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indeedcaptain · 1 month

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Regulatory Relations, chapter 15: the miners

Hi, everyone!! I hope you're having a beautiful weekend.

Thank you for your patience, both with this chapter and with me being dramatically less responsive on here and tumblr recently. I’m on a project at work that is kicking my ass professionally and emotionally, but at least it ends in two weeks and I hope I can be a little more present after that. Please accept my apologies that I haven’t responded to any of your beautiful comments :(

I left this fic unrated for a reason. Explicit content ahead! If that’s not your jam, skip from the second star section break to the third. Otherwise, enjoy ;)

Thank you so much for being here and reading along with this adventure. I hope you like this chapter.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆☆☆

“If anyone gets this message, please. Help us.”

Kirk, Spock, and the beta shift bridge crew stood in silence as Overman Dima Marcus’s cry for help echoed through the room. Marcus panted as a third explosion rocked the frame, and he fell out of focus. He looked over his shoulder. The video ended.

“Play it again,” Kirk ordered, and Ortiz restarted the video. The rise and fall of static, the explosions, and Marcus’s dire message played again over the viewscreen. Kirk read the haggard, gaunt, fearful face of the overman, and he saw his hunger. The tendons of Marcus’s neck were too prominent, even in the shadowed image of the video. Kirk’s own bones ached in recognition, and in the crevasses of Marcus’s face he saw his own, and Kevin’s. In the nervous, twitching glance over his shoulder, Kirk saw Laika sprinting to the treeline on the outskirts of town. He pushed his fearful recognition somewhere dark and cold in the back of his mind, until it was just Dima Marcus, dirty and alone, on the screen in front of him. His memories of Tarsus were too close to the surface, skittering over his skin after the conversation in Bones’s office, and he fought to focus on the problem at hand.

Kindinos wasn’t Tarsus. But Dima Marcus looked like he was starving.

Ortiz paused it at the end. Kirk heard the turbolift door open behind him, and he stifled his nervous twitch as he said, “Metadata for the video?”

“Pretty degraded, sir, but recorded within the past one hundred hours and transmitted from the heading of 106 mark 8, sir.”

“Helmsman?”

The helms officer tapped the console and looked back at Kirk. Kirk met his gaze as steadily as he could. The beta shift crew rarely saw situations as serious as this one--- he would not allow his fear to trigger their own. “106 mark 8 is the heading for Kindinos VI from here, sir.”

“Have we received anything to indicate that this recording is in any way falsified or illegitimate?”

The beta shift bridge crew paused, looking amongst themselves, and then Lieutenant Karros in the center chair said, “No, sir.”

Kirk finally turned and looked over his shoulder, unsurprised to see admirals April and Pike waiting by the lift. April’s face was stony as Kirk said, “Helmsman, set a course for Kindinos VI at warp four, and get Scotty back up here or into Engineering as soon as you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We may have had radio silence from Kindinos because something went wrong, admiral,” Kirk said, holding April’s eye contact. “I’ll send Yeoman Rand to work with you to get your schedule fixed as close to correct as possible, but your reports are going to be delayed by a few days.”

April stared at him, grinding his teeth, before saying, “Understood, captain.” But the man’s open hostility barely registered as he stepped down to the main chair. Karros stood to offer it to him, but he waved her off, forcing his motions to be casual.

“Lieutenant Ortiz, put me on shipwide comms, please.” He waited until her signal, and then spoke. “Crew of the Enterprise, this is your captain speaking. We’ve received a distress signal, and we are answering its call. Officers Uhura, Giotto, Spock, McCoy, and Rand, report to the ready room. Lieutenant Scott, report to bridge. All others, be prepared for new orders. We’ll arrive in the Kindinos system in---” He turned to look at the helmsman, who mouthed ‘ten hours’--- “ten hours, at which point I will have more details to share. Kirk out.”

“Lieutenant Karros, keep the conn until the end of your shift,” Kirk said, and she nodded resolutely. “Let me know if we receive any more signals from anything in that direction.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and the beta bridge crew around her nodded resolutely. Kirk strode back towards the turbolift. As he passed the comms console, he said, “Ortiz, could you please---?” He cut himself off as she handed him a data chip.

“The video data, sir?” He took it from her and offered her an approving head nod.

“Well done, lieutenant, that’s exactly right.” She looked down to hide her smile at the praise, and he pocketed the data chip. Spock followed him to the turbolift.

“Admirals, if you would like to attend this briefing, please feel free to do so.” Pike followed Kirk and Spock into the turbolift, and April stepped in afterwards. The admirals stood in front of Kirk and Spock, all four facing the doors, and the only person who noticed that Spock gently wrapped his hand around Kirk’s wrist and squeezed was Kirk. He glanced at Spock, who met his eyes, and the contact helped center him back into himself, just a little bit.

When they entered the conference room, Kirk’s officers were already waiting. Kirk looked over his assembled department heads, his hand-picked and trusted crew, and was grateful to see them. He took his place at the head of the table, Spock at his right hand, and slid the data chip into the room’s computer.

“We received this message just moments ago,” he said, and hit play. He forced himself to watch as Marcus’s message rang through the room, and he let it play twice before shutting it off and turning back to his crew. Pike had rolled his chair up to the table, sitting beside Uhura, and April sat at the far end, opposite Kirk. His dark eyes were inscrutable.

“Uhura, here,” Kirk said, and slid the data chip to her. She scooped it neatly off the table. “Beta bridge crew said they didn’t see anything funny about the message, but I’d like you to triple-check their work, just in case. Anything you can tell me about the location of the recording, any of the ambient sounds, especially those explosions, or Marcus himself would be great. We don’t know if the problem is conflict or natural disaster, and I’d like to have that information before we go planetside.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and something in her eyes was already going far away, as if she were listening to the message from Marcus in her head again. He turned next to the good doctor, who was watching him too carefully.

“Bones, I’d like ready kits for as many nurses as you think you can stand to send down, one we know what we’re walking into. If it’s a natural disaster, that’s one thing, but if we’re heading into a war zone, we’ll send security first and then triage.” Bones nodded, already tapping on his padd to send instructions down to Sickbay.

“Giotto, we’ll need teams, but I’m not sure how many---”

“We’ll be able to field at least ten teams of four for a conflict zone, or we could do twenty of two if we’re just looking for survivors.”

“That’s great, Sal, that sounds right to me. Let’s plan for the worst, just in case, and we can split up on the ground if it turns out that way.” Kirk’s mind flicked through the possibilities based on what he knew about Kindinos and dilithium mines, and ran through the consequences of the most likely scenarios. He was hitting an obstacle, though: Kindinos wasn’t in Federation space, and he had very little knowledge to fall back on.

“Mr. Spock. Any information on this planet, the mine, cultural rifts that could cause conflict, any history of physical instability where the mine was built, or any evidence of foul play would be great. I doubt we’ll be able to get any clear information from the residents once we get there, not at first, and I’d like to be prepared for anything.” Spock inclined his head, calm and collected, and even just seeing him sitting at his right hand recentered Kirk further. Kindinos wasn’t Tarsus, and they were going to be ready to help.

Kirk turned to the last officer at his table. “Yeoman Rand, taking this mission is going to severely disrupt our current schedule. I’d like you to work with Admiral April to reprioritize our next round of orders. It’s unclear how long we’ll be in orbit around Kindinos at the moment, so as much leeway as you can provide would be helpful.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and nodded to April down the table. April inclined his head in turn, but his eyes flicked back to Kirk.

“Alright,” Kirk said. “We have ten hours until we’ll get there, any other crises notwithstanding. Rand, could you send someone to make sure Scotty gets some sleep when he’s done checking everything over in Engineering? I don’t want him down there all night.” She nodded, pulling out her padd to tap out a message to one of her minions. “We’ve got a little under ten hours until we arrive, and there is almost nothing that we can do for these people in the meantime. You’ve got your orders, but get some sleep, and make sure your people get sleep. Report anything you find or learn directly to me and Spock. Dismissed.”

His officers stood and filed out of the conference room. Their focused, professional determination imbued the air, and Kirk inhaled it like oxygen. Janice strode ahead to fall in step with April, and Pike hung back until Kirk and Spock stepped out.

“If you’ve got any insight here, Chris, I’d love to hear it,” Kirk said.

“Nothing useful, I’m afraid,” Chris said. “I’ve never been out that way before. But I wanted to offer--- if you need any logistics assistance, put me in. An extra brain never hurts on a lifesaving mission.”

An idea sprung to mind fully formed, and it chased away some of the ache in his bones that had started the moment he saw Marcus. “Actually, that would be great,” Kirk said, and he turned to Spock. “Has Chris seen your revision?”

“6245-B? No.” The empathetic shift in Spock’s face was infinitesimal, but Kirk saw the second he realized what Kirk intended. He nodded minutely.

“We’re trying something new,” Kirk said, turning back to Chris. “We took on extra unreplicated food stores in case of emergency, and it seems as though we’re going to test a hypothesis sooner rather than later. I’ll send you the inventory, and it would be great if you could think through the most efficient way to distribute it, so that we’re not relying on the replicators. From the looks of Marcus, the people on Kindinos are going to need it.”

“You’ve got it, captain,” Chris said, and Spock pulled out his padd to send him the documents. With a ding of his padd, Chris acknowledged their receipt, and after a brief ‘goodnight’ he followed the rest of the staff back towards the turbolift that would take him to his quarters. Kirk watched him depart before he turned towards the lift that would take him back to the bridge.

Spock halted him with a hand around the wrist. His hand was warm. “Your own orders were to rest, sir,” he said.

“I just wanted to---”

“And you ensured that Lieutenant Karros would maintain command for another four hours.”

“I was just going to see if they needed anything,” Kirk said. He looked up, meeting Spock’s eyes, and he knew Spock saw him, and understood.

“Admirable, captain, but unnecessary.” Spock paused. “And you have not yet eaten dinner.”

As if on cue, Kirk’s stomach rumbled, and though Spock did not look down at the source of the noise he did allow himself a slight eyebrow raise.

“I can’t sit and do nothing, after seeing that message,” he said, and pulled his wrist from Spock’s grip to take his hand instead.

“Preparing is not ‘doing nothing.’ You and the rest of the crew will be of more use to the miners if you are fed and rested,” Spock said, and he allowed Kirk to entangle their fingers as he directed them both towards his designated turbolift.

“And yourself, Mr. Spock?”

“Vulcans require less sleep and sustenance than humans, captain,” Spock said.

“Does that mean you don’t want to eat dinner with me, then?” The quip rolled off his tongue. Each step with Spock’s hand in his took him further from the shock that had frozen him on the bridge.

Spock paused, affronted, and Kirk laughed.

“That is not what I said,” he said stiffly, and followed Kirk into the turbolift.

“Alright, then,” Kirk said, and grinned as he pulled Spock towards him. “Officer’s quarters,” he said to the lift as the doors slid shut, and then he towed Spock all the way to him until they were nose to nose. Spock inhaled as Kirk tilted his head up to kiss him, and by the time the lift doors opened again they were both breathless.

☆☆☆

They had only left the quarters a little over twelve hours previously, and yet returning to it with Spock, knowing that he would stay the night, cast the entire suite in a new light. Spock’s robes hanging in his closet, Spock’s crinoid fluttering among his books, Spock’s boots next to his next to the door--- every detail of Spock’s existence in the space that he had inhabited alone for years soothed the ragged edges of his mind. Spock insinuated himself on the couch, pulling every available padd towards himself to research, as Kirk replicated dinner for them--- plomeek soup for Spock, a turkey sandwich for himself. He crossed to join Spock with their food, setting it on the coffee table in front of them, and they sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch, reading through the ship computer’s resources on Kindinos VI. The file was astonishingly sparse for a planet that supplied one of the Federation’s most valuable resources.

“There’s effectively nothing here,” Kirk said, as they got to the bottom of the document. “That’s all?” Spock frowned and scrolled back to the top.

“It seems so, captain,” Spock said, and tapped irritatedly at the search bar. Kirk watched as he tried various other options--- information on the system, the mining company, Dima Marcus himself--- but nothing further came up. “Not even a geological survey,” he said.

“It might be proprietary to the mining company, depending on who owns the planet. It’s not technically in Federation space.”

Spock hummed in acknowledgement. “We will need to exercise caution, Jim.”

“I always exercise caution.”

Spock’s eyes cut to him, but he didn’t refute the comment. “Depending on the source of the unrest, a Federation starship may not be a welcome visitor.”

“How do you mean?”

Spock leaned back against the couch, eyes thoughtful, and crossed his legs. His bony knee pressed into Kirk’s thigh. “The planet was uninhabited before the dilithium was discovered. The only people who live there now are those who are employed by the mine. I assume you are familiar with the great union riots of the 2030s on Earth.”

“I am,” Kirk said, suddenly aware of where Spock was going and uneasy with it.

“If the conflict is between classes of employees, or perhaps miners and management, the arrival of a consumer of their product may be viewed as harmful to their business.”

Kirk frowned. “You’re right,” he said. “So we’ll come in gentle. We won’t mention the distress call until we get someone to talk to and hear a little more about what’s going on.”

“A reasonable approach, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk leaned back against the couch to brush their shoulders together.

“We were already headed that way for a wellness check,” he said. “We’ll keep that story, say we got concerned when comms broke down and just wanted to see how they were doing. No mention of any problems until we get a hold of someone on the ground.”

“I think that will be best, captain.” Spock swapped the padd in his hand for one of the others on the coffee table, and skimmed through the document; over his shoulder, Kirk could see the stark, clinical titles from his regulation revision. “Tasking Admiral Pike with implementing the revision was logical.”

“If you let him hear you call him admiral again, I think he might actually run you down. That chair can get some real speed, you know.”

“I will endeavor to protect my knees, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk coughed out a surprised laugh. Spock glanced at him as he leaned back against the couch, and turned back to his padd as he said, “Marcus’s appearance distressed you.”

The disagreement leapt to Kirk’s lips. He bit it back. He could be honest. Spock had earned that, deserved that, from him.

“We got the message today, but it could be three days old,” he said. “A lot can happen in three days.” Spock did not look at him, but his knee pressed insistently against Kirk’s leg, and Kirk leaned against him. “And if that’s what the overman looked like three days ago, four days once we arrive, what shape is everyone else in?” They sat in silence for a moment before Kirk forced himself to put voice to the fear that howled from the back of his mind.

“Are there children on Kindinos?”

“It is impossible to be certain,” Spock said quietly. “But I have found no evidence that there is anyone but the employees of the mining company on the planet.” Kirk chewed the inside of his lip. “We will be prepared to act immediately upon arrival, captain. We acquired sufficient foodstuff and have enough staff to respond as soon as we ascertain the needs of the people on the planet.”

Kirk turned over Spock’s words in his mind, pressing their shoulders together, drawing comfort from his proximity and his logical consideration of Kirk’s fears. He watched over Spock’s shoulder as Spock re-read the preliminary report on Kindinos, committing the scant information to memory.

“I do not believe there is any other information that I can acquire on the planet at this time,” Spock eventually said, and Kirk sat up and arched, stretching his back. He was beginning to feel how Spock had thrown him through the ache in his muscles, and remembered the tingle of Spock dragging his hands across his skin. He stood and crossed the room, swinging his arms to stretch his shoulders, before turning and sitting on the edge of his desk. He considered Spock as his eyes lifted to meet Kirk’s, pulling slowly away from the padd in his hands.

“A shower, I think, before bed,” Kirk said. “We both smell like the gymnasium.” His stomach twinged pleasantly as he recalled the way Spock had moved under his hands that morning and against him in the turbolift later, and he admired the way Spock looked, lounged on their couch with his long legs crossed in front of him. He felt again that strange magnetism that pulled his hands to Spock, even at this distance; he felt that irrepressible need to be close to him, to feel his skin against his. But he no longer felt the vague discomfort of guilt at the idea; his attraction had been joyfully reciprocated.

“If you don’t want to, or if it’s too soon, I understand,” Kirk said. He held Spock’s gaze. “But if you did want to, you could join me.”

Spock straightened, his padd coming to rest flat against his thighs. Color rose faintly on his cheeks, and his eyes dropped to the floor before he raised them again.

“I would like that,” he said, his voice quiet. Kirk smiled and crossed the room back to him as pleasure at the idea sparked to life inside him. He offered his hand. With only a second’s hesitation, Spock took it, and Kirk pulled him up off the couch and to the bathroom door. Spock followed him in as Kirk crossed directly to Scotty’s half of the bathroom and locked the other door.

☆☆☆

Spock stood on the tile of the bathroom floor in his stockinged feet, arms crossed in front of himself, face impassive.

“Hey,” Kirk said, and put both hands on Spock’s shoulders, the fabric of his science shirt smooth under his hands. “I was serious. We don’t have to.”

Kirk felt Spock’s shoulders rise as he inhaled through his nose, and he looked down between them as he said again, “I would like to.” But he paused, and even without telepathy Kirk could feel his apprehension vibrating beneath his skin.

“You haven’t done this before,” Kirk said.

“I have not,” Spock confirmed. “Though your use of ‘this’ is alarmingly vague.” Kirk grinned and shook him gently by the shoulders.

“You’re sure, though?” Kirk asked. “Because we can wait.”

“I am sure,” Spock said, and his voice was steadier. He met Kirk’s eyes again, his eyes scorching, and uncrossed his arms, reaching one hand to Kirk’s waist. Kirk slid his hands down from Spock’s shoulders, over his ribs, down to his hips, and slipped one finger under the hem of his shirt.

“May I?” Kirk asked, voice dropping low, and Spock nodded. He slid both hands under Spock’s tunic and pulled it over his head. Spock lifted his arms, his undershirt riding up with the motion to reveal the taut skin of his stomach, the shirt’s journey over his neat hair disturbing its perfect alignment. Kirk balled up the shirt and tossed it in the recycler before turning back to Spock to claim his undershirt and trousers. But Spock reached for him first. Watching his own hands as if committing the movement to memory, Spock pulled his command golds off, skimming his hands over Kirk’s sides as he lifted, and placed the shirt in the recycler with his own. Kirk stepped closer and slid both hands under Spock’s undershirt, pressing them flat against the warmth of Spock’s back. Spock closed his eyes and nodded, and Kirk pulled the undershirt off of him.

