sure, but you being basically like him? Definitely not.

“What gave it away? Was it the height? We are pretty close in height,” The captain responded, a playful smile on his handsome face.

“Maybe, It is our common interest in specialties on the ship? You know, being captain and being a biomedical engineer are very similar jobs.” You asked, teasing the doctor. He only responded with a sigh and poked the Captain with the needle, making him jolt.

“You know Y/N; I think he might be right. I am certain he was referring to our matching taste in clothing.” The Starfleet uniform being all match except for the colours. Where scientists wore grey or blue, the captains wore gold. Gold was definitely his colour.

“Nope, he is definitely talking about our boobs; they are just so alike,” You said, a giggle ripped from the captain, making him move back slightly.

“Dammit, Jim, stay still.” He said, giving the last dose to the Captain, then turning back to look at you, “You know you’re both just proving my point,”

“Well, then that’s just double the fun for you, Bones,” The captain said. He was taking his leave before the Doctor comes up with more to poke him with. After two years on this ship, bugging Dr. McCoy never got old.

“I couldn’t imagine being stuck on an away trip with the two of you,” Dr. McCoy said while grabbing his bag. “Hey, Bones, that’s kinda hurtful,” You responded, using the nickname the Captain used with him.

“Dammit, Jim,” Bones muttered under his breath, leaving to go track down more officers before the away trip.

-----

The trip mission for you was supposed to be simple: collect some plant samples with specific regenerative properties. This would help in your designs of tissue regeneration equipment you worked on in the lab aboard the enterprise with Dr. McCoy.

Unfortunately for you, It seemed something went wrong, you’re assuming with the diplomatic party that came down with you. You only took fifth-teen minutes to gather enough samples to fill your small bag, but when you used your comm to contact the ship, no one responded.

As a matter-of-fact, no one on the mission on the planet was answering either. You hoped they hadn’t forgotten you on this planet and left, unlikely, but still a thought. You didn’t remember where exactly the other group got transported to, and it was still a debate whether you should leave the last known location they had of you, but it was getting dark.

You needed shelter and possibly a fire. It was far too cold on this planet for you to stay extended out in the elements. So you started walking, with no means to defend yourself and no map of the jungle-like terrain. You couldn’t help but think bones may have been right about laughing at you confidently declaring nothing will go wrong.

“Y/N to enterprise,” You repeated every few seconds, waiting for any response as you trudged through the thicker bushes. Soon it was dark and cold. You could barely see anything, and it was getting too dangerous to walk around.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the faintest light. Maybe it was your crew? You thought about following it, but you also thought of that fish that used a light on its head to lure its prey back on earth. Maybe you are about to be angler fish food; You don’t think they make vaccines to prevent that.

Maybe it is called “not being stupid and walking toward the scary lingering light.”

But where else was there to go. So, against your better instinct, you started walking towards it. Although, the closer you got, you figured out it was a fire and not some carnivorous fish. Picking up the speed and getting closer, you could clearly hear voices. Thank goodness

You have always been told you had two left feet for a reason, so of course, before you could enter the camp, you tripped and ate dirt. Getting up on your knees, you backed up slowly. You seemed to have cut your arm open on something, possibly a branch, when you fell. Great, now you’d have to admit to bones he was right.

Captain Kirk and the rest of the diplomatic crew were tied up, surrounded by another species. It seemed someone- a woman was attempting to speak to them in their language.

They didn’t seem to be responding to her in the same kind tone. Every so often, she’d stop and talk to the captain, translating for him, you figured. Maybe some sort of negotiations or clearing up a misunderstanding, but it did not seem to be going in our favor.

You lowered yourself deeper in the bushes and looked around the camp. There didn’t seem to be any device blocking the signal you could spot, so why wouldn’t the comms work, you wondered. You did, however, find Starfleet-issued phasers, more phasers than you had men. You suppose this meant you guys were not the only Starfleet officers caught by this group.

You watched as the conversation turned sour, and one of the species took what looked like a long fork and put it through the captain’s leg. Yup, This is definitely not good. The same one who stabbed the captain untied the translator and the two other men, walking them out into the forest in the other direction, to where you had no idea. This left Captain Kirk alone, guarded by two others.

You ever so slowly made your way around the camp to the phasers, laying on a flat table with other confiscated items. Your arm was not letting up pain-wise or blood wise, but you knew it wouldn’t matter much if you couldn’t make it off the planet. Grabbing one phaser at a time, you managed four.

Although taking a look at them, you realized you were way in way over your head. Too far in over your head. Getting stranded on a planet with a lacerated arm was fine; watching your crewmates get tied up and minorly stabbed was fine because you could have helped. There was a solution in sight, but now?

Looking down at the phaser, you had no recognition on how to use it; you were now too far in over your head. Starfleet trained you on a basic low power phaser; the highest setting was three. This phaser had so many buttons, far too many than necessary, you thought.

Taking a deep breath, you put two phasers in your bag and slowly made your way behind to where Captain Kirk was tied up and bleeding. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to untie the Captain, you watched the two guards pace around the camp, talking. You needed a distraction, but what could you possibly do?

You snuck up to the Captain silently, but you knew there wasn’t enough time to do too much before they’d glance in your direction. Grabbing the Captain on the shoulder reassuringly, “Don’t make a sound,” The last thing you wanted was for him to be surprised by you sneaking upon him and startle the guards. “I have no idea how to use this, so I really hope you can move and are not completely out of it from blood loss!” You whispered urgently, putting a phaser in his still tied up hands.

“Y/N?” The captain whispered, “Don’t do anything stupid,” You loved his esteemed confidence in you.

“I don’t have enough time to finish untying this knot,” It was so close to coming undone, but you heard one of the guards pacing this way, so you left. You watched the captain look around, but you were hiding in the bushes already. He started to loosen his hands subtly.

Now time for your distraction. You walked around the campsite again, furthering yourself from the captain. “Hey!” You screamed at the guards, hopefully taking the guard’s attention of the captain. “Hey!” You shouted again at them, waving your arms in the air with one phaser in your hand. The guards started slowly approaching you; however, you hadn’t really thought this far.

“Okay, I know you can’t understand me,” You pointed the phaser directly at them, “But I know you understand this, and I...I don’t want to hurt you! So don’t come any farther!” You yelled pointlessly as they kept on approaching you, towering over you. Up close, in front of the light from their fire, you could clearly see their leathery skin, their large muscular frames, and very large weapons in hand.

“Hey, I mean it!” You said, waving the phaser at the one to your left. They were approaching faster with no sign of stopping until they were in front of you. One put their hands on your throat, your feet dangling in the air as he started to choke you. You knew they could crush your throat in a second if they chose to but instead decided to apply pressure slowly.

A loud sound echoed in your ears; It definitely belonged to a phaser. The guard let you go, both of you falling to the ground. And you couldn’t stop the intense coughing fit that erupted from you, your body trying to get as much air in as it could. Distantly you heard the second guard fall to the ground. A hand was on your back as you coughed, “Are you okay?” It was the captain.

After catching your breath, you stood up, looking at the captain. He was standing beside you, phaser in hand, with blood rushing down his leg. “You’re the one with the stab wound,” You responded hoarsely, slightly concerned. “This is nothing,” You reached under his arm so he could support his weight more onto you, “Let me help, sit down over here and let’s tie something around your leg,” He let his weight fall on you slightly. To be honest, you probably would not be able to carry all his weight, especially since your arm was starting to throb.

Sitting him down, you reached into your bag, looking for anything you could use as a makeshift tourniquet. Thankfully, you packed a mini first aid kit. Yes, it was extremely small, holding only a few items; you knew it had a small roll of gauze in it. He let out a laugh when he saw you pull out the little red box. “Laugh all you want, but this could potentially help save your life,” You said seriously.

“That’s not why I am laughing,” You looked up at him curiously, waiting for him to continue his explanation. “I’m sorry, but.” You wrapped a long strand of gauze around his leg, pulling and twisting, as you were taught. “I have this deep, stab wound, and you pull out the smallest first aid kit that I have ever seen in my life,” You took an alcohol swab and wiped his wound gently, cleaning it as well as you could.

“I find it extremely funny that when I looked into your bag this morning and saw it, I thought it was cute, you would bring it,” You looked around to see what dressing you had, not a lot. “I thought it was cute you’d bring a small little first aid kit when we have an on-hand medic come with us.” You ripped his pants just slightly so you start dressing it, “And now you are providing first aid to me with it, in the field, I don’t know I just find that funny” He finished looking down at what you were doing before deciding maybe watching isn’t the best idea.

“I don’t know if I should pack dressing around… this fork thing, or if I should take out the object and dress you properly.” You leaned back on your legs and looked up at him.

“Leaving it in would be safest because I can’t be sure if it hit an artery or not, and you’d bleed out.” You paused, letting him take in the information, “On the other side if I don’t take it out and we have to move fast, it could potentially do more damage.”

“Take it out; we need to get moving to find Uhura, Sulu, and Montgomery.” You were slightly nervous about doing this; killing your captain does not look good on a resume. You opened the dressing packages, ready to work fast. The tourniquet should have stopped any bleeding; you should be safe to pull it, you hoped.

And with one fluid motion and no warning for the Captain, you pulled it out, throwing it to the ground. You placed one hand on the wound to keep pressure and reached for the dressings. The groans of pain were agonizing to hear come from him; however, you knew you had to keep going and get the wound bandaged up. You had wished the small kit had medication or pain relievers of any kind to help him, something you’d need to remind yourself to add for next time.

“I am so sorry; I know that must have been pretty painful for you.” You said sincerely. It was over, but he was still breathing hard, reeling over the pain. He reached toward you, leaning forward, and rested his head on your shoulder. You put a hand on his head and brushed his hair with your fingers, staying like that for a few minutes, peacefully.

“Your arm, there is blood on the sleeve,” He said, grabbing your arm to inspect it; however, you pulled it away, “I scratched it on a branch, it hurts but it’s not bleeding anymore. Besides, I used all the dressing on you- being the more urgent injury.”

“We need to move; they might have heard me.” You helped him stand, and he continued to use you for support. “It’s so dark. I have no idea how or where we’d find everyone.” He reached into his pocket and grabbed a phaser, “They went to their nest. It should be north; there is a map of the terrain on the phaser we can follow,” And with that, he pressed a button of the phaser, which also turned on a flashlight. “Captain, do you think you are in any shape to fight? I was surprised you were able to stand up long enough to take down those two guards.”

“I am fine. I can fight, don’t worry about me.”

“Which, by the way, thank you for saving me back there,” You had never been that close to dying before. “Y/N, it is me who should be thanking you. Without you, I am fairly sure I would have bled to death tied up at that camp.”

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Part 2

I enjoyed writing it so I hope yall liked it

#jim kirk #jim kirk x reader #jim kirk imagines #james kirk #jim kirk imagine #james kirk x reader #james kirk imagines #star trek #james kirk imagine #star trek imagines #star trek imagine #captain kirk x reader #startrek x reader #startrek #star trek fanfiction #kirk x reader

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

Sixteen - Dream SMP Drabble

A/N: Based off of @tittybitch’s headcannon on why both Tommy and Tubbo were child soldiers, with the new info Wilbur dropped a while ago on Tubbo and Tommy’s ages when he wrote about them for the Dream SMP - twenty. What if Tommy and Tubbo lied about their ages to Wilbur in order to become soldiers in the First Independence War?

TW: Major Character Death, murder, lying/breaking laws, drug mention, child soldiers, cursing. (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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When Tommy had fallen into the water, staining it crimson red with a large arrow in his chest, Tubbo had screamed, rushing over. The soldier fell to his knees as Tommy’s items simply began to float towards the surface. Wilbur’s head bowed in respect at his right-hand man, his gaze lingering toward the floor a bit longer than normal. Tommy was a good man, he’d made his choice, this choice, in order to save their nation and he stood by it. That was something even the L’manburg General could admit was admirable. Dream walked up to him.

“So you will disband L’manburg, and Tommy’s discs will be given to me?”

“That was the deal.” Wilbur breathed, putting a comforting hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, who hadn’t moved from his place on the ground, just staring at the mass of items and bloody water. “Alright men, let’s head out with our dignity and honor.”

“No…” Tubbo whispered to himself, his hands gripping the floor as he shook with pure emotion. “No! You don’t get to just brush past this! Dream killed Tommy, he killed him- and… and you’re just gonna give up?!”

“Tubbo, this duel was not our decision or our plan, you know that.”

“Our decision?!” Tubbo snapped, sitting up and getting in the face of his commanding officer. “Our DECISION?! He was sixteen, Wilbur! Sixteen!”

Wilbur’s eyes focused solely on Tubbo’s as he began to calm down, beginning to process what exactly his soldier had said. Sixteen. Tommy Innit, his right-hand man, a fellow soldier who amounted more than his fair share of injuries thus far, someone who just died for their country in a duel… was sixteen years old. A teenager. A kid. Anger boiled within his chest and stomach. “What?”

Tubbo’s eyes tried to avoid the General’s increasingly intense stare. “Oh, you… uh… I’m sorry, Wilbur - I didn’t mean to just go off like that, you know sometimes I just say stuff that just comes off the top of my head, it’s… it’s uh… crazy-!”

“Tubbo, I’m going to ask this once and only once, so listen to me very closely…” Wilbur rested his hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, using the other to tilt his chin up to look at him. Tubbo gulped as he could feel his heart drop looking at how angry Wilbur was becoming. “How old is Tommy Innit?”

Tommy swore Tubbo to secrecy, he made him promise to never, ever, ever tell a soul how old they really were, not even through torture or death. Tommy told him that they’d be ruined if they told anyone their real ages, never taken seriously, and constantly looked down upon. Dream already thought of them as less than him, being children… teenagers, would only make it worse. They were so much more than just teenagers, and they were both so determined to prove how capable they were, how much they could do.

But now Tommy was dead, he saw his best friend die before his eyes and it all became too real. There was so much more they both wanted to do...they were only sixteen, he was only sixteen. This stupid lie that Tommy convinced him was better to tell than the truth could end up costing them their lives. Though it was selfish and cowardly, Tubbo didn’t want to die, he didn’t want Tommy to die. Not yet. Not now.

“Soldier, answer me.”

Tubbo’s throat turned dry as he took a deep breath, the words ‘Not yet’ echoing in his head. “Sixteen.”

Wilbur kneeled down to be more level with the fellow soldier, moving to gently grab both of his arms, his face looking more sympathetic, pitiful. “Yeah? And… and what about you, soldier?”

“I’m sixteen years old, sir.”

Wilbur nodded to himself, still trying to wrap his head around this fact when Fundy piped up from the corner. “Dad, Tommy’s respawned.” Anger and sadness fought in a tangled mess in Wilbur’s stomach as he stood once more.

“Right, men. Let’s go pay a visit to our fallen brother in arms. I have a feeling he’ll need it. Move out.” Fundy walked off quickly with Tubbo trailing behind him, his gaze focused on the ground, both of them silent. Dream and his posse were mostly gone already, not bothering to witness the fallout except for Sapnap and Eret.

Eret’s crown weighed heavy on his head - he betrayed two teenagers, as well as a son and a father to earn this, to earn his crown and his place on the throne. They were kids, they were a family. “Look, Wilbur I-”

“Tommy’s dead, Eret. It’s over, you won. Congrats.” Wilbur crossed his arms over his chest as he stared at Eret intensely. “Look, no matter what happened today, no matter who won what - if I see you within five feet of Fundy, Tubbo, or Tommy, you’ll fucking regret it. I think they’ve suffered enough because of you.”

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When Tommy opened his eyes and the soreness and tiredness took over him, a feeling that he remembered vividly, all he wanted was to curl in on himself and cry. He was ashamed of himself, of that stupid stupid duel - now L’manburg would never get their freedom, and it was all his fault. All because he couldn’t land one arrow. Trying to distract himself from the guilt that weighed on his heart, he moved, wincing at the small pricks of pain spread throughout his body, and opened up the chest near his bed, grabbing some bandages and health potions to help heal him and numb some of the pain.

With a heavy heart, he hesitated for a moment, taking off his L’manburg coat, knowing it would probably be the last time he’d do so. He ran his hands over the stitching to try and commit it all to memory, in some weird effort to not let L’manburg die. He fought so hard to protect it, yet he killed it with his own hands. He let out a defeated sigh, piling the coat and his hat on top of his chest, moving to take care of the nasty scarring around his chest where Dream had shot him.

