#(also might need to get surgery but it’s not set in stone yet )

[sonoftatooine]

Whumptober 2021

DAY 3: ‘STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT...’ - ‘WHO DID THIS TO YOU?’

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Implied abuse, scars, panic attack

Summary: Continuation of my AU where raised as a Sith Anakin saves Padmé from execution by the Separatists (first two fics here and here). Having managed to get a wounded Darth Vader medical attention at a remote facility on Polis Massa, Senator Padmé Amidala tries to figure out what their next move should be with the threat of her unlikely saviour’s Sith master looming over their heads.

***

The bright lights of the medcenter on Polis Massa were harsh and white, casting its sleeping patient in pale shades so stark that, if not for the tentative grip Padmé had on his hand, she might have mistaken him for a ghost. The Sith assassin Darth Vader, so feared amongst the Republic and the Separatists alike, looked so very young and fragile swaddled in blankets and bandages and surrounded by beeping machines. Cheekbones too sharp, eyes shadowed, and skin a waxy white, he looked far too ill and tired for a man who couldn't possibly be any older than twenty-one. His blond hair, drying in a halo of soft fluffy curls about his head and still smelling faintly of bacta from his time in the tank, made him look almost...innocent. Angelic even.

The rest of him told a very different story.

The flight from the Separatist world that had been intended as her grave to the remote medical facility on Polis Massa had practically torn her nerves—even hardy as they'd always been—to shreds. It had turned out that she had perhaps been a little too optimistic when she had suggested flying Vader's ship back to his location in the canyon she had been forced to leave him in. She had, however, found both a speeder bike and a med-droid inside to bring back to him. By the time they had reached him, he had barely been conscious, slumped in front of the rocky wall she had propped him up against with the promise she would be back soon, his face white and his lips bloodless. Between her and the droid, they had wasted no time in loading his limp form onto the bike, getting him back to the ship's little medbay and flying offworld, setting a course for Polis Massa. But through it all, she had been afraid. Afraid, as she spoke to him quietly all the way through hyperspace, trying to keep him awake when all he wanted to do was slip into sleep and the danger of never waking up again. Afraid that he would not make it to the medcenter. That he would die because he had risked his life to protect her.

She had been afraid even after they had landed on Polis Massa, and he was rushed away into surgery. She had been afraid right up until the point that the droids had come out to inform her that he was stable, and that they were putting him in bacta for a time to accelerate his healing. But her relief had not lasted for long. The droids had had a long list of other...concerns that their programming told them it was their duty to report.

Not least of which was the map of scars across his skin that she had been informed were most likely caused by injuries sustained through some form of electrocution. Some as new as to have been inflicted not more than a few weeks ago. Others years old.

Years old and he was barely even an adult.

Who did this to you?, she had thought, her eyes tracing the wicked patterns along his back and chest—along his shoulders and arm, running down to where the metal of his black and gold prosthetic met with flesh—as he hung suspended in the bacta tank. The freshest of them had already started to heal along with the wound in his shoulder, but the older ones had been carved into his skin long ago. He had looked too thin, too brittle—even though she knew well the wiry strength he possessed—amidst the eerie blue-green glow of the liquid. Was it  your master? Sidious? Is that what the Sith do to their apprentices? Make them hurt, make them suffer, until they rule them absolutely by fear? But you defied him. You defied him to save me. Why risk that for my sake?

She couldn't help the niggling sensation in the back of her mind that there was something about all of this that she was missing, some crucial piece of information she had heard or seen but had managed to slip through her fingers. That she wasn't asking quite the right questions. But there was only one question that was rattling around in her head right at that moment, and all of the others would just have to wait.

Who was Sidious?

It was one of the several reasons that had stayed her hand from attempting to contact anybody in the Republic before her unlikely saviour had woken back up. She knew—definitely now—that the mysterious Darth Sidious was Vader's master. He had referred to him as such to her guard during her rescue, and even if he hadn't, the fact that the man hadn't at all questioned that the young Sith must have been carrying out Sidious' orders would have been clue enough. She also knew from that incident that the name was enough to induce terror even in his so-called allies. And she knew from the Jedi that he was suspected to have infiltrated the highest levels of the Republic's government, and had some sort of influence in the Senate. How powerful exactly that influence was, she didn't know—she hoped it wasn't insurmountable; she needed to believe it wasn't insurmountable, that the Sith hadn't corrupted everything she was fighting for, everything she had dedicated her life to—

But no matter how great or how slight it was, it was there. Which meant that, logically, Sidious must be a politician himself or—more likely—someone in a significant politician's circle. And that in turn meant that, no matter how desperately she wanted to, she couldn't fully guarantee Vader's safety in the Republic.

And so here she sat, by his bedside, his limp flesh hand held gently in her own, and her mind racing through possibilities as she waited for him to wake. If she were to bring him to the Republic, if she could persuade him to plead for asylum before the Senate or—no, the Jedi, there must be a way to keep him safe from Sidious. He must know who his master was—if he exchanged that information for protection, then they could root out the man and his associates before he had the chance to strike back at his apprentice, and surely that, along with his rescue of her, would count for something amongst them. Yes, the Senate took a dim view of Separatist operators, and the Jedi an even dimmer one of the Sith, but if he were to help them take down their greatest enemy in the Republic, that would have to be enough—

Her train of thought was cut off sharply as she felt a slight movement under her touch. Vader was waking up.

"Vader," Padmé called, watching as he shifted about on the bed, his brow scrunched up in a sleep-softened frown as he was dragged back in the waking world. "Vader."

The young Sith groaned quietly in protest at the sound of her voice. His hand slipped from her loose grasp and travelled up to his face to rub at his still closed eyes. It was an oddly endearing sight, seeing him do something as normal and as simple as struggle to wake himself up after a long sleep. But nothing about this was normal—or simple—and she would do well to remember that.

"Wha...?" Voice hoarse and faint, Vader trailed off as his eyes finally peeled open, taking in his surroundings with no small degree of confusion. "Where...?"

Padmé ruthlessly suppressed the urge to gasp. She'd forgotten, briefly, that his eyes were yellow—the only thing, save perhaps for the prosthetic that was currently resting across his stomach, that would have set him apart from any other twenty-something (if, indeed, he had even reached twenty yet) human man had she passed him on the street. The droids had been vaguely concerned about it, she remembered, but they hadn't found any medical reason behind it. Perhaps—she thought back to the Zabrak assassin that had killed Qui-Gon Jinn on Naboo—it was something to do with the Dark Side.

"We're on Polis Massa, remember?," she said once she had stamped down her instinctive reaction. She had told him where they were going back on the ship, assuring him over and over that it would be safe even though he had seemed too out of it to take anything much in beyond the sound of her voice. "I had to get you somewhere nearby that wasn't controlled by the Separatists. It's too remote to be of any interest to them."

Vader blinked at her, still not quite lucid enough to properly guard his expression. She could see the moment he registered exactly who it was that was sitting at her bedside, his eyes widening as his gaze settled on her face. Then, without warning, he shot bolt upright, swaying slightly at the sudden movement so that he was forced to catch himself with both his arms. He winced at the sudden tug on his tender shoulder.

"Don't get up."

Padmé's hand flew to his chest before she could think better of it, attempting to push him back down onto the bed. He let out a startled flinch at the contact, and for one horrid moment, she thought she had accidentally pressed on his healing injury. But her hand was on his sternum, not his shoulder—not brushing against flesh and skin still knitting back together. And yet he had recoiled as if she had burnt him. She drew her hand back sharply.

"I'm sorry" she whispered.

Vader turned away from her. A long pause, and then he nodded stiffly.

"You're not fully healed yet" she said, still apologetic. I'm not going to hurt you. I know someone has, but I promise you, I won't.

"I've had worse" Vader replied. He made no move to lie down, even though his left arm was shaking with the effort of propping himself up.

Yes, Padmé thought, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from turning downwards unhappily. I know you have. But I'm not letting you suffer on my watch.

She reached out to push him back down again, slowly this time. He tracked her movements like a wary loth wolf, an impression that was in no way diminished by the strange yellow of his eyes. This time, he didn't flinch under her touch, though he did hold himself uncomfortably stiff as he let her guide him back down to the pillows. His eyes darted briefly up to her face as she drew back before they flicked down to the IV in the crook of his arm. He frowned.

"The med-droids said that you needed it," Padmé said, in answer to the unspoken question on his face. "They were concerned about your weight."

Secretly, she thought it would have been both quicker and easier to list the things which they hadn't been concerned about. Her heart sank down to what felt like as yet unrecorded depths as she remembered the attending droid informing her that, not only was he currently underweight for a man of his height, but that he showed signs of malnutrition dating back to his formative years consistent with periods of starvation as a child and teenager. Vader, however, barely even reacted to the news that he had been deemed malnourished enough to be pumped full of nutrients intravenously. His attention had turned—fully this time—to their surroundings, suddenly agitated.

"How long have we been here?"

"A little over a day," Padmé replied. "They had to put you in a bacta tank."

Vader hissed through his teeth, his mechno hand untangling from its grip on the sheets to the fast-healing wound on his shoulder.

"They didn't need to do that," he muttered. "A few patches would have been enough—"

"Vader!," Padmé cried incredulously, before she could stop herself. Really, she shouldn't have been surprised, given how baffled he'd been by her own clumsy field care—concerned about her ruining her cloak of all things rather than the heavily bleeding blaster wound that had caused him to collapse to the ground in front of her. She got the impression—more so than ever now that she had seen his scars—that he was not at all used to receiving or accepting care, but if he wouldn't treat his injuries with the proper gravity they warranted, then she was more than happy to do so in his place. "You had a hole through your shoulder. You were barely conscious when we landed. A few patches would not have been enough—"

"We can't stay here," Vader interrupted her, cutting across what was fast becoming—not that she would have admitted it out loud—an impassioned tirade. His breathing, she noticed suddenly, was starting to speed up. "He-he'll have heard— He'll know what I've done—"

"Ssh, ssh," Padmé murmured, her need to make him understand subsumed by worry in the face of his burgeoning panic. She didn't need to ask who this "he" was. His master. Sidious, the man whom she was sure must be responsible for both the pattern of scars on his skin and his unfamiliarity with any sort of simple kindness alike. She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but she didn't know how he would react to her touch. "We're safe. Nobody knows we're here. I promise you we're safe—"

Vader shook his head, his eyes closed tight shut. Both his hands had moved to clutch tightly at the blankets about his chest, the knuckles of his flesh hand white with tension. His entire frame shook as his breaths came sharp and fast. Too fast.

"He'll know—," he gasped out. "He'll find us. He always—"

"He won't find us," Padmé soothed, trying to keep her voice as calm and as gentle as possible. She hoped—oh by the Force, she hoped—that time would not make her a liar. "We're safe here. Please, Vader, I need you to breathe."

The young man's breaths were coming in short, sharp bursts, laboured and painful. He shook his head again, though in response to what exactly, she didn't know. She needed to get through to him, calm him, ease him out of the panic that had caught him in its durasteel grip. But how? With anyone else, she might have taken their hand, tried to get them to breathe with her, but Vader was clearly not accustomed to touch not meant to hurt. What if it just made it worse for him—?

Another sharp gasp was enough to cut through her reservations like a knife. She had to do something. She couldn't just sit here dithering in indecision while he suffered.

"It's alright," she murmured. The tips of her fingers brushed ever so lightly against the back of his hand, enough to alert him to her intentions without—she hoped—adding to his distress. "It's alright, Vader. We're safe. You're safe. I won't hurt you."

When he didn't recoil from her touch, she began to drag her thumb slowly back and forth across his white knuckles, trying to give him something to focus on, to ground him in something other than his fear. After a few long moments, she felt the tiniest bit of tension leave his rigid form as, painstakingly, eyes still closed tight shut, his breathing began to slow.

"That's it," Padmé sighed in relief. "In and out."

Finally, his breathing evened out and he flopped down onto the mattress in exhaustion, his entire form shaking faintly from the adrenaline that had been coursing through his system not moments before. His yellow eyes opened slowly, and for a moment, Padmé could read naked distress on his too-young face. Then his gaze flickered down to where her hand was still resting over his, and his expression shuttered, like a pair of heavy blast doors slamming shut behind his eyes. Jaw clenched, he turned his head away.

"Nobody knows we're here," Padmé repeated, now that he was calm enough to properly take in what she was saying to him. "I made sure the droids would keep it off the record, and I haven't made contact with anyone in the Republic yet."

Her heart hurt seeing him retreat into himself, even though—or perhaps because—she understood it. He'd been vulnerable. He felt vulnerable. Ever since he had been wounded protecting her, he had been relying on her goodwill not to take advantage of that vulnerability. And now, he was surely steeling himself for consequences that she suspected he had been taught, over the years, to instinctively expect.

But despite that, he hadn't yet withdrawn his hand from hers.

"Why?," he said hoarsely, his brows drawn together in a deep furrow. He sounded drained, his tone flat, too tired even for confusion. "You fulfilled your promise to me when you brought us here safely. You could be back in the Republic by now."

Padmé's thoughts flashed back to the canyon they had fled into to escape their Separatist pursuers, of his collapse and her attempts at aid. Of him asking her something much the same as he bled out on the ground in front of her. Why not just run? Why not just leave him and save herself? This question didn't quite offend her like those had—after all, leaving a wounded man in safe hands with medical care was not quite the same as abandoning him in the dust to die. But she was still sure it wouldn't have been right. She owed him her life, and she hadn't been about to repay him by leaving him to wake up alone with nobody but droids for company and the knowledge that he had nowhere to go now that he had betrayed both the Separatists and his thrice-cursed master.

And besides, with everything she had seen since her rescue from her cell, she suspected there was far more to him than just what his reputation across the Galaxy painted him to be. The young man underneath that terrifying mask deserved at least the option of a second chance.

"I wasn't going to make that decision without consulting you first," she said. "We're in this together now. We need to figure out what we're going to do together."

And I'll repeat that to you for as long as you need to hear it.

"Do?" Vader asked.

His voice had flattened out even further, so fatigued, so resigned. As if he had given in before he had even begun. So soft and quiet compared to the deep boom of his mask's vocoder, she could barely comprehend that he was the same man that had struck such terror into her captors, that had fought so ferociously through pain and blood loss and overwhelming odds to get her to safety.

But even if he'd been drained of all his own fire, she had more than enough for the both of them.

"Separatist space isn't safe for you now. For either of us." Her lips drew together in a thin, determined line. "And I'm not leaving you until I know that you're somewhere safe out of their reach. Out of Sidious' reach."

Vader's flinch at the name was an answer to all her unspoken questions. He shrank in on himself, and suddenly, for a man who was over six feet in height, he looked very small. Without warning, Padmé was struck by just how true her words were. That she would do it if he refused to come back to the Republic with her. Would stay with him no matter what, no matter how far from home it took her, because she wanted to give him the same protection he had given her.

"Then I guess you'll have to get used to being glued to my side, because there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's beyond my master's reach," he said. She thought he might have intended the words to come out harsh and sharp, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "He's more powerful than you can possibly imagine, and he's not the kind to forgive and forget. I've betrayed him and he'll stop at nothing to hunt me down. Stay with me and you'll have an even bigger target on your head than he's already put there."

I'm not going to leave you alone, Padmé wanted to scream, feeling frustrated tears threatening to well up in her eyes despite her efforts to remain calm. Why can't you understand that? I'm not afraid. I won't abandon you. Not when you're in danger because of me.

"If there's nowhere in the Galaxy that's out of his reach," she retorted, not sharply, but pointedly, "then going back to the Republic won't be any safer for me than staying with you."

Vader's jaw clenched tight at her words, but he said nothing. His throat bobbed up and down as he swallowed thickly. Padmé fought back a sigh, pushing away the last remainders of her frustration as best she could. Gently, she tightened her grip on his hand, still resting beneath her own, in what she hoped was a reassuring pressure.

"Who is he, Vader?," she whispered, finally giving voice to the question that had been plaguing her ever since she had seen his scars, ever since he had heard him speak his name on the Separatist base. "Who is he, if he's that powerful?"

Who is this man that can make someone as strong as you afraid?

"Senator." Vader's lips twisted into a bitter smile, and in it she could sense the echoes of a terrible truth that she could not yet see. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this you? #fandom #fic #implied abuse #scars #panic attack #star wars #star wars fic #star wars au #anakin skywalker #darth vader #padme amidala #anidala #anakin x padme #padme x anakin #vaderdala #sith anakin #raised as a sith anakin #suitless vader #loyalty #mine #my fic #sfw

[ijustwant2write]

The Last Five Years-Fred Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @hp-wizardingtrash-1​)

(I combined two requests which were very similar)

Both Requested by anonymous: ‘Hey! Can you do a Fred Weasley imagine where him and the reader dated in their last year but Fred broke up with her cause he was leaving and he didn’t want to hurt her. But the reader was pregnant so she leaves right after. So no one knows what happened to her. After the war maybe like 5 years later (Fred lives), something happens maybe the kid needs blood from both parents because he’s sick and they need that for surgery, so the reader goes to Fred begging for blood and Fred learns the truth.’

‘Hey! Can I request a Fred Weasley imagine where the reader was pregnant (back when they in school) but Fred dumps her when he’s leaving to start the shop. (But he still loves her) and the reader has twins, a boy and a girl, who are just like him and George. After the war (Fred lives) something happens where he finds out, (up to you). And both Fred and the reader still love each other. Happy cute family ending.‘

Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, Molly Weasley x Reader (platonic), Arthur Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

(Y/S/N)=Your son’s name

(Y/D/N)=Your daughter’s name

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy, talk about abortions, abandonment, single parenting, separated families, mention of blood, sickness, child sickness, mention of hospitals/blood, fluff

                                    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Leaning against a stone pillar, I looked out at the view of the lake and the grounds, crossing my arms across my chest to make myself feel warmer. I resisted touching my stomach, still terrified at the thought of life growing in there. I was only seventeen, I hadn't even finished my studying at Hogwarts and this was happening. This wasn't something Fred and I could joke about, or laugh at to make the situation a little better, this was serious, and I couldn't tell how my boyfriend would react.

Feeling a tap on my shoulder, my head whipped round to look, but no one was there. As my head turned to the other side, Fred towered over me, chuckling to himself. But I couldn't bring myself to even smile, instead rolling my eyes at him.

"Hey, what's wrong? I'm sorry I'm late, George and I were speaking, I've got so much to tell you!" he rambled, not taking offence to my action.

"Something...Fred, I...I don't know what to do!" I suddenly started sobbing, which panicked my boyfriend.

He instantly put his arms around me, holding me tight into his chest. At first he let me cry, probably thinking I was stressed about exams (I definitely was on top of everything) before pushing me away and bending down to look me in the eyes.

"Hey, let's sit down yeah?" he guided me to a bench close by, keeping his arms around me as we took a seat.

I couldn't stop my tears, trying to keep quiet in case anyone heard, or before any professors could intervene.

"Here, let me tell you what George and I have been discussing. It'll take your mind off this for a bit, yeah? OK, so, you know how George and I have always said about owning a joke shop, well, something has come through. And after all this stuff going on with Umbridge, we've decided to leave-"

"I'm pregnant." I blurted out.

Unsurprisingly, his eyes widened, mouth dropping open, I could feel his body tense up. Staring up at him, I silently pleaded for him to say something.

"Fred?" I mumbled.

"(Y/N), please say you're joking."

