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gobbluthbutagirl · 1 year

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they were literally going to promote me LMAO that’s the crazy thing. Allegedly anyway. the thing is the communication problem there is just so sooooo bad. and the slot for FOS team lead(the position i would have gotten) is occupied by a guy they promoted to be a second closing lead because the first guy they promoted to be closing lead was struggling too much. and so i basically would have had to wait until one of those two guys got either promoted or transferred out of the store. And they were like oh we’ll use this time to develop you as a leader. And i was like ok. but here’s the thing. they put a different lead in charge of FOS for the time being on top of her other department which like. Bad idea because she honestly is not a great lead anyway but whatever who cares. And they were like, you’re gonna shadow her for two days and she’s gonna train you. and then they fucked up the schedule because the store director makes the leads’ schedules and hr makes everybody else’s and they moved her to a later time and NOBODY told the guy who made MY schedule. so i had to come in at 8am on 2 hours of sleep because i had closed the night before for NO reason. and then i had to text him on his day off when she wasn’t there because NONE of these other fools gave me their numbers. and then when she did come in she didn’t want me shadowing her at all & she was basically just like Here’s what everybody’s doing wrong and now you have to fix it. go get ‘em champ. and i was like wtf. And i kept asking her & the store director both, wtf is my role here exactly??? And they could not give me a good answer because they did not fucking know either. like they literally created this position specifically for me and yet the best they could tell me about it was “it will vary from day to day.” Like ok.

and then that monday when my favorite lead came back(he was hr) i literally had to get the 3 of them in a room and make them talk to each other like. Guys where was the miscommunication here. Wtf happened. and the store director got onto me for wanting to talk to hr instead of the lead i was supposed to be shadowing and i’m just thinking sir have you considered that maybe i got 99% of my information about this role from him and 1% from you and literally 0% of it from her. and it became pretty obvious pretty quickly that the store director & this other lead were having conversations about my role that they were not involving him in and they were not involving ME in any of it either. and he was so quick to take the blame for the scheduling mishap even though it literally was not his fault at all because nobody fucking told him! and they also got mad that he had given me one of the same days off as the lead i was supposed to be shadowing had off and i was like guys did you tell him at any point that you didn’t want my days off to overlap with hers? and they were like Well no. and i was like come on now. And then i agreed to work six days both of those weeks so my days off wouldn’t overlap with hers and i was getting like 2 hours of sleep a night and i couldn’t even drink caffeine due to the Great Stomach Ulcer Incident of 2022 so the whole time i felt like i was barely even alive.

And THEN i was like. trying so hard to communicate with this woman and voicing any concerns i had to her whenever i saw her. and despite her & the store director telling me 100 billion times i was not supposed to be coverage at the registers i wound up being coverage every. Single. Day. so i would come in and be at the registers every day and she’d get mad at me for like. making sure the team got their breaks on time instead of doing god only knows whatever the hell else that she wanted me to be doing. and then she eventually just pretty much stopped speaking to me completely and i was just like whatever. and then after 2 entire days of not hearing from her at all except for when she asked me to do something that both people in hr had already told me they would be doing that day she called me into the office and she was like. I am going to give you some feedback and this other lead is going to just sit here and watch. and then she’s like You have an attitude problem because you talk to me at the registers instead of pulling me aside. and you don’t check in with me. And you talk about confidential information in front of team members. And i’m like what confidential information did i talk about in front of team members? Because you’ve got to keep in mind that this woman does not tell me shit. and she’s like well you talked about [coworker] being in the hospital in front of [other coworker]. And i’m like well [other coworker] is the guy who told me about [coworker] being in the hospital in the first place. And i was asking you if you knew about that because you guys made him come in anyway yesterday when he tried to call out even though he had a 100+ degree fever. And she was like well you’re not supposed to talk about that because it’s disrespectful. And i was like girl what the hell. did not say that obviously but i pretty much went home and had a mental breakdown because EVERYTHING she said was like that

and then since i wasted my whole day off having a sleep-deprivation-induced mental breakdown i wanted to call off the next day but i didn’t because i realized they would have like zero coverage without me(the bitch that was not even supposed to be coverage!!!). and the next day i came in and had to have the dreaded “i did not want anybody to know either of these things but my bipolar ass is really struggling right now” conversation with my favorite lead & he encouraged me to take some time off & also said some shit that i think actually fixed me. But anyway i took like a week off and then came back to discover that the lead in charge of FOS was out with covid. Ok then. and so she was out for like my entire workweek and then when she came back i kept expecting her to say SOMETHING to me but she never did. and i had made a list of concerns i had wanted to go over with her and i gave them to my favorite lead because he was gonna see her again before i was and i honestly don’t know if he had a chance to talk to her about them or not because the next time i saw him was when he dropped the “my husband got promoted so we’re moving to florida” bombshell on me so i kind of stopped caring if she had her shit together or not. and so my focus for the next week was basically like Am i gonna be able to make this magnet i wanna make for him in time or not(the answer was yes btw & he loved it). but at one point he did ask me, do you want me to kind of nudge her in the direction of talking to you? and i was like no because i’m sad about you leaving so i’m not even thinking about that. But also the thing is she literally should have been able to take that initiative ON HER OWN!!! like he literally should not have had to do anything!!! world literally in shambles!!! hate and hell on planet earth!!!

and then like. on his last day i was like i don’t know what i’m gonna do now because you are literally the only lead that communicates with me. i guess i’m gonna try to talk to her tomorrow. and he was like don’t even talk to her just talk to the store director. And i was like you know what you’re literally right. so i wrote my name down to talk to him for the next available timeslot. and keep in mind i did this on the weekend and that timeslot was for tuesday. And i kept telling myself, MAYBE if she says something to me before then i will reconsider my “i gotta get outta here” plan. that woman was in the target at the same time as i was EVERY day and she did not say SHIT. and it’s like. i’m supposed to be your quote-unquote “team captain” …how are you gonna go a whole MONTH without speaking to me AT ALL? how the fuck am i supposed to run this department if you don’t fucking communicate with me and you tell me that me attempting to communicate with YOU is a “behavior problem” that i need to change? Like. i don’t have ANY access to any of the emails you get from corporate telling you how FOS is supposed to be. i don’t have any access to the guest surveys that tell you what the team might need to work on! girl i am relying on YOU for that shit and you aren’t giving it to me! and you’ve been back for TWO WEEKS at this point and have not taken ANY time to talk to me.

and so i told the store director, it literally feels like you guys gave up on me and just forgot to tell me. and he was like oh of course not we would never! but unfortunately the feeling is very much NOT mutual because i have 100% given up on them like. i have had the “leads have GOT to get better about communication” talk with him 3 times now and leads have NOT gotten better about communication. if anything they’ve gotten WORSE! and they just lost the ONE guy who was actually good at communication like. no chance in hell they will EVER get better about it now! and the thing is. i absolutely cannot take feedback from people who get paid more than me to be more incompetent than i could ever even hope to dream of being. Like. there was literally ONE lead who i could take feedback from and he just left forever. and this one who’s supposed to be my direct lead has given guests just blatantly wrong information more than once and i’ve had to jump in and correct her. which i guess she sees as disrespect but if you’re telling somebody we don’t sell this product and i know for a fact that we do do you really want me to just stand there? they are literally asking to give us their money and you’re telling them no. how does that help the store(i was right in every instance of this btw and we did have the product). and also this convo i had with the store director was nearly a week ago now and this woman still has not spoken a WORD to me!!! Like COME ON!!!

and anyway it’s just like. Honest to god SO ridiculous that they expect me to just be like. Yeah i’m ok with this whole situation. Yeah i’m fine watching you guys miscommunicate about me for 6 months before i MAYBE get promoted. and in the meantime i have to live off $17.25 an hour when everybody’s hours are getting cut and i live in a $1425-a-month shithole with no oven. Like literally NO!!!! this whole situation is bullshit!! and you guys know me very well as somebody who does not put up with bullshit! you are INSANE if you expect me to continue working here under these conditions!!! and i was like, “i feel like [favorite lead] was the only one who put any thought into this whole process at all.” and the store director was like Well we ALL thought about it and he was just the messenger. Ok but how come you didn’t give him half the messages then. how come the ideas about the position that he conveyed to me(good) did not match up with the ideas that you & this other lead apparently had for the position(bad). and see here’s the thing. i ask myself, who gave me 99% of the communication about this? And of course it was him. but then it’s like, even aside from this whole ordeal, who makes me feel valued as a team member? And i would have to say 95% of it was also him. and the other 5% was from other leads that don’t work here anymore. So like. there’s the answer right there. SAD!

#would i be good as a lead? literally yes. do i still want to be one? HELL NO!#my job wrapped

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fleurdulys · 2 years

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anyway life update: i’ve had emergency gallbladder removal surgery on tuesday

#personal #it was so weird though and hard to detect what was wrong with me #cause i had horrible pain in my left side instead of the right one #and doctors told me i had ibs then they told me i had kidney issues #then they thought i had diverticulitis or colon cancer #anyway i have none of those not even an ulcer #but my gallbladder was full of stones and infected like hell #so anyway thanks to my surgeon she was the best #she managed to take out all of it through laparoscopy #so now i am chilling at home #anyway everyone was so shocked cause i had the pain in my left side like a weirdo

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honeypirate · 3 years

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In Madness lies Sanity

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader - College AU

Based off the bit by Allan Watts. I read the transcript and I thought— Ushijima in love with his best friend listening to this talk about love in one of his classes and realizing that he needs to tell them the truth. Allan watts bit is in blue, the fic is in white.

Ushijima wasn’t one to dwell too long on trivial matters. He works through them and then forgets them. He focuses on what is important and what will bring him closer to his desired future. He isn’t one who is sucked into madness and drama, he has a strong level head and it’s something he takes pride in. So he’s trying to apply his ideas to how he handles his feelings for you, is it trivial? Is it important to tell you? He was struggling before he walked into class Monday morning and had his eyes opened by the video played during lecture.

- I’m going to talk to you about a particularly virulent and dangerous form of divine madness which is called falling in love. Which is, from a practical point of view, one of the most insane things you can do, or that can happen to you. Because in the eyes of a given woman or a given man, an opposite who go to the eyes of everybody else a perfectly plain and ordinary person can appear to be God or Goddess incarnate .... And this is an extraordinary disruptive experience a subversive experience in the conduct of human affairs

You were never a plain and ordinary person to him and he believes that’s where it got confused. He always has and always will see you as an extraordinary individual, regardless of things that may be seen as flaws or imperfections, regardless of your mistakes. You didn’t transform from one thing to the next, you were the same angel he knew, so when his heart flipped from friendship to love, he wasn’t paying attention.

- Because you never know when it will strike off for what reason. It’s something like contracting a very chronic disease once you get into it

If anyone asked Ushijima who his best friend is his first thought is you. His first thought thought is always you. His constant. His true best friend who is there for him through anything. He’ll open his mouth and say “y/n is my best friend” and when people would point out just how close they are he just shrugged, weren’t friends supposed to be close?

When he thinks back now, now that his feelings are obvious, he realizes that it was just a matter of time until he fell in love with you. He can pinpoint every moment along his life where love was obvious, every joke and hug that at the time he thought was just nice, when he loaned you his sweatshirt and then didn’t wash it because it smelled like you. When he would spend all his valuable and limited free time with you just because he liked the way you would smile as he walked you home. He thinks back to all of his dates in high school and college, of the dating app conversations he’s had or blind dates his friends had set up, and they all failed because of one simple reason- none of them were you.

- I would like to make some reflections on this particular form of madness, and to raise again a very disturbing question. And this disturbing question is as follows: Is it only when you are in love with another person that you see them as they really are? And in the ordinary way, when you are not in love with people you see only a fragmented version of that being.

He’s spent hours turned to days to weeks as he keeps thinking about whether or not he loves you or if he just thinks he could because of how close you already are. He’s lost track of time connecting different dots and making different lists and theories, replaying you’re entire friendship back in his head. He’s thought about the times he saw you drunk in college and puking on his shoes as he helps you home, when you decided you wanted to try and longboard and turfed it so bad your arm was gashed from wrist to elbow and he had carried you to the urgent care. all your reckless and crazy ideas you dragged him along with, you were almost as bad as tendou but he just wanted to take care of you as best as he could. He can feel the desire in his bones to make sure you were always taken care of, a feeling he knows he’ll have until he dies.

He thinks about when you had dated Oikawa and for the entire three months he had an ulcer but didn’t know why. He thought it was because of his pain relievers and quit them the week you broke up with him, not realizing the connection. When he’d get acid in his throat when you talked about dating someone else, he thought he just needed some milk. How blind he had been.

-Because when you are in love with someone you do indeed see them as a divine being. And suppose that’s what they are truly. And your eyes have by your beloved been opened in which case your beloved is serving to you as a kind of guru. An initiator. And that is why there is a form of sexual yoga, based on the idea that man and woman are to each other as mutual guru and student. And through a tremendous outpouring of psychic energy in total devotion and worship to this other person who is respectively the goddess of the god.

Being someone’s best and closest friend consisted of seeing their entirety and choosing to stay and love them anyway. To care for them. He can’t say for certain where he crossed over into love, into wanting to hug you and kiss you, wanting to be the only one you think about, but there’s not much he can do about it now and he doesn’t want to.

Ushijima sees you. He sees your good and your bad and everything in between, he sees you for you. Your ordinary mundane ways of life that he can’t help but want to share with you. Grocery shopping, library trips, post office runs, he wants them all to be done with you. He truly cannot imagine anyone else taking that spot in his heart.

Wanting to show you what he sees. What he knows to be true about you. he wants to scream from the rooftops how amazing you are and he’s not a very loud person. He sees the way you care for your friends selflessly and give and give all you have just so that others can be happy and you never complain. You do what you can when you can and still have time to take care of yourself he never knew how you did it so effortlessly, even when you’d vent to him you never regretted helping others.

He sees the way you lift up those around you. How you leave everyone a little more positive than before you talked to them. He doesn’t know how you do it. He’s convinced you’re an angel and he’s dying to show you just how amazing he knows you are. But he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship. He sees your entirety, your full book instead of just the cover, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wanted to give you this energy and receive it in turn and he’s never been so absolutely terrified.

-You realize by total fusion and contact with the other organism. You go down to the divine center in them and it bounces back and you discover your own or you could put it in this way which is another aspect of it that by falling in love and regarding falling in love not just as a sort of sexual infatuation, because it’s always more than that, isn’t it. I mean you can have a great sexual enjoyment with a pleasant friend, you know. But you may do so simply because he or she appeals to your aesthetic senses. But when you fall in love, it’s a much more serious involvement, you just cannot forget this person. You feel miserable when not in their presence, you’re always yearning, that’s get to see more of each other let’s get together that’s we’re completely entangled and then you see you’ve actually kind of out what I would call spiritual element has been introduced. And the Hindus were sensible enough to realize that this was a means of awakening, enlightenment, and therefore it was. Surrounded. With a sort of rigid religious ritual meditative art, with a form of sexual yoga that is designed to allow the feeling of mutual love to the extent of grand passion to have an extremely fitting fulfillment and expression.

Ushijima has always thought you were beautiful. Any human with eyes would think that. But your beauty and attraction went far deeper than that. Sure he’s had fleeting thoughts about how good you looked in a dress but he never let them linger. It felt wrong to think of you like that. But now that he’s an adult, a grown man and not a teenager anymore, he wants to kiss you, to hold your hand, maybe more but it wasn’t about that. It was about the intimacy, the closeness, the vulnerability.

Awakening. Enlightenment. Two words that before he didn’t really think about. But now he feels changed. Now that he’s realized how much he loves you has lifted his spirits, made him dream of the passion and happiness you could have together. He feels himself slipping into the joy of being in love with his best friend and imagining all the ways that love could grow. He feels only half of himself when he’s without you, always needing to see you or be around you, but you never made him feel clingy or bad. You met him in kind, telling him how much you wanted to be around him too.

At first he thought that this love was a trivial thing, something he could push from his mind, but after his weeks of thought he knows this is a lot more serious than he’s experienced before.

-Falling in love is a thing that strikes like lightning and is therefore extremely analogous to the mystical vision. We don’t know. No how really people attain the mystical vision. There is not as yet a very clear rationale as to how it happens because we do know that it is opened to many people who never did anything to look for it. And many people especially in adolescence have had the mystical vision all of a sudden without the slightest warning and with no previous interest in that kind of thing

He remembers what he was doing when it dawned on him that he was in love, when he felt the air leave his lungs and his eyes widen softly when he realized how nice it would be to kiss your temple and he couldn’t even finish the thought as the feeling ran from his head to his toes.

He was standing in your kitchen as you finished making your lunch for the following day and you made a joke that made yourself laugh, he didn’t think it was a very funny joke but you didn’t care. You giggled to yourself and he couldn’t help but wish he could witness that forever. It hit him like a brick that he would, in almost an instant, give his entirety to you. It terrified him when he imagines you and him ending like his parents. But behind the terror, the fear of divorce, was a softer and quieter emotion that he tried to focus on harder than the insanity of his anxiety. A softer, lovelier, hopeful feeling that he usually gets every time you smile at him. That was the feeling he was searching for, everything else was irrelevant for a few glorious moments.

-But as yet we are not clear as to why it comes about and if there is any method of attaining it the best one is probably to give up the whole idea of getting it…. you see it is completely unpredictable and so it is in that way like falling in love, capricious and therefore crazy. But if you should be so fortunate as to encounter either of these experiences. It seems to me to be a total denial of life to refuse it. And what we therefore have to. Admit in our society is so that we can contain this kind of madness.