He didn’t expect anyone to visit him, let alone Wilbur. The General entered with his hands behind his back, deep in thought, thinking behind his eyes. Tubbo rushed over, nearly crashing into him. “Tommy!”

“Woah, Woah, Woah big man.” Tommy smiled at the sight of his friend, wrapping an arm around him a bit of an embrace. “Thanks for the worry, but I’m still sore-”

“Oh, right, right - sorry.” Tubbo sheepishly added, pulling away from the tight hug he had around his best friend’s middle, moving to sit beside him.

“I...uhm… didn’t expect all of you to be here.”

Fundy walked over, a cloth and a gleaming bottle in his hand. “Here, I just brewed from regen if you need it, it’ll be a lot better than those health pots. A hit like that’ll need lots of healing, that’s for sure.” Tommy’s eyes furrowed at the weird sadness Fundy’s face held, how he seemed like he was forcing a smile. It was weird to see someone act tense around him, and Wilbur’s silence definitely was NOT helping.

“Uh… thanks, Fundy.”

“I’m just glad you’re alright - With your injuries, we weren’t sure you were going to respawn.”

Tommy smirked, moving to take the potion and cloth from the fox hybrid, popping the cork off. “Please, nothing that green bastard could do could ever keep me down.” He took a sip of the potion, the dull and numb sensation traveling throughout his body and slowly melting away any lingering pricks of pain. Laughter echoed from both Tubbo and Fundy, enjoying the slight sense of normalcy.

“Tommy?” Wilbur walked toward the three who sat around or on the bed, his eyes flicking back and forth, looking like he wanted to say something but he didn’t know what to say.

“Sir?” Tommy looked up at the General, sitting up straight almost on instinct at this point. Tommy had never seen Wilbur like this in his entire life, never seen his General this conflicted, this unsure of something. “...Wilbur?”

“I…” Wilbur swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath. “I know, Tommy.” Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “I know what you and Tubbo hid from me, I know you’re not twenty.” Tommy’s eyes flicked over toward Tubbo, who wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You don’t know shit.” Tommy spat.

“Tommy, I told him.” Tubbo spilled out, clinging on to his best friend’s arm like it was a lifeline.

“Tubbo you promised, you looked me in the eyes and you promised me, you swore to me, not even with death-!”

“I thought...I don’t want you to die, Tommy!” Tubbo finally looked up toward his friend, and Tommy finally saw the distress in his eyes. “You have one life left. ONE. You’re my best friend, I…” Tubbo could see the hurt in Tommy’s eyes, and his gaze fell back on the bedsheets in shame. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Tommy took a deep breath, looking at his best friend, then turned toward Wilbur. “So, I guess all those ‘child’ jokes were true, innit?” He glared at the other two in the room. “Come on, out with it then. Tell me how reckless and immature I am. Tell me I never took any of this seriously, how I doomed and destroyed everything because I’m just a ‘stupid child’.” Tommy’s hands gripped into fists, getting up from the bed, angry at the silence. “Come on, just DO IT ALREADY!”

“You’re not a stupid child, Tommy.”

“Don’t you dare fucking pity me-”

“Pity you?! PITY YOU?!” Wilbur exclaimed. “Do you honestly think I would do that? Do you think after everything you’ve done, I pity you?”

“What?”

“Tommy, you’ve dedicated yourself to L’manburg, you put your life on the line for it and were willing to risk your discs for its freedom. That’s earned my respect, however old you are.” Wilbur looked between Tommy and Tubbo. “I wish you would’ve told me, I could’ve been able to protect you from all of this. You wouldn’t have had to fight this war, it’s not yours to fight. Not yet.”

“You know without me or Tubbo you wouldn’t have fared as well with Dream’s army. You needed help, we wanted to fight.” Tommy’s voice was no longer angry but tired. “I don’t regret it, Wilbur.”

“But you’re… you’re both kids, you’re...fuck, what have I done?!” Wilbur cursed under his breath.

“What you had to.” Tubbo’s voice was soft in its reply. Silence passed through the room as Wilbur moved toward both of the teens, shaking his head.

“No, no no no, there was another way, you shouldn’t have- you both should have never had to go through any of this, never been on the battlefield or running for your life. You shouldn’t have had to make those calls, you should’ve just enjoyed being kids instead of getting dragged into my mess...my war. I put you through that - if it wasn’t torture enough to put my own son in that position…”

“If you know me at all, Wil, you know I wouldn’t just sit by and watch. L’manburg… this place… it’s so much more than just a place. You and I started our first drug trades here, you made me feel important, you made me feel a part of something, instead of some kind of prick that everyone just wants to go away. You’ve all had my back, you’re all my friends… this is my home.”

Tubbo sat up to stand beside Tommy with a small hopeful smile. “Our home.”

“Our home.” Tommy echoed. “We needed… no, we wanted to protect it, no matter what. So I don’t regret this at all, Wilbur. Even if we lost. I don’t regret a damn thing.”

At that moment, no truer words had ever been spoken.

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firefly464 · 4 years

Text

The Gilded Cage - Chapter 3

I felt like you guys could use some nice fluff after yesterday, so we zoomed to get this chapter out. Also, oh my god i have so many ideas im so excited ahahahahah

ALSO!! IMPORTANT NOTICE!!! The first section of Chapter 5 of The Real World has been edited slightly. I recommend you go back and reread it :)

Written in collaboration with @i-have-this-now :D

Thank you @rivys for beta reading, editing, and writing :D

Master Post

First - Previous - Next

~~~

“Alright then, Eret. Talk to me.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. “George, it’s all…” he trailed off, unable to explain exactly what he was thinking. “What… what happened to me?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

George scoffed. “Did you not hear me when I said you got shot? Did you miss that bit?”

Bad hit him lightly on the arm. “George! That’s not how you support a friend through a trying time!”

“What?! I’m not wrong, am I?”

“Eret, here.” Bad moved himself over on the bed to sit right next to Eret. “We found you passed out in the woods with an arrow sticking out of your arm, so we brought you back here and patched you up.”

“You also were nearly frozen to death. Honestly, I think the reason you didn’t bleed out sooner is because the blood froze over or… something.” George shrugged, a little too nonchalant for Eret’s tastes. “I dunno, I’m not a doctor.”

Bad frowned. “That reminds me… Why were you even out there without a coat? It’s the middle of winter!”

“I- what?” Eret asked, caught off guard by the question. Hadn’t it just been mid summer? He shook his head. He was in some sort of fucked up world, why was he surprised by a change in seasons?

Even so, it made sense. It explained why he had passed out in the first place. After all, running through the woods in the dead of winter without anything to protect him from the cold was a surefire way to give himself hypothermia. Thinking back on it, it was surprising that he managed to last as long as he did. Any longer, and he very likely would have died.

George cleared his throat, dragging Eret back to the present. He realized that his friends were looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “I uh…” He stammered, trying to come up with a decent excuse. “I didn’t exactly have time to grab a jacket. They were kinda chasing me out…”

George’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

Bad’s let out a small gasp of surprise as he realized what Eret meant. He quickly stood, trying to take the heat off his friend. “Well, you don’t need to worry about them now!” he exclaimed, trying to hint to George that now wasn’t the time. “Here, how about we get you situated? Do you want something to drink?”

Eret stared numbly up at him. “Why are you being so… nice to me?”

“Because we’re friends,” Bad stated as though it were fact. “And you deserve it. Come on, I’ll make some cookies, and you can rest while I do that, okay? George, give him your jacket.”

“What?!” He sputtered. “Bad, I’m not giving him my--”

“Give it.” Something in Bad’s eyes must have made George decide to change his mind right then. The man nodded and grabbed a coat from a nearby hanger and chucked it over to Eret.

Almost instinctively, Eret tried to raise his arm to swat away the incoming coat. Pain tore through him, causing him to let out a small gasp.

“Hey, careful! You don’t want to tear your stitches,” Bad said quickly, rushing to check that the stitches were undamaged. “You’re still healing.”

Eret only watched as his friend undid the bandages that wrapped around his bicep, trying not to wince. His eyes widened when he saw the torn skin, slightly swollen around the places where string held it together. It wasn’t red or bloody, in fact, it looked like it was at least a few days old. He frowned.

“How long was I out?” He asked.

“A day, maybe?” Bad held out his hand towards George, not looking away from the wound. “Could you grab some of the gauze I just prepped? I might as well replace it.”

Eret frowned as he watched George walk out of the small, curtained room. He could hear the sounds of shuffling in what he assumed to be the kitchen.

“A day…?” He asked, glancing down at the scar on his arm. The faint, red line looked several days old, with only a minimal amount of swelling around it. There was no way it had only been a day. Injuries just didn’t heal that quickly. “How is it healing so fast?”

“We tried our best to close the wound as quickly as possible. It would have been better if we had been able to get to you sooner, but I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” Bad sighed. “It didn’t help that you were half frozen to death, so we needed to take care of that first before we could even begin thinking about your arm -- hey George! Grab some regen pots while you’re out there please!”

“Splash potions or normal?” George called from beyond the curtains.

“Normal. We’ve already taken care of most of the outer damage. Now it’s just a matter of getting back all that blood he lost”

Eret sat in confusion, his gaze darting back and forth between the shadow creature in front of him, and the curtain. “That uh… That doesn’t explain how this looks a week old.”

“Well, your buddy Bad knows a thing or two about healing people,” the demon chuckled. “I soaked the bandages in healing potions so that your wound would close up safely.”

Eret stared at the scar on his arm in wonder. “Holy shit, Bad, that’s genius.”

“Language!”

He looked down, having the courtesy to at least look somewhat ashamed “Sorry…”

“It’s alright, you muffin,” Bad laughed. “Didn’t I tell you guys to use this technique already? You know it’s really not healthy to just drink health potions, right? Have you not been taking care of yourself?”

Eret grimaced. “Well, it wasn’t exactly… common in L’Manberg, per se?”

Bad’s face fell. “Don’t tell me. Did Wilbur forget? I know I told him how to!”

“I honestly have no clue,” Eret shrugged. It wasn’t technically a lie, he really didn’t know, but the reason why was entirely different than the implication.

Bad nodded, pride shining on his face. “Well, Eret, I can guarantee you that as long as you stay here with us, we’ll take good care of you.”

~~~

Eret woke slowly and peacefully, a surprise to everyone in the community house. His eyes fluttered open at the sound of a knocking in the doorway, and was startled to see Bad tapping his knuckle against the wall, a plate in his other hand.

“Heya, sleepy-head!”

“What are you--” Eret sat up and rearranged his pillows to support his aching back. “What are you doing?”

The demon grinned. “I’m bringing you cookies, what does it look like?” He sat the plate he was holding down on Eret’s nightstand with a clink.

Eret stared, dumbfounded. “Why?”

“Lots of reasons!” Bad replied, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket. “I figured you weren’t feeling too great, so I wanted to do something nice for you to cheer you up!”

“Oh.”

“Plus, cookies taste better than potions, so I figured I could kill two birds with one stone and put the regeneration potion into the cookies.”

“Oh.”

“You have to make sure you eat all of them, okay? Doctor’s orders! I made sure to keep it a small batch so you wouldn’t get stuffed.”

“Oh...” Eret could only stare at the six perfectly round cookies sitting on the plate next to him. This was real, physical proof that somebody here cared about him -- really cared.

Why?

Eret couldn’t think of a good reason why anyone here should care about him. He had betrayed L’Manburg, or so everyone in this world thought. He was untrustworthy. He could turn on his friends at any moment. It would have been in Bad’s best interest to leave him freezing out in the snow, to leave him to die, but he hadn’t. Bad had done the opposite. So--

“Why?” he muttered.

The demon furrowed his brow. “Why what? What do you mean?”

“Why do you…” Eret stared down at his hands, unsure of what exactly he felt. “Why do you care? You have no reason to, I-- I’m a traitor. For all you know, I could turn on you, I could stab you in the back, I could...” he trailed off, not daring to finish his sentence.

A small scoff sounded from the open curtain. “Please, you wouldn’t do that.”

Eret glanced up. George was once more standing in the makeshift doorway, his arms crossed in front of him. “You’ve already invested way too much into this, you wouldn’t just throw it away. Besides, I like to think of it as a double agent. Sounds much cooler than being a traitor.”

Bad turned and faced George with a disappointed frown. “George.”

“What?” The man glanced around nervously. “I’m not wrong.”

Bad sighed and faced Eret once more. “Well, I guess…” He trailed off, seemingly deciding what words fit his answer best. “I think that everyone deserves to have someone that cares about them. And I already cared about you before I found you in the snow.”

“Besides, we all knew what would happen once you pressed that button,” George added, a soft smile on his face. “We all accepted it, and we knew what would happen. You weren’t the only one in the final control room. We’re in this together.”

He could only watch as Bad took a seat on the side of his bed.“You’re our friend, Eret. You still deserve love, and a warm bed, and some nice cookies, no matter what you’ve done. And I want to be able to give that to you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

Eret blinked hard, trying to clear away the tears that threatened to spill over. “Do you mean that?”

A warm smile crossed his face. “Of course! Besides, I may have not approved of your plan, but I still vowed to stay neutral. I knew that this was going to happen, and I’m here to help you through it.”

Eret gave up. The dams he had put up broke, and tears began to stream down his face. He tackled his friend and held him in a tight hug, not daring to let him go. It was slightly strange, considering the fact that his friend was some sort of shadowy-demon monster, but it didn’t matter. The hug was still filled with warmth and love.

It was enough to make a traitor cry.

He could feel a second pair of arms wrap around them as George nestled his head in the space between the other two’s bodies and let out a content sigh. Their tangle of limbs was slightly awkward, but none of them cared. Both George and Bad were too focused on trying to support their friend, and Eret wasn’t focused at all.

Bad rubbed Eret’s back, trying to comfort him as much as he possibly could. Eret’s throat was too tight for him to say what he meant just then, but he hoped that this embrace said it for him.

