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fuckin-sick-bih · 1 year

Note

If you’re feeling it, I’d love to see Matt Murdock with a cold being his fiesty vigilante self

So like... lowkey Matty is one of my faves to write and I'm thrilled I finally got an ask for him!!! Hope I did him justice, pun intended lol Also hope you don't mind a few other characters just for the sake of moving the plot along and dialog.

Fandom: Marvel Summary: It starts in court when Matt can't seem to keep his head on straight, coughing a little, but when he goes out for the night things just keep getting worse. Until a familiar someone really sends him home. CW: Threats of bodily harm, threat of contagion (none actually depicted, Matt is just a shit who likes to bark not bite in this) Word Count: 1.5k (I... got carried away ok?) Author Note: Hiya! Bit of a disclaimer, I am not blind and have never been blind. I'm just active in the disabled community and enjoy absorbing information from mutuals who are blind or self-identify as visually impaired. Matt's sensory stuff I base a bit more on my experiences with Autism since his senses are heightened. MINORS DNI

Court had been a wreck today and Matt just wanted to get back to the office. Normally, a courtroom was just one of those places where Matt could easily slip on the imaginary lawyer mask he’d crafted for himself from years of practice. Today was… not one of those days. He fumbled, his brain felt sluggish and hazy, he was tired, his throat itched, and he found himself reaching for his water more often than usual. Even pausing a few times during his closing speech to cough into a closed fist.

The feeling of Foggy’s concerned gaze burning into his back was unmistakable as he swept his cane back and forth along the smooth tile while walking briskly away from his law partner before he could say anything. Foggy was a wonderful friend but he was a worrier. In his rush to escape, the tip of his cane caught on something, and the handle jabbed him hard in the stomach making him grunt with the force.

“Matt.”

Oh, he knew that voice. The muscles of his jaw tensed, pressing his molars together a little more firmly before forcing a smile through the current discomfort marinating in his body. Nothing he wasn’t used to. “Karen? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you-” His breath caught on his ticklish throat, and he paused to cough downward into his fist before continuing. “Shouldn’t you be back at the office?”

Something like a sigh left her, “Well, I would be if Foggy hadn’t been texting me all through court that you were struggling and coughing, Matt.” She insisted, sounding concerned.

Even when not actively on high alert, Matt was always consciously hyperaware of his senses and surroundings whether he liked it or not. The moment Karen decided to lift her hand to press her cool palm to his forehead, Matt knew it was coming and braced himself not to lean into the touch. As much as he craved the sensation. Affection. And yet it burned. It was too much. He recoiled from it after a moment with another forced smile.

“Karen, I’m fine. Just a little cough. I’ll be fine after some sleep.” Matt said, figuring there was no sense in lying when he’d just coughed in front of her already. He sniffed, feeling his nose starting to run and that’s when the dread began to set in. A cough was fine, but congestion? That could screw him over for days.

Nelson was coming up behind him and carefully taking his arm so Matt lifted his cane up to let his best friend begin to guide him instead. “There’s a taxi waiting out front to take you home, man. Go get some rest. Actual rest. I’m serious, if I hear you’ve been out of bed, I’m coming to kick your ass. I mean it.”

So, Matt went home. Staying home was the last thing he was going to do if he was getting sick.

The moment Matt couldn’t feel the sun on his skin anymore, he left his apartment in his suit ready to leave a lasting impact for a few days just in case this cold left him worse for wear. Lucky for him it was a busy night and he’s never been so grateful that his cowl leaves his nose uncovered because once the cold night air hit his nose it was like the sneezes just wouldn’t stop.

“You’re trying my- HiD’tshUH! patience. So, I’ll ask again. Where’s the warehouse?” Matt rasps out, sounding exhausted and just utterly done with the man he’s got pinned to the brick wall before him.

The man, Tyler he’s learned is his name, sneers and spits what Matt can only assume is a mixture of blood and saliva onto his front. “Fuck you, man! I’m not tellin’ you shit! Go back to, mama, and play more dress up, freak!”

It’s getting dangerous to be out and Matt knows it. The shapes are swimming and blurring together in how he can “see”. Nothing is crisp and clear anymore because of the congestion settling in and muddling his senses. He sniffles a little to try and help it but it does nothing, if anything it makes it worse. Sure, Matt’s good, but he’s still blind. As in, almost no residual vision blind. Just the occasional bright light or neon makes it through. Tyler needs to talk and talk fast so Matt can finish up for the night and then find his way home.

A smirk curls at Matt’s lips, “Tyler,” He sniffles. “You tell me, or next time I sneeze I’m headbutting you so damn hard I’m sending one of these little horns on my helmet into your skull.” He threatens, nostrils flaring ever so slightly just below where the cowl ends. “Hihh… Shit…”

“You wouldn’t-” Tyler said uncertainly and while Matt was a little preoccupied with how his nose was itching and the way it was working deeper into his sinuses, he could still hear the uncertainty in the other’s voice.

Matt leaned his head back a little like he was gearing up to strike or sneeze or both in this case. “Bet I would. Fuck burns- hi’ihh… ihh!”

There was milliseconds to choose before suddenly the other man blurted out, “Fifty-second street down near the docks! Don’t hurt me anymore, man!” And with that, Matt let the other slump to the ground while he turned aside to sneeze against a gloved knuckle.

“HiPT’SHuh! Hit’shhuh! Hihh… huh… Ugh, fuck lost it.” Matt grumbles as the last sneeze escaped him, grimacing at the feeling of damp leather, nylon, and neoprene up against his sensitive cold ridden nose. The individual strands of the fabric he could still pick out and made his skin crawl just thinking about them. He shook himself off, able to hear Tyler’s running footsteps in the distance vaguely.

Getting to 52nd street was… a chore to say the least. Usually, running rooftops was no issue. Now, Matt felt unsteady. Unsure of himself. The congestion was getting worse and Matt’s ability to orient himself with it. Like being trapped underwater and not knowing which way was up and which way was down.

To top it all off, he’d begun to shiver and sweat which logically he knew meant he had a fever. Though he couldn’t be all that bothered to think too hard about it right now. Making it easier on himself, he’d cut the power to the warehouse to drench the place in darkness before going in. It set the men in a panic, a few knowing what was coming, and went running. Matt went for them first. The others he picked off slowly.

Heavy boot falls as he was dragging the unconscious men into the center of the warehouse making him freeze. He knew those steps, but God Almighty, that was the last person he wanted to talk to right now.

“Hey, Red. You look like shit.”

A sigh that scraped his throat and to his irritation also seemed to rattle slightly in his chest, making him cough harshly before he could reply. “Fradk.” He rasped out. “Did I beat you to it for odce?”

Something like a scoff escaped Frank, “While sick too, looks like it. The fuck you doin’ out here, Red? You look ready to keel over. I knew you were some kinda masochist but nothing like this.”

That shocks a laugh out of Matt which only serves to make him double over with more coughs, pressing his gloved hand to his mouth and nose as he tries to reel it in. “Headi’g hobe after this. Probise. Just… deeded…” His voice is trailing off and with his cowl covering his face it’s impossible to tell that his eyelids are fluttering. His nostrils still flare though.

“HiD’TSHEW! EISHEW! Huh… d’no c’bod… hih-!” Matt rubs furiously at his nose with a gloved hand, very sure his nose is that same stupid red color Foggy always made fun of him for in college whenever he got sick. “Hixx’TSHEW! Shit-”

The half stifle makes him stumble in his off-balanced state and he nearly falls if not for the hand on his arm suddenly. “Go home, Red.” Frank’s voice is suddenly much closer, and Matt is alarmed at the fact that he hadn’t even heard or felt the other so much as move. “Call the cops. I’ll sit on the nearby rooftop, and make sure none of ‘em escape for you.”

Matt sniffles again, keeping his gloved hand pressed to his nose for a moment before giving up and dropping it. He’s too tired to care what he looks like and he’s pretty sure Frank has seen worse than a runny nose. Besides his nose is so blocked up he can barely even smell that cologne Frank usually wears, maybe letting it run will do him some good.

“D’no killi’g.” He instructs the other. “I kdow where you live. I’ll bake sure you catch this.” He threatens exhaustedly, dialing the cops before leaving Frank to watch over the scene while he heads home to claw his way out of his suit, shower, make tea, and pass out before work the next morning.

#snz #snz kink #snzfic #snz writing #bex's snz writing #ma/tt murdock #da/redevil #ma/rvel #snzfucker #anon snz prompt #ka/ren page #fo/ggy nelson #fr/ank castle #also random OC tyler i guess? idk him he just showed up on set one day

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fragileizywriting · 2 years

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they have to enroll the kids in school.

adrien refuses private tutors. no way. not only are they outdated, but he knows that none of them will treat their children correctly. he knows this with experience. sweet little emma will take the brunt of the disdain, and he can't let that happen to any of his children.

marinette comes up with the idea of a private school, then, definitely not one for humans because they age slower-- the three of them agree. a private school that caters to kissing their asses sounds like a perfect idea. they don't want to disappoint the royal family, after all.

they arrive. the walls are tall. there are beautiful roman columns that hold up the ceiling while walking in the front entrance of the school. marinette wonders, immediately, how it's possible to dust the columns-- only for hugo to voice the same thing. he's a momma's boy. and the only one of the three that can hear desires-- yet, anyway. louis is too young, apparently.

the charm on her necklace shields her from unwanted demons reading her desires. it's protective, just in case. adrien knows better than to let marinette wander around unprotected.

the woman who is guiding the tour asks if the "nanny" would like to see the employee routes. they all pause and stare at the woman guiding them.

she points to marinette.

"we are the best school in the kingdom," the woman nods politely. "please don't worry yourselves with your nanny. i can handle four cute little children while i take you on tour. please escort yourself to the luncheon."

jules is trying so hard not to laugh. she won't be going to school, but the idea of going to a new place does entertain her. even if she can't see it very well. adrien bristles-- luka's eyes widen-- the children all look confused.

marinette smiles. "of course." she looks down to emma, who's notorious for crying when this happens. "be good for your daddy's, okay? i'll be right back. you know what to do, right?"

she gives a wink. they understand. she's going to go looking for any succubi being mistreated. it's a common thing, unfortunately, to take advantage of a species that cares so much about young ones. succubi are nothing if not communal-- some demons may have figured that out.

"i'll go with her," jules sighs. "i'm not interested in a nanny-less school anyway."

"it's employees only, dear," the woman laughs, and jules blisters when a giant long skirt appears in front of her to stop her from going forward. she frowns at the tour guide, batting at her foot with Rosalind who she's hiding as a small cane. "my my, your majesty! such cute children you two have!"

"they're a handful," adrien mutters. he'll give the school the decency to sticking until the end of the tour to say he won't be letting his children come to this school.

"not to worry. we have all the accommodations for any disabilities. we pride ourselves in being inclusive. whether it be blindness, slow growth for their age, cognitive behavior, and-- yes-- we pride ourselves in being inclusive to succubi, too."

interesting. succubi being considered a disability. that's new. he shares a look with luka, who very much is thinking the same thing-- adrien's face is far too flat to hide the disapproval on his face.

alya is going to have a field day ripping this school to shreds in court.

the woman doesn't seem to notice the quietness, too busy watching emma and hugo run around the columns in a weird game of tag. even with all the ruffles in her dress, she's still able to keep up-- the bottom edge of her skirts are dirty and caked, and they love it. emma is always so happy running around. "is she... is the little princess yours, your majesty?"

"why wouldn't she be?"

"forgive me. that was impolite. she looks very much like your nanny-- i do not mean to imply infidelity... do you think it would be best to have her in this school?"

luka stops jules from arguing almost immediately.

"if she wants to go to this school, then she will," luka narrows his eyes, looking back up as he wrangles jules in his arms. to the woman, it is nothing more than father and daughter. jules is biting his finger. he's going to bleed. he's tempted to bite back just because he can. "what are you implying, then?"

"this school is very much fast paced, you know-- i would hate for her to fall behind. are they that dependent on your nanny? or just the youngest girl?"

"very much," luka answers, trying to get jules's attention and gesture for her to slip away from the conversation the moment she can to go follow behind marinette. he all but bowls juleka out of his arms. "everyone here is dependent on her."

adrien goes for the distraction. "what is your policy on succubi, anyway?"

#speakizys #demon lovin

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scarofthewind · 4 years

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Can I request Colossus with a blind or deaf reader?

A/N: You most certainly can! This man needs more love and appreciation and I am here to give it to him!!! Hope you enjoy!