He called Tendou that evening, telling him that he thinks he loves you, and Tendou about had a conniption. He was in Paris as his best friend fell in love for the first time. He talked him through it, told him how good it can be. That yes it was going to be work but the reward would be worth it. To not sell himself short out of his own fears. He deserves much more than that. Tendou’s last phrase is what sunk in deep “I know it was unpredictable, that it feels so fickle, but that’s what love is like buddy! You can’t deny it Ushi, you can’t run from it or hide from it, it will only hurt you in the long run”

- You see, in this way we can think about and structure the necessary stable social institution of family sometime without it being constantly threatened of foundering on the rocks of love. Now you see this then means that when when people marry they take any vows at all to each other instead of saying that they will always be true to each other in the sense of meaning I Will Always Love YoU, It means I will be true to you in the sense of I will always be truthful to. I will not pretend that my feelings towards you ARE other than what they are. Because I marry you, because I think that you are a reasonable person to live with and therefore I want you to be you I want you to be someone else I want to be a rubber stamp of me–how boring that would be?! an arrangement in which people set each other free and make an alliance to cooperate with each other in certain ways. Now if it should so occur that they are of immense sexual attraction to each other, so much the better? That this should not be a primary factor in entering into marriage. Admittedly, you must be to a certain extent attractive to each other otherwise there will be no progeny. But this is this is seems to me to be a sensible and reasonable view and just because it is sensible and reasonable it can accommodate what is not sensible and reasonable which is falling in love.

Ushijima is terrified. He’s terrified because the instant immediate joy he felt when he realized he loved you was almost overtaken by worries and stress. He loves you! Now what? He loves structure in his life and he values stability but he knows how rocky relationships can be and how they can ultimately end. He knows he won’t deny it, he won’t back away because of his fear but he needs a plan. A plan to take to you and talk about it, he knows you’ll have the right thing to say but he doesn’t even know what he’ll even say to you yet. He loves that you are so carefree and goofy, a breath of fresh air to his stoicism. You’ve even gently worked your way so deep into his soul that you feel like his other half, his complete other in every way, someone who wasn’t like him at all and how wonderful that is.

Once in his life he thought that arranged marriages were smarter, you did it out of logic and bloodline and family, nothing messy to deal with. But that structure, that boring empty rocky foundation that an arrangement might bring made his mouth taste bad, although at the time he convinced himself it was because it would be more like another job that takes up his time (away from you)

Sensible and reasonable was right up his alley, he thought how nice it would be to have a mini him but he couldn’t think about having that with anyone. He couldn’t think of another half of dna that baby would share that would make it worth it. Not until he saw a picture of you holding your nephew, now whenever he thinks of his babies they share your genes. He thinks of a chunky baby with your eyes and his hair color, a mix of your personality and he’d share volleyball with them. He’s never wanted kids as much as he does when he thinks about sharing them with you. And that’s the part that feels senseless, the love part, the part where you give your entirety to someone and trust that they will care and keep you, no matter what happens, save its not infidelity or other deal breakers of yours he already knows.

Ushijima’s theorizing and thoughts about you over the course of time went from being about understanding why he feels like this to imagining fake scenarios where he wants to take you abroad to travel together, to be together every day and share the hard times and good times, babies or not, marriage or not. He just wants to make you happy for the rest of his life no matter what and he can’t go on much longer without knowing he has a chance to do so

- Well now really when we go back then to falling in love. And say it’s crazy falling. You see we don’t say rising into love. There is in it the idea of the fall. And it is goes back as a matter of fact two extremely fundamental things that there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk, is the condition of there being life. You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble

And so here he was. Sitting on a bench outside of your dorm, feet bouncing as he stared at the small patch of grass growing in between the sidewalk crack. It’s been a while since that class and he’s been thinking about this constantly.

He knows the risk, feels it in his heart every time he meets up separately with his parents since their divorce. He sees it every time he remembers his childhood and the messy separation. That mess he never wants to repeat. The fall that comes with this love is like that class video had told him, ghastly. He doesn’t know if this could ruin it all, if he takes the leap of faith and it all comes crumbling down years later he’ll be just another divorce. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to end up like his parents and have a child who feels the same. But when he imagines his life he doesn’t think he could be haply without you by his side.

- the moment you take a step, you do so on an act of faith, because you don’t really know that the floors not going to give in to your feet. The moment you take a journey what an act of faith. The moment you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship what an act of faith you see you’ve given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done surrender see and love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me, do anything you like with me. So, that’s quite mad because you see it’s letting things get out of control all sensible people keep things in control.

You know something is up the moment you open the doors and see his back on the bench. You were going to his place since he wasn’t answering his phone, you freeze at the doors at watch him for a moment as your anxiety spikes in your stomach. His shoulders are tense as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped together as he looks down between his bouncing feet. Before you really think about it, you follow the urge to comfort him, to talk to him and make sure it’s all okay. Your feet carry you quickly to his side and you sit down, pulling him into a side hug and wrapping your arms around him.

He gasps when you sit and as you’re wrapping your arms around him he furrows his brows and hugs you back. His heart racing As his fears take the back burner. He didn’t expect you to find him but he also didn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. He buries his face into your neck as he you hold each other in the cool spring evening.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as you hold him and feels his walls break down, his arms tighten around you

“I’m scared” he says quietly and his voice cracks

“Of what Toshi? You can always talk to me” Your fingers run through his hair softly and it soothes his nerves.

He pulls back and cups your cheeks, his eyebrows were still furrowed and his stoic expression was broken by his eyes that were swimming with worry and insecurity.

You saw everything in his eyes and you met him with your determination and steady unwavering love he finds in your eyes. God he feels so mad. So incredibly and undeniably mad and insane and like he isn’t in control. He needs to tell you. Needs the words to come out of his throat so he can calm his heart and soothe his ulcer. The anxiety felt like it was immeasurable and his breathing was starting to get faster until you placed your hands on his cheeks, smothering the bad feelings completely “it’s okay Wakatoshi, I’m right here”

Ushijima feels the exact moment his heart relaxes into the faith, the surrender into love trusting that the floor isn’t going to collapse under his feet, the moment he gives his whole self, body and soul, to the fall, and that moment was when your lips touched his for the first time. Then he let go, the madness left his body and was replaced with a calm assurance that yes, yes this was it, what he’s been waiting for, what he’s been yearning for.

- for all the cost and wisdom what is really sensible is to let go that is to commit oneself to give oneself up and that’s quite mad,

-so we come to the strange conclusion that in madness lies sanity.

#ushijima wakatoshi x you #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #ushijima #ushijima x y/n #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #haikyuu xreader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu ushiwaka #haikyuu ushijima #haikyuu wakatoshi #wakatoshi fluff #ushijima fluff #ushijima fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction

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blitzturtles · 3 years

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Title: Guilt

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stardust Crusaders (set after Golden Wind, given Jolyne's age.)

Pairing(s): JotaKak, JoKa, (Platonic) Jotaro & Jolyne, (Platonic) Kakyoin & Jolyne

Summary: Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

Notes: Involves emergency surgery, chronic pain, preteen!Jolyne, PTSD, disabled Kakyoin, and near death experiences.

Here's the thing: Jolyne hates him. It's not a secret, and it's definitely not something that she bothers to hide from him. Jotaro keeps swearing that she'll come around. Says she's just stubborn (like her father is, Kakyoin sometimes thinks with far too much affection for a man that regularly drives him up the wall). There's also the fact that she's a preteen, and kids are apparently just like that at her age.

Here's the thing: Kakyoin would hate him, too. If he were in her situation. He's petty on a good day, and a right bastard on any other. He can't imagine being in her situation. With divorced parents who, while amicable, are both ridiculously successful and constantly busy. And then waltzed in Kakyoin, right in the middle of it. Though 'waltz' is a bit of a stretch. He doesn't do anything like that with his plated spine and braced legs, but none of that matters. The real point is that he gets it.

He does his best to never push more than he has to. For the most part, he lets Jolyne do her own thing, because she's a Kujo and a Joestar. She's going to do what she wants anyways. His opinion be damned, though he does try to reason with her. Hell, he's given into bribing every once in a while. (Sometimes the means don't matter when father and daughter are both happy at the end of the day.)

In short: Jolyne hates him, and Kakyoin understands.

______

Here's the thing: Jolyne finds Kakyoin to be a nuisance. An interference. One more complication to an already complicated life, and she's only eleven. She wants her parents to get over their bullshit (language!) and figure out how to make things work. She wants Kakyoin to go away, but that doesn't mean she wants him dead. Or injured. Even if she did wish him off the end of a pier that one time. Still.

They've admittedly grown to be more friendly over time. She talks to him now, which is an improvement to the chronic cold shoulder she gave him before. Sometimes she even asks him for help, because her dad can be surprisingly useless when it comes to school work (weren't you in school when I was little?) He always seems happy to help, and he never gets as frustrated as her dad.

So maybe she doesn't hate him, but she definitely wants him to go away.

______

Kakyoin is in the middle of answering one of Jolyne's many questions when he feels something twist violently inside his abdomen. He tastes what he thinks might be bile at rist, but the metallic tinge registers, and,

Oh god, no. Not here. Please not here.

He doesn't need to know-- specifically-- what went wrong to know that he's dying. The moment the pain goes from barely tolerable to utterly agonizing is about when his brain lets him know that he's operating on borrowed time.

Kakyoin could have used that warning approximately five minutes ago. Before the pain. Before he found himself in front of Jolyne.

"I'm sorry," he tries to say, hopes the words come out audible enough for her to understand.

There are tears welling up in her eyes, and they fall soon enough. God, he's made Jolyne cry. She's so young. So unprepared. And she looks so much like Jotaro. With panic stricken eyes and fingers that grasp for something to do. Some way to fix this. It makes his chest ache beyond the twisting and shearing that his insides are already doing.

(She looks exactly like Jotaro, in the hospital after the Foundation managed to retrieve them. The way her hands fumble in the air is so much like how Jotaro had reached out desperately, trying to hold onto Kakyoin, in case those had been his last moments. Like father, like daughter, Kakyoin thinks without humor.)

His knees hit the ground first, and that shoots pain up his legs and along his hips. The rest of it ricochets and dies somewhere midway up his spine. It's a momentary distraction away from the agony that is his middle. He reaches with his fingers to press against his stomach, half expecting them to sink inward (into nothingness. There's nothing. Dio punched a hole right through him, and he's going to die.)

Jolyne is yelling. His name at first, then for her father. Again, he's reminded of the day he died. Maybe it's all been a dream. He's waking up now and the end is pressing down on him. The light will follow soon. He knows; he's seen it before.

"Please!" Jolyne begs him, "I'm sorry!"

He is, too. It's the last thing he thinks before his eyes slide shut and the darkness grabs at him greedily.

______

There's shouting and bright lights and something covering his face. He can't make out anything with his vision so blurry, but he thinks he hears Jotaro's angry voice booming what could be an entire room away.

"If you fucking put a finger on him that isn't necessary to keep him alive. I'll fuck-"

"Dad!"

Jotaro inhales sharply but nods to the surgeon one, final time, "His team is on their way. Not a goddamn finger."

______

The Speedwagon Foundation has several doctors that Kakyoin sees on a semi-regular basis. Each is a specialist in their own right, and they're the only reason Kakyoin ever made it home from Egypt. They're also the only ones that regularly work on updating all the augmented parts and maintaining the damaged remains of Kakyoin's organs. They know him inside and out. Quite literally.

The team makes it to the hospital long before Kakyoin comes out of emergency surgery, which means the whole process is extended significantly. The upside (if it could be called that) is that Kakyoin doesn't have to be put under again. The downside is that it means they'll be waiting awhile.

Jotaro does his best to be strong for Jolyne. It's his job as a parent to keep a calm façade and push his emotions to the side. She needs someone to be her reassurance.

He fails miserably.

______

The head of the Foundation team emerges some hours later, looking a little worse for wear. The stoicism past that does little for Jotaro's nerves. It tells him nothing of what to expect.

"Well?"

"He's stable," the doctor answers. "We had to take out several inches of colon this time. If I had to guess, he probably believed himself to be having a flare. He adjusted to the pain until he became necrotic." His expression shifts into an unpleased frown, "He also has two ulcers. Has he changed his diet? Or experienced any new stressors?"

Jolyne's lip quivered as she processed the doctor's words. She thought over every time she and Kakyoin had fought in recent history. Most of it being her yelling at him.

Jotaro's focus remains fixated on the doctor, "What the hell kind of pain is he still having?"

The doctor-- one Jotaro recognizes from previous visits but can't recall the name of-- sighs, "Kakyoin will only allow us to do so much to help manage his pain. I'm not his specialist in that regard, but it's at his request that he's kept on very little in terms of medication."

Jotaro knows that. He knows that Kakyoin doesn't like what stronger pain meds do to his head, but how out of control is his pain that he didn't notice that he was dying? That his body has been rotting from the inside out for an unknown amount of time?

Jolyne shifts further behind him, drawing his attention to her. It's the only thing that spares the doctor whatever response Jotaro might have otherwise formed. He turns to look at Jolyne and is startled by the tears already trailing down her round cheeks. Realization hits him then.

She's eleven, and he's an idiot.

"Hey, hey. Enough with that. He's going to be okay," Jotaro says quickly. He should have- called her mother or his mother or literally anyone. This isn't a conversation she needed to be privy to.

"It's me," Jolyne chokes the words out. Her thin arms wrap tight around her middle, and she looks close to collapsing on the ground.

Jotaro, admittedly, has no idea what she's talking about, "What's you?"

"The stress!" She practically wails.

Jotaro sighs and moves to wrap his arms around Jolyne. He tugs her in against his chest. "That- that's not the kind of stress the doctor is talking about," he glances over his shoulder to see that the man had already dismissed himself. Smart guy.

"I'm always mean to him!"

Jotaro wants to laugh. Not at all because he thinks her words-- or her suffering-- are funny, but because the whole situation feels unreal. He cards his fingers through her hair instead. It's all the comfort he feels like he can offer in a situation like this. With his own resolve teetering on the edge.

"Takes a lot more than that to take out Noriaki," he's lying through his teeth. The whole new family thing might damn well be enough stress, but he's never going to let Jolyne think this is her fault. It's not. Kakyoin is capable of making his own decisions, and being part of their family is one of them.

Jolyne crumbles against him despite the gentle words, so he scoops her up and holds her against his chest. Even at eleven, she's nothing compared to his size. He finds a nearby seat to settle into and lets her cry while he whispers promises he can't be sure he'll be able to keep. Eventually he tries distracting her with facts about dolphins, and that either has some effect, or she passes out from exhaustion. Either way, he's relieved when she snores against his neck.

______

Kakyoin comes to the waking world in a haze. His head aches and his middle feels a lot like it might have been ripped open again. He hopes that whatever happened had been a little more civil than that.

It doesn't take him long to place himself in the hospital. That's good. He isn't dead, and he's not immediately at risk of falling into enemy hands. The beeping to his left is annoying, and he can't see well enough to make anything out on the monitors around him. His vision tends to be the last thing to recover when he's been knocked out for a while. Still, he turns his head to continue to take in what he can make out.

He stops short when he sees two people in chairs on his right side, closer to the door. The familiar hat catches his attention immediately, not that he needs to be able to see at one hundred percent (or his version of it) to know that the man is none other than Jotaro. His size will always give him away before anything else.

Jotaro's head is bowed in a way that indicates he's likely asleep. He's undoubtedly been here awhile. Jolyne sits beside him with her head pressed against her father's bicep. Star Platinum is out and wrapped around both of them. He lifts his hand from Jotaro a moment to wave at him brightly, which is enough to disturb his user's sleep.

"Mm?" Jotaro grunts. He opens his eyes and sucks in a breath. He takes a moment to compose himself, which is fine. Kakyoin thinks he probably looks worse than he feels, thanks to the drugs. He would make a joke about it, but moving still hurts.

"Good to see you awake. How're you feeling?" Jotaro asks. He doesn't move from his spot, if only to avoid waking up Jolyne, but that intense gaze is evaluating all the same.

Kakyoin gives a noncommittal answer, and Jotaro snorts, "That's what I thought you'd say. Good thing we have this." He reaches for the little controller on the side of Kakyoin's bed. He presses the red button before Kakyoin can protest.

The glare he shoots Jotaro is relatively short-lived, and it's hard to be mad when Jotaro looks so damn triumphant, even if it's about something that Kakyoin has complicated feelings about. He decides to let him have this one, considering the fact that he's pretty sure he gave them all one nightmarish scare.

"I'm sorry," he says after a while, head lulling back against the pillows. His red hair spreads out all around. It's longer now than it ever has been, but he hasn't felt the need to cut it beyond a simple trim in years. It doesn't matter, but it gives himself something to focus on rather than the gnawing guilt.

"Don't be."

"I- god, I never meant-"

"Kakyoin."

"If I had known, I would have left the room or-"

"Kak-"

"She was so afraid. And she-"

"Noriaki," Jotaro snaps more than says the name, but his eyes are soft. "You aren't the only one that made her cry in the last few hours, so you're not special." That's not true. Kakyoin is incredibly special, but he needs to make some kind of light-hearted comment before he starts crying. Nobody needs to see that.

"Still," Kakyoin mumbles, but he doesn't continue.

Jotaro reaches out with Star, who clasps his large hand over one of Kakyoin's. He wants to lean forward himself, but he doesn't want to wake Jolyne up. Not yet.