Thank you.

~~~

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aurorapillar · 4 years

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Title: if you give a cale a stick Fandom: Trash of the Counts Family Characters: Cale Henituse, Choi Han, Alberu Crossman, Raon Miru

Summary: “Human! Stabbing yourself is not allowed!”

“Cale, give the branch to someone else.” Both Raon and Alberu spoke at the same time, their tones scolding and Cale found himself staring at them in disbelief.

“Do you seriously think I would stab myself?”

For Day 2 of TCF Week 2020 Prompt: knife/sword

A thoughtful silence pervaded the room Alberu was resting in as he, Cale, and Choi Han all contemplated the day’s events. Raon was also quiet, though that likely had more to do with the multiple apple pies he had stuffed in his mouth. There had been a large amount of new information obtained in just a short period of time, which left lots to process.

Soon Cale would be leaving for the Endable Kingdom, a trip he’d made it very clear he wasn’t looking forward to, and it was hard to know how easily they’d be able to communicate. It was important for them to get as much as they could figure out and planned before he left.

For not the first time, the Crown Prince found himself pitying his sworn brother over the amount of responsibilities resting on his shoulder, even for someone who didn’t dream of being a slacker it would be a heavy burden. Alberu was sure that there were plenty of things Cale still needed to do that he hadn’t been told about but aside from having to go to pretend to be Duke Fredo’s son, he was aware that Cale also needed to go visit the World Tree again. Which reminded him…..

“What exactly did you do with the fake World Tree?” He asked, pushing himself up to a sitting position. It had been breezed over earlier when Cale reported on the battles, with his brother simply claiming it had been dealt with, but Alberu found himself curious. His movement earned him a disapproving look from Cale, which he found rather hypocritical; the man couldn’t take care of his own health and yet he thought he could judge other people?

“It really didn’t want to die, so I sealed it away for the time being,” Cale stated in a very vague manner and Alberu found himself glancing at Choi Han in the hope of a better explanation. The other man simply shook his head however, despite having been there at the time Choi Han apparently didn’t understand what had happened any more than Alberu did. He could probably ask for clarification from Cale if he really wanted to, but that didn’t guarantee that he’d be told anything that made sense; plus Alberu had a feeling, as he often did when it came to Cale, that he might not want to actually know.

Choi Han suddenly sat up straighter, the mention of the World Tree having reminded him of something. “Cale-nim.” He called, drawing the man’s attention. “Speaking of the World Tree… I think someone else should hold onto the branch.”

Cale frowned at the sudden suggestion, but before he could say anything someone else butted in.

“Branch? What branch?” Raon questioned, climbing up onto Cale’s lap, an apple pie clutched in his chubby paw; despite having claimed they were purchased for Cale, he ate most of them himself.

Alberu was also glancing over at him with a raised eyebrow, he hadn’t heard anything about a branch from the World Tree. It was suspicious.

With their curious gazes fixed on him, there was no way for Cale to simply brush aside the topic, which Cale suspected was what Choi Han had been hoping for. He had been overly concerned with what Cale might do with the skewer after all. “The World Tree had Pendrick give me one of it’s branches to use as a sword.”

Choi Han glared at him. “A branch that if you stab into someone’s heart and cover in blood will become a great weapon.” The swordmaster corrected, “And the World Tree apparently said your blood is special.”

“Human! Stabbing yourself is not allowed!”

“Cale, give the branch to someone else.”

Both Raon and Alberu spoke at the same time, their tones scolding and Cale found himself staring at them in disbelief.

“Do you seriously think I would stab myself?”

“Yes.” There was absolutely no hesitance in their voices as they replied, which Cale found very offensive. Just how stupid did they think he was?

“I can assure you I have no plans to stab myself.” Cale told them in a somewhat snippy manner, he was getting really tired of the way people kept acting like he had no care for his own health. After all, he would never be able to live an easy slacker life if he didn’t take care of himself. “I’d probably be fine anyway even if I did.” The latter part of his words was mostly meant for himself, but he’d momentarily forgotten how good the hearing of everyone else in the room was.

“Cale,” Alberu began, staring at him with an expression similar to the one a person might have when explaining something to a small child. “People die when they are stabbed in the heart.” It was something that even the most foolish of people should know, he shouldn’t be having to remind Cale of it, but he would do it if it reduced the likelyhood of his brother doing something stupid. Cale didn’t seem to appreciate his words of wisdom however, judging by the glare which was shot his way, but Alberu didn’t particularly care for his opinion on this matter.

“I'm aware that’s normally the case, but I would heal.” His tone was annoyed, but there was also a hint of confusion in his tone, as if he truly didn’t understand why they were so worried. That, combined with his comment about healing, left everyone else trying to figure out what they’d missed.

Just what was it Cale knew that they didn’t? In his head Alberu silently went over what he knew, both from the current conversation and previous ones, after a couple minutes of thought, something occurred to him. “You punk, do you have some kind of regenerative ancient power?” It would certainly explain a lot about the blatant disregard Cale often showed towards his own health, though it didn’t do anything to make it better.

For a moment Cale just stared at him, before realization seemed to dawn on his face. “Oh yeah, you weren’t there.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Alberu commented dryly. All this time Cale had had the ability to heal and he’d let Alberu worry about his health; of course even the crown prince was well aware that even now that he knew about it, he’d still be worrying about Cale. Who knew what limitations there were in regards to what the ancient power could heal. And even if there weren’t any limitations, Cale would still be in pain; having now experienced just how agonzing it was to be injured to the point you coughed up blood, Alberu knew he wanted his brother to experience that as little as possible.

While things had become clearer to Alberu thanks to the revelation of Cale’s healing power, Raon and Choi Han had become more confused.

“Human, what do you mean you have a regenerative power!” The dragon demanded, angrily slamming his paw against Cale’s leg. “Why didn’t you tell us!”

Choi Han nodded his head in agreement with Raon’s words, while he was glad to know that Cale had a power which apparently would help him stay alive, he was rather ticked off by the fact he’d never told them about it before. Cale however, responded to their frustration with a bewildered expression.

“What do you mean why didn’t I tell you?” He questioned. “I’ve mentioned it before.”

Choi Han stared at him. “When?”

Cale was silent for a moment as he tried to remember when exactly it had been. “Back when we first met Eruhaben.” He finally stated. “He asked why I was still alive since usually people with multiple ancient powers explode.”

Alberu choked. “I’m sorry, what is this about you exploding!”

His brother just waved a dismissive hand in his direction, “Don’t worry about, it’s been dealt with,” Cale said and the crown prince found himself wondering whether it was worth ignoring his injuries in order to get up and throttle Cale.

As Alberu contemplated fratricide, the other two thought back to when they'd first visited Eruhaben's cave; they vaguely recalled Eruhaben mentioning Cale having a human power, and Cale referring to it as restoration, but he hadn’t given any more explanation.

"You might have mentioned it," Choi Han conceded. "But you didn't explain anything or even mention that it was a healing power."

"Really?" Cale was surprised, he'd been positive that they knew. Though now that he thought about it, a lot of things made more sense now that he was aware that they hadn't known. No wonder they had fussed so much every time he coughed up blood. "Well, now you know." They could relax and stop freaking out about his health now.

Raon stared up at Cale in disbelief, before glancing over at Choi Han, who sighed and shook his head. What else could they really expect? Cale had always been the type to drop huge revelations and then move on as if nothing had happened. As far as he was probably concerned, there was nothing left to say, and trying to continue the conversation probably wouldn't get them anywhere.

Still, the dragon had one last thing to say.

"Human."

"Hmm?"

"You're still not allowed to stab yourself."

#tcfweek #trash of the count's family #cale henituse #alberu crossman #raon miru #choi han #my writing

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duhragonball · 4 years

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (121/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: About 1000 years before the events of Dragon Ball Z.

[22 May, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

"Personal log, Dr. Topsas recording. Now then, where to begin...? I am still aboard the Emerald Eye in Federation territory. Luffa is long overdue to return for medical attention. What began as a supposedly 'quick' excursion to the Fedender System mutated into a tour across multiple planets that put my patient on the other end of Federation space. Luffa being Luffa, she has taken it upon herself to fight every battle on every planet along her way back to us. I have received some reports from hospitals in the field, and I am bracing myself for the worst.

"During Luffa's absence, I have stocked her star-yacht with medical-stasis fluid, and a healthy supply of regenerative medications. In the worst-case scenario, I will only have to keep her in stasis for two weeks, but I am constantly reminded of the old saying: "If you wish to make God laugh, tell Him your plans." No doubt, His Nine Eyes watch with great amusement as I prepare for Luffa's arrival, as I boldly tell myself that I have everything I need. Though, at the moment, I suspect there are a great many generals and warriors with haughty plans of their own, each producing their own fair share of divine laughter.

"Now that is a dark thought, that a benevolent God should find war to be humorous. I should really find something happier to dwell on in times likes these. Then again, it is my personal log, and I suppose I shouldn't run from a chance to express these kinds of feelings. Very well then. Let us talk about the war.

"I am hardly a military strategist, but it is my opinion that it goes poorly for the Federation. I would not consider any war to go well, but moral objections aside, this conflict seems specially designed to erode the morale of both sides.

"I know little of the so-called 'Jindan cult.' I have been told that Luffa's arch-nemesis, the Saiyan King Rehval III, founded the cult as a way to strengthen his hold over the Saiyan people. Using his arcane skills as an alchemist, along with the pseudonym "Trismegistus", he created a secret method to make Saiyans even stronger than they already are. This worked wonders for his cause, as Saiyans who would never serve a king were all too eager to trade their freedom for power. Now, he sends his followers into Federation space, launching senseless attacks on otherwise peaceful planets. His motives are unclear, though it certainly seems to be a continuation of his grudge against Luffa. As a Super Saiyan, she poses the greatest threat to his dominion over their species.

"What I have heard of these cultists is truly horrifying. Many are cynical warriors who only serve the cult for their own ends. Even so, they fear their master as though he holds their lives in his hands. I suppose that he truly does hold their lives in his hands, for Rehval has the power to withdraw the added strength he gives to his followers. At the slightest sign of defiance, he can drain their power, leaving then weaker than they were to begin with. In some cases, this process can be fatal, as Luffa discovered when Jolok was 'excommunicated' on Planet Quadzityz. Jolok perished, and a sizable piece of the planet very nearly shared his fate.

"The cultists who remain in Rehval's favor do so in a state of constant terror. Some have learned to mask their despair with religious zeal, while others rely on denial. All of them are experienced enough in the ways of war to know their true role in this conflict. They are not holy crusaders serving a higher purpose, as many of them claim. They are merely cannon fodder, a light brigade being sent to die as a mere diversion. Theirs is a simple choice: Die in service to their master, or die in defiance of him.

"I call them a light brigade because every battle fought in this war has resulted in a complete annihilation of Jindan forces. A one hundred percent casualty rate is unthinkable. Even the maddest of tyrants would blanche at such a statistic. It clearly is not sustainable, and yet Rehval continues to send his warriors, confident that he is safe from counterattack in his secret base.

"On the Federation side, a string of impressive victories carries little hope, for each battle leaves considerable death and destruction in its wake. Luffa and the Federation's other defenders have managed to halt the invaders at every turn, but they still manage to kill thousands, destroy important cities and military outposts, and cause ecological damage with their attacks. I think what frustrates the Federation in this hour is that they have no way to take the initiative in this war. They must simply wait for Rehval's forces to reveal themselves, and then absorb whatever losses they must until they can deploy their forces to fight off the invaders. Luffa's health is simply one facet of the bigger picture.

"Perhaps things will change if Luffa can find Rehval himself, but I have little confidence in this. She has already been searching in vain since-- eh?"

"Doctor! Come quickly!"

"What is it? I-- Ninth Eye!"

"Everything happened so fast that we didn't have a chance to fill you in."

"I should imagine. The rendezvous with the transport wasn't supposed to be for another twenty minutes."

"They got a distress call. Luffa convinced them to put her in an escape pod and drop her off so they could answer it. When I got the message, I pushed the engines as hard as they could go."

"Hey, I'm fine... really."

"Shut up, Luffa, and get on the bed."

"Okay, okay. Pushy lady. I guess that's why I married you. Hey, Doc. Sorry I keep... keep missing appointments."

"Please lie still. Would you hold that for me, Ms. Zatte? Please do calm down."

"I just... there's so much blood..."

"Yes, reopening old wounds, no doubt. I thought you were going to stay out of trouble, little mammal."

"So did I, Doc, but there was... was... an attack on Zerkus III and my transport was the only ship in the area."

"Zerkus III? Luffa, I'm so sorry, I, well, I had no idea--!"

"Relax, Dotz. They weren't Jindan cultists, so you probably... ow!... probably couldn't have predicted this. You were looking for Saiyan invasions, and this was a band of Zoons, trying to take advantage of the chaos. Thought they could pick on a planet further away from the fighting, but I made them regret it. Hah! You should have seen the looks on their stupid faces. Doc won't be putting them back together, that's for sure."

"I... I should have been able to predict that... even if they were Zoons, I should have..."

"Doctor, please, is she going to be all right?"

"That is precisely what I want to find out. I will get her stabilized and begin a complete examination. I think it would be prudent to take the ship somewhere safe, before any other enemies happen along."

"I can't just leave her like this--"

"Ms. Zatte, if there were someone else aboard who could handle it, I would not be asking you. With respect to Ms. Dotz's proficiency with the ship's helm controls, I do not believe she has the tactical knowledge to keep the ship out of danger in case of an attack."

"We don't need to run. I don't care how banged up I am. I'm still the Super Saiyan. No one would dare come after... ah... huh... and even if they did, I'd.... I'd...."

"Come on. You can't help her right now. The best thing we can do for her is to get back to the bridge."

"Dotz...? Okay. I know. You're right."

"Hey.... hey, where are they going...?"

"Not far, I assure you. Now, please. Lie still."

"Hey, Doc?"

"Yes?"

"I've gotta... gotta get back out there.... soon..."

"Yes well... I will see what I can do."

*******

[23 May, 233 Before Age. Interstellar Space.]

There was a small desk in the back of the star-yacht's sickbay, and Topsas positioned himself behind it while he spoke to them. As he lacked the necessary anatomy for it, he gave Zatte the chair, and she sat next to the nearest bed, with Luffa in it. Despite Luffa's objections, Zatte held her hand while he gave them an update on Luffa's condition.

He had repaired the most serious injuries, and she was in no immediate danger. One of her lungs had been punctured, and there had been a hairline fracture on her skull, and a few other life-threatening issues. That still left a lot of smaller ones that could worsen if they weren't treated properly. The young women looked at him eagerly, hoping for some quick answer that would allow them to get on with their lives. Being an arachnoid life form, he wasn't completely familiar with humanoid body language, but he had seen their faces on thousands of patients over the years, all silently pleading for him to tell them how long it would take to return their lives to normal. At times, he felt like a judge sentencing a convicted criminal.

"Two months of stasis," he began. "That is my first and most robust recommendation. You will be sedated and kept in a bio-regenerative chamber to promote proper healing. I would take you out of the chamber for an examination, and if all goes as expected, we could begin localized therapies on the damaged tendons."

"Two months?" Luffa gasped.

"In stasis?" Zatte said.

"Let me be clear,that would be a total of sixty days of unconsciousness," Topsas said. "That time need not be consecutive. Many patients do this for a few days at a time, coming out of the chamber to attend to personal affairs, be with their families, and so forth. But since your personal affairs always seem to involve extreme violence, I believe it would be best to keep you under until the treatment is complete. Better sixty days in a row than a hundred or more in and out of the chamber."

"Doc, the whole war could change in sixty days," Luffa said. "If you take me out of circulation that long, it could--"

"Ah-ah! Let me finish that sentence for you. If I were to take you out of 'circulation' for that long, it could prevent your enemies from taking you out of the war permanently. Where would your Federation be then?"

"He's right, Luffa," Zatte said. "If you keep throwing yourself into these battles, you're just going to get worse. You'd be playing right into their hands. You knew it from the beginning."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Luffa said. "Look, I'm sorry. To both of you. I said I'd try to pace myself, and I really did try. But these attacks keep on coming, and every time I try to let someone else handle it, people get killed. I can't just stand back and watch... I mean, I know I have to, but..."

She screwed her eyes tightly, as though fighting back tears. When she opened them again, it was clear that she had failed. "I can still do more," she said. "I feel like crap, but I still have so much power that I can tap into. More than enough to make a difference out there. How can I stand by while people out there need that kind of help?"