"This isn't a fucking prank Fred!" I exclaimed, shoving him away from me."I’m serious!"

"W-what...I don't know what to say."

I stood up, not able to sit still."Fred, we're having a baby. What are we going to do? We've still got exams, and then graduation, not to mention having to tell our parents and-"

"(Y/N), I'm not doing my exams."

"What do you mean you're not doing your exams? Fred, it's literally coming to the end of our studies, why would you throw that away?"

"Because I have a plan, I was just about to tell you! George and I are leaving early and we're getting a shop in Diagon Alley."

"Are you crazy?! Fred, what if it doesn't work? You won't have any exam results, you won't be able to apply for jobs-"

"Well thanks for believing in me, that's great to hear from your girlfriend!" he leapt up from the bench.

"You know I support you through everything, but I'm thinking about our futures! If we have a baby on the way, we need to be able to support it."

"We haven't planned for this! This...this wasn't what I envisioned for us, not now!"

"Oh, and you think I did?"

"Well, what are you going to do?"

"What am I going to do? No, it should be what are we going to do? How dare you?! What, are you just going to leave me as well as Hogwarts?"

When he didn't reply, I scoffed, but it wasn't in an angry way, it was more upsetting than that. My mind went into overdrive, not recognising the man in front of me. I had expected shock, of course I had, but what I wasn't expecting was this rudeness, the bluntness coming from him.

"Fred," I was quieter now,"what are you saying right now?"

"You want to keep it?"

"I...I don't really know yet."

"So we're arguing about something that might not even effect us!"

"Even if we got rid of it, it wouldn't be a matter of 'let's just forget about it'. Do you know how hard that is for a woman? And the father?"

He hastily grabbed my hands."Then leave with me! We've always talked about living together after we finish school. What difference does this make?"

"I want to do my exams Fred! Even if I didn't, my parents wouldn't allow it. And that was easier to plan for back then. It would just be us. We could have a small space anywhere. But with a baby? We need somewhere safe, somewhere that is a good place to raise them, and we also need to feed three people, buy nappies, clothes constantly because babies grow a lot-"

"I can't do it." he interrupted.

"Fred, please, I love you. I know we can figure something out-"

"No, I...we're too young, this isn't fair." his eyes were distant, as if he was staring straight through me. 

"What you're saying isn't fair! I couldn't have done this by myself."

"I just...I don't know what else to say I..." 

He said no more as he rushed away from me, and I was too stunned to go after him. As he picked up the pace, he passed Mcgonagall, who glanced between us before she approached me. "I think we should have a word Madam Pomfrey, shouldn't we Miss (Y/L/N)?"

                                           *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Mummy!" (Y/S/N) yelled out, just like he did every day.

I sighed as I brought out the kids breakfast, setting it in front of them."Don't worry, you're not going to starve. Here you go darling."

"Thanks." he mumbled, picking up his spoon and eating. He was always more awake in the morning compared to his sister.

"Thank you mummy." (Y/D/N) quietly said, also digging into her food.

I smiled at them both, quietly laughing at their wild hair from their sleep, before grabbing myself a bowl of cereal. Quickly returning, I sat down with them, my smile faltering as I looked at (Y/D/N) pale face.

"Do we have to go hospital today?" she asked. She hated how many times we had to go, the appointments were becoming more and more regular.

I nodded."Yes darling. But (Y/S/N) is coming today, because he's not at school for a while! You can play together whilst we wait for the doctor."

"I'll play with you (Y/D/N)." her brother kindly said.

"I don't want to go." (Y/D/N) frowned.

"We have to. Remember, they're helping you get better." 

"I want to play at home." 

"I promise it won't be very long. We've got our trip soon, haven't we?" 

"How many more days mummy?" (Y/S/N) excitedly asked. 

"Only two! We need to start packing your bags." 

(Y/S/N) started to chat away about this trip he knew nothing about, listing every single item he was bringing, whereas his sister was silent as she finished her breakfast. She had been a sickly child compared to her healthy twin brother. The hospital had diagnosed her, and explained that I needed to ask family members to have blood tests, to see if they matched with her and could help in any way. My side of the family had no luck, and after much deliberation with myself (and my parents), I knew I had to see Fred again, I had to face him. But with my little girl so ill, so weak, I would face down Voldemort himself to make her well again. Though I had a feeling seeing 'He who shall not be named' would be a lot easier than seeing the father of my children. 

The day of the trip came, and the kids were excited. We had packed their tiny suitcases, and I an overnight bag, before setting off. All day I had kept a smile on my face, not wanting to worry them. They thought it was a mini holiday, something we had never been on due to money. For five years it had been the three of us, with me at work, then at school and their grandparents when I had a late shift before cuddling up in bed with a good story together. It was a simple life, but they brought me so much joy, I couldn't express how happy they made me if I tried, it was infinite. And now I was taking them to meet their father I had avoided talking about, I was worried what it would do to our bond. 

"That's a strange house mummy." (Y/D/N) said as we approached the Burrow, a place I had spent much time in. 

"This is where your other grandparents live. It's very nice here. And they are very nice people." I said as we continued walking. 

"We say, we say please and thank you, don't we mummy?" (Y/S/N) added.

I giggled."Yes, we do."

We were now stood outside of the house, right in front of the door, but I still clutched onto my children's hands. They were confused as to why I wasn't knocking, why I was standing still. It was as if I was frozen. So when (Y/S/N) boldly stepped forward and knocked, I was pulled out of my trance. Before I could say anything to him, I heard movement coming from the other side of the door, and pulled him back towards me. There was no turning back now. Molly opened the door, her jaw almost hitting the floor as she set her eyes on me, then the kids, which is when she gasped. I bravely smiled, taking a deep breath to hold back the tears.

"H-Hi Molly. I'm...I'm really S-sorry just showing up out of the b-blue-" I couldn't stop stuttering over my words,"but...but I thought it was time you met your grandchildren."

Molly had immediately ushered me inside, throwing her arms around me as soon as the door closed. Holding my face in her hands, she studied my face, seeing how much I had changed over the years.

"I can't believe you're here!" she quietly exclaimed."It's been so many years."

"I'm sorry Molly. I didn't mean to disappear." I began welling up, trying to hold it back in front of the kids.

"Dear, don't apologise for a thing. We can talk about this later." she comforted me, stepping back to look at her grandchildren."So, these are your children?"

"My twins, ironically. (Y/D/N), (Y/S/N), this is your nan, Molly."

They stayed close to me, only (Y/S/N) letting go of my hand. I gently encouraged them forwards, pushing them towards Molly. She used the table beside her to help her kneel down, slowly extending her arms out to them. I felt overwhelmed as (Y/S/N) cautiously stepped towards her, hugging Molly before leaving her embrace again. It was one of those shy hugs kids gave, when they knew it was the right/polite thing to do but weren't sure of it themselves.

Molly was the only one in the house, and we let the kids play as we sat and caught up on what happened in the last five years. For me, there was a slight awkward tension in the air, but Molly's warm smile made me forget about that. I'm sure she had tons of questions as to why I never brought the twins round, and why I only showed up when I wanted something.

"Why don't you stay the night? I can hardly get Fred to stop by now. But there's plenty of room." Molly offered.

"Oh, only if that's alright with you! That would be very helpful. Um, do you think he’ll even want to see me?”

She kindly smiled as she slowly nodded.“My son is still just as infatuated with you as he was all those years ago.”

I refrained from snapping about how he never sent a letter, checked to even see if I was alright, if I had kept the pregnancy going. But then again, I had also cut off any contact with him, so it wasn’t entirely fair for me to say that. However, I was the one carrying twins by herself, raising them as a single mother (my family helped as much as they could, though no one could replace a father figure). And although the catch up with Molly had been good, it had lifted this tension from my body, I hated how my stomach twisted at the thought of Fred showing up here. Hi reaction was completely unknown. He could have moved on, maybe Molly was just wanting us together again; what if he was seeing someone, someone without children, someone who was free to do what they wanted and more fun than I was? He could easily turn a blind eye to it all. Or perhaps he would want to be a part of the family now. But why should I let him in after all these years? He missed five years of their life, and I understood that he would have no clue where we were, though there were ways of tracking us down. My mind was conflicted, I was here to make (Y/D/N) better, that was the top priority.

When Arthur returned that evening, he wore the same expression Molly had had when I first arrived. Although he was happy to see me, he wasn’t shouting or bouncing off the walls, he was more concerned; asking me all these questions, wanting me to go in depth about (Y/D/N)’s illness and how they could help. Both of them agreed they would help, and that once I spoke with Fred, they would ask the rest of the family also. 

Molly had laid out a full breakfast the next morning, though I really didn’t feel like eating. The kids got stuck right in, eating more food than I think I’ve ever seen them eat. They weren’t used to treats like this, we weren’t extremely poor, but even a fancy cereal was out of the question for us. I shared a smile with Molly and Arthur, thanking them for their hospitality. (Y/S/N) and (Y/D/N) were more comfortable with them, sometimes talking to them, or showing their toys. As we sat at the table, our plate and bowls now empty, Arthur gestured for me to follow him to the other room.

“(Y/N), I just wanted to make sure you were ready for today. I’ve had this same talk with Fred.” he quietly said.

I looked down at my feet, my arms crossing over my chest.“I don’t think I’ll ever be fully ready to see him again.”

“You have been very brave coming here. I can see how difficult this is for you. But I understand wanting to look after your children, it’s a feeling you only ever experience once you have them. Molly and I spoke last night. Even if, for some bizarre reason, Fred doesn’t...he doesn’t....”

“He doesn’t want to be around us.”

Arthur sighed sadly.“We will still help you. And you always have a place here, you always have family here.”

I hugged him, feeling like a child again in his arms. I felt protected, like nothing could hurt me whilst I was here. When we returned to the others, Molly was already clearing everything away, (Y/D/N) and (Y/S/N) talking each others ears off. Molly denied my help as I offered, knowing that I was very nervous and wanted the kids ready, as well as myself before their father arrived. I was happy that they were in a good mood, talking amongst themselves rather than asking lots of questions. But I still needed to sit them down, tell them who they were meeting today.

“You two look amazing!” I beamed, sitting them down on the edge of the bed, me kneeling in front of them.

“Mummy looks...mummy looks like a princess.” (Y/D/N) giggled as she clutched onto her own princess doll.

“Thank you. Do you guys remember why I said we were coming here?” 

“To meet daddy.”

“Yeah.” my voice turned shaky.“So, we need to be really good today OK? You guys were so good yesterday, and I need you to be like that again please. Me and daddy might need to talk for a while, so you two can play together, or with granddad Arthur and grandmother Molly.”

“Where is daddy?” (Y/S/N) asked.

“He’s on his way.”

“No, not, not now. Where has he been? Because all my friends have daddies, they have mummies and daddies, but I don’t.”

“He’s...he’s been....” 

How was I supposed to explain this to a five year old?

“It’s a bit confusing darling. But that doesn’t matter because he’s here now.”

(Y/D/N) looked away from her doll.“Will he come home with us?”

“I don’t know. Just don’t be upset if he doesn’t. We’ve been fine, just the three of us, haven’t we?”

They nodded, and I pulled them in to hug me. Their little arms wound around me where they could, and I could feel their tiny hands grasping at me. Squeezing them tighter, I laughed when they did, exclaiming they I was holding them too hard. Pulling away, I kissed them both on the cheeks, holding their hands to take them downstairs. However, my grin fell as I heard the door open, Fred’s voice ringing out. My body stiffened, heart starting to race quickly. Instinctively, I pulled the twins closer to me, not sure if I should go to Fred or wait here.

“It’s alright dear, I’m here.” Molly calmly said beside me.

All I could do was smile. My throat turned dry, breathing shaky and I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I heard Arthur speaking to his son, but it was muffled, until footsteps started approaching. And suddenly, there he was, the boy I feel deeply in love with was now a man, standing even taller than before. Although we both looked different, it was as if we were teenagers again.

“(Y/N)...I...I can’t believe...” he couldn’t form a sentence, his gaze now on the twins.

I knelt between my children, hugging them close to me.“This is (Y/S/N), and (Y/D/N). They’re my world. And...your children too.”

The kids curled into me, noticing the tension in the room. They didn’t know this big man, and they could sense that I was on edge. I put on a brave face for them. I was their mother, their protector, I would always ensure that they felt comfortable, safe, happy and loved. 

“M-my children?” he was still looking at them.

“I think you two should talk before...well before a proper meeting, yeah?” Arthur gently suggested.

“Alright.” I agreed.“You two go upstairs and play, you can come down in a bit, OK?”

“Come on you two, let’s go see what toys I’ve got for you. You can show me yours.” Molly said happily, wanting to make the kids relaxed.

They hesitantly went, but I heard them starting to talk about what toys they had and wanted as they climbed the stairs, Molly feigning surprise and interest. 

“I’ll just be in the garden, should you need me.” Arthur said before leaving.

And then there we were. Just us two again. I hadn’t seen him in five years, not since that week of our argument. Multiple emotions rushed through me; I could be angry, upset, frustrated, desperate, loving, relieved...all were pushing their way to the front of my mind, wanting to have their chance to speak.

“Five years.” Fred mumbled.

“Five years.” I repeated.

“I...I can’t speak. I can’t, I can’t think right now. I had so much I wanted to say.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“Their names...I remember us talking about them.”

“Yeah. I always liked them.”

“Are they...well, do they know...”

“They know you’re their father. I've always avoided this kind of topic as much as I could with them. They've obviously asked in the past, but I guess since they were so used to it just being me, it was normal for them."

"How have you been?"

"Pretty good, for what it's worth. I was able to get on my feet, with the help of family, I gave birth to them with no complications, all by myself until the last minute. Mum had burst into the room, her face bright red as she rushed to my side. It was scary. And from there I managed to get us a small house, just the necessary rooms, and I try and treat them as much as I can, if the budget will allow it."

"Why didn't you contact me sooner?"

"Why didn't you contact me?" I snapped back."You had the means to do so as well. You probably had more time than I had to even think about contacting me!"

He slightly raised his hands, trying to calm me down."OK, I'm sorry. That was a stupid question."

“No, I'm sorry." I sat down at the kitchen table, head in my hands."I'm just feeling a lot of mixed things right now."

I heard him shuffle around before the chair next to mine scraped along the floor, and he sat in it."I know. So am I."

"I came here because (Y/D/N) is sick. An option we have is a transfusion of blood but we have to find the right person. They said the most likely match would come from a family member. All of mine have tried, even distant relatives. That's why I came in the first place."

His face had fallen into a sad expression, eyebrows furrowed."Wait, what does that mean?"

"She won't die, nothing like that. Even with the right treatment, she would have to go to hospital throughout her life. (Y/D/N) will be a sickly person throughout her life."

“Of course I’ll help. I know we all will.”

I smiled through my tears.“Thank you Fred. That means everything to me.”

“But...” he looked down at the table, slowly sliding his hand towards mine. He boldly placed it on top of mine,“I want to look after you too.”

“Fred-”

“No, please listen. There has not been a day where I didn’t regret what I said to you the last time we saw each other. I...I thought about you everyday, but I was too selfish, I was too much of a coward to do anything about it. My love for you, it was...it is enormous. I think as a teen, I knew I was in love, I just didn’t realise how painful it would be when I lost you. And it was all my fault.”

“We’re both to blame. Throughout my pregnancy, I tried to hate you. I convinced myself I did, though deep, deep down in my heart, the love was still there. I told myself I could do this without you, and some days it really felt like that. Others, it would have been nice to have someone else around. And not just to help with the kids. To feel...like a normal family. To have someone look after me at the end of a long day.”

“I can’t believe no one else snatched you up.” he smiled.“You’ve become more beautiful over the years, I didn’t think that was possible.”

I blushed, rolling my eyes at his compliment.“Surprisingly, no one wants a woman with two kids, especially young kids.”

“Can’t say I’m too angry about that.”

“What are we doing Fred? It can’t go back to how it used to be. Not...not straight away.”

“You think you could forgive me?”

“And me?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I kept you from your children! I could have done this years ago. They...they could have had their father in their lives, we knew how to get to each other.” I used my free hand to cover my eyes as I began crying.

“Hey,” Fred’s other arm wrapped around my shoulders,“you’re here now with me. I will apologise everyday if it means you can look me in the eyes and feel happiness. You deserve that much. And as for (Y/S/N) and (Y/D/N), I would love to get to know them. We can see where it goes, and further down the line...well, we can take baby steps.”

I sniffled.“You really want to do that?”

He smiled and nodded.“I’m going to be here for you all from now on. They’re my kids, and you’re the mother of my children. I’m going to make up for lost time.”

He tenderly embraced me, and how I had missed this feeling with him. I reacted, holding onto him as I continued to silently cry. He rocked us back and forth, but I could tell he was crying when I felt something drip onto my neck. This didn’t mean all was forgiven, it would take a while to mend everything between us, and for the kids to get used to their father again (and vice versa). Although I knew this would be a journey, I had some faith in it, and I prayed and hoped that someone from the Weasley side could help with (Y/D/N).

We were going to work through this. From what Fred had said, he was desperately wanting to reconnect. Perhaps we could be a family, and the last five years would be nothing compared to the rest of our lives.

#fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #george weasley one shot #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fan fiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fan fic #harry potter imagine #harry potter imagines #harry potter one shot #harry potter x reader

[professor-clove]

So lots of updates all around.

So one, Crabominable has a genetic condition that predisposed him to blood clots. Overall, I'm recommending him to take bromelain, an enzyme derived from Pinap berries, to prevent him from future blood clots and to help dissolve any of them that he currently has. The enzyme is good for digestion and kidney stones too, but I digress. If that doesn't work, we'll have to move onto basically the Pokemon equivalent of Coumadin, which is an herbal capsule full of coumarin-producing plants such as lavender, Cheri berries, licorice and cinnamon. Two, starting today I'm getting Crabominable in the pool. I'm still leary of Kingler, but I'm hoping two Pokemon who look kinda similar and have kind of a similar issue might be able to help each other.

Next, we've got Drampa. Right now we're treating the infection, and with the bone already healing awkwardly we can't set it. But we can put it in a cast and let it heal on its own. We're gonna try to get him to fly again, and like with Delibird we're gonna give a supplement full of Vitamin C and D and some Unfezant eggshell for the calcium. This will at least speed up the recovery of the bone, but we do have to treat the infection and the burns. Unfortunately Drampa is experiencing a fever, and how much of that is burn versus infection is hard to tell. And the AC shrapnel caused some wounds that we have to suture up, but we also have to look for signs of potential gangrene or infection in the bone. If that's the case, we'll have to amputate and that can cause a whole host of problems.

And, according to my research, female Kinglers can hold onto a clutch of eggs for about a year. So the good thing is that she is just looking for a mate for protection while she holds onto them, especially with her arm. Her attitude at Sunyshore was merely her being defensive of her eggs while trying to find a mate. The good thing is, she is getting the muscle and hydraulic strength building in her arm so we'll be good. But on the bad news, in some ways, we've got Crabominable who she's taken an interest in. So um......the mate who's a protector might just be him.

Speaking of Crabominable, Benji has been extremely helpful with him in the water and Mako has been more than capable in helping his recovery. While it's definitely gonna take some time, I think I've got a capable team here to help out.

Delibird is doing well too, and has actually made friends with both Cacnea and Slowpoke. Maybe they'll soon get a home, we'll see about that! I think Delibird's family will do greatly with them, and the girl has even said she's wanted to be a trainer for a little while now. Seeing her and her patience with Delibird's recovery, I think she'll do great!

