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kiwanopie · 1 year

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“What does it look like to see crime lord!kiyoomi blow up at someone threatening the reader?”

cw: mention of bathroom (reader has to number one lmao), character death, death by suffocation

wc: 2.4k

His head immediately turns when he hears your voice calling out for him.

You’re breathtaking in your ball attire. Glowing under the balmy haze of ballroom crystal lights as you duck into his gaze. You’re radiant, and It’s a chore to look anywhere else as Kiyoomi scans the large hall, leaning in to get a better listen at your voice. “What’s up, angel?”

“Can you come with me to the bathroom?” You whisper. “I’m too nervous to go by myself.”

Kiyoomi pauses to delegate a pensive moment. He was supposed to mingle with OneSource’s people to check in on his annual contract bonding. ‘Course there’s no reason to think that anything has changed - they’d have a death wish to pull out from something like Sakusa Enterprises - but it’s etiquette, and it’s still important to maintain general communication. At the very least uphold his reputation as a studious businessman.

He traces the fullness of your eyelashes from where you look up at him. “Mhm.”

Kiyoomi reaches for your hand and leads you to the laboratory.

He’s not the least bit embarrassed to be leading his wife into the otherwise empty women’s bathroom. And even if it weren’t, he doubts he’d be any less unfazed. - Impassive still as he watches you glide your way into the cleanest stall and close the door behind you. Kiyoomi leans against the sink as he waits for you to finish your business.

“Can you turn the sink on? I don’t want you to hear me tinkle.”

“Tinkle?” Kiyoomi snorts as he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “Baby, I hear you tinkle every day in our bathroom. Just let it out.”

“Yeah, but this is a public place,” He can hear you pout. “And I’m already nervous. I don’t want you to make fun of me for spotting.”

Spotting. He quietly titters again. I mean, he’s brushed his teeth with you planted on the bowl before, a little piss staggering wouldn’t even faze him. But still he grabs a paper towel, and uses it to turn the nodule on one of the sinks.

“Thank you!” The better portion of your dress lifts over your heels.

It’s only a few moments that it takes till he’s hearing the telltale sound of an automatic toilet whir into the room. Even with his eyes planted on his phone, he sees you neaten your dress back down in his peripheral. Dark blues turn velvety in the bathroom lights, and pretty spaghetti straps fall loosely on your shoulders; and with the way your hair so lively shines as you walk, he’s nearly convinced that you’re an angel.

His eyes light up with familiar adoration as you approach him at the sink, the smile you pass him is enough to turn his cheeks flowery. “How long is this party gonna last for?”

“Till two, but we can leave earlier than that if you want.”

“Are you having fun?” The soap in your palms audibly squishes as you lather your hands.

Kiyoomi sighs through his nose. “I’m making good connections, but you know me. Huge crowds like these start to break me out in hives. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

You ring your hands in the sink. “That makes you and I both then. There’s so many important people here that I can’t help but worry. I don’t want you or anyone else to get hurt just cause some bastard has a vendetta.”

You move for the air dryer on the side of him. “I saw Onslaught and Shinobu wandering the halls together. Those two dudes make it desperately apparent that they despise us.”

“They’re attention seekers, angel. They - No, don’t use that.”

You look at him curiously as he moves you by the arm to the paper towel dispenser. “Those things are disgusting, they’re riddled with germs.”

He snatches a few out for you. “I doubt anyone here has ever bothered to disinfect these.”

You simper as you finally wipe your hands down. “Oh. Well, thank you for looking out for me, baby.”

“Always.”

Kiyoomi slides his phone in his pocket as you move for the mirror again. “They’re attention seekers,” He starts again. “They know what my status is, they know that you and I are the most prevalent family running the underground business nowadays. Anybody who’s anybody should know that the Sakusa’s have owned the better half of Asia for decades. - It’s easy for them to stay relevant when they’re feuding with the most powerful empire in the game; regardless of what risk they’re putting on their lives by doing that.”

You eye yourself in the mirror. “They’re cockroaches. They’re just feeding off us for a little bit of business talk. What will it take for them to understand that business doesn’t even exist if it doesn’t come from you in some way.”

The little boost to his ego already turns him pink, but the way you spin in the mirror has his lips curling over his teeth. “Yeah? You’re absolutely right.”

His reflection mirrors the way he reaches out for you, pulling you closer in his direction, and softly pinching your cheeks with his calloused fingers. “But it’s nothing you’ve gotta worry your pretty head about, huh? - You’re really cute..”

You pout up at him. “What if they pick a fight with us?”

Kiyoomi kisses his teeth. Uncoupling the little grip he has on your cheek to smooth it over with his thumb, and let his blithe gaze settle on the dip in your lips. “As if they’d be so stupid. Self preservation reigns, angel. They all know better.”

You give him somewhat of an unimpressed look. “Death isn’t the price you pay for slighting us, Omi.”

“You’re right,” He hums. “It’s the price they pay for slighting you.”

You lean into the kiss Kiyoomi presses gingerly onto your lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Omi.”

“So much.”

“Show me.”

He leans in for another one. A little firmer, somewhat tailed by a quiet hum but the way you move forward to deepen it has him openly sighing into your mouth. Long, savory, tender lip smacking. - Smoothing his grip under your jaw till you’re all but making out like a couple of teenagers. That’s how you make him feel - like a teenager. Jittery and palm sweaty. Meekend as you moan into the kiss and he’s rapt by butterflies. Breathless when you part from him and still overdosing on that contact high.

God, “I love you so fucking much.” He sighs.

“I love you so much more.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t think something like that could be remotely possible.

_____

Kiyoomi pushes your seat in for you as you both take your spots at the grand table.

There are many very important faces here. From the face of your renowned husband, to well known yakuza leaders, - High ranking members of The Sinaloa Cartel, Solntsevskaya Bratva, Sun Yee On, and so forth. With this many dangerous people at one table, most controlling near global power, it isn’t unheard of to feel a little out of your wits. You can’t show your fear as much as you want to, sitting at this table with your husband means sharing the collective power he has - and representing it as well. Much like the other wives and spouses sitting with their respective criminal lovers, you keep your cool with a natural grace. Still pretty even as your palms start to sweat.

