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angelfishofthelord · 3 years

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sea of blue or aztec gold

(a fic for 12x16 where Claire got bitten by a werewolf except for Cas is there)

The three of them stand in the left corner of the motel room like some kind of conclave of the grown-ups. Claire picks at the chipped gray polish on her fingernails and stares at them between the sweaty strands of hair falling into her eyes. The British guy--was his name Miles or something--keeps twisting his feet around like he wants to leave. Sam and Dean’s voices rise and fall and she strains an ear to hear a few snatches.

“--maybe Cas--heal her--” comes from Sam and Claire shakes her head. No one sees it, of course, because nobody's even asking her. At twenty years old she’s seen more dead bodies than the average middle-aged adult but sometimes--like right now--she still feels like a kid. Like some wayward youngster who ruined the cake at a party and now everyone is trying to figure out how to fix it without causing a scene.

“--in the area--looking for Kelly--call him--” Dean rejoins.

She bites back a sigh. It looks like a decision has been made already, without the options ever reaching her. Closing her eyes she leans her head down into the crook of her arm and tries not to think about that blessed half second before the werewolf’s fangs sank into her skin. The split moment before her life disappeared and was replaced by the kind of nightmare she’s killed without a second thought

“Hey.” Sam puts his hand on her shoulder and she forces herself to look up. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she shrugs. “You didn’t call Jody yet,” she adds, more as a hope than a question.

“Not yet. Cas is gonna come by and see if he can heal you. He should be here in under an hour.”

Her nose wrinkles and she hikes up the blanket around her shoulders, sliding deeper into the armchair. Castiel isn’t her parent, but he’s going to fuss over her and make that same face where the brow gets all twisted up in concern. Except for he has an additional look of a million or so years of sadness in his eyes, and she doesn’t really have the energy to pretend not to care about him right now.

“Let him know I said hi,” she murmurs, shutting her eyes again. Pretending to fall asleep is still the surest way to get grown-ups to back off.

She knows when Castiel arrives even before he speaks. His heavy, deliberate footsteps come echoing from across the room. They pause a few paces away and Castiel exchanges hushed words with Sam and Dean before moving closer and putting a hand on the armrest of the chair.

“Claire,” he says and for half a second she swears he sounds just like her dad. Not that she really remembers what her dad sounds like anymore; those memories have been too saturated with blood and confusion, too deeply buried to ever retain the clarity they once had. But there's so much gentle worry coiled around the sound of her name that she almost wants to launch herself into his arms and have him tell her a story that’ll make the bad dream disappear.

Instead she opens one eye and grunts wordlessly at him.

“May I?” he asks and waits until she nods before pressing two fingers to her forehead.

The buzz of grace streaking through her feels like downing a shot of migraine. When she flinches away he immediately pulls back. “I’m sorry,” he says, first to her and then to Sam and Dean who are standing next to him expectantly. “I can’t…the cells are already mutating. It’s beyond my power to-”

“Okay,” Dean cuts him off, tersely. Terrified. “So what now?”

What happens next is a Russian roulette of options. Dean tries to sell her on his plan of being a vegetarian werewolf who eats rabbit heart salads on the daily. Sam explains the details of a risky cure where the sole test subject died. The British guy sputters objections for both ideas, all the while looking more and more unnerved by the whole situation.

Castiel is the only one who says nothing. He sits there on the edge of the bed across from her, hands on his knees as he listens to everything being discussed. “It’s up to Claire,” he says tepidly when Dean presses him for an opinion. She wonders if he’s afraid to interfere in her life again. He still doesn’t say anything when she finally chooses to try the cure. The look on his face, on the other hand, is absolutely rife with sorrow.

In fact all four of them are staring at her with such piteous expressions that it makes her feel nauseous.

She blocks them out by pulling the blanket up and over her head as they discuss who’s going to go get blood from the werewolf who attacked her and who’s going to stay with her. Dean suggests him and Castiel for the hunting team, but Castiel disagrees.

