#ive got a checklist of things to keep me up

[hella1975]

i have also decided to do my Sleep Reset thing i do when my sleep schedule becomes so fucked that i just have to bite the bullet one night and do an all nighter to literally reset my schedule so if you think ive gone to sleep at any point tonight pls shout at me i promise it's for my own good

#oh yeah babe pick the night before an exam to do this you're actually clever #ive got a checklist of things to keep me up #im going to read some more fic chapters (im now on risking it all by sreeder) #(no one needs to comment on the fact i only started liab like three days ago) #(immediately after binging war games in the same amount of time) #(i read like 600000 words of atla fic in the past week after effectively not interacting with atla for like a YEAR i love mental illness) #so yeah! im gonna do some reading #then im gonna write some taob and HOPEFULLY finish sokka's pov and maybe even start zuko's pov #and im gonna do my micro notes up to at least lecture three #hmmm what else is there #i might answer some asks too! so if you guys want to chat to me send me shit bc i am Around and Miss You <3 #specifically if it's taob shit actually! keep me motivated fuck knows i cant be trusted to do it alone #hella goes to uni

[socksandbuttons]

Bean Eclipse Au has my love and seeing any post makes me very happy but now I want to get to know your Space au a little. May you give us some funfacts about the characters to get to know them better?

Aw thank you! I'll do my best describing some things! Its been a moment where I dont know what ive said about them on here. ((The ladies, are by @nekojaf so if u want info on them you gotta ask her!)) First, We got Eclipse (yes thats his name, unless we go au hopping its-)

-He's a captain of his own spaceship (however its mostly a ship that can house just a handful of people.)

-He's self confident, he's got leadership qualities and doesn't stand down often. However can be a huge flirt (as Beige unfortunately deals with). -I've mentioned before but Eclipse (like other models of his kind) are far more Emotive than the previous models.

-Eclipse is the reason Lunar has a collection of plushies. The guy is very good with sewing. -He's not familiar too much with the 'Star' like SAMS' Eclipse is. At least not currently. He's far more concerned with other things.

-His relationship with Earth is rather... interesting. He may be vocal about not wanting to speak to her but its mostly cause she's like a mom who tends to baby him. (Although he can't blame her frequent check ins.) -Most people avoid him, but that's cause he's made an interesting name for himself.

Lunar, my BOY who started this whole au actually.

-The space suit was given to him by Eclipse. Who may have taken it.

-He comes off as sweet, but don't think less of him in comparison with his brother. He's mischievous as well, and cunning when needed.

-Far better at keeping his emotions in check than Eclipse.

-Unlike Eclipse (again) he's actually rather good at y'know. Getting the girl.

-However, he is younger than Eclipse. In part not as experienced with the whole line their apart of.

-Rather handy with his shots, but better at driving. Also has a bit of a name for himself.

-Cannot actually believe how his brother acts around Beige from time to time. He's judging his brother immensely everytime. Just let her clear the hyperdrive so they can go!

Moon!

-It should not be a shock he's still a scientist in this au. (Mad scientist Sun would say...)

-But in part of that, its due to being part of a Space Camp. He's suppose to be in charge of the sciences of how rockets run. However he uses most of that to make his own things.

-It usually does end up with the kids handling it. Unless Sun gets involved. Kids love the anti gravity chamber a lot.

-Also in this AU he is still AroAce.

-However since Sun and him are under a company, they don't usually leave the Camp. They can't really.

-Moon has made a Star.

Sun, sweetie my darling.

-Although him and Moon run the Camp together, Sun mostly handles the kids. (Although, Sun more or less just doesn't want them getting hurt cause of Moon's experiments.) -He's been having trouble with some outsiders makings noise lately but it's usually something he can handle. The dome around the place keeps the camp relatively safe (and Safer with Moon's additional technology)

-He goes by his own checklist, although the one from the higher ups isn't something he wants to fully deviate from. It's kept things running, and their own job secure.

-He may be dressed up as a Spaceman, he's uh... not actually one. At least not by astronaut standards.

-They don't talk to other models of themselves.

-Earth and Sun usually can talk for hours. However, he tries not to keep her too long. She's got others to check in.

Bloodmoon, yes it's him!

-The possibly second youngest.

-He's the only model of his type that... well Ruby's seen actually.

-An avid fan of Invader Zim, due to many movie nights he's had with Ruby. (In an effort to help him learn some things about people...without being near too many.) -He doesn't understand why he needed clothes, unaware of his own autonomy.

-Unfortunately for everyone, WAS destroying planets and ships, destruction in his wake. No one could keep him contained. Until Ruby. But she's not really trying to contain him.

-His curiosity mainly keeps him in check, at least in regard to his learning program. He still seeks some chaos, even if it is on a isolated ship in the meantime.

-Comet Boy! Danger, do not engage.

Angel, y sweet sweett bababyyy

-Probably the oldest? He's quite a mess it's hard to tell.

-Has been passed around here and there from job to job so he's very well versed in many skills!

-Earth finding him again was a blessing. She thought she lost him. Incredibly thankful for Cosmo.

-Is far more interesting in helping Cosmo than being helped. He's survived quite a bit!

Killcode, don't you forget my giant man.

-Was made by Moon, or from Moon. In doing so, he's got a few quirks he picked up.

-Such as... He's actually less violent. However able to withstand radiation, rocket blasts, high velocity impact, mundicide... Assumingly.

-Incredibly Tall. A normal person would maybe feel incredibly intimidated by how much he towers.

-A darling cook, he mostly has to kneel for that though. Not many ktichens he's been in are for his height.

-He's a rather calming personality, has no qualms to start fights.

Earth and Solar Flare (or welll... the ACTUAL Sun)

-Two AI's made for well.. as you guess the Earth and the Sun.

-Earth is as expected to be motherly, warm, stern with her own wants. While SF has less expected results of being rather recluse, cold, to the point and selective in their interactions.

-Earth is partly why the actual planet is far cleaner. With her being actually forthright about the planets condition. It helps if theres someone who may be disappointed if you throw your trash on the ground, or company's dumping waste. She may have been made, but she more or less is her own being. Most don't mind since her main concerns usually fall with her own planets affairs. That doesn't mean she doesn't have concerns of other places.

-SF was made as a safe bet to monitor the sun. However, hue to unexpected AI developing their own personality. SF doesn't fairly speak to much anyone aside Earth. He rather feels she's better at relaying information than he is. Ironic, they find.

-Recently some reptilian android has started to make some impressions on Earth, SF doesn't normally hear her talk about individuals like this aside the 'children' she oversees.

-Earth also ended up supervising the celestial and eclipse models. Attaching to them far more than expected but due to- [The Rest is too glitched to make out.]

Well that was more typing than I thoguht it'd be. But me and Neko have quite a bit of art. The main inspiration for a lot of it is retro futurism. But thank you for asking! You also got Earth in there too. My sweet lady I love her.

#solar flares design needs some work actually but thats kinda because his OG look IS more on line with the style actually. #anyway theres lore here and there but also #missing a few things #lots of romance in this au more than u think #ALSO YEAH MONTY IS IN THERE BUT UH DFBHSJKDS #sams space au #space sams au #tsams #sun and moon show #myart #*looks at all the art i havent show* ah #i think about the models and their differences a bit more and time... but another day when it comes up

[medstudentblues]

It’s 3 in the afternoon and I woke up about half an hour ago. I got home from Duty (6PM-6AM) at 7am, had breakfast with my favorite dog, and did a requirement before turning in at 8am. Being a Junior Intern for 2 months now, it still astounds me that it is possible to still function after all after more than 24 hours of being awake. It’s tranquil at the moment. I live on the fifth floor of my building so the view is good. I can see the trees swaying outside my window, the sky a gloomy dark blue. It is not that warm, so I slowly sip my coffee so I won’t spend the day sleeping in and nursing an intense migraine from sleeping too much. Doing the 30 days challenge is going good — I am more intentional with how I spend my time and the checklist is motivating.

My night shift wasn’t so bad, except for the fact that I was doing more work that is out of my job description as a Junior Intern — work that residents should do. But it’s alright, residency is hard and it really is impossible to do everything well if you are the sole resident on duty. I helped my resident last night writing Doctor’s orders, referral forms, inserting IVs, extracting blood for cross matching, and doing other errands. My resident is notorious for being obstinate and horrible to Junior Interns that she was rumored to throw a test tube to a JI, but last night she was actually very nice to me. When she noticed I was being overwhelmed with the work, she would help me. When she asked me to help her write Doctor’s orders, she was very kind when she was asking me. She even gave me a 98% grade, when she only gave 80s to others. Perhaps it depends on the Junior Intern, and perhaps it was just a rumor. But even though things were toxic last night, I was still able to finish everything before my shift ended.

Working with people in the hospital is a difficult task since we are always understaffed and overworked. We are all tired and grumpy. Things are always challenging, but on the other side, looking at the bigger picture, we are keeping those kids alive. We are helping them so they can live their childhood normally, and we get to apply the theoretical concepts on real patients… and you know what, those are good enough reasons to keep going.

#studyspo #studyblr #studycommunity #study #bujo #desk #productivity #bookblr #bullet journal #notebook #musings #clerkship

[daisyvramien]

NANOWRIMO CAMP CHECK-IN!!

🏕️🍫"Camp NaNoWriMo Survival Checklist: Snacks, Sprints, and Scribbles!"📝🔥

Hey there, fellow campers!🌲🌟 Planning for Camp NaNoWriMo is half the fun, right ? So, grab your backpacks and let's make sure we've got everything we need to tackle this writing adventure ! Here's your essential survival checklist: I. Snacks: Because let's be real, no writing marathon is complete without an arsenal of snacks to fuel our creative genius. Think chocolate (for those emergency sugar boosts), popcorn (for munching during intense plot twists), and maybe even some veggies (for… balance? Let's go with balance). II. Coffee (or Tea, if You're Fancy): Ah, the elixir of life for writers everywhere. Whether you take yours black as midnight on a moonless night or with enough cream and sugar to drown out your existential dread, make sure you've got a steady supply to keep those creative juices flowing. III. Comfy Blanket or Writing Cape: Let's face it, writing can get chilly, especially when you're burning the midnight oil. So, pack your coziest blanket or writing cape to keep you warm and snuggly during those late-night writing sprints. Bonus points if it doubles as a superhero costume. IV. Emergency Plot Twist Generator: Because let's face it, even the best-laid plans can go awry. Pack your trusty plot twist generator to shake things up when your story starts to feel a little… predictable. Just remember, with great power comes great responsibility (and possibly a few confused characters). V. Extra Pens and Notebooks: You never know when inspiration will strike, so make sure you're armed and ready with plenty of pens and notebooks to capture those brilliant ideas before they vanish into the ether. Plus, there's something undeniably satisfying about the feel of pen on paper. VI. Campfire Stories (AKA Writing Prompts): Keep your creativity burning bright with a stash of campfire stories (aka writing prompts) to spark your imagination when you hit a rough patch. Whether you prefer tales of haunted forests or epic quests, there's a prompt out there just waiting to inspire your next masterpiece. VII. Sense of Adventure: Last but certainly not least, don't forget to pack your sense of adventure! Camp NaNoWriMo is all about embracing the unknown, pushing your limits, and discovering just how far your imagination can take you. So, strap on your hiking boots and get ready for the writing adventure ! Alright, fellow campers, that's it for our Camp NaNoWriMo survival checklist! So grab your favorite writing beverage (mine's a triple shot of espresso, no judgment here), cozy up by the virtual campfire, and let's make some writing magic together. The Fox's Den is open 24/7, so whether you're an early bird or a night owl, there's always a place for you here !!🦉✨ Ready to join our pack of literary foxes ? Shoot me a message for an invite, and let's embark on this writing adventure together !!🦊💻✨

#book blog #bookblr #author #indie author #booklover #fantasy books #ao3 fanfic #self publishing #ao3 writer #writing #nanowrimo #nanowrimo 2024 #authors on tumblr #creative writing #writers #writting #plotting #fiction writing #on writing #writeblr #writer #writer stuff #writers discord #The Fox' Den #discord server #writing motivation #nanowrimo motivation

[actualbird]

nxx team and their organizational apps/methods of choice and how all of this will lead to mc possibly strangling the entire team (affectionate)

wc: 972

this was a joint effort between me and my girlfriend playing headcanon tennis via discord

-

mc: Notion and very prettily designed

mc strikes me as a very organized person, when it comes to work stuff, and Notion is a great app for people who like organizing things and also want a relatively easy UI to traverse. theres pages and embed functions and checklists and calendars, mc loves it ALL

and she loves that Notion also allows you to customize how everything looks!! so her Notion looks something like this

having a nice Notion page helps her motivation to get things done. looking at tasks and information in a page thats Pretty can do wonders for the soul and brain <3

-

artem: Notion but it's absolute barren barebones

artem is also a very organized person so he enjoys Notion for the same reasons mc does.

however, he customizes 0 decorations. looks like this

barebones, straight to the point. ive always seen artem as somebody who gets visually overwhelmed when a bunch going on in terms of design. and getting overwhelmed is the opposite of what he wants to happen when working, so he keeps it simple

also, hes shit at anything art related and making a Notion page is adjacent enough to that that even if he tried, he would fail horrendously

-

marius: Google Workplace but it's made by pax instead, Pax Workplace, pls imagine the image attached is pax themed instead

marius Is somebody who appreciates aesthetics and is good at it, but if it's work, hes not gonna be putting effort to make that look nice, hes got his paintings and art for that!!! and since his work is Pax and NXX (which is Pax funded, i always forget that fact!) he shrugs and uses Pax's system

it's all there anyway, he doesnt have to waste time setting stuff up and time is a Finite Resource in his life and busy day to day schedules

the ony flaw of Pax Workplace isnt rlly inherent to the app itself, but to marius. cuz hes always tryna get everybody else on board in using it too in a joke-y salesman energy kind of way, and if he brings it up one more time, someones gonna SNAP

-

luke: just the notepad app that came with his laptop but used in the worst way possible

confession: this is how i organize stuff and im bestowing to luke not just cuz i love projecting on him but also cuz it's in character. in his personal story 3, mc mentioned that luke is such a messy person in his own space but manages to know where everything is anyway. it wouldnt be a stretch to assume this extends to a digital space too

so luke just uses the notepad app

and he keeps everything in only like 2 note files

one is called Work. the other is called Munchies. the first one is all his work notes, investigations, leads, contacts, everything. the second one is filled with all his usual takeout orders.

both of files started filled up with the thing that their name topic is, but then luke got a bit distracted and started forgetting to check which notepad he was putting shit in. so both note files ends up being like a LONG BLOCK TEXT PARAGRAPH of investigation theories and then followed by "manager’s choice large, garlic n cheese large if mc is coming over" and both files are SO GODDAMN LONG because hes been using em ever since he returned to stellis

oh and he added a 3rd new notepad that has nothing in it but the lyrics of the Agent P song from phineas and ferb but he edited it to be about peanut

because thats totally important and needs its own file, duh

-

vyn: he just remembers it all

hah, noting things down? who do you think he is, some kind of idiot with a bad memory? aside from mentioning things in his daily audio recordings, he doesnt keep notes anywhere except in his mind. he does it quite well

but he'll never admit that he does this mostly as another odd avenue of superiority over other people. vyn can remember many dates and notes, whereas artem can only---

-

and thus: coordinating schedules and information for investigation purposes is hell

mc: okay so ive created a full system on notion. it's color coded, font formatted, easy navigation to sub-pages---

artem, a bit overwhelmed at all the nice visuals: why are there...so many colors....what is happening...

luke: oh ive got a lot of notes for this subpage!!! lemme just get---wait up, i knew i had this info somewhere, i must have just put it in the Munchies notepad---

artem, more confused: the what?

mc: oh god

luke: foooouuunnnddd ittttt //copy pastes his entire unformatted block of text into a subpage

mc: i am near tears, please

marius: why cant we just use pax workplace?

mc: //EYE TWITCH, MOVES TO STRANGLE MARIUS

marius: WAIT WAIT IM SORRY

mc, calming herself: okay. okay.....we just need to schedule some meetings this week, okay?

marius, trying to redeem himself by helping: okay uh well when is everybody free this week?

luke: copy pasted all my free dates for the month!

artem: saturday, whole day after 2pm

mc: same

marius: nice okay, my calendar is also good on saturday and luke's got that too. vyn, where's your schedule?

vyn: in my mind

luke: ...

artem: ....

mc: .....

marius: ......okaaaaayyy so when are you free?

vyn, looking off into the distance pensively: when is anybody truly free?

and then by that point DAVIS has to interrupt the scene for a commercial break!

#tears of themis #artem wing #marius von hagen #luke pearce #vyn richter

[furiousgoldfish]

My family are okay, and it could be a lot worse than it becoming more ... influenced these days? They've been listening much more frequently to gateway alt right stuff (in front of me at least) and gone a bit heavy in the religion aspect of stuff. Had a bit of a panic attack when they listened to some anti-lgbt stuff in front of me (in the closet)

They themselves were abused in their own childhoods (though they definitely wouldn't put it that way + normalized back when they were growing up) so maybe i should cut them some slack? Apart from occasional slaps on my hand and when i was younger they used to bang my head with knuckles a bit if they were really mad. Theyve apologised for it but do mention how back in their day it was way worse.

I dont know i guess ive been thinking much more about the future recently and how theyd HATE it if they found out some of the stuff i really think. Lots of yelling. Its embarrassing to talk about this with friends.