Ken Shōhei, leader of the sixth generation yellow fangs, raises his glass to propose a toast. He glitters with shined jewels and gaudy rings as they reflect in the chandelier light. You glance at his wife before glancing at him. Catching a less than friendly evil eye that chills you straight to the blue bone. If you had to guess, they’re friends of Onslaught. If you had to guess again, you’d say it’s probably upsetting to realize you’re not the hottest foreign wife in the room anymore.

“Beautiful people of this nation - of your respective nations,” He begins. “Let us take this moment to reflect on the novelty of such business making and our untaintable honor. To the choices we’ve made thus far that has led us here. The chances we take that - understandably shouldn’t work out in our favor - but has. Our fortune, our hard work, the allies we’ve made today and the friends we’ll make tomorrow. I propose a toast to us. To our virtues, and to our decency. Let us all come together and celebrate ourselves.”

His wife smiles as she picks up her glass. “To ourselves!”

The rest of the table brandish their cups and follow suit. “To ourselves!”

The chatter continues as most of them take a quick sip to their glasses.

Or well, all except for you and Kiyoomi, who’s got the flute halfway to his lips before you stop him in his tracks. “Wait, baby.”

“Hm?”

You lean in to whisper softly. “These glasses don’t smell clean.”

“Hm?” Kiyoomi furrows as he dips his nose in his champagne flute. “They don’t-? Oh. Ew.”

He reaches for your glass. “Don’t even touch that. We’ll sanitize our hands after they-“

Someone’s choking.

Someone’s hacking and gasping for air right in front of you. Loud enough to startle as your head whips in the direction of whoever it is coughing up a lung across the table, and Kiyoomi instinctively reaches for you - pulling you by the bicep as he prepares to step out of his seat.

It’s an appropriate knee jerk reaction for what actually unfolds in front of you. Kiyoomi forces you to your feet as Shōhei’s body crashes into the fine cloth of the grand table and sends the majority of their plates crashing down with him. His shrill wheezing cuts into the silence that befalls the group of leaders as they stare down at him. Twitching and flailing before finally seizing up and you all watch in horror as he eventually goes limp.

You all watch in dread as his wife follows. Nithya, Maciej, Jalmari, Takashi, and Yuina, dropping to the floor in similar fashion. Some fall back in their seats in an effort to save themselves, some face plant into their plates before unceremoniously hitting the ground, but they all meet the same fate. Foaming at the mouth and blue from asphyxiation, all poisoned by something lethal likely slipped into their drinks.

Kiyoomi is the first to break the long stunned silence, calling over one of his underlings to meet him at the table.

He shoves his drink in his face. “Drink this.”

The man does so without hesitation.

After a few long moments the faceless scout looks generally unharmed which immediately raises red flags, but it isn’t over yet.

He hands him his wife’s drink. “And this?”

Another sip, another few long moments.

And then he’s falling to the ground.

You both stare in sickened shock as he flails on the ground just as the other victims did. Gasping for air as his spit foams over and the vessels in his eyes burst from suffocation. He’s dead within a few tortuous minutes, and Kiyoomi all but turns blue.

He nearly breaks his back with how quickly he turns for you, already frantically cupping your face in his hands. “Did you eat anything on the table? Have you eaten anything?”

There are tears in your eyes, rightfully. “N-No.”

He’s shaking. It’s a rare moment of weakness for the revered kingpin. One of the most frightening, if not the most frightening man in all of Asia - glassy eyed at the realization of his lover coming so close to death. He’s pink under eyes, pupils twitching back and forth as he frantically scans your face for any sign of change. The men and women surrounding the two of you take pause. It’s clear this is a shock to you both. That the man in question would rather kill over than put his wife in harm’s way, especially one so gruesome. ~ But there’s layers to this collective suspension shared among the room. Shock, confusion, apprehensity.

Fear.

As expected Kiyoomi’s reaction is less than pleased.

“Miya!”

At the sound of Kiyoomi’s booming voice, Atsumu races into the ballroom and up to the table. “Boss- Whoa, holy shit.”

“Bring me the heads of everyone in the kitchen,” His voice is vitriolic. It sends shivers up the spines of every living body in here. “All except for the chef. Pack him up in the shuttle.”

The boldness of the demand knocks Shinobu out of his daze, he’s kissing his teeth not even a moment later. “Don’t just start giving orders like you-“

“Shut the fuck up, Shinobu. Be thankful I don’t start picking from the table!”

One of the other businessmen at the table speaks meekly. “W-Wait. Let’s just... Everyone just-“

“Enough!” Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. And even to the most lethal of men in the room do they quaver at the venom in his voice. Sakusa Kiyoomi is not known for being an angry man. A spiteful man, sure. Cold and callous and cruel, on his worst days a little psychotic. There’s a scowl on his face more often than not, a sneer almost in the way he speaks to his adversaries and enemies alike. He’s known for being a mean son of a bitch - the meanest, really. But not angry. Not down right irate. Not so wrathful in the way he addresses the crowd around him.

“Someone here,” He breathes. “Has made an enormous lapse in judgment. If not to the leaders we just lost at this table; than to threaten me - to threaten my wife, my family,”

He’s firm yet earnest in his efforts to keep you behind him, nearly yanking you back by your arm but you bump into his firm back with one of his hands fastened over your waist. “You must’ve all forgotten that there is no one on this earth who I can’t get my hands on - especially for something so despicable. Whether they're in that kitchen or in this room, every second of their worthless life is borrowed from me. - Goro!”

The host of the ball swallows as he answers quickly. “Yes, Sakusa-san, sir?”

“Get me the names of everyone who’s been in or out of this place within the last forty eight hours, not a minute short.”

“Yes, of course.”

Kiyoomi nods his head for his men to follow as he drags his wife out by the hand.