Sandile on the other hand requires minor surgery. Basically, a bony "burr" so to speak has started to develop and is preventing motion when she tries to move her left leg forwards. So the good thing is we can easily grind the burr down. The only downside is it's highly invasive and will leave some scarring on her outer hip, plus she will need some gentle water based therapy like the others have. Being a Ground type, she may be quite avoidant. However, swimming will help greatly to get the hip's range of motion back in place. We do need to do some labs in order to see what might have potentially caused it, cuz then we can keep the bone healed.

Mako has actually created an exercise routine for Crabominable and Tyrunt to follow, and Delibird has taken to joining in. It looks like some cross between taichi and yoga, very gentle and can be done in the water. It seems to be helping quite a lot actually with including everyone and having them move.

Lastly, Thievul actually stopped by. It was the mom, she dropped off dried berry seeds. I'm not sure what kind yet, but I'll have to plant them and see. It feels pretty good doing all this.

#pokemon #pokemon health #professor clove #crabominable #sandile #drampa #kingler #walrein #makuhita #delibird #cacnea #slowpoke #thievul #pokemon medicine #pokeblr #pokeblog

[lovesgonnabe]

Love Is Worth It - Episode I

 It Was Just A Normal Day

Characters: Chris Evans x Maya Alonso-Evans (Black OFC)

Warnings: Angst, Nothing extreme but could upset some, cursing, slight Implied smut

Word Count: 2k

Summary: What happens when those that don’t agree with you or your love are in positions of power?

Authors Note: This is out a lot earlier than expected so I hope you all enjoy. Also it has been a while since I’ve written so please bear with my rustiness, and there’s slight edits so there may be errors.

Disclaimer: There is slight police abuse of power that may be triggering to some.

Taglist: @thesecretlifeofdaydreamss if you would like to join the taglist message me. 

Please leave a note and tell me what you think!

October 24th, 2019 

The day started out just like any other...

Chris woke up at 5am to go on a run with Dodger.

I got up 30 minutes later headed to our home gym got on the Peloton for a workout then get started on breakfast.

Chris and Dodger get back around 6:30am

At 6:45am Chris carries me to the shower where we have “spontaneous” shower sex till Delilah knocks on our door.

7:30am I get Delilah ready for school then we eat breakfast as a family while Chris and I play footsie under the table and he quizzes her on current events. Did I mention she’s only 5 years old...

At 8:30am Chris and Delilah are out the door headed to school since it’s on the way to the set for Chris’s next project.

At this time I’m just sipping coffee reviewing my appointment schedule at the office and I head out the door at 9am.

It was just a normal day but something felt off.

When I pulled out of the gate of my driveway I see a Boston PD car just sitting on the corner next to our noisiest neighbor Mrs. Goldheim. She’s 70 and acts like she has no business to tend to but mine when what she really should be doing is getting some of her own dick, so she can hop off my dick and mind her damn business.

Anyway I’m getting off topic, as I drive down the road that same police cruiser begins to follow me lights off and at a safe distance for about a mile and then turns left down Sycamore, I was mad confused but I didn’t have time to think about the weird ass Boston cops right now.

I got to the office around 9:45am, had my first client at 10am and from that point It was nonstop between facials to acne treatments to talking women who don’t need plastic surgery off of that ledge I had my hands full for it only being the middle of October. But hey that’s the life I signed up for when becoming a dermatologist.

My last meeting about my new skincare venture ended at 5:30pm and I went to pick up Delilah from after school care. We stopped by the supermarket to get groceries so I could hopefully make my abuelas famous arroz con pollo for dinner tonight.

As a treat we stopped at Cold Stone got two pints of chocolate devotion for our after dinner mini celebration. Since not even a month ago Delilah was moved ahead to the first grade and got an A on her recent math test.

This is where the normal day began to take a nosedive.

Around 8pm we were headed to the house from Cold Stone, my little Dede and I were talking about her day, and Chris called to let us know that filming ended a tad early and he was already home.

We are just around the corner when I see another police cruiser this time they were following a lot closer but yet again they had on no lights.

My hands began to clam up as I kept looking in the mirrors at the two white men in the vehicle following me.

As I pulled into my gate they followed me in. Rushing I parked, grabbed my purse, and got out, unhooked Delilah from the seat and carried her to the door.

“Excuse me Miss” one of the officers spoke stopping me before I could enter my home. I felt like I was frozen In place with a  hand on the doorknob.

“Mommy what’s wrong” Delilah asked looking at me with fright her big brown eyes. I turned around putting my shy ray of sunshine down, with a reassuring  smile, I look at her and tell her that everything was alright as she hid behind my legs while the officers approached us.

It might be because I’m scared but it felt as if they both were towering over me, even though i was the one with the high ground standing on the steps. 

One man looked like he was on a mission while the other looked like he was just there for observation.

The younger one looked at Delilah and said “there is no reason to be afraid sweetheart we are the good guys” the tension was thick as Delilah looked up at me and no one said a word.

The older man of the two cleared his throat and looked at me dead in the eyes as if he was trying to intimidate me.

“Good Evening Miss, are you the nanny? I’m looking for your boss.” I raised an eyebrow ignoring the question and asked “can I please get her in the house?” both officers looked at each other weird since I didn’t answer his original question but both nodded.

I looked at my watch showing it to be 8:40pm usually I would kissing my man trying to figure out the best way to get him out of his clothes. But at the moment I’m standing on my steps scared for our life.

I unlocked the door and told her to go and get her dad who at the time was in the living room playing the grand piano. The beautiful sounds of the piano could be heard when I opened the door and as I closed the door you can hear Dodger bark and scurry toward the door.

The officer began to speak once more “now I’m going to ask you again Miss is your boss home?”

Placing my hand on my hip, I let out an exasperated sighed and said “if I had a boss and they were here I would be very confused”.

The younger officer eyes grew out of surprise and the older officer did not look too happy by my snarky remark.

“Miss please cooperate we don’t want any trouble, but since you can’t answer my questions hand over your license” the older officer said with a smug look and his gloved hand outstretched.

My stomach grew with a bubble of nerves even though it can’t be seen on my face i was scared.

“If I may ask officers what is this about this is my home have I done something wrong?” I huffed retrieving my license and handing it to the older officer, “we will see about that” he says and walks to the cruiser leaving the other officer in silence.

“Look we are just doing the job we were called out to do” the younger officer said to me I looked at him like he had two heads but before I could say another word Chris walked out the door closing it behind him.

He look so damn fine in grey sweats with a matching crew neck sweater, his gold chain I bought him for Father’s Day laying on top and his Red Sox cap pointed to the back.

He came up next to me wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing the top of my head, mumbling. “Baby are you alright?” he asks looking at me rubbing my back as I look at him.

I nod as a sense of calm settles over my body as he familiar sent and touch centers me and makes me feel safe.

“Is there a problem officer? He asked now removing his arm from my body to cross his arms and stand in front of me as if he was my bodyguard.

“Wow you’re Captain America” the officer said in shock as Chris and I rolled our eyes.

“Yea I know but I asked you is there a problem officer” Chris asked slowly getting closer to the younger now shitting his pants scared officer.

I love that he is trying to defend me but we don’t want to make matters worse so I grab his arm to pull him back a bit. Which didn’t work because all he did was softly move my hand a say “let me handle it love”.

I rolled my eyes and watched the shit show unravel. The officer stuttered and Chris cut him off.

“Look I know you are here to do your job but you are on my property and harassing my wife so I would like to know what the problem is what has she done?”

He didn’t look upset and Chris said it respectfully but it was just a feeling that Chris did not want to be fucked with at this moment.

There was another beat of awkward silence the officer was too scared to speak. Chris rubbed his beard and chuckled “can anyone answer my goddamn question as to my wife is in front of our home being harassed” it was like his voice dropped an octave and my panties got wet.

I’m literally trying to tell my brain to stop thinking about using my husband as my personal jungle gym, that this wasn’t the time for that, but I digress so to distract myself for a second I looked at my watch again stating it was only 9:20pm.

Damn I’m not sure if time was moving too slow or too fast but by the time I focused back on Chris and the officers they were being cussed the fuck out.

“What the fuck do you mean you have to take her because she fits the profile of a suspect, do you have a warrant, what the fuck did she even do officer!”

“Mr. Evans we understand that you are upset but we need you to calm down” the younger officer said to a red faced Chris.

“Don’t you tell me to fucking calm down when you are also trying telling me, you want to arrest my wife for some crime she didn’t commit because she’s black” Chris was now fuming.

“Sir this isn’t about race, there has been a string of burglaries in the neighborhood and she fits the description of the suspect we are looking for, we just want to take her in and ask a few questions” the older officer answered.

From where I was standing I could see everything especially how the officer had one hand on his gun holster and the other with cuffs ready to be put around my wrist.

All three men proceed to argue, I had to step in this was getting out of hand and in a minute I would not be the only one in handcuffs.

Walking over to the group who were now in the middle of my driveway with my hands out then they all went quiet.

“Chris honey it’s okay, this is ridiculous I know but let me go with them, you call Austin, tell him what’s happening and then come to the station I will be fine” I said looking at his blue eyes with slight tears as his breathing quickened.

I was hoping to be okay at least for Chris’s sake so he won’t kill the two men in front of me. He read me my rights with Chris now desperately pleading with them to release me.

As the older guard roughly grabs me pulling me towards the cruiser Delilah runs out of the house with Dodger behind her with tears in her eyes.

“Dede get back inside” Chris says as he grabs a barking Dodger who was headed straight for me “daddy why are they taking mommy, what’s wrong she said everything was ok” then she wails out “please don’t take my mommy” over and over while she kicked and screamed when Chris picked her up and ushered the 3 of them back into the house.

A tear slips down my face as my head is lowered into the car and the door to our home closes. One officer looked remorseful and the other looked so satisfied as he looked back at me through the rear view.

He threw on his sirens like he caught some mass murder that he’d been hunting for years.

Then he laughed a menacing laugh taunting me.

“You thought just because you are fucking some white man with money you would get off? Well I’m sorry to break it to you sweetheart but that not how the world works for people like you.” He said to me as I cried harder.

“That’s enough Whitmer I think she get it” the younger officer said.

The rest of the ride the only sound was the radio. I was booked and brought into a cell by myself cold and alone but thanking god that at least I was alive and not hurt.

All I could think about was the smile on my little Delilah’s face and how today was just supposed to be just another Normal day.

I guess those are slim when you’re Black in White America.

#chris evans x black ofc #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x poc!reader #chris evans fanfiction #black reader #poc reader

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

#sobeautifullyobsessed #stephen strange #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange #mcu fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #gen fic #ask #answered #prompt fill

[popculturebuffet]

New X-Men Xtrospective Part 3: Imperial (NXM #121-126)

To me all you happy people! And welcome back to my X-Citing look at Morrison’s Masterwork on Marvel’s Merry Mutants!  Part One is HERE, Part Two is HERE if you feel like it. 

If not... to catch you up on last time....

All Caught up? Good. Join me under the cut as our heroes head into this old woman’s hedd to see what’s wrong and fight off an alien army while horribly ill. 

Silent, Psychic Rescue in Process:

So we pick up not long after we left off: Thanks to Beast waking up from his bat induced coma, the X-Men now know Charles is trapped in Cassandra’s body and she pulled a Freaky Friday on him, with marginally less bullets. 

And thus we get this issue. This one was part of Nuff Said, an incredibly clever theme month by Marvel and one I wish they’d try and do again at some point in some form. 

The gimmick was simple but amazing: Every issue would be mostly silent, with at most some dialouge at the start and finish to bookend it. So far i’ve only read two issues of this, this one and the X-Statix one, but it is a genuinely great idea. I do think forcing it on the entire line was a bit much, but as I said I do wish they’d do this again just make it optional: have some books opt in or do some annuals with the theme. It’s just a fun break from the usual and with this issue resulted in one of the best single issues of x-men period. 

Naturally given the name, which is cleverly displayed on a sign the x-men have because of course they do, it’s exaclty that: Emma and Jean after readying themselves (Jean kisses Scott goodbye and Emma downs a bottle of jack because why not do an alchol before doing delecate mental surgery), head in. 

Inside they find horrific old lady head doors, stone ol dlady heads around a tower that shoot lasers, and said doors also bite and puke weird goop because it’s Grant Morrison. This is his chance to just go full balls out weird.. and given last time involved skin flake golemns.. and this isn’t even the weirdest he’s done. As mentioned last time he once had a supervillian run for president using a super LSD Bike that made everyone high. 

And just to prove he can reach that level of weirndess we find charles alone, naked and with an overenlarged brain.. before he transitions Jean to a field of sperm. 

Yeah... but this DOES have a point.. as it turns out it’s a meaphorical transition into his gestation as a baby.. and how he had a twin. Yeah turns out Cassandra was not lying he did try to kill her.. but as you can probably tell by the fact she’s a genocidal sociopath, she lied by omission to screw with Hank: In the womb she tried strangling Charles to death with his own umbilical cord..only for him to use baby’s first psonic blast to send her reeling and his mom tumbling down the stairs and well.. you can probably guess the rest. Yeah.. Cassandra’s entire origin story is concentrated 

And I love it. The sheer audacity is nice and everything but what makes it really work for me is the simple concept: An evil version of charles, one almost born at the same time whose every bit as evil as he is good.. granted there’s a TON of Morally Grey in Charles Xavier ESPECIALLY post decimation and even more so now with Krakoa. But he’s sitll at his heart a well meaning person, while Cassandra at her heart is a racist genocidal nightmare. She is pure evil, with enough personality to not make her boring.. and more importanlty all the power charles has but NONE of his restraint. Part of what makes Charles noble is he only uses his powers when necessary. Cassandra.. has no such restraint and will happily mentally snap necks all day. 

So with this our heroine’s leave and we end on the iconic line “Professor Xavier killed his twin sister in the womb. We Really ought to talk. 

This issue is an utter classic. It finally explains Cassandra a bit while still leaving a ton of questions, Frank Quitely is at his best here, and he and morrison are incrediby good at non verbal storyteling. The result is surreal, unsettling and awesome. Check it out. Seriously seek this one out it’s worth the trip. It’s so famous it was homaged with a spirtual sequel in the recent Giant Size X-Men one shots. It’s excellent stuff

Imperial:

So with our first issue we open with things going terrible on that flag ship Cassandra took off on with Lilandra, empress of the Shiar and Xavier’s space wife. She’s revealed herself, is ravaging the ship and mind rapes a the helmsman into crashing it, so with no other options Lilandra sends Smasher, not the one from the avengers run earlier version, to earth to send a warning to the X-Men. 

At the School things are actually going well for a second. In an intresting move the school is changing things up with no officla timetable.. which I think means there’s no rigid class schedule and you can just do them as you please or as necessary for your power. The plan’s the same, they just want to learn from each other in building mutant society and the future. It’s ideas like this that are the bedrock of the current run and were sadly never fully realized here.. but I don’t blame this run for that. Morrison had 2-3 years and it was cut short early, leading to a rather disapointing ending we’ll get to. They never had a chance to really dig in because they were kicked out by morons and then their whole grand design was undone until Hickman un-undid it in 2019. And even then some of this like the idea of mutant culture and what not hasn’t been picked up on yet. I do mean YET, as given the sheer NUMBER of x books touching on all sorts of subjects, it’s only a matter of if not when. 

As for who’s behind this it’s a combination of Jean and Charles: Jean is using charles notes and is going at full tilt. Scott is concerned though.. both about her since she went Phoenix and Logan told him about it and because these plans may alarm the humans. ON the former Jean just brushes him off which is not right.. given what happened with the phoenix force copy of jean, which granted had her personality, memories and powers and Jean later got a set of her memories so it might as well of been and only MAYBE the genocide is something Jean wouldn’t of done under the same circumstances, he’s understandably concerned. He lost her to it last time and it did weird shit to poor Rachel, who hif you don’t know is their daughter from an alternate timeline... because the Summer’s family tree is a WAKING NIGHTMARE. Thankfully I don’t have to untangle it because there’s a handy chart right here to do it for me that was recently released in X-Men Legends, a new series featuring legendary x creators telling stories in the cracks... and given we’re getitng storys by the simosons and peter motherfucking david, yeah good stuff.

And why yes there are more than one clone in this tree and several alternate timelines. , not to mention several clones and a sexy cat lady, it’s complicated is understnading it and i’m not sure what properly states it honestly. Also if your wondering about Adam there he’s the genetic son of Cyclops mom and the ma Shiar empreror who killed her for not sleeping with him through. Again it’s complicate REALLY feels like understatement. 

Point is he DOES have a right to be worried about the thing that lead to her being cocooned for a while and left their daughter in the future at the time of this... just in case you needed a reminder after that wonderful clusterfuck of a chart up above athe x-men are really fucking weird. 

So Jean brushing that off is not okay. She does however call him out on the second one and rightfully so: This isn’t some dominate the humans manifesto: this is simply changing the course of the future and how they teach their students to create a better one instead of adhering to human norms to try and appease “the republicans’, as jean puts it.. which has only gotten MORE RELEVANT, 20 years on: Attempts to appease the norms of society and things “just because that’s how it’s been” have never been a good thing. It’s why the very writer of this comic took several decades to properly identify themselves as non binary because people were too stuck int heir ways to try and see if there really were just two genders. Fighting against the grain, finding new ways to express things that have always been there... it’s what humanity needs to do and certainly what comes after us would need to do. i’ts how we get better as a race. If something’s not working we change it, quickly or slowly. And given Scott’s huge amount of emotoinal repression lately.. I can see why she’d see the former complaint as just him being a dick as opposed to the genuine concern it is. 

Short Version: Jean Grey is fucking awesome and while he’d be the last to write her for decades, no one did it better than Grant and no one has since.  Hopefully Gerry Duggan can clear that bar. 

After this fight we get a fuller verson of what happened both at the end of issue 120 and in the big reveal last issue: Turns out Hank awoke because Charles piloted his body like a truck and needed it revealed fast. Hank’s regained control of his body and facilities by now, but in a twist of irony he helpfully points out, had Cassandra not gone a needlessly cruel and sociopathic tangent and had Beak beat Beast into a coma, Charles wouldn’t of had a body. 

As for Charles in cass’ body he’s now in a tub of goo created by it. 

It acts as a shield as well as melding him with Cerebra so he can talk to jean telepathically as his thoughts are very weak.

Thanks to this and her psychic Jaunt, Jean now knows just what the hell cassandra is: She really is Charles twin sister. As for how the hell she surivied outside of the womb and how Charles never knew, she created herself a clone body using his cells and didn’t fully manifest till now. And while she has plenty of intellegence, at an emotional level she’s fully convinced, much like an infant that only she and charles are real and thus destroying him means gaining domance over her world. So in short she’s both utterly insane and now has an interstellar empire at her fingertips. 

And the news SOMEHOW get sworse: She booby trapped her body and charles only has days before he’s vegatable, having put every psychological disease possible in there, and she’s probably responsible for their colds and the u-men. So in short their pretty scrwed but at the very least Charles plans to try to flip things, use the fact their now public (a clear tactic to weaken them) to share his manefesto, his last will and testiment if you would. 

Scott meanwhile figures since their sick a healer might be a good idea and goes solo to fetch Xorn... who just sorta disappeared after the annual and didn’t return till his arc. 