This sounds dumb when i put it into words but for years now ive been forced to keep a diary. I liked the idea of having one and writing down about my self so i went with it until one day i wrote about how mad i was at them. They read it despite me telling them not to and made me apologise and write down how sorry i was for doing that. There was a lot of yelling. I cried. They openly read what i write now and kinda force me to do it. ngl I kinda hate the thing now. Was that wrong of them?

maybe this is too vague for a checklist but request for one about signs your family is going down a conspiracy rabbithole/signs your parents are victims of misinformation would be nice. This ended up rambly im sorry.

Anon, I am so sorry, this sounds like an absolutely terrifying experience. You're blameless in all of this, you're perfect as you are, but your parents are actively participating in a hate group against your own person, in front of you, consistently exposing you to that narrative, and that is like being in the enemy's lair, isn't it? It has to affect your well being negatively, to hear those sorts of things, it's like you're forced every day to listen to perspectives of people who absolutely despise you, think you shouldn't exist or be the way you are, and who are ready to go and hurt anyone who is like you.

No, you do not need to cut them any slack. Were you any of their parents who did those things to them? No? Were you the founder of the culture where were hit, or force children to hit themselves? I don't think it's possible, since you weren't even born when that shit started. So your responsibility for this is zero. Yet these two people are coming at you asking you to be grateful they're not doing worse to you. Apparently by the logic of 'we had it bad, now you have to be grateful when we do bad things to you'. As if.

No person or being who was abused in the past, regardless of how badly, has the 'free card' to now inflict similar abuse on you. That is completely ridiculous and if that were true, than anyone abused would be going around hurting everyone else and it would be 'fine' because that person was abused as well. That kind of thinking only brings forth more abuse and trauma and nothing else. You did nothing to deserve any of that shit. If their parents hurt them, they should go ahead and take it up with their own parents. Except, they don't, do they? Because they cowards and prefer blaming and directing it towards their child.

If you had a kid, would you want that kid to be grateful you're hurting them slightly less than your parents are doing to you? It sounds insane, doesn't it. You'd want your kid to be happy and safe from ANY abuse, not paying for whatever anyone else has done to you in the past. Because that kid is innocent and did nothing to warrant bearing the burden of your past. And you are that kid right now, you are asked to bear the burden of the abuse that got absorbed into culture, abuse that your parents suffered and abuse they feel entitled to inflict onto you, and for what? It doesn't make anything better or fairer. It doesn't make the world a better place if you're getting hurt in it. If your parents think it's normal they can do it to their parents, thats none of your business. You're a kid brought into that family by no will of your own, subjected to horrifying shit and told you should bear it like it's normal. It's not normal. No child deserves this.

I also have to say that banging your own head with knuckles is especially vicious and victim-blaming abuse to do, I'm sickened by the very thought, and if they felt sorry for that, they would have never done it. It sounds like they'll do just anything in anger and expect 'sorry' to fix it. Sorry doesn't fix abuse. They shouldn't have slapped your wrists either.

The last part of your ask really had me in shock and horror, because that was such an intimate invasion of your privacy, and for them not even even feel sorry or ashamed for invading your private boundaries like that, but to be enraged you dared to feel anger? It's disgusting what they did. They should be so deeply ashamed. Any normal people would realize there's something wrong with them if their child is so mad and would take it as a sign to do some introspection and to evaluate whether they've been unfair, cruel, abusive or hateful to the kid, that is if they already went so far to read your diary without your permission, that they forced you to have!

Their reactions prove that they're so dead-set on controlling you, they even want to control your inner thoughts, convince you that you have no right to anger, no right to human feelings or human expressions, that you should be like a robot who only listens to commands and reacts in the way they want to. It's dehumanizing, disgusting and insanely cruel. You're a human being who's been hurt. Of course you're angry. You have the right to anger. You should have the right to express it in any way you want to, not just to write it in your private diary, but to yell and scream and fight back. But you got punished and had to take your own words back, when you did the least possible expression of it, writing it down privately.

Here's a post that feels relevant, explaining why it's wrong for parents to suppress anger in their children. Here's another one on importance of anger.

They know that any sign of your anger is a proof of their abuse, and that's why they're fighting so hard to suppress it. If they put that energy in trying to be good parents, they could have been great parents to you. They made their choices. Just based on this shameless and gross invasion of privacy and trying to control even your thoughts, it sounds like they have narcissistic tendencies, and they should not be trusted with a child.

I wish I could give you the checklist you asked for, but I have no experience whatsoever on parents, or people, who are being sucked into conspiracy theories, I think I've read articles about it, on topics like QAnon, explaining the phenomena, I'll try to find the post explaining why do people fall for conspiracy theories in general. Here it is. I hope it helps.

If anyone has more resources on conspiracy theories or knows about a checklist, please link it to this post.

#abusive parents #physical violence tw #child abuse #victim blaming #victim shaming #invasion of privacy #breach of privacy #punishing anger

[nandysparadox]

hot chocolate and pinterest boards

Pairing: romantic royality; mentioned brotherly moxiety and creativitwins

Word count: 681

cw: just pure, tooth-rotting fluff😆

Summary: Roman gets a bit overwhelmed with all the wedding planning — good thing Patton's around to help

—

fic for day 1 of @royalityweek ! this year i wanted to do something for most days, and thankfully ive managed it :D all the fics and art i make for this week will be in the same verse as milkshakes and checkered diners, showing various moments in roman and patton's life — they won't be in chronological order, but ill arange it that way on ao3 when all of them are posted

prompt: celebration/invitation

“Oookay, I think it’s way too early for that much pacing, mister.”

“Hm?”

Roman looked up from his binder as if broken out of a trance and Patton had to stifle a chuckle. Ever since the proposal, Roman had been swept up in a whirlwind of vision boards, checklists, and everything else wedding planning — that morning had been no different.

Though judging by the wild look in his eyes and how he dug his nails into the leather-bound cover, Roman probably would’ve paced their carpet to the ground if Patton hadn’t stopped him.

“C’mon,” he took Roman’s arm and gently pulled him towards the couch, carefully balancing the mug in his other hand.

“Alright, honey,” he said as he handed the other a cup of hot chocolate. “How about we put the binder aside for a little bit and you tell me what’s got you so nervous, hm?”

Roman sighed and pushed his hair back.

“Well- I was looking through some venues I thought were absolutely gorgeous, but then I realized to book a venue you need to know the amount of guests so I started writing down the guest list. But it’s been a while since I’ve seen everyone, and you know my family’s big, so I had to start texting people and figuring out how to send out the invites, and then my brother texts me and asks if I need help with the wedding planning, and I love Remus, you know that, but I have to give him something to do that won’t turn out a complete disaster and—”

“Okay, I think I see what’s going on,” Patton cut Roman off, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you’re very excited about this, honey, but if you try to do everything at the same time you’ll tie yourself up in knots. You have a checklist, don’t you?”

Roman nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

“So let’s follow that, one thing at a time.” Patton smiled, opening the binder to the ‘to-do’ page and pointing to one of the first items. “Let me write down the guest list, with the addresses and everything, since that’s stressing you out. Then you can write and decorate the invites.”

“Are you sure?”

Patton chuckled, putting his hands on his hips.

“Honey, it’s my wedding too.”

“I guess so,” Roman rolled his eyes, though the sarcasm was broken by the snort that followed it. “…Sorry, darling, I really didn’t mean to exclude you, just— tunnel vision.”

“Don’t worry, I know how you get,” Patton teased, coming up to wrap his arms around Roman’s shoulders and nuzzle his cheek. “My beautiful fiancé with his head stuck in the clouds.”

In response, Roman stuck out his tongue adorably and Patton couldn’t resist pressing a kiss onto his hair.

“…And about Remus,” Patton said. “We could always send my brother to keep him on track. Should prevent any disasters.”

“If you think that’d prevent disasters you got another thing coming.”

“What? You think Virgil can’t handle wrangling your brother?”

Roman huffed.

“It’s not Remus I’m worried about.”

“…Is this about last halloween?”

“Your brother is a menace and you know it!”

He wasn't wrong, Patton had to admit that. When he and Roman started dating Virgil had, in true older brother fashion, antagonized Roman quite a bit, which ended up both parts sweet and infuriating. Though with time any animosity had morphed into his weird way of showing affection, which consisted mostly of texting Roman memes at 4 a.m, and making elaborate plans to scare the crap out of him.

So yeah, maybe Patton could see how setting him loose with chaos incarnate, Remus, might be a bad idea.

“… We’ll think about it. Now! How about you show me those pinterest boards you’ve got saved up?”

Roman smiled bright as day as he pulled up the pictures, and as he rambled about color schemes and decorations, all Patton could focus on was the radiant glow that shone through when Roman was in his element.

He really couldn’t wait to marry him.

—

AN: just for reference, this fic takes place about a year after patton has graduated from vet school, so about 6 and a 1/2-ish years after milkshakes and checkered diners

and if you're curious about the proposal, let's just say we'll see that ;)

#sanders sides #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #royalityweek2023

[milkweedman]

hi, I recently came into the ownership of what I think is a castle-shape spinning wheel, and it seems to be in working order, I think, but I can't for the life of me seem to get the wool to actually spin *onto* the spindle. I was wondering if you had any resources to point my way about spinning wheels, preferably a castle one (that's where google pointed me at least)? I can't find anything in google and I'm heading to my local library soon but I thought I would ask since you seem very knowledgeable about spinning things. If not, I hope I'm not a bother! I greatly enjoy seeing your spinning content and it's been motivating to try and get my own situation sorted out so I can try it out :)

That's pretty much the most common issue for new spinners to have, regardless of wheel style, and I had the same problem too when I got my wheel, which was caused by me adding twist too quickly with too low a take up, so the yarn just crumpled in my hands instead of winding on. I'm not sure what exactly the issue with yours is, or what you've tried, but maybe these links will be of help ?

If you've already come across these (which is likely) and it's still not winding on, I'd recommend looking for some castle wheel videos and try to compare what theyre doing to what youre doing, and the way that your wheel is set up to theirs (your flyer or bobbin might not be on right, your drive band may be too loose, etc).

There is of course a chance that something is wrong with your wheel, but it's much more likely that you just havent totally figured it out yet, and continuing to try and varying/adjusting what youre doing will get it working right eventually.

If absolutely nothing is working after days of attempts, my next suggestion (which may not be feasible) would be to look for a local spinning guild, a wool/yarn shop, or a spinning club that you can take your wheel to and ask other spinners to help with--if its technique theyll be happy to help, if its broken they might be able to jerry rig a fix (my footman will fall off as is, but i put a hair tie around it and havent had a problem since--so fixing your wheel might be very quick and cheap or free, if it is indeed broken).

If none of that is an option, i'd probably go on ravelry and try to see if there are any wheel spinners in your area who you could meet up with. Or if thats a bust, you may be able to troubleshoot via video call, even (hell, if our timezones arent crazy i'll volunteer, but im sure youd also get volunteers on reddit or ravelry--we spinners like making more spinners, so we tend to be a helpful bunch !).

I hope you can get it working soon and start making yarns ! And if anyone has any castle wheel specific help, please comment--ive never used one (and google isnt showing me much for castle wheels specifically)

#good luck ! i cant stress enough how normal it is to be having this problem and everyone figures it out eventually #spinning #spinning wheel

[taikanyohou]

totally totally agree with that anon, in fact i was about to send you a similar ask but they beat me to it ahsjdkfkgjs but yes!!! feel like we can learn a Lot from you. thank you for being here and sharing yourself with us, im really SO glad i found you, yknow? anyway since im here, just wanted to ask- whats it like being a teacher, especially to kids that young? what did you study in school? how do you interact with your kids and teach them in a way they understand (i guess thats what you wouldve studied in school)? ((ofc you dont have to answer these)) sending you love as always 🥰❤️

hiiii anon!!!

chfhd9f ANON!!!! thank you!!!!!!! this means a lot!!!!

aaaaah okay!

whats it like being a teacher to kids that young? im gonna keep it real, its Hard Work. but then you remember the fact that until they dont learn how to sit still for a prolonged period of time, until they don't learn how to hold a pen, how to gradually prolong their attention span, how to get their own coat, how to ask for more, how to eat by themselves, how to express their preferences, you know, these simple but fundamental skills, they can't fully move onto the next step of their learning journey. so its Hard. and it requires soooo much repetition. a lot of patience and willpower. and it can be very mentally exhuasting bc as an adult you're like "come on, all i'm asking you to do is get your coat!", but then you see the child process what you're asking, and you realise just how much is being asked of them, at 3 or 4 years old, and how big the world is for and looks to them. and its just. you know. you realising that. oh. so i need to break this down step by step for them. they need to understand what a coat is, where it is, if its theirs or not, how to stand and get to their coat and come back with it without getting distracted etc. so yeah. it just makes you appreciate it all, when. like. in september, i Know my kids won't be able to sit for more than 2 or 3 minutes. but by november/december? they'll be able to do so for 10 minutes straight. and that's a Lot for a 3-4 year old child, but that's what we need for them to work up to. and by december, when they can do it perfectly, its so worth it. because then we can move onto. like. teaching teaching. before you even THINK about teaching, you need to get the sitting and listening and attention and communication parts checked off first.

what did i study at school? ok. so. at college (ages 16-18), i did biology, chemistry, psychology and ICT for my a-levels. then in uni, it got a bit messy. i did psychology for 6 months, then dropped out, hoping that it'd help me understand my eating disorder, it didnt. it only made it worse and sent me in a really ... urm ... yeah odd place. so i took a gap year and tried to sort my head out (and oh boy the older desi generation Do Not like gap years ... as i learnt that year, bc life's literally like a checklist for us, its about ticking things off quickly one by one, with no time to pause). then i got my undergraduate degree in food and nutritional sciences. and i had a Lot of options to choose from: i could go into sports as a sports nutritionist for athletes and sportspeople, or be a clinical dietician, or go into food innovation and new product development.

i didnt. i only studied food and nutritional sciences to help me, once again, understand my eating disorder. and it did. it helped me so so SO much. bc i got to Know about food at a microscopic, atomic level. and ive always always wanted to be chef. but i didnt quite know how to get there. and being Desi ....... has its own ... urm. barriers. you should go into science - i did. yeah but not That kinda science though, more like medical science - yeah but i dont WANT to.

and being desi means noone has a fucking clue about what an eating disorder is. so. i could only help myself. and im so glad i did.

because then i got my pgce and became a school teacher! and i can teach kids upto the age of 11 (so, primary school), but i chose to specialise in early years, so here i am!

how do i interact with my kids and teach them in a way they understand? i mean, yeah you learn the theory during your degree. but all that? goes out of the window when you're in the classroom. because yeah, you teach the kids. but they teach you how to teach them. some kids dont like learning in big groups, others like colour or puppets or visual aids, some like stories and singing and audio aids, some need sensory play and novelty whilst some can just sit and do it and learn in the traditional way. so you've gotta go with how they work best. more of it is observing and learning how they work best, and then adapting to it. praising them for the good they do, and more of showing them how to do the right thing and less of reprimanding them for doing the wrong thing. bc yeah you can tell them what they did was wrong, but thats just the half of it. its my duty to show them how to do whats right. bc they need that more. and repeating that over and over again until they can do it independently!

#faiza answers #this was such a cool ask ty!!!!! #tw eating disorders

[medstudyblraesthetic]

How to study in medschool

im not telling you im asking pls tell me how to

ok ive tried EVERYTHING ok

after spending two years ive analysed my growth curve which has more or less been going downhill since high school

usually I’m able to pick up my pieces and fix my grades soon enough but mate its been two years how is it still this bad

to be fair first year was online and that was absolutely disgusting I hate doing online exams took me a year to figure out how to do them

and last semester was the first time we had in person so it was like ok I got to figure them out

so this time I had a legit game plan to do amazing

AND I HAVE NOTES FOR EVERYTHING AND FELT SO PREPARED UNTIL THE WEEK BEFORE THE EXAM like why bro what is this 

so I am tucking away my pride and making a new game plan despite the fact this is exactly what I said last semester

I’m going to study every.single.fucking.day. like. EVERY DAY

the problem is I would get dejected for not completing revision of the lecture on that day you know e.g we’d have 3-4 lecs in a day and I’d try to be so thorough with trying to make notes that I’d get sleepy/hungry/not in the mood 

I would hand-write notes and make mind maps 

but obv without spaced repitition I would forget

which makes you think duh why didnt you do anki

I FREAKING DID OK AND MAKING THOSE TAKES 5 YEARS TOO 

so in conclusion I made notes and they did not help even though I started my revision earlier

thereFORE:

I propose:

DAILY:

- making anki as a group so we save TIME

- answer the learning outcomes for lecture revision and to clear any doubts

- 5 main points to take away from the lecture hand written summary page

- read the goddamn textbook and lecture slides before the class

WEEKLY:

- we have to make it varied to keep it interesting so I suggest do anki but also make drawings and mindmaps 

MONTHLY:

- Add the learning outcomes and explanations to a MASTER DOCUMENT FOR REVISION CHECKLIST

+ get subscriptions for amboss? sketchy? pathoma?

+ mnemonics etc to help remember things

+ read papers

[keigosbirdie]

Balmy (part 4 - Masterlist)

HawksxFemale reader. Hawks struggled to come to terms with his impending fatherhood. With your due date looming, he decided to spend some much needed time alone with his wife. Dad!hawks. NSFW. Warning: Avian traits, NSFW, rut/nesting season.