#crime lord!sakusa kiyoomi #crime au!kiyioomi #sakusa kiyoomi #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq x reader

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nevesmose · 1 month

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Bandages on Broken Souls: A Nostramo Culture/Lore Post

Sometimes I think about the wee lower-deck people that were all covered in bandages in the Night Lords Trilogy. Why so bandagey? (Bandagepilled wrapmaxxers, not beating the bandage allegations, etc)

She glanced at the wretch, who was unhealthily tall and sexless in its overcloak, keeping its face behind stained bandages. Several others lurked close to the door, whispering amongst themselves. It was impossible not to smell their sweat, their stinking, bloodstained bandages, and the rancid oil-blood of their bionics.

Those ones. The attendants providing for Octavia's needs as a Navigator. Octavia's attendants.

It turns out ADB does tell us a bit later on:

The chlorine reek of them offended his senses, the way it rose in a miasma from their antiseptic-soaked bandages, as if such trivial protections could ward against the changes of the warp.

This is very interesting to me for a few reasons since it can lead to various interpretations about Nostraman culture, even though it's important to bear in mind that what we're seeing is the degraded situation after however-many thousand subjective years of dicking about in the Warp, Eye of Terror etc.

They believe, or at least Ruven the POV character here thinks they believe, that warp mutation can be defended against with purely physical items i.e. bandages and disinfectant. While it's easy to point to examples of people from all kinds of cultures in the setting using spiritual or metaphysical ways to protect themselves from the warp, I find it interesting that this doesn't seem to occur to the Nostramans.

In fact, unless I'm remembering it wrong (always a possibility tbh) other than a small mention in one of the Gendor Skraivok short stories about there being a secret Lectitio Divinitatus cult among the serfs, there seems to be very little spiritual/religious belief organic to Nostramo itself.

That makes some sense, I think. It is after all Space Gotham, a world of armoured groundcars and looming starscrapers where everyone is living under some form or another of very high pressure just to survive whether that means getting their next meal or keeping their position in high level gang politics. Whatever beliefs the original settlers brought with them to the Sunless World were, I imagine, ground away over time as generations passed and people had other, more visceral concerns.

There are a few scenes in the 1984 nuclear war TV movie Threads that take place in the period about 10-20 years after the bombs have fallen. It's clear that the by now rapidly deteriorating survivors of the pre-war world are trying as best they can to provide some kind of education for their post-war descendants, but this is extremely limited and relies on what they can gather together from whatever books, VHS tapes etc happened to survive the war:

"The skeleton of a cat! A cat's skeleton!"

And we can see that it simply means nothing to the children and young adults whose entire existence revolves around basic survival - mostly food and the things they have to do in order to get it.

This, in a way, is what I think happened to whatever beliefs in anything beyond the material that may have ever existed on Nostramo by the time we see it in the Crusade/Heresy era. It's a sad, stunted little world and I feel immensely sorry for the nasty, skeevy people it produced.

Another factor affecting this would of course be the Night Haunter. You don't really need to have a spiritual/metaphorical figure or system dispensing rules and justice when Konrad is actually real and inside your home making it brutally clear what his views on law-breaking are.

So, in my usual roundabout way, we come back to the bandages again. My view, as I've expressed before in my ramblings, is that Konrad didn't truly eradicate crime on Nostramo so much as eradicate the appearance of it.

There's a legend from Ancient Greece about a Spartan boy training to be a warrior which I'll post as a screenshot below since I think we could all do with a break from my writing style for a bit:

"He could steal and suffer and die rather than be found out" is the relevant part here I think. Much like the idea that snitches get stitches or the mafia code of omertà where one's value in society and life itself hinge on a mutual keeping of silence against any and all authority figures.

We know that even before Konrad arrived, Nostraman society functioned on a gang allegiance basis, so already fertile ground for a very insular and secretive type of culture. But then we add the Night Haunter to the mix and the numbers spell disaster for you at Sacrifice the social pressure in this direction ramps up massively.

It's also made very clear pretty much everywhere that Nostramo is a vicious, predatory society. There's a description in one of the Skraivok stories of Phy Orlon, the canonical smallest saddest uwu-iest Night Lord:

It astounded Skraivok how such a vulpine little thing had made it through the selection process. Even bulked by legionary gifts, Orlon still managed to convey the impression of feebleness. Towards the end, Nostramo had been providing only the dregs of the dregs. No wonder Curze had levelled the place.

Weakness was like the scent of blood in the water to the Night Lords. Legionaries like Orlon would always attach themselves to those they deemed powerful, for protection. That explained the ridiculous batwings welded to the top of his helm in emulation of Sevatar, and why he had appointed himself as Skraivok’s adjutant.

It's like prison or high school. Even the transhuman supersoldier Nostramans still function this way. What hope do ordinary people have?

Not much at all, I think. Just in order to survive day to day it'd be necessary to conceal any injury, weakness or deformity at the risk of having it being ruthlessly used against you by just about everyone.

So we come back to the bandages again. Told you I'd get there eventually. We see that the attendants are in fact completely covered in bandages Joshua Graham style:

‘Lord,’ they hissed through slits in their faces that were once lips. Their bloodstained bandages rustled as they shifted and lowered their weapons.

[...]

She raised a bandaged hand, as if she could possibly bar the warrior’s passage with a demand, let alone with her physical presence.

I can imagine the impulse to cover up and conceal any weakness applies very strongly to warp mutations of any sort. Curdled and degraded over millennia roaming the immaterium in the bowels of a ship with the changes becoming worse and worse the longer they go on, it would be plausible for this to develop into a need to cover up and disinfect every inch of oneself in order to maintain some pretence, however flimsy, of being a capable human being.

The saddest part of it for me, though, is that all of the attendants are like this. It's a situation where everyone is quite literally in the same boat, undergoing the same suffering, and yet they still retain this deeply-ingrained need to hide and conceal themselves from each other. It feels like even here, ten thousand years after its destruction, Nostramo's poison is still influencing them, still flowing through their veins to keep them separated, afraid, and deeply alone.

