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awindylife-writes · 3 years

Text

Sick

Relationships: 10th Doctor x reader (Not an established relationship)

Summary: the Doctor and you find yourselves on a spaceship in desparate need of repair and you are determined to help the crew (Kaisa, Lincoln and Bressa), but then the ship also gets highjacked. And on top of that, you fall sick.

Warnings: you're in mortal danger but that's it

You were standing by the big metal desk in the middle of the room, reading the numbers to Kaisa so he could type them in.

The digits kept swimming in your vision. They were blurry, everything was blurry, but they also kept moving. And when did it get so hot? You wiped the sweat from your forehead while trying to breathe deeply. You knew that if you looked up from the pad, the room would be spinning. The worst part was the tiredness. It coiled through your limbs and made them so heavy you could hardly move them. The effort to keep connecting letters and sounds, keep connecting thoughts hurt.

You closed your eyes for a second and the ship tilted so far you lost your balance. You stumbled back, eyes flying open and arms trying to reach out for something to hold onto.

Suddenly there were strong hands on your shoulder and the small of your back, steadying you. You looked up and recognized the dark orange skin and curly brown hair that was greying at the edges. Kaisa had caught you.

"Are you alright?" his gruff voice came to you.

"Yeah, yeah l'm okay." That sounded weak even to your own ears. "The ship just tilted."

"The ship's fine, love," he answered in confusion. You could see furrowed eyebrows, and then his dark golden eyes. You couldn't make out the wrinkles around them, or the lines on his forehead. Everything was blurry.

He put one hand around you to hold you up, then felt your forehead with the other. It was blessedly cold and you leaned into it with a sigh. "I think humans aren't supposed to be this hot," his worried voice came then.

You could hear Lincoln and Bressa turn around and step closer. You would have cracked a joke about drinks first if you weren't about to ask to sit down from exhastion. But you all had a job to do.

"I'm okay," you tried to reassure him. "Let's just get back to-" As you stepped away from Kaisa to shake his hands off, the ground rushed up and you barely caught yourself on the table. His arms were back, supporting you, before you could fall further. Shit.

"You're sick," Kaisa confirmed with a voice full of worry. He gently pulled you from the table and towards the wall. "Here, sit down," he told you softly and manouvered you to a stack of crates. He helped you sit on one and you rested your head on the taller pile.

"Thanks," you breathed gratefully and closed your eyes.This is nice.

On the other side of the room you could just hear Bressa order Lincoln, "Go get the Doctor. Tell him y/n's sick." Her voice was grave.

The Doctor had just recalibrated the fiberlinks of the navicomputer and was well on his way of taking apart the integral protonic bond when Lincoln reached him. The Doctor didn't even pull his head out of the ship's innards, much less stood up. "What is it?" He didn't have time for this.

"Your friend," the young man's distressed voice came. "She's sick."

That made worry explode in his chest. Ice spread through his veins as he hurriedly pulled himself out of the wiring. He hit his head on the way but that didn't matter, not when y/n was-

"What did you say?" the Doctor demanded in a low voice, eyes scanning the Tirellian crewmate.

"Y/n is sick." The Doctor marked every blink, every twitch, every line. He did not like the worried frown on Lincoln's face. He had gotten his answer.

The Doctor put the sonic back in his inner pocket and demanded, "Where is she?", voice forcibly calm but unrelenting. He picked up his coat as the young man turned to show the way, and off they went.

When your eyes were closed, you could almost pretend you were fine, but the fever, the heat in your skin was killing you. The box on your cheek and forehead had warmed up and provided no more relief.

You could feel even the darkness around you spin if you tried to think.

The Doctor ran into the room after Lincoln, trench coat billowing around him.

"Where is she?" he demanded in worry with his gaze searching the room.

"Over here." Kaisa stood up from behind the large metal table and pointed at the stack of crates beside the wall. He stepped back towards the others as the Doctor came to kneel before you with his coat scraping the floor. His hands hovered just inches above your skin.

"Y/n," he breathed quietly while looking you over. His hand settled on your arm. Scarlet cheeks, sweat - fever, eyes closed, leaning on the crate - exhausti-

You tiredly opened your eyes but you didn't lift your head. "Doct'r." The regret was already in your voice. "'M sorry. I should've-" Should have known the signs, should have slept more, should have eaten-

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he murmured softly, shaking his head. He rubbed your arm, his expression gentle and reassuring.

He took your hand and found your pulse point, which made butterflies flutter in your stomack despite the sickness. Then he lifted his other hand to your cheek. It was cold so you leaned into it, your eyes closing in content. You breathed deeply but it seemed like there was never enough air.

"You've definitely got a fever, about 39 degrees," he continued in that same soft tone. "And your heart is speeding up. How're you feeling?"

"Evr'thin's spinnin'," you told him tiredly, words a bit slurred. You tried to remember, but the things you were trying to describe made it hard to do that. "Couldn't stand up, Kaisa caught me. Couldn'read anymore, evr'thing was blurry'n moving. My head hurts, my eyes hurt, ever'thing hurts. An'l'm tired," you sighed. "I wanna go t'sleep."

"You will, l promise you will, but you need medicine first," he told you gently yet firmly. "It's the virus Tem, from Polon. We were there about four days ago, it's quite common for the planet, but it's dangerous." His brown eyes were full of worry. "If it's left untreated, as yours was, it can be deadly." He left the sentence hang in the silence after it.

You tried to shake your head but the motion caused more pain and you stopped. "So l'll get the meds and ll'l be fine," you told him tiredly. It didn't seem like much of a problem. You faced death on a daily basis, so what was a little virus?

"What do we do?" Kaisa stepped closer and looked down at the two of you, eyebrows furrowed in worry and hands crossed in front of his chest.

The Doctor moved closer and took you by the shoulders. "C'm on." He smiled encouragingly as he gently helped you stand up. You didn't like it, but the solution to this situation probably required moving.

You leaned against him and put your head on his shoulder as he helped you stay upright. The spinning did not help your stomack.

"Polonians have a vaccine, but it's far too late for that. You though, you three come from Kristella, is that right?" the Doctor looked around the room.

"Yeah," Kaisa nodded.

"So you receaved the whole med package there, including the VC five-six-o-nine."

"Yes."

"Good," he nodded, "bless the Kristellan med care. Your immune system knows the virus so you're not in danger. But you," he looked down at you, gritting his teeth, "are."

Well, that was a bit obvious.

He looked back up at Kaisa. "I want you to get her to the med bay. Give her Triskel two point three with a lot of water, she needs to stay hydrated, and then two shots of Amino when that's down, got it?"

"Yes," the large sailor nodded and stepped closer to take you. "And don't 'Got it' me, young man."

The Doctor opened his mouth to explain the whole Time Lord age thing when-

"I don't wanna go," you mumbled into his chest, pressing yourself closer. The room was spinning, you couldn't see well and you could barely stand. The thought of leaving him (he meant safe and good and you needed him) on this ship where anything could happen to you or him (who would look after him if not you?) made you want to sob.

He pulled away enough to look at you but still hold you. His eyes were soft. "I know," he told you gently and then frowned at the thought of letting you go, "l don't like this either." Every instinct in him flared against leaving you while you were sick and in need of him. He was Gallifreyan, and he protected what was his, even if you didn't know. "But you need medicine, and they need help rewiring the ship," he put it plainly. "I have to stay, and you have to go."

You nodded even though it hurt. He pulled you closer and for a moment, you just held each other.

"Stay safe," you said into his shoulder, almost an order. "Not a hair out of place, you hear me?"

You could feel him smile at the familiar tone. "Yes, ma'am."

It was time to go. You slowly let go of the Doctor as Kaisa came closer. He slung a hand around your waist while you put yours around his shoulders. It worked well, you could stay upright and move at the same time.

Then the whole ship shook like it was being torn apart and you were thrown against the table while Lincoln yelled in surprise. The Doctor and Kaisa kept you stable and unharmed between them, but the room looked like it had survived an earthquake.

"Are you alright?" The Doctor was franctically looking you over for injuries.

"What the hell was that?" demanded Bressa.

Kaisa didn't know what to do. You and him were locked in one of the main storage rooms, and they hadn't even let you get medicine. The large Risonians, two out of six who had highjacked the ship, simply came into the med bay and dragged you out before he could find anything to help you. You hadn't even gotten water.

All he could do was put his jacket under your head when you couldn't sit up anymore and hold your hand as you slipped into a restless sleep.

Then he noticed the computer log in the corner behind the crates. He could rewire it, send an altering pulse through the system... He looked at you as your head turned from one side to the other as you gasped for breath, mumbling nonsense in your sleep. Your fever was rising.

"Right then, love. I'm going to get help."

When the Doctor noticed Kaisa's message beeping under the log, he'd been momentarily confused. He'd made it very clear to the Risonians that you needed medicine and that he would do anything to make sure you got it, so why would they-

A second later, a pair of the hijacking crew came marching into the room with guns drawn. The Commander was as shocked as him when two of her people turned against her.

This was bad.

The Doctor walked into the storage room with his hands behind his head, with Bressa and Lincoln behind him. What remained of the Risonian crew had been locked into a separate room, to keep you all separated. His eyes immediately scanned the space for you.

When he turned the corner behind a high stack of crates, his hearts lurched. You were unconscious, lying on the floor with Kaisa holding your hand.

The Doctor was by your side in a second. Your skin was pale, but your cheeks were scarlet and your forehead glistened with sweat. You were mumbling in your sleep, your breaths laboured. Your head was turning restlessly in the throes of a fever dream. He took your warm hand and held it tightly.

"She was asking for you," Kaisa told him softly, eyes still trained on your face.

"What?" The Doctor's gaze flew to the larger man in confusion.

Kaisa looked up at him, "She was asking for you." He searched his eyes, for what, the Doctor didn't know. "Even after she couldn't answer me anymore, she kept asking for you in her sleep."

The Doctor felt like a hand had squeezed his hearts. It happened again, he did it again, you were in danger and it was his fault. He looked down at your closed eyes and scarlet cheeks. You were helpless, you needed him, and he couldn't do anything.

He brought your hand to his cheek and held it there with his palm as he closed his eyes. He needed you to live, he needed you to be alright. You had to be.

"Doct'r," your voice was barely a whisper.

His eyes flew open and he stared down at your still sleeping form. You turned your head to the side and, "Doct'r," again his name.

It lit a blazing fire in his chest. That was it. That was it, he was getting you out. He was getting all of you out because that was what he was going to do and the universe would bloody listen. He was the Doctor, and you were his. He was not losing you, not ever.

They'd taken the sonic but he was, for all intents and purposes, in a supply closet. Time to find out exactly which supplies he had.

#doctor who #doctorwho #doctor who x reader #doctorwho x reader #the doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #the doctor #tenth doctor #10th doctor #doctor who fanfiction #doctorwho fanfiction #reader insert

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endlinetheredeath · 3 years

Text

Meeting the crew

“We will be docking with my ship in a few minutes” Nak said and as the shuttle left Earth’s atmosphere completely all the turbulences suddenly stopped, and everything went quiet. All i was able to hear was the rumble of the engines and Nak’s flight equipment’s quiet beeping.

I got up from my seat and took a few steps towards the cockpit, i stopped at it’s door and held onto the frame. As i looked out in front of us i narrowed my eyes in concetration and i saw a ship in the distance, it was barely bigger than a the speck of a star in the vast blackness but it was really far away. Before i could open my mouth Nak looked up at me and said

“ I wouldn’t stand there if I were you, that's the emergency door and if the shuttle loses pressure ...”

I quickly looked down at him while i stepped forward my mouth slightly open

“If you want to look out front just sit in the copilot seat... just don’t touch anything!”

i nodded and sat down next to him. Now the ship in the distance was just a little bit bigger and I pointed to it.

“Is that your ship over there?”

Nak looked at me surprised ...

“ You can already see it?”

“ Yeah, it’s pretty small from here but i can definitely see it... must be huge up close...”

Nak turned back to his instruments ...

“Interesting....”

“Why you can’t?”

“No... and no species we know of can see that far ...”

“Oh...Hmm...”

I looked down at the instruments in front of me, this being the copilot seat it was an exact copy of Nak’s side. The first thing that caught my eye was an artificial horizon of course useless in space but comes in hand in atmosphere, than next was what i assumed was an altitude gauge but as I couldn’t read alien i was not 100% sure than next a radar screen and a bunch of buttons with labels that i couldn’t read but must be for power, engine, etc. The last thing i saw before i looked up again was the comms screen light up, and than as looked out of the windscreen again my vision was filled with an absolutely huge spaceship in front of us.

“That was quick...” I sat there wide eyed half shocked how fast that little speck became a giant. Nak reached out and engaged the comms and started speaking an alien language, I looked at him and than back out again as the response came and the ship opened up before us. As the doors opened we flew in, the doors closed behind us and with a loud hiss air was vented in around us, once the pressure equalized another set of huge doors opened. Behind those doors laid an immense hangar filled with all kinds of vehicles and equipment as well as at lest two more shuttles as far as i could see. Between the items all around i could see figures of all shapes and sizes moving around working, some were even flying.

“Woow... so many species, I fell like a little kid again watching one of those sci.fi movies but....I’m ...I’m actually here, this is amazing!” I was at this point leaning forward looking out below us grinning like an idiot not even trying to contain my excitement. Nak looked at me for second and smiled but said nothing before quickly concentrating back on the controls and landing the shuttle next to the others. As the landing gear settled he shut off the engine and powered down the machine before he stood. Now standing he looked at me smiled and said...

“Come now let’s meet the crew, and we’ll answer all your questions, i bet you have a lot. After that I think the crew has just as much if not more for you as well.”

“Alriiight...” I practically jumped from my seat and followed after Nak.

He opened the shuttle door and a ten person group waited for us outside the door in full hazmat suits although these suits were nothing like i ever saw.

“Oh yeah i forgot about them... “ Nak looked up the ceiling sighing deeply.

“No no, it’s better this way now that i think about it the human body is kind of a hotbed of all kinds of bacteria and illnesses... it’s actually good that you didn’t shake my hand earlier, i wouldn’t want to give you some virus that’s able to jump the species barrier.” I said turning to the hazmat team.

Nak stepped up next to me “ I’m not worried my species has one of the strongest immune systems in the galaxy but thank you for the consideration, although it is quite concerning what you just said for the rest if the ship.”

While we talked the team erected some kind of energy field around the shuttle and one of them walk up to us handing Nak two small circular objects. Nak put one on his robe handed the other to me saying...

“This will incircle you in an energy field similar to the one that covers us and the shuttle right now so we can be safely moved to the medical bay for examination.”

I put the device on my shirt as Nak activated his by pressing the middle so i followed suit and turned mine on as well. After that we were quickly moved and examined thoroughly. They determined that most of what was in me was not able to affect others and the few that were dangerous they could make vaccines for rather quick, so me and Nak waited in one of the med bay rooms while the doctors did their thing.

“Soo...back on Earth you didn’t get to answer... are you using a translator ot did learn English?”

“No I’m using a translator, but your language is easy enough that i could learn it fairly quick, given my specieses language is the hardest that we know of as of yet and English doesn’t have anything i can’t pronounce. Well as far as i know...”

“Nice, tough English is actually not my language i just learned it myself my native tongue is Hungarian... and it’s if i recall correctly the 3rd hardest language on Earth...”

“Oh... How many languages do you humans have?”

“Well I don’t know exactly but if we count the dead ones as well the number is around 200 or even more... but as i said i don’t know the exact number”

Nak’s eyes widen at my response ...

“That many ... the most we knew was 5 and the majority of species only have 1 or 2 with dialects... and what are “dead” languages?”

“The number that i just said does not count dialects because well that there are just too many of those, and dead languages are ones that are not spoken anymore because the people who spoke it either died out or were integrated with an other culture that spoke a different language.”

Nak didn’t respond he just hunched over and held his head in his upper two hands and stared at the floor still wide eyed. i looked at him concerned that i broke him but he was snapped out of his contemplation by one of the doctors who just entered the room holding something... most likely the vaccines.

Nak’s head snapped up to the doctor...

“ Ah doc is the stuff already done?”

“It is” said the doctor

Nak turned towards me...

“He’s one of the best in his field but this was rather quick.” he smiled.

“Well the strains were easier to deal with than we first thought.” With that the doctor grabbed my arm and injected the vaccine into it, i winced and rubbed the place of the injection.

“Alright now you can actually meet the crew.” Nak said.

“Wait don't you need a vaccine shot as well?”

The doctor turned to me and said

“He already got it...” He pointed up to the ceiling where a small grate was “we dispersed the vaccine throughout the ventilation system but you needed a more diverse vaccine and in a bigger dose, hence the direct injection.”

Nak paused at the door and reached in his robe. He pulled out a small thin circular device and handed it to me.

“Almost forgot... a translation device for you, just put it on your temple it activates automatically.”

“Wait you don't have one on your head, is yours subdermal?”

“Well yes, with so many languages on Earth do you have personal translation devices as well?”

“Well no nothing like this, we have to learn the languages that we want to speak, we don’t have the technology for it just yet, but it has been theorized and we are working on it.”

We walked out of the med bay and headed back towards the hangar. When we stepped back into the vast hangar a sizable group were already waiting for us.

Nak stepped up onto a crate and started talking his voice now booming loudly so that everyone can hear him...

“Everyone please welcome Tommy a member of the first sentient species from a class 12 planet!”

#sci-fi #alien #space #humans are weird #humans are space orcs

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homoose · 4 years

Text

Weird is Good

Summary: A story about two people tryna make it through the age of COVID-19 in a country where people are fucking dumb lmao. My hc is that Spencer would be like wtf at all these science-denying anti-maskers. Also, two teachers just tryna make it through quarantine and remote teaching in a one bedroom apartment (this is taking place during a mandatory leave/lecture cycle).

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: no warnings. reader is both a kindergarten teacher and a bruh girl with a pirate’s mouth. lots of Spencer x factz.

Word count: 3.1k

———

“We’re home for the next two weeks. ”

Spencer looked up from his desk to see Y/N kicking off her shoes, dropping her bag, and walking directly to the sink. “Starting when?”

“We get to go in on Monday to say goodbye to the kids and get any materials we might need. Then we’re home for two weeks. They’re calling it an early, extended spring break.” Y/N began her hand washing routine. As a kindergarten teacher, she’d always been a strict hand-washer. In the time of COVID, she had only become more zealous. She looked at Spencer. “Have you heard anything?”

“Since we’re so close to the end of the semester, the department head thinks they’ll try to finish out the year as normal.” He set down his pen. “I honestly don’t know. It will all depend on whether people follow the CDC guidelines. The spread of any virus is deducible mathematically, and SARS-COV2 is no different. Based on the outbreak in Italy prior to their lockdown, we can accurately describe its reproductive number, or Rt, to between 2.43 – 3.10.”

Y/N shut off the water and dried her hands on a paper towel. “In layman's terms, Dr. Reid.”

“The Rt tells how many people are infected by the contagious host,” he explained. “In the case of this strain, each infected person is infecting between two and three others. For comparison, the standard seasonal flu has an average Rt between 1.4 and 1.7.”

“So in other words, fucking yikes,” Y/N groaned. She moved to perch on the edge of Spencer’s desk.

“Indeed,” Spencer agreed. “We know how fast the flu can travel through an office or a classroom, so imagine if it was two times as transmissible. But it's also really important to understand that this number changes depending on the mitigations in place. Even prior to full lockdown, mask wearing and social distancing was somewhat common in Italy, so it’s likely the uncontrolled Rt is higher.”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N scrubbed a hand over her face. “We’ll probably never go back.”

Spencer rubbed his hand up from her ankle to the inside of her knee. “The good news is there’s nothing special about this virus compared to others in terms of how it spreads— it’s just aerosols. So if everyone wears their mask, we’ll be able to keep the spread low.”

⧭⧭⧭

“It’s safe to say that everyone did not wear their fucking masks,” Y/N snapped. She watched from the couch as Mayor Bowser delivered the news that DC Public Schools would remain closed for the remainder of the year. “This is crazy. I mean, I knew it was coming because people in this country are absolute buffoons.” She looked at Spencer, fingers pressed to her temple. “But holy shit, are we ever going to be able to go outside again?”

“With schools and universities closed, people working remotely, and lockdown orders in place, the Rt in the US could stay low. But masks have to be worn at all times, and social distancing has to be strictly followed.” Spencer pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I just— I can’t believe people are refusing to wear masks. The empirical, peer-reviewed data clearly shows—”

“This is ‘Murica, boy.” Y/N mocked. “Ain’t no tyrannical government gonna tell me what to do!” She rolled her eyes. “Trust me, your choice to abstain from social media is paying dividends to your sanity right now.”

