#since three weeks before finals ive been consumed with thoughts every waking moment that i need more money | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astarisms · 5 years

Text

lacuna

pairing: natan word count: 8154 summary: for better, for worse. in sickness, in health. she had taken those vows, even if he didn’t remember it, and she would not break them. all human amnesia au. notes: this is a project that’s been three years in the making. it will be in three parts (that will come later), but i thought natan week was the perfect opportunity to finally post it. i finished this part in 2016 and haven’t edited it, so it will also follow how my writing has changed since i started this project. i hope you all enjoy, and happy @natanweek! :)

saudade

(n.) a nostalgic longing to be near

again to something or someone that

is distant, or that has been loved and

then lost; “the love that remains”

origin: portuguese

The steady tone of the heart monitor was what had eventually coaxed her to sleep every night for three days. It was the comfort, the constant reassurance that he was here and he was alive and that the fear that had nearly brought her to her knees when she’d gotten the call was unfounded.

It was only fitting that it would be the heart monitor that woke her as well — but there was something wrong. Before opening her eyes, she just listened for it, the confirmation of his life, but the timing was off. It was faster than the tone that had been ingrained in her mind, consumed every sleeping and waking moment.

She shot up, immediately alert and prepared for the worst, her eyes darting to the hospital bed that took up the middle of the room where he’d been, unmoving, since he’d come out of surgery. Except now there was a twitch to his fingers, a turn to his head, a murmur on his lips.

She realized then that the change in the heart monitor wasn’t a bad thing, but a good one. Her eyes burned but she pushed back the urge to cry, making her way out of the room as quickly as she could without tripping over all the machines and yelling for a nurse, her voice breaking tearfully.

Within moments the small room was filled, nurses rushing in and talking to each other in terms Natalie couldn’t understand. His doctor was next, side by side with another nurse mumbling something about paging the surgeon.

Unable to breathe with so many people in such a small space, and unable to see him anyways with the crowd that had gathered around him, Natalie stepped out into the hall and leaned against the wall beside the door.

She sighed shakily, looking down at her hands without really seeing them, her vision blurring. She twisted her wedding band around her finger anxiously, trying to ease the thundering of her heart and the racing of her thoughts.

Was he okay? How did he feel? Was it too soon? Could they go home and finally put this nightmare behind them?

The questions were endless, circling round and round, taunting her as much as the noise in the room behind her was, reminding her that they were there to see him wake up and she was out in the hall.

Hearing a low groan beneath several overpowering voices, Natalie squeezed her eyes shut and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, taking several deep breaths to keep the relieved tears at bay.

Flashes of that night, curled on the couch to wait up for him, watching some cheesy TV movie, cold pizza waiting for him on the counter. Her phone ringing and absentmindedly reaching over to answer it without glancing at the caller ID. Ipos’s voice, usually so chill and smiling, solemn in her ear, straining like it would break. Horror settling in her bones like ice, immobilizing her. Ipos’s voice vague and distant in her ear, something about having sent Zoe to pick her up and take her to the hospital already.

It had undoubtedly been the worst night of her entire life. They had already taken him in for emergency surgery when Zoe had dropped her off, and the wait had been agonizing. Hours without any updates. Hours of replaying every moment with him. Hours of being stricken with the thought that their goodbyes that morning had been goodbye in the most literal sense.

The relief when they’d told her he was stable was palpable, but there was a catch — he was unconscious, and they had little to no idea when he would wake up.

Three days had felt like an eternity, but now she was grateful that that was all the time it had taken for him to regain his consciousness. She couldn’t imagine if she had had to wait much longer — three days had made her restless enough.

She lowered her hands from her eyes, turning to peer inside the room when she heard his voice, rough with pain and misuse. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, and she could only catch glimpses of him from where she stood, but it was enough. It was a confirmation she couldn’t get from heart monitors, or the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

He was awake. He was okay. They would go home soon and he would recover the rest of the way there and everything would go back to normal.

She stared down at the floor, trying to catch bits of the conversation, but the doctor’s voice was too low. She didn’t know what the verdict was yet, she didn’t know how close he was to recovering, but he was awake, and that had to be good news.

After all, waking up had been the last obstacle they’d had to face. His recovery, slow as it may be, they would conquer together at home.

After several minutes, people started to file out of the room one by one. Natalie moved to the side as much as she could while still peering into the room, more and more of him revealed to her as the room cleared.

The doctor remained by his bedside even as the last nurse finished adjusting his IV and left. Natalie, feeling lighter than she had in days and with a bounce in her step, walked back into the room and to the doctor’s side.

He looked from the doctor to her, all sharp lines and tired brown eyes, and she couldn’t help her watery laugh.

“You scared the crap out of me, dude,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to take his hand.

“Uh, Mrs. Dev-”

“Who the hell are you-”

“Mr. Devante, please, a moment-”

“Did you just say missus?”

Natalie was a bit stunned by the swiftness of everything — Lucifer pulling his hand away from her as if he’d been burned, sending her a suspicious look. The overlapping voices, their exact words taking a second for her to process. She could only stare with wide eyes, unsure what was happening.

“I — What?”

“Mrs. Devante, I had meant to speak with you before you came in, because I felt this might be the case as soon as we spoke.”

Her chest constricted with the implications of his solemn tone.

“W… What might be the case?” she asked, hesitantly, afraid of the question itself just as much as the answer.

“I’m afraid I think your hus— Mr. Devante has a case of amnesia.” He looked between the two of them, to ensure Lucifer didn’t feel like he was being talked about instead of talked to.

He kept talking, something about how it was not a surprising turn of events after brain surgery, something about not being able to tell if or when his memories would return, something about hope and therapy but Natalie heard none of it, her world closing in on her.

Suddenly she found it hard to breathe. Her vision swam and her ears rang and she barely heard her own voice cut off the doctor.

“He doesn’t…” She turned to look at her husband of 5 years. Her best friend of even longer. So many years… “You don’t remember me?”

He shook his head.

... gone.

It felt like a slap in the face.

“...Are you sure?” It was a stupid question, she knew it even as it slipped past her trembling lips, she knew it even without the look on his face that told her he thought it was a stupid question. And though it was silly, though it was a little breathless and desperate, in that moment it was all she had.

“I’m sure.”

“...Oh.”

“Mrs. Devante-”

“Why do you keep calling her that?” Lucifer snapped, glowering between the two of them. The doctor looked alarmed for a second, before looking to Natalie inquiringly.

“I...I’m your wife. Natalie. Your wi-”

“Bullshit.” Natalie flinched, and floundered, unable to think of a reply in the wake of his harsh tone. He looked to the doctor. “Could you stop calling her that?”

“Um-” The greying man glanced at Natalie again, cautiously.

“...My, uh… Natalie is fine,” she said softly, eyes dropping from Lucifer’s irritated expression to the stark white sheets.

“Ah, well, yes. Perhaps it’s better if we let Mr. Devante get his rest? After all, proper rest is key to a speedy recovery.”

“Haven’t I been resting enough?” Lucifer scoffed, but settled back into the pillows anyways.

“A coma is not the same as resting. We’ll get you some food soon, to see what you’re able to keep down as well.”

Lucifer grunted, but otherwise didn’t reply.

The doctor touched Natalie’s arm, and she scrambled off the bed.

“Right. Um, I hope you uh, rest… well,” she said, stumbling over her words and avoiding his eyes, unable to keep the disbelief from her voice but doing her best to mask the hurt regardless.

She turned and ducked out of the room as quickly as she could, the doctor on her heels. He shut the door softly behind them and turned to look at her.

“Is — is it permanent?” she asked, quietly even though Lucifer was well out of earshot now. She looked up at him with big, hopeful green eyes, and he really wished he could give her a different answer.

“There’s no way of telling,” he said slowly. “It could be permanent,” Natalie took a shuddering breath, and he hurried to continue, “but there’s also a chance he could regain them, quickly or over time. It’s a matter of circumstance. Every situation is different.”

She nodded slowly, glancing at the door and wrapping her arms around herself. He had been in this field for too long, and was good at recognizing the signs of her resolving herself now to face what laid ahead.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“I’m sorry there’s nothing more we can do,” he added sincerely. Natalie gave him a bright smile, but he’d seen a lot of those too — it broke his heart to note that hers was one of the most authentic, if a little strained, like she hadn’t had to use her perfected grin in some time.

“You’ve done so much already. Thank you. Him being okay is the most important thing.”

He nodded, his years of experience betraying him when he was unable to find a way to comfort her.

“My pleasure, Mrs. Dev—”

“Please,” she said, a shaky exhale. “Just — could you call me Natalie?”

“Of course.” Her smile this time looked a little more genuine. “I’ll leave you to it, Natalie.”

She nodded, and he left her alone in the hallway. She sighed and pursed her lips, trying to decide what she should do next.

Calling Ipos was the first thing that came to mind — he and Sheila would be happy to hear that Lucifer was awake. She reached down to grab her phone before she remembered it was in his room, charging beside the cot she’d made a home out of during her stay since she’d refused to leave his side since she’d arrived.

She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing to the door and debating whether or not it was worth it, before deciding she was being silly. She braced herself, and cracked the door open, peering inside.

He looked like he was asleep.

Creeping inside, she tried to be as quiet as possible. She made it halfway across the room before he grunted, and she froze, turning slowly to look at him. He was staring at her with none of the warmth of the brown eyes she had fallen in love with a hundred times over, brows drawn.

“I — s-sorry, I was just grabbing my…” she trailed off, gesturing instead. He rolled his head to look at the small pile of her stuff, his gaze narrowing. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

He sighed, and closed his eyes again.

“Just get it.”

She made herself quick about grabbing it, and turned to walk out, but thought twice and spun back around to grab her jacket off the top of her bag. She tugged it on as she manuevered carefully around the small room and all its machines and wires, and she tried very hard to keep her nose in the screen and not glance back at him, but her body betrayed her.

She chanced a look at him, and seeing him lying there peacefully, she was overcome with emotion. It didn’t matter that he no longer had his lush, dark hair. It didn’t matter that a scar stretched across his scalp. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the same man she married. It didn’t matter that he didn’t remember her.

She was overwhelmed with emotion, with the relief that he was alive, that he was breathing, that his eyes were closed of his own will and not the result of his head injury and the surgery that followed to save his life.

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her, and she threw caution to the wind as she rushed the last few steps from the room. She shut the door as softly as she could with trembling fingers, not noticing that he was staring at her.

Once out in the hallway, she was at a loss — bathroom, she needed the bathroom, but she had been using the one in his room and she didn’t know where the public one was. Her vision blurred and her head swam and she stumbled down a random hallway in search for it.

After she’d turned down the third hallway with no results, she leaned against the wall, breath shuddering. She slid down until she touched the floor, buried her face in her pulled-up knees, and let the dam break.

She sobbed, everything she’d been repressing for the past three days bursting forth. She felt everything she hadn’t let herself all at once — the frantic worry, the crippling fear, the indescribable pain, and most prominently the overpowering relief. She felt it all pulse through her with so much force it hurt.

She hadn’t been able to think as optimistically as she’d pretended. Several what if’s taunted her every waking moment and visions of life without him made her dreams bleed with terror and grief.

The vision of him, pale and breathing shallowly, blood matting his hair to the back of his head and curling down the sides of his face and staining the pillow crimson and his body limp and broken and vulnerable in a way she had never seen him — was one created entirely of her own imagination. She hadn’t actually seen him after that accident, he’d already been taken back for surgery by the time she’d reached the hospital, but the image her own mind conjured had haunted her every moment since.

But none of that mattered anymore. None of it. Because he was okay, she couldn’t reassure herself enough that he was fine, that besides a few lost memories the doctor had said he would likely make a full recovery. And that — that was enough for her. It had to be.

As her sobs died down, she heaved on the floor of the deserted hallway, shaking and exhausted. She was no stranger to bottling her emotions, but it had been a long time since she’d had to keep some that roiled so violently within her under lock and key.

She jumped when she heard the rustling of someone sitting beside her, and looked up into a pair of warm, familiar eyes. Ipos didn’t say anything, he just offered his silent presence. Feeling better with the company, she sniffled and wiped her face on the sleeve of her jacket.

They were silent for a minute, the only sounds in the barren hallway Natalie’s shuddered breathing and sniffles as she attempted to compose herself again.

“H-How did you find me?” she finally asked. Ipos shrugged, leaning back against the wall.

“A few nurses pointed me in the right direction.”

“I — Is Sheila…?”

“She’s in his room. Told her I’d bring you by as soon as I found you.”

“Liar.” Ipos glanced over at her, a smirk turning up his lips.

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Natalie giggled, sitting up straighter, “We should go back, before I make a dishonest man out of you.”

Ipos laughed quietly, but it faded out when Natalie stood up.

“You sure?”

He wasn’t a man of many words, but Natalie knew what he meant — was she ready? To face him again? To endure his lost memory? To handle the loss of his love?

“Yeah,” Natalie said, sobering up.

Ipos only nodded, and stood to walk her back.

***

Natalie would be lying if she claimed the last few days hadn’t taken their toll on her. She was exhausted and trying to stay optimistic just wore her down more.

Attempting to keep smiling when he would barely so much as look at her, trying to laugh when he recounted old stories with Sheila and Ipos that she’d heard a million times over, keeping the tears at bay every waking moment — she was just about ready to collapse.

Ever since he’d woken up, she’d spent her nights at home. He didn’t like the idea of her being there when he didn’t know her. She understood, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t felt like a slap in the face.

That didn’t mean trying to sleep in their bed alone didn’t feel cold and empty.

She’d taken to sleeping on the couch instead, and she busied herself during the day trying to prepare for his homecoming. Keeping herself distracted from her own thoughts had become a struggle, so she put all her leftover energy into cleaning, blasting music and singing along just as loudly to drown out the negativity that tried to pull her under.