“She could already be changing, we have no idea how fast this will happen. If something…” his voice drops, making the words even sharper to her ears, “…I should be here. I can heal.”

Claire decides that this is the point where she needs to muster up enough strength to protest. But the second she tries to stand up fireworks of pain go off through her body. She clamps down on her tongue to keep from crying out and works slowly, putting one foot down on the linoleum floor and then the other. The blanket drags behind her as she finally staggers to her full height, only to see there’s no one left in the room except for the British guy--Mick-- and Castiel. They’re standing an awkward distance apart, staring each other down with equal parts suspicion and contempt.

“Well,” Mick begins tentatively. “Someone should make sure the rooms beside us stay vacant so we are undisturbed during the…process. Perhaps we should also have some words with the manager, to keep her from being alarmed by anything she might hear.”

“Yes,” Castiel answers and then moves to position himself in front of Claire. The message is clear: he doesn’t trust Mick to be left alone in the room with her.

“I’ll do it,” Mick says hurriedly before turning and leaving the room.

Claire pokes Castiel in the shoulder after the door closes. “Scary,” she teases him.

Castiel turns around, the coldness in his eyes instantly replaced by soft strokes of concern. He reaches out to give her a hand as she sways in place. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” She latches onto his arm because her joints are on fire right now and it’s less humiliating to need support than collapsing and him having to carry her. “Just peachy.” The bed suddenly seems very far away. She concentrates on the ugly checkered bed sheet ahead of her like it’s the only thing in existence and pushes her body forward one half step at a time.

Finally her fingertips brush against fabric and she heaves her body over the bed with a groan. Every pore of her skin feels like a miniature furnace. She doesn’t have the strength to scream. She wishes she could, wishes she had a set of lungs that could strip the glass from the windows with a long, curling howl.

Cool petals of water brush against her forehead and she realizes that Castiel has put a wet towel on her forehead. It doesn’t do much to actually dim the fire raging through her veins, but the familiarity of the action is comforting.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The mattress creaks from the corner where he’s taken a seat. “I know how hard this is. You are an incredibly brave young woman.”

“Doubt that angel can get turned into werewolves,” she mutters.

“No, but--” he stops, prompting her to peer up at him from the corner of the towel.

“What?”

He’s sitting there with his hands in his lap again. “Well, I have been poisoned or infected by...things before. It may not be the same but... I know how hard it is to stay in control of both body and mind. What you’re doing, even now, is a testament to your great strength of will.”

“Wait.” Claire tries to push herself up on one elbow but only manages to lift her head a few inches. “When were you infected with what?”

“You should get some rest,” is his response as he leans over and fits a pillow under her head, then moves around to tuck the blanket around her chin. His fingers graze the side of her cheek; they feel like a bouquet of icicles. She leans into the touch desperately and his eyes cloud with sympathy.

“Your cells are in chaos right now. Your body, your immune system is trying to fight off the mutation,” he explains. “Is there anything else I can do for you? Do you want to call--”

“No,” she says, loudly and quickly. If she allows herself to think about calling Jody--and hearing her voice--she’s going to dissolve on the spot. “Just--talk to me. Tell me about what happened when you were infected. What, was it like an angelic version of the zombie virus?”

Castiel sits down on the bed, still half on the edge like he’s unsure of how much space he’s been invited to take up. “No, there were several different--the first time was years ago.” He stalls, eyes growing distance even as they fixate on the floor below him. “I was full of souls from Purgatory. I…needed them to defeat Raphael. But then the power of those souls changed me. I thought I was God,” he finishes in an embarrassed mumble.

There's a lot to absorb from those few lines but above all the idea of this mild, awkward angel pretending to be the Almighty is what stands out to her. “You?” she laughs faintly. “What did Sam and Dean think of that?”

continue reading on ao3

#my fanfic #whump #claire novak #spn 12x16 #body horror #mutilation #dadstiel #castiel #spn fanfic #hurt comfort

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fifteenleads · 4 years

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an accident of luck

Written for @thesuccessorchallenge 2020. (Theme: Spark).