Spencer looked truly dumbfounded, setting his newspaper down in his lap. “But that’s just it. It’s not just in social media circles.” He gestured to the article in front of him. “This economist just argued for ‘reopening’ the economy using the justification of herd immunity. Herd immunity can be a plausible option for less lethal diseases. But this virus is not like varicella—the chickenpox,” he clarified at Y/N’s raised eyebrow. He waved his hands around in exasperation. “Putting aside the fact that one facet of herd immunity is vaccinating as many people as possible, its success completely hinges on the Rt of a disease. If you model a population based on an Rt of 2.5, herd immunity wouldn’t be achieved until approximately sixty percent of the population has been infected. Consider that the US population is currently 328 million, and sixty percent of that is 196.8 million. The current mortality rate for SARS-COV2 is 3.06 percent. 196,800,000 multiplied by 0.0306 is 6,022,080. Over six million people would die. It's simple mathematics.”

Y/N let out an exasperated breath. “It used to be that simple math and facts were enough. Now you’ve got basement scientists who think they know better than actual, literal scientists who’ve spent their entire lives studying these things.” She ran a hand over her face and gestured at the news conference still playing. “How long do you think it’ll be before we’re both trying to teach from this tiny ass living room?”

⧭⧭⧭

“Goooooooood morning, kindergarten! It’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday!” Spencer smiled. As he poured his first cup of coffee, he hummed along with Y/N and 23 six-year-olds as they sang their morning song. Observing fourteen days of remote kindergarten from across the living room had given Spencer a new appreciation for elementary school teachers, particularly Y/N. She sang, danced, conducted science experiments, held puppet shows, read stories, led art projects, and fielded questions for four hours a day— three hours less than when they were in the school building. He was exhausted by proxy.

But he was also grateful for the opportunity to watch Y/N in her element. Even though they were at home, she still got dressed every day in bright, patterned sweaters and dresses— her Ms. Frizzle attire, she’d told him once. She was able to channel her personality into a kid-friendly version that her students clearly adored, never afraid to be silly or strange to get their attention and keep them engaged during the long days. He worked from home whenever possible, strangely happy to have the background noise of kindergarten over his quiet university office.

...

“Okay, but where do I put the biiiiiiiiiiiig number?” Y/N made a wide gesture with her arms. “Ariah, where should I put it? In the big box, yes! But oh no, my small number needs a friend. My three is soooooo lonely!” Y/N drew her mouth into a pout. “DJ, how can I help my three not be so sad? You’re absolutely right, let’s put that two right next to him in our number bond.”

…

“I’ve been waitin’ for a girl to mute,” Y/N sang into the gold karaoke mic. “I said, muuuuuuuuuute, I’m blinded by loud sounds. No, I can’t hear the friend who’s tryin’ to talk.”

…

“Oh boy. Kev, honey, we can— we can see you. Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. We can see all of you. I can’t turn your camera off, buddy. You gotta— there we go.”

…

“Mute please, I need— I need everybody to mute, please. Oh my goodness where is that music coming from?” Y/N frantically searched for her index card with the picture of the mute icon, as the sounds of a highly inappropriate song blared through the computer speaker. “I know it’s so loud, guys. Why is my mute power gone?! This is why we need to make sure we keep our mute button on, kindergarten.”

…

“No sweetie, it’s not time to log off yet. I’m sorry, I know it’s such a long day. We have about an hour left. Do you guys wanna do a countdown? It’s the fin-al count-down! Do-do doo dooooo. Do-do-d-do-dooo…”

…

“Annnnnd, I should see all my friends on mute. William, hang on just a second. All my friends need to look at my picture, it’s an oval with a line through it… Okay, William, what did you bring to show us?” Y/N leaned toward the computer screen. “Grandma Kathy? O-oh, she’s— she’s in the—“ Y/N’s eyes widened. “Is that— is that an urn? Oh wow. Um, well, wow. It’s beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, William. Grandma Kathy, may she rest in peace.”

⧭⧭⧭

A week into Y/N teaching kindergarten from their living room, the university had announced its transition to online coursework for the remainder of the academic year. Spencer had to host his first zoom lecture, and he was absolutely dreading it.

“Spence, it’s going to be fine. It’s not like you’ve never been on a video conference,” Y/N assured him. She sat cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to let her in to his practice zoom.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t running those meetings. I just showed up.” He squinted at the computer screen. “Are you in?”

Y/N barely resisted the urge to make a joke, knowing that Spencer probably wouldn’t appreciate the innuendo. “No, you have to admit me.”

“What do you mean? How do I do that?”

“There should be a box with a button that says admit.”

Spencer gestured at the computer. “Well there’s a bunch of boxes— which one should I be looking at?”

Y/N sighed and got up from the couch. “IQ of 187 and can’t find the box.”

Spencer dragged a hand through his hair. “I know I shouldn’t find this so difficult. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on this.”

“Hey, it was a joke.” Y/N grabbed his hand from where he was frustratedly pulling on his frazzled curls. “I’m sorry. That was mean and you’re already stressed enough.” She used her free hand to smooth his hair back into place. She scrunched her nose. “I love you and your limited technology skills. And honestly it’s kind of nice to have one thing I can actually teach you about.” She squeezed his hand, leaning over him to peer at his computer screen. “All right, let’s find that elusive admit button.”

When the day of his lecture rolled around, Spencer thanked all the atoms in the observable universe that Y/N had a break during his class. Within the first ten minutes, he’d managed to accidentally kick himself out of his own meeting and then somehow lose track of the screenshare button.

“No one can see me and I don’t know what happened to the screenshare option. It was there and now it’s just… gone,” he told Y/N.

She leaned over his desk, eyes tracking over the screen and mouse clicking around the desktop. “How in the world did you manage to block your camera?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t even touch it!” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t understand how it’s even possible to be this bad at this.”

Y/N bumped his knee with her own, pulling up his camera settings and preferences. “Relax. You can’t be good at everything. It’s a refreshing reminder that you’re a mere mortal like the rest of us.” With a few rapid clicks, Y/N unblocked his camera and located the screenshare bar. “There. Crisis averted. I’m just going to share your whole screen in case you want to toggle between application windows. So just be aware that they’ll be able to see everything. And then you just click here when you’re ready to stop sharing.”

When Y/N turned her head toward him to check that he understood, Spencer grabbed the side of her face and caught her lips in a kiss. Y/N smiled against his mouth, heart speeding up as he traced the seam of her mouth with his tongue.

“Um, Dr. Reid? Your um— your camera’s working now.”

Spencer nearly fell out of his chair, his cheeks about the color of the Leave Meeting icon. Y/N dropped her head, debating whether she wanted to laugh or let the earth open up and swallow her whole. She ultimately decided to compose herself, stepping back and giving a little wave to the sea of tiny, grinning zoom faces before slinking out of frame, miming sorry to one very mortified professor.

⧭⧭⧭

“Would you want to be our mystery reader next week?” Y/N asked, bookmarking the page of her novel and reclining back in bed. “You just have to pick a story to read. Oh, and think of four clues about your identity to give the kiddos.”

Spencer raised his eyebrow, continuing to read. “Any story?”

Y/N laughed. “Well they’re six, so maybe hold off on the Chaucer and Bradbury for now. A picture book would be preferable.”

“Did you know that the first picture book, Orbis Sensualium Pictus, or Visible World in Pictures, was published in 1658?” He looked up from his own book. “Czech educator John Amos Comenius wanted to create a book that would be accessible to children of all levels of ability. The educational theories he explored are actually still in practice in the field of early childhood education.” He turned toward her from his spot under the covers. “For example, when you have your students make a hissing sound and slither their arms when they produce the sound represented by the letter s? Comenius included an alphabet chart with various animal and human sounds representing each letter. He wanted to demonstrate that the incorporation of multiple senses could help increase learning.”

“I guess you don’t fix what isn’t broken,” Y/N mused. “300 years later, and we’re still using the same methods.”

“362, actually,” Spencer corrected.

She gave him a look. “Maybe we can save the Comenius for another time.”

“The genre of children’s literature encompasses some of the most profound and philosophical story telling of all time.” Spencer returned his attention to his reading.

“...So is that a yes?”

Spencer smiled. “I’ve got a book in mind.”

“And clues,” Y/N reminded him, snuggling down under the covers and reopening her book. “We need some fun clues, mystery reader.”

…

“Kindergarten, we have a very special mystery reader this week. Oh man, are you ready for the first clue? The mystery reader loves jell-o! Raise your little hand if you love jell-o, too. Okay, kindergarten, I see you! Lots of jell-o lovers in the house.”

…

“Okay, clue number two! Our mystery reader works as a community helper— remember we learned about all different kinds of community helpers; firefighters, nurses, police officers. But if the mystery reader could be anything, they’d want to be a cowboy! How cool is that?”

...

“Clue number three for our mystery reader!” Y/N sucked in a gasp. “You guys. The mystery reader can do magic. Oh my goodness, I am so excited for Friday,” she sing-songed. “Will they show us a trick? Hmmm, I don’t know. Maybe if you ask nicely.”

…

“Okay, my friends, the last clue. The mystery reader loves reading. They read every day, and they’ve been reading since 1983! Yes, that was a very long time ago.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Okay, any last guesses about who our mystery reader might be?” Y/N questioned.

“I think it’s your dad,” a little voice called out.

Spencer made a choking noise from where he sat, slightly off camera. Y/N laughed. “The mystery reader is decidedly not my dad, Keyshon. Remember I showed you guys the picture of him— my dad’s a farmer, so he’s kind of already a cowboy.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, without further ado, drumroll please... Our mystery reader is…” Y/N pushed her desk chair out of frame to allow Spencer to roll in, holding her hands out. “Spencer!”

He gave a little wave, smoothing his hair, suddenly painfully self-aware and nervous about the opinions of two dozen six-year-olds. “Hi guys.”

“You’re the boy on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone.”

“Your hair is so fluffy!”

“Do you have a cowboy hat?”

“I like your sweater.”

“Can you really do magic?”

“What’s your favorite jell-o?”

“Whoa, okay, let’s remember our mute button,” Y/N, holding up her index card. “I promise you’ll get to ask Spencer all your questions after he reads the story.”

Spencer smiled at the excited faces beaming through the screen. “Yes, I’m on Ms. Y/L/N’s phone; I don’t own a cowboy hat, yet; yes, I really can do magic; and the red jell-o is my favorite.”

Y/N watched with interest as Spencer pulled out his book. He’d been secretive about his choice, so she was as curious as her students.

“This is one of my favorite stories. It’s written by Munro Leaf, and illustrated by Robert Lawson. It’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer held the cover up to the camera. “Ferdinand is the bull here on the cover. This story was written in 1935, which was a long time ago! Okay are you ready?” Spencer looked out on a sea of thumbs up, turning the page to the beginning of the story. “Once upon a time in Spain, there was a bull, and his name was Ferdinand.”

Y/N smiled as she listened to Spencer read each page, recounting the story of the peaceful bull. He was an excellent storyteller, changing the inflection and expression of his voice to match each sentence. He held each page up for just the right amount of time, panning it so her students could see each detail of the black and white pictures. He added his own wonderings and exclamations here and there, and her students were decidedly enthralled. Her heart ached at how comfortable he was, how natural this was for him. She rested her chin in her hand, trying to keep her mind in the present— ignoring the persistent little mental image of Spencer as a dad.

“So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know, he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy… And that’s The Story of Ferdinand.” Spencer closed the book with a soft smile. “I love this story. Ferdinand is a very special bull. What do you think makes him so special?”

“Ferdinand didn’t fight,” a little voice piped up.

“Yes!” Spencer agreed. “He practiced pacifism in the face of the persistent, ingrained militarism of his country’s culture.”

Y/N placed a hand on Spencer’s knee and gave a quick squeeze. “Right, Ferdinand chose not to fight, even though everybody else he knew wanted to.” Y/N winked at him before turning back to the screen full of kids. “All his friends thought he was kind of weird, but he just really wanted to hang out in the shade and smell the flowers, huh? Sounds pretty good to me.”

“He wasn’t bothered that the other bulls thought he was strange for wanting to be peaceful,” Spencer added. “Sometimes being different can be a good thing. The Story of Ferdinand reminds me that it’s okay to be yourself, even if other people think you’re weird.” His eyes met Y/N’s. “Because there will always be people who love and appreciate you for who you are.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #criminals minds self insert #dr spencer reid #professor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #homoose writes

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1ddiscourseoftheday · 3 years

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Sat 29 May ‘21

Production director Krupa, who does tech as part of Louis’ live team, posted a video captioned “won’t be long now” showing a banner with Louis’ smiley on it behind a drumset, with voices audible behind the camera; seems like it was old, from the tour shows that happened in 2020, but we know LT Tour ‘22 is on everyone’s minds behind the scenes with pieces very much currently in the process of being shuffled and arranged and tickets being sold, so it makes sense people are posting about it even though it’s so far away. Anyway does the voice in the video say “Styles when I start the video don’t laugh”? It does sound like it but whoever is there doesn’t laugh and is pretty much inaudible so we’ll never really know who it was but fans ask; why is this yet another example of someone associated with Louis who doesn’t follow any of the other 1D boys (and why would they) except… Harry? hmmm. Well, regardless of that if the voice in the video really finishes up by yelling “bukkake” we don’t want to dig ANY further into THAT but I will choose to believe they are instead yelling “we’re cocky” cause well, they ARE! What are they doing here! Plus then we don’t have to uh get into that other thing (bukkake). Krupa, enjoying the response to all that, then posted a picture of the bass drum head with Doncaster postcode taped on that had been used on tour. Robert Harvey (the songwriter from yesterday) is also enjoying the high of Louis-related posting and fan attention and charmingly joked about people being there to see his workout content.

“You don’t see a lot of Nialls around,” said Niall, who is in business with a guy named Niall Horgan, while being interviewed by a guy named Niall Grey, and shares some of the ways people say his name- “Neil, Noel, Nigel,Howoon, Heran”, plus “some of the lads call me Nelly”. He also said he’s “in the studio again, writing the third album and this is feeling really good. Hopefully I can get it out, I don’t really know when. When the world is all vaccinated & ready to go, I’ll probably try and get out on the road again” (and he says he was in the studio yesterday, how does he have TIME with all the promo?) In today’s entry into the tell all we’re compiling one sentence at a time over years, Niall says that the reason he just sat there during the whole “pregnant lady going into labor” nickelodeon prank (played on a young 1D for televised laughs, HAHA watch Harry stress the fuck out-- hilarious! :| ) was that he realized it wasn’t real right off (and that he went and spoke to someone who told him to get back in there), but to be fair is it tell all material given that he says right in the original video post-reveal part that he knew? He also said, “I'm pretty carefree, I care less now. I used to be really agitated and wanted to be doing stuff all the time and it [2020] really gave me an opportunity to step back from things. You didn't have to be moving all the time to be yourself,” and that yes he DID spend some time with his special friend (Amelia) during quarantine, “we have been doing a lot of cooking, it made lockdown a lot simpler... I think I would have gone mad on my own,” and “it was good to be at home and chill out, I feel bad saying that with all that's going on in the world but it was a nice thing.” Anne Marie said about the video “I was driving because back in the day, there wasn't a lot of pictures of women driving a car. So I took the control- we did nearly die. It was all hills and stuff, going round the corner of a hill, and I couldn't turn it, so we nearly died” and “I LOVE US,” and Niall said "if you don't like it, don't listen to it" about the single; StreamOurSong trended.

And an unseen picture of Harry from his shoot with Tim Walker was posted; he’s sprouting from earth like a beautiful flower, just like the ones he is draped in, fantastic! And museums are reopening to display Harry’s clothes all over the place; first the grammy museum, now the Victoria and Albert in London has at last reopened their doors, allowing the masses in to see the famous JW Anderson patchwork cardigan in the, uh, wool. Everyone wants some of that Harry Styles™ magic for their business! Even indie rock musicians; duo Bachelor’s new music video is all about getting some of that Harry magic for themselves. The two play exaggerated caricatures of harries, who happen upon someone they mistake for Harry and kidnap him and keep him in their basement (where they force him to sing Stockholm Syndrome repeatedly? No! Truly a missed opportunity, disappointing). The video is “about the dark side of fandom” they say, SIGH. Well, they may have portrayed fandom in the worst possible light, but at least they threw some money at the women they were condescendingly mocking while they were at it, their fan made product budget must have been huge-- like c’mon, just those redbubble bedspreads cost a fortune!

#Louis tomlinson #harry styles #neil horoon #nigel horgan?#niall horan!#anne marie #krupa #amelia woolsey #all the love to my stringers today while I’m slightly hamstrung bless you xoxoxox to megan and to larrylimericks #who I truly can’t believe doesn’t get more attention you should go follow for like... this but much shorter AND rhyming #an upgrade probably I talk way too much #29 may 21

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fa-headhoncho · 3 years

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Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.

Word Count: 2058

Reader: Female

Warning: parole officers? canon level violence, john walker

Author’s Note: im being lazy and not writing rn but i have a stock pile of fics so get ready for shitty posts :p

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

=====

Once you get onto the plane, you don’t hold back your emotions. The fight was enough but how Walker talked to Sam and Bucky on the car ride over sent you over the edge. You had to admit, the kid had good intentions but there was something about him that was off.

You don’t even wait for his private jet to lift off before turning to him and pinning him against the nearest wall. Your forearm was laying across his chest while the other was hovering over the knife clipped onto your hip. His managers and friend stand up, rushing to try to pry you off of him but he raises a hand to stop them. “Who the hell do you think you fucking are, huh?”

“Captain America.” He simply responds, looking at down you with a cocky smile. You let out a scoff, the audacity of this man. “Look, I didn’t know that you knew them.”

“Yes, you did.” You exclaim while your forearm digs into his chest, “You read my parole reports, it shows where I spend my time and who I talk to, Bucky and Sam being the main two who I interact with. They’re my friends and you’re using me as a pawn. Steve wouldn’t have done that, Captain America wouldn’t have done that.”

“You talk about looking up to him but you’re nothing like him. You throw around ‘brother’ like it means nothing, you have no idea what those two have gone through with Steve. You hold the shield like it’s a toy and using it to get what you want.” Your voice is menacing low and you knew if you still had your parole officer that he would be scolding you for it.

“Captain America stood up for the little guys but you’re just using it as a title, abusing it to act like the hero you tried to be before. You’re a fucking joke.” You release him and walk away. The air in the room felt tense as you plop down on the chair closest to the exit, furthest away from his management team who didn’t know what just happened.

“If you think I’m going to stand by your side after how you just treated my friends, you’re dead fucking wrong.” You shake your head and lean forward in your seat.

He lets out a chuckle, taking a step towards you with his hands fisted by his side. “You’re going to help me if I say you are. I say the words and you’re locked back in the goddamn cell where you belong. Remember who brought you here in the first place.”

“Hey, John, calm down.” Hoskins finally buds in. Walker scoffs and shakes his head, following him to join the rest of their team.

You shift your eyes to the floor, knowing he’s right. The power the government is giving their new Captain is a desperate attempt to give hope to those after the Blip. It’s going straight to his head and you knew it was going to get worse in the long run.

The rest of the flight is awkward. The tension never settling even if Walker acts like nothing just happened. Hoskins was keeping a close eye on you like you were going to bounce back to your Hydra days and take out everyone on the plane. To be fair, you wanted to but you weren’t stupid and you didn’t want to give him another reason to send you back.

Once the plane touches down, you’re out the door. The group was barely out of the seats before they could see you disappear into the airport. Haling a cab and taking it back to the apartment they were renting for you, changing out of your gear and plopping down onto the bed.

The events of the day finally collapse down onto you. This situation was going to be a lot harder than you originally thought. Walker explained it as just one mission to see where the Flag Smashers were taking the stolen vaccines and you would be on your way. “Free at last” to use his words but now you were roped in for the long haul.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face either. He had confided in you about how he felt about the new Captain and how lost he felt. If Steve wasn’t right about Sam then what the hell was wrong with Bucky?

Before you realize it, tears were streaming down your cheeks. You knew it was too early to try to reach out to them so you decide to give them time. They were still processing their interactions with the new Captain and the new information about the Flag Smashers being super-soldiers.

If you were going to have to work with Walker, you were going to have to figure out a plan. Racking your brain for ideas, one comes to mind that would be risky. It would be worth it, though. Staring up at the ceiling, you start strategizing a way you could pull this off. You were one of Hydra’s best agents so hopefully, this would be easy. After going against your original thought and shooting Sam a quick text, you slowly drift off asleep.

=====

Your leg bounces under the table as you stare at the clock above the door. It was half-past seven and the breakfast rush was winding down. The diner was slowly emptying, leaving a hand full of tables with families and friends enjoying their meal. The waitress comes up to your booth, standing there until you notice her.

“Ready to order yet, hun’?” The nice older lady questions, breaking your gaze from the entrance to her. You shake your head no before turning back to the door. She gives you a sad smile before looking down at her watch, “It’s been almost twenty minutes, sweetie, are you sure your friends are still coming?”

You nod quickly, no matter what kind of circumstances the two soldiers would never stand you up. Their hearts were too kind for that. “I was just a bit early, I’m kind of nervous.” You shyly admit, sending her a smile.

“Well, I’m bringing you something to eat at least,” She commands, you open your mouth to reject but she cuts you off, “on the house.” She gives you a firm look before walking off to the back.

