#don’t come at me for using functioning labels I am low functioning
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Currently waiting for people to realise that yes, the autistic teens, kids, adults and elders who are always swarmed by aids, cannot speak, lash out, have limited speech, act “dumb”, run away into dangerous places (eg. Roads, pools ect.) when overwhelmed, are similar to the autistic stereotype or in general don’t act in a “civilised manner”
Have access to the internet
They are on tumblr
We are on tumblr
And we don’t appreciate being your punching bag, being excluded from conversations about accessibility, or used as a tool by high functioning autistics who want to say “oh look at me I’m not like the autistics who bite people or make weird sounds in public or need support, I’m just unique and have fun interests.”
We are real people and we are smarter then you think.
Edit: thanks to the people who pointed out that smart wasn’t the right word! So I’m going to add this: the opinions of me, a low functioning autistic who has the privilege to be able to write coherently and communicate my opinions and views in two different languages, holds the exact same weight as someone who cannot do any of those things and in fact sometimes it’s their opinion and views that matter more. The opinion of “smart” autistics matters just as much as the opinion of “non smart” autistics and people you would consider dumb. Lower functioning autistics who are not conventionally or, at all, “smart” are just as human, important and valuable and deserve to have their opinions taken into consideration just as much as I do writing this. You don’t loose your value as a human or as a disabled person when you aren’t smart.
#actually autistic#autism#disabled#mentally disabled#don’t come at me for using functioning labels I am low functioning#in fact I am barely functioning#disability#high support needs
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When you start exploring the idea of other verbality terms but are scared and don’t even know where to start.
I want people to know that I am exploring other verbality terms as I feel semiverbal no longer fits me. Yes, I am technically semiverbal, but on the VERY low verbal side of things. Very very low verbal side of things. I no longer relate to my semiverbal peers and friends, and my speech is far worse than theirs so I’m exploring my other options and talking to other people.
I have very little functional language as of now, and my speech continues to decline. Please, if I come out with a new verbality term for myself, then know I did not take it lightly and have been talking to others and not at all want to take terms from those around me. That’s the last thing I want to do. However, I want to be comfortable and use the terms that actually fit me instead of squeezing myself into a verbality label that I have outgrown and no longer relate to.
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fully personal opinion
see many autistic people online treat someone calling self “high functioning” as a red flag, and some view it more extremely as irredeemable and make immediate assumption about person.
and i don’t… fully agree?
like of course see where they come from. there definitely are autistic people who identify as “high functioning” (high functioning autism, HFA) or “aspie” to separate self from the other autistics because they look down on other autistics. others may even believe HFA is this new evolutionary goal and people with HFA and only high functioning autism is better than everyone else, allistics included. they are yucky.
i carefully curate n select my internet experience because know if get mad, won’t be able to step away. so i don’t see these people much at all online. also because of dominant views in online autism community, these aspie supremacy HFA people don’t really participate in online actually autistic community.
but the reason i say i dont fully agree is because….
for so long me as a higher support needs level 2/3 austistuc and my friends who are similar or have more support needs as me & may be labeled “low functioning”, we been spoken over in online autistic community. dominant view of autism in online actually autistic community say every autistic all the same just mask differently or stuff like that. can look at my other posts for more context.
so, i really do appreciate when… how to say… an autistic respond to my posts say “i’m high functioning and i agree/thank you for bringing light to issue/etc etc.”
like. call themself as “high functioning” to, yes, separate themselves from me, not in the “im better than you i worth more than you”, but in the way of “i acknowledge me being/being seen as high functioning means i have different experiences than you, and on higher support needs/level2 3/low functioning issues i don’t have the lived experience and i need to listen.”
like i fully appreciate the latter, you know?
it’s also okay to say like. “while i don’t identify as high functioning, i do acknowledge i am often seen as high functioning, and that means i get treated better than those called low functioning.”
anticipate some people will say “well there still are better terms out there, like low support needs.” and the thing is, high functioning, levels, and support needs may all be trying to describe similar things, but they don’t neatly translate to each other. they don’t exactly mean same thing. “high functioning” doesn’t necessarily always mean low support needs.
and it not my place to tell other people how to self identify!
also because, i do like functioning labels when voluntarily used as self descriptor.
so, TLDR, i do oppose professionals & other people forcibly labeling autistics with functioning labels, i do hate those aspie supremacist high functioning autistics. but i think there is more nuance (always more nuance) to the “call self high functioning = bad” conversation. sometimes really do appreciate when someone self describe use “high functioning” to note difference in autistic experiences.
idk just personal thoughts. idk make sense.
#actually autistic#actuallyautistic#high functioning#functioning labels#autistic#autism#nd#asd#loaf screm
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33! 👀
ooh you picked a Good One!
33 is a wip that i labelled "flower." I talked a little about some of the shorter snips with rogue secunit OCs that i've written that never really went anywhere. This is not one of them. I have 16,000 words of it.
The fic is called flower because Flower is the name of the rogue SecUnit OC. I was probably a goner as soon as I named it that (Flower, my beloved 🥰). The original concept was just "Murderbot & Three run into some enemies who have a SecUnit while on a mission with ART's crew, and they hack the SecUnit's governor module." Then it developed a personality, which is why it went farther than just a few short snips. Flower named itself Flower before it was rogue, based on pictures in its education modules--it has not seen an actual flower before. Flower is a SecUnit who absolutely hates hurting people, in the hands of a company that uses it mostly for hurting people. It is not having a good time, and when MB & Three give it a way out, it takes it, even though it's scared of what might come next.
That was like, the first chapter, and subsequent scenes I wrote were all of a very anxious Flower getting used to being a rogue, meeting humans who treated it like a person, and settling in on Preservation. Three faded into the background because frankly i am bad at writing Three in any time period significantly after NE, because there is just not enough to extrapolate its personality from. So it was mostly Murderbot somewhat reluctantly babysitting a brand new rogue, on a Preservation Station that had only dealt with two other rogues so far and was still getting used to this whole "rogue SecUnits walking around" situation.
It was fun writing a unit that completely hated violence. Partially because it was angsty, and partially because it clashed really well with Murderbot, who is perfectly fine with violence as long as it's the one in control. I wrote a scene in which there was some kind of dangerous situation on Preservation, and MB expected Flower to back it up, but Flower wouldn't engage in helping it stop the hostiles and someone got (non-lethally) hurt. MB was mad and lashed out at Flower but eventually backed off and reconsidered, and had a moment where it realized that Flower had a right to draw its own line that it wasn't willing to cross, just like MB did after Ganaka Pit. That was a scene that I really enjoyed writing.
I really like Flower, and I like this fic, but I think i've already written all the good bits and don't know if I'll ever have the motivation I would need to polish it off. Writing it definitely informed other rogue OCs that i've come up with, and I might sneak a Flower cameo into the OU,YU universe at some point, just for fun :)
This answer is super long already but I want to share some actual words from this fic, so here's a bit from the beginning--Flower is in ART's MedSystem post-combat-turned-rescue, and the POV is Murderbot.
ART said, Do you require any further assistance at this time?
I said, “Something’s wrong with its gunports. Or its targeting software. It shot me in the foot.”
My targeting software is fully functional.
“Then why did your shot hit so low?”
I was targeting your legs.
“Why?” There was no protocol saying to use minimum necessary force against a SecUnit. When we fight we try to kill each other as quickly and thoroughly as possible. “Did you have orders to incapacitate? What kind of idiot tells you to avoid shooting a SecUnit enough to actually stop it?”
I was not ordered to refrain from using lethal force. It was a breach of protocol.
“You broke protocol? On purpose? With a working governor module?”
I don’t like killing.
The way it said that…sounded like it had been thinking it for a long time, but had never been able to say it before.
I said, “This wasn’t the first time?”
No. I thought…maybe they would assign me to a different contract if I disobeyed. But they just put a counter on my governor module to record how many times I violated protocol by using nonlethal force. If I kept doing it they were going to dismantle me for spare parts.
“How many strikes did you have left?”
This mission was my last chance.
That hit me hard. It had known that if it disobeyed again it would be destroyed. It had faced the even more immediate threat of me and Three killing it. It had known it would die.
But it had still shot me in the foot instead of the head.
#ask game answers#stars fic#stars wips#flower wip#flower my BELOVED#i was so hoping i would get this one thank you scorpio!#i don't know if this will ever be Finished but i would be down to share more of what i have written#i have some pretty good scenes#flower is the best. i love writing Brand New Rogues and Older Rogues Helping Brand New Rogues#this wip definitely had a big influence on that part of OUYU
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i’m SO disappointed in the rollo printer i bought, i was willing to spend more on it bc i thought it’d be worth it over getting a phomemo/etc bc the rollo is flexible with the label sizes/types it accepts and the phomemo printers aren’t, but the rollo print quality is just. terrible. i wanted to use it to print both shipping labels and packaging art stickers, and it can only just handle the former. like i know it’s 203 dpi, and things will come out pixelly, but the printer does it in the most unnecessarily cRUNCHY way possible
and get this. they provide a sample shipping label pdf for you to test print, right? i do that, and it comes out CRISP and CLEAR, and i’m like great i made a good $180+ purchase! this will be so fast and efficient now! but then--when i print ACTUAL REAL LABELS--it comes out fuzzy and difficult to read. the barcodes are fine, at least, so it’s functional for machines, but a human reading an international label better know the standard text on there by heart
and it gets worse. they explain this poor quality away (they make this acknowledgement in the setup guide even, suggesting that everyone’s complained about it a billion times before) by saying that other sites don’t export their shipping labels at the same high quality as their sample shipping label, so of course other shipping labels will look worse. but i’m not printing rollo’s singular sample label when i mail packages, am i??? AM I, ROLLO??
so. i open photoshop. i’m like “i will figure out how to make these stupid “high res” pdfs that my measly 203 dpi thermal printer requires to perform well”. i export photoshop pdfs at the correct size and the highest quality possible--
--and it makes no fucking difference.