Oh wow, a few paragraphs from ADB somehow led to a great long wall of text. Congratulations if you've made it this far!

PS: This being ADB I feel obliged to consider the possibility of Ruven either lying or being mistaken. I don't think this is likely since he is a) also Nostraman and b) a sorcerer meaning that if there was any spiritual aspect going on he would more than likely have the requisite cultural/magical knowledge or experience to be aware of it or otherwise detect it. Ruven is a conniving goth thot but he has no reason to lie in that particular bit of his own thoughts.

#night lords #lore #nostraman culture #lore post #wh40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k #horus heresy #nostramo #warhammer lore #in this house we respect Hound who deserved far better than what he got #nightlordposting #is this domestic lore? i feel like it is #domestic lore #this will be the 327th post in which i have mentioned Threads (1984) and i have become exceedingly good at it #neves loreposts

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ilovewhiteroses · 1 year

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He Is Not What He Seems

Pairing: COD Fender Takács X Medic Reader Genre: Fluff Warnings: Mentions of violence, some swearwords Rating: none Notes: - @placeinthemiddleofnowhere got me into playing Call Of Duty and when I learned that Fender is hungarian, it was a nice surprise 💕💕

"Wounded soldier! Wounded soldier! Quick, let's put him on the bed!” a paramedic shouted in desperation. A bullet hit the soldier’s right upper arm and it should have been taken out of there immediately. You and the other medics rushed over and began treating him. Since it was an open wound, you could do nothing but disinfect it and bandage it, while you asked the paramedics to take the unfortunate man to the hospital. The milder injuries were treated in the medical room, the more serious cases had to be taken to the hospital.

You tried to hide who you really were from others, because you didn't want to stand out. Your father is a rich businessman with so much money that even your grandchildren would never have financial problems. You have two half-siblings from his previous marriage, with whom you never really got along, because they couldn't bear the fact that they would have to share the inheritance with you. While they happily spent their father's money, you decided that you really wanted to help, not just at charity events. Thus, unlike your spoiled siblings, you applied for medical school after high school, which your father was very proud of.

You recently started working as one of KorTac's medics and so far you've handled situations well, although there have been quite overwhelming moments as well. Today was relatively calm, you only had to treat a few minor injuries. You got hungry and went to the vending machine to get some food. You looked for a ham and cheese sandwich, but when you were waiting for the machine to dispense it, it suddenly stopped and your sandwich got stuck inside. You hit the glass angrily, because not only was your money lost, but you were also left hungry.

"Can I help you?" asked a confident male voice. You looked up and it was König, the Austrian KorTac operator. It was not difficult to notice him, his huge stature was visible even from several meters away. You haven't talked much so far, even though you've tended his wounds a couple of times.

"Um, yes, please, I'd really appreciate it." you said in confusion. The big man hit the glass of the vending machine with his gloved fist so hard that it was a wonder it didn't break. The machine took the signal and dispensed the sandwich. König took it and handed it to you.

"There you go. Hmm, it looks good, I might buy one for myself, although I prefer heartier meals.” he said politely under his mask. You took it from him and thanked him. You were about to go back when König called after you.

"I know we haven't talked much so far, but I just want to say that you are doing a good job. It can't be easy for you either."

"Of course not, but we are here to help you." you told him with a smile then said goodbye to him, promising to talk to him again.

A few days later, KorTac soldiers went on another mission. There was a lot of upheaval in the medical room, you barely managed to treat the wounded. Among others, they brought in Fender, an operator who suffered a head injury and an injury to his arm, as a bullet grazed him there. You went there to take care of him, you asked him to take off his mask.

"Do I have to?" he reluctantly asked you.

"Yes, since you had a big hit on your head and I need to see if you have a concussion." you replied and carefully removed the mask off him. After you examined him and saw that his injury was not serious, you treated the wound on his arm,

"I see that there is nothing wrong, but I will refer you for a skull CT scan, that's for sure."

"Believe me, this hard head never gets hurt." he said with a slight smile. He's a good looking guy, you thought to yourself, then quickly felt ashamed, because you shouldn't have thought like that in such a situation.

"No no! You go and get a CT scan, I'm not arguing about that!" you told him firmly and Fender saluted.

"Okay, I will do what you ask."

You've been thinking about him quite a bit since you took care of him. There were other guys besides him, but for some reason HE caught your attention the most. You've heard that he is not an easy case - in fact, no one at KorTac was - and he's quite ruthless on the battlefield, but he's loyal and helps his comrades in trouble.

You wanted to know more about him, so you invited König to a pub to talk a little about the soldier of Hungarian origin. At first he wanted to leave the mask on, but you talked him into taking it off instead so as not to scare others. You both drank beer, only König asked for a bigger pint. He took a drink and let out a loud belch.

"This is good beer! I missed it." he said and wiped his mouth then looked at you. "You don't drink?"

"Yeah, but I rarely drink beer. Tell me…what do you know about Fender?” you asked, tapping the side of the glass with your fingers, then you took a drink too.

"Fender? What's up with him? You have a crush on him or what?” he asked, causing you to almost spit out your drink.

"No! I mean… since I don't know everyone yet, I thought you could tell me a little about him." König first raised his eyebrows doubtfully, then grinned like a mischievous child. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was going on.

"Okay, if you say so. To be honest, I don't know much about him, even though we fight together. All I know is that he was master sergeant in the Hungarian army. He's quite a hothead, but otherwise a good guy. Plus, his mask is pretty ridiculous, it looks like two slices of bread covering his face." he laughed at his own joke. It reminded you of when you took care of Fender, and until you took it off of him, he really looked funny in it.

After that, you didn't talk much about the hungarian, instead König told you about their latest mission and his kill count.

A few days later you were writing reports and filing papers when you heard a knock on the door and Fender stepped in. This time he was not in his military uniform, but in a dark t-shirt and jeans, holding a folder.

"Hello! What's up?" you were surprised but tried not to show it.