Right as she disappears into the kitchen, the bell of the diner dings. Your head snaps to it and you can’t help the large smile that appears on your face at the sight of the duo walking in. The two immediately see you since you placed yourself right near the door.

Sam sends you back a smile while Bucky just eyes you down. You were wearing a simple sweater and pants while they were in their usual civilian gear, a ballcap and jacket. You couldn’t help but ogle at how good Bucky looked in the blue Hently you two bought when he first came to Brooklyn.

They slip into the booth, their broad figures barely fitting on the small seat. Sam elbows Bucky as he tries to get comfortable but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Morning.” You try to make conversation. “How was the rest of your day yesterday?”

“He got arrested.” Sam bluntly says making your jaw drop. “He missed his check-in with the shrink.”

“I told you not to tell her.” Bucky makes out through clenched teeth, he just shrugs in response. You go to scold him but he holds a steady hand out, “You can yell at me all you want later, what do you want? We don’t have much time.” Your heart drops with how aggressive he’s being towards you.

“I want to help you.” You announce, ignoring Bucky’s eye roll as he remembers who you’re working with. He goes to tell you off just like he told Walker but you start rambling before he could utter a word, “I know it’s not the ideal situation but Walker wants me on his team. If I could earn his trust and figure out what their plans are, I can report back to you two.”

“And how do we not know this is a setup?” Sam points out, leaning forward on the table as Bucky looks around the diner for any sign of said Captain America, “They could be listening right now, they still have you under lock and key.”

You gleam at the mention of that, realizing that you haven’t told them the good news. “Not anymore.” You extend your leg out from under the table for Bucky to see your naked ankle. “Walker pulled some strings to get me off my parole earlier.”

A look of realization comes across Sam’s face once he pieces everything together. He knew how mad you were about the new Captain America, how you helped him and Bucky against the Smashers instead of the other two, and how you didn’t know anything about Bucky getting arrested made sense.

“So, you made a deal with the devil.” Bucky snarkily questions, a look of disappointment on his face.

You let out a scoff at his words, “I did what I had to do, James. Not all of us were lucky enough to get pardoned.” You spit back, tired of how he was acting. “He tricked me, told me it was just one simple favor to repay him. Now, he wants me to be a part of his team to take down the Flag Smashers. Told me if I didn’t help that he would send me back to jail and it would reset everything I had accomplished in the last five years.”

Bucky’s eyes soften at your confession, hanging his head in embarrassment at his assumptions. The waitress comes up and sets the small plate of food down in front of you, giving an awkward smile to the boys before walking off.

You let out a sigh, feeling bad for yelling at him. He was being a dick but that didn’t mean you had to be one back to him. He was going through a lot and this was the last thing he needed.

Grabbing the fork, you stare down at the pancakes. “You don’t have to forgive me or anything but just understand where I’m coming from, please.”

They share a look as they silently communicate. Bucky narrows his eyes and Sam tilts his head at him. You look between them as you try to figure out what’s going on.

“I can’t read your mind, cyborg. Use your words.” Sam finally spits out then elbows him one more time, “Will you please scoot over? I’m suffocating over here!”

Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes at his friend. He gets up out of the booth and slips in next to you, using his larger form to push you closer to the window. Your eyes widen in surprise as he slings his arm to rest behind your head. He then takes the extra fork and stabs it into your hashbrowns.

Sam lets out an awe as he watches the two of you eat from your plate, “Don’t you two look so cute.”

“Shut up, Sam.” You both demand at the same time. He raises his hands up in defense, leaning back in the booth with a smug smile on his face. The two of you easily fall into conversation, catching up on things and giggling at the little jokes he was making. Suddenly, after a few moments of silence as the two of you enjoy the meal, you remember what Sam mentioned earlier.

Bucky lets out a little yelp when you send a swift smack to the back of his head, making the hashbrowns he was about to eat fall off his fork. “What the hell was that for?”

“For getting arrested, are you kidding me, James? Do you know what could’ve happened to you? I swear to God, James Buchanan Barnes, you will be the death of me—“ You continue to scold while Sam lets out a booming laugh. Mad at him for being so careless, you poke and prod at his chest but stop when you notice the expression on his face. Your heart can’t handle the way he pulls out his puppy dog eyes and his pouted lip. “Oh, don’t pull that shit with me.”

_____

untitled tfawts fic: @crowleysqueenofhell @mischiefmanaged71 @thewinterrbucky @lizajane3 @ahahafudge @spookycereal-s @a-girl-who-loves-disney @kittengirl998 @ sebby-staan

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #james buchanan bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu #the winter solider x reader #twatws #bucky barnes imagine #marvel fic #marvel #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #sebastian stan

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bebepac · 3 years

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Six Sentence Sunday 8.08.21

Original Post: 08/08/21 at 12:30PM EST

Happy Sunday Funday Fandom. I hope that you are enjoying your weekend. I have hit my new binge fest on Netflix, which probably I would have hit my goal of finishing 3 chapters this week, however I only made it through two as I was binge watching The Flash. I apparently missed both season 6 and 7, when I was watching season 6, I thought it was season 7 but i was wrong. So I still have the majority of season 7 to catch up on now. I Love Barry and Iris!!!

I guess we can’t complain two out of three ain’t bad yo. So that’s going to continue, since it looks like the outside is getting unsafe again. Our cases in my area are way up again, and I did take the vaccine, at my job we are back to weekly testing again due to the Delta Variant. Masks aren’t mandatory yet but I think I’m going to start wearing mine again just to be safe.

Here’s what you have missed, of the series that I posted this week, in case life or Tumblr tags not cooperating got in the way:

The Life of Riley Book Two: The Home of the Ice Princess

Mia’s 🌎 World: Car Shopping🍋🍋🍋

Thanks for the six sentence tag @khoicesbyk

What are some of my other fellow writers up to? @burnsoslow @dcbbw @speedyoperarascalparty @axwalker @sirbeepsalot @ao719 @phoenixrising308 @sfb123

Going Away Bash: Beaumont Style

The Book: Beyond TRH

University Student Ellie: Chapter 3

The Pairings: Liam x Riley / Ellie x Nic (Ellie x M!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process: This Week’s Wacky Drabble

As the night progressed, the music slowed, and things naturally became more relaxed. Nic walked over to Ellie with a smile.

“May I have this dance?”

Ellie nodded, taking Nic’s hand.

Her brothers and her sister all knew how close Nic and Ellie were. They always seemed to know that they were more than just friends, and her going away to school could potentially change that. Ellie saying goodbye, was going to be incredibly difficult for them, and for the relationship that they currently had.

“Ellie I know why you have to go, but honestly I wish you didn’t. But I really do get it. This has been your life.” Nic’s voice was somber as he spoke.

He waved his hand around the large ballroom in a dramatic fashion. The opulent gowns, the balls, Ellie was wearing the crown jewels worth hundreds of thousands of dollars on her person, but not her tiara. She took him by his hand and led him out to the balcony.

“I know you understand me Nic. Next to my Father, you’re probably second, in who truly understands my heart. I’m sorry this hurts you that I have to leave like this, but I have to.”

“I know....you need this.”

Ellie nodded. “I do. It’s so hard being crown princess sometimes.”

“I can see that. There’s a lot of pressure on you.”

“Maybe your dad will let you come visit me in America. Or you can hitch a ride on the jet when I ask Mother and Father to let my brothers and sister come see me.”

“Ellie, you know my Dad. I barely got to your birthday ball without your father intervening. If he doesn’t let me come visit you, you know where I live.”

She slipped her arms around his neck. “Yes, I know where you live.” She laughed loudly.

“Don’t forget me okay?” Ellie’s voice was soft as she rested her head on his forehead.

“That would never be possible. I should be saying that to you.” Nic whispered.

End of Watch

Just The Way You Are: Chapter 16

The Book: TRR x Perfect Match

The Pairings: Riley x Liam / with past pairing of Riley x Nico (Riley x M!OC) / Hayden!M x Kai!F

Status: Still in the writing process

Warning: Adult Content: TW Panic

*note: The majority of this chapter takes place in Riley’s past. There will be a lot of raw emotion in this chapter.

“I can’t lose Nic too. I need him.”

They needed each other. Maybe it was selfish of her, but Nicolai staying a part of her life after Nico died, had really helped her more than hurt. Even though the boy looked just like his father, and had his mannerisms; he was the only one that truly understood the pain she was feeling. She could see it in his eyes when he looked at her. His little heart had been broken in two after Nico's death, just like hers.

Now that Mama KH had let him start to stay with her, Riley had switched her schedule at work, so she could pick Nic up from school every day. She got a recipe book of crock pot meals so that she could have Nic a hearty dinner every night that they could eat together. Liam would come over for dinner most nights too. They had become their own little family.

“I won’t lose him too.” Riley said aloud in a shaky voice.

She regretted not taking Liam up on his offer to come along with her. He really had a way of putting her at ease, and she desperately needed that in that moment.

Riley held the sides of the sink as she took several breaths trying to calm herself. She was breathing heavily; it felt like sheer panic was gripping every part of her, her heart was thundering in her chest.

Panic was something she had dealt constantly with since Nico's passing. It had crept into her life and sat there like a low hanging dark cloud that loomed ominous over her life.

Riley grabbed her heart as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. Losing Nico was the single most hurtful thing that had ever happened in her life; it had completely annihilated her happy life as she knew it. She would never forget the day she had to say her final goodbye to him, and the tidal wave of pain that hit her life in the months that followed.

The Royal Heir

The Days the Earth Stood Still: Part 1B

The Book: TRR

The Pairings: Riley x Liam / Riley x Nico (TRR MC x M!OC)

Status: Still in the writing process

Note: Remember in this part of the flip Riley knows she’s pregnant going into Liam’s proposal.

*×*×*×*×* The Proposal *×*×*×*×*

He took Riley that evening to Prospect Park. That was where he felt like he came alive. He even had a small backpack like Riley's and it was filled with her survival gear stuff. Riley sipped on the apple juice, smiling at him.

"I know you can't get in the swing in that dress, but Riley but you look amazing in it."

"Oh this old thing?" She said smiling.

“You always look beautiful to me in everything you wear. Even that little eight dollar dress.

Liam jumped in the swing. She smiled as he screamed as he sailed over the pond.

"That almost gave me the courage to do what I came here to do."

"Liam…."

"Riley, since we ran into each other that night I knew in my heart that was where I was meant to be. That my whole entire life was leading me to you. You are like the North Star the way you have guided me into uncharted territory that I was unsure of. I want to pillage and plunder the seven seas with you by my side."

She smiled remembering all the pirate references she had made that first night.

"I knew Riley. I knew you were it for me. When you said yes to stay, I knew we would be here. This night. Together. In the city that I lost my heart, because I gave it to you. The first place I ever got my first taste of pure freedom."

"Liam there's something…"

"You changed my life for the better. I will be forever changed by your love Riley. With you free of the scandal and myself free of my farce of an engagement, I now have the opportunity to ask you the question that's been on my heart since the coronation ball."

"Liam…."

Liam fell to one knee before Riley.

"Riley Antonia Brooks, light of my life, and Queen of My Heart, will you marry me?"

Riley burst into tears before him.

He looked up at her, his sapphire blue eyes sparkled in the night.

Annnnnd it slipped. The equivalent of verbal diarrhea. Not exactly how she wanted to say those words to the King of Cordonia. But then again, how eloquent can one say those words? The way she did it was the equivalent of ripping the bandaid off. Short, sweet, and to the point.

"I'm pregnant."

Liam was completely frozen as he was kneeling before her, the shock registered in his eyes. Not only that, Liam looked confused for a second, his eyes rapidly blinking.

"Did you just say what I think you just said?"

Liam rose to his feet staring at her, his eyes resting on her form. Riley slowly nodded.

"A baby?" He whispered softly. His fingers gently ghosted the stomach of her dress.

"Riley, are you serious?"

She held out the ultrasound picture for him to take, and Liam stared down at picture, his emotions were unreadable.

"We're having a baby? You and me?"

Riley nodded. Riley couldn’t tell how he was taking the news, until he pulled her close to him.

“Riley Brooks you have given me everything I ever wanted in my life.”

Liam burst into tears hugging her.

Still working on: Everything else:

#bebepac writes #six sentence sunday #cfwc sunday six #always more than six #just the way you are #the days the earth stood still #university student ellie #trh fanfic #trh fandom #trr fanfic #trr fandom #crossovers

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human-do-a-worm · 3 years

Text

Ramblings of an Old Soldier Part 3/3

Sorry about the wait. The second dose of COVID vaccine drains you a lot more than the first dose. Anyways here’s part 3, part 1 and part 2 can be found here.

Admiral Sturm sat on the park bench as he always did. Sipping on his coffee and reading the latest news from his datapad. Once again, the Unkall boy approached him and sat beside him on the bench. He noticed that the aging Terran was wearing a strange uniform, with the image of a furred beast embroidered on the chest and upper right arm.

“Good afternoon Mr. Sturm.” “Ah, hello there son. Back for story time again?” “Yes sir. I was wondering what happened after the summit. Almost all traces of you vanished from records 8 cycles ago, and the only mentions of you after that were how the Terran Navy wanted you back.”

“Well, as I said the other day, I became a merc. My crew and I were the best. We took contracts from the Segmentum Norrus, all the way down to the Serectan Void. We didn’t work like most mercenary groups. We sought out our clients, and saw a lot of business. Everything from running escort duty on supply runs to desperate worlds, to taking down entire groups of bandits and pirates. Wherever we went, outlaws and tyrants alike feared the sight of The Wolf’s Den.”

“The Wolf’s Den? I think we heard about a group of people using that ship last cycle in our Galactic History class. Something about taking part in the Gingral war, only a few cycles ago.” “Ah yes, the Gingral war. Some of the bloodiest fighting I’ve ever seen. That was the last contract my crew and I took. We started off in a small role; mostly just escorting supply freighters to the border colonies since most of the supply lines had been cut and the colonists were starving. Our last supply run had been going well, until 6 light cruisers decloaked and opened fire. We did the best we could, but the supply freighter carrying food and civilians was destroyed in only a few minutes.”

“We could have escaped after that. Made a jump to the nearest Unkall station and gotten reinforcements, but My crew and I all knew what had to be done. We knew that the Gingral had to pay. They may have outnumbered us 6 to 1, and they may have had us outgunned, but they didn’t account for us having a mark 7 jump core. We warped around behind them and took down 2 of the light cruisers rather easily, but then we took a hit. The jump core cut out, and we were relying only on engine power.”

“But The Wolf’s Den must have survived somehow. The history logs said that it served through the entirety of the Gingral War.”

“That’s almost right. We knew that we wouldn’t be able to keep her together much longer, so we did what all Terrans do in situations like this. We became unpredictable. We gave all power to weapons and blasted the furthest ship from us, then mustered to the airlocks. We put on EVA gear and as soon as we were close enough to the next ship, we boarded.” “Wasn’t ship boarding added to the prohibited activities of War after the Terran war?” “It was, but targeting civilians has always been among the prohibited activities of War, so we were still committing a lesser infraction. We blasted open the port hangar with a plasma charge, and cleared the first room. Then we cleared the rest of the ship up to the bridge and took out the last remaining light cruiser. Changed the comms channels to the ones we had on The Wolf’s Den, then modified the IFF tag accordingly. When we arrived at the Unkall station we had just left, they demanded an explanation, so we told them what happened.” “And you weren't reprimanded?”

“Oh, we were. There was even a small tribunal held to determine if we could still fight. That’s when the call came in. Rakthis had been attacked, with only a handful of survivors. I immediately got up and started heading to my ship. The Unkall admiral demanded to know where I was going. After calmly telling him that there was now a full scale war, we had work to do. I went to the hangar and got the light cruiser repaired and ready for combat, but not before renaming it. The Wolf’s Den was never destroyed, it just became another ship.”

“What happened next?” the Unkall boy asked. “Weren’t the forces around Rakthis said to be uncounted?”

“They were, that’s why we didn’t go to Rakthis. We went to Waalon instead. Then to Rek’lon, and finally to Scrurros. Everywhere we went, we pushed back the Gingral horde. My first mate, Sarah Callingham, had family on the outer colonies back in the Vrumoid war. Saw most of them killed in front of her when their shuttle was shot down leaving atmosphere on Vrall VII. Scrurros was a tough nut to crack, and she had more crafty ideas than I did. We landed The Wolf’s Den on the uninhabited side of the planet, then bought a grav truck from one of the farmers. It was hard to weld the armor plates on it at the right angle, but mounting the lasguns and mortar was rather simple. I stood in the back, manning two of the lasguns and the mortar while she and two other soldiers were up front in the cab. We got almost to the planetary capital before we faced any resistance.”

“But the history logs said that Scrurros didn’t fall until the later end of the war.” “That’s right. We couldn’t take the planet as easily as we’d taken the others. When the first mortar hit the shield on the planetary governance center, we knew we were in for a fight. We got the truck away with only a few shots on the armor, but we were pursued by the planetary militia. One of the armored gun trucks fired their heavy las gun and took out the rear grav drive. With the back end of the truck along the ground, our speed tanked to a crawl. I was able to keep the militia back for a while by pinning them down with the lasguns, but then another shot hit us, dead center mass.”

“How bad was it? Were you alright?”

“I made it out with only a few scratches, scrapes, and bruises, but Sarah and the others up front weren't so lucky. The shot penetrated the cab and blew up at the steering linkage. Only Sarah, myself, and the one crewman in the back with me made it out of that. We ducked into a nearby building for cover, only to find that it was a school. Not wanting to put the civilians in danger, we lightly dressed Sarah’s wounds and went on into the forest surrounding the city. We came to a cave at the foot of a mountain, and made camp inside.” “Who was the other crewman that was with you? I notice that you haven’t said his name yet.”

“His name was Richard Grumman. He was the newest addition to The Wolfpack, joining us less than a cycle ago. We hadn’t had much time to get to know each other. The Militia found us in the first week, and he was shot to death on the night they raided the cave. Sarah and I managed to get away, but we were far from being safe. The next night we got a transmission from The Wolf’s Den; They had been found, and were wondering what to do. Sarah and I were at least four days away from the ship, so I made the call and told them to leave while they had the chance, to keep fighting and never forget about us.” “So you willingly stranded yourself and an injured crewmate on a hostile planet just to save your crewmates? The stories about the Terrans must be true.” “You’ll learn that those stories don’t even tell half the story if you stick on a Terran ship for even half a cycle. Anyways, there we were, just me and Sarah on Scrurros. I treated her wounds the best I could, but she wasn’t getting much better. Eventually she died, less than half a cycle into our time on that world. I retired with her body to the farmer who sold us the truck, and paid him to let me bury Sarah on his property. Much like with the freighter, the Gingral would pay. I took stock of what I had. Two lasguns, three fragmentation grenades, an energy grenade, and a plasma charge. Not nearly enough to take on the forces of the planet, but maybe enough to make it possible.”

“So what did you do? The Gingral don’t just let prisoners get away. Especially not in the middle of a war.” “Well, I couldn't just storm the Planetary Governance Center. That would accomplish nothing but my own death. Instead I went for something better. Three grids away from the Governance Center was the Defense Center. The plan was simple. Get inside, break as much stuff as I could, and hope that was enough to take down their defenses. It took me ten days to reach the capital again, and another three to figure out how to get inside. Turns out the Gringal didn’t make their roof as secure as they should have. I opened up the ventilation system and got inside. From there it was a short trip to the bunker exterior.”

“Aren’t Gingral bunkers some of the hardest to break open in the entire galaxy? How did you get inside?” “Simple; I didn’t break in; I snuck in. I kicked out the vent and got inside the bunker, then closed and locked the door behind me and smashed the controls. There were only technicians and a few soldiers inside, who were easy enough to dispatch. The harder part was accessing the communications room. Aside from the door of the bunker itself, the communications room was the most secure place in the facility. The door was half a meter thick, and barred at six points. That would prove to be a great challenge, so I left it for later. I quickly found the controls to the weapons system, and took it down. The planet was now mostly defenseless against ships in orbit and low atmosphere.”

“So you took down the guns, but how did you get in?”

“The door was too hard to get through, so I made my own instead. I went above the room and opened up the three fragmentation grenades. Terrna frag grenades use a pressure sensitive explosive to detonate, so I poured it out above the room, then placed the plasma charge on top of it. I ducked out of the room and waited for the explosion. When that charge went off, it was as if the whole planet shook. When I went in to check on the hole, the charge had only just broken through the floor. It took hours for me to get the hole wide enough for me to wriggle inside, but it was worth it. I contacted the Unkall fleet, and they were there within the week. The planet fell and I was pulled from the bunker before the food and water stores were even dented.”

“So that’s why taking Scrurros was so easy for the fleet. There wasn’t as much resistance as the planet originally had. And you were the one to take it down?”

“That’s right. After the war, I was broken. My knees were all but useless for fighting, and I could barely stand without swaying. The Unkall empire never forgot what my crew and I did. We were paid many times more than what was written in our contract, and they even got me a home right here on Unkall Prime. Now I sit here, enjoying retirement in my old age. Though the Terran lifespan is almost 50 cycles, we’re usually out of our working years after only 30 cycles. Our bodies are too old and weak to do most of the hard tasks that we normally would.”