He had seen Spock shirtless a hundred times before, in locker rooms, on away missions, in Sickbay, but never like this. He had never seen Spock with his clothes removed by Kirk’s own hands; his chest hair dark against his pale skin, the leanness of his frame belying his strength. Unable to stop himself, Kirk pressed one hand against his stomach, and felt Spock’s heart beneath his palm.

“Still okay?”

Spock nodded, and his eyes darkened as he pulled Kirk’s undershirt off. He skimmed a hand along the line of his shoulder, and the soft touch gave him goosebumps. Spock ran one long finger along the bumps on his arm.

“Are you cold, Jim?”

Kirk laughed. “No,” he said, and hooked two fingers into the waistband of Spock’s trousers. He pulled, and Spock stepped towards him, bringing them within inches of each other. He was acutely aware of the uneven rise and fall of Spock’s chest, of the slight tremor in his own hands. Spock looked down, replacing the touch of one finger against his goosebumps with his whole hand, and his soft breath against Kirk’s ear made him shiver.

“Are you certain?”

“It’s not from the cold, Spock,” Kirk said, skin tingling under Spock’s hands, and he unbuttoned Spock’s trousers. His knuckles brushed the line of hair that trailed into Spock’s pants. Spock stepped out of them as Kirk pulled them down, placing one hand against the wall for balance. Kirk noted the spread of his fingers and flushed as his mind supplied an image of what Spock’s hands might look like, both pressed against the wall of the shower. Down, boy, he told himself. He was going to let Spock set the pace for whatever they did. But Spock stood before him in his boxers and socks, all long, lean lines and chest hair, and some of the nervous tension had left his gestures when he reached for the button of Kirk’s pants.

“May I?” Spock asked, his mouth next to Kirk’s ear, and when Kirk nodded, his nimble fingers made quick work of the fastenings. Kirk stepped out of his pants and tossed both pairs into the recycler. Spock reached for him, running his hand down Kirk’s arm, eyes following a similar path down the line of his throat and over his chest, lingering at his shorts. Spock exhaled sharply before bringing his hands to the waistband of his own shorts. He met Kirk’s eyes and raised one eyebrow, and Kirk’s mouth dried up as Spock removed the last of his clothing and stood bare before him. Spock, naked, was incredible to behold: every line of him elegant like a dancer, the thin trail of hair down his chest and stomach leading to his half-hard cock, flushed green and double-ridged.

“You’re beautiful,” Kirk said, and watched in fascination as a flush crept down Spock’s neck and across his chest. With Spock’s eyes glued to his hands, he slowly pulled his own shorts down and tossed them and his socks into the recycler. He stood before Spock’s gaze as it swept from his face, down over his torso, to his exposed cock and thighs, and back to his face.

“Jim,” Spock said, hoarse, and reached for him. His hand slid up Kirk’s shoulder, over and behind his neck, and pulled him in as Kirk slid his arms around his back. Their bodies collided as their lips met, and Spock brought both hands up to frame his face. Spock’s chest hair scraped his torso, his cock pressing against Kirk’s hipbone, and he shuddered as Kirk ran his hands from his shoulder blades to the curve of his ass, breathing hard against his mouth. Kirk pulled back to see his face, to gauge if he needed to slow down, but Spock chased him across the distance, eyes dark and intense, to kiss him again. Kirk sighed into Spock’s mouth at the brush of his tongue against his, his hands roaming over his back, and Spock pushed them backwards to press Kirk against the countertop. Kirk’s whole body sang at the pressure of Spock against him, his fingertips digging dimples into his skin. He could feel Spock hardening against him, the twitch of his hips as Kirk shifted, and he pulled one hand between them to press Spock backwards.

“Shower,” he said, and Spock nodded. Kirk crossed to the shower, setting the water to something he thought would be comfortable for both of them and testing it with his hand. Spock followed behind him. Kirk leaned back until his shoulders pressed against Spock’s chest, and rested his head back against Spock’s shoulder.

“You can touch me,” he said quietly. “However you’re comfortable.” Spock hummed his assent, the sound reverberating in his chest. He wrapped his arms around Kirk from behind, clasping his hands at his navel and dropping his head to press a kiss to the meat of Kirk’s shoulder. He dragged his lips from that point of contact, up his neck, to his ear, where he kissed the rounded top. Kirk shivered at his breath against the shell of his ear.

“God, Spock,” he whispered, and ran his hand along his forearm. He felt Spock’s minute tremble under the touch of his hand, felt his chest expand with a jagged breath against his back. He pulled away to step under the warm stream of water, letting it pour over his head for a second, before he turned back. Spock stared at him as he slicked his wet hair back. His hands hung open, empty, next to him, and he saw one twitch towards him. Spock’s eyes were wide and dark, drinking him in, and Kirk grinned broadly at him. Holding Spock’s gaze, he ran his tongue against his lower lip.

Spock surged towards him, meeting him under the water, wrapping both arms around him before pressing them both backwards. Kirk hissed into Spock’s mouth as his back hit the cold tile of the shower wall, arching towards him, wrapping both arms around his shoulders. Spock ground his hips against him, and the moan that escaped from somewhere deep in his chest set Kirk’s blood on fire. He opened his eyes and ran one hand over Spock, dragging down and catching one nipple with his thumb. Spock shuddered. Water dripped down his nose, and his mouth was half-open as his eyes fluttered shut; he was so beautiful that Kirk’s teeth ached with it. For a moment his head spun as he recognized, as if from outside of his own body, that he was in his shower, grinding his hard-on against his first officer-turned-husband’s. Minutes ago they had been in his quarters, talking about a mission, planning for the away team strategy over dinner, and now they were here, gasping into each other’s mouths. If this was marriage, he thought, then he was looking forward to many more years of it.

He slid his hand down further, and Spock opened his eyes. “Is this alright?”

Spock nodded, pressing their foreheads together, and Kirk ran his fingers up Spock’s thigh before slowly wrapping his hand around his cock. Kirk stared in wonder at the microexpressions that flickered across Spock’s face at the contact, as his eyes rolled back even as they slid shut, as his hand spasmed against Kirk’s back where it still held him. He started gently, rolling his wrist as he stroked loosely, and Spock’s hips twitched. His breathing was uneven, shallow and rapid, and when Kirk leaned forward to capture his mouth again Spock groaned into him. He swallowed the noise, pulling Spock’s lip between his teeth, sucking on his tongue, and the rhythm of his kisses grew more unsteady with every pass of his hand.

He twisted his hand slowly and Spock pulled one hand from behind Kirk’s back to plant it unsteadily against the wall of the shower. Kirk glanced at it in awe, at the water dripping down to his angular wrist from long fingers, splayed against the tile. He closed his hand over both ridges and swiped his thumb over the head, and he felt the sticky slide of precome on his hand as Spock dropped his head to Kirk’s shoulder. Kirk turned his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Spock’s neck, running his unoccupied hand up to tease at his nipples, and Spock shuddered fully against him.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “I can’t believe--- I wasn’t sure---” He shut his mouth and turned his head, pressing a kiss to Spock’s wrist to prevent himself from saying anything unforgivably vapid, and increased the speed of his hand. Spock’s hips rocked in time with his movement, his breath coming harshly, and when he increased the pressure Spock keened quietly and pressed his mouth down against the meat of Kirk’s shoulder. He felt Spock begin to tremble, heard the voiceless whine catch in the back of his throat, and he continued the pace of his hand, bringing the other up to cradle the back of Spock’s head.

“Jim,” Spock said, wrecked and ragged, and Kirk kissed the side of his head. “I---” His trembling intensified, long thighs tensing; his lungs heaved like bellows, and the hand planted against the wall flexed unconsciously.

“Good,” Kirk murmured. “I want you to.” It was not lost on him that he was the first person to have ever seen Spock like this, held him and felt him like this, and he seared it in his memory: the deep timbre of his groan, the hitch in his breathing, the weight of his head on his shoulder, the way the hand that he still pressed against the small of Kirk’s back pulled him ever closer.

Spock came with Kirk’s hand wrapped around him, his face pressed into the crook of Kirk’s neck, pulsing up over Kirk’s fist and their stomachs. Kirk, more aroused than he had ever been in his entire life and so desperately in love that he thought his lungs might burst with it, stroked him through it and took more of his weight as Spock relaxed against him. For a moment Spock leaned into him, mouth pressed into his shoulder, Kirk’s shoulders pressed against the wall of the shower, and he ran his hands up and down Spock’s back, brushing from the crown of his head to the base of his spine. Spock’s breathing slowed, and he dropped his hand from the wall as he lifted his head to meet Kirk’s eyes.

“Hey, you,” Kirk said.

“Hello,” Spock said, and he tentatively brushed a lock of wet hair from Kirk’s forehead, fingertips skimming over his eyebrow. Kirk put his palm flat against Spock’s sternum, feeling the warmth of him, his once-again steady breathing, and pushed him further under the water. He stepped backwards, watching Kirk with those warm eyes, and Kirk pulled his washcloth from the rack and dispensed soap onto it. He lathered it up and met Spock under the water. Spock was pliant as he ran the washcloth over his shoulders, down his arms, and he allowed Kirk to manipulate him to get under his arms, running the cloth over his palms and down his chest.

“I am capable of cleansing myself,” Spock said, but there was no real rebuke in it.

“I know,” Kirk said. “But I want to do it for you.” He ran the cloth gently over his thighs, swiping between his legs, before pushing on one shoulder. Spock turned, allowing him unfettered access to his back.

Kirk swept the washcloth over the broad expanse of his fine-boned shoulders and said, “Will you indulge my curiosity for a moment?”

“Yes,” Spock said, and turned his head slightly to listen. Kirk ran the washcloth down his spine, trailing his other hand through the bubbles left behind.

“When did you know?”

Spock’s silence was contemplative, and Kirk waited. He ran the washcloth over Spock’s ribs and down his hips until it was clear that it was only an excuse to touch him, and even then continued.

“There is no ambiguity in relationships among my people,” Spock said. “Either there is already a bond, such as that between parents and child, or bondmates, and there is no question of what the relationship is; or there is no bond. Our telepathy, our culture, leaves very little room for the question of ‘what if.’” Kirk basked in his deep voice bouncing off the tiles, reverberating through the small space. “When we first met, I was betrothed. Though there was no affection between myself and T’Pring, I did not think that status would change. This was a miscalculation on my part, but one I find that I am now grateful for.”

Spock paused, and Kirk stayed where he was behind him, hands skimming up and down Spock’s arms. “You are my friend,” Spock said. “But I had never before known ambiguity in a relationship. I did not understand how the line between friendship and more may be blurred, and therefore did not recognize it when it happened. It was not until I was threatened with a future that did not include you that I realized that my sentiment had exceeded its original parameters.”

“Wait,” Kirk said, hands pausing in their steady rhythm at Spock’s wrists. “So then you already knew by the time I found out about the offer. You’ve wanted this… since the beginning?”

“That is correct.” Kirk squeezed Spock’s wrists and pressed his forehead to the back of Spock’s neck.

“I though…” Kirk’s heart felt like it was expanding in his chest as he reevaluated, day by day, the circuitous path that had taken them from his nervous proposal in Spock’s old quarters to this moment. “I thought you just didn’t want to leave the Enterprise.” Spock hummed, and Kirk felt it vibrate through him, where he was pressed to him.

“You were the one who assumed the Enterprise as the referent point,” Spock said, and Kirk could almost feel his amusement. “I simply did not correct you.” Kirk lifted his head and continued running his hands over Spock’s arms, feeling the strong lines of his muscle, the upright set of his shoulders.

“And you agreed to a fake marriage anyway? Even before knowing how this would go, even before I had caught up?” Kirk laughed softly, shaking his head. “Humans would call that being a glutton for punishment.”

“It is no punishment to be where I want to be, captain,” Spock said, and Kirk again pressed his head against his. “But after meditation and---” he cleared his throat, and Kirk looked up to see a faint flush of color on his cheeks--- “an illuminating series of conversations with Nyota, I believe I know when this… ambiguity began.”

“Will you tell me?” Kirk asked, and Spock turned in his arms. He took the washcloth from Kirk’s hand, applied more soap, and rubbed it to a lather.

“Babel,” Spock said, and slid the soapy washcloth over Kirk’s shoulders. Kirk watched him; watched the water drip over his eyebrows and cheekbones, down the line of his throat, over the steady movements of his hands.

“Even though I lied to you?”

“By saving my father from my decision, you preserved not only his life, but the wellbeing of my mother through her bondmate and any future possibility for me of repairing my familial bonds.” Spock ran the washcloth carefully over Kirk’s chest and stomach, wiping away the evidence of his orgasm, before turning Kirk around to wash his back. He said quietly, “That was the first time that I saw logic bow to kindness. And the first time that such a kindness had been extended to me.”

The rough fabric of the washcloth vanished, replaced by Spock’s hands, sliding over Kirk’s shoulders and down his arms. He stepped closer behind him, his chest against his back, his cheekbone pressed to Kirk’s temple. “When did you become aware?”

“I think it had been building for a while,” Kirk said, and let Spock take more of his weight against his chest as they stood beneath the water. “When April called me and told me about your promotion, I panicked. I wasn’t ready for you to leave. But it wasn’t until the night that I kissed you for the first time that I realized why I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Spock unclasped his hands, pressing them to Kirk’s stomach, pulling him closer. Kirk turned his head, pressing his forehead against Spock’s cheek. “But I think you knew that.”

“Any sense of ambiguity disappeared the night of our wedding,” Spock said, and Kirk could feel his voice through his chest, against his back. “When I took your hands.”

“Ah,” Kirk said, smiling, and lifted his hand to put it on the back of Spock’s head. “You mean I wasn’t successful in hiding my feelings from you that night?”

“You are many things, captain, but subtle is not usually one of them. What I felt from you, and what I felt in response…” Spock paused, pressed to him. “It was unambiguous.” They stood together under the shower for another minute, breathing in time with each other, before Spock inhaled deeply and slid his hand down through the hair on his stomach, towards his thighs.

“Spock,” Kirk whispered, as his body responded to the gentle touch. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” Spock said, voice low in his ear. “But I desire to do it for you.” He wrapped one arm around Kirk, holding him back against his chest, and curled those long, graceful fingers around him in one unselfconscious move. He dropped his head back onto Spock’s shoulder as the water ran down his chest, Spock’s hands burning brands into his skin, his mouth pressing kisses into his neck, and the way Spock touched him made him feel brand new.

Had any of his previous lovers been so attuned to every twitch and sigh? Had he ever been so comfortable with someone, allowing them to care for him, without feeling the need to remove the center of attention from himself? He couldn’t remember the last time that he had allowed someone to focus entirely on him, insist on his pleasure, single-mindedly pursue it with that inhuman concentration--- but now he did. Spock chased his moans out of his mouth, turning him around to hold him against the wall and kiss him, hand moving ceaselessly on him, and Kirk held onto his shoulders and pressed his head against his neck and let Spock’s insistent rhythm push all other thoughts but him, him, him, yes, yes, yes out of his head.

☆☆☆

Dried and dressed, Kirk and Spock sat side-by-side in the bed, reading over the updates that Uhura and Giotto had sent. The security teams were ready, briefed on what little they knew about the mission, and would be ready to beam down with them as soon as they knew what was going on. Uhura had sent an audiological report that made Kirk uneasy: the audio in the recording was degraded, fuzzy after its travel through space, but it was her professional opinion that the video was legitimate and that the explosions in the background were not from military munitions but industrial machinery.

He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“There could be some sort of geological disturbance,” Spock said, as Kirk leaned against him and scanned through Uhura’s report again.

“Or the miners could be weaponizing the machinery if they are fighting the management,” Kirk said, and Spock inclined his head in agreement. “I think we ought to beam down first,” he continued. “Before sending down the security teams. See if we can’t find someone to talk to, who might be able to give us more information. I don’t want to add more weapons into a volatile situation.”

Spock exhaled quietly through his nose. Kirk turned to him. “You don’t like my plan?”

“Your plan is sound,” Spock allowed. He looked at Kirk, warm dark eyes flicking between his own and the padd. “Is there any possibility of convincing you to remain aboard the ship until the situation on the ground has been ascertained?”

“Of course not,” Kirk said, narrowing his eyes. “You know I won’t order my crew into anything that I won’t go into myself.” Spock looked back to the padd in his lap before twining his fingers through Kirk’s.

“I know, captain,” Spock said. He was silent for a moment before he said, “I am going with you.” Kirk took one more glance over the reports from his team before he closed the padd and set it aside, leaning over to rest his head on Spock’s shoulder.

“I rely on it,” he said quietly. “On you coming with me.” So smoothly and gracefully he didn’t realize at first what he was doing, Spock slid them both down the bed until they were horizontal, laying next to each other.

“I must admit, illogical though it is, I do have a preference among the revelations from the past week.”

“A daring admission, Mr. Spock. Please, do tell.”

“The rule that the security team follows,” Spock said, the chocolate brown of his eyes warm in the light of their quarters. “That on away missions, they can trust that I will be where you are.” Beneath the comforter, Kirk lifted Spock’s arm to slide himself beneath it and lay his head on his shoulder. Such boldness, he thought, even as Spock adjusted to make room for him.

“That might be my favorite, too,” Kirk said. “That, or the nurses’ log.”

Spock hummed in consideration. “It was their log that first showed me that you treated me in the same manner that I treated you.”

Kirk lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

“After I became aware of my own affection, I assumed that you would not reciprocate. I had no evidence to the contrary, and I did not desire to assign meaning to the emotions transferred through your touch without more context.” Spock turned to meet his eyes. “I was unaware of how much time you spent in Sickbay when you were not required to be there.” Kirk lay back down and ordered the lights off.

“If you like, Mr. Spock, I’ll start waking you when you’re in Medbay and I come to see you,” Kirk teased. “So you can know when your captain is worrying about you.”

“A considerate gesture,” Spock said. “Might I suggest, however, spending less time in Medbay and more time practicing self-preservation?”

“Hey,” Kirk complained, curling closer to Spock’s warmth, thrilling at the way his hand slipped beneath his sleep shirt to press possessively against his hip. “I thought we were talking about you.”

“I believe we could ask Dr. McCoy to analyze who spends more time on a biobed,” Spock said. “If I am remembering correctly, you have spent at least 11.8% more time, comparatively---” His sentence ended rather abruptly as Kirk stretched up to kiss him instead, and he rolled towards Kirk immediately to place a hand against his face and kiss him in return.