But he was coming home today, and she would be optimistic if it killed her. He was going through enough, and she was going to make his transition back into his life as easy as possible.

She made sure everything was where it belonged and dabbed concealer over the dark circles beneath her eyes before she set off to the hospital to pick him up, equal parts excited and nervous. She was hoping a familiar environment would trigger some of his old memories, but she was also trying not to get her hopes up.

The doctor had warned her there was a chance he would never regain them, anyways. So Natalie was resolutely devoted to keeping this whole ordeal about him — he was the one who was injured, he was the one whose life had been thrown completely off-kilter, he was the one who needed the help.

Her own problems could wait, because him recovering was the big picture and she wouldn’t lose sight of that. She would nudge him in the right direction, but she wouldn’t pressure him to remember. Not when he had bigger things to worry about.

Her stout optimism was tested the moment she stopped outside his door, though. She heard him, inside, arguing.

“Why can’t I crash at your place?” A beat of silence accompanied by the sinking of Natalie’s heart. Of course, she should have known he wouldn’t want to come home with her — after all, to him, she was a complete stranger.

“C’mon, Ipos, this— no, listen, I’ll sleep on that shit-stained couch, I — wait, what? You moved? You big fuck, when did that happen?”

She figured she’d been eavesdropping long enough, and knocked lightly on the door before pushing it open and poking her head inside.

“Hey,” she said, gently, not wanting to risk his temper. He tensed, and Natalie tried not to let her smile waver. “I brought you a change of clothes, for whenever you’re ready…”

“Yeah, okay,” he said gruffly, and jerked his chin towards the end of the bed. “You can just set them there.” She walked over, setting the bag where he’d indicated and soothing it out.

“Just… whenever you’re ready,” she repeated, sincerely, trying to catch his eyes. He refused to look at her, however. She bit back her disheartened sigh, and stepped back. “Just let me know, okay? I’ll be outside.”

He nodded once, and she clasped her hands in front of her tightly to keep them from shaking as she retreated once more, with the sinking feeling that retreating from him — her best friend, her confidant — was going to be the norm very soon.

She stopped once the door closed behind her again and after a moment of hesitation, she pressed her ear against it as he resumed his conversation with Ipos.

“I don’t know…” she heard him say, and there was an uncertainty in his voice that she hadn’t expected given the demanding and abrasive tone he’d had before she interrupted. “I don’t know her.”

Her breath shook as she exhaled, and she turned her face to the ceiling to blink back the tears. There was a long silence on his end, and she almost turned away when he spoke again, a bit of the edge from before back.

“I don’t know if I can remember her. I don’t know if I can love her.”

Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle the pained gasp she wasn’t sure he could hear anyways but didn’t want to risk, and she spun around and fled before he could catch her, before she could hear anything else she didn’t want to.

That was her karma for eavesdropping, she supposed, as she felt her already fragile heart shatter into pieces.

This time, her search for the bathroom didn’t result in an abandoned hallway, but instead found her bowed over the sink, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes, her head throbbing as she resisted the overwhelming desire to cry.

She needed to get it together. She couldn’t react like this every time he said something that stung — it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t remember. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t being malicious, but that he was understandably very confused and disoriented and that she would be put off, too, if she woke up with no memory of a person claiming to be married to her.

She took several steadying breaths to compose herself, then slowly peeled her hands from her face. Her eyes were a little red, so she grabbed a paper towel and dampened it with cool water. She dabbed it gently beneath her eyes in hopes of making the swelling go down a little.

Once she decided she was presentable enough to brave the waiting room again, she slipped from the bathroom and traveled the short distance to the lobby where she could wait on him to get changed and sign the release forms.

He, thankfully, didn’t keep her waiting as long as she had expected him to. He emerged from his room within half an hour, and though he didn’t seem thrilled at the idea of coming home with her, he didn’t say anything against it, either as he signed his discharge forms, dropping his bag by his feet.

His doctor was giving him some final instructions about bed rest and not over-exerting himself — “that means you’re gonna be out of commission for awhile, Lucifer, and I’ve already talked to your chief about how long you need to stay out,” he’d said, to which Lucifer scowled but nodded.

Natalie was lingering, not close enough to make Lucifer anymore uncomfortable but enough to overhear. The graying man caught her eyes a few times and she nodded subtly in response, because they both knew Lucifer was too reckless and restless to follow the strict orders unless he was watched.

“We’ll have your follow up in about a month, alright? It should be pretty routine, but if you notice anything unusual please come in immediately regardless.” Lucifer nodded absently, it was clear he wasn’t listening anymore, itching to not be cooped up anymore.

Natalie’s apologetic smile was tired and strained but she waited silently while the doctor looked over the forms Lucifer handed him back to confirm his release.

“Looks like you’re good to go,” he said, glancing at the last page. “Though I’d prefer if you used a wheelchair. You just had surgery.” He sighed at the look he was given, and conceded. “Just remember all I told you, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” The doctor shared a look with Natalie and she lifted her shoulders in a delicate shrug. Even without the amnesia, Lucifer had always been impartial to hospitals, especially for long periods of time.

“All packed up?” she asked after the older man wished them a safe trip home and took his leave, a hesitant tease since all he really had was the clothes on his back and a few of his favorite books she’d brought for him.

He hummed in acknowledgment and scooped up his bag. Natalie pursed her lips, but didn’t push his lack of a reply. Instead, she folded her arms over her stomach and followed him as he made his way to the elevator.

The ride down was silent. Natalie had several things she wanted to say, but she didn’t know how to bring them up and she wasn’t prepared for more of his rejection just yet. So she kept quiet and when the elevators opened on the ground floor he strolled out ahead of her, then stopped.

His brows were furrowed, clearly frustrated as he looked down at her. She didn’t know what she could’ve possibly done wrong this time, all she’d done was walk beside him, until —

“Well?”

“Well… what?”

“Where’s the car?” he asked, an exasperated edge to his voice.

“O-Oh, right, I’ll go pull it around—”

“That’s not necessary. That’ll just take more time.”

“You shouldn’t walk too far, though, the doctor said—”

“I had surgery, I’m not crippled. I can walk to the fucking car,” he snapped, and Natalie flinched. He looked away from her, and his tensed shoulders slumped a little in what she recognized as regret for losing his temper, but he didn’t offer an apology.

“...Right,” she said after a beat, and hated how her voice wavered. “Sorry, I’ll — it’s this way.”

She took the lead and was glad for it, because if he was behind her he couldn’t see the way her expression crumbled as her smile became too exhausting to fake anymore. The parking garage wasn’t far, but it was a pain to navigate and she tried in earnest to get him to the car as quickly as possible without the short trip being too much for him.

When it came into sight, she fished her keys out and unlocked the doors, moving to get in. She paused briefly when she noticed his uncertain expression and the slight sheen on his forehead, and she wished she’d just made him stay put in the lobby so she could have brought the car to him instead.

She didn’t have time to linger on it, however. He tugged the door open and slid in, careful not to hit his head, and she got in and started the car, eager to get them home.

He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat and Natalie found herself distracted by the possibilities of what would happen once he was home as she put the car in reverse and took the wheel with both hands.

Would he hate it? Would the familiar environment rattle something within him? Would it fail and only serve as a bitter reminder of his lost memories?

She couldn’t say. She didn’t know what to expect, and while she was usually fond of surprises, this one worried her.

She shifted in the driver’s seat uncomfortably, her fingers tapping a nervous beat against the wheel. She hated driving, and preferred taking the bus or walking or leaving it to him, which was ironic considering the first time they’d met he had pulled her over for speeding.

Her accident about a year after they’d been dating had really put things in perspective for her, however, and even though she had walked away from it physically sound, she had been shaken.

The drive home lasted for what felt like forever, but when she finally pulled into the driveway she kept her eyes firmly in front of her until she'd parked. Her fingers tightened around the wheel, before she released it and chanced a look at him.

He was staring up at their house with the same familiarity he had greeted her with — or rather, lack thereof.

“This is it,” she said, trying for enthusiastic but not wanting to come off overbearingly so, and wiped her hands on her jeans. She tried not to linger too long on his unimpressed expression.

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember them picking this out together because it was in their budget even though it had almost nothing they’d wanted. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t remember many of their days off spent together making this house their home. It wasn’t his fault that the walls he’d so looked forward to coming into at the end of a long day were now unrecognizable to him. It wasn’t his fault and she had to keep reminding herself of that.

He made the first move to get out of the car, finally tearing his eyes away, and she scrambled out after him. She wanted to get his bag for him, but he grabbed it before she could get to it and turned away without a second glance.

She bit her tongue and followed him up the short distance to their front door, fumbling with the keys while he stood off to the side, annoyed and impatient. Once she got it open, a feat with her sweaty, nervous fingers, she gestured for him to go in first. He gave her a look but obliged and she followed after him, shutting the door softly behind them.

He stood just inside, looking around at the odd decoration and the abundance of potted plants, not sure what to make of it all. Natalie decided to give him a moment, not wanting to rush him.

She noticed his gaze fall to a small table that she’d decorated with photos of them and their friends. She couldn’t help the rush of hope she felt, especially the longer he stared at them — pictures of them when they were dating, one a friend had snapped when they had told everyone they were engaged, one of their wedding. Surely, surely they had to trigger something?

She didn’t dare breathe, digging her nails into her palms as her chest swelled when he reached for them…

...and she felt herself deflate, the air rushing out of her like a balloon and taking the hope she’d let consume her for that brief moment with it when he grabbed their wedding picture and turned it down, until it rested facedown on the table where he wouldn’t have to look at it.

Natalie’s heart twisted painfully, and her smile became more difficult to uphold. She stepped in front of him, quickly so he wouldn’t see her expression crumble. It was all she could do to keep her voice even.

“Come on, I’ll show you around,” she offered, walking deeper into their home.

“Can you just show me where I’m staying?” he said gruffly. “I don’t really feel like getting the whole grand tour right now.”

She froze midstep. She swallowed hard, but nodded, and turned for the bedrooms.

“Yeah, of course. It’s… it’s this way.”

The heavy thud of his footsteps behind her matched the painful beat of her heart in her chest as she guided him to the end of the short hallway.

She opened the door at the end to the master bedroom and moved to the side so he could step in.

“This is our—” she didn’t miss the wrinkle of his nose at her choice of words, and she looked away, “—bedroom. I… You can stay, or, you can have it. I mean, it’s already yours, but I can — I’ll stay in the guest room.”

She felt him staring, but she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes this time.

“The, uh, the bathroom is just through that door,” she said, gesturing lamely. And I’ll be staying in, um… in the guest bedroom. If you need anything.” She tilted her head back down the hall. “It’s the second on the left.”

He nodded in her peripheral, and she turned to leave, fingers curling around the knob.

“I’ll let you get settled in, then.”

The door clicked softly on her way out, and she crossed the short distance to her new bedroom. With one last look towards their room, she slipped inside and leaned heavily against the door. Her knees buckled and she allowed herself to slide down, until she hit the ground.

Her breath shuddered and she pulled her legs up, until she could rest her face in her knees. Exhausted, she squeezed her eyes shut and pushed past the pounding in her head, refusing the urge to cry.

They would get past this. They had always gotten past everything, together. This obstacle was inarguably their biggest one yet, but they would figure it out. She had to believe they would. She couldn’t give up so easily.

Their wedding picture, turned down, flashed in her mind and a tear slipped unbidden down her cheek. That had been the first thing she’d decorated with. That had been a constant since they had moved in. She had put it by the door in case of an argument where one of them would leave angry — when they came back in, that picture served to remind them to leave their anger and work to fix things instead.

She sucked in a breath and raised her head, swiping angrily at her face and glaring at the moisture that came away on her fingers.

Things were different now. He was different now. Years of the experiences that had changed and shaped him were gone, but the man she had fallen in love with was still in there. She just had to remind him of the woman he had fallen in love with.

She couldn’t rush him, though. She knew that much. She couldn’t imagine how strange this all must have been for him, and she wanted to make the transition as easy as possible.

It would take time, but they had all the time in the world.

But first, baby steps.

***

“What are you doing?”

Natalie jumped, turning away from the stove to face him and laying a hand over her heart. She opened her mouth, ready to crack a joke about how he still managed to sneak up on her after all these years, but she caught herself and thought better of it.

“Making breakfast,” she answered instead. They’d had takeout for lunch and dinner, she thought it would be nice for him to have something homemade instead. “Chocolate chip pancakes, your favorite!”

She could tell by the look on his face that he was skeptical about them being his ‘favorite’, but they promised chocolate and if there was one thing that would never change about her husband it was his unwavering love of chocolate.

She turned back to the stove, a smile tugging at her lips. At least she could get something right.

She slid the last one onto a plate and dropped a small square of butter on top of the stack, then carried it and the syrup over to him.

He looked down at the plate, less than impressed by the ugly pancakes with jagged edges and the burnt splotches.

“Bon appetit!” she said cheerfully, and Lucifer looked up at her, then back down to the pathetic pile of vaguely circular and questionably edible pancakes before him.

“...Thanks,” he muttered, and grabbed the syrup, deciding that if he drowned them in it then they couldn’t possibly be as bad as they looked.

He cut into the stack and lifted the bite to his mouth. He choked around the taste, and for a moment, he tried to get it down, he really did. He gave up on that effort, though, instead grabbing a napkin and spitting it out, wiping his mouth.

“That bad, huh?” Natalie asked, and he looked up at her. She didn’t look surprised or upset, just disappointed and a little sheepish. “Sorry. I’m not a great cook. It’s funny, you used to—” she stopped herself by taking his plate once she realized what she had done.

It was too late, though, and he stood up with an unreadable expression. Natalie frowned, and moved to apologize, but he cut her off.

“Don’t forget to turn the stove off,” he said, and disappeared back down the hallway towards their — his — room. She stood staring after him, and set his plate back on the table.