SO. I EMAIL SUPPORT. I’m like uhhh your website says the rollo works best with “high quality” pdfs, can you please divulge what you mean by “high quality,” how to obtain this “high quality,” and tell me how you created your “high quality” sample label, which is the only thing the rollo will print properly? and they gave me a few things to try, NONE of which addressed the actual file creation/export process (though tbf I detailed my pdf export process in my initial email and maybe they didn’t address it bc i’m supposed to assume that my process was correct! idk!), and none of which improved the print quality at all
(and by the way, they have a secret, higher res driver? it’s not advertised or mentioned openly, you have to go under a very specific question in the support docs to find it yourself, or ask the right question for customer service to link it for you. anyway, it does additional image processing on a pdf before the rollo prints it, and not only does it also suck, but it only offers a 4x6in print size. you may recall that i originally bought the rollo bc it can accept custom label sizes at or below 4″ in width. WHY WOULD ROLLO MAKE A “HIGH RES” DRIVER THAT ONLY TAKES A 4x6 PRINT--)
so now. for the past several days. i’ve been staring at the phomemo website wondering if i should throw another $60-70 out there to get a printer and prove to myself that i’m not crazy, that a normal 203 dpi printer should be able to print things better than this, that i’m RIGHT to think the rollo fucking SUCKS. but tbh my room is so low on device space at this point that even adding in a tiny 5x5in thermal printer could drive me to madness
#i bet it's bc they sell shipping labels through their own website and this is a shitty way of getting more revenue themselves#by making it impossible to get good prints if you buy shipping labels from anyone but them#urgh anyway i'm relaxing now. i am trying my Very Best to Chill.
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How do I know if I’m high or mid support? If ur up for it could u explain/list some activities one should take into consideration when determining support levels? What exactly defines “unable to/has difficulty doing activity” is pain/executive dysfunction/anxiety/introspection/etc included? What are some reasons one may be u able to do an activity? Do these support labels only include autism symptoms or does it include other disorders bc what if ones disorders also heavily influence things? I want to say I am high support but what if I am wrong and faking? Are there some examples or a list of activities u could give me? Do you have to be non verbal to be high support? Can someone be incorrectly labeled as level 1 or level 2 while actually being high support? Can any high or medium support please tell me about their experiences thank you
there are two kinds of ADLs (activities of daily living) that come into play when considering a person’s support level:
iADLs are multi-step tasks that you don’t need to do to survive, but are expected to do as an adult. cooking, cleaning, filling out paperwork, making your bed, gardening… that kind of thing. an autistic person of any support level can struggle with these.
bADLs are “basic” tasks that you need to do in order to survive. getting dressed, feeding yourself, using a cup, brushing your teeth… that kind of thing. an autistic person will struggle with these if they are mid support, and be unable to do them alone it they are high support.
it all depends on how much support you need in order to live your life. usually a high support person will struggle with speaking on some level, but that is definitely not always the case. not being able to speak is just another factor that can lead to someone being higher support.
it’s unlikely that you would be labeled low support whilst being high support, because a high support person is not able to function without a degree of support. you could be misdiagnosed as mid support whilst actually being high support, but this is still fairly unlikely (unless, of course, your support needs change after diagnosis).
again, I am opening this up for people on the mid to high support needs spectrum to add their opinions and experiences
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Scottsdale Limo Service - The Facts
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Kids Burberry Belt
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No Rest for the Deathworlders
Logan had always loved the stars.
Still did, though his love had been dampened by the way in which he was currently seeing them.
He watched out the window, or rather, screen, but it was made to show the outside of the ship, and thinking of it as a window was oddly comforting. A bit of something close to home.
A lump grew in his throat at the thought of home, pressing against the collar. He forced himself back to a neutral, tugging the collar away from the front of his throat as far as it would go. A brief flicker of anger replaced the nostalgia. Anger at the collar, at his own inability to remove it, at the monsters that had forced it onto him, at his own complacency now that it was on.
He didn’t have it as bad as some other humans did, he was well aware. All the collar did was teleport him to the location of the person holding the remote. Granted, it was unpleasant and incredibly disorienting, but nothing like the near-torture he’d heard was the more common method of keeping humans captive.
The captain of the ship was smart in choosing Logan, as far as the welfare of the ship went.
“You’re invested in your own survival,” He’d said through the translators. “If the ship goes down, you’ll go with it. If you sabotage the ship and try to escape on a pod, I can get you back to me immediately, and you’ll meet the same fate as you intended for us. It’s in your best interests to cooperate and to bond with the crew.”
Well, Logan could agree that it was in his best interests to cooperate. But no one could make him get attached to anyone. And no one could stop him from making little problems.
Like ignoring the insistent, “Human, where are you? Human!” that was coming from his communicator.
The window dissolved in front of him, and Logan felt abruptly as if he were on the world’s worst rollercoaster for several seconds. It took him a minute to register the angry captain now in front of him. He was yelling something, but not through the communicator, so Logan couldn’t understand what. And he was far too dizzy and almost nauseous to pay attention even if it was understandable.
He shook his head slowly from side to side and up and down once, hoping to clear the vertigo somewhat.
“You must come when called!” The communicator translated. “Or at least answer!”
Logan stubbornly remained silent, the dizziness gradually clearing.
For an alien that looked more like a slime monster than anything with a real face, the captain still managed to look extremely displeased. Not that Logan cared.
“There are ------ trailing our ship,” the captain said, one of his words not translating properly. “We need to go faster or we’ll get boarded.”
Ok, maybe Logan did care.
“Humans are supposed to be good at making ships go faster, fix it.”
Logan frowned. “I’ve been here three days,” he said into the communicator. “I hardly know how anything in the ship works, much less how to improve any of its functions!”
“I’ve studied humans, I know better than that, fix it.” The captain said shortly.
Logan opened his mouth to protest, but the room around him dissolved, the horrible spinning sensation back. His legs gave out and he dropped onto the floor in a different place.
He swallowed hard, his stomach threatening to upend itself.
“And they call you deathworlders,” someone scoffed. “A transporter has you on your knees.”
Beyond his sick feelings, and the anger at being mocked, he caught onto that plural reference. Was there another human on the ship?
In addition, there were apparently multiple remotes to the teleporter around his throat, which ruined his plan of trying to steal or fight the captain for the one.
He slowly sat up, his head still spinning. He hoped that his body would eventually grow accustomed to the teleportation and the dizziness would stop being so awful.
There was a chittering sound beside him that the translator didn’t attempt to process. He turned to see an alien that would likely be very tall if it wasn’t on all fours. It was very thin, with long arms and legs, which ended in smooth nubs, without hands or feet. The front two, which Logan thought of as arms, though the alien probably would have a different name for them, seemed to be perforated along the last six inches. As Logan watched, one of them was extended towards him slowly, and something softer could be seen on the inside. It was able to be extruded through the holes, and was likely the way in which the alien could grasp things.
He backed away from the limb before it could touch him, and the alien also backed away a step, making a low woody sounding whistle, like air blown over a jug. It’s head looked rather moth-like, with antenna that curled and straightened, and large eyes.
The alien seemed sentient, though Logan was confused that the translator wasn’t picking up on its speech.
Until he saw a very familiar collar, only around their waist. They were also captive then. And possibly, though it disappointed his hopes of meeting another human, they were the other deathworlder, also affected poorly by the teleportation.
The strange attempted touch then, could have potentially been intended as comfort or aid.
“You’ve been sitting long enough, get this ship to move faster,” the other alien in the room grumbled.
Logan glared. “How am I even supposed to do that?” He snapped. “I don’t have training or experience, I don’t know what half this stuff is and I can’t read your labels!”
“You can either fix it now, or we can teleport you between here and the captain until you do.” The alien's tone was disgusting and wet, and Logan was glad he could focus on the robot sound of the translator as his stomach lurched again.
He could try.
If nothing else, he might learn some new things and be able to convince them that he really wasn’t able to just do things he’d never tried before.
The room was smaller than he would’ve expected, presuming he was in a kind of engine room. Around the edges of the room were a number of bins, holding substances ranging from powders to liquids.
In the center of the room was a glass tube that went from floor to ceiling, and seemed to be filled with a glowing crystal stalagmite. From the top of the tube dripped some kind of liquid, and at the bottom it flowed out in small pipes, glowing the same as the crystal and possibly converted into fuel.
He could assume that with all of the powders and liquids that there was a chemical reaction causing the substance to obtain the glowing quality and become fuel. But what that was, and how to know what was safe to change about it, he had no idea.