As they broke apart and settled down to sleep, Kirk thought that he had just discovered a way to increase the number of future disagreements that he won quite considerably.

☆☆☆

Jimmy was back in the treehouse on Tarsus, during one of the early days. But he looked around at his sleeping kids, and there was one extra body laying on the wooden floor. He counted them again: Kevin and Mira and Ellie, then Tommy and Laika and himself. And then the last body, laying with his back to Jimmy, shivering in the light wind. Jimmy crawled over to him, quietly so as to not disturb the littles, and shook the stranger’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he said. “Who are you?”

Dima Marcus rolled over, face shrunken and skeletal with hunger, and whispered, “Help me.”

Kirk woke to the darkness of his own room, and to Spock’s hand sliding across the bed to find him.

“Are you distressed, Jim?”

“It was just a nightmare,” Kirk said, and he fought his instinct to squirm out from under that telepathic hand. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

“Will you be returning to sleep?”

Kirk hesitated, and in the silence Spock read his answer. He heard Spock roll over to face him as he retracted his hand back to his side of the bed.

“Do you wish to discuss it?”

His immediate answer was no. His second answer was absolutely not. But his third answer was a little less defensive, a little more willing to share the burden. Three days ago he would have refused to open up. But tonight, in the dark, after Spock had proven over and over again that he was not going to leave, maybe he could bear a little vulnerability.

“It’s all too close to the surface,” he said. “I need more time. Two weeks ago, I don’t think Marcus would have rattled me at all. Today?” He scoffed a little. “After the past seventy-two hours? Everything reminds me of the colony.”

“What would you do, given more time?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rolling to lay flat on his back, staring at his familiar ceiling, cast in the light of his alarm clock. “Sort out this one problem, and then move onto other missions. Get my head on right again.”

“I believe your head is attached to your body correctly, captain,” Spock said solemnly, and Kirk huffed out a laugh before sliding his hand across the bed. Spock met it with his own, entwining their fingers gently.

“I spent years locking all this away so that it wouldn’t interfere with anything else,” Kirk eventually said. “I’m still glad to know the truth, or be closer to it. Or something. But I can’t help but feel that I would be better prepared for tomorrow if I hadn’t…” What? Unlocked everything that he had kept hidden away? Opened Pandora’s box of Starfleet conspiracies?

“In the years since I have come to know you, I have never feared that you would allow your emotions to disrupt your command. This has not changed.” Spock’s thumb traced a gentle line over the back of his hand, and Kirk lay on his back and breathed. “We will assist the people on Kindinos VI however we are able, and afterwards we will continue to investigate what you witnessed. But I do not think that your abilities have been diminished because you are now acknowledging an unresolved issue.”

Kirk squeezed his hand. “I’m worried about what all this will do to Kevin, too. To the other survivors.”

“I do not doubt that it will be a painful process. But if I may be forthright, captain, I believe a future in which the perpetrators are brought to justice would be preferable to a future in which the burden of secrecy remains with you.”

They lay in silence. Kirk listened to the steady rhythm of Spock’s breathing, and matched his own to it, and it helped to relieve the tension that had clenched his shoulders in the aftermath of his dream.

“I would still like to cross-reference Lieutenant Riley’s medical records with your own,” Spock said. “But I have also been thinking about other sources of clandestine information.”

“Oh?”

“When I was… involved, in some of Michael’s efforts, I became aware of Admiral April’s role as a liaison between Section 31 and the rest of Starfleet during the conflict. He made his distaste for the organization clear, but he may have useful information to offer from that experience.”

“April?” Kirk asked, the disbelief apparent in his voice, even to him. “That’s hard to imagine. If there were a pictographic representation of ‘hardass’ or ‘by the book’ in the dictionary, it would just be a picture of his face.” He sighed. “We’ll have enough quality time with him over the next two weeks, though. It’s a good idea.”

“We can request that he provide us with additional information about Section 31 as a wedding gift,” Spock said, and Kirk snorted in surprise laughter. He rolled over, away from Spock, but pulled him towards him by their connected hands. Spock obligingly draped himself over Kirk, burying his face in the back of his neck.

“Why the hell did Elise go to such lengths to keep me quiet, when you’ve been walking around with all these dangerous details for years?” Spock’s breath gusted softly against the fine hairs at the nape of Kirk’s neck, and he shivered lightly.

“I estimate that they assumed a betrothed Vulcan on a ship of humans would never build such a level of rapport as to share those details,” Spock said, and Kirk grinned in the darkness.

“A grave miscalculation,” Kirk said, and Spock’s arm tightened over his chest.

“Indeed.”

☆☆☆

Kirk was awakened the next morning, not by the harsh trilling of his alarm clock, but by a warm hand sweeping softly down the side of his face. He blinked awake. Spock sat on the edge of the bed, in uniform, leaning over him.

“Hello, Jim,” he said, and Kirk smiled.

“Hey, you,” he said. “Up early?”

“I meditated,” Spock said, and leaned back to allow Kirk to sit up and stretch, sliding out of bed around him and pressing a kiss to the shoulder of Spock’s shirt as he passed.

“Needed a respite from me and all my illogical human touching?”

Spock, turning to watch him cross to the closet and pull out his uniform, said, “Never.” Kirk grinned with no slight satisfaction as Spock, face carefully impassive but eyes hawkish, watched him strip out of his pajamas and step into his uniform. He finished dressing and came to stand in front of Spock, where he still sat on the edge of the bed. He stepped into Spock’s space, between his legs, and Spock let him push his knees apart. Kirk tilted his face up with two fingers, leaning down to him, and said huskily, “Big day ahead.”

Kirk could see the carefully restrained eye roll that he almost certainly deserved for the figure of speech, but Spock let him kiss him anyway, so he thought he might have been forgiven.

Kirk and Spock stepped out of their quarters into a tense and subdued atmosphere, and Kirk’s heart sank. The safe comfort of their room melted away as the crisis on Kindinos VI took center-stage in his mind, and he pushed everything but the people they might find, and the help they might need, to the backburner. They had a brief breakfast, with an extra cup of coffee, and then he strode onto the bridge with Spock a half-step behind to relieve the delta shift.

“Approaching hailing distance in thirty minutes, sir,” the delta helmsman said, as Sulu slid into his seat.

“Noted, thank you, helmsman,” Kirk said. The next thirty minutes passed in a blur of details: Giotto’s list of security teams, Uhura’s follow-up report on the details of Marcus’s accent, Spock’s more and more elaborate search queries returning nothing useful on Kindinos or the mining company.

Finally, Uhura said from behind him, “Hailing range of Kindinos VI, sir.” Kindinos was a drab little planet in the viewscreen; brown and red and gray, with no visible bodies of water or splashes of green to indicate plant life. According to the sparse report he had read the night before, Kindinos had a Class M atmosphere--- barely. It looked nothing like Tarsus, and yet there was an ache in his stomach that he couldn’t settle.

“Hail on all frequencies, Lieutenant.”

“Hailing, captain.” Kirk turned to watch her as she pressed her hand to her earpiece, head tilting as she listened to whatever reached them from the beyond. Half a minute passed. Kirk watched her, her eyes flicking over the console readouts, one hand dancing lightly on the frequency tuner, before she turned back to him.

“No response, sir.”

“Let’s try them again.” The bridge hushed around him as Uhura spun back to her console, deft hands flying over the controls with her bright silver earpiece sparkling under the lights. Another thirty seconds passed, her shoulders creeping upwards with tension as she listened. The silence on the bridge was oppressive. She pulled the piece from her ear and turned back.

“Nothing, sir. I can’t even get acknowledgement from their receiver.” Kirk ignored the way his stomach sank and turned to his first officer.

“What’s the population of the planet, Mr. Spock?”

“It had been uninhabited before the dilithium was discovered and the mine was built. Estimates place the population now at five thousand individuals, mostly human, all employees of Dextrum Mining Corporation.” Kirk nodded as Spock glanced over his shoulder at him, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. He stared at the little brown planet.

“Take us into orbit, Mr. Sulu,” he said. “We’re going to beam down and see if we can’t find anyone who can tell us a little bit about what’s going on.” He commed Giotto to have him meet them at the transporter with two teams. “Mr. Spock, with me. Sulu, you have the conn.”

The turbolift door opened. April and Pike exited. Eyes flashing immediately to the planet on the viewscreen, April asked, “Were you able to raise them?”

“No, sir,” Kirk said, and did his best to ignore April’s determination to be involved in ship’s business, despite his rank and protests of other work to do. “All frequencies, twice, nothing. We’re going down with security to see if we can find anyone to talk to.”

“I will join the away team,” April said, and stared Kirk down as if daring him to argue. Kirk considered it. But even if he told April he couldn’t participate, April would just override his orders. “I’ve met Dextrum’s owner before. An unpleasant man, but if he knows anything, he might be more likely to tell a familiar face.”

Kirk clenched his jaw. Did April miss the days when the Enterprise was his? Was he so desperate to prove that his relationship with Spock was bad for his command? But the admiral’s rank tied his hands.

He simply said, “Thank you, Admiral. Your familiarity will prove useful.” He and Spock crossed back to the turbolift, April following them, and nodded to Sulu as he replaced Kirk in the center chair. As they passed Chris, Chris met his eyes and glanced at the padd balanced on his chair.

“Logistics,” he said, and caught Kirk’s eye. Kirk nodded, and some of his tension lifted. Even if Kindinos was in famine, Spock’s regulation revision and Chris’s efforts would make it easier to distribute food. They would be prepared for whatever they found. Kirk would be prepared for whatever they found.

“Admiral, would you mind staying with Sulu? I’d appreciate you on deck if it comes to that.”

“Yes, captain,” Chris said, and navigated the hoverchair down to sit next to Sulu. Kirk, Spock, and April piled into the turbolift, and the doors closed behind them, erasing the bridge from their vision.

“Transporter,” Kirk told the lift, and it began its descent. There were two seconds of silence before April, glancing between them, said, “You’re both going?”

“Yes,” Kirk bit out. It was technically against regulation, and he knew it, and April knew he knew it, but he had also never been on a ship that actually followed that rule. April opened his mouth but Spock interrupted him, facing resolutely forward.

“As the highest-ranking science officer, and the only one with security and conflict certifications, it is logical for me to join away teams on potentially dangerous missions.”

April side-eyed him. “And the captain is going because…?”

“Kindinos VI is not in Federation space, and Dextrum Mining Corporation not a Federation organization. Captain Kirk is present as a representative of Starfleet and the Federation as a matter of diplomacy.” Spock did not say obviously out loud, but it was nearly impossible to miss through his tone, and Kirk suppressed his appreciative grin.

April exhaled loudly through his nose, but he didn’t say anything further, and the turbolift door opened to reveal a busy transporter room. Scotty stood at the control panel, scanning his readouts, as Giotto and eight security officers waited in body armor, checking and rechecking the environmental protection suits strapped to their backs. Giotto gave him a firm nod as they entered, but he wasn’t kitted out like the others--- he would manage their movements from the ship, where he could see all the teams’ movements.

“Admiral,” Giotto said, and shook his hand. Kirk slipped away to sidle up to Scotty at the controls, and Scotty smiled distractedly at him.

“Supervision, sir?” The Scotsman’s voice was quiet, and he glanced at the admiral.

“Seems so. He says he knows someone down there.”

“Aye, but it seems dangerous to send the brass into what might be a war zone,” Scotty said, leaning closer to drop his voice further.

“I agree, but I couldn’t exactly tell him no.” Kirk looked over at April again, who talked seriously to Giotto. He didn’t give off the impression that he wanted to relive his glory days as a starship captain--- and yet here he was, joining the away mission. Kirk felt something press into his hand, and he glanced down.

“Just in case,” Scotty said, and glanced between Kirk, Spock, and Admiral April. “It’s still untested, but in theory it should work.” In Kirk’s palm lay a heavy comms device; the prototype that Scotty had been working on the week prior, now soldered shut and seemingly operational. “Flip it open, hit the button, and we’ll try to get you out. Let’s try for just one at a time at first, though, hmm?”

“Thanks, Scotty,” Kirk said, and clasped his shoulder gratefully. “I hope we won’t need it.”

“I do too, sir,” Scotty said, and Kirk left him to return to Spock’s side, where the Vulcan gazed calmly over the assembled crew. He cleared his throat loudly, and the room fell silent around him.

“We were unable to contact the miners on Kindinos VI upon our arrival,” he said to the away teams. “The last contact we had was the message for help, sent three days ago. We are beaming down to ascertain the situation, assess the need for medical aid or humanitarian assistance, and discover the cause of their silence. We don’t know the cause of any potential disaster, or what situation we may find on the ground, so take every precaution. Any questions?”

His crew, silent and ready, shook their heads. He nodded at them, looking around to make eye contact with each of them. “Be safe. Be careful. Check in with the ship every thirty minutes.” Giotto handed him an environmental suit, and he slung it over his back as April and Spock did the same.

The weight on his back settled him. Kirk strode onto the transporter pad, Spock a half-step behind him, and took his place on one of the plates. He settled his shoulders back, bracing himself. He did not know what they would find; whether they were walking into an active conflict, or if an earthquake or other disaster had wrought ruin on the mine. But though Marcus wore the sharp bones of starvation, Kindinos was not Tarsus. His crew was prepared. They were here to help, and they were going to be fine.

Spock claimed the plate to his right, and April stepped up to his left. Kirk mechanically and automatically ran his hands over his belt for his phaser and comm unit, feeling the experimental one tucked into his inner pocket, and then nodded to Scotty.

“Energize.”

#spirk #spirk fan fiction #k/s fan fiction #kirk/spock #kirk/spock fan fiction #fake married #regulatory relations #my writing #hi everyone hope you're having a good day love you

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cindylouwho-2 · 23 days

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RECENT ECOMMERCE NEWS (INCLUDING ETSY), Early April 2024

Welcome to my coverage of all the important Etsy and other ecommerce news that microbusinesses need to know! It's been a few weeks since my last update, so there is a fair amount to report.

Want to get the news more often and in a more timely fashion? Please sign up to support my Patreon site, where among other features, I will soon be starting periodical live chats on important topics. (I promise there will be one the day Etsy announces a fee increase)

TOP NEWS & ARTICLES

Etsy has made changes to how processing times and estimated delivery dates work; I covered everything you need to know in this post.

Etsy seems to be sending more Messages to the spam folder, so you may miss a real message. After reading that thread, I checked, and there was one from another seller needing help from just 5 hours ago. Etsy did say engineers are looking into it.

UPS has won the USPS air cargo contract, currently held by FedEx. It kicks in at the end of September. “As of May 31, 2023, FedEx counted the USPS as the largest customer of its Express unit.”

ETSY NEWS

Etsy is rolling out a new seller pricing tool, and it is just as useless as the old version. I posted some early thoughts (with screenshots).

Some shop owners are struggling to cancel Etsy coupons, while others are not having the same problem. Support says the company is aware of the issue.

If you still can't access most of the Etsy forum after the changes on Tuesday March 26, post in this Technical Issues thread so that your account can be fixed.

Periodically, some shops suddenly stop getting deposits. If your shop has recently had a security warning, you may want to check to see if your bank account is still verified with Etsy.

Looks like Etsy has an issue with misrepresenting how many items are left for each listing on the app; I wrote about it here.

Canadians getting harassed by Etsy to sign up for TurboTax should know that the company has told a seller that it doesn’t import Etsy data into your tax return for you; that is only available for Americans. [If you can’t import your info from your various platforms, my suggestion is use a free online program to file instead; I’ve used Wealthsimple for several years with no issues filing small business taxes; the T-2125 is part of the program.]

Etsy’s activist investor seems to think that the marketplace can “…add more buyers and increase the amount of money they spend on the platform”. But “monetization opportunities” were also mentioned.

Etsy is yet again called out for allowing AI-generated porn on the site. “Several of the available listings also appear to violate existing trademarks — TheStreet identified listings that sell NSFW (not safe for work) AI-generated, suggestive images that appear to mimic Rapunzel from Disney's "Tangled," Princess Jasmine from Disney's "Aladdin" and She-Hulk from Marvel's "She-Hulk."

Etsy has been talking a lot about "image quality" lately, but doesn't really define the term anywhere. While I agree with those that say it is more than image size - Etsy would not have humans curating images to train its AI if "quality" could simply be measured by pixels - note that Google Shopping Ads describe image quality as size. “The resolution of your product images determines its quality. Google considers images with more than 1024 pixels as high-resolution images.”

Apparently Etsy CEO Josh Silverman likes to make “unorthodox, downright risky career decisions” that often involve a ton of responsibility. [Link to podcast in article; I haven’t listened to it]

ECOMMERCE NEWS (minus social media)

General

Patreon’s live chats are now accessible on the web (instead of just the app). A creator can assign moderators, and have chats for different categories of members.

Canadians: beware that new tax rules requiring digital platform operators to report their users’ income to the Canada Revenue Agency are expected for 2025. These laws would make Canada similar to the United States and the United Kingdom, among others.

Amazon

Amazon is struggling to verify the VAT status of many UK sellers, and the fact the company holds all funds until the process is complete means many sellers are without income.

eBay

eBay is offering 3 free “express payouts” to select US sellers by email only, available until June 30th. Money is paid to seller debit cards and can take a half hour or more to receive. (The usual cost is 1.5%.)

If you use eBay For Charity, you may want to check to see if the charity is getting paid, as some apparently are not.

If you advertise on eBay, or just list inconsistently, you may be interested in the marketing trends calendar for 2024. It shows you when certain types of searches peak.

Michaels Makerplace

The landing page for Makerplace sellers doesn’t provide a lot of hard details; some of the actual policies appear once you begin to sign up. Here’s how they define handmade:

Thanks to Bluesky user Brushfeather for the info.

Shopify

Shopify is putting more effort into large businesses these days, despite its core offerings targeting small and medium-sized businesses for years. [soft paywall; Business Insider] The company “...has made a concerted effort over the last 18 months to introduce more software solutions to win over larger merchants. It has enhanced Shopify Plus, a higher-tier subscription with more features, and launched Hydrogen, a more custom framework geared toward retailers with more complex needs...Shopify introduced Commerce Components, an offering that allows merchants to integrate parts of Shopify's software into their existing tech stack. Mattel was its first retail partner for that product, and Everlane has since adopted Shop Pay as a stand-alone component.”