“Way to go,” she murmured to herself, leaning against a chair, her knuckles going white around the back of it. Every time she thought she was making progress she slipped up and ruined it.

Chewing on her lip, she spun around and flicked the stove off, hating the reminder he’d given her that he’d given her so often before, each time more teasing than the last.

Turn the stove off, Natalie.

I have nightmares about you leaving that thing on.

The guys over at the fire station will never let me live it down if they find out my wife set a fire.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, laughing to herself. He had hated her cooking and he always told her he refused to eat anything she made, though she knew he would do anything if she asked, he just had to put up the right show of resistance first. He had always gone out to check that the stove was off before coming to bed with her, and she had always rolled her eyes and teased him about it.

I didn’t even use the stove today, Lucifer.

You attract so much bad luck it wouldn’t surprise me if it turned on just because you looked at it.

You’re such a jerk.

She grabbed his plate again and dumped the contents in the trash, along with the extras she’d made for herself. She wasn’t hungry anymore. She rinsed the dishes off and dropped them in the dishwasher and then cleaned up the mess she’d made.

It didn’t take long, even as she tried to devote more time and attention to it than necessary just to keep her hands busy, to do something because she felt so useless. She had taken the week off for work, to help him get settled again, but she wasn’t so sure if she’d need the whole week if he didn’t even want to talk to her. She dried her hands and cast the towel onto the counter, sighing.

She turned to look around the small space for something to do, and her eyes fell on the photo of them pinned to the fridge. She walked over, slipping her fingers beneath it to get a better look, thumbing the edges tenderly. She’d surprised him that day at work. She’d snuck up on him, kissed his cheek, and snapped a picture to catch his reaction.

Her teeth worried her lip for a moment while she hesitated, and then she yanked it off. She went in search of a box, and once she found one a decent enough size, she dropped the photo in there. Then, she made her way to the living room, where she swiped all the photos of them into it. She made her way through every room except their bedroom, taking all evidence of their memories together down to shut them away.

She would show him later, she would revisit them with him, she promised herself. But she would take them down for now. She wouldn’t make him look at them every day.

She wouldn’t make him regret coming home.

The box and all their pictures found a new home beneath her bed. All except their wedding picture. She set that one up carefully on the nightstand, so at least she could look at it. She dusted her hands off, but once she stepped out of the room she immediately felt like she wasn’t even in her own home anymore.

It felt empty, impersonal, cold without their lives playing out over the walls. She looked over her shoulder, at his shut door, then at the clock. It was almost time for him to take his medicine, and she knew he needed to eat in order to do that.

Maybe she could make up for breakfast.

She started for the bedroom, going to tell him she was leaving, but her fingers hovered over the knob. She blinked at it, then looked up when she heard his voice coming from inside.

“—tried to kill me with those fucking pancakes, I swear,” she heard, and she covered her mouth with her hand, torn between the urge to laugh and the urge to cry. “It’s not funny, Ipos, I—”

His voice faded and she decided that was enough eavesdropping, backing away from the door. She’d leave a note instead for him to find, if he even noticed she was gone. She’d be back in less than ten minutes anyways, if traffic wasn’t horrible.

She found an old bill and scribbled “Be right back” on the back of the envelope, leaving it on the table just inside the door. She snatched the keys up and slipped outside.

Traffic wasn’t bad, just as she’d hoped, and she was at the small bakery in no time. The bell jingled welcomingly when she walked through the door, immediately consumed in the warmth and pleasant smells.

Rosenfeld Bakery. It was his favorite place. The interior was a play on the name, decorated with roses Natalie’s shop supplied now and small, old frames of rose fields. They’d found it years ago and nothing else they tried ever compared to the little shop, tucked into a corner.

“Good morning, Mrs. Devante!” the owner, Anthea, greeted from behind the counter.

“Good morning,” she smiled, relieved at the friendly face, and walked over.

“The usual? Where’s Lucifer?”

“Yeah, that’d be great,” she said, and dropped her eyes to the display. “He’s, ahh… He’s at home. Could you add one of those eclairs, too?”

“An eclair? You making up for something?” Anthea teased. It was rare she saw one without the other. Natalie laughed, but it sounded breathless, forced.

“Something like that.”

Anthea frowned, setting the bag on the counter between them. Natalie fished out a bill and pushed it across, pulling the bag more towards her instead.

“Is everything alright?”

It took Natalie a long moment to answer as Anthea rung her up, waiting for her answer with a concerned crease in her brows. Was everything alright? Not really.

But…

“It will be,” she finally said, raising her eyes to meet Anthea’s. She smiled at her and gathered up the bag of Lucifer’s favorite breakfast, turning to leave. “Keep the change!” she called over her shoulder, and walked out before Anthea could even get a word in.

Her return home was even quicker. She was excited, because her cooking was a longshot, she’d known that from the beginning, but she was sure this was something he could appreciate.

She hurried inside, the warm bag tucked against her side, and travelled back into the kitchen. She pulled down another plate and arranged the chocolate-cinnamon rolls he ate religiously in one half, and put the double chocolate eclair on the other half. Smiling to herself, she made her way back towards their — his — room.

She knocked lightly on the door, and waited for a few excruciating moments.

“Lucifer?” she finally asked, and there was another beat of silence before she heard shuffling and finally the door opened up.

His eyes dropped down to the plate almost immediately, and then back up to her. She saw the skeptical arch of his brow, even as his eyes kept dropping back to the plate. It looked a lot better than what she’d presented to him earlier, she knew.

“A peace offering,” she offered as an explanation. “I know this is hard for you and I’m probably not making it any easier, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong here. I didn’t make it,” she added quickly when she saw his lip twitch as he undoubtedly remembered the disaster pancakes.

He stared at her for a minute longer, before taking the plate.

“Where did you get it?”

“Rosenfeld’s. It’s a bakery on the corner of 5th.” He was halfway to lifting one of the rolls to his mouth when he paused.

“Never heard of it.”

“We uh… we found it a few years ago,” she said slowly, cautiously, not wanting to upset him. She watched his expression carefully as she added, “It’s a bit of a hole in a wall, but it’s really good.”

Something in his eyes darkened, and he nodded and set the roll back down.

“Thanks,” he said, but there was an undefinable edge to his voice and he was unable to meet her eyes now. She felt a piece of her break away, screaming, wondering what she could say if everything about his likes or interests when she knew him was apparently off the table. She was trying to help.

Didn’t he want to remember?

“...Yeah, of-of course. You, um, you have to take your medicine at 11:30.”

“I know.”

“I just thought I’d remind you, just in case.” She shifted uncomfortably, not sure whether she should try to catch his eyes or avoid them altogether. “I know you need something to eat with it, but if you… if you don’t want that there’s cereal and stuff in the kitchen. You’re more the welcome to help yourself.”

“I don’t need you to fucking babysit me, Natalie,” he said, and even he seemed surprised at how harsh his voice had been, but he didn’t make a move to apologize. Despite herself, it was the first time she’d heard him say her name since he’d woken up, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “I’m a grown man, I know how to take care of myself.”

The words felt like a slap in the face. She felt her stomach drop. Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists in an attempt to keep him from seeing her shaking hands. Her heart beat a thunderous beat against her ribcage and the blood rushing through her ears was deafening.

She looked up at him, and he was looking at her now. There was harsh dip between his brows, his light brown eyes angry, tensed against the doorframe. Her eyes fell on the bandage covering his stitches and her breath shuddered.

“Yeah,” she said, calmer than she felt. She met his eyes again, now that she’d made her point with her gaze. “Sure looks like it.”

She turned on her heel and marched back to her room. She shut the door with a little more force than necessary, and went to go sit on the bed. She let her fingers uncurl, and pressed them against her thighs in an attempt to quell how violently they shook.

She stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity, trying to even out her breathing again, trying to get the resonance in her ears to go away, trying to see something other than the angry curl of his lip and the annoyed set of his jaw.

Finally, she raised her head. She was never one to let the day pass without living it to its fullest, but there was nothing more she wanted than to crawl into bed and sleep it away right then. She hesitated, because what if he needed her, but—

He didn’t need her. He’d made that perfectly clear.

She caught the shimmering frame of their wedding picture on the nightstand. She stared at it, her chest tight with the memory and all the implications it held, all the vows it upheld and all the arguments it had resolved.

She reached over, and with every part of her crying out in protest, she pushed it face down.

Then she kicked her shoes off and crawled under the sheets, pulling the covers above her head and trying to ignore how sharply she felt her heart break.

#satan and me #natan #natanweek2019 #star light star write #lacuna #prompt: hospital

28 notes · View notes

shulto-masusdesus · 4 years

Text

The Cryptid Machine [BNHA AU: Chapter 1]

Time for the cryptid machine to go wild

(this is my writing sideblog btw)

i havent written anything else in days. i pushed for it so hard. 7k in three days and its just one chapter lol, fuck (i mean i wasnt writing anything else anyway so im glad i was productive at least thanks for giving me something to do lol)

But it was also fun

I accidentally really made them into the scooby-doo gang and honestly its the best thing ive ever done unintentionally. They just fit so well

@kawaiipotatuh @vango-bango and @sooske yo hi yall said you wanted to read it so i wrote it

sorry sooske i didnt get to shiga in this chapter but hes comin,,,,this is gonna be chaptered so he’ll definitely be in this soon. definitely plot relevant because i love shiggy.

anyway A/N over time for the story

Rating: T for language and fantasy violence (no nsfw this time this is group friend story)

tags in the tags. some body horror because cryptid-related creepiness yknow. and major character death later on so yknow

if i missed anything tell me, okay now time for the story <3

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Izuku, frankly, was stunned.

“I thought it was just a hobby!”

“A hobby?” Shouto threw back what looked to be his thirtieth Five-Hour Energy, pouring syrup on the pancakes Izuku brought without paying much attention. They were more syrup than pancake at this point, but that was hardly priority at the moment. “A hobby?”

The giant frog sitting on the table between them blinked its left eye, and then the right, after a little delay. Izuku shuddered. Too much frog, too close, too much detail. Very scaly and slimy and bumpy. Frogs were not supposed to be big. But it was easily bigger than his head, almost the size of his torso.

“How did you get it in here?”

“Thawed crickets.” Shouto raised an eyebrow, as if having frozen crickets stored for a time such as this was normal and expected. Like a madman consumed by his own craft, he picked up a syrup-coated pancake with his own two hands, and bit into it. Then he looked at the mess with mild surprise, a gaze that read “What the fuck is this? Where did all this syrup come from?” Izuku didn’t have the heart to answer him. “…You’re underestimating me.”

Izuku shut his eyes, sucked in a breath, rubbing his temples. “So. You found this frog in the woods behind your house. You just so happened to have a pack of frozen crickets-”

“No, that’s not what happened,” Shouto leaned forward, elbows on the table, the plate of pancakes Izuku brought ruined and pushed to the side, with that damned cursed light in his eyes he got when he was about to tell a story, dive head-first into a theory, or conjure up a new way to ditch work. “I’ve been hunting this frog for months. I learn about many creatures when researching,”

Scrolling r/cryptids, Izuku thought. And various other unspeakable 2chan threads and dark web sites. He sighed. Those pancakes were better than usual, too...he managed to remember to use less butter…he forgot that all the time…if he was going to make pancakes in the middle of the night, they may as well be good...what was Shouto talking about? Oh yeah, the frog.

“-and I encountered this post about a kappa sighting. It was confusing, and I almost wrote it off as another incident of someone just seeing something very mundane in the wrong light - until I recognized the location of the sighting.” There it was, Shouto’s rare grin, a look very reminiscent of the cat that finally caught the mouse. “…Heartstone Lake, on the park side of the woods.”

The giant frog grumbled. Loudly. Its chest puffed a little and Izuku felt a wild fear for what a real croak would sound like. This thing was huge. “Uhm, yeah? And?”

“So I went and checked it out.” He went over to his Wall, pointing to photo after photo, and Izuku hummed along, suddenly very, very worried about this frog in the Todoroki’s basement. This could end in many ways, and a very loud croak waking up his dad would be one of the worse ones. “Found tracks. Tracks, Izuku. You have to understand - nobody ever finds tracks.”

Izuku nodded. “Crazy.” He said, noticing how the frog’s eye was starting to slowly roll around, as if looking, scanning its surroundings. He was a little bit more than freaked out. He really had thought that this was just an interest of Shouto’s. Not something he was actually going to pursue, and that it produced a very crypid-like thing, a real result? A part of him wanted to go home and go back to bed, before Shouto decided to find a demon from hell or something. Or before the frog turned out to be a demon from hell. “…Did you do a steak-out?”

“Yes. Many steak-outs.” Shouto sighed, rubbing his face. “For…six weeks. Every night and every spare minute I could get. Along with a camera live feed setup. Only today did I actually see something, and once I did, I didn’t let it get away.” His smile was so wholesome, but the fruit of his labor was probably a harbinger of the void. Izuku was torn between supporting his friend and self-preservation.

Izuku decided to call the two people who would help back him up in whatever answer was the right one. The guardian angels, Tenya and Ochako. Because he needed help.

“I’m gonna call Tenya and Ochako.”

To Izuku’s bewilderment, Shouto deflated, smile dying, abruptly concerned. Izuku sputtered, pausing in pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What?! Do you not want them to know, or-?!”

With a sigh, Shouto grumbled, “Tenya…You know what he’d say.”

Izuku rolled his eyes. “It’s probably what you need to hear, really. Monster or not, this frog doesn’t belong indoors. We could get money for it, and what if it’s a new species or something-”

The other boy sighed. “Fine, whatever-”

The underside of the frog’s throat started expanding. Izuku watched in mute horror as it opened its mouth, and released a croak.

It was louder than Izuku expected. Very much so. His ears were left ringing from the rumbling warble, but that was hardly the biggest problem. There was a lot of thudding and yelling going on upstairs, in the upper levels of the Todoroki household; the family converging in on Shouto’s basement for whatever that definitely inhumane noise was.