AO3 | FFNet

Once upon a time, there was a princess asleep in a tower in outer space, waiting for her prince to come rescue her and wake her with true love’s kiss.

This isn’t that story.

Squall regards the latest entry in the literary section with much distaste. It is one thing to be subjected to such saccharine drivel once every week; it is another thing to have to beta-read such saccharine drivel before its publication, then still have to be subjected to it anyway over morning coffee that same week.

He really should have accepted the scholarship Garden had offered to him back then— he would have been an elite rank SeeD by now, going on missions around the world, maybe actually even saving said “princesses asleep in outer space towers,” if he were luckier.

Scratch that; it is Zell who cares more about these things; he has always been the more romantic between the two of them, by far. Squall would describe himself more as pragmatic, if anything, as long as it puts food on the table and pays the bills. He didn’t summarily reject life as a rich bachelor for nothing, after all— he wanted to prove himself, and his father was only too happy to let him when he had asked. “Expand your horizontals, my dear son,” were Laguna’s exact parting words to him the day he moved out and never looked back.

For the dear life of him, Squall could never fathom how on earth his father had managed to become CEO of Galbadia’s largest multimedia outlet with questionable command of language and grammar, but he set that aside in favor of a wordless, tacit understanding and gratitude that he is, at least, a proper parent in most other aspects, all things considered. Life as a single parent is hard, and Squall did his part to help make life easier for the three of them. Once Ellone got married, however, those nagging thoughts of gaining some measure of independence for himself reared its ugly head, and he finally decided to act on them.

And look how that has gone now, he bites back a grumble as he finishes his breakfast and returns the magazine to the top of the pile. Next week’s issue is due today, and he wishes he had added that double shot of espresso to his tray when it had been offered to him.

In his utter confusion on his way out, Squall does not notice where he is going and literally crashes into someone else, spilling their hot coffee all over the front of his shirt. Double espresso, he immediately recognizes the taste as he licks what had splashed onto his lips— not at all how he wanted to get his caffeine on a stressful morning, really.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” comes the hurried apology, as the lady brings out a handkerchief and some wet wipes in an attempt to at least blot out the coffee stains. It makes Squall pale in mild embarrassment, both for the ruckus they have caused and for having caused said ruckus in the first place— a “double yikes,” as Laguna would have called it.

“I-It’s fine,” he momentarily stumbles on his words, because for some reason, the space between him and the lady has all but disappeared, and the distance between their foreheads as she looks up into his eyes has his heart skip several beats and his breath hitch for longer than he is comfortable with. A light, floral scent permeates from her clothes, which, along with the strong scent of roasted coffee, unexpectedly assaults his nose all at once, and he suddenly sneezes with all the force of an enraged Marlboro charging in for the kill.

Luckily, Squall had the presence of mind to turn his head aside before that happened; years of having allergic rhinitis had trained him well for these moments. The mild embarrassment he had at the beginning increases by tenfold, and he is sure that the pallor on his face has already morphed into a deep flush by now. The lady quickly clambers off him, looking aside, too, just as awkwardly, clutching her stained handkerchief close to her chest. A few people have already started to gather in the hallway, albeit maintaining a respectful distance from them both.

“Sorry,” he mumbles weakly as he takes the lady by her wrist and quickly leads her away from the onlookers, potential gossip be damned. Not how he wanted his morning to go at all, but he’ll deal with the consequences later. For now, a trip to the washroom is in order— separately, of course.

“I know that was only an accident and all, Leonhart, but this will be hard to explain to HR when they come breathing down our necks in the next audit,” Quistis admonishes him, rubbing her temples in a circular motion; she tends to get migraines when she is stressed— and for her, that would be all the time. She never addresses him by his surname, still, despite that. For her to do so now means either she is thoroughly done with the incessant calls inquiring about the incident, or he has messed up big time— and for Squall, both mean the same thing.