"Luffa, some would say you have done more than enough already," Topsas said. "No one is asking you to resign from the war altogether. You mustn't feel obligated to risk your own health and safety like this. Not for persons you don't even know."

"Why not? It's what you would do," Luffa said.

"I?" Topsas thought she was joking. "You must have me mistaken with some eight-legged war hero. Perhaps a fantasy creature from one of the tales of your ancestors."

"Your modesty is sickening sometimes, you know that?" she said with a frown. "You remember the Tikosi planet, don't you? Because I sure as hell can't forget it."

"I don't see what that unpleasantness has to do with--"

"You rescued me... you barely knew anything about me, but Keda went to you for help and..."

"Merely keeping tabs on a patient," Topsas said. "I had used a considerable amount of webbing to stitch you back together, and I could hardly let that go to waste--"

As he said this, the gentle tone that represented Luffa's pulse began to speed up. Other readouts of her vital signs began to fluctuate. She began to breathe harder. Zatte tried to calm her down, and Luffa pulled her hand away from hers. And just when Topsas was about to move to check on her, she spoke again.

"I know... we don't talk about that day very much around here," Luffa finally said. "And that's mostly because of me. I was weak, and I have to live with the consequences of that weakness. But when it was all over, I turned into that thing for the first time, and I didn't know if I could turn it off, and you reached out to me, offering to help. I think that might be the bravest thing I've ever seen, and I refuse to listen to you brush it off like it doesn't matter. It matters to me. It matters a lot."

He didn't know how to answer that, and it was clear that she had nothing else to say. At last, it was Zatte who spoke. "Luffa, you've got to listen to Dr. Topsas. You can't go on like this. And if he had a better way, don't you think he would tell us?"

She looked at Zatte, then back at Topsas, and then turned her head away. "How soon can we start?" she grumbled.

"Today, if you wish," Topsas said. "I had the necessary equipment loaded on the ship while you were away."

"Hold on," Zatte said. "If we're doing this, we need to figure out where to take the ship while Luffa's under. We'll be vulnerable in the meantime, and if we set down on an inhabited world, we'll risk getting caught in an invasion."

This was not unexpected from her. Zatte came from a survivalist culture, and her she saw nearly everything as an arrangement of threats and safeguards. She was somewhat extreme in her thinking, but in this case her beliefs all converged on the most sensible course of action. She was certain that Luffa was destine to do good for the universe, which meant that Luffa had to be protected until she was healthy enough to resume that work. "Very well. I suggest you and Ms. Dotz devise up with an itinerary," he said. "I can sedate Luffa as soon as you feel it's safe."

"There's an asteroid field in the Pillimede System," Zatte said to Luffa. "We'll start there, and if Dotz doesn't foresee anyone following us, we can do a silent running for a few weeks." She stood up to leave. "I'll come see you before you go under, okay?"

"All right," Luffa said. "Just... all right. Let's get this over with." As soon as Zatte left sickbay, Luffa leaned back in her bed and let out a despondent sigh.

"I know this is difficult for you," Topsas said.

"It doesn't matter," Luffa said. "It's the only way, right? Sorry I blew up at you. If you don't want to brag about what you've done for me, that's none of my business. I just wish you saw yourself the way I see you."

"Ah, and that is my burden, little mammal," he said. Ambling over the desk, he crossed over to her bedside and began tucking her in. "With eight eyes, I have more than enough to see my flaws, as well as my strengths."

"Huh. Maybe you can see better than me, but the rest of my senses are pretty sharp. Maybe it's a matter of smell."

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, leaving Topsas to consider everything they had discussed. Later, he checked an experiment he was running on some tissue samples, and spent the rest of the afternoon monitoring Luffa's vital signs, while he wondered if he was doing the right thing.

********

[26 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

Zatte was true to her word, and when she was satisfied that the ship would be safely removed from combat, she returned to Luffa's side as Dr. Topsas placed her in the eight-foot-long chamber which would be used for the procedure. The equipment was somewhat bulky, but since there were only four of them on board, Topsas wasn't concerned about the space it took up in sickbay. He simply moved the beds away from one wall and placed the chamber on the deck. Once Luffa was inside, he filled with with a blue liquid commonly referred to as "stasis fluid". This was designed to not only surround the patient with the regenerative drugs he planned to use, but it would also sustain Luffa's metabolism while she lay in the chamber. Once she was sedated, the fluid was allowed to fill her lungs, as it contained oxygen-saturated perfluorocarbons. Topsas then went to the desk, where he began reviewing biofeedback data relayed from the chamber's sensors. Zatte knelt down beside the chamber for the next hour or so, before she finally stood up to leave.

"Sixty days of this," she said aloud.

"I do not wish to give you false hope," Topsas said, "but it is possible that she may fully recover sooner than expected. I will keep you informed, of course."

Zatte looked down at the chamber. "It shouldn't be like this," she said. "She should be out there, fulfilling her destiny. And I should be helping her, not just sitting around waiting for her to come out of this box."

"You are helping her," Topsas said. "It may not be glamorous, or even satisfying, but it is absolutely necessary."

"I'm sorry," Zatte said. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, it's just that... it's not enough. It's not fair."

"I thought your species was averse to risk," he said. "Keda always spoke so highly of being careful."

"I'm not like other Dorluns, Doctor," Zatte said. "And Keda wasn't being careful when she died. She saved my life."

"Of course."

"She never really saw Luffa the way I do, as a xan-nil'Dor, but I like to think that maybe Keda realized it at the very end. Either way, I think Luffa inspired her more than she wanted to admit. Well, Luffa can't do much inspiring from here, I guess."

She excused herself to check on the ship's systems, and Topsas thought he would welcome the silence. He did not. The gentle chirps of the biofeedback readouts only reminded him of the responsibility he now shouldered. And sooner or later, she would return, and the dilemma would follow. He had no consolation he could offer. Part of him wanted to tell her about the test results, but what good would that do? There were far too many unknowns to consider. He thought that Zatte of all people would appreciate that, but no. It seemed Luffa's wife would welcome a bit of risk if it meant getting her back on her feet.

Later, he checked his messages, and found that one of his children had attempted to contact him a few days ago. The terminal on his desk allowed him access to the subspace radio, and Zatte's encryption codes allowed him to send a message with little chance of it being intercepted or traced. Within minutes, he was looking at one of his own kind, though younger, and with a browner coloration.

"Dad," he said.

"Turner. This is something of a surprise," Topsas said. How are you, son?"

"I'll feel a lot better once you're out of Federation Space," Turner said. "There's a war on, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Now that you mention it, I had begun to suspect as much."

"I'm sending a ship to Woshad. I had to pull some strings to get it across the border, but I know some people, and the captain owes me a favor. They'll arrive next week. That should give you time to get to Woshad and get on board."

"Whatever for, son?"

Turner regarded him through the viewscreen and tensed his pedipalps in exasperation. "I'm trying to get you out of there, dad. Please, just get on the ship. Or if you've got some other travel arrangements, we can set up a rendezvous somewhere else. Just tell me when and where and we'll work it out."

"I'm afraid I can't leave at this time," he said. "I have a patient who needs me."

"Luffa," he groaned.

"You know I'm not at liberty to discuss--"

"Oh, come on, dad," Turner said. "It's the Federation, the one she founded, and you haven't stopped talking about that mammal since you gave up your practice on Plutark VII. And you know, for a while I was grateful to her for pulling you away from the Deathmatches, but now you've followed her into something a thousand times worse."

"It is hardly like that at all--"

"Then tell me what it is," Turner insisted. "Tell me why the almighty Federation needs Dr. Topsas to play medic in their warzone."

"She is badly hurt," Topsas explained. "The fighting has been very fierce, and if I do not mend her injuries from time to time, it could jeopardize countless lives."

"And they need you for that? You're telling me that you're the only qualified doctor in the entire Federation who can work on her?"

"I am the best qualified," Topsas countered. "Honestly, very few doctors are familiar at all with Saiyan medicine. And Luffa is a unique specimen among a unique species."

"And that justifies you running around in the middle of a war? Where are you right now?"

"I'd prefer not to answer that at this time," Topsas said. "It's not that I don't trust you, son, but if the enemy were to intercept and decode this message, they might find out--"

"Wonderful. Wonderful," Turner groaned. "So it's a matter of national security, is it? Should I contact the Federation Embassy, then?"

"I doubt they even know of my involvement," Topsas replied. "My presence here is somewhat unofficial. I've been told that my modesty is rather 'sickening'. Perhaps I should have requested a field promotion..."

"Enough! Dad, I've had all I can stand! Listen to me, you're not even a Federation citizen. This isn't your war!"

"She is my patient," Topsas argued.

"So what, then? You'll follow her until she dies?! Until you die?! Do you even care what that means?"

"Turner, please calm down," Topsas pleaded. "I appreciate that you are upset, but--"

"I'm upset because you care more about that Saiyan than your own family! Chelik and Lister called me, you know. They never call, but they heard about this war and no one had heard from you in weeks, and sure enough the last letter you sent was from Federation coordinates, just like before!"

"I assure you, son, I am quite safe here. If you like, I can contact Chelik, Lister, and the others to make certain they understand."

"Oh, they understand just fine, dad," Turner said. "That's why they called me. Because that's how this family works. Someone does something reckless or stupid, and then it's time to call in Turner to fix it. And why not? I've got Turner Polymer Industries, and all the resources that go with it. I can just hire a ship to go into a war zone and fetch you, no trouble at all. It's not like I have any problems of my own to worry about!"

"Son, if you need my help..."

"What I need is my father to stop running off on these ridiculous adventures!" Turner thundered. "I need you to listen to me, just once. Just once, and do the sensible thing." He held up one finger on one of his forelimbs as he said this. Topsas could see the desperation in his eyes very clearly.

"I promise you that I won't take any undue risks, Turner," he said. "I have friends here who are very careful about this sort of thing. But I must ask you to understand. I cannot leave just yet. There is simply too much at stake."

"This is about Nwitt, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Turner drew a short breath before continuing. "I know it was hard for you. It was hard for all of us. Ninth Eye, she was my sister! I miss her every day. We all do. But ever since she died, you've been getting mixed up with these lost causes, trying to save people that just aren't worth it! And maybe I should admire that. I've tried to, believe me. But I can't. If it's selfish of me, then I'm selfish, but I just want my father to come home and stay alive."

The words bothered him more than he liked to admit. "Son, I cannot just abandon others in their time of need. I swore an oath, and besides, we have a higher duty to people like Luffa. We have too many eyes to look away, and too many hands not to--"

"I know all that!" Turner said, very nearly shouting. "I read the Scriptures too, you know! I know Nwitt's in the heavenly web, and that one day we'll all be there to join her, and that we have to help where we can, but not this, dammit! If she were here, do you really think she'd want you to throw your life away like this?"

"I'll be all right, son," Topsas said. This was the most he had spoken with him in some time. Turner was normally so reserved, so quiet, ever the picture of the successful entrepreneur. And Turner had been angry with him before, but never quite like this. He regretted that he had caused his son such anguish, though he didn't fully understand how. He wished he knew some way to convince him.

"Yeah. Yeah, you'll be fine, probably," Turner muttered. "But what about next time, and the next? One of these days you'll go somewhere that even I can't get you out of. All for some 'Super Saiyan' I've never even met. And when the law of averages finally catches up to you? Well, I guess I'm just supposed to suck it up and pretend it doesn't bother me."

"I'm sorry," was all Topsas knew to say. It didn't seem to be enough. Turner had been an adult for a very long time. All of his children had grown up ages ago. Suddenly, Turner looked very much to him the way he did as a child, inconsolable over something that most would call trivial, but Topsas always knew meant the world to him.

"I don't want you to be sorry," Turner said, his voice now low and weary. "I just want you to get on that transport next week. Just come home, dad. Please. I don't want Luffa to suffer, or anyone else but... please. Just get on the transport."

"Turner, I--"

Turner looked somewhat embarrassed now, either by his outburst, or his pleas, or the emotions that had motivated them. "I have to go," he said. "I... Well, I've already said what I have to say. Just... I have to go."

And with that, he closed the transmission, leaving Dr. Topsas looking at his own reflection in the viewscreen.

*******

[28 May, 233 Before Age. Pillimede Asteroid Belt.]

"Am I doing the right thing?" Dr. Topsas asked. It was a loaded question, kept purposely vague, but he asked it over breakfast, as casually as one might ask for another glass of juice.

Dotz looked at him, and her eyes widened with anxiety. "Er, um... yes? I don't... well..."

She was a humanoid, middle-aged, with brown hair that was well on its way to grey. She claimed to have an ancestor of the Kanassan species, though Topsas had found no physiological evidence to support this, aside from her clairvoyant abilities, which could have been entirely coincidental. Taller and heavier than Luffa and Zatte, Dotz was far meeker, and it seemed that she was always pulling her arms close to herself and stooping her head, as though she was worried about taking up too much space. Her loose muave garments seemed designed to conceal herself further, and she was always adjusting her shawl like it was showing too much of the sides of her face.

"I'm speaking of the treatment I prescribed for Luffa," he explained. "I can't help but wonder if this is the right course of action."

"Well, I'm no doctor," Dotz said. "I'm sure whatever you've decided is the best. I know you've taken very good care of me since I got here."

"No, that's not..." Topsas paused and collected himself before continuing. "You've made some very accurate predictions, from what I understand. About the war."

"Oh, well... I didn't catch those Zoons attacking Zerkus III," Dotz said regretfully. "Luffa said it was okay, but I can't help but feel responsible for what she's going through right now."

"Yes, but the battles you have forseen have all come to pass," Topsas reminded her. "Luffa has spoken very highly of your talents, though I am at a loss to explain them. What I'm wondering is whether you've seen any major combat in the next two months. Something that only Luffa would be able to handle."

"Well, uh, you should really talk to Zatte about that," Dotz said. "There are battles going on all over the Federation border. She's been keeping track of them all, so we'll know where Luffa will be needed when she's ready."

"Yes but--!" Topsas steadied himself. It wasn't Dotz' fault that she wasn't understanding what he needed. She was only trying to be helpful in her own, unassuming way. "I don't wish to trouble Ms. Zatte," he explained. "I have just been having... second thoughts. I was hoping that you might be able to predict whether my decisions will turn out for good or ill."

"Oh, you want a reading," Dotz said. "I'll need to look at your palm for that."

"Fortunately, I am well-supplied in that regard," Topsas said as he extended one of his forward limbs across the table for Dotz to examine. It was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood. He thought humanoids were easily amused by the notion that he had so many hands and eyes, but Dotz didn't seem to notice what he had said. She simply took his hand and cradled it in her own, staring at it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. While he waited, Topsas resumed eating with his other hands.

"You'll be going on a journey soon," Dotz said.

"That is rather self-evident," Topsas replied. "As I am on board a starship, and travel is inevitable."

"Mm-hmm. Family trouble. They're upset, but they aren't angry with you, just worried. And you'll be fine. One day they'll see that."

"Yes, well, that was hardly what I needed to--"

"In the end... oh, it looks like your wishes will come true. I wonder what that could mean. It sounds like a very happy way to die."

"Yes, but I have more immediate concerns," Topsas said. "The war. How long will it take for Luffa to recover? How many will die during that time? How many deaths could be prevented. You can see this, can't you?"

Dotz looked up at his face and shook her head. "I can't forsee Luffa's fate at all. I think that's why I missed the Zoon attack, because I was, uh, looking for visions of Saiyans in general. I should have been checking for Federation planets, but there's so many of them that it's hard to follow all of them."

"Are you saying that you can predict certain battles, but not whether Luffa will participate in them personally?"

"Uh, well, yes, that's right. And I can't always get the details right. Luffa's told me that sometimes there's more enemies on a planet than I predicted. Sometimes less. I can usually get the date right, but not always the exact hour. But she likes it that way. It makes things 'interesting', is the way she put it."

"Then you have no idea how long it will take her to recover," Topsas groaned. "Or whether I end up using some other treatment."

"Of course I know that, Doctor," Dotz said innocently. "You said it would take about sixty days, didn't you? And what other treatment could there be?"

"What indeed?" Topsas said. He began scraping sauce from the bottom of his bowl, determined not to look her in the eye.

"Something about meeting Luffa increased my psychic abilities," Dotz said, "but they still have, um, limitations. I learned a long time ago that there's a lot you can predict just by paying attention to the present. And I know you're a good doctor, and that you put your patients' welfare first. I don't need to look into the future to know that you'll do the right thing."

She stood up and started gathering their dishes. "Here, let me get those for you. You probably want to go back to sickbay to check on Luffa. Tell her I said hi. Not that... I mean, she probably wouldn't hear you, right? Unless she can hear people while she's asleep? I don't know all her powers."