The sound of the bell ringing interrupted your speech as the kids gathered their things and practically ran out the classroom door. “Don’t forget that you have papers due next Thursday and I have open office hours if anyone needs help!” You reminded them hearing a few say ‘thank you’ as the classroom grew silent. You sighed and reached over to grab your cane, only to knock it over and let our a curse as you heard it roll away.

“(Y/N), let me help you.” You heard a deep voice echo from beside you and you let out a surprised sound. “My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.” Colossus said, putting the end of your cane in your hand and feeling the cold metal of his skin trace your fingers.

“It’s alright. What are you doing here?” You asked, standing from your desk and maneuvering around it. You let Colossus put your bag on your shoulder and you held onto his arm as you made your way into the hallway, your cane tracing the ground in front of you as you walked.

“The Professor wants to see you.” You stomach dropped at his words and Colossus could see the scared look on your face. “It’s nothing bad! I think it’s about the upcoming mission.”

“I can’t go on missions. I can’t see, remember.” You teased, feeling his arm stiffen under your grasp. He hated when you brought up your disability, it made him feel guilty for some odd reason.

“If I could give you my sight-”

“You would. I know, you’ve told me a million times.” You laughed, hearing the voices of adults coming from what you assumed was Charles office.

“There she is!” You heard someone exclaim and you smiled, hating that you couldn’t see who was talking or where they were. You felt like you looked stupid with your eyes not looking anywhere in particular, but everywhere at once.

“Piotr, close the door please.” You heard the voice of Charles echo as the room got quiet. Colossus did as he was told and then helped you sit down in front of the desk the Professor was sitting behind. “(Y/N), I would like to first, tell you how wonderful of a teacher you are. The students are growing not only in their studies but their control of their powers as well.”

“Thank you, I do my best, here at the school.” You said it without any hesitation. “I don’t think I belong on a mission with any of the X-Men. No offense to any of them, but I am nothing but a person for everyone to worry about.”

“I disagree.” Charles stated calmly. “You have a great power that we could all use.”

“I can’t use it.” You felt your heart ache and you heard Colossus’ grip on the back of your chair tighten. “I refuse to use something I can’t even see. What if I hurt someone good? That’s my conscious it lies on.”

“(Y/N), I need you to listen to me. We aren’t going to throw you out there on your own. There will be people with you and this isn’t a big case-”

“Then you will have no problem finding someone else to do it.” You snapped, standing from your seat and stumbling for a second. You felt the air stiffen and you scoffed. “I can read everyone’s mind in this room and let me tell you something...” You moved your hands around the edge of Charles’ desk until you found your cane. “I don’t need pity. I don’t need everyone thinking that they should include me because I can’t see and am always being left out.”

“I’m fine here, teaching the kids.” You sighed, rubbing your temples as everyone’s voice filled your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I refuse.” You made your way to the door and left the office without another word, hearing the faint voices of the X-Men who were in there, behind you.

With your mind scrambled, you had a hard time collecting yourself as you walked to your room. You counted the footsteps in your mind as you made it to your door only to feel and find there was nothing there but a wall. You moved down a bit and still couldn’t find a door. That’s when the anger surges through you and you slammed a fist against the wall, your mind going blank as to where to go.

You became frantic, panicking and stumbling blindly. “Where is it?” You cursed, swearing you’d counted correctly. You do this everyday, how can you mess it up? Taking a larger step forward, you nearly fall tripping over the end of your cane, only to have a large hand wrap around your arm and pull you up.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” Colossus asked, letting you compose yourself.

“I’m fine!” You yelled, your voice breaking as you felt your eyes water. “I don’t need everyone pitying me all the time!”

Colossus frowned, angry at your statement, “There’s a difference between pity and trying to help. I am trying to help you and you keep pushing me away; you push everyone away.” You bit your lip, stifling a sob and Colossus felt a pang of guilt in his chest. “Please. Let me help you.” He said softly, taking your hand and placing it on his arm. From there, he lead you to your room which you were far from.

“Sometimes you don’t have to see something to know it’s there.” Colossus stated as you unlocked your door. “I told you that when I first met you. I had called you beautiful and you denied it, do you remember?”

“I do.” You nod, a small laugh leaving your lips. “I have never known what I look like, I couldn’t believe you.” Colossus touched your face gentle and you leaned into his touch. “I don’t have to see you to know you’re the kindest man in the universe.”

Colossus chuckled and brought you into a hug; letting you wrap your arms around him. “You have a lot more potential than you think, (Y/N). Your ability will help us a lot more than you think.”

“Charles has the same power as me but to another extent.” You argued, feeling Colossus lift your head to face his.

“He’s giving you a chance. Take it.” You could feel his breath on your mouth as he spoke.

“Remind me again why I agreed to date you?” You sighed, silently agreeing to the offer. Colossus laughed and scooped you up in his arms, nudging your door open with his foot and entering.

“You love me, I hope.” He stated, sitting you down on your bed and kissing you passionately. You read his mind loud and clear and he gently pushed you to lay back, the soft blankets greeting your sore muscles.

“I do. But just so we’re clear, you’re coming with me on this mission.” You gasped feeling this teeth nip at your neck.

“Of course.” He hummed in response and you let the thoughts go as he took you to the one place where you didn’t have to see to know that it was damn near heaven.

#colossus x reader #colossus #marvel #marvel x reader #deadpool #[✉️].request #🍰.fluff

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mimzy-writing-online · 3 years

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Hello! I have a writing or, maybe portrayal question is better suited. I roleplay a canon character who is blind, one who most likely lost his sight somewhere in middle age, and who is at the present time considered quite elderly (though definitely far from debilitated despite his age). I don't see many resources out and about for older blind characters, so I was wondering if you perhaps had some advice? Thank you!

I don’t have any role playing experience, but I’ll give it my best shot. I don’t know how much of your character’s canon personality shows up in your personal role play, but it’s good that it gives you some base work.

With him being canon, then it might be good to look at the source material and check for any ableism and stereotypes. Most mass media is written by abled people and they don’t hire sensitivity readers, so unfortunately a lot of stereotypes fall through the writing cracks. You can pick out the problems and decide how you want to proceed with them, whether you keep them to be true to the story or you decide to go for something more accurate and sensitive.

I would recommend looking into whatever condition caused your character to go blind. Since it’s not specified when exactly how he went blind, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s no diagnosis given.

A lack of diagnosis is especially common in worlds without our modern science, such as high fantasy and historical, because without our modern science, how would those eye conditions be diagnosed or even studied.

But I think there’s still value into making your best guess at a diagnosis and making it your head canon. Having a diagnosis idea will give you an idea of how much he sees (if canon isn’t super specific) and how exactly the vision loss progressed.

The most common causes of vision loss are degenerative disorders that most commonly affect middle aged and elderly patients. Going blind when you’re young is actually pretty uncommon.

(I’m always the youngest patient at my ophthalmologist appointments. Everyone is always at least twenty years older than me)

Common degenerative disorders are:

-macular degeneration

-glaucoma

-diabetic retinopathy

-cataracts

-retinitus pigmentosa

-macular dystophy

These are more common for middle age and elderly patients.

If your canon exists in a world without our modern scientific advancements and little is known about eye conditions, then your character won’t have a diagnosis other than “hey, he’s getting older, lots of old people go blind” but giving him an unofficial/unnamed diagnosis will still help.

-Most people won’t be as surprised by a blind old guy as they will by a 20-something blind person

-People also tend to be dismissive of elderly people, especially visibly disabled elderly people. Your character may be used to that and while they find it annoying they know how to use it to their advantage if need be and ask for help.

(people are waaay more willing to help you if you’re visibly blind than if there’s no signs to indicate your blindness. This is not always the case. There will always be assholes or people who still don’t know what a white and red cane means)

-In personal experience, I find that elderly people are more blunt and to the point than younger people. They don’t feel the need to be as polite or to beat around the bush. Living with blindness long term can also give you a matter of fact, blunt, no-nonsense way of dealing with the abled public

-Note: this was sent to me a year ago and like with the one I just answered, it was lost in my drafts for forever and I am very sorry about that.

#Anonymous #blind character #writeblr #rpg #roleplay #larp

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planetsam · 4 years

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“Look if you don’t want her she’s going to the pound,” Wyatt says, “she’s too fat to be of any good on the farm.”

“Do you need to think of the most dickish thing to say? Or does it just naturally come out of your mouth?”

Wyatt’s face screws up but Alex snatches the leash from him before he can say anything. He’s done listening to assholes with the last name Long. On the other end of the leash Buffy regards him with a mix of wariness and disgust. It’s more tempting than Alex would like to admit to shove it back at Wyatt, but his grip tightens on the leash.

“Glad you got a souvenir,” Wyatt sneers and storms off.

Alex tries not to rub the most recent addition to his scar collection and instead looks down at the dog. Buffy whines loudly and the sound matches whatever’s going on his recently repaired gut. Emotionally at least. Physically he’s been given the almost all clear, which for him is good enough. He kneels down and looks at the beagle who backs away.

“Yeah, I get that,” Alex tells her, “do you remember me?” He holds a hand out for her to sniff but she turns her snout up, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He straightens up. Buffy looks in the direction she came from but Wyatt’s long gone. Alex has no idea what to do with a dog, much less a beagle who seems to like him about as much as her owner actually did, but standing in the road with her leash he realizes they’re in the same boat. Both left standing there, wondering what the hell they’re supposed to do now. When he glances down again, Buffy is looking up at him. She’s still reproachful but she hasn’t run and Alex is at a point where he’ll take what he can get.

“You wanna go home or should we go to the pet store first?” He asks. She perks up slightly at that, “pet store it is,” he says, “come on.”

* Since losing his leg Alex has been in several hand to hand situations, gotten kidnapped, discovered aliens and blown up a handful of buildings. He’d say he’s good with his prosthetic. Some days he uses his cane but it’s far and few between. He’s good but he hasn’t had a consistently strong pressure yanking his cane arm walk after walk. And there have been so many fucking walks. Buffy is overweight and though her diet is the main thing, walking helps. It helps one of them at least.

“Buffy, come on,” he says, “heel.”

Buffy huffs, lowers her body and digs in her paws.

Her blatant disregard makes the military man in him seethe. He doesn’t know how one beagle is more difficult to control than than a group of soldiers, but here they are. Buffy does not respect the chain of command. Or maybe she just doesn’t respect him. Alex thinks he’d be used to the universe ignoring what he wants but the manifestation of it in an overweight beagle left behind by a man who manipulated him so openly is a fresh wound on his ruined ego.

“Buffy,” he says.

Buffy puffs herself up and erupts into her signature barks. How such a loud noise can come out of such a small creature is beyond him. Buffy spends a lot of her time napping and laying on her back, but when she gets going it’s impossible to stop or ignore. Alex is used to people staring at him on the street. He’s learned to dismiss the judgement about things he knows he can’t change. For the first time though he gets it. He’s pretty sure he’d cross the street too if he saw what was happening.

“Buffy—“ he starts. She keeps going crazy, “Buffy come on,” he’s got nothing else so he scoops her up again. Immediately she stops barking, “seriously?” He sighs, “you know we’re both supposed to be walking,” Buffy looks over her shoulder at him, “God, fine,” he shifts the weight in his arms and starts walking, “I need the workout anyway.”

“Aren’t you both supposed to be walking?”

Alex turns around to see Michael standing there looking confused. He’s not close enough to hear what he just said, but the fact that it’s the first thing that comes to his mind makes Alex’s chest tight. Buffy gives Michael a look of complete disdain. Michael raises his eyebrows at the dog’s reaction, though Alex is fairly certain Michael is just glad to have an excuse not to look at him. Not that he can fully blame him, not with everything that’s happened recently.

“When did you get a dog?” Michael asks.

“A few days ago,” Alex says, “it was me or the pound,” he explains, “I wasn’t looking to get one.”

“Right,” Michael says slowly.

“Her name’s Buffy,” Alex volunteers. Michael finally meets his eye, arching his eyebrows at him.

“You sure you weren’t looking to get a dog?” Michael asks. Alex looks at him questioningly, “if I had to guess what you would name a dog, Buffy’s pretty high on the list—“

The truth smacks him across the face. Buffy squirms in his arms and he’s all too glad to put her down, even though that means he’s forced to figure out something else to do with his hands. Something that doesn’t involve punching things. All he can do is laugh bitterly at how stupid he is. Laugh and pretend that he doesn’t see the alarm on Michael’s face.

“You okay?” Michael asks.  “I’m good,” Alex says, shaking his head, “I just realized how much of an idiot I am,” he looks at Michael who looks confused still, “Buffy was Forrest’s dog,” he explains, “he left her behind,” he sighs, “I thought the dog was real.”