We get an utterly touching scene after this: With Logan staying on his hobbit like toes in case of another attack, Jean goes to talk to hank. Hank is still throughly traumatized from the attack, fearing Cassandra is right and he’ll just keep devlovling until he ends up in a metamoprhisis type situation. I mean it’s not ALL bad hank,.. I mean going through that guarantees a musical about you. 

But Jean reassures him: It’s okay to be afraid of her, they all are.. but as she puts it...

It’s a really powerful inspiring scene... and really afirms how well Morrison writes Jean from the previous arc onward. She’s confident, powerful.. but also caring and compassionate. Here hank’s at his lowest, disparing that this might get worse.. and she reaffirms that htis evolution is an upgrade.. he may not be the same.. but that’s okay. He’s better. It really speaks to the core message of the X-Men as a whole and why they’ve stuck around all this time: It’s not just okay your diffrent.. it’s WONDERFUL. Your wonderful for being you. Whatever meataphor you read into it, it’s at it’s core a message that no matter who hunts you or trys to shame you for what you are, they are wrong and you are wonderful. And you are not alone... your people are out there.. and they will go through hell to protect you. It’s moments like this that remind me despite the bad parts, the accidnetal transphobic metaphor last time, a subplot with Hank coming up, the affair storyline and Planet X, just.. Planet X.. this run is special to me for a reason. It has heart, character and truly gets how the x-men should work, what makes them great... while making something NEW AND FRESH from it’s bones. Pushing envelopes, chanigng things for good and shaking things the hell up after far too much stagnation. It’s just pure good comicy goodness and i’m proud to finally be talking about it after having always wanted to. 

So as we end the issue Scott grabs Xorn, whose been at a budist temple all this time, and Smasher arrives to warn earth... but his warning missed his intended target. 

Well at least he got to Hellcow’s coven.. maybe she can call in Man Eating Cow and the Chick Fill A Super Cows.. thought hey might not help. Their parent company IS pretty homophobic.. I doubt their high on mutants either. 

Testament Emma and Jean talk over things how i’ts going etc, with Emma unsuprisingly annoyed with most of the students and Jean optimsitc.

But Emma soon has bigger issues to deal with: TEEN ANGST!

Yeah 4/5 of the Cuckoos are upset Esme has a boyfriend. Their concerns in part are because without her their apparently powerless.. which given one will die and another will leave and they’ll be left with three is just factually not true, and either Morrison changed his mind later, or more likely their simply exagerating like teens do. Emma points out it’s pointless to fight this...

So... their in a domestically abusive relationship rife with sexual tension? Are you sure your not htinking of Sam and Diane, Ross and Rachel, Garfiled and Odie perhaps?

Meanwhile Angel’s sulking in a tree talking about how all the kids are stupid and she dosen’t fit in. That sort of thing. Wolverine naturally has a tactful and understandable response to this:

It’s here Angel goes from understandable, a bit hard edged and obnoxious becuase of a very rough life.. and just becomes annoying.  I do get what Grant was trying to do: he was trying to play with Wolverine’s habit of taking sassy teens under his wing by giving him a more hardscrabble one with a harder life pre-xaviers.. not that Jubilee’s was easy, but I get what he was going for.. he just dosen’t succeed. Instead of a realistic version of a teen sidekick she just comes off as an obnoxious brat whose rude to everyone including her one friend Logan and her later boyfriend.  It dosen’t help that ONCE AGAIN, Morrison flew directly into unfortunate implications without meaning to, by having the only major POC character (Bishop guest stars later and there are two significant characters during the Riot at Xaviers arc but both aren’t relevant before or after), be an abused teen with gross fly based powers and a teen pregnancy subplot. Seriously this isn’t even the LAST time Morrison shoves their foot in their mouth like this in this run. While I do like this run a lot, it’s still 20 years old and it’s still going to have a bunch of bits that have aged like harvarti left on a sidewalk, and handing out unfortnuate implications like their candy is tied for the biggest with their handling of Magneto when he finally shows up in person. It’s THAT bad a take on the character that it’s up there with accidental racisim and transphobia. 

So moving on from.. that we get Jean comforting the professor before meeting the press, giving a throughly lovely speech about how Charles got his powers 30 years ago and despite seeing the worst in humanity, used his telepathy to allow him to see past it and see deep down just how scared and alone we all felt. So she takes them into a psychic conference room and we get a very interesting exchange. 

It’s an interesting parallel to how real world disinfranchised groups, how it takes time.. but soon being a POC or LBGTQ+ goes from unrightfully perscuted to celebrated. How a group starts with hates whipsers on the fringe of things but grows to be accepted, like it always SHOULD have been. Take representation of Trans people in the media. It started with Trans people being almost entirely punchlines and sources of fucking horendous “DID DEY USED TO BE A MAN.” storylines and hurtful jabs at people who had transitioned, treating them as a sideshow instead of you know as fucking human beings. But now coming out as what you always were ont he inside is celebrated. Sure the right are dicks about it but they always will be: but most media gladly celebrates when someone comes out as trans. Same with being gay, or bi or pan or polamorus or nonbinary.  Hell I admire grant for showing i’ts not even 100% perfect once you are popular: you still have to grapple both with people wanting to copot your culture and those who still don’t understand you trying to speak for you. 

She also gets the standard question calling the X-Men an army, shoots it down with the normal global peacekeeping operation stuff.. then we get this bitch. 

Who quickly realizes she’s outclassed by Emma Frost, professional that bitch. And while Jean is understandbly going to have to erase that.. I can’t blame her for snapping her.

Just to tear this shit down.: The privacy thing is not something she’s doing. All she’s doing is spcyhic teleconfrencing, you harpy. They fight greek gods and monsters to protect your sorry ass and the last one.. just makes me absolutely livid and feels so much like a real world comment i’m suprised there isn’t a fox news logo next to her bigoted head. 

Trouble follows them everywhere they go.. because their mutants. They can’t help it. A LOT of shit like the demons, aliens, and gods and what not, I do not know if they actually did fight the greek gods but i’m not going to say for sure they did not, the norse gods defintely, not sure on greek. But the point is allt his stuff HAPPENS TO THEM half the time, or is a consequence of trying to PROTECT PEOPLE. I’m so nettled by this because this is how the marvel unvierse acts all the fucking time towards ALL super powered peoples. Mutants esepcailly but they blame the heroes and what not for being chased and harassed by guys in costumes or alien invasions or all the stuff they FIGHT. Sure sometimes they caused it but it’s either because of a monsterous person with a grudge or just because their powerful and some douche took an intrest. I’m just.. so fucking tired of asshole civlians in comics. It’s realisitc I know but it’s just hard to stomach after so many have turned their back on so many for such DUMB reasons. 

Jean recovers well pointing out the genocide and how 16 million people, 16 million possible einsteinss or mozarts are just GONE, and that their trying to focus on the future. She also brings up autistic savants who can talk to atoms and while I don’t like the use of the savant thing, as it brings to mind stuff like rainman I very badly want to see this autistic kid who can talk to atoms as someone on the spectrum myself. Also I just want the crew of HIckma’ns books in general to pour over this because there are a lot of intresting powers and personalities only MENTIONED we never saw proper that could be great characters. Just saying. 

Jean cocludes her speech to the world, including Logan whose wisely getting hammered at anearbye bar.. while Hank finds out what’s going on with their sickness.. nanonscopic sentnels in the blood. 

But while the press confrence ends well with Jean having won over the press.. things go sideways as not only is it clear Esme’s boyfriend is in fact something sinister.. but Jean falls over due to the nano snetinels, and senses Scott being taken in tibet, taken down by a group of the Shiar’s imperial guard.. picutre the legion of superheroes but blindly loyal to the goverment and far more likely to get killed. And the rest are preparing to attacking including Gladiator who if you don’t know him, has all the powers of superman as long as he retains his confidence. 

And it turns out Esme’s boyfriend is an advanced Scout, the shapeshifting amoeba blob thing Stuff, a new addition by morrison and good on him. And the Imperial Guard are here but with one goal

 Superdestroyer

On the Ship we find out both wha’ts going on with Scott and Xorn, they’ve been taken and why the shiar are attempting mutant genocide: Cassandra is puppeting ALL of them, has convinced them the mutants are infected and since Lilandra is a puppet, Scott’s words fall on deaf ears. 

Meanwhile Wolverine ambushes one of the squads, kiling one named Dinosaurer via claw to the brain, while Emma has had a dome thing put over her head and isn’t transforming into diamond to counter it because...

But the Cuckoos fight back, taking out oracle before easily handling stuff since his brain is fairly simple.. and given he’s racist against solid people and unlike the others reveling in the genocide just a tad.. yeah what he deserves. So now with a living weapon the Cuckoos make peace with Angel as they need all the help they can get. 

Jean ushers the press into the panic room, not happy about it but not having anothe roption for their saftey. Hank tells her to self distruct crebra if cassandra get sclose and goes off to join the fight and let off some steam over the situation. Hank easily routes two of them, and one , Manta tries to just fly right ot jtean wince their TK proof. How does that go?

Jean gets to saftey after that, not that she needs it and hank is quickly taken down by a batch of Superguardians.. only for Wolverine to arrive in the Sknitt of time and chop them up.. oh and as one of the puts it...

Bad. Ass. I also like the addition of the flight patch, a nod to the Legion, who the Imperial Guard were based on as those kids used flight rings. 

But while Logan and Hank easily tag team these assholes...

The SHiar call in the big guns.. Gladiator.. and I wasn’t kidding abotu the superman thing. While Logan TRIES to talk him out of it, the murders only confirm Cassandra’s bullshit and Gladiator breaks into the panic room throwing hank and wolverin’e before them having utterly decimated them off panel. I mean Wolvie is a badass.. but even he has limits. I also like recontecullizing the guard as a whole here.. showing just how TERRIFYING they SHOULD be as enimies to the x-men. Yes our heroes did win.. but barely and only till Gladiator showed up. In most cases thier clearly holding back out of affection but here hteir just at errifying unstoppable force, and also apparently used to doing genocides like this. It takes what was a cheesy shout out to David Cockrums other big artistic work, and makes it horrifying and it is AWESOME. I admit to not having liked this arc as much for the longest time but this reread, the sheer teror and hopleessness as an interstellar superman easily cuts through our mighty mutants like tissue... it’s awesome. 

Thankfully one of the Guard found smasher.. and thus the truth comes out so our heroes are given a stay of execution with Gladiator clearly horrified at what he almost did and our heroes now so sick they can barely move and Hank can’t think them out of this. 

Thankfully he dosen’t has to as back in space, Cyclops tires of it and points out something Xorn, not being as experinced nor having delt with the guard ahd thought of: G-Type, the glowly guy about to execute them, is made of solar energy.. and xorn can manipulate that thanks to his star brain. He does, they take out the rest.. and prepare to go save the day.

Losers: PIcking up shortly before where we left off we see Cassandra murder Lilandra’s advisor who figured out what she was just as our heroes escape.. and as Cassandra is having Lilnadra order all of the shiar ships to immolate themselves. 

WIth Lilandra not being any use, Cass tries to psychically force her to commit sucidie but jumping off a space ledge but Xorn saves her. Cass tries another turn at mentally breaking an x-man, pointing out all scott’s recent flaws, his increased repression his faling marriage and while it gets him to stop it dosen’t quite work as well as it did on hank, likely because at his heart Hank is simply a more emotive person. Though his REAL reason for stalling is he can’t kill charles.. which he muses just as the ship blows up real good. 

Meanwhile back at Campus the kids initaiate their plan, having Angel break in and take a dna sample. She also finds beak naked in a tank and decides eh why not and brings him with her. This ends up paying off as Beak suggests the obvious to get emma free.. just force the space guy they have over in the corner to do it. They do and it works

Back in the mansion our heroes prepare for Casssandra... but Jean and Logan object to saving her body, pointing out that getting hank to repair it is exactly what she wants, and that Jean feels she can save charles without uit, with Hank being understandably doubtful given their current condition.. but Jean’s real plan is to put charles in her head and it’s already too far in actoin to stop now: she’s been saving his memories as they flaked off and if she dosen’t do this now there will be no charles left. 

Hank evacuates the civlians to teh danger room, and has an encounter with trish who tries to apologize and get him back.. only for him to rightfully regjecter her..a and then goes a step further by capping it off with:

Yeah on it’s own it’s not TERRIBLE. Still very dated to claim your gay just to spite someone, but for the time it was acceptable and compared to some of Morrison’s other gaffes in the run it’s minor at best. But it leads into a rather annoying subplot we’ll naturally get to that’s a much bigger issue, so i’ll save talking about it in full for when it comes up again. 

Jean manages to shove Chuck into her head, but is naturally leaking a bit and barely holding it or him together and may of overestimated herself just a tad.. while on the lawn Cassandra easily takes out the guards. That said the scene of Jean taking Chuck into her head is REALLY damn awesome. Jean is the arc MVP by a mile and Hank is pretty dang good competition. 

All Hell: We open the final issue of the arc with Scott and Xorn escaping the spaceship using some teleport tubes taking Arakai and Lilandra with them. 

We open with Cassadra utterly humilating gladiator while the kid team prepares to fight her despite you know, the 8 billion to 1 odds against them. 

Jean, despite hte discknes and trying to keep an old man in her brain marches out , prepared to fight, for the kids sake. For the world’s sake. But Logan’s easily taken out and with Jean barely holding it together.. the kids prepare to fight.. likely being slaughtered even if they mean well.. onlyf or help to finally arrive with Scott and Xorn glowy porting in. We get a really sweet , short moment with scott and jean...

Scott not knowing the situation tries to have Xorn heal charles first but since Cassandra’s body is dead and unoccupied that’s a no go.. he’s still usefult hough, curing Jean of her nanosentital sickness and moving on to Scott and Hank while there’s still time. 

We find out more about cassandra: She’s a murrmadi, a bodyless parasite.. eseetinally the dark first test a person faces... she just stuck around because she was one for a telepath.. the world’s STRONGEST telepath. But really other than that part the rest just feels like stuff we alreayd heard LAST TIME, mildly repaackaged and seems enitrley like filler to pad the issue out. 

So while Jean takes cerebra, both to keep it away from Cassandra’s plans of mutant genocide and for whatever she has planned, Scott, Hank and Xorn prepare to hold the line.. and as Jean mentions.. emma’s still out in the wild. 

So we get our climactic showdown.. logan, hank and xorn veruss cassandra, with Cassandra trying to do eveyrthing she can, tear them down mentally, throw out the students with our heroes fighting back best they can. It’s good stuff.  

Eventaully Cassandra gets to Jean.. but she’s already inacted her plan, putting a piece of Xavier’s mind in EVERY mutant, and giving Cassandra one ohell ofa reason you suck speech. 

It’s an incapsulation of what i said earlier and what the runs about: alone we are weak but together.. we just might make it. More on that as we go. But thanks to Cass naturally going fo rcerberba.. she accidently restores charles and is left bodyless.

Emma finishes the fight with her own brilliant gambit, presending cassandra her body.. but it’s actually stuff , reprogrammed into a sentient brain for her to inhabit and leaving her trapped, with Charles hoping t teach the now mentally reset Cassandra.  So Cassandra is beat, the virus is stopped, and our heroes have one.. but naturally for this run.. there’s one last suprise in store. 

Charles can walk again.. and going forward will be a far more active member of the team. The team is complete, Cassandra is beaten, and the future.. is bright. 

Final Thoughts:

This arc is a mixed bag.. it has really good scenes with the first and last issues being the standouts, with the former being an utter classic with an intresting gimick and the latter being a rousing climax with tons of awesome moments, with some good mometns scattered throughout.

But that’s the arc’s issue.. it has good moments and ideas.. but they don’t quite work togehter. The idea of teh Shiar Imperial Guard nearly doing a genocide is good, but the Shiar are such flat characters.. it’s really hard to care. They just don’t have enough connection to the x-men to really have the betryal sting but aren’t callous enough for genocide protocols to maeks sense. It’s a good idea, I still support it being terrifying.. but not enough is done with it and it feels liek Grant is more concerned with throwing weirdos at the x-men than actually saying something. 

The biggest issue however is the art. While inconsitant art is an issue as they’d rotate artists.. but in previous arcs it was usually pretty evenly split but here it’s sloppy: Quitely does the first issue, van Sciver the second.. and the worst of the three Igor Kordey does most of the art. I gave him the beinfit of the doubt last time.. but this time not so much. His art is muddy and tries to be stylized but comes off confusing,ugly and not great. He’s probably a lovely guy but given he’s up against two legendary artists, his lack of style comapred to both shows badly.  And given the arc is alreayd a bit overly complicated, it makes things WORSE by giving us muddled art in a very complex storyline. The flip flopping art makes a fairly intricate story very hard to follow. It’s easily why this arc didn’t grab me in the past and even seeing some better moments, it’s not the series best. It’s not the worst either, Planet X easily takes that ground despite having far better art. It’s an incredibly muddled incredibly long feeling arc and really needed to be compressed by one or two issues but instead is just hard to get through. It’s owrth it for the rest of the runa nd the good moments within but all in all easily one of the weakest points in the series. 

Next Month on New X-Men:The X-Men soak in the new world order, and we meet fantomex, dust and the last surivivors of genosha. 

Next on this blog:Green Eggs and Ham is back!

If you enjoyed this review PLEASE join my patreon. The end of hte month is coming and I need eveyr cent I can get so join at patreon.com/popculturebuffet and i’ll see you at the next rainbow. 

#new x-men #x-men #grant morrison #wolverine #logan howlett #cyclops #scott summers #jean grey #emma frost #beast #henry mccoy #cassandra nova #charles xavier #gladiator #lilandra neramani #the shi'ar imperial guard #smasher #kubark #xorn #shen xorn

[bltzgore]

Mars crashes, and his fears about his usefulness were not unfounded

Tw: assumed death as a result (but it wasn't), inhuman whumpee, race track incident, gun, broken bones, head injury

Just stay calm, stay focused, and be fast as hell. He went over the list again and again in his head. He was usually nervous before a race, but the excited kind of nervous. This time it was just fear. He had seen the other racers, he was a featherweight. His speed was all that he had to keep himself in this race. He took a deep breath, the people outside his stall were shuffling away. It would start soon. He stayed so still he almost forgot to breathe. The other racers sounded more excited. There was scratching, low snarling, and a few roars that felt like bone grating on bone.

Mars couldn't tell if the door was in front of him, or below him. Some gates opened and allowed the racers to lunge forward. Meanwhile there were others that dropped the racers in. He personally thought the ladder was more fair, but he also thought being ready to leap out of the gate was part of the race.

The count down began and he readied to jump off.

The racers seemed to stay close together, trying to work ahead of one another. This weight class raced differently. It was as if this wasn't about speed at all, it was about power. Mars did his best to stay just off to the side and out of the shoving match. After all, he wouldn't last a second in the midst of all that. What he had was his speed. Mars worked his way up and around the group. They were so dead set on lurching into each other, he flew in under the radar.

He couldn't believe it! He was pulling ahead! He had worked his way above the group, and dove down just as they were bearing down on a rather sharp turn. He turned his wings to redirect the momentum when another racer slammed into him. The dragon didn't let up until they both crashed into the wall with a resounding CRACK. The other racer rebounded right off of the stone, Mars didn't. He slid down the wall and landed hard.