Kettei's conception didn't begin with your bodies pressed close together, naked and breathless beneath the bed sheets. Rather, he was the end result of his father’s recklessness.

It began (predictably) nine months prior, when Hawks awoke in a sterile white room. Forgein faces paced around his bed as he regained consciousness, though his swollen head had trouble keeping up. Slowly, his senses trickled back. His blackened eyes followed nurses as they swapped out IVs and dressed his newly stitched wounds. The squeaks of their shoes against the tile were hammers to his pounding head.

He had no idea the turn his life was about to take, and he was far from prepared for where it would lead him.

"Good, you're finally awake," said one of the nurses from his bedside. She was rather small. He leaned up to see her bushy tail and fox's face from beside his mattress. "How are you feeling, besides nauseous?"

"I'm… fine," he said, even though he was in so much pain his eyes pricked with tears when he breathed in. "Where am I?"

"Central hospital, you're waking up from emergency surgery. Do you remember why you're here?"

He blinked at her fluffy ears as he scraped around his skull for the answer. Swirling colors in a black void came to mind, no—they were streaks of city lights spirling in a backdrop of night. Goopy tentacles snapped at his heels. The viscous substance that coated them burned through his pant legs, as well as every feather it touched. His arsenal was depleted, and he careened to the earth.

"I got KOed on live T.V., didn't I?"

The nurse laughed lightheartedly, but nodded.

"Unfortunately so, but you moved every civilian out of danger until backup arrived. Not a single life lost! Though you got really roughed up. That villain banged you around before Best Jeanist snatched you outta there."

Banged him around? Hawks felt like a limp sack of meat. That guy must have really wailed on him. He'd have to remember to thank Jeanist later.

"On a serious note, you had several broken bones on top of a punctured lung and a head injury. Frankly, your odds did not look good. Our nurses' healing quirks put you back together, but your body still needs a week at least to recover."

Being brutalized to that extent was not in Hawks' memory.

Please, God, tell me my wife didn't see it on television.

"A week?"

"Yes, we'll keep you overnight, then send you home for bedrest. You aren't to be back in the sky until you're cleared…"

She kept talking. Perhaps it was because of the medicine they’d pumped him full of, but he couldn't focus on a thing she said. They offered him water and asked more questions that he murmured answers to. Then, when their checklist was complete, they moved onto their next patient. They left Hawks alone and without direction.

Everything was cold. His body, which hurt terribly, shivered beneath his thin hospital blankets. It made him yearn for the warmth of your quirk. The damage the villain inflicted was too severe to get out of bed, but to lay still made his wings itch and his head buzz with difficult thoughts. They were mostly about you, the young wife he left behind on the mountain.

He focused on his new environment—the lifeless white hospital room—to distract himself. His feathers were far fewer, but they sensed bodies that passed by his door. The nurses shuffled around for their duties and families came to visit their ailing loved ones.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop on private moments of strangers, but information gathering was all he could do to quell his restlessness.

With small feathers pressed against the wall, he focused on the room connected to his own. Voices murmured through the plaster, and Hawks' tuned quirk mapped out the room. An elderly man sobbed softly in his bed. Hawks couldn't be sure why the stranger was so stricken with pain. It hardly mattered, though, as the gentle voice of a woman breathed humanity and assurance into the room.

"I know it hurts, Honey. But I'm right here with you, okay? For better or for worse, just like I promised," her wavering, aged voice assured.

Her promise was the same one you made to Hawks.

A chair squeaked as she leaned over the bed to hold the man, who cried into her shoulder without fear of judgement. Hawks' feathers pressed harder into the wall, as if her voice would grant some second hand comfort.

Instead, it only made his stomach twist up in knots. He glanced at the chair beside his own bed. It looked uncomfortable, a bit outdated, and, worst of all, empty.

It's not fair.

It was a childish thought, one many may have found unbecoming of a hero. But, no matter how easy it was to forget, he was still just a boy at only nineteen. A boy who didn't have a mother to cry for. Instead, he had only…

I want my wife.

His jaw tensed to fight the tears in his eyes.

He instinctively felt around his chest for the only precious piece of you he brought from home: his wedding ring. The golden band couldn't be seen on his finger where it belonged. Instead, it was kept on a chain around his neck, where it could be tucked into his suit.

But, between the scuffle and emergency surgery, the special thing had vanished.

The nurses left a small plastic bag on his meal tray. Inside were the items salvaged from his shredded uniform. He snatched it from his bedside and rifled through the thing.

A wallet, which had been ripped in two, laid inside. There was also a disposable phone, but there was no chain clasped around a golden band. He shook the bag, hoping to see it shimmer in the bottom, but there was nothing.

Hours passed.

The couple next door tearfully separated as visiting hours came to an end, and the hospital fell silent. Hawks watched the city light flare to life outside the window. The distant whirring of traffic reminded him too much of his penthouse, so he imagined how the view of the mountain out your window fared. You likely didn't know either, as you tended to pace the cabin when you were afraid.

When he was sure no one would hear, he slipped the cellphone out of the bag and dialed your number. The tone lasted a fraction of a second before it was replaced with your frantic voice.

Just as he feared, you were beside yourself with grief.

"Hawks?" You whimpered, and he released a long breath. Your voice was like a lullaby, even when it wavered with sadness.

"Yup," he chimed. He was obviously exhausted. Agony wracked through his damaged body. His voice wavered with the pain, but he tried to stay chipper despite it. He'd already worried you enough. "I'm sure you saw what happened today. I just wanted to tell you I'm okay."

"Oh, my—Thank god," you gasped through your tears. That phrase whimpered through the speaker over and over as you tried to get a hold of yourself.

To hear you cry was a pain unlike any villain could inflict, but to know you cared so deeply warmed Hawks' core just like your quirk.

"Don't cry, Sweetheart," he assured, though his voice was frail and wavered. "It'll take a lot more than that villain had in him to keep me from getting home to you."

You choked on a sob.

"I—I have to put you on speaker," you said, and then there was a clatter as your phone dropped to the floor. It must have been burning in your grip.

"It's alright," he repeated until your voice returned, but it did little to console you. He was the one wrapped in gauze and new wounds, but you were the one wearing all the tears.

"It was so hard to watch. It was brutal , and when you stopped moving… I'm sorry—I had to turn the T.V. off, I'm so sorry." You sobbed into the phone, as if you failed him somehow.

"No, I'm glad you didn't watch it all. I'm so, so sorry you had to see that."

"I thought you died."

He went quiet. No words could erase what you'd seen. Had he only been faster, better, you never would have.

"I turned it back on to watch the news. I hoped to hear you were okay…" you managed through crying. "They never said, but they interviewed citizens who were so… excited . They talked like it was a spectacle. A TV show. I can't understand. You were beaten, but people still celebrated."

Hawks melted into the stiff mattress. He hadn't seen the news yet, nor what the people said about his standoff with the toxic villain. What he did know, however, was that you had difficulty understanding civilians even at the best of times.

Another isolating side effect of your years in the facility.

"They were just relieved no one got hurt—"

" You got hurt! My husband is not a disposable soldier, do you understand me?" You were hysterical, which tugged at his heart in the most painful way. "You are not replaceable!"

"I know, I know. Not to you," he reasoned, his tone even and calm. "I'm your partner. I have been since we were kids. Of course the civilians on T.V. aren't going to feel your same anxiety, Honeybee. They aren't waiting for me to come home to them."

The sobbing through his phone wavered into soft whimpers. He frowned, and the conversation devolved into a mournful duet as his birdlike coos intermingled with your sniffling.

"But I am coming home to you. I swear it."

"When?"

"My wings are out of commission for now, and the doctors don't want me in the air until I've recovered… but, I might be able to make the flight if I–"

"No… no. Don't push yourself when you're wounded. You need to be where the doctors can help you."

"I don't wanna be alone in the penthouse. I miss you."

"I know you do," You said. Your voice became wispy and reminiscent as you dipped your toes into a sea of memories. Memories that felt so very old, despite how little time had passed.

"Before the cabin, you'd break into my cell and see me when you got hurt. Or we'd sit together in the commission library and share breakfast while I warmed you up. I don't miss that terrible place, but I do miss seeing you so much. And being there for you when these things happen."

"You still warm me up just the same."

That earned him a laugh through the grainy cell phone speaker. It was followed with a sniffle, likely as you wiped the wetness from your face with a sleeve.

"Do you ever think about… quitting?"

"Quitting?"

"Heroing," you specified. "I know you've worked for this our whole lives, and I know you just started the agency. Still… I could warm you up every morning if you came home and stayed."

A far less comfortable silence settled between you. The request was made from a place of fear, he knew that. You bore witness to his beating. Of course, as his wife, you'd tempt him into never being hurt like that again.

"Honey–"

"I know, I know…," you said, stopping him from saying what you didn't want to hear. "I know what you'll say and I can't argue. The city is far better off with you around. So many people would have died tonight had you not been there. I'm… I am so proud of everything you do."

His mouth felt full of cotton, and his crusty eyes fell peacefully closed. He nestled a little harder into the phone, as if it would somehow give him more of you.

"I've lived vicariously through that spirit of yours for so long," you confessed. A bittersweet sadness settled into your lungs and spread through the words you chose for him. "After all of the terror and pain my existence caused, taking care of you has become my mission. It makes me feel like… every time you save a life, there is some of me there, too. It brings me so much peace, all the good you do. But that good will go away—for the city and for me—if you die."

"I'll do better," he said. "I'll be more careful, but keep fighting for a world that doesn't need me anymore. Then I'll retire up there with you. I promise."

You laughed again, gentler this time.

"A world that doesn't need you… I don’t think such a thing could exist."

He hummed a pleased tune at your sweet reply.

"Can I ask a favor?"

"Of course, anything," you said.

"Can you stay on the phone until I fall asleep?"

Creak.

His door slid open, startling him.

"You don't have to ask," you answered, unaware. "I'll be right here as long as you need me."

In the doorframe stood an ill-timed intruder. She stared at him, blond brows quirked upwards as if she'd caught him in a crime. The president of the HPSC. How long had she been out there? Had she heard his sweet nothings? The six feet of distance between him and the oppressive force was not enough.

“Sorry, Jeanist,” he replied. “Seems I have a visitor. I'll have to call you back.”

Silence was his answer. Right away, you knew someone untrustworthy invaded his space. Someone who couldn't know he was speaking to you. The soft static of the call disappeared when you begrudgingly hung up.

He placed his phone on his lap.

“It’s past visiting hours, don’t you know?” he teased, but the president didn’t humor him.

“Funny, Jeanist sounded a lot like a woman through your speaker.”

“ Pfft, I’ll do you a favor and won’t tell him you said that.”

Something about her made him feel like a child. Maybe it was the scornful look that tormented him in his training days. Maybe it was the way she crossed her arms as she did it, just to drive home how unhappy she was with his performance.

Maybe it was because of the terrifying power she held over him.

"If you don't prove you're worth the investment, we'll have to retract our support for your family," she would say every time he fell short of her extraordinary expectations of him. This woman held his life, his mother's life, in her hands since he was just a child. But that tired old threat wouldn't work now that he could pad his mom's bank account with the loose yen in his pockets.

His late night call to his wife may have given her ammo. An ominous feeling settled into his gut.

The president stepped into his room, and her hands dropped down to her sides. Her eyes settled into his. There was no relief in them for his safety. They were cold and calculating as they’d always been. Despite the shiver down his spine, he wore his well-rehearsed smile.

She scanned his broken body and uttered: “I inquired with the hospital and was told it was critical. I came to see your condition and weigh our options.”

Hawks wasn’t a person. He was a utility; only worth what he could provide for the people using him. That feeling was never as strong as it was that night.

He wanted to go home.

“All business as usual, I see. I’m bedridden, but I don’t even get a ‘ how are you?’ ,” he asked, and she scoffed.

“You were ordered to neutralize your opponent, Hawks. Had you done so before he transformed—like you were told—you wouldn't be here right now."

"If I had done as I was told he wouldn't be here right now."

"That man is a villian!"

"And I'm a hero," Hawks said, managing a cavalier shrug despite the agony in his collar bone. "My job is to help people, not judge whether or not they're worthy of being saved. I caught the bad guy and no one got hurt, I’d say that’s a perfectly suitable outcome."

Her jaw clenched in frustration.

"That girl ruined you."

Those words rattled around inside his head as he blinked at her, baffled.

"Pardon?"

“She's always been a distraction,” she continued, more to herself than to Hawks. The wrinkles on her face deepened as she grimaced. “If you don’t step up your performance, I’m going to have to remove the distraction from the equation. Do you understand me?”

A pang of panic shot through his chest and numbed his face.

“I have no idea what you’re on about. Are you threatening me, Ms. President?”

His unbothered facade could be deceptively genuine, but he could not hide from the president with the manipulative tactics her people taught him.

“Perhaps I was not clear enough.”

She reached into her pants pocket, and then extracted her fist. He was not prepared for her fingers to uncurl, revealing a precious part of him he assumed to be lost on the battlefield.

His wedding ring.

“I know who you were on the phone with, and I know she has the twin to this band. I’ve been quiet about your involvement in her escape this long, Hawks. Don't make me have to do something about it."

Her words were so sharp that they cut him down to his bones. His breath got heavy, stinging his wounded lungs. His palms sweat through their acid burns and cotton filled his mouth.

"You suddenly have nothing to say?” The edge of her lip quirked into the smallest smirk, and then his ring disappeared again in her fist. “So now that we’re on the same page, pay close attention to what I’m telling you."

She approached his bedside and sat in the chair beside him. The one that was outdated and ugly, the one you should have been sitting in.

“I know your judgement is clouded when it comes to that girl, but she's a dangerous villain responsible for a national tragedy. Hundreds of innocent civilians and heroes alike died in her fiery grip. The public would be in a panic to learn she escaped custody, and likely enraged it’d been hidden from the media for well over a year. Do you understand what I've sacrificed so that you can play house with this girl?"

He continued his disobedient silence.

"We have every resource to apprehend the fugitive, if necessary. And, of course, if such a dangerous villain were to be recaptured we couldn't risk the possibility of escape again. We'd be forced to do what is best for the safety of the greater public. Do you understand?"

For the first time in years, Hawks was truly afraid.

She'd always been untrustworthy and underhanded, just like the organization she spearheaded. He kept you as far away from them as he could, but he never thought the president would come to his ailing bedside to threaten to take his wife from him. And in the worst possible way.

We could hurt her, is what she was saying. And if we have to find her, we will. We will, and it'll be your fault.

His heart never hurt so badly before, and every part of him wanted to scream.

“What do you want from me?” he asked, defeated. His faćade cracked, and she seemed pleased to know her objective had been fulfilled. He was afraid, just as she needed him to be.

She dropped his wedding band into his lap.

“I expect obedience. As long as you carry out your duties there will be no reason to interfere in your personal life. I trust that you won’t give me a reason to."

❅❅❅

The next day he was discharged.

"No work and no flying," his doctor reminded him. "Stay at home and rest."

How could he simply lie still? He was filled to the brim with anxiety thanks to the president and her threats. She didn't know where he'd hidden you away, but they were looking .

He sat in the waiting room and chewed on his nails until a suited man came to escort him to his penthouse. Unsurprisingly, there were no words exchanged as Hawks crawled into the back of the unmarked car and picked at his cuticles. There wasn't a farewell, either, when he slunk out of the vehicle and onto the crowded street. Thankfully he didn't get swept away by a river of ecstatic passerbys. His tattered state left him looking so unlike himself no one noticed his presence at all. He limped into his agency building and took the elevator all the way to the top, where his penthouse was perched.

Nothing within it could be trusted. The clothes in his closet were left hanging in fear of trackers. No words were uttered in case of hidden microphones. Tiny feathers swept through his apartment to search for invasive cameras. He found nothing out of the ordinary, but it didn't ease his anxiety.

Sparing that villain's life was undoubtedly the right thing to do, but doing so enraged the commission. What if they already found you? What if they decided you were the one to suffer for his disobedience? He sat on the edge of his couch, trying to calm his terror-stricken mind. But there was no hope for relief. He couldn't call home in fear of being heard, and he couldn't relax until he knew you were safe.

Despite the doctor's warnings and the singed tuffs where his wings once were, he jumped off his balcony. The pathetic nubs on his back were well beyond their limit. The small bits that were left of them stung against the harsh wind as he flew away from the city.

His fear for your safety drove him through miles of pain, but his sorry state fought him all along the way. He landed frequently on rural power poles and barn roofs to regain himself. As well as to make sure he wasn't being followed. Still, he did not stop, not even as the sky around him turned grey and rain began to pelt at his wounded back. Eventually, the mountain greeted him on the horizon.

His avian eyes scanned through the forest for the cabin, which was hidden on one of the mountain's steep faces. A faint speck of orange light cut through the lazy shades of grey and green. The kitchen light was on.

The strenuous flight took its toll on his already aching body. Hawks' pathetic wings had become too weak to flare open and resist the wind that careened him forward. He tried to pull back as he dropped towards the cabin, but there was no hope of landing safely. A cry tore from his throat as he slammed into the widow's walk. The structure groaned as he rolled helplessly across the wooden planks. His feathered back hit the railing. It knocked the wind from him for a second time, but prevented him from plummeting off the roof.

The storm continued to rage on above him. It cried fresh-water tears into his already soaked clothing, but the instinct to seek shelter was muffled by the pain in his limbs. The doctor's warning rattled in his loose skull. He made it home, but was unable to even stand.