“So what do you do now? Surely after a life like yours you want to do something just as exciting after you’re done working.”

“I mostly just read now. When you spend your life as a soldier, you miss out on so much. I never settled down and had kids, and my time for that is even drawing to a close. I did take up a few hobbies here and there, but nothing really stuck. I still work part time for the Unkall empire, training their soldiers in virtual reality simulations is about all I can do, but I’ve given the Unkall the strength to protect their planets, and given their generals and admirals the knowledge not to go on any missions they will regret. I’m happy with the contributions I’ve made in my life, and if I had the chance, I’d do it all over again. By the way, I never did catch your name.”

“My name is Ruthal Nerzak, and I’m slotted to be a soldier in the Unkall Defense Force.”

“Well Ruthal, I hope we will meet again someday.”

With that, Ruthal stopped recording and went home, finishing his final report.

A few days later, Ukall prime came under attack. A colonial independence group made numerous strikes around the city, and Ruthal had been caught outside on his way home from class. He tried to run away, but was chased by one of the insurgents down an alleyway, when suddenly two lasgun shots rang out. Ruthal though he was dead, but he slowly opened his four eyes and saw that the terrorist was dead on the ground in front of him. Looking up, he was me with a familiar face

“Thank you Mr. Sturm, I thought I was surely dead.”

“Don’t thank me yet, we’re seven grids away from the nearest shelter, and there’s enemies all around us. You said you wanted to be a soldier, well your training just started early.”

Sturm handed Ruthal the lasgun from the dead insurgent, and after showing him how to fire and teaching him how to make sure it doesn’t overheat, he led the Unkall boy out of the alley and down the street. Two blocks later, Sturm pulled the Unkall boy into an alley.

“Alright son, listen up. There’s about fifty armed and angry people between us and shelter. Our espace routes have been mostly cut off, so I need you to listen to me and listen well. When I tell you to run, you run as fast as you can. We should be able to get past most of them by taking the alleys across the street. I picked up some kit off one of these guys. The flashbang should buy us enough time to cross the street, but I’ll have to think of something after we get to our next crossing.”

Sturm threw the flashbang far into the crowd of terrorists, blinding a dozen of them and allowing them to cross the street. After seeing how many insurgents were at their crossing point, Sturm and Ruthal entered a tall residence building across from a big shootout between the insurgent and Unkall forces.

“Alright, we don’t stand a chance of crossing that. Here’s the plan. We’ll get up high, and then open fire on them. If nothing else, we’ll draw their attention away from the defense forces and allow them to break through.”

“I can’t. They’re people, just like us.” “Look around you kid. There’s men, women, and children all gunned down by these guys. I’m not sure what that makes them in Unkall society, but to us Terrans, they’re no longer people; they’re monsters. As a soldier, our job is to get rid of the monsters, so that everyone can sleep soundly at night knowing they’re safe. Taking a life isn’t something one does lightly, but it’s still something that has to be done. It’s better that we take them out, because if we don’t, who knows how many more people they’ll kill. We don’t do this because we like killing, we do this because we love the people we protect, and we’d give anything to keep them safe.”

“But I don’t want to hurt them.”

“I understand. I’m not sure if the Unkall have a saying like this, but Terrans sure do. You have a big heart. You want to keep people safe, not put them in the ground. But sometimes the best way to keep people safe is to put bad people in the ground. We’re between a rock and a hard place. If we sit here and do nothing, they will continue to hold this street, but if we can take them down, even just one or two of them, we can make them fight on two sides, which is the easiest way to break through an enemy line. I recognize a few of the soldiers I can see from up here. I trained them myself. They’ll realize what’s going on and they’ll do the heavy lifting; we just need to give them a helping hand. So, are you ready?”

The young Unkall nodded, then Sturm and Ruthal braced their lasguns on the windowsill, and opened fire on the street below. As Sturm said, the insurgents shifted their position, attempting to defend against incoming fire from two directions. As the Unkall defense forces broke the lines, a single shot came from the street and hit Sturm in the neck

Bleeding badly, Sturm stumbled back, Ruthall catching him in his arms. As he was losing his grasp on consciousness, Sturm held Ruthalls hand

“Never forget what happened here. Never forget the atrocities you saw with your own eyes, and never be afraid to rise up against the monsters who make things like this happen.”

With that, Sturm closed his eyes. Unkall security forces soon burst into the room, seeing the state of the old Terran, they gave him the best aid they could, and sent him off to the hospital, with Ruthall at his side.

After a lengthy surgery and two pints of blood, Sturm woke up in his hospital room, Ruthall asleep on his lap. Colonel Rengar, a soldier in the Unkall defense forces entered the room.

“So Admiral, I see your retirement is going well.”

“Can the crap Colonel. How many did we lose?”

“Casualties are still being counted, but even one is too many.”

“And what about the boy, Ruthall. Why is he still here?"

"His family were among those killed in the attack. We haven’t told him yet, just that we’re still looking for them.”

“So what will happen to him?”

“We don’t know. He doesn’t have any living family, and in our culture friend’s do not step in for situations like these. He will likely be left to become an adoptee for some family here, but after this, I’m not sure who would adopt him.”

“I will.”

“What? You can’t be serious. The looks he would get, especially here in the capital. I’m not sure if he can take it.”

“He knows my story. He knows that I take care of the ones I call family. He didn’t hesitate to pick up a rifle and follow me through the streets today, and he only barely hesitated to fight beside me. He’ll make a fine soldier, and he’ll make a damn good son. Get me the documents dammit.”

“Very well.”

Ruthall woke up, and was told about what happened. He didn’t take his family dying too well, but was glad that he would not be alone. The next day that school was in session, Admiral Sturm put on his old Terran uniform, and walked his son into class. It was not easy adjusting to caring for a young Unkall child, but it was a change that Sturm was happy to make. He had known what it was like to be alone, and now he could keep Ruthall from knowing that pain.

The End

Let me know if you guys want a follow up series about Sturm and Ruthall on Unkall Prime, and how they live their lives together.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #humans are weird #earth is space australia #humans are space australians

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olivia200312 · 3 years

Text

Accident~ RID2015! Optimus x Human! Reader

Plot: Y/N got into an accident in her house.

So, this is a true one-shot. This is NOT a lie. I got into an accident this morning. I woke up normally like every other human but when I wanted to move my head, I felt a massive intense pain at the back of my neck and head area. When I stood up, I felt dizzy. I moved a bit but it got so worse that I wanted to lay back down. But I collapsed and my face made contact with the floor. Luckily not hard but I did get a bloody nose. I felt very hot and was pale. But this all stopped when I laid down and slept a bit. My grandmother called my mom and she arrived s fast she can. The ambulance was called and they took me to the hospital. They checked my health and I was allowed to go. I also bit my lip a little bit hard so it's swollen when I fell. I wear a case around my neck and have to take it easy. This all happened on July 16th.

This continues after You're No Alone and Author! Check them out!

Author: one-shot where I became a self-published author on July 10th.

You're Not Alone: on February 5th, my grandfather passed away.

Head area:

Brain: Processor / Brain Module

Head: Helm

Face: Face plate

Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials

Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor

Eye brow: Optical Ridge

Eyes: Optics

Mouth: Intake

Lips: Dermas

Teeth: Denta/Dentas

Tongue: Glossa

Chest area:

Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity

Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula

Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour:

Chest plate

Back plate

Mid-section plating

Neck guard

Side plating

Arm area:

Arms: Arms / Restarlueus

Forearms: Bitarlueus

Hands: Servos

Fingers: Digits

Arm armour:

Gantlets

Shoulder pads

Arm guard

Lower area:

Pelvis: Pelvis

Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate

Thighs: Tibulen

Calves: Cadulen

Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour:

Skirt plates

Aft plate / Skid plate

Thigh guard

Ankle guard

General/Internal components:

Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question.

Veins: Fual lines

Stomach: Tanks

Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating.

Heart: Spark

Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark

T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

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

The alarm clock went off through Y/N's phone. She groaned and reached to put it off. Just as she wanted to move her head, she felt an intense massive pain at the back of her neck and head area. The pain was so intense and aggressive that it paralyzed Y/N to move. She nearly cried because it was very painful! But she managed to push the tears down. She moved her head very carefully. She then managed to stand up but she felt extremely dizzy and hot. She even was pale! Just as she grabbed her things like her phone, the charger, her wristwatch, and her headphones, it got far worse. She wanted to lay down again. She really tried to reach the bed but then... she collapsed. Her face made contact with the ground. It wasn't luckily hard, but she, either way, felt her nose drip out blood. She bit her lip a little bit hard that it will be sure swollen later. She even felt hot! Due to collapsing, she dropped her stuff, creating noises.

There were fast footsteps heard and the door of her bedroom opened. It was her grandmother. The poor woman looked panicked once she saw her granddaughter laying on the floor. "N/N, are you ok?" She immediately helped her up and made sure that she laid down on the bed.

"I f-feel weak."

The grandmother then saw blood drops on the floor, the carpet. She picked up her granddaughter's stuff that was dropped and laid them on the table. "I'll call your mother and clean the blood. Oh my god..." She immediately left the bedroom to call Y/N's mother and once it was done, she started cleaning to get the blood off. Once it was done, she sat down on Y/N's bed and kept an eye on her.

There were noises heard since Y/N's granny lived in an apartment. There was an elevator. Y/N heard the elevator clearly and it stopped on the floor where Y/N's granny lived. The doors opened and she entered the place. She immediately entered the bedroom. Her eyes widened when she saw her daughter in a weak state. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know. She collapsed on the ground. She has a high temperature."

That's when Y/N heard that her mother will call the ambulance. Oh no... Please no needles! Y/N didn't have enough strength to respond she took small naps until the ambulance arrived. It was two grown-up adult males. They were friendly. At that time, Y/N managed to sit up on her bed, her feet touching the carpet floor. She explained everything to the men while her family watched worriedly. They checked her blood pressure and her temperature. Like this one thing where you put your finger in. Y/N's temperature went down back to normal quite fast and she even stood up! She even moved and she felt no dizziness! Huh, looks like her body took the action quickly. Y/N wanted not to get tested but her mother wanted her to. God... She's an overprotective mother since she's single and loved her child dearly.

Y/N's grandmother helped her granddaughter to actually put her pants on before the ambulance arrived. She carefully stood up while the men made sure that she didn't collapse again. Y/N's mother packed like Y/N's phone, wallet, and the book she published. She had to wait for a few days to finally hold her book in her hands. What's stupid was that she had to pay for her own book instead of getting it for free since she's the author after all. The world was so stupid sometimes...

For the first time in her whole life, she rode in an ambulance car. One man was driving while the other was with Y/N, writing important information of Y/N's mother's card ID. Y/N herself was 17, almost 18. Let's just say that the accident happened on the day when her mother was supposed to come over and hand her daughter the book. It was honestly a very sad day for Y/N... She was excited to hold her book in her hands but look t that... a freaking accident.

The ambulance finally arrived at the hospital and Y/N was checked this time by a nurse. Everything went fine. The doctor came to check on her and Y/N explained everything. The doctor explained that the pain might be caused due to sleeping positions or other reasons. And the attack of dizziness, it could be caused by stress.

"Ever since my father's passing, she had a very hard time accepting that he's not here anymore. I see her constantly trapped with her feelings and emotions. She might have possible autism but it's not sure yet because the tests didn't happen yet. She even confessed that she wanted to commit suicide by taking pills. We are going to a psychiatrist but it doesn't help sometimes." When Y/N looked at her mother, she had a sad and soft look.

The doctor looked shocked by Y/N's mother's story. He couldn't help but feel sad for the teenage girl. She suffered a lot and still does. No one deserved to go through this, especially a kid. He looked to Y/N's mother and told her that it's better to continue to go to a psychiatrist. That's when Y/N was finally letten go with her mother. But however, before they can ride fully home, she heard her mother make an appointment with the doctor for a blood test. Oh, come on!

Later~

Optimus heard the news of what had happened. He got very worried when he heard that Y/N fainted. In his processor, he knew that it could be from the stress. Ever since her grandfather's passing, she never got better. She would cry for days, she didn't eat for 3 days which caused her to feel dizziness and headaches. She nearly landed in the hospital because of this. She started having trouble with her emotions and feelings. Not only that, but 2 months later after Y/N's grandfather's passing, her mother had a discussion with her, and guess what she found out, Y/N's other grandfather passed away on December 23th! Y/N never met her other grandfather before. She never saw him but she did saw how he looked from photos. His death was kept a secret for 2 FREAKING MONTHS! Y/N's father went to live in England with his new 'family'. Y/N's father did everything, especially paying the bills but he found out that his girlfriend had enough money to actually pay the bills! She lied the entire time! Y/N's father quickly broke up with her so he lived alone now. Y/N remembered the day very well when she heard the news that her other grandfather passed away in December. She cried. Yes, she may have never met him but she's sad that she lost someone that she could never meet. She wanted always to meet him! But he mysteriously disappeared after Y/N's parent's wedding day! Y/N had so many questions at that time. Had he ever heard of her? Did he know that he had a granddaughter? And many other questions. Y/N was right to be mad at her family. She was furious for days and there's still anger in her, she just doesn't show it. She rather keeps it hidden.

On the 3rd of July, just as summer vacation began, Y/N traveled to Poland with her mother. Since her grandfather passed away in Poland, both mother and daughter had difficulties traveling. Corona was still out there and the airports were controlling the passengers. You need to have important documents and proof that you are fully vaccinated or negative. Y/N was not vaccinated so she had to the test and let me tell you, it was disgusting! You know, the long thick thin stick in your nose to get the cells? Y/N's mother was also not vaccinated so she had to do the test as well. On the 4th of July; she went to visit her grandfather's grave. It was so painful... Y/N's mother believed that it would ease the pain, but she was so wrong, it didn't ease at all! Y/N wanted badly to talk to her grandfather alone but her two aunts and her mother stood close by. She didn't get privacy at all. She was mad. Y/N refused to eat for hours as well. But eventually, she came to eat when it was time for dinner.

2 days later, she returned back to the cemetery. She was alone this time with her mom. She had one minute of silence with her mother and FINALLY, Y/N got the privacy she needed. She must have at least talked for 1 hour to her grandfather's grave because she spoke a lot. She was thankful that her mom understood her. She said at the end her goodbyes and wanted to hug his grave, but she felt ashamed, shy, and embarrassed so she only touched the cross and cried. She cried the whole time.

At that time, Y/N was fighting was depression for months now. It was not easy due to the loss of a loved one instead of an animal. She missed of course her pet friends she lost, but with people was very different. When you lose someone for the first time, it's so painful. It can take a long time to get over with or part pain will stay forever inside of you. Depression cannot be 'cured' but you can control it with your power. It's not easy and it can be stressful, exhausting, and painful as well. Pain can be felt in your heart. What's one of the most important things to NOT ever do to a depressed person was yelling. It happened to Y/N. Her aunt, or her second mother, who lived in Poland, texted her and asked how she was doing. Y/N responded that she's fine. But she also told also that texted if she doesn't get better because of her possible autism or mental illnesses, then she will not go to work. But what Y/N's second mother send next, made Y/N mad. She responded like she doesn't have mental illnesses and that she needed only more explanation. Seriously? That made Y/N cry! Why was she reacting fast? Why was she quickly angry? Why was she having bad days? Why was she losing interest in her activities sometimes? Why had she dark thoughts? Why would she cry a lot? Why was she having trouble with emotions and feelings? Think about other symptoms. Those were clear signs of depression. According to an American's website where the experts knew everything about the loss of a loved one and what can happen further in the future if you don't get better in like 5-6 months after you lost someone, the chances were high that you had depression but it's important to go to a doctor where it helps you and asked questions. It's important, to tell the truth. once it was done, the doctor will finally give you the diagnoses that you were waiting for what's happening inside of you.

Y/N had to wait sadly. Still waiting. It can take up to almost 1 year or 2 to meet the doctor where the diagnoses can be finally revealed. She had possible autism as well. It was very possible Asperger's Syndrome. It's autism where people have difficulties communicating with other people but also having trouble understanding. The person can talk very well but sometimes can be quiet as a mouse too. People who have it were very unique. They even don't like to be touched all the time and don't like to make eye contact. Y/N's grandmother was the first one to notice the symptoms and told her daughter, Y/N's mother, to bring her to the doctor but Y/N's mother didn't notice anything until finally years later when her father passed away. So, they're on the waiting list. I mean, they had to be.

But anyway, Y/N's mother caught her daughter crying after she was done chatting with her second mother. Sometimes, Y/N doesn't want to talk about why she's crying but she's sometimes being pushed a little bit too hard which was not smart at all. When Y/N explained why, let's just say that later, Y/N's own mother, started to yell at her. Yes, Y/N had been fighting for months but seriously? Y/N wanted to scream and fight back but she couldn't! But when the fight was finally done, Y/N's heart was full of pain and felt hopeless as well. Y/N's mother should have never yelled at her! The results will be only crying! Sometimes, it can give results of an attack or worse...

Later~

Y/N walked carefully while not wearing a cervical collar around her neck. The doctor said that she didn't have to wear it all the time and recommended to at least sometimes move carefully her neck. Y/N felt pain sometimes but it's healing. She couldn't laugh hard, not yawn widely, etc. It was so annoying! She still couldn't forget her mother's yelling inside her head and those memories will probably haunt her. She already got her first corona vaccine and tomorrow, she needed to take a blood test because ever since the accident, her health was getting suspicious. Y/N decided to confront her mother at the doctor tomorrow and teach her a lesson that yelling at a depressed person was not smart at all. Now that she's a self-published author, she's busy writing about her life to inspire and teach others. Her mother needed to learn too.

"Sweetspark, when I heard about your accident, I was very worried," Optimus said, who randomly appeared behind her.

Y/N turned around fully to let her neck heal. "I am fine now. Just giving my neck time to heal. Sorry about worrying you..." She felt ashamed.

Optimus wrapped her arms around her waist, causing her to relax and lean gently against him. "Please remember that you're not alone, sweetspark. We all are here to help you. What your carrier did was not smart but I am proud of you that you'll confront her about it."

Y/N only hummed and couldn't help but smile when she felt him leaving soft kisses where she felt pain at her neck and head area. She giggled and Optimus smiled.

P.S. when Y/N became an author, only her second ex, her family, and her followers on Wattpad congratulated her. None of her friends did. Do you consider this disrespectful rude or heartless?

Yes, readers. Every detail left there is all the truth, including the yelling as well. I got the first shot of the corona vaccine and I feel still small pain but it's not bad luckily like the HPV vaccine I got once. So painfully... But my mother feared that soon the entire country will force everyone to get vaccinated, except kids under 12. Sorry to disappoint you all about the shot... The part at the end of my friends not congratulating me is also the truth :(. Darn blood test tomorrow! I have a phobia of needles...

#optimus prime x human reader #optimus prime #x human reader #x reader #reader #romance #tf rid2015 #rid2015 #transformers robots in disguise 2015 #transformers

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immaturityofthomasastruc · 3 years

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IOTA Reviews: Guiltrip

So, my week has been hell. In addition to working night and day on final essays for my classes, I've been really busy at work lately, and the second COVID vaccine shot really took a lot out of me this week. And that's not even getting into the bureaucratic nonsense that comes with applying for the MTEL which is slowly making me wonder if I actually want to teach in the first place.

But, despite all that, there was a single light of hope this week that almost made it all worth it.

STAR WARS: THE BAD BATCH, BABY!

OH MY GOD, THIS SHOW IS AMAZING! I ALWAYS LOVED THE CLONE-CENTRIC EPISODES OF THE CLONE WARS, AND NOW WE GET AN ENTIRE SHOW ABOUT AN ELITE TEAM OF THEM? KICKASS! AND IT TAKES PLACE AFTER ORDER 66 WITH GRAND MOFF TARKIN AS THE MAIN VILLAIN? SWEET MOTHER OF GEORGE LUCAS, I CAN'T WAIT! I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT THEY TRADED IN THE COOL SNIPER CLONE FOR SOME LITTLE GIRL CLONE, I ALREADY WANT TO SEE MORE THAN THE TWO EPISODES WE GOT SO FAR! GOD, I LOVE THIS SHOW!

Oh yeah, there was also a new episode of Miraculous Ladybug that aired on the same day too, I guess. It was pretty good. Hell of a lot better than the past three episodes I've sat through.

Let's get into the fifth (chronologically the eleventh) episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fourth season: Guiltrip

We start off in the middle of class where we see Marinette looking at Adrien lovingly.

Because the writers are still trying to push the Love Square on us as if they were trying to sell us some death sticks. And yes, expect a few Star Wars jokes in this review. This episode did premiere on May 4th after all.

Rose suddenly gets a headache, and asks to go to the nurse, saying that “Miss Dora” is back. While walking there with Marinette, she explains that it's a code name she gives when her head hurts and can tell Miss Bustier without letting everyone know. She probably felt a name like “Maya Grain” would just give it away.