CEO Tobi Lutke recently received almost $200 million CAD in Shopify stock options, “one of the largest compensation packages in Canadian history.” As company founder, he now has around $8 billion worth of Shopify stock.

CIRRO Fulfillment now integrates with Shopify.

Squarespace

Squarespace is rolling out Squarespace Payments to sellers in the United States, and they expect to add more countries later this year. Fees are in line with other payment processors.

All Other Marketplaces

Mercari is following Depop and is ending seller transaction fees while adding a buyer fee. There is now a seller earnings withdrawal fee of $2, however, plus the pricing only applies to items listed after the announcement on March 27th, and sellers now have to accept returns for any reason, within 72 hours of receipt. I suppose this fee might work for buyers if many are also sellers on Mercari or elsewhere, and are buying stock. If you see a good deal you know you can flip with a good margin, you might not mind paying a buyers fee on top of the listing price. The only other way I can see being willing to pay a buyers fee is if you are so enamoured with the platform and its culture that it is worth paying more for. Or maybe I am just out of touch… The Mercari CEO basically calls out Etsy for raising seller fees too much [soft paywall; Modern Retail]: “I’m not going to mention them by name, but you have marketplaces that have a lot of makers, a lot of people that create things, and the fees around selling on those platforms have just been going up a lot very aggressively”. [my emphasis] Mercari wants fees to remain competitive while attracting better inventory. Another article on Mercari’s announcement mentions Etsy by name when discussing seller fees.

Mercari might want to consult lawyers the next time the site makes changes, though, as many sellers were furious that their existing balances were now subject to withdrawal fees without any warning, leading some to file complaints with the FTC. That led the company to announce that “On March 27, 2024, Mercari announced that it would begin charging a $2 fee(s) (“ACH Charge”) for all ACH direct deposit requests. Effective immediately through April 3, 2024 at 11:59 P.M. Pacific Daylight Time (“Waiver Period”), Mercari will waive the ACH Charge for ACH direct deposit requests made prior to the end of the Waiver Period for all eligible account holders.” Those who already incurred withdrawal charges will get refunds.

And because apparently you can never have enough Mercari news, they’ve introduced a listing importer for eBay and Depop. It uses AI.

AliExpress will now do livestream shopping events in the UK.

Payment Processing

PayPal users in the US will soon have only 30 days after delivery to file a significantly not described claim in most cases. Items not delivered by 180 days will still have the full 180 days.

Shipping

UPS is planning on closing about 200 facilities in the United States, and hopes to save money by instead using more automated hubs. Having fewer employees and consolidating locations is expected to save the company around $3 billion by the end of 2028.

FedEx is continuing to combine its Express and Ground pickups and deliveries, both to save money and to make pickups easier on customers.

#EtsySellerNews #etsy #ecommerce #ebay #microbusiness #cindylouwho2 #mercari

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itsrattysworld · 3 months

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thelengthyposts · 16 years

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Senior Year Madness

It all begins in the last month of your JUNIOR year in June...

they make you ALL excited because it was "going to be sooooo much easier than junior year" ..right?

WRONG.

but. u didn't know that then. so... u enter Senior year in Aug/Sept in that mindset.

then you're doing ok... that is until senioritis strikes BECAUSE of the "senior year is easy mentality"

....then your grades go down.

on top of that.. guess what. it's OCTOBER-NOVEMBER season.

....college applications abound!!!

..it all ends in November 30th...if all you apply to are public universities....

if private... that ends somewhere in january. if community college? u don't even have to worry about it till after graduation...i think.

anyhow. so i applied to public universities. and got done with all my applications on the last day of november.

cool right?

kinda. for me, anyhow.

some people.. who need higher SAT scores need to take the December SATs.... and sometimes the January ones too.

but I was lazy so.. I didn't. ..now I know I should have. but. oh well. that's life.

so... life continues. your 1st semester ends in DEATH. ..lol...well, close to it. at least mine did.

and u go on to 2nd semester.

then february comes and CSUs start giving their admission results.

..it seems EVERYONE got their SJSU admissions, but i still have no reply... guess that's how it is if you're financially disabled..yes. disabled. LOL.... [i finally got it in April..geesh, seriously? 2 months late? anyhow.]

so. end of february.... u get admission from one csu... but they request your 1st sem grade... of death.

..scared and confused.... u only send them your transcript without the 1st sem senior grade. and u complete your admission.

...but now u worry WHAT IF in July, when they see that grade of death they withdraw your "conditional admission" ?

...hmmm..oh well. that's life. so...you go and forget it for a while.

then March comes. and UC decisions are about. applied in 3? got in in 1... got in in the one that TOLD YOU they were gonna accept u EITHERWAY when u apply.

so. you're all happy and cool. right?

not really. because then your ENGLISH senior project kicks you in the chin and buries you alive for the next 30 days... until the 17th of April..when it's due.

yay. boo.

so. anyhow. back to the UC. you're happy and cool.

april ROLLS fast. with you digging your grave deeper and deeper EVERYDAY with all the tests [both high school and college].. and essays.. and projects.. and to top it all off... college pressure.

so. anyhow. you FINALLY manage to gather yourself and check your college things because the stress of senior project is done. right?

well. 'tis not done. college stress takes over.

so. u find out u need to update your grade in the UC website. the 1st sem grade. so u do... and u explain why you have the grade of death. and promise you'll do better.

so. FINALLY. cool, right? .....NOT.

coz then you have to decide on which college to say yes or no from...by May 1.

what's bad is you don't know what will happen if you say yes to the one that would reject you.

yet, u know u should start taking care of everything because u need to find the housing and stuff for the university.

TO TOP IT ALL OF.

April 21 -- English writing of some sort. Extra credit really. but you need it BECAUSE you want to cushion your grade JUST IN CASE your senior project will become the death of you in June at the day of the finals. oh. and math tutorial. yeah. takes time out of your sched too.

April 22 -- AP Bio test on ch. 43 AKA the test that would MAINTAIN your grade to a C....or doom it forever to a D... thus getting you rejected in the college. [cross your fingers now and PRAY i maintain the grade of get a higher grade or else....I WILL BREAK YOUR FINGER]

ahem.

anyhow.

April 23 -- Book report. Great.

April 24.. should just DIE. Why? hm..let's see. here are the following reasons: a) Trig/Precal test... aka the test that you should get an A or B on... or you get rejected in all colleges u apply to. end of story. great. how to get an A or B when you've never gotten a C? ...miracles happen i suppose? yes. they will. u will make sure of it. [again. cross your fingers... u know the drill]

b) AP Government Research Paper...that nobody wants to write ANYWAY. you and your classmates simply do not see the point. anyhow. it's supposed to be 6 pages long.. blah blah blah

c) AP Biology PRACTICE AP TEST ...not really a hassle. since it will only be for you and your benefit alone. but the fact remains IT WILL TAKE 5 hours of your time away from doing other work.

...April 25 then: 1) part 1 of your SUPER ASS LONG AP Gov test. it's ok..... won't kill u much.... won't make u bleed either.. but IT WILL TIRE YOUR BRAIN. and from all that activity the previous day? you're already dead anyway. 2) LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG trip to LA for a WEDDING. 6-7 hours. car trip. looooooooong. uncomfortable. looooooooong. 3) ...you'll probably sleep late because it's the 1st time in AGES u and your cousins spoke to each other

April 26... 1) u wake up early. as part of the wedding entourage.. u need to prepare. oh. and the wedding is at lunch time. great. the fact your hair is STRAIGHT and LONG.. and you need to CURL it. great. 2) after the wedding = party. most likely till night when u can no longer lift any part of your body due to your extreme fatigue. or when everyone around u starts puking coz they're drunk. yay. [well... maybe the latter was a BIT exagerated. anyhow]

April 27....sunday 1) u get back to your car in that looooooooooooong trip back to north cali. great. again. 2) u have a gov test the next day. oh great. yay.

..and it seems your suffering is over? ..yeah. to yourknowledge at the moment it seems.

well. until May 1st..anyway. or at least April 30th. wow. 3 days break only? you won't be able to revive yourself in time. and u know it.

so. April 30: you stress all day. thinking which college to say yes or no about. in the meantime, in school. ..panoramic pictures. yay. reminds u more of the impending college decision u have to do by midnight that same night.

May 1: u say yes. and say no. then u pray to god and all the saints to HEAR u. oh. and u get the cap and gown. yay. oh. and u need to sign up for that UC test.. if u said yes to the UC one.

so.

May 6th comes. = AP Gov test. the real one. cool. easy. but stressful nonetheless.

then May 10... 1) u WAKE UP EARLY. drag yourself to Los Altos and take the English writing test for the UC. just in case that it the one u said yes to. 2) the test will be over around 11:45. you'll be home by 12:3ish. 3) at some point. u call your friends. and u make plans. IF YOU DIDN'T ALREADY MAKE THEM. u better have though. so if your friends are reading this, they BETTER NOT PROCRASTINATE and help u more with your impending death. 4) prom. at 8. yay. another reason to make yourself a zombie. tired? very? well. who cares. it's a paaaaaaaaaaaaar-taaaaay. 5) oh. and u go home tired. and prolly late too.

...May 11. mother's day. u don't do anything coz you're a zombie in your deathbed remember?

May 12. AP BIO test. great. hopefully. u slept well last night. or your dead. your future depends on this test too. u better get a fucking five. oh. that rhymes.

then all is over....right? well. no. because u won't get your peace of mind because of the fact that it's international week. and the school will be loud all week. oh. and you're president of the french club. meaning u need to manage those crepes you guys will be selling. wow. good luck on that. just don't die..k? you're a bit young in my opinion.

ok. so. after that.. all stresses are gone. just anticipation really. and....lotsa sleep. u need it. u've been going at it for 3 weeks straight. surprise u haven't died yet.

hn.

so. last week of May. u go to your teachers. ask if you won't get the grade of death-- D-- in the end. if no.. then you're back in CSF. if not. well. fuck that shit. [coz that means you've ruined your future... at least till u think of a solution]

so.

if all went well. you're cool and happy and all. if not... well. u get snappy. then eventually u forget about it..right? well. we hope so. u can get pretty mean.....

anyhow.

1st week of June = finals. GAMBATTE!! <-- do your best

2nd week of June = rehearsals + beach day. ah. beach day. takes your mind off of things. yay. oh. and u graduate.

and pretty much. your stress returns. u fear for the college u said yes to. will they accept u? hopefully. they better. or you'll start packing and cross the ocean.

so. July 15 comes along. your grades are given top the college.

then if it's all good. u have more stress coz everything's changing and u need to arrange stuff. move out. all that.

if no. well. who knows. maybe a plane ticket. yeah.

and so....

if you're still alive by august. good job. you've survived senior year. you'll need the survival skills for college too.

if you've already died...well......... hopefully u come back to life at some point. but then naturally u do..u get over things rather easily after all.

so. the end?

meh.

transmission terminated.

i don't care if you're religious or not. pray to your God and help me.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

This is a backdated post.

The original post my 17-year-old self wrote is on deviantart.

#backdated post #blogging #high school #senior year #life #deviantart

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occupyhades · 7 months

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The Cosmic Confluence, Day 2: The Reconciliation of the Four Slanders | The Origin of Occupy Hades

This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, explaining spiritual realities with Spirit-taught words. 1 Corinthians 2:13 (NIV)

The following is a short review of the reconciliation of 'the Curse of Bridgewater State University', a.k.a. 'the First Curse', which was presented at the Chaplain's Chair via Satan the Accuser during the Cosmic Confluence that occurred on Friday, October 13, 2023. This review was compiled during the Annular Eclipse that occurred on Saturday, October 14, 2023.

But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things and will bring to your remembrance all things that I have said to you. John 14:26 (ESV)

The First Curse was created as a result of the events of April 15, 2004 that led to the curious case 'Alfred Wiggins Jr. [The Host] v. Bridgewater State College', (now Bridgewater State University,) in Bridgewater, Massachusetts. This is because the discussion of the summary judgement, though it is precise in its use of evidence gathered during the process of discovery, omitted other very important details in the case that pertained to the Host. The list of details were included during 'the Reconciliation of Slander (Flower Moon Rising)' via the Abyss on May 5, 2023. They are referred to as 'the Four Slanders'.

What follows are each of the Four Slanders. Each one is preceded by the appropriate biblical scripture that addresses each slander in context. To be clear, Dr. Grace Siebert-Larke was the only individual named in the summary judgement. But anyone who submitted false reports to campus police, or made false claims against the Host, will be punished in accordance with the will of God.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour. Exodus 20:16 (KJV)

1. Dr. Grace Siebert-Larke told BSC Campus Police Chief David Tillinghast that the Host was bringing weapons to campus with the intention of hurting people. That statement led to what is now known as the Ambush at Bridgewater State College, when the campus police to treated the Host as a threat to the rest of the campus community.

During the interaction between the Host and Chief Tillinghast, the Host invited the Chief to search him and his car. The Chief accepted his invitation, and campus police officers conducted an extensive search, but failed to find weapons of any kind.

You shall not spread a false report. Do not join the wicked by being a malicious witness. Exodus 23:1 (BSB)

2. Dr. Grace Siebert-Larke reported that the Host was kicked out of the service on 'drug charges'. The truth is that he was honorably discharged after over six years of loyal service in the United States Army.

You must not go about spreading slander among your people. You must not endanger the life of your neighbor. I am the LORD. Leviticus 19:16 (BSB)

3. Dr. Siebert-Larke also misrepresented the Host's honorable service that day when she told other campus employees that he had been a military intelligence officer in the U.S. Army, which was totally false.

The Host began his military career as an enlisted man in combat arms as an artilleryman. When he re-enlisted, the Host became a member of the U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps where he remained until the end of his time in service.

Hiding hatred makes you a liar; slandering others makes you a fool. Proverbs 10:18 (NLT)

4. According to the [summary judgement] of Alfred Wiggins Jr. vs Bridgewater State College, Dr. Siebert-Larke never met or examined the Host. However, she cited him in her records for dancing to 'Buddhistic music' in the privacy of his own home, and said that his dancing to religious music was evidence of 'mania'.

What are worthless and wicked people like? They are constant liars, signaling their deceit with a wink of the eye, a nudge of the foot, or the wiggle of fingers. Their perverted hearts plot evil, and they constantly stir up trouble. But they will be destroyed suddenly, broken in an instant beyond all hope of healing. Proverbs 6:12-15 (NLT)

These false teachers are like unthinking animals, creatures of instinct, born to be caught and destroyed. They scoff at things they do not understand, and like animals, they will be destroyed. 2 Peter 2:12 (NLT)

In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, when ye are gathered together, and my spirit, with the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, to deliver such a one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus. 1 Corinthians 5:4-5 (KJV)

So you see, the Lord knows how to rescue godly people from their trials, even while keeping the wicked under punishment until the day of final judgment. 2 Peter 2:9 (NLT)

The Righteous One knows what is going on in the homes of the wicked; he will bring disaster on them. Proverbs 21:12 (NLT)

But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; he is guilty of eternal sin. Mark 3:29 (BSB)

#God #Holy Spirit #Shakyamuni Buddha #judgement #Apollyon

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veworpe · 2 years

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I apologize five finger death punch youtube

I apologize five finger death punch youtube series#

If a new comment is published from a "banned" user or contains a blacklisted word, this comment will automatically have limited visibility (the "banned" user's comments will only be visible to the user and the user's Facebook friends). Hidden comments will still appear to the user and to the user's Facebook friends. Five Finger Death Punch Featuring Kenny Wayne Shepherd, Brantley Gilbert & Brian May. Reserves the right to "hide" comments that may be considered offensive, illegal or inappropriate and to "ban" users that violate the site's Terms Of Service. You can also send an e-mail to with pertinent details. To do so, click the downward arrow on the top-right corner of the Facebook comment (the arrow is invisible until you roll over it) and select the appropriate action. To report spam or any abusive, obscene, defamatory, racist, homophobic or threatening comments, or anything that may violate any applicable laws, use the "Report to Facebook" and "Mark as spam" links that appear next to the comments themselves. User comments or postings do not reflect the viewpoint ofĭoes not endorse, or guarantee the accuracy of, any user comment. Once you're logged in, you will be able to comment. Story or review, you must be logged in to an active personal account on Facebook. The trek was originally due to run from April 8 to May 20, but will now kick off on September 28 in Sunrise, Florida. The singer celebrated two years of sobriety last month.įIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH's spring tour with PAPA ROACH, I PREVAIL and ICE NINE KILLS has been postponed and rescheduled for the fall. Much of "F8"'s lyrical content deals with Moody's battle with addiction, its aftermath and his recovery. The follow-up to 2018's "And Justice For None" caps a turbulent period for FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH in which Moody finally got sober after a near-fatal struggle with addiction, while co-founding drummer Jeremy Spencer bowed out of the band due to physical issues. ET.Īccording to the band, "Quarantine Theater 2020" will consist of "tell-all, behind the scenes, never before told stories of the making and meaning of 5FDP's music videos."įIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH's latest album, "F8", was released on February 28. New "Quarantine Theater 2020" episodes will follow every Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 1:00 p.m.

I apologize five finger death punch youtube series#

The latest episode in the series focuses on the video for "I Apologize", which originally appeared on FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH's sixth album, 2015's "Got Your Six". : Five Finger Death Punch, : I Apologize, : 04:05, : 9.45, : 320 kbit/sec, : mp3. Taking inspiration from "Mystery Science Theater 3000", it features frontman Ivan Moody, guitarist Zoltan Bathory and bassist Chris Kael offering commentary on the band's past music videos. FIVE FINGER DEATH PUNCH has launched the fifth episode of its "Quarantine Theater 2020" series.

#I apologize five finger death punch youtube

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alyasgf · 3 years

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Adrien’s Admirer- Adrinette April Day 6 -Anime!

Summary- Adrien Agreste has a secret admirer and its none other than Marinette Dupain Cheng.

Word Count

1650

Excerpt

Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

AO3

The pedestal Marinette had put Adrien on in her younger years had been far too high. It seemed the more time she spent with him the dorkier and more human he became. First it had been the puns, then his concerningly large ladybug merchandise collection that he was extremely fond of, and now he’s a huge anime fan.