Kakyoin turns his palm up to tangle his fingers together with Star's. He brushes his thumb over the stand's, knowing Jotaro can feel it reflected on his skin.

"I really thought it was a flare," he says after a while, because he feels like he owes some sort of explanation after everything.

"Nori, I really can't tell you how much I don't give a damn about that," Jotaro frowns at his own words, "No, I mean- I care, but- fuck." He scrubs his hand over his face a few times before trying again, "You don't have to feel guilty for this shit, okay? I should have noticed you were in pain."

Kakyoin shakes his head. He squeezes Star's hand to make sure Jotaro's listening when he speaks, "It's not your fault. I deal with this pain all the time. It just- at first it felt like a flare, but I guess I got used to it." And every time the pain worsened, he acclimated until it had nearly killed him.

Jotaro doesn’t get a chance to respond before Jolyne is rustling against him. She opens her eyes a crack and reaches up to wipe at them with her fists. “Dad?”

“Right here,” Jotaro grunts in response. He squeezes her shoulder gently, then retracts his arm to give her space to stretch out. “Kakyoin is awake.”

He watches the fog clear from her eyes. They widen as she processes his words, and her attention immediately turns to the redhead, who waves meekly at her.

“Jolyne, I’m- oof!”

Star quickly gets his hands around Jolyne’s waist, suspending her in the air enough to keep her weight from falling too heavily onto Kakyoin. He lets her down carefully, and the youngest Kujo looks sheepish for her overreaction.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Kakyoin says, curling an arm around her loosely in return. He hadn’t expected to be nearly tackled upon awakening. That went doubly so when considering Jolyne as a factor. She’s never hugged him before. Trauma is funny in that way; something he knows from first hand experience.

Jotaro steps up behind her and offers a small smile to Kakyoin, “We’re glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah!” Jolyne echoes, “You scared the shit out of us!”

“Jolyne,” Jotaro’s voice is gruff. An attempt at a warning that falls short. The way his lips pull further upward is a dead giveaway that he isn’t particularly upset by her language usage.

“It’s true!”

“Good grief.”

Kakyoin snorts at the father-daughter duo, relieved to see the two smiling again. Already bickering as per usual. There’s too much snark trapped in the Joestar bloodline, and it always amplifies whenever there’s more than one of them in a room. He’d know, having been on the road with Joseph and Jotaro in the past.

Somehow the back and forth settles into Jolyne rambling about dolphins. She regurgitates facts that-- for the most part-- Kakyoin already knows, but he feigns shock and awe at all the right places to keep her spirit up. It’s more healing to watch her babble emphatically than it is lying around in a hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. It eases some of the guilt, makes him feel lighter.

Eventually, Jotaro whiskers her out the door. Kakyoin catches sight of Holly, which must mean that Marina is tied up. Holly doesn’t come in, likely at her son’s behest. The woman is a mother through and through, and she can be a bit overwhelming at times. Better to focus all that maternal energy on Jolyne for now.

“You look tired,” Jotaro says when the door clicks shut behind the two. He takes his spot back next to Kakyoin’s bed, pulling his chair as close as he can. His knees grind against the railing of the bed a bit, but the distance allows him to lean forward and get a good look at his partner.

“I could say the same about you,” Kakyoin points out with a raised brow. He still can’t pick up his head for more than a few seconds at a time, and his vision remains fuzzy around the edges; a likely side effect of being drugged to the gills, but he isn’t blind. He can see the bags collecting under Jotaro’s eyes. Exhaustion-- emotional as much as it is physical-- already weighing his shoulders down.

Jotaro snorts an unamused sound, “I’m not the one that just had emergency surgery.”

Kakyoin winces at the reminder. “I’m-”

“If you finish that statement, I’m going to give you a reason to be sorry,” he isn’t. Jotaro won’t hurt him, but the words make Kakyoin close his mouth anyways. For a second.

“Oh, and how are you going to do that?”

Jotaro stares him down for a solid thirty seconds, expecting him to back down. When he doesn’t, the man pushes himself to his feet with an exasperated sigh. “Good grief, c’mere,” his fingers hook under Kakyoin’s chin, and he leans down to press their lips together.

As far as life affirming kisses go, it’s one of Jotaro’s more gentle ones, but Kakyoin feels the thrill of it chasing down his spine anyways.

“I love you,” Kakyoin murmurs as they break apart. He wants to add an apology to the end, but he bites his lip and keeps it to himself for now. He’ll find a way to make it up to Jotaro and Jolyne later.

“Love you, too, Tenmei.”

#jotakak #jotaro kujo #kakyoin noriaki #noriaki kakyoin #jolyne kujo #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #jbba part 3 #stardust crusaders #blitzwrites #blitz

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thathopelessromantic · 3 years

Text

Reckless Good (1/?)

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Fic Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku

Note: Part of the @tododekubigbang for 2021! I'm super excited to share this AU with everyone. And please check out the awesome compaion art from @cryptidcatgod for chapter six!

Todoroki Shouto had accepted his fate as a public figure when he became a pro-hero, but there are some parts of his private life he would like to stay private. When he gets invited to be a speaker in a college lecture series, he goes to the meeting with one goal: to give the coordinator a piece of his mind and finally put an end to people hounding him for information about his family.

The last thing he expects is the curious, and quirkless, hero- and quirk-study professor, Midoriya Izuku, who has no interest in his family's history, and, somehow, even more ties to the hero industry than Shouto. Intrigued by the professor, Shouto tentatively agrees to the lecture series, unknowingly intertwining their futures.

But the more Todoroki sees of Midoriya, the more questions he has. When a villain attack leaves them living together until the culprits are apprehended, maybe he'll finally get some answers.

AO3: (x)

Dear Pro-Hero Entropy,

On behalf of Musutafu University, I would like to cordially invite you to be a speaker in our first annual Hero Talks series. We anticipate university students, as well as members of the public from all walks of life, will be interested in hearing from 10 different pro-heroes, over the course of ten-weeks between September and November, as they discuss their experience in the hero industry, the details of their jobs, and the unique quirks they’ve encountered or that helped them in becoming the heroes of today.

I would be extremely grateful if you were willing to share your expertise and be a part of the series. You would be an excellent addition to our program, and our line-up of great heroes that already includes current number one, Pro-Hero Lemillion, the Permeation Hero, and the well-respected, Youthful Heroine Recovery Girl.

Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions. I look forward to hearing from you!

“I think you should do it.”

Shouto pauses with his cup half-way to his mouth as the silence that had fallen over them is finally broken. Momo primly takes a sip of her tea, pointedly avoiding his astonished look.

“…What?”

Momo clears her throat, placing her teacup back on the table and sitting up, somehow, straighter in her chair. Despite the fact that they are in her home, she looks decidedly more uncomfortable than he feels, even by the bizarre direction of their conversation. “I think you should do it. I think it would be a good opportunity for you, Shouto.”

“Have you met me?” he asks incredulously. “There’s nothing ‘good’ about anything that includes me and talking.”

His phone, with the offending email still pulled up on the darkening screen, sits on the table between them. He doesn’t realize he is glaring at it until Momo plucks it up and away from his line of sight. Waking up the screen, she reads over the email again. He doesn’t know why she bothers – they must have poured over it together at least three or four times when he first arrived, dumbfounded by yet another invitation and nearly laughing over the ridiculous concept of him giving a talk on a college campus.

“It’s not like you would have to wing it, it’s still only April now, so the series won’t be taking place until the second term. You would have time to come up with a topic, write a speech, prepare.”

“No one wants to listen to me read from a piece of paper for an hour,” he replies drolly. “And I don’t have anything to talk about that long, anyways.”

It is her turn to stare at him incredulously from across the table. He resists the urge to squirm under the disbelieving look. Finally, Momo sighs, returning his phone to the table.

“I think you underestimate what people would be willing to listen to,” she clears her throat. “You have a unique perspective on the hero industry that very few have, or get to hear about-”

“Because my dad was a dick?”

“Due to being raised by a hero," she continues on, as if he hadn't spoken. "And not just any hero, but someone who was the number two hero for a very long time, and even briefly the number one hero. Very few heroes nowadays have children, and even fewer have children who go on to follow in their footsteps. You’re a legacy.”

“I’m the only one of any of Endeavor’s kids to become a hero. If they wanted to hear about hero family legacies, they should have contacted Iida.”

Momo sighs, rubbing her temples. He’s noticed her doing that around him with increasing frequency these days. “Well I believe they did, actually. And he agreed.”

Shouto leans back in his seat. “Then he can talk all about being a legacy. What would they need to hear from me for?”

Momo is quiet for a very long time. “…Well-”

“No.”

“You brought it up.”

“Not seriously. I’m not going to talk about that.”

“It was just a suggestion. You, your family, have kept things remarkably quiet after it all went down, and I understand wanting to protect your privacy, considering it really is none of their business, but people are always going to have questions. It’s been years since the trial and the media still asks you every year. At least this way, if you talked about it, you could control the narrative.”

Shouto looks away. The setting sun is just out of sight from the dining room window, but it paints the neighbor’s house and the trees along the road a warm orange. The anniversary of the trial, of his father’s fall from grace in the public eye was just a few weeks away, still looming over him, even years after the fact. He has no interest in ‘controlling the narrative.’ He’d rather not think about it at all, actually. But just like every year before, as the date grew closer, the media got more frantic, more invasive.

You would think after more than ten years of radio silence from the Todoroki family they would finally get discouraged, and yet…

Sensing he wasn’t interested in pursuing this topic of conversation any longer, Momo changes tactics, carefully pulling his thoughts from a dangerous spiral. “Or you could have a meeting with the person who invited you. See what topic they had in mind for you.”

Shouto glances at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Well they didn’t just mass invite heroes, the invitations have only gone out to a select few. I’m assuming the coordinator had some idea of what they thought those particular heroes would talk about.” There is a quiet click of her nails against the glass table top as she picks up his phone once more. “You could set up a meeting with him and see what he had in mind. If the topic is something you’re comfortable talking about, wonderful. If not, you can decline the invitation, and all you’ve wasted is an afternoon.”

Something clicks in his head and Shouto sits up again, an idea brewing. He turns his attention back to her. “I still don’t want to give a talk,”

“Shouto-”

“But you have a point. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Momo smiles, but her brows shoot up, a clear indication of her surprise at – and her suspicion over – his quick surrender. “I’m…a little shocked you agree.”

“Well you’d just keep bothering me about it if I didn’t at least talk to him, wouldn’t you?” She glares at him but doesn’t refute the accusation. “But isn’t it just the dean of the school that sent the emails? He’s probably not the sole coordinator.”

“No,” She shakes her head, handing his phone back over. “It says here he’s a professor.”

Midoriya Izuku, Ph.D.

Professor of Hero and Quirk Studies

Musutafu University

[email protected]

It takes two days after his talk with Momo for Shouto to get around to even opening the professor’s response to his request for a meeting.

Kyouka watches him suspiciously from where she’s draped over his office chair as he paces in front of his desk. “What’s wrong with you?”

She takes an obnoxious sip of her coffee. The smell has permeated the entire room and it makes something in his stomach curl with longing, but his doctor made it explicitly clear that he was to take an extended break from the drink after letting it serve as breakfast, lunch, and dinner a few too many days in a row. Something more painful than longing – perhaps an ulcer he may or may not have given himself from his liquid diet – twists his stomach.

“Why are you even here?”

Kyouka sighs at his question, her head lolling back as she sinks deeper into the chair. He’s not totally sure what she’s doing. He knows for a fact those chairs aren’t comfortable. His best attempt to keep people from staying in his office longer than absolutely necessary.

“Kyouka?”

She takes another sip of her coffee. He has absolutely no idea how she doesn’t spill it all over herself in that position.

“Momo asked me to talk to you.”

He stops pacing long enough to determine that she’s telling the truth. “…Why?”

“Because she doesn’t think you’ve emailed the professor back about that hero series yet.”

He glances at his computer. At the unread email blinking at the top of his inbox, taunting him. “I’m not saying she’s right…but why does she want you to talk to me about it?”

She swings her legs off the arm of the chair to sit up right and glare at him. “I resent the insinuation that I am not a great candidate for making you get your shit together. But,” she stands up, dropping her cup onto his desk and crossing her arms. Her expression is fierce, but he recognizes the barely-there flush high on her cheeks and the nervous twitch of her earphone jacks. “I was also invited to be a part of the series.”

Shouto stops, sinking into his desk chair. Invitations like this were usually a pain for him. For one, he hated public speaking – or even extended conversations. As one of the top students at U.A., however, and as the son of a well-known hero, he had been getting requests for talks and interviews and special features for years. Most of which he usually ignored, knowing what it was they wanted him to talk about. But he knows an invitation like this can be special. Especially for someone like Kyouka, who doesn’t have particularly strong connections with the hero industry, even after graduating U.A. Her parents’ reputation and her internship with Present Mic made her more of a celebrity in the music industry than a well-known hero, despite all the great work she did.

“Kyouka,” he says quietly, earnestly, so that she pays attention to him. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she replies with a small smile, before her expression changes again. “But shut up, Todoroki. That’s not the point. Momo thinks you’ll be dragging your feet over getting back to the professor. But when she told me about how quickly you agreed, I got a feeling there was something else going on.” She braces her hands on his desk and leans into his personal space, jacks floating threateningly close to his throat. “You were gonna set up that meeting, and then just give him a hard time, weren’t you?”

Shouto freezes, caught. “Uh…”

It’s not exactly an admission, but Kyouka throws her head back and laughs, anyways. “I knew it. We’ve all been waiting for when you finally got fed up and picked a victim. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken this long.”

Shouto doesn’t mean for the quiet, astonished chuckle to slip out, but he supposes if it’s Kyouka, it’s alright. There’s a devilish glint in her eyes as she drops back into her chair.

“So,” she asks. “What are you waiting for?”

“You’re really not going to stop me?”

“We’re public figures, the media has never been interested in respecting our privacy, but we’ve all spent years watching you get hounded over your parents’ divorce and your father’s trial. If this is just another asshole trying to get a scoop, or recognition for finally getting you to spill, he deserves it. Everyone would agree. Well…Tenya and Momo might frown at your approach, but I still think they’d support the general idea. And well,” she shrugs. “If he is just an asshole, all the better for the rest of us to know now so we don’t support what he’s trying to do.”

He hesitates, mouse hovering over the professor’s email. “Are you sure?”

She scowls, though there isn’t any heat behind it. “If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t say it.” She comes around the desk to stand behind him. “Now hurry up, I have a patrol to get to.”

Reaching down, she opens the email before he can react.

Thank you so much for your interest! Of course we can meet to discuss the details of the series more. Below are my office hours when I will be on the Musutafu University campus. If you are not available for any of those times, please let me know when would work best for you and we can plan a meeting then.

Kyouka leans over his shoulder to read the email.

“Tuesday’s your day off next week, right?”

Shouto rolls his eyes but opens a new draft to reply.

Kyouka grins. “Good boy. I will report your excellent behavior to Momo.” She ruffles his hair before heading for the door, grabbing her coffee cup off his desk as she goes.

“Fuck off.”

She tosses her head back and laughs again. “Give ‘em hell.”

They make plans to meet in a few days, when Shouto has some time off, and the professor forwards his office room number and three different maps of campus “just in case.” Which Shouto found ridiculous….at the time.

Now he’s here, and has been wandering around for God knows how long. It takes approximately ten minutes for Shouto to admit he’s lost, and another five minutes for him to get frustrated over still being lost. He wasn’t sure what to expect of the university campus, but, clearly, he did not prepare enough in advance. The large, sprawling buildings remind him of U.A.’s campus, but rather than extra training grounds, the spaces between are grassy plots filled with students relaxing under the shade of trees or soaking up the sun on blankets. Instead of practicing hand-to-hand, the students sit in clusters pouring over textbooks or typing away on laptops. And they, of course, all appear perfectly at home amongst the labyrinth of lecture halls.

The paved plaza in the middle of all the activity hosts a large fountain and a statue of a man with large, curling horns coming from his temples that Shouto assumes has some kind of importance to the school, but that he doesn’t recognize.

He forwent his hero-suit for jeans, a button-up, and a leather jacket – in addition to sunglasses, a mask, and a baseball cap. The clothing seemed to blend in well enough with the other students, if not a tad understated, but his distinct hair and scar are not so easily hidden and soon enough he notices students staring, following his movements back and forth across campus or whispering amongst themselves.

Eventually, a few brave students manage to catch him as he is trying to reorient himself. Again.

“Um, excuse me, are you pro-hero Entropy?” a girl asks. Two friends flank her, staring with wide eyes.

Caught, he pulls down his mask. “Ah, yes. Hello.”

“Oh my gosh! Hi-Hello, I’m wow…I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s really great to meet you!”

“Are you here about the Hero Talks series!?” one of her friends asks suddenly, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth after the loud outburst.

Well…they aren’t wrong, and maybe they can help him. “It’s…something like that.” He agrees carefully.

The three light up with smiles, two of them jumping up and down in excitement.

“Dr. Midoriya is going to be so excited, oh my gosh!”

“You know the professor?”

All three nod excitedly. “We’re all in his Intro to Combat Analysis lecture! He’s been gushing about this series since he got permission last semester!” the third student finally chimes in.

Perfect. “Do you know where I could find his office? I’m supposed to be meeting with him, but I’ve gotten a little turned around.”