His head was spinning, something wet was sliding down and slicking his feathers. He looked up slowly, watching the other racers shoot away. No no no! He needed to keep moving, needed to keep racing! Get up, get up, get up! He tried to stand, tried to move his wings but his right shoulder and wing joint immediately screamed, and he fell.

The medic was down there in minutes.

I can still race, I'm fine, get away from me.

He had crouched down next to Mars and was putting a painful amount of pressure onto already very painful joints. Mars was too disoriented to respond.

Another human joined the vet, Mars recognized Hulls when he smelled him. Through his swirling thoughts and pain he managed to make sense of their conversation.

"What's the condition doc?" Hulls asked.   

"Can't fly, can't walk, I say at least several months off his feet and wings for it all to settle. Probably some pain meds and anti-inflammatories. But I can't tell if the bones are broken, without a proper x-ray, there's probably a surgery or two necessary to bring it back to top form." the vet answered.

"Sounds expensive," Hulls muttered. "And you can tell me for a fact that this will put him back in top shape?"

"'Course I can't, but he can probably race again after it's all said and done."

"That's alota money for an I'm not sure," Hulls considered, "You think it would be more to invest in a new racer or to invest in this one?"

"I think it might cost a little more to invest in a new racer, but you'll definitely have a more concrete answer on if they'll be ready to race next season."

"I haven't heard you make a bad call yet. You know if anyone's got a shotty?" Hulls asked.

"Yeah, I should in my car, give me a sec." the vet answered walking off.

Mars hadn't been able to track every word in the conversation, but he had understood plenty. His heart had dropped at the mention of a shot gun. No, he could still race, he just had to show them.

The griffin threw a remarkable amount of effort into trying to stand. He got a few inches off the ground, when Hulls stepped on his wing very close to the base. Mars could barely handle his own weight, so when Hulls stepped on him he fell right down.

Try harder!

He strained, his injuries wailed, but he set his jaw and pushed through. He tried so hard! 

The vet had returned with the shot gun. He handed it to Hulls. Hulls put more pressure on Mars' wing and pinned him in place. He slowly pressed the barrel of the shot gun to Mars' head.

Mars tried to scramble, tried to do something, anything to dissuade Hulls.

No! I can still move! Please! I can still race! Let me try! PLEASE!

Little jump but what happens next ->

#whump #whumpee #whumper #wip #race track #griffin #oc #mars #jirra/atlas #jirra

[wrestlingisfake]

All Out preview

Here we go with AEW's annual Labor Day weekend show in Hoffman Estates, just like the original All In show three years ago. I have been going to wrestling shows for days, and it all comes down to this!

The show starts at 8pm EDT, streaming on Bleacher Report (in the US and Canada) and Fite.tv for $49.99. A free pre-show will be available at 7pm EDT.

CM Punk vs. Darby Allin - This is CM Punk's first pro wrestling match since January 26, 2014, when he spent 49 minutes in the Royal Rumble working with a staph infection and a possible concussion. The following night he walked out of WWE, leading to seven and a half years of debate about what is next move would/should be. Two weeks ago he debuted with AEW and declared that he wanted to help the younger talent, starting with a match against Allin. Allin, for his part, took some exception to being the first opponent, as if he's just a stepping stone to bigger matches.

The big issue here is seeing how well Punk, 42, has held up after seven years away. I've seen reports that he's looking good in training, but you just don't know until the bell rings. Regardless, I expect the hometown crowd to be very forgiving to Punk, and Allin is good enough to carry the match if he really has to.

I feel like I ought to have more to say about this, but it also feels like everything's been said. I can't believe Punk would lose his first match in. But I can believe that if Punk insisted on doing the job, AEW would let him do that. It'd be unusual for the returning guy to come up short, but New Japan does that sometimes and it can work as a longer build to the first win. Still, it is Chicago (sort of), so my gut says Punk wins to let us feel special.

Kenny Omega vs. Christian Cage - Omega is defending the AEW men's world title. For months, Omega held four different belts, representing championships in AEW, AAA, and Impact Wrestling. But on August 13 Christian defeated Omega for the Impact/TNA world title (and later retired the TNA belt), leaving Kenny more vulnerable than ever. The AAA and Impact titles aren't at stake in this match, so no matter who what happens the winner will be a double champion.

Cage is a great wrestler, but not a great challenger for this match. For months the storytelling pointed towards Hangman Page in this spot, but Page was abruptly written off television so he could take paternity leave. I don't think anybody resents Christian for filling in, but nobody really expects the 47-year-old, recently returned from a seven-year retirement, to win the big one. It's also a rematch of something we already saw a few weeks ago, which isn't a big deal but it's a bit of a talking point when everyone is always dogging WWE for excessive rematches.

The big go-home angle on September 1 was that Omega, the Young Bucks, and their buddies destroyed Christian, the Lucha Bros., and their buddies. After the show went off the air Tony Khan promised that this kind of bullshit interference wouldn't happen in the Bucks-Lucha Bros. cage match. Well, okay, but this match doesn't have a steel cage, so I have a feeling there will be plenty of bullshit interference. And I'm willing to bet that interference gives Omega the win while somewhat protecting Christian.

Matt Jackson & Nick Jackson vs. Penta El 0M & Rey Fenix - The Young Bucks (Matt and Nick) are defending the AEW tag team title. The Lucha Bros. won a four-team tournament to earn this shot. The Bucks have relied on a lot of outside interference from their entourage lately, so to counter that this match will be held inside a steel cage. In AEW, the only way to win a cage match is by pinfall or submission.

I was at All Out 2019 when these teams last met in a crazy ladder match (which feels like a million years ago). Everyone raved about it, and also worried that the Bucks damn near killed themselves. Personally I had a really shitty view of the ring, which made it hard to follow the match. This time I've got a much better view, so I'm looking forward to some good karma.

In theory the Bucks have sworn off doing the dangerous shit from the ladder match, but technically this is a cage match so maybe they'll just do different dangerous shit. Personally I'm more intrigued by seeing them change their game to fit in the confines of the cage, which doesn't lend itself to springboard flips off the ropes. But the cage has places to stand at the top, which will encourage the idea of setting up crazy highspots.

I feel like a title change is possible, but I could just as easily see the Bucks hold the belts for another six months. Santana and Ortiz seem to be next in line for a shot, and honestly I think that would work with either of these teams. But I guess I'll lean towards the Bucks retaining.

Chris Jericho vs. MJF - MJF defeated Jericho on November 7, 2020, to earn entry into Jericho's stable, the Inner Circle. MJF inevitably betrayed Jericho and formed his own stable, the Pinnacle, which beat the Inner Circle on May 5, 2021. Jericho was so determined to get revenge that he accepted MJF's terms to perform five "labors" to earn a rematch, but MJF beat Jericho once again on August 18, 2021. So now MJF is 3-0 against Jericho. (For some reason we're counting the ten-man match on May 5 but not the other one on May 30, which Jericho's team won, but whatever.) To get this final rematch, Jericho has put his career on the line.

Suddenly everything else in this storyline has taken a back seat to the idea that this may really be the end of Chris Jericho's 30-year in-ring career. There are plenty of fans who think Jericho, 50, should hang it up, but now that it might actually happen I think people aren't so sure they're ready for it all to end. The timing for Jericho to tease this is perfect, because he could easily just win and go another couple of years, or he could easily just finish today.

Part of what makes this work so well is MJF. I think everyone recognizes that MJF is going to be a top name in the 2020s, and that Jericho wants to make this guy. So it's like, if Jericho can get retired by anyone he wants, why wouldn't he pick MJF? I think the match will feel a little flat if Jericho comes up short yet again, but if it's the end of his career it suddenly doesn't matter if he's lost too many times, y'know?

Still, something tells me this isn't the end. Something tells me Jericho has more he wants to do. And something tells me, in a few years, we may be wondering if it would have been better if he retired on this show.

Britt Baker vs. Kris Statlander - Baker is defending the AEW women's world title. I expect to like this match but there's not really much to it. Baker was feuding with Red Velvet a while back and then Statlander made the save for Velvet. Baker and her crony Rebel have brought in Jamie Hayter to stack the deck against Statlander and Velvet. I think it's way too soon for Baker to drop the title, and I don't expect Kris to be the one to take it from her. So this is kind of a formality to kill time until Baker vs. Thunder Rosa down the road.

Miro vs. Eddie Kingston - Miro's AEW TNT championship is on the line. Somehow in the past year Miro has gone from Kip Sabian's gamer buddy to a monster heel who thinks God has anointed him to beat the shit out of people. Kingston has gone from a gutless heel to the most beloved guy in AEW. Wrestling is great.

Anyway, I love both of these guys, but I can't just bet that all the wrestlers have a good time. If Eddie's going to win a championship, it really ought to be in New York. I realize Chicago is AEW's favorite and we get all the good shit, but I've had my CM Punk ice cream and I'm maaaaaybeee going to get the Bryan Danielson debut too, so I'm willing to let New York have this one thing. Just this one time.

Jon Moxley vs. Satoshi Kojima - Moxley is the new GCW world champion following a surprise appearance at last night's GCW show; I assume that does not turn this into a title match. Moxley told top contender Nick Gage "you know where to find me," and it's anyone's guess if Gage will show up here to accept that invitation.

Mox is a busy boy making friends everywhere he goes. For a few weeks he was angling for a match with a top New Japan Pro Wrestling star on this show. The leading candidate was Hiroshi Tanahashi, but several other interesting names were discussed by fans and pundits alike. After that buzz, Kojima is a bit of a letdown.

Don't get me wrong, it's cool to get a guy who's held the IWGP heavyweight title, the All Japan Triple Crown, and the NWA world title. Kojima's a legend. But at this stage of his career, he's the guy New Japan sends when the real stars aren't available. Besides which, my cup runneth over when it comes to 50-year-old guys showing up to prove they can wrestle like they're 40. And I don't think anybody really believes Kojima can beat Moxley.

Ideally, this match should end with a video message from a bigger New Japan name calling out Moxley. I'm not confident that will happen. Then again, at this point I wouldn't be surprised if Moxley showed up in NXT UK to pick a fight with WALTER.

Paul Wight vs. QT Marshall - Formerly the Giant in WCW and the Big Show in WWE, Wight debuted with AEW earlier this year as a color commentator. QT and his goons were picking on Wight's broadcast partner Tony Schiavone when Wight intervened, setting up this match.

I was actually kind of into the idea of this until Marshall showed photos of Wight's recent hip surgery. Up to that point, they'd managed to keep me from noticing if Wight could move okay, and I was willing to accept he could do a basic squash match without a problem. But now I just assume he's broken down and he'll need a lot of smoke and mirrors to do even a simple match. Maybe that's the plan, to get me to lower my expectations and be pleasantly surprised. I sure hope it works out.

I'm about 95% sure Wight clobbers QT and just wins handily. There's a chance QT's squad pulls enough shenanigans to get a bullshit win, but I'm not sure what the point would be.

21-woman Casino Battle Royale - This is AEW's funky concept for a gauntlet battle royale. Five women start the match, and then every five minutes another wave of five enters; the 21st entrant gets to come out alone. Eliminations can occur at any time, by exiting the ring over the top rope to the floor. The last woman left after the others have been eliminated is declared the winner, and receives a future title match against the AEW women's champion.

AEW has announced 20 participants: Abadon, Anna Jay, Big Swole, Diamante, Emi Sakura, Hikaru Shida, Jade Cargill, Jamie Hayter, Kiera Hogan, KiLynn King, Leyla Hirsch, Nyla Rose, Penelope Ford, Rebel, Red Velvet, Riho, Skye Blue (a late substitution for Julia Hart), Tay Conti, The Bunny, Thunder Rosa.

The 21st spot has been left open for a surprise. Ruby Soho (formerly Ruby Riott in WWE) is widely expected to join AEW, and this would be a sensible spot for that to happen. But there are other women who could potentially debut here as a swerve.

I always want to pick the surprise entrant to win these things, but they really haven't done all that well in AEW battle royales. I could see them giving the win to, say, Big Swole, and just having Britt Baker beat her a few weeks later on Dynamite. Or Thunder Rosa could win to set up a major program for the next pay-per-view. They have a lot of options, which makes it hard to predict but fun to watch.

Orange Cassidy & Chuck Taylor & Wheeler YUTA & Luchasaurus & Jungle Boy vs. Matt Hardy & Marq Quen & Isiah Kassidy & Jack Evans & Angelico - This is booked for the pre-show. Hardy's heel group has been feuding with most of the midcard babyfaces for months. I don't expect this match will blow off the feud, but it'd be nice if it did so we could move on to something else. Orange's team should probably win.

#aew #all out #cm punk #darby allin #kenny omega #christian cage #the young bucks #lucha bros #cannot *believe* i managed to get this done

[wesleyhill]

The Throne, the Coal, and the Voice

A homily on Isaiah 6:1-8, Psalm 29, Romans 8:12-17, and John 3:1-17, preached at Trinity Cathedral, Pittsburgh, on Trinity Sunday 2021

“In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the LORD sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple.”

May I speak to you in the Name of God, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the eighth century BC, in ancient Israel, in the kingdom of Judah, there was a king whose actions became a warning to subsequent generations to tremble with fear and awe in the presence of God.

The king’s name was Uzziah, and at first — like so many new rulers who take the reins of power aware of their deep need for wise counsel and due caution for their awesome task — Uzziah was humble. But, as Israel’s Chronicler records, “when he had become strong he grew proud, to his destruction” (2 Chronicles 26:16).

Contrary to the law of Moses, King Uzziah bypassed the priests and approached the incense altar in the temple to bear the censer himself. The priests objected and tried to intervene, but Uzziah forged ahead anyway. He scoffed at the priests who stood in his way, and just at that moment a skin disease broke out on his forehead, right there in front of the altar. Then the Chronicler tells us: “When the chief priest Azariah, and all the priests, looked at [Uzziah], he was leprous in his forehead. They hurried him out, and he himself hurried to get out, because the LORD had struck him” (26:20). And he remained so struck until the day he died.

Like every other story, no matter how seemingly bizarre, in the Old Testament, this is ultimately a story about God — about the sheer mysterious otherness of God. The God we meet in this story of King Uzziah’s folly is a God of power and glory who will not be approached flippantly or arrogantly: “he [scatters] the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He [brings] down the powerful from their thrones” (Luke 1:51-2). This God is holy — He is “set apart,” lofty and exalted, morally pure (whose “eyes are too pure to behold evil,” as one of Israel’s prophets says [Habakkuk 1:13]), resplendent and radiant with eternal life and light: in a word, transcendent. As the book of Hebrews in the New Testament tells us, “indeed our God is a consuming fire” (12:29).

In the year that the proud and reckless King Uzziah died, with the skin disease he received in the temple still spread across his forehead, one of Israel’s greatest prophets received a vision of this fiery, holy, transcendent God. Isaiah the prophet says: “In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the LORD sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple.”

In the year that yet one more brash and arrogant human ruler passed away, his pride being no help at all against the inevitable forces of decay and death, Isaiah sees the God who remains unrivaled, sovereign, majestic, unchanging, impervious to the fleeting schemes of would-be usurpers.

No one can see this God and live, the Bible says, and yet somehow Isaiah is granted a vision of the LORD. He sees into the inner court of the heavenly temple: “I saw the LORD sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple.” And he sees fiery angelic creatures attending God’s throne: “Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew.” And Isaiah hears their voices calling out to each other like the pulsing of an earthquake:

“Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.”

This chorus is so thunderous that Isaiah adds, “The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.”

And just like so many other characters in the pages of the Bible who encounter God’s searing holiness, Isaiah’s first response to this heavenly vision is to be instantly aware of how unworthy he is — more than that, how doomed he is because of his impurity, his complicity in the evil of his nation. “Woe is me!” he cries. “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” It is not only King Uzziah who is guilty before God: it is Isaiah, and it is all the people of Judah — it is, in fact, all the world, including you and me. As we think of God’s radiant, fiery holiness, aren’t we instantly confronted with the wreckage of our lives? Aren’t we like Peter when he came face to face with Jesus’ divine power and said, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!” (Luke 5:9)?

“Woe is me!” If we were dealing with any other god, that would be the end of the story. Isaiah sees into the inner sanctum of God’s holy, fiery throne room, and he is undone by it. We are undone by it. But — contrary to all just deserts and all expected outcomes — that is not the end of this story.

Isaiah says that after he protested his unworthiness, “one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: ‘Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.’”

Rather than being obliterated by the blazing holiness of God’s life, Isaiah is touched and made pure by it himself, made to share in God’s radiant purity, with fire from the divine altar. The white heat of God’s holiness does not destroy Isaiah but delivers him instead. The coal taken from God’s presence does not consume Isaiah but cleanses him. The sacred fire that touches Isaiah’s lips does not abandon him in his guilt and sin but absolves him — sets him free to live and speak in trust and hope.

Alexander Pushkin, the celebrated nineteenth-century Russian poet, once wrote a poem about this scene from Isaiah, and he pictures the coal not only touching Isaiah’s lips but reaching into his innermost self:

[God] split my chest with a blade, Wrenched my heart from its hiding, And into the open wound Pressed a flaming coal. (Ted Hughes trans.)

This heart surgery, where the poet sees the winged seraph invading Isaiah’s life with the burning coal of God’s presence, is what the prophet Ezekiel foresaw when he prophesied: “A new heart I will give you [the LORD says to Israel], and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you” (Ezekiel 36:26-27). The flaming coal that Pushkin sees pressed into Isaiah’s heart is nothing other than what John the Baptist foresaw when he said about Jesus, “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11). The LORD who is lofty and exalted, who inhabits eternity, draws near to us who are lost, ruined, guilty, mortal. He touches us, cleanses us, forgives us, burns away our sin, and makes our hearts aflame with life and love by the fiery presence of His Spirit, the One Whom we name in the Creed as “the Lord, the giver of life.”

After the coal has touched his lips, Isaiah says, “Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?’ And I said, ‘Here am I; send me!’” Isaiah is not only touched to the depth of his being by God’s cleansing fire; he also hears God speak. He hears God’s voice. And as the rest of his prophecy makes clear, that divine voice conveyed to him God’s Word for the people of God. God speaks and sends Isaiah as His prophet to deliver His Word to us who cannot live without it. “The voice of the LORD is a powerful voice; the voice of the LORD is a voice of splendor” (Psalm 29:4).

This Word that God gives to Isaiah to speak to the people of Judah is the same powerful Word by which God brought the universe into being. It is the same Word that was with God in the beginning, the Word Who was God. It is the same Word Who became flesh and lived among us, full of grace and truth. It is the same Word Who said, “The Father has sent me… God sent his Son into the world… that through him the world might be saved” (John 20:21; 3:17, NEB). That Word is the human being Jesus, God in human flesh, God’s voice for us, God’s self-communication, God’s ultimate self-revealing. And what He says to us is, “I absolve you. Your sins are forgiven. Peace be with you. Behold, I make all things new. Believe in Me.”

According to the writer of the Fourth Gospel, what Isaiah saw when he saw the LORD of Israel high on His throne, reaching out to sinful humanity with His cleansing fire, speaking to sinful humanity with His judging and saving Word — what Isaiah saw was none other than the glory of the God we know and worship and call out to as the Father, “the maker of heaven of earth,” who sent His eternal Word, Jesus Christ, His only Son our Lord, to reconcile us to Himself, and the Holy Spirit, who pours God’s love into our hearts and by Whom we cry out, “Abba! Father!”: “Isaiah said [what he said] because he saw [Jesus’] glory and spoke about him” (8:41).