At lunch, Juleka gets a text that really upsets her, so Marinette tries to cheer her up. Keyword being “tries”.

Okay, yes, this is referencing the previous scene, where Rose refers to a certain snack at the nurse's office she eats to recover her health whenever “Miss Dora” visits called “Mr. Coffee”, but it's just bad timing. I get Marinette has a habit of not reading the room, but why did she have to use the term “Miss Dora” when she knows what it's being used for? Sure, she doesn't know that Juleka knows, but did she really have to say “Miss Dora”? She couldn't have used any other name instead? It's like making a chemotherapy joke when you just found out someone close to you has cancer. Even putting the context aside, what is this joke's punchline supposed to be? That “Miss Dora” will visit Juleka if she eats her lunch? Even by the humor standards of this show, the joke fails spectacularly.

Marinette bumps into Adrien, and although she stutters a little with a little exaggerated body movement, she does manage to take things seriously so she can have an actual conversation with Adrien about Juleka, who wants to be alone. She explains that the text she got was from Rose, who was sent to the hospital because of her sickness, and the entire class finds out because Marinette texted everyone to come to check on Juleka.

Goddamn it, Marinette. I usually defend you for getting screwed over by the writing, but you really aren't on your A game today.

Juleka explains that Rose got this sickness when she was little, which naturally worried everyone else. To make things worse, Juleka also says Rose made her swear to not tell anyone about her to worry her. Everyone else swears to not let Rose know that they know, and the act of support is actually enough to drive away an Akuma targeted at Juleka.

Unfortunately, nobody ever said anything about being overly affectionate to Rose, so everyone in the class tries to do things for Rose like carry her bags, giving her a pillow to sit on in school, helping her take notes, letting her cut in line at lunch, and giving her apples.

All of this makes Juleka remorsefully tell Rose that she told everyone else, which worries her because she hates all the special treatment, so she goes to tell them all about her illness. While they seem to accept her, the next time she sneezes, they overreact like, uh... how can I make this joke in a tasteful way?

Rose says she's had enough with all the treatment, which makes Juleka feel guilty. In the bathroom, she gets akumatized into Reflekta (yet again) with a Sentimonster named Guiltrip. And then Reflekta immediately gets sucked into the Sentimonster, which will cause it to go out of control. Nice job, Shadowmoth.

While it might not look like much, this is easily my favorite Sentimonster by far. Granted, that's not saying much, given all we've gotten so far for Sentimonsters is bootleg Mothra, sentient candy, a robotic doll, a frog with a body count, yet another evil doppelganger, and an eye, but my point still stands. Rather than actually confront the heroes, it's basically a portal to another world where it can trap people in bubbles that represent their regrets and despair, and turn them into copies of Reflekta.

It's a really strong metaphor which reminds me of the villains from Kamen Rider Wizard, who tried to drive their victims to despair in order to turn them into monsters. Ironically, that show's main villain is also some asshole in white who was risking countless lives just to save someone close to him. In general, the area inside of Guiltrip is visually stunning, and easily the highlight of the episode. It's just so surreal, and it really sets the tone the episode's going for.

Ladybug and Cat Noir arrive on the scene, and also get sucked into the portal, seeing some of the victims before they also start to fall into despair. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but this is one of the few times where Angstdrien Depreste is thematically appropriate. Cat Noir points out that if they had simply defeated Shadowmoth by now, none of this would be happening, which is a good point. He even attempts to kill himself using his Cataclysm, but unlike RWBY, they don't try to glorify it.

This also leads to Rose managing to fight off Guiltrip's powers with her optimistic personality (so I guess you could say she's A New Hope for the heroes), inspiring Ladybug to compliment Cat Noir. While I'd normally be pissed that this is yet another way to boost his ego, it does fit in with the episode's theme of positive thinking. Well, with the exception of one line where she points out what her time as Ladybug would be like without Cat Noir...

BEING A SUPERHERO IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUN. Yes, there are certain benefits to being a superhero, but it is not a fun game you play when lives are on the line. Why are the writers so dedicated to validate Cat Noir's beliefs that being a hero is just a fun extracurricular activity? Has there ever been a superhero who shares a similar mentality and isn't treated like a complete jackass?

So Ladybug and Cat Noir break free of the bubbles, and after summoning her Lucky Charm, a pickaxe, Ladybug realizes she needs more positivity to break free from Guiltrip. As such, she pulls out the Pig Miraculous and gives it to Rose, who transforms into Pigella. Funny how she forgot her little headache condition when she bangs her head like a death metal singer while transforming.

The design is... wait, she's not wearing a skin-tight jumpsuit? She's actually wearing something different?

youtube

Yeah, I really like the Pigella design. There's a good mix of pink and white, and the skirt really brings the whole thing together. It really reflects Rose's optimistic and bubbly personality.

So the three heroes find Reflekta, who has been consumed by tons of bubbles. Pigella uses her superpower, Gift, to show Reflekta what her heart wants the most right now. So it's basically a more specific version of the Fox Miraculous? In fact, what do pigs have to do with optimism?

Whatever reason, it works, which helps Reflekta to break free of Guiltrip's influence, letting Ladybug de-evilize her. But because we need to have a fight scene in this episode, the Reflekta clones start to attack the heroes, but Ladybug uses the pickaxe to climb out of Guiltrip and purify the Amok.

So Rose hands the Pig Miraculous back to Ladybug, and the episode ends with everyone treating Rose normally in class, realizing she isn't as delicate as she thinks she is.

So yeah, I really like this episode. Aside from a few stupid things Marinette said this episode, I honestly don't have a lot of problems with the episode here.

I also really like the lesson this episode is going for. It doesn't shame Rose for rejecting the help, and it doesn't shame the class for being to overprotective of Rose either. It tries to find a middle ground, which is an important lesson to learn, not just for dealing with a loved one who has an illness, but for disabled people and other kinds of situations where someone has a disadvantage. Even as much as I ragged on Marinette for the text, it's clear that she isn't the only one to blame. In fact, nobody really gets blamed for anything this episode. It's more of a misunderstanding, and both sides find a balance on how to treat Rose.

It's overall a really good episode, and the second best one so far this season. And you know what? This episode taught me the importance of staying positive, so with that in mind, maybe I shouldn't be dreading “Queen Banana” when it comes out this week.

Wait, what? It got pushed back two weeks? Oh, THANK GOD! Now I feel like dancing. And I know exactly what song to dance to...

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#immaturity of thomas astruc #iota #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug salt #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #adrien agreste #cat noir #chat noir #rose lavillant #pigella #gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #hawk moth #shadowmoth #shadow moth #juleka couffaine #reflekta

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keltonwrites · 3 years

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Where no one knows your name

How many times is a person meant to make new friends? When I moved into an apartment in DC with an absolutely iconic girl from Craigslist, I wrote in my journal, “you never know when you’ll meet your next bridesmaid.” Charmingly juvenile, as I was 24 years old. Ironic, as I never had any bridesmaids. And embarrassing, knowing I wrote something that’s surely been embroidered on a bachelorette party t-shirt by now. My point was: you can meet people you fall in love with anywhere, anytime, assuming your heart (and calendar) are open. Now my heart and calendar are open and I am one of Elizabeth Bennet’s sad sisters, cloying and desperate for attention while everyone at the ball ignores me. Meeting people here is unnerving and hapless and eye-clawingly vulnerable. My first new friend told me she was moving away in a few months. Do you invest deeply in hopes of another faraway friendship? Do you just go back to waving as you pass on the street? I like this girl! What an embarrassing thing to have to say to someone! Do you just invite people to every and anything like a lunatic? I can’t even remember to call the people I am forever-and-ever in cahoots with. I’m also deeply bound by what I’ll call the Movie Trap: say it’s 3pm during not-a-pandemic, and you get the urge to see a movie. You look at the showings, and there’s one you really want to see at 7:15. You think to yourself, “I should make an effort,” and you text a friend. “Hey, you wanna go see This Cool Movie at 7:15 tonight?” No one ever says yes. Don’t give me an example of when someone has, because it’s always one of these answers:

“Oooh, I’m actually seeing it with Kate tomorrow - wanna come?”

“Can we go to the 9pm showing? Stuck at work.”

“Yeah but let’s see Movie You’ll Fucking Hate instead.”

Now maybe I’m just lighting flares guiding you to the worst parts of my personality, but this drives me nuts. No, Liz, I don’t want to go tomorrow. I want to go tonight. At 7:15. So I can be in bed by 10. And you’d have to drag my dead body and prop open my eyes to get me to see something like Marriage Story in theaters. The Movie Trap is a big reason I usually hang out by myself, or I make plans weeks in advance. (Don't I sound like a blast.) Just the idea of being like, “I like you! Wanna hang out in October?” makes me want to collapse into a puddle of sad adulthood. Which is why on Friday at 4:30pm, when a girl I’d met a week prior asked if I wanted to grab a drink, I just said yes. I put on a pretty dress, did my makeup, put stuff in a purse, and drove the 25 minutes to town. It was really fun! And how novel to have new contacts in my phone like “Maggie blue house” and “Jess concert friend” — a throwback to the days of “Greg guy on L train” and “Devon ad party.” The very concept of not knowing someone’s last name or even needing it, and a year from now updating their contact info and smiling at your origin story. But for the most part, no one is in our phones. In terms of phone numbers collected, here is the list:

Two friends we knew prior who thank god you guys exist.

New friend who is moving away.

New friend who is game to drink tequila and ride mountain bikes.

Neighbor-not-yet-friend who I really fucking like and am not sure how to cross hang-out threshold with.

Not to say there aren’t any other prospects or people I’m platonically gaga over, but I don’t have their phone numbers. There are honestly a lot of people like this because when you live in a small town (and you’re from the Midwest) you say “oop, sorry” to every person/object you bump into, and you say “hi :)” to every person you see. These are the rules. If I drive by you and don’t wave, it’s because I was so deep in a daydream I probably shouldn’t have been driving in the first place. This isn’t acceptable, because in our urgency to tattoo our vaccination status on our foreheads so we can make friends, it turns out just driving by someone can be a viable strategy. A few days ago, a man was driving by our kitchen window and then our driveway, and then he reversed back up to the kitchen window and started waving. Ben went outside — it was that kind of wave. The man had seen from his car a smokejumper emblem on the back of a truck in our driveway. “Hey, are you a smokejumper?” We aren’t. But my dad was, and he was in town visiting, accompanied by the emblem on the back of his truck. The guy said we should drink sometime. Numbers were not exchanged. We’ll call that a node, because it’s not quite a connection. And it’s mainly nodes, waiting to be connected, to have relevance. But first, no matter who you’re trying to befriend, you have to answer everyone else’s Do I Care Quiz. The quiz is employed by 93% of locals to determine how they feel about you existing within their personal 50-mile radius. The first question is non negotiable:

1) Are you visiting?

Variations on this question include “how long are you in town?” or “what brings y’all to town?” or my least favorite and most insulting, “did you just finish Jeeping?” I know I have blonde hair and say y’all, but how dare you. (Also, to be clear, you can own a Jeep, customize your Jeep, mod out your Jeep, and love your Jeep, but you’re not Jeeping until you drive too fast through a tiny town so you can hurl your Jeep over a mountain pass without ever getting out of it.) So the answer to “are you visiting” is “no, I live here.” Which brings us to the next question, my favorite for how loaded the gun, kneeling in the grass, scope on, target locked it is.

2) Are you part-time or full-time?

The first time I answered this question, I didn’t realize it was essentially like asking how someone voted in the 2020 election. The judgment was cocked and ready and the palpable relief/joy/or at the very least, tolerance, exuded by answering “full-time” was like when the sun comes out from behind the clouds on a 40 degree day. I was fine, but wow that does feel better. The third question though does not have a standard hoped-for answer. This is where nodes turn to connections turn to phone numbers.

3) What brings you here?

It seems like the best possible answer would be saying you work in town, and you’re going to begin construction on displaced-worker housing to ensure the people who run this town can actually live in it. We’d have everyone’s phone number. Saying you’re a writer who works remotely and bought a house from a legendary and beloved local who could no longer afford it is really something you keep to yourself. But in the interest of making friends, I just word vomit my entire history. We might as well find out at the onset if I make your eyes roll back into your skull. Not at all threatening that all it takes is a single social signal misinterpreted to be the absolute death knell of my ability to make friends in a town of some 1400 adults. In fact, I’ll share one such interaction. I was hiking with Cooper, about 5 miles by foot away from my house. I was on a trail, crossing a sloped meadow, and a group was traversing up the hillside to the trail. I said hi, where y’all coming from. One girl answered and we talked about the trail. She eyed me up and down. “Did you just move here?” “I did!” “I served your family last week,” she said. “Oh,” that phrasing. “Must have been my in-laws.” “Heard you bought Jack’s house. Such a bummer when locals like that are forced out.” “We didn’t even know about his house,” I said. “We were looking at another house and he asked his realtor if he could get us to come see his house. We just loved it, and him!” She had no emotional reaction to this. “You moved from California?” she asked. (Dangerous question.) “Yeah, got these sea level lungs, haha,” attempting to disarm with humor was a failure, “but couldn’t be happier to be out of California.” “It’s not like this all year. Winter’s really hard here, you’re in for a rude awakening.” “Well California’s the last place I lived, but I’m not from there. I’ve lived in brutal winters. At least Colorado gets sun!” I laugh with cloaked loathing. “It’s different when you live at altitude,” she said, like no human aside from her had ever been literally anywhere. “Are you trying to go around?” She indicated the path behind her. “No, y’all go ahead, just gonna wait to give you your space. I’m sure you’re faster than me.” “K, good luck making it to the lake." Maybe she was thirsty. Maybe she was hungover. Maybe she just has vicious delivery, but it felt like every blade of grass was leaning against the wind to listen. She was with four other people and not one of them said a word. I left that interaction not wanting to see another human ever again. But that interaction, and her intimate knowledge of exactly which house I lived in, made me want to decorate like we lived in a gingerbread house, all candy canes and plum drops, screaming to any passerby that we’re friendly. One of the mayor’s first questions to me was “what are you going to do to the house?” There are rules here about what your house can look like, and I kept emphasizing we bought the house because we loved it, not because we wanted to change everything about it. And now, instead of wanting to decorate the interior, I want to put up shades so we don’t contribute to light pollution, I want to hang a sign by the water spigot saying “grab some if you need” for hikers and mountain bikers, I want to paint a sign for the wild mint by our door that says, “I mint to tell you to take some,” because our neighbors were openly panicked they wouldn’t be able to just grab mint from the cabin’s garden anymore. Without question, COVID makes things harder. Dinner parties feel like dares. Dropping cookies off at someone’s house feels invasive. Grabbing a drink feels like the ultimate sign of trust. But at least we have nodes who can connect who can think to invite us and who can see that despite having lived in California, we’re not all that bad. In the meantime, I’ll be painting signs about water and mint, hoping to garner the benefit of the doubt from the so beautifully, earnestly, and waiting-to-see-if-you’re-worth-it doubtful.

Subscribe to the newsletter at tinyletter.com/keltonwrites — high altitude relocation and renovation in a tiny mountain town.

#amwriting #newsletter #making friends #how to make new friends #adulthood #small town life

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lady-divine-writes · 3 years

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Good Omens - A Corpse, Cake, and a Cuppa (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is Death and Crowley is the serial killer who keeps murdering to catch a glimpse of the ethereal being he fell in love with. (1714 words)

Notes: Written for the above Halloween prompt from @new-endings/M.A.D.#8943. Human Crowley au. It’s kind of gory, I’m not going to lie.

Read on AO3.

“Jesus Christmas!" Aziraphale yelps, tiptoeing through the thick pool of red coagulating on the concrete. Threads of it cling to the soles of his shoes when he lifts his feet as if trying to drag him down. Aziraphale has seen a great deal of blood in his time. None of it has been pretty. But this is especially gruesome.

He wonders if that’s for his benefit.

"Look at... look at this! Look at all the… !” Aziraphale takes a pause and breathes in deep, pressing the thumb and forefinger of his right hand to his forehead. Tension causes a vein to distend and throb - quite the feat since, as a non-human entity, he shouldn't be able to experience this kind of pain. Or so he thought. In the thousands of years he's roamed earth reaping souls, he's finally found the one mortal who can give him what humans call a migraine. And he doesn't like it. Not one bit. “Could you please just… stop already?"

Crowley grins, thrilled giddy by the arrival of his intended audience. “No,” he replies, shoving the slicked head of his filthy ax deeper into the severed spine of the fresh corpse at his feet.

Aziraphale grimaces as the blade lands with a resounding slap.

That ax of Crowley's gets on every one of Aziraphale's nerves. It's effective for its purpose but positively unsanitary. It makes his skin crawl every time he sees it.

Crowley lifts it slowly, eyes Aziraphale menacingly.

Eyes his nice, clean coat, Aziraphale realizes.

“Crowley!” he warns, putting both hands up in defense. “Don't you dare... !”

But Crowley doesn't let him finish, hoisting his ax higher with part of the dead man's torso attached. He doesn't need to do anything after that. The torso falls from the blade and splashes down in the pool, accomplishing what Crowley set out to do.

“Holy... GAH!” Aziraphale leaps back to avoid the spray. He frowns at his clothes when he sees he wasn't quick enough. "Look what you've done! You’ve made a mess of my coat!”

“Improved it, I’d say,” Crowley snarks. “Given it a pop of color.”

“I've had this coat for ages and hadn't collected a single stain! Not one! And look at your shoes! Ruined!" He gazes down at Crowley's feet in despair. "I actually liked that pair.”

“Really?" Crowley tilts his head, batting his eyes innocently. "You didn't tell me that.”

“Yes, well... " Aziraphale busies himself fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket. Praying he’s swift enough to save the fabric, he pats at the specks on his sleeve "... it’s not my place to tell a homicidal maniac that he looks fetching in snakeskin, is it?”

Crowley pouts, his lower lip jutting out, making him look comically childish despite the streaks of blood running down his cheeks.

Aziraphale’s brows pull together. He glances around, trying to work out what's wrong. "What? What is it?"

"You're being mean."

"How am I being mean?"

"You're calling me names."

"Accurate ones, yes."

"You sound disappointed."

"You think so!?"

“B-but... but why? I took your advice!" Crowley argues. "I changed me m.o.!”

“I didn’t give you advice! I said you should stop killing innocent people!”

“I did! This guy?" Crowley plants the heel of his sopping shoe into the dead man's crooked neck for emphasis. "He weren’t innocent! He was a serial killer, too! He just happened to be shite at it!”

"I can see that." Aziraphale peers into the vacant eyes of the man on the ground, spirit buzzing beneath his skin, waiting to be reaped. But Aziraphale is in no rush. In the choice between filling out paperwork and shooting the shite with Crowley, surprisingly, he chooses Crowley.

Or maybe not so surprising, Aziraphale muses, biting his lower lip and indulging in a private chuckle. He rolls his eyes in disgust at himself right after. What are you doing? Stop that!

"Besides, I'm doin' you a solid!"

Aziraphale scoffs, snapping back to his senses. "How do you figure?"

"You're Death, ain't ya? I'm keeping you in business!"

"I don't know if you've read the papers lately, dear boy, but humans are dropping like flies thanks to their own stubbornness and stupidity. You're slap in the middle of one of the worst pandemics in history, but instead of doing what you can to stay safe, you lot spend your time arguing over petty b.s.! I won't wear a mask! It's against my rights! I'm not taking the vaccine! It'll make me sterile! There is no disease! It's all a big conspiracy! Meanwhile, in the states, some orange lunatic has everyone drinking bleach! Believe me, I hardly need your help doing my job!"

“Oi! Don’t lump me in with those prats!”

“Why not? You’re not wearing a mask, I see.”

“Don’t have to. I got my shot. And I keep me distance.”

“But you’re covered in blood! Did that man you dismembered have the virus!? You don’t know!” Aziraphale cringes at words that sound far more like concern than scolding. Which he should be doing. Scolding and ridiculing, and possibly calling the police.

But he won’t.

If Crowley were thrown in prison, it would be harder for Aziraphale to find an excuse to see him. Aziraphale has yet to decide if that’s something he wants, but either way, he’d prefer it not be at the expense of another life.

"Fine. Whatever. If that's the way you feel about it... " Crowley grumbles, letting what remains of that statement die as embarrassment rises to his cheeks, settling beneath the red already there. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his face away.

Just like a child, Aziraphale thinks.

And as with a child, Aziraphale should have nipped this in the bud much, much earlier - like when Crowley realized that he could summon Aziraphale whenever he wanted by upping the frequency of his murderous antics.

This, to date, is his twenty-seventh kill.

Aziraphale doesn't know how Crowley spotted him. He's pretty adept at avoiding human detection. But after victim number eight, Aziraphale turned around, scythe in hand, and there he stood: tall, gangly, bizarrely besotted, dressed in black and wearing sunglasses at one in the morning. Aziraphale thought Crowley was a run-of-the-mill psychopath looking for attention, seeing Aziraphale as a hapless dolt to play cat-and-mouse with, not knowing for one second who he was dealing with.