"I had a CT scan of my skull and brought the diagnosis to show it to you. Fortunately, nothing was found.” he said with a smile, even though he was clearly embarrassed too. He gave you the folder, you looked at the papers.

"Thank God, I'm happy about that." you gave it back to him. You wanted to return to your own things, but Fender was still hanging around.

"Is there something else?" you asked and put your pen down.

“Well, as a matter of fact, yes. Well, er, the thing is, I thought I'd ask…how about you having coffee with me? I want to thank you for what you have done for me.” Fender finally said. Your eyes widened.

"Never mind, that's my job, but… is that allowed? ” you asked.

"We are just going to have coffee, there’s nothing wrong about that." Fender looked at you kindly. Your heart suddenly started beating faster…

"Okay, just wait a bit, I'll finish with these and then we can go." you said. He went out and you tried to focus on the paperwork, although it was pretty difficult.

You went to a recently opened, cozy little cafe. You asked for a latte macchiato because you loved coffee with milk, the operator had cappuccino, and you also chose some cookies to accompany them. Since he invited you, he insisted that he pay, even though you told him to cut it in half. You felt a little guilty for letting him pay in the end, since, if you wanted to, you could buy the entire cafe from your future inheritance. You took the foods with you and looked for empty seats. Both of you were quite embarrassed, because you had never seen each other in civilian clothes before and you didn't know what to do with the situation. To break the ice, you spoke first.

"You chose a nice place, I've never been here before."

"Me neither, I just heard about it and thought I'd try it sometime. I'm glad I came with you. The others, especially König, are more pub-going types, when it comes to coffee, the vending machine one is enough for them." Fender blushed slightly and took a quick bite of his cookie to cover it, hoping you didn't notice. You did, and thought it was cute - an almost two-meter-tall, rigid soldier. When he wasn't looking grumpy, he actually had a kind face. His beautiful, brown eyes and defined cheekbones swept you off your feet... Your mind already started to wander somewhere else when suddenly you heard your name in the distance. When you regained consciousness, it turned out that he was calling you, because you didn't answer his question.

"Oh, I’m so sorry that I didn't pay attention, but I don't even know when was the last time I had a really good sleep." you were ashamed of yourself and held your forehead. You even forgot about your coffee for a moment.

"Don’t be sorry. I haven't even known what sleep is for a while now." he smiled shyly.

You wanted to talk about something else, so you asked about his origin.

"So, you're Hungarian, right?"

"Only half. My mom is Hungarian, my dad, whom I never knew, was American." he said, sipping his coffee. You remembered Erzsike, who taught you some Hungarian words a few years ago.

"I had a Hungarian friend, from whom I know a few Hungarian words, which are actually swear words." as you said, you were embarrassed like a teenager.

"Well, let me hear them!" Fender encouraged you. Although there was little chance that others would understand what you were saying, out of caution you quietly flashed him your minimal knowledge of Hungarian.

"Let's see... Mi a neved? (what's your name?), Hogy vagy? (how are you?), Baszd meg! (fuck you!), Kurva élet! (fucking fuck), Fogd be! (shut up)…what else? Törődj a magad dolgával! (mind your own business!). That’s all.” Fender laughed.

”Haha, these are good. I also taught the others a few words and it's very funny when they try to pronounce them." the cookies and coffee in front of him slowly ran out. "Is there something you would like to know in Hungarian?"

"Hmm, how do you say ’don't worry, everything will be fine?' If I have to tend to your wounds again, that's what I can tell you." you said kindly. Fender smiled at your reasoning.

" Semmi baj, minden rendben lesz!" you repeated, Fender was barely able to hide his laughter.

"Your pronunciation is so cute!" he said and you both had a good laugh.

It was hard for you to imagine that the kind, huge guy with whom you had just had a good coffee, could be a real killing machine in a different situation. You looked deeply into his eyes and saw a kind of sadness. He's obviously been through a lot since he started military life, but he hasn't let it all consume him. Deep down, you were glad that you knew this good-natured self of his, and not the other, wild, ruthless one.

You put your hand on the table and Fender put his on it. You turned your hand so your palms were touching. The small touch made your heart beat faster again. You've only just met him, yet you've started to feel something for him…

#call of duty #fender takacs #cod fender #fanfic #COD Fender Takács X Reader #COD Fender X Reader

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literary-corvid · 7 months

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I am a patchwork quilt of everyone I've ever loved

I’ve always been drawn to flowers. I could never remember why, even when I named myself after one. (My first ever friend was called Rosie. I was always envious - how full of life she seemed to be!)

I feel a faint sense of dread when I go to clasp a necklace. Only sometimes does my conscious mind drift to her, and it is only then that I wonder if she ever took hers off. I never consider that she was lying. If it wasn’t the glue around that clasp, it was something else that stayed like a noose around her neck.

I wear my watch on my right wrist. I am not left-handed, but the sister who put her watch on my hand when I was three was. It was blue and plastic and cheap but it became mine. She beamed at me: now I’ll always be able to tell you the time! I didn’t bother to learn how to read its analog face for the longest time. I had a reason to keep asking her that way.

I stumble on a word I haven’t memorized, or I teach a younger student how to pronounce that letter combination, and suddenly I am in primary, sitting on a white rug as my second sister gently sounds out the words in front of us. My parents beam at me that night as I say a new word right, and I proudly tell them how my sister taught me. It was all her, I would say. Look how Good I must be for her to love me.

A scar graces my left knee. It looks old and worn, like nothing, but sometimes I see her fingerprint there, as if the gloves she wore when mopping up my blood had vanished. She told me later, when she poured the disinfectant on two instead of three, that it would fade, that someday I would forget. I’m glad she was wrong. I sent her a message a few years ago, and never heard back. But I see her profile sometimes, and how she sees my stories. We grew apart. I’m trying to learn that that’s okay, but I still wonder if she ever misses me. I see her out of the corner of my eye when my knee throbs with a dull, faint pain. I miss her, but at least her fingerprint remains.