Shouto’s dad was the strictest father around, and didn’t allow Shouto to have friends over on weeknights, nevermind late at night; since Izuku, an unapproved friend, basically snuck into the house on a weeknight at the unholy hour of three in the morning, he was breaking many, many rules.

And a giant fucking frog on the table in the middle of the room also would do more than raise a few eyebrows.

Shouto, however, was prepared. He pushed a mysterious white jar across the table to him, and pointed to the basement awning window. “I’ll help,” He said. “It’s actually not all that heavy.”

“Shouto! What was that?! What are you doing in there, it’s three in the morning on a school night-!”

There was his father. However, aside from the actual basement door lock, Shouto secretly installed about six extra locks, so he wasn’t getting in any time soon. “Studying, Dad,” Shouto said, heaving the massive, slimy frog off the table. He nailed he tired, annoyed, exasperated tone perfectly. Izuku opened the jar, and forced down a squeak - mushy, wet, dead crickets. “There’s a science tomorrow, I want to make sure I’m ready.”

His dad went quiet, which was his “you’re probably lying, but finding out the truth is more effort than I’m willing to put in at the moment” response. Izuku’s been witness to it a lot, as this is far from the first time he’s been a Master Lock away from getting caught. Shouto gave Izuku a look, frog in hand, as he opened the small window.

“Studying at such an…early hour is counter-productive. Get to bed, Shouto.”

“Alright.” Izuku shimmied out the window, onto the grass outside, and cringed as he opened the jar and gently picked up a soggy cricket corpse. With some difficulty, Shouto shoved the fat mass of jiggling skin through the awning, and Izuku pulled it the rest of the way out.

“Don’t let it out of your sight,” Shouto mouthed, scowling a little. Most likely because he was forced to get rid of his first find. Weird giant frog or not, it was really important to Shouto, so he couldn’t lose track of it-

The frog grumbled, and started hopping off.

“Get it!” Shouto hissed, and Izuku ran after it.

It wasn’t as fast as he thought. He caught up to it easily, and offered it a few crickets to bribe it into sitting still for a moment. Shouto’s window shut, and tense yelling ensued; Shouto buying time so he could hide incriminating evidence. His dad probably heard them.

An awkward ten minutes passed. Routinely, Izuku dropped a cricket or two, and the frog stayed put. Eventually, Shouto opened the window again, glaring.

“Take it to your house,” He said. “God knows I’m not gonna get away with hiding it here.” And he shut the window.

“So,” Izuku said, to the monster frog, dropping a couple more crickets. Its tongue flicked out to grab them, and honestly, Izuku feared for his safety. “I guess you’re coming to my place?”

_______________________________________________________________

Step one; get it onto his bike.

His basket was definitely big enough for the frog. He could probably stop every couple minutes to feed it a cricket so it wouldn’t struggle too much while he was on the road. It wouldn’t end well for either of them if it decided to upset the balance of the bike on the road.

He lugged the frog into the basket - it really wasn’t as heavy as it looked - and gave it a few crickets before locking the lid. Step two; get it home. That was the easy part.

The ride was mostly uneventful. The route was mostly muscle memory, so it wasn’t hard to hyperfocus on every odd rustle and bump on the back of his bike. He stopped to feed it about five times, and each time its tongue lashed out harder and faster. His fight-or-flight instinct begged him to run away from the very real monster frog on the back of his bike. He channeled the energy into maintaining cadence. If Shouto wasn’t his best friend, and wouldn’t probably murder him if he lost it, he would’ve let the frog hop into the woods when it tried to.

Finally, he reached his plain suburban neighborhood. He considered stopping at Kacchan’s house, but he’d probably kill the frog on sight, so he couldn’t rely on him for moral support. Time to call Ochako up for an early-morning napover. She said “anytime”, right?

Step three; get it to his room. His backyard didn’t have a fence, and he didn’t have a basement, and even if his mom didn’t have a panic attack when she saw the frog, she would definitely tell him to get it out of the house. Any rational person would, really. So. Hiding it in his bedroom was the only choice.

Mom never got out of bed past midnight, so it was easy to trudge inside, to his room, and to lock the door behind him. Then the frog leapt from his arms, and hopped its slimy body onto his bed. Ew. Time to call Ochako.

As promised, she answered by the fourth ring. “…Yaeah…Deku…?”

“Uhm, come to my house?” Izuku chuckled nervously. “Shouto found…uh, a giant frog, but he couldn’t keep it at his house, so I’m keeping it at mine. I need a little moral support?”

“...” Ochako sighed, a very, very long sigh. “...”

“Ochako?”

“What?”

“Shouto found a giant frog-”

“A WHAT?!”

It took Ochako all of fifteen minutes to get to his place, on foot. She took the short route to his room - through his window - and gawked at the frog for another five minutes, school backpack and sleeping bag falling from her hands.

“He - really?!”

“Yeah…”

She stared at it for a long, long time. It grumbled again. Izuku felt a sinking feeling.

“It’s - a giant frog.”

“...Yeah.”

“And…he just…?”

“No, he said he’d been looking for it for the past six weeks.”

“So that’s why he’s been passing out in class?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Ochako stared at the frog. “I thought it was all…”

“He flipped out a little when I said I thought it was just a hobby.” He ran his fingers through his hair with a huff. “This is really important to him.”

“Well…” She mumbled, eyes wide. “We may as well…take good care of it. H…how do you get a frog to go to sleep? Don’t frogs need heat lamps? How do we take care of a frog - a giant frog-” She stomped her foot. “Did Shouto think about this at all?”

She looked at Izuku. He raised an eyebrow in return. And she fell into giggles. “Yeah,” She said. “Let’s get it in front of a heater?”

Izuku left the room, running down to the hall closet to get a heater; on his way back, Ochako suddenly screamed.

He ran to his room, and to his horror, the frog was, for lack of a better term, erupting. Blowing up like a balloon. Ochako shoved him out of the doorway, into the hall, and slammed the door shut.

“What is going on here?” Oh, his mom was up now, rushing down the hall with concern. “What happened? Ochako, very…nice to see you, but at this hour? What’s happening?”

The two teens were speechless. They looked to each other for answers, but found nothing there but shock and general horror. Tentatively, Ochako cracked the door back open.

The frog was splayed about thinly like a shed bag. Sitting on Izuku’s bed now, instead, was a girl with long green hair. And also very naked, the frog broke open and was now a naked girl-

Confusion ensued. Mom screamed a little, shocked by the frog flash bag, and Ochako and Deku screamed because the frog was gone and Shouto was now on the list of people who wanted them dead; then his mom ran in, bringing the blanket up around the girl with shaking hands and firing off questions one after another, and Izuku screamed louder because he realized that somehow the frog became the girl - Ochako screamed louder, because she realized that with Shouto’s internet skill and wide range of information sources, there was no way to hide from him.

“Izuku, who is this?! Why is she naked?!” Mom turned to him with an unfamiliar demanding tone. “Explain! Now!”

“I don’t…!” Izuku was, completely, lost. “I don’t know…! I think - she was-!?”

Ochako stopped screaming, and said, “We don’t know! She - the frog - it exploded and - it was a frog before-!”

“A frog!?” Mom shouted - his mom never shouted. Izuku felt like reality was fraying at the seams. “What-”

“RIBBIT.”

Everything stopped. Ochako stopped. His mom stopped. Izuku felt like he suddenly lost the ability to breathe, like someone clicked ‘end task’ on his lungs and his panicking head.

The girl’s eyes were very, very big, an expression of pure confusion and shock on her face. “RIBBIT!” She screeched, again.

“R…’ribbit’…?” Mom said, weakly. “What do you mean…?”

“...” The girl stared at Mom with a wild lack of recognition. Not just that she didn’t know who Mom was; she had no idea what she was seeing at all and was completely lost. Izuku was almost as lost, really. “Ribbit…”

Ochako swayed lightly, gripping Izuku’s arm. “S-so - the frog was there before - did she come out of the frog…?!”

Izuku looked at the frog flesh and slime splayed on his bed. “…P…probably…”

His mom’s expression faded from extreme shock and confusion, to general surprise. “Izuku, Ochako, please explain - what is this mess - who is she-”

“I don’t know!” Izuku burst, shaking a little. “I don’t know! It was a frog before and now its a girl and Shouto didn’t tell me and I don’t know-”

“Izuku-”

“Izuku, baby, calm down,” Mom quickly crossed the room to him, softly taking his hands. “It’s okay, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m sorry. Let’s have some tea, and we’ll talk about it, okay?”

“...O…okay.”

_______________________________________________________________

Tea with a splash of honey was always good. It warmed him down to his core. The girl seemed to also be enjoying it, if her regular sips were any indicator. Even if she was a bit tentative, slow, testing about it, each time.

His mom sighed heavily. “So, according to your story, she’s…”

Ochako hummed. “Yeah. I don’t believe it either. We should call Shouto.”

“He’d love this,” Izuku mumbled, staring into his tea. “He probably knows what…she is. I certainly don’t.”

“...Well,” Mom glanced at the girl. She had a permanent frown on her face. “We’ll deal with this tomorrow. Today, we’ll…well, It’s already five, isn’t it?”

Izuku dropped his head onto the table. “One hour. Please. I want sleep. I didn’t sleep at all.”

“Ditto,” Ochako also dropped her head, with a heavy thud. “No sleep. At all. I almost was asleep, but then Deku called…”

“Sorry…”

“’S alright….I wouldn’t wanna miss this.” She huffed a laugh. “Somehow, I’m glad I saw it live.”

Mom sighed again, sounding old. “Okay,” She said. “You only have about two hours, though. Remember, you both promised you would ride to school this year.”

Izuku groaned, muffling himself on the wood table. Ochako also whined. The girl watched the both of them curiously.

His mom agreed to watch the girl while they napped; Izuku was so not sleeping in his bed, so he took Mom’s bed instead. Ochako splayed out over one half of the king-sized bed while Izuku took up one third, sharing it because his mom’s bed was wonderful.

It was, without a doubt, the worst nap of his life. Because just as he was getting settled in and kind of almost sleeping, the six o’clock alarm on Mom’s bedside table buzzed loudly. Along with the knee Ochako unconsciously jammed halfway up his ass and her loud drool-snore-choke-drowning, he kind of wanted to die, to get some real sleep. The reason why he stopped sleeping in the same bed as Uraraka Ochako came back to him. Violently, in the form of a foot mysteriously journeying its way up his pants. She was just the weirdest sleeper.

He untangled himself from the covers and Ochako and trudged down the hall. He went to his room, intent on grabbing a shower before school.

He grabbed his clothes from his closet and was on his way to the bathroom before he suddenly recalled what happened last night. Where the fuck was that girl-

He ran around the house, looking for her and Mom - the car was gone from the driveway. His mom had work early in the day, so that was normal, but the girl was still nowhere to be seen. Where was she?!

He texted his mom urgently, and she responded, I left her at home. She should be there with you. Have a good day at school <3

One, was he really going to just leave her at home all day? And two, she was absolutely nowhere to be seen. He checked the kitchen, the living room, all the closets, both bedrooms, and their house was one floor and small as fuck, so there wasn’t many places to hide. She was gone.

And then Ochako screamed. Izuku could probably guess where frog girl was.

He ran to Mom’s room, and there she was, Ochako standing on the bed in a martial arts defensive position with frog girl sitting on the floor, blinking cluelessly, now dressed in spare clothes Ochako left here. But she still had such an alien air around her that it felt like the clothes didn’t quite fit her. She confounded Izuku on every level.

Izuku was cobbling together some way to react to the situation when his phone started ringing. He answered.

“H-hello?!”

“Is the frog okay?”

Shouto. Izuku felt a range of emotions, from relief to joy to murderous intent to numbness. “…It turned into a person, Shouto. A girl. Did you know this would happen!?”

A silence passed.

“Shouto?”

“...S-sorry, I…”

“Shouto, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I just…” He sniffed faintly. “I wanted to see it.”

“You knew it would happen?!”

“No, but I had a feeling. Part of the witness reports described a frog standing on two legs like a person, and even people with frog-like features, y’know, like a person, but a frog.” Shouto sighed. “So either it was just one creature that could shapeshift to varying levels of frog to humanoid, or it was many creatures that were all varying levels of frog to humanoid. Like kappas or something.” Something tapped rhythmically in the background. “I wished I could’ve seen the shift. Do you still have the shed skin?”

“For what, Shouto,” Izuku was, frankly, pretty fed up. The frog girl was now on top of Ochako and very closely watching her, scanning her features. “What are you going to do with a giant frog flesh bag, Shouto.”

“Research.”

“Shouto.”

“Testing.”

“Shouto! You’re missing the-”

“Fine!” The other boy huffed roughly. “I’m gonna call Mei and cash in a debt to use her research facilities.”

“Shouto, I love you, but you have a C in chemistry. But that’s beside the-”

“She’s going to examine the frog skin, okay?! That’s it! Sorry I don’t have a genetics lab in my fucking basement!”

Izuku tried to be exasperated, but he ended up fighting back a smile. “N-no, Shouto, that’s not - I - whatever Mei has to do with it, it’s a nasty sack of frog skin, Shouto. I was talking more as in, ‘it’s absurd that you would want it, so why’, not ‘you don’t have the means to do anything with it, so why’.”

Shouto went quiet. “…” It was a long, self-depreciating quiet.

“Look,” Izuku said, smile fading, because fuck, Shouto drove him crazy sometimes. “Get your ass over here and help me decide what we’re going to do about her. She can’t stay here while we’re at school all day, can she?”

“I don’t see why not,” Shouto mumbled. “Can’t take her to school. Can’t let her loose.”

“Shouto, you have the skin, basically, so you have a model of what the crypid frog looks like, right? And proof?”

“Yeah. That’s the best part.”