Not only did Crowley know exactly who Aziraphale was, but he had taken a considerable shine to him.

Aziraphale humored the man when their paths crossed so he could get on with his work, never for one minute considering the consequences. Thinking back on their past interactions, Aziraphale can pick out the hints Crowley had been dropping.

Aziraphale played right into them, and he could kick himself over it.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Aziraphale quipped dryly after Crowley had beheaded some poor, down-on-his-luck fool. "I'm going to start thinking that you have a thing for me."

"Finally!" Crowley tossed his arms in the air. "At this rate, I was going to have to murder half of London and spell out the words ’Will you go out with me?’ with their bodies. Do you know how time-consuming that would have been?"

Aziraphale had written that comment off as a morbid attempt at humor.

Now he feels like an imbecile.

He’s going to get an earful from Gabriel if he ever gets wind of this. Aziraphale has been able to cover up the increase in London deaths by blaming the pandemic. But once people get their acts together and things calm down, he’ll have to come clean.

There’s a serial killer roaming the streets that has a serious crush on him.

Aziraphale lets out a heavy sigh as he comes to a decision.

A bad decision.

He's going to regret this. He knows he's going to regret this.

But will he really though?

Aziraphale looks Crowley over, still moping with his nose in the air. He examines him at depth - his sharp features, his debonair style (hiding beneath a litre of blood), his devil-may-care attitude, his rowdy sense of humor. If he were another angel, or even a demon, Aziraphale would have asked him out already, body count or no.

So what is he waiting for?

It’s not entirely unheard of, an angel dating outside their dominion. And as for the moral issues of dating a murderer, well, Aziraphale is an angel. He has a responsibility to bring sinners to the light, help them see the truth. That can be done anywhere, not just in church - on a street corner, in a diner…

Back at his flat.

Besides, he and Crowley have a lot more in common than Aziraphale did with his last paramour, an angel he had dallied with solely for the fact that he was guardian of comestibles.

It seemed like a match made in Heaven, so to speak.

Far from it.

“Look - if I let you take me out for coffee, will you stop the gratuitous bloodshed?”

Crowley all but gasps when that question leaves Aziraphale’s mouth, the grin growing on his face transforming, becoming less maniacal and more… normal if that makes any sense. "One cup of coffee. That's all I ask."

"Then come along. Here… “ Aziraphale snaps his fingers, cleaning Crowley thoroughly before he takes his arm. “If you're good, I'll let you buy me a slice of cake.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m glad you think so. I’m a very slow eater. And I figure the longer I stay with you, the more I can keep an eye on you."

“Deal. But, you know," Crowley starts, his tone so filled with teasing he’s on the verge of giggles, "if you, say, spent the night at my flat, you could keep an eye on me for hours. Think of all the people I wouldn’t be able to kill.”

Aziraphale smirks, amused that they both had a semblance of the same idea. “You don’t say?”

“I do.”

“That’s blackmail.”

“More so than you bartering human lives against a cuppa and cake?”

Aziraphale shrugs, but he doesn't relinquish Crowley's arm. He does, however, relieve him of his ax so he doesn’t get any ideas along the way. “Fair point.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale x crowley

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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

The Doctor’s Office

Fandom: Twilight

Characters: cg!Carlisle Cullen, regressor!reader (gender-neutral), brief appearances of OCs

Words: 3,600

Summary: You’ve always had trouble with doctor appointments. The stress proves to be too much, and you regress at the doctor’s office. Luckily, Dr. Cullen seems to be sympathetic and caring.

Warnings: Lots of medical anxiety and imagery, needles/shots, anxiety regression, unplanned public regression, panic attacks.

You’ve never liked going to the doctor. The medical smell of the office, the paper on the weird squishy bench, the impersonal poking and prodding of the annual check-up. When you were a child, you would cry all the way there.

Now you’re an adult, and you have to drive yourself. Your hands are tense on the wheel and you can feel the anxiety pounding at your ribs. You wish you’d outgrown your fear of doctor’s appointments, but there are still some things that get the panicked toddler in your head screaming.

You take one hand off the steering wheel, reaching blindly towards the passenger seat while keeping your eyes on the road ahead. The rough texture of your backpack meets your fingers, and you relax. You’ve brought a little comfort bag: your favourite stuffie, a snack for afterwards, and your headphones in the front pocket. You have music, you have a fidget toy in your pocket, and you are going to survive this.

You pull into the little parking lot, feeling very brave. This is Forks, and the doctor’s office is small like everything else. It’s your first time here, which doesn’t help your nerves: you’re new in town, and while you could drive to Seattle and go to one of the larger offices, the longer drive would just make it easier for you to chicken out on the way.

Your coworkers had recommended Dr. Cullen, and you’d taken their advice. It took a little longer to get an appointment because Dr. Cullen works three days a week in Seattle, but you were happy for the appointment to be as far away as possible.

Unfortunately, the future always became the present, and now you’re just sitting in the car and delaying the inevitable.

With a sigh, you grab your comfort bag and make for the front door. The smell hits you as soon as you get inside: clean and sharp with disinfectant.

You clutch the straps of your backpack and approach the front desk, trying for a smile when the secretary looks up. She’s a kind looking woman who matches the voice you’d heard on the phone. Looks like she probably has photos of her kids in her wallet. “Hello dear, do you have an appointment?”

“I do. With Dr. Cullen, at 2 o’clock?” You give your name and health card when required, receiving a stack of paperwork in return.

The woman gives you a pen and a smile, then gestures to the empty sitting area. “Go take a seat, fill out your forms, and I’ll let Carlisle know you’ve arrived.” She bustles off down the hall, leaving you in a silent room.

You immediately put on your headphones, blocking out the quiet with your favourite playlist to calm down. There are clipboards on the tables, and you snag one to fill out the paperwork. Most of this is familiar by now, but there are plenty of account numbers you have to look up on your phone. Eventually, the stack is finished, and you glance up to see the secretary returned while you were busy with papers and music. She’s tapping away at the computer, and you approach her timidly with your paperwork.

She jumps a little when she sees you standing in front of her, but quickly smiles and accepts the stack of paperwork. “Thank you very much!” She points at the hallway to her right. “You can go on to the room at the end of the hall, with the door open. Carlisle will be with you in just a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” You collect your bag from the seating area, half-tempted to hug it to your chest and get some comfort from the stuffie hidden inside, but instead you swing it onto your back and trudge down the hallway, one hand finding the fidget cube in your pocket and playing with the switches to distract you from your rising anxiety.

The room is empty: you put your bag carefully on the ground and hop up onto the examination table. The crinkle of the wax paper fills you with dread: you bring the cube out of your pocket and keep yourself busy with it, turning it over and over in your hands.

The silence stretches, but you don’t want to put your headphones on and miss the doctor coming in. The clicking of the buttons on your fidget cube are too loud in the room. Every time you shift, the paper crinkles underneath you. You try not to look at the diagrams on the wall, the medical instruments and cotton balls beside the computer on the desk.

“Ah, my two o’clock!” an unfamiliar voice says from the door. You glance up, startled by the lack of footsteps to announce the new person.

The person standing in the doorway is presumably Dr. Cullen, and you understand why your coworkers had been giggling about him now. The man looks like a fashion model, not a doctor for a little town like Forks. He smiles, and it’s like you can hear the little ‘ding’ sound effect as his teeth shine at you.

“That’s me,” you manage.

He retrieves a clipboard from under his arm and reads out your name, glancing up to check that it’s correct. You nod, and he walks forward to offer his hand.

“Dr. Carlisle Cullen,” he says. His handshake is perfect, cool and firm around your hand, which you’re suddenly aware is a little bit sweaty. “It’s good to meet you.”

“You too.” He’s even more striking up close, you can’t even pick the features that stand out because they’re all perfect. His eyes are a hypnotizing colour, almost golden. You avert your gaze, self-conscious in the presence of his perfectly pressed white coat and flawless hair.

“So, I see you haven’t had a general check-up in a few years,” Doctor Cullen says, finally retreating and flipping a page over on his clipboard. You immediately clasp your hands on your lap, resisting the urge to kick your legs back and forth. “New to Forks?”

“Yes, just moved.” You scored a nice apartment: living prices are good out here, with the significant commute to most cities. You have a few more boxes to unpack, but you’re not fussed about finishing. “It’s a nice town.”

“One of my favourite places I’ve lived.” Dr. Cullen sounds genuinely fond of the town, not just making small-talk as he boots up the computer and puts your file on the desk. “Have you been to the diner on Maple Street yet?”

“I haven’t.” You don’t like going out alone, and you haven’t really made any friends yet. There are a few coworkers that you want to talk to more, but you’re not at the level where you can ask them out for coffee yet. “It’s good?”

“The best,” Dr. Cullen assures you.

“Have you… lived many places?” You watch his fingers move across the keyboard, somehow entranced. Even his nails are perfect, each one buffed to a shine. He must get manicures.

“I’m a big fan of travel,” the doctor admits. “I’ve visited almost every country in the world.”

“Wow.” Doctors make a lot of money, you remember. No way someone could travel that much without being rich. He doesn’t look that old, either, maybe thirty? Young for a doctor, anyways. “And Forks is your favourite? Really?” It’s a nice town, with the forests stretching around it, but it’s not exactly the height of culture.

“I was fond of Italy.” Dr. Cullen seems to have contented himself with the computer, and turns back to you. “St. Petersburg is lovely as well, but Forks feels like home to me.” He takes a pair of gloves from the box on the desk, and you watch him slip them on. You’d been busy with the conversation, enough that you’d almost forgotten that you were here for a check-up, but the sight of those latex gloves reminds you.

The small talk falls away, and Dr. Cullen asks you all the usual questions: any problems, how are you feeling, are you taking any medication. You answer them carefully, and he nods and takes the occasional note. When you mention trouble sleeping, he asks if that’s something you want to look into. You shake your head: it’s probably linked to your anxiety, and it’s never bad enough to affect you in the long-term. He doesn’t ask, just accepts the head shake and moves on smoothly.

The physical exam is as nerve-wracking as ever, gloved fingers pressing on your shoulder, keeping you still as he listens to your heart, to your breathing. He must be able to hear your heart racing with anxiety, but he doesn’t comment, moving through the procedures with professional swiftness.

“All seems well,” he declares at last. “You are behind on your vaccinations, however. I’d recommend a flu shot and the updated HBV vaccine, at least. There are a few more that can wait for next year, but flu season in Forks usually takes out the whole town.”

“Uh…” Oh, please no. Shots are not something you’re good at. “Okay, yeah.”

“They’re both covered by your current insurance,” Dr. Cullen adds, clearly sensing your apprehension.

“Cool.” You manage to nod, a jerky movement. “Sorry. I’m just bad at shots.”

“No worries.” Dr. Cullen smiles, and you find yourself feeling oddly reassured by the sincerity of his response. “I promise they’ll be quick. Count to ten, and they’ll both be done.”

“Promise?”

It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, the nervous question of a child who has been lied to too many times.

“Pinky promise,” Carlisle assures you without batting an eye. “Just give me a moment to get ready.” He steps to the desk and starts moving things around. You look away, not wanting to see the needles as he prepares them.

“So, where did you move from?” the doctor asks conversationally. You answer automatically, your mind still running to catch up with the idea that you’re going to willingly get a flu shot. You’ve never gotten one before, why did you let him talk you into this?

He asks about your move to Forks, and you tell him that it was fine. You tell him about the hiking trails that wind through the forest just behind your apartment building, and he asks how often you go walking.

Soon enough, the two of you are chatting about your favourite parks in the US, and it almost takes you by surprise when he rolls a table over to you. There’s a tray on it, with two needles that you quickly look away from.

It’s too late, though, you’ve already seen them. You don’t want to think about it. You almost wish your parents still came to your doctor’s appointments, at least you would have a hand to hold.

“Deep breaths,” Carlisle tells you, his voice soothing. “Remember, just count to ten and they’ll both be done.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes, and try to ignore the wet cotton-ball rubbing against your arm. “One… two…” The sharp sting makes you draw in your breath sharply, the fingers of your free arm clutching at the lip of the table you’re sitting on. “Three. Four. Five…” Pain again, this time drawing tears to your eyes. “Six… seven…”

“All done.” There’s light pressure on your shoulder, careful wiping. “Only seven seconds, there we are.” You open your eyes and see Carlisle pressing a cotton ball to your shoulder, his expression calm and focused. “No more pain,” he assures you.

But the tears are spilling down your cheeks, and the toddler inside your chest is furious that you allowed that to happen, and you can’t stand up to that anger. You need your stuffies. You need to be home with a blanket. You need a snack and a good cry and a bottle of warm milk.

“M’sorry,” you manage. He’ll notice the tears at some point. “M’bad at pain. Sorry.”

“No need to be sorry.” Carlisle lifts the cotton ball from your arm, and you can see the blood soaked into it. You hear yourself give an involuntary squeak, shutting your eyes again. “You’re alright,” Carlisle soothes. “I’ll get you a band-aid and something to drink.”

“Okay.” You sniffle and wipe the tears from your face, wincing at the ache in your left arm. “Sorry.”

“All fine. More common than you’d expect. Do you want a boring band-aid or a Disney princess? I’m afraid we’re all out of Spider-Man.”

You giggle a little at the question: it’s a silly thing to ask an adult. “Princess,” you say. Why not.

“There we are.” You feel his gloves on your arm again, applying the bandage with gentle professionalism. “All covered up.”

“T’nk you,” you say, and resist the urge to put your thumb in your mouth. Can’t do that at a doctor’s office. Too many germs.

“My penance for causing you pain,” says Carlisle in a very serious voice, which makes you laugh again. You didn’t know this doctor was so funny. “Now, would you like apple juice or orange juice?”

“A’ple!” You’d prefer a bottle of milk, but a sippy cup of juice is good too. You rub your eyes free of tears and open them again, just in time to see Carlisle stepping back in from the hallway carrying a box of juice. Did he go and get it in the second you were rubbing your eyes?

You blink away the mystery and make grabby hands at the juicebox, remembering a second too late that he’s your doctor and not your caregiver, and you can’t just make grabby hands at the things you want.

“Sorry!” You drop your hands to your sides, a wave of embarrassment pushing back your regression for a moment. You’re too tired to be fully an adult, the pain keeping you uncomfortably between two headspaces for a moment. “Sorry.”

“Still no need to be sorry. Hydration is important.” Carlisle puts the straw in for you and passes you the juice-box, which you sip eagerly. The sweet juice makes your head feel less stuffy from crying, and it helps with the pain too. Obviously, this is magic doctor juice. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

You shake your head, but your eyes fall on your backpack across the room. It would be so nice to hug your stuffie right now. It would be soft and big in your arms and you would feel so comfy, even if you’re still sitting on the horrible crinkly paper.

“Do you want something from your backpack?” Carlisle asks, following your eyes. “I can bring it to you.”

You hesitate. Some of your online friends said they brought stuffies to their doctor appointments. Would it be weird? Would he refuse to see you again? He’s so nice and he got you juice and you don’t want him to be mean to you.

You’re so busy worrying that you don’t notice that you’ve already raised a hand towards the backpack until Carlisle is obligingly putting it beside you. By then, the decision is already reached: you pull out your stuffie and cradle it in your arms, hiding your face in the fuzz.

“What a wonderful idea,” Carlisle’s voice comes from above you, still all kind and soothing. “Bringing a companion to the doctor’s office to tell you how brave you’ve been.”

“Mm-hmm.” Now that your friend is in your arms, you worry so much less. And Carlisle is still being nice, so it must not bother him.

“Alright.” Carlisle’s voice sounds serious: you glance up to see him standing in front of you, one hand outstretched. He’s not wearing gloves anymore.

You hesitantly put your hand in his, expecting him to pull you to your feet and maybe even usher you out the door, but instead he just holds your hand gently, leaning down to be at eye-level with you. “I have another appointment in five minutes, but I don’t want you driving right now. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a smile. “You stay in here for as long as you need, and I’ll check in after my next appointment. You can go onto the big chair, if you like, but don’t touch anything on the desk or the walls.” You nod mutely. He’s leaving you here alone?

Although, you suppose you’re not here alone now that your stuffie is here.

“If you feel good enough to leave before I get back, that’s okay, but make sure to tell Steph at the front desk on your way out so I don’t worry. Otherwise, I’ll be back in half an hour.”

“Okay, Doctor,” you mumble into your stuffie.

“Call me Carlisle,” he smiles, and he looks back at you twice as he leaves the room.

Alone in the office, you shift uncomfortably, some of your anxiety coming back. But he said that you could go in the big rolling chair, so you skip off the doctor’s table and into the office chair in front of the computer. It’s huge and squishy and it rolls a bit when you sit down.

That’s where you stay, rolling yourself around and chatting to your stuffie, eventually pulling out your phone to play some music with your headphones. You know that you have to go sometime, but every time you think about going outside, you feel yourself start to panic. You’ll be seen! You’ll have to pretend to be big! You can’t do that. So you spin in the chair and hum along to favourite songs, and eventually inspect your arm to see what band-aid Carlisle gave you. It’s Princess Jasmine, which makes you happy.

All too soon, there’s a knock on the door, and Carlisle steps back in.

“Hello,” he greets you warmly.

“Hi.” His presence jolts you out of your regression, and the panic rises fast. You just regressed in a public space, and no matter how nice this doctor was about it, you were definitely acting weird. He forbade you from driving, for god’s sake. He probably thought you were high or something, maybe he even called the police…

“Oh, deep breaths. It’s alright.” Carlisle takes two steps forward and drops to his knees in front of your chair. The gesture catches you off-guard, almost startling you out of your gathering panic attack. “No one is angry. You aren’t in trouble.”

“Promise?” you manage, an echo of your earlier plea.

“Pinky promise.” This time, Carlisle holds up one hand, his pinky extended. You hook your finger into his, and he squeezes gently. “There we go.”

“I’m so sorry.” The panic and regression have both receded, leaving you exhausted and slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t expect that to happen. I get anxious at medical appointments, but that was worse than usual.”

“You’re in a new town, and I imagine you’re still exhausted from moving. It was very brave of you to come,” Carlisle tells you, and you can’t detect an ounce of sarcasm or judgement in his voice. “And you’re always welcome to bring a friend.” He hovers a hand over the stuffed animal beside you, just shy of touching it. You tug it a little closer, defensive, and he obediently withdraws.

“Thank you.” You want to hide your face in the stuffie again, but you’re not regressed anymore, and you do need to get home. If only to climb into bed and try to forget any of this happened. “I should, um.”

“Of course, I imagine you have things to do.” Carlisle gets to his feet, dusts off his knees where he had been kneeling on the floor. “I am truly sorry this appointment was so hard on you, but I’m happy that you came.”

You don’t have a response to that, so you focus on repacking your bag and swinging it over the shoulder that isn’t aching. Just as you’re turning for the door, Carlisle speaks again.

“I have five adopted children.” You stop and look over your shoulder at him, confused by the statement. “Most of them come from traumatic backgrounds,” Carlisle adds, resting his hand on the back of the chair you just vacated. “Age regression isn’t unfamiliar to me, as a response to emotional distress or physical pain. Many people experience it.” Oh god, he knows. You can feel your ears heating up from embarrassment. “It’s also an experience that can make people feel isolated, or ashamed. If you wanted to meet one of my daughters, I’ve found community can be beneficial. Of course, I don’t want to put pressure on you, but I thought it could be a positive experience. For both of you.”

He’s a good doctor and a good dad? That’s too much for one person, surely.

“I’ll. Um. I’ll think about it,” you manage. Carlisle smiles and nods, looking satisfied with that answer.

“Drive safe,” he tells you. “And put some ice on your arm tomorrow if it bothers you.”

“Thanks.” And you flee the building, barely managing a friendly nod to the secretary as you push the door open and emerge into the cloudy day. If there’s one thing Forks isn’t known for, it’s the good weather.

You dump your backpack into the passenger seat and take a second to just breathe. Okay. That was a lot. You really do feel like hiding in your room for the next century, but… Carlisle was really nice about it all. And apparently, he’s a caregiver to a regressor in his house? Or even more than one? You’ve never met a regressor in person before, despite being relatively active in the online community. It could be… interesting?

You drive back to your apartment, your eyes on the road and your mind on the offer that Carlisle made.

#twilight agere #agere fanfiction #agere writing #sfw agere #fandom agere #i don't know how health care works in america i hope this is ok >.<#second-longest fic so far!!!#writing it was fun but editing was Not #more cg!carlisle content coming soon!#my writing #my fics #tw medical #tw needles #twilight

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c-is-for-circinate · 3 years

Text

Thinking today about viruses, allergies, oppression, and anti culture.

(under a cut because WHOOOPS this got long)

Racism is a virus. Homophobia, transphobia, sexism, antisemitism, ableism, etc etc etc, they are all viruses--a topic that many of us have learned a great deal about in the past year. They are ideas, yes, not literal physical diseases, but the analogy holds up. They are infectious, and often spread from person to person without anyone involved realizing they have it. They can sit latent for years, never showing up because the carrier never finds themselves in a situation where the issue comes up, only to flare up and take over when you least expect it. And they mutate, just like the flu, just like the common cold; they put on a new jacket every year and slide in undetected yet again, slip past our internal sensors and bury themselves in our brains until we go in and deal with them as best as we can.