“Well?” The alien, whom he now assumed to be what served as the ship’s engineer, asked.
He was making so many assumptions, and still was barely anywhere. They could all be wrong.
“Explain to me how it works,” Logan said. “Then I’ll try to ‘fix’ it.”
The alien made an unpleasant sound that the translator interpreted as a sigh. “This is a ——-, the liquid is a mixture of ——, ——, ——-, and ——, but it could be made with any of the ——— family instead of the ———, or you could replace the ———- with ——— for better efficiency at different energy levels. We also have several forms of ———-, which ought to make more potent fuel for higher speeds, but every time we’ve tried the ———- smokes and explodes and there’s residue in the tubing for several rotations which puts us at a standstill.”
Logan grimaced. He had a very small idea of what was being said based on gestures, but he’d much prefer to have names and details. It seemed this was a very large and dangerous version of chemistry experiments, with no textbook, and his only advice coming from someone who hadn’t studied.
Well, there was the other ‘deathworlder’ in the room. He could only hope they knew something about any of this. Though the difficulty in communication might make that knowledge impossible to access.
He turned towards them anyway. “Can you understand me at all?”
They made another low whistling sound, followed by chittering. One arm waved, with… could he call them fingers? gesturing towards Logan.
He hoped desperately that he could consider that to be a yes.
“What would you do in—“
The engineer’s communicator interrupted him. “We thought we’d have a few more rotations but they’re closing in, has the human done anything yet?”
“No,” the engineer said. “It’s just staring at everything.”
“Well get it to hurry!”
The other ‘deathworlder’ made a long series of noises, pointing at one bin in particular and then at a place where it seemed the not-yet-fuel liquid was.
It was a foolish thing. A very foolish thing. But Logan took a scoop from the bin and dumped the powder into the liquid.
It bubbled and fizzed on contact, sending up thick clouds of a dark blue smoke.
An alarm blared.
The ship lurched, knocking them all to the ground.
And then the new ingredient actually hit the crystal, and there was a loud, high pitched ringing.
Logan covered his ears and shut his eyes, feeling like a weight was pressing him to the floor.
Everything was spinning, and loud, and then it was loud in a very different, but no less painful way.
“Protect me!” The captain shrieked.
There was a pained, screeching scream.
Logan was shoved, but he was barely aware of which direction, let alone what he was supposed to do about any of it.
Something grabbed onto his shoulders, and he flailed, hitting and kicking indiscriminately. Something burned on his side, and he kicked into something much more solid, sending a throbbing pain up his leg.
Everything was noise and pain and lights and movement and he didn’t understand any of it!
Logan struck out blindly at anything that came near him.
He thought he’d backed into a wall, but something must’ve been behind him, and it hit him hard over the head. He dropped to the floor, tears swimming in his eyes and blurring everything even further.
Everything dissolved around him and he was falling, spinning, dropping, tossed.
He was grateful more than anything when unconsciousness took him.
•^*^••
He woke slowly, feeling hazy and heavy. It was quiet, and not too bright, nothing was touching him. So he didn’t bother to open his eyes, just laying still.
He wasn’t dead at least.
Probably the pirates had attacked. Definitely he’d ruined the ship he’d been on.
The question was, was being with pirates any better than living on a ruined ship with aliens that considered him to be some kind of hyper-intelligent slave?
Or perhaps the question was, where was he now?
He forced his eyes open.
He was in a relatively large, empty room. The floor and walls seemed bare, though patched, not all of a single material.
He pushed himself up. There was a loud skittering noise away from him, and he yelped, flinging himself away clumsily.
He turned, and saw the other deathworlder, front legs shaking and making a rattling noise. He wasn’t sure if it was a fear response, a method of communication, or even some kind of threat display.
“It’s alright,�� he said quietly, backing up a little farther.
The other alien didn’t try to come close again, so he figured it was mostly likely not interested in threatening him. There wasn’t an echo of his words in an alien language though, and he patted his shoulder to discover that the translator had been taken. His hand went to his throat, disappointed to find that they’d left the collar.
It was still there on the other alien also. They were both still prisoners then, wherever they were.
Looking around, it seemed that they were in an empty cargo space, rather than a proper holding cell, so there was a slightly greater possibility of escape.
There was that low whistling sound again. Logan was certain it was meant as a form of communication.
He tried whistling back, as low as he was capable of.
The alien chittered and shook its legs again, but Logan couldn’t tell even if it was a positive or negative reaction.
“I… don’t know how to talk with you,” he said, keeping his tone low and calm. He sat in a comfortable, loose position, hoping to get across the calm in his tone and posture. “But I’d like to try. I’m not sure what anything you’re doing means, and it’s possible you’re in the same situation. I’m hoping that you have more knowledge of humans than I do of your kind, and that you’ll be able to make better inferences than I’m currently capable of.”
The alien cocked its head to the side, watching him as he spoke. It took a tentative step forward on its spindly legs, and then propped itself on three, holding the fourth out to him.
Logan eyed the appendage. The softer inside substance was filling the holes, making it appear to have small bumps, rather than holes. He held out a hand to it, but didn’t try to touch.
The alien bumped the end of its leg into Logan’s palm.
That seemed… good? Perhaps this was a greeting similar to a handshake?
Logan very gently grasped the end of the appendage, the softer inside substance feeling cool to the touch, and almost like a stiff putty, whereas the harder outer shell felt very smooth and rigid, similar to metal, but light.
The alien retracted their arm, and then looked between their arm and his hand. The inner substance reformed, pressing out from several holes into a clear attempt at fingers. It seemed to be fully controlled by the alien, and moveable, albeit much more slowly than Logan could move his own fingers.
“That’s very impressive,” Logan said.
The alien chittered back at him.
Perhaps they could get somewhere through a kind of charades.
•^*^••
“I think that’s all we can carry,” Roman said, looking over the wreckage.
“We can hold more, we aren’t full yet,” Remus protested, still sad that some of the ship’s inhabitants had taken the escape pods. Aside from the power crystal, which was far too unstable to take, they were the best value on the little ship.
“The whole 3rd cargo bay is empty for the two deathworlders, we’re full.” Roman insisted.
“Oh. Forgot about them. Well, if we can hold ‘em, they might be enough to make it worth it.”
“If we can refill,” Roman grumbled. “I was expecting usable power from this ship.”
It had really been a not-very-great raid. They’d lost Aide, and Bill, and Rahgezis, and hadn’t even gotten much of anything good out of it.
And the deathworlders were far too grumpy to join the crew. If they’d had enough room they would’ve separated them, but he just took away the translators and hoped they weren’t already pack-bonded, and wouldn’t become so. Two single deathworlders were bad enough, two together? Their ship would be a wreck from the inside out.
They needed to give them a rotation or two to calm down, try and have a talk, and then drop them off at the nearest Embassy and get away before bad things happened.
Maybe the Embassy would even pay them for handing over deathworlders. Or maybe they’d arrest them for being pirates.
But without Rahgezis, Remus didn’t want to attempt anything on the black market with such a high demand as deathworlders.
And the teleportation bands should make it a little easier on them. They were super old, and no one in their right mind would use them, except as a practical joke, or a way of keeping enemies too off balance to attack. The ones on the two of them had been fused closed, rather than the usual buckle, so he felt more safe trying to hold the deathworlders than he would otherwise.
They’d only found one remote, but Inshes was already working on making a second.
“I’m going to see if the Scraascik is on any registries,” Roman said. “And I’ll check for the Human, but that’s less likely.”
Remus nodded. “I’ll handle getting us moving again. If they’re awake, maybe you could see about dropping some food into the cargo bay.”
“Yeah, I’ll try.” Roman sighed.
Remus set a claw on Roman’s back. Roman grumbled, leaning into Remus’s side, and then went off to do his research.
It’d been a hard day for both of them.
•^*^••
They’d managed to exchange names… sort of. The alien’s name was two notes, whistled lower than Logan was capable of, and likewise there was no way of the alien being able to pronounce the word Logan.
But the alien made a deep, almost resonant sound, that was as close as it seemed they could get to anything involving vocal cords. And that was their version of Logan.
Logan considered the two note sound, and came up with a slightly similar-sounding name. Virgil.
Neither of their names for each other were really very similar to their actual names, but they were able to understand each other, and that was what mattered.
As it turned out, Virgil was stronger than he was at pushing things, or hitting, but they couldn’t pull with any strength.
Logan was focusing his attention on the door, and had been so far unsuccessful in prying it open. It was solidly locked, and the lock seemed to only be on the other side of the door. Which likely meant that this room was detachable from the rest of the ship, in case of emergency or danger.
“Virgil.” Logan said, and Virgil turned to look at him from the patch on the wall they’d been inspecting.
Logan hit the door with his palm, his arm straight, in an imitation of the way he’d seen Virgil hit some of the patches, trying to break them. “Hit here.” He pointed at Virgil, and then at a spot where he suspected the lock was.
Virgil made a chittering sound and shambled over.
Logan again mimicked the strike, and then pointed at Virgil.
Virgil got into position. They were able to balance on three legs and rock their whole body weight forward to strike that small point their arm hit with all their strength and weight together.
They tried three times, but the door held firm.