To Him, therefore, with the Father and the Spirit, one God in three Persons, be ascribed, as is most justly due, all might, dominion, majesty, and power, now and forever. Amen.

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 22

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-21 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: very sad... like quite sad. Not the saddist I have planned for him, but obviously Lyrem centric because it is sad. Also Memory whump :) and Cancer mention :( 

If you enjoy my work and are reading my stories then please do me a teeny tiny favor and reblog my work! Xx. - Alpaca.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: ROOM 111

        Lyrem opened his eyes, exhausted from the effort to stay awake. The nurse released his hand from the man’s shoulder as he remembered what he would be waking up to and Lyrem jolted upright in the navy cloth seat. The waiting room was painted white from top to bottom with just a bit of colour on the walls in the failed attempt for the area to feel welcoming.

        “Sir,” the nurse addressed him. “Your wife is out of surgery now.”

        Lyrem sniffed and stood up, the weight of a clear stone sat in his pocket. On it was etched a symbol of an oddly shaped wheel with three prongs. It was the only thing holding him together-especially now as his legs were fighting him the whole way down the hall. Truthfully, he didn’t want to see her. He was afraid to see her.

        He imagined tubes. Too many tubes. Sticking out of Maria at every direction- smeared with rusty patches of blood- in pain and breathing with difficulty. He’d have to deliver her water, probably; Ask for a nurse to give her more pillows and more pain relief, too. He should have brought flowers- what kind of idiot forgets to bring flowers to his wife’s hospital bed?!

        “Can I speak with the surgeon?” Lyrem stuck out a hand, brushing the forearm of the nurse who would lead him to Maria. “Can I know…”

        He couldn’t finish the question- how much longer she has?

        The nurse paused to nod him a sympathetic smile.

        “The surgeon will be available to speak with you both soon.”

        Lyrem choked back a small breath. Maria was awake? He didn’t think she would be awake. The nurse left him outside the door with the silver numbers 111 beside it. His reflection, nailed to the door jam, played his fear back to him. It reminded him that he couldn’t be afraid. He wouldn’t let her know he was.

        He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes before crossing over the threshold- perhaps it was out of habit. Part of him even wished the Labyrinth might take him instead of Room 111.

        “Oh, who’s this handsome fella?”

        Lyrem’s mouth curled at the edges. Before speaking, he reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small yellow book.

        “His name’s Aurelius.”

        Maria chuckled lightly. The book was set down on the attached table to the bedframe. She didn’t reach for it. Lyrem found his eyes drifting away from hers each time he felt the contact lingered for too long. Her eyes like storm clouds, were once bright and lively. Today, and for many days previous, they had sunken in her growing sickness.

        “Did they tell you anything, yet?” Lyrem asked with his eyes to the geometric carpeted floor. It was badly stained and needed desperate replacing.

        Maria shook her head and closed her eyes. There were tubes just helping the oxygen flow and not much else other than an IV and blood oxygen monitor clipped to her finger. He could hear the laborious breathing though. That was something she didn’t have before she had come in. Before she had said much at all, Lyrem sensed that she was tired.

        “You should keep it,” she said softly, nodding to the book. “I’ve read it a thousand times over. I don’t need it anymore.”

        “Are you trying to tell me you’ve finally achieved enlightenment?”

        “Stop being a goose,” she commanded. “You’d learn a lot from it. Just take it already.”

        Lyrem’s eyes clouded over. Swallowing, he sat down beside her on a simple black chair, and shook his head.

        “No, I don’t need it.”

        Maria sighed. Her eyes disappointed in his condescending and stubborn refusals, though she was not at all surprised by it.

        “Lyrem… we both know what he is going to say”-

        “No, we don’t. We haven’t heard anything from the surgeon yet”-

        “The chance that I recover even with chemo is extremely low”-

        “There are always alternative treatments if it becomes too hard for you”-

        “I know I don’t have much longer”-

        “For fuck sake’s, Maria! Are you really so desperate to get rid of me?!”

        A hush fell through the room. There wasn’t a sound, save the steps of nurses and doctors directing themselves through the halls and the odd traveling visitor. Lyrem’s head fell, his face red with shame…

        “You think that I want to get rid of you?”

        “No, I didn’t mean that.”

        “You think I’d rather die than be by your side, Lyrem?”

        “No, I”-

        “I would never,” her voice shook with an anger hardly seen. Her eyes burned with tears of betrayal and what Lyrem would have only seen as regret if he was ever brave enough to meet her gaze. “Ever tell you that. I would never choose to discard you like that”-

        “Maria, I”-

        “I stood by your side. I was always there for you and I waited for you for ages”-

         “I know, my love. I’m s”-

        “I loved you, Lyrem.”

        “I’m so sorry, Maria.”

        Loved.

        He waited, holding his breath, but Maria was finished speaking. In fact, she didn’t even notice how she had placed that single letter at the end of the word that meant so much. He had noticed it immediately. He rubbed the palm of his hand down his face and stood up.

        “Where is that goddamn surgeon?!”

        Lyrem stepped out of the room, only to find himself face to face with a doctor- or who he assumed to be one. She was tall, dark skinned and donned a long white coat. Her hands clasped in front of her, as if she had expected him to appear there.

        “Lyrem Nomadus?”

        Startled by the sudden contact, he straightened against the door jam and nodded in confirmation. His striped button up shirt billowed out slightly and was left partially untucked; the last evidence that a man of his position had given up. Stepping out of the way, he allowed the woman into the room.

        Maria had already drifted into an exhausted sleep in the time that he had left for the door and returned to his chair. She deserved the rest. Reaching out, he held Maria’s hand. Her skin was rough and dry from the cold, unfeeling hospital where she had been staying for some time. There was a small bottle of lotion near the headboard. He took some in his hands and began to massage hers tenderly as she slept; almost placing him into a calming, meditative trance. It smelled of lilacs.

        “Stage four,” the woman said simply.

        “Yes, we know,” Lyrem said robotically. “You’re not the doctor we spoke with before she went under. Where is he?”

        “He was on his way, but became distracted with more …important patients.”

        With a fire in his eyes, Lyrem snapped.

        “My wife is the most important patient in this fucking building!”

        “You’re quite a mouthy one, aren’t you?”

        He huffed, and returned to attending Maria, concerned that his voice had woken her, he became still. The woman in the white coat closed the door gently and with a keen eye she studied Lyrem as he cradled his wife’s hand and placed a gentle kiss at the tips of her fingers.

        “May I ask you a personal question, Lyrem?”

        “What do you want to know?” He said tiredly.

        “What is your definition of true love?”

        He looked up, furrowing his brows.

        “Excuse me?”

        “What is it? True love, to you?”

        Lyrem shifted in his seat, and thought for a couple moments. The inkling that this person was more than a doctor, or a surgeon for that matter, was quite clear.

        “It’s something that is meant to be. It’s destiny, and it’s perfect.”

        The woman hummed. “That is very cute. I hope you don’t mind me saying.”

        “And may I ask the same question of you?” Lyrem posed indignantly. He lowered Maria’s hand to her side again. His eyes became more steeled. Serious.

        The woman grinned and approached and danced her fingers along the bedspread. Her eyes continued to linger on him as she explained herself.

      �� “True love…” she began. “To me… Exists and does not exist…

                 At the same time.

        Everyone loves in a thousand different ways every single day.

                 And yet we do not count a thought, a touch, a kiss, as acts of true love?

        What is any type of love, if not true?

                 If love is not true… Is it truly love?”

        “Forget I asked,” Lyrem grumbled a sigh.

        She giggled, like someone was tickling a feather against the back of her neck.

        “What is so funny to you?”

        “Oh, well,” she started. “I can feel your friend…the fiend. He’s trying to visit us now.” She lowered her voice to a playful whisper. “He can’t. I won’t let him interrupt.”

        Lyrem nodded and stood up from his chair. Pulling out a pale yellow, cloudy stone from his pocket, he held it up. She regarded it with a nod.

        “You’ve made yourself a moonstone. That is quite the feat.” she acknowledged. “All to summon little old me?”

        Lyrem’s grip tightened on the stone. So, she was Hekate. She finally showed up. Only took her four bloody weeks. Maria had done a lot of suffering in that time.

        “Yes.” He confirmed. Suspicious, more than hopeful, Lyrem placed it back into his pocket.  “And I would like to make a deal with you”-

                                                 . . . . . . . .

        “No!” The voice shouted through the darkness, the deeper one. “Where is it?!”

        “Oh, for goodness sake’s Hades!” Persephone hollered. “Maybe it has nothing to do with Maria? Maybe his call was somewhere else. We’ll find it eventually; we just have to keep searching.”

        “Hades!” Lyrem shouted. Once again, he was awoken into darkness from a deep memory. “Persephone! You both stop this charade right, bloody now!”

        “Oh great, now he knows we’re here.”

        Lyrem scoffed, his hands reaching his hips, he screamed right back once again. How dare they sift through his memories like old photos in a box, pulling him in and out of all the moments he wanted nothing more than to forget.

        “You utter fools! I knew I would arrive here! I knew you’d both be waiting! And I absolutely despise this attempt at torture! It’s boring! It’s… It’s… aggravating. Just let me die, already!”

        “I’m very sorry poor thing,” Persephone piped up, “But it’s really not meant to be torture for your little soul. We’re simply… looking for something”-

        “I don’t care what you’re looking for. Get out of my min”-

                                                   . . . . . . . .

        He was in a room.

        The backroom.

        Maria sat at the table with her small, thin, and wrinkled hands folded neatly. She only ever saw the back room once in her life and this was it. She had hardly looked around. Mystics was her pride and joy, but she wouldn’t be able to have it. Not anymore.

        A bejeweled and bloody knife sat beside her hands.

        “There’s enough money in your account for you to live happily. You’ll never have to worry about a thing,” Lyrem said as he sat across from her at the table.

        “I never wanted to break your heart.” She spoke softly.

        He should have noticed it earlier; the small changes in her voice when she spoke to him, the softness in her eyes that had grown calloused; the unfeeling nature of her hand in his. It wasn’t the sickness that had brought it on. This had been the nature of their love for a long, lonely time.

        “My heart’s fine,” he said coldly.

        Perspectives had changed since she had survived her battle with cancer. Maria loved him well for many years, but her life with him was over now. Lyrem saw that now too- he was just too afraid to admit it.

        After Hekate’s deal, and Maria had been miraculously healed in a way that doctors would study for years to come. She had reconnected with an old friend through the ordeal when Lyrem was away, searching for ways to keep her alive. The friend was one who had divorced his wife and was now living in Cuba, retired and carefree. Phillip had a lovely beach house, with a dock, and a yacht, and one of those jacuzzi tubs that Maria could never get enough of when she found herself in a nice hotel.

        “Give me your hand,” he requested, holding his own out for her to take one last time.

        The hand she offered had been scarred many times over and rarely had her wound ever been re-opened on purpose. Occasionally, Maria would see something she was not supposed to or know something that could have dire consequences for Lyrem if it ever was released into the world. It was safer if her memories were simply removed.

        This time, he wanted to erase himself.

        Everything they had ever done, he wanted it gone. He ushered her out the back door as her escort. Their final words had been shared. A cab would pick her up outside of Mystics in a few minutes to take her to the airport with a pair of packed yellow suitcases.

        “Memorias vim ex”-

        “Wait,” she stopped him, and stared up at his aged features. She wondered if she would still see him as handsome as he was now when her memories of him were gone. “I still… I care about you, Lyrem. Please, take care of yourself. Promise me.”

        Any softness left in his eyes immediately hardened. He told himself he didn’t care what she had left to say. She had wasted enough of her life with him already. There wasn’t a moment to lose.

        “Memorias vim extermina.”

        The cut on her hand healed itself thoroughly, fusing the skin together to leave not much more than a thin red welt on her palm. She turned back toward the street. The only thing on her mind now, was where to wait for her cab.

        He stepped into the back room, as silently as possible, just in time for Hades to bring him back into his present situation with a well fueled rage.

        “If you hedonistic cretins don’t stop what you’re doing, right now, I”-

        “You poor mortal man,” the deep voice claimed. “You still bear my mark, don’t you?”

        There was a dim blue glow. Finally, something for Lyrem to address properly.

        “Yes,” he spoke through gritted teeth, nearly pulling his hair out at the madness that was threatening to overtake him. Instead, his hand hovered over a spot on the upper left of his chest, mindful of the brand that Hades had blessed him with many years ago. “Quite frankly, it’s been a thorn in my side for decades.”

        “A simple reminder of what you owe me.” Hades corrected him, stepping out of the light. His towering figure loomed over Lyrem. Hades snapped his fingers, bringing more light into the cavernous realm. Deep bluish hues overtook them both, painting Hades’ stark white beard with a cobalt glow.

        “Your essence, your memories, everything you are,” Hades spoke; his voice echoed through the deep, dark gloom, “belongs to me.”

#Lyrem #greek gods #hades #persephone #whump #memory whump #whumpblr #Mystics by alpaca #writeblr #writers of tumblr #original work #urban fantasy #fantasy #fantasy writing #original fantasy #fantasy fiction #fantasy story #fiction #original fic #alpaca ocs #whump blog #whump community #writing #writers on tumblr #fiction writer #reading community #readers of tumblr #readers #avid readers #gore

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: 【夏彦拜访剧情】 Xia Yan’s Personal Story 2-14 Translation

Translated parts: Xia Yan’s Personal Story Chapter 2: 2-1 / 2-2 / 2-4 / 2-5 / 2-7 / 2-8 / 2-9 / 2-10 / 2-11 / 2-13 / 2-14 Translation Masterlist: here

Video: https://www.bilibili.com/video/BV1xV411m79T?p=11

A quick explanation of how this feature works is that each boy has their own section that you can “Visit”! Part of it is like MLQC’s GSH feature, where you can talk to the boys (with Live2D!) and raise intimacy by interacting with them. The other part of it is a storyline that centers on the MC running around with the respective boy to deal with a certain case or situation.

Antiques Shop

After sending the girl home, Xia Yan returned to his own antiques shop.

He sat on his sofa, flipping through his copy of “Adventures of Sherlock Holmes”.

Yang Xiao: You must have had a lot of fun if you came home this late, right?

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Brother Yang, there are some places in my room that have security mechanisms. It’s not safe for you to come and go as you please.

Yang Xiao: I did want to give you a call before I came in, but I was afraid of interrupting your date.

Yang Xiao: Oh, I’m returning this to you.

Yang Xiao tossed the glinting ring that had fallen on the car before.

Xia Yan: Just like your style of taking action from before… you didn’t even put it straight into the last storage cabinet.

Yang Xiao: I originally did want to do that, but after, I thought that I should give you a chance to turn over a new leaf.

Yang Xiao: After all, something like proposing marriage should be done by the person themselves.

Yang Xiao: But if you still wanted to leave her after today, I would have directly given the ring to her, dragged her to confront you, and watched you deal with it.

Xia Yan: Aren’t you being too ruthless – I’m a sick patient, after all!

Yang Xiao: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Being brave enough to take risks is my style as a doctor.

Yang Xiao: Plus, a patient like you needs shocking methods. Only by getting stimulated well, will you have a vigorous will to live.

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan: Alright, I already no longer plan to leave her. Return my box to me.

Yang Xiao: Since you already plan to accompany her, then it shouldn’t be a big deal for them to be returned to you, one by one, by following Sphinx’s riddles.

Xia Yan: Brother Yang…

Xia Yan: I bothered asking you for it because I wanted to act with etiquette. I didn’t want to intrude into people’s homes like you.

Xia Yan: Or do you think that there’s a place on earth that I have no way of coming and going from as I wish?

Yang Xiao: …

Yang Xiao: Xia Yan, I’m actually thinking for you.

Xia Yan shot a glance at Yang Xiao, with “Keep spinning your lies” written all over his face.

Yang Xiao: I’m telling the truth!

Yang Xiao: Think about it. If I return the box to you now, how will you explain to her how you defeated Sphinx?

Yang Xiao: You can’t tell her that the two of us conducted and acted this out, right? Hey, don’t glare at me… alright, consider it as me conducting and acting this out.

Yang Xiao: But with good friends like us, she’ll definitely think that we joined hands to mess with her, right?

Xia Yan: …

Yang Xiao: Today, you lied when you helped me cover things up, right?

Yang Xiao: The taste of lying to the woman that you love the most is definitely hard to bear, right?

Yang Xiao slapped Xia Yan’s shoulder, his face full of sincerity.

Yang Xiao: Take your time. Take your time in weaving this play full circle. Don’t rush.

Yang Xiao: This way, you’re good, I’m good, she’s good – everyone’s good.

Xia Yan did his best to control the twitching in corners of his mouth. With a calm and collected face, he knocked off the hand that Yang Xiao had placed on his shoulder.

Xia Yan: …

Yang Xiao: Plus, with the box at my place, you’ve also got one more reason to set up a date with her – isn’t that pretty decent!

Xia Yan: You’re too much…

Yang Xiao: Alright, I’m leaving the physical examination schedule on your table. Remember to come on time.

Yang Xiao: Your sister-in-law has stewed some dinner for me. I should get home to eat it.

After Yang Xiao finished talking, he stood up. Xia Yan sent him to the door.

Xia Yan: Brother Yang… thank you for today.

Yang Xiao: I’m just contributing all the humble effort within my power.

Yang Xiao: The one who makes the decision is you yourself.

Yang Xiao: That year, I could save you. I can still do so now. Live well for me, young man.

Turning away, Yang Xiao waved at Xia Yan and walked into the night.

Xia Yan returned to the place in front of the computer and sat. He held up that lost-and-found ring, staring at the centrepiece ruby, and fell into deep thought.

That heart-shaped gem, red as fresh pigeon’s blood, was crystal clear. The carefully polished facets sparkled resplendently.

Surrounding the gem, there was a circle of densely-packed little diamonds. The ring of platinum formed the base, stably holding this splendour in place.

It was a most typical look, but it was unique and unmatched in this world – it was a ring that Xia Yan made himself.

--

[Flashback]

Infirmary

When Yang Xiao pushed the door open and came in, Xia Yan was sitting on the hospital bed, holding sandpaper to polish the gem.

Yang Xiao: Yo, still busying yourself?

He glanced curiously at the gem in Xia Yan’s hand, his eyes full of smiles.

Yang Xiao: Working so diligently… looks like this stone really is important to you.

Yang Xiao: You don’t know how tightly you held it when you were undergoing surgery.

Yang Xiao: Me and the other two team doctors – three grown men – couldn’t force open your hand even when we combined our efforts.

Yang Xiao: With much difficulty, we managed to touch the stone, but just when we shifted it a bit, you started shaking and crying out.

Yang Xiao: Scared us so much that we rushed to put it back.

Yang Xiao: Say, are you Jia Baoyu* reincarnated, with this stone as your lifeline?

Xia Yan’s hand movements paused. He didn’t speak for a while.

Yang Xiao: Although, I also need to thank the lucky influence of this stone.

Yang Xiao: When we stuffed it back into your hand, your will to live clearly increased significantly.

Yang Xiao: Otherwise, with the potency of the toxic gas you breathed in, I wouldn’t be able to save you even if I were Hua Tuo** reincarnated.

Yang Xiao wasn’t wrong.

At that time, it wasn’t just him. The moment he was pushed on the surgery bench, even Xia Yan himself had already lost all hope.