“They probably won’t, Quis,” the lady reassures with a teasing but flippant tone; she hasn’t stopped sniffing at her coffee-stained clothes in the laundry bag, of which Squall is holding an identical one right now. They have been given a couple hours leave on the clock to deposit the items at the laundromat across the street, just to get things over with. Benevolent bosses are always a blessing in every single job and field of work.

Quistis sighs at the probably-unwanted nickname. “Look, Ri- Juliet, you’ve barely started working here. You have no idea how fast HR updates itself on the rumor mills, especially in the News Department and in ours,” she explains, giving Juliet a pointed look as she does. Squall could only fathom the depth of the undue stress the morning’s incident has brought Quistis now, and she doesn’t deign to hide it behind her shiny spectacles, either.

Juliet only shrugs her shoulders in response as she rises from the couch. “Nah, they won’t,” she repeats herself, this time with more confidence, as if she already knows all of this like the back of her hand. “It’s an accident, like you said; they’ll probably send a written inquiry, at most, and the Good Sir Leonhart and I need only submit our written responses in, like, twenty-four hours. An easy thing for writers, really. Right, Good Sir Leonhart?” She nudges his side with an elbow, as if prompting for moral support.

Too close, again, Squall thinks, resisting the temptation to facepalm, like he is wont to do in ridiculously awkward situations like this. A “Whatever” does slip out, though, before he could stop himself. It makes Juliet groan indignantly in response, and she strongly pinches the outer edge of his arm, eliciting a surprised yelp from him as he yanks his hand away and takes a couple of steps back. “What the hell?”

Juliet merely sticks her tongue out at him, pulling at her lower eyelid with a thin finger as she does, like an overgrown child bullying at the playground. “That’s what you get for being a big, fat meanie, Good Sir Leonhart,” she crows triumphantly, and Quistis only buries her head in her hands at her desk in sheer frustration. This incident is what HR should send a written inquiry for, Squall thinks to himself wryly as Juliet stalks off with her laundry bag, but not before turning back at the door and sticking her tongue out at him again, this time with a blowing sound. He does a facepalm for real this time, tiredly taking Juliet’s place on the couch before Quistis’ desk.

“Quite a handful, isn’t she,” she observes with a smile, making Squall raise an eyebrow in inquiry. Decidedly in a slightly better mood than earlier, Quistis nods at him, beckoning him to come closer. She slides a thin folder to him across the desk— probably the next article to look over for the day. Next week’s issue is due today, after all.

What greets him instead is a CV and portfolio of one Juliette Heartilly, new writer for the Creative Department of their small publishing company, and apparently, his new partner.

“I meant to send for you this morning, but the CEO suddenly called all the department heads for an emergency meeting earlier,” Quistis explains in that same level tone of hers— that is, when she is about to deliver bad news, which for Squall, is most of the time lately. “You will be editing for Juliette, too, starting the issue after next week. As you can see, she has her quirks, but I imagine you won’t have a problem working together, seeing as you both have excellent work ethic and the output to show for it. Do you have any questions so far?”

“I don’t even know where to begin.” To hell with brain-to-mouth filters for today; he hasn’t had his morning coffee, and is therefore not awake enough to play nice yet. Luckily, Quistis understands that part of him very well, over the ten months now he has been working with her. She cradles her chin in both her laced fingers and smiles, as if prompting him to speak now or forever hold his peace. It is a smile that has unnerved many of the Department’s employees when they are at the receiving end of it, and as ashamed Squall is to admit it, he, too, finds it uncomfortable.

“I’ll send an email to you when I think of one,” he decides on saying instead. He needs a few hours to himself to process this weird turn of events first before he ends up doing anything stupid again, like spilling someone else’s coffee all over his shirt— something that, speaking of which, he has to replace sooner than later. He makes a mental note to pass by the fancy café two blocks over after depositing his clothes at the laundromat.