“She looks real to me,” Michael says.

“He named her Buffy,” Alex retorts. Michael winces, “like I said, I’m an idiot.”

They both look at Buffy who gives them a look back that says they are both idiots. Alex doesn’t think either of them would disagree after the things that have happened lately. But realizing that there’s a good chance the dog was adopted just to manipulate him is salt in that wound. Not by Forrest necessarily but by someone in Deep Sky.

“Your dog seems to agree,” Michael points out.

“Shit,” Alex mutters looking down at the beagle, then he looks at Michael, “what do you know about microchips?  “What do I know about what?” Michael asks blankly.  “I need your help,” Alex says.

It’s got nothing to do with what just happened but Michael goes serious and nods. Alex tries not to be affected by it. Or by how Michael seems committed to being open after months of them lying to each other.  “Whatever you need,” he says.

There’s a weight to his words that lasts a moment before Buffy decides right there is a good place to go potty.

* “Up you go,” Alex says and gets Buffy onto the table, “good girl.”

Buffy huffs at the compliment but when she spots Kyle she immediately starts wagging her tail. Because Kyle has that effect. He grins and scratches her ears as Buffy rolls onto her back. Alex looks over at Michael who seems surprised by this turn of events.  “Good thing he wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Michael says, “she’s already fallen for it.”

Kyle looks at him sharply and Michael realizes his mistake with a swear but Alex waves him off. Whether or not there were genuine feelings is an issue for another day. Or another lifetime, if he gets his way. Thankfully neither Michael nor Kyle have made the mistake of suggesting he get rid of the dog in case Deep Sky is spying on him with her. Kyle picks up the device and scans Buffy as best he can until Alex reaches out to help hold her steady. They find the first microchip easily enough. It’s just surprising how easily they also find the second one.

“They put a tracker in the dog?” Kyle shakes his head.

Alex agrees. It seems stupid with all the messed up shit they’ve done, but looking at Buffy with her upturned nose and disdainful glares and imagining her being picked out and named and then used like that makes him ache. Especially if it was in the pursuit of him. It’s not the only thing that’s wrong but Alex has always had a soft spot for animals and it’s the first thing that makes his throat tighten.

“We have to get them out of her.”

“We will,” Michael says, “first lemme make sure they don’t work.”

“It’s not going to hurt her, is it?” Alex asks as Michael reaches out.

Kyle and Michael trade looks and Alex knows his voice sounds odd but the dog’s been through enough. Especially on his behalf. A part of him thinks giving her away might be best but if Deep Sky is still using her then who knows. He could give her away and bring more people into this.

“Alex,” Michael comes around the table and stands next to him, doesn’t say anything when Alex shifts back, “look, it’s not gonna hurt her. I’m going to just disable them. We’ll figure out how to get them out of her after.”

Buffy rolls over and gives Kyle’s hands a lick before she reluctantly belly crawls to Alex. She doesn’t look thrilled about having to come to him, but she sits in between him and Michael and looks at Michael with her usual disdain. It’s not full on affection but Alex appreciates the defense all the same. He looks up at Michael.

“Okay, do it,” he says.

Michael puts his hands on Buffy’s shoulders and focuses. Alex waits for her to yelp or do anything but she just glares at Michael like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever been subjected to. He pulls his hands back and blinks rapidly, going a little pale. It’s one of the effects of whatever they did to him, his powers are there but using them takes more effort than it did. No-one knows when they’ll fully return.

“Kyle get the—“

Kyle gets the bin just in time for Michael to puke in it. Buffy flattens her ears and decides she’s done enough comfort one day. She trots back over to Kyle and flops on her back, bracing a paw against his arm so he has maximum access to her belly. Before Alex can think about what he’s doing his hand settles on Michael’s shoulder as he heaves. It’s another sign of how badly he’s fucked up and Michael consenting to it under duress doesn’t make him feel any better. But he forces himself to hold onto Michael’s shoulder as he empties his stomach.

“Shit that sucks,” he mutters, unthinkingly wrapping his hand around Alex’s elbow. Alex doesn’t let go of his shoulder as he wipes the back of his mouth. He looks up at Alex and gives a quick, shaky smile, “I disabled the chips on both, they’re dead,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Michael nods, looking more relieved than Alex is comfortable with at the words. He tears his eyes away to look at the love fest going on between Buffy and Kyle. It’s honestly hard to say whose fallen more for who. Alex pulls away and tries not to focus on how cold his elbow and palm feel without Michael’s signature heat.

“Now we just gotta get them out,” Michael says.

Kyle seems to be aware they are all looking at him intently. He opens his mouth to reject whatever they’re going to say and Buffy whines for him to continue the belly rubs. It’s written all over his face that of all the ways he saw his life going, this definitely wasn’t one of them. He looks down at Buffy.

“Am I still gonna be your favorite?” He asks her.

Buffy huffs.

“I think that’s a yes,” Michael says.

* “Your back hurting?”

Alex winces at the question, he thought he had done a good job of hiding it. The concern is there in Michael’s voice and it’s not well hidden at all. Alex looks over at him, seeing the guilt in his eyes.

“It’s from picking up Buffy,” he says, “she’s having trouble getting on the furniture.”

It’s almost laughable how furniture is so complicated in his house. Alex never thought the height of a seat could make such a difference in someone’s life. The perfect height for him though is apparently too much for his still overweight beagle. His best solution is to pick her up but for all her laziness Buffy isn’t good at staying put. It’s not overly painful but it’s not ideal while he’s still healing.

“Oh,” Michael says.

“She’ll get better,” Alex says, “she just has to lose some weight,” he rolls his shoulder, “and I have to heal.”

“She can’t stay off the furniture?” Michael asks. Alex glares, “just asking!” Michael says holding up his hands, “I never had a pet. I had a foster home where I wasn’t allowed on the couch once, it sucked.”

Alex doesn’t know how Michael can stand to be so casual about things like that. Mentioning something so devastating hasn’t even interrupted his rhythm in eating his fries.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says quietly. Michael acknowledges it with a quick nod, “I want her to be able to go where she wants,” he explains.

“Except maybe the bunker,” Michael points out.

“Okay maybe the bunker,” Alex agrees.

“What about stairs?” Michael asks, “they make stairs for dogs right?” His brow furrows, “your furniture is custom heigh though, right?” Then he perks up, “I can make her stairs.”

Alex almost chokes on his water. Michael’s response to everything was to throw his tools in his bunker and seal it up. Alex isn’t even sure he has the materials to build dog stairs. But it’s the first time he’s seen Michael look excited about building something.

“Are you okay with that?” He asks, “I can pay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael says, “if it gets Buffy to stop constantly stink eyeing me we’re good.”

“Just tell me how much they cost,” Alex says after a moment’s consideration.

He texts Michael the asked for measurements.

Michael doesn’t want to be alone with him and Alex can’t blame him. He doesn’t really want to be alone with Michael either. Not yet. It’s not until he hears the truck in the driveway that he even thinks more about it. The truck pulls in, parks and Michael gets out before Buffy starts going crazy. Alex feels a rush of affection for her.

“It’s Michael,” he says, “and he’s already almost inside.”

Buffy still puffs up like she’s done her job and Alex scratches her ears before he opens the door. Michael is standing there with two stairs in either hand and a black bag slung over his shoulder.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, his mouth dry, “of course,” he says, “come in.”

“Thanks,” Michael says. Buffy looks at him and howls. Michael glares, “the hat isn’t negotiable,” he tells her firmly, even as he takes it off and sets it aside.

Michael puts one of the stairs by the couch and hands Alex the other for his bed. Alex puts it down where it is and follows Michael to the back part of the house. Michael drops the bag and picks out a few tools before moving to the trap door.

“What’s all of this?” Alex asks.

“Eh I could tell you didn’t mean it when I said Buffy wasn’t allowed in the bunker,” he says, “so I put something together.”

“You built her an elevator?”

Michael shrugs and goes pink around the ears.

“Yeah I mean I want her to feel welcome,” he says, “and if you gotta hide I know you aren’t leaving her behind.”

Alex looks over at Buffy whose stink eyeing the stairs like she’d prefer to be carried. He wouldn’t leave her behind. He wouldn’t leave Michael behind either but just being alone in the same room is a lot. He doesn’t want to push this. He doesn’t know if Michael feels that as well.

“Can I get you anything?” He offers, “I have lemonade?”

Michael hesitates for a moment. Alex wonders if he’s read this wrong before Michael nods and Alex finds he can breathe again.

“That sounds good,” Michael says, “thanks.”

#michael guerin #alex manes #Buffy manes #Buffy the beagle #malex #michael x alex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #bc we all know where Buffy the princess belongs #fight me

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freshouttaparsnips · 3 years

Photo

Reader is having a bad... life. Slim helps the only way he can.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

a comm fic for @sheewolf85 cause she’s been having a rough time <3333

tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Reader is not gendered, Reader is unnamed, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Disabled Reader, Fat Reader, Short Reader, Good Boyfriend Slim, Reader is a weeb, Slim is a Weeb

read it on Ao3

or read it below!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You’ll find a real job one day, don’t worry about it.”

That’s what you’d heard the majority of your life, living with family and being around friends that didn’t really understand that you just… weren’t able to keep up with “real jobs”.

You had a bevvy of both emotional and physical issues, none of which were extremely terrible on their own (not that the neurotypicals would understand even if they were), but all together they made one hell of a horrid cocktail of hardship. Even if “other people” had it worse than you, you still struggled enough that actually working a regular, 9-5 job just wasn’t in the cards.

What you really wanted to do was write. It was your passion, your reason for living and creating. Yeah some of your “content” was on the darker side of the spectrum, but nothing about that made it any less fun to post what you’d written online just to see if anyone was going to get emotional because you’d nearly killed a main character off.

Which was, incidentally, how you met Papyrus.

He was into the same anime as you, which was how he found your fics in the first place. He loved the same characters, had some of the same ships (though the man had some wacky crack ships you wouldn’t even touch.)

To be completely honest, once the two of you had started talking over chat websites, you’d mostly hit it off about as perfect as it could have gone. The two of you just sorta… worked. He would commission you to write his ships you’d actually consider, and tipped crazy amounts for what he said were “masterpieces of literature”. You always told him off for it, but no matter how much you pleaded, he’d never let you give any of it back.

Once you realized that he lived no more than two hours from you, he mentioned a park you knew about and the two of you decided to meet up. For real.

It put butterflies in your stomach, thinking about meeting someone that had felt like nothing less than your soul mate for the past year. You knew he was a monster, that he was tall and had a deep, but kind voice. You’d done enough voice chats to know that he was a smoker, seeing as how he’d have a cig out after work when you usually chatted up.

He knew you were human, obviously with the questions you’d ask him about being a monster. He knew you weren’t that keen on your physical appearance, but not exactly what you looked like, and he knew that you were a little on the short side.

But as you walked into the clearing you’d agreed on, catching sight of a lanky skeleton monster standing at the end of the path, a bouquet of flowers in his hands, you almost didn’t believe it.

Not until he caught sight of you, wary hope in his eyes as he called out your name.

“Papyrus?” You answered, and a sparkle of real happiness lit in his eyelights as he all but jogged up to you, flowers forgotten at his side as he looked you up and down.

You were doing the same, noting that he looked… about how you figured he’d look. What from being from a Fellgrounds, the edgy nature of his outfit wasn’t that surprising. A dark purple sweater covered by a deep brown jacket, a crimson collar around his neck and a gold tooth replacing one of his canines. What was surprising was the cute bangle of a bracelet he was wearing around his wrist, the exact one you’d shipped him not 3 months before. On it were two charms, ones that were supposed to be a ship of his, but that he said reminded him of the two of you.

“I can’t believe this…” He murmured, smiling down at you, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“Are those flowers for anyone special, mister skele man?” you teased, Papyrus chuckling as he held them up for you.

“Naw, just some fan I met online. I think we’re headed somewhere special, though.”

Blinking back the wet tears, you gently took them, sniffing once before gesturing with your cane down the short path. “Shall we then?”

And it went from there.

You’d eventually moved in together, when Papyrus found out about your money issues. He made bank, he claimed, so it made sense. Neither of you really thought about your relationship outside of the natural way you got together; cuddling on the slightly too small couch, making meals together as you bumped corners and laughed as you stepped on each other’s toes.

No, it was completely easy, loving Papyrus.

Which was why you had to wonder why it was so hard to love yourself.

You’d been getting a few not so great comments on a few of your last depression-fueled chapters, asking why you’d gone so down hill in your quality, and a few even asking if you’d copied a much more popular writer in fandom. It made your eyes sting with heat, reading them over and over until the words were burned into your mind.