On my thirteenth birthday, and for many birthdays after, an alarm on my phone would go off, reminding me to go train dolphins with a sister. I deleted it years ago. I regret it every time it never rings.

I’ve always remembered when Earth Day is. My schools have always made a day of it. But now, on April 22nd, I think not of the earth, but of my twin flame. On that day, I give my thanks to the earth, for I was born of her, but I spend my life loving her. For a year, I was coaxed with sickly sweet words away from her; away from everyone. When I was back, there was no question of if she would welcome me, even through my guilt. She is the one who stayed by me, helped me up, loved me. Who keeps loving me, as I keep loving her.

I prick my finger as I sew, and each time I remember how she would chastise me, reminding me to wear a thimble. And each time, I smile and say I’m fine. I understand better, though, when she cuts herself on the tape dispenser and I carefully tear tape for her the rest of the year.

When I sew on the machine, though, I never feel quite sure of myself. It goes to fast, faster than I can think, with more strength than I am sure of. So when I inevitably fuck up, I smile, remembering her laugh as she pretends to groan at how long it will take to undo, thank god I know better than to start with a backstitch. I know that she is reminding me that it can be undone, no matter how tedious. Stitch by stitch, I fix what I’ve ruined.

I tell people I love them so easily. Anyone who changes my life, even in the smallest of ways, I cannot bear the thought of them not knowing. They say to live each day like it's your last, but they're wrong, it's not you that matters: live each day like it's their last. Loving in secret is a special torment when the guilt feels crushing. I never told him. I never can. I hope he knew, I’m sure he knew how much he was loved. Right? He knew? Tell me he knew. Please.

I go shopping, and absentmindedly look for the good apples - the ones that crunch, that tear sharply, that are just perfectly sweet or bitter. Sometimes I don’t realize until I get home and have apples I probably won’t eat. I offer them to my friends instead, because my partner is states away. They laugh when I send them the pictures, though, and tell me to eat one in their honor. I do.

There are some things I can’t see without itching to gift. Penguins and owls and squirrels and bird and those godforsaken minions and coffee and turtles and irises and this one shade of blue– I’ve left with glass hummingbirds in my pocket before realizing I have no one to give it to.

I’m not in tears over my homework, but I would be if I were alone. Instead, it hits 10:00pm - 22:00, just for them - and it’s done. It’s over and I can’t go back and they're asking for my three favorite candies and I’m thrown because I want to sob - with relief or stress, I’m not sure - but they say they’re going to get me some. Because they’re proud of me. Like it’s obvious. And when they learn I’ve never had any chocolate candy, they come back with a handful. I split the KitKat and hand them half and they watch me, some mix of delight and horror in their eyes, as they halve the Twix and Milky Way and York for us to share. I’m laughing at an irony they don’t see; it blends into every other joy here. So this is it, I think. This is what it’s like.

I keep thinking about the things I do and the parts of me that aren't as much me as they are them or us. I love carrying those people with me, mostly. There's things from friends who've died, and it hurts sometimes. I hope it stays with me, though - the grief, the pain. I don't want it to get easier because I don't want to forget them. I don't think I've actually dealt with anything that happened in the last six years, give or take? And it's all been hitting at once for the past year-ish. So, this is for the friends who are gone or lost to me, and to those who still let me love them.

I've had no less than three interactions that prompted me to actually post this within the last 24 hours, so thanks to @firefliesandfuckery and @judas-redeemed and @vanilla-cigarillos and everyone else for that!

#corvid waxes poetic #prose poem #prose #poetry #humanity <3 #on love #did i stay up until 3am writing this #thats for me to know and you to not find out #grief #tw blood

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maaarine · 1 year

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Netherlands to provide free sun cream to tackle record skin cancer levels (Kate Connolly, The Guardian, June 12 2023)

"Citizens of the Netherlands are to be offered free sun protection this summer in an effort to tackle record levels of skin cancer in the country.

Sun cream dispensers will be made available this summer in schools and universities, at festivals, parks, sports venues and open public spaces across the country, according to the government.

It said it wanted to enable everyone to have access to sun protection and not be inconvenienced by factors such as cost or inconvenience.

In a public health drive thought to be similar in scale only to – and in part inspired by – Australia’s decades long slip, slop, slap campaign, which encourages people to slip on a shirt, slop on sunscreen and slap on a hat, Dutch authorities hope the campaign will turn the act of applying sun cream into an unquestioned habit. (…)

A clinic spokesperson said one of its skin doctors had come up with the idea of converting dispensers set up to provide hand disinfectant during the pandemic to hold sun cream, NOS reported.

Medical authorities have reported a record rise in skin cancer cases in the past few years.

Sun cream is proven to be the best protection against the disease, and children should get used to applying it from an early age so that it becomes as ritualised as teeth brushing, a councillor from a North Sea bathing resort said."

#article #health

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jojotier · 5 months

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apparently my super secret new years resolution was just to start stabbing myself every week with the t needle instead of icing the area first for a few minutes, something i didn't realize until i got so annoyed waiting for the ice to dispense i just sat my ass down, disinfected my thigh and jammed that shit in

#sam's thinkin again #ftm #needles #needles tw #to be clear before i had to ice the area first to give me time to work up the courage bc im afraid of needles #still cant look at my blood being drawn or shots #but every week i get that sweet sweet t direct to the thigh by my own hand babyyyy

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practicalafterdark · 8 months

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Justin finding Wesley after his little.. lapse in good judgement. Pouring disinfectant on him, shoving the guts back in and holding his abdomen closed with duct tape. Wesley had passed out after his healing effect ran out of juice, but Justin services dispensers often enough to keep some medigun fluid on hand. He'd lean Wesley back into a sitting position to pour the fluid into the port, slapping his cheek to see if he'll respond.

It takes a while for Wesley to come back from the brink of death. When he does, he finds himself in the workshop, covered in tape and a pair of Justin's shorts to cover his shame. Justin had already finessed some antibiotics from the medbay in case Wesley's immune system is too weak to fight off the infection he would undoubtedly develop over the next few days. The chubby man was sitting beside Wesley on the metal table, methodically exchanging aquatic limbs for their terrestrial equivalents. A mechanical tail curled on the workshop floor after being released from Wesley's spine, becoming still after moments of involuntary twitching.