Mind made up for now, Squall nods at Quistis for additional measure, taking the folder with him. Her smile changes to one of warm approval, and she courteously dismisses him with a wave and an encouraging “good luck, Squall”. She does not say “with her”, but Squall hears it anyway as he takes his leave from the office, feeling his steps grow heavier yet lighter by the second. It was definitely a nonsensical way of putting it, but it is how he feels at the moment, and he won’t deny it for now.

He hopes nothing else will happen anymore; he’s had more than enough excitement for one day, and he still has next week’s issue to look at later this morning. Maybe he’ll get himself that double espresso on his café run, too, while he’s at it.

It turns out Squall needn’t have bothered with deciding what pastry goes well with brewed coffee on a chilly morning. He watches quietly from his place in the line, two customers back, as Juliette points excitedly at a pistachio muffin and another item he couldn’t identify except for the generous cheese on top. It feels as if fate is playing a ridiculous trick on him for some reason, having them both run into each other for the third consecutive time that day, now, and at very close intervals, too. It hasn’t even been half the day yet, and he is already decidedly exhausted.

“That will be one hundred gil, ma’am,” the cashier rings up the total amount, and Juliette happily slides over a silver-plated card on the counter. Squall lets his mind drift off again as he waits for the transaction to be finished, secretly relieved that he need only buy the coffee now. There are only so many things he knows about fancy food, despite having been raised in a relatively fancier household than most others. Their family did appreciate simple music and art, though, spending time every week in their small studio as Mom played (and bungled) piano pieces by their collective favorite singer, Julia.

Now, where has he heard that name before, Squall wonders for a moment.

His thoughts are promptly cut off by a small incident at the counter area. “W-What do you mean my card’s been declined?” Juliette stammers, her entire face pale as she picks back up the card, hand trembling ever-so-slightly. “I haven’t even reached half of my credit limit for this month yet,” she defends herself, her last few words ending with a raised intonation, as if she were asking a question instead. The cashier looks at her with genuine sympathy, but says what he has to, anyway: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’ve already tried swiping your card twice on both portable terminals; your card really has been blocked for some reason. Would you like to pay for your order in cash instead?”

“A-Ah, right.” Juliette fumbles at her wallet, nervously counting the remaining bills and coins one by one on the counter top. The small ruckus has the people behind Squall tapping impatiently, with one grandma even mumbling something about “stupid, spendthrift young’uns spending beyond their means” in a decidedly snide tone Squall didn’t care for at all, both because of its ill timing and its utter insensitivity. Juliette may have struck him as weirdly eccentric in more ways than one, but she is definitely not stupid, and certainly does not deserve such comments thrown at her.

So he decides to take matters into his own hands, swiftly cutting to the front of the line and sliding his own card onto the counter before Juliette could finish counting her money. A cursory glance at the small pile reveals that she is still around twenty gil short, despite how bulky her wallet had seemed to be at the start. The cashier, wearing a face that is between startled and starstruck, lets her eyes frantically wander around as she fumbles around for the right words, but Squall gives her a pointed look before she could even so much as open her mouth. “I’ll pay. Add two double espressos to-go, as well. Make it quick.”

The manager, having heard the small ruckus from the inside office, quickly steps in for his terrified employee, and wordlessly rings up the orders in an instant. “Go prepare their food,” he calmly instructs, and this brings her back down from her jumpy episode. She then proceeds to the back and helps wrap up the pastries while the barista there prepared the coffee. The transaction goes smoothly this time, and Squall quietly takes Juliette with him to the waiting area, just like that.

“... You didn’t have to do that, Good Sir Leonhart,” Juliette says in a small voice, twiddling her thumbs in a restless manner. Her hunched form and bowed head lets her hide her eyes behind her loose hair, and for once, she is very different from the playful and confident woman that she was back in Quistis’ office. “A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” Laguna had quoted an old movie to him a few years back, in one of the rare moments he has gotten his metaphors right, for once. It makes Squall smile a little, to this day— a good thing Juliette doesn’t see it, lest she starts teasing him again sooner than later.

