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crowbird · 11 months

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| LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ; l. kennedy x gn!reader

| WORD COUNT ; 4.1k | RELATIONSHIP ; leon scott kennedy x gn!reader | PLEASE NOTE ; post-re2 pre-re4, freshly coerced recruited leon kennedy, mention of mold, implied referenced familial alcoholism, reader has a service dog, that's not a warning i just need you to know | CROW’S NOTE ; as promised the credit for the title of this fic lies solely with the love of my life @realdarknesshasloveforaface thank you for beta-reading for a man you don't know jack shit about, there's another note at the end because fic spoilers, wrote this kicking my feet and giggling an shit.

Claustrophobia clung to the archives. A coffin wherein the corpses of documents best left forgotten lay without wake. A shallow grave dug several stories beneath the ground but not deep enough to be a proper burial. The ghosts of misfiled-paperwork-past hung over his shoulder as he stood in the doorway, breathing down his neck in the form of the artificial chill of air conditioning. The box in his arm, a makeshift urn laden with papers classified to even the highest of persons, ready to join its brethren amongst the shelves. Dust in the place of ashes as it would sit untouched until the day it met a delayed cremation. No words of the archives must be remembered; dust will accumulate but when words are discarded they will leave only ashes.

Leon Kennedy was not sure why he, of every possible errand boy, was asked to run this down to The Archivist. Perhaps it was because he was the rookie. Not a rookie, the rookie, once again, although he liked to think the first time didn’t really count. You can’t exactly be a rookie at one’s job when your place of work has been rendered so… sick, it no longer lives. But he was the newest personnel within the STRATCOM’s office, fresh out of training and newly coerced into a government position he did not want.

But that was not why he was here, well, it was. But that’s not why he was in the archives. In the archives, making mildly uncomfortable eye contact with a cat barely larger than his foot. The creature, normal and alive by all accounts he could know, let out a yawn. It’s jaw unhinged in the same way only a cat’s can do, displaying a mouth the same size as it’s torso before returning to form. The cat let out a small mewl before blinking up at him, as if indicating it was Leon’s turn.

Leon’s turn for what? He had absolutely no idea.

Shuffling from further inside the archives drew his attention, “I see you’ve met that one already…” The voice was tired but not unkind, soft but far from gentle. The Archivist came into view, they seemed like the sort of person that no matter their stature looked smaller than they were. Most people fill out space in a room, The Archivist seemed to take up negative space, wherein the air was not there. Unnerving was a good word for it, but there was kindness behind their eyes as they approached him. They held themselves with the sort of careful, tentative control only someone who knows exactly how much space they take up and how much strength is behind them can wield. As if they were worried they would scare him off, crush him like he was the kitten at his feet rather than the man he was.

They made a clicking noise with their tongue against their teeth, gesturing towards the creature as it scampered over to them.

Leon could only stare for a moment, stare at the place they stood as they scooped the kitten up into their arms and placed them within the pocket of the cardigan that dwarfed them. Everyone he had seen either wore a military uniform or a suit, sometimes both. The exceptions were the occasional secretary in office casual but The Archivist’s attire just seemed homey. Soft, warmer than what they would probably wear if they weren’t spending their working hours in the coldest part of the building.

“Hi,” they said, giving their name, “I’m not overly familiar with everyone upstairs but I assume you’re relatively new if you’ve been condemned to an archival run.” There was no humour in their words but they were neither cruel nor dry. Simply a fact, stated to his face as if it was normal. It must have been, he would later learn it was.

“Yeah,” he coughed, his voice had left his throat embarrassingly choked up. “Yes.” He said again, as if to negate his previous attempt, but The Archivist said nothing after and kept their gaze trained on his, unnerving and full and empty eyes meeting blue stained with the melancholy of a certain sunrise in 1998. “You aren’t going to deny it?”

“Hm?”

Leon swallowed, doing everything in his power to ignore the gaze that shifted from his eyes to his adam’s apple at the action, slowly trailing back to his lips as he spoke again. “I mean the rumors? You said it yourself that I was condemned to come down here,” he tried to laugh, add some brevity to his words, lighten the mood if you will. The Archivist made no change in expression, but moved their focus from his lips as they twisted down into an awkward sort of grimace.

“What do you think?”

“What?”

“The rumours, do you think that they’re true?” The Archivist sounded almost amused now. “I don’t actually know what most of them are but I heard the Marines think I’m some old man who lost his mind in the war and that’s why they keep me down here. Can’t spill any government secrets that way.”

Leon bit back a grin, only mildly successful as he handed them the box of documents, surprised but not displeased when they motioned for him to follow rather than leave. “Why are you down here then? Other than the obvious, the obvious being you took a job as an archivist I mean.” He tacked on the last sentence hurriedly.

The Archivist snorted, “I am down here because people like us do not have the liberty to choose our careers, they get chosen for us.”

The chill that had settled on Leon’s skin must have sunk down into his blood at their words. He licked his lips, he could not see their expression. Their pace did not falter a step or three ahead of him as they led him past a particularly packed shelf of floppy disks. They took a left here and led him to a door, stepping aside and turning to meet his gaze seemingly at last.

“Would you mind?”

“What?” He breathed, barely above a whisper.

“The door, my hands are filled,” they lifted the box they were holding as if to make a point and Leon found himself choking on his own embarrassment for what must have been the third time in the last half-hour.

“Right, of course.” He opened the door, and they nodded inside, telling him with oh so little subtlety to go in before they did. Leon licked his lips, absentmindedly tracing over where they had cracked. “Hey, do you know why they asked me to bring these down here?” The question was a little hurried, a little rushed, not even fully finished before he was cut off.