“So do we really need to keep her?” Izuku watched as the girl tried to lick Ochako with a freakishly long tongue. Being a reasonable human being, the brown-haired girl was scrambling away before she made contact. “She’s…well, I mean, endangered species preservation, right? And - I dunno, what’re we gonna keep her for? She looks like a person, kind of…it’d be weird. Morally.”

“...How human does she seem?”

“One hundred percent. She has big eyes, but that can be passed off as a feature, y’know?” Ochako ran to the doorway - the girl opened her mouth wide, tongue flicking out, and it reached all the way across the room, wrapping around Ochako’s waist and pulling her back in. Izuku flinched as his friend shrieked. “…But her tongue is super long and weird, like a frog’s, and she currently has captured Ochako with it.”

“...Well, human meat doesn’t sit well with frogs, so she isn’t going to try to eat her. Unless she’s an adventurous type or something. I mean, she is a monster, so she’s probably full of surprises. Don’t trust her.” Shouto laughed, like this was a joke. Izuku didn’t find it very funny...How did he know that human meat doesn’t sit well with frogs…?

Ochako was released once she was dragged close enough for the girl to grab her. “So we’re just gonna leave her in my house for the day.”

“Yeah.”

“There are hazards everywhere, Shouto.”

“She’ll probably be fine.”

“But what if my Xbox isn’t, Shouto? What if she burns my house down, Shouto? What if she breaks my Xbox Shouto-”

“Forget about your Xbox,” Shouto snapped. Izuku gasped loudly. “It’ll be fine. She won’t mess with anything. I think. And like you said, if she escapes, it isn’t that bad. As long as the skin is still there, she exists. That’s all I need. I have to take a shower before school, I smell like black coffee and steroids. Later.”

And there he went. Almost angrily, Izuku pocketed his phone and said, “H-hey!”

Frog girl looked at Izuku boredly. “Help me,” Ochako begged, held captive by the two arms around her waist. Izuku debated the pros and cons of tearing her away from the literally mutant creature. What was the likelihood of survival?

“We have an hour before we meet up with Shouto,” Izuku stated flatly. “I’m taking a shower first.”

“No!” In a flash, Ochako twisted free of her bindings and was out of the room, and zooming down the hall. “You take all the hot water!”

Izuku sighed. Frog girl, covered in her own hair like she was drowning in it, stared at him with wide green eyes. He averted his gaze, nervously.

“U-uh, hi,” He said. Wow, could he be any more awkward? Well, she wasn’t human, so it wasn’t like she’d pick up on any of human societal nuances-

“Hi.”

She said. She fucking said. She said?! She said. She talked. She said words. She said ‘hi’. Whoawhoawhoa - it had to be simple parroting, it had to be just-

“Where did she go.”

Izuku felt the inexplicable urge to cry. “Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh-”

Frog girl stared at Izuku, eyes peeking between strands of hair with a strange light. “Where is she.”

“I-I-I-I-I-d-d-d-d-on’t-”

She stood up, and walked past him with halting, almost jerking steps. She left the room, and looked one way, then the other. “…”

“O-O-Ochako?!” Izuku felt like curling up in a corner and sobbing wildly. He felt like he just looked into the void and it talked back to him. He felt a number of things, and all of them involved some level of existential terror. “Sh-she’s i-in the sh-shower…D-don’t-”

She was already on her way down the hallway. Izuku didn’t really think upsetting this being of mysterious and potentially reality-breaking power was a good idea. Technically, she was another girl, so it wouldn’t be that weird for her to walk in on Ochako, right? Uh.

Right on cue, Ochako screamed. Izuku groaned. By finding this cursed being, Shouto effectively turned his life upside down. For better or worse was yet to be seen. But from how Ochako was currently fighting frog girl out of her shower, it was probably for worse. Would his life ever go back to normal?

_______________________________________________________________

By some miracle, they managed to get on the road on time, meeting up with Shouto on the way. While he and Ochako rode very practical bikes, he rode a skateboard. Why, he refused to really tell. If he wasn’t wearing his school uniform, he’d look like he was in the wrong decade. And somehow the uniform made it look even tackier. But it was alright. It wasn’t like he was bad at it; in fact, he pulled many moves that were reminiscent of a certain famous skateboarder, but he was also from the wrong decade. Somehow, it suited him. He, to a concerning level, didn’t care what other people thought of him, so it was okay. Just weird.

“So,” Shouto said, cruising along with Ochako, keeping up easily despite having much smaller wheels. Also weird. “Show me a pic of her.”

“A what?” Izuku blinked.

“A picture.” Shouto raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you didn’t take a picture.”

“...”

Ochako shrugged, rhythmically tapping her bell. “Didn’t think to.”

The boy huffed. “You guys are the worst,” He said. “How are we supposed to get proof that she shapeshifted if we didn’t get the after picture?”

“Shouto, I’m tired,” Izuku sighed. “I’m sorry. But this is way over my head. I’m not good at…this paranormal cryptid stuff. It’s fun when it’s just creepy stories, but - I dunno, this is too much.” He shuddered. “She talked. Just, started saying words. Like a normal person - super blunt and to the point, but it was like she said it like that on purpose. She knew. Just like that. And she was a frog before-”

“She talked?!” Shouto’s eyes lit up. “What did she say? What did her voice sound like? Ugh, I wish we got it on tape-”

“Shouto!” Izuku snapped. “Pay attention! Forget that stuff - I don’t want any part in it anymore! I’m scared! After school, we’re gonna let her go, and that’s gonna be the end of it! Okay!?” If there’s even a home to return to, Izuku thought bitterly.

Shouto stared at him, blankly. Then he looked away. “…Alright.”

Ochako whistled. “You guys fall out hard,” She said. “I give it…three days before one of you starts apologizing.”

Izuku’s face burned. He was the one apologizing, most of the time. But not this time, He thought resolutely. He wasn’t at fault here. Shouto was going to apologize to him, for dragging him into this mess in the first place.

_______________________________________________________________

[10:25 A.M.]

nessie: im dying. im actually dying

shouto: why

nessie: what the fuck is a lamange

nessie: mange is a disease

nessie: in french it means what??? food???? kill me

shouto: it means eat

shouto: pay attention in class and you might get it

nessie: fuck you

nessie: youre the last person i want to hear that from

shouto: ow

nessie: Rip Believe It Or Not

shouto: Ripley’s I Know This Stuff Is Real, But I Can’t Handle It, Dog

nessie: nibyguvtfcu

nessie: so you do get it

shouto: get what

shouto: what

nessie: oh my god

nessie: Oh My God

nessie: you are a national treasure

nessie: you know that

shouto: ??????

shouto: ?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!!what am I missing now

nessie: shut up for a minute teach coming

shouto: well I hope not thats a little inappropriate

---

[10:30 A.M.]

nessie: shouto holy shit what the fuck oh my god what the fuck

nessie: dude

shouto: yeah I sent that without thinking

shouto: and then I couldnt send a correction because

shouto: and yeah

nessie: dude

pppppppppppink: whats happening

pppppppppppink: oh wow what was that shouto hahahahha

shouto: oh my god look it was an accident

tenya: ochako its hardly fair to make fun of him for that

tenya: it was an honest mistake

nessie: tenya coughs, “unfortunately”

shouto: say that shit to my face deku

shouto: whos on the football team huh

nessie: surprised you caught that

nessie: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

shouto: i am going to kill you,

pppppppppppink: hey no death threats on my friendly christian minecraft server

nessie: deadmeme

tenya: yes, death threats are not the way to handle strife between friends

tenya: but neither were those insults, izuku

tenya: you know shouto’s skill does not warrant comments such as those

nessie: hes gonna get a coma i know it

tenya: what does that have to do with anything

nessie: football

nessie: caveman sport

tenya: that is inappropriate

shouto: dudedudedude look man

shouto: im sorry okay

nessie: FOR WHAT SHOUTO

shouto: I DONT KNOW

pppppppppppink: wow that was fast

tenya: please quiet teacher

------

[10:35 A.M.]

shouto: look man I dont know what youre so angry about

nessie: im not angry

pppppppppppink: izuku coughs, “im furious”

nessie: im n o t

tenya: izuku i believe you are, in fact, angry

nessie: im not angry

shouto: youre angry

nessie: SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK MAN

nessie: EXCUSE ME IF IM A LITTLE SHAKEN UP ABOUT YOU DROPPING A FUCKING FROG DEMON ONTO ME

shouto: i wouldve kept it if i could

shouto: but i forced it onto you without asking

shouto: sorry

nessie: “sorry if i valued a mythical creature above my friends feelings”

shouto: well fuck

shouto: i tried

shouto: yeah fuck you

shouto: i wouldve loved to have it

shouto: you love it when i talk to you about it so what the fuck is the difference

nessie: THEYRE JUST STORIES

nessie: S T O R I E S

nessie: I DONT WANT THEM TO BE REAL

nessie: ITS TOO MUCH

nessie: ITS SCARY

shouto: dude theres always a chance of the stories being real

shouto: you didnt know that

nessie: dontdothat

nessie: i dont want to think of them like that

nessie: no one wants them to be real

shouto: i do

nessie: yeah but ur a weirdo

tenya: foul

pppppppppppink: yeah try again

pppppppppppink: stay within bounds

nessie: are you reffing our fight

tenya: yes

tenya: go on

shouto: dude if you dont want any part of it then ill take her okay

shouto: okay?

nessie: that isnt it

nessie: because ur gonna be all weird about it and be all offended

nessie: bullshit

nessie: were gonna straighten this out here

nessie: rn

tenya: as a distraction in class.

nessie: sure

shouto: im not gonna be offended

pppppppppppink: hahahahhahahhha

shouto: im not

tenya: you will be offended

nessie: you will be offended

nessie: you dont think my fear is valid

shouto: being scared of it and pushing it away isnt going to make it disappear

shouto: theres a monster under your bed whether you want it to be there or not

nessie: oh my FUCKING GOD SHOUTO

nessie: THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT

nessie: YOU DONT LISTEN TO ME

shouto: i am

shouto: im doing nothing but listening to you

shouto: im getting on aizawas nerves

tenya: he means respect

tenya: you arent respecting him

tenya: as evidenced by you “twisting the knife”, for lack of a better term

tenya: you understand that stories of paranormal activities entertain him?

shouto: yes

tenya: the rift seems to lay in the fact that although he enjoys them as stories, he does not wish them to be real, intimate experiences

tenya: this is where you two seem to split

tenya: because you strive to live the stories

pppppppppppink: *is eating popcorn* marriage counseling :D

shouto: i mean who wouldnt

nessie: I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT I DONT

nessie: NONONONONONONONO

nessie: UCK AMN DO YOU THIINK I WANNA FUCKING

nessie: THAT IS

nessie: NOOONONONONOONONO

shouto: shit man calm down

shouto: so it scares you

nessie: fuck yess??? you get it????finally????

shouto: why

[nessie has left the group chat.]

pppppppppppink: dude you messed up

shouto: .

tenya: i advise understanding

tenya: not everyone feels the same way you do

shouto: well duh

shouto: but it isnt scary

shouto: .

pppppppppppink: are you hearing yourself? finally?

pppppppppppink: not to be mean, ur just

pppppppppppink: really dense :D

tenya: to him, it is scary.

tenya: and thats just how he works

tenya: youll have to respect that

shouto: but its not scary

tenya: that is an opinion, shouto

tenya: not fact. it varies from person to person

tenya: you have to respect his opinion, shouto

shouto: .

shouto: god

shouto: fine

tenya: now what’s this about a “frog demon”?

pppppppppppink: ohohoohooho

shouto: first of all, it isnt a demon

pppppppppppink: do i have a story for you!

_______________________________________________________________

Izuku settled on giving Shouto the cold shoulder. It lasted out of school and on the way home, even as they pulled up to his house. Even as he kept pestering him with his constant, creepy, begging stare. Fuck him. Because if he talked first, he’d end up apologizing. And he couldn’t do that. He wasn’t the one at fault.

The frog girl was gone. They searched high and low, all over his house, but she was nowhere to be seen. Izuku found the frog skin wrapped up in the dumpster outside, and threw it at Shouto without a word. Shouto didn’t say anything, either.

“Hm,” Ochako popped a sucker into her mouth. “I changed my mind. Two days.”

Izuku grumbled, flushing bright red.

“I find this whole story a little hard to believe,” Tenya said, and Izuku felt a wild urge to punch him. “You mean to tell me that this so-called giant frog split open and turned out to be a young girl? Who is now missing?”

“Tenya, I wish it didn’t happen,” Izuku crossed the driveway, grabbing the taller boy by his quarterback shoulders. “I wish desperately that it didn’t happen. But it did.”

“Oh yeah,” Ochako said, nodding. “It was crazy. I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t been there.” With a shrug, she added, “Still kinda in doubt. It was super late.”

“Maybe it was a dream?”

“No,” Shouto said, coming up to show Tenya something on his phone. “Pictures. Video. It’s real. The frog, at least. I also have samples at home. I did some research - actually, there are some frogs that can grow up to about the size of our frog, but they can only live in equatorial Guinea. Without the girl, the skin only proves that a new species of giant frog lives in the area unless they map its genome or something.” He shrugged. “Not the story I was looking for, but cool nonetheless.”

“’Story’?” Izuku bristled. “What are you even looking for, Shouto? Why are you doing this at all?” Whoops. But he couldn’t help it. He’d been wondering it for a while, but this was the breaking point. Would he just hand the girl over to scientists for testing if he did have her? Would they take advantage of the fact that she isn’t human to do whatever they wanted? What was Shouto getting from this? Money? Fame? He wasn’t the type who would search out stuff like that, so what-?!

“Huh?” Shouto tilted his head. “...Why not? It’s fun.”