Topsas handed off his bowl and steepled some of his fingers. He had just run out of people to talk to.

NEXT: Second Opinion

#dragon ball #fanfiction #super saiyan #lssjluffafic #luffa #zatte #dr topsas #dotz

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bruciewayne · 5 years

Text

it’s not about deserve (1/?)

established winteriron, developing stuckony, light angst, pining, 1.7k, multi-chaptered

ao3

Tony and Bucky were happy together, Steve wasn’t going to come between that, regardless of his feelings towards both of them. So he leaves.

But Bucky and Tony have feelings for him too.

Steve was happy for them, he was, he was! He just…no! He repriminded himself, he refused to even think about it. They were happy together, they loved each other and they deserved each other.

Both of them deserved love and peace, after Tony’s trainwreck of a relationship with Pepper and the endless betrayal and neglect from the people who ‘loved’ him and every damn thing Hydra forced into Bucky’s head, it made him irrationally angry but further proved to him how much they needed this and each other.

The last thing he was going to do was come between them, regardless of his feelings, he can't and he won’t.

When Tony and Bucky eventually announced that they were dating it never really came to a surprise to anybody. They had been spending more and more time together in Tony's workshop - initially just fixing Bucky's arm and helping him maintain it but after a while they (begrudgingly) admitted they were friends and then a few months after that, a happy and proud announcement that they were dating.

During the time they were - courting? flirting? they never left Steve out, always taking him along to their pseudo-almost-dates. And even now they take and invite him to places with them, but he can't, not when he has feelings for them.

He's stopped going out with them as much now because Bucky or Tony make a comment, usually sexual, sometimes sweet, towards him and he can’t help but think that they know. But he also knows that they weren’t the type of people to make fun of him. He refused to let his feelings ruin this for them and if it was choosing between having them, but they weren't together because of him and him being out of the picture, but they were happy together, everytime, every damn time, without a doubt, it would be the latter. They deserved each other more than he deserved them.

“Hey! Hey, Rogers! Where you going?” Tony yelled across the room to Steve who was putting his blue-common-room-sketchbook that was (previously) on the coffee table in his bag. He, in all they time Tony had known him, never left the tower with that particular book, on longer missions he took the maroon A5 one and all his black ones never left his room and he never let anybody look in them, the blue and maroon ones, anyone could, but never the black ones.

To say Tony noticed every minute detail about Steve was… fairly accurate. But so did Bucky, so, he wasn’t entirely alone.

“DC,” Steve replied, pulling Tony out of his thoughts. Steve zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder but not before Tony caught a flash of a corner of a black sketchbook.

“What!?” Tony said, distressed, “You can’t leave!”

“Who’s goin’ leavin’ where?” Bucky, not entirely awake, entered the room and gravitated towards Tony, hair messed up and shirt crinkled.

“Heya baby,” he greeted Tony with a kiss on his cheek and slipped and arm around his waist, holding back from touching Steve as well.

“Steve,” Tony started accusingly, leaning into Bucky’s side, “is abandoning us.” Bucky and Steve both huffed out a laugh at Tony’s dramatics, “I’m not leaving, I took the job Fury’s been tryna get me to do since 2012 in Shield HQ and I'm not going between DC and Manhattan everyday,” he explained.

“But you won’t be going there every day, right?” Tony tried to reason with him. Bucky hummed in agreement with Tony, tilting his head towards Steve.

He couldn’t leave, he and Bucky were so close to asking Steve to be in a poly relationship with them, or at least up until recently when Steve started going out with them less and less.

Bucky had said that Steve was ridiculously dense and obtuse when it came to people romantically liking him and having feelings for him.

“He doesn't think he deserves it, or that they’re lying to him, or that they just don't like him. Or he cant have them.” Bucky told him one night, when Tony, curled up in his arms, fingers trailing random patterns across tanned skin littered with scars, asked Bucky why Steve hadn't taken them up on any of the suggestive things they'd said. “It comes from being a little guy,” he continued.

“He's so ridiculously obtuse it's ridiculous,” Tony had mumbled sleepily, Bucky laughed, told him to go to sleep and that they would get Steve's head out of his ass eventually.

“Tony, Buck,” Steve said, his voice bordering dangerously into fond, he chastised himself, in his head, immediately after, coming close, way too close, to revealing his feelings, “I’ll either be there pretty much full time or overseas,” he hesitated, too many emotions flashed over his face, too fast for any of them to decipher, “I- I will miss you, though.” His voice was steady but he refused to meet their eyes, turning around quickly, hesitating again, but this time walking away.

Tony made to call out at his retreating back, but Bucky stopped him, turning to face him, and curling his hand behind his neck and the other staying on his waist. “Don’t, baby, he has to come to us and if this is what he wants, then...” he trailed off, unable to think of anything more.

Tony sighed, “I’m gonna miss him, a lot,” he buried his face in Bucky’s neck, arms wrapping around him and breathing him in.

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled into his hair, “it’s gonna be a tough move.”

Steve stepped out onto the balcony if his old-current apartment, fumbling out a green zippo lighter and a pack of Lucky Strikes. He lit a cigarette and took what felt like his first breath since leaving Tony and Bucky.

“I will miss you,” he muttered on the exhale, smoke tumbling out of his lips. What an idiot, a complete and utter fucking moron. If they hadn’t known, they definitely knew now, he couldn’t’ve made it any more obvious if he’d tried. They were probably relieved he left.

They were to two most important people in his life, the only people in this century he’s ever, truly, loved. There have been other people, he was 97, not dead after all, but he never really loved them, only Tony and Bucky. But this, this distance and time apart was good, it was, Tony and Bucky could be with each other without him getting in the way.

And he could focus on his career.

His mind kept running through all the reasons why this was a good idea, despite how much it hurt to turn away, Fury had told him, way back in 2012, a few months after Loki, a few months before the team began living in the tower, when he’d let slip that he wasn’t doing much, apart from catching up with the times and going on missions, that the job he could give him was incredibly demanding, he wouldn’t have time for anything in way of a social life if he took it but he would actually be doing something.

He wanted to be doing something that wasn’t painful (external injuries, he could handle, but emotions would never be his forte).

He flicked the ash off and took in another drag, long and deep.

He tilted his head back, felt the rain hitting his face, let his eyes go almost-closed and release the smoke, watching it curl around itself and disperse into the troposphere.

“They ever tell you those things cause cancer? Did they give you the The Fault In Our Stars in your ‘Welcome to the new century, pal’ care package?” Tony called out, across the roof to Steve and uncaring of the rain walked out to the edge and stood shoulder to shoulder with him, leaning against the railing. Steve smiled and tilted his head back down, he took a drag and said, “I got prescribed ‘em for the asthma in the 30s, and now there’s PSAs and billboards sayin’ it’ll kill you but…” He shrugged. Tony felt the drag of wet leather on slightly damp fabric against his shoulder.

It annoyed him less than he thought it would.

It suddenly dawned on Steve that Tony didn’t has superhuman regenerative properties and a third of his lungs weren’t a network of alveoli but an engineering marvel of glass and metal.

And that the PSAs were probably right about second-hand smoke.

“Shit, Tony, your lungs,” he hurriedly stomped out the cigarette and waved his hands about to dispel the smoke, “Tony, I’m sorry, you shouldn’t be around me right now, your lungs-”

“Steve, Steve,” Tony cut in, smiling softly at him, thinking about how a teammate he’s known (personally) for only a few months cared more about his health than Howard when he was a few months old, remembering how he always came into his nursery with a lit cigar filling the room with grey smoke.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, smoke if you want to, I came out to ask just, you know, how you’re doing, you seemed, quieter, even more subdued on this one ” he continued, he didn’t smoke anymore, not after Afghanistan and the arc reactor, but he remembered how relieving and relaxing it felt, although, he mused, for Steve it was probably all psychological now, remembering something he’d said about coffee last week, when they’d both run into each other at the Shield cafeteria.

Steve cocked his head to the side, and gave him a, confused look, as if, if this was the first time in a while someone’s asked him that.

Please don’t let that be the first time in the 21st century that someone’s asked him, genuinely asked him how he’s doing, Tony thought.

Steve swallowed, looked at the ground and then met Tony’s eyes, he looked so, so vulnerable and trusting and, it took that second for Tony realise just how young Steve was, in that moment he was, biologically speaking, only in his 20s. Jesus.

“I’m, I’m doing ok Tony, how are you?”

Steve ground the spent cigarette under his heel and turned back to face his apartment, exactly as neat and tidy (and lonely, but he told that part of his mind to shut up, this was a good idea, he was sure of it) as he’d left it, save for a thin layer of dust, but he’d tidy later, right now, he had a meeting with Fury and his next mission.

#pining #mutual pining #stuckony #winteriron #fic rec #my fic #my writing #nhw writes #light angst #steve rogers #tony stark #bucky barnes #repost #bc tumblr is a shit

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acuppellarp · 6 years

Photo

Welcome to A Cup-pella, Morgan! We’re excited to have you and Aria Abrams in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: Morgan she/her Age: 25 Timezone: EST Ships: Aria/Chemistry Anti-Ships: Aria/Forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Ariana Rae Abrams Face Claim: Emily Rudd Age/Birthday: 25 November 15, 1992 Occupation: Director, creator, and writer (Untitled Abrams Project), NBC Page Personality: stubborn, nerdy, perfectionist, overambitious, sensitive Hometown: Sacramento, California Bio:

Nancy and Daniel Abrams had no clue what they were getting themselves into when they decided to have a child. Nancy, a Nurse Practitioner for University of California at Davis Health, and Daniel, a software programmer at Intel, expected their child to thrive in California, to want to live in the laidback state. Ariana was far from their expectations. She had two items that went with her everywhere: her inhaler, in case of an asthma attack, and her camera, in case something needed filmed. Though the Abrams had thought about having more children, the idea seemed to disappear as Nancy grew older and decided to devote her life to Ariana. It wasn’t like they had had her young. Both were already in their thirties. Life got away from them before they could truly start a family. They felt lucky to have their daughter, however. She was their greatest joy.

Aria was just eight years old when her life changed, whether it be for the better or for the worse, she couldn’t tell you. While on the way home from swim practice, a drunk driver t-boned Nancy and Aria. Because the car hit Aria’s side, Nancy came out practically unscathed. Aria, on the other hand, was rushed to the hospital with injuries to her neck and back. Though they repaired the vertebrae in her neck, Aria’s spinal cord was compromised during surgery and when she woke up in the Intensive Care Unit, she found out that she was now a paraplegic. From that moment on, Aria knew that her life was changed. She didn’t want to let her disability hold her back from living life. She continued swimming and took up basketball. While attending many Special Olympics throughout her youth, Aria met hundreds of kids her age and older that inspired her to follow her dreams no matter what it meant. Aria completed yearly research on regenerative spinal therapy. She knew that the experimental surgery was complicated and would risk all the work she had done, but Aria knew that one day it could become an option for her.

When it came to school, it wasn’t that they expected her to go into academia or focus more on the hard sciences, Nancy and Daniel just knew how difficult life would be for Aria if she truly wanted to be a director or a producer of tv or film. They chose safe careers on purpose. Neither of them could convince her the first time they sat her down, so they didn’t bother anymore. They knew how headstrong and stubborn their daughter could be, and they weren’t going to fight. Nancy and Daniel held the same sort of attitude when Ariana came out to them as lesbian at a very young age. They knew their daughter and they knew that Ariana knew herself. Sure, they spent one night crying in each other’s’ arms lamenting the fact that their daughter might be ridiculed. They knew they had to be her champion, however, so they joined PFLAG.

Graduating high school a year early, Aria attended the Art Institute of California – Sacramento and majored in Digital Filmmaking & Video Production. Though she lived at home, she knew that she was ultimately saving her money for New York. That’s what she said to herself when Nancy caught her going down on more than a few girls in her childhood bedroom. Growing up, she was hardly seen without her camera, and now it had become her biggest passion in life. There were very few people who could say that their childhood hobby was to become their lifelong dream. Ariana was very passionate in this sense. She knew what she wanted out of life and she went for it.

At the formative age of 21, Ariana finally moved to New York. Though she knew her savings could get her through for a few months, there was also a lot of doubt that accompanied her in moving to the big city with no job. She attempted to think of herself like Mark Cohen, attempted to find what mattered in the world before settling down to get into bed with the “Man”. This admirable thought lasted all of three months before taking a job at NBC as a page. It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but she knew that she could do as many side projects as necessary to get to where her dreams could become her reality. That’s where The Untitled Abrams Project began. After posting a few signs at the coffee shops around and at NYU, Aria actually heard back from some promising people. Things started looking up. She could make ends meet, fuel her passion, and meet new people all at the same time. Aria was finally beginning to feel like she belonged somewhere.

Very few people get deep enough into Ariana to truly understand the madness that can be her passion. She is very articulate and talks incessantly to anyone who will listen about the ideas that she has. Sometimes this can push people away. Ariana is also not want to back down from a fight when it is something that she cares about, knows about. She once got into a heated debate in front of network executives over how representation mattered in mainstream media. There were no repercussions for her actions because she displayed that she knew what she believed in and could speak about it eloquently. Ariana didn’t go to work the day after however, because she was so worn down from speaking her mind. Being sensitive on top of being incredibly stubborn had its downfalls. Aside from her personality, Ariana does have a big heart. It takes a lot of convincing to prove that someone is worth taking the extra effort for, but once it is decided, she does not back down.

New York is typically unkind, but not to those that are different. The city likes to take those in and cradle them with love and affection. Her first few weeks in the city, New York did not treat her well. It was hard for her to find wheelchair accessibility everywhere she went. People stared, they gawked, they whispered behind their hands. At interviews, she felt like she had to be doubly remarkable just to make any sort of impression. Though she had been use to this sort of overcompensation, it was incredibly hard for her to have those stares from equals in her workplace. It took several altercations for people to take her seriously, it took proving herself repeatedly for people to choose her over others. Aria was learning that it took more than just showing up on the job to get others to respect someone in a wheelchair, a lot. It was something she was working on, diligently.

Pets: No pets, highly allergic to everything. Relationships:

EXTRA INFO

[ This is for the masterlist, but also a fun little way to get to know your character! ]

Twitter name/twitter URL/description: untitled/actuallyabrams/description: comics and web series. that’s it.

Five latest tweets:

@actuallyabrams: I swear to all that is holy if Gal Gadot wanted to come to the show and just SIT, I would die. @actuallyabrams: YES I’VE SEEN BLACK PANTHER 4 TIMES. YES I NEED TO SEE IT AGAIN. (looking at you Samantha) @actuallyabrams: Got into a real fight with someone today at work over lgbtq+ visibility in TV. I almost FOUGHT SOMEONE. @actuallyabrams: I should clarify, I cannot fight anyone. I am smol. @actuallyabrams: I should further clarify, I don’t back down with my words though. So. There’s that.

#accepted

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realm-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

Staff App - Nemu (OC)

Played by Admin Grimm

OOC:

Name: Grimm

Age: 21

Preferred Pronouns: Any!

Timezone: PST

Discord: N/A

Any topics you want added to the content warning list?: Pandemics

Second choice character?: Bakugo or Hawks

IC:

Name: Takahashi Nemu

Age: 48, physically older due to magic abuse.

Gender ID / pronouns: Cis-Male, He/Him

OTPs, BroTPs, or NoTPS?: I have ship plans, but because of the particular dynamic, we’re always down for more dumb drama- It should be noted, however, that Nemu is demisexual/demiromantic and is predisposed for deep and unhealthy obsession.

Race: Human, Mage

Appearance: Nemu is extremely short and on the thinner side, though his build is still fairly healthy. He has long violet hair, which he rarely ties back, and it tends to fall across his face when he’s working. His eyes are light gray and have permanent dark circles stretched beneath them. He almost always has a scowl and very rarely smiles, although he has been rumored to smile at small children. In spite of his age, his skin is relatively smooth; this is the result of regular rejuvenation potion consumption.

Role: Court Physician and Alchemist, serving King Toshinori. Technically a healer, though he doesn’t practice it much anymore.

Skills:

Nemu specializes in healing magic, although he very rarely uses it to directly heal injuries.

Primarily, he enchants potions capable of inducing sleep, easing pain, and promoting regenerative functions within the body.

His sleeping draught is infamous, and an invention of his own. He’s improved the process and strength of most of the potions regularly made by court healers.

In his youth, he was often regarded as a prodigy and genius, although in recent years he’s let his progress slip due to failing health, and in pursuit of more dubious research.