The three jump to help direct him to the right building, gushing all the while over the professor and his classes. By the time they finally part ways, Shouto feels a little guilty about his plan to give the professor a piece of his mind over the whole thing and misleading them about his intention to join the series. They were nice girls after all.

Someone bumps into him before he reaches the building, sending him stumbling off the sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry,” a bright voice calls, gently pulling Shouto back onto the pavement. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. Are you alright?”

Large, bright green eyes behind thin, wire-framed glasses give him a quick once-over, as if looking for injuries. The man meets his gaze through his sunglasses for a moment before glancing down at his wrist watch again. Somehow, he feels even more dazed meeting the man’s eyes than simply being booted off the sidewalk.

“…yes I’m fine, thank you.”

The man gives him a dazzling smile, flashing one dimple and further accentuating the smattering of freckles over his cheeks. “Good, good. Sorry again.” With a quick bow, the man is on his way again and headed into the building before them. The same building Shouto was headed.

Shaking off the strange feeling left behind, he waits a few moments, so as not to appear as if he was following the bright-eyed man, and goes inside. Along the wall there are signs directing visitors to particular room numbers or restrooms, and a bulletin board nearly as long as the wall is tall, full of posters advertising events happening around campus, and Musutafu, as well as ads looking for roommates or a reminder about signing up for a study abroad program. Right in the corner, as if attached as an after-thought, or a secret, there’s a small, handwritten flyer declaring the First Annual Hero Talks series could be counted as credits for Quirk or Hero Study students looking for an independent study if they met with Dr. Mirdoriya before the end of the term. Shouto almost takes the flyer before he realizes, realistically, that the students who might be interested in such a thing would probably benefit from it more than his brief curiosity needed to be sated.

Turning from the wall, he sets out for the stairs. The students instructed him to take the staircase on the far end of the east hall (the closest to the professor’s office, supposedly), to the third floor, where the professor’s office would be the third door on the left.

Midoriya Izuku is written clearly on a small sign hanging outside of the office. A small box sits under it, stuffed full of papers and folders that Shouto assumes are from students. The professor’s half-open door is covered in colorful posters and stickers – including, Shouto realizes, another copy of the flyer about the series and a poster of him, Pro-Hero Entropy, from his debut year. He looks away from his younger self and knocks on the door.

“Dr. Midoriya?” he calls, poking his head into the office.

The first thing he notices is that the hero-memorabilia on the door has absolutely nothing on what’s inside the office. More posters cover the entire front of the professor’s desk, and from the looks of it the top of his computer. Mixed between dozens of books on the shelves and filing cabinets filling two of the four walls are hero-figurines and framed pictures of heroes or preserved comic books. Even more posters and framed pictures cover the rest of the walls.

The second thing he notices, is that the broad-shouldered man dropping a beat-up, leather satchel to the ground besides the desk, is the same man who ran into him outside.

Dr. Midoriya whirls around, greeting him with another 100-watt smile. “Ah yes! Hello- oh! It’s you.”

“Ah, yes.” Shouto shuffles a little further into the office, he pulls his mask down under his chin and takes his sunglasses off, tucking them into the collar of his shirt. After a second's thought, he pulls off his cap as well, shoving the bill into his back pocket.

Dr. Midoriya’s jaw drops, his eyes comically wide, for approximately three seconds, before he comes back into himself, steeling his expression. His hands flutter nervously around his head for a moment and then he smiles again.

“Entropy! Welcome! I’m so sorry I did not recognize you before. Please, come in. Take a seat. Did you find your way through campus alright?”

Shouto gives a small bow, mumbling a thank you, as he comes further into the office to sit in one of the two small chairs before the desk. A poster of some of his old classmates is hung at knee-level, and even on paper, Momo's serious expression is judging him. Kyouka is egging him on.

Dr. Midoriya still stands behind his desk, staring at Shouto like he’s not sure what to make of him sitting in his office.

“Uh…Dr. Midoriya?”

The professor snaps back to life. “Yes! Sorry, sorry,” he sits down finally, pulling off his glasses and putting them to the side. “Welcome, again, to Musutafu University. And thank you for taking some time out of your busy schedule to consider our series! I really can’t tell you how thrilled I was to get your email.”

Shouto shifts in his seat. The professor talks with his hands, and every movement seems to pull the beige-colored cardigan he’s wearing even tighter around his biceps. Shouto isn’t usually one to speculate about others’ quirks unless in a fight, but he wonders now if the professor has some kind of strength-augmenting quirk – and if he does, how adept is he at using it if Shouto pisses him off? The potential of getting his ass kicked has never stopped Shouto before, but he can already hear the lecture he’d get from Momo, and probably Fuyumi, if he made the news for destroying a college building in a fight with a civilian professor.

Honestly, the property damage would probably be the least of their worries if he starts fighting with civilians.

“I know you don’t normally work with the media or make non-heroic work public appearances so I figured it was a long shot for you to even consider being a part of the series, but I really think you would make an amazing feature.”

Shouto shifts in his seat. Here it comes, he thinks. He really should have prepared what exactly he was going to say more, but he figured it would just come to him in the moment. Now, for some reason, he’s nervous. As if he would accidentally agree or something else equally absurd.

How this sweater had contained the man’s arms so far was a miracle, honestly.

“…but quirks are mutating, or rather evolving, at an astonishing rate. Every generation we see quirks getting stronger than those of previous generations but more and more we are now seeing children with quirks that have little to no relation to their parent’s quirks, or a manifestation of some kind of combination of quirks. You gained attention early on for being one of the first heroes, or even hero-in-training, to have multiple quirks.

“Now that it’s becoming more common, hearing first hand from someone who has had to learn how to control and gain mastery over two separate quirks would be invaluable information, especially for many quirk-study students who will be working with parents and children who are going through this for the first time, and for those who may have some form of a combination quirk but did not have the benefit of a hero-course education that could teach them proper control.”

Wait…what?

“What?”

Dr. Midoriya startles, glancing between Shouto and something unseen in the air around him. “Oh…” he winces. “I’m sorry. Was I mumbling again? I apologize, sometimes my brain works faster than my mouth and I get carried away, where did I…never mind, I’ll start again…slower. So, when quirks first appeared-”

Shouto holds up a hand to stop the professor and his jaw snaps shut with an audible click. “You want me to talk about my quirk?”

“…Yes?”

“Not…my family?”

Dr. Midoriya lowers his arms to the top of his desk, folding his hands together. Shouto thinks it might be the first time he has seen him completely still since they first ran into each other outside.

Now that they’re closer, and his hands aren’t moving, Shouto can also see surprisingly large scars running over the professor’s fingers and onto the backs of his hands. Those definitely don’t look like something you would get as a teacher. At least not as a normal, non-hero course teacher.

“Do you want to talk about your family?”

He shifts awkwardly in his seat. The professor’s serious attention directed all at him is suddenly unnerving somehow. “Well, no, I don’t.”

Dr. Midoriya nods, once. “Okay.” A pause. “Honestly, I was surprised to even hear you ask, I hadn’t considered broaching the topic for something like this.”

“You didn’t?” he asks incredulously.

Dr. Midoriya pins him with an expression he can’t interpret but inexplicably reminds him of Aizawa back in high school when he was frustrated with students or a lesson or even a fellow teacher. Especially All Might.

“Entropy, you have made it very clear in the past that you have no interest in talking about what happened to your family publicly. And that is your right. No one is owed anything about your personal life. If you suddenly decided you wanted to talk about what happened, and you wanted to use the Hero Talks series as your platform, you would be more than welcome to do so. Honestly, the publicity from that one lecture alone would probably be enough to guarantee the university allowing this series again in the future. But that is not why I asked you to be a part of it. You want to keep your private affairs private, and I respect that. I picked heroes who I knew the public would be interested in hearing from, but also who would have the most helpful information to offer to the students who are studying these topics, and, frankly, they would learn far more hearing about your quirk than your…homelife.”

“I…I wouldn’t know what to talk about.” Shouto admits awkwardly.

Dr. Midoriya smiles softly. “That’s okay. I can give you some general topics to consider, or more specific questions to think about as main points if that would be more helpful. Let me see…” he turns around in his chair, shifting to the side, and Shouto can see the shelves just under the view of the desk are stuffed full of identical notebooks, each with a carefully penned number on the binding. The professor pulls one out and flips through it. Almost every page is crammed with scrawling handwriting, some written sideways or upside down, squeezed into every blank space he could find. The slightly-less busy pages have drawings of heroes or costumes or diagrams Shouto can’t interpret from the quick, upside-down glance he gets of them.

From his seat Shouto could see there were, at least, two shelves of these notebooks. Were they all like that?

Finally, the professor finds what he’s looking for with a satisfied hum. He sets the notebook on the desk, turning it so Shouto can see. The page is marginally less chaotic than others he saw. At the top, in surprisingly neat handwriting and underlined three times, it reads: Questions for Multiple-Quirk Usage (Entropy).

The rest of the page is made up of dozens of questions about his quirk. Some, Shouto imagines, are just general questions for anyone with multiple quirks to consider (Do you activate both quirks the same way? Can you use them both simultaneously?) and get progressively tailored to questions about his quirk, like if there are places he can’t use one quirk or the other and the temperature ranges of his fire and ice, if particular environmental factors affect his ability to use either of them.

“Uh…”

Dr. Midoriya scratches the back of his head sheepishly. He hides a nervous laugh with a cough before taking the notebook back and closing it. The light isn’t strong in the office, but Shouto is positive the professor is blushing.

“Of course, if a list of topics or questions is something you would be interested in, I can provide you with a neater – and shorter – list. This was just a-a demonstration that there is a lot to consider when it comes to multiple quirks. Of course, not all of that would be relevant for a lecture, and admittedly some are just personal curiosities, but…anyways,” he clears his throat. “I’m assuming if you came here thinking I was going to ask about your family…you don’t actually want to be a part of the series.”

Shouto crosses his arms over his chest, sitting back in his chair. Does he want to be a part of a public lecture series? No. But now he is undeniably curious about this professor and how the hell his brain works.

“Do you have a notebook page like that for every hero?”

“Every hero? That would be impossible…well maybe not impossible-” Shouto raises a brow and the professor bites his tongue. “Maybe…most Japanese heroes since…early Silver Age and well-known international heroes? And any American heroes who would have overlapped with All Might’s time either learning or working in America.”

“How long have you been making those?”

He looks down a little wistfully at the question, thumbing gently at the corner of the page. “I was probably four or five when I started my first one,” he admits with a quiet laugh. “None that are here are quite that old, though.”

Shouto has…so many questions.

There’s a quiet buzz of the professor’s phone going off. He excuses himself for a moment and pulls the cell out of his pocket. His case has the design of All Might’s Golden Age costume.

“I’m sorry, Entropy, I have another meeting and I teach a class after so I can’t talk much longer today.”

“I should be getting going anyways.” Shouto says, standing up and Dr. Midoriya shoots out of his chair.

“Right, yes, of course. I’m sorry we probably took up more of your time than you meant to. Thank you for coming in, it was an honor to speak with you.”

Shouto feels like “honor” is a bit much, he didn’t really even say much at all, and he came here with rather rude intentions but, he doesn’t really know how to argue with the professor’s enthusiasm.

His brain and his good sense, and the small bit of self-preservation he has left, all tell him to keep going, to accept the professor’s gracious dismissal and move on, but he finds himself hesitating in the doorway anyways.

“Uh…Entropy? Is everything alright?” Dr. Midoriya asks, looking at him curiously.

Oh hell.

“If you send me the list, of topics…I’ll think about it.”

Dr. Midoriya’s entire being lights up. “Really?”

Oh, he was really going to regret this.

“…Yes.”

“Thank you! I will forward it to you right away!” He drops into a bow so deep, so quickly, he slams his head into the top of the desk.

Both of them freeze at the resounding crack that echoes in the small room. Shouto takes a step back into the office, already reaching for the professor.

“Are you alright?”

Dr. Midoriya straightens, looking a little dazed but mostly just embarrassed. There’s a bright red mark on his forehead. “Oh my God.” He whispers.

Shouto is surprised, and a little ashamed, by how hard it is to keep himself from laughing at the horrified expression. “Dr. Midoriya, are you-”

The desk gives a sudden, heaving creak and tips sideways. The two watch helplessly as the desk collapses, sending the clutter on top flying across the floor.

Dr. Midoriya makes a strangled noise, covering his face with his hands. “Not again.”

Again?

There are rushed footsteps outside and a young woman with six eyes and lavender hair piled in a high bun peeks her head in through the half-open door. “Dr. Midoriya, did you break something again?”

“I’m sorry Kobayashi.” He bows his head again, though not nearly as low this time, and keeps his face covered.

Kobayashi tuts disapprovingly. “I’ll call for another,” she says, already turning on her heel to leave.

“Thank you, Kobayashi.”

Shouto bends down to gather some of the papers that scattered around his feet. Dr. Midoriya lowers his hands, immediately stumbling over the mess when he sees Shouto cleaning.

“Please Entropy, thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

“It’s fine,” he waves off the worries. “Where would you like these things?”

“Uh,” Dr. Midoriya looks around the office for a moment. “Here, thank you.” Taking the papers from him he makes a neat pile on his un-damaged desk chair.

It’s quick work for the two of them to straighten up the rest of the room, though the professor takes a moment to mourn his cracked eyeglasses, and then again when he realizes some of the posters were damaged by the desk’s fall.

“Thank you again, Entropy. I’m so sorry about all the trouble.”

“It’s…fine.” Shouto says dumbly. “Well I should…go, now.”

“Yes, of course! I’m sorry about taking up even more of your time. Thank you for coming in.”

Before Shouto can reply, two new people arrive, knocking once before they shuffle into the office. Shouto moves further into the room, out of the way, as they collect the broken desk and carry it out of the room.

For a moment, they stand in silence, Shouto coming up with about a hundred more questions about the professor, while Dr. Midoriya stands nearby, twisting his hands together in embarrassment. Finally, his common-sense kicks in enough that after another short good-bye, Shouto manages to walk himself out of the office and down the stairs without doing anything else stupid or impulsive.

He passes someone on his way to the doors, so focused on getting out of the building that he doesn’t notice until they call his name.

He recognizes the wild purple hair and slouched stance of the man approaching him, but nearly dismisses the similarities on principle.

“Shinso? Since when do you come out while the sun’s still up?” He asks.

Ignoring the jab, Shinso pulls off a pair of sunglasses and looks him up and down. Despite also being a part of U.A.’s hero course in high school, Shinso promptly went underground after graduation and has been working in the shadows long enough that only some other pros and hardcore hero-fans are able to recognize him out of costume. “What are you doing here?”

“I was…I had a meeting with a professor,” he admits.

Shouto doesn’t know Shinso well, but he swears he looks surprised by the admission.

And then he laughs. “I can’t believe he actually did it. Good for him.”

Shouto isn’t totally sure he heard him correctly, but when he asks, Shinso makes an expression he can’t figure out and changes the subject.

“I’ll see you later, Todoroki.” He says with a wave.

Shouto waves back, unsure of what to make of the interaction, and watches as Shinso disappears up the same stairs he just descended.

Shoving the strange interaction out of his head, he pushes open the doors and steps outside.

Then he calls Kyouka.

She picks up after two rings. “Did you make him cry?”

He can hear Momo scold her from the background.

“No, but I think I fucked up.”

Kyouka is quiet for a moment but based on the noise he hears in the background, he thinks she’s moving further away from Momo. When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. “Fucked up how? Like news crews are coming to report the damage and you might be going to jail for beating up an old, civilian professor-fucked up?”

Faintly, Shouto wonders what it says about him that both he and Kyouka assumed the worst-case scenario for this meeting was him fighting with a civilian.

“No, fucked up like…I didn’t tell him ‘no’?”

#bnha #mha #tddk #tododeku #tododeku big bang 2021 #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #fic #rita writes #6.17.21 #fic: reckless good

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

Text

Exposé - msbp!au

(A/N) So this is like, an exposition I guess. It’s necessary for the rest of the story. Ginormous trigger warning for allusions to child abuse, gaslighting + manipulation.

Sarah's vision blurred, as she faded in and out of consciousness. The pain is intense, and she feels like she might die. This isn't survivable. The worst of the pain hits her all at once, and she lets out a blood-curdling scream into her gag. After that pain, nothing.

"Oh Sarie, I have some bad news," His voice cut through the pain, like a scalpel in her lower back, "You're going to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life..."

"Good morning Sarie," Sarah's dad sung, turning on the overhead lights as he walked into her room. He was holding a medium-sized pink bin, lined with a sterile sheet to create a sterile field, with a few syringes and medications, as well as sterile gloves, alcohol swabs, and a few other supplies. Sarah was scared awake, letting out a short groan. Her dad pulled a chair up, before pulling on a pair of gloves and disconnecting Sarah's PICC line from her overnight infusion.

He opened up a 10mL saline flush, screwed it onto the end of her line, and slowly pushed the plunger, drained the syringe into the line. Next, he pulled out another syringe, this time a 3mL syringe, half-full with clear liquid. He connected the syringe to the line, and administered the medication. She almost instantaneously felt calmer and sedated, as the Ativan coursed through her system. He proceeded to flush the line with more saline, then a syringe of Heparin. After that flush, he finished off the line by screwing on a swab cap. He tucked the line under the PICC cover, and pulled off and disposed of his gloves. Lastly, he helped Sarah sit up, and guided a small cup of pills into her shaky hand. He gave her a water cup with a straw, and helped her take her pills.