“Confidentiality risk, you know about BOWs already, if they made an intern do it like they do for marines or air force that might raise some questions. I’m not even the only archivist, the others just don’t work down here, I just handle this specific flavour of work.” They remarked, leading him into the room proper.

“I thought you were The Archivist?” The question sounded stupid, but they seemed to agree with him.

“I don’t know the others, I’m just told they exist by upper management, between you and me I think that’s a load of bullshit. No competent archivist would use whatever filing systems’ the air force has going on out there.” They set the box down on the desk with a huff, offering Leon an unspoken chance to observe the room.

It was an office. A desk older than the building itself, (although not in the antique sort of way) in the almost center of the room pushed back closer to the wall, the chair behind it looked out of place with how obviously it was from IKEA. A large dog blinked lazily up at the man from his corner, a service vest hanging next to him on a hook drilled into the wall. The shelves were filled with trinkets, and while there were no windows, there were enough lamps to make up for it. The overhead fluorescent lights were left untouched and the room felt all the safer for it.

The Archivist was pulling out one of the standard lanyards all employees were given. A parking pass, an id card for the office as well as any additional access keys if called for. Finding the right one, they placed it between their fingers before pausing, as if contemplating something. Wincing as they remembered whatever it must have been they reached down into their jacket pocket and procured a disgruntled looking kitten who honestly speaking, Leon had forgotten about.

“Would you mind carrying that again? I know this is getting rather convoluted in terms of storage.” They asked, gesturing to the box as they crossed the room to a door he hadn’t noticed. In his defense, a coat rack was placed in front of it and he watched them move it out of the way, careful as to not dislodge any of its inhabitants. The door was then unlocked and he promptly followed them in.

“Any reason why it would be so convoluted?” he asked, not expecting an answer.

“I assume it’s because the United States government didn’t ever consider zombies as a viable threat, psychic soviets? Of course. Corporations funding the creation of the undead? Not so much. So all of the bio-terrorism of this nature ends up back here because there isn’t space in the main archives to be afforded for it, that and another seven layers of confidentiality.”

Leon nodded, it made sense, and then their earlier words caught up to him, “Wait psychic soviets?”

“It was a cold war thing.”

“You’re serious.”

“You are carrying a box of files about how a company named after a house hold object decided to fuck around and find out and the fact that the united states government fell for a ruse from a single USSR broadcast is the part you find hard to believe?”

It was then that the dam broke so to speak, and rather than a floodgate of tears, for the first time since Racoon City, Leon found himself laughing. Genuine honest laughter, not from shock or horror, not a chuckle at a joke but a deep and joyful sound which fell from his lips in waves.

“I fail to see what is so funny.” The Archivist muttered, taking the box from him lest he drop it in his fit. He could see a glint of amusement in their eyes. He made no comment on it.

“Sorry, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, it’s good to hear someone laugh.”

“I— ahem. Right, well, I actually. Okay.” He took a breath, collecting his thoughts before he finally managed to spit out the words that had been plaguing his curiosity for so long. “What did you mean when you said people like us earlier?”

The Archivist looked at him from where they were, further into the room as they pushed the box onto a shelf, “Umbrella isn’t a company exclusive to the states.”

“You’re not American?”

“I don’t even have American citizenship. It’s complicated.”

“As complicated as Racoon City?” Leon said, taking a shot in the dark, blind and no semblance of a target and yet he still managed to hit it.

“Yes, something like that.” They nodded, “I won’t pry if you don’t. But don’t expect any pity or sympathy from me, I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“I can get behind that.” He folded his arms as he looked at them. When most people found out he had been there, they tiptoed around the issue, making care not to mention it. If they did it was with honey words and strained condolences. But The Archivist glanced back at him and seemed to flush if only for a moment, an action odd considering he could not see any blood rush to their face. But it was the way they stiffed and straightened before avoiding his gaze, it was endearing he decided. Having someone not tip toe around him was refreshing for sure… but unlike the others who might not talk around the subject, The Archivist did not dismiss it.

“Okay one last question, what’s with the cat? Also the dog?” Leon was grinning now.

“That was two questions, Agent Kennedy.”

“Humour me?”

“Fine, but let’s get back to my office, I hate being back here, it always smells vaguely of mold.”

“I don’t smell anything?”

“Probably because there isn’t any mold.”

“Why do you smell it then?”

The Archivist hesitated, he could see it as they passed him swiftly that they hadn’t meant to make note of the smell out loud. Leon guessed they must have driven themselves into a corner, gotten too comfortable and let something slip. He’d done it once before, when sparing he’d made a joke if Krauser’s favourite colour was also red after he had his ass handed to him by the man. Krauser had proceeded to grill him on what he meant by that, and Leon shut down, not wanting to think about his infatuation withfor the stranger from Racoon City that fell with her down into the pit.

So he didn’t let them speak about it and instead offered a door, figuratively and literally as he held the door for them to their office, “Seriously, are you even allowed to have pets down here?”

The Archivist relaxed, striding past him into their office with a shrug, “would you like something to drink? Also Link isn’t a pet he’s a working boy thank you very much, he’s just on his break.” They said, gesturing to their dog.

“He’s a service dog then?”

“Yeah, there’s a reason I’m down here and not being forced to play pet for the higher ups.” They froze, winced and coughed, “no offense.”