Toxic gas in his body – he was vaguely aware of how many of his teammates that came here before him had died in this way.

It was just that he hadn’t completely resigned yet… he wanted to see her. He wanted to see if she was living well right now…

And then, he heard it.

That familiar voice came from far to near, gradually amplifying beside his ear.

“Xia Yan, you must return. I’m waiting for you to return.”

A ray of light penetrated his chaotic field of vision. In the depths of the radiance, the girl’s figure was outlined with light. 

She extended her hand to him. Unconsciously, he started to sprint.

When their fingertips touched, the white figure dissipated in all directions. There was only the girl’s hairclip, which fell into his hand.

Something took root and grew in his heart, and his will to live suddenly went up!

He would continue to live. He would personally tell her of the feelings he had hidden for many years in his heart…

Thus, in the middle of that difficult operation, he miraculously survived.

And the “hairclip” that had fallen into his hand was the source of this gem in his hand. 

Yang Xiao: Although seriously, this stone really is pretty magical, with there actually being a natural heart-shaped ruby inside.

Yang Xiao: If you used that to propose marriage, it would be so romantic… wait!

Yang Xiao suddenly looked towards Xia Yan.

Yang Xiao: Young man, could you be using this for an engagement ring?

Yang Xiao: Explain obediently – when did you get a girlfriend?

Xia Yan: … Do I look like someone who has time to establish romantic relationships?

Yang Xiao: Then it must be someone from before. Who is it? How old? How’s her personality? Is she pretty?

Xia Yan: I…

Patient A: Brother Yang, don’t scare young people.

Xia Yan hadn’t finished refuting this when the male patient on the adjacent bed started talking first.

Patient A: To me, Little Comrade Xia must have encountered a heavenly girl by destiny on his missions and fell into the river of love.

Patient A: Just like those 007 movies that they often make. An exceptional girl living in a foreign country, stimulating and romantic.

Xia Yan: Your imagination is so rich that you might as well become a screenwriter.

Patient A: Hey… don’t be shy.

The male patient took out a bag of something from under his pillow. Supporting himself with the bed’s guardrails, he hopped over and moved it to Xia Yan.

Patient A: Here. Encouragement from a senior’s love.

Patient A: Just a ruby is too drab. Set these diamond pieces on the side – it’ll be prettier.

Patient A: I originally kept this to give to her, but these legs of mine… I’m just afraid that I’ll be a burden on her.

Patient A: Do your best. When you get together, remember to invite me to drink the wedding wine!

[Flashback end]

--

“Reality often doesn’t go as planned.”

“After hearing about those experiences she had, I…”

“But I won’t be confused anymore.”

“I’ve made a promise with her.”

“That when she’s lonely, she has me. When she’s experiencing difficulties, she has me. When she’s being capricious, she has me… for all of time, she has me.

“For this, even if I’m struggling on my deathbed, I’ll work my hardest.”

“I want to always accompany her, by her side.”

“… If I can’t, then let me be her family member, and accompany her to walk just a little bit further…”

--

TL Notes:

*Jia Baoyu is the main character of a Chinese novel called Dream of the Red Chamber, born as an incarnation of a magic piece of jade.

**Hua Tuo is an ancient Chinese physician, known for his skill in surgery, as well as his use of anaesthetics.

I checked my translation over several times when I read “most typical look” (about the ring) because I was like??? Why would they write that after talking about how beautiful it is?? But there simply wasn’t another way to interpret that line…

Xia Yan also voices the end bit. 10/10 would recommend listening

#tot translation #tears of themis #weiding shijian bu #xia yan #未定事件簿 #夏彦拜访剧情 #夏彦 #guys i literally can’t #Xia Yan MADE a ring #:') cries #caught up now

[drneilfox]

Scarlet's Swords: Music Films Book Blog 10 (July 2021)

A rollercoaster of a month emotionally with ‘the book’. So many moments of insecurity and anxiety washed away by a series of related and tangential moments and experiences. I went on annual leave finally, to await the arrival of our new baby and to spend a few weeks as a family with little to no responsibility or expectation beyond that. It was freeing to put on my out of office at work and simultaneously put a quasi-OOO on the book for the foreseeable. It might have been foolish given how far behind where I wanted to be I am currently, but it was liberating.

It caused me to rethink my approach, or at least know I need to (I haven’t done it yet because I’m stepping back a tad). In the downtime away from writing I have been tinkering and moving forward at a snail’s pace. One thing I did was to map out all the films I still need to see or see again, or at least have told myself I need to see or see again. It’s up near the 300. Obviously I can’t watch that many and write and read and edit and submit my first draft in February 2022. So I stopped worrying that I had to. I have been prioritising viewing and making peace with the fact that I can’t see everything. It’s weird how pervasive that sense is when writing about cinema and how hard it is to escape. The feeling that I am writing about something I love and want to share with people is subsumed beneath the fear of being ‘tested’ on my knowledge and the facts of it all (even though I’m not presenting fact) and what ‘gaps’ might tell people about me. This is sometimes stronger than the feeling that I am just a terrible writer writing a book no one has any interest in ever reading. I wonder if that’s my age, or the social media age, the fact that it’s taken me so long to get to this point or some wretched combination of all three.

The writing of the list certainly helped put the next few months into focus and my sketch of a new plan, once I am back in earnest at the desk, looks ok. I’m excited to work through the final films and get the book into even better shape. Other events in July certainly helped. One was finishing a draft of the fifth chapter on my list, on films about making music. It was a slog time wise, because of so many interruptions, but I got there on the final day of ‘work’ before annual leave. So it felt momentous and a good way to sign off for a bit.

There was also the arrival of some films from the U.S. I took advantage of the Barnes and Noble 50% off Criterion Collection sale and the fact that I have a dear, dear friend in New York (thank you JC!) to post stuff to me that would mean avoiding import tax, to get my hands on some classic films. I mainly wanted them for the extras but also because I love them. I picked up A Hard Day’s Night, Gimme Shelter (a July rewatch), Transes and one I’ve never seen, Murray Lerner’s Festival. I also picked up maybe my favourite ever music doc, Les Blank’s A Poem Is A Naked Person, and a box set of Blank’s work which includes a ton of music, music-centric, or music related works that I can’t wait to get stuck into. Blank is fast becoming one of my favourite filmmakers.

July’s watchlist was heavy hitters galore as I was watching and rewatching for my Milestones chapter so films and filmmakers included The Last Waltz and other Scorsese works (is Rolling Thunder Revue his best music film maybe?), Jonathan Demme, Julien Temple and films about the Beatles, Stones and Bob Dylan. Big. One such film was Demme’s beautiful concert film Heart of Gold, focusing on Neil Young not long after surgery for a brain aneurysm. It’s a warm and soulful film and one I saw on DVD, in New York, on a lazy afternoon before heading home, while staying with my friend John Carlin (the JC who sent posted me some DVDs this month). I was tired, I was all New York-ed out, and John put it on and we loved it. It meant a lot, maybe more, than it would normally had because a couple of years earlier I had written a play called How It Plays Out, that John travelled to Luton to perform in as the lead, and in the play he performed a Neil Young song, Only Love Can Break Your Heart. John Carlin is a brilliant songwriter in his own right. Check out his work here and buy Songs From The Black House, it’s one of the best records ever made, Fact. I love him.

I also read the first book that will feature in my book since I started writing back last year (nearly 12 months ago!), Thomas F. Cohen’s Playing to the Camera: Musicians and Musical Performance in Documentary Cinema. It was invigorating. Not only is it a great book, but it reminded me why I am working on mine. I want to be in dialogue with these other works that exist, reach out to and pull from them and survey the land of ideas that is music documentary and the writing on it. I loved Cohen’s style and confidence too. It gave me strength to be more confident about my own writing. It was also nice to see so much time dedicated to Shirley Clarke’s Ornette: Made in America, a truly magnificent doc I loved writing about.

So over the next few months I shall be reading more and more for the book. I am excited. That trip to the BFI library (where I learned of Cohen’s book), really galvanised me, in ways I’m becoming more aware of as I think more and write less.

Don’t forget, you can track what I’m watching (and maybe try and work out which films I’m referring to above and in the note fragments below) via my Letterboxd list, here.

Don’t forget you can listen in to my book themed playlist here.

Here’s what I was listening to while writing in July:

Finally, a bit of fun. Here are my favourite notes from this month’s viewing sessions:

Demme knows

“I just wanna play well and share the stage with my friends”

“He had a lot of ukeleles in the trunk”

Imagine booing one of the greatest live shows ever by one of, if not the, greatest rock n roll backing bands of all time.

Joan Baez’s Dylan impression is bang on.

“I don’t even wanna get in tune”

People lying around everywhere.

Need a shower after watching this.

Babies, planes and Nick Cave

Bob Marley tats and flags

Coke in the nose

Clapton - boring

Bob looks amazing!

“you booed!”

Keroauc’s grave

“I don’t want this shit to work. I hate it”

Bawdy

Ludicrous outfit Mick

Chilly at the heliport

#book #music films #music #music documentary #film #movies #cinema #documentary.

[rainminute66]

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[starlling-writes]

How to Care for a Dragon

- Fantasy short story - Monster pet - 1500 words - Suitable for everyone, no warnings - Based on this prompt [pictured below] from @write-it-motherfuckers​: Writing Masterlist

I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

Yet I took the little one in. I left him in the bathroom while I grabbed provisions. Food, water, a couple spare towels. The entire time I gathered things, I was looking up how to care for a dragon. It was all overwhelming. I don’t know why I bothered researching so much; I’d only have to look after him until I handed him over to the wildlife preserve once they opened.

Once work hours finally rolled around, I called up the rescue center and got an appointment right away. Thankfully, the dragon was small enough that I could use the carriers I used to take my ferrets to the vet.

I wasn’t obligated to stay as the vet went about a routine check, but I waited. I was worried about the poor baby. The vet later told me that something likely happened that made the dragon’s mother abandon him. At such a young age, hunting was difficult, thus resulting in him rummaging through my trash. Apparently, I caught him just in time too. He had eaten something that was causing an obstruction. A few more days and…

The surgery was going to be pricey but I could afford it. I had been saving up to go back to school, but this was more important. School could wait, if it meant saving a life. When I mentioned the news to friends, I got mixed reactions. Some were supportive and proud of me for being so kindhearted. A few criticized me, saying I was making a mistake for throwing away my future for a feral animal—I started to cut these people out of my life after this revelation.

I agreed to foster the dragon while he recovered from surgery. The vet office needed the space, and it would cut down on my bill. I still had work, but hopefully I could get someone to come over during my work hours to watch over him. I didn’t trust the little dragon to not destroy my home or attack my ferrets, Socks and Dr. Fusby.

As the days passed, I watched his personality burst forth. Despite all my worries, he loved Socks and Fusby, and they loved him too. While I had to keep the ferrets locked up overnight, all three of them pestered me until I let the little noodles out to play and cuddle and nap with their new scaly friend. My phone was now filled with picture and videos of them.

He needed a name still.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

However, the little guy was in no state to be released into the wild. With a damaged wing, he would likely never fly. And given how bad he had done on his own before, the specialist didn’t think he’d survive long if released. I asked to keep him. He was already used to my place and loved my ferrets. It would be a challenge, but I was up for it. I’d make it work.

After much consultation and agreeing to many follow up appointments with both the vet and the wildlife rehabilitator, they gave me the greenlight.

Now that he was officially mine, I felt comfortable giving him a name. Given he was pale green with black speckles, and what he was eating when I found him, I decided to name him Kiwi.

On the way home, I stopped by the pet store and got a brand new collar for Kiwi. I also got him a harness and a couple toys. The cashier was shocked to see a dragon, but quickly called up their coworkers so they could all gush and pet him. Kiwi loved the attention.

Finally home again, Kiwi wanted nothing more than to play with Socks and Fusby. I picked the furry noodles out of their cage and sat down on the floor. While being a jungle-gym for two ferrets and a baby dragon ended me with a lot of scratches and a rat’s nest where my hair used to be, I did manage to get a cute picture of the four of us. A new family photo. I’d have to get it printed and framed soon.

Training a dragon was similar to training a dog. Sort of. He learned the basic repertoire quickly, and more so that obeying my commands got him food. Then, Kiwi started doing them without prompting. He would walk up to me and sit or lie down, which should have been a good thing. But if I didn’t notice him soon enough, he’d started whining; and if I didn’t give him a treat, he’d start wailing and flapping his wings carelessly, knocking things over.

I really hoped this was just a phase he’d grow out of. Soon.

I wasn’t ready for when Kiwi started breathing fire. I became close friends with the fire department. But after the third major fire Kiwi caused, something had to change.

I began looking for a new home, something made of bricks or stone—something less flammable. The only property I found was quite out of the way, but that made it affordable. When I went to the house for a tour, I learned that it was right next to its own little pond with a rocky shore. I could already see Kiwi sunning himself there in the summer; Socks and Dr. Fusby would enjoy being outside in the warm months too.

I bought the house.

Moving was a hassle in every way possible, but it would be worth it in the end. Now Kiwi had plenty of room to run around. And less things to set on fire. Another thing that worked out well was there were plenty of trees for him to claw. He shed his talons like a cat, and the bigger he grew, the faster he destroyed traditional scratching posts.

How quickly this new house became a home.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

So I grew concerned about Kiwi’s size when he rivaled a moose. He could barely fit in the house now—which was a fact he did not seem to realize. I began renovations. I opened the existing house as much as I could, then added a new room all for Kiwi. It might be more appropriate to call it a barn than a room.

As he grew up, I became less worried about him being outside. His manners had improved greatly and he was such a mama’s boy that I was confident he wouldn’t run away. Some days he’d take longer to return when I called him in for dinner or for bed, but he always came home. I decided to remove the outer doors to his room so he could go in and out whenever he liked.

Then he started climbing the house and the trees. I was at a loss at what to do when he refused to come down. It wasn’t like I could call the fire department to help get him—he was too large for anyone to move without his consent. I wouldn’t have minded exactly, except he kept felling the trees. It was a mess. And I worried about him hurting himself.

At a loss for what to do, I called up the wildlife experts who had helped me when I found him. They suggested that Kiwi likely enjoyed the view and missed flying. Of course, how could I have not guessed that? He often ran around flapping his wings. But that was only half of the issue solved. Now I had to figure out what to do about it.

I was relaxing at home, looking for something to watch on TV, when inspiration struck. It was an old movie that gave me the thought: a tower. There was plenty of land around to build a tower big enough to support Kiwi’s growing weight. I could add scaffolds along the outside for him to climb—and stairs for me to climb so I could join him up there.

Time for more construction.

It was a challenge to keep him off the tower as it was being built. I had to chain him up by the pond to keep him away. His cries and whimpers for freedom broke my heart, but it needed to be done. I offered to help lay some of the stones so the construction would go minutely faster. It was exhausting work.

Once the final brick was set, everyone gathered with food and drinks to watch as I unleashed Kiwi. His eyes were glowing with joy, locked onto the top of the tower. The moment he felt the chain go slack, he bounded forward and scaled the tower like a giant cat. When he reached the top, he let out a jubilant roar and burst of flames; he was so proud and happy.

 I had no idea how to care for a dragon—

But letting one into my life and into my heart was the best decision of my life.

— — —

Writing Masterlist

#prompt response #writeblr #monster love #pet monster #dragon #pet dragon #fantasy #short story #wholesome

[tsthrace]

What does a girl do when she realizes she needs to cut an entire chapter from her WIP because it doesn’t fit? She posts it to tumblr. 

So yeah, this starts to build a scary world that might look a little too close to our world. It might introduce you to this badass trauma surgeon, Dr. Griffin, who needs to make a quick escape. And then it might leave you hanging. Forever. 

Well, not exactly forever. This is now Clarke’s backstory for my WIP. She’ll resurface years later on a church-turned-farmstead. Guess who’s the priest of this church? So yeah...

Content warning: mention of rape (but no rape itself) and just general hits-too-close-to-home: you know—fascism, totalitarianism, misogyny, toxic masculinity. Oh, and Clarke swears a lot.

It’s angsty. That’s what I do.

3,260 words. No tagging for Clexa, because Lexa doesn’t come on the scene yet.

It’s also posted over on ao3 if you’d rather read it there.

---

We all thought it couldn’t happen here, even as it was happening here.

Clarke had been running for so long that she wasn’t sure if she was still being chased. She had spent the last six years wandering through parts of Washington she never knew existed. First to an abandoned sawmill a few miles east of Mansford in the mountains. It was a glorified barn, really, but a community of refugees from Seattle had been gathering there, doing their best to patch up the building’s roof and walls. Then, there was still enough gas to transport what they needed if they rationed properly. But they were all adjusting to life without electricity, without phones, without any sense of who they were without those things. 

She was there only three months when word came that a militia had materialized in Darrington and was registering children and looking for doctors and healers. Healers. That’s what they called women with Clarke’s skills. People who had gone to school for 13 years, who had prioritized their craft over their health, their family, their relationships for a grueling residency followed by an only slightly less grueling fellowship. They called men doctors, even if they were less educated, less skilled, and less practiced.

Fuck them. Clarke’s response had become reflexive. It was her internal response when the police came that first night of what some called the Resistance but what the police called the Riots. 

Unrest had been brewing for months, but It was when the President “temporarily” suspended the First Amendment right to assemble that all hell broke loose. Thousands of protestors became tens of thousands, even in small cities like Spokane and Tacoma. Police traded rubber bullets for real ones, patrol cars for tanks, pistols for AK-47s. Dozens of people landed in Clarke’s hospital, some gone before they were taken out of the ambulance, ripped apart by the people sworn to serve and protect them. 

That was the night two officers were trawling the halls of her ward, looking for “resistors” to arrest. 

“They’re unconscious,” Clark said slowly. “They’re sedated because they’re waiting to go into surgery.” She knew it was a bad idea to talk to them like they were kindergartners, but she couldn’t stop herself. What these men were doing was sick. Her patients were here because of them. Some of them filled with bullet holes, their lives barely clinging to them, others with collapsed lungs caused by broken ribs, others with simple fractures who would be out to fight another day. But Clarke wasn’t going to tell these guys that.

“Is there someone else we can talk to?” The officer said. His name badge said Blakely. “Maybe your boss?”

Clarke felt her fingernails digging into her palm. “Officer Blakely—”

“Corporal Blakely.”

Clarke went on as if she didn’t hear him. “I’m the person with the highest seniority here right now. If you’d like me to call the Chief of Surgery...”

Blakely pulled out a pad and pen. “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Dr. Marris.”

Blakely scoffed but wrote down the name.

“Is there a problem?” Clarke bent a little to catch his eye with her glare.

“Not at all.”

After that night, everything changed. The President sent in federal troops. There were tanks outside police precincts, and men in uniform carrying AK-47s stood at every corner in downtown and Capitol Hill. They rode the light rail, searching for enemies and booting out anyone who fell asleep on the trains. Curfews were instituted. Clarke had to have her ID and a letter from the hospital ready after every shift. The same soldiers (or were they cops?) stopped her every night, even after the sixth time when everyone knew everyone’s names. She had written theirs down. Because fuck them.

Two months later, the Seattle PD renamed themselves Washington’s 1st Militia when the President had encouraged all “patriots and protectors of freedom to band together, arm, and fight for American values.” Police departments across the country took this as a rallying call. They traded their police uniforms for military fatigues. They tore off their city badges and replaced them with a thin blue line. Bros before everything else, even democracy. 