It did nothing to help the low you were in, your body aching fiercely as you tried so hard to get out of bed that morning… only to fail miserably as you hoisted yourself onto your side into a more comfortable position.

Papyrus was out getting groceries, one of his self given chores, leaving you to make a sort of meal plan for the rest of the week based on what he was getting. He’d left you a list and everything, sitting on the kitchen counter downstairs, utterly ignored as you sighed heavily into your pillow.

You weren’t going to cry, not about this. Not whenever you were supposed to have thick skin as a writer. Criticism made you better, not worse, but… if that was the case, why did it hurt so much?

You had to wonder if there wasn’t just something extremely wrong with you. Surely there was, no one else would be crying because someone on the internet said something mean.

You didn’t deserve this life. Didn’t deserve living with your soulmate, didn’t deserve living in your own house with any food you could want at your beck and call, didn’t deserve Papyrus .

Blinking back the tears as they came, you choked on a sob as you thought about it. Papyrus didn’t deserve to be saddled with you, didn’t deserve your fat, ugly, lazy ass sleeping in his bed and eating his food while you did next to nothing to pay the bills.

You didn’t hear the front door open downstairs, didn’t hear Papyrus call your name and hurry up the stairs as he worriedly called for you again.

But as soon as you saw him come through the door, magic searching desperately for you, you sat up.

“I’m s-sorry, I-I’m sorr-ry, I’m-” you said over and over, sobbing ugly tears as Papyrus stepped forward instantly, silent as he gathered you up into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. You kept saying them, apologies over and over for things you couldn’t name but knew he’d understand, he always understood.

Once you’d calmed down enough to feel shame, having to be coddled like a child by your boyfriend, Papyrus finally spoke.

“What are you sorry for?”

It was the worst question he could have possibly asked, but you owed him an answer. “Being a-a hor-rible partner.”

He shook his head, nuzzling into your hair in the way that never failed to make you melt.

“No, there’s no reason to apologize for that. Anything else?”

You stared off into space, befuddled. “For… for taking up your space?”

Papyrus grunted. “Nope. No reason for that either. Got a better one?”

Now you were squinting at the wall, brows furrowed. “I don’t know, for being a burden on you? I don’t pay any bills, I barely have enough to help with food and get my meds, I can’t help clean every day, I really need a bath and I’m sure I stink but you’re holding me anyways because I’m a big baby- ”

You stopped, taking in a deep breath, letting it out slowly as Papyrus’ grip around you loosened, just enough for him to stare down at you. The love in his eyes, the pure adoration nearly made you take another breath.

“Babe, I’m still not hearing any legitimate reasons for you to be sorry. You help with what you’re able, and because you got shit luck, that’s not a lot by healthy terms, but guess what?” He leaned down, kissing you lightly on the nose. “I don’t care about all that.”

You stared hard up at him. “You don’t?”

“Nope!” He answered brightly, before snuggling down with you on the bed. “Cause I got the best luck when I found you.”

Your mouth was open, eyes wide as you started crying again, only this time Papyrus was there to wipe away the tears, gently holding you as you kissed him.

#fresh writes #undertale #papyrus/reader #swapfell papyrus/reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #anxiety #panic attacks #self deprecation #but Slim is a good bf no worries

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lilacmoon83 · 4 years

Text

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 22: Fury

Lacey smirked, as she took the pool cue and made her shot, sinking the striped ball in the corner pocket. She walked around the table, even as her opponent waited impatiently for her to miss. But she didn't intend to lose and sank the last striped ball. Her opponent tossed his cue away in frustration.

"Pay up," she said, as he did so and then stormed to the bar. She put the money down her bra and approached the bar to order a drink.

"Why the long face?" she asked Keith and he looked at her incredulously.

"You have to ask? My face is like this, because of you," he complained. She scoffed.

"I didn't do that to you," she refuted.

"Yeah, but your boyfriend went postal on me, because of you," he corrected. She snorted.

"He is not my boyfriend," she argued.

"Could have fooled me. In this town, when Mr. Gold decides he wants something...he gets it," Keith said.

"And you think he wants me?" she asked. It was his turn to snort.

"Are you blind or just drunk all the time?" he shot back. Lacey was silent at that, as she did the shot that was put in front of her.

She hadn't really given much thought to what it meant when Mr. Gold beat the literal crap out of Keith a few nights ago, but implication that he had done so out of some kind of crush was a little off putting. For one thing, he didn't seem like the type that would have a crush, let alone be involved on a romantic level with anyone. On the other hand though, he was rich and powerful; two things that were highly attractive to Lacey. He also had a darkness about him; another thing that was highly appealing to her.

She was so bored in this stupid town, but he seemed to have a very interesting life. Maybe brushing him off wasn't the right move for her.

"Well...since you want to stay on his good side, why don't you pick up my tab today?" she asked. Keith snorted again.

"If it means you go...then fine," he said. She smirked and grabbed her coat, before leaving the bar. If making nice with someone like Mr. Gold meant eventually finding a way to blow this snooze of a town, then that was exactly what she was going to do.

~*~

"I'm sorry...but that won't do. Your loan is due now. Either you make your payment or I'll be forced to repossess your property," Gold stated in a matter of fact tone.

"You have always given me extensions before…" the woman protested.

"Yes...with a threatening call to Mayor Cora Mills and I conceded all those times only because I loathe dealing with your distasteful employer or former employer rather, I doubt Mayor Regina Mills will be keeping any of her mother's staff on," he answered.

"You can't do this! Cora is our Mayor and the fact that her daughter has unseated her is a travesty!" the woman protested. He didn't even hide his eye roll at that.

"Be that as it may...Cora no longer has the power she once did and I am only too happy to deny the favors she mandated for her cronies," he said. He was definitely enjoying this immensely.

"This will not stand!" she cried dramatically, as she started for the door, just as David and Mary Margaret entered the shop, the former carrying little David in his arms. Snow was shocked to see this woman, especially as she gazed at them both with an icy glare.

"You two...you are a fool to walk out on a wonderful woman like Kathryn and you are nothing but a little tramp," the woman spat, as she stormed out.

"Well, that was more entertaining than I thought it would be," Rumple commented.

"That...that was Johanna…" Snow said, almost stunned to speechlessness.

"Remember...she's cursed, my love," David said.

"Or a sleeper agent," Rumple muttered, though they didn't hear him.

"What can I do for you both?" he asked.

"Well, you can help us kill Cora...because you're going to want to when you find out what she's done now," David answered bluntly. The looks in their eyes stole all the mirth in him and he felt dread knot in his stomach.

"And what has she done?" he asked, as his eyes met theirs.

"We need to get to the station immediately. We'll tell you on the way," she said.

"How bad?" he asked the prince.

"About as bad as you can get," David answered.

"My car is out back," he said, as he locked the shop and followed them through the back exit.

~*~

Emma looked through the glass, as Neal sat in the station's small interrogation room. They only had one room, so they were opting to question him first and then her. Not that it would do them any good. Neither of them were going to talk, but she knew they had a very good case against Neal and possibly her too.

The fear of being ripped away from her family had settled in her stomach like a giant knot. She may have been deputy in this town and acted much older than she was; a product of becoming a mother so young, but she was still only twenty-one years old.

She had never been away from her mother or her brother for that matter and she had just finally found her father. Add to that, she had never been away from her son for more than a few hours his entire young life either. She was terrified and one step away from breaking down into terrified sobs, despite the brave mask she was putting on for the world. Neal looked like he was holding up well, but she imagined he was just as terrified too. He had just found out he was a father and she knew he was committed to being in their son's life. However, if he went to prison on grand larceny, he could be facing years of prison time and that thought made her very sad. She kept watching the door anxiously. She knew her parents were coming, but it couldn't be soon enough for her.

~*~

Neal looked at the two detectives and one district attorney with scrutiny. He didn't know the two men, but he instantly recognized the woman. She definitely wasn't what or who she appeared to be and her stare on him told him that she remembered him too. Why she was here and the reason for this ruse was a mystery though. It made him wonder if these two men were actually a detective and an assistant district attorney too. It didn't matter though, for they seemed determined to charge him and extradite him back to Oregon for trial. And honestly, he had no idea how he or even his father was going to stop it. So if he was damned to this fate, then he knew he had to do everything he could to convince them that Emma was completely innocent. At least his son would have his mother and his three grandparents then. He could live with going to prison himself, but he could not live with Emma being punished by association for the things he had legitimately done. It sucked though, because he loved her and his son. And that's why he had to do everything he could to protect them.

"Mr. Cassidy...you've been on the run for a while," Detective Bishop said, as he opened a file and put it in front of him.

"Recognize these?" he asked, just as the door swung open.

"Don't answer that," Rumple growled.

"And you are?" Greg asked.

"His father...and his attorney. You can just call me Mr. Gold," Rumple said, as he used his cane and walked in. His disability would likely make them underestimate him and that was just what he wanted, for he was boiling in his own skin at that point and had been since the moment Snow and David had told him Cora's latest ploy.

~*~

A Few Moments Earlier

A million ways to kill Cora Mills were running through his head at the moment, each more gruesome than the last.

"She is going to burn for this...if it's the last thing I do," Rumple growled, as he limped as fast as he could toward the entrance to the station. Once Snow and David had told him of her latest deeds, his blood pressure had skyrocketed and his mind was running a mile a minute plotting her demise. And from the looks of determination on Snow and David's faces, they were doing the same as him. Yes...much had changed, indeed. There was a time when the couple behind him were intent on showing everyone mercy, probably even Cora at one time. But she had put them both through things that probably should have broken them both. They were still good people, but she had stripped them of that key component that may have allowed them to show her mercy long ago. And she would definitely regret it if he had his way.

"A dwarf pickaxe would be messy...but effective," Snow agreed.

"They're not taking her from us, Snow…" David tried to assure, but Rumple could hear the quiver in his voice. It was born of the same fear he had knotted in his stomach. Fear for his child. Fear that there was nothing they could do to keep something bad from befalling their child.

"I love you for saying that, my love...but you don't know law enforcement in this land like I do. It's different out there…" she said gently, as she squeezed his hand.

"I can't lose her...I just got her…" he said and she looked at him, before sniffing. His arms immediately went around her, as they followed Rumple into the station. David's statement echoed his own thoughts. He had just finally gotten Bae back...he couldn't lose him either.

Emma saw her parents come in, as Rumple hurried to the interrogation room and she rushed to them. They hugged her between them and she felt her father cradle her head. She felt like a little girl, his little girl, when he did that and she loved that August and Regina were not far behind them and hurried in.

"Oh my God…" Regina uttered, as she looked at the female detective in the box.

"Regina...what is it?" Snow asked, as she watched her son suddenly start flipping through the book.

"How the hell is she here?" he asked her.

"Regina...do you know that woman?" David asked.

"Yeah...she's a fairy. Or at least...she was," Regina replied.

"Wait...like a fairy from our land?" Snow asked. Her step-sister nodded.

"But...maybe that's good, right? If she's from where we're from...then maybe she'll help," David replied.

"I don't think so," August interjected.

"What do you mean, honey?" she asked.

"Because that woman is Tinkerbell and she works for Pan...who is not at all like he is portrayed in the stories from this land," August answered.

"Wait...like Peter Pan and Neverland and all that crap?" Emma questioned.

"Yeah...he's not in the book, but trust me, he's the worst or so I've heard," August replied.

"Wait...if he's not in the book, then who told you about him?" Emma asked. He looked a bit nervous at that.

"Uh...Neal. I wondered how he was even still alive once I found out who he really was and confronted him...before he decided to leave you two years ago, and before he knew about the baby of course," August answered.

"I asked him and he told me he spent at least a couple hundred years in Neverland, before he escaped," he added. Emma seemed dumbfounded by that, but then she never really knew of his connections to their homeland until very recently.

"Okay...then the big question is why the hell is she here? And what does she and her boss want?" Regina stated, as they listened to the interrogation.

"You're his attorney and his father?" Detective Bishop questioned.

"That is what I said. Are you hard of hearing?" Gold snapped irritably.

"Papa…" Neal chided under his breath.

"What are the charges?" Gold questioned.

"Quite a laundry list actually," Detective Bishop said, not noticing the other man's glare on his partner. The woman seemed quite unsettled by it and cast a look at Neal. She had quickly discovered that he remembered her, even though it had been years since he had seen her. Neal, however, wasn't surprised by her unease with his father's scrutiny. He had never told her who his father was and apparently her boss hadn't either, nor was she aware of his intense hatred of fairies, even if she had been stripped of her wings. But even Neal had no idea that his hatred of this woman had less to do with her former association with fairies and more to do with who she was really working for.