He once theorized a method for applying the trade off of human magic to combat, wherein he healed himself by using an enemy’s life energy as a catalyst- After a single application born from desperation, he burned the documents, and has since marked it as a forbidden magic never to be pursued.

He has negative combat skills. He’s garbage in a fight. He will die. Don’t make him fight.

Backstory:

1.)

The cauldron bubbles in front of him, smoke billowing up. He’s done this a thousand times before, the ingredients and motions are practically instinctual- He could repeat the actions in his sleep, if he had to- and perhaps this is no different. Fatigue and permanent exhaustion eat away his consciousness. He wonders when he’ll cease existing in the present.

Shadows dance around him, closing in. Just like that, for a brief moment, he is ten years old again; ten years old, naive, gullible, and proud, but ten years old and a prodigy. He remembers the praise he received when he first successfully enchanted a potion, the exhaustion that followed after, and the pride in his parents eyes. Ten years old, prodigal, and the genius son of two mages. At ten, he could spin sleeping draughts that even adult alchemists struggled with.

That was the last time he felt rested.

He applies a bit too much force with his spell. The moment ends. The cauldron bubbles over. He yelps, scrambling to salvage his mistake.

There’s no use. He’ll start over. It’ll probably be another sleepless night spent fixing his mistakes. He’s hardly ten years old anymore. At forty-eight, washed out and struggling to stay afloat, Nemu wonders when he’ll become obsolete.

Soon, he thinks. He’s expiring. It’s just a matter of time.

2.)

Nemu serves his king diligently, but from a respectable distance.

It wasn’t always like this. Nemu would never dare presume he was ever friends with the king, but friendly, perhaps. They spoke more frequently, and with less tension. Nemu is never certain whether that tension is definite, or whether it’s a mere product of his sleep deprivation. Answers will never come because he’s fine the way things are now.

Brewing potions takes little effort, even now as his health begins to slip. This is something he can do in his sleep, if necessary. It’s his element. Even as the fatigue settles in, making day to day tasks more difficult, he’s still trudging onward with his work. There’s no need to stop. He’s useful this way.

So he brews his potions daily. Sometimes, he may tend directly to an ill noble or an injured knight. Sometimes - more rarely - he might see the king.

King Toshinori is a kind man. He is the type of person beloved by every individual he speaks to, and Nemu has no doubt that it’s deserved. He’s almost single handedly united an entire race into one fully functioning and peaceful society, right? That’s what everyone says, that’s what he’s praised for. He’s the type of person who cherishes everyone he meets, regardless of status.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? The king is too kind.

Nemu thinks of what he’s done, what he’s given up, what’s been sacrificed and left to perish within his own flesh for the benefit of another. He thinks of all the choices he’s ever made that contributed to his downfall, and how with a change in perspective, they could be viewed as either noble loyalty or ingrained stupidity. He knows that if King Toshinori knew the truth, he would view his actions as neither. Because that’s the problem. King Toshinori is kind, and Nemu gave up far more than any sane person would to keep him alive. Knowing would lead to nothing but pitiful guilt.

So Nemu avoids him.

Some days are easier than others.

3.)

“Are you okay?”

It’s one of those rare moments when King Toshinori manages to hunt him down. Nemu knows he’s difficult to find, because he’s purposely avoiding the king, for a plethora of reasons. King Toshinori’s frown makes Nemu's scowl deepen. It’s… A complex situation, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Of course it was stupid to think he could go undetected forever. Talking to King Toshinori is inevitable. It always is.

Nemu wants to ignore the question outright, but this is the king, and he expects an answer. No. Of course he’s not okay. When has he ever been okay? The more he uses his damn magic the worse it gets. That’s why he gave up healing, isn’t it? He’s constantly exhausted, suffers from frequent minor ailments(it could be worse, he tries to reason), and his magic is growing more difficult to control. There are days he cannot sleep at all, plagued by the torment of his body - or sometimes his brain - and there are others where he cannot tell if he’s sleeping or awake.

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to question the very air you breathe? ‘What if I drown? What if this isn’t really oxygen I’m sucking in? What if I’m not really here?’ Do you ever take a step and think, ‘what if the floor isn’t really there, what if I’m just imagining it’? ‘What if I take one more step and it gives way, and I fall, and never stop falling?’

Nemu stares at his feet, words catching at his lips. There is, of course, the other matter. The injury. Nemu saved his life, and he does not regret it, not really- But King Toshinori doesn’t know the price he paid to heal him. Because it isn’t that simple. The king should have died. He might have, really. Nemu still isn’t certain. No mortal man should have survived such injuries.

Nemu still remembers the pain. The sounds. The light. The abrupt feeling of age catching up to him. As he’d later confirmed with another healer, he had aged. Not enough for others to notice, but enough to remind him of the grimm reality that every action has a consequence. That magic has a price.

He can’t say any of that, though, and King Toshinori expects an answer, so he bites his lip and swallows his disdain.

“I’m fine.” He lies through gritted teeth. He doesn’t know if it’s convincing but he no longer cares.

4.)

There is but one thing Chiharu ever says that resonates with him; ‘rules are meant to be broken.’ Perhaps not in the context of the law- Nemu is hardly lawful, but he knows when to play at obedience. There is a natural order to adhere to, and he hardly has the energy to fight his own body on good days, let alone deal with the consequences of immorality. That makes them different.

The two of them combined are wrong. They fit together like water and oil, and Nemu’s never certain who is which, but they agree on one thing, and one thing alone. There must be a way to cheat the cost of performing magic. Nemu is generally rule abiding, but even he recognizes when alternative means are necessary.

Chiharu doesn’t question his sudden change in moral principles, though he does ask why now. Nemu, lost in thought, doesn’t know how to best answer. There’s no rhyme or reason for the change, but it isn’t some childish whim. It’s been building for a while, he thinks. Since Toshinori’s injury. Since he retired from healing. Since the fatigue set in and refused to leave. Since the realization he’s expiring faster than he ought to be. He doesn’t know. There’s little sentimentality between he and Chiharu, and Nemu doubts there ever will be. But that doesn’t matter.

“I’ve sold my soul to save another,” he begins, the words poetic but bitter on his tongue. “I want it back.”

Chiharu just laughs, deep and more than a bit sinister, but he takes Nemu’s hand.

No… There is no sentimentality, but Chiharu will humor him, because there is loyalty, and in the end, they desire the same thing.

Change.

Extras:

Nemu suffers from a mix of chronic fatigue and insomnia as side effects to magic overuse. He is quite vocal about his insomnia but has become quite adept at hiding the fatigue.

On most days one would only notice something amiss if they knew him particularly well before the incident, but on bad days he tends to lock himself away in either his living space or his lab, depending on how impactful it is on his ability to work.

Nemu prefers bland foods, and absolutely despises excessive spice. He does not season his food when left to prepare it on his own, and he is rarely allowed to cook for other people.

He loves cats, although he has not kept one around in over a decade.

Writing sample:

Nemu has met the king’s advisor before. The man is no stranger, although he is strange - Nemu himself is strange, but of a different variety. He’s human, and in spite of what he’s been told, he gets the very distinct feeling that Aizawa is not. Nemu has never particularly cared whether his patients are human or otherwise - he specializes in human healing, but he’s picked up knowledge and skills to help anyone in need.

But that’s not entirely relevant, because Aizawa isn’t here regarding himself.

“The king is coughing, again.” Aizawa tells him, and Nemu nods.

Of course. It’s always the king.

He goes about gathering ingredients, taking care to select only the highest quality ones from his stores. He has potions made up already, but everything made for the king is made by his own two hands, and he doesn’t know who brewed the last batch of this specific recipe. Aizawa watches him work, refusing to leave, and Nemu does his best to ignore him. There’s no difference whether he’s alone or in company - he’ll get his work done regardless, and he’ll do it well.

But… Aizawa doesn’t ordinarily stay. Not like this. Nemu has served the king for many years, and he may not be the most trustworthy person alive, but his skills and loyalty are unfaltering. Eyes narrowed, he glances at the advisor. “There’s something you wish to say. You wouldn’t be here still, otherwise.”

“You’re avoiding King Toshinori.”

Oh.

Nemu was not expecting… That. Whatever responses Nemu holds die on his tongue as he struggles to process the situation. He has been avoiding the king. There’s no excuse and no denial. He’s been avoiding King Toshinori, and that’s the entire truth. But… It shouldn’t be an issue, right? It really shouldn’t be, not when he’s just a man. Sure, they’d been on friendly terms, prior, but Nemu isn’t friends with the fucking king. He can choose whether he wants to isolate, can’t he?

There are a lot of ways he could respond. He could be sympathetic, perhaps, and apologize. He could promise to do better, to change his ways and seek the king out more often, if it really makes such a difference. He could be polite - but he isn’t. Instead, he chooses sarcasm, because he can’t fathom how his behaviors in any way matter to the king. “Oh, I’m sure he’s so disappointed in my absence.” Nemu scoffs, returning to his ingredients. He has work to do, after all.

Aizawa regards him for another moment before responding, “Don’t.”

As the advisor turns to leave, Nemu calls out “I won’t.” But it’s a lie, and he’s certain Aizawa sees right through him.

#bnha oc rp #mha oc rp #staff apps

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majisportsllc · 4 years

Photo

Nutrition to Keep You Healthy at Home

The first wealth is health...

During this time where you may be spending more time at home and practicing social distancing, what to eat may be on your mind. Restaurants are closed to in-house dining, but some are offering curb-side pickup. Drive-thru restaurants have created ways to provide safe handling of food as they serve their customers. Some establishments are even delivering meals to your doorstep. Essential grocery shopping is probably a priority for you and your family, too.The question remains, what should you be eating during this COVID-19 pandemic?

It’s a good time to explore your Kitchen! This may be a good opportunity to support local businesses as well as learn new talents in the kitchen. You may dust off those recipe books on the shelf and try a new recipe. Try baking a cake or some cookies as a fun treat for the family. Nutrition and eating healthy, though, may be a concern for you in any of these scenarios. There may be a fear of eating too many sweets or unhealthy meals that contribute to weight gain or even low energy and diminished mental focus. Since you have some time at home, this can always be an educational moment to learn more about the nutritional value of food: how it affects your body and mind, what to eat and what to avoid. Let's dive a little deeper and explore the importance of proteins, carbohydrates, and fats.

1. Everything you need to know about Macronutrients

To make the wisest choices in healthy foods, it would be best to breakdown the function of each of the major macronutrients: proteins, carbohydrates, and fats. Using the analogy of an automobile, an explanation of how these nutrients work in the body will be used.

1.1 Protein Think of your body as a running machine, like a car. You need all the necessary components to make your machine run efficiently. You first need the structure of your machine, the parts that hold it all together and keep it running. For the car, that is the engine and its parts. For the body, that is protein. Proteins are the building blocks of your bodily system. When ingested, proteins from foods convert into amino acids. Your body is in a constant state of repair.

As the tissues in your body breakdown, the amino acids are the regenerative component for all the cells and tissues to keep them functioning appropriately. Proteins also help all the normal functions of the body: heart beating, digestion, muscle contraction, and more. Proteins are the foundation of the bodily system. We need them in order to survive. But it takes more than just protein to keep the body functioning. Much like the car, your body needs fuel to run.

1.2 Carbohydrates Carbs are one of the two fuels of the body. The other are fats. Carbohydrates provide immediate fuel and energy to the body. When your vehicle is low on gasoline, you fill it up at the station, then your car can continue to run. This is the same with your body. You need fuel to keep it running. When you eat foods containing carbohydrates, it converts into glucose; we sometimes know that as sugar. When we need a quick burst of energy, we can ingest something with sugar or carbs and it can give us the needed boost.

Glucose can be stored away for later use, too. Glucose converts into glycogen and is stored in the muscles and liver for use in the near future. You can say that the body has glycogen "storage tanks," so that you're always in supply of fuel. These storage tanks, though, have limited space. If you do not use up the fuel stored away in these tanks, they will reach their capacity. And it glycogen is stored for too long, it is converted into fat.

1.3 Fat Fat is another source of fuel for the body, but it is stored away in your system for later use. Fat converts into fatty acids and are responsible for absorbing and distributing vital nutrients through the body. Healthy fats also regulate our body's temperature in addition to providing fuel for the body.

As mentioned, glycogen can convert to fatty acids and store in the body's fat cells. When your system is in need of fuel and the glycogen storage tanks are empty, it will rely on the fuel stashed away in your fat cells for energy. It compares to taking a road trip and you fill an extra gas can to place in your car. It is that emergency fuel tank that comes in handy when you're in an area where there are no gas stations and you're in need of fuel. With the glycogen storage tanks having a limited capacity, fat cells do not. Your body can continue to produce fat cells. As they continue to grow and expand, so does the body.

2. What to Eat & When to Eat

Now that you have an understanding of these important nutrients, let's put it into the context of what to eat and when to eat.

2.1 Repair with Protein Remember, your body is a machine that needs fuel. Proteins build the machine, but they diminish constantly since the tissues in your body are always in repair. That means, you need to ingest proteins throughout the day to keep these systems of repair running efficiently.

Build proteins into each meal you eat, even snacks. Here's a short list of foods that are healthy sources of protein. Consider these when you're going to the market and planning your meals:

eggs, milk, yogurt, cottage cheese

lean beef, tuna, salmon, chicken breast

almonds, barley, soybeans, lentils, oats

2.2 Stay energetic with Carbs & Fats

Another thing to think about is how active you are during the day. Since carbs and fats provide energy, consider when you need the most energy. Morning breakfast may be an opportune time to ingest healthy carbs and fats. The sugars will give you the immediate energy needed to get you moving for the day. The added fat can be stored for later use. If you plan to exercise (e.g. bike riding, jogging, lifting weights, etc.) have a snack that has proteins to rebuild the muscles you damage and carbs for the energy you need for your workout. But don’t forget, to become stronger and healthier fast, you have to rest and recover too.

Rest & Recovery helps heal injuries & sore muscles to reenergize the body so you have the stamina to give it your all during your next workout All workouts, especially tough ones, stress the body. You’re fatiguing, or tiring out, various muscles when you work out, which means you’re causing microscopic damage to muscle cells. Try our ‘Home Fitness & Muscle Recovery Bundles’. Explore which bundle suits your exercises the most and easily order online at the best prices available. You will love how these compact bundles will be able to help you strengthen and tone every muscle in your body. If you are ever feeling tight and are in need of a self-massage, use all the various products found in our Muscle Recovery Bundle to help relieve muscle tension, which will increase blood flow and oxygenate those aching muscles to help you feel and look more radiant.

If you're not as active, then less carbs and fat are needed in your system. Here is a scenario: let's say you're planning to have a relaxing day with no exercise. If you are less energetic, that means you may need less fuel (i.e. carbs). If you're hungry, though, find something that is high in protein rather than high in sugar or fat. The carbs you eat will convert to an energy source, but if you're not using that source, it is stored away for later use. Too many carbs will fill up your storage tanks and get converted into fat; and you can guess the result of that. A healthy source of carbohydrates includes:

sweet potatoes, brown rice, oats, bananas, berries,

broccoli, carrots, beets, kale, squash, spinach, beans

2.3 Say no to Unhealthy fats & sugars Do your best to avoid (or at least reduce) artificial and refined sugars that are in sodas, candy, white pastas and rices, chips, cookies, and other sweets.

The same goes for fats. Turn toward the healthy fats that enhance nutritional distribution in your body. Avoid fats that are unhealthy for your heart (i.e. trans fats).You can find healthy fats in:

Almonds, walnuts, pistachios

natural nut butters, olive oil

salmon, tuna, avocado

These and other healthy fats can be added in small amounts to compliment other components of your meals.

When you're making your shopping list, add the above items so you always have something healthy in your cupboards and fridge. Discover healthy recipes from cookbooks, the internet, and online videos. And most importantly, get the whole family involved in this quest for health. Learn together the importance of these nutrients, when to eat them, and what foods are the best sources. Find some fun and delicious recipes to cook together in the kitchen.

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ganymedesclock · 7 years

Note

Okay I might just be a dummy buuut, didn't Honerva go bonkers because of quintessence poisoning??? We never see her actually touch it until Zarkon and her in the rift. Keith literally got *covered* in quintessence, why isn't he nuts???

So I’m gonna put out a pretty long post here on what I think quintessence is and does, but first I’m gonna link this interview and quote a relevant section of it that sums things up for me really effectively:

Dos Santos: I think Quintessence, if anything, it sort of grabs on to the worst of us and accentuates those elements. Like anything, it corrupts.

Montgomery: Anything at all, even, whether it’s good or evil. Medicine in large doses can kill you. So that’s really what Quintessence is. It’s not innately good or innately bad. It’s a power source, and if you misuse it, it can be very disastrous.