"Don't care how important them underwater minerals are. You're grounded, Wesley. You need a break. A vacation. Therapy. Something! Decompression sickness alone doesn't make folks.. do that. People don't just do that, Wesley. Spendin' too much time in that form is messin' with yer head."

Having no memory of the incident, Wesley blinks slowly, still dazed, but finds Justin trustworthy enough to take his word for it.

"A vacation sounds nice."

#drabble

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slippinmickeys · 2 years

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The Mesas of Deuteronilus Mensae (11/?)

Due to a bedrest order until the skin on her foot was completely healed, Mulder didn’t see her for over a week and half. For one thing she was relegated to her bunk in the women’s quarters, and for another, with her out of the rotation, there was a lot more work to be done on the Laruna.

Finally, on the twelfth day, he gave a light knock on the door to the women’s sleeping quarters.

“Come in,” she called out.

He poked his head through the doorway, and the smile that lit up her face was worth the dismal eleven days he’d spent without seeing her.

“Going out of your mind yet?” he asked when she motioned him to come in.

“You’re the shrink, you tell me,” she said, scooching back on her bunk and patting the space beside her. He lowered himself down, facing her, their legs touching through the thin fabric of the bed's covers.

“Are you having any nightmares, hallucinations, are you hearing voices that aren’t there?” he asked, indulging her.

“Yes, yes,” she paused and reached out to pinch his arm, at which he yelped. “You’re real, so I guess no to that last one.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re certifiable. I’ll have Ehrlich turn the ship around.” He stood like he was going to leave the room and she laughed and yanked hard on his sleeve. He sat back down, smiling at her.

“Seriously though, please don’t leave me, it’s been awful,” she said.

He felt his face make a sympathetic expression. “I can only imagine.”

“I understand Baker’s reasoning for keeping me stationary, but sometimes it feels downright punitive.”

The Mission Control Flight Surgeon, concerned about the recovery of the tight skin on top of her foot healing correctly, wanted her to stay off of it, which Scully had said she understood. His other concern was infection, which was why he’d wanted her relegated to the women’s quarters. An astronaut’s microbiome changes in space. The microbial communities of the gastrointestinal tract, skin, nose and tongue are altered on a cellular, physiological level, and bacteria can become more deadly and resilient when exposed to microgravity. So while it wasn’t possible to completely quarantine her, Baker had ordered her to stay in her quarters, limiting her interaction to just the other female crew members, of which there were five.

“I agree,” Mulder said, “which is why I got special psychological dispensation authorization from the good flight surgeon.”

“You… what?” Scully asked.

“I got permission to spring you from this joint for like an hour, so you don’t go fuckin’ nuts.”

Scully laughed but looked at him quizzically.

“If I agree to make sure you put keep that space-grade ointment on it while we’re out,” Mulder went on, “and help you to keep weight completely off the foot, Baker has agreed to let me take you out of your quarters for an hour.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I am not.”

“How’d you manage to convince him?” The Flight Surgeon was notoriously hard-lined about his orders.

“Well, as mission psychologist, I can throw some medical weight around when necessary,” Mulder said, standing and holding out a hand to help her stand. “That and Dutton and Hramic are scheduled to give your quarters a complete disinfectant treatment.”

Scully chuckled and took Mulder’s hand, reaching out to grab the small crutches she’d been using to get from her bed to the quarter’s small lav.

Mulder waved her hand away. “Those need disinfecting, too,” he said. “You and the clothes you're wearing are the only things allowed out of here. Come here.” With that he swung her into his side.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

She gave him a look, but eased her weight into him, letting him act as fulcrum so that she could keep her injured foot off of the floor.

“Three choices,” he said, putting a steady arm around her waist. “You lean on me like this and I act as a crutch, which will probably eat into your hour, as we’ll have to move pretty slowly – I am under strict orders that you put absolutely no weight on that newly healed tissue – or I can carry you. Either piggy-back or like honeymooners. Your choice.”

Mulder knew which method he hoped she’d choose, but he didn’t want to let on that he had a preference.

Scully considered him for a moment, standing there with her foot in the air and her arm wrapped around his. “You’re monstrously tall, you know that?” she said.

“That’s why all the little old ladies have me grab the top shelf stuff at the grocery store.”

“That’s probably not the only reason,” she muttered under her breath. He pretended not to hear, but was grinning on the inside. If Scully thought little old ladies thought he was cute, that probably meant that she thought so, too. “I have no desire to bang my head on any hatchways, so I guess I’m opting for honeymooners,” she went on.

“Honeymooners it is,” he said, and slung his arm under her knees, lifting her up easily into his arms. Her arm went around his shoulder automatically. The last time they’d been like this, he thought there was a very real chance that they were both about to die. This time he let himself enjoy the feel of her; the warmth of her skin through her flight suit, the way her head rested against his shoulder.

He made his way delicately out the door to her quarters, careful not to bump her foot. Ehrlich had ordered the observation deck and route to the observation deck cleared to make Baker happy, so they passed no one.

When they entered through the doorway and into the empty observation area, Scully sighed.

“I was hoping it would be here,” she said. “I’ve missed windows. Even when the view is spinning.” Due to the movement of the ship that brought about the artificial gravity, the stars out the thick quartz windows rotated endlessly. You could get dizzy if you thought about it too much.

“Well,” he said, moving into the space. “It was either this or airlock 2.”

He had set up a couple of the chairs from around the deck’s table in front of the windows so that she could sit with her foot elevated, and he set her down gently into one of them, settling into a chair next to her.

“I do have a certain affinity for airlock 2,” she said, adjusting the way she sat.

“Well in that case,” he joked, rising from his seat and moving to pick her up. She looked up at him with a grin and he settled back down.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she said, leaning back in the chair and taking a deep breath. “My mental health thanks you, too. This was a nice surprise.”