Logan was impressed that they did not seem hurt by the attempt. Their exoskeleton must be very strong indeed. Which was possibly a part of why they were considered a deathworlder.
Logan wondered what their home planet was like.
The door suddenly opened, an alien clearly holding up one of the remotes to the teleporters.
Virgil backed away, turning and running to the other end of the room.
The alien spoke into a small microphone, which translated. “I brought food. Don’t come near me.”
The alien’s body looked almost bear-like, but with longer legs, clearly bipedal. They were only about half the size of a bear though. The fur also was shorter and sparser, and a very reddish kind of brown. The hands looked more useful than a bear’s paws as well. The head though was very unlike a bear’s. Logan didn’t know what to compare it to.
The alien was wearing clothes, which Logan had learned was entirely optional to most aliens, in bright reds and goldish yellows.
Perhaps this meant that this particular alien was more… Logan hesitated to say civilized. He scarcely knew anything about aliens, and could hardly make such judgements about them. Still, he believed he had a bit more chance reasoning with this one.
“Let us out of here,” he said, grateful that the translator picked it up and interpreted it.
“No.”
“We will leave you alone, we will not harm the ship. Let us go,” Logan said calmly but firmly.
The alien again said no, pushing in a tray of what could be food into the room with their foot, already starting to close the door.
“Wait!” Logan said, stepping forward.
The alien jumped, and pushed the button on the remote.
It didn’t seem to affect Logan, but instead Virgil was teleported close to the door. Virgil stumbled, falling against the wall and letting out what could only be described as a scream.
The alien who had delivered food looked even more scared now, and quickly shut the door. Logan pushed through his shock and alarm to try to open the door before it could be locked, but he was too late.
Virgil slumped to the ground, scream fading to a whistling wheeze.
As bad as the teleportation felt to him, Logan was scared that Virgil was being injured by it. Perhaps on the inside, where they were softer. Or perhaps it put too much strain on their rigid exoskeleton.
Was there anything he could do? He didn’t have any idea about what Virgil could need for medical care, and he didn’t want an attempt at comfort to be construed as an attack, especially while Virgil was vulnerable.
He knelt close to Virgil, a bit farther than an arm's length.
“Virgil?”
Virgil’s eyes opened, and from this close Logan could see the differentiation between pupil and iris. Virgil’s eyes were moving back and forth, like Logan had seen before in children who’d been spun in circles. He was likely still extremely disoriented then.
Virgil lifted one arm and waved it around slowly. It knocked into Logan’s shoulder lightly, and Virgil kept tapping it against his shoulders and head. Logan allowed it without complaint, guessing that it was grounding to Virgil, being able to verify that Logan was in one place and not moving, not spinning.
Virgil gradually steadied, taking their arm back.
Logan wished he had a way to ask ‘are you ok?’, but he didn’t. The best he had was, “Virgil?”
The whistle-clack he got in return seemed more positive than negative, though he had no way of accurately judging alien tones.
“Logan.”
Logan nodded, as it seemed the correct response.
Virgil pointed towards the nearly-forgotten tray, and Logan went to get it. Virgil struggled to their feet, looking something like a very large baby deer first trying to stand. If Logan had to guess, Virgil’s kind didn’t frequently sit or lie down.
The tray had a number of small round roll-like things that Logan was now accustomed to seeing. They were similar to banana bread in texture, but the taste was salty and rather bitter. When he’d asked, he’d been told that they were the standard in rations as they kept for a long time, and held an array of nutrients that was sufficient for the basic needs of a majority of species.
He suspected that he would require some greens or fruit if he continued eating these primarily, but he hadn’t seen any anywhere, only these.
Virgil stood over him and leaned down as much as they seemed easily capable of, which still left their head several feet above the ground. Logan was just wondering if they would need assistance to eat when a very long tongue, or perhaps proboscis, unrolled from their mouth and curled around one of the rolls, pulling it up into their mouth.
“What do you eat natively?” Logan wondered aloud. “And do you need water?”
There was a pitcher of water and two small cups. Logan poured one cup full and held it out to Virgil.
Virgil seemed to still be chewing, however, and incapable of drinking while doing so. Or perhaps they didn’t require water. Though, now that Logan was watching, he didn’t believe they were chewing at all. Certainly there was no jaw movement. They could be massaging the food with their tongue, and have particularly effective saliva perhaps.
Logan started eating a roll, setting Virgil’s cup down and filling the other for himself.
A minute later Virgil’s tongue unrolled again and drained the cup, seemingly effective as a massive straw.
“You really are fascinating,” Logan said softly. “Were we not in such a situation I would love to learn more about you.”
Virgil responded with a series of clicks and whistles.
“As it is though, we probably ought to attempt an escape. They haven’t tried to get anything from us, which makes me think they intend on trafficking us further. Most likely they don’t have the power to force us into work like the last ship did, so I think, despite the danger, that this will be our best chance. Of course, the danger is greater for you, the teleportation seems to hurt you much more than it does me.” Logan thought for a while. “I think our best bet would be to try forcing our way out the door the next time it opens. Perhaps one of us could knock the remote away. It is enlightening to know that the remote only works on one of us at a time.”
Logan sighed. “Of course we don’t know when or if they’ll enter again. It’s possible we’ll be held here until we reach wherever we’re going.”
Virgil made a low, soft whistle.
Logan laid on his back. “I can’t even properly ask you for your partnership. It’s infuriating to not be able to succeed at anything I attempt. There’s such a wealth of knowledge that is necessary, and I have no idea of any of it. Nor a way of learning, save through painful experience. I can’t become complacent, I have to effect change, but I never know when my efforts will be simply overturned.”
Virgil nudged his arm with their own.
Logan turned to look at them. Virgil chittered at him, bobbing up and down on their legs.
“What is it?”
“Logan.” Virgil said, still bobbing up and down.
Logan sat up. “I don’t understand.”
Virgil tapped his legs with their arm. “Logan.”
Logan stood up. “Is this what you want? Oh. If you don’t lay down to sleep, you must’ve been concerned when I did. I’ll have to sleep sometime though, and surely you’ve been exposed to aliens that lay down to sleep.”
But rather than relaxing, as Logan would assume Virgil would do if they were concerned, Virgil stepped closer, almost over Logan. Their antenna tilted towards him.
“Oh I see, this would be how you would confirm that I’m healthy, by feeling with your antenna, yes?” Logan remained still, unsurprised when there was a soft touch on his head.
But he was not at all expecting the sudden mental image of himself tackling the alien who’d delivered the food. It was so vivid it was as if he was already doing it, seeing the door open, tackling the alien, smashing the remote, and running forward to climb onto Virgil’s back as Virgil ran them both through the hallway.
Logan jerked back, falling on his butt. “What was that?! You have telepathy??”
Virgil made a movement that could be best described as a shrug.
Logan stood up again, reaching his hand out, battling his speed from excitement in an attempt not to scare Virgil. “Can we do it again?”
Virgil brushed his hand with their antenna, and the same scene flashed before his mind’s eye.
“Yes, yes I’ll do that! Can you understand my answer?”
Virgil made a whistle that Logan was almost certain was affirmative.
Logan paced back and forth excitedly, thinking out loud. “So you can communicate with me even if I can’t communicate with you well. And you very much want my partnership in escaping. We have a plan now. And a form of communication. Virgil, this is amazing!”
Virgil made an almost trilling noise.
•^*^••
“No, it hurt the Scraascik,” Roman said, already changing the ship’s course. “We can’t hold them safely, we have to get to the Embassy.”
“We didn’t even ask them to join us yet!” Remus protested.
“Would you join a strange crew after they hurt you?” Roman retorted, sending a message to the engine room to increase speed.
“Well what about the other one?”
“Remus. It won’t work.” Roman glared at him. “I don’t want to take chances with deathworlders.”
Remus sighed. “Fine. But let me try talking to them before we get there.”
Roman’s face went hard. “You have until we arrive,” he finally conceded.
Remus hurried down to the cargo bay.
He burst the door open, and it slammed shut behind him. Both deathworlders jolted, staring at him.
He then realized that he’d entirely forgotten the remote and the duplicate, and also that he was locked in a room with two deathworlders.
Well, there was a reason people joked he was addicted to adrenaline.
“Hello!” He said, waving. “I’m wondering if you’ll join my crew.”
The human moved first, standing up to a height decently taller than Remus was. And the Scraascik was even larger.
Perhaps he really was in serious danger.
“We just want to leave,” the human said, sounding rather threatening.
Probably telling them about the plan to hand them over to the Embassy then wasn’t a good idea until he was sure that he wasn’t in attack distance anymore. “You can, leave with us. Join our crew and you can adventure with us, raid ships, explore planets!”
“We want to leave alone,” the human said firmly.
“We? So… you bonded then? I guess that rumor is true, deathworlders all really do bond super fast.”
The human bared its teeth at him. “I will not be bonding to your crew based on your desires. I will not remain here, I want to leave. We want to leave.”
The Scraascik agreed in some of the most heavily accented Common Remus had ever heard. No wonder the translators hadn’t picked up any of his yelling when they’d boarded the ship. He’d probably need a translator to touch his antenna, but good luck getting a Scraascik to let anything touch their antenna.