It’s funny how, in a mere couple of hours, he has already managed to witness different facets that made up Juliette Heartilly— kind, assertive, coy, sensitive. Suddenly, the thought of working with her becomes a lot more bearable, now— interesting, even. He smirks at the feeling, just a little, this time lightly nudging Juliette with his elbow. “It’s for the coffee I spilled earlier,” he explains without looking, noting how she shyly raises her head at him from the corner of his eye. “Also, welcome to the team, Heartilly.”

He is definitely not blushing as he said that. The cold air merely prickles at his face during this time of the year, and he need only take antihistamines for it tonight— another mental note, he reminds himself as he tries not to sneeze like that again.

Juliette seems to sense his bashfulness, though, returning to her usual annoying self as she returns the light elbow nudge with playful jabs of her own. “Awww! And the Good Sir Leonhart’s idea of a warm welcome is to take their newbies on coffee dates? I like that.” Her smile is decidedly a wicked one, and it takes all of Squall’s concentrated effort to not facepalm and/or snark back— whichever comes first— like he is wont to do when he is irritated.

He settles for a professional smile instead, like a team leader imparting wisdom to errant members so they don’t get funny ideas. “I don’t, actually, but today is an exception. I expect you to work hard. Do you understand, Heartilly?”

Just then, the barista rings the bell, calling for “customers Romeo and Juliet” with a nervous stutter. This elicits a wave of quiet laughter from among the dine-in patrons, and Squall, realizing that the hapless worker was referring to them, instantly freezes in place, while Juliette leaps off the high stool and approaches the counter with a light spring in her step. “Coming!”

Squall doesn’t remember how long he remained that way, but the next thing he knows, Juliette is already tugging at the sleeve of his long shirt, carrying their food in a paper bag. “All done! Let’s go back now?”

“R-Right,” he nods in agreement, taking the carrier for the drinks from Juliette’s other hand and heading for the door. Juliette follows him excitedly, good mood fully restored for now. The walk back to the office is quiet amidst the bustle of activity around them, and the festive mood makes Juliette softly hum a tune— one of Julia’s songs, he recognizes.

“By the way, Good Sir Leonhart,” Juliette stops as they reach their office building, “I never got to learn your name.” The sudden question also stops Squall in his tracks, and he looks back at her from the door, studying the quizzical look on her face. She raises an eyebrow at him, prompting an answer. “I can’t keep on calling you Romeo forever, you know.”

“Indeed,” Squall agrees, lest the joint nickname sticks with everyone else and they become the newest comedy duo HR will come breathing down their necks on in next month’s audit. Also a fair enough question, given their new working relationship, really. The initial embarrassment is always only temporary, after all. “My name is Squall. Don’t get any funny ideas, Heartilly.”

“Oooh, a storm. I like that,” she quickly dodges that trap, joining him on the top of the steps and ringing the doorbell for them both. “Also, call me Juliette. Or Juliet. Whatever.” She punctuates this with a coy smile of her own, and Squall almost snorts at how fast it took for her to imitate his favorite expression, down to the bored intonation. She is definitely playing with him now, and he feels that he will fall into this trap sooner than later— but not right now.

“Juliette, then,” he ends the topic with a tone of finality, allowing no more room for further discussion. The door opens for them, and they nod at the receptionist in thanks as they head inside. “Next week’s issue is due today,” Squall instructs as they head up the spiral stairs. “We typically stay past five, but we try to wrap up before it gets too dark. Will that be okay with you?”

“Not a problem,” Juliette says with an excited squeak in her voice, the old steps creaking as she quickly runs up ahead of him. “Come on, Squall! Race you to the office?” She does not give him a chance to reply as she darts off with the food, like an overgrown child cheating at the playground. He only shakes his head as he ascends the steps only a little faster. “I’m carrying drinks, you know.” Not that Juliette would even hear it, given how far ahead she has already gotten, but it just has to be said.