"Your son...or client is being charged with grand larceny of these pricey watches. There are also various other reports filed by business owners against him for petty theft," the detective stated.

"And what is the price to make this all go away?" Gold asked. The detective looked at him and blanched.

"This isn't going away...Mr…" he said, as he failed to recall his name.

"Mr. Gold...and trust me, there is always a price," Gold responded.

"Are...are you trying to buy your son's way out of this? Because trust me...if that's the case, you're going to be sorely disappointed," Michael snapped in return. Rumple clenched his teeth and his fists, trying to quell his temper.

"My son is not going to prison," Gold refuted.

"Sorry, Mr. Gold, but the state has a very good case and he is going to be extradited to stand trial in Portland," Detective Bishop stated. He turned to the assistant district attorney.

"Detective Bishop is correct, but if your client agrees to plead guilty and save the expense of a trial, then I'm prepared to offer Mr. Cassidy a deal," Greg said.

"What kind of deal?" Gold asked.

"If he pleads guilty...then we're offering fifteen years with the possibility of parole in five. That's a pretty sweet deal, considering all the evidence against him and the fact that a judge could choose to throw the book at him if he's convicted in court. And a judge just might do that, considering he's been on the run for so long," Greg explained. Neal felt dread settle in his stomach. This was really bad. But five years...it wasn't the end of his life and normally, he would have jumped at a deal like that. Little David would still be fairly young and he knew Emma would allow him to step right back into his life. But...it wasn't like she, his son, his father, and her parents were out of danger. The curse and Cora were clearly still a very real threat so he wasn't surprised when Regina stepped into the room.

"Who are you?" Detective Bishop asked.

"I'm Mayor Regina Mills...and I'd like to barter a different deal," she said, as she walked in and closed the door. She shared a meaningful look with Tinkerbell or Tia, as she was going by now, and then her eyes flicked to the assistant district attorney.

"What kind of deal?" Greg asked.

"I have it on good authority that Mr. Cassidy is a changed man. He has a son now and has reconnected with his father. So my deal is that Mr. Cassidy does your prison time here in Storybrooke," Regina offered. But Greg shook his head.

"There's no way I can sell that to my boss. Regardless of how he pleads...he's coming back to Portland with us tomorrow morning," Greg refuted.

"Mr. Cassidy has very real and clear ties here now. He has a family now, his son and his son's mother...whom he loves very much," Regina argued.

"And that's a sad story, but it doesn't excuse that Mr. Cassidy committed some very serious crimes," Greg said. Neal motioned her and his father forward and whispered something to them.

"If Mr. Cassidy told you where the watches were stashed and agreed to pay some restitution to the business owners, could we come to an agreement on a lighter sentence to be served here in Storybrooke?" Regina questioned.

"I can ask my boss, but he's going to insist that Mr. Cassidy serve any sentence, even a lighter one, in Portland," Greg responded. Regina sighed and her eyes met Tinkerbell's again, but she remained silent, which unnerved her.

She and Tinkerbell had become friends and the blonde was the very reason she had found her way to Robin. She had been very grateful, but it had enraged her mother and Tinkerbell had paid the price for it. Cora and the Blue Fairy's mutual hatred of each other had been turned on Tinkerbell. Blue had taken her wings and then her mother put a bounty on the fallen fairy, despite Regina begging her to spare her friend. As a result, Tinkerbell had been chased out of the realm and Regina had never known what had become of her until now. There were still many questions she had, of course, but she had a feeling the blonde had no desire to tell any of them anything. She turned and saw that her mother had arrived with Kathryn in tow. The pain on her sister's face was palpable and her mother was eating it up.

"My boss will agree to three years if you pay restitution and give back the watches, with the possibility of parole in a year, Mr. Cassidy," Greg said, as he got off his phone.

"That's a very good deal and it expires in one hour," he added.

"I need some time with my son and client," Gold requested, as they made their way out and into the middle of a heated exchange between.

"There's no other way out of this, papa...it's only three years, maybe even one if we're lucky," Neal said.

"I can't lose you again, Bae!" Rumple snapped and then deflated, as he nearly broke down.

"I just got you back...and I'm going to fix this," he said, as he went to the door.

"Papa...what does that mean?" Neal asked, as he watched his father motion to the assistant district attorney.

"If my son takes your deal...can he at least stay in Storybrooke until morning?" Rumple asked.

"Uh yeah...it's getting late in the day. We probably won't leave until tomorrow morning," Greg replied. Rumple nodded.

"Then you're taking the deal?" Greg asked. Gold refused to respond, so Neal did it for him.

"Yes," Neal answered. But he knew by the look on his father's face that he had some sort of plan. He could only hope that it didn't blow up in their faces. As he was to be led out to the holding cell, he knew Emma was next and he leaned toward his father.

"Emma is innocent in this...don't let her tell them any differently. I do not want her taken away from our son...promise me, papa," he pleaded.

"Their case against her has to be circumstantial at best. And if I have my way...neither of you will be going anywhere," he promised, as Neal was led out.

"Well...what's all the commotion?" Cora asked coyly, as she and Kathryn entered the station.

"You…" Mary Margaret hissed, as she made a beeline for the other woman. But the raven haired beauty's outrage only delighted Cora immensely.

"What's the matter dear? You seem a bit upset," she cooed in a condescending tone. Kathryn looked on smugly, enjoying their obvious pain.

"Going after us is one thing...but our daughter?" she growled.

"Our?" Kathryn asked with scrutiny, but she was ignored.

"Did you really think she was off limits with me? Because if you did...then you're still the naive little fool you were years ago," Cora hissed.

"You better be ready for the fight to come, because we're not the same merciful people we were all those years ago. You've awakened the fight in us and you might be sorry that you did," David retorted.

"David...what are you talking about?" Kathryn demanded to know.

"Stay of this...it's none of your concern," he snapped back, surprising her again. She still wasn't used to being spoken to by anyone like that, let alone the husband that she had once so thoroughly controlled under her thumb. But those days were over, for she didn't even know this strong, confident version of David that seemed to exist now. She could still see the shadows in his eyes, shadows she had caused, but instead of those hardships making him weak...they had only made him far stronger than she could have ever imagined possible.

"David…" she started to say again.

"Just get the hell out of here!" he snapped.

"Sign the damn divorce papers and stop letting this bitch control you!" he roared, as he looked at Cora, who glowered at him.

"David…" she growled in frustration, but her fury had no effect on him anymore.

"I don't have time for your nonsense anymore! And if Emma gets taken from us...then you're both going to wish you never met us," he warned, as he took Snow's hand and they turned to Regina as she came out of the room.

"It's your turn, Miss Swan...we have some questions for you," Detective Bishop stated. Emma nodded and went inside the interrogation room, as Detective Bellum put Neal in one of the holding cells.

"I am her mother...I'm coming in there with her," Snow said to the detective, but he put his hand up.

"And your daughter is an adult. You'll remain out here, Ms. Swan," he refuted, as he went into the interrogation room. Snow felt comfort, as he put his arms around and they listened intently to the interview that might have a hand in their daughter's fate...and the fate of the entire town...

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #Charming-Stiltskin clan #Emma Swan #Neal Cassidy #Swanfire #August W. Booth #rumbelle #OQ #evil Cora #CORA cast the curse #AU #romance #adventure #family #a darker curse

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the-potter-analyst · 5 years

Text

Chapter 12 - The Mirror of Erised

One can never have enough socks!!

Harry Potter and the Sacred Text word of the day: (White) Privilege

When I learned that this was the word that the hosts would use for chapter 12, I was.... intrigued to say the least about how they would connect the concept. But once again, I was amazed on what they found! Basically the invisibility cloak was a symbol for both having privilege and not having privilege. The original word(s) of the day is “white privilege” but the idea can also work for privilege in general, which is why I have white in parentheses. Just to put it out there, I’m an asexual black woman which right off the bat puts me at a disadvantage for the top categories of privilege lol, so this topic is something very close to home and I will not sugar coat anything. istg if I get any defensive replies or asks

The invisibility cloak having a double meaning around privilege is so fascinating to me. It reveals how invisibility can be good or bad depending if a person is privileged or not. For example, if you’re white, you will largely be ignored on the things you do; you can get away with almost anything. This is the positive side of the invisibility cloak, as Harry can roam around the castle without being noticed, particularly at night, and not be caught. On the flip side, a white person will be seen as an individual, their actions defining themselves and not an entire group. Alternatively, this is the complete opposite of any minority. Any black person walking down the street will be noticed because they are black, my people literally can’t do anything without the cops being called on them. And a black person’s actions ends up being a collective definition of the entire race. Like... a white shooter will always be talked about as an individual and the event being an isolated case. If the shooter is black or Arab or whatever? The media will spin it like the entire minority is evil. But if a black person is successful, their efforts are ignored. Can you name any black inventors? Because technology wouldn’t have been the same without them, yet you never learn about them in history books.

Harry notes that the cloak doesn’t stop him from being solid, which made me think about how being invisible and ignored in a negative way doesn’t make a person any less of a human, no matter how they may be treated as such. Just food for thought I guess.

Something Sacred Text host, Vanessa, said really struck me. She talked about how she was literally side stepped by someone so they could tap her black friend on the shoulder and compliment her outfit. And Vanessa, connecting it with invisibility and visibility, commented how the person probably (unintentionally) gave the compliment because her friend looked nice, for being black. And... I’ve never thought about that stuff quite in this way. I just assumed (white) people just tried to go out of their way to be nice to a black person, but to be honest I never gave much thought about it or its meaning in the first place. I get compliments from complete strangers everywhere for articles of clothing to my hair. Like just yesterday this white man walked up to me at a restaurant to say he loved my hair, which was in an afro. I’ve always thought it was weird to compliment random strangers like that, not in the way that you’re standing in line or something and compliment a girl’s purse who’s right in front of you, but literally walking up to someone who’s just minding their own business to do it. And cause this happened after listening to the podcast, I kept thinking is he trying to be encouraging to people with natural hair? does he really think his opinion is going to boost my self esteem like that? (normally I’d just brush it off and think that person’s weird) I know that wasn’t his intentions, but this is what those actions imply when it comes from a white person who’s a stranger.

Dumbledore says something that really holds true about privilege: “Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you.” When you have it, you aren’t always aware of what your privilege gives you or what others without it experience. Like for me, I admittedly don’t think about ADA regulations all the time because I have an abled body, so it’s not something that I personally have to worry about unless I get an injury. But someone in a wheelchair, someone with a cane, someone with an invisible disability has to think about these things, because that’s their life. They need an accessible doorway for example just to get in a building. As a female, I can’t go out alone at night or even the bathroom at a bar without worrying I might be assaulted, but this isn’t something that men have to think about. So next time you’re defensive about something that someone of a minority group says about your privilege, think about this quote. Think about how your privilege makes you nearsighted. And then fucking listen.

Another long post lol I can’t not rant about this topic The rest of the chapter will be analyzed under the cut.

I kinda wonder if Hermione wasn’t in Harry’s friend group, if he and Ron would be as motivated to find out who Nicolas Flamel was. Obviously the constant searching in the library was her idea lol, because that’s her thing. When she doesn’t know something, she consults books AKA goes to the library. Though I think because Harry knew he read the name somewhere, he would have been searching in books as his curiosity had hit an all time high, but it would’ve probably been limited to his school books. Ron probably would’ve only joined occasionally to help Harry out, or done the same and look through his own books. I find it funny that the trio only looked through books about modern or recently famous wizards, which makes sense because you don’t exactly expect someone to live over 600 years lol.

Christmas morning of Harry’s first year always gives me so much joy to read (and watch). He gets so excited that he has presents!! Even the 50 pence that the Dursley’s sent he responds with that’s friendly lmao. I will also never get over the fact that Mrs. Weasley, after learning from Ron that Harry didn’t expect to get presents, made him a goddamn sweater and some fudge 😭 I also love how the Weasleys basically adopt Harry, and it’s not just Mrs. Weasley, it’s Fred and George too. Fred pulls wizard crackers with Harry during Christmas dinner.... they played in the snow until they were cold and wet.... not to mention the twins look after him in Quidditch.

The contrast between Christmas morning and Christmas evening is so interesting to me. Harry wakes up to presents from many people, eats all he wants for dinner, spends the day having fun with the Weasleys, and then after an adventure with his invisibility cloak, finds the Mirror of Erised. And this scene is so heartbreaking. I can just feel the empty silence as Harry longingly looks at his family, I can feel his ache for the people he never got to know. The hosts brought up how white/western culture is very individualistic, but at the expense of feeling disconnect with one’s own heritage. I also want to add how the same disconnect happens with a diaspora. This topic is a little interesting when considering that there’s a widespread headcanon that Harry is half Indian or just poc, so the feeling of disconnect might be even more powerful.