"Oh, Hawks!"

He lifted his head. There you were, climbing onto the deck. The wild thump of his heart rattled his aching ribcage. He tried to push himself onto his legs, desperate to get to you, but a stabbing pain shot through his abdomen and left him crumpled on the rain-stained oak. Water slapped beneath your feet as you rushed to his side. Your voice shot through the air like the rolling thunder, frantic and booming—angry.

“What did you do?!” you demanded as you, too, crashed to the floor. Your knees landed before him, stinging from how hard they dropped. “Did you fly here?! The doctor told you to rest! I told you to stay in the city—My god, you’re bleeding!”

So small he seemed without healthy, full plumage. His clothes stuck to his body from the beating rain, and blood seeped from reopened wounds. Still, he pushed up to see you, squinting through the rain.

"You're an idiot, an idiot ," you cried as your hands wiped at his crinkled eyes, as if you could battle the raindrops away from his vision. "Why? Why would you do something to stupid?"

The president's foreboding visit to his bedside is what drove him back home through the storm. Even if wounded, he needed to be there to stand guard over his nest. But your peace of mind was his to protect.

"I had to be with you," he said, still squinting through the water and the agony in his ribs.

"You wh–?..."

You didn't look any less furious, but your brows furrowed upwards until your face turned red. A pained huff escaped his sore throat as you pulled him into an embrace. The comfort of your arms enveloped his aching body in gentle warmth, and the sweet scent of your shampoo nearly brought him to tears. He pressed his face into your neck to breathe in the smell of you through the petrichor.

A robe tightened around your waist was all that covered you. It slid off your shoulders, and it was tossed onto his shaking form to shield him from the rain. The loving gesture rendered you naked in the storm, but it mattered more to you that Hawks was protected.

In the presence of your unconditional care, he regained his humanity.

"Can you stand on your own?"

He shook his head against your collar.

Painstakingly, you helped him off the widow's walk and into the house. Blood seeped into the dark grey of his hoodie, staining it as you sat him on the living room couch. His soggy clothes were stripped away to assess the damage from his fall. His pants and boxers laid on a heap on the floor as you carefully removed his hoodie. Your face twisted into a grimace at the wounds hidden beneath it.

“I can’t believe you did this,” you said, disappointed in his recklessness. He said nothing in his defense as you pulled the feathery little lumps on his back through their wing holes. They were plagued with a terrible itch thanks to his regrowing feathers, so they fluttered wildly in your grasp.

“I know it hurts. Work with me here.”

He gritted his teeth together, but relaxed his wounded wings. Thanks to your nimble hands, they were soon freed from his hoodie. His body was fully exposed, as well as every new bruise and painfully reopened wound. He sat still as your fingers ran gently over the mess of stitched flesh across his ribcage.

“That villain… he really hurt you.”

Blood dripped like rivers from the gash. Many of the stitches popped during his journey home. No matter how much you attempted to compress the wound with dry towels, the exceptional flow of blood would not slow.

“I have to cauterize this.” The blank look on your face made his guts churn. He only nodded as the tip of your pointer finger began to glow white. His teeth gritted hard as you ran your fingertip, slowly and with purpose, along the crack of skin spurting blood. You were exceptionally careful, your focus unbroken until the burning pain slowed to a stop at the edge of the wound.

He sighed in relief when you were finished, but grimaced when he tried to sit up straight.

“Stop moving. Lay down. I will bring you food and water.”

His eyes burned their worry into you as you wandered into the kitchen. He sent a feather in search of you when his eyes couldn’t follow.

A red mark smeared onto the faucet labeled hot as you turned it. The water became so scalding that steam flowed from the basen of the sink, but only then did you dip your hands into the stream. Your expression remained unreadable as your husband's blood darkened the water.

You were in pieces, and it was his fault.

Just one day before you watched as Hawks, the only other human being in your life, was beaten to the brink of death on live television. Despite the unimaginable fear for his life, you asked only one small favor of him: to be more careful. Now you were left to wash his blood off your hands.

What kind of man puts his loved one through so much heartache?

A plate balanced in your clean hands when you returned. It was likely meant to be stacked with a meal for him, but it was empty. The floor creaked as you sat on the hardwood beside the couch, close to Hawks. You didn’t bother dressing him, or fetching a dry robe for yourself for that matter. With that far off look in your eyes you likely didn't notice you were naked at all.

"Honey?"

No reply came. He only wanted to be there to protect you, but jeopardizing his life to ease his anxieties was selfish. Now, you were so distraught by his decisions that you reverted to the trained silence of your youth.

“Honey, can you hear me?"

That short phrase snapped you out of limbo.  The dish in your grasp was noticed, then, and you blinked, bewildered by its emptiness. Your eyes peered around the living room as if it were alien to you.

"How did I get back in the—Damn it," you grumbled. "I needed to take care of you, so I got the leftovers out and… Did I? I was so sure I…"

The plate was tossed across the floor, several feet away, as if you couldn't bear the physical reminder of your instability. Your head hung into your cupped hands, which grew ever hotter.

"… I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said.

"It's not okay, you almost sacrificed your life to save strangers last night and I can't even—and I can't even…" your voice trailed off as you stared into your hands. They radiated white light from their palms, and the temperature of the room rose steadily as your heart pounded.

A hand much bigger than your own clasped around your wrist. It was scarred and worn, just like yours, though it shook faintly. Your eyes tore from the danger lingering in your own cursed limbs to settle in Hawks' angular eyes instead.

"Did you know Endeavor has the highest number of resolved cases in history?" He asked. Both of his eyes were still blackened, and his voice wavered with pain. Still, a playful smile tugged at his cracked lips.

"H-huh?—Oh, my god."

"And his wife has an ice quirk... You know what that means?"

You sighed, but a little smile of your own betrayed you. "What?"

"It means my wife is hotter than his."

" Hawks!"

“And his flames get to 3,000 degrees! You’re hotter than them both .”

“ Stoooop.”

Laughter erupted from you. It was so joyful and childish, just like it was when it used to fill the commission library. For one gentle moment, the anger and tension dissolved into comfortable peace. Carefully, you leaned into him, resting your head on his bruised bicep. Your laughter began to change. It morphed into tears, the wetness from your emotion wetted his arm as you pressed your face hard into it.

“I’m so glad you’re alive.”

❅❅❅

“Ah! There are so many of them. I’m gonna be seeing your feathers in my sleep."

“Mm, feels really good, though.”

It’d been three days since he crashed onto the roof, and most of that time was spent helping his rapidly regrowing feathers along. Just as a bird, they sprouted in long, cylindrical casings that needed to be crushed away to release the pretty new feathers within them. He sat up in bed with you at his back, picking at the cuticles. Slowly, his wings returned to their full glory.

“Hmm, they’re dark at the tips. Black, almost,” you admired as your fingers ran through a freshly regrown clump of plumage. They were patterned subtly, but beautifully, and they shimmered in the blue light of dawn as he fluttered them.

“It's nesting season,” he said.

The gargantuan size of his wingspan unfurled before you. They trembled as they pumped lazily, stretching the limbs for the first time since they'd been stripped of feathers. You admired them, as well as your handiwork.

"So it is. I figured that's why you've been so cuddly. You've been singing to me at night, too."

His cheeks flushed, and he looked straight ahead; away from you. Every night, when you laid in bed together, he tugged at your pajamas and ran his fingers through your hair, trilling a soft bird song as he did so. The melody was the most beautiful of his calls, but rare. It was only for you, and only when balmy weather melted the snow and breathed life back into the mountain.

Just as the little songbirds who raised their babies in your window sills, Hawks was enticed by the spring.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled. "It's been gnawing at the back of my head since I got home. I can't shake it."

"Don't apologize. I've only been ignoring it because of your wounds, but you were singing loud last night. It's getting unbearable for you, isn't it?"

From over his shoulder, you saw his jaw clench hard. But he didn't answer. You ran your hands up between his scarred shoulder blades, and his newly patterned feathers bristled up at the intimate sensation.

“I wish you wouldn't be ashamed of it.”

He shook his head.

"I've put you through so much, and now I'm keeping you up at night. This isn't the time to be begging for sex like an animal."

Hawks has always been distant from his primal needs. To ignore them was his usual tactic, which led to confusion and frustration that built until he became unhinged. If he just allowed himself to enjoy spring he wouldn't handle you like an overexcited toddler petting a kitten. Lovingly, but with aggression and no restraint.

Your lips pressed gently against the back of his neck to quiet him. The gesture coaxed his song to whisper from the bottom of his throat, a reflex that felt impossible to control when you showed him such affection.

"I thought I lost you," you said, and his wings again puffed and flexed as you leaned into his back. Your hot fingers ran up his healing sides until they joined together around his chest. His wedding ring bumped into your fists. "Your instincts are telling you to be close to me. I can understand your frustration, but… I think that closeness is something we both need right now."

"I broke the promise I made, to be more careful. Aren't you angry with me?"

You laughed.

"I want to enjoy being your wife while I have the chance. Nothing else matters."

❅❅❅

With your gentle assurances, Hawks unlocked the birdcage. The unquenchable desire that followed was nothing new. You were his chosen mate since his very first nesting season, so you were attuned to the ritual.

The first order of business was to properly nest. His excessive wounds demanded bedrest, so you scoured the house for soft building materials on his behalf. A low, pleased hum trilled from his sore throat each time you returned with fluffy things. He couldn't move well, but he'd nestle each new find into plush walls. After a day or so of this careful process, a chunky structure engulfed the bed below him. There was no mistaking the creation for anything other than what it was: a bird's nest.

"It's ready," he decided, his wings all fluffy with excitement. They gave a few mighty flaps, and a burst of air gusted through the room. They remained outstretched in a massive display that dwarfed the furniture beneath him. Morning's light filtered through their deep red veins, illuminating the intricate patterns of his springtime plumage. If the flaring of his wings was meant to impress and entice you they did their job.

Unbeknownst to the strange animal, this is the nesting season to give him a chick.

"Come here."

You did as you were told, crawling into the bed of soft scraps. That song of his returned again, gentle and soft. He greeted you with it as he nudged his face into your neck, breathing in the smell of you and nibbling at your warm skin. The sensation made you giggle and curl your toes. His wings reacted to your joy, folding around you.

His aching hands trailed along your sides and his feathers tickled your back, but your focus was between his legs. His cock was uncomfortably hard beneath his sweats, forming a tent in the cloth. He was trying to be gentle despite his wild hormones, but you what he needed to be satisfied. A soft gasp spilled from him as your hand slid up his thigh to his crotch. Your palm pressed into the softness of his pajama bottoms, where you cupped and squeezed gently. The sweet bird call again echoed off of the walls, only louder. Encouraged by his cooing, your fingers explored the shape in his bottoms to tease him.

"Handsy," he commented with a pained chuckle, followed by a cough. He was still in sour shape.

"Does it feel good?" You asked.

"Y-yeah."

"I could make it feel even better."

His breath caught in his throat, and he nodded. His eyes fixed to yours, still half-lidded, but blazen with desire. A coy grin tugged at your lips. Your fingertips trailed up to his waistband, and a low growl worked from his throat when the drawstring came undone.

"Now, you can't get too violent," you said, but then kissed the tip of his nose. He blinked. "I know it's difficult to contain yourself, especially right now, but be gentle this time."

"How come? You like it when I'm rough."

"You're all beat to hell, that's how come. I don't want more stitches to pop."

"Whadda you want from me? To just sit here?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I want," you breathed, your voice low and sultry as you tugged at his waistband. "Let me take care of you."

He nodded, but his hands gripped the nest walls so hard his knuckles turned white. You hadn't even pulled his dick out and he was already struggling. It was lovely.

Your lips pressed delicately into his belly; into the small bit of chub below his navel. You followed his thin happy trail down to his waistband, decorating his still-healing wounds with your kisses. A gruff whimper filled the room. He rolled his hips, wanton for your warm grip on his sex.

"Desperate, huh?"

"Yes, god, I missed this," he said. "I missed you."

Your hand slipped into his sweatpants. His cock was stiff and left wetness all over your palm. What a beautiful thing it was to bask in his sexuality, the only part of him you never had to share with the civilians he often left you to protect.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re already dripping.”

He groaned.

“Don't worry, I'll make it better.”

With a tug, his cock sprung free. His body trembled at the sensation of your fingertips trailing along the length of it, and the heat of your breath lingered at its leaking tip. The pad of your thumb ran through the sticky mess, rubbing it into the soft head of his cock as you licked your lips.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he whimpered.

You fisted his sex in your hand and brought it to your lips, lapping softly at his watering slit. The hitch in his breath encouraged you to slide him into the back of your throat. A feeling his body reacted intensely to, though he winced with each intense inhale. His hands found your hair, where they tangled tightly, and you gagged as he pushed himself in deeper.

You didn’t resist, instead you stilled and relaxed your throat for his pleasure.

Filthy praises gushed from his lips as he bucked into you. With each hard hit to the back of your throat, you resisted the urge to gag. At least until he inhaled sharply and his cock throbbed in your mouth. Already, he spilled onto the back of your tongue.

You gasped in a breath when his dick fell out, and coughed before struggling to swallow down the mess he made.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his face still hot and his sex still throbbing hard. “You said not to be rough- I’m trying.”

“It’s okay. I should have known better than to ask that of you right now."

His cock cupped into your hands again as you stroked him. Several kisses decorated it's tip, red and still leaking. You lapped at his slit, cleaning him up until the white flowing from him became clear and sticky again. His hunger wasn't appeased by spilling his seed into your throat. He needed to be buried deep in your pussy for his desperation to subside, at least for an hour or so before he'd tear into you again.

You pulled yourself onto his hips, your little nightgown riding up to your sides as you straddled him. His bare cock nudged against the wet spot on your panties, and again his breath became haggard. You beared down, rubbing your sex into his groin, separated only by the thin layer of cloth between you.

A shrill bird cry echoed through the bedroom.

Hawks was still weak and recovering, but his desire got the best of him. His hands found the meat of your hips, and his nails sank deep into your skin as his predatory grip ensnared you. You hummed as you pulled your panties to the side; your bare sexes pressed together. The shape of his cock against your wet petals made your mouth water. Perhaps you were just as ravenous as your husband.

He panted. His wet eyes were half-lidded, and his mouth cracked open for heavy breaths as he stared down between your bodies. Redness stained his ivory cheeks, a sure sign that he was already love drunk.

“Your pussy is so fucking warm. Please, please. Put me in. I can't fucking handle it."

Your core shivered with pins and needles. Pressing his throbbing cock into your body's cradle was an act of mercy by that point. His eyes fluttered as he sank inside, and his mouth pressed into a hard line as you began to move. Finally, he laid back against the bed and let you have control. Every gnarly wound on his torso was visible as you bounced on his hips. He winced with each breath, proving his sex fogged mind still felt the pain.

You sat up straight and rolled your hips in circles to tend to his cock without hurting him.

"Y-yes. Fuck. Oh my god," he choked out. Praises gushed from him like rivers as your pussy squeezed his sex.

"Y-you're so wet. So wet. Harder. Please, please. I need more!"

This was the part of nesting season that scared him. The point of no return. He easily became so intoxicated with a cocktail of hormones and love that his good sense was abandoned entirely, leaving only the bird at the helm. You pumped around his cock until his only thought was how badly he needed to paint your womb with his colors.

A gasp erupted from you as he sat up and grabbed your hips hard. The wild fluttering of his wings beat about the sides of the nest as he rolled on top of you, his breath hitching in your ear before he began to suck on it. He was far past sanity's threshold. His instinct demanded he lock you beneath him at the first inkling of his orgasm, and, like a good mate, you encouraged him to come.

Your legs wrapped tightly around his hips as he rammed erratically into you. A cry ripped from his throat with every wet slap, his face reddening as his eyes squeezed tightly closed. A shiver rolled through his muscles as he pressed deep inside.

"Yes," he breathed through his teeth, setting your core ablaze as your legs shook against your will. He pulled back, leaving you empty, only to slam back into you so hard the bed whined.

" Oh, oh. Yeah, y-yeah," he cried.

Together, you laid in blissful quiet as his cock's muscles squeezed and flexed, spurting his seed into the bottom of your welcoming body. His hips occasionally rolled, nudging the watering tip of his cock against the small, swollen ring it found there. He tensed hard every time he felt it, his arms squeezing you so tight he nearly took your breath.

"H-Hawks–" you whimpered.

His killer grip loosened as he slowly came down from his high. He blinked sense back into his eyes, and his heavy panting fell into an even, relaxed pattern of breath. Once he regained his strength, he moved between your thighs to clean you. Shocks of pleasure shot up your spine while the pad of his tongue slid over your slit, lapping the mess you made together away. In thanks, you ran your fingers through his hair.

The rest of the day was spent in your arms. His freshly-regrown plumage settled over the top of the bed, cocooning your naked bodies safely together. He couldn't get close enough to you, nuzzling between your bare breasts as his arms wound around your frame.

Hawks understood why most non-mutants were put off by sexual cycles like his. The nest would be your home for the several days that followed, that time spent pinned beneath him as he whimpered desperately for release. Perhaps it was because of how many springs you spent by his side, but you understood that nesting season was more than just sex.

It was a time of bonding.

Your fingers picked through his new fathers, preening them back into place after all his excited puffing. There wasn't a drop of bird in your blood,  but you hummed his special call back to him as you recuperated together in the aftermath. Excited chirps from him followed. Your eyes closed, and you smiled as you memorized their melody.