“None-taken,” amused more than offended, Leon took another glance around the room. On the top left corner of the book shelf a cactus was bathing under a led lamp and a poorly carved wooden statuette next to it. The statue might have been a bird, if he squinted, when he didn’t it looked rather like a fish.

“Hot chocolate or tea.” The question tore him away from the not-fish-but-in-fact-bird-maybe statue. “To drink I mean.”

“No coffee?”

“I despise coffee.”

Leon took note of that for later. Why? He hadn’t quite decided yet.

“So if Link is a service dog, what’s with the cat?”

“She has separation anxiety.”

He blinked, looked at them again from where they stood next to an electric burner, avoiding his gaze. A cartoon of milk was taken from the mini-fridge and he grinned, “the good stuff then? Not just water?”

“Hot chocolate made with water is an abomination.”

“Do you keep a burner and pot in your office exclusively for that?”

“All the staff rooms are above the main floor. I don't want to have to trek all the way up there every time, I can just rinse it in the bathroom sink when I’m done. I am the only one down here.”

“Wait, it's just you down here? You said there are other archivists supposedly but aren’t there also like assistants or something?”

“I can’t spill any government secrets if I’m too busy to even spill a drink. Do you have a mug preference?”

“Er, no. Also sorry for asking.”

“You don’t set my shifts, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Right, sorry.”

“Leon.”

He looked up, they were holding two mugs, one of which had “hey listen” painted on in fancy text next to a blue pall of light wearing insect wings, the other mug was covered in text too small for him to read where he stood. “Yes?” His voice almost cracked, thank god it didn’t, he might have died, curled up in the only room of the archives that wasn’t a coffin and melted into the space in between the floorboards to rot if it had.

“You don’t have to apologize for everything, if you can’t think of anything to say that’s fine. I’m not normally this chatty anyways, you aren’t the only one in unfamiliar territory.”

Leon took the mug, the one with the strange little insect, (maybe it was supposed to be an artistic rendition of a fairy?) from them, sipping the rich sweet drink inside. “I haven’t been around people properly much.” He admitted, “I used to be good at talking to them but…”

“It’s been hard?”

“Yeah.”

“If you ever want practice you’re welcome down here.” The words surprised The Archivist as much as they did him. He watched as they looked away from him, hiding behind their mug as they took a long drink, before immediately making their way to the desk. “But it might also be in your best interest to get a companion, someone to keep you company, for example,” they rambled on, “this little guy.”

They pointed at the cat and he stared at them, swallowing quickly to prevent his hot chocolate from dribbling back into his cup from the shock. Only to end up choking on it. Recovering he frowned, looking at The Archivist, then at the cat and then The Archivist again. “I’m not much of a cat person?”

They looked at him over the rim of their mug, eyes digging past his excuses to scrutinize his very soul. It was a lie, obviously. Leon wasn’t a bad liar persay, but in the presence of The Archivist he might as well have been Pinocchio for his cues were quite obvious. All in all, he was neither a cat or a dog person, but he liked them both fine. He had enjoyed the brief amount of training he did with police dogs and had grown up cat-sitting for an elderly lady down the street. He was never quite sure where she went when he was watching her old ginger tom but the pay was decent enough to prevent any complaints. Besides, it made sense, the poor creature not only had its head filled with rocks and screwed on backwards but it might as well have been a comedy act with how stupid it could be. Leon could not remember that cat’s name for the life of him, but he liked to tell himself that it made those years of his childhood worth it.

“You’re going to have to get better at lying if you want to stay in this line of work, Agent.” they said, something like a smile twitching at their expression.

“I’m normally a fine liar,” he defended.

“Normally?”

“Uh…”

“Do I make you nervous, agent Kennedy? I’m flattered.”

Leon took a page out of their book then, choosing to hide any proof of how flustered he was with a long swig from his mug. The chocolate was sweet and warm and flooded him with a comfort he hadn’t felt in quite some time. The feeling could have been mistaken for nostalgia if he had anything to miss.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Leon.”

“Alright Leon.”

Okay maybe that was a mistake, he thought to himself. There was nothing special about The Archivist like there had been about the stranger in red (who’s name was probably a lie but he did not want to remember regardless). That person had been perfect, so inhumanly perfect that he found infatuation born of the trauma the situation had given birth to, was projected onto her from their first meeting. It was a high, he’d never done drugs but he was sure that’s what it must feel like. That rush of endorphins that flooded him.

Yet when he came down from that high and things were so much worse and he was left to contemplate the consequences of actions taken with a mind not fully there from stress. If drugs were anything like that high he decided he would never do them as long as he lived.

(Although he would lie to himself that alcohol didn’t count, some habits are in people’s blood after all).

But The Archivist offered the company of someone who knew that high, although he did not know how, they all but confirmed it if only in a different place or a different time. It was reassuring. For starters, there was something about the sheer normalcy they offered, they did not treat him as special, or a hero, or anything but another person.

He had wanted to be a hero once, and in some ways he still did. Giving up one’s freedom to save a little girl they barely knew could be considered quite the heroic act.

(Between him, the bottle and eventually his grave, he regretted that decision sometimes. Only to drink all the more if only to drown out the self hatred that stirred.)

The kitten at his feet, when had the kitten gotten back to his feet? He didn’t know. Regardless, the kitten at his feet let out a mewl as she stretched, paws placed on his overly polished shoes. When she retraced her paws Leon could make out the slightest of intents from where her claws had flexed into the leather.

“I think you should try it, it seems like she likes you after all.” He didn't need to look at The Archivist to know they were grinning now, he could hear it in their voice as he heard them take their seats.