Sarah's dad moved her wheelchair closer to the bed and locked the wheels. He gently took the blankets off of her body, and threaded his left arm under her knees, and his right arm under her armpits around her body. He lifted her into her wheelchair, and buckled up her seatbelt. He hummed to her as he put her minimalist neck brace on to keep her head from flopping forward. The brace had a strap around the back of her neck, with two hard plastic pieces at the sides of her neck. The top of those plastic pieces split off onto a chin pad to hold her chin in place, and the bottoms of the plastic pieces split off into two rods that joined in a v-shape at her sternum.

Sarah’s dad turned off her overnight oxygen concentrator, and started peeling the cannula tape off of her prominent cheekbones. Sarah coughed a few times as the oxygen stopped.

“Today is tube change day,” Her dad announced, and Sarah was wheeled into the kitchen where she was sat at the table. Her dad started rummaging through the formula cabinet, "Do you want something to eat before we leave for the hospital?"

Sarah was quiet for a moment, trying to process those words through her Ativan-jumbled brain, "...Yes..." She finally decided, speaking slowly, "Can... I have... a..." She paused, thinking of what she wanted, "Cereal..."

"Yes," Sarah's dad confirmed, moving to fix her a bowl of cereal. A few quiet, zoned-out minutes later she was presented with a bowl of fruit loops. Her dad fitted the rings of her adaptive spoon onto her pointer finger and her thumb, and she started to spoon her cereal into her mouth. Her dad sat down to supervise as always, to make sure she didn't aspirate.

He multi-tasked, filling her feed bag with four cartons of formula and 8 ounces of Miralax mixed into water. He closed up the bag, and fitted the tubing into the Infinity pump. He flipped the bag upside down, and pushed the button to prime the tube. Once formula started dripping out of the end of the tube, he stopped.

Sarah's dad lifted her shirt, gently pulled the split gauze off from around her tube, and cleaned the area, "Today we have..." He grabbed the small fabric circle from the table, "Purple and pink stripes!" He fitted the tubie pad around her tube and clipped it together, and let her shirt fall.

Sarah finished her cereal, and watched as her dad tucked the bag of formula and the pump into one of Sarah’s various backpacks, and hung it on the back of her wheelchair. This particular backpack was a pale pink, with a panda on the front. On the lower right side of the backpack there was a plastic port where the tubing came out of. On the right side of Sarah’s wheelchair, between the back of the chair and the armrest was a velcro strap that held the tube out of the way of the wheel. He left her for a moment, grabbing an ice pack to tuck into the bag with the formula.

Sarah watched him, puzzled and confused, “Why aren’t you starting feeds?”

“Yes, we are going to the hospital today, you are due to have your tube replaced,” He started a sterile field, and started to draw up the day’s medications, five IV syringes and one G-tube syringe. He capped the syringes and tossed them into a plastic bag. He put her nighttime pills into a small pill container, and put it in the bag as well, “Just in case we aren’t home in time,” He put the bag into her backpack, “

Sarah started coughing a dry, rough cough. Her dad rubbed her back with one hand, and reaching over onto the table for her portable oxygen concentrator. He tucked the cannula into her nose and turned it on. She started to breathe easier, and her dad smiled.

Once she started to feel better, he spoke up, “I need to stop the machine so I can put this in your backpack and organize the tubing, okay?”

She nodded, and he turned the machine off and unplugged the tubing from the machine. Working quickly, he looped the excess tubing up and secured it with a tubie clip that he clipped to her shirt. He fed the tubing through the the velcro port in the back of her wheelchair, then through the port in her backpack. The oxygen concentrator went into the backpack, and he turned in back on once it was set up.

Once she was all set up, her dad looked at his watch, “I think it’s time to get this show on the road!”

Sarah nodded, and leaned against her headrest while her dad pushed her through the house, then out the door.

Sarah dozed all the way to the hospital, barely lucid enough to realize when she was being taken out of the car, and into the hospital.

“Let’s take a look at the ol’ g-tube then, ready?” Sarah was woken from her daze by the doctor, a brunette woman that Sarah had seen multiple times before, Dr. Manning.

Sarah nodded at the doctor, leaning back and lifting her shirt up to the underwire of her bra, exposing the tube.

“Mind if I give her her 11:00 meds?” Her dad inquired, looking at his watch. The doctor nodded and Sarah’s dad stole a pair of gloves from the wall and started fiddling with her PICC line. He pushed her morphine first, which immediately started to chill her out even more than the Ativan. The next medication was Benadryl, which was followed by saline and Heparin.

As the Benadryl kicked in, Sarah dozed off just in time for Dr. Manning to pull the tube out for the change.

An indiscernable amount of time later, Sarah woke up in a hospital bed, a different room from the procedure room she had been in before.

“Sarah?” Her dad whispered, looking up from his phone. Sarah made a noise in the back of her throat, feeling a thin tube down her throat, and rubbed her eyes, before looking at her dad.

“Dad?” She croaked, “Where... Why are we here? Why do I have a nose tube?”

“You have an infection,” He explained, scooting closer to her bed and grabbing her right hand, “In your tube. They want to keep you here because of your immunodeficiency, they want to be a little more aggressive this ti-”

There was a knock at the door, and a doctor and a nurse walked in. They both helped themselves to some hand sanitizer off of the wall, and greeted her dad. Sarah settled back down, staying quiet.

“Whenever ANYONE in the hospital comes to talk to us, you stay QUIET. Do you hear me? Sarah, look at me. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? You are to remain absolutely silent. Do not tell them anything, you don’t understand what you’re talking about anyways. I’m the only one that can advocate for you. You’re only going to make things worse.”

“Do you have any idea how this infection might have started? Any other signs of illness, maybe another infection that spread? Have you travelled recently?”

“No, none of that.”

“And you’re always touching the tube with clean hands, cleaning it twice a day, using clean gauze, clean supplies, bathing often?”

“Yes, very clean. I’m very careful. She’s immunocompromised, and I would never do anything that could put her in danger.”

Sarah’s stomach churned. No, not clean.

“And you’re the only one who handles her tube? Is mom involved? Home healthcare nurses, babysitters?”

“Nope, it’s just me,” Sarah’s dad laughed, “Her mother took off, left me in the dust. No help I ever see! And I don’t let anyone else handle her tube.”

“Well, I think we’re going to go in for endoscopy to see what’s going on inside, see if the infection is in her stomach as well, maybe bacterial gastroenteritis, ulcers, buried bumper syndrome. We’ll see what we can find and take some more cultures.”

“Dirty tube...”

Sarah’s dad looked at her with a wrath hotter than a thousands suns, and then chuckled at the doctors, “Sorry, she just woke up. Sometimes she echoes what she hears from others, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“My tube is dirty,” She asserted groggily.

“Sweetheart, they just cleaned it an hour ago, it’s not dirty,” Sarah’s dad reassured, squeezing her hand. She sighed, and laid back.

The doctor left, and Sarah’s dad dropped her hand aggressively, “What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, “They will take you away from me and hurt you. Is that what you want?”

Sarah shook her head.

“You will die without me. Do you understand? I do everything for you. I care for you, I do everything with no help. God forbid I make mistakes. God forbid I forget things sometimes.”

She looked away.

He grabbed the tube and pulled her to face him, which yanked the tape off of her cheek. She coughed as the tubing shifted in her throat.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” He scowled at her, before putting on a worried face, “Nurse!” He flagged down a nurse walking by their door, “She pulled the tape off. Poor thing, she doesn’t understand.”

(A/N) anyways sorry ava wasn’t in this one, i just needed to set the scene lol. hope you enjoyed!

#msbp!au #child abuse tw #abuse tw #reesker #well it will be at some point #sarah reese #robert haywood #chicago med #chicago med au #reesker au #crockettstiddies

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red-talisman · 4 years

Text

An unbetaed piece of a coffee shop AU based on conversation that happened on the 18+ 2Ha Discord. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

_____________________

There are only three reasons that Mo Ran continues to risk ulcers by frequenting the Red Lotus, and it’s not because the coffee is actually good.

For one thing, the coffee shop is within reasonable walking distance of Sisheng University. It’s not the only coffee shop nearby, taking clear market advantage of the sleep-deprived university population, but it is the one that best understands what students are looking for. This leads into the second reason: the coffee is strong enough to strip paint. No sugar, no fuss, just a suckerpunch straight to the central nervous system on the third day of final exams.

(The Pre-Med kids have a running bet about whether or not they could reanimate one of the lab’s anatomy corpses with it; none of the Humanities majors have been willing to dismiss the rumor entirely as a joke, but the other science departments are a little too intrigued by the discourse to be trusted as allies on the ethics boards.)

The third reason that Mo Ran continues to risk meeting his ancestors earlier than the deities have planned is sitting at a corner table when Mo Ran pushes through the door, hunched over scattered papers and pushing ink-stained fingers through long hair with visible frustration.

“Good evening,” Mo Ran calls out. He automatically heads towards the counter with a glass-fronted display of deceptively edible-looking pastries and an antique register. There are no other people in the shop and the overhead music is some kind of quiet guqin album, and yet his third reason for self-inflicted punishment doesn’t appear to notice Mo Ran’s existence at all. Mo Ran crosses his arms, leans a hip against the counter, and watches Chu Wanning irritably shove at the hair escaping its high ponytail again, failing to notice the ink he leaves behind on a high cheekbone.

“Help, I need service,” Mo Ran murmurs to no one. He knows his fixed stare is bordering on grounds for a lawsuit, and he tries, and fails, to tone it down. “Will no one provide legal vices in my time of need. Alas. Woe.”

Chu Wanning mutters something to himself, grabs one of the many pens perpetually stashed around his person, and furiously scribbles something out.

Eventually, however, not even Mo Ran can ignore the need for coffee in favor of staring at the most beautiful man that’s ever blessed his vision, and he knows from past experience that nothing short of actually grabbing the papers will get Chu Wanning’s attention when he’s like this. Doing so, however, will result in casualties (again).

“Chu-laoshi?” he tries anyway. “Chu-laoshi!”

For all that Chu Wanning reacts, Mo Ran may as well just be another creepy wooden doll sitting on the high shelf against the far wall. Mo Ran looks at the various coffee-related machines stacked on the other side of the counter, looks at Chu Wanning, and looks back at the machines. (The machines are shining, obviously well cared for, unlike the rest of the café’s weird, antique shop chic.)

“Last chance, Chu-laoshi,” he says loudly.

Twenty minutes later, Mo Ran is sitting across the same table as Chu Wanning, enjoying a thick espresso and the delicate spread of Chu Wanning’s eyelashes, when Chu Wanning finally surfaces from mental depths. Mo Ran watches him blink in confusion first at Mo Ran himself, then at the cup of tea steeping off to the side of his papers. “Mo Ran?” he says, with the kind of croak in his voice that indicates he probably hasn’t communicated with another living person for a while now.

“Hello, Chu-laoshi,” Mo Ran replies amiably. “I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself. I left the money behind the counter.”

Chu Wanning turns to look at the register. No answers magically appear from that direction. Mo Ran, however, is pretending to take a deep sip to hide what he knows is an utterly besotted smile over the adorable (sexy, hot, please fuck me no wait respect him damn it!) daze that seems to be hanging persistently over Chu Wanning’s expression.

“You don’t work here,” says Chu Wanning. His brows are pulled together in confusion, eyes a little narrowed and a lot focused, and Mo Ran has to bite the inside of his own cheek to remind himself to fucking behave, you’re not a goddamn dog.

“Might as well, at this point,” he quips. Before Chu Wanning can take strips off of him (don’t think about stripping!) he adds, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen coffee machines so clean. You obviously care for them.”

“Well, yes,” Chu Wanning says bluntly. “Machines stop working if you don’t.”

Ouch. Mo Ran should’ve known better than to try using an oblique angle to lever open some personal discussion. He nods at the papers on the table between them. “You were pretty engrossed in those when I came in. What’re you working on?”

Chu Wanning glances down at the papers, snaps his gaze back up like he’s trying to find the trick in the question, and finally looks back down, avoiding Mo Ran’s gaze. “Nothing. It’s just for Sisheng’s Astronomy department.”

“Astronomy? You do astronomy?” Mo Ran blurts out before he can stop himself, and Chu Wanning visibly bristles.

“Yes. Why is that so shocking?”

“It’s not! I mean, not for bad reasons! Shit, I just mean, you…I knew you were affiliated with the university, obviously, Uncle’s talked about you often enough, but I kind of assumed you were in Literature or something.”

“Dear gods, why?” Chu Wanning asks, looking horrified.

Because you look like a gay man’s ideal of the noble scholar, he doesn’t say. Because I have some very specific fantasies about you sitting on my cock and me trying to make you come before you finish writing a formal letter to your very boring, very conservative colleagues.

“Because of the, y’know. Books,” he manages to say instead, waving an arm vaguely at the variety of books crammed beside random objects on the café’s many shelves.

Chu Wanning just lets out a soft, “Hmm,” and seems to relax a little. The silence stretches, but before Mo Ran can break it in another attempt to force conversation, Chu Wanning says, “With the increase in…the traffic of objects orbiting Earth, there’s more interference in the data collected by our ground-based telescopes. I’m trying to help improve the software for better filtering.”

That sounds – well, really fucking boring, in Mo Ran’s honest opinion, but who is he to judge? He’s the one too stupid to have figured out anything he’s actually good at, and he’s a postgrad because he doesn’t know what else to do. “Why astronomy?”

He keeps his tone light but not irreverent, and when Chu Wanning doesn’t immediately scoff or go mulishly silent, Mo Ran feels his heart pick up a little.

“The stars are the source of…everything.” He pauses. “Everything except for the few lightest elements. Everything that makes life possible came from the intensity of the cores of stars and the violence of their deaths. Our universe is such an unimaginably vast entity, with galaxies and clusters shaped by the literal echoes of creation – and with hypotheses on the likelihood of other universes alongside our own – wouldn’t it be a sad thing if our own hubris blinded us to that?”

Chu Wanning is looking at him with a face that’s forgotten to keep itself guarded in this moment, and Mo Ran stares, long enough for the walls to go back up. Chu Wanning turns his face away with a humiliated flush and a sharp, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You’re beautiful. “That was beautiful.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just fanciful nonsense – “

Chu Wanning cuts himself off when Mo Ran very gently puts his hand over Chu Wanning’s, stopping him in the middle of pushing his papers together into a messy stack. “I mean it.”

Chu Wanning keeps his face tilted down, a flush working over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

#2ha #2ha fic #ranwan #jukebox fic #i'm clowning myself #i worked on a chapter outline for the novel so i could write 2ha fic #and the first and so far only thing i manage is a goddamn coffee shop AU #( ﾉ ಠдಠ)ﾉ︵┻━┻

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ranger-kellyn · 3 years

Note

Okay but, I love the idea that after the events of AoC that Master Kohga, Robbie and Purah hang out sometimes because they're all freaking chaotic and goofy. There's even a little sidequest that talks about how the Yiga clan gave some supplies to the lab.(So it seems like they're on good terms now.)

Poor Impa, she's probably like "Oh no, now I have to deal with three of them..". 😂

Chaotic uncle Kohga? He tries teaching little baby Jakahl how to spawn the spiky metal balls and Purah and Robbie have to tell him "He's a baby, teach him when he's older."

While Impa is the overprotective aunt and is like "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! That's dangerous! Why are you encouraging him?!"

okay admittedly i had never considered it but like.............u might have SWAYED ME.

like. i'm in the middle of cleaning, saw this ask while waiting for the sink to fill, and as i was mopping i just. this silly scenario came to mind ignore me i'm just riffing but like.

Purah, Robbie, and Impa are with a group going to the Yiga Hideout to like. idk. Work on stuff with them as a part of continuing to mend the relationships and whatnot.

All three of them were probably on the fence about even bringing Jakahl with them in the first place, but with the yiga having done nothing nefarious in YEARS and no signs of them returning to Ganon, they figure the best way to break the cycle is to not hide things from the next generation.

Jakahl is supposed to at the very least stay with Impa for the main part of the day. Seeing as Purah and Robbie are probably going to be dealing with who knows what kind of machinery, Impa insisted he stay with her. (he's maybe. 7 or 8 at this point?? idk a younger child but not helpless)

Jakahl...gets bored. Impa's work being more of a historian, it's not that Jakahl doesn't like spending time with her, he'd just...rather be doing something a little more exciting. In his boredom, he. Accidentally. Teleports himself away. (with purah having very limited powers and robbie having none, nobody really eXPECTED HIM TO HAVE THEM? SO??)

Impa is INSTANTLY. OH GODDESS. WHERE DID HE GO??? WE GOTTA FIND HIM

The others she's with try to calm her down like, "it'll be fine. nobody here will hurt him, and if he gets too close to something that could hurt him, he'll end up near his parents anyways"

But she says, "Nothing here will hurt him, but his parents???? will LEVEL this place trying to find him if we tell them we LOST HIM"

And half the yiga have probably had their asses handed to them by Purah and Robbie so like. Instant search party. Research can wait whERE IS THE CHILD-

Tearing up the place, they can't find him. Everywhere they look, they just. Can't find him.

Eventually, Impa, in her own teleporting frenzy, falls down in front of Purah and Robbie, absolutely frazzled.

Purah laughs at first. "You good?"

She stays kneeling on the ground. "Can't find him..."

Robbie hears her clearly, and is instantly like "uh-oh".

"Can't what?" Purah asks, kneeling down in front of her.