For whatever reason, his eyes began to prick with water

"Don't let go of me," he said. "Please, don't ever let go."

"Never," you declared, breathless. "I will never let go."

He couldn't have known that a child would be born from that moment. Your birth control pill had allowed him to fulfill his needs without consequence for years, but it'd been put to the test far too many times. Still, the desperate need to express his affections was the core of every spring, as well as every time he made love with you. That, and for no other reason, is why Kettei existed.

Because you loved each other.

How could he ever say he didn't want that baby?

=───※ ·❆· ※───=

A tense gust blew from Hawks' flared nostrils as the doctor's bad news sank in. His lungs were so full of anxious breaths that he would have floated away if not for the seven pounds of baby holding him down.

His son’s wing was deformed, and it may never lift him from the ground.

Hawks' weren't the only attentive pair of eyes on Kettei, however. Water welled in the brim of your vision as your husband's thumbs ran reassuring circles into the baby's delicate feet.

"So… you don't think his wing will ever work?" You asked the doctor, lip quivering.

"It likely will not," was the reply. Her eyes stared straight into yours with a certainty that made your stomach churn. "But we're going to try everything in our power to treat it before we say that for sure."

"Is there something I could have done better?" You gnawed on your lip to keep from whimpering, but the tears budding in your eyes gave away your sadness. "Something to have prevented this?"

Hawks wasn't surprised to hear such a sad notion from your lips. Most of your life was wasted shouldering unimaginable blame, but to fault yourself for Kettei's wing sent a pang of sorrow through Hawks' ribs like nothing had before. Most of the joys people had in life were denied to you. What a tragedy it was for you to feel like anything less than a wonderful mother.

"Are you kidding? Of course not," he said, but it came out with more emotion than he intended.

"You did everything you were supposed to. Kettei's wing isn't like this because you did something wrong. It's just… like this," he said as he gestured to the tiny boy wriggling around on his chest. Said wing was crumpled against Kettei's back and quite pathetic looking next to its healthy twin.

"No offense, Kiddo."

Kettei just smacked his lips together, blissfully unaware. He finally settled down, once again mesmerized by the feathers on his daddy's back. His little hands kept squeezing into fists as if he wanted to grab one, but he hadn't figured out how fingers worked yet.

"He's right. It's no one's fault," the doctor affirmed. "You safely delivered a healthy little boy. No matter what becomes of his wing there should be nothing in the way of him having a full, happy life."

"You hear that, Chickpea?" Hawks then looked down at your son with a wide, open mouthed smile and an excited gasp. "He's okay! Aren't you, tiny man?"

Kettei didn't know what to make of his father's gushing. He settled with sucking on his fingers as he gawked at the feathered man.

"Tell her, Kettei."

Hawks gently took Kettei's tiny fist, the one he wasn't nomming on, between his fingers and waved it at you.

"Don't worry, Mama!" Hawks said on the baby's behalf. And in a silly voice, no less. " I'm gonna be fine!"

Your bottom lip puffed out, and tears finally dripped down your face. He leaned close to you, bringing your son near enough for you to feel the softness of his feathers between the warmth of your trembling fingers.

"You're gonna be fine," you repeated softly, though you were reassuring yourself more than your son. Carefully, Hawks laid the baby in the comfort of your arms.

"Oh, hello, my little one. Hello," you greeted, smiling wide despite your quivering chin.

Kettei waved his chucky little arms around, and his face morphed into random expressions as he familiarized himself with his muscles. The tension was lost to the infant. His eyes were filled only with curiosity and wonder as they explored the bedroom he was born in. This was all Hawks' son knew of life thus far; the safety of the nest his father built, filled with the warmth of his mother's love.

With everything Hawks had in him, he would ensure Kettei's happiness.

“I’m going to see the doctor out.”

Hawks placed a kiss in your hair before he stood from the nest, leaving you and Kettei within it’s short, braided walls. Your hand moved to stop him, taking a firm hold onto the meat of his forearm.

“Don’t—” you said. "Don't leave."

An understanding smile worked its way onto his lips, soft and sad.

“Oh, Sweetheart, I'm not going anywhere,” he promised. "Let Kettei finish his breakfast, I'll be right back."

You let him go. For the first time in Kettei’s life, but far from the last, his father left his side. Hawks left the bedroom with the doctor, who he escorted downstairs and into the living room.

“I’ll check my schedule and give you a ring. We’ll get Kettei in as soon as possible for his vaccines and a treatment plan,” she said as she slipped her winter coat back onto her shoulders. It was still wet with melted snow. The winter seeped in swirls of white flecks when the front door swung open before her.

“Wait…” he managed, and she idled in the doorframe’s threshold.

"This probably goes without saying," Hawks muttered as his eyes locked into the doctor's. "But my wife and I—we like to keep our personal life private. She handles herself well, but she's more delicate than she seems. Especially after having the baby. I don't want them waking up to news vans."

Or the commission on the doorstep.

"I understand, but don't worry. I take my job and my patients' confidentiality seriously," she assured as she hoisted her bag strap over her shoulder.

His beautiful secret was in the hands of a stranger now, and if anything happened to you or the baby while he was away he wouldn’t know until he came back to an empty house. The anxiety that'd been building your whole lives began to boil up and over.

He didn't believe her.

“They mean more to me than anything,” he pleaded. He said so little, but those wet eyes conveyed his absolute desperation. "You’re the only one who knows they’re mine.”

She stood on the porch despite winter nipping at her back. Snowflakes collected in her high, fluffy bun and mist slipped from between her dark lips. Her work there was completed, but she bore the cold anyway as her face softened for him.

"You likely don't remember me, but we met once before," she said. Hawks blinked at her, bewildered.

“We have?”

"My family and I lived in Fukuoka a couple years ago, when you made your debut. A villian went into a rampage and destroyed several buildings. My children and I were in the living room, watching movies, when the ceiling caved in. It was your feathers that pulled us out of the wreckage. If not for you, my kids would have died that night."

She patted the small collection of pins on her work bag, referencing the enamel red wings she had there, “my youngest clips your wings onto our things for good luck."

His shoulders lowered, as well as said wings, which had been squeezing tight against his back. She was right, he didn't remember her, but that was to be expected. His feathers have pulled hundreds of civilians out of harm's way since his debut. Their faces all blurred together over time.

The gratitude of civilians had become commonplace for Hawks, but, despite having heard similar tales time and time again, the doctor's story struck a personal cord in him he never felt before. Why did tears threaten to prick his eyes? Perhaps it was because he knew how it felt to hold his child in his arms. And he couldn't imagine a more terrible nightmare than never being able to again.

"I'm sorry that happened, but I'm relieved these wings of mine were of such great help."

"You have no idea. But after the attack we moved here to get away from the danger, as well as the prejudice."

"Prejudice?"

She laughed, though he detected a hint of bitterness in it.

"Our home was gone, but the shelters wouldn't take us in. My husband is a sought after surgeon, a good man who’s saved lives. But when he needed help himself, all anyone saw was his face.”

“He’s a mutant,” Hawks interjected.

“Yes. He looks more bear than man, as do our sons. I don't have to tell you how hard it was, being a mutant yourself."

"Well, people usually just see a man when they look at me," he replied, though he felt somehow guilty for saying it.

"That hardly matters. My sons often got into arguments over your heteromorph status," she said, frowning. "To them, it's comforting that the man who saved their lives could relate to their struggles. Their classmates, though, didn't like the idea that you are as bird as you are human. The people who supposedly adore you reject a huge part of who you are."

She was right.

Most were bothered with his birdlike needs, so they created a more acceptable version of him in their minds—one that was simply a winged man rather than a true avian. The nest he wove to keep his pregnant mate warm, his instinct to preen his very first nestling, and Kettei's tiny bird songs; they were all intimate, beautiful things those strangers would resent. Articles on their blogs lamented that it was uncomfortable to imagine Hawks being a bird.

Funny that he couldn't recall inviting them to.

"It's difficult at times, yes. It bothers me more knowing Kettei will have to deal with it, since he takes so much after me."

“Exactly. You understand, it's always harder when it's your children... This is frustrating for me, actually—you saved my kids. They're still alive, thanks to you, but you've also given them a sense of pride in their quirks I could never achieve. But when your child needed my help I showed up late."

“No, no. My eyas made his debut in the middle of a snowstorm. It was a dangerous trip up here and I was far from welcoming, but you still came and helped my family. I’d say you and I are more than even.”

A smile graced her face, one that made his anxious heart settle comfortably.

"I was shocked when I saw you at her bedside, but it makes sense. Pair the city's culture with the horrific things you've seen as a hero—I understand why you’re afraid of anyone knowing where you’ve hidden your nest. What I'm trying to say is I have every intention of protecting your family like you did mine."

No words could convey the weight of his gratitude, but he offered her a smile. One that was not manufactured for cameras, but instead a show of his genuine relief. Somehow it made him look much older. He desperately scoured his mind for a meaningful way to thank her for her kindness, but he felt she already understood how much it meant to him.

#hawks #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero acedemia #keigo takami #hawksxreader #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #mha fanfiction #my fic

[fruitcoops]

thinking about the team learning that remus moved into sirius’

God I missed the Lions groupchat. Hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

I

“Rookie!”

Leo paused halfway down the hall and turned, raising an eyebrow as Sirius jogged to catch up. They bumped forearms in greeting, then continued to walk. “What’s up?”

“Can I borrow you on Saturday for a couple hours? Just to move some boxes, nothing huge.”

Leo shrugged. “Sure. Do you want me to bring Finn’s car, too?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Transport is taken care of.” Sirius ran a hand through his hair, looking strangely nervous at the thought. Is he moving? Remodeling?

“Are you okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m good.” A softer look came over his face and Leo added Involves Remus to his mental checklist. “Thanks, Knutty. Nice saves today.”

“No problem, Cap.”

II

There was a knock on the doorjamb of Moody’s office and he frowned when Remus ducked inside. “You don’t have to knock, Lupin.”

“Sorry, I was distracted.” He waved a vague hand in the air and concern crept into the edge of Moody’s mind.

“You’re not quitting, are you?”

“What? No!” Remus looked positively scandalized at the thought. “Hell no, I was just going to let you know that I’ll be busy on Saturday. It’s moving day and I won’t be able to help unload the pallets.”

“Oh.” Did he tell me he was moving, earlier? “I’m glad you’re getting out of that hamster cage of yours. See you bright and early on Monday, kid.”

III

The phone rang twice before it connected. “Hello?”

“Hey, Loops!” Talker held the phone between his ear and shoulder as he pulled his food out of the microwave. “Are you free on Saturday? The new X-Men is coming out and Noelle can’t make it.”

“Are you asking me on a date?” Remus teased. “Talkie, I’m flattered.”

“Very Romeo and Juliet, I know,” Talker laughed. The plate was just hot enough to make him wrinkle his nose. “There are showings at ten, 12:30, and three, and then a late-night one at nine. Do any of those work?”

“I think—shit, wait, you said Saturday?” Something rustled on Remus’ end and he sighed. “Sorry, I’m busy moving that whole day.”

“Congrats, man! It’s about time!” Talker carefully set his food on the table and put the phone on speaker so he could eat without completely grossing Remus out. “Doesn’t Cap have to duck to get through the doorway to your place?”

“He’s got about an inch of space, yeah,” Remus snorted. “Is there a showing on Sunday that we could go to? Unless you’re going to ditch me for your girlfriend, in which case, rude.”

“We could make it a double-date,” Talker suggested around his pasta. “How about the ten am one, and then we can grab lunch?”

“Sounds good, Talkie. See you then!”

IV

“Did you guys know Loops is moving?” Finn asked from the living room armchair, splaying one leg over the armrest and tucking the other underneath himself.

In the kitchen, Logan frowned. “That’s…weird. I thought Cap was moving.”

“Yeah, he asked if I could help him with some boxes on Saturday,” Leo added as he walked out of their bedroom with a toothbrush in his mouth. “I figured he was just remodeling.”

Finn gasped, sudden and sharp, and almost fell off the armchair. “Holy fuck, are they moving in together?”

Leo choked on his toothpaste; Logan nearly dropped a plate. “Oh my god they are,” Leo whispered, then scrambled back into the bathroom to wash his mouth out.

Logan fumbled for his phone.

Message To: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE HELPING CAP AND/ OR LOOPS ON SATURDAY

Message From: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

Me?

Me

Me

I am

Loops ditched on our date :((

Logan frowned.

Message To: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

Talkie if you’re ditching my sister for Loops we’re going to have a problem

Also CAP LOOPS GET IN HERE

Message From: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

It’s Thursday that’s their date night

Pots why do you know that

It’s called being an attentive friend dumbass

Tremz what is happening????

Message To: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

We’re all idiots

They’re moving in together

That’s why they’re both busy

Message From: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

OH FUCK

YESSSSS

AHAHAHA FINALLY

FUCK YEAH LET’S GOOOOO

Are we ignoring the part where they tried to keep this a secret or

Oh my god can you all SHUT THE FUCK UP

Hey Loops!

Looooooooooops

LOOPS LOOPS LOOPS

Yes hello is there an emergency?? Did someone die??

“Yes, I died from the suspense and betrayal,” Finn groaned from the other room.

Message From: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

YOU’RE MOVING IN WITH CAP???

??? Yes???

And didn’t tell anybody???? Bitch

There were a few moments of silence in the groupchat. Logan glanced up and saw Finn and Leo standing near each other, both glued to their phones.

Message From: Hockey Brain Go Brrr

Okay so it seems we forgot to tell you guys

In my defense I thought we did

Oh my GOD Loops

Jesus Christ

How are you two so smart and so dumb

Surprise?

I mean congratulations but also fuck you guys for not telling us sooner

Yeah the housewarming party is going to be short a few fireworks

Jackson Nadeau if you bring fireworks to my house I’ll end you

Oh hey Cap

Oh captain my captain you absolute dumbass why didn’t you say anything???

1) Yes we are moving in together 2) Thank you Pots for remembering it’s date night 3) We’re leaving now and if anyone tries to call us you’re doing extra sets on Monday

That is such a captain thing to say you’re so lame

See you Saturday

Finn’s phone pinged softly. “Siri, where is the nearest fireworks shop?”

V

Remus groaned as Sirius pulled up to the house. The entire team was gathered in the front yard; someone had taped streamers to the front door.

“I’m going to kill them,” Sirius said.

“I’ll visit you in prison.”

“CONGRATULATIONS!” the guys cheered.

Sirius gritted his teeth and Remus fought back a blush as they began unloading boxes from the trunk of the car, desperately ignoring the confetti poppers and the whoops of their idiot friends. “Don’t make eye contact,” Remus muttered, making Sirius laugh under his breath. “They can smell your fear.”

They squeezed through the front door and set the boxes in the entryway—as soon as Sirius opened it again to get the rest of Remus’ things, six different people tumbled through, already carting his dishes, clothes, and a variety of other things.

“Fuck, Loops, what the hell is in here?” Nado grunted as he set it down and stretched his back.

“A super neat invention called ‘books’,” Remus sad drily around his grin. “Thanks for carrying it for me.”

“Is this all you brought?” Talker looked back at the car, then to the boxes.

“Pretty much. It’s not like I needed to move furniture or anything.”

Leo clapped his hands together, smiling bright. “Great! That means we can all go to lunch now and roast you in person for neglecting to tell us about this.”

Sirius threw his hands in the air. “It was an accident!”

“Yeah, and?” Logan linked their elbows and all but dragged him outside with Remus hot on their heels. “Come on, Captain, I haven’t made fun of you in a whole day!”

[everlarkficexchange]

Hanging in the Balance

Written by: @ameliaodair

Prompt #29:  I want to request a fic where Katniss and Peeta almost lose their first child and it makes their love and relationship even stronger.  [submitted by anonymous]

The prompt pretty much says it all.  On their way to visit Katniss’s mother, Katniss, Peeta, and their daughter fight for their lives.  When Peeta wakes from the devastating crash, his life— and Katniss’s are forever changed as their sweet, baby girl has the fight of her life, with her life hanging in the balance.

Thanks to the amazing @taylerwrites for her magical beta skills!

Rated T for difficult situations

Warnings: (almost) losing a child

Hanging in the Balance

“How long has it been since the last time we saw your mother?” Keeping his eyes focused on the road and his hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, Peeta glanced over to Katniss, his beautiful wife of six years.

“I don’t know, maybe …  Actually, I think the last time we saw her was just after Prim was born; oh my god, I can’t believe it’s been that long.  Oh, Peeta, did you rem—” Katniss tensed up, thinking they had forgotten an important item on their checklist.

“Calm down, Katniss. Trust me,” Peeta gave his wife a charming, yet reassuring smile and reached for her hand. “I went over the list three times before we even left the house, and then once more after loading the car up.  We didn’t forget a single thing.  And if, by chance, there is something we forgot, I’m sure it can be duplicated at the nearest department store.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Katniss murmured, catching a glimpse of the back of their daughter’s head before slowly relaxing into the passenger seat next to her husband.

“In fact, I’m almost certain we brought enough stuff with us to stay for a year,” Peeta gently joked with his wife, in hopes of easing her nerves.  He knew the real reason for Katniss’s high-strung demeanor, and her incessant need to be in complete control.  She had lost her younger sister when she was just a little girl and it nearly broke her.  Peeta still wasn’t convinced she had recovered from that loss. 