He could scream. Angrily, he stomped back to the porch, yanking open his door and ready to lock it behind him-

-and the kitchen was a mess, like a tornado whizzed around in the few moments they went outside. The dining table was on its side, chairs thrown around, cabinets raided and foodstuffs everywhere. The fridge was open, and judging from the aggressive clinking going on, someone was there. Izuku could probably guess who it was. But why now? She barely touched anything, earlier.

And then she peeked above the fridge door. Izuku screamed.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

if anyone knows how to color text please tell me because i spent a lot of time coloring the chat messages in the original doc and im sad it didnt carry so please and thank you tell me,

2 notes · View notes

the-house-of-the-nine · 5 years

Text

In Depths Below: Vengeance Part 2

A week passed after Kun-Lai...

[ S.K ] "You know brother dear...for someone who is impeccably busy and short of temper, you keep your quarters well kept...or is it Kross's hand I sense here?"

Siida pondered and slowly sunk into the enormous throne behind her brothers desk, it felt like a behemoth of a place to be sitting. She recalled that he kept these packets of information hidden, as if he knew she would be the one to find them. Before her were the dossiers that Marseille had been speaking of, those pale eyes flicked over the pages, grateful for her brothers almost possessed style of acquiring information. It was a game that he never gave quarter in it seemed.

It had taken her a few days of digging to actually recall what the proper process of extracting them was. Her brother had several fail safes in place for anyone trying to weasel information from his belongings. But after some due diligence and proper thought, she was able to procure her quarry.

She paused her reading, looking about as she sighed. It’d occurred to her in that very moment that this was the last place they sat together. She would fight back the welling sensation of tears that suddenly began to accumulate just on the rim of her eyelids and she began to blink several times.

“Where are you Lazarius. . .” she whispered softly. “We. . .I. . .need you...”

[ L.K ] The pair; the elder child and the younger, the serpent and the flower, they had been growing increasingly close over the weeks and months finalizing the plans to construct the Void Forge. Lazarius and Siida were bonding in ways it that seemed almost remarkable considering the contrast of their beings. One an innocent flower, plucked from the streets and thrust into this world; realizing that this was an unbridled madness that consumed so many. And the other; well, Lazarius was a being of pure unbridled madness that often consumed so many.

They were a mismatched pair if there ever was one, but even in the wake of so much chaos and destruction, the two found time to sit and read together. They found time to revel in the luxury of the Bastilles copious chairs and libraries. Took advantage of tea and biscuits whenever they could. Regardless it seemed of the work Lazarius had been tasked with, he always found time for his ‘Little Sister’.

“What are you working on this time brother?” she asked innocently as she peered up over her text, her voice so sickeningly sweet yet laced with just the hint of playfulness, as she teased his diligent work ethic. Her delicate little fingers peeking up over the large volume marked with a giant ‘IV’, no doubt something she’d been working on for quite some time.

Lazarius peered up from the writing desk that had appeared to have been dragged across the room, indicated by the bunched up throw rug that had curled around the leg and just so conveniently been brought along for the ride. It was pushed close enough for the two of them to sit side by side, something they often did when reading in the lounge chairs in the library. But these were his quarters, and the desk was needed.

“These are dossiers, Siida.” he stated firmly, his brows flattening into a straight line as he gazed toward her. “These men are in part, responsible for our current situation.”

“What situation is that?” she asked back innocently enough.

“Financially.” the elder sibling added without missing a beat. “We are in the process of being bled dry.”

Lazarius placed the quill onto the top of the reservoir where it could be laid without spilling or leaking onto his work. “You see. . .the political stance in Quel’thalas and for that matter, the entire Horde, is war.” He began as his black gaze settled on her.

Siida found it was always best to listen to her brother speak rather than question him or interject with more questions.

“The House of Kash’ebahl had been a dutiful supporter of the banshee and her war campaign since the very beginning. So much so that once these eleven men learned that our estate had collapsed; so too did they find it was the time to capitalize on a ‘lame horse’ for lack of a better analogy. They are kicking us when we are down. So. . .they are using blackmail as a means to extract whatever they can from us.”

Lazarius paused as he turned some of the photographic images toward her in an attempt to let her see who they were.

“I am compiling a full set of work on every last one of them, where they work, live and leisure. What they do, their talents and weaknesses. I have been sending my shade Marseille on missions to find what he can on them. Since the Kash’ebahl name is more or less tarnished, we cannot set foot back in Silvermoon City without escort or disguise. I don’t want to risk giving these Magisters any more leverage than they need.”

Siida peered at them, wondering if he was actually doing the right thing by telling her about them. She would have opted to find some means to bargain with them, save them even. Death was never her first call to arms. “They are dangerous then?”

“Not inherently no, but like a serpent or any other ambush predator; giving them a means to attack is likely unwise. Despite their lavish lifestyles and pompous demeanor they are powerful magical users. But if we do not meet their demands monetarily, well then they will out us. Reveal to the courts and Magistrate that we are dealing in arms, ammunition's and illegal goods. Transporting across border lines and even working with Alliance counterparts. It could end out presence in Quel’thalas permanently, leaving us both stranded in Stormwind with the rest of the Ren’dorei.”

[ L.K ] “Ssssomething entersss my domain.” the triplicate voice sounding almost like her brothers though clearly female would echo and dance from the walls of the Inquisitors chamber.

Lazarius was known to keep some very odd items in his possession but it was always a gamble on what it could have been.

“Little sssissster, sssweet Sssiida....” the woman’s voice called again from every direction around her. “Why have you come here alone? What isss it you ssseek.”

[ S.K ] Siida stopped in her readings and glared around the office, the voice made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It was against her best interest to speak to voices that didn't take any form, but it was her brother....she could trust what he kept hidden away right?

"I'm here seeking to help Lazarius, he's been taken. . .I. . .We." she had done it again, trying to put the Order first in her efforts. “We need to locate him, locate the men who took him...”

[ L.K ] “Ah . . . Yesss we know...we alwaysss know...we sssaw....we sseee it all...” the voice seemed to echo and dance around the flames of the hearth which was always filled with a crackling fire. It was nothing shy of a breathy whisper but almost deafening to the mind and ears.

She was looking around the room for some point of origin of this voice, the shadow of a woman slowly walking would catch her eye, but when she looked around there was nobody there. Just that voice bouncing from every corner.

“The void hasss been watching you closssely little one...you are unique... are you afraid?”

[ S.K ] “I am not what's important, the order needs my brother back behind this desk..." She regretted looking around the room, such sights were straight out of her childhood nightmares.

She tried to pull her attention back to the files. "I'm not afraid.....” she called back in a firm yet, somewhat nervous tone.

[ L.K ] “That isss a falsssity. The Nine have sssurvived worssse. It will endure and lassst even without. What isss important isss your limit.”. Suddenly the voice would grow a location, a place of origin.

From the depths of the shadows deeper into his chamber, Siida would bare witness to the creature. A python of monolithic proportions would begin moving toward her. The head of this massive beast was well over a meter in length. Over all, this diamond painted serpent was well into the twelve to fifteen meter range, with a girth the size of an elm tree.

As it slithered and moved closer the pair of eyes on its head would blink and she would suddenly notice it had three pair. The creature slowly made its way toward her. “He isss ssstrong...and will alssso endure...”

[ S.K ] There were few things in this world that held Siida's mind when it came to fear and sadly her brother and friends seemed to be keen to keep a lot of snakes, though this one took the cake and the very breath from her lungs as she jumped back, sending the chair tumbling and stopping far behind her on the floor.

"My limit?" She stammered out, her hand almost falling upon a sharpened letter opener without thought, but she refrained, keeping calm..

[ L.K ] “Yesss...your limit Sssiida Ray Kassshebal.”. The creature slithered it’s way up toward the desk and when finally coming up upon her it would rear back on what appeared to be its hind end.

The serpent towered over her and nearly reached the height of the ten meter ceiling. The monster would flick its tongue and hiss at her but it seemed almost docile in its questioning. Her underbelly was a beautiful chromatic array of brilliant colors and as the scales shifted and moved it would make a breathtaking rainbow pattern.

“You will do anything for thisss order? Becaussse thisss isss not about The Massster. Ultimately the Nine mussst endure, your limit must be endlessss to protect the order, not only him.”. The bent creature would curl at its neck and slowly come down while hunching over to look her in the eye with her six. The snake was only a few feet away, God’s it’s flicking tongue was nearly the size of her arm.

[ S.K ] "Of course I would do whatever I could to keep them all safe....my brother is blood, but they are no less family to me than he." Siida said, finding it very hard to stand still but when been stared down by such a massive and imposing creature, you didn't simply run....no, that would be foolish.

[ L.K ] “Yesss.”. The being would flick its tongue and offer a slow nod. “The void will offer its vision and ssshould you require my sservice to wrangle what you ssseek...”.

The snake would slowly flick its tongue at her as if tasting the air around her. “You may call me Rassshja’la....I have been in the ssservice of the Inquisssitor for nearly three centuriesss.”

[ S.K ] Siida tested the name upon her tongue, surprised by how easily it came to her without much practice. "What do you mean, offer it's vision?" Siida was still taking lessons, raw talent was nothing to rest upon.

[ L.K ] “Little Sssiida.... we sssee all. we are everywhere...”. The massive creature turned and tilted as it kept itself on its hind end while gazing at her. The enormous head of the creature was awesome, like that of a surf board.

Rashjala was often times seen around the neck of Lazarius when in Quel’thalas but here...here in the Bastille she was able to show her true form, as he was as well.

“Gazzze into my eyesss...let me ssshow you what we sssee.”. Words so soft, petals to the ear like that of a lily. Her sweet tones so soothing and calming it made it difficult to really comprehend a forty foot serpent was telepathically speaking to her.

“You wisssh to ssserve the order...sssave your brother... then peer into the void and sssee.”. Clearly Siida knew that nothing ...nothing...NOTHING, the void offered came without some sort of price. But the creature was not here to deceive. Rashjala had been with Lazarius since he was a child. Her six glowing eyes began to shimmer and blaze like small stones in a reflecting pool.

[ P.K ] Pyravari had suddenly entered her brothers chambers once Koltun had fallen asleep, remembering well Kross had said that she should speak with Siida. Whispers in the halls brought her to this room, her casual attired form now standing in the door way as she witnessed the serpent and Siida having a lovely conversation, Guntram has soared in, taking up residence along a high shelf and even cackled toward the massive serpent. “Rashjala,” Vari’s tone echoed through the room in greeting, likely startling poor Siida but knowing well the serpent had already felt her presence.

[ L.K ] The snake instantly began to hiss at the sight of the two who so boldly stormed into the domain of her master. “You ssshould not be here Pyravari Kassshebahl.”. Hissed the coiling beast as it wriggled away from the younger sister and slithered back toward the shadows.

Lazarius had the largest room in the Bastille, it would have been on par to the grand hall where meetings were held. It was not hard for the massive creature to meld back within the shadows.

“Death isss not welcome here.”. She was of course referring to the bird. Guntram was not exactly a being this serpent enjoyed, as the void and death were very much opposites in every way. It was only fitting these two made the beast uncomfortable. Then again, it seemed even the presence of the Lady of the household was enough to send the serpent coiling back into the shadows.

[ S.K ] In her eagerness to understand and desire to keep those she cared for safe, Siida would have done anything that Rashjala had asked. She had no reason to distrust a creature that had been with her brother so long...but it seemed that her dear sister was there as always to be a guardian of sorts. Her eyes for the first time looked back at dossiers, her mind clearing a bit. "T-these will have the information we need t-to help Lazarius."

[ L.K ] “Ssshe ssspeaksss the truth...thossse ssshow the locationsss and detailsss on nearly all who ssseek to disssmantle your Houssse, Pyravari Kassshebahl.”. The voice was all that was there. That deep, airy and very throaty voice. It was all around them as it was before when Siida was alone, before the serpent showed her form.

“Take them...leave thisss placcce...”

[ S.K ] The youngest of the siblings didn't need to be told twice, her heart was thundering in her chest as she took up the files and scurried very quickly from the room, sparing a bow of her head to her sister, not daring to look around for the snake again.

[ L.K ] Vari reached out and curled her plated fingers around the arm of her youngest sister before she was able to bolt beyond the threshold of the door to their brothers room.

“You must not come here. . .” she said with a firm voice. A voice that sounded very reminiscent of a mother scolding her child. “It is not a safe place for any of us. . .”

Safe? Really? Siida looked at her elder sister with some concern. Her beautiful glowing eyes peering toward her with a shade of fel green.

“Well. . .I would do the same for you. . .I do not fear dear as some may think. I have just found you both within the matter of a years time. . .I do not intend to lose either of you again. . .my family, this place. . .If I am to protect it, I must risk what is needed.”

She firmly stood gazing up at her sister. It was not a stance of defiance but instead, to mark that she would go to any length to protect not only her family, but their way of life. A turning point perhaps.

The Harbinger peered back at Siida with a flattened expression, one that often graced the placid petrified flesh of the former knight. She was well preserved, always tending to her magical ointments and toners to keep her flesh looking pristine. Vari was beautiful, and despite undeath claiming her; when she smiled it was absolutely radiant.

She cracked just the slightest of those renowned smiles when she heard the small phrase uttered by her sister. “I need to meet with Kross. We are going to call a meeting of the council.” Her plated fingers curled around the dossier packets that were handed to her.

“I will look these over and together with him, determine a just course of action to take. . he will likely sound the bell when we are ready. . .thank you Siida. . .”

Thank you? The young Sin’dorei was beside herself to hear such a statement uttered by not only her dead elder sister, but by the Harbinger herself. It was enough to cause her heart to flutter just a moment, but a bow of her head and a proper acknowledgement would be all that came.

“I will take my leave then, and prepare myself to leave once the order is given.” Siida had no intention of sitting on her hands and waiting for someone to rescue her brother, no not by a long shot. Whatever the plan would be, she would cast herself into the flame and drag him back herself if needed.