Marinette hadn’t meant to find his anime dvd collection. He had asked her to choose a movie while he grabbed snacks since they finished studying early enough that Nathalie had yet to come to kick her out. She had already gone through a few shelves when she found one that seemed to be hidden in a corner. As she looked closer she noticed the entire shelf was filled with volumes of anime, and the shelf beside it manga.

She couldn’t imagine why it was hidden. Was he ashamed? Adrien had been sheltered most his life and the way he acted, well Marinette was surprised she hadn’t realized sooner. Half his lines felt as though they were picked straight from an anime.

As she heard him approach the door she chose a random horror movie and went to sit down. This gave her a perfect idea.

As Adrien went to a closet collected blankets to sit on, Marinette began brainstorming for the perfect birthday present to incorporate her latest discovery.

————————————————————

By the time September 3 rolled around Marinette was slightly worried she’d gone too far this time. At first, she decided to just design a sweater with a few of the animes she remembered seeing in his collection. But she saw the cutest My Hero Academia beanie while at the shops and just had to remake it. Then came socks, pjs, and a ladybug mug she she happened to pass by.

But any friend would go out of their way to cater to a friends interests right?

“Absolutely not, Marinette.”

“Well thanks Alya.” Marinette huffed while packaging all of the gifts in her room the night before.

“Girl, I think its about time you told him! Its been years and not just anyone spends upwards of 40 hours working on gifts for a ‘friends’ niche interest.” Alya cooed at her from atop of her bed.

“Are you crazy? I just gained enough confidence to be his friend, confessing my love to him is a whole other level I can’t even begin to be ready for!” Realizing how insane it’d look to carry all of these presents to Adrien at once and that all of them being from her might be weird, an idea struck.

“What if I hid them around for him to find from a secret admirer!” Marinette proposed excitedly. “It’d be perfect! I’d be able to see his adorable reactions without feeling embarrassed!”

Alya sighed. “I guess it’s better than you panicking and never giving them to him.” She replied dejectedly.

“Thats the spirit.” Marinette said, taping the last perfectly wrapped gift and joining her friend on the bed. “Now since you’re here you’re obligated to help me plan this.”

“I’m not the one with his schedule memorized.” Alya complained, groaning. “What help am I?”

“Moral support!”

———————————————————

Adrien woke up the next morning to his usual. A lonely breakfast and a report of his schedule from Nathalie. He almost could have been fooled into thinking it was any other day.

“Your father sends his wishes Adrien.” Nathalie said as she walked out of the room.

One thing he could be excited by was school. There there’d hugs and birthday wishes and maybe even a sweet snack from a certain blue eyed girl.

————————

As expected, as he steeped out of the sleek black car (after receiving a small Ladybug action figure from the gorilla) he was practically toppled by Nino.

“Happy birthday bro!” He exclaimed, hugging him tightly.

Adrien smiled fondly at the boy. “Thanks Nino.” He said with a chuckle.

“Hopefully your old man will let me come over after school and I can give you your present then?.” Nino questioned hopeful.

“Sorry, I have fencing after school.” Adrien sighed.

“Can’t you just skip? It is your birthday after all.” Nino whined.

“You know how he is. The world could be ending but as long as I’m on time for my appointments he won’t care.” Adrien replied, walking along with Nino towards the front of the school.

As he approached he saw Alya and Marinette camping out by the entrance.

Once they were in hearing distance Adrien said, “Good news is he allowed me to spend lunch outside the house! I figured we could all spend it at the park.”

Marinette squealed excitedly as she ran to hug him, nearly squishing the pastry box she held in the process.

“What she means by that is happy birthday.” Alya laughed while she waited her turn to hug him.

“Happy birthday Adrien!” Marinette said with a slight blush as she handed him the box.

Inside was what looked to be 5 handmade passion fruit macarons, same as she had given him for the last 2 years. It still managed to warm his heart.

“Thanks guys.” He said hugging Alya and mouthing a thank you to Marinette. “If you have anything for me wait until lunch so it can almost be a real party?”

Everyone nodded in response. “Just us?” Nino asked.

“Preferably.” Adrien said sheepishly.

They all walked together to the lockers, chatting comfortably. Marinette seems a little anxious, for what reason Adrien couldn’t say.

He opened his locker and a small black box tumbled out. He caught it and looked at Nino questioningly.

“Wasn’t me.” He said shrugging. “Looks like a note fell out though.” He picked it up from the floor and handed it to Adrien.

“Happy birthday! Thank you for being a ray of sunshine for everyone.” Adrien read aloud smiling fondly. “It’s not signed?”

“Someone as a secret admirer.” Nino teased. “Now hurry up and open it I’m intrigued!”

“Okay okay.” Adrien said, his smile growing as he saw the contents. Inside was a sweater decorated with a Parasyte theme.

“I didn’t know you liked anime.” Nino said curiously.

“Eh never came up.” Adrien replied. He pulled the jacket over his head and looked down at it. Looking at it now he made a discovery. The jacket looked custom, and he only knew one person capable of such a feat.

“Nino I think Marinette made this!” Adrien exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Why wouldn’t she sign?”

“Maybe she wanted it to be anonymous?” Nino closed his locker and started heading to class.

“Should I tell her I know?” Adrien asked, following close behind.

“Nah she clearly wanted it to be secret, just keep it that way.”

—————-

Marinette was still giddy from that morning. The way Adriens eyes lit up when she handed him the pastry box was only matched by the smile that spread across his face when he pulled the present from his locker.

She decided to give the ladybug mug to him in person, figuring giving him an anime present may give away the identity of his secret admirer.

As she sat behind him in class she couldn’t help but sigh at how nicely the sweater fit him. She could definitely get used to seeing him in her designs.

Suddenly she felt a strong elbow in her side.

“Marinette!” Alya whispered aggressively. “Mademoiselle Bustier has called your name twice already!”

“Here!” Marinette blurted out immediately.

“Yes I’m aware you’re here Marinette. I asked if you could read the next section.”

She heard a small chuckle from Adrien and sheepishly decided to focus on how the jacket fit him another time.

—————————

Marinette had ran into a slight problem after lunch. She had already given Adrien his mug (he squealed in delight when he received it), left the beanie in his locker after lunch (he immediately shoved it on and hadn’t taken it off yet) and planned to hide the socks in his fencing bag after school, but she still had yet to give him the phs.

She ran over his schedule about a thousand times throughout the day and could think of no other opportunity that wouldn’t give away her identity as his secret admirer.

“Isn’t there any way you could leave it at his house?” Alya suggested.

“No his dad’s assistant might say something. I just don’t wanna risk it!” Marinette whined.

Then an idea struck.

“Actually Alya I just remembered something in his schedule that leaves a perfect time.” She fibbed.

——————

Adrien was on cloud nine. All of Marinette’s gifts were perfect. You could tell she put thought into them. She even left little notes with each one.

The beanie came with a note that said ‘Thank you for being the such an amazing friend’ and the socks he received during fencing came with a note that read ‘your smile brightens up my world.’ What a nice thing to say to a friend.

As he went up to his room after an extremely exciting day he opened his door to see a flash of red leave through his open window. He could recognize the sound of that string anywhere.

Ladybug had just been in his room!

He looked around to see if anything was different. On his bed he saw a perfectly wrapped gift. It was wrapped in lavender paper with a pink ribbon.

On top was a note. ‘My heart is forever yours’

Adrien’s heart stopped.

That’s Marinette’s handwriting. Marinette’s decorative paper. Marinette’s methodically wrapped gift.

Still in shock he opened it and it confirmed his suspicions. Inside were Death Note pjs.

Marinette had been anonymously giving him anime gifts all day.

Marinette was Ladybug. Ladybug was his secret admirer.

————————————

As they were leaping across building that evening Chat could tell Ladybug was in a good mood.

“Thanks for the gifts today, Marinette.” The blonde hero mentioned casually.

Ladybug effectively face planted into the ground.

Notes

A little late to the party but here nonetheless.

Also I didnt reread this before posting so if you see any mistakes,,, no you didnt :)

@adrinetteapril

#adrinette april #adrien x marinette fanfic #adrinette fanfic #adrien agreste #ml marinette #mlb marinette #adrien and marinette #marinette cheng #miraculous fic #miraculous fanfic #miraculous adrien #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #miraculous fanworks #ao3 fic #love square #love square fic

42 notes · View notes

dorminchu · 3 years

Text

Insult to Injury: The Director's Cut — Chapter 01

Note: All right, it's been a hot minute since I uploaded anything substantial in regard to this fic. So I'm going to try something a bit risky! I've archived Insult to Injury as you all know it, with the exception of a few errant reblogs outside of my control. But that's neither here nor there; I am very excited to present to all of you all the definitive version of this fic — the Director's Cut, if you will. ;)

Fandom: James Bond Characters: Madeleine Swann, Lyutsifer Safin, various OC(s) Relationships: Madeleine & OC(s) Warnings: Strong language, intense scenes of violence, general cynicism. Rating: M Genre: Crime/Drama Summary: A troubled psychologist desperate to escape her past criminal ties finds herself drawn into a far more insidious schism. [Post-Skyfall]

[Ao3 | FFNet]

— ACT I —

“Everything which is done in the present, affects the future by consequence, and the past by redemption.” — Paulo Coelho

— Episode I: A THOUSAND DETAILS —

In the sterile comfort of her office, Dr Madeleine Swann stared blankly at her computer monitor. The notification that her application as a psychologist consultant with the Médecins Sans Frontières had been sent six days prior blurred with lack of focus. The location of the mission in question was Conakry, Guinea. Her contract duration would last from the start of May to the end of August; just shy of two months away from now. There was an additional caveat:

All non-ECOWAS foreigners are required to have a valid Guinean visa and a vaccination card in order to be granted entry. Yellow fever vaccination cards are verified upon entry into the country at Gbessia.

Approval for the visa necessitated a seventy-two-hour window of clearance. And it would be at least four weeks until she heard back from the Human Resources Office—up to six if she were unlucky. She sat erect and the movement alone was enough to incite a sharp stab of pain into the back of her head. Through the window the sun cast a reddish glare, obfuscating the monitor and warming the nape of her neck. She shoved her face into the heels of her palms while the pressure in her skull abated to a dull throbbing.

Usually she made a habit of drawing the blinds. There were already enough odd complaints about her office being too cold and sterile passed along by the secretary. It had been a stressful enough week that Madeleine saw no reason to keep the shutters closed, so her clients might have something else to focus on besides four polished wooden walls and the analog clock.

What came off to most outsiders as a cool and direct manner of conduct was simply pragmatism. She had a laptop computer used primarily for sending emails. She recorded the bulk of her notes on patients by-hand and revised by means of portable recorder. She kept no photographs in her home nor office. The casual anecdotes she provided to her colleagues were ostensibly as droll as her taste in décor; though her efforts to blend in had largely gone unappreciated.

There wasn’t anything else immediate to review for tonight. She wished a curt good-night to the secretary before donning her coat and exiting into the crisp evening air.

⁂

It was only a fifteen-minute walk from the clinic to the flat. Above her head the clouds hung grey and pregnant with snow. By the time she had ascended the staircase and opened the door to her apartment her fingers prickled. Numbness seeped into her skin. She’d never much cared for the colder seasons.

“You’re back early,” said Arnaud—a fellow Sociology major from her college days. After graduating from Oxford, Madeleine had taken his offer to return to Paris and transfer over to the 8tharrondissement with the understanding that they would be rooming together. Her colleagues back then often referred to them as friends-with-benefits as Madeleine had showed little interest in dating before. After three years of cohabitation, her co-workers at the office wondered how she and Arnaud remained so cordial while balancing their careers and relationship.

“Yes.” Madeleine hung up her coat, noting that he had not yet changed out of his own. “I submitted my request with the MSF a week ago. If I am accepted I’ll be working as a psychologist consultant. In that case, I’ll be out of the country until August at least.”

“Well, you’ve never landed a position that didn’t suit you.” Madeleine smiled politely. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, thanks.” She looked away from him towards the window. “You could open the blinds. It's very bright in here with the lights on.”

“There’s hardly much to look at when the sun is in your eyes. Isn’t that what you say?”

For the most part, Arnaud was easy to live with. Neither of them required financial support and he was of equitable social standing. Her relentless volunteer work did not always lend much time to get to know his inner mind. “It’s late. Are you going out again?”

“No, I got back first. And it’s fortunate. You looked awfully cold when you came in.”

“I can hardly control the weather. And you needn’t worry, I always carry a key on me.”

“Madeleine, we live together. It wouldn’t be right to avoid you. But you know, if I were going out to an unscrupulous club it would make for a pretty good story.”

“Hm.”

“And knowing you,” Arnaud continued, “you probably won’t be going out drinking. The sunrise disturbs you in the mornings, and you woke up before I did, at seven. I assume you’ve been busy all day. In just a few weeks you’ll be working that much harder. You ought to get some rest while you can.”

“So,” a little cooler, “you’ll be another mission?”

“Most likely.”

“All these countries must seem the same after a while.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. When was the last time you volunteered out of the country? 2011?”

Arnaud laughed. “Jesus, this isn’t a competition.”

“But it’ll give you something to talk about to your friends while I am away.”

Arnaud said nothing. Madeleine frowned. She went into the other room and began to change. He could not approach her in the same casual manner as his peers, nor dissect her outright. His life was one of prestige as well as privilege, and Madeleine could not foster any underlying resentment towards him for acting in his nature. The silence held, strained. Then Arnaud said:

“It’s always been important to you. That’s what should matter.”

⁂

In two weeks’ time she got a response from the HRO; the initial interview was scheduled shortly thereafter. By the middle of April she was making preparations to depart. Thanks to Arnaud’s tactic of avoidance she had little reason to tell him the details. No one would know where she was headed unless they broke inside her laptop and hunted through her mail. The situation in Guinea had kicked into mainstream awareness back in February for a week or so before gradually sinking back into obscurity.

Reports from several news outlets cited the emergence of an outbreak primarily affecting South Africa. Originating inland, a mysterious illness that revealed itself first with fever and spells of vomiting, then gradually ate away at the flesh of those afflicted and bore their bones and muscle, vulnerable to further rot. More emboldened journalists had taken to calling it the Red Death on account of this. Neither a cure nor a place or origin had been discovered.

The situation had not improved in the last two months so much as stabilised. Madeleine had been assured several times over email and electronic conference that those working in the field had already taken precautions, and she’d be instructed further on what to do upon her arrival. She was issued a few pamphlets and strongly advised to vaccinate before boarding the flight. Which she had done, but it was very kind of them to remind her.

In spite of Arnaud’s apparent disinterest, his last words to her before she departed had been: “Last year it was four missions. I'd never seen you so tired. I wish I knew what you’re trying to prove.”

After managing to get some sleep on the plane she touched down Conakry International Airport around mid-morning and contacted the Project Coordinator; a shorter man in his mid-forties with a photogenic smile and toupee. He clasped her hand in both of his clammy ones and said: “Very glad you've made it, Doctor. We need you on-site in twenty minutes. Make sure you are ready.” Her luggage was dropped off on the second floor of the Grand Hotel de L’independence, where she and the other MSF members would be rooming. The staff were polite enough, though their attention was fixed on the Project Coordinator.

Her room was spare and a little dingy, and the only means of fresh air came from opening the window and polluting the room with outside noise, but it was at least reasonably clean. A fine sheen of sweat was building on her skin. No reason to delay the inevitable.

Upon reaching Donka Hospital she met up with the rest of the team, most notably the Medical Coordinator, and the Psychosocial Unit. It soon became apparent that there were still not enough medical doctors to handle the influx of infected. An isolation ward had been established before the MSF’s involvement, but they were reportedly at full capacity; the workers in there were clad in full-body personal protective equipment. Another section of the grounds had been set aside and fenced off; rows of tents all lined up, reminding Madeleine distantly of a prisoner’s accommodations. No matter where you went the stench of rot always seemed to hang pervasively in the air.

She was paired off with another psychologist by the name of John Herrmann; American, around her age. He was of a friendlier disposition than she was used to, introducing her semi-formally to the rest of the group before adding:

“So, one thing you should know now, we’ve been having problems with the electricity on site as well as the hotel. There’s no running water either.”

“This isn’t my first mission with MSF. And I lived out in the countryside when I was small. I know how to look after myself.”

Herrmann smiled. “That’s fair.” He scratched his neck. “The mosquitoes are worse. Bug nets won’t help worth a damn. Make sure you close your windows at night, I had to learn that the hard way.”

“I see.” The humidity combined with the smell off-road were already becoming intolerable. But she did not want to appear so snobbish or weak in front of someone she would be monitoring for the next three months. “I won’t go any easier on you just because you are unaccustomed to the environment.”

“See ,that’s the kind of attitude we need around here!” He clapped a hand on her back; Madeleine regarded him levelly until he relented. “Good to have you on the team.”

The other members on the Psychosocial Unit were as amicable with Madeleine as the situation permitted. None of them got on her nerves as much as Herrmann. His enthusiasm was never to the point of seeming false or obsequious, but he remained just enough of a go-getter to piss her off. After a week of monitoring them she came away with the impression that Herrmann was genuine. He had been consistently genial with the clientele and hospital staff alike, no matter the severity of their condition. She saw no reason to socialise with him outright. The most he ever noted about her mood was: “You’re pretty reticent for a psychologist consultant.”

“I’m here to do my job. That’s all.”

Herrmann shrugged. “I can respect that. We all deal with the situation in our own ways.” He paused. “I can see why the Project Coordinator wanted you. You’re handling this situation a lot better than I would have.”

“Thank you.”

“The workload must be insane compared to what you’re normally used to. I know it took me time to adjust—" he stopped as Madeleine threw him a look of confusion “—what is it?”

“Back home, I am usually referred to as what one would call a workaholic. Or didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Oh, hey, I didn’t mean to imply—”

“No offence taken.”

The higher temperature was not so bad as the humidity that slapped her in the face whenever stepping outside—according to the forecasts, it was only going to get worse within the coming months. There was no manner of ventilation or air-conditioning in the hotel so often times she had to draw the curtains and keep her hair back. She resigned herself by reminding herself that it was better than sleeping in a tent.