“I can’t look after a cat, I’m expected to be out of the country on missions half the time and in here working my ass off the other quarter.” Leon said, squatting down to scratch behind the creature’s ears as she purred affectionately, practically rolling into his hand at the action.

“I can cat sit while you’re away.”

“Is no an option?”

“Of course it’s an option, you just look like you need the company. Not in a bad way.”

If anyone else had told him that he thinks he would be insulted, rightfully so as well, but there was no mocking tone. There was no scathing look. There was no judgment. There was simply, a sad comradery shared between two people in that moment. If he had gone to the weekly therapy sessions like he was supposed to he might have had a stronger foundation to refuse. But the walls of an argument made of wet paper had long since caved in.

“If, if I did adopt her, when would I be able to take her home.” He asked, words soft and far more vulnerable than he was comfortable with.

“Whenever it works for you, sooner rather than later, preferably. When you have away missions just let me know and I can let her stay at my place, she’ll be down here with me whenever you want to pick her up.” The Archivist said, they didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the papers strewn across their desk. He was grateful for the privacy that action offered.

He nodded, remembered they weren’t looking at him and made a sound of affirmation. Straightening his posture, Leon took a final drink from the mug, his question as to where he should place it cut off as The Archivist simply gestured for him to set it down off to the side of their desk. He did, a little guiltily, before clearing his throat, as he readied himself to leave. “Thank you for the drink.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure.”

“I’ll pick her up tomorrow after work, does that work for you?”

“Yes, just come down here before you leave.”

“When do you get off?”

“I promise you I will still be here when you leave.” they looked up, amusement and a wry smile painted their face before they did a double take at Leon's own expression.

“That’s not the only reason why I was asking,” he shrugged, doing his best to play it off, as he backed out of their office, hand fumbling for their door knob behind him. Leon didn’t turn away to open the door, no, he wanted to meet their eyes one more time.

“We’re friends now, right?” The Archivist asked.

“I think so.”

Leon was in the elevator, three floors above ground level when his brain finally processed everything. He had a cat, and he had a friend. Maybe? He wasn’t sure that was how friendships worked, none of his past ones had come about like that. Maybe that was fine though.

By the time he had arrived back on his floor he had forgotten the rumors he’d heard of the archives and it’s graves-keeper. The tomb and stench of mold were all but forgotten as Leon’s mind flicked back and forth to everything he remembered about various cat food brands and the typical first day anxieties of a new workplace, thankfully not involving the undead this time, mostly.

| SONG ; like real people do by hozier

| TAGLIST ; @lysol1201 @uhlunaro (join my murder of crows here)

| CROW'S NOTE CONT. ; useless information but the reason this part is in third person is because Leon went into the interaction not knowing the archivist, from now on they will be referred to by narration with you/your pronouns since i'm largely aiming to tell it from his pov, i will continue to refer to them with they/them pronouns. if anyone has thoughts or feelings about them send me requests because i will write them for these two. also yes, yes i am in fact implying shit about the reader's backstory. yes i am talking about that mold. yes they are not american, while it will never been specified where they are from yes they do at least have one relative from eastern europe, do with this information as you will :)

all works related to some form of published and copyrighted media showcased on this blog are fanworks and i do not own the source material that being said do not copy, modify, translate, claim, or repost my work to any other social media platform, same goes with using it for asmr audios, please do not use my work or i can and will reformat your anatomy

#crowbird's storytime #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #i am the evil resident #they're so silly #i'm so normal about them i swear #nothing bad will ever happen to them probably (lying)

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ferrarrii · 8 months

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Most normal guy named David

#se7en #se7en (1995)#brad pitt #david mills #he is literally me #kitten!! hes so adorkable!!#silly litte detective man #nothing bad ever happened to him I swear!#i literally am him you don't understand hes so me!!#silly #gay #tragic little man:3 #idk what else to tag #william somerset #detective mills #detective somerset #john doe

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everyscreentoobeseen · 6 months

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I just read a take that nothing bad ever happens to Stede Bonnet and he never has consequences to his actions.

Did we watch two different shows???? Cuz yall literally sound like Nigel Badminton before he tripped.

#once again #i must defend stede from media illiteracy #ofmd #ofmd s2 #our flag means death #stede bonnet #literally almost everything stede does wrong he gets punishment for later #i swear the take was word for word Nigel's last words.#“nothing bad ever happens to God's perfect little rich boy”#if you dont like the character just say it #but just because he was mean to your fave #doesn't mean he needs to get dead doved

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angelic-ish-phantom · 2 years

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Dannymay7

Lab safety

“This doesn’t sound safe.” Jazz protested. From the look on her face, Danny thought she might have been trying to sound judgmental, but she only managed worried.

“Relax, Jazzy.” Dad said, “Dann-o’s more than old enough to be allowed in the lab. Besides, he actually wants to do some chores for a change!”

“He already does…” Jazz murmured.

“I wanna help in the basement!” Danny insisted, jumping excitedly.

“But what if he gets hurt!” His sister insisted.

“Danny what are our rules?” Mom asked absently.

“Um- No, no being in the lab without adult superstition,”

oOo

Danny felt a wave of regret as he walked down the basement steps. His legs grew lead-heavy, and he slowed to a nervous amble-shuffle behind his two closest—only—friends, wishing, not for the first time, that he had put a stop to this excursion when it had only been an idea.

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how Sam and Tucker had made this sound so appealing.