For what Ron sees, I’ve said previously that Ron’s insecurity is being the odd one out in his family, the one who doesn’t have a special thing because all his older brothers have already done it. So in the Mirror, he sees himself being the best of all of them combined. And he’s alone. He wants to stand out. So far I’ve seen a lot of signs that Ron takes his family for granted, which I get since he’s 11 and one of the youngest in a large and loving family: he’s embarrassed about their class status, he pushes away his mother when she tries to clean dirt off his face, he tells Harry he can see family any old time. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing since Ron’s still fairly young though (he also didn’t resist being told to wear his Weasley sweater like Percy), but again and again we’ll see moments like this where it’s apparent that Ron and Harry’s desires are the complete opposite of each other. Ron is also less obsessive than Harry, which is why I think he had a bad feeling about the mirror while Harry didn’t despite the two fighting over it while in the empty classroom. And he gets so worried about Harry! He tries to get him to eat, or play games, or even visit Hagrid, anything to get Harry out of his depressive state.

I wonder why the Mirror was moved to the empty classroom for anyone to stumble upon though. Maybe Dumbledore needed space to tamper with it? And the best time would be the holidays when most of the students were away? Why not do it in the Room of Requirement where is was probably kept before this? And was Dumbledore invisible every night while modifying the mirror? Or just to keep an eye on it? I can’t stop thinking about his comment on not needing a cloak to be invisible.

Small things

The Weasley twins bewitching snowballs to basically hit Voldemort ahaha

I will always laugh at the “Gred and Forge” joke xD

What time do they have Christmas dinner.... afterwards it says they spent a “happy afternoon” playing outside, which I don’t know if they would do at night when it’s cold and snowy lol. And being in Scotland, the sun will set pretty early. So was this actually a Christmas lunch? I’m so confused

ONE CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH SOCKS CAN I GET AN AMEN

hjsdfhsjkdf but actually, as an adult that’s all I want for Christmas (even though I have no room for them anymore haha)

Scabbers why are you sleeping on Harry’s pillow you creep

Special shout out to all the Hogwarts house elves that make Christmas magical, as well as every other day at Hogwarts :)

Previous: Chapter 11 - Quidditch

Next: Chapter 13 - Nicolas Flamel

#so much happened in this chapter omg #i wrote so much #this is too long to try to edit lmao #hp #hp analysis #hp meta #the sorcerer's stone #sorcerer's stone meta #harry potter #ron weasley #hermione granger #albus dumbledore #molly weasley #fred weasley #george weasley

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avelera · 5 years

Note

If it's not to late, I'd love to see your take on the soft prompt “You haven’t laughed in a long time, and I guess I was staring ‘cause I forgot how that looked like.”

To the shock of absolutely no one, this got longer than I expected. I hope you enjoy!

Edit: I actually posted this on the wrong prompt, mea culpa!

You can find the full series that goes with this fic here.

Ship: Newt/Hermann

Fandom: Pacific Rim (post-Uprising)

Words: 3,150

—

Stay

The final days of the infection were brutal. The Precursors had lost their hold over Newt bit by bit as the time stretched since his last Drift with the hive mind, but that only seemed to make them more desperate.

At times, Hermann truly feared they’d shake Newton apart, or simply kill him out of spite as they struggled and clawed after their waining control. No one dared let Newt out of his cell even as his lucid moments stretched, in case they chose that moment to come roaring back. The effort of will to force them back down again often left Newton trembling and bathed in sweat.

It had been three months since his last incident when the PPDC dared to let him out of the quarantine to walk under his own power to the medical bay for the final scans. The first scans upon his capture had shown a storm of activity in his cerebrum, it was a wonder Newt hadn’t had a stroke from the level of chaos of two consciousnesses fighting for control of his body. Hermann’s knuckles were white from gripping his cane as he waited for the results, watching the doctors as they consulted the images while Newt sat in the locked holding room, looking down at his folded hands.

He was quieter these days than Hermann ever remembered, one might even say subdued. The Newton he had known could never sit still for ten minutes, much less an hour, without jiggling his leg, interjecting some comment, doodling, or tapping out a melody with his fingers. Perhaps it was one mark of his ordeal, a scar, that he had learned silence.

Hermann was Newton’s designated caretaker, had been officially since Newt’s first lucid moment when he’d squeaked out an affirmative from beneath the weight of their control, enough to count as consent. The doctors came to Hermann first now, and he struggled to his feet, as ungainly as a turtle rolling off its shell in the rush to see the scans. Newt watched him, he could feel his eyes through the glass, a twitch of apprehension in the tightening of his jaw.

“The scans are clear, for the most part,” said the doctor, a Dr. Abadi, a distinguished woman a few years older than Hermann. She gestured to a cloud of activity on the scan. “When Jaeger pilots who have lost their partner exhibit this level of activity, we generally consider them out of the woods with regards to suicide risk or other dangerous behavior. Most described the echo of their partner as manageable at that point, an intrusive thought rather than a controlling impulse. Dr. Geiszler’s situation is unusual but, combined with observation, I would consider this grounds to recommend his return to civilian life. Albeit with regular check-ins and light observation, which you would be qualified to carry out, Dr. Gottlieb.”

Hermann exhaled slowly to try to control the spike of his heartbeat, the leap of hope. “When would that be?”

“We could release him into your custody now if you keep to your residence on the base,” Abadi said. “Going beyond these grounds however would require further clearance from the PPDC.”

At those words, Hermann felt suddenly dizzy. He muttered his way through the rest of the paperwork, guides, and assurances by the doctor, but could not stop stealing glances at Newton in the next room. It felt like an eternity before the door was unlocked and he was left alone with Newton.

“So, what’s the damage?” Newt said lightly but his shoulders tensed. They were always dancing around each other, careful not to delve too deeply into what existed between them. Things like the fact that Hermann knew the only time Newton cried the day of the attacks was when his fingers were wrapped around Hermann’s throat. That Newton knew Hermann had moved heaven and earth to ensure Newton was captured and not killed, and had spent every waking moment since working towards his treatment and eventual freedom. That Newton had put himself entirely into Hermann’s hands without hesitation. That in the end, when Newton was finally cleared, they would both…

Hermann cleared his throat. “We can go home now.”

“… Home?” Newt’s eyebrows furrowed in question, as if he hadn’t heard right.

“You’ve been cleared. Do you need anything from your… from your old quarters?”

“From my cell? No! Wait, are you kidding me?” Newt jumped to his feet. Once, Hermann might have expected him to punch the air, whooping or dancing at the news but he stopped there, a grin threatening his lips. Composure. Newt never had that before, either. “I’m never going the fuck back there again. Burn it. I’ll just wear your clothes. Uh… can I borrow some of your clothes? And there’s not gonna be, like, a line painted down the middle of your place, right?”

Hermann snorted, an excellent cover for the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll happily sacrifice a portion of my wardrobe if it means never seeing that dreadful prison getup again. Which is to say, ah… what’s mine is yours.” He stuttered over the last. Newton met his eye and he knew it clearly as if Newton had spoken that this was it, the moment where they had to finally come to a decision on what they were to one another. It was one thing to tend a friend and colleague through a time of crisis, another to open up his home to that man while he got back on his feet…

But for the first time ever they’d have privacy. There’d be no cameras, no recording devices. No risk that Hermann offering a kind word could be used to wrest Newton’s custody away from him for fear that he couldn’t offer impartiality. For the first time since… since he couldn’t remember how long, perhaps a few moments in the dreadful lead up days to the attack when he still dwelled in ignorance, perhaps when Newton’s hand was wrapped around his throat, they would truly be alone together in a room.

Hermann offered his hand. A stiff, awkward gesture that he half-wished he could pass of as a muscle twitch if Newton didn’t take it. What were they to each other? What could they be?

Newton regarded the hand for a moment before his fingertips slide over Hermann’s palm to take it. Hermann wasn’t sure if he should be surprised that he did.

—

Hermann stood silently by after they entered the flat, to give Newt time to acclimate to the new surroundings, sparse as they were. Living alone, Hermann hadn’t seen much point in bedecking his living quarters. They were simple, functional, containing mostly books and work papers, furniture to accommodate his disability, and one of the Kaiju figurines Newton had left behind when he left for Shao Industries, perched on the corner of a bookshelf beside his desk. It was single level and so could become cramped before long with two grown men who were not, strictly speaking, together in any way that Hermann might secretly hope. They weren’t there yet. They might never be. Newton might just take the time to get on his feet before seeking out new accommodations and privacy. The thought shouldn’t squirm in Hermann’s chest the way it did.

Finally, Newt sat on the bed and stretched his arms above his head luxuriously. “Fuck it’s good to get a change of scenery. Are you hungry? We could order a pizza. God, I would murder for a pizza.”

Hermann snorted despite himself and took a seat beside Newton on the bed. Newt doesn’t move away which is, in itself, a comfort. “It is a military base, but there are some alternatives to the cafeteria, yes.”

Silence lapsed between them, and he could tell by the fidgeting of Newt’s fingers and the pursing of his lips that it’s one where he would like to say something but can’t find the words. Hermann found himself in very much the same situation. He felt as if he were floating above the full impact of having Newt here, beside him in his home, with a clean bill of health that means that to the best of Earths’s abilities, he’s been determined to be clear, finally, of the Precursors influence. After ten years. Ten years of whatever torments they subjected him to, ten years of isolation, ten years of Hermann’s shameful neglect.

“Newton, I’m so sorry—”

“I’m so fucking proud of you, you know that?” Newt said simultaneously, and both broke off, staring at one another.

“What.”

“What?”

“The hell do you have to be sorry for, man?” Newt gaped. “Uh, in case you hadn’t noticed, I would have been completely shit-outta-luck if you hadn’t been there to pull me out at the end. Like, imprisoned for life or more likely just fucking dead. You saved my life. Again. I seriously, seriously owe you for everything you’ve done since… since, y’know, the attacks. And thanks to those jackasses I haven’t been able to say it.”

Hermann’s mouth worked. “But I abandoned you. I didn’t figure out sooner what had happened. I was too late, a step behind…”

Newt barked a sharp laugh. “What? What are you even talking about, man? You think I… ok wait, wait a minute back it up.” Newt held up a hand before pointing at Hermann. “You think I’m mad at you for not figuring out that I was possessed by aliens who wanted to destroy the world?”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Hermann’s lips twisted. “In a word, yes. And for not discovering their plan sooner.”

Some of the levity fell from Newt’s posture and the corner of his lips twisted down as he shook his head as if weighing Hermann’s words. “Ok, that one was a little on you. I figured once Obsidian Fury turned up with a Kaiju nervous system I’d have a good chance of someone figuring it out, but it’s still on like… the entire PPDC for not figuring out two plus two on that one. I mean, who the fuck else besides the Kaiju expert at Shao could have figured out how to put evil Kaiju parts into an evil Jaeger?” Newt shrieked, annoyance flicking over his face in what looked like a very old and oft-repeated frustration. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “But before that? Dude, as far as you knew, I told you on no uncertain terms to fuck off because I had a hot new life and a hot new wife, what else were you supposed to do? Stalk me? Frankly, I’m just lucky you wanted to talk to me after all that.”

Hermann cleared his throat, flushing a little at the reference to stalking, the thought might have crossed his mind more than once. “Was any of that you, when I spoke to you, before the attacks? Or was it all… them?”

Newt puffed out a thoughtful sigh and scratched the back of his neck. “A little of both? They had this way of… I dunno, twisting my words. Like, I did want you to come over, but I sure as fuck didn’t want you to ‘meet’ Alice. I missed saving the world together but I’m not that much of a douche as to make it sound like you just helped me, get it? It was like, I’d start to say something to you and then they’d add some dickish twist to it so it was an insult. Sometimes… sometimes I wasn’t mad about it though. You were always ragging on my research, it felt good to rain on your parade, just a little, just to get back and to keep you from giving those fuckers ideas like fucking Kaiju blood for rocket fuel. But even once they were gone I felt like I had to be careful. I didn’t want the PPDC to hear in case they got the wrong idea or thought you were complicit with me or some shit.”

“Hear what?” Hermann said breathlessly. Even with the months spent at Newton’s bedside, or rather just outside his cell, they’d not had the chance to speak candidly. There was, as Newton said, always an audience. His head was spinning.