One more thing we've learned about viruses this year is how we can fight them. The viruses of oppression are a little different because they tend to hurt the people around their carriers even more than the people they've infected (although let's talk about internalized anything-ism sometime), but in a lot of ways the attack is the same. You treat the symptoms even when you don't know how to cure the disease: we invest in respirators, antiviral treatments, hospitals; we create and sponsor programs to help those who've been hurt by various oppressions, we uplift our neighbors, we try to keep people safe from violences both big and small. You work to stop the spread: we wear our goddamn masks, we stay home when we can; we train ourselves not to say racist shit that might foster a culture of hate, we stop that guy in our office from making rape jokes, we make slurs unacceptable. You pay attention to your immune system: we seek medical attention when we experience symptoms, we get COVID tests, we talk to our doctors before the symptoms get deadly; we protest and we pay attention to the people who do, we take them seriously when they tell us that something is wrong.

You vaccinate. We train ourselves and our immune systems to recognize the thing that infects us, the thing that we fear. We try to teach our children about history, bit by little bit, on fragments of dead violence the same way we train our bodies on dead virus shells, so that someday they'll recognize the live disease when they see it. We learn about slavery and Jim Crow and the Holocaust. We tell kids bedtime stories about why hitting and bullying is bad, before we ever start teaching them the specific shapes that violence so often takes. As we get older, as we get stronger, we learn about the living stuff, all the new forms that same old virus has mutated into; we educate ourselves, we listen, we read. Just like vaccines, of course, there are anti-vaxxers and denialists shouting about how racism and sexism are already dead and they don't need any propoganda besides Fox News. Hell, just like anti-maskers, there are plenty of people screaming about how political correctness is ruining the world and they demand their right to spread their virus to anyone they can. Often these are the same people.

But we try. And make no mistake, we all of us are already infected, and just like a real virus, once you've caught it once it probably won't ever go away again--but we can prepare, and we can try to lessen the severity of our cases, and we can support our immune systems of activists and protesters and our own internal sense of this is wrong, and we can work, bit by bit, if not towards eradication (not yet, not in this world, but maybe someday in another), then at least towards control.

And then there's allergies.

An allergy is what happens when a human body's own immune system freaks out over an enemy that wasn't particularly harmful in the first place. All our immune defenses--those precious immune defenses, which work so hard to protect us against all those viral, deadly ideas--go screaming into high gear. All of that fear and fury and attack power gets brought to bear all at once, against a bit of pollen or bee venom or cat dander or peanuts, and your body is left itchy and runny-nosed and gasping--sometimes literally--as it tries to keep up. Allergies are miserable. Sometimes they're life-threatening. And the biggest danger isn't the foreign agent that triggers the allergic reaction; it's the immune system trying to fight it in the first place.

Which, yes, brings us to anti culture--but not JUST anti culture. It's a good example, a little internet-centric microcosm of the same force that drives progressives to tear bloody shreds out of moderate liberal politicians. Hell, it's the same force that enables both TERFs and the Capitol rioters. It's a combination of an immune system that points in the wrong direction, flagging the wrong thing as bad, terrifying, danger, NO, and a freaked-out response that can manifest as anything from mildly irritating to absolutely deadly.

To be clear, I am not by any means equating the scale or even the source of these things, any more than hayfever is the same as anaphylactic shock. Likewise, the sources are different. Sometimes, a disease can infect an immune system and point it in the wrong direction. (Terror of the other is the absolute cornerstone of white nationalism, and when that terror gets triggered by a harmless environmental condition like, god forbid, other people asking for rights, the allergy response can be deadly.) Other times, it's the other way around. Our internal immune systems, so well trained to protect ourselves and those around us from the insidious viral ravages of prejudice and oppression, start seeing traces of it everywhere.

And they freak out. And we suffer for it.

We talk a lot of well-deserved shit about TERFs, but it's useful to remember how much their nastiness feels to them like activism. Their immune system, trained and primed and sensitized over years of exposure to misogyny and sexism, catches the tiniest whiff of something that might seem at some point to have possibly been taken for male, and freaks out, because why is that trying to get into our system. Never mind that they're wrong. An immune system that flips out over penicillin is wrong, too. It's still trying to help, and it's still doing more harm than good trying it.

So bringing this back around to anti culture, which was absolutely where I started thinking about all of this this morning: anti culture, the terror of porn and the attempt by antis to protect themselves an other people from sexual content, is an immune response. It is a trained immune response, in people who have been taught and re-taught again and again that rape culture is a dangerous insidious virus that should be fought at all costs. And, right, there's more than a bit of 'the sexism virus infected this immune system and reprogrammed it to fight itself' involved here, but look, we are all of us infected with all of the viruses at least a little bit everywhere. If we tried to direct our immune systems to rip every last shred of -ism out of every last bit of us, we'd rip ourselves apart. Which is exactly the problem.

Porn, in and of itself, is natural. As natural as environmental pollen, and living near dogs and cats, and eating wheat or nuts or citrus fruit. It's even healthy, for a whole host of reasons that belong in another essay. And citric acid and nut-based proteins and whole grains are nutritious, and pets are physically and psychologically helpful, and being exposed to lots of different environmental substances as a child can actually help train your immune system in the first place. Porn can help us figure out what we like. It can help us figure out what we don't like. And while the processes that create it are sometimes unethical and awful, we don't condemn all dogs because puppy mills and dogfighting rings exist, even if we do have dog allergies.

What we see in anti culture is often a good-faith attempt on the part of antis to attack and subdue an environmental trigger that they read as dangerous. It's a panic attack over something that is by nature harmless or mildly harmful, blown out of proportion by the very instincts that are supposed to keep us safe. It's the response of an immune system that's been taught over years and years, by everyone from parents to school systems to the activists they look up to, that negative stimulus is to be feared, avoided, and fought. Of COURSE they're going to freak out.

And of course, early exposure to controlled amounts of allergens can help prevent later allergies from developing. Of course when kids are raised with abstinence-only education, sheltered from the very concept of sex, they're going to grow up allergic to it. (Of course they're going to try to protect other kids from the same, like worried mothers who refuse to let peanuts or wheat products or dirt near their precious babies, whose kids grow up with a whole suite of allergic triggers because their bodies never learned what was okay in the first place.) And no, that doesn't mean we hand pornography to ten-year-olds any more than we should give raw honey to an infant--but of course if our culture refuses to introduce kids to the fact that sex and desire and the inside of their own brain can be messy and silly and kinky and downright weird, we're going to have a higher rate of allergic reaction to the entire concept in adults.

I wish I had a better answer for what to do with understanding that this is what's going through so many people's brains. The best I have is a prescription for allergy-sufferers, who probably haven't read this far through this wordspew of an essay in the first place--but we all get a little hayfever once in a while, and we all sometimes run into content that makes us angry. So some thoughts on how to deal with metaphorical allergic reactions, inspired by the ways we deal with literal ones?

First: we recognize that what is happening is an allergy. The thing we're reacting to might be gross, or irritating, or even unpleasant, but the danger is not and never has been the thing itself. Whether it's triggering a response because of its similarity to an actively dangerous pathogen, or our immune system just doesn't like it, our aversion to one kind of story or another universally says more about us than about it. Luckily, we have a lot more control over our social responses than our biological ones!!! If vocal activism is our sociocultural immune system firing itself up to fight an infection that may or may not exist, then we get to tell our metaphorical white blood cells to stand down. We get to decide.

Second: we get some space. The funny thing about allergies is, while early exposure to allergens can help prevent them, re-exposing yourself to dangerous allergens after you've already developed a reaction to them can make them worse. Anaphylaxis is always more likely after someone's experienced it the first time. Repeated exposure to triggers, whether biological or psychological, can make the effects worse. So stop exposing yourself.

If something makes your throat itch every time you eat it, stop eating it. If something makes you mad every time you read it, stop reading it. Obviously this can be easier said than done in a world that's a lot worse about warning labels on stories than ingredients labels on foods, but that's why fic tags exist. And: sometimes, the croissant is delicious enough that we decide we're willing to suffer through the way the almonds make us feel, just this once. Sometimes the ship or the characterization or, hell, those other kinks that we really like are tasty enough that we'll put up with the trope we hate. We're allowed to do that. But we do it knowing there will be consequences, and we don't blame the baker when they hit.

We also don't have to blame ourselves. It sucks to be allergic to shellfish when all your friends are raving about the new seafood place. But that's not our fault any more than it's theirs.

Third: sometimes, if we need one, we go to the doctor. Or a therapist. Yes, really.

Not because there's anything really wrong with an aversion or even mild breakouts of hives, annoyance, and bitching in your friends' DMs--but it sure isn't pleasant, and sometimes your doctor might have a better solution than 'avoid it and take a Benadryl' that makes you feel a little better in the long run. And sometimes, it's not a mild breakout. Sometimes it's the kind of story that lingers with you for days, makes your skin crawl; sometimes your throat swells up and it gets hard to breathe. Sometimes we get angry enough about something we've read that we can't stand down our immune system, don't want to stop ourselves from writing that angry comment, that tumblr post, that abuse report to the mods for something that didn't actually break any rules. And that's dangerous, because when our immune response can flare out of control like that, we don't always know where and when it will happen next, and the risk of what we'll do if it happens gets way, way higher.

Sometimes it really is worth getting a second opinion. Sometimes you need somebody to tell you, "actually, it is not normal to get tingly and sweaty every time you eat potatoes." There are ways to train your brain and leash your white blood cells that I sure as heck am not expert enough to address. There are, it turns out, ways to feel better. There are ways to mitigate the damage your own well-meaning defense mechanisms might do to yourself or other people along the way.

And: we can take a deep breath when someone with an allergy to something we've baked, something we've written, something we like, is lashing out trying to protect themselves and everyone around them from something they've registered as a threat. Of course they're wrong. Yes, we told them there were tree nuts in the brownies ahead of time; yes, they chose to eat them anyway. But it can be worth reminding them and ourselves that there's a difference between "this thing is toxic" and "this harmless thing has driven my own system into a defensive response that sure makes it feel like I've been poisoned." And it can be worth reminding ourselves as well as them that sometimes, that difference can be really hard to spot.

#driveby meta attack #I guess #whoops I essay'ed #this was not meant to get this long #welp #anti discourse day

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journalxxx · 3 years

Text

By Hook or by Crook (7)

“So! How does it look?” Toshinori asked, with a booming voice and his best hands-on-hips pose to kickstart the endeavor with a healthy dose of enthusiasm.

He wasn’t particularly successful.

“Daunting. Impossible. Like I’m gonna die of old age before I’m anywhere close to making a change.”

“A little optimism goes a long way, you know?”

“...I may not die before I’ve lugged away some of this.” Midoriya amended tentatively, scanning the extensive length of garbage-filled beach stretching before them. “And… what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger?”

“That’s the spirit!” Toshinori gave him a pat on the back, strong enough to make the boy stammer forwards. He walked around the back of the truck and started unloading the few supplies he’d brought.

“Wear these.” Toshinori threw him a pair of work gloves. He hoped he’d eyeballed the size right. “I trust you’re up to date with all your vaccines.”

“Uhm.”

“Hopefully no one’s dumping organic waste in here, but I’ll bring some traps if you see any rats. They won’t solve the problem, but it’s better than letting them scurry around freely.”

Midoriya’s eyes darted between the gloves and the beach with muted horror. “R-Rats?”

“Scared of rats?” Toshinori couldn’t help but tease. “Did I mention that I had to wade through the sewers for half an hour before finding you and the sludge villain the other day?”

Midoriya instantly looked mortified. “I-I’m sorry-”

“Not your fault! Don’t apologize!” Toshinori tossed his hands in the air. This kid desperately needed to learn the basic mechanics of humor. “I’m just saying that heroes can’t be squeamish! Rats come with the job, as well as a variety of nasty stuff and filth.”

“Right.” Midoriya followed him as Toshinori, cooler in one hand and bag of papers in the other, sat down on the last steps of the stairs. He picked an egg sandwich for himself and fished a folder out of the bag, opening it on his thighs and starting to read it.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Midoriya was still staring at him, as if awaiting further instructions.

“Well? Have at it!” Toshinori gestured widely at his new playground.

“Oh, uhm, okay.” The kid donned the gloves and took a single step towards the piles before pausing to look at Toshinori again. “I thought you wanted to ask me… stuff.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure you can handle working and talking at the same time without building up some stamina first.” Toshinori answered, eyeing the boy’s scrawny frame critically. “We’ll talk while you’ll be taking a break to catch a breather, which is probably going to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Oh… All right.” Midoriya turned away, his arms hanging limply from hunched shoulders as he muttered to himself. “...Where do I even start...?”

“From the small things. Working your way up to the heavier objects.” Toshinori explained patiently, then gave him a pointed look. “I get the feeling you’re procrastinating.”

The boy approached the closest stack… and did nothing. Was he ever going to stop waffling and get cracking? “Meanwhile, you’ll just, uh… do your own thing?”

“Surely you don’t need me to guide you through the elaborate process of moving objects from point A to point B, do you?” Maybe the kid detected the hint of annoyance in Toshinori’s voice, because he finally, finally set to grab the closest piece of junk- “...Oh. Okay, that’s not a great start.”

“What?” Midoriya stopped halfway through picking up what was probably the first electric fan ever invented, all the way back in the Iron Age. “I haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Bend your knees, not your back. Otherwise you’re going to- do you really not know this? Isn’t the correct way to lift weights Household Chores 101?”

“Oh, right, I know.” Midoriya rearranged his stance in a way that was less likely to earn him a slipped disk within the next two hours. “Do people really lift things like this though? It’s… a lot harder than the normal way.”

“For your legs, yes. For your back, no. You’ll thank me when you’ll be old enough to realize you aren’t made out of rubber.”

Toshinori munched slowly while he watched the kid carry his first loads to the truck. That act alone seemed to distract Midoriya to an amusing degree, his gaze often flicking to meet Toshinori’s eyes for just a moment before shooting back in front of him with blatant self-consciousness. Toshinori allowed the boy a few minutes of warm-up, just the time for him to finish his sandwich and sip a small cup of apple juice, before deciding to kick things into proper gear.

“Running from the truck to the heaps and vice versa would help you gain some endurance too, rather than leisurely strolling back and forth.” Toshinori commented as Midoriya walked past him.

The kid stopped in his tracks and regarded him with a mix of horror and aversion that vaguely reminded him of death-row inmates when faced with their executioners.

“What?” Toshinori went on, unperturbed. “Are you expecting to get fit without getting tired?”

“No, of course not-”

“Besides, you’ll need to keep a swift pace if you want to clear the whole beach before the admission exam.”

“Wha- All of it?! Before the…” Midoriya sputtered, arms wrapping more tightly around the broken chair he was holding as if that was supporting him instead of the other way around. “Y-You never said…”

“But of course! They don’t do things by half measures in U.A., so why should you?” Toshinori grinned. “Plus Ultra, am I right?”

Midoriya let out an incredulous chuckle. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no way I can do something like that...”

“Depends on how much elbow grease you’re willing to put into it.”

Midoriya’s expression shifted minutely as he caught onto Toshinori’s seriousness. “But… but that’s impossible! No matter how hard I work, I can’t- I can’t move stuff like that!” He griped, pointing at the wrecked husk of a van half-buried under a mound of assorted refuse. “Even if I do my best-”

“And pray tell, what’s your best?” Toshinori stood up and walked to the kid, ditching the whimsical demeanor. If playful cajoling wasn’t enough to stir him, maybe it was time to bust out the big guns. “What’s the heaviest you can lift? The fastest you can run? The hardest you can push yourself? When’s the last time you actually tried your very best, and how did it fall short?”

Toshinori was already well and truly spent for the day, but he let the provocation and drive in his words stoke the fire within him, and it flared. The Symbol of Peace broke out of his diminutive shell among dramatic wisps of steam, ready to bestow his wisdom more effectively than his rickety counterpart ever could.

“Do you know what’s the only way to gauge your limits? Reaching them. And the only way to get stronger?“ Toshinori held out his arm between them, and clenched his fist resolutely. He relished the sensation of unyielding muscles tensing and bulging under his skin, tangible proof of the truth of his assertions. “Gritting your teeth and smashing past them! Little by little, but constantly!”

Midoriya had only witnessed that transformation once, poorly and by accident, and it showed. The chair had slipped from his hands without him even noticing, and now lay forgotten at his feet on the bare sand. The kid was gawking at him with wide eyes and mouth agape, the very picture of spellbound rapture. It was far from an unfamiliar reaction from whoever was graced by the Symbol of Peace’s presence, and yet it was still flattering, every time.

“You’ll never improve if you keep dwelling on what you think you can do now. Focus on what you want to do next. Visualize it as a clear goal. Build an image out of it, and then carve it in reality. If you really want that van to move, then it will move. If you really want this beach to be clear, then it will be. But you have to put your back, sweat and heart into making it happen!”

All Might captivated his one-man audience with the usual effortlessness, boisterous showmanship and honest positivity deeply intertwined in a way that boggled his detractors’ minds, but that felt so natural and appropriate to Toshinori. He’d made an art out of it, down to the rumble of his voice and the firmness of his gestures and the levity of his attitude, the art of highlighting and displaying the very best parts of himself so that they could resonate louder, better, brighter.

“So what will it be, young Midoriya? Will you clean up this place within the next ten months or not?”

“Y-Yes. I will.” That had done the trick. It was obvious from the way Midoriya’s back straightened and his expression toughened. It was obvious from the spark kindled in his eyes, a reflection of Toshinori’s own passion, still lacking in heat but full of potential.

“Then you’d better get down to it!” The hero sealed the deal with a radiant smile and a thumbs up. “Time’s a-wastin’!”

“Yes, sir!” Midoriya picked up the chair and dashed towards the truck to unload it there, then he immediately bounced back down the stairs and towards the nearest heap of waste. Toshinori observed the boy’s next rounds with his unwavering smile and few approving nods that kept the kid a bit lighter on his feet.

How much easier it was for All Might to touch people’s hearts. How much easier to inspire, to reassure, to nurture. How much easier everything was for All Might, really. If only that shining beacon of hope wasn’t shackled by the whims of a withering body, how much richer society at large would be for it.

Toshinori let out a deep exhale that took more than just air out of him, and the flame settled down to a low glow. He couldn’t hold back a few wet coughs, and he promptly turned his shrunken back on Midoriya’s concerned glance to sit back on the cool steps.

Unfortunately, there was a lot more than motivation to strength training. Right off the bat, Toshinori could tell that Midoriya wasn’t going to last twenty full minutes of workout. He honestly didn’t know that an ostensibly healthy individual could reach the ripe age of fourteen with such poor body awareness. The boy had coordination and balance on par with a toddler’s: he stumbled on his feet, he tripped on sand, he nearly fell off the stairs twice before realizing that trying to climb them while his view was obstructed by the very items he was carrying might be a less than optimal solution. He seemed to be unaware of the existence of entire muscle groups, and Toshinori had to physically get up and mime movements for him to understand how to exert force more efficiently. Not to mention that he needed incessant needling lest his sprints quickly devolved into lax jogs.

This whole training thing was going to be… an interesting experience, Toshinori could already tell.

Exactly sixteen and a half minutes later, the boy all but collapsed on the stairs beside Toshinori, gasping for air and wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

“B-Break?” He pleaded, quite redundantly.

Toshinori took pity on his plight and pushed the cooler in his direction. “Have a drink.”

“Oh, thank you…” The lack of polite refusal made Toshinori suspect that Midoriya had forgotten to bring his own water.

“There’s sports drinks and fruit juice in there too. Save the snacks for after you’re finished, food and heavy workouts don’t always agree with each other.” Toshinori had packed food primarily for himself, expecting their after-school meeting to last long enough for him to slot in one or two meals in the meantime, but he had taken care of adding a few extras for the kid. A good idea, because the possibility of Midoriya face planting on the ground halfway through out of sheer exhaustion seemed more and more likely by the minute.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to…”

“I promised bribes, didn’t I?”

Midoriya flashed him the tiniest smile, and eagerly drank some water while Toshinori retrieved a small journal and a pen from the other bag. He skimmed through the list of preliminary topics he’d scribbled on the first page under Tsukauchi’s advice, wondering which one he should tackle first.

“All right.” Deciding to follow his instinct in spite of basic common sense, Toshinori decided to begin from the end. “These phone calls of yours. Give me an idea of what they’re like. The last one you had with your father was on April 1st, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it. Everything you talked about, as precisely as you can remember it.”

The good thing was that Midoriya’s memory was very accurate, and he was able to recall the whole conversation basically step by step. The less good thing was that said conversation was largely commonplace and unremarkable, consisting of very ordinary small talk and inquiries about school, grades, news, local events-

“Quirks?”

“Mh-hm.” The boy nodded. “We always end up talking about quirks, in one way or another. Quirks and heroes. It’s always been… a common interest.”