Katniss and Peeta were childhood sweethearts.  While Peeta knew from the moment he entered his kindergarten classroom that he was destined to be with the beautiful girl with the stunning grey eyes,  raven-colored braids down either side of her face, and a voice that could bring a stuttering, toothpaste-stained shirt little boy to his knees, it took Katniss a little longer.  It required some convincing, but Peeta was persistent and finally, at seven-years-old, Katniss accepted his friendship-invitation.  And the lovesick fool that Peeta was decided he would take what he could get.  So, for years, they were friends— best friends. 

Peeta was there the day Katniss’s sister, Prim, died.  He had sat next to Katniss, gripping her hand like a lifeline while they stood vigil by Prim’s bedside, and watched as she took her final breaths.  And it broke him too, but not like Katniss.  She was devastated beyond belief— for so long.  And for so many years after that devastating tragedy, Katniss vowed to never have children … she could not bear to love another person with so much of her heart, only to have them ripped from her life.  They dated for five years before she finally agreed to marry him.  And then it was another four years before she agreed, and quite apprehensively, to try for a family.

“I think I’m going to get off at the next stop for some gas and we can stretch our legs.  It’ll be nighttime soon and I’d rather you guys not wander around in the dark in some backwoods city I don’t know.”

“You worry too much, Peeta,” Katniss chided, taking Peeta’s hand and entwining their fingers.  She brought their conjoined hands up to her lips and placed a kiss against the crest of his knuckles.  That’s why they were perfect together— because they balanced each other out.  When one was overcome with fear and anxiety, the other was always there to level the other one out.

Peeta got off at the next exit and followed the signs to the nearest gas station, which was less than a mile away.

“Don’t go to the Shell, go to SHEETZ,” Katniss pleaded with her husband when she saw the direction he was headed.

“Why?  Shell has better gas.”

“SHEETZ has cleaner bathrooms.  Please baby,” Katniss whined, knowing the use of the pet name, in addition to giving him the wide, puppy-dog-eyes would be enough to melt his hesitation.

“Okay,” he conceded, “Anything for my girls,” he gave Katniss’s hand another squeeze as he stopped at the four-way intersection and then gently accelerated on the gas when he saw the coast was clear.  Ever since their daughter, Prim was born, Peeta drove like an old man instead of a man in his late twenties— precious cargo and all.

“PEETA!!!!!” Katniss screamed when a set of headlights came barreling straight for them.

    “Mr. Mellark?  Mr. Mellark, can you hear me?” Peeta opened his eyes and tried to sit up.  “Mr. Mellark, how many fingers am I holding up?” The uniformed man asked him as he waved his fingers in front of his face and shined a flashlight into his eyes.

“Three.  Where’s my wife?  Where is Prim?” Peeta responded, shoving the medic’s hand out of his face as he attempted to sit up again.  “Where am I?” Peeta demanded, turning his head from side to side, surveying the small space he was in and called for his wife, “Katniss?” But she wasn’t anywhere in sight; as far as he could see, he was alone in the ambulance with these three strangers— medics.

“Sir, please calm down.  You were in an accident.  My name is Pollux and I am a paramedic.  You have sustained some rather severe injuries.  We are rushing you and your family to the nearest hospital.”

Adrenaline flooded Peeta’s veins, his heart accelerated until he was fuming, “WHERE is my wife and my daughter?  Where are they?  Are they okay? Please, you have to tell me,” he demanded, oblivious to the steadily increasing beeping in the background and needing some answers before his anxiety consumed him.

“They were air-lifted from the scene of the accident; we should be arriving at the hospital any moment now.  We’ll know more upon arrival,” Pollux offered sympathetically and craned his neck to his shoulder to speak into the microphone attached to his uniform, “Hey Castor, what’s our ETA?”

Peeta didn’t realize there was already an IV connected into his arm, or that the paramedic injected something into it, which was the reason everything went black.

2 days later:

“Well!  There are those marvelous blue eyes I have been hearing about!  Good morning Mr. Mellark, my name is Dr. Trinket.”

When Peeta opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy at first.  He blinked a few times until his vision slowly adjusted, and this Dr. Trinket came into view.  She was a beautiful doctor, there was no denying that.  Probably in her mid to late thirties with short, curly, blonde hair— so blonde it almost looked pink … and she was in the traditional hospital scrubs you normally see doctors wearing.  

  ‘Seriously, bright pink scrubs?’ Peeta thought, wondering if he could go blind just by looking at her for too long.

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” Dr. Trinket asked him, shining a light into his eyes.  “Good, good.  Pupils are equal and reactive.”

Peeta recited his name and birthday for Dr. Trinket, and she nodded, satisfied with his response.  “Do you know where you are?”  Dr. Trinket asked, checking his reflexes.

“Um … a hospital?” Peeta thought that seemed obvious.

“And do you recall the circumstances that brought you here?”

Peeta closed his eyes and tried to pull the memory from his mind, only to come up empty.

“Mr. Mellark, you were in an accident,” Dr. Trinket began filling in the blanks for him, “You suffered a slight concussion in addition to a hairline fracture to your femur.  After assessment upon your arrival to Tribute Center Regional Medical Facilities, you were rushed into surgery to repair your injuries.  You have a splint on your leg and should heal just fine.  I foresee a speedy recovery as long as you stay off your legs.  Do you have any questions for me?”

Flashes came sputtering back, hitting the back of  his eyelids like one of those slow, stop-motion picture films from Dr. Trinket’s words. “M-my w-wife and daughter—” Peeta croaked, his voice still dry and hoarse from days of not using it.

“Nurse, nurse, can we please get Mr. Mellark some form of oral hydration to quench his thirst?” Dr. Trinket pressed the call button on the remote by his bed and spoke into the intercom, “I bet you are just parched, aren’t you Mr. Mellark?” As upbeat and gregarious as the lovely Dr. Trinket appeared to be, he was not fooled by her deflection.

Before he had the opportunity to ask about his family again, a woman with kind eyes entered the room, carrying a styrofoam pitcher of water, a small tower of cups, and a handful of straws.  She poured Peeta a cup of water and offered it to him.

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled at the woman, who returned his smile, and then disappeared from the room just as quickly as she entered.

Peeta took a long sip of water through the straw and wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted so good in his life.  But then he met Dr. Trinket’s eyes and asked the question that was looming over them once again, “My wife?  My daughter?  K-Katniss and Primrose Mellark?”

Dr. Trinket’s face fell, and then she looked at him with so much pity, which only compelled Peeta to immediately jump to conclusions.

“No, no, they can’t be!” He cried, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, no!  No, no, my apologies Mr. Mellark.  Your wife currently rests in a medically induced coma.  She had some minor swelling on her brain, so the doctors felt it was necessary to allow her body adequate time to heal.  She should be waking at any moment and her prognosis is optimistic!”

Peeta took another sip of water and braced himself for what came next, “And P-Primrose, m-my daughter?” Peeta faltered, afraid of her response.  She was barely two years old; if he and Katniss were injured this badly, what happened to her?  She was so tiny, she was—

“Your daughter’s—”

“Prim,” Peeta insisted.  If his daughter’s condition was as critical as he feared, he would not allow the staff in this hospital to treat her as another ‘number’.  He’d heard of horror stories and patients being neglected because of arrogant doctors.  No, they would call her by her name.

“My apologies; Prim is in the pediatric intensive care unit.  I do not know much about her case, but your daughter’s doctor will stop by shortly with an update on her status.  I shall page him now to inform him that you are finally conscious.  His name is Dr. Abernathy.”

“Okay,” Peeta nodded.

“I must warn you Mr. Mellark, Dr. Abernathy may come off a bit abrasive, his bedside manner needs much work, but—"

“Is he good?  Will he save my baby?” Peeta implored; he could care less about the doctor’s bedside manner, all he cared about was if the man was good at his job.  All he cared about was if he could save his baby girl.

“I may be a bit bias … but yes.  He is the best.  It is a fact that he is a world-renowned critical care pediatric surgeon.  You will not find a more qualified physician in all of Panem.”

“O-okay, that’s good,” Peeta stuttered, feeling more optimistic as Dr. Trinket walked toward the door.

  “Um … Dr. Trinket, if you don’t mind me asking, but why are you biased towards this doctor?”

“He is my husband,” Dr. Trinket answered proudly. “Oh, and please call me Effie, ‘Doctor Trinket’ is my mother … and besides, it makes me sound so old!”

  “Mr. Mellark, I’m Haymitch,” a man with scruffy blonde hair covering his eyes strutted into the room.  He had a white coat just like the other doctors Peeta had seen cruising the hallways, but this man looked far from any doctor he had ever met.  Sure, he had the arrogance the other doctors seemed to have in spades, but he did not share the chiseled and clean-shaven faces he had witnessed on some of the other medical staff.  He looked up, and above the breast pocket of this man’s jacket, the name, Dr. H. Abernathy, was inscribed in elegant script onto his coat.

So, this was Dr. Abernathy, Peeta thought.  “It’s— it’s Peeta.  Y-you have news about my daughter?”

“Yes, Primrose Ellis Mellark, twenty-six-month female,” Haymitch began, flipping through his notes.  Then he dragged a chair across the room, its legs scraping against the floor, finally planting it next to Peeta’s bed before he took a seat in it— backwards.  Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch put his notes away and crossed his arms over the back of the chair to look Peeta in the eye.

Yes, this was unlike any doctor I’ve ever come across before, Peeta thought to himself, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Mr. Mellark, Peeta, I ain’t gonna lie to ya, yer little girl is in pretty bad shape.  Thankfully, she was properly strapped in the car seat, and rear-facing at that— which is what will probably save her life.  Most parents don’t follow the PAP guidelines—”

  “I’m sorry, what is PAP?”

  “Oh, my bad— I mean … sorry.  It’s the Panem Academy of Pediatrics— you know, the guidelines— uh, the riff-raff of all the do’s and don'ts pertaining to childcare and whatnot.  Anyhow, most parents turn their kids around before it’s time so they can see them … but uh— yeah— she’s beat up pretty bad, we’ve removed all the shards of glass from her skin and stitched up all the residual lacerations.” Peeta cringed at the doctor’s extensive description of his daughter.  “She suffered some internal damage to her organs—”

“When c-can I see her?” Peeta stammered, interrupting the doctor and fighting back tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Soon.  I’ll have someone page your nurse once she’s stabilized, and then we’ll get someone to bring ya up there.  Ya got any other questions?” Haymitch asked Peeta, squirming to get out of the chair.

“Has … has anyone told Katniss— my wife?”  Peeta warily asked the doctor.  Part of him was hoping that Haymitch had already told her, while deep inside he knew it had to be him to deliver this crushing blow.

“No, not yet.  I have to round on a few patients and then I’ll be stoppin’ by her room.”

Peeta gulped, “Would it—”

“Sure kid, it’s all yours.  It’ll save me the trouble of havin’ to do it,“ Haymitch gruffed.

Geez, Dr. Trinket wasn’t kidding about his bedside manner, Peeta silently ruminated, all the while, wondering how in the world those two were married.

  “Katniss? Katniss, baby, can you hear me?” One of the nurses hunted down a wheelchair and rolled Peeta into Katniss’s room.  The sight of her broke his heart.  She was lying there, unconscious and connected to an assortment of tubes and wires.  As he sat by Katniss’s side, he found comfort in the steady beep, beep of her heart monitor, which he hoped was a good sign.  He reached for her hand, holding it in his own, and closed his eyes, silently willing her to wake up.

I … I can’t do this alone; please Katniss, please wake up, with a quivering lip, he silently pleaded to her.

“Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” Peeta looked up and asked the nurse.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Mellark, but it isn’t an exact science.  Patients can wake up anywhere between a few hours, to a few days once they’re weaned off the medication.”  Katniss’ nurse, Annie informed him with a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Although Peeta was frustrated, he knew it wasn’t Annie’s fault and forced a smile to his lips.

Peeta wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he first arrived in Katniss’s room.  He had already twice refused to return to his own room; he didn’t care about himself.  All they wanted him to do in his room was rest, and he was perfectly capable of doing that from the comfort of his wife’s room, if not better.  If he went back to his room all he would do is worry; at least in Katniss’s room, which was just across the hall, he could attempt getting a little rest.

“Mr. Mellark?” Annie slowly crept into the room.  Peeta had fallen asleep in the chair next to Katniss’s bed, the cramp in his neck proof of the poor position he was in.

He jerked up when he heard Annie’s voice. “I know you don’t want to leave her side, but Doctor— I mean Haymitch just called and said we could bring you up to see your daughter.  Would you like to—”

Peeta jolted up from his chair, forgetting about the injury to his leg for a moment until the pain shot up his spine.

“Oh no, no, no, I will get your wheelchair and take you up there.  You wouldn’t make it to the elevators,” Annie smiled.

Annie rolled his wheelchair in from outside the room and wheeled Peeta to the PICU floor.

“So, does everyone call Dr. Abernathy by his first name?” Peeta tried to fill the uncomfortable silence with small talk.

Annie chuckled from behind him. “Yeah.  He and Dr. Trinket— Effie; they don’t like formalities.  They claim it helps eliminate the doctor/patient barrier; something about trust and bonding.” Peeta nodded and thought, ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense.’

“Okay, I guess … I can see that.  Have you worked here long?  Do you know … is he a good doctor?” Peeta hoped he wasn’t being too intrusive, he just needed to know if Haymitch was as qualified to care for his daughter as Effie claimed.

“Haymitch?  Oh, yes … he’s the best.  If it were my son lying in a hospital bed— no matter where in the world I was, I would want Haymitch as his doctor.  Heck, I would gladly pay him whatever he wanted and have him flown to whatever corner of the world I was in.”

“Wow, that’s … impressive.  So, you have a son?”

“Yes, Nick is four years old,” Annie stopped and flipped her name badge over, stretching it out in front of Peeta’s line of sight to reveal a picture of a little boy with the greenest eyes, and wavy, sun kissed golden-blonde hair.

“He’s adorable … he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he’s older,” Peeta smiled, his heart aching to hold his own daughter.

“Thank you.  His name is Finnick— well, Finnick Junior, after his father, but we just call him Nick.  Oh, look!  We’re here!”

Annie wheeled him into the PICU and spoke with one of the nurses who helped him to the “Scrub Room.”  ‘Johanna’ first demonstrated the process of “scrubbing down,” which meant vigorously washing your hands with a medical scrub brush that contained a special, hospital-grade antiseptic soap.  When it was his turn, Peeta “scrubbed” for exactly three minutes while Johanna stood over him, observing with her stopwatch in hand throughout the entire process.  On the one hand, it made him feel self-conscious, but on the other hand, he was glad the staff was this precise.  Then she checked his temperature, because, under no circumstances was anyone permitted to enter the unit with a temperature above 100.3.  The last step was donning a sterile gown, gloves, and a facial mask before finally being allowed to see his daughter.

  “So, if someone leaves and comes right back just a few minutes later, they have to do this all over again?” Peeta asked Johanna.

  “Every single time—no exceptions.  Hospital policy—or, well, Haymitch’s policy,” Johanna chuckled.

Prim looked so tiny in the incubator she was lying in, it reminded him of the ones you see premature babies in.  It brought back memories of the day Katniss gave birth to their daughter, Peeta, silently thanking the heavens that his and Katniss’s newborn baby was full-term and healthy.  He just hoped luck was on their side this time, too.

Peeta’s entire body quivered with trepidation when his eyes landed on his daughter.  Prim was covered in stitches— they stretched across her entire body; on her arms, legs, her chest, and covered a majority of her face and head.  It looked like they even had to shave a portion of her hair to place some of the stitches.  She had IVs inserted in both her arms, a tube down her throat, and a tiny nasal cannula blowing oxygen into her nostrils.  Peeta’s eyes began to sting from the sight of his beautiful Primrose, and the closer he inched toward her, the harder his eyes stung.  Until finally, the dam broke, and the tears began pouring from his eyes, followed by uncontrollable sobs escaping his entire body.

“Oh, Primmie baby, I am so sorry.  Daddy is so sorry; do you hear me?” Peeta cried to his little girl.

“Is she … will she make it?  Do you think— can she— will she survive this?” Peeta looked up, meeting the nurse’s eyes, and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“I honestly cannot give you a definitive answer Mr. Mellark.  These little ones tend to have a mind of their own.  Right now, it’s kind of touch and go.  I would say that if she makes it through the night, then she’s got a standing chance.  But I’m going to tell you something, I’ve seen babies much worse than your daughter bounce right back, but— on the flip side, I’ve seen others with barely any injuries—” Her words trailed off, hesitant to complete her sentence, but Peeta knew what she meant.

They didn’t make it.  Peeta sucked in a breath, mustering all the courage he had to be strong for his daughter.  What would he do if Prim di— if she … he couldn’t even think the word without his chest feeling as if thousand-pound bricks were smothering him.

“Why is that? What makes the difference?” He forced the words out.  If Prim was to survive this, he needed to know.

“I think … Now, this is just my opinion, but I truly believe it depends on how hard they’re willing to fight.  Their will, their drive to live.  Right now, I would say, and perhaps this does nothing to ease your mind, but … hope and pray.  As a veteran PICU nurse, I truly believe in the power of prayer.  Talk to your daughter and let her know that you are waiting for her; that you are counting on her to survive this.” Peeta nodded, understanding what the nurse meant.  “Give that beautiful little girl something to fight for,” Prim’s nurse finished with a kind smile.