Newt offered him a crooked smile. “That I’m proud of you, man! Like, holy shit. Kaiju blood for rocket fuel? Becoming a one-man PPDC K-Science lab, saving the fucking world? You cannot tell me those dumbass Jaeger pilots figured out a way to get from Moyulan all the way up to fucking Tokyo in less time than it took for the Precursors to hop in a fucking charter plane, no way. That had to be you, which means you saved the world. Again. You’re a fucking rock star!”

“I… well, that is, I didn’t… it was nothing…” Hermann stuttered.

“Shut up, you totally are!” Newt’s eyes are shining and he has grabbed Hermann’s hand in his enthusiasm, the gesture so familiar to a time gone by that tears prickle in Hermann’s eyes as his gaze jerks up to Newt’s face. “Do you know how pissed off the Precursors were about you, do you? They were fucking livid, you scared them shitless. They wanted you dead!”

“Oh, well that’s terribly comforting,” Hermann said faintly. Newt laughed.

“Are you kidding? Man, I can’t think of a higher compliment. The genocidal bastards that wanted to wipe out our planet almost pissed themselves on the tarmac when they saw you were here too! I thought they were going to faint when you showed up at Shao that night, it was fucking gorgeous.”

“They needn’t have worried,” Hermann muttered, but felt a blush rising inexorably to his cheeks and ears. “I did nothing to prevent the attack.”

“You countered every single weapon they threw at you!” Newt exploded, throwing up his hands. “And it took them ten years to put those together. You did it, man. I thought… I mean, I’m gonna level with you, I hoped there would be someone on the outside smart enough to catch on, even when catching on would have been batshit insane, like come on, who just guesses that a fucking war hero like yours-truly is a sock puppet for aliens? That’s nuts, right? That’s the only reason no one could have figured it out.” There’s a fragility to Newt’s levity, as if he’s repeating a rote lesson he’s said to himself over and over, to reassure himself it was true. His voice cracked over the words, but he forged on. “I hoped there’d be someone. I hoped it would be you, honestly, and I was right. I was right because I had the best lab partner in the fucking world.”

At the words lab partner, Hermann jerked back and looked away. The space between them had been closing, Newt’s enthusiasm was infectious. He had caught himself wanting to close the distance, staring at Newton’s lips. But that was all they’d ever been on paper. Lab partners.

“Well, there were others involved,” Hermann said. “I can’t take all the credit. But it is… kind of you to say, Newton. Thank you. I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

“Always, man,” Newt said. His voice was faint, and when Hermann glanced back his expression was soft. “Since the first. You never could have pissed me off as much as you did if not.”

“Where will you go next?” Hermann said breathlessly, if only to change the subject so the blush rising up his throat wouldn’t consume him. “That is, I want to help you get back on your feet. You’re not beholden to me, and I don’t want you to feel as if you’ve swapped one prison for another, no matter what the PPDC might say on the matter. Your actions were clearly under duress and we will prove it, if necessary.”

“Next?” Newt said, as if he hadn’t heard any of the rest. He looked around the room, as if seeing it for the first time, and then to Hermann. “I, uh, hadn’t got that far, really? I guess I’m chill to hang out here for a bit, not get tangled up in all that paperwork that comes with leaving or…”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I can’t do this. I don’t have any plans. The thought of going back out into the world? Scares the ever-loving shit out of me. What if they’re not really gone? What if they’re just waiting, y’know, hiding, and I’m gonna wake up at the helm of another evil corporation in a couple years? I’m right where I want to be, with a fucking army to keep an eye out in case they come back, and the person I… I trust most in the whole goddamn world to keep an eye on me. Hermann,” Newt squeaked, “I haven’t been totally honest and, fuck, you might throw me out for this, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right now. I’ve been thinking about you… about seeing you again for a fucking decade. I was hoping… look, you’re the only person that keeps me right, ok? I’m not sure where we stand but if you’re not gonna punch me in the face just for asking I was kinda hoping I could take you out sometime? There’s gotta be a restaurant around here somewhere, right? Or I could, I dunno, cook something for you and we could watch a movie, a real house-arrest style date.” Newt’s eyes grew wild at Hermann’s continued, gaping silence, and his voice rose in pitch. “Or I could be totally off base and I’ll start looking for places of my own right away! Fuck, I shouldn’t have even brought it up, fuck me and my stupid mouth, I could have at least waited a few days but nooo, had to make it weird. Look, I’m sorry, I…”

Newt began to rise to his feet, scrambling away from Hermann, and it sent a jolt through Hermann that jarred him out of the haze that had swallowed his brain. Hermann panicked, and did the only thing he could think of, the only thing to keep Newt from pulling away.

He seized Newton by the shoulders and kissed him with all his might.

It was a messy, unglamorous affair. Their teeth clacked. Hermann’s face was so twisted with warring emotions he probably looked ridiculous. Newton seized up under his hands for a moment, and when Hermann dared open his eyes he saw Newt staring.

“Oh…” Newt breathed, and just before Hermann could break away, babbling his own apologies, he continued, “fuck yes.” And Newt was gripping him in return, pushing Hermann back onto the bed so they were lying flat, kissing one another breathless.

“Stay with me,” Hermann muttered between kisses. “No more lines, no more separation. We’ll figure this out together. Stay.”

“What’s there to figure out?” Newt grinned against his lips. “I’ve got everything I was hoping for, right here.”

#newmann #pacific rim #my writing #it's so fluffy i'm gonna die #i'm embarrassed how fluffy this is #bon-pon

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n3rdybird · 6 years

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Springtime Memories

Trying my hand at RPF for the wonderful peeps at @i-dont-do-rpfs 1k Followers challenge, "Spring Has Sprung." I chose Tom Hiddleston and the prompt, "Picnic in the Park." Hope this goes okay. :D Enjoy.

Springtime Memories

(Picnic in the Park with Tom HiddlestonxReader)

You hugged your coat closer to your body, trying to keep the vestiges of winter chill from stealing your body heat. The sun was hiding behind the trees, not quite warm enough to herald the beginning of spring. Even so, you sat on the bench, just listening to the quiet of the morning.

It was Sunday, and most of the world was still asleep at this hour. After all, weekends, Sundays especially, were made for sleeping in. You heard birds rustling nearby, so you aimed your camera and took a few pictures. With it being so early, each sound seemed amplified. You heard the sound of feet pounding on the pavement. Probably a jogger, eager to get exercise out of the way before the park became crowded.

You brightened when the sun came out, hitting your face. Again, you raised your camera, hoping to catch the sunrise. The shutter clicked loudly, hopefully capturing the imagine you wanted.

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Being a famous actor had its ups and downs. Tom Hiddleston never would have imagined he’d get to where he was now, though he did wish for it. He got to live his dream, his passion, acting in films and on the stage. And his fans, all over the world people cheered for him and supported his dream. It could be overwhelming at times, both fans and paparazzi alike, all waiting to see him.

So, he decided to take advantage of the early morning and go for a run. The park was nearly empty, only a few others dotted along the winding path. He paused, taking a breather next to the pond, stretching out his legs. The familiar sound of a camera shutter caught his attention and he paused, internally sighing. He turned, expecting to see a paparazzi hiding out in the bushes. But instead, he saw a young woman, sitting alone on a bench, a camera in hand. The culprit was a fan then, which was much preferred otherwise. Putting on a smile, he walked over.

You were snapping photos, when the sound of footsteps drew your attention.

“Excuse me, miss. If you’d like a photo of me, you could ask. I’d love to take one with you, if you’d want.”

The male voice breaking into your thoughts seemed friendly enough, but you furrowed your brow at the words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you. If I’ve taken an unwanted photo of you, it was purely on accident.”

You nodded in direction of the horizon, holding your camera.

“I was only trying to get a photo of the sunrise.”

He laughed softly, at himself and not you. He almost seemed taken aback by your answer.

“In that case, I apologize, I just assumed-”

“That I wanted a picture of you? You must consider yourself extraordinarily handsome if random people take photos of you all the time. Though your voice sounds familiar, have we met before?”

He was quiet, and you could tell he was trying to figure you out. You were about to ask his name when the sound of your stomach broke the silence. You flushed in embarrassment.

“Wow, that was loud,” you huffed, trying to rub your stomach into submission. Your early morning companion tried to hold back a laugh, but it snuck out all the same.

“Well, it is breakfast time. Would you care to join me? I'd like to apologize for my assumption.”

You smiled brightly, tucking your camera away. You stood, pulling your white guidance cane from your bag, snapping it into place.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way, what’s your name?” you asked, hooking your bag around your shoulder.

He groaned.

“Apparently I’m an idiot first thing in the morning. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“That I was blind? It’s okay. Sometimes the glasses give it away,” you said, touching the dark shades on your face. You held out your hand to shake his.

“So shall I call I call you idiot for the rest of the day? I am open to suggestions, dingbat being a personal favorite of mine,” you teased.

His hand closed around yours. His fingers were long and tapered, an artist's hand.

“Tom,” he introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you Tom, you said something about breakfast?”

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Your chance meeting with Tom, the park jogger, led to a lovely breakfast at a café nearby. When it came time to part, you were reluctant to leave, and you hoped Tom felt the same way. So when he asked to exchange numbers, you were giddy.

It wasn't often that you met new people, and continued to be friends. Most would give you a wide berth, or avoid you when they found out you were blind. You didn't blame them, it could be tough or awkward to deal with. You had been blind almost half of your life, and you still found some situations exacerbated by your disability.

But Tom was truly a good man, albeit a little too gentlemanly at times. It took a few meetings in the park for Tom to trust that you could get from point a to point b, regardless of your lack of sight. He was quick to take your elbow and try to steer you away from any obstacles, which was frustrating at times. Eventually you realized it was just Tom being Tom and not him babying you.

The two of you met up occasionally on Sundays at what was called “your bench.” Nothing particular was talked about, just life in general, hobbies, favorite things.

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but why do you take photos when you can't see?”

You lifted your camera and snapped a photo in the general direction of Tom face.

“Well two things really. I usually get defensive and say something along the lines of “Just because I'm blind, doesn't mean I can't see.” I mean, photography is more than just the perfectly set up shots. And it's important for me to show that blindness doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty. Beethoven wrote some of his best music when deaf. Who says the blind can't make art?”

Tom hummed in agreement.

“Very true love. And your second reason?”

At this, you flushed a little.

“It's silly but-” you started.

Tom took your hand in his, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, prompting you to continue.

“If they ever find a cure for my blindness, I'd like to be able to look at my memories. And if they don't, any family I might have will be able to see my life too.”

Tom lifted your hand, placing a kiss on palm. You tried to hold back the shiver that traveled down your spine at the touch of his lips on your hand.

“That's not silly at all.”

It was after that conversation, that you found yourself a tiny bit smitten with the Englishman. For knowing him all of a month, Tom was very supportive and a great listener. And his voice, you could listen to it all day long. So when you heard his voice when you were watching tv, you froze.

There it was, his distinctive laugh. The quiet, breathy ‘hehehe’ that never failed to make you smile. Jogger Tom was Tom Hiddleston. The Tom Hiddleston. You resisted the urge to text him immediately, asking why he hadn't told you. But you thought about it for awhile.

Tom was a lot like you in a way. You both had a barrier that sometimes kept people away. Your blindness and his fame. Maybe he was afraid you would freak out or treat him differently. So you tucked away your fears and questions. If Tom could look past your blindness, you would do him the courtesy of feigning ignorance about his fame until he was ready to tell you.

Eventually your friends got eager, wanting to know the identity of your mystery friend. When they asked his last name, you just shrugged. Tom was just Tom. You wouldn't out him to your friends until he trusted you with last name.

It all came to a head when you were enjoying an impromptu picnic of various snacks while enjoying the new spring sun. Neither of you could make your traditional early Sunday meet up, so you met up in the afternoon instead. With the crowds a bit thicker due to the lovely spring weather, you both decided to sit on the grass and let the world pass you by.

You were discussing, well debating which was better, pancakes or waffles, (He was firmly in the pancake camp whereas you were team waffle all the way) when someone approached him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Loki sir?” a soft voice asked.

You could hear Tom inhale sharply.

“Yes, how can I help you sweetheart?”

“My brother said Loki was bad, and that Thor is better. But I don't think so. You're my favorite. Big brothers are meanies.”

You laughed, causing Tom to laugh as well.

“Big brothers can definitely can be meanies sometimes. But even though Loki and Thor fight, they are still brothers. Family always looks out for each other.”

You heard hurried footsteps, larger than the little girl's.

“I am so sorry Mr. Hiddleston, when she recognized you, she just took off,” a panicked voice apologized. You assumed it was the mother of the child, who was softly scolding the small girl for running off.

“It's no bother really, I'm always happy to meet fans. Especially ones as adorable as her.”