“Guys, there really isn’t anything interesting down there” he attempted, uncertain. It was technically true, for all the time his parents spent down there—a familiar pang of resentment struck him, a twisted blade in an old wound—few things in the lab worked, as many of them required ‘ghosts’ to be tested or demonstrated; nearly every single one of his parents’ gadgets was a product of ‘ludicrous delusions’ (as Jazz had put it) despite the fact they were able to construct ridiculously complex and advanced technology based on their fictional creatures.

“Danny, You live here. You’re hardly one to judge.” Tucker said, excitement tinting his voice, and while Danny couldn’t deny that was valid, it was hardly fair.

“Plus, you said they’ve been building a portal, how do you not hear how cool that sounds?” Sam countered easily, stopping in her descent to lightly grab his wrist, and began pulling him along. He almost abandoned his protest.

The portal. It was his parents’ life’s work. The hole in the wall of the lab had been there since before he was born, and anytime he caught his parents going over theories, or blueprints, or just any aspect of their profession, the portal came up. It was even the reason they weren’t home; Jazz had pushed them to stop moping at its failure, called their festering dependence on its success unhealthy, and told them to go out and enjoy themselves, and Danny admittedly couldn’t remember the last time his parents left the house for anything that was purely recreational.

It was actually unbelievable that the portal hadn’t come up prominently in a conversation with his best friends before… Although It had been on the forefront of Danny’s mind lately. He thought it’s completion (it’s failure) might mean his parents would drop the whole ‘ghost hunters’ thing—not that he could imagine that—and hopefully pursue a normal career, or at least obsess over something more… tangible.

“Come on dude, your parents are never out. We might not get the chance to check it out again. Plus, you’ve got to admit it does sound cool. What’s the harm?”

oOo

“Supervision.” Jazz corrected.

“That’s what I said! Don’t interrupt or I’ll forget!”

“If you forget them, then you don’t know them and you should be allowed in the lab! Danny it’s dangerous.”

Danny scowled and ignored her, counting off the second rule on his fingers as he continued, “Always wear my science suit,”

oOo

“What is it?” He asked, curious. Sam turned and looked at him, before a devious, mirthful glint entered her eyes. He shouldn’t have asked, terrible idea, he’d never felt so much regret..

“Danny, you should go inside the portal.” She said waving her camera. Oh. He tried to protest.

“I really shouldn’t. It could be dangerous.” He offered.

“You said it doesn’t work, so there shouldn’t be any problem.” Tucker countered, teasing, a silent dare on the words, as he moved to stand with him and Sam.

“Tuck…” Danny groaned.

“That settles it.” Sam half-cheered, pushing him towards the wall opening.

“But, the radiation—” Danny started, digging his feet into the ground. He knew that line of argument was pointless; ‘ectoplasmic radiation’ could potentially do some terrifying things—the fridge was a prime example of that—but with the concentration the portal was emitting, the worst he could get was something akin to a sunburn (plus contamination). His parent must have told him a thousand times at this point, and always they followed up with attempts to talk him and Jazz into wearing their—

“Didn’t you say you had a hazmat suit in here.” Sam interrupted, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

“There’s a box of clothes on that cabinet.” Tucker pointed out, already moving to carry it down.

“…There are open wires in there.” Danny knew his objections had devolved into whining at this point.

Sam simply raised an eyebrow, letting her eyes fall to the thick wires that ran across the portal floor, and the few, spark-less cut ones tucked neatly to the sides of the portal. Danny’s shoulders slumped as he admit defeat.

“Just one picture.” Danny compromised heading over to the box, Tucker was already digging through.

Sam appeared to be opposed, but didn’t say otherwise. “one picture,” she assured, following him.

In the box, there were four complete hazmat suits, only two of them being his size: One orange, one a pale white. Danny chose the white one, because it was the same make as the ones his parents constantly dawned, while the other, while thicker, rigged with lead and metal parts that would offer more protection, it might have taken him hours to figure out how to put on complex article, even with Sam and Tucker’s help.

He quickly unzipped it, slipping into the suit easily and zipping it up over his clothes, before looking down at himself with a pained expression.

“I look ridiculous.” He said into his gloved hands, covering the emerging blush.

Sam walked up to him and ripped off the sticker of his father’s face that had been stuck on the centre of his chest. “Problem solved.” She deadpanned.

Danny groaned, but conceded. He headed towards the portal entrance, keeping a hand on the edge. He looked back: Tucker was grinning madly, and Sam beckoned him forward, camera still in hand. He sighed and gazed back into the portal.

oOo

“-and… never ever play with any of the stuff mom and dad build.” He finished smugly.

oOo

“If I die, I’m going to haunt both of you!” Danny threw over his shoulder, much the amusement of his closest companions.

Step. Step. Step.

Danny felt himself becoming more weighed down with each step. Anxieties and fears pooling in his gut, knotting his stomach. He breathed out slowly, attempting to push back the pointless dread he felt. He continued to tensely tiptoe over the wires. Nothing in here could hurt him. He flinched at a released puff of steam. So why was he so afraid?

He turned around to see Sam’s camera raised. He gave, a small, shaky smile.

Flash.

Danny rubbed his eyes, stumbling a bit, but caught himself. Tucker looked over Sam’s shoulder as she shook out the photo; he waited.

“It’s good!” She called over to him. Good. He could get out of here now.

“This one’s definitely a keeper!” Tucker declared merrily, snatching it out of Sam’s hand and holding it up to his own face.

“Hey!” Sam complained reaching for it, but Tucker held It out of her reach. He was the tallest of the three of them, so Sam shouldn’t have been able to get it back. A kick to the shins accompanied by a yelp, and Tucker was down.

Danny sighed fondly. Tucker may be tall, but Sam was Sam.