“What was your name again?  I’m sorry, I didn’t catch it, and how long will you be Prim’s nurse?”

“My name is Portia Rose, and I’ll be here all night,” the kind nurse replied, with an equally as kind smile.  Peeta wondered if it was fate that brought them together.  His daughter, named after Katniss’s lost sister, and this ‘Portia Rose,’ their names having an uncanny similarity.

  “Peeta, Peeta what happened?” Katniss croaked, knowing something was wrong the moment her eyes opened and her husband’s tear-streaked face came into focus.

“Katniss, there was an accident.  What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember, we were going to the gas station … you wanted to stop before it got dark.  We … we were on our way to see Mom … and then … and then … Peeta, what happened?  Where is Prim?” Katniss asked, pushing herself up with her hands to straighten her position in the bed.

Water pooled in Peeta’s eyes and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of tears.  He had to be strong for Katniss, he couldn’t show weakness, not yet.  Not now. 

  Peeta poured Katniss a cup of water and handed it to her. “Here sweetie, I bet you’re thirsty.”

Katniss took the cup and pulled the water into her mouth, “Peeta, you’re scaring me.  W-what happened?”

“Katniss, we were in an accident; w-we were hit head-on by a drunk driver.”

Katniss felt the heat spread through her face, and then slowly, it radiated to the tips of her fingers and toes.  “And Prim?” She asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy.

“She’s okay for right now.  The doctors are taking really good care of her.”

“Okay, that’s good.  That’s really good,” Katniss smiled.  Peeta could see the tears welling up in her eyes and knew she was biting down on the inside of her cheek to quell her tears as she nodded.  He instantly knew that something wasn’t right; this was the opposite of how Katniss should have reacted.  His Katniss would be screaming, throwing a fit— demanding to get out of the hospital bed, adamant to see her daughter.  But this was more like … like denial.  He saw this once before … when her father died.  Granted, that was years and years ago when they were barely teenagers.

Peeta observed Katniss for a few hours, occasionally leaving to check on his daughter.  He knew the staff in the PICU were taking exceptional care of his daughter, and something told him his wife needed him more.  After his most recent visit to Prim in the PICU, he made sure that Portia knew how to reach him in case … in case she needed him.

When Katniss was given “out of bed” privileges, she walked around the room, cheerful and full of smiles as she chatted jubilantly with her mother on the phone.  She acted as if their daughter’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance just a few floors above them.

“Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow,” Katniss informed Peeta after placing her phone on the bedside table.

Concerned for his wife’s emotional stability, Peeta spoke with one of Katniss’ nurses to find out when he could take her to their daughter.

“I don’t see why it should be a problem, she does seem to be basking in the river of ‘De Nile’,” Dr. Cinna noted, trying to lighten the mood.  “Perhaps seeing Primrose with her own eyes will open her mind to the truth,” Peeta smiled, shaking Dr. Cinna’s hand; he was the first one to refer to their daughter by her name unprompted, and Prim wasn’t even his patient.  It was at this time that Peeta decided that he liked Dr. Cinna— that he was perhaps his favorite doctor as of yet.  Dr. Cinna provided Peeta with a wheelchair for Katniss, after first making sure Peeta’s legs were strong enough to haul her to the elevator.

“Come on Katniss, let’s go see our girl,” Peeta suggested, rolling the wheelchair up to Katniss’ bedside.

“Okay, sure.  Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow.”

“That’s good Katniss, I’m glad,” Peeta tried to feign enthusiasm.  He frowned, wondering if she realized she just told him this only minutes ago.

Peeta wheeled his wife to the elevators and then pushed the “12” button that would deliver them to the PICU unit.  He followed the arrows and pressed the button on the intercom, waiting patiently for someone to answer them.  Johanna immediately recognized him, and took them through the same procedure from earlier of scrubbing down, a temperature check, and donning the sterile gown, gloves, and mask before Johanna led them to their daughter.

“Peeta, what— what are we doing here?  I thought you were taking me to Prim?” Katniss asked, all traces of joy disintegrating as she was wheeled to Prim’s bedside.

“Katniss, honey— this is—”

“Oh, baby!  Prim, baby, oh my God, what, how—” Katniss’ eyes filled with tears as she craned her neck up to meet Peeta’s eyes.

“No, no.  NO!” Katniss screamed, standing up from her wheelchair, glaring daggers at Peeta.  “NO, this is NOT happening!”  Katniss shrieked, bolting from the room.  Peeta did not follow her, he knew she needed time.  The wheelchair was only precautionary, Katniss’s main injury was the concussion, which had healed during her medically induced coma.

He pulled a chair up to his daughter’s bedside, stuck his gloved hand inside the isolette and began to stroke her tiny hand.  He needed her to know he was here for her and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet baby girl.  My beautiful, beautiful, Primrose; Mommy, and Daddy are here for you and we’re not going anywhere, do you hear me?  Mommy is just scared right now, and she will be back really soon.  Oh, Primmie— we love you so, so much and we need you to get better.  Oh, Prim; I know you probably don’t know this, or understand it, but you are the light of our lives.  You have to get better, okay?  Please fight, Primrose; you have to fight.  I don’t think Mommy would survive if we lost you, I don’t know if I would survive.  I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on such a little girl, but … but—” Peeta closed his eyes, held his head down, and did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. 

He prayed.

“If there is anyone out there who can hear me, anyone at all, I—” Peeta began, pleading with the powers that be as he sniffled, wiping his eyes with his free arm.  “Please save my girl, she is my world, my everything.  And— and my wife— Katniss needs her Primrose.  I’ll do anything; if it’s a life you want— or need, take mine instead.  Prim is just a baby; she hasn’t had time to live yet.  She still needs her first day in kindergarten, her first best friend—a first boyfriend and a first heartbreak.  I’ve lived, I’ve had all those things and more.  I’ve lived a happy life, but please, just please, don’t take my girl.”

“Prim …” Peeta began after a moment, hoping to reach out to the sister Katniss lost so many years ago, “if you’re out there, and you can hear me, please … please look over our girl.  Please, don’t … you can’t take her, it’s not her time,” Peeta sniffed again, his head perking up from the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Mr. Mellark?” It was Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch, looking no worse for the wear.

“Hi, Dr. Aber—”

“Haymitch.  Call me Haymitch.”

Peeta nodded and met the man’s eyes, “Peeta.”

“Peeta, we’ve done everything we can for your girl, now it’s up to her.”

“What does that mean?” Peeta asked with a befuddled raise of his brow.

“It means that medically speaking, there is nothing more I can do for your girl.  Now, it’s up to her, whether or not she’s willing to fight.  If she gains consciousness before the night’s over, I am optimistic that, in time, she’ll make a full recovery.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Peeta asked, trembling with fear as he awaited the doctor’s answer.

“Then it’s not likely she’ll wake up at all, and then … we’ll discuss extraordinary measures.  But let’s not cross that bridge until we get to it.  In my experience, kids will fight to live if they have somethin’ ta fight for.”

“Thank you, Dr.— Haymitch.  I … I need to find my wife— what are visiting hours?”

“I’ve cleared it with the nurses; you and your wife can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled and shook Haymitch’s hand, eager to find Katniss.  As he made his exit from the PICU, he noticed Haymitch taking the seat next to his daughter and cleared his throat.  Peeta slowed his pace, straining to hear what the doc had to say.

Haymitch cleared  his throat once more and began to speak in a soft and gentle voice that  Peeta almost didn’t recognize from the hardened doctor.  But it was— without a doubt, him.  “Listen, sweetheart, I know you don’t know me and all, but my name’s Haymitch and I’m your doctor.  I know you’re little and all and you probably don’t understand how the world works, so, I’m gonna tell ya.  You see, doctors give orders and patients are s’pposed ta listen.  I’m the doctor, you’re the patient, got it?  Alright, well now that that’s settled, I’m ordering you to stay alive, alright kid?  That’s all you gotta do; stay alive.  I’ll do the rest.”

With that, Peeta went on a quest for his wife, knowing his daughter was in good hands.

  After Peeta wheeled Katniss to their daughter’s bed, it all hit Katniss like a ton of bricks.  That was her daughter lying in that miniature hospital bed.  Her Primrose.  She had already lost one Primrose; she wouldn’t survive losing another— she just wouldn’t.  Unable to face the truth, she ran from the room and took the elevators to the top floor.  Once she exited the elevator, she went to the nearest door, which led to a stairway.  She took the steps two at a time and passed through another door that opened up to the roof.

Katniss ran to the edge, leaning against the banister; not to jump, but just to look out into the sky.

For the first hour, she cried.  She cried and cried, trying her best to convince herself that wasn’t her Prim lying in that bed, but someone else’s baby.  It couldn’t be her daughter, it just couldn’t.  The universe couldn’t be that cruel, right?  But deep down, she knew it was.  And then, she was consumed with guilt—for wishing that fate upon someone else’s child.

During the following hour, she did something she hadn’t done since she was small, since her own parents forced her to do it.  She didn’t necessarily believe there wasn’t a God exactly, but she didn’t really believe there was one either.  But what if there was?  Would he still listen to her after all the years of silence?

Deciding it was worth the risk, on the off chance there was some kind of higher power out there, she begged, she pleaded for them to save her little girl.  And then, she resorted to begging, dropping to her knees as she bargained her life away.  She didn’t know that at the same exact time, her husband was doing precisely— the same exact thing.  She was on her knees sobbing when she heard the door whoosh open, her husband’s beautiful blue eyes piercing into her own grey ones.

“Katniss, are you okay?” Peeta asked her, worry glazing over him from the sight of her on her knees.

She wanted his comfort, needed it even.  But then, she was angry at him.  No, not angry, but furious, enraged.  This was all his fault, after all.

“Go away!” She shouted at him, seething with rage.

“Katniss, what?” Peeta shrunk back, hurt by her rejection.

“This is all your fault Peeta.  If you hadn’t— YOU’RE the one who wanted kids, not me.  If YOU hadn’t convinced me to have kids, this wouldn’t be happening.  We wouldn’t be losing her.” Katniss stood up and inched herself closer to Peeta, sending him a cold, icy, glare.

“You don’t mean that Katniss,” Peeta told her, holding his stance with pain-filled eyes.  He knew deep down that she was just hurt and needed to channel her frustrations elsewhere.  Lashing out at him was the easiest, and fastest way to achieve that goal.

The closer Katniss got to Peeta, the angrier she became.  The tears began streaming down her face until she could no longer hold back the uncontrollable sobs.  She began hitting and pounding her fist against his chest, she was so angry.  But Peeta didn’t budge.  He didn’t try and stop her, he just stood there, taking each hit and allowing her to use him as her own personal punching bag.  He knew it wasn’t actually him she was angry at, she just needed somewhere to divert her anger.

Peeta pulled Katniss into his arms and within seconds she ceased pounding his chest.  He held her, crying his own silent tears while Katniss sobbed in his arms.  Once the tears subsided, Katniss looked up to see the pained expression on her husband’s face, in addition to the tears streaking his cheeks and she felt … guilty.

“I’m sorry Peeta, I’m so sorry.  Oh, Peeta, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Shhh, sshhh.  I know, I know,” Peeta whispered into her ear, stroking circles against her back as he tried to comfort her.

“I can’t lose her Peeta, I— I won’t survive if I lose her.”

“I know Katniss, I know.  Me too.  But … but I won’t survive if I lose you.  So, let’s pull ourselves together, go to our baby girl and give her something to fight for,” Katniss sniffled and nodded her head.  Together, they walked back to the PICU to be with their daughter.

They re-entered the PICU and headed straight for Prim, only to see a swarm of nurses huddled in a circle; in what looked like them holding vigil at their daughter’s bedside.  One look on their faces and Katniss and Peeta knew something was wrong— devastatingly so.

“I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, her vitals are steadily declining.  It won’t be much longer now; would you like to hold her before— before—”

“I … I wasted so much time,” Katniss cried, nodding as the tears streamed down her face.  One of the nurses pulled up a rocking chair for one of the parents to sit in.  Peeta was adamant that Katniss hold her first— just in case.

They opened the tiny incubator and placed Prim in Katniss’s arms, draping a blanket over them while another nurse made a call to Haymitch.

“Oh, baby girl, momma loves you so much.  Mommy and Daddy love you so, so much sweet girl.” Katniss hummed through her tears.  “You are so special Prim, so, so very special, my sweet, sweet girl.  You are so special and so loved and …” Katniss sobbed through her tears, placing kiss after kiss to her little girl’s forehead.  Peeta squatted next to Katniss and with one hand, he linked their fingers, and with the other hand, he stroked his little girl’s foot.  The floodgates were open— he didn’t think he could cry any harder until he heard Katniss’s beautiful voice singing the lullaby to their daughter.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head and close your eyes,

And when they open, the sun will rise;

Peeta’s heart plummeted in his chest as he heard Prim’s heart monitor “flat line.”  As difficult as it was with the splint on his leg, he inched closer to his wife and daughter as they both cried and overwhelmed Prim with kisses.  They showered her with as much love as they could muster, telling her how much they loved her.  They told her how special she was and how they would never forget her.  As badly as it hurt Peeta to say the words, he finally told his baby girl that it was okay for her to go.  The last thing he wanted in this world was for her to suffer.

The nurse reached up to silence the heart monitor when, suddenly, the steady beeping from the machine resumed all on its own.

“What the—” the nurse exclaimed just as Haymitch burst through the door.

“I thought you said code red?” Haymitch growled, seeing the normal heart rhythm on the monitor.

“She—she flatlined, and then— she just— came back,” Portia stuttered in complete bewilderment.

“Little slugger had something worth fighting for, what’d I tell ya?” Haymitch chuckled, looking at the teary-eyed parents.

One Year Later:

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you …”  Katniss and Peeta sat on either side of their daughter on her third birthday, slightly less than a year after the devastating car accident that nearly took her life. 

  “That is one happy little girl,” Effie looked up and smiled at her husband.  “Thanks to you,” she added in a whisper.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Haymitch pretended like he didn’t care, but Effie knew—she always knew; he cared too much.

  “What did you wish for, sweet girl?” Katniss asked her daughter after she blew her candles out.

  “A baby brudder,” Prim said, her face smeared with chocolate frosting and a mouthful of chocolate cake.

  Simultaneously, Katniss and Peeta’s eyes locked and Katniss inadvertently reached up to palm her belly.

  “Should we?” Katniss mouthed to her husband who gave her a slight nod.

  “You’re going to be a big sister Prim, but not for a few more months,” Peeta informed their daughter, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Yay!  I like wishes, Mommy!” Prim squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around her mother’s neck.

#ameliaodair #prompt 29 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

[wisteria-lodge]

exploded badger primary + bird secondary

Hi! I love the sorting hat system as a tool for better understanding yourself, and ive narrowed down my primary (exploded badger, but working on it) but Im lost on my secondary. I know the question it answers is "how do you do things" but when I try to write down how I do things it doesn't line up with any of the types. It might be badger or bird? But Ill explain it in more detail and I hope you can help narrow it down more.

So firstly my tactics in emergency situations is to follow the plan I have pre-prepared in my head. If I dont have a plan and dont know what to do I panic Badly (but that has only happened like. Once with a physical problem and a few times with Emotional problems). Like once before the pandemic I was in a train and this elderly man, his leg started bleeding really badly. So I know in these situations you have to 

Call 911

Tend to the wound.

Contact the train driver

 Keep others calm. 

And there was one person in the train who was a nurse so she could tend to the wound, two people stood up to check with the driver on both sides of the train, and this other dude was calling 911 but he didnt know much about trains and I Do so I could help by looking up which train we were in and where & when it would stop next so the ambulance knew where to go. 

I mean... okay. I joke about Bird secondaries always writing in with numbered lists... but come ON. Could this be any more Bird? Could this possibly be any more bird. Even solving the problem with existing knowledge of trains...

I’m a Badger. In a situation like that, I’d be keeping others calm. I’d be keeping the patient calm, and seeing if the nurse needed a second pair of hands. You didn’t even mention the emotional mood in that train car. The inside of your head looks neutral to you, of course it does. But to me it looks so Bird. 

Or this other time when I was Tiny and we had soldering lessons, and the teacher told us if we got injured we had to go to him first. So I burned my hand pretty badly, but didnt panic and went to the teacher, waited until he was done explaining things to another student and then said I burned my hand. And he thought it wasnt serious because I was calm but then he saw my hand and panicked and immediately brought me to the tap for the water. And I knew proper burn protocol.

You probably had a numbered list in your head when you were tiny too.

I could have gone to the water myself and sent someone else to fetch the teacher when my hand was cooling, but that wasnt how I was Supposed to do it so I followed protocol.

That’s probably more a function of your primary than your secondary. You’re an Exploded Badger? As a young Badger you probably followed ALL the rules. 

One time things went badly was when I was sailing with friends, and the wind was blowing pretty strong, and I know Nothing about sailing, and my only job was Sit in the boat and Move to the correct side when turning. But on a big turn water got in the boat, and I didnt understand how much water could get in the boat before it sank, and how diagonal we could go before we drowned, and then I completely shut down and only responded when people explicitly Told Me What To Do because I didnt know what was happening.

Panic responses happen. I’ve been so scared before that suddenly I’m just hiding behind a couch and at no point was conscious thought involved. Not my finest hour, I wish it hadn’t happened that way. But the whole thing is just a much older part of your brain. Nothing to do with your secondary. 