“So you won’t even consider it?” Remus asked, not yet daunted.
“You’ve essentially kidnapped us, and both can and have hurt us! Why would I consider it?”
Yikes, the human sounded angry.
“Well we didn’t mean to hurt you, really, it’s not meant to be that bad. And we only kidnapped you from other kidnappers, and also I can’t hurt you cause I forgot the remote.”
The two deathworlders looked at each other, and Remus knew he really had gone and shoved his whole fist in his mouth. The human shifted position to a much more threatening crouch, as if it was going to pounce on him.
Remus held his arms out, claws at the ready. He might not have a hope of winning against deathworlders, but he could certainly make himself a pain of a target.
“I know I’m a pirate, but this was supposed to be just a talk,” Remus said, wondering if he’d be able to hit the communicator in time and if rescue was possible. Violent deathworlders in an enclosed space was not something he wanted his crew walking into, even for a rescue.
“It’s not much of a talk when we don’t have a say,” the human said, looking more and more threatening every second.
Iaoth , he wanted this human on his crew.
“Of course you have a say!” Remus said. “Name it, what position do you want, what pay, days off, I’ll give you whatever room in the ship you want as your quarters.”
“I fundamentally disagree with joining people that would knowingly traffic other people,” the human growled.
And then it leapt forward.
Remus yelped, swiping at the human and hitting the communicator with his other hand. “Roman!”
He was tackled to the ground, and the Scraascik pinned one arm while the human sat on his middle and held his other arm down.
“Remus?!” Roman’s voice came through the communicator.
“Let us go,” the human growled. “Once we’re out we’ll let them go.”
There was a tremor to the floor that Remus recognized. Roman must have been overloading the engine, they’d arrived and were docking.
“Is Remus ok?” Roman asked, sounding terrified.
“I’m fine, just a little stuck,” Remus said, trying to not sound scared so Roman wouldn’t get even more worried. “Laying under a deathworlder~ not quite as fun as I always imagined.”
Roman made a sound somewhere between a sob and laugh. “I’m coming to let you out. Don’t hurt him. Please.”
Remus was honestly a bit surprised that he was only pinned. The human was leaking blood from its shoulder and across its chest where Remus’s swipe had connected, but it hadn’t retaliated.
“Hurry,” the human said coldly.
The communicator turned off, and Remus had a strong suspicion Roman was calling the Embassy to have guards outside the ship when the cargo hold was opened.
“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Remus asked. “I know it won’t look like it from your end, but we don’t traffic, we take from ships we attack, but we’d either let them join us or take them to the authorities, we don’t just continue the traffic. And we could use people like you, you could help us take down so many more ships.”
The Scraascik leaned harder on his arm, and Remus grimaced.
“What would the authorities do?” The human asked.
“Uhhhh… well with the Scraascik, probably drop him back on his own planet, or with a Scraascik colony. Your planet though is still restricted, so they’d probably keep you until it’s opened.”
The human’s face contorted into something that did not look good for Remus.
“We’re on our way there, aren’t we?”
Remus wasn’t sure he dared lie, not when he was pinned to the ground with two very angry-seeming deathworlders over him. “Yeah.”
The human hit the communicator. “Listen.”
“I’m listening,” Roman said warily.
“Don’t open the cargo hold,” the human ordered. “You’re a pirate ship. You have smaller ships for scavenging, yes?”
“…yes.”
“Give us one.”
There was a long pause from Roman.
“Put food and fuel and translators in it,” the human said firmly. “We’re taking this one with us until we’re safely inside.”
This was probably wrecking Roman’s plans. There would be authorities involved and now no deathworlders to give them.
“Alright,” Roman said.
•^*^••
The door to the cargo hold was opened. Logan had the bear-alien in a tight hold, and Virgil was above them, looking like they were ready to strike out at anything that got within range.
They managed to walk along the halls until they reached the smaller ship. Logan had no idea how he was going to fly it, but it was the biggest chance by far that he’d had yet.
He shoved the bear alien away and slammed the door shut.
Virgil went immediately to the pilot’s seat, and Logan was amazed to see that there were places in the ceiling that fit their antenna. Soon there was a fast and loud humming, and the tiny ship lurched into motion.
•^*^••
Patton was being sent, since they didn’t really believe that there could be a Human and a Scraascik on the cobbled-together ship that had docked. So it was just him and Janus.
Janus wrapped his long tail around the back of Patton’s neck for balance as Patton walked back and forth, waiting for the ship to open its cargo bay.
It sure was taking a long time. They’d seemed so rushed when they called, but now they just wouldn’t open.
And then there was an engine powering up.
A teeny little scavenging ship took off from the bigger one, flying off. Patton scanned it, alarmed to see that there was indeed a Scraascik and a Human signature on board.
“Hey! Hey wait!”
He pulled out his radio, quickly setting it to the bigger ship’s frequency. “Let me in and go after them! We can’t let a Human go flying around unattended!”
“If they don’t let us in fast, go take the SC Meteor,” Janus said.
Patton wasn’t too surprised when the ship started undocking without answering him.
“We’ll get them!” He yelled, running for the Meteor.
#Forgot I meant to post this on tumblr and never did 😅#my own work#sanders sides#logan sanders#virgil sanders#roman sanders#remus sanders#janus sanders#patton sanders#humans are space orcs
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LIKE NO BUT ACTUALLY. It IS a fair point, because I’ve brought it up a few times on here. Not on the term “witchling” as a whole, but on my specific use of it. I’ve mentioned that my username is entirely not accurate to me. I am neither lazy nor a witchling. I have ADHD, and my levels of executive function vary wildly depending on the day, my mood, the task, etc. I thought of that as laziness for most of my life. And when I was first starting this blog, I didn’t know how long my interest would last, but I knew I wanted to learn things. I wanted a place to reblog stuff I found useful and interesting. But I also saw how witch blogs get all sorts of questions about anything and everything, and I wanted to give everyone a heads-up that I had no fucking clue what I was doing. Thus was born one LazyWitchling.
But tbh, to me it’s felt like the discourse we have about those Types Of Witches lists. You know, when new witches see those lists and they go “how do I find out what type of witch I am?” and we have to explain again that those lists are for fun, but they are limiting if you try to just stick to one like it’s your Hogwarts house. We don’t ACTUALLY declare ourselves to be a “type” of witch... BUT. I also have had “Arts & Crafts Witch” and “Artificer” in my blog description. Why? Easy. It’s so y’all know what you’re getting into when you take a first glance at my blog. It’s a label for your convenience. It’s a category. Like a little tab in the binder that is witchblr. “Here there be crochet magic and bookbinding”.
“Lazy” was always meant to show my interest in low-effort and/or budget friendly spells. “Witchling” was so that nobody tried to ask me how to summon a demon when I was still trying to figure out what the fuck deosil means (I still don’t know, but now I don’t care 😂). “Arts & Crafts Witch” and “Artificer” are so that I avoid people coming into my inbox with “how do I cross the hedge?” (Bitch, Idk!) My blog description also says “secular” so people know that I probably don’t have answers on how to contact a deity, and “asexual” so they know a) no sex magic here, and b) probably a good indication of this being an LGBTQ+ friendly space.
But IRL? When I’m actually practicing my craft? I use none of those words. Because they just don’t help me. I know who I am, and I don’t need to explain me to me. I don’t need categorizations when I’m casting spells, ‘cause I’m just... casting. Who cares if I’m working with herbs this time instead of craft glue and popsicle sticks? I certainly don’t. It doesn’t fit with my “arts&crafts” blog category, but I’m a person, not a category.
(How many times can I use the word “category” in a paragraph?)
Anyway. What the hell am I even saying?
I guess... words like “witchling” and “baby witch” have their uses when labeling your blog, and less use when labeling your craft. You don’t need to think of yourself as “lesser” in your practice when you’re just starting out. We don’t have tiers here. You don’t have to pass a test to get your red belt in Witchery. But if you find the term helpful to use because it’s shorthand for “hi I’m new here, please don’t yell at me if I don’t yet understand why we hate S*lver R*venwolf, I’m still learning the ropes”, then more power to you, witchling.
But maybe think twice before putting it in your blog url so you’re not sitting at your desk working on building your own paradigm and philosophy of how your magic works and where it comes from, and you’ll be stuck with a blog and a navigation page and all your links leading to “lazywitchling” because you’re a dumbass with no foresight 😂
(And lemme tag @asksecularwitch because Relevant To Your Rants)
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Phrases I've heard over the year at Uni:
"Paying 9k for problems I could get for free"
"What is motivation? Is it purchasable?"
"Why is there a folder on his computer labelled foot?!" "I think it's best we don't question it..."
"OH BASIC INFORMATION! AH YES..... SO BASIC....help me"
"Motivation, motivation, wherefore art thou motivation"
"Whose the geezer that keeps breathing in the mic" "did you not hear? Vader is taking Biomed"
"9K for Kahoot......"
Just my entire uni class singing the alphabet...
"Who the fuck named them self Tiger the Tiger?!"
"Aparently your hair dryer isn't supposed to smoke!"
*weird moaning sound?* "please can you guys mute yourselves, I'm hearing things I probably shouldn't hear"
"We have created a black hole for brain cells"
"Its like skin N shit right??" "Skin... and shit?!"