“Always, uh?”

“Yeah, we’ve been doing it since… forever, really. I’ve always found quirks fascinating, and he has lots of great insight to offer.”

“I can imagine...” Toshinori mumbled. Asking who had initiated that habit was probably pointless, it sounded like it had started too early in the boy’s life for him to remember - or even to understand if he had been deliberately led to develop that interest. Some intriguing nature-versus-nurture speculations could be made on the matter, but they weren’t likely to aid Tsukauchi’s case. “And in what way do you talk about them?”

“We… analyze them, discuss them. What is known for sure about a certain quirk, what can be deduced from footage and descriptions of its use, what its unmentioned limitations might be, how it could be further developed… You saw my notebook, right? Basically the kind of stuff that’s in there.”

“Wait.” Toshinori blinked. Could he have already stumbled into a treasure trove of All For One-certified information? “You mean that all that’s written in that notebook was dictated by your father?”

The kid almost choked on his next gulp of water, and shot Toshinori an almost offended look. “No! No, no, it’s all stuff I found out on my own! Well, almost all of it, there are some additions of his here and there, but… Uh, I’d say at least 90% of it is mine, and 10% of it is his… Actually, more like 95% and 5%-”

Well, that sounded less promising, but it was still a lead. “So he’s been basically teaching you how to conduct your own quirk analyses?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say teaching. I wish our school teachers were that engaging...” Midoriya let out a small sigh. “But I guess we do go about it a little like with school essays. Research, deadline, discussion and all that…”

“Pardon?”

“Well, every month we decide which heroes or quirks we’re going to talk about the next time - back in March we chose Hawks, Kido and Snatch for last month’s call, for example. During the rest of the month we gather information and draw our conclusions, and then we compare them during the next chat.”

“You’ve got quite the well-oiled routine going on there, haven’t you?”

“Actually, I think it’s just to give me a chance to make my own deductions with a clear head instead of on the fly.” Midoriya scratched said tousled head in embarrassment. “I bet he doesn’t even need to do any research, he’s always on the top of his game. I’ve never been able to, uh… one-up him, you know? He always knows what I’m driving at, and somehow he always brings my hypotheses two or three steps further than where I stop.”

Toshinori answered with a non-committal hum. No surprise there, the man was a living quirk storeroom complete with its own self-congratulatory, sentient database. “You don’t seem too bothered by it though.”

“Oh, I’m not. It’s not like he’s ever… disappointed or angry or anything, even if I don’t get stuff. He just enjoys chatting, I guess.” That he surely did, Toshinori grimly thought. Way too much. “And I do too. It’s kind of like a game. Or a challenge.”

“A challenge?”

“Yeah, uh… How can I explain…?” The boy drummed his fingers on the bottle as he collected his thoughts. “Okay, for example: one of the first things dad asked me about Hawks was what shape his wings are, and what I could deduce from that about his flight capabilities. Which was a trick question! I knew it as soon as I heard it, because I’d already figured out the real answer during my research.”

“Ah.” Toshinori blinked. “And… how is that a trick question, exactly?”

“Because Hawks doesn’t actually fly! Not like a bird, at least, so his wing shape doesn’t matter!” Midoriya beamed, and suddenly Toshinori realized that that was the first real, genuine, enthusiastic smile the boy had given him since they’d met. And, without exaggeration, not crying, panicking or grimacing made him look almost like an entirely different person. “He simply can’t! Humans can’t fly even if you stick a pair of wings to them, they’re just too heavy! Other heroes who can fly properly are mostly transformers, like Ryukyu - their whole bodies change when they shift, bone structure and all - but Hawks’ body is entirely human if you exclude his wings.”

Midoriya reached for his backpack and drew out the same charred notebook Toshinori had signed days earlier. An item so vital to the kid’s daily life that he always had it with him, apparently, even more essential than beverages during a workout session. A peculiar, if questionable, trait.

“What Hawks actually does isn’t flying, it’s levitating!” The kid held the notebook open before Toshinori’s eyes on a spread page dedicated to the hero in question. “He uses the second facet of his quirk, the telekinesis that allows him to control his feathers singularly! That also explains his incredible speed, which is completely unjustifiable if you only take into account normal bird flight aerodynamics. His propulsion is powered by his feathers - and each of them is quite speedy and powerful on its own, so it stands to reason that he would be lightning-fast when his wings contain so many of them pushing him in unison!”

Toshinori politely elected to wait for the onslaught of words to subside on its own, although he already suspected that it was a little like standing right under a waterfall and waiting for someone higher up to turn off the faucet.

“That said, that doesn’t explain everything about his quirk… For example, a single feather of his is capable of lifting and transporting an adult person, that has been extensively documented. Yet, he loses the ability to levitate relatively soon after dispatching too many of them - he becomes unable to float even when he still has at least several dozens of them attached to his body. We couldn’t figure out why that happens with the information we have. Maybe it’s harder for him to apply his power to himself, that is often the case for emitters. Maybe it messes with his proprioception, and he can’t control the feathers he hasn’t detached as finely as all the others…”

If there was one thing Toshinori was absolutely certain of at this point, it was that the kid wasn’t short on breath any more. “And this is the part you inferred on your own.”

“Yep! And dad agreed with all of it!” Midoriya’s smile grew even wider. It was astonishing how much it didn’t look like dad’s deranged, shark-like, nightmare-inducing sneer, and Toshinori could only send a quiet thanks to the heavens for that. “This is all guesswork though. Do you… by any chance, do you know if we were on the right track? I’d be really curious to know…”

“Ah, I can’t help you there, kid.” Toshinori felt suddenly on the spot. “I’m not acquainted with Hawks, nor do I know more about his quirk than the average person.”

“Oh, I thought… Since you’re both- I mean, I thought All Might may have met him during the billboard chart events, what with them both being in the top ten.”

“We passed by each other, yes, but we were never properly introduced. He wasn’t particularly interested in rubbing elbows with the old guard, I suppose.”

“Oh. Well, that’s his loss, for sure.” Midoriya, funnily enough, pouted. “Pity, I was wondering… Even if he doesn’t fly, he does flap his wings in a way that resembles a bird’s. I wonder if that’s intentional, to mislead opponents and prevent them from figuring out how he actually moves. Or maybe he does it subconsciously…”

“I’m afraid I really don’t know…” Toshinori had never met Hawks on the field either, it wasn’t common for accidents to require more than a single big-name hero to intervene these days. Especially if one of them was the number one, who often showed up first and invariably solved any incident in mere minutes-

Toshinori suddenly came back to himself and almost facepalmed in frustration. Why was he letting himself be interrogated about completely irrelevant hero trivia? He was the one asking questions! God, he was bad at this. “And your father had nothing to contribute about all this?”

“Not about this specifically, but he did raise a point I hadn’t considered.” Midoriya looked up at the sky, once again lost in his very wordy, very deep lucubrations. “Hawks has an astonishing control on his quirk. He can use his telekinesis to move hundreds of feathers at once, to sense his surroundings, he can even harden them and turn them into weapons. He made Fierce Wings into an incredibly versatile ability, and he’s so young too… And yet, there’s no record of him attending any hero school or training facility in Japan, nor abroad. He claims to be self-taught, but… admittedly, it is hard to believe. One would think he must have had some excellent education and tutoring to make it into the top ten when he was only eighteen…”

Toshinori didn’t reply. Midoriya looked back at him when the silence stretched, and whatever he spied on Toshinori’s face made him immediately backpedal. “I-I mean, it’s odd, but, uh… not suspicious per se, nor a sign of anything… weird or bad about him. There are many heroes who, ehr, prefer to keep their personal history private, especially geniuses, and that’s fine! They have all the right to! Same goes for their quirks, it makes total sense-”

Toshinori massaged his left temple slowly. Right, better just nip this topic in the bud before it got irredeemably out of hand.

He peered again at the notebook in Midoriya’s hands. So All For One had been imparting occasional, amicable quirk analysis lessons to the kid for a good decade, which sounded suspiciously like the kind of knowledge a potential underling or successor might use. On the other hand, Toshinori could think of a million other ways for the Symbol of Fear to instil skills in his son - all of them remarkably more efficient, safe, manageable and ruthless. The whole thing was contradictory in a way that didn’t sit right with Toshinori.

“Mind if I take another look at that?” Toshinori had been in a bit of a rush the first time round, and he’d only taken a cursory glance at the contents of Midoriya’s notes. But if there was a chance of those pages containing words uttered by All For One himself, a more thorough examination was in order.

“Not at all! But, uh…” Midoriya was fast to hand out the item, but his eagerness to assist was even faster to dampen. “Are you going to retain this as evidence too?”

“Mh, I don’t think that will be necessary...” Right, the poor kid’s house had probably been ransacked even further after Toshinori and Tsukauchi’s first pass. No wonder he was worried about losing this prized possession too. “But if it will be, I can make a copy of it for you to keep, so you won’t lose all your, uh, data.”

“Oh, thanks! That would be great!” The kid perked up instantly. He was so easy to please. “Although… I guess I should make a copy of it myself anyway. It’s already kind of… unrecoverable. I could detach the pages with All Might’s sign and preserve those separately, and just photocopy everything else…”

Toshinori’s imagination mercilessly supplied him with the picture of a new addition to Midoriya’s bedroom decor, his five-second poorly-made signature hung to a wall in an elegant frame. He repressed a groan, deliberately neglected to point out that he could simply provide as many new authentic signs as needed, and directed his attention back to the scorched edges of the notebook. “Right… What happened to this thing, anyway? Did someone put it in a toaster?”

Midoriya let out a totally not nervous chuckle as he wrung his hands in a totally not nervous fashion. “Oh, uhm... You know…” Toshinori didn’t, actually, but the kid didn’t elaborate either.

Well, he was allowed to have a modicum of privacy, still. Toshinori let the issue drop, and nudged the boy with his foot. “You seem well rested. Back to the trash you go.”

Midoriya shuffled to his feet less than enthusiastically, and resumed toiling away at his task. While still checking on him often, ready to poke and prod at the first hint of sluggishness, Toshinori browsed through the kid’s notebook. While the contents were indeed worthy of attention, they were scarce in quantity. It must be rather new, since less than a quarter of the pages had been filled. However, the promise of more material to be discovered made Toshinori withhold his judgement on the matter for the time being.

Once that was done, he continued his perusal of the few files Tsukauchi had already put together about the Midoriya case. Toshinori had practically begged his friend to let him have an active role, any active role in the case: he simply couldn’t bear to twiddle his thumbs until someone else kindly pointed him to All For One’s hideout for another overdue thrashing. He simply needed to be involved, or he’d probably start crawling up walls within a week.

Questioning the kid was pretty much the only suitable occupation for him, currently… Well, it was either that or questioning Mrs. Midoriya, and Toshinori was fairly sure that his brain would leak out of his ears if he heard any more details about All For One’s romantic escapades. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to investigative work, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he was going to spare no effort to earn some results. If that meant poring over reams of police reports in the hopes of spotting some helpful clue, so be it. At least it would keep him busy, and busy was good, especially in trying times.

He’d applied the same logic to Midoriya, in a sense. The boy seemed the kind of person who’d very easily overthink himself into a negative spiral, even in less dire circumstances than the messy family drama he’d found himself into. It would do him good to focus on a better future, rather than on his depressing present. Giving him a goal to set his sights on would keep him going more smoothly.

At first Toshinori had thought to motivate him towards his dream career, but it turned out that the boy’s strategy about the admission test was… nebulous at best. Not that he could truly blame him for it: fourteen-year-old Toshinori didn’t exactly have a multi-step plan towards becoming the Symbol of Peace either, one couldn’t help being somewhat scatterbrained at that age.

The illegal dumping site had been a serendipitous discovery, and cleaning it up was the perfect type of goal to incite the boy towards. It was very obvious and straightforward, and required no intricate planning: he simply needed to roll up his sleeves and buckle down. And the muscle he’d build while doing it would serve him well for heroic purposes too, so it was a win-win on all fronts. Not to mention that some good old physical exertion would help him sleep at night, which he was still struggling with, if the persistent bags under his eyes were of any indication. Toshinori dearly missed the times when that trick still worked on him too, when driving himself to the brink of exhaustion was a guaranteed one-way ticket to restful and regenerative dreamland. Nowadays, if he accumulated even a sliver of excessive fatigue, all he got was… well, fatigue. And a metric ton of unrelenting body pains and lasting debilitation.

The rest of the afternoon went by smoothly and unremarkably. Midoriya drudged through many rounds of garbage disposal with decreasing energy and verve, but that was to be expected. Toshinori collected more barely relevant and generally useless information, but that was to be expected too. They were both in for the long haul, there was no point in getting upset about it. Eventually the sun started to set, and Toshinori beckoned the boy back to him with a handwave.

“You have more of these?” Toshinori said, tapping his index on the big 13 on the cover of the notebook still on his lap.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Could you bring them with you next time?”

“All of them?” Midoriya seemed frazzled.

“If you still have them, yes. Would that be a problem?”

The boy scratched his head as his cheek reddened slightly. “N-No, not a problem, but some of them are really… I finished the first one when I was seven. They aren't just outdated, they’re… ehr, childish. Just doodles and misspelled ramblings.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not like I’ll be grading them.” Not yet, at least. Toshinori smirked at his own private joke. Maybe he should grade them, as a small practice run. “I just want to give a quick read to a few things here and there.”

“O-Okay…”

“Good. Well, I think we can call it a day.” Toshinori rummaged in his cooler to fetch a chocolate energy bar, and tossed it to the exhausted boy. “Catch.”

Despite the warning, Midoriya did not catch, and the snack bumped against his chest and fell to the ground with a sad clack. Reflexes were MIA too, apparently. What a rare specimen of a prospective hero Toshinori had crossed paths with.

“T-Thank you!” Midoriya immediately picked it up, unwrapped it and shoved it into his mouth as he hopped into the passenger seat of the truck. Whether it was real hunger or fear of passing as rude, Toshinori couldn’t tell.

The drive to Midoriya’s house was brief. The boy was too tired to chat - as if they hadn’t already had their fill for the day. When they arrived and Midoriya climbed out of the vehicle to be on his way, Toshinori finally addressed one last pressing issue.

“Tomorrow your father is going to call you.”

“Yeah.” The kid’s eyes dropped to the ground. Maybe Toshinori should have brought it up sooner. Way to end the meeting on a sour note.

“How are you going to handle that?”

“I’m not.” The boy shrugged. “Mom will tell him I just got my tonsils removed. It's… safer for now. I think.”

Toshinori nodded. “Let’s take a day off then. Even if you can’t speak, he might want to say something to you, and it would be strange for you not to be at home while recovering.”

“Okay.”

He looked so very small, and so very young like that, bathed in the warm hues of sunset, but with no real warmth to his eyes and demeanor. He was too small and too young to be dealing with this shit. No one was old or big enough to deal with any of All For One’s shit, really. Toshinori would have to make sure no one would have to ever again.

“Thank you for your help today. It’s very appreciated, believe me.” Toshinori offered, with his most sincere smile. “Feel free to text me or Tsukauchi if anything comes up, you should be able to reach at least one of us at any hour of day or night.”

“Okay. Thank you. Have a good evening.”

“You too, kid.” Toshinori watched him until the door of his house closed behind his back, then he drove off.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #deku #izuku midoriya #All Might #Toshinori Yagi

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fundead-sp · 2 years

Text

Chapter 3 - The Boy With No Insulin

Craig T. 12/6/25

It’s been a little bit since I’ve heard from Clyde. Hopefully he’s okay and resting, and taking the medicine me and Tweek gave him. I know Token and Jimmy are worried, just not allowed to see him. I think they’ve been messaging Clyde though. I’m not sure if they’ve gotten a response, because on the 3rd, Clyde stopped responding to my texts. Tweek is freaking out, and jumping to conclusions. Tweek’s been rambling about how Clyde might’ve died and we all should move to France. I didn’t go to school today, and I guess that one diabetic kid..Scott Malkinson I think his name was, hasn’t shown up for three days. Disappeared on the 3rd. Same day Clyde stopped messaging us. I don’t know if either of them are okay, but this cold seems to be serious.

I could give less of a shit about Scott Malkinson though, if he's low or dying, then sure I’ll help. That guy gets on my nerves, he’s kind of annoying.

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

“Hey Tucker, it’s me, Petuski. Just wanted to let you know that school’s going to be out due to this cold that’s going around. See you in a week.”

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

Craig was so confused about Petuski's text, but hey, at least he gets a week off. He would probably spend it with Tweek or the others, but he wasn’t sure. Tweek might be the safest option since he was with Craig at Clyde’s place.

Craig’s phone suddenly buzzed, which was either a notification from Token asking if Clyde had messaged him yet. Or it was Tweek asking Craig if he’s decided to move France with him. Tweek was going way too far with the France thing.

“hEy Craig! I thInmk i forgit my coff e cupn at yout house. Cn you co get it forme?”

Once again, Tweek couldn’t message properly.

“Yea, of course. Now?”

“ye s.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Craig put his phone away, already in his normal clothes. He put his shoes on and walked downstairs, grabbing his keys and wallet, and Tweek’s coffee cup. The rest of his family were out at the store, since Christmas was coming up. The Tucker family had pretty big Christmas dinners, and Craig hated every one of them.

He walked outside and headed towards Tweek’s house, clutching the coffee cup’s handle tightly. Craig smelt an awful smell, which normally would be Craig’s first response to walking outside and seeing the disgusting place he called home. Sometimes he asks himself, why did he have to live in South Park of all places?

Though, if he had lived anywhere else, he wouldn’t have met Tweek or Token, Clyde, Jimmy, and Jason. Craig was at least thankful for that. He found friends and a boyfriend, so South Park wasn’t exactly a bad thing in his life.

Before Craig knew it, he ran into Tweek’s front door. He should’ve been paying more attention, but he was too focused on his thoughts. Luckily, him bumping into the door didn’t make a lot of noise, because Tweek didn’t rush downstairs like always.

Craig knocked on the door, and that’s when he heard Tweek run down the stairs. Tweek flung the door open, twitching a lot.

“Gah! Ack- Craig!” Tweek shouted by accident. He seemed a lot more stressed out than usual.

“Tweek, are you okay? You look and sound more stressed.” Craig pointed out.

“Yea! Ack- I’m fine! You know, ack- just a huge c-cold going around and- ack- there’s no vaccine for it yet! Gah!” Tweek said, while shaking. He looked like a ticking time bomb.

“Tweek, it’ll be okay. They’ll find a vaccine soon and you’ll be okay.” Craig sighed.

“Can I just- ack- have my coffee mug back? Gah!” Tweek asked. Craig nodded and gave Tweek back his coffee mug.

“I’ll see you later, bye Tweek.”

“Bye- ack- Craig. I love you. Rrgh!”

“I love you too, Tweek.”

With that, Craig left Tweek’s house. He made his way down to where some people would normally be on a Monday evening. The stores. He had no reason to be down there, but Craig also had no reason to be at home.

Craig started hearing strange noises from an alleyway. When he turned to see what was making those noises, it was none other than Scott Malkinson. The boy who hadn’t been seen for 5 days was right in front of Craig.

“Malkinson..?”

There was no response from the boy. He looked sick. Very very fucking sick. His body looked like it was falling apart. Like it was rotting.

“Malkinson, you don’t look well. Did you forget to take your insulin?” Craig asked. Malkinson never spoke, he just turned to Craig and made a noise.

“Rrughhh..”

He had an eye popped out of the socket, his skin looked like it was running down his body. Craig could see the bone in Malkinson’s arm and face.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Malkinson had to be dead. There was no way that a person this messed up looking was alive. There were literally clumps of hair and skin just mushed together. Craig didn’t think he had ever been this scared.

Malkinson slowly started walking towards Craig. With every step Malkinson took, Craig stepped backwards. He could hear the cars driving getting closer, which meant he was getting closer to the road. Maybe if Craig ran across the street, he could get Malkinson away.

Surely he wasn’t stupid enough to run into the street during a green light, right?

Once Craig heard the cars come to a stop, he had to stall Malkinson for a minute.

Craig stopped walking and looked at Malkinson straight in the eyes, or as he should say, eye. Malkinson was moving closer by second, but the red light coming to an end was coming faster. Craig counted down in his head, in 5 seconds he should be able to run and get away. His mind was set and focused on just getting away from Malkinson.

3..2..1.

Craig turned around and sprinted across the street. He could hear Malkinson at least a few feet away, and right as he got to the other side of the street, his plan was successful.

The red light turned green, and Malkinson was already in the street. The people of South Park could give less of a shit if you were in the road. If the light was green, they'd commit a hit and run.

Craig watched the cars, and then-

BOING!

Malkinson had been hit, blood splattering everywhere. Craig felt horrible. Something was wrong with Malkinson though, he couldn’t deny that. The way Malkinson stared and walked, even trying to speak. Something wasn’t right.

Craig knew it too.

Chapter 3 - The Boy With No Insulin - End

#south park #craig tucker #scott malkinson #tweek tweak #clyde donovan #zombie #zombieau #dogpoo petuski #creek

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