This doesnt mean I cant improvise! I can improvise pretty well, and if I start working on something without a plan it usually turns out great! I just have a lot of Base Knowledge that I can apply to those improvisation situations.

You are the definition of a Rapid-Fire Bird. 

The other question I've seen associated with secondaries is "how do you learn new stuff"? I usually learn stuff by starting to do it, failing, getting frustrated, stopping the thing and taking a break, and when I have calmed down Continuing The Thing until I am done. 

That’s just... an excellent strategy. And I think a Badger secondary would be WAY more tempted to just push though the pain. 

Which is really funny to write down because now I realize that my problem with a lot of my university work is that I started something, failed, and didnt pick it up again until just before the deadline because I was afraid for more failure or that I was too Inherently Flawed to successfully finish the thing, instead of taking a quick break and then Continuing.

That’s the language of an exploded Badger primary. 

Which all leaves me a bit confused about secondaries. The first part seems bird to me since I collect methods and apply them to situations, but the second part more badger since that's the hard work and when you fail work more bit. 

The ability to pick yourself up when you fail is probably more a primary thing, since it’s tied to motivation. 

Or maybe the first part is lion because I have a Plan and I will complete that Plan in the exact same way as I want and if I cannot do that I get unhappy.

See, I think you are so much a Bird, and so loudly a bird, that you conceptualize the other Secondaries as... Bird. Slightly different flavors of Bird maybe, but Bird. You’re comparing the battering ram nature of a Lion secondary to a Bird who wants to go down their checklist, when checklists make Lion secondaries anxious, constricted, and ineffectual. 

Thanks in advance for your time! Your blog is great and really interesting and it's a great way to figure out your own thoughts!

#sortinghatchats #wisteria sorts #sortme #badger bird #exploded badger primary #bird secondary #badger primary

[theunconcernedembalmer]

how do u handle ur social anxiety? ive been struggling a lot with it lately to the point ive sorta been breaking down and what better way for advice than to ask someone that comforts u (mun[?] too)

Mun... might have something more useful for you.

aesops way of coping is probably avoidance but we all know that aint the best way aha. anyway this was one ask i could not stop thinking about because i read it n went (john mulaney voice) Huh my anxiety never got so bad till a break down, n then it happened to me a few days later. i do find this funny yes

anyway, the most useful thing ive learnt to handle my social anxiety (not entirely tho but its a good start) is to identify which trains of thought is Social Anxiety tm speaking so u can immediately know those r lies. stuff like Oh they’re laughing at me just as I walk by, they’re laughing at me, or Someone else is here, they probably hate me, I should go somewhere else but I cant, aaaaaaaaaaaaa

(if im not wrong,) usually theyre statements that are along the lines of “they hate you” or “you’re wrong”, n they’re based off an irrational fear of others that can be countered using evidence or, well, logic and rationale. things like “No one is keeping a checklist of your mistakes, you’re literally the only one doing that and scrutinizing each one of them, others dont care so much about these things.” (ive found this to be a very good counterargument to use for a lot of situations so im bolding it) or “You wouldn’t think that if someone else messes up, it should be the same for them. And if they say it isnt a big deal, it probably isnt”. for me i usually keep repeating these more logical explanations n counterarguments to myself to kinda quell the social anxiety voice for a bit. i know there are cases that it doesnt work 100%, but its a good start

n if ur also like me who avoids eating/ getting food cos theres human interaction involved, i kinda try to get my friends to drag me out whenever possible. no shame, even a simple “hey lets drop by the convenience store later so i can grab a snack” is better than starving for like. a day or so. its also cos of this whenever i plan my schedule for the day, i see if i can plan it such that its convenient for me to get food for both lunch and dinner (sorry im not one for breakfast aha). n also i find that if i dont like the food (sorry im a very picky eater), i would rather starve than eat, so now im willing to pay a bit more for food i like n will eat

or just having someone else to talk to about these kinds of things, and kinda having a second opinion of “was that weird of me” or “should i have done that” with someone (ppl give advice better to others than to themselves aha) really helps, i think. u could probably also ask for advice maybe (like this? XD) ((after i had a small meltdown that day i went to my boyfriend’s to complain for an hour n honestly that helped me to release a lot of distressed energy n its better than stewing in it for the rest of the day + i got some advice that i slowly worked on when i was feeling up to it enough))

im also still kinda bad at small talk with strangers, especially ppl whom i just met. i find a small trick to this (that again does not work all the time) is to try to find a relevant topic (background is also fine i guess, depends on context), n as they answer find something about their answer that u can branch off into another topic. it could be a personal anecdote that is remotely related to that topic, it just gives u things to talk about aha (eg someone saw me drawing n commented that one of their friends also draws, n i started talking about how i used to get really bad grades in art class. which wasnt quite the topic but it worked). n when ur ending ur turn to talk, try to have something that the other person can comment on/ answer. having said that, this is hard if the other person is equally awkward/ doesnt give u much to branch off on from their replies (i mean they really only answer your question n rarely elaborates unless prompted. eg “what did you have for lunch?” “pasta.” “oh, what kind?” “carbonara.”). then i say its only as awkward as u make it to be, perhaps u would be better off kinda just sitting together in silence. its not weird unless u make it, n not every moment has to be filled with conversation.

thank u so much for this ask by the way, social anxiety is a huge bitch to have n it sucks extra much that a lot of our fears seem incredibly stupid from a “normal” point of view n we are constantly on edge even if we seem 101% fine cos we’re not fine aha. but just know ur not alone in this, n i hope some of these might have helped. 

i guess i should put some sort of disclaimer here, these r just some of my own personal problems n the solutions i have are mostly for me (maybe except for countering the thoughts), so i understand if they might not work for others. so i kinda recommend just sitting down, identifying which aspects social anxiety is affecting n finding a solution that works for u is kinda the best. try out different methods, if they dont work thats alright, if it does then thats great. it takes a lot of time, admittedly i starved myself for a couple of semesters before i found this solution for myself. it also take a lot of constant effort to counter, n to that i wish u all the best, n good luck in finding methods that work for u <3

#aesop carl #identity v #identity v embalmer #identity v the embalmer #identity v ask blog #its me the mun #mun rambles #unconcerned ramblings #OKAY SO LIKE I DIDNT REALIZE I USED THE WRONG COLOUR FOR HIS SKIN SO HE LOOKS LIKE DEATH #OR MORE LIKE DEATH THAN USUAL #SO JUST IGNORE THAT #holy shit i am so out of it today. i hope my explanations make sense tho #i have never seen a professional before except my bf who keeps telling me that i have to do something about htis #so have some. idk homemade remedies

[musecharm-writes]

Bad Influence, Pt 3 (Steve Harrington X Reader)

Summary: A couple of days after your first day at Melvald’s, you tell Joyce about something that’s been bothering you; Steve gets help with his crush from a couple of friends.

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Over the days following your first shift, things get much easier. You’ve almost totally forgotten the exchange with Harrington and his friend. You might be able to completely, if it weren’t for their extremely obvious attempts to spy on you.

You think they’re under the impression that they’re being very sneaky, which means they probably don’t know that you’ve already caught on, but it also makes you feel a little sad that this is the best they can do.

You elect to do your best to ignore it; a nosy jerk and his little pal aren’t gonna get to you, not when things are finally starting to go your way.

“You’re cleaning that counter a little forcefully, there,” Joyce observes, carrying a box past you. When she emerges from storage, she asks, “Something on your mind?”

You consider the question. You stop scrubbing the counter like it’s done something to offend you and lean against it, the rag still under your hand. “Nothing. Just thinking about the meeting with Chief Hopper.”

Joyce walks over to a nearby shelf with an inventory checklist on a clipboard. “Uh huh. Okay. So what’s really bothering you?”

You purse your lips. Putting the rag and lemon scented Pledge you were using to clean under the counter, you follow Joyce over to the shelves, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Steve Harrington’s friend and some kid have been following me,” you confess softly. “Every time I’ve left to go home for the past three days, I’ve caught them trying to spy on me. They’re probably gonna do it again today.”

Joyce looks genuinely concerned. “Steve’s friend? Who, what’s their name?”

You shrug. “Some girl. She was in here with him the other day, I think he called her Bucky?”

Joyce’s eyebrows shoot up toward her hairline. “ Buckley ? Robin Buckley?” She gestures with one hand to indicate a height of about five and a half feet. “This tall? Short brown hair?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s her.”

Joyce has a look of growing suspicion and confusion on her face. She lowers her clipboard to put one hand on her hip. “What did the kid look like?”

You frown as you try to remember. “Uh… a little shorter than that Robin girl, with curly hair, I think. At least, from what I could tell; he was wearing a hat.”

Joyce nods slowly. “...I think I know who we’re dealing with.” She looks you directly in the eye, and says, “Do you want me to tell them to leave you alone?”

You think about saying yes, just for a second. Then, you shake your head. “I’ll tell them to stop if it really starts to bother me. They haven’t realised it yet, but they suck at spying.”

Joyce laughs. “Okay, but if you change your mind, lemme know, and I’ll rough ‘em up for ya.” She smiles playfully, and you can’t help but laugh at the image of Joyce Byers fighting two children for bothering you.

“...Thank you, Joyce,” you say softly.

She gives you an odd look. “For what?”

“For… I dunno. For not being too hard on me, even though you were the one who caught me… doing what I did.”

She sighs, looking around to double check you’re still the only two in the store. “I won’t get into it too much since we’re still working right now, but… I used to be a bit of a wild child myself. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt. Plus,” she gives you a little nudge with her elbow, “Hop likes you. That counts for something in my book.”

You smile at her. “I guess it does.”

--

“You WHAT?”

Dustin and Robin look pleased with themselves, despite the fact that Steve is filled with a murderous rage.

“We’ve been following your crush to make sure the two of you would be compatible,” Dustin repeats. “To be honest, I don’t think you’re cool enough to land this one, but Robin seems to think you have a chance, so I’m gonna go with it.”

Steve points a finger angrily, about to defend himself and his infinite coolness, and then closes his mouth and folds his arms. “I don’t have to signify that with a response.”

Robin chimes in with, “I think you mean ‘dignify,’ genius,” which really doesn’t help their case with the whole ‘Steve-is-incredibly-angry-at-them’ thing.

He throws his hands up, frustrated. “Whatever, who cares! Why have you been following a person who I have zero chance of ever being in a relationship with to find out if we could date? That’s weird! And probably invasive, I think! Which means it’s also creepy!” He stalls out as he realises the possibility that you may have noticed his dunderhead friends creeping on you. “You haven’t been noticed, right?”

Dustin blows a disbelieving raspberry. “Psh! Please, you’re kidding, right? I think if we were able to successfully spy on a bunch of Russian soldiers without getting caught, we can do this, no problem.”

Robin smiles triumphantly. “Yeah, Harrington. Have a little more faith in our abilities.”

Steve shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He prays that they’re telling the truth; otherwise, he senses some major embarrassment in his future.

Steve sighs, resigned. “Fine. Fine . I’ll let you two keep playing secret agent on my behalf. But if you get caught, lie your asses off about what you were doing, okay?”

They both promise not to put Steve in any more hot water with you than he already is, but it doesn’t fully lay his fears to rest.

“Oh, hey! You should come with us this time! We can fill you in on everything we’ve learned so far, and then you can watch the wild crush in its natural habitat,” Dustin says.

Steve frowns. “I dunno… Sounds like a bad idea.”

“No, I think it’ll be good. That way, if we do get caught, we can say it was all your idea,” Robin jokes. (Or at least, Steve hopes she’s joking.)

Which is how they all end up hiding behind Steve’s car, across the street from Melvald’s, waiting for your shift to end.

When the time finally comes and you’re walking out the door, they have to communicate via hurried whispers in order to coordinate their movements. Steve thanks their lucky stars that you’d walked to work that day.

They follow you down the street away from downtown. In the moments when it seems you’re about to turn around and catch them or you’re waiting to cross the street, they duck into alleys or alcoves, dive behind cars, or hide behind other people. Steve hates to admit it, even only to himself, but he sort of enjoys the exhilaration of sneaking around. He’d forgotten how much he enjoys it.

At the corner of 12th and Oak, after hiding behind a parked car, Dustin hisses, “Shit.”

Steve immediately snaps to attention. “Shit? What do you mean, shit? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where--”

“Hey.”

Robin, Steve, and Dustin all yell in surprise, whirling around to find you standing behind them. You have your hands in your pockets, a rucksack over one shoulder, and a bland expression.

“...Hi,” Dustin says awkwardly. He looks around for a moment, apparently noticing for the first time the ramifications of his and Robin’s actions. “Uh, we can explain--”

You hold up a hand. “Don’t bother,” you point at Steve. “You had them,” you point at Robin and Dustin, “follow me, for who knows why and honestly who fucking cares. Please stop. You’re not great at stalking people.”

Ouch. Okay. Well, there’s a hard truth.

“Sorry,” Dustin says, looking genuinely dejected. Steve isn’t sure whether it’s because he upset you or because you said he’s bad at spying.

Your face twitches, like you’re trying to maintain your vaguely stern expression, and then it crumbles, and you sigh. “It’s okay. I’m not really that mad about it since you guys aren’t really bugging me that much, but just…” You run a hand through your hair. “Look, please stop following me around, okay? It’s weird, and a little creepy. I don’t know why you were doing it, nor do I want to know, nor do I really care. I’m just kind of over the weird shit.”

Robin and Dustin share a look before nodding, and Steve says, “Don’t look at me, I got roped into this at the last minute.”

You look confused, but you nod back. “Okay. Cool. Bye, then.”

You go around them and start to walk away, but before you can make it to the crosswalk, Dustin calls out, “WAIT!”

You turn to look back, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

Dustin says the last thing Steve wanted to hear him say. “Can Steve get your number?”

Steve’s entire face feels like it’s gonna melt off. He’s absolutely going to run away and change his name; this is just too goddamn embarrassing.

Then, you do something that shocks Steve to his core: you laugh. It’s a full, rich laugh, and it makes his heart pound so hard he thinks for a second he might be having a heart attack -- but, like, for real.

And then , you say, “Damn, kid, you have a lot of guts. Sure,” you swing your bag off your shoulder and root around in one of the pockets before emerging with a pen and a small notebook. You scribble your name and number down before ripping the page off and handing it not to Dustin, but to Steve, who feels like he might combust.

“I get home at one o’clock every day for the next two weeks,” you say, with a crooked smile. “Call me any time after that.”

Steve nods, dumbfounded, and you turn on your heel and saunter away.

“Holy shit,” Robin says, laughing, as soon as you’re out of earshot. “I cannot believe that that somehow worked in your favour. You are either the luckiest guy in the world or more pathetic than I originally thought.”

Steve pays her no mind. Instead, he’s desperately trying to remember if there are any rules about when to call once you get the phone number. Do you wait a day, or call that night? Or maybe you wait longer than a day? Or do you wait for them to call you? Wait, shit, he didn’t give you his number. 

Why didn’t he give you his number?

“Steve, I can practically hear you panicking. Calm down, it’ll be fine,” Dustin says.

Steve’s head whips around. He stares at Robin and Dustin, considering his options, and then realising that his only other options are Nancy and Jonathan.

“I need you guys to help me land a date,” Steve says.

--

You spend a couple of hours at home doing nothing in particular. You read a couple pages of a book you pull at random off the shelf, but you can’t concentrate on it, so you turn on the TV and start channel surfing.

All the while, you’re also trying to pretend you aren’t waiting for the phone to ring.

You gave Steve Harrington your number. If you’re being honest, you think you may be  panicking a little, but you don’t really mind the idea of him calling you so much as you mind the fear that this is some kind of joke.

A part of you is very, very afraid that it’s a joke.

You sigh, putting the remote down and stretching out on the couch. You gave him your number; all there is to do now is wait for him to do the rest. No use stressing over it since it’s out of your hands.

At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. As the hours tick by -- as you make yourself dinner and put some in the fridge for your mom, as you watch a movie with your feet up on the coffee table and a bowl of ice cream in your lap -- you start to lose hope that Harrington ever planned on calling you at all.

Then the phone rings, and you almost drop your ice cream jumping up to get it.

“Hello?” You say casually, proud of the fact that you don’t sound out of breath from running to the phone.

On the other side, Steve Harrington says your name.

“Y-Yeah,” you say, and then clear your throat. “That’s me!”

“Cool, cool,” he says. “So, hey, uh… I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime?”

You chuckle. “Wow. That’s a little forward of you, isn’t it?” You’re thankful that he can’t see you blush through the phone.

“Oh. Is--Is that bad?”

You smile, a little charmed despite yourself. “Nah. I’ll give you brownie points for it, if you want.”

“Oh! Sure. I, uh, I love… brownies,” he finishes on a bit of a low note, so you decide to throw him a line.

“You wanted to hang out, Steve?”

“Y...Yeah. Yeah. Uh, if you want. I just… Wanted to give us the chance to get to know each other. Like, under the right circumstances, y’know?”

You hesitate for a moment. You have a feeling that he’s got more in mind than the arcade; after a bit of thought, you admit to yourself that you’re at least curious about where this goes.

“Sure,” you reply. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll meet you at your place at… seven on Friday night? If that’s cool with you, obviously. No pressure, y’know.” He sounds a little nervous, and you can’t help but feel for him a little. Poor guy’s clearly out of his depth.

“Yeah, Steve. That sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

It’s not until after you’ve given him your address and hung up that it hits you: you might, potentially, have a date with Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington, who saw you get arrested.

Great.

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