Once upon a time, there was supposed to be a princess asleep in a tower in outer space, but by the time the prince arrived to rescue her and give her true love’s kiss, she was long gone, having escaped on her own and returned back to earth, just like that.

Squall only smiles in amusement at that. Maybe this is the unlikely spark he has been looking for in this life he has chosen for himself, and it’s not a bad thing— not bad, at all.

#final fantasy viii #Squall Leonhart #rinoa heartilly #meet cute #crash-into hello #thesuccessorchallenge #tsc2020 #theme: spark

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amora-recs · 4 years

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aristos achaion┊jeon jungkook┊01

des: The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks. (college!AU combined with greek!AU)

note: although this was so hard to come up with and plan out, I LOOOVE it so much! I think this one might be one of my favourites. I tried really hard to not make it too Percy Jackson so I hope it’s ok!! anyway please enjoy <3

word count: 1.5k

Snitches get stitches. Those three exact words have been preached over for far too many generations at Faraday Institute. Especially when it came to the Ares kids. Those same words also applied in this situation, everyone silently watching as Jungkook kept hammering away at one of the boys’ face. The room felt suffocatingly stuffy, only a few grunts and groans were heard over the party music playing in the speakers, although at the time the funky tunes were nothing more than white noise as no one dared interfere with the altercation going on at the time.

It hit him all at once the moment he stood up. His head was starting to spin, the metallic taste of blood, an all too familiar tang to him now, filled Jungkook’s mouth as his left eye kept pulsating in pain. He could barely feel his hands, knuckles covered in dark red blood. He could already hear people whispering, making his insides coil in disgust. Couldn’t they just leave? No one asked them to stay and watch him beat up some dudes. His eyes turned around toward his audience, scanning the room for Jimin. Stupid frat parties, he should have never accepted the invite. With no sign of his one companion in sight, he walked out, wincing as the chilly early spring breeze brushed over his bruises.

“Dear Gods, what a fucking psycho. Did he have to overdo it?” asked one of the girls, throwing a few regular glances towards the guys on the floor. “Wasn’t he recently titled Aristos Achaion?”

“Yes, actually,” emphasised Taehyung, one of the Apollo kids, taking another sip of his drink. “The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks.”

It was true, Jeon Jungkook owned the title of best of the greeks and just like Taehyung said, the Gods, also known as the College Council, themselves gave him that name. It was almost absurd how much power those two words held on campus. The moment everyone heard a son of Ares was the one to become Aristos Achaion many different opinions were shared, most of them bashing on the council for making such a mistake. But just like after the fight, Jungkook preferred to ignore them, accepting the title with a big smile. A smile that slowly but surely was disappearing.

It was a beautiful night. Everything was silent except for the few grasshoppers and although the air was still chilly, the way the breeze scraped his wounds felt pleasant while the simplistic palette of blues and black the sky was tinted in offered him comfort as he walked alone in the dark. The tranquillity of it all allowed him to sort his agitated thoughts.

That, or he was just giving himself an awful migraine.

A sigh escaped his lips as he knocked three times at the door of his best friend, trying his hardest to straighten up his posture. A bashful smile took over his features as soon as the door opened. Along with his smile, his blush also grew wider as he studied her attire. She was wearing a large grey t-shirt, probably bought from the boys’ section, that reached her mid-thighs. His heart started beating just a tad faster as whether or not she was wearing anything under that shirt crossed his mind. He immediately made a mental note to slap himself later. Sleepiness coated her eyes, still not taking into consideration his appearance. No words were exchanged as she welcomed him inside, already searching for the first aid kit. She was more than used to have Jungkook all beat-up knocking at her door. She became his nurse, as he liked to call it.

“Y’know,” Jungkook grunted as he took a seat on the couch. “You shouldn’t open the door dressed like that.” her response came in the form of a yawn, cleaning the bruises on his face first with a wet cloth.

“But I knew it was you knocking.”