"John believes in me more than I do. Oof."
"Wait why should my arse get used to the pain?! Am I going to get pegged later" "HOLD UP?!?!?" "WAIT THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT!" "HOLD UP?!?!" "I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY MY BRAIN CAME UP WITH THAT!!"
"You people turn carrots all the time" "English²"
"Hold your microscope like a baby kitten. Snuggle it."
"It looks like alien sperm." "Did he just say alien sperm?!?"
"I've never thought about the logistics of a foot fetish...."
"Malfunction in the function of the kidneys function" "I think we know you're talking about function..."
"Is it possible to get too low of a similarity score?! Like I've written a whole load of bullshit that doesn't even make sense?!?!" "I think you're overthinking this..."
"I'm bi!!" "By myself-"
"There better not be any kanoodling going on" "did you just use the word kanoodling?-"
"Wait so Virus's aren't alive beings with malicious intent?"
"I just wanted to eat my crunchy corn flakes in peace, now I'm looking at photos of moldy food"
"Money saving tips, shave your head and you won't have to pay for hairdressing"
"A women in her 30s have a 100% chance of becoming pregnant" "um what" "THAT WASN'T WHAT I MEANT TO SAY-"
"I'm dying, in two ways. Literally and for a cup of tea"
"Why does the text look like its moving" "aren't you Dysl-" "YES, I know I'm dyslexic but that doesn't happen to me!! The font is weird-"
"I don't want too see any more" "take off your glasses then" "I can still see- How blind do you think I am?"
*random yelling on mike* "family am I right?" "My brother didn't get the PS5"
"Freddies hips don't lie"
"If i have to pay 80p for a freddo, I swear I will burn the fucking shop down. Its what Freddo would have wanted"
"How would you kill me? Come on! Be honest! It's your chance to tell your lecturer how you'd kill them! Get creative!"
"Wait say that clearer" "WHAT IS A GSHWOEBDÙ" "WHY the FUCK are you yelling" "AREN'T YOU HARD OF HEARING" "YES- but Yelling and being clear ARE NOT THE SAME THING. I'm asking you to announcate- NOT YELL AT ME" (I never found out what that word was-)
"Why don't you get your friend without anxiety to do it?" "I am the friend without ANXIETY"
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an incomplete list of the Bullshit ive gone through this year (2021 only), for personal edification:
I am in grad school trying to do research as well as TA a lab class during a global pandemic
My car is broken into in late February outside of my apartment. $1700+ of my backpacking/camping gear and personal items were stolen from it. Ironically they did not find the $20 cash I had.
Car battery begins mysterious dying if left overnight and have to call for rescue from AAA 4 separate times over the course of March. I suspect it is related to being broken into but can’t prove it without a mechanic’s diagnostics.
First mechanic I bring my car to does nothing for the entire MONTH they have it, except break my air conditioning of all things. I live in a desert. It is now 90º every day. At one point they call me to say they can’t get the back doors to open. I walk 2 miles back to them from campus and demonstrate how the automatic doors work on a 2005 minivan. I begin to have regrets about my mechanic choice but the sunk fallacy cost keeps me there for several weeks.
Mid march I also wake up one day to severe jaw pain/a weird “loose” feeling, like my mouth is slanting sideways. It is midterms and I do not have time for this, so I take a lot of ibuprofen and eat soup for a week. After 3 days I shove pillows and blankets around my face one night to keep my jaw aligned and when I wake up the next morning it is severely tight instead of loose, and I have to carefully stretch it open whenever I leave my mouth closed for more than an hour. I guess I just have TMJ now.
At this point I am walking everywhere until bike supplies arrive to fix my flat tire since the bike store is too far away to walk to; including walking back and forth to campus since I can only bring 2-4 out of 8 students into the lab spaces at a time and so effectively have to run each weekly lab 2-4 times per week; as well as going back and forth for greenhouse experiment monitoring/helping undergrads on our NASA contest project
Early April I go to the dentist for a crown on one of my back molars, which I must pay for out of pocket because my new dental insurance purchased when I moved last September has a 1-year waiting period and so will not cover it ($1200). Stretching my jaw open so far for the procedure reignites my new TMJ back to high pain levels.
While still waiting on car in mid-April I have a severe averse reaction to the second dose of the Covid19 vaccine, resulting in painful ulceration of all the soft tissues in my body (mouth, stomach, genitals). It is a very bad time for 3 days and I book an urgent care appointment for the first time ever.
Urgent Care nurse-practitioner does not believe me when I describe what’s happening, and misdiagnoses me with herpes.
I am still biking everywhere but now I’m extra mad and in pain about it so take car back from mechanic so I can get groceries etc. I make an appointment with the dealership but it will be a week until they can take it. In the meanwhile I have to drive it every 8 hours so it won’t die which means getting up at 2am to drive it for 20 minutes in the middle of the night so it will still turn on in the morning.
I have a terrible reaction to the numbing cream given to me for the painful open sores over my body, because of a lifelong mint sensitivity, resulting in an even greater amount of pain
The dealership can fix my car over the following week but its $1800 and now insurance isn’t sure they want to cover it after all
Herpes test comes back negative and nurse apologizes profusely and recommends a non-mint OTC numbing cream alternative that works (yay) and a numbing spray that does not work because it turned out to use an alcohol based propellant which should not be combined with open wounds esp on the genitals (ouch ouch ouch). I try to tell the nurse why I was right about my diagnosis and she was wrong but she still believes it was a latent virus of some other variety and and not an immune response alone, despite the published case studies I have brought to back me up. I decide I have bigger hills I need to die on right now and stop arguing. Sores persist into May but eventually do go down and numbing cream keeps me moderately functioning.
Car is fixed and I can drive again but it takes 2 hours of crying on the phone to my insurance company for them to agree to cover the cost of repair
I make a primary care appointment for the first time in years so I can have a doctor in this state if something like this happens to me again, in June I do intake/bloodwork/set up appointments to check out some other issues ive been having
Grad school finals happen which i wont get into but Yeah. Finals stress triggers another outbreak of canker sores, but mostly clustered in my mouth and only 2 on my vulva rather than 8-12. I eat only soup for another week.
I get a referral to the local mental health clinic and call about setting up an appointment for an ADHD evaluation. They tell me to download and send in some paperwork and they will call when they have available appointments
I am supposed to be doing all my labwork over the summer but the committee member I need escapes my clutches and we don’t manage to set up a meeting to plan it out/for him to explain the protocols until late June
Bloodwork shows I am critically low in vitamin b12 and low in D, which may explain some of why I am so tired all the time
Ultrasound shows a 1.8cm mass in the adnexa near my left ovary. There are several options for what it can be (folicular cyst, other kind of cyst, tumor, ectopic pregnancy i nearly laugh at my Dr and reassure her the last one is not possible if nothing else). It may go away on its own or it may not. Follow up scan in 2 months
I remember I was supposed to email forms to the mental health clinic and finally send those in mid July. It seems cruel to make me be the one to remember this considering I am calling about a formal ADHD diagnosis.
I also finally pin everyone relating to my labwork down and have a follow up meeting + make a list of what we need to order, but the staff who place orders are on vacation and when they get back several reagents are backordered
I have my follow-up ultrasound. The tech takes lots of photos which indicates the mass is still present, but I won’t know any details until my next PCP appointment when they send over the analysis to her in mid-August
Beginning of August the reagents I need for the first steps of the process arrive exactly 1 day before I leave town for a wedding and the lab manager is about to leave town for the entire next week
After the wedding, severe thunderstorms and tornados trap me in Chicago for 4 extra days. I spend a lot of time at the airport or on my way between the airport and my parents house. A facebook friend gets video of the funnel clouds which at least gives me something to sadly email my advisor and committee members when I have to join our planning meeting from my gate at O’Hare
I lose my drivers license at the security checkpoint on my last trip through the airport and don’t realize until I am boarding the plane because of course that is happening to me now
On the shuttle from El Paso back to Las Cruces after this ordeal the driver stops and picks up a box labeled HUMAN BLOOD and puts it in the trunk and i am too tired to care anymore
I stay up all night making the world’s most pitiful r graphs for my meeting the next morning and everyone takes pity on me and does not call out how useless they are
I spend the weekend trying to motivate myself to actually go into the lab and start my procedures, and fail to leave my apartment. This reminds me it has now been a month (Aug 15th) since I sent in my paperwork and the mental health clinic has still not called me back about up an appointment
I get overwhelmed with Everything and make this list
So that’s where I’m at at the moment. And this doesn’t even include anything from 2020 thats just been continuous like, y’know, a global pandemic and having a bad breakup of a 4 year relationship and moving to a new city where I know no one for grad school etc. I feel like I’m falling apart/unable to do all the shit I need to right now but you know what? Actually its been a really bad time and maybe falling apart a little is justified ;_;
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2, 26, and 27 ;)
The one where Harrys being a mad and horny devil and younger!y/n is being a tease
Based off of this ask
Prompt List
2. “You wanna say that again?”
26. “Are you sure you wanna do this?”
27. “Watch your mouth.”