Quintessence is not a “touch it and you’re evil.” I would argue I don’t even think just touching or interacting with quintessence has a specific evil effect, because Allura back in s1e1 also says “the quintessence of the Lion is mirrored in its pilot.”

Quintessence, in Voltron, depending on what shape it’s in, seems to be used to describe either a soul, or life energy. The discrepancy, in my mind, is roughly that everybody has that vital energy, or they’d be dead, but, the ‘soul’ is roughly the pattern in which this energy moves which seems to be determined simply by who you are as a person.

Quintessence as a fuel source is basically raw vital energy tapped from the veins of whoever or whatever entity contributed it, voluntarily or involuntarily- or, in an unusual case, the rifts, which raises some big questions of what exactly that was a rift to.

Honerva psychologically

I don’t think psychologically the quintessence had anything to do with Honerva’s descent. Everything we see about Honerva as a person aligns with her later behavior. One does not become the greatest scientist of an age the way Alfor introduces her to by being someone who passes up what they see as significant breakthroughs.

From the start, Honerva is incredibly focused on her work. Incredibly drawn inward. Something new catches her attention- the rift- and she’s enraptured by it.

This is where she starts pulling out the stops. Sinks further and further into it because the more she digs, the more interesting it is, the more potential it has. Partnering with Zarkon I think just encourages her further in this sense. I’ve said before that Haggar and Zarkon are kind of unpleasant people in a lot of the same ways and I think their union and devotion amplified a lot of those qualities in both of them- Zarkon’s desire for military supremacy, Honerva’s brilliant scientific mind and fascination for the potential of this work.

So even Honerva arguably being distracted from her work, finding and pursuing a relationship with Zarkon, would draw her further down. Because Zarkon is charming, to her, but he’s also very likeminded, and a powerful force who agrees to foot the bill for all her research. She’s not beholden any more to Alfor and his cautions.

To me, I think this is the significance where the first time we see Honerva arguing with Alfor, it’s after she’s married Zarkon and when she’s switched to galra-style clothing away from her initial Altean suit. It’s not conflating the galra with an evil influence taking her over- it’s showing why Honerva is getting bolder and more aggressive about this.

Because now, whatever she does, Zarkon is going to back her up. The bad news power couple has assembled and they’re pushing more progress, further.

Honerva was, quite frankly, always the person who was going to dig up some kind of godless abomination, especially with that kind of encouragement. She was, from the start, a scientist who focused on potential and pushing limits.

Honerva’s illness (this gets pretty body horrific)

I think what happened to Honerva was not anything malicious or soul-sucking and certainly not the quintessence instigating mental instability. Again, Honerva’s personality is consistent.

But again, the interviewers say that quintessence is like medicine- as in, it can be lifesaving or fatal, and that depends on your dosage.

Honerva didn’t know that it might hurt her. Basically, what happened to her was a fantastical version of Marie Curie’s fate- in her fascination with it, and dedication to understanding it, she left herself massively overexposed. This is not a product or symptom of a sinister influence, either- because Haggar in the present is much more cautious about quintessence. Honerva in the past was willing to just arbitrarily test the stuff on her sick cat. Haggar in the present gives orders to limit Zarkon’s exposure, clearly fearing for his health, and Zarkon doesn’t take it directly- he has a harness seemingly designed just for that.

As far as what happened to her?

Well… if quintessence is life energy, and presumably regenerative in nature, how could that hurt a person?

The immediate short-term way we’ve seen it hurt people is by being converted into another form of energy, such as the druid’s lightning attacks. The most likely fate of Antok: internal bleeding and burns compounded by cardiac arrest because he was basically assaulted with a defibrillator at the highest possible setting.

But that definitely wasn’t Honerva’s problem. As mentioned, it took her years of exposure to start showing symptoms. At first, seemingly, just difficulty keeping her core temperature up- when we see her hair bleaching out, that’s also when she’s started wearing a whole lot of layers. Loss of weight and the development of certain mutations also happen here.

This is noteworthy since we can cross-reference this with Kova- who also lost weight and had several physiological mutations.

And through Kova, we can also tell something interesting: that stage is, in fact, completely stable. If Honerva had stopped overexposing herself there, and been more cautious, she never would have gotten sick- because Kova’s health actually improved with those treatments and he seems to have stabilized, even ten thousand years later.

But Honerva did overexpose herself- and that’s when we see her condition take a sudden nosedive.

We see basically no evidence of malaise besides the aforementioned issues with core temperature before suddenly Honerva is bedridden, emaciated, and seemingly in considerable pain.

Which, my two cents is: what happens if you’re so steeped in life energy that the tissues that are supposed to break down in your body don’t? Or dead tissues start reviving themselves?

Basically what I think killed Honerva was a massive cancerous buildup. Her body outpaced its own ability to self-regulate and what I can only guess happened to cover her sudden downward turn is one or more of her organs started to shut down.

A nasty way to go, to be sure. But it’s definitely not what killed Zarkon.

Zarkon’s injury

Because Zarkon wasn’t killed by disease. As mentioned- it took years of continuous overexposure for Honerva to become poisoned. Kova was only treated temporarily, and out of that, has emerged completely stable and healthy, even ten thousand years later.

Zarkon entered the rift, a higher concentration to be sure, completely insulated in his paladin armor, and for an incredibly short period of time.

Zarkon is also the one who post-resurrection, isn’t stable. Because Haggar, much like Kova, post-resurrection, seems to have completely stabilized. She’s not using any more quintessence to prolong her life or stave off bad symptoms. Her illness regressed to the point where it was just the mutations and the chill.

(Of course, that’s what seems to have happened. It could be that just Haggar in her current state isn’t suffering because she no longer needs the organs that failed her in life, but she does certainly seem still able to feel pain and exhaustion, so I’d guess that somehow the resurrection process did actually cure her symptoms)

But Zarkon? Zarkon’s the one who started using quintessence treatments. He’s unstable somehow.

And something conspicuous here is... there’s a wound on Zarkon’s face after he revives.

One featured incredibly prominently in his character design.

But not one that anyone- the other prior paladins included- seems to have given to him.

It’s an injury he sustained in the rift, seemingly- from the dark creatures.

Alfor was wrong. Zarkon didn’t die from quintessence poisoning, because quintessence poisoning is a very long, drawn-out process. All living beings are naturally supposed to have at least some of it running through them- it takes a long time to override that natural tolerance. One would argue quintessence is not even a poisonous substance as much as it’s like water- you can die from too much water, but it takes an absurd amount of water unless you’re putting it in your lungs.

Zarkon and Haggar’s symptoms are different because Zarkon and Haggar were killed by different things. Now, I personally don’t take the idea that the dark creatures are puppeting a defenseless Zarkon, because, what I said about Honerva holds for Zarkon as well: looking at his past self, he always had it in him to go this far.

But the dark creatures are definitely relevant. And I definitely think it’s possible that they might be currently affecting Zarkon in a way that his continued consumption of quintessence is trying to stave off.

Because quintessence is not evil. Rather, quintessence appears to be a medium, and within that medium, there are two forces operating currently. There’s Voltron, benevolent and protecting, and there’s the dark creatures, who so far seem to be aggressive but we’re not really sure what else. We don’t actually know for sure the dark creatures are evil- they’re dangerous, but at this juncture we understand really nothing of them, and this is a series where you have to hesitate on your first impressions sometimes.

After all, if the dark creatures are similar to Voltron, it’s quite likely that they’re not a corrupting influence as much as a kindred one- one that, like Voltron, is drawn to certain people they can resonate with.

Which is a very interesting topic indeed, because there’s also the second comet- potentially, another Voltron. If its willingness to be shaped and guided by Lotor and his team is any indication, that’d even suggest that while Voltron and the dark creatures seem to have a standard good-and-evil rivalry going on, there’s at least some kind of shade of gray on that scale, as well.

So, Keith/Allura/Kova...

All basically get off scott free and have no problems.

Allura, because she seems to have an abnormally high threshold for energy in the first place- Allura not only absorbs power from Haggar, but when she does, it fundamentally seems to change nature somehow: turning from Haggar’s black-on-pink magic to an ethereal white-on-pink power.

Allura, who is able to revive planets from the dead with her power and the support of others in a direct opposition to Haggar’s Komar experiment.

Allura, who, I’m not saying is some kind of chosen one but she is definitely some kind of chosen one. Yes, we do see her have her limits, but, unlike Honerva, she listens to those limits and doesn’t try to fire planet-wide healing powers all the time because she’d like to be conscious.

Keith? Keith was exposed to a tiny amount of quintessence, once, and while his reaction to both the refined magic and the raw quintessence were sure interesting, that’s not nearly enough exposure to be dangerous because again- Honerva was exposed for years before she was ever actively sickened.

As an aside

I’m really not wild about the assertions that Honerva and Zarkon “lost themselves” in this because the quintessence has some kind of psychoactive effect because we have actually zero evidence of that at all.

If anything, I’d think s3e7 disproved that heavily because it went through great pains to show us that young Honerva and Zarkon were... really always the same people, through and through. Zarkon was always interested in conquest. Honerva was always the kind of person to push boundaries and take serious risks even after they seemed to bite her before. That callous disregard and sense of elitism was always there. This was not really the story of good innocent people polluted by evil beings from another dimension.

The quintessence, the dark creatures- they were just a catalyst. If not them, it would have gone down anyway- just not on so catastrophic a scale.

#voltron legendary defender #vld #Zarkon #Haggar #readmore #long post #imlovedavepeta

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cortex-reaver · 7 years

Text

Chapter 61: From the Jaws of Victory

Warnings: Language, cyborg horror

Masterpost

Goggles watched the sleeping Hacker silently, wincing every time the Super-Reaver's wires plunged into his head and bored into his brain. Every sickening crunch and schlurp sounded as if from her own nightmares, and the sight of both her good friend and one of her greatest heroes in that thing--

She held her staff in front of her, running scans on the Hacker and the Super-Reaver frame every few moments. She knew he'd want her to take him out if the plan failed and the Super-Reavers, and PsychoDAN by extension, got full control of his mind. She warily watched his sleeping face.

Sleeping faces could fool you. And that went double for when neuro-tech was involved. You had no idea whether someone was actually unconscious or suffering the worst depths of Hell in there.

The walls' machinery hummed softly, as if holding its breath.

Yeah, me too, Goggles thought grimly as a bead of sweat trickled down her face. C'mon Hacker. Wake up already.

The staff pinged a notice: Armor modifications detected. Nanite-based modifications detected.

She glanced down to the Hacker's suit of body armor from Craig's Reaver factory. A faint silvery sheen now covered it, and its wrist bracers had begun growing a series of mean-looking modifications. She guessed the Super-Reaver's nanites would soon turn them into the monster's wrist-mounted rapier blades.

Hacker's skin looked the same, save for a slight tracery of circuit-board lines along the sides of his face near his ears. Otherwise he looked as fleshy and normal as ever. She wondered whether his implant would let him dictate how the Super-Reaver frame's modifications went.

A quick glance via the staff's systems told Goggles that the Hacker's body now had several billion more nanites than before. And looking at bio-scan mode revealed the nanites repairing all of his injuries and restoring him to full health in a fraction of the time a regenerator would take.

She let out an impressed whistle. No wonder he thought he wouldn't need regen time.

“Bet you can eat bullets and blades now too, huh?” she asked softly.

The staff pinged once more: Subject regaining consciousness.

Oh here we go...

Hacker's eyes opened abruptly, wide and focused at some spot over her head. They had once been a warm brown, but had turned a dark silvery gray. His face remained slack and expressionless, and his Super-Reaver frame rose up menacingly--

Oh shit shit shit SHIT--

Goggles turned the staff over to Focus Fire.

A demonic grin split the Hacker's face. He lifted both hands, wiggling their fingers evilly.

“Boo!”

The staff's beam scored into the wall a split-second before Goggles disabled it.

“FUCK YOU!” the soldier screamed, finding the curse woefully short of the sheer fury she’d crammed into it. “I ALMOST CUT YOU IN HALF!”

Hacker merely cackled as he sidled away from the crater her staff had left in the wall. The frame's tentacle legs wobbled and flailed as he struggled to control them.

“C-couldn't resist,” he giggled. The frame bobbed in tune to his laughter.

Goggles just smoldered at him.

“Really couldn't r-resist,” he went on, now howling. “Your face!”

She flipped her most obscene gesture at him with her free hand.

“Oh God, that was great,” Hacker wheezed, then his frame crumpled to the floor, leaving him sitting with his legs akimbo.

He blinked a moment.

“Wait, what? Don't they run these things with self-training gait software like the bots or...?”

He closed his eyes a second, then groaned with an expressive rolling of his eyes.

“No, cause they programmed the gait into the mutant bodies' brains so they didn't have to stuff the software into the frame's CPU. Idiots. How'd you even pick up new bodies if....ohhh....they weren't meant to just zombiefy random bodies? Wow. Specialization's a bitch.”

“That's weird,” Goggles remarked. “The old ones certainly were. By the way, you ever use cybermechs in your spec-ops time?”

“My guess is SHObeta intended 'em to be all-out,” Hacker muttered. “So she went with Beta-Grove style mutants for the corpse bodies. Probably more programmable that way.”

He blinked as he looked up at her.

“Mechs? Sure. Ever driven a Crawler? The one they call the Armchair of Doom? One of the reasons I thought I could do this. Now I'm not so”--

“Yeah. It's four-legged so it translates to a Reaver pretty easy,” Goggles replied. “Had to drive one for a couple missions. Tried it on my Reaver. Worked nice for getting the gait right. Try going 1-2-3-4 on the rhythm. Stick to a side-to-side sway to keep your balance evened out.”

She eyed his crumpled position on the floor with a lopsided smile.

“For uh, getting up,” Goggles added, “just push up with all four limbs.”

The frame heaved itself upwards, then smashed into the ceiling. Hacker yelped when he hit the floor, then skittered backwards until he hit the wall.

“Ow! Ow. WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU GIVE A CYBORG LIKE THIS A PAIN REFLEX?!”

“SHObeta. You know how she thinks,” Goggles muttered blandly as she rolled her optics. “Pain's her idea of behavior control.”

“Yeah, well she's an idiot!” Hacker growled, then pried himself off the wall. “Just so we're clear on that.”

This time the Super-Reaver frame obeyed him. After some bobbing and frantic clattering, he finally managed a better balanced standing position with the tentacle legs.

“Oh. Oh okay. Kinda like a big spider with long coily wires for legs or something...okay just uh 1-2-3-4, and repeat,” he muttered while slowly walking forwards. The frame wobbled, but kept its balance. He looked up at her with a slight smile.

“Doesn't hurt anymore. Not on my body, anyways. I think the pain's just wired to the frame's sensors so the uh, Reaver doesn't go too all-out and waste its hardware. Though given how tough they are, I can't imagine them doing that real easy.”

“Well they're valuable chess pieces,” Goggles pointed out. “PsychoDAN probably didn't want 'em going out on a limb.”

Hacker stuck one the limbs out sideways and wiggled it. He nearly tipped over in the direction of that limb, but kept upright by shifting his weight to the other direction.

“Hah to that,” the soldier remarked with a snicker.

Distant clattering echoed down the corridor. Hacker perked, then frowned.

“Damn. Wasn't expecting a response for a while,” he commented. “We should get going. They figure out what I did, they're gonna swarm us like locusts on Stam-Up and Berserk.”

Goggles nodded her agreement, then eyed him quizzically. Had he cut the Reaver frame's network connection to the station?

“And no, they can't hear me,” he answered her puzzled expression. “The rig is so like Tri-Op hardware that null.ethic did most of the gruntwork. Dropped me off the network, and had the system glitch out all the internal passwords on reset. The rest I can fine-tune as time goes on. Since null.ethic, uh, flips control to the core processing element. In the station, that was SHODAN. In here, that's my brain.”

He squinted at the clattering as it grew louder, despite nothing coming into view.

“For that much noise already and them being that far away? Damn. Didn't count on the network throwing an alert that fast. We gotta run.”

“Anything to get further away from Fugly Town is a good idea,” Goggles agreed, then headed to the elevator.

Hacker followed, his limbs clattering more evenly as he got the hang of the massive machine's walking style. The soldier reached the elevator then slapped the DOWN button. She froze at the massive shadow of Hacker's new rig falling over the doors.

“Shit,” she muttered, then turned back to him.

“What?”

“Did you figure out whether you'd be able to fit in here once you got wired in?” she asked, jerking her thumb to the doors. “Rebecca said something about having to bundle those legs like a yarn ball.”

Hacker blinked, then blinked again. He swore softly.

“Shit. I sorta did, but with you on the next elevator! I didn't think they'd react this fast!”

He turned to survey the hallway. Still nothing came into view yet, but the clattering had turned into a dull roar. He turned back, disgust and exasperation flooding his face.

“There's no way we're both gonna fit in there,” he groaned.

“Sure there is,” Goggles replied, an evil grin on her face. “How are you with full-body tentacle hugs?”

“WHAT?!”

The doors banged open. Thankfully it wasn't the ambush elevator this time.

“Grab me, then get inside!” Goggles shouted. “Fold everything up once you get in!”