Danny watched the scene, a genuine smile stretching across his face. “Just make sure my parents don’t see it or they’ll never let me take this stupid jumpsuit off.” Danny was only half joking, and judging by the way his Sam cackled, while Tucker tried to hide his snorts, they could tell. He eased up, moving an arm up to lean against the wall of the portal.

It hit him like a brick.

Pure unadulterated dread, as he commit to the action, the unnatural air that had been resting over the house, over Amity as a whole, turned cloying and thick.

Something was coming, something was coming. Something was coming. SomethingwascomingSomethingwascom—

Click.

A lot of things happened in the next instant.

The first thing Danny saw was white. Well, he wasn’t so sure he’d seen it, as opposed to feeling it: hot white, seething on the surface of his skin, running up his arm and phasing deeper and deeper until Danny was sure he was feeling his bones, the light cutting through the fibres of his being, tiny needles made from static.

It hurt.

He was hyperaware; he was cognisant of every part of his body. He was connected with the rims of his bleeding ears, felt the backs of his eyes roll as they charred and shrivelled, tasted his too-dry organs as if they were a bad meal coming back up.

It hurt.

The next thing Danny saw was green. At this point Danny was sure he had been frozen in the blistering light-heat for some long agonising minutes, but only when that chilling of green washed over him, through him—hitting him like the weight of an avalanche in a dream, fuzzy and not there with a force—did he acknowledge time had slowed, that he hadn’t even been there for a second.

Ithurt.

Reality twisted upright upon the green’s impact and Danny finally felt, full-force, something he knew was present, but hadn’t truly been able to process before then. He was in pain. He was burning and freezing all over. His body was being grated away at. He vaguely recalled when he was eight and Dash had shoved him into the pavement while he’d been running from him: the scrapes were deep on his knees and hands, and his split open lip made eating burn for days; the pain felt dull and quiet compared to this. But, that memory played in the back of his mind, meanwhile, any semblance of coherent thought fizzed away, the contorting sensations and sharp agonies trying to erase him, leave only cold ashes behind.

(His last real thought was doused In relief; he thanked every star in the sky that this had been his mistake, that Sam and Tucker were safe and wouldn’t have to feel this torture. They should never have to.)

Ithurt Ithurt Ithurt

Seconds passed and that thrum of awareness that had let him feel everything as he was cooked Inside out, dulled painfully. Slowly. Enough for him to regain thought, to try and make his lungs work (to no avail), to try and blink away the fire only to find his eyelids just weren’t there anymore.

Ithurtithurtihurt

He felt something heavy grow in his chest (or maybe somewhere far away? He wasn’t too sure) and pull pieces of his mind away. Coax pieces of something more him than his mind, something more.

He wasn’t as resistant to it as he should have been, instead letting it lump within him—it felt like that strange green—take charge while memories resurfaced. He just wanted the pain to stop.

ItHuRt iTHurT IthUrT—

Suddenly, Danny remembered. He remembered when Jazz took him to school on his first day of first grade. He remembered how happy he was when she’d gotten him a toy rocket for show and tell. He remembered looking up at her and telling her exactly what he’d always thought; Jazzy was the best sister in the world and he wanted to be smart and amazing like her. He remembers how he met Tucker when he was crying, because Ryan had torn his new Barrett, and Danny had snagged it back, hid it away, and later offered to help him fix it. He remembers how happy he was when his mom taught him how to sew (even though he already knew how), and he remembered how ecstatic he was when she tried to teach him how to cook for the first time. He remembers how joyous he felt when his dad agreed to come in for careers day. He remembered how much he regret asking. He remembered the whispers of freak, and the way they’d called his parents loons. He remembered the way Star and Mickey, and Lester, and Ashley, and Mia wouldn’t hang around him anymore. He remembered feeling alone. He remembered when Tucker didn’t leave. He remembered the way his teachers looked at him with disappointment, thinking he couldn’t be smart like Jazz. He remembered trying to prove them wrong. He remembered getting fed up with Dash and Dale’s when their teasing and tormenting got worse for everyone when they got on the football team. He remembered Dash taking everything he did as a challenge. He remembered getting in trouble for fighting Dash even though he never fought back. He remembered some of his peers stopped insulting him when he passed by. He remembered when some of them thanked him. He remembered when he didn’t tell Jazz but she knew anyway. He remembered when the men in white coats came to his house and his parents argued with them really loudly. He remembered when his parents started spending even more time in the basement. He remembered spending a week at Tucker’s house before his parent noticed he was missing in the third grade. He remembered when his family stargazed together for the last time. He remembered when he grew a taste for exploration. He remembered when he decided he wanted to be an astronaut. He remembered first seeing Sam at recess in fourth grade when her parents let her go to public school, admiring the flowers. He remembered making her a flower crown with all the best colours. He remembered her yelling at him for picking the flowers. He remembered him and Tucker helping her take care of a bent tree In the schoolyard. He remembered Dash destroying it. He remembered catching the chickenpox, and giving it to Jazz. He remembered their parents looking after them even if his dad thought ghosts had made them sick and tried to decontaminate them. He remembered when Paulina stopped talking, to him and asking him to braid her hair, even though it had been in secret, and started calling him names too. He remembered not wanting to hurt anymore. He remembered when the names stopped making him too upset. He remembered when he finally acknowledged his parents weren’t quite normal. He remembered when Jazz got him a toy telescope for his birthday. He remembered that being the second time his parents forgot his birthday. He remembered finding that injured rabbit in the park. He remembered how he, Sam and Tucker had taken turns hiding It while they took care of it. He remembered when Sam’s parents found it. He remembered the first time her parents had said what they thought of him to his face. He remembered not wanting to feel inadequate. He remembered how happy he was when Mickey started asking him for help in physics. He remembered when Jazz stopped pretending that she wasn’t psychoanalyzing him. He remembered when Jazz and his parents got him a real telescope for his birthday. He remembered his first day of high school being memorably mundane. He remembered when Mia and Rachel asked to use his telescope. He remembered agreeing to meet them in the park next Friday…