“Oh,” he said, waiting a second, so that his timing was exactly right. “This isn’t the surprise.” She threw him a look. “That is,” he finished, and pointed up to the corner of the window, where a large orangish disk was slowly circling into view.

Scully inhaled in surprise. “Oh my god,” she whispered.

As they got closer and closer to Mars, the planet would gradually take on the shape of the massive sphere that it was, but this far out, it appeared as an odd rust-colored disk in the vast expanse of space, circling around their spinning window. It had only become visible to the naked eye in the last week.

“Our new home,” he said, his voice just a murmur. When he glanced over at Scully, she had tears in her eyes. Unable to take her eyes off of the wonder pinwheeling slowly away from them in their rotation, Scully reached out and took Mulder’s hand, squeezing it in gratitude. It truly was an awesome thing to behold. And they were some of the first humans who’d ever witnessed it with their own eyes.

Eventually she let his hand go, and he pushed his chair as close to hers as he could get it, stretching an arm around her shoulders as they watched in awestruck silence through the glass. She leaned her head over and back to rest on his arm, and a warm comfort settled over him. If he closed his eyes he could easily picture them in his living room back at home, watching a movie on his couch, snuggled up together in a cozy domestic heap. Maybe they would find themselves there one day, he thought. Maybe back on Earth. Maybe out there, on Mars. He slowly lowered his head until it was resting on top of hers and let himself daydream for a little while.

A knocking sound startled them both into sitting upright. Mulder turned toward the sound and saw Powers hovering in the doorway.

“I know I’m not allowed in,” the payload specialist said, “but Hramic and Dutton are finished with the disinfecting and Baker is getting antsy.”

Scully looked down at her watch. “God, has it been an hour already?”

Mulder turned to her. She had a crease in the skin of her cheek where her head had been resting on the seam of his flight suit.

“How’s your mental health?” Mulder asked quietly. “I can override Baker if need be.”

Scully pursed her lips and Mulder turned to Powers. “Give us ten more minutes.”

"You got it," Powers nodded and backed out of the doorway.

“Thank you for this, Mulder,” she said, leaning towards him. “Truly.”

In his chest, his heart started pounding, and he could feel the skin on the back of his neck turn to gooseflesh just at the thought of her coming in for another kiss. He sat stock still and instead of kissing his lips, she pressed her mouth to his cheek briefly, just for a second, and still his body went hot all over. Just from that. Just from the application of her lips to his unshaved face.

He turned and rove his eyes over her. Her hair was a red slash against the night of space, the same color as the rocks on the fourth planet. She was Nerio, Bellona, the God of War’s consort. She would bring the small planet to its knees.

As for himself, he was there already.

#fanfic #my fic #msr #the x-files #au #wip #this whole fic is like a first draft

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someonesspring · 10 months

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OBSESSED with working in customer service. had to stop someone from drinking out of our disinfection dispenser bc they thought it was water today. mesmerizing.

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abba-enthusiast · 2 years

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Throwback to two years ago when i used this dispenser thinking it was disinfectant

#fun times #i appreciate the commitment to the holy water though

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 2 years

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What do you think would be the best balance between allowing misinformation to run rampant and policing every post for wordcrimes. I would love to live in a world where antivaxxers are cut off from their conspiracy theories, but I'd also like free speech to remain a thing.

"Sunlight is the best disinfectant."

This is a quote perhaps from some learned microbiologist in regard to the effect of ultraviolet radiation on microbial life, perhaps from some David Avocado-like lunatic pseudoscience crank in regard to sunning your perineum, perhaps from author in regard to the metaphor of exposing corruption to the light of day.

For my purposes here, the particulars are not especially relevant.

With the advent of the printing press, the Church gained the ability to spread the Word of God™ further and wider than it ever had before, to spread the Good News™ of salvation through Jesus Christ© to all, to the extent of becoming as ubiquitous in hotel rooms as the regular toilet paper rolls.

Unfortunately for the Church, this also had the effect of bestowing the idiot tales concocted by propagandists 1400 years prior at the time, into the hands of the average peasant, for them to read for themselves about the talking donkey and Yahweh's bloodlust, rather than relying entirely on the say-so of the preacher whose livelihood and social standing and authority depends on keeping up the ruse.

The creation of the printing press could be said to be real origin of the rise of the nones.

Access to the internet, followed by pervasive access to the internet, has performed the same functions, but at an accelerated pace. It is true that Xians can proselytize and recruit with their stupid apologetics, outright lies and, of course, their own profound ignorance of their own religion. And do so without being limited by the physical barriers of the real world.

But it is also true that the incipient collapse of Xianity in the west is driven by the same developments that sometimes also allow it to spread. The entire bible and quran are a bookmark away, and the counter-apologetics to insipid rationalizations such as "iTs A mEtApHoR!" and "yOu CaNt PrOvE gOd DoEsNt ExIsT!" are no further than a quick Google away.

My own aspiration is to be as close to a free-speech abolutist as one might conceivably be. Imperfectly at present, as like anyone, the impulse occasionally arises to see oxygen thieves dispensed into digital oblivion. But I recognize this as an illiberal impulse.

To that end, I would only ban things that are already illegal. Doxing, incitement to violence, etc. And apply them consistently.

The liberal process works by letting the misinformation into the light so that it can be visible and refuted, and those refutations seen. For the nonsense to be seen and exposed, so that people can be inoculated against that same pseudoscientific, superstitious or other nonsense.

The risk in banning it is that it becomes a form of secret knowledge and "the thing they don't want you to know" and thus attractive. If it's on display and everyday, and particularly if the refutation is likewise on display and everyday, people will be less likely to be drawn to it.

If antivax is hidden away, so to will the anti-antivax. The topic goes silent, and the societal "herd immunity" to antivax rhetoric drops, inviting, as we've seen with polio and smallpox, a later re-emergence of it to a future population with no acquired defence.

youtube

#ask #free speech #freedom of speech #misinformation #disinformation #religion is a mental illness

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