“But how do I...? Without crushing you?”

“This armor's from the Reaver factory, remember?! You know my loadout! Now get your metal ass in there!”

Behind Hacker, the dull roar had become a thunderous rumble that shook the walls.

Grimacing, he carefully lifted one tentacle limb before looping it once around the soldier's waist. Goggles tried not to think of how many Super-Reavers that din amounted to. Her armor creaked as Hacker's limb squeezed her more tightly.

“Okay, going in,” he muttered, threading two limbs into the elevator.

Their claws angrily scraped the walls, throwing sparks as Hacker struggled to find his footing. He leaned the rest of his frame inside, then pulled up the last limb behind him. Then he huddled down, wrapping himself with all his limbs except the one holding Goggles.

“Okay just do a Reaverball, just do a Reaverball,” she heard him mutter over the noise of grinding claw feet, straining elevator walls, and sliding tentacles.

Through the open doors and Hacker's squirming Reaver limbs, Goggles could see the first Super-Reavers coming into view – from all sides of the corridor. Some crawled along the ceiling, while others skittered along the walls. And all of them moved with more unholy speed than she could've imagined.

“Get the door! Get the door!”

“Working on that!” Hacker shouted. “They're not coopera—AHAH!”

The doors suddenly banged shut, silencing the roar of the approaching mass of Super-Reavers. She sucked in as deep a breath of relief as she could with her squeezed torso.

“Don't worry about the elevator controls,” Hacker called out faintly amid the squished mass of bent tentacle limbs. “I figured out how they hacked the elevator in the ambush. It's really easy. Okay uh...here goes.”

The conveyance abruptly shot downward, with even more zeal than the regenerator room's doorway. Goggles crashed face-first into the ceiling along with Hacker and his new cybernetic toy. He clearly hadn't figured out how to keep his balance yet.

They stayed plastered there, screaming for what felt like an eternity.

Screeching loudly, the elevator bolted to a painfully sharp halt, sending both to its floor with simultaneous crashes. In Goggles' case, Hacker's long tentacle limbs mostly broke her fall. He landed face-first and stayed there.

Its doors whizzed open so loudly Goggles would've jumped if not for lying in a stunned heap next to a sprawled Super-Reaver. The limb holding her uncoiled, releasing her as it flopped limply through the doors.

The soldier tumbled out with it, her face in too much pain for her to think about moving just yet. One of her cybernetic lenses had cracked, showing a splintered picture. The other had gone out completely, blasting angry blue glitch into her brain. She heard her staff clunk into the floor and roll away from her limp hand.

“Hey,” Hacker called out, “You OK over there?”

“Next time, your ass is riding a freight elevator.”

He paused a beat.

“Gotcha.”

#System Shock fanfic #System Shock #System Shock 2 #Goggles #The Hacker #SHODAN

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snazz-master-m · 7 years

Text

You want an angsty one shot? We'll have a kinda angsty one shot

Why did she go to this dimension. Ivor said it would be fun, a bit scary but FUN! Now he is probably on a date with Harper or something. God she was being salty. Yes, Gabriel had agreed to go but he had suddenly come down with a fever and Ellie forced him to stay at home. Damn it. If he was here she probably wouldn't be stuck in a rapidly decreasing space. The panels battered her arms and legs as she struggled against the pressure. Tears pricked her eyes as her arms gave in. She was going to be crushed to death. Taking one more shuddery breath, she closed her tired eyes. There was a groaning sound and the panels ground to a halt. She couldn't move her arms, but Jesse was alive. She was alive! Relief spread through her body just for a second. Relief soon turned to a sick feeling as a dark grey/white gass filled the tiny chamber. The taste. The taste of salt and what could only be described as zombie blood filled her mouth. Jesse struggled to even breath as the silver gas began to wrap around her throat. Well. Gas she thought, but now it felt like pure death. Her lungs were on fire and every muscle felt like molten lava. Her eyes were teared up and her nose was bleeding, and a few minor cuts she had got before being captured were pumping out her scarlet blood at an alarming rate. The armour meant to protect her was now rendered useless. The raven haired girl felt a ghastly chill run across her body, and let out a cry of defeat before everything turned that silvery grey. When Ivor had bought Jesse to this dimension, he explained it was a very peaceful one. So when he went off to go see Harper about a new machine, he thought Jesse could handle herself. As he and Harper were walking back, he heard an ear shattering creak and groan. Running to get back to where Jesse was meant to be, he spotted patches of blood on the floor. His heart sunk as he saw that his apprentice, his daughter almost, was missing. In her place a note. "Hope she dosent mind cramped places. Hope you don't mind her blood. Love from your pal.... PAMA" Ivor let out a sob, just as Harper arrived. She gave a confused look to the usually grumpy man. He simply wiped tears from under his eyes and gave her the note. Harpers eyes widened at the last few words. PAMA?! How was he alive. How was he in this dimension. Unless... Ivor's head bolted upright at a sudden ghaspy squeak. He knew that little scream anywhere. JESSE! He ran like he had never before. Harper only caught up with him as he got to the grey building. It was covered in cobwebs and had a few zombies outside. His blood ran cold as he saw that they had red eyes. Now Harper had been careful about going to different dimensions. She always carried water after the PAMA ordeal and now seemed like a good time to utilise it. "Go, see if it's Jesse in there, I'll kill them." Ivor took no time launching into action, breaking a redstone circuit and breaking open the top of the machine. Inside was Jesse, unconscious, bleeding,crying,and in a space which a contortionist would have a struggle to fit into. There was a thick, silver gas surrounding her and she was coughing and spluttering all over. Pulling her out of the tiny spot, Ivor put his head to her chest, but then quickly put his hand on her throat because he remembered that that was a good way of checking pulse. It was slow, it was very faint, and he didn't know if her was imagining it but it was a heartbeat. He cried in relief and went to check if she was breathing. He opened her mouth only to see that a black liquid filled it. Tipping her onto her side, he got a lot of it out. Still, no breath. Harper arrived looking slightly damp, and saw that the teen wasn't even taking one breath. "We've got to get her out of here, look, I've got a potion of water breathing, maybe that'll help." Ivor muttered breathlessly. Ivor held the potion in his hand before tipping the gloopy contents into jesses mouth. It ran down her through without much resistance. He noted the red streaks down her armour, and how parts of it were crumpled. He and Harper ran to the portal entrance at full speed and didn't stop even in the portal corridor. At least she was kinda breathing now, though it was broken up with pained noises and murmurs that spilled from her mouth. Running through his home portal and tripping as he went through, Ivor gained his footing in the nick of time. Petra was doing her usual patrole of the woods near the portal exit so Harper ran head first into the ginger warrior. "Ow Harper why did you do that girl?" She said in a jokey voice. "Jesse n-not good. P-p-p-PAMAS back. Jesse -- almost dead. Get help" Ivor said in a high pitched and staggered voice. Petra saw the now dribbling girl and took Harper and Ivor by the hands. She was running too now. They ran to a settlement the new order had made that was away from the city so the old order could train there without being egged. When Ellegaard went to open the door, she expected Ivor and Jesse to walk in happily, not too many injuries(obviously some for Jesse but she could trip up in space.). Why did she never get her wish. As Ivor, Petra and Harper ran in, carrying a very disheveled Jesse she immediately ran to get a doctor. The day got worse. First Gabe now Jess. God. When Jesse woke up, she couldn't see. She didn't even want to open her eyes. The taste of salt and zombie blood lingered in her mouth, and she thought she was still in the machine. The gas felt as if it clung to her and a liquid covered her mouth. She spluttered a bit and a cold thing on her lip was removed. Everything hurt. Her arms had cramps, her stomach was eating its self, her lungs felt like she had smoked 20 packs of cigars a day for ninety years, her nose felt goopy and her back felt as if hornets were stinging every cell at the same time. Slowly, she opened her red eyes and saw that Ellegaard ,while very blurry, was looking at her intently, holding a bottle of water. The gas was there but the machine was missing. Jesse blinked a few times, and her focus improved. "Wait but I I -*cough* don't understa*cough*nd why m I here*cough* where's the...what? Is goin o*cough cough cough*" Ellegaard shushed her as her throat tightened. "Jesse, it is basically torture to make you tell us what happened so I'm going to ask you to write it down.Is that okay?" Jesse flexed her hand and was met with a spike of pain. She tapped her fingers together to test preassure and the pain increased. The wincing did not go unnoticed. "Scrap that. Tell me in vague words what happened and then when you get better you can complete it." "Dimension with Ivor. Ivor went to see Harp*cough*. Zombies caught me*cough*. Machine went in and in. Silver gas*cough*."Jesse squeaked and had another coughing fit. Olivia, who had been waiting outside the whole time, ran in, unable to stand hearing her friend in pain again. "Pass me the water" Ellie obliged and Olivia poured some down jesses throat. The green eyed girl struggled for a second but drank some anyway. She was shaking and when Olivia took away the bottle, she made a gagging noise. Olivia noted that her eyes were not the bright emerald green, but a darker, dull moss green. Her eyes began to fluttter closed and her body relaxed slightly. Olivia smiled as she realised she was asleep. Then, the goggled girl left the room with Ellie Ellegaard was the first to speak to Ivor about Jesse. She explained the situation, and that the silver gas was uncommon and fatal. She explained that Jesse had a very high chance of dying, but with the right help she could just about survive, although she would be claustrophobic and most likely scared of brewing potions. The gas its self is a strengthened potion of wither. Ellegaard also explained that there was a cure, but it was painful. Ivor went to jesses room. She looked so small, surrounded by the bed. She squeaked and squirmed in her sleep. She was pale and her stomach made awful growling noises. Ivor knew that the town didn't know that their hero was dying because of him. Or so he thought. In jesses mind, she was not in the chamber, but watching as her friends one by one were choked by a different gas. Purple. Then, they were replaced with darkness as she was placed back in the grey chamber to die once more. She snapped upwards. Then immediately regretted it as her body screamed in pain. She was in a cold sweat and her breathing erratic. Ivor asked if she wanted something to eat. Nodding and coughing once more, she flopped down onto the bed. The coughs were wheazy and partly squeaks. Ivor left the room and came back with a bowl of beetroot soup. Little did Jesse know that he had poured Ellegaards 'miracle cure' into the soup. As she drank it, her face turned from pained to satisfied. She finished it, and immediately looked better. There was a feint pink in her cheeks and her eyes didn't look as tired. Ivor smiled as her shoulders relaxed. "What was in that?" She asked, her voice still a little hoarse "A potion Ellegaard gave me, her doctors have a small supply of them after a boomtown civilian came to them with a dampened down set of the symptoms you have." "Oh! That's not good. But like what was in the cure." "Gunpowder, glowstone, potion of instant health, regen and a golden apple. So tell me, was PAMA there." "PAMA?! Ha. You're kidding. PAMA wasn't there why'd ya think that?" Ivor showed her the note. Jesse looked incredibly confused. "Wait wait wait wait wait that looks like hold on" Jesse scrambled about in her pockets for a book. "See. The handwriting is exactly the same." "Oh. Who's the book by." There was silence for about five minuets. "SOREN I SWEAR TO NOTCH I WILL RIP YOUR INTESTINES OUT AND SHOW THEM TO YOU!" Said Olivia angrily

#mcsm #mcsm jesse #mcsm ivor #mcsm harper #mcsm olivia #angst #sorta angsty

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kathleenseiber · 4 years

Text

Method regrows cartilage to cushion bones

Researchers have found a way, in mice and human tissue, to regenerate the cartilage that eases movement between bones.

Loss of this slippery and shock-absorbing tissue layer, called articular cartilage, is responsible for many cases of joint pain and arthritis, which afflicts more than 55 million Americans.

The researchers can envision a time when people are able to avoid getting arthritis in the first place by rejuvenating their cartilage before it is badly degraded.

Nearly 1 in 4 adult Americans suffer from arthritis, and far more are burdened by joint pain and inflammation generally.

The researchers figured out how to regrow articular cartilage by first causing slight injury to the joint tissue, then using chemical signals to steer the growth of skeletal stem cells as the injuries heal.

“Cartilage has practically zero regenerative potential in adulthood, so once it’s injured or gone, what we can do for patients has been very limited,” says co-senior author Charles K.F. Chan, assistant professor of surgery at Stanford University’s School of Medicine.

“It’s extremely gratifying to find a way to help the body regrow this important tissue,” Chan says.

Regrowing cartilage

The work builds on previous research that resulted in isolation of the skeletal stem cell, a self-renewing cell that is also responsible for the production of bone, cartilage and a special type of cell that helps blood cells develop in bone marrow.

Articular cartilage is a complex and specialized tissue that provides a slick and bouncy cushion between bones at the joints. When this cartilage is damaged by trauma, disease, or simply thins with age, bones can rub directly against each other, causing pain and inflammation, which can eventually result in arthritis.

Damaged cartilage can be treated through a technique called microfracture, in which tiny holes are drilled in the surface of a joint. The microfracture technique prompts the body to create new tissue in the joint, but the new tissue is not much like cartilage.

“I realized the only way to understand the process was to look at what stem cells are doing after microfracture.”

“Microfracture results in what is called fibrocartilage, which is really more like scar tissue than natural cartilage,” says Chan. “It covers the bone and is better than nothing, but it doesn’t have the bounce and elasticity of natural cartilage, and it tends to degrade relatively quickly.”

The most recent research arose, in part, through the work of surgeon and lead author Matthew Murphy, a visiting researcher at Stanford who is now at the University of Manchester.

“I never felt anyone really understood how microfracture really worked,” Murphy says. “I realized the only way to understand the process was to look at what stem cells are doing after microfracture.”

‘Steering’ the healing process

For a long time, Chan says, people assumed that adult cartilage did not regenerate after injury because the tissue did not have many skeletal stem cells that could be activated. Working in a mouse model, the team documented that microfracture did activate skeletal stem cells. Left to their own devices, however, those activated skeletal stem cells regenerated fibrocartilage in the joint.

But what if the healing process after microfracture could be steered toward development of cartilage and away from fibrocartilage?

The researchers knew that as bone develops, cells must first go through a cartilage stage before turning into bone. They had the idea that they might encourage the skeletal stem cells in the joint to start along a path toward becoming bone, but stop the process at the cartilage stage.

The researchers used a powerful molecule called bone morphogenetic protein 2 (BMP2) to initiate bone formation after microfracture, but then stopped the process midway with a molecule that blocked another signaling molecule important in bone formation, called vascular endothelial growth factor (VEGF).

“What we ended up with was cartilage that is made of the same sort of cells as natural cartilage with comparable mechanical properties, unlike the fibrocartilage that we usually get,” Chan says. “It also restored mobility to osteoarthritic mice and significantly reduced their pain.”

As a proof of principle that this might also work in humans, the researchers transferred human tissue into mice that were bred to not reject the tissue, and were able to show that human skeletal stem cells could be steered toward bone development but stopped at the cartilage stage.

What’s next?

The next stage of research is to conduct similar experiments in larger animals before starting human clinical trials. Murphy points out that because of the difficulty in working with very small mouse joints, there might be some improvements to the system they could make as they move into relatively larger joints.

The first human clinical trials might be for people who have arthritis in their fingers and toes. “We might start with small joints, and if that works we would move up to larger joints like knees,” Murphy says.

“Right now, one of the most common surgeries for arthritis in the fingers is to have the bone at the base of the thumb taken out. In such cases we might try this to save the joint, and if it doesn’t work we just take out the bone as we would have anyway. There’s a big potential for improvement, and the downside is that we would be back to where we were before.”

One advantage of their discovery is that the main components of a potential therapy are approved as safe and effective by the FDA, says co-senior author Michael Longaker, professor of surgery.

“BMP2 has already been approved for helping bone heal, and VEGF inhibitors are already used as anti-cancer therapies,” he says. “This would help speed the approval of any therapy we develop.”

Joint replacement surgery has revolutionized how doctors treat arthritis and is very common: By age 80, 1 in 10 people will have a hip replacement and 1 in 20 will have a knee replaced. But such joint replacement is extremely invasive, has a limited lifespan and is performed only after arthritis hits and patients endure lasting pain.

The researchers say they can envision a time when people are able to avoid getting arthritis in the first place by rejuvenating their cartilage in their joints before it is badly degraded.

“One idea is to follow a ‘Jiffy Lube’ model of cartilage replenishment,” Longaker says. “You don’t wait for damage to accumulate—you go in periodically and use this technique to boost your articular cartilage before you have a problem.”

The work appears in the journal Nature Medicine.

Support for the research came from the National Institutes of Health, the California Institute for Regenerative Medicine, the Oak Foundation, the Pitch Johnson Fund, the Gunn/Olivier Research Fund, the Stinehart/Reed Foundation, The Siebel Foundation, the Howard Hughes Medical Institute, the German Research Foundation, the PSRF National Endowment, National Center for Research Resources, the Prostate Cancer Research Foundation, the American Federation of Aging Research, and the Arthritis National Research Foundation.

Source: Stanford University

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