There wasn’t much time to be hung-up on much else besides her assignment. The members of the Psychosocial Unit all looked good on paper, but they betrayed their inexperience through a shared level of idealism towards the mission that Madeleine deemed ill-fated. She did not blame them. Young, perhaps fresh out of school, looking to make a difference in the world without truly anticipating the gravity of the situation. Their time spent observing the crises of the rest of the world through the lens of journalism and outside empathy could not compare with the experience of actually sitting down and listening to the stuff their patients talked of with prosaic seriousness.

It often sounded outrageous when Madeleine played back the recordings, taking down notes in the quiet, stuffy hotel room. Mortality was an expected outcome, and the implication of negligence by their government a common topic of discussion among patients. Most conversations were conducted in French or else by way of an interpreter, though the antagonism in the voices of these patients needed no translation.

There was a growing disparity between the narrative put into circulation by the news and what was happening in the field. According to several members of the MSF and the staff at Donka, the media blew the problem out of proportion. The people whose condition had kicked off the “Red Death” story had been subjected to long-term exposure. Most of the patients that came through were not in that same condition, but it created an illusion of immediacy that incited concern in the public eye and a need for donations. Government officials wanted to cover up the severity of the situation as not to detract from any potential business opportunities; until the MSF got involved, they were only employing the most rudimentary of safety procedures.

This latter revelation had shaken up the Psychosocial Unit considerably; Dr Herrmann had lost his patience with the Medical Coordinator. To this end, he’d apologised profusely to Madeleine afterwards though she would hear none of it. Whatever he felt about the situation was not necessarily invalid, but out of consideration for their patients, he would not bring it up again.

Herrmann never held it against her. So Madeleine busied herself in her own work. Whatever quiet camaraderie forged between the other MSF members was not her business. When pressed for advice, she would talk calmly, carefully with the rest of the team about what would be optimal but never overreach. In the sweltering nights and throughout the early morning, Madeleine would pore over her notes, listening to the passing automobiles and indistinct conversation carried over by civilians.

⁂

June crawled by. Currently the MSF were in the process of dealing with a new influx of internally displaced persons (IDPs) from the surrounding prefectures and villages, all of whom had to be tested and separated from those not stricken with disease. Thanks to the cooperation with the local civilians and tireless efforts on part of the medical staff and Medical Unit, there had been a forty-five-percent decrease in fatalities compared to the start of the year.

The atmosphere within the hospital was not improving. The topic of insurgence was the new favourite with patients. Allegedly there had been several attacks on neighbouring villages; a consequence of the lack of tangible progress coupled with deep-seated mistrust of government officials. Now the Force Sécurité/Protection, or FSP, had been brought on in collaboration with an additional Protective Services Detail (PSD) by the name of Kerberos, to ensure the hospital and surrounding property remained untouched.

Their Project Coordinator called them all in for the sake of reviewing protocol in the event of an attack. Outright criticism of the government’s method in handling the situation was discouraged. Madeleine was savvy enough to keep herself abreast of any controversy. For the rest of the Psychosocial Unit, she presumed they were either too naïve or willing to look the other way.

The only exception to this was the Vaccines Medical Advisor, Francis Kessler; a stoic older man with thinning hair and glasses. He and Madeleine had cooperated a handful of times beforehand, at the discreet behest of the Medical Coordinator. Madeleine had found nothing wrong with his conduct. A diligent worker, he acknowledged her judgement fairly but did not overextend his gratitude. Outside of his work he was straight-laced and reserved and wouldn’t be seen socialising with any of the younger MSF who all talked about him as though he were some out-of-touch stick-in-the-mud. As the situation in the hospital became more dire he would stay behind on-site, late into the evening. Whenever they had a break, he would disappear on calls. Once he came back late by only a few minutes and apologised to Madeleine.

“I was supposed to be sent home last month, but with the situation being what it is, I decided to stay on until things are resolved.” He did not sit down, his attention turned towards the path back to the infected ward. “It’s madness. We’ve already waited until things are too severe to think of bringing in a proper security detail—who the hell does the Project Coordinator think we’re fooling?” Madeleine ignored him. “Dr Swann. The Medical Coordinator tells me you’ve been involved in volunteer work for a while.”

“Five years, as of March.”

“Perhaps they would be more willing to listen to someone with your expertise.”

“I’m flattered. But it’s fortunate that I was not selected for my personal opinion.”

Kessler chuckled. “You’ll go far.”

Madeleine had no interest in pursuing this topic any further. “Who were you speaking to?” He froze up, didn’t answer immediately. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have been so blunt. But you leave often enough on calls, and it appears to be taking a toll on you.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, his shoulders relaxed. “Just my wife. This past month has been no easier on her. But I find that it can help somewhat, just talking to someone outside of this element.” Madeleine nodded stoically. “I’ve never seen you contact anyone outside of your unit.” Madeleine did not anticipate the conversation to take such a turn, nor did she wish to divulge much about herself. But she could not deflect as she could in the clinic back home, and Kessler seemed forthright enough to warrant a harmless response.

“I’m living with a friend. We graduated from college together.”

“And you keep in touch while you are abroad?”

“He tends to lead his own life while I am away.”

“That’s a great deal to ask of someone.” Madeleine inclined her head in his direction. This was not a man that emoted often; now the thin mouth was set, and the eyes behind the glasses disillusioned. “Few women your age would devote themselves to a thankless vocation as this. Not everyone is going to want to stick around until you decide you want to settle down.”

Madeleine’s smile did not touch her eyes. She hadn’t even mentioned the nature of her relationship to Arnaud. “We have an understanding, that’s all. Besides, I don’t bother him about his social life.”

Kessler shook his head. In a few minutes they were back to work as usual. By the end of the day, Madeleine resolved to let him dig his own social grave without further interference.

By the time July rolled around Madeleine found her mind snagging easily on technicalities. She became less tolerant of the Psychological Unit’s personal hang-ups with the lack of resources and lack of any obvious moral closure. Smell of rot and disinfectant permeated into her clothing and hair until she had begun to associate the smell itself with a total lack of progress.

She left the window to her hotel room cracked most nights, afraid to open it completely. Alone with her own mind and the recorder. The conversations now circled back readily to death and terrorism. An overwhelming fear of retaliation from looming insurrection.

Madeleine stopped the recording. She checked the time and cursed under her breath. Just past one in the morning. In six hours she would return to Donka Hospital and repeat the process. A month and a half from now she would be on a flight back to Paris. Her mind wouldn't settle on either direction.

Outside her window she heard the distant voice of Francis Kessler. He was conversing in German, from a few storeys down, but as Madeleine came over to the window she understood him clearly:

“…I’ve been saying it for weeks, and they dismiss me every time. These wounds are the result of prolonged exposure from chemicals. We’ve seen evidence of IDPs coming through, exhibiting the same symptoms as the PMCs we treated back in February. How we can expect to make any progress if the Project Coordinator refuses to bring this up? We’re putting God-knows how many lives at risk waiting for a vaccine that we don’t know if we need—and even so, it won’t be ready for another week. There’s not enough time to justify keeping silent….”

Madeleine closed the window carefully. She’d never been one to intrude on family matters.

⁂

When Madeleine exited her room the next morning, she found the Project Coordinator waiting for her in the hallway, along with the head of security from Kerberos and a couple Donka Hospital staff Madeleine knew by sight but not intimately.

The vaccines had arrived earlier than anticipated, around three or four in the morning. Several members of the Medical Unit had stayed on-site in order to determine if all had been accounted for and subsequently realised it was rigged. Thanks to the intervention of Kerberos the losses were minimal. Several doctors had suffered chemical exposure and were currently isolated from the rest of the IDPs to receive immediate medical attention. Others, such as Drs Kessler and Herrmann, had been less fortunate.

Now there was additional pressure from the hospital doctors and Logistics Team to begin moving the high-risk patients to a safer area. The fear that this story would circulate and any chance of obtaining vaccines would be discouraged could not be ruled out. So they would not be reporting this as a chemical attack, but as a failed interception of an attack by local terrorists, stopped by the FSPs.

“Dr Swann.” The head of security, Lucifer Safin, gave Madeleine pause. His accent would presume a Czech or Russian background but his complexion and eye colour invited room for ambiguity. The MSF on staff commonly referred to him by surname; perhaps Lucifer was simply an alias. What set him apart was his face. Gruesomely scarred from his right temple to the base of his left jaw, though the structure of his eyes and nose remained intact. In spite of the weather, Madeleine had never seen him without gloves. “I understand that you were one of the last to speak with Dr Kessler?”

His manner wasn’t explicitly taciturn, more akin to the disconcerting silence one might experience while looking into a body of still-water—met only with your reflection.

“Yes,” said Madeleine, “but that was nearly five days ago.”

“You were instructed to monitor him during that period by the Medical Coordinator?”

“That’s correct.”

Safin glanced at the Project Coordinator. “I’ll speak with her alone.”

“Of course.”

Safin nodded. They walked down the length of the hall back to her room. His gait was purposeful and direct. He had a rifle strapped to his side. Madeleine tried to avoid concentrating on it. Her attention went to the window. She'd forgotten to lock it.

“Dr Swann.” The early morning light put his disfigurement into a new, unsettling clarity. Too intricate to be leprosy or a typical burn wound, it was more as if his very face were made of porcelain and had suffered a nasty blow, then glued together again. “What was the extent of your relationship to Dr Kessler?”

“I did not work with him often. We talked once or twice but that was all. I have my own responsibilities with the Psychosocial Unit. From what I could tell, he never made an effort to befriend anyone.”

“But you were asked to monitor Dr Kessler.”

“I was requested to do so on behalf of the Medical Coordinator. There were concerns that Dr Kessler was somehow unqualified to continue his work. In observing him, I had no reason to suspect he was unfit for the position psychologically.” Safin said nothing. “The only issue I could see worth disqualifying him for, was that Kessler and the Project Coordinator had very differing views on protocol.”

“He spoke to you about his views?”

“He expressed to me once, in confidence, that he did not understand the Project Coordinator’s hesitance to bring in a security detail.” Safin’s attention on her became sharper. “He also told me he’d elected to continue volunteering here past his contract duration, just to ensure the operation was successful. That was my only conversation with him outside of a work-related context. You would be better off asking the other doctors about this.”

“We have video surveillance in place on the Grand Hotel de L’independence. At around one in the morning, Dr Kessler exited the building and contacted an unknown party by mobile phone. Then, a minute later, you were at your window.”

“Oh, yes. I have been forgetting to close it. With so many longer days, it can be difficult to remember these things.”

“Your room was the only one to show signs of activity at that hour.”

“I was reviewing my notes from that day’s session. I heard a voice from outside, though not clearly. It was distracting me from my work, so I got up and closed the window.”

“Do you commonly review your notes in the early hours of the morning with an unlocked window?”

“I just wanted some quiet. I leave the windows open because otherwise I seem to find myself trapped with the smell of rotting flesh as well as humidity.”

Safin’s expression became easier to read, but not in a positive sense. This was not a man you wanted to be on opposing sides with. Madeleine kept any apprehension away from her face and her voice tightly controlled.

“Look. Without information about Dr Kessler’s lifestyle outside of the MSF, I cannot give you an answer in good faith. I was assigned to survey him. He showed no signs of dereliction in his work, and to my knowledge kept his personal views separate from his work. Whatever he said to me during outside hours was assumed to be in confidence. Many people say things to one another in what they believe to be confidence that they would not admit to otherwise. If I had reason to suspect he was unfit to work, I would have contacted the Medical Advisor immediately.”

Safin held her gaze. She did not dare avert her face. Then he said: “Thank you for your cooperation. The Project Coordinator is waiting for you downstairs.”

The rest of the day she spent in a different wing of the hospital. The Psychosocial Unit was cut down from four members to three. Another inconsequential day of thankless work that never seemed quite good enough. That night Madeleine laid back on her bed and watched the shadows on the ceiling stretch over peeling paint until daybreak.

When she’d arrived at the airport she could stave off her doubts with shallow, private reassurances. As long as you are here, you are just Dr Swann the psychologist consultant. Your father is many miles away and he won’t contact you again. No one else will come looking for you in a place like this.

With a guy like Safin around she was undoubtedly safer than she would have been with the FSPs alone.

Safer, but no longer invisible.

⁂

July brought hotter weather and brittle peace—the vaccines had finally arrived. The wing of the hospital that had suffered the terrorist attack was still closed and they had lost several more staff members wounded in the initial attack. Madeleine and the remaining MSF were encouraged by the Project Coordinator to take earlier shifts. Progress remained steady but there was no clear resolution in sight. The stench of rot imprinted into Madeleine’s senses to the point where she no longer consciously registered her own nausea. Discontent among the staff continued to bubble under the surface on account of the closed wing and bad press.

It couldn't last forever.

A week away from August. Just another humid morning at six AM. Madeleine rose and prepared herself mentally for the day ahead. Stress kept her mind working late into the night, but her position with the Psychosocial Unit barred her from working overtime in the hospital. She was overwhelmed with keeping up the pace, not yet to the point of exhaustion.

There was an inordinate of activity on the road outside as she got dressed and left the room. She put it out of her mind.

Outside the hotel she met up with the Medical Coordinator and a few members of the Logistics Unit. They spent about ten minutes standing idle in the humid air, too weary to speak. The streets were usually empty this time of day.

An unremarkable black Jeep pulled up. The Medical Coordinator opened the door and was about to step into the car when it happened. The Medical Coordinator’s head burst over the interior of the vehicle and Madeleine. The body slumped like a doll to the dirt. Madeleine wanted to scream but could not. She turned and found herself facing down the barrel of a rifle.

Around a dozen men with guns, sans insignia, circled them. The man who had fired addressed her harshly in French: “Where are the rest of the MSF? Why are they not at the hospital?”

“I don’t understand.” Madeleine could see another group of men approaching from the rear. A massacre, onset.

“We’ve been waiting for months for a solution, and you have been injecting us with a useless vaccine.” He aimed right at her sternum. “Your doctors gave them all false hope for months. Now the MSF have abandoned you.”

“You have been protecting them!” the insurgent roared, levelling his weapon. “All this time! You knew why they were here, and you allowed them to experiment on our families like dogs!”

The man at his left turned and fired. The insurgent fell dead. “That’s enough.” One of the men from Kerberos in plainclothes. A dozen more in military gear materialised as if from nowhere. “There is no need for additional bloodshed,” said the plainclothes. “Release them now or you will be shot.”

All around her at once, gunfire. Madeleine didn't wait to see who had fired first. She prostrated herself, hands clasped over her neck, breath clogged in her throat.

All sound ceased. Her head continued to ring. Her eyes were open but she did not process the colour staining her skin, on her clothes, the smell of it. She hadn’t been shot. Her heart hammered against her ribcage.

Heavy footsteps approaching. She closed her eyes awaiting the kiss of metal at her temple.

“Dr Swann.” Madeleine shrunk away instinctively from the gloved hand upon her forearm. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Another soldier pulled her upright. Sight of blood on dry earth briefly mixed up with blood spattered across wooden floorboards. Madeleine went limp. Ushered into the backseat of an unmarked Jeep, she could not stop trembling. Shoulder-to-shoulder with another man she recognised as head of Logistics, Peter Miller. The door slammed shut, jolting her back into her own body. Sound of the ignition set her into trembling. Miller’s naked hand materialised on her shoulder. His voice overtaken by the roaring in her ears. Madeleine bowed her head into her hands like a child, whispering: “Ne me tuez pas. Je n’ai rien fait. Je ne sais rien.”

#no time to die #madeleine swann #lyutsifer safin #several ocs #crime drama #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #canon is gonna joss this into the sun probably #haha... unless?#slow build

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 4 years

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Trump & the Military

(This was shamelessly copy/pasted from OP on Reddit (u/myusernameiscool1234, thanks dude!) because it needs to be spread and I wanted to update a tad, add links and reformat it so it's easier to follow. I'm sure I'm missing stuff, so feel free to add to it and I'll try to update accordingly. Please Share!)

On Military Service

• Trump dodged the draft 5 times, 4 for college and 1 by having a doctor diagnose him with bone spurs.

• Trump said having unprotected sex was his own personal Vietnam (1998)

• Trump said “I felt that I was in the military in the true sense because I dealt with those people” because he went to a military-style academy and that he has “more training militarily than a lot of the guys that go into the military”. (2015 biography)

• Trump accepted a Purple Heart from a fan at one of his rallies and said: “I always wanted to get the Purple Heart. This was much easier.” (Aug 2, 2016)

• ⁠No Trump in America has ever served in the military; this spans 5 generations, and every branch of the family tree. In fact, the reason his grandfather immigrated to America was to avoid military service

• Trump made his 2nd wife, Marla Maples, sign a prenup that would have cut off all child support if Tiffany joined the military (reported on June 4th, 2019)

Use & Treatment of Military

• He sent commandos into an ambush due to a lack of intel, and sends contractors to pick them up, resulting in a commando being left behind, tortured, and executed. (Trump approved the mission because Bannon told him Obama didn’t have the guts to do it) (Oct 4, 2017)

• He forgot the aforementioned fallen soldier’s name during a call to his pregnant widow, then attacked her the next day (Oct 23-24, 2017)

• He urged Florida to not count deployed military votes (Nov 12, 2018)

• He used troops as a political prop by sending them on a phantom mission to the border and made them miss Thanksgiving with their families (Oct-Dec, 2018).

• He stopped using troops as a political prop immediately after the election. However, the troops remained in muddy camps on the border (Nov 7, 2018).

• He called troops on Thanksgiving and told them he’s most thankful for himself (Thanksgiving, 2018)

• He fired service members living with HIV just before the 2018 holidays (Dec 19, 2018-present)

• He finally visited troops 2 years after taking office, but only after 154 vacation days at his properties (Dec 26, 2018)

• Trump lied to deployed troops that he gave them a 10% raise. He didn’t give them a 10% raise (Dec 26, 2018). He initially tried to give the military a raise that was lower than the standard living adjustment. This was before Congress told him that idea wasn’t going to work. Then after giving them the raise that Congress made him, he lied about it pretending that it was larger than Obama’s. It wasn’t.