"Jakahl- he poofed away, I didn't know he has powers- he poofed away and i can't find him- I can't find him-"

And there is just. A noticeable TENSION in the air as Purah stands up and looks at Robbie. A bit of a. Manic. Smile on her face. "Robbie," she says, her voice strained and up an octave.

He grabs her hand. "It's gonna be okay- he's our kid. He's smart- he won't get hurt. We raised him-" (and don't be mistaken, he is JUST AS WORKED UP AS SHE IS. he just knows oNE of them has to be rational in this moment)

She ignores him, turning on all the scientists they were working with. "If anything happens to my baby- if anyone lays a single hand on him I will level this place!!!" and poofs away with Robbie in tow before anyone can say anything else.

Hell hath no fury like a mother who can't find her child.

Meanwhile.

Jakahl is having the time of his life. Poofing in and out of places, getting further and further away, stirring up a little trouble before poofing away again.

But then he exhausts himself. On his last poof, he ends up at that back arena area where you meet Kohga for the first time in BoTW.

Falls right on top of a sleeping Kohga, bouncing off him almost comically, landing in the sand.

Kohga is iNSTANTLY on alert like. "WHO'S THERE? WHO'S LOOKIN' FOR A FIGHT WITH THE ALL MIGHTY MASTER KOH-"

and then he just. sees this small child, who is exhausted and about to start crying bc. It's finally caught up to him that he can't poof around anymore AND that he has NO IDEA where Aunt Impa is.

A crying kid is the laST thing Kohga wants so he's just. He kneels down. "Whose kid are you??"

Jakahl has clammed up, and won't talk.

Looking him over. "Well. White hair. You're a Sheikah kid...didn't those scientists come visit today or somethin'?"

Jakahl nods.

Looking at his face, Kohga puts together who he is. "Oh, yeah. You're those wack job's kid. Jack Fruit, right?"

He shakes his head.

"Close enough, though?"

He shrugs.

Kogha hums, sitting across from him. "How'd you get out here?"

Jakahl finally answers him, and at least now that he's got him talking, Kohga relaxes.

"Can you help me get back to my mom and dad, or aunt impa?" Jakahl asks.

Kohga shakes his head. "Nah, kid, that's work! They'll come lookin' for you. You're exhausted from all that poofin' around. Take it easy."

Eventually, Sooga comes to find Kohga, intent on telling him that Purah is essentially, tearing the place apart looking for her son.

Needless to say, he's surprised to see that Kohga is just. Entertaining the kid. He doesnt' have a large spike ball out, but he's got a few tiny ones and making them float around, and it's absolutely got Jakahl entertained.

"Master Kohga..."

"Oh, hey Sooga! Check this out!"

"His parents are looking for him. His mother is tearing the base apart-"

Kohga just laughs, not taking his focus off Jakahl. "Bring 'em here! he's fine." More quietly, just to Jakahl, "See, told you they'd come get you. Way easier."

Barely a few seconds after Sooga is gone, Purah poofs in the arena, right behind Jakahl, scooping him up. She poofs away again, handing him off to Robbie and Impa who arrived a fraction of a second after she did, and then she is BACK in front of Kohga, snatching him up by the collar as the mini spike balls fall around them.

"WHAT WERE YOU DOING?"

He's nOT looking for an ass beating from her, Robbie, or IMPA (bc if he thinks about it too hard, he can sTILL feel how walloped he got by her back before the calamity [in the Destroy The Yiga Clan mission]) but he's able to play it cool.

"Relaaaax, Purah. Was keepin' the kid entertained till you lot showed up. He was poofin' around too much and exhausted himself."

"I was having fun!" Jakahl yells from across the arena.

"Promise?" Purah asks.

She can see him nodding, and can tell that Robbie and Impa are confirming with him again.

Her anger is just. Instantly gone. "Guess you get to live another day, Kohga," Purah says, letting go of him. He falls to the ground, and she just. Plops down in front of him. "Damn, I'm worn out. Big base, you got here."

And just like that, tensions are resolved, and now that it's over, it's easier to laugh at. (impa tho...is gonna need a Minute to recover)

Kohga, "Some promising powers on that kid! Should let me teach him how to summon the spikes!"

Jakahl instantly looks at both his parents, "PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE"

They shake their head, looking at one another, Impa breathing a sigh of relief.

Purah, "He needs to be a little older."

Robbie, "Wait 'till he's like...ten."

and impa is just like "NOOO W H Y"

and thus Uncle Kohga is a regular in their life, much to Impa's chagrin. (she'll come around to him eventually, but the poor woman has probably gotten a few stress ulcers from their combined shenanigans)

#that was A LOT #IM SORRY #let me not hijack ur character like that 😅#purobbie #hwaoc #iaintcallinyafordinner #long post

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charmingpplincardigans · 3 years

Text

January Kitchen Sink Check In

This is mostly for me, because I’m trying to become a better person this year, for varying definitions of the term ‘better’, and I like to see my progress laid out all organized like. It helps me move forward. So I’m gonna go through my Body/Mind/Money goals for January and note how I did and what I’m going to do moving forward!

BODY

Working Out:

My two work out goals for the end of the year are to 1) be doing yoga semi-regularly and 2) be working out four days a week reliably, including the yoga. I’m working on easing myself into these (and all) habits, because I don’t want to overwhelm myself and give up on everything, so my goal for January was to work out one day a week. And I worked out *drumroooooooll* NONE! NOT A ONCE. I don’t have an excuse for this. Part of it was stress, part of it was depression, part of it was sheer laziness. I promise myself I’m gonna work out at least once a week in February, but also shoot for the two times a week that is the February Goal.

Food:

I have several overall food goals for the year. One is to give up soda near completely, or at least to break my addiction to it. The others are to start planning meals and eat less meat. For January I wanted to drink only two sodas a day (20oz max). I managed that 23 days out of 31. In looking at the calendar you can reliably match the days I failed to the days that were extremely stressful or anxiety ridden. I have a very bad habit in those moments of throwing up my hands and deciding that I’m a failure anyway so nothing matters. That’s definitely a mental tick to keep an eye on over the next few months as my job no doubt just gets more and more stressful. The other goals I did okay with. I decided to plan one meatless meal a week. New recipes I made in January were:

Black bean soup

Moroccan sweet potatoes

Spinach lasagna

Black bean & sweet potato enchiladas

Do recommend most of them. The lasagna had way too much cinnamon in it, which was kind of weird. If I make that recipe again I’m gonna quarter the amount. But I might just find a different veggie lasagna to make.

For February I want to drop the soda to one a day (12oz max), and start to plan to make two meals a week. I’m doing okay with meat, but I could for sure do better. It helps that I have started making THE WORLD’S BEST SANDWICHES for lunch. Probably just gonna eat those forever instead of ordering out Huey Magoo’s or whatever. (The sandwich is hummus, cucumber, and feta on toasted Good Seed bread. Try it!)

Doctor Things:

Uff. I need to figure out the CPAP issues and the chest pain issues. I absolutely despised the first mask they sent me for the CPAP. It gave me panic episodes and I was ripping it off IN MY SLEEP. Insurance refused me a new mask until April, but my doctor came in like an angel with a sample version of a different type of mask to try. This one is...better. I’m still not comfortable in it and it’s not appreciably helping my sleep. People keep telling me it’s going to change my life, but that has not happened yet. On the other hand I have friends who’ve tried to make them work for YEARS and never did, so I’m wary of this whole process, but still trying.

I had a sort of fraught meeting with my cardiologist last week. My chest pain symptoms had been getting better as of October, but with the change in my job I’ve back slid almost entirely. I had a 36 hour period of chest pain two weeks ago. I go whole nights having every heart attack symptom in slow motion, but doing nothing about it because I can’t afford for the ER to tell me I’m fine five times a month. I cried when she asked me why I didn’t go to a hospital when that happened. I feel so helpless all of the time and I’m certain I’m going to die any day now, even though my heart is technically physically fine. Can you anxiety yourself into a heart attack? I THINK YOU CAN. She did tell me to try to speak to the psychiatrist again about anxiety medication. The last time I tried the woman I saw didn’t want to prescribe me anything. She told me to work on my sleep and come back. Welp! The cardiologist said that if that happens this time she’ll write a note telling her to prescribe me something. We’ll see. I need to try to make that appt this month.

MIND

Therapy:

My therapist thinks I’ve done really well over the last year with working on myself and said out loud that she thinks I’m better at dealing with some things and am in a good position to move forward. But I’m so stressed right now that I just feel like I’ve fallen apart again. We’re meant to start on EMDR this week, but I’m going to have to put a pause on it so I can talk about how I’m at like, the lowest point of my life, which she will be very supportive of and then probably remind me that if we could just get to the EMDR and work with the older traumas this might not feel so dire. I’m just, on the struggle bus and too tired to do anything but freak out about that.

Writing:

I have so may creative goals this year! Too many probably! I should put some back! My creative goals for the year are:

Complete a rough draft of AMLD (10,000 words a month)

Complete and mail out the Girls Who Date the Universe chapbook

Complete and mail out any remaining art for people who helped me with the car fund

Work on poetry and short fictions (Monster Story?)

Actually check in to @gywo every month (10 days a month goal)

My creative goals for January were to write 10,000 words on AMLD, work on the extra poems for GWDTU, and send the remaining postcards from the car fund. And uh...look. I did work on writing. I worked on the chapbook layout and editing pieces that needed to be edited/replaced, because there are several. I did also work on the outline for AMLD, but didn’t write new words on it. Not anywhere 10,000 of them at any rate.

The owing people art thing is just...it fucks me up, man. I have learned a huge lesson between the car fund and the patreon. I get so in my head about how these people deserve beautiful things and then I tell myself I’m not capable of making things worthy of them and then I put off doing the thing because I want to put off letting them down and then it just spirals from there. ALL THE WHILE I AM FOR SURE LETTING THEM DOWN. I realize this is both unhealthy and unprofessional. It’s why one of my goals this year is to clear all of this once and for all so that I can square myself away with everyone and try not to end up here in the future.

So, the January Goals now get rolled up into the February Goals, which leaves the new list for the month at:

10,000 words AMLD

Complete extra poems for GWDTU

Send postcards from car fund

Complete layout for Boston chapbook for car fund

I did check in for GYWO.

Future Plans:

Part of letting off the pressure for the now for me is always about planning for the future. Not like, the actual future, I’m not starting a 401k, let’s not go nuts. But for something that is one step forward. In my notes for my year goals this is all about moving back to Boston. I need to set a date for it. I need to save money for it. I need to keep my job until after I’ve done it. But now I think this part needs to include notes about my job itself and the ways I can either move forward with it or move away from it once and for all.

I talked to Lisa and Kait at the beginning of the year about the moving plan, and now I just need to talk to my apartment complex to see if it would be feasible to extend the lease to December or February without paying an exorbitant amount in rent each month. If rent ends up being more than $2k/mo for the extension then I’m just going to have to have to wait until June 2022. This frustrates me, because I hate not being able to just follow through with decisions once I’ve made them, but patience is another thing I’m working on eternally. My goal for February is figure out money stuff well enough and talk to complex and set a timeline.

Work is. Wow. It’s awful right now. I still have my job, which takes up much of my days, but because of re-org I’m also having to learn a whole new job which would also take up much of my day. I can’t not learn this job, because the person who used to do it is in another department now too, so there’s no one to get the work done if I don’t learn to do it. But I also can’t do both. I CAN’T DO BOTH. An issue popped up last week with my job that literally brought my ulcer back. I asked my boss for help with it and she sent me a message at one point saying she wanted to cry about it. So like. She knows now, right? She knows I can’t do both jobs?? BUT THERE’S NO ONE ELSE TO DO IT SO I GUESS I JUST GET TO SLOWLY KILL MYSELF. I’m just so frustrated, and angry that these decisions get made without taking the people in them into account, and of course anxious and miserable. I’m currently dreading work in a way I haven’t since I was in text perms. It’s real bad. So I have to find a way to make it work or find a way out.

My February approach to that is to finish this Love It or Leave It book and see if I can’t divine where my true motivation lies, and also to research library school. I kind of would rather not go back to school. Not because I wouldn’t spend my entirely life in school if I could. I WOULD. But because it’s expensive and time intensive and there’s no promise my life will be better after it’s over. But every job I think I want pretty much requires that masters, so. We’ll look into it at least.

MONEY

Eating Out:

During the pandemic, one of my money sinks became DoorDash. I never used it before, because it costs literally twice as much as just going to get the food. (Also because I kind of like eating in restaurants alone. Ah, one day again I hope!) But the more afraid I became of the outside world, the less inclined I was to go into a restaurant to pick up take out, so I’ve had it brought to me. And I need to cut that shit out! I have food at home! My goal for January was to order out only 4 times a week. I managed this for three of the weeks, but when I blew it it was definitely those weeks at the very beginning and very end of the month where I was super stressed. The goal in February is to only order out 3 times a month.

Savings:

I need to open a high yield savings account. I’ve had the starting money for the move just sitting in my bank account making me no extra money for like, four months. The latest reason I haven’t moved it over is that I’m worried I’m going to owe a lot in taxes this year because of the partial unemployment I got. Hopes are that since it was a work share the taxes were taken out ahead of time, but I do not trust the government with my money as far as I can throw them, so. I’ll do my taxes this month and finally know for sure. And then I WILL move the rest of the money into a high yield savings account. I WILL.

Also, every time my credit union savings hits a grand, I’ll move $500 of that over into the high yield account to put toward moving expenses.

Budget:

I keep meaning to sit down and work out my new budget for 2021. I’m bringing home a little bit less in my paycheck because I changed my health insurance, and I’m also, of course, trying to save as much as I can ahead of moving so I don’t put anything on credit cards. (I’m doing so well paying those down!) This means I need to save everything I can and not spend money on stupid frivolous stuff. I’m not buying clothing like I did in the before times, but I AM spending too much money at Target still, because the app lets me just peruse any dumb idea I have and then pick it up that day! What a disaster! So, I really need to work something out. Or at least, I need to check my bank accounts more often and keep tabs on how much is actually going out. I have a bad out-of-sight-out-of-mind habit when it comes to bank accounts. Just another piece of me to try to cure this year.

And that’s it for January. I’m now late to bed because I’ve been working on this post for an hour and a half. Working on my sleep is also a goal, but we’ll see how exercise and the cpap handle that. Til next month!

#kitchen sink check in #to do #progress

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bigskydreaming · 5 years

Text

Imagine:

The Batfamily is all assembled in the Batcave working on some case, when Alfred intercoms them from up in the Manor. He says there’s a man on the phone for Master Dick, with it being a matter of some urgency. Bruce starts to ask if he’s established whether its an actual emergency or something he can take a message on, but Alfred continues...

Alfred: Err, the individual in question ensured I was aware he knew Master Dick was on the premises and available to take his call...even if I did need to patch him through to our....downstairs line, as he termed it.

Bruce: Our downstairs line? He phrased it exactly like that?

Alfred: I’m afraid so, sir. He was circumspect, no doubt in deference to our....privacy in such regards, but there was little margin for misinterpretation as to his meaning. This may come as some surprise, but I have considerable practice in the art of reading between the lines, and like to imagine myself somewhat of an expert at the craft.

Bruce: *sighs* Patch him through, Alfred. Did he give a name?

Alfred: Very good, sir. And yes, he did say Master Dick refers to him as Boone.

All eyes swivel to Dick, as Alfred transfers the call to the Batcave’s ultra encrypted top secret super hush hush line. Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

Dick: If I get an ulcer from the next five minutes, I’m absolutely naming it after him.

Bruce: You don’t seem surprised this person has knowledge of our identities. Why wasn’t I informed of this individual, as a potential threat of exposure?

Dick: Umm, it didn’t seem relevant?

Bruce: ....what.

Dick *shrugs*: I mean, to be honest, I mostly forgot. He’s known forever, and its not likely to ever be an issue for the same reason he’s never done anything with the knowledge before now. He’d never give our identities to someone who could potentially compromise us or harm us, because that risks someone other than him killing me before he can say he’s beaten me and proven himself better than me once and for all, and that like. Pretty much would defeat the whole point for him.

Bruce: ....I’m almost afraid to follow your logic.

Jason: I’m so happy right now.

Dick: If it helps, he’s known since like, I was eleven. So I mean, I do feel pretty confident if it was going to be an issue, he’d have made it one way before now. Hence why I....kinda just forgot. I mean, I didn’t really forget, forget, but like I said. It just didn’t seem relevant.

Bruce: ....that does not help, no.

Tim: Wait, what? Who is this guy!?

Damian: ....Grayson, did you hit your head on patrol? You’re not making any sense.

The speaker crackles to life again before anyone can press Dick for more questions.

Boone: Hello? Are you reading me loud and clear in the top secret Batcave you got there?

Dick: Boone. What the hell do you want, and how do you even know we have a Batcave, let alone call it that? And also, what the hell do you want?

Boone: Freddy! My buddy! My pal! Long time, no ass kicking!

Dick: Not that long. Usually you like to wait a few more months than this before ringing me up to ask for another one.

Boone: Any chance we swap this connection out for a video call? You sound irate, and that’s easily one of your top ten facial expressions. You can’t tell but I’m fanning myself just thinking about it.

Dick: I am going to kill you. It is going to hurt.

Boone: Promises, promises. You always say things like that and yet here I am, my masochistic needs still unmet....

Dick: Boone!

Boone: Freddy! Alright, unclench. No need to get your jockstrap in a bunch. I figured you had a Batcave because you obviously have to have some kind of lair on site, and your Daddy Warbucks seems too fond of his toys to fit everything in the attic, so downstairs seemed a safe space. You can relax. I’m not spying on you via a periscope sticking out of your toilets or something suitably archvillainous and cliche.