A/N: Little bit of Dom!Harry, some Younger!Y/N, and it hasn’t been proofread🙃. Enjoy😋
Harry had been invited to dinner with Jeff and a few higher ups from his label. So naturally he insisted that you went with him. You absolutely hated these dinners just as much as Harry did, but you sucked it up and decided to go for Harry. The only thing that made it slightly better was the fact that there was food, and even then, it wasn’t enough to make you enjoy yourself. Not to mention the fact that you had only one thing in common with everyone at the table, that being Harry. Besides that, you had zero common ground. On top of that, you were the youngest person at the table. You were even younger than Harry by a few years.
Now it wasn’t so crazy where it would be completely wrong on every possible level, but just enough to make Harry feel the need to protect you and scowl at every male or female who looked at you in a way that made him uncomfortable; even more than a boyfriend normally would. Even though you were also in your 20’s and were very much capable of taking care of yourself. Despite this fact, Harry never failed to bring the slight age gap up in every activity of your daily lives. Never in a demeaning way, but more of a joking/‘I’m older and wiser, and you should listen to me’ type of way.
Somehow this control Harry took at times also translated into the bedroom. And it worked, very well.
You absolutely loved it when Harry took control and just ravished you any way he wanted (of course establishing boundaries and limits way beforehand). Now this didn’t at all mean that you didn’t love it when he took his time and practically worshiped your body. You could practically burst just thinking about those moments. It also didn’t mean that you haven’t taken control in the bedroom either. You have and you throughly enjoyed watching Harry beg for you to let him cum, it gave him a taste of his own medicine. Plus, it was so hot to see him beg for you. You loved the rush it gave you to have Harry restrained against the bed, waiting for your next move, hoping you’d let him release. But if you had to choose between being in control or being under his control, you choose the latter any day. It was just something about calling him daddy and following his orders that sent you off the rails.
It not only made you go crazy, but it also made Harry almost lose his mind in some cases. He loved watching you follow his orders, getting on your knees in front of him just from a single look. Or simply bending over the arm of the couch without him having to tell you when you know you misbehaved. He couldn’t get enough of you. He loved how you were down for almost anything (some things were just too much for you, even for Harry). How you were filthy when it’s just the two of you, but when you were with other people, you switched to your sweet, innocent self. Even when you were with others, how you still managed to bring out that side of you that only he had the privilege of seeing could make him crazy. And it did. You riled him up so much that that there were numerous times where he had to drag you both to the bathroom and take care of his swollen cock.
Whether it was you calling him daddy in his ear, or your soft hand undoing his pants underneath the table. Even you giving him a soft kiss on the cheek every once in a while at different functions got him worked up. Just like tonight. Except this time he was a bit more frustrated than usual. Thanks to you of course.
Now there were many reasons to his frustration. The first being that the nonstop sex you guys were having was brought to an abrupt end. See, you had just gotten back home from a business trip that took you away for about a week. So you and Harry were in a sense trying to make up for lost time, and then some. So you decided to take two days off to spend with Harry. But as the time went on, two turned into three and now four. The two of you didn’t leave the house for almost four days.
Your routine turned into this:
Wake up, have a good first round of morning sex, get in the shower, have another round of sex in the shower, cuddle up in the bed or on the couch and watch whatever you could find on Netflix, have sex again on the couch or in bed, cook dinner together, eat dinner, then end the night off with a ‘final’ round of sex.
“We’re running low on supplies” you mumble bending over to look into the nearly empty fridge. Out of the blue, Harry strolls into the kitchen and finds you bent over the fridge. He seized the opportunity and he delivers a heavy swat to your ass. “Harry!!” You screech, coming up from your previous position to face him. “That hurt” you pout, rubbing over the stinging spot on your backside.
“Need daddy t’make yeh feel better?” He rasps, pulling your into his chest. His arms wrap around you and his hands go straight to your ass, kneading the supple flesh in his large hands.
“No, I need food” you huff, deciding to not indulge him any further. Harry has other plans though. He guides you over to the kitchen island and before you have a chance to rebuke him, you’re already being hoisted onto the counter.
“I already have something I want to eat” he spreads your legs and attaches his lips to your neck.
“No” you close your legs, trying to stop Harry from continuing. You do this only for him to spread your legs again. Which leads you to snap your legs shut. The both of you continue in this pattern for a little longer until you push him away completely.
“Baby” he slumps, pouting in your direction.
“We can have sex when I get back home.” You keep your hands on his shoulders and you hop off of the counter. You make your way to the front door with a now mopey Harry training behind you.
“Not even a taste. Y’not going to let daddy have a taste?” He tries to coax you into letting him have his way
“I’m not going to be long” you chuckle at his eagerness. You shrug on your coat and you slip on your worn out sneakers. “I have no idea how you survive on tour. Your like a horny teenager” you tease grabbing your purse and keys.
“Well first of all, I’m a grown man. Older than you to be exact. Second, it’s easier on tour because you’re not around.” He states matter of factly. You roll your eyes at his comments and you make your way out of the door.
“So you’re blaming your horniness on me now?”
“Yes, yes I am.” He reply’s curtly. You turn around and you press a quick peck to his pillow soft lips.
“Love you” you mumble against his lips.
“Love you too” he sighs giving your hips a slight squeeze. Before he can even try to deepen the kiss, you pull away from him and you make your way to your car. You hop in and you back out of your parking space, leaving Harry leaning against the door looking soft and cute, yet utterly fuckable. During your entire ride to the grocery store, the image of a needy Harry lingered in your head.
When you make it to the store, you dash inside, wanting to get in and get out so you could go home. As you’re walking into the next aisle, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You pull it out to see that it’s a text from Harry.
Harry: A few people from the label invited us out to dinner. Want to go?
You thought it would be good to get out of the house for the night instead of watching Netflix in bed.
Y/N: Sure! I’ll be home soon.
You throw your phone into your bag and you zoom around the store grabbing the last items you had on your list. You surprisingly make it through checkout fairly quickly and you make your way back home. With the help of Harry you manage to get everything put away in enough time for you to get ready.
“Y’want me to hop in with you. Save time and water?” Harry rations. But you don’t fall for it at all.
“If we get in this shower together, we won’t make it out of the house.” you shoot down his proposal, leaving him alone in the bedroom. You take a quick shower and you rummage through your closet for something to wear.
“Y’should wear this” Harry leans against the door to your closet with a hanger dangling from his finger. The dress on the hanger was in no way appropriate for the event what so ever. It was the dress that never failed to make Harry want to drag you away from any party.
“Absolutely not.” You grab the hanger from him and you put it back where it belonged. You eventually settle on a simple dress that you could just throw on. You’re surprisingly able to finish getting ready with a few minuets to spare; mainly due to the fact that you made Harry go downstairs and wait for you. When you come down the stairs, you see Harry sitting on the couch mindlessly looking at his phone. The clicking of your heels against the floor, causes his attention to shift over to you.
“Now if you don’t let me bend you over the arm of this couch, it would be so cruel” he pleads with you.
“As soon as we get home I’m all yours.” you wrap your arms around his neck and his circle around your waist.
“You better be. Gimme a kiss” he puckers his lips and you give him a few kisses.
“Let’s go, don’t want to be late” you smooth your hands over the lapels of his jacket. You give him one last kiss on the cheek and you pull away from him. You grab your jacket from it’s hook by the door and the two of you make your way out to dinner.
The dinner goes the way it always does. You sitting next to Harry, not talking much while he talks to everyone else about his upcoming projects. The dinner surprisingly goes by faster than usual. You and Harry having your own little conversations away from everyone else at the table helped when it came to passing the time. You were impressed at how Harry was able to contain all of the pent up sexual frustration from the day. Well, you were impressed at first.
Now to add onto his sexual frustration, you were starting to frustrate Harry. While everyone was ordering desert, Harry decided to settle on a cup of tea. This opened up a big can of worms that you were going to have to pay for.
“How do you deal with an old man like him?” One of his colleagues jokes, directing the question at you. You thought it was the perfect Opportunity tease Harry a little, and get in on the conversation.
“Well, I wouldn’t say it’s that hard dealing with old man styles over here” you begin turning towards him with a smirk across your face. You look over at him and you see an unamused expression spread across his face. “Aww, is my old man mad” you laugh and you lean over to kiss the corner of his mouth, but he pulls away from you. Causing you and the entire table to erupt with laughter.
“You’re a grumpy old guy” You turn your attention from the conversation over to Harry who’s sitting quietly next to you.
“You wanna say that again?” He grits through his teeth, planting a firm grip onto your exposed thigh under the table.
“Say what, that you’re a grumpy old man” you continue to tease, deciding to let Harry see how it felt.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Because I suggest that you watch your mouth” he leans closer to your face. You roll your eyes at him and you see his eyes darken. Not only was he rock hard from the entire day, but he was also irritated by you. It wasn’t what you said that frustrated him, it was the fact that you weren’t listening to him at all.
“I’m not a little girl, and you can’t tell me what to do” you decide to stand your ground.
“Your mine, and I’d shut up if I were you, you’re already in hot water.” Harry growls lowly at you.
“Make me” and that’s what completely threw Harry over the edge. He takes a deep breath and he leans over to you, his breath fanning over your skin.