(Danny fixated on something, several things actually, as the events of his life flashed by in a haze of vivid joys and regrets. He tried to place it… he wished he’d done more. More things he’d wanted to do. He wished that he’d succeeded more, that he’d done more to help. He’d always cared about being useful. He’d never wanted people to feel bad, or hurt, or ignored, but… he felt, for all he’d tried, he could have done more. He wanted to do more.)

ｉｔｈｕｒｔｓ.

Danny remembered going Into the lab with Sam and Tucker. He remembered going inside the portal. He remembered the switch being on the inside. He remembered…

He couldn’t remember.

He couldn’t remember anything. His mind went blank as one by one his senses switched off, that odd energy, a second brain, still trying to pick at his mind, scavenging memories and something more. What was left of his eyes stopped seeing light, leaving him in a painless dark. Then, He became deaf to the thrum of electricity and the crackle of energy as his now brittle bones shattered away, the desperate yells from something beyond the haze of green and light. Next, his hoarse voice went quiet (had he been screaming?) as his mouth sealed shut, the coppery taste of blood faded as his black, crinkled tongue became numb. He couldn’t smell the burning; he couldn’t breathe. He felt shadows embrace his consciousness, guiding him away from his body once he’d lost feeling in it. The shadows became clearer, a single dominating presence ruling them all, plunging him into a cold pool, emitting surety and gentle reassurance. Everything went dark.

It was like an outstretched hand had taken a hold of his psyche, and he could tell it was going to take him somewhere much better.

Nothing hurt.

oOo

“Honestly honey, you worry too much.” Maddie said, ruffling Jazz’s hair in a way Danny knew she didn’t like. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

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char-lie-spirals · 1 year

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I am glad to let you all know that my "Graham Folger lives and therefore nothing bad ever happens" Google Doc is at over 10k words and covers my plans for everything from the events of MAG 3 to the season 4 finale. It's still a bit rough at a few points but honestly, I'm happy calling it basically finished!

...Now only to actually write it.

#I will! I'll start a new Google doc tomorrow I swear! For now tho I am Done with it for today #Oh but if you have questions about the AU I am 110% open to those!!#Also if you saw me post a similar post yesterday no you didn't. I forgot a giant plot hole and a few [fill this later]s but they are fixed #Graham Folger #<- I might be a coward but I am still using the tag #Graham Folger Lives and Therefore Nothing Bad Ever Happens AU

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pepprs · 8 months

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ok. giving myself 4 minutes to make this post and then i finish my homework. i just am so deeply miserable. i really think i made a mistake. i should not be in grad school. i only took a year between this and undergrad and i am still so burned out and mentally ill. im working full time. im only taking one class and this program is supposed to be so good and aligned with what i want and all of that. but i just cant stand having homework. i just cant stand it. i think i am not cut out for academia even though i work in academia. i think i will never get better as long as im still living at home but i have to get better before i can no longer be living at home but i cant get better until im not living at home and every day i still live at home saps away at my will to live quite literally. i should not have started doing grad school without regaining my will to live. without restoring my love for reading and writing that i used to have voraciously when i was younger and less deeply miserable. without recovering from the burnout. i think i made a mistake. i need a masters degree so bad so that i can be safe but i need to not have fucking homework when i already struggle to get through my days without school. i feel so stuck in my life and hopeless and helpless. i dont know what to do

#purrs #i cant drop out or anything because. lol and this class isnt even that big of a deal like i TRULY am freaking out over nothing. but my life #situation is so bad rn bro like i cant get my parents to take me out to drive and i cant get myself to get my parents to take me out to #drive and every day i am guilt tripped berated etc etc and i feel like i am never ever ever going to be able to have my own life where i a #stable and safe and happy. it can happen for other people except for me and my siblings. i dont know. im not explaining anything well.#i just cant do this. i need to not have this one more thing on my plate but i have to because if i dont have a masters degree in my field i #am nothing even though everyone is telling me that isnt true and all of them are credible but im just so mentally ill i cant believe anyone #and icant accept any advice or hope or whatever good about me i just. am stuck. this is as good as it gets and its not even good.#delete later #that was 7 minutes not 4 and i didnt even write anything substantial. nutshell. i just have been so fucking depressed lately oh my goddddd #this is maybe too strong of a thing to say but like. i know it isnt technically neglect if i am an adult but... i think i may kind of be #neglected by my family in some ways a little bit and always have been but like. emotionally. like in the ways in which im never a priority #and the things i need are seen as burdens etc etc. and theres nothing anyone can do about it even myself because im an adult but like lol.#24 year old dependent moment <3 #well there is one thing i can do about it as an adult actually. its called move out. but that requires strength i will #never possess unfortunately due to the inherent flaws in my character and constitution so. guess this is it lawl 🥰#side note (and i swear im done after this lol): i think i was doing a lot better mentally over the summer. funny how when the semester #starts i get depressed and the depression just gets worse and worse until the end of the semester 😻 funny how this is my seventh year like #this. willingly subjecting myself to this. that should be a clue no? but i love my job and if i could just have my job and be stable in it #would be happier but also im lying to mysaelf and i will always be unhappy but its because of my mental illness not my job being bad or #anything its like. i am just sick in the head with impostor syndrome and thats how i got myself into this whole mess. lol #well that and the not moving out thing which is partially my fault but also because i live in hell as described earlier! <3

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vellichorsdesire · 2 months

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giggling crumpling on the floor and throwing up my f/o is so cute. oh my god.