Dick: And you just happened to know its called the Batcave?

Boone: ....well on that score I mean, I have met you, and your old man does have a theme, and it wasn’t actually super hard to add two plus two and get four there. Thanks for the confirmation though. Its always nice to know I’ll still be able to make it on my brains once all this beauty begins to fade. Ah, time, that bitch. The absolute Murder Icon we all aspire to, with a body count none of us will ever match.

Dick: Did you call just to wax poetic or whatever the fuck it is you think you’re doing, or is that just a treat I’ve earned with all my good karma.

Boone: Actually, funny you should say that, because I’m calling with an exciting investment opportunity that could reap you loads of karma reward points on the back end!

Dick: ....what.

Boone: I need your help. Sorry, was that not clear? I don’t have a ton of practice on that line. My profession’s not big on the whole communal effort sort of thing.

Dick: ....what.

Boone: Oh come on, don’t be like that. It can’t be that shocking to you, I mean, you’re a hero. Helping people is what you do. You have to hear that line all the time!

Dick: Yes, just usually not from mass murderers.

Boone: Oh, you damn me with faint praise.

Dick: As long as we’re clear on the damnation part.

Boone: Besides, I mostly just murder in a singular fashion, you know, as in one at a time. There’s hardly ever any mass.

Dick: Well that changes everything.

Boone *laughs*: Oh, Freddy. We do have fun. Speaking of, how about it? You wanna hop on over to the far side of the world and bail my finely curved and plushly padded ass out of the fire, before the nefarious evildoers who are after me do unseemly and deplorable things to it and also to my organs?

Dick: And here I thought nefarious evildoer was your job description. Someone’s gunning for your head and your title? Tough day you’re having, chum.

Boone: Its the world we live in, mate. Job security just ain’t what it used to be.

Dick: Not sure if that’s the world’s fault or more just something to do with your particular line of work. If only there had been someone at some point in your life who could have warned you about your profession’s usual stats on job security. Oh wait.

Boone: I know, I know. Listen, as dazzling a pairing as my pecs-tastic physique and scintillating intellect may be, I pale before your perfection, old buddy. Be a pal and try not to hold that against me, will you? Tell you what. You come help me out of this little old bind I’ve gotten myself into through no real fault of my own, and I’ll let you give me one of those judgmental stares you’re so fond of, and you can say you told me so. Actually, you know what, for a limited one time only offer, I’ll even throw in a free spanking!

Dick: You’re an idiot.

Boone: I know, who am I kidding. I’d let you put me over your knee any day. Really, its your own fault. When all your stern talk of discipline and punishment makes bad boys like me go weak in the knees and swoon, how can we possibly be expected to keep to the straight or narrow?

Dick: ....why do I get the feeling you didn’t just know I was here, but that my whole family is present and listening too?

Boone: In my defense, I distinctly recall you being the one to tell me to get a hobby, last time we tangoed in Paris.

Dick: I was talking about things to occupy your time without killing people, not inviting you to occupy your time making my life miserable. And it was Chicago, not Paris.

Boone: Well then you should have been more specific. And I know it was Chicago, you moron. Ugh. I may kill people, but you’re murder on a theme. God, you can be such a peasant sometimes.

Dick: This from the guy who....you know what? No. Stop. I’m not getting sucked into this again with you. Get to the point, Boone. Fine, you landed your ass in more trouble than even you can handle, for once. Why is this my problem, and what would possibly make you think I would help you out of a mess you made and probably more than deserve to reap the consequences of?

Boone: Because you’re a goshdarn hero, Dickie, and a better man than me, remember? And because you’re not doing it for Shrike the mercenary, you’re doing it for your old buddy Boone. That you couldn’t save from himself and will hate yourself for not saving now, if I do wind up dead and you happen to ask yourself if you could have stopped this. Which, of course, we both know you will. So should we just skip to the part where you do what we both know you’re gonna do in the end anyway, because you can’t be anyone other than who you are anymore than I can be anyone other than who I am, no matter how much either of us wants to pretend otherwise? Or do you want to dance this out a few more songs first?

Dick: Send the situation details and coordinates to the email address I gave you last time. I’ll be there as soon as I can, and if you so much as think as killing someone while I’m there, you won’t like where I drop you off.

Boone: Mmm. Fair enough. For all the perkiness of your perky parts, your taste in venues has always been shit. You can cool your jets by at least five degrees, Mister Superhero Sir. I’m in no rush to enjoy the accommodations of Bludhaven Penitentiary a second time. They didn’t even have HBO. Barbarians.

Dick: And Boone? After I do this, you and I are through. You stay out of my way from now on, and I’ll do the same. Clear?

Boone: Oh, Freddy. Tell yourself whatever you want to, but we both know that you and I won’t be through until the day one of us dies. I’ll owe you one, let’s go with that. Alright, check your email, just sent the sitch. I’ll see you when you get here, til then this booty’s gotta bounce! Ta!

The speaker hisses static as the phone disconnects. There’s awkward silence as nobody has any clue what to say and Dick very conspicuously checks his email on his phone.

Bruce: This Boone...he’s the mercenary and occasional assassin Shrike?

Dick just nods, his shoulders tense and uncomfortable. Everybody else eyes each other warily, except for Cassandra and Tim who exchange particularly confused glances. They fought a mercenary named Shrike once, years ago, but nobody had ever said there was anything significant about him, or hinted there was any reason he and their oldest brother should have any basis for having a conversation like...whatever that just was.

Not to mention, even Bruce sounds weird now. Like he’s just as awkward and uncomfortable as the rest of them look and feel. And Bruce only sounds uncomfortable when talking about like. Feelings and stuff. Family situations. Never cases. Never....the bad guys.

Bruce: ....he was one of the other students at Vengeance Academy, I take it.

Dick still doesn’t look up from his phone. His voice is resigned and weary. This is not a discussion he wants to have, his siblings can tell that much. Even if the rest is all just gibberish to them.

Dick: He ended up with the League after Shrike died. Trained with them for a few years, then eventually broke off to do his own thing. Called himself Shrike in honor of....our old teacher. He was. Particularly attached to him.

Bruce: ....you...kept in touch, then?

Dick barks out a startled laugh, full of too many other emotions to put a name to.

Dick: Hardly. We’ve just....run into each other over the years since then. He figured out who I was a long time ago, when he recognized my picture in some puff piece online, about you taking me in and your charity work with kids’ programs after that. And he recognized my fighting style as Nightwing, so. It was just inevitable we’d cross paths, I guess. There’s just. There’s stuff between us that never got settled, you know?

Bruce: ...I’d almost forgotten that was where you first honed your skills with your escrima sticks. Why didn’t you ever tell me? Who he was...that you’d encountered him? Since...those days.

Dick finally looks up and studies Bruce carefully. Then he looks off to the side and sighs.

Dick: Because you’d forgotten that was where I first honed certain skills. And I didn’t particularly want to remind you, I guess.

He sighs again and shakes his head as Bruce looks about to respond.

Dick: Bruce, I....look, we’ve both put a lot of years and effort into not talking about this. Seems a shame to break our streak now. Can we just....this is just something I have to do, and I kinda need it not to be anything more than that right now. It’s just. I have to go.

Bruce: ....I understand.

Dick barks out another uncharacteristic laugh, sharp and reproachful, but at who, it’d be impossible for even him to say.

Dick: I doubt that. I don’t even understand. But I appreciate you trying to, and...letting this wait for another time. Like I said. I have to go. Sorry I can’t help out more with the case. I’ll see you all later.

Damian: Grayson, don’t be absurd! You can’t go! Whoever that man was, he’s clearly manipulating you!

Dick shakes his head and laughs one more time, but here, at least, its a bit warmer, a bit closer to his usual humor. He stops to ruffle his youngest brother’s hair as he passes him, before continuing on towards where his motorcycle is parked along the main causeway to the cave’s entrance.

Dick: Trust me, kiddo, I know. He’s not even trying to be subtle. It’s so....tacky.

All too soon, his engine roars to life, and then his cycle and its passenger speed out of the cave leaving behind only shadows, echoes, and the backglow of his headlights, all of which soon die away themselves.

In their wake, all eyes turn as one to Bruce, still seated in front of the Batcomputer.

Duke: I have questions.

Jason: I have comments.

Tim: I have concerns.

Bruce sighs.

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problematic-nova · 4 years

Text

This commentary is a bit different this time. Rather than Sherlock meta, now that everything Oscar did is out of the bag, it's taking a closer look at upper academia, and how something like Sherlock and Oscar could actually play out in real life, because it was another one of the inspirations for this fic. I'm from the US, not the UK, which of course has its differences, most notably in the UK's lack of tenure. But I did talk with some UK academics when outlining this fic, and was assured my reasoning was sound. These stories of abuse come out of UK universities just the same as they do US ones-- professors are just even more protected here than they are there.

(As an aside, none of this is at all meant to scare anybody heading into college or grad school. I was in two different programs, and while my mentor for one was a fucking nightmare, my two mentors for the other were absolute angels. There are plenty of supervisors that do very good work. If you're applying for such positions, what you want to do is talk to students currently in that professor's lab/studio/whatever, alone (I very gleefully sent an entire group of prospective students running from mine), and try and see what you can find out from former students. High numbers of transfers/drop outs are not a good sign. Neither are high numbers of students that graduated, and then left the field entirely.)

For many STEM degrees, your graduate school experience is you, beholden to your supervisory professor (PI), for 4-6 years. To even get into a good graduate program, you will also have needed to have extensive research experience in your undergraduate, underneath one or two other PIs, and you will need good recommendation letters from them as well. Humanities degrees are even more of an apprenticeship model, but that's really what it is-- if you have a competent mentor, and you're a good student who works hard, you'll be all right. If you have a good mentor, the experience can be amazing. If you wind up with a bad mentor, it can be a career-ender.

The problem is, in these fields, you don't have a choice: if you don't have a recommendation letter from your PI, that's it. You won't be hired, or accepted to any future programs. If you wind up with a bad mentor, your only choice is to suck it up, stick it out, somehow get yourself through the program without a competent teacher while still getting their letter, and graduate as quickly as you can.

And bad mentors do, often, look quite a lot like Oscar. The sexual abuse is less common, and even for tenured profs in the US, a sexual relationship with a student is grounds for termination. But everything else that Oscar did in the fic was something I saw profs do in my own time at school: not bothering to show up to meetings with students or other staff, shrugging their own responsibilities off onto their students, demanding they work twelve+ hour days six/seven days a week, sabotaging them to their final committee hearings, and in STEM fields, scooping their data and publishing it out from under them. (I once even saw a PI threaten their post-doc with deportation.) The structure of upper academia unfortunately rewards such behavior: you are guaranteed a slow, steady trickle of young, inexperienced students, who are excruciatingly reliant on your approval, don't have a backup program/plan to fall back on, and are probably lacking in any other professional experience. Most don't realize the appropriate boundaries to set, and even if they do, will be too afraid to try and set them.

What options does a student in such a situation have? Well: not many.

A student can report things to the administration. But the administration is very invested in protecting their respected professor, and not all in protecting their dime-a-dozen, shit-stirring student. This is a report that is also likely tantamount to career suicide: while these reports are technically confidential, like I said above, these programs are pretty close to apprenticeship models. The prof in question is not going to be wondering who made this report, and other professors in the department (whose approval you will need for collaborations and your hearings to defend your research) will hear about it too: they will hear that a student whined about their friend and colleague, in a field where students whining about their colleagues for non-issues, like a deserved failing grade, are very common. And, at least in the US, if your professor is tenured, unless you have something actually illegal to report, your report will amount to /absolutely nothing/.

For example: Sherlock's ulcer story was inspired by my own. I had a different medical condition (and there was no sexual abuse), but all the other details were the same-- I had been doing extra work for my prof that undergrads weren't meant to do, work that she had ‘offered’ to sign me up for because I was ‘so talented’ (read: a doormat) and wouldn't take no for an answer. Later, I was injured over summer, outside of school, and got a doctor's note stating that I couldn't continue that particular work. I showed it to my prof and the dean of the school, and, in writing, established I would not be doing that extra work this semester (which, again, I was not even meant to be doing in the first place). A few weeks later, one day before the drop date (therefore preventing me from withdrawing), my prof went behind my back, signed me up for it anyway, explicitly against multiple school rules, and told me I would just need to withdraw from my other conflicting classes. Classes that she had known about, and knew were requirements for my other degree program. She announced that my doctor was a quack, that she would pay for me to see a massage therapist instead, and proceeded to lie to me when she assuring that she'd arranged matters with the other profs, who would work to accommodate me. They had no idea what I was talking about.

I was in a uniquely protected position, so I did report her to the school, to a very understanding administration, who told me everything that had happened was shockingly inappropriate and unacceptable, and that they were amassing a case against her. As it turned out, they had reports of abuse of power, racism, staggering incompetence, refusal to perform her expected duties, and extremely unprofessional displays from many other affected students. Their stories were just as wild and unbelievable as mine, any one of which would've been enough to get someone fired from a more ordinary job. In the end, she wasn't even reprimanded, and I was told my only option was to stick it out, or drop out of the program and my degree, with one semester left to go. I, very stupidly, chose the former, and as a result of ignoring my doctor's note, still have chronic pain, and ironically enough, now can't even use the degree I made that sacrifice for because of it.

Sherlock would actually be an exception to all of this. When you are /that/ intelligent, and going by the fandom's assumptions, have that much money/all those family connections, you can't really fail badly enough to not be able to get back up. If he'd wanted to find a graduate program that would take him, he could have. But for everyone else, like Victor, what Oscar did to him genuinely was a career-ender. He wouldn't have been able to get hired for any decent position, and he wouldn't have been able to get an acceptance at any other program to try again, after nearly ten years of working towards that degree.

Basically, fuck upper academia with a rusty steak knife.

#sherlock #academia #cw abuse #i can talk for HOURS about this woman istg #as my poor friends can attest to :'D

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brown-bi-beautiful · 5 years

Text

Supernatural Series Rewrite

Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Named Reader (eventually)

Series Warning: language violence, angst, fluff, sexual content, Gore, molestation, mention of sexual harassment, usual supernatural violence. (If you’re triggered by any of these then please don’t read)

(A/n- I had to give the reader a name, there’s reason behind it but you can change it if you want. I changed some of the plot and some of the scenes but mostly it’s the same. I do not own the supernatural series but there are some things that are completely my imagination, it has nothing to do with the actual mythology or the series)

Phantom Traveler part 1

Season One. Episode Four.

Phantom Traveler. (Part 2)

"This is your late husband?" Sam asked as he picked up a photo frame from the centre table.

"Yes, that was my George." Mrs. Phelps answered.

"And you said he was a dentist?" You asked with an raised eyebrow. You were sitting on a chair beside Dean and Sam was sitting on his other side still examining the picture.

"He was headed to a convention in Denver." Bonnie answered after age nodded in your question. "Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to die like that." Her voice almost broke.

"How long were you married?" You asked softly.

"13 years." She answered.

"In all that time.... Did you ever noticed anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked and all of you looked curiously toward Mrs. Phelps.

"Well....he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean." She said and you had to stop the urge of slamming your head on the wall with frustration.

"That will be all, Ma'am." Dean said and you guys stood up to make your way out of the house.

"It goes without saying, it just doesn't make any sense." Sam said as you guys made your way toward the impala.

"A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer, is not exactly evil personified." Dean said and an idea struck in your mind.

"You guys know what we need to do? We need to get inside NTSB warehouse check out the wreckage." You suggested and both the boys stopped to look at you.

"Okay, but if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part." Sam said.

"If your suggestion requires me to wear a skirt, it's not gonna happen." You stated coldly.

"We'll get you a pantsuit, don't worry." Sam wrapped an arm around my shoulder and led you toward the car.

Dean drove to the nearest shop that rented suits, which was apparently know as 'Mort's for style.' 'what a weird name.' you thought.

The man inside took your measures and went inside to look for suits which could fit the three of you. Sam and Dean were already dressed in there suits, 'these Winchesters have some good genes' you thought checking out the brothers.

When you looked at Dean again you heart jumped to your throat. "Damn he looks like a snacc" you muttered under your breath and realized how sleazy it sounded.

"Here, it was really hard to find a suit to fit your feminine figure but after a lot of searching, I found this." He said and handed you a suit bag. "Go try it on." He smiled at you and you walked inside the trial room.

Ones you tried it on you were in love with it. The suit looked a lot more feminine than you thought it would. The fabric was lovely and you looked so cool in it. You put on your boots again and walked out of the trial room. The grin didn't leave your face. You guys quickly paid and walked out of the store.

"Man, I look like one of 'the blues brothers'." Dean complained.

"No you don't, you look like a seventh grader at his first dance." Sam said making you chuckle

Dean glared at his brother before saying "I hate this thing."

"Hey you want into that warehouse or not?" You asked and Dean got inside the car without another word.

"I feel like I'm one of the men in black. It's so cool." You gushed and got inside the car as well.

Dean pulled up in front of the NTSB warehouse and he took the lead as you guys walked inside you guys walked confidently up to the desk and flashed your badges. The security guard's eyes fixated on you as he was questioning your age but he let you in anyway. They buzzed the doors and let you in on the wreckage.

You saw as Dean took out a device from his pocket and stuck the car buds in his ear which made you raise an eyebrow.

"What is that?" Sam asked wording out the question you had in mind although you had an idea of what it was.