She slowly turned and began to walk down the long corridor back toward the main hall, so she could return to her room. Vari on the other hand stood there, the whispers and slithering noises coming from her twins room were obvious. And as it was overtaken by the sound of mighty wings flapping, both she and the raven would leave the massive serpent alone as it wished. She was proud, but she was determined as well. Kross would need to see the dossiers, and they would need a plan. In the coming days those who had sought to decimate her cherished house would realize the full vengeance of not only the Kash’ebahl name, but the entire Order of Nine.

@siidaraykashebahl

@pyravari-kashebahl

@whatadarkbitch

@zalraazurestar

@suncrest-legacy

@thebladeitself

@zandalaridruidofgonk

@daltalah

8 notes · View notes

whiskeyandwildfire · 4 years

Text

Diving off the Mackinaw Bridge at 2am

(Please excuse the tardiness of this entry, I hope the content will serve as an explanation. However, first, I hope you will join me for a little afternoon poetry. If you would like, please listen to this track while reading the following poem aloud at a medium pace)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXvi1-gjI4A&list=PLkLGtfv9wqNKKRIY95QMUZqFwe_cl3orB&index=6

Getting closer to the edge A gust of wind comes off the straights And seems to push and pull you simultaneously.

And if you are the push I am the pull.

Different paths to the same town Square in the middle of nothing Open past nine and closed on Sundays.

And if you are a paddle boat On old Kitchi-Gummi I am a raft floating too far from shore And long past my bedtime.

Crashing waves wake Us at night and no campfire story Or prescription strength anything Will bring us back down before the sun comes up.

And if you are the sun I am the burn that comes later Unexpected, unwanted, and staying for months

Un-welcomed like a cousin from upstate Who borrows and never returns all of your best dress socks.

Or a song overplayed that you change Or try to change before realizing Music’s all the same today And tomorrow, and next week too.

And if you are the oboe concerto Rising and falling like a lost bird in flight I am the sound of a radio played too high

On a passing car swerving to avoid a chipmunk That’s thinking the same thought at that moment As I am, “How the fuck did I get here?”

And where will I be tomorrow, and tomorrow, and next week too?

But if you are mine I am your’s And that’s all there is.

After the push and the pull After the fall After the water wakes And the sun rises The bird takes flight And the song ends.

After tomorrow, and tomorrow.

ENTRY - Part 1

I’m writing this as I sit next to my father, six hours in to an eight hour trip from Michigan to Pennsylvania. He’s only driven a fourth of the way and already seems tired. The road wobbles and waves beneath the car as he changes lanes without signaling. The mirror I’ve reclaimed from my Grandparents house crashes against the wheel well of the back tire. Surely it’s shattered.

We pull off into the closest rest stop to stretch our legs, switch jobs, and check on the cargo.

“Okay son, don’t make me nervous” he says as I adjust the mirrors and seat back from the hunched over locked in position they’re kept in for his short frame. This is also something he comments on when it’s his turn to move them back.

My dad got into a small accident May 4th of 2019 in the car we drive in. I remember the date because it was the day after my 30th birthday. I got the call that he had slid the car into a rock pile about a block from his house. It had been raining and the brakes needed replacing anyway.

The brake pads and rotors had been gone since winter. In Michigan, the road salt eats away at...well, everything. Down to your spirit and definitely through 4 pieces of cheap foam.

The rain on the day of the accident wasn’t any worse than usual, and were it not for the fact that my dad was also drunk when he crashed it probably could have been avoided all together. Honestly though, when I see him sober it’s hard to tell which is better.

All of these mitigating factors aside, as someone who was voted “Worst Driver in High School” there must be some truth to the expressed concern. Three tickets in six months earned me the title and the almost immediate three month suspension of my license backed up the claim. We won’t mention the fact that two of these tickets were thrown out and the only reason that my license was suspended was because no one would listen to what I had to say, in a large part because I didn’t know how to say it. How to defend myself in matters of the law. Looking back, and with his experiences, you would think Dad being in the court room would have helped.

I change lanes and press down on the gas to no avail. The accelerator misses and the engine revs.

“Don’t make me nervous, Son”

You need to know that not only haven’t I driven in the better part of a year, but also that when I do I’m used to driving at least semi new rental cars. Cars with at least basic capability and safety measures.

“This is not a me, problem.” I respond. “You need new brakes. You need a new car” I stop there, he’s already not listening.

The road wobbles. The mirror crashes.

ENTRY - Part 2

I’m in my apartment now. Bags and luggage unpacked, father gone as quickly as possibly; never one for standing still. Mirror scratched, but in tact. Much like everything else. Little scratches that aren’t my stories to tell. Going through boxes that I collected and transported, mostly from my Mom’s. A special deck of cards, a stack of papers from school, and a present perfectly wrapped.

My Grandpa died in 2009. It was a week before my 21st birthday, I remember this because two weeks before he said to me “ If you don’t tell your Grandma I’ll have a beer with you” Of course I had been a pretty regular consumer since I was 15, but I couldn’t stand to break his heart.

Now, yesterday. Over 10 years later. My Grandpa had one last gift to give me. I’m opening it now. The wrapping paper is for a birthday. There’s no words written and no card. There’s a post-it already removed that says my name and that was the same for my brother and sister. I rip open the first layer and the trapped air inside is freed, blown around my entire body by the overhead fan. I can smell him in the wind. This is not just my mind either, I notice bringing the paper closer to my nose. He must have sprayed his Old Spice on the wrappings before sealing it shut. A gift inside a gift. A part of what made him back on the earth if only for a moment. Inside, a toy truck. An army transport of impressive detail. The kind of truck my Grandpa serviced in WW2. The kind of truck he fixed over and over again, under heavy fire, in a foreign country away from his wife so that he could defend all that was coming to him. Fighting for me without even knowing who I am.

Research - Thesis

Carl Jung was a Swiss psychoanalyst who wanted an answer to the question: “Why do seemingly good people do obviously bad things?”

Jung finally devised an answer in the formulation of the shadow self, the dark side – the side that’s hidden from conscious awareness AND the side that’s metaphorically dark.

Jung’s model of the shadow arises from the human subconscious/unconscious.

“Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual’s conscious life, the blacker and denser it is. If an inferiority is conscious, one always has a chance to correct it. Furthermore, it is constantly in contact with other interests, so that it is continually subjected to modifications. But if it is repressed and isolated from consciousness, it never gets corrected.” – Carl Jung, Psychology and Religion

You see…in childhood, we are socialized to behave a certain way, to follow a certain set of rules.

As a child, you know nothing about the world, so it is the responsibility of your caretakers to teach you about the world and its written and unwritten rules. Following these allow us to “fit in” with society and operate as productive citizens and achieve some standard of worldly success. This is the socialization process.

Some of these rules are actually good because they allow a society to function, for many people to enjoy a good standard of living, and lead reasonable lives.

However, “life happens” and many people in Western society (or even the world at large) have not been trained or socialized to face discomforting things that happen in life.

SOURCE

I began this entry with the two contrasting stories to illustrate this point. In my very basic, beginning stages of trying to understand Shadow Work and the Shadow Self that it is important to recognize what behaviors or actions are that of another person, what thoughts or actions are that of you...and more deeply, it is important to recognize what thoughts or actions are yours that cause you discomfort BECAUSE you see them in others.

Example - I don’t like when my father drinks too much because he becomes dismissive and hard to talk to.

Shadow Talk - I don’t like when I drink too much, because of the same reasons.

Example - I don’t like when my father comments on my bad driving that is really the fault of his broken vehicle, which is the result of his poor decisions and lack of accountability.

Shadow Talk - I don’t like when I don’t deal with problems as they arise.

Example - I don’t like that my father can’t communicate with me.

Shadow Talk - I don’t like that I can’t find a way to connect with him.

I also began this entry to illustrate that there are different “gifts” we can receive from people in our lives. Some positive both in the act and the outward appearance of receiving the gift and the actual gift itself, and some negative in appearance, but possibly positive in an unconsidered way. Example, being so uncomfortable and unhappy in a job that you lose interest, get fired, and only months later find your dream job because you were available to apply to it.

Arts Education - Research and updates

I’ve been picking through a report of collected data to help prove efficacy of the Young Playwrights Lab to potential granters, specifically under the new ESSA (Every Single Student Achieves) Act that explicitly details what funding is available, what types of Arts Education programs are eligible, what kind of research or efficacy you must be able to prove, and how much money is available in that section. There are currently 10 different sections of funding. 6 of those require Title III - Title IV level research proof to apply for funding. Here are the definitions from the report.

 Strong evidence (Tier I) comes from study reports that :

Show statistically significant positive

intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects);

Meet What Works Clearinghouse (WWC) evidence standards without reservations. (What’s this thing?)

Were conducted using a large, multisite sample (i.e., more than 350 students and more than a single school district).

 Moderate evidence (Tier II) comes from study reports that

(a) show statistically significant positive intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects);

(b) studies that meet WWC evidence standards with reservations;

(c) studies that were conducted using a large, multisite sample (i.e., more than 350 students and more than a single school district). (What’s different between I and II)

 Promising evidence (Tier III) comes from study reports that (a) show statistically significant positive intervention effects on relevant outcomes (without any statistically significant negative effects), and (b) describe correlational studies with statistical controls for selection bias.

 Research-based rationale (Tier IV) evidence comes from study reports that

(a) feature a well specified logic model informed by research or evaluation,

(b) describe interventions that are undergoing additional research regarding their effects

Here is an example from this same report that details an acceptable logic model.

It is my recommendation that for YPL to best take advantage of possible funding opportunities from ESSA that a new logic model should be developed from existing research that is “evidence based” as opposed to “rationale based” (Example, pre and post surveys, attendance statistics of kids participating in YPL, general test scores of those same students V. rationale based research that has more to do with facts we already know but aren’t tracking in the classrooms I.E. Art makes kids happy)

It is also my recommendation that one or more YPL programs for this next school year be chosen as control groups to either follow, or purposefully ignore the current model to test efficacy. Having the contrast to our goal will help illustrate to possible funders the actual impact of the program. This is especially imperative as programs continue online as there might be an opportunity to raise money for a TBD in person set of classes AS WELL as writing for grants to continue the work being done online.

(Thank you for your continued patience and attention during this hefty post)

1 note · View note

armyhealth9-blog · 5 years

Text

Episode 405 - Robb and Nicki Q&A #9

We're back with Q&A #9 with Robb and Nicki.

Remember to submit your own questions for Robb and Nicki to answer on a future show here: https://robbwolf.com/contact/submit-a-question-for-the-podcast/

Show Notes:

1. [2:06] Kidney Stones

Krisztian says: I've been mostly Paleo for about 5 years now based on one of your piror books. Overall, it has worked well for me, with one exception. I started to develop kidney stones on a regular basis. I finally had them analyzed and they turned out to be calcium oxalate stones. Upon reading up on this condition, it stems from a high amount of oxalate in the diet. Unfortunatley, most of the foods I liked on Paleo happen to be super high in oxalate... spinach, nuts, seeds, dark chocolate, sweet potatoes. The other wammy here is that I was initially avoiding dairy on Paleo which turns out to be worse for stones because one way to counteract high oxalate intake is to match it with high calcium to avoid stone formation. I've since gone back to eating plenty of cheese and high fat dairy in my diet.

I'm curious if this is a common issue that you've seen and I'm wondering if this is something that might be helped by going to a keto diet.

2. [5:33] Sugar addiction Kathryn says: Hey Robb, I am really hoping you can give me some insight into why I can't seem to fully recover from sugar addiction. I have had a sweet tooth my whole life, but in recent years I have learned that I have a true addiction to sugar. In the last four years or so, I have studied a lot of nutrition, functional medicine and ancestral health perspectives and gone on a strict paleo diet for months at a time. In almost every way, a clean diet of whole foods makes me feel amazing (better sleep, clearer skin, joints and movement feels better, etc.), except, I become very depressed. It's not a mopey, weepy kind of depressed, it's literally a depression of all feeling, like I feel very little at all. But I do sometimes feel really, really irritable, or sometimes bouts of rage that don’t match the situations they arise in. But most of the time, I just feel blah. I thought this would go away after a couple of weeks or even a month or two of eating clean, but it didn't. In happy or exciting moments, it was like I just couldn't feel those emotions fully. I also noticed that I didn't crack jokes like I usually do or feel like being social. All my feelings were dulled. Even sad ones. And when I did fall off the diet, and eat sugar, I immediately felt cheerful again. To me, it seems that the years of sugar abuse have altered my brain enough that without sugar, I can't feel normal emotions anymore. So my question is concerning healing my brain. Is it possible to reverse these effects? The longest I have gone on a strict paleo diet is three months. I admit it was hard to keep going when I just didn't see myself ever feeling happy again. If it's possible to heal my brain and increase its capacity for proper dopamine signaling again, are there certain therapies or supplements that can precipitate and accelerate that healing? Perhaps I am ignorant of some other factor or mechanism at work here. I would be grateful for any insight or help you can give. Thanks for the incredible work you do to bring to light the truth about human health and nutrition.

Notes:

Carb 22: https://carbsyndrome.com/nutraceuticals-new/

STEM Talk Episode 69 (David LeMay): https://www.ihmc.us/stemtalk/episode-69/

3. [11:32] Metabolic Flexibility and Weight Loss/Maintenance Julia says: Robb and Nicki, I am very interested in the concept of metabolic flexibility and eagerly waiting to hear your upcoming lecture on this topic. Intuitively it makes sense that given variation in season and climate that humans would have relied on a menu of macronutrient combinations. My question is: how can developing metabolic flexibility be used as tool for weight loss/maintenance? I have been about 90% ketogenic for the past 28 months; the other 10% would be high carb meals which I have allowed as a metabolically flexible person. I can swing in and out of ketosis with ease; however, I have noticed that if I go through periods of higher carb, it does result in weight gain which is tough to lose even when reentering ketosis. I do crossfit almost daily and practice the 18:6 IF schedule, and I don't notice either of those things affecting my performance. Thanks!