#fucking hell i am ruined for this guy #have i ever sweared on here? um.#but i just finished an animatic that includes them. along with other characters in their source and oh my god #they’re such an interesting character to me always i love. thinking about them and their actions and their relationships wit others and and #AGH….. it was actually a silly crack animatic but. i added in a little dialogue at the end between them and a character they hate(?)#just for funnies honestly. just to ruin my friend #his smile dropped so fast seeing the video wasnt even halfway done itsso funny #BUT LIKE. BACK ON TOPIC #my f/o is cute and i love them and treasure them forever but i believe they should be crushed under a hydraulic press #and also i hope nothing bad happens to them <3 heart #❥ vels ramblings

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toaster-selfships · 3 months

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I normally don't make vent posts on this blog(even though no one really sees this blog anyways) but I'm going to completely spill in the tags ✌️JCJDJSJ

#i swear i used to be able to gush so much #and then a bunch of stuff happened and now i feel a weird feeling in my stomach every time i do it #it just feels like its a waste of time or no one really cares about what im saying #i talk with a selfshipping friend on discord and they gush all the time and i feel like i can never get a word in #i still gush a bunch but i just feel like im taking up space and time whenever i vocalize it #i feel like no one cares #like normally if youre friend is into something you care about that something as well a little or have some compassion for iy #cause its important to your friend so it has some value to you as well #i feel like there is zero value or care or compassion for what i say #but like...especially with gushing #i so wish i could describe the feeling or have words for it cause its such a unique feeling that i havent entirely felt before #i feel like theres never any room for me to talk. like theres only enough time for others to talk and nothing left over for me #or like im constantly interrupting every conversation even if its dead silent and we havent talked in an hour #or like i always bring it up at a bad time #i used to be able to gush so much and so freely but now i feel like i feel bad after every time i do it #even sometimes i feel bad gushing HERE. on MY blog that is for SELFSHIPPING and gushing and talking about my F/Os #sometimes i have trouvle even tryint to gush cause it feels like i dont even know what to say anymore cause i hardly ever get to do it #like everything is always about someone else and never about me

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m00ngbin · 4 months

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Uh warning this whole thing is me complaining about my bones and pain and stuff so if you're sick of hearing about that you should probably ignore this

Whatever's wrong with my knee spread to my hip so I think that maybe I WILL be needing a cane or something soon and it's not just a joke I was making cause I had to keep sitting down in random places

Joke might be the wrong word because it wasn't really a joke and it wasn't funny, I was just trying to be lighthearted and it didn't seem like it was really happening or that it was probable

#sorry if we're ever in a public place and i suddenly make us stop so i can sit down for a few seconds #its not because im lazy or im trying to be annoying i swear #something ive been thinking about is disability #i don't think im disabled because i can still get around and do things but sometimes it is a little difficult and im worried that #in the future I'll have a really hard time walking without pain and ill have to depend on someone more than i already do #im already going to need to live with someone for the rest of my life anyway because of mental health stuff and i really dont want to have #to give up what freedom i have left #i read somewhere that disability forces you to rely on people and it takes away your independence and totally overhauls your life #and that disability really destroys your walls surrounding asking others for help/support #being independent and being self sufficient #i pride myself on my independence and self sufficiency and seeing that slowly start trickling away while theres nothing i can do about it #and nobody knows what to do to stop it is really painful #maybe it wont get so bad that ill be fully reliant but the possibility is there and not knowing is really scary #my choice and my autonomy are being ripped away and it not a person thats doing it its my own body #im not in control of my own body anymore #maybe im being dramatic but it really doesnt feel like it #because i am slowly watching my joints get worse and i am completely helpless. i cant do anything. im watching whatever this is spread and #not a single person can tell me what it is or why its happening

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misfortunegirl · 11 months

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having bpd moments is so embarrassing

#imaginw not going insane when you sense abandonment. cound Not be me(⁠θ⁠‿⁠θ⁠)#like. how di i explain what happened was NOT me. i emotionally black out and its like a completely different person takes over and then im #left having to deal with the aftermath and being like god fucking damnit i did it again.#having romantic relationships makes my bpd 26272727 times more intense #youd swear I was almost neurotypical if you were to see me when i dont have any romance going on.#well. at least i havent done or said anything that bad. i resisted the bad urges somehow??#having my brain wired this way is literally hell #i feel like my medication does nothing for me #i dont know if it ever did do anything #/⁠╲⁠/⁠\⁠╭⁠(⁠•⁠‿⁠•⁠)⁠╮⁠/⁠\⁠╱⁠\#i have a presentation due in a week and my first exam in 10 days AND IM LITERALLY DOING NOTHING #i need to start the presentation at least 😀

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chargoeson · 1 month

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lore drop i also make quilts and this is my latest WIP

#if you gather enough hobbies nothing bad ever happens!!!#i swear piecing this together gave me a migraine but i have probably another 15-20 hours left on it

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autismserenity · 3 months

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know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

#covid isn't over #covid 19 #disability rights #disability advocacy #wear a mask #covid conscious #covid cautious #mask up #wall of words #public health #health care

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