“I want you to go into the bathroom and wait for me. Right now.” You freeze in place and you realize that you were in some trouble. You excuse yourself from the table and you do as Harry told you. You wait for about five minuets, which seems like forever when you are awaiting a punishment. Harry bursts through the door and locks it behind him. He strolls over to you and traps your body between his and the counter behind you.
“Y’think you could just talk t’me like that and not get punished?” He asks you, gripping onto your chin go look at him. You shake your head no through his grip. “Use your words” he says sharply.
“No” you whisper through your shaky breath.
“Get on your knees” he instructs. You follow his orders and you kneel in front of him. He begins to undo his pants. He pushes his pants down his legs and his cock springs to life. It looks like he could just burst. His cock was an angry reddish purple color. You could see a bead of precum coming from his engorged head. He grips his cock and he jerks himself a few times before pulling your head back. He lines his cock up with your mouth and he maintains eye contact with you. Keeping his eyes on you, he pushes his cock past your lips.
“Fuck” he growls down at you. He gains a firm grip onto the back of your head and he wastes no time in thrusting into your mouth. You feel his cock going all the way down your throat. The head of him going so deep that you gag around him. “Old man? Couldn’t fuck this pretty mouth if it was baby” he pants, continuing to thrust into you. Your hand moves up to his thigh, squeezing him so that you could stay in place. All you could hear were the wet sounds of Harrys cock pistoning into your mouth and the pants leaving his mouth. You swallow around him, causing your throat to tighten up, resulting in you squeezing his cock. “M’gonna cum” Harry growls, continuing to thrust into your mouth. You move your hand from his thigh to his balls and go squeeze them in your hand. All of a sudden, Harry presses your head into him, stilling his hips, feeling his release coming. Then you feel spurts if his cum pouring into your mouth. He shoots rope after rope of his cum down your throat, finally getting the release he’d been in need of all day. He catches his breath and pulls out of your mouth. He looks down at your kneeling figure and a big smirk spreads across his face when he sees your smeared lipstick and watery eyes. He tucks himself back onto his pants and fixes his appearance in the mirror above you.
“Maybe that’ll make you think twice before talking back” he whispers, looking into your watery eyes. He notices a drop of his cum gathering in the corner of your mouth, and he swipes his thumb across the area, collecting it onto his finger. You part your lips for him, but he pushes it past his own instead. Your face falls, causing him to chuckle at your reaction before opening the door. “Don’t take too long in here” he says walking out of the bathroom as if nothing ever happened, leaving you alone on your knees on the floor.
Masterlist
#harry angst#harry fic#harry smut#harry styles x reader#harry x reader#harry x y/n#harry imagines#harry styles smut#harry styles x y/n#harry drabbles#harry styles angst#harry styles fic#harry styles imagines#harry x you#harry styles x you#harry styles blurb#harrh styles#harrywritingsbyme#harry styles writings#harry styles dirty one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles writing#my harry writing#harry styles one shot#harry styles one shots
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While I am covid ~discoursing, I have been doing a bunch of reading on the “Covid as lab leak” theory and I guess this is me at my conspiracy-theory peak because I find it quite plausible. The answer to the question of the origin of Covid is “we have no clue” with nothing close to definitive evidence for any specific story. But having read a bunch of different break-downs - the top linked one by Nicholas Wade being the best - there is certainly enough unique traits of Covid that make it being a product of gain-of-function research possible.
Beyond possible, is it probable? No one can say, but it all comes down to priors. It was helpful to learn that actually the scientific ‘consensus’ around it being natural in origin is partially a myth - lots of prominent researchers either directly disagree or think we lack information (and of course institutional groupthink is all you need to explain the opinion of academics who aren’t directly involved and don’t research the topic). Most hilariously, the most-cited “consensus” letter, the February 2020 Lancet statement, was written by *checks notes* the CEO of the company funding specifically gain-of-function coronavirus research at the Wuhan Institute of Virology, the lab accused of being the source of the leaks?? What is this, amateur hour? Pay someone else to write that for you, ya dingbat!
And far from the idea of a lab leak being an “outlier” scenario, they in fact happen all the time - smallpox leaks in England, SARS leaks in Hong Kong & Singapore, there have been a dozen+ such cases with multiple fatalities. The Wuhan lab in question operated its research at very low safety levels - essentially at the level of a typical dentist office - while developing viruses with the specific goal of enhancing human virality. That lab having a leak was more a question of when than if.
Finally I think the biggest prior is the China of it all - if this happened in the US or Japan, the odds of there being such a leak and no one at the lab talking to the press would be virtually zero. We would have at least some evidence, those governments could never cover it up and probably wouldn’t want to. But the CCP is like the one government around that both could and would. Saying “the CCP is lying about something” is not really a conspiracy-theory level claim, and they have blocked any and all access to anything from the Wuhan lab since the pandemic began to put the icing on that cake.
But I don’t want to overstate it - you don’t need a lab to explain any trait of Covid, evolution could account for any of it, and its missing some signs you would expect to see in a lab product. Its a huge uncertainty range and I don’t think I give the lab leak results even 50% odds. Yet I certainly won’t label it a conspiracy theory - it seems like a perfectly valid hypothesis.
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I have a question, and i feel like asking it might be rude but I'm genuinely curious, I understand making a-grade dice around 80-100 depending on complexity but why do some dice maker's sets cost 100+? Is it more related to how much time it costs and price of materials? I'm sorry if this is a rude question
This is a question I see very often and while it may not be intended to be rude it is not polite either. Each maker prices their own work based on a variety of factors that include time, material costs, skill, and risks that go into creating their art. I'm going to try to be very thorough here in explaining why handmade dice cost so much from my perspective because I will not be answering this question again. Please know I don't intend to be rude or belittling in my response, but I feel like an in depth understanding of what goes into making each piece will better the understanding of why handmade dice are priced the way they are.
To begin with materials are expensive. If you decide to make dice professionally it is likely you will be investing in not only the basics (resin, add-ins such as color/glitter/etc., safety equipment) but also in master dice and mold making equipment which can very quickly add up. Most makers also eventually purchase pressure pots (mine with my air compressor cost me a total of $700 on sale) in order to reliably create A-Grade sets with no bubbling.
Next there are safety concerns. I work with epoxy resin. I work with one of the safest resins that is certified fume free and skin contact safe. This is more expensive than most other epoxys and even with those safety labels it is still not advised that it is used without good ventilation and/or a respirator mask rated for fumes and if it does come in contact with skin it should still be immediately washed off. On top of this the dust created from sanding resin, a necessary step in finishing every die, is extremely harmful to breathe in. This means that the workshop has to be in a separate place far away from other residents/children/pets who would not be wearing a respirator.
Then comes actually making the dice which depending on the complexity of the pour can take an hour or multiple days of pours in order to achieve the desired look. I have 8 sets of molds currently and pouring into all of them at once takes 5 hours. This does not take into account the dozens of sets that do not turn out either due to curing errors from under mixing, the temperature being too hot or cold, humidity being too high, and a number of other factors that can be very difficult to control without additional equipment. Once the dice have soft cured and come out of the molds they require another two days to finish curing before anything else can be done to them.
Then they have to be polished and sanded. When I first started making dice this took eight hours for a single set of dice. Now I have invested $150 into a pottery wheel which allows me to sand a set in half an hour, but it still requires a lot of focus to keep the die perfectly level in order to create crisp clean edges and a mirror shine.
Once the sanding is done the dice have to be cleaned, which means standing at a sink scrubbing resin dust from the numbers with a toothbrush for half an hour. (I'm working on getting a new piece of equipment which will hopefully automate this process but that is an additional expense.) Then once they're clean and dry its finally time to paint the numbers. This also takes time, each set about half an hour, and they then need about an hour and a half to fully dry before I can clean any stray paint off the surface of each die. After they've been painted and cleaned and dried again they then finally get their last polish with a soft cloth and plastic polish to recapture their mirror shine.
But the work isn't done. Then each set has to be photographed, named, given a description, listings made on Etsy, listing fees paid on Etsy, packaging supplies procured and then eventually taken to the post office. From start to finish the amount of time, materials, and additional labor that goes into a handmade set requires the sets to be priced as such. And none of this takes into account the difficulty of making certain styles of sets, be it due to a challenging and unpredictable pouring method or due to the difficulty of making or procuring special inclusions (I will find you someday snake skin).
Handmade dice are a luxury product because they are works of functional art and they are priced as such as payment for the artist's time, skill, materials, and effort. I have been advised by other makers that my prices are too low, advice that while well-meant-- like this question-- can come off as rude. Because I am seeking to keep my prices as low as I can in order to allow more accessibility to those who want to have their own handmade dice but cannot afford higher costs. That being said it is absolutely fair for dice sets to be priced at $100+ (I have purchased a $275 set for myself from another maker which was a very special splurge and not one I will be doing again frivolously), that price reflects dozens of hours of work not only on that individual set but also on the hundreds of hours and failures that were required before they could even achieve that final piece. And if that seems outrageous or excessive then perhaps the handmade dice market is just not the place to be procuring dice. That's also alright, not everyone can afford them. But each maker has every right to charge what they believe is a fair price for their work.
Again I hope this response doesn't come off as belittling, I intend no ill-will. But I hope this explanation helps to illuminate why handmade dice can cost upwards of $100.
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