"It's an EMF meter. It reads electromagnetic frequencies."

"Yeah, we know what an EMF meter is but why does that one look like a busted-up Walkman?" Sam said.

" 'cause that's what I made it out of. It's home made." Dean stated proudly

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam said and the proud smile was immediately gone from Dean's face. You have to say though, intelligence was always something that turned you on.

Dean ran the EMF meter through the parts of the plane. You were walking beside him checking out the wreckage as well. The EMF started going crazy once he ran it over a broken door handle.

"Check out the emergency door handle." There was a yellow powdery stuff stuck on it. Dean scratched it with his fingernail before saying. "What is that stuff."

"Sulphur." You said and the boys looked at you with raised eyebrow. "What? I was a science student, I'm not sure though."

"Well, there's only one way to be sure." Sam said before taking out a knife and scraping it in a small forensic bag. Dean went to wipe his hand on your jacket but you glared at him so he wiped it on Sam's instead.

You heard multiple footsteps running toward the wreckage and you look at the boys and it seemed they heard it too.

"Looks like our partners are here." You ran out of the exit just as those people entered the hall. You peeked from behind the wall to see it was clear and then started walking toward the gate.

When you heard the alarm went off you quickly started running. It was too high for you, before you could say anything a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and helped you up, you looked down at Dean before latching on the locked gate and jumping on the other side.

"Wow, I could never do that in a skirt." You commented as the three of you ran to the Impala.

Dean immediately drove off to Jerry's office and gave him the powder you collected from the door handle. He put it under a microscope and started analyzing it. "Alex was right, this stuff is covered in sulfur." Jerry said and Dean turned to you with a proud smile on his face.

"You're sure?" You asked

"Take a look yourself." He said and you heard a man outside yelling and pounding at something. "If you fellas will excuse me I have an idiot to fire."

Dean walked over to where Jerry stood and took a look through the microscope. "Hmmm. There's not too many things that leave behind a sulphuric residue." Dean stated.

"Demonic possession?" You said.

"It'd explain how a mortal man would've the strength to open up an emergency hatch." Dean said.

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible." Said Sam.

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person but use them to take down an entire airplane?"

"You guys ever heard of something like this before." You asked looking at the boys

"Never." Dean replied and Sam shook his head.

You guys went back to the motel and pulled out every books and articles you had on demons. You and Dean were sitting side by side going through books while Sam was surfing through the internet.

Your thighs brushed together both of you could easily scoot away from each other but you didn't. You felt him sliding even closer to you, as if that was even possible. You snapped out of your thoughts when Sam started talking.

"So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, native American, Hindu, you name it."

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this." Dean said resting his hand on your knee.

"Well, that's not exactly true. According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease. And this one causes plane crashes." When you finished once again the boys were looking at you with raised eyebrow.

"Ok I know I said I was a science student but I used to spend a lot of time with Bobby's books...........I didn't really have any friends." You said playing with your hair embarrassingly.

"Wow, you're a bigger nerd than Sam which I thought was impossible." Dean said getting up from the bed. "Ok, alright so what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?"

"Yeah and you know, who knows how many planes it's brought down before this one?" Sam said and Dean let out a laugh. "What?"

"I don't know, guys. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything just death and destruction for it's own sake. This is big. I wish dad was here." Dean said scratching the back of his head.

"Yeah, me too." Sam replied and before you could say anything Dean's phone started ringing and he picked it up. "Hello?" "Hi Jerry. Wha....Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?.....where'd this happened?.... I'll try to ignore the irony in that... nothing Jerry, hang in there, alright? We'll catch up with you soon." Dean said before hanging up.

"Another crash?" You asked.

"Yeah, let's go."

"Where?" Asked Sam.

"Nazareth."

When you guys pulled into Nazareth you saw black smoke coming out from the wreckage. Jerry was already there, collecting any evidence he could take from the plane crash. You guys followed him back to his office and he put a slide under the microscope before examining it. "more sulfur?" Dean asked, Jerry nodded. "Well, that's great. Alright, so that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him."

"With all due respect to Chuck if that's the case, that would be the good news." Said Sam.

"What's the bad news?" Dean asked.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly 40 minutes into the flight. And get this, so did flight 2485." Sam said.

"40 minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked and you opened you mouth to answer him but Dean beat you to it and you have to say you were pretty impressed.

"It's biblical numerology. You know, Noah's ark, it rained for 40 days. The number means death." Dean explained to the completely clueless man standing on his right.

"I went back and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly 40 minutes in" Sam said, you couldn't help but ask if there were any survivors and he said no.

"Not until now, at least not until flight 2485, for some reason." He said.

"On the cockpit voice recorder remember what the EVP said? No survivors, but there were seven survivors, so this demon or whatever, it's going after the survivors." You explained looking between all three men in the room.

"It's trying to finish the job." Said Dean , nodding his head.

You were sitting in the Impala using your skills to make phone calls to the survivors to find out if they had plans to fly again.

"Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey and if you do plan to fly please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." You said in a extra sweet, high pitched, accented voice. The boys in the front seat cracked up as soon as you hung up the phone.

"You didn't really have to do the accent, you know?" Said Sam.

"Yeah I know but where's the fun in that. Ah well that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon." You said and crossed off the names on the list.

"So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker." Said Dean as he drove toward the airport.

"Right, her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at 8:00 pm. It's her first night back in the job." Sam said.

"Ah that sounds like just our luck." Dean commented sarcastically.

"Dean, this is a five hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel." Sam said.

"Why don't you call Amanda again, see if we can't head her off at the pass."

"I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off. God, we're never gonna make it." Sam complained.

"Oh we'll make it." You mumbled before jumping over the seat and sliding down on the front seat.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean almost yelled.

"Dean, why don't you let me drive for a while." You asked sweetly.

"Yeah that's not gonna happen."

"Dean, trust me, I can take us there, an hour top." You said making his eyes widen.

"No way in hell you're doing that to my baby." He almost yelled again.

"Dean, it's time you trust me with your baby, if there's anything I can do better than killing monster and seducing men, this is it." You said.

"Dean give her the wheel." Sam backed you up and you smiled at him.

"Fine but I'm not sitting in the back." He huffed pulling the car to a side and getting out and Sam got to the back. As soon as you touched the steering wheel your insides melted. "God I miss my cherry." You whispered remembering your car as both the boys took their seats and fastened their seat belts.

"Ok, boys, sit tight, we are going for a joyride." You said with a grin and pushed the gas pedal reaching the top speed.

Like you promised, you got there in an hour, well 12 minutes more than an hour and you still had half an hour left. When the boys got out of the car, they looked like they were about to throw up.

"You are never driving ever again." Dean said and snatched away the car keys.

"Alex, we don't have extra lives on us, you know that right?" Sam commented.

All of you rushed inside looking for the departure board. "Right there. They're boarding in 30 minutes." Sam said.

"Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone." Dean says looking around with a nervous look ok he face. You found a courtesy telephone and Dean picked it up immediately. "Hi, gate 13...I'm trying to contact an Amanda walker. She's a flight attendant on the flight, um... Flight 424." He said.

You and Sam leaned into Dean to hear what was going on the other side. "This is Amanda Walker." Came a girl's voice from the other side.

"Ms. Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James. Headfield from St. Francis memorial hospital. We have a Karen walker here." He lied through his teeth. "Nothing serious just a minor car accident but she was injured, so.."

"Wait, that's impossible. I just got off the phone with her."

"You what?" Dean asked and you backed away rolling your eyes. "Oh, well...there must be some mistake."

"Guilty as charged." He said after a few seconds letting out a fake chuckle. "He's really sorry." He said making you frown. "Yes, but he really needs to see you tonight, so... Don't be like that. Come on, the guy's a mess. Really, it's pathetic......oh yeah. No. No, wait Amanda, Amanda!" Dean yelled and then slammed the phone down.

"Damn it, so close." Dean said pacing around.

"Alright, it's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane." You said not realizing that you never even had a plan b.

"Now, just hold on a second." Dean protested.

"Dean, she's right, that plane is leaving with over 100 passengers on board and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash." Sam explained to his brother.

"I know."

"Well, okay. Then we're getting on the plane, we need to find the demon and exorcise it. Now, we'll get the tickets you get whatever you can out of the car, whatever that'll make it through the security, meet us back here in five minutes." Sam said but Dean didn't move an inch. He looked terrified.

"Are you okay?" You asked and he shrugged. "No. Not really." He squeaked out.

"What? What's wrong?" Sam asked with a frown.

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh.."

"Flying?" You completed his sentence.

"It's never really been an issue untill now." His voice was smaller than ever.

"You're joking right?" Sam exclaimed.

"Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?"

"Alright uh, she and I'll go." Sam said and you nodded along.

"What?"

"We'll do this one on our own." You said

"What are you, nuts? The plane is gonna crash. You said it yourself."

"Dean look, either you can come with us or we can do this on our own. I'm not seeing a third option here."

"Come on really?......man."

"You know what? Why don't you get the tickets, I'll stay with Dean." He nodded and went away and you turned toward the older Winchester. "You stay right here. I'll go grab the things." You commanded and took the keys from him before going back to the Impala. You gathered the things in a small duffle bag and went back inside to see Dean standing right where you left him, completely pale and slightly shaking.

You walked up to him, his eyes never left yours. "Dean, I need you to focus, buddy. Everything's gonna be alright, ok." You said grabbing both of his hands and he gave you a little nod.

"Now breath with me, slowly, breath in....breath out." You instructed and he tried his best to follow you and breath with you. "very good, now do it again. Breath in.....breath out."

'this is gonna be a hell of a flight...... Literally.'

*******

Part 3

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lostadrianda · 4 years

Text

The house of wolves

Part I

*версия на русском языке по ссылке:

https://ficbook.net/readfic/8551009

There are dark times. I thought that the death of my parents was the worst thing I would ever see in my life. But now it's so bad… I have to admit that it's worse.

Smoke from the fire rises into the sky, twisting and dragging sparks with it. An axe clatters, and a tree falls with a crunch, breaking neighboring branches. I have almost no life left in me. Almost nothing is inside. People are scurrying around. The camp is growing in front of our eyes, turning from a temporary to our permanent campsite. I look at it, trying to figure out what’s going on. I'm not used to being in camps. The detachments held out successfully for four years in the Dominiana, where we took over the houses, and everything went well. But recently we were forced out of those lands, and the Sly Fox moved all of us to the Islands. It seems to be logical decision. But on the Islands we are not welcome. We could have gone to the south to sparsely populated areas and stayed there. However, we did not do this. But why?

I was the only one who seemed to be asking questions. I don't know. I didn't have much contact with anyone from the camp. I glance at the people sitting next to me. Their faces are dry and earthy. Only the reddish glare of the fire is on them. And their eyes are fixed. You always had to keep in mind that those were wolves around you, not people. They look alike, they even show humanity from time to time. It's all a lie. And if there is any kindness in someone, it will soon be beaten out of them. It's the only way around here. I am among the enemy, I am in their ranks. I help put up new tents. But I have a feeling that I will soon be finished with. It's about time. But the Sly Fox keeps stalling. I think he understands how much this torments me. That's why he keeps me close to him. He's not stupid, no. Therefore, his decisions are not discussed.

It's funny that the Fox has committed so many crimes, but if somebody asks to show the main bastard, everyone will point the finger at me. I betrayed my family. Not native, adopted. Yes, they are all dead now, too. I guess my life didn't work out. But I didn't betray anyone. When the door was kicked in and twenty men entered with the Fox at their head, it was all over. There was nothing I could do about it, no matter how much I think about it. I pretended that I always hated my new parents. And I joined the side of the enemy. I should have given my sister time to escape. I didn't expect much more. I didn't think about anything. I didn't think I'd have to break into houses like this with the others. That now I will always hear the sound of those black boots wherever I go. I didn't think I'd have to run around in the woods. I didn’t know I'd be stuck with them for five years. I thought they would kill me that night, in the same house, as soon as they realized what I had done. But they did not understand or pretended not to understand. They still look askance. And I'm not allowed to be absolutely free. The Sly Fox sometimes calls me, asks questions, and I answer, but I keep waiting for the punishment to come. And he lets me go. During all this time, not a single suspicion was expressed. And he's smart. And there is nothing left for me, I am in his hands, always in his sight, even if he is watching me with a hundred other people's eyes, wolf eyes. He is always somewhere above me, behind me. All the time my life is suspended, and I know it.

My only hope is that my sister will return. I have nothing else left. Everything is so empty. And I’m doing something wrong. I close my eyes so that I don't see anything, so that I don't understand what is happening to me. Because as soon as I start thinking, it turns me inside out. When I forget myself, I gather wood for a fire, go with others and scout the area around the camp, draw some maps. And everything seems to be as it should be. I make an obedient and silent employee, everyone is happy, I do not interfere with anyone. The whole body shakes, as if with a strong chill, and no fire warms. So something inside is resisting. It remembers, and remembers well, that the Sly Fox is the enemy. That he killed a lot of people. But he's good, he's built everything right. He's got an army of about three thousand men, and they all look at him and catch every word. Only one person I've ever known, only one person in my entire life, could stand up to him. And this is my sister. Isn’t it funny, huh? As I remember her, thin, fragile, as I look at the Fox… I can't believe it. But that’s true. Her playful dark eyes flashed with such power sometimes that I was willing to believe that she would overcome anyone. And every time I look at the Fox, I always look at the scar on his cheek. My sister left this for him as a souvenir.

But I haven't heard from her in five years. It's too long to wait, you know? A person waits, waits for a week, a month, maybe a year… And then begins to live, throwing a veil of oblivion over the past. Only I never started again. The air balloon ends sooner or later, you know? And I'm still trying to grab the mask and breathe, breathe. Nothing is inside. In the camp, when people talk about her, all they say is that she must have been dead for a long time. I wished they say something else, even nonsense. Nooo. There are no other options in anyone's mind. Only my brains resist. Things can't be that bad. No matter how much life beats me, I won't believe it. It can't be that bad.

Smoke from the fire gets in my nose. It's getting colder, the earth is blowing in autumn, and the leaves are not the same as before. I rub my flushed hands together. The Islands don't like us. We are like an ulcer on their body. We tried to move deeper into the mountains and fortify ourselves. Fifty of our men were killed in two days. A couple of detachments remained in the dense forests at the foot of the mountain, while the rest were scattered along the coasts hiding. We choose places so that we are not found for as long as possible. And it’s strange that the Fox ordered us to fortify ourselves here. But let hell be with it.

The sky has been cloudy all the time we've been here. Today, for the first time, I see the sun shining. Even now you can't see the sky — it's all white, with darker clouds floating across it. The horizon is dark-blue, grim, colliding with an even darker, colder sea. I look into the distance and for the first time I think that my sister must be dead. It scares so much. It's like I'm no longer a human being and I'm becoming a wolf, like all those people around me. That’s really scary. For some reason everything turns to be meaningless. No, I won't give them my soul. They took everything from me, but they won't get it. I will believe till the end. I will resist until I lose my mind. Why am I sitting now here with them, as if I really took their side?

It makes me feel sick. I kept hiding in their ranks and waiting for my sister to break out. Five years have passed. Time flies quickly, terribly, the further away, the more ghostly. I forget how it all happened, I forget why it happened, I forget what a mistake we made. I still think that I did everything right. I acted as I should. As well as I could. But for some reason, it all turned out to be really bad.

If I am the only one left here, who is still fighting, who still remembers that there were better, brighter times, if my sister is dead, and no one is fighting without her, isn't it time for me to get up? Isn't it time to remember who I was and how I was brought up, and what was on my mind before I got bogged down in this mire? I'm biting my lip nervously, they are already looking at me with suspicion.

What a coward I have become! Just thinking makes my temples sweat. I’m used to waiting for a miracle, but as soon as I imagined that I had to act myself, I shrank from fear and wanted to hide away. If only they didn't touch me, if only, if only... I did not to experience new horrors. You don't like me, do you? Despise? Look at me, all that is left of me is my skin, hanging on my bones! These wolves, damn them, have broken me so badly that none of my old friends would recognize me. But what good are these friends: they're either dead or they're first in line to take my head off.

I stand up from the log I've been sitting on all this time and feel my legs go numb. They are frozen to the bones. I stand still to stretch them a little. The two men sitting next to me look at me lazily.

— Where are you going? – Their cracked lips move, yellow teeth appear in between them. Those men probably don't like camp life either. And how long this will continue, no one knows.

— I'll go up to the river. There's one place I don't understand, I want to look at it.

— Don't run into anyone. We don't need you to bring the villagers here.

I nod. I don't get into fights, I don't get involved. Everything I have inside, I keep inside, and it’s a habit that has covered me like armor. I walk past the tents, from campfire to campfire, and turn onto the path that leads higher. I climb up and look back. Lights, trampled paths, people. I'm sick to death of such views. The further away from them, the better it is. I know I'll be back anyway. It's sickening. But the closer I get to them, the more I can learn about the outside world. I'm still waiting for news. At least one piece of news about my sister would be great. No one else will tell me. Only sitting by the fire I learn something new. Everyone in the outside world that I strive for hates me so much that they won't hesitate when they see me. They’ll kill me instantly. Here in the squads, I'm just one of hundreds. To the outside world, I stand in one line with the Fox. And he is happy for this — to keep a traitorous son and show everyone that even I recognized his power.

#story #story time #writer #writing #writing in quarantine #writings #writing inspiration #writers on tumblr #writers #writblr #house of wolves #part #dark #darkness #feelings

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