The mother shuffled the girl away after the actor gave the girl a quick hug and an autograph. When they retreated, Tom sighed.

“I really didn't want you to find out this way.”

You tilted your head to the side, a fake look of shock on your face.

“You mean that you are Tom Hiddleston, famous actor. Most notable roles being in the Marvel movies, Crimson Peak, Kong Skull Island,” you rattled off. Tom was still silent, and you reached over to tap his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I Saw the Light almost threw me off, your accent was so different in that one,” you mused offhandedly.

“You knew who I was?” his voice was quiet.

You smiled.

“I told you your voice was familiar. It took me a bit, but I figured it out. I do watch movies you know, sort of.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

You shrugged.

“You didn't say anything either. And I'm friends with Jogger Tom, who just happens to be a pretty famous actor.”

Tom chuckled, throwing his arm around your shoulder with a small squeeze.

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I just wanted to be Tom around you. I wasn't sure if it would change anything.”

You raised a brow.

“Why would it change anything? I mean, you preferring pancakes over waffles is a bit much to handle, but I suppose if I can be friends with a dirty pancake heathen, being friends with an actor wouldn't be much harder,” you joked.

Tom poked your side in retaliation making you flinch and bat his hands away.

“So, now that you know who I am. Or rather I know, that you know,” Tom started.

“-Could I take you on a proper date?”

You fiddled with your camera.

“Yes,” you said smiling, pulling Tom in for a selfie as he kissed your cheek.

It was definitely a memory you wanted to treasure.

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So hopefully this wasn’t terrible. Please enjoy and follow @i-dont-do-rpfs if you enjoy RPF.

#tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston x you #rpf spring has sprung challenge #tom hiddleston rpf

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metronomeihear · 7 years

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Please Listen

I’m not sure how many of you know this, and I’m not sure how many of you care, but I’m sick.

I have a genetic disorder called CIRS that makes me sensitive to things in my environment, things like mold. A few years ago, I was exposed to black mold growing in my bedroom, mold that got there as a result of the bathroom above my room having a leak. My illness causes all sorts of havoc on my body, including swelling in my brain, inflammation in my joints and ribs, and imbalances in my hormones. As a result, I have days where I’m in so much pain where I can’t breathe (though those are thankfully far and few between), issues with long term and short term memory, and what has been dubbed “brain fog.” (Essentially it’s making really stupid and strange decisions that seem logical at the time, but in reality aren’t. Things like putting your cell phone in the fridge instead of the milk. You know you’re supposed to put something in the fridge, it just doesn’t quite click that it’s supposed to be the milk and not your phone).

My entire family has this illness. It’s a strange twist of fate that both my parents have the genes, and thus all my siblings and I have it too. Of the five of us, my mother easily has it the worst. She got ill before I was born, and got worse when I was very young, and I can remember a period of my life where I was lucky if I saw her outside of her room more than once every few weeks. She is better now that she’s getting proper treatment, but she’s still the most ill.

After her, I am probably the most sick person in my family. I have issues with my hands when I try to type for long periods of time, or if I try to do things like hold a game controller for more than a few hours. My ribs have flare ups, usually minor flare ups that aren’t much more than an annoyance (though they have gotten bad enough that I couldn’t do much more than lay there and hope the pain meds would kick in soon). I get headaches often and I’m prone to migraines. I am physically incapable of standing for more than 10 minutes at a time without having to sit down. I have issues with remembering names, places, things that have been asked of me, and things that I have done before. I can’t remember what I had for dinner yesterday, and I once couldn’t remembering the name of my first boyfriend, not even three months after we broke up. I am incapable of telling how much time has passed since an incident occurred, prone to dizzy spells, and often make poor decisions due to brain fog. Despite all of this, I have been told that I do not look sick.

I am not asking for pity. I am not asking you do donate to a fund, or to message a politician, or start a war.

I have a story to tell and I am asking for you to listen.

My mother once told me a story about the time she had gall stones. I don’t remember the specifics of the story, and the specifics don’t truly matter in this case, but the story went something like this:

My mother woke one night from a bout of really intense pain. This was before I was born, back when it was just my mother and my father living just across the street from my grandparents. She woke up next to my father, who was still sleeping, and she just breathed. She breathed through the pain until it went away, and then went back to sleep. That was the end of it. Only the pain kept coming back. It would always fade after a short while, so whenever it happened, by mother would just breathe through it until it did. My father was worried, however, and insisted my mother go to a doctor. They described the incidents to the doctor, and the doctor prescribed some pain meds and sent my mother home. “It’s just gas,” he said, “It will pass.” Only it didn’t. Eventually, my mother was hit by a bout of pain so intense my father drove her to the emergency room, where they found out that the pain was a result of my mother passing gall stones.

Gall stones have been described as one of the most painful things a person can ever experience. There have been people who, when they pass them, cannot do much more than scream. My mother, on the other hand, simply got up and continued with her day. This was because she was already used to pain.

It’s not because my father is abusive or anything like that--that couldn’t be farther from the truth. It’s that genetic illness I mentioned earlier. That was the cause of her pain, though at the time everyone thought it was the result of Arthritis, rather than CIRS. She was used enough to pain that passing gall stones simply didn’t bother her until she tried to pass one that was too large for her to do so.

It’s truly ridiculous what a person can get used to. I saw a study once that tested how long it would take for a person to get used to seeing the entire world upside down. It took them only three days before they were functioning normally. It was the same after the glasses they were wearing to flip their view was taken off. Only three days to get used to your vision being flipped.

Because my mother was as used to pain as she was, the doctor she visited misdiagnosed her. Because I am as used to pain as I am, and because my illness does not affect my appearance, people do not believe I am sick. Not unless I’m having a really bad day, where everything hurts, and even then I might not be believed.

I'm in college. At the college I attend, there is an office for the disabled and I went there to get forms to fill out to help me make it through the semester. I was feeling fairly good that day, so I left my cane at home, and as a result the people working in that office did not believe I was sick. They didn’t say anything, but I could see the disbelief in their faces, and when I looked back after leaving, I saw them shooting glances at me and whispering. Other than that, I have been told, to my face, that I do not look sick.

And why would I? I have good days and bad days. I rarely leave my home anymore, mostly because I can’t walk very far and there isn’t much for me to do that doesn't involve a lot of walking or being in a building that potentially has mold in it. When I’m out and about and I don’t have my cane with me, there’s no sign that I’m ill. No sign. But I am. And if you looked at my home, you’d see that.

We have a counter in the kitchen that’s dedicated solely to supplements and medicine. We have boxes upon boxes of syringes and saline and needles and medicine. We have an oxygen machine because sometimes our brains don’t get enough so we need the extra help. We take pills at every meal, pills after we wake up, and pills to go to sleep. We eat special diets because our stomachs can’t handle regular, commercial food. We attend online schools because the last time that I attended a normal school, there was an issue with the air vents in my math classroom that triggered my illness so bad that I was down for two days after entering that room. I was pulled from school after that incident.

I compare it to mental illnesses in my head sometimes. To things like depression. I know a lot about mental illnesses, too, because that’s something my family suffers from as well. My brother is autistic. My sister has ADHD. Both my mother and I suffer from chronic depression. We look perfectly fine, and so often people just don’t believe us when we say that we feel these things, when in reality it’s all very real.

I live in fear that one day our insurance won’t be enough to cover the medicine we need. Already it’s approaching that point. We have to focus on what we can treat and what we can’t for no other reason than the insurance can’t cover everything and we can’t afford to pay out of pocket. I live in America, and I really hate the American medical pricing, because everything is ridiculously over priced and it’s literately something that’s killing my family slowly. I live in fear that one day one of my siblings will be exposed to something really bad and get just as sick as I am, or worse, just as sick as my mother is. I live in fear that my father will go to work in a building that’s mold infested, and come home every day sicker than the last because he doesn’t have a choice. He’s been out of the job for months now, and tonight we celebrated because he finally found one again, just as we were starting to wonder if we were going to lose our house. It doesn’t matter if the building he’s going to work in now might be mold infested, because we don’t have a choice. This is the only job he can have. The only job in months of searching that would accept him. And if he raises a fuss, they can drop him just like that. That’s what the last place he worked at did, after all.

(Fuck you, Intel. Seriously, fuck you.)

I’m not sure why I’m writing this out. Maybe it’s because that’s how I deal with things. I write. I write poetry dedicated to sunsets that sound like suicide notes. I write stories were the main character burned to death in her last life, and suffers from PTSD as a result. I write stories were boys walk to their deaths and nothing can stop them. I write stories were people suffer and hurt and struggle and fail. I write long rants that I never post anywhere because I’m afraid of what people would say if they read them. I write and I write and I write until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I write stories were those people pick themselves back up. I write stories were the outcasts find family and friends. I write stories where the nightmares that haunt them become easier to bare because a friend is there when they wake up. I write stories where the suicidal boy finds someone to catch them. I write stories were people, normal people just like me, find home and happiness and safety. I write long rants to give to my parents to say the things I can’t bring myself to physically open my moth and say out loud. Things like how sometimes I feel like I’m falling apart trying to keep everything together when it seems like everything is crashing down around me. Things like how frustrating it is to not know how to help my brother with his homework because he thinks differently than I do. Things like how much it hurts to hear that my sister can’t force herself to say “I love you,” and “Good night,” when I go to greet her before bed.

I love my life. I love my family more than I can say and I have never been more grateful for anything than how loving and supportive they are of me and my interests. I love the friends I have made on this website, as few and far between as they are, and I love that I’m finding people to talk to on Discord who share my interests. I love that the people I meet are so supportive of me, who call me strong for being able to talk and write about when I was suicidal when there are days when I feel like the weakest person on the planet. I have been to Yosemite and seen a deer walk right up to my table, so close I could almost touch it. I have seen water falls and sunrises on mountains and the ocean from high up in a plane. I have visited my grandparents in another country half way across the world to celebrate their 80th birthday, and walked a beach in Hawaii at night, my feet in water that felt so warm. I never get hateful reviews on my stories, the worst review I’ve ever gotten on a story I’ve written being a short comment about hating yaoi. I’ve been thanked for the things I’ve written, been told I brought them hope with what I’ve written. “Writing this chapter was an act of bravery I’ll never forget.” A reviewer once wrote that in a chapter I wrote about a suicidal character, and I remember just staring at that review and smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. I remember getting a review once, only two words long, that read “Thank you,” and bursting out crying because I’d had a really shitty day up to that point and that review--I’m not sure how to describe it. It made my day, made me think that everything I am doing, all the things I am struggling with, are worth it, and that feeling is something priceless, something precious.

And then there’s today. Today has not been one of my good days. I woke up with minor aches and pains, pain that was worse than what I usually feel on a day to day basis, but nothing too bad. I posted another chapter of a drabble series I’m working on, a funny series that’s something like 90% crack with how ridiculous it is. I went on with my day, browsed through tumblr and rebloged everything that caught my eye. I worked on school work, got distracted, and worked on it some more. My pain got worse however, and it hurts to type right now. I’ve taken my pain meds, and they’ve taken the edge off of things, but it still hurts. My family noticed this.

Today we were celebrating. My dad finally got a job, so we were having ribs and freshly dug up sweet potato and red wine. It was delicious, but it hurt for me to get up and out of the chair, and I couldn’t cut the meat properly without a steak knife because my hands hurt too much. After we were finished eating, and I put my plate on the counter to be washed, my father opened his arms for a hug, and he told me he was sorry.

He said to me, “I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.” I told him it wasn’t his fault. And he said to me, “Yes it is. And I’m sorry.”

And I wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he understood that it wasn’t his fault, that it wasn’t anyone's fault, and that the only reason this family was still going was because he has been working so hard for all of us, when anyone else would have left a long, long time ago.

I am frustrated. I am so, so frustrated.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. I don’t know why I’m posting this. It’s not going to change the fact that I’m sick. It’s not going to change the fact that our insurance sucks and the leader of the country I live in wants to take away even that. It’s not going to change the fact that my father feels guilty for something that’s not his fault, and it’s not going to change any of the problems my family faces.

But I want to. I want people to know that there are people like me out there, who suffer for reasons beyond their control. I want people to know that not every person you speak to has a perfect life, and someone who looks healthy could be dying right in front of you. I want people to consider people like me when they vote, to not throw us under the bus just because we’re a minority, or because our voices aren’t loud enough, or because our issues aren’t as public and well known as other issues are.

I want people to listen to me when I say I’m sick.

#depression #illness #Healthcare #CIRS #Mold #Personal #Metronome speaks

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broke-bitch-mountain · 7 years

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