4. [16:31] Low afternoon energy

Laura says: Hi Robb and Nicki, Thank you both for all you do! I've been a huge fan since 2010 and admire your relentless pursuit of the truth when it comes to health and nutrition.

My question is about my extremely low energy in the early afternoons. I know it is a common complaint, but I feel like I've done everything I can to fix the common mistakes that lead to the afternoon slump, and I also feel like my exhaustion is too extreme to be normal for my age and health status.

I'm 32 years old, I eat low carbish (75-100g most days), have toyed with keto, eat mostly paleo with the addition of some dairy and occasional non gluten grains. I do crossfit 3x/week and spend most of my time chasing my 2 year old around. My sleep is good most of the time, and I do not have any major life stressors that effect me currently. No diagnosed health conditions, no rx meds.

I had bloodwork done recently, and my doctor was very impressed with the results, especially my blood lipids. A1c was 4.8, C-reactive protein 0.8, no thyroid antibodies present. Fasting blood sugar 78. The only things that were slightly out of range were homocysteine (slightly low at 4.6), Uric acid low at 2.4, serum iron slightly high at 148, and my free T3 was a little low at 2.5. Another Doctor years ago prescribed me naturethroid but I never took it.

Ive tried changing my diet in every way imaginable to try to combat a possible hypoglycemic or food sensitivity related slump after lunch. I've eliminated various foods that people can be sensitive to,and ive even tried more carbs in the morning, but that leads to blood sugar imbalance and cravings all day. As a result, my breakfasts and lunches would fall under the keto umbrella, as I feel better when I eat carbs later in the day.

The only thing that seems to slightly help is not eating at all, but I just get so hungry! My activity level is fairly high and I don't feel like I'm a great candidate for intermittent fasting at this point.

My mom, who has had MS for about 30 years, does not eat all day and only eats dinner because she's says eating makes her tired. I just can't handle not eating at all, and I do feel fatigued and hypoglycemic if I try to skip meals.

Thanks for reading and for all you do!!

5. [23:08] Carb test and ketosis

Carl says: Hey Robb,

I read Wired to Eat while I was pretty deep into a ketotic cycle, so I didn't immediately get to the 7-day carb test. Years of self-experimentation have led me to a relatively low carb (<50g/day) Paleo diet with an occasional 48 hour fast, an occasional ketotic cycle, and a very occasional carb re-feed. Genetic testing revealed some SNPs that predispose me to insulin resistance, and others that positively affect my fat metabolism, reinforcing the fact that I look, feel, and perform better eating in this fashion. I do enjoy my occasional carb binges, so I'd like to perform the carb test in order to whittle my food selections down to those least damaging to my metabolism; but I'm concerned that my postprandial blood glucose readings will be skewed upward because I don't regularly eat more than ten or fifteen grams of effective carbs at a time. Should I bring my daily and per-meal carb intake up for a certain period of time before starting the carb test, or is a 50 gram bolus of carbs small enough to give me a true measure of glucose tolerance for the purpose of food selection? Thanks in advance.

6. [27:30] Creativity and Writing Process

Peter says: Robb,

I hope all is well. I'm a big fan of the Podcast and excited about the Q & A return. I have a two-parter both within the same general idea.

FIRSTLY: I'm a writer and I am alway curious about how others approach the creative process. I was curious if you could elaborate on how you approach writing and creativity in regards to balancing an active lifestyle? And how a typical day when writing might look.

For example -- Do you do things like meditate? What time of the day do you write? Where do you write? If you write in the morning how do you reconcile with hanging outside first thing in the morning to get some sun? If you do Jujutsu around noon and roll for 2 hours how do you write around it? You've mentioned eating big meals in the morning, if you're in a heavy writing period, is this a habit you stick with? Oh by the way, you have a wife and kids... how do you balance it all?

Do you still do caffeine? Do you force yourself to take breaks during writing? How do you avoid sitting for 5/6 hours straight?

Sorry for all the questions, I've just been thinking about this a lot lately as I enter into a career pursuing my passion as a writer while trying to balance and prioritize my health. As I am sure you can attest, writing can be all consuming if you let it and setting boundaries is vital -- though difficult, especially if you're in "the zone." So I'd love to hear your thoughts.

[33:18] SECONDLY: I'd love to get your thoughts on the mechanisms at play when writing or doing anything else that requires intense mental focus in regards to willpower. Correct me if I am wrong, but it feels like for me, many aspects of writing and maintaining a healthy lifestyle (choosing healthy food over shitty stuff, hitting the gym, walking, etc.) can drain from the same willpower tank (if not just psychologically, and physically -- physiologically as well). This isn't to say that both can't exist -- rather does one need to be given priority based on ordering of events throughout the day?

For example, I feel my creativity comes to me first thing in the morning. If I were to wake up and hit a Metcon first thing, I feel my creativity gets depleted from the shared willpower tank. I feel this to be true with little things that chip away at my early morning start time as well. For example, taking the time to make a big healthy breakfast, sitting in the sun, even a short walk, all delay me tapping into when I feel I am creatively primed -- but is it worth the sacrifice of my health?

I was curious if you have any thoughts on when or how you prioritize creativity. Or maybe this is all just a bunch of bullshit like Robert Rodriguez says -- and our creativity is totally out of our control.

Anyways, love the show and everything you do. If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.

Regards, Peter

Source: http://robbwolf.libsyn.com/episode-405-robb-and-nicki-qa-9

#read more #see more #check it out #interesting #learn more

0 notes

startrek-z · 6 years

Text

STZ IV: Part 2

“Entering orbit around Sira-8,” Saavik announced. “Thank you lieutenant. Mr. Spock, fetch Doctor McCoy and meet me in the transporter room,” Kirk ordered. He had a sinking feeling about this.

*** Sand was horribly thick in the air. Even with his hat pressed against his mouth, Link could still taste the dry grains sticking to the inside of his cheeks. He had left the lab only an hour ago. Several days had passed since he’d tried to contact Pavel, and still no answer had come. The water was running terribly low; it wouldn’t last another night, and Zelda had grown too ill to travel. He’d had to wrestle himself away from her side, knowing he needed to try to find water for them if they had any hope at all of surviving. But he knew in his heart that the chances were high that he’d probably never see her again. Things only got worse from there as the wind picked up. With barely any vegetation left, he soon found himself at the mercy of a dust storm. Coughs shook his dangerously thin frame, leaving him feeling giddy and weak. He pushed on, though. If there was a chance, he didn’t want to fail Zelda, like he’d failed the rest of Hyrule. It was so hot…but he wasn’t sweating. His breath came in short, strained gasps. If only he could find some shade…maybe some water. He hadn’t allowed himself a drink in nearly two days… and the food had run out nearly a week ago. Link groaned, pausing to rub his temples as a persistent headache worsened. ‘gotta keep going…’ he thought to himself, before struggling on. The sun, though hidden in the airborne grime, beat mercilessly down on him. Hours seemed like days–step after step after step. Dizziness started to wash over him, and he found himself fighting to keep his balance. Everything looked the same. The Hero of a Hyrule that no longer existed found himself wondering if he’d gotten anywhere–had he been walking in circles? There was no way to know for certain. Link paused and squinted. Was that a person, standing in the distance? A fuzzy dark shape seemed to be looming ahead of him. Thinking that maybe it was another survivor, he started to walk as quickly as his dizziness would allow towards them. Suddenly, he lurched forward; the ground seemed to disappear completely. Wind was whistling shrilly in his ears. His sluggish mind groped helplessly for an explanation; his vision was clouded with swirling vortexes of brown and tan in every direction. What was up? Where was down? What had he been doing? Why was there so much wind? There was a crack as he slammed into the first protruding ledge. His breath hitched in his throat as pain flooded his senses. He couldn’t even manage a scream as the world continued to spin dizzily around him. For a moment, he saw blue eyes and red hair. She was saying something; he couldn’t make it out. 'Malon…wait, I don’t understand…’ The last thing he remembered was a sickening thud as the world went black and still. Wind was whistling shrilly in his ears as he came to. A harsh cough ripped through him, resulting in sharp gasps of pain. Fire consumed his ribs when he tried to breath. He tried to push himself upright, but the movement was too painful to bare. Nausea clawed ruthlessly at his insides, and his body convulsed violently as he heaved. Nothing came up. The endless expanse of brown swirled dizzily around him. The sensation of floating came and went as he rested his forehead on the sandy earth. Sand tickled his dry, scratchy throat with every breath, threatening to make him cough again. The pain…if only it’d go away so he could move. It seized him up again as he coughed, sending him into a whirlpool of agony like nothing he’d ever experienced. 'Hold on…’ The voice seemed to drift its way into his ears. Link fought to pick up his head, dim blue eyes wearily searching the sandy clouds for its source. No one was there… 'Help is coming, just hold on.’ “Pav…” he whispered weakly. The gritty taste of sand was thick in his mouth. Everything was fading; darkness crept anxiously into the sides of his vision, waiting to engulf him. “I’m sorry…I..i can’t.” *** “Good lord, what happened?” Bones muttered in disbelief. Kirk was too stunned to form a response. They had beamed down onto Sira-8, and the sight that greeted them was anything but pleasant. The once lush, green planet now looked little more than a dust bowl, void of life. While the two humans gaped at the condition of the planet, Spock consulted his tricorder, his expression as emotionless as ever. “The closest life form is approximately 30 metres ahead of us,” the Vulcan stated, looking up into the endless clouds of dust. “It is very faint.” “Well don’t just stand there, let’s go!” McCoy grumbled with concern, starting ahead without waiting for a response. Kirk and Spock followed in silence. It wasn’t long before they spotted the crumpled form. McCoy broke into a clumsy jog, hindered slightly by the bulky yellow bio suit he was wearing. All three had decided to wear the gaudy equipment, not knowing what would await them planetside. Kirk and Spock approached in time to hear Bones curse with worry. Kirk soon understood why. He barely recognized the motionless, dust-covered boy as Link–angry red cuts and scrapes crisscrossed on what skin they could see, suggesting a fall of some sort. He was dangerously thin; it was far too easy to spot ribs beneath the his tattered green garment. His cheeks were shallow and unnaturally pale, and dark shadows had settled under his eyes. McCoy was holding his tricorder over the boy, watching the screen with furrowed brows. “This is not good,” he finally murmured. “He’s severly dehydrated, on top of heat stroke and a pretty bad concussion. Some broken bones, too…must’ve gotten caught in a dust storm and fell off this cliff here. And it doesn’t take a damned doctor to know he’s severely underweight,” he looked gravely back at the other two officers. “Pavel was right. The Reliant wouldn’t have made it in time. How he’s alive even now is beyond me.” Kirk nodded, biting his lip. “Spock, are there any others?” “Yes, one other. It is not far from here, and not nearly as faint.” “Well I’m taking Link back to the ship,” McCoy announced. “You two go claim the other one.” Bones called for a beam up, and soon he and Link had disappeared. “Alright Mr. Spock. Lead the way.” Spock did not reply, but strode purposely toward the nearest dwelling: the laboratory. *** “Admiral,” Saavik said, turning in her seat. “The Reliant has just dropped out of warp near the edge of the system.” “Right on time,” was Kirk’s reply. “Actually sir, they are five point three minutes late,” She smoothly informed him. Mr. Spock nodded in approval. Kirk shrugged, deciding it best not to explain his reasoning. “Lieutenant Saavik, please send Mr. Chekov straight to sickbay when he arrives. Mr. Spock and I will meet him there,” Kirk ordered, raising from his chair. “Aye sir,” Saavik replied crisply as she took the conn. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Link knew he should be in pain, but there wasn’t any; Only heavy darkness. He thought he heard voices, but they sounded so far away, he couldn’t recognize or understand them. His mind was sluggishly coming back. His entire body felt leaden and weighted down, but the feel of cloth at his fingertips suggested he was lying in a bed. A bed…? Memories started to filter back into his weary mind. The fall, the sand, the heat, the pain, everything. 'Where am I?’ He cautiously opened his eyes, wincing faintly as light seared into cracked eyelids. As the room slowly came into focus, he saw three blurry faces looking down on him. “Welcome back,” said a familiar, gruff voice. It wasn’t Pavel. Link blinked a few times, his vision clearing only slightly. “This…this isn’t the Reliant,” he murmured, dazed. “No,” another voice told him, “you’re on the Enterprise.” The Enterprise. Finally, he could see again. The familiar, yet somewhat aged faces of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy were gazing down at him from above. “Captain?” he managed softly, focusing on Kirk. “Jim is no longer a captain,” Spock corrected him, “he is an admiral, and I am Captain.” The Hylian was too drained to be annoyed by the correction. He couldn’t even be sure that he wasn’t imagining all of this. “Well Jim, the worst is past,” Dr. McCoy stated. He had been scanning Link’s vitals. “A few more days of bed rest and a few good meals, he’ll be good as new.”

An urgent thought pressed its way into his sluggish head. Real or not, he needed to know. “Did you…did you get Zelda? Is she–” “She’s alright,” McCoy reassured him, recognizing the effort it was taking for him to talk. “She’s in the next room.” “Was there anyone else…?” McCoy and Kirk exchanged regretful looks, before McCoy responded with a small shake of his head. “Our scanners didn’t pick up any other signs of life. I’m sorry, Link.” He hadn’t even realized how tightly he’d been clinging to the hope that others had survived. The confirmation that he and Zelda had really been the only ones out of an entire world full of living things and people left a heavy ache in his chest. “…where’s Pavel?” “He’s on his way,” Kirk reassured him, his tone gentle and fatherly in the wake of news that had clearly wounded the young man. “They were a little too far away to help. We happened to be passing by, and he asked us to come and help you in his stead. He should be here in just a few minutes.”

#to the end

0 notes