• He revealed a covert Seal Team 5 deployment , including names and faces, on Twitter during his visit to Iraq. Endangering both the operatives and their families. (Dec 26, 2018)

• He refused to sign his party’s funding bill, which shut down the government, and forced a branch of the military (see below) to go without pay. This branch of military was forced to work without pay, otherwise they would be AWOL. However, his appointees got a $ 10,000 pay raise (Dec 22, 2018 – Jan 25, 2019)

• He didn’t pay the Coast Guard, forcing service members to rely on food pantries (Jan 23, 2019)

• He denied female troops access to birth control to limit sexual activity (on-going. Published Jan 18, 2019)

• He banned service members from serving based on gender identity (Jan 22, 2019)

• He diverted military housing funds to pay for border wall (Feb 15, 2019). A judge subsequently denied this. In July 2019, SCOTUS ruled that Trump could in fact divert military housing funds to pay for his wall.

• Trump pardoned war criminals (May, 2019)

• In May 2019, Trump turned away US military from his Memorial Day speech because they were from the destroyer USS John S. McCain. Trump initially ordered the USS John McCain out of sight during his visit to Japan (May 15, 2019) which led to the ship’s name subsequently being covered. (May 27, 2019)

• In June 2019, Trump sent troops to the border to paint the fence for a better “aesthetic appearance” (June 7, 2019)

• Trump demanded US military chiefs stand next to him at 4th of July parade (reported July 2, 2019)

• Trump made the U.S. Navy Blue Angels violate ethics rules by having them fly at his July 4th political campaign (July 4, 2019)

• On July 31, 2019, Trump ordered the Navy rescind medals to prosecutors who were prosecuting war criminals.

• On ⁠October 8th, 2019, Trump plans to withdraw from Open Skies treaty giving Russia the ability to target our military aircraft.

Attacks on Service Members

• Trump said he doesn’t consider POWs heroes because they were caught. Says he "prefers people who were not caught" (July 18, 2015)

• He said he knows more about ISIS than American generals (Oct 2016)

• Trump attacks Gold Star families including: Myeshia Johnson — a gold star widow and the Khan family—gold star parents (2016-present)

• He called a retired general a ‘dog’ with a ‘big, dumb mouth’ (Jan 1, 2019)

• Well documented dislike of Sen. John McCain, going back to his statement on POWs (see above) and leading up to McCain’s passing. On March 20, 2019, Trump complained that deceased war hero, Sen. John McCain, didn’t thank him for his funeral.

• Trump started his D-Day commemoration speech by attacking a private citizen (Bette Midler, of all people) (reported on June 4th, 2019)

• Trump used his D-Day interview at a cemetery commemorating fallen US soldiers to attack Robert Muller, former FBI special counsel and a Vietnam veteran (June 6, 2019)

• Children of deployed US troops will no longer get automatic American citizenship if born overseas during deployment. This includes US troops posted abroad for years at a time (August 28, 2019)

• After he pleading with superiors in a letter asking to offload most of the sailors on the ship in order to allow for social distancing and sanitizing the USS Theodore Roosevelt, Trump attacks Capt. Crozier calling his letter “terrible” and "not appropriate” leading the Secretary of the Navy to remove Capt. Crozier from his post. 114 of 4,000 sailors on the ship had already tested po sitive for COVID-19. (April 3, 2020)

• On June 24, 2020, the White House ends the National Guard's deployments to assist the American people during the COVID-19 pandemic, the day before thousands of National Guard members would qualify for early retirement and education benefits under the Post-9/11 GI bill.

Immigrants in the military

• He deported veterans (2017-present)

• He ordered the discharge of active-duty immigrant troops with good records (2017-present)

• Trump doubled the rejection rate for veterans requesting family deportation protections (July 5, 2018)

• Trump deported active-duty spouses (11,800 military families face this problem as of April 2018).

• Trump deported a spouse of fallen Army soldier killed in Afghanistan, leaving their daughter parentless. The US has since overturned this as of April 16, 2019.

• In July 2019, Trump denied a United States Marine of 6 years entry into the United States for his scheduled citizenship interview (Reported July 17, 2019)

Treatment of Veterans

• For a decade, Trump sought to kick veterans off of Fifth Avenue because he found them unsightly nuisances outside of Trump Tower. Being quoted as saying, “While disabled veterans should be given every opportunity to earn a living, is it fair to do so to the detriment of the city as a whole or its tax paying citizens and businesses?” in 1991.

• Trump sent funds raised from a January 2016 veterans’ benefit to the Donald J Trump Foundation instead of veteran’s charities (Jan, 2016). The foundation has since been ordered shut because of fraud and Trump to pay $2 million in damages as of November 2019.

• The controversy surrounding wether or not he said vets get PTSD because they "aren’t strong" (Oct 3, 2016)

• He blocked a veteran group on Twitter (June 2017)

• Trump changed the GI Bill through his Forever GI Act.

• Trump changing the GI Bill caused the VA to miss veteran benefits, including housing allowances and forced many veterans to run out of food and rent. “You can count on us to serve, but we can’t count on the VA to make a deadline,” one veteran said. (reported October 7, 2018)

• While in Europe commemorating the end of WWI, he didn’t attend the ceremony at a US cemetery due to the rain – but other world leaders went anyway (Nov 10, 2018)

• He got three Mar-a-Lago guests to run the VA (unknown start – present, made well-known in 2018)

• He increased privatization of the VA, leading to longer waits and higher taxpayer cost (2018)

• He tried to slash disability and unemployment benefits for Veterans to $0, and eliminate the unemployability extrascheduler rating (Dec 17, 2018)

• He canceled an Arlington Cemetery visit on Veterans Day due to light rain (Nov 12, 2018)

• He tried to deport a marine vet who is a U.S.-born citizen (Jan 16, 2019). He deported countless other veterans (2017-present)

• When a man was caught swindling veterans’ pensions for high-interest “cash advances,” Trump’s Consumer Financial Protection Bureau fined him $1. As a reminder, the Trump administration’s goal was to dismantle the CFPB, installing Mick Mulvaney as the director, who publicly stated the bureau should be disbanded. (Jan 26, 2019)

• Trump purged 200,000 veterans’ healthcare applications (due to known administrative errors within VA’s enrollment process and enrollment system) (reported on May 13, 2019)

• On August 2, 2019, Trump requisitioned military retirement funds towards the border wall.

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jedimasterkelly · 3 years

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Shit happens when you're a woman. A lot of shit. Bad shit. And a lot of the time, you will run into doctors who do not listen to you. Will not care about you, and will not take you seriously.

This story is about the Great Cancer Scare of 2020.

I was 49, and 3 yrs post menopause. I was pleased about that, as it means no more period ever. I could deal with the occasional hot flashes, and the snapping of necks of anyone who dared bother me. Then in May of 2020, after the pandemic fully hit and the University I work at closed and sent all of us to work from home, I got very sick. Not from Covid, thankfully, but something else. I had started bleeding, and it wasn't menstrual blood. It was bright red and HEAVY. I was filling post-natal pads within 2 hours. I called the Women's Clinic where my OB-GYN lived. They couldn't see me until July. WTF! I called my GP, who got me in on an emergency basis, I mean, 3 yrs post-menopausal women don't just spring a leak, you know? My ovarian function had been almost nil for 3 years. He called my OB-GYN and demanded I get seen right away. They made an appointment for 2 weeks later. Keep reading, because it's quite a ride!

Seriously! 2 weeks later!

In the meantime, my GP discovered my thyroid was tanked out, so I was put on Levothyroxine 25mcg. It helped a lot. I started to feel a little bit more human, at least in the brain area. I finally got in to the OB-GYN, and he did a biopsy and trans-vaginal ultrasound. We got the results 2 weeks later and he called me in to go over them. He said I had hyperplasia with atypia. Cells were dividing rapidly, and he was very concerned. He recommended an endometrial ablation, or a full hysterectomy. At 49 he wasn't concerned with me having a sudden maternal urge (I have no kids), so he was fine with either choice. I decided on the hysterectomy, because why not? Endometrium grows back after an ablation, and why bother at my age? Just yank it all and let me get back to my life.

He said he didn't feel safe doing the procedure, since the cells were most likely cancerous and rapidly dividing, so he sent a referral to one of the cancer centers in OKC. I expected a call within a couple of weeks. I mean, really, if I have the early stages of endometrial cancer, they'd call me in immediately, right? Right?

Crickets. Literal crickets for 4 months! I was very concerned, hell, worried I was going to get full blown cancer and these jackasses weren't going to try and help me at all. I called OB-GYN several times during that 4 month period, and was told the cancer center in OKC wasn't returning their calls. I called them numerous times, and could never get a person on the phone.

I was told it was the pandemic. The pandemic was shutting everything down and causing huge backlogs for non-Covid issues to be seen. I told OB-GYN to refer me to the oncologist from Tulsa, who also worked once a month in Stillwater at the SMC Cancer Center. He didn't want to, he wanted me to see the doctor in OKC (who wasn't returning anyone's calls!) I called SMC Cancer Center and asked how soon I could get in with Dr. Thomas. His office called back within 2 hours asking for my chart and biopsy results. I had the Womens Clinic send my information to Dr. Thomas in Tulsa. Within a week, they called and had me on the schedule to see him in Stillwater on his next visit.

This is where the story gets good. And by good, I mean, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK. Thanks for sticking with me this far.

Got in to see Dr. Thomas. I researched him and learned we have the same Alma Mater. That day, we were both wearing t-shirts from said same Alma Mater. Instant bonding! I also work in Administration at said same Alma Mater, so we spent some time discussing (gossiping) about my department since he had taken classes with a lot of my faculty during his undergrad. Then he got serious and handed me my biopsy report. He told me he was going to assume I wasn't shown this, since I am:

1. A Master's of Science graduate student in Education Leadership - this making me a researcher who knows how to do research, do research, and understand research.

2. Work full time in a Physical Sciences department at a Big 12 University.

3. Edit manuscripts for my Dept. Chair, thus proving I am scientifically literate. You can't edit scientific manuscripts without having a good, solid knowledge of said science. If he's alternating between "adsorb" and "absorb", I have to understand his research in order to correct his manuscript. This is important because his manuscripts have to be peer reviewed before they can be published in a reputable journal.

"Read it to me, out loud," he said.

I started reading from the paper in my professional scientist voice. It didn't take long before I began to falter as I came to the realization I had been lied to.

"Read it again," he said.

This time, I read it with a lot more heat in my voice.

Diagnosis: no hyperplasia with atypia, no abnormal cells detected

Dr. Thomas waited for me to explode. I didn't. I just stared at him in anger and horror. He offered to do another biopsy to make sure, but he suggested I fire my OB-GYN immediately and find someone who actually gives a shit about me.

I was still randomly bleeding, 6-9 weeks at a time, so we agreed on another trans-vaginal ultrasound and biopsy. The attached photo shows he took 3 samples from my uterus. He wanted to be sure.

A little ditty about endometrial biopsies:

They hurt like a motherfucker.

Take 2-3 ibuprofen before you leave the house to go to your procedure.

Relax. It usually only lasts a couple of minutes. The doctor normally takes 1 or 2 samples. Pinch, snip, clip, done.

Not this guy. He wanted to be surely sure.

He went for a 3rd pinch snip clip. My uterus seized up in the most painful spasm I ever had in my life. I almost came off the table. He was seated on a little rolly stool so he shot back away from me before I could connect his head to my foot. He triumphantly held up his little weapon of Uterine Destruction and declared, "Got it!"

"Yeah, you almost got your ass kicked mister," I growled at him.

"It was worth it to get this beauty of a sample."

So, after a biopsy of your uterus, expect some bleeding and cramping. I had severe cramps for 2 days. I was not amused. We're talking laying in bed with a heating pad and ibuprofen every 4 hours kind of cramping.

Got the results back in a couple of weeks. No cancer. No hyperplasia. No abnormal cell growth. He recommended I find a new OB-GYN fast. I decided fuck it, I'm done. I'm never seeing another OB-GYN ever again.

Dr. Thomas said several times he's convinced my issues are endocrinal. I filed that away in the back of my mind.

(if you ever do test positive for cancer and you are in the Tulsa area, I highly recommend Dr. Eric Thomas! Make sure you have a sense of humor with him.)

My GP started pressuring me back in March of 2021 to find a new OB-GYN. The Women's Clinic has several, but they have a fucked up rule you can't switch doctors there. So if you go there, you are stuck with the same doctor and can't move over to his colleague on another floor. I saw my GP again, and asked if he was still best buds with a gynecologist who had his own clinic. He was always full, and not taking new patients, so GP would have to call his buddy to get me in.

Which he did. Buddy-GYN's office called the very next day to schedule me in. He had been sent my chart and was concerned about the long bleeds (6-9 weeks in duration) and why the fuck were they happening after being 3 yrs post-menopause.

I went in for a consult in April of 2021. First thing out of his mouth, "Has anyone ever talked to you before about PCOS?"

I laughed.

I laughed because every GYN I saw over the last 20 years told me I didn't have PCOS, endometriosis, or any sort of hormonal issues. I was just fat, lazy, and a piggy pig pig. I actually had one OB-GYN tell me to go on The Biggest Loser. Fat shamed while sitting there naked on his table after an invasive exam of my female bits. Thanks a lot, asshole.

I told him about that. He informed me he could tell by LOOKING at me I have the classics signs of PCOS. I use an epilator on my crazy man-hairs, so he asked if I was tweezing or waxing. I about fell out of my chair. Nobody ever believed me that I was having to remove crazy thick hairs off my chin and neck all the time. He asked if I ever had ovarian cysts. Affirmative, I was diagnosed with ovarian cysts the first time one exploded back in 1994. He stood there, holding the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

"Well, going by your chief complaints, your abdominal circumference, history of bursting cysts, and no period for 3 years, I am saying you have PCOS."

He went on to discuss my need for an appointment with an endocrine specialist, he was convinced my thyroid tanking out sent my ovaries back into production, and now my hormones are all over the place, most likely, and I needed specialized care.

He must have talked to GP, because I soon got a call from the endo clinic to come in.

This post is already long and tedious, but I am happy to say I finally have 3 doctors who listen to me. My new Endo doc tripled my levothyroxine and scheduled a follow up blood test for next month. Buddy-GYN talked me into a pap smear and cervical exam in July as well. He also wants a mammogram, which I begrudgingly need to schedule so he doesn't chew my ass in July when I walk in with no results. GP is working on my other issues (weight, bad fluid retention, etc...). We discovered from a blood test last Friday my iron levels are dangerously low. I am now on a Rx iron supplement. I've always struggled with anemia, but it never occurred to me or GP to check my iron levels. If you're a woman, and you feel like absolute dog shit and your doctor can't figure out why, have your iron and electrolytes tested. It'll probably take about 3-4 weeks for me to see any results from the iron supplement, but I can already see a reduction in fluid retention.

In September, I have an appointment with Dr. Le at Integris in OKC. He's a bariatric surgeon. I have gained so much weight from having PCOS and Hypothyroidism that I need to drop a lot of fat fast. I'm pretty healthy - I don't have the normal problems obese people tend to have. I'm not diabetic, don't have sleep apnea, my cholesterol levels are good. I am what they call "healthy fat" which seems like an oxymoron. However, it will improve my chances of getting approved for a sleeve gastrectomy.

I turned 50 last week, and had to endure 3 decades of no one listening to me. I feel I lost so many years of my life and I can never get them back. I hope this post reaches a lot of younger women having issues. Keep looking for a doctor who will listen to you. It sucks we have to hunt for these unicorns, but they do exist. I finally have a good team who actually cares about me.

You have a right to be listened to! You have a right to be heard!

I was asked: Who are my doctors?

Dr. Daniel Brown D.O. Stillwater Physicians Clinic

Dr. Yasuto Taguchi M.D. Taguchi Women's Clinic

Dr. Wynter Kipgen M.D. Stillwater Diabetes & Endocrinology

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papermoonloveslucy · 3 years

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LUCY vs TIME

June 22, 1973

The publicity photos, from the movie set of Mame were unrecognizable. Unrecognizable! Why, they were unbelievable. Either somebody had shot them through six layers of soft-focus gauze - or a time machine.

Who was this frisky redhead hoofer kicking up her heels on the distant reaches of some resplendent soundstage, cannily avoiding a camera close-up?

Who was this svelte eyed lady fluttering from beneath a fringed rug of false lashes, not a wrinkle, sag or bag, not to mention even an expression line, sporting her famous face?

Well, clearly the lady was a star. And as star of Warner Brothers' new $8 million musical version of Mame, Lucille Ball had veto rights over all still photographs.

The trouble was that obviously nobody had had the nerve to tell her that if she could order reality rubbed out of a picture with a wave of the retoucher's brush, she couldn't pull the gauze over the eyes of an interviewer ushered into the Mame set to confront the living flesh, unretouched.

Time has not been unkind to Lucille Ball. No, beneath a billowing wine velvet and cream satin lounge suit, the svelte one-time chorus-girl's curves are still obvious. Despite a badly broken right leg from a skiing accident that had left the shooting of Mame stalled and the star in a cast for nearly a year, the shapely former showgirl's gams had now already carried her through a dozen dance routines up on top of pianos and down banisters that would have taxed a tap-dancer half her age.

At 61, Lucille Ball could pass for a dozen years younger. But only a dozen years.

The outrageous, outsize eyelashes now stick like pine spikes out of a swamp of tucks, puckers and bags etched around her shrewd big baby-blues. Her plastic face is a relief map of over-made-up wrinkles, the big bright red Cupid's-bow mouth lipsticked in a smile outside her own spidery upline.

But you don't survive 22 years on TV in the top ratings, get renewed once again this season when all about Bridgets and Bernies and Dean Martins (1) are falling to the network's chop, practically bear a baby and outlast a broken real-life marriage on the TV tube, take over a foundering corporation and build it into the single most powerful independent TV production house, without it showing in your face.

One look at Lucille Ball's face and you don't doubt it for a minute when Hal, her make-up man for 32 years, says she used to limp on to the Mame set in excruciating pain. Then, the minute the cameras clicked on, burst into a dazzling and seemingly effortless song-and-dance.

Not that the lady would admit it for a minute. "It was excruciating pain," she dismisses the subject airily.

But then these days she's not admitting much. It was a lesson learned the hard way. One recent fateful February day, over perhaps one too many Pouilly-Fuisses on the rocks, she was admitting so much so freely to the New York Times that the story read like a Hedda Hopper monologue.

On Desi Arnaz Sr., the Cuban bongo (2) player-bandleader she met and married out of a chorus line in 1940 and divorced 22 years later after a marriage that was even stormier off -screen than on: "He drank too much and he couldn't stand success."