They pulled her out of the OR as soon as she wrapped up a craniotomy. It was her third surgery of the day, and her hands were stiff, her scrubs covered in sweat. The two soldiers’ assault rifles startled her, but she’d seen enough gore in her time to know how to keep a straight face. Blakely was back, but this time he was dressed like he was serving in a desert war zone.

“Officer Blakely.” She remembered he was a corporal but fuck him.

The corner of Blakely’s mouth lifted in a sharp smirk. She watched as his eyes glided down her body. “Congratulations, Ms. Griffin, you’ve been recruited to Washington’s First. We are in need of fine healers like yourself.” 

Fuck you. The words raced through her mind, but she kept her mouth shut. She understood by now that those words aloud could do nothing but put her in danger. “How can I be of service?” she asked evenly, looking him straight in the eye. She had heard rumors that the militias were taking medical workers from their hospitals and clinics to set up their own facilities, but she thought they’d only take men for their specialists and surgeons.

“You need to come with us,” Blakely looked down at the sweat stains under her arms.

Clarke didn’t move. “What kind of healers are you looking for?” she asked in her most neutral tone. 

“A variety, ma’am.” Blakely’s jaw stiffened.

A small crowd of the floor’s staff had gathered at the nurses’ station, halfheartedly pretending to work while they watched the interaction.

“Like nurses? There are a lot of nurses here who are much better at their jobs than I would be.” Clarke laughed lightly and glanced at the nurses. “I’d make a terrible nurse.”

A few of the nurses nodded, their eyes smiling because smiling with their lips might bring trouble.

“We already have healers for that kind of work.” Blakely took in a breath and looked around the floor, frustrated. He knew he’d said too much. “Maybe we should go somewhere—”

“Then I can’t possibly think why you’d need me. I’m sure there are doctors who can meet your needs.”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“After all, there are two other trauma surgeons on staff here more suited to your, uh, preferences.” Clarke glanced down at Blakely’s groin.

“I was sent to find you, Ms. Griffin.”

The more he called her “Ms.,” the more her resolve solidified. “I just can’t imagine what anyone would want with little old me.” She covered her voice in maple syrup. “Dr. Lee and Dr. Bancroft are very fine surgeons, very respectable. Dr. Lee graduated top of his class from UW. I’m supervising his fellowship, and he’s very skilled.” Clarke let the words roll like waves along a beach on a calm day. “And Dr. Bancroft is who we call whenever we need a feeding tube done right the first time. His focus on fundamentals is exceptional—”

“They want you,” Blakely said more loudly than he intended.

Say it, she taunted him with a sharp look, though the words that came out were light. “I’ll call Dr. Lee. I’m sure he’d be more suitable to you—”

“Ms. Griffin—”

“You’d rather have Dr. Bancroft? Sorry. I thought you’d want the more skilled surgeon, but to be honest, we do perform a lot more feeding tube placements than major—”

“We know you’re the best.” Blakely growled, giving in. 

Clarke had won, but she still felt empty. “You can’t even call me a doctor.” 

“Protocol.” Blakely refused to look at her. “Come with us, ma’am.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can appeal on grounds of pregnancy or motherhood.”

Clarke scoffed. “Of course.” She didn’t even try to hide her disdain, though she knew she had to play along. She looked down at her scrubs. “I need to change.”

“Of course,” Blakely said. His smile was sharp, an insult. “Though we’ll need to supervise.”

Clarke bit down hard. She had not joined the Resistance, but she’d been obsessively keeping track of their Instagram posts at @emeraldcityjustice. Militiamen never raped, she’d learned, especially if the woman was white and of marrying age. They didn’t call it rape, though, they called it “sexual theft.” They were not to spoil another man’s property (or potential property), and that meant no touching. This restriction forced men to get creative, find new ways of dominating without ruining the goods. Resisting, the posts said, meant speaking the militia’s language. 

“But I say unto you, that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.” Clarke had memorized some key verses, and she said this one loud enough for everyone around the nursing station to hear it. “Matthew 5:28. I think those are words in red. You know, Jesus. The son of God himself.” She would not let these fuckers anywhere near her. 

Blakely squinted and his face turned to stone.

“The locker room is on the second floor,” she said. “You two are welcome to wait outside the door, if you like.” Clarke strode towards the elevator. Blakely glared at her a few moments before nodding at his partner. They followed her into the elevator. Clarke looked at her watch. 10:15 p.m. Shift change. The locker room would be packed. 

“We need to sweep,” Blakely said as they stepped off the elevator and approached the locker room door.

Clarke sighed loudly. There was no use in arguing. Blakely nodded towards the key swipe. Clarke swiped her badge and a little red light on the handle turned green. Blakely opened the door then turned conspicuously so that his back was facing the opening.

“This is Corporal Blakely of Washington’s First Militia,” he shouted into the room. The volume of his voice made Clarke jump. “Private Cooks and I will be doing a sweep of this locker room in two minutes. Those who are not appropriately covered at that time will be taken into custody.” Blakely let the door close behind him and set a timer on his Apple watch.

Are you fucking kidding me? Clarke didn’t say out loud.

Five minutes later, Blakely and Cooks were back out in the hallway. Clarke knew they wouldn’t find anything. The locker room was a windowless space that was mostly concrete and tile. It had one exit, a fire hazard long ignored because that part of the hospital had been built 140 years ago. The only other door was a closet full of cleaning supplies.

Blakely nodded at Clarke to go inside. 

“You have five minutes,” he said, fiddling with his watch again.

“I’d like to shower.”

“Four minutes and fifty-seven seconds. If you don’t come out on time, we will come in.”

Clarke swallowed and pushed through the door. Dozens of annoyed eyes lifted as she walked in. She just shook her head as she walked past them. 

Because it was an old hospital, doctors—female doctors, even surgeons—shared the locker room with nurse supervisors, charge nurses and other medical staff who had seniority. (Male doctors, especially surgeons, did not share a locker room with anyone, of course.) It bothered Clarke on principle, but for the most part she liked being around the non-doctor staff, and it didn’t hurt to have a friendly relationship with the nurses when she was on the floors. 

The women’s eyes quickly went back to their tasks of leaving. Between the unrest and a new virus no one seemed to know anything about, the hospital, which was already under-resourced, had been over capacity for weeks now. Everyone was tired, stressed, and getting more and more afraid. They just wanted to get home as soon as possible. The later at night, the more aggressive the patrols got. 

Clarke walked to her locker and took a few deep breaths as she quickly spun the lock to its numbers and pulled it open. She took off her white coat and hung it on the hanger inside. She pulled out her backpack and checked that her phone charger was inside. She pulled her wallet out and stared at her driver’s license for a long moment, not sure if it would be a liability. She decided to bring it, along with her curfew papers, and a used copy of The Obelisk Gate she’d picked up from Horizon Books a few weeks ago but never opened. Next, she stuffed her street clothes inside along with two sets of clean scrubs (only later would she wonder why she took the scrubs). Finally, she grabbed the two boxes of protein bars and four bottles of Gatorade that she kept there to keep her energy up on long shifts.

Clarke almost laughed at how much could fit in her small backpack. 

She looked at her watch. Three minutes left. Shit. She almost forgot to switch watches. She pulled off the little cheap thing she used at the hospital and replaced it with her dad’s chunky but sleek metal piece. It was heavy on her wrist, but that’s what she liked about it. Somehow she felt safer with it on.

She swallowed. She needed to move, but to move meant everything would be different. She threw her shoulders back, lifted her hands in front of her, palms up as if making an offering, and took in a deep breath. It’s what she did whenever she was about to make a first cut. She closed her eyes, felt the ground solid under her feet, felt her heart slow to steady saunter. 

Clarke smiled to herself. It was a heavy smile, sad and defiant. Fuck them.

She grabbed her backpack, slung it over her shoulder, and walked to the broom closet.

“You alright, Dr. Griffin?” A voice rang out. Veró, the charge nurse from the post-op wing, looked up as Clarke was about to go inside. Her eyes were nervous.

“I will be,” Clarke replied as she closed the door. “Take good care of yourself, Veró. Be safe. You didn’t see me, okay?”

Veró nodded. “You stay safe, Clarke.” She closed her eyes for a long moment. Her smile was heavy with concern. “I didn’t see nothing.” 

Clarke held Veró’s eyes for a long moment, then nodded, stepped into the closet, and closed the door behind her. It was a small space, but large enough for two people to fit—a fact Clarke had exploited with Lu, a nurse from the Telemetry unit, several times. There was a small, dirty, pointless window at the top of the closet that she and Lu had covered with a tray from the cafeteria so that the janitors in their breakroom across the alley couldn’t watch them taking their break. During the day, thin streaks of light leaked in around the edges. Clarke was grateful it was so late and that the alley outside got so little light. The metal shelving served as the perfect ladder, sturdy and wide. She disrupted the toilet paper and big bottles of cleaner as she climbed, leaving hints of her escape, but there was nothing to be done about it. The top shelf was blessedly empty, too high up to be useful.

She pulled the tray out of the way to reveal a window that was smaller than she expected. She turned a small latch and pushed the window. It didn’t budge. She pushed it again, harder this time, though she didn’t have much leverage. Nothing happened. The shelf wobbled minutely under her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

It held steady as she gingerly pulled her full body onto the top shelf. She barely fit up there. She checked her watch. She maybe had a minute. Probably less. Clarke hit the base of the window with the flat of her palm. Nothing. She hit it again. Still nothing. She took a breath and closed her eyes. 

Please.

She hit it again and heard a tiny scrape. One more push, and the window swung open with an achy shriek. It might have been shut for decades. Clarke was lucky. The drop from the second floor window to the sidewalk was short. The alley swept upwards from 9th Ave., ending at the top with the fifth floor’s windows being at street level. 

She was out, and she had no idea what to do. By now, Blakely and Cooks would have noticed that she hadn’t come out. Maybe they’d give her another minute. She remembered the Apple watch. 

Her mind churned and tumbled. She had opened holes in skulls with drills and saws. She had cracked ribs to expose hearts that stopped beating in front of her eyes. But now, on this warm summer night on an empty sidewalk, she didn’t know what to do. So she ran. The hospital was a mess of old buildings connected by narrow alleys—easy to get lost. But Clarke had done her residency and fellowship here—spent nearly a quarter of her life here—and while she didn’t know the alleys, she knew the buildings, recognized the skyways above linking everything together. She slid from shadow to shadow in the direction of the interstate. It was an intuitive decision, the way she knew exactly where to find the bleeding in surgery. 

She kept moving, the rolling rumble of the highway getting closer. Finally, she found herself at the parking garage and knew exactly where to go. She walked calmly through the first level reserved for people going to the ED. She was careful to avoid the security booth where Mitch would be. He was a good guy, and Clarke didn’t want to bring him any trouble. She moved quickly towards an emergency exit which brought her to a fire escape facing the interstate. During her first year as resident, she and Dr. Salem used to meet there to smoke a joint after a 30-hour shift. 

She paused. Think. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts. Her breath caught when she came across her mom’s contact. You could have called, she could already hear her saying. We would have figured it out. Even if there was enough time for her mom to get from Whidbey Island to the city—and there wasn’t—it wouldn’t be safe. Anyone she called could be implicated and punished. Unless she chose to crawl back into the hospital, she was now an RRL, a Resistor of the Rule of Law.

This is moment everything changes. The thought cracked across her mind like lightning and disappeared just as fast. The thunder would roll on for years and years.

She closed her contacts and opened Instagram instead. She went to the @emeraldcityjustice profile. Her grin was grim as she hit the Message button. How ridiculous this world had become.

“Canada or the mountains?”

“What?” Clarke shook herself out of a haze. The driver hadn’t spoken since he picked her up from a dark corner under the interstate where @emeraldcityjustice had told her to go. They immediately turned east over the lake to Bellevue.

“You’ll have to decide at the drop point in Everett,” the driver went on. “They can either get you on a ferry to Canada or you can head to a refugee community in the mountains.” He glanced over his shoulder to the back seat where she was lying down to avoid facial recognition cameras on the interstate. “Do you want to escape or do you want to fight?”

THE END. THAT’S IT. I’M SORRY.

#the 100 fanfiction #clarke griffin #WIP backstory #clexa fic backstory #action

[pimplefly0]

Fat Freeze

Fat Freezing Therapy At Specify Medical Facility Beaconsfield.

Content

What Areas Can Be Targeted With Coolsculpting?

Does The Treatment Hurt?

Can You Freeze Your Fat Off In Your Home?

It's billed as the non-surgical choice to lipo-- which, allow's encounter it, sounds virtually as well excellent to be true. Curious to find out more, we sent Muddy industrial supervisor, Becky, along for a therapy. CoolSculpting ® results can be viewed as early as 3 weeks following therapy, with one of the most dramatic results noticeable at 3 months. Usually the DrBK Clinic sees approximately a 25% fat decrease in the area dealt with on a single treatment. These results are long lasting, suggesting that once the fat has actually been crystallised, it is chosen excellent. Fat freezing is normally appropriate for any person in good health within around 2 stone of their target weight. It is the perfect therapy to target persistent locations of fat that despite exactly how hard you try simply will not budge and works ideal on unsteady, soft fat.

Nevertheless, during the first 5 mins of therapy, patients may experience a deep yanking as well as pinching experience on the target location. Individuals call for a vigorous massage therapy on the therapy area to heat the location back up. Article treatment the location perhaps a little numb for some time and also a little tender. lipo-sculpt is the globe's most popular non-invasive fat-reduction therapy.

What Areas Can Be Targeted With Coolsculpting?

Lots of males state they can tone all over however their abs, while a great deal of females have problem with bra or back fat. It's all-natural, as these locations of the body are known for being harder as well as often tend to hold persistent fat. As with all sorts of plastic surgery as well as aesthetic treatments, there are some CoolSculpting dangers to be knowledgeable about. After the treatment, you might have some small bruising, prickling or numbing in the cured area, as well as you might likewise notice some soreness of the skin. These CoolSculpting adverse effects will certainly alleviate off relatively promptly-- generally within 2 or 3 days.

Many patients locate CoolSculpting ® treatment to be tolerable or slightly unpleasant, yet each individual experience is different. There's no requirement for neighborhood or basic anaesthetic, and also you will not need to recoup in bandages at the clinic. One of the most you'll really feel is a small pulling feeling, complied with by some moderate discomfort for a few days. Over the adhering to months, your body naturally deals with these cells, utilizing your body's all-natural inflammatory clearing up procedure. The majority of people find the treatment to be reasonably comfy, with a yanking sensation as the vacuum is initiated, followed by a temperature before the location goes numb. Some people experience swelling and tingling for up to 2 weeks after the therapy, however your specialist will talk to you concerning what to anticipate throughout the procedure. Try as we might, a few of us can go down a couple of extra pounds but not the fat that is stubborn and also resistant to diet regimen and workout.

Does The Treatment Pain?

In order to have the treatment you have to be at a relatively secure weight to see the most effective outcomes. The treatment does not service bloating, saggy skin or fluid retention. This treatment is not ideal for expectant or breastfeeding moms. There are a couple of even more signs if someone may not appropriate for the treatment, including particular medicines, which will certainly be looked at throughout the appointment. As with any weight loss/fat reduction methods, always consult your doctor before accomplishing the treatments.

Throughout the procedure you might experience feelings of drawing, yanking, moderate pinching, extreme cold, prickling, stinging, hurting, and also cramping at the location being treated. Feeling of https://oxfordshire.lipo-sculpt.co.uk/ in the rear of the throat after submental area therapy. As with any clinical procedure, ask your specialist if the CoolSculpting treatment is right for you. Initially you will certainly feel a yanking feeling as the applicator utilizes a vacuum to draw the fat pocket right into the cooling location, then an preliminary cool blast that subsides as the skin gets numb.

Can You Freeze Your Fat Off In Your Home?

Coolsculpting is world's most popular non-invasive fat-reduction therapy. If you have persistent areas of fat that no amount of weight loss as well as workout can shift, CoolSculpting ® could be the remedy for you. Instead of surgery, the non-invasive procedure uses innovation to completely get rid of stubborn fat by cold it away. Cryolipolysis targets fat cells especially, it lowers the temperature level to -6 °, crystallising them and also leaving them complimentary to be thrown away normally in the body. some of the best systems, such as the 3-D Lipomed use cavitation at the very same time as this freezing. Cavitation utilizes ultrasound waves which triggers destruction of the fat cells, breaking down their membrane layer. The dead fat cell is then thrown away normally within the body by means of the liver and also lymphatic system.

Fat Freezing at Beautology is a rather soothing 60 minute procedure throughout which you will have the ability to view a fiolm on your laptop computer or tablet computer, make business phone calls, sleep, reviewed a publication or listen to songs.

to lipo-sculpt.co.uk Fat freezing toning Witney will gently describe the targeted areas of flesh with a white pencil as well as a membrane with included cooling gel prior to placing the Cryolipolysis mug on your skin.

It uses up to one hr to deal with an area dependant on size as well as area.

In these cases, your aesthetician may advise a therapy strategy that sets Cryotherapy fat freezing with added body contouring approaches.

Just like many new body forming treatments there are commonly a whole host of inquiries that people want answered ... In this post we consider fat freezing and take on 8 of those inquiries. The beauty salon is stylishly turned out with a collection of therapy spaces that take care of to still look beautiful and relaxing in a sophisticated shabby trendy type of method, in spite of all the sophisticated devices. They specialise n non-surgical appeal therapies, including cryolipolysis, a brand-new therapy to remove unwanted body fat.

The therapy is carried out by a handpiece being connected to the body using a suction to make it as discomfort totally free as feasible. The target area is cooled down to a risk-free temperature which crystallises the fat cells, when these cells are crystallised the body will certainly then remove them as part of the natural apoptosis process.

Where does the fat go when you freeze it?

Where Does the Fat Go? You're probably wondering where the fat actually goes; when the fat cells are frozen and killed during a CoolSculpting treatment they are then cleaned up by your body's immune cells and ultimately eliminated from your body through urine. These cells are completely eliminated, never to return.

Created from researchers of Harvard Medical School, the cryolipolysis is based on scientific searchings for, according to which fat cells are extra sensitive to chilly than various other cell types. This effect is actively used as well as therefore enables a fat cell treatment without surgical procedure. The Clatuu Alpha therapy can't tighten up skin, however the device does function well alongside other therapies such as HIFU. Ultraformer III and it's smaller alternative ULFIT are the most likely to medical grade HIFU tools for skin tightening blog post fat freezing. Because of the non-surgical nature of the Clatuu Alpha fat freezing treatment, there is no down time required for clients.

When your selected issue locations have been described and chosen by you in your initial consultation, we will certainly place our CoolSculpting gadget over the targeted fat cells we want to get rid of. During the therapy you can unwind, as 90% of customers feel no pain whatsoever. You are most likely to experience a numbing experience as your skin is exposed to the regulated temperatures, yet this experience will pass shortly after the therapy. Because fat ices up at greater temperature levels than other cells in the body, fat cells can be targeted as well as iced up making use of very amazing temperature levels without damaging the healthy and balanced skin cells bordering the areas. The fat cells based on regulated air conditioning then freeze, die and also crystallise, and are then normally eliminated from the body. Cryolipolysis is a non-invasive method for the therapy of neighborhood fat deposits by cold. It has been made use of for gentle air conditioning of the cellulite for several years in the United States in the fields of aesthetic appeals and dermatology.

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