On Desi Arnaz Jr., their 20-year-old son and his much-publicized romance with actress Patty Duke: "I had my doubts if the baby was Desi's at all. I said to him, "You feel responsible? Boy, you're all of 16 1/2 years old and you want to spend the rest of your life with this neurotic person?'"

On Liza Minnelli, then Desi's current fiancée: "They took her for over a million and a quarter more than her mother's debt. Just for beginners..."

One mention of the story now is enough to send sparks flying. "Why, that man should be..." she sputters over the reporter, "...spanked!"

It's a first burst of spontaneity from a lady who, once burned, is now so careful that she sounds at times as if he's dictating to the Library of Congress.

"I never thought I'd get this far, do so much, have such beautiful children," she says, chain-smoking in her dressing-room, all the wide-eyed telephone lineman's daughter from upstate New York. She knocks on wood.

"All I ever wanted was to get to vaudeville and I never made it."

When she hit New York to take acting classes at 16, the school sent back her mother's money, saying. "No talent." And now, refund in hand, 81-year-old DeeDee Ball, as the whole family calls her, sits in a front-row seat for every “Here's Lucy” show, just as she has done non-stop for the last 22 years.

Still it wasn't till 1951, when the Amazes dreamed up the “I Love Lucy” show, patterned after their own lives, as a way of keeping their marriage together and bandleader Desi home from the road, that success came.

But when it came, it was she who stole the show.

By two years later, 68 per cent of TV viewers in America were tuned in to see her show-by-show birth to Desi Arnaz Jr., whose arrival vied with the U.S. presidential election results for front-page space under the headline, "Lucy's $50 million baby."

Everybody, it seemed, loved Lucy except perhaps Desi Arnaz. Despite her insistence that "the series was happy there was no fighting. It was the greatest time of my life," she admits, "the trouble came much later. Only the last five years were hard."

Which means that the greatest time of her life lasted only a scant six years. When their marriage broke up officially in 1962 (3), friends introduced her to a stand-up comic named Gary Morton, now her producer, vice-president of Lucille Ball Productions, Inc., official show warm-up man and for 11 years now, Mr. Lucille Ball.

As her daughter Lucie, 22, and still a performer on the show, puts it. "She may be the king of stage 12, but at home she's queen Gary's the king!"

She indulges his passion for golf and a garage full of classic cars, but with the warning: "If he ever looks at another woman, I'll kill him."

She says she never makes a business move without him, but when she was left to head up the giant Desilu Corporation after her marriage break-up, it was she who was known as the woman shrewd enough to snap up “Mannix”, “Mission Impossible” and “Star Trek” when they were apparently doomed pilots, a comedienne who was not so comical in the executive suite.

But as for her much-vaunted business acumen, she is all denials and femininity.

"Me? No way. Desi did the whole thing. He was a fantastic businessman. I only took it over to build it up and sell it. I mean, there was a certain amount of building up to do."

When she took it over from Arnaz in 1961, Desilu had lost over $600,000. When she sold it seven years later, for $17 million in Gulf and Western stock, making her the conglomerate's largest stockholder and, some say, the wealthiest woman in Hollywood, the company had grossed $30-million and made a profit of ever $800,000.

"But everyone in the know knew I wasn't tough," she says. "No, the men I surrounded myself with were."

Still there a flinty glint behind the false lashes, a shrewd imperious purse to the painted lips, a ring to the wise-cracking whisky voice that's used to being heard. She moves around the Mame soundstage in queenly command, dispensing Norman Vincent Peal-doms, part star, part super-mother.

When it comes time for a scene featuring co-star Bea Arthur, she practically takes over directing from Gene Saks, Miss Arthur's husband. "Now did you tell her what side of the camera to be on?" she asks Saks, who looks like he might explode. "Now honey, toe your mark," she fusses over Bea, who grows quiet, explaining later:

"Lucy's really a dear. But sometimes it can get a little overpowering."

She doesn't talk to people without picking lint off their clothes, and straightening their collars, a habit that comes naturally enough to a woman who has her whole retinue, hairdresser, secretary, make-up man and driver of the last two decades - even her little picket-fenced French-provincial dressing-room trailer, with its false shutters and plastic ivy - picked up and transplanted wherever she strays from Lucy Lane where she presides at Universal Studios, year after year.

With her kids, she was, as daughter Lucie says, "Strict - and you want to believe it. We were the only kids we knew who had to work around the house for whatever money we'd get." Lucie still gets paid only scale for her mother's show.

But Desi Jr. wasn't exactly a natural. "He'd be asleep on the sidelines and I'd be ready to smack him," Lucy says, "When he said he was interested in serious acting, I said, 'Oh, really?' But he got out and worked. He surprised me. He surprised everybody. He even surprised himself."

Still, for all her talk about the joys of getting away to her Colorado ski lodge where she does "the cooking, the washing, the socks, the things I miss - not to mention the leg breaking - there's not much chance that Lucille Ball is going to be sitting the next round out, wallowing in domesticity, In the old rocking chair.

# # #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) “Bridget Loves Bernie” was a 1972 sitcom about a mixed marriage between a Jewish man and a Catholic woman. Like Lucy and Desi, stars Meredith Baxter and David Birney were also married in real life. Despite excellent ratings (it was the highest-rated new show of the 1972-73 season) the show was cancelled after only one season. The official reason for its cancellation was that it was scheduled between two mega-hits, “All in the Family” and “The Mary Tyler Moore Show”, and its ratings weren't strong enough considering its choice position in the line-up.

Also, that same season, the long-running “The Dean Martin Show” (1965-1974) was cancelled. Lucille Ball had made three appearances on the show, and he also appeared on hers.

(2) Conga drums, not bongos. It is slightly dismissive to call Desi Arnaz a bongo player.

(3) The editor makes the error of assuming that Lucy divorced Desi and Married Gary Morton the same year. She divorced Desi in April 1960, and married Gary in November 1961, a year and a half later.

This article was published in the Leisure section of The Vancouver (BC) Sun on June 22, 1973. The article was written by Marci McDonald and illustrated by David Annesley.

#Lucille Ball #Mame #Vancouver Sun #Marci McDonald #David Annesley #Bridget Loves Bernie

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tempestaurora · 4 years

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Your tags under the Peggy post. I’m shaking!!! Please punch marvel in the face and let us have that movie!!! That’s the most perfect fix it idea ever!!!!

can i actually just run through my avengers movie idea for a sec? because it’s been one of my repeated day dreams since april 2019.

alright: so it’s set maybe six months, maybe a year after avengers: endgame. unfortunately, tony and nat are dead. this cannot change, unless we get some kind of magic going, and i’m not knowledgeable about marvel magic enough to get a fix. so.

we start on an avengers: age of ultron-like fight scene, where the remaining avengers - literally whoever is left, plus spider-man, maybe bucky if he’s feeling it - are kicking some butt. maybe aim or modok or something, its irrelevant. they clean up, head home, and perhaps swing by the new compound. it’s smaller than the last one, still in the same kind of location. there’s clearly work still being done to fix it up.

steve is perhaps out on the grass, reading a book. maybe he’s in a wheelchair, because he’s old now. they say hello, head inside, maybe someone stays out to talk to him. now, a new character/avenger could totally bring it up - in my head, i like to imagine jessica drew or riri williams, or one of the young avengers maybe. alternatively, perhaps there’s just boxes all over the foyer.

“what the hell is this?” sam might ask, after tripping over one. he had not been looking where he was going.

“oh! my delivery!” perhaps bruce replies, as he is the last remaining Science Guy (not including rhodey, who is Weapon Science Guy) in the avengers. “after shield-gate and the decryption of those files, a lot of old shield stuff got declassified.”

“and it’s here?”

“well shield’s still kind of... gone, i guess. where’s a safer place for it than here? ooh, the report on who killed jfk!”

bucky, across the room: “want a spoiler?”

the plot goes on; perhaps there are more aim or modok or something bases to be taken down. or a criminal gang. idk. they’re a side plot, who will perhaps become important in the final act, but for now, bruce starts reading through his files, until:

“barnes! you might be interested in this. it’s the original ssr paperwork about dr. erskine’s serum.”

“the one steve’s got?”

“the very same.” they flip through a few pages, and bruce slows. “this doesn’t make sense.”

“hm?”

“the serum. it’s self-sustaining. self-vitalising.”

“in english?”

“steve’s cells are reproductive. when they die, more take their place. it’s how he combats illness; his cells flip over so fast that the sick ones don’t have a chance to catch on. but...”

“but what?”

“if this is accurate--which, it is. i’ve looked at his bloodwork myself! if this is right, it means that steve’s ageing should be slower than a regular human’s. perhaps by three times, even.”

“and what does that mean?” bucky is frowning now.

bruce looks from him, and then moves to the window, where steve is out on the grass, reading a book. “it means that he shouldn’t look like that.”

“banner?”

bruce turns around. “he lived one life in the other timeline, right? lived his life with peggy carter and then came right home.”

“yeah? yes.”

“then... that’s not steve. it can’t be.”

there’s dramatic music, bruce and bucky’s worried faces. steve takes a sip of a fruity drink from a straw.

they bring in some kind of scientist they know; maybe cho, idk, and they go over his bloodwork in secret. slowly, more people are let in on the secret, like sam, who bucky tells because he’s on the team, he guesses, but he’s only got like one friend. perhaps there’s still that other danger going on, but they really need to get to the bottom of this -

if that’s not steve, who the hell is it? and if that’s someone else, then where the hell is steve rogers?

scott lang and hope van dyne get called in to help build another quantum machine - they don’t have one anymore after steve returned the stones. a time machine is a bit too dangerous, even for them. old steve is around quite often - he likes the quiet, he has a room in the compound, no friends his own (new) age.

but something slips. he’s watching. he may look old, but his hearing’s still good. his vision’s still spectacular. he’s not steve rogers. he’s something else. they cannot comprehend his knowledge.

for much of the plot, we aren’t sure if they’re right, that he’s not steve. he’s acting like steve. he has steve’s memories, his voice, his mannerisms. maybe some people are sceptical - like peter, perhaps, on a weekend visit to train, psyched about the quantum realm idea, but really guys? because old steve has called me queens since the funeral. he can even recite those dumb psas he made. maybe peter talks too much, too loud, and the fake steve rogers knows the jig is up. they’re going to access the quantum realm and find the original steve - this is his final chance.

“you know,” old steve says, heaving himself to his feet, “your friends are right. i’m not steve rogers.” he starts growing bigger, and possibility gelatinous. i imagine it like the young avengers’ mother - some inter-dimensional being, who becomes sinewy, creeping tendrils of flesh and matter; massive in size with a harpy kind of roar. everyone rushes out to see this gigantic mound of flesh--

“what the hell is that, parker??!!”

“uhhh that’s not-steve. he’s acting very not steve today.”

the fight begins, and it becomes clear that whatever this is took steve’s place. stole him, kept him hidden somewhere, and now they’ve gotta get him back. they separate into teams; fighting the monster and racing to the quantum realm. at first, no one has their suits - perhaps they tag team it, or get new suits, or maybe peter has edith on him, and he calls down another iron spider, and she informs him that there’s a falcon x/captain america suit or something; a nanobot suit for sam. something very cool for the suit up, you know?

meanwhile, bucky and bruce are at the quantum machine; perhaps parts of the monster have detached themselves and fight them, too. perhaps the monster calls down its brethren and glowing green lights appear, monsters crawling out from other worlds. bucky gets suited up, and bruce sends him back--

there’s a battle--and bucky flying through time--and fighting--and bucky getting smaller and smaller--and chaos--and bucky landing in the night on a street in 1949.

he gets it pretty fast. it understands why steve might want to stay here. it’s the kind of life they dreamed for themselves after the war. a quiet suburban street; the city off in the distance. the lights are on in plenty of houses, bright yellow. he knows almost automatically which one to look at.

he peers through the front window, and there they are: peggy carter and steve rogers. he looks exactly as he did the last time bucky saw him young. they’re smiling. they’re dancing. perhaps not well - bucky was always the better dancer of the two. he’s about to raise his fist and knock on the window, but then peggy and steve stop, look around, and two small children, one blonde, one brunette, come rushing in. they laugh, picking them up and spinning them around, part of the dance. bucky stares.

there’s a massive fight in the compound, maybe doctor strange is there? idk. maybe he could feel the walls of the dimension cracking open to let these monsters through. thor is there, he deserves to be. captain marvel perhaps, too. but the more they knock down, the more grow back.

perhaps bucky walks through the neighbourhood, visits his family. he knows that no matter how long he spends in this place, it will only be a minute in the real world. so he goes home. he gets on a bus, then a train, hops the turnstile and finds his old house. he’s come home from war. his family cries. he cries. he holds his mother. his father calls his sisters and they rush through the night to greet him. he can’t leave in the night, he can’t. so he sleeps there until morning. returns to steve’s house and watches from a distance as they do the school run.

peggy kisses him goodbye and leaves for work. steve watches her go. but he is still perceptive as ever; he sees bucky, heads over. they hug. they talk. bucky breaks the news to him: this isn’t real. this is made up. a simulation, specifically to keep you here. something else has taken over your life.

steve doesn’t believe it - maybe they fight, i’m not sure. maybe bucky gets angry and even spits out the words “are they even searching for me yet? have you even told them what i’m going through right now? it’s 1949 - i remember this year as the year my handler got pretty trigger happy with waterboarding.”

we go between the fight at the compound and the 40s a few times, as bucky spends the day stewing and steve spends the day looking thoughtful and sending meaningful looks out the window to where bucky had been standing, but no longer was. as it grows dark again, early evening, the children return home from school, peggy comes back from work, steve starts cooking dinner.

he looks out the window and sees bucky out on the front path, watching the yellow-lit kitchen. he goes outside, asks if he wants to come in.

“no,” bucky replies. “if i go in, i’ll never leave.”

“is that such a bad thing?” steve asks.

“it is when it’s not real.”

“buck--”

“i wanted a life back then. i wanted this. some nice house in some nice neighbourhood. fall in love, settle down - the whole nine yards. but i got captured, steve. i got tortured, and brainwashed, and now i live in the twenty-first century, and i fight bad guys with ridiculous powers, and i have a computer that i can carry around in my pocket, and--things are good there! even the skinny, angry version of you could’ve lived better there. might’ve even got a cure or two for your sicknesses.”

“bucky--”

“this, though. this isn’t real, steve. i want it to be, so badly. you deserve this. deserve the peace and quiet. deserve the life, and the happiness and the--the girl. but right now, in the time you left, there’s a monster tearing up your friends. our friends. and they need help.”

“they’ve got captain america.”

“they don’t need captain america. they need steve rogers.”

steve can’t help but look back through the window, to where peggy and his kids are talking, serving up dinner. he sighs. “i can’t leave this behind, buck. i can’t.”

bucky sighs, perhaps this argument goes on longer, but he resigns himself to it. “i thought you might say that. i’ll be out here for another hour, and then i’m going back.”

bucky waits outside on the front path for an hour. steve eats his dinner and laughs with his family. when the time comes, bucky gets up, and looks back at the front door, hopeful. but--steve doesn’t show. he heads back.

the fight continues on, bucky breaks the news to bruce, and there are some bad injuries, maybe. i’d say that someone might die, but the real emotional climax of this film is steve-centred, so we probably don’t need a death. fighting goes on for an avengers-appropriate amount of time, and the tide turns against the avengers. then... just as all hope seems lost:

a second captain america shield slices through a monster, pinning down sam. its that holographic one (photon?) from the comics; just something tony had worked up before he died. the camera pans over to steve in his captain america get up; the same one he left in; catching the shield.

more fighting, then steve: “are you using my shield?”

sam: “the other, fake you gave it to me.”

steve shrugs. “it looks good on you. keep it.”

also during/near the end of the fight, bucky and steve reunite, and hug, because i’m a sucker for hugs.

bucky: “i thought you weren’t coming back”

steve: “i wasn’t. but--i couldn’t leave you behind again. not after you showed up like that.”

“but how’d you get back?”

“i still had my pim particles and suits stored in the attic. i think the monster stole my shield when he stuck me there, but he left everything else behind.”

“... i’m glad you’re back.”

“i’m glad to be back. really.”

they win the fight. i dont care how. maybe aim or modok or something shows up or maybe good old fashioned teamwork gets the job done. but they’re happy, and they’re together, and inter-dimensional travel has now been introduced. *cough* spiderverse *cough*

steve still gives up captain america - he’d spent four years in the past as a stay-at-home dad and husband, only using the old suit for press stuff, so he doesn’t really want it back. he liked settling down. that’s what he wants. perhaps he moves to brooklyn or harlem or wherever, to whatever apartment bucky and sam set up for themselves. he cooks and paints (a little girl with blonde hair and a small boy with eyes like peggy carter’s) and punches his fist halfheartedly in the air, droning “go team” whenever they head out on their missions.

he really did mean it when he said sam looked good with the shield.

there would probably be a b plot of another character Doing Things, like thor and captain marvel and whatever their adventure is. but i don’t know what it is yet. there’s a happy ending. then, the first credits scene is some inter-dimensional shenanigans and a villain being introduced. i personally imagine that kang is going to be the next big villain, but he’s time travel, not dimensional travel, so i don’t know.

then, your optional after credits scene: bucky and steve standing by the kitchen counter, talking and whatnot. i don’t know what about. maybe bucky’s getting ready for a mission, maybe steve’s just in a white tshirt and sweats and he’s just having a nice day, making himself some coffee, reading a good book. they talk, and steve nods bucky over.

“what?” bucky asks.

“thank you,” steve replies.

“... ‘til the end of the line, remember? i’ve got your back, rogers.”

“and i’ve got yours. you know that?”

“course i do.”

they smile. they’re happy. they’re at home. the screen goes black as soon as steve leans in and kisses bucky.

(or: your platonic ending: the screen goes black as soon as steve and bucky bump fists in a friendly non-gay way)

then: STEVE ROGERS WILL RETURN IN THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER

it’s a reoccurring role. he’s largely in the background, cheering them on, and occasionally waiting up in bed when bucky gets home from a late-night mission. he trains sam with the shield on weekends.

the end

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers #avengers #avengers endgame #no read more cut we die like men #this took me almost an hour to write up #despite only taking ten minutes to imagine #anyway: kevin feige hire me #bethany talks #Anonymous

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