For some reason, it felt good to hear those words. It made his heart flutter. “Yeah right,” he mouthed, looking down at his injured hands, now cleaned up by her.

A comfortable silence surrounded them shortly after. Seeing her in front of him made memories from earlier come back in a rush, making Jungkook scrunch his nose in disgust at the repulsive thoughts. The way they dared talk about her made his blood boil and, though painful, clench his fists. He should have mutilated them after what he heard came out of their mouths –

“Why did you pinch me?” he whimpered in pain as he took a hold of his wounded right cheek.

“You were spacing out again.” she simply stated with a smile, gently taking his hand off his cheek. “Now, be a good boy, and let me disinfect your cheek.”

The antiseptic stung, but like the good boy he silently promised to be, Jungkook said nothing, distracted by the very little distance between them and the flowery smell of her shampoo. For once he was thankful for his swollen cheeks.

“Seriously though,” she stood up, throwing the cotton ball into the bowl she brought. “Aren’t you taking this son of Ares charade too seriously?”

“I can't help it.” he sighed, enjoying the sensation of the band-aid over his wounds. “I mean, it is apparently in my blood.”

He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the look. And the look only meant one thing. “This whole blood thing seems like a bunch of bullshit to me.” she scoffed, adjusting the last bandage over the knuckles of his right hand.

Jungkook groaned in exasperation. As much as he loved her, he knew she was still mortal. She wasn’t anything special, a certain chosen one, nor did she possess any sort of sixth sense. She was just a sceptic. A very stubborn one. And who could blame her?

Demi-gods usually don’t own any fancy otherworldly powers as one would believe. The only gift they were blessed with was their eyes. Or rather their eye colour, to be more exact. A deep shape of brown, able to bore into your soul and warm you up in the best and worst way possible. That was Jungkook’s eye colour and the only way one could tell he has godly blood flowing through his veins.

“Just because you believe it’s bullshit that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“But is it worth it? Everyone hates you.”

Jungkook suddenly couldn't find his words. He knew he would be lying if he said that wasn’t true. Abhorring the children of Ares became an unspoken tradition. Many believed they were too violent, barbaric even, and always looking for a fight. And like with any other stereotype, that wasn’t true.

“You don’t seem to hate me.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’ve been plotting to kill you this entire time.” she raised her eyebrow with a smirk plastered on her lips.

“For three years?” his question made her giggle, breaking character. It was soft and sweet and it made his ears feel ticklish.

For Jungkook, times like these were far and rare in-between. Every smile, every laugh, every shed tear, he held it all dear and close to his heart, relishing in the mere joy of the moment. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, not everyone hated the Ares kids.

“Gods,” she sighed dramatically. “Patience, something I’ve noticed you’re quite lacking, is a virtue, my dear child.”

The next morning he realised he was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for Jungkook to be greeted by an awful amount of scowls first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, hearing all the gasps and whispers made him feel uncomfortable. It felt suffocating and stiff, making his chest hurt. He was in the centre of attention, making him feel conscious about his appearance, his attitude, his everything. Perhaps beating the shit out of those guys wasn’t his most brilliant idea, but skipping class sure seemed like one. Just before he was about to prove his theory, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Jungkook? Are you alright?” asked Jimin, a smile brightening his face. He could already hear the whispers dying down. “Come on, let’s walk together!”

Not many people liked talking with the children of Ares, let alone befriend one. But Jimin was different. He was nice, charming and caring. He was a son of Aphrodite through and through, and everyone loved him for it. “Yeah,” Jungkook mumbled, silently thanking his friend. “But shouldn’t you head to your own classes?”

“My course doesn’t start until later today, don’t worry.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he didn’t need to look at Jimin to know he had one of the corniest smiles on his face.

“I’m on prophyte business!” he winked, making Jungkook roll his eyes. “Anyway, where did you go last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere?”

His question made Jungkook turn his head away from him, trying to avoid eye contact. Although only a shade lighter than his eyes, Jimin's eyes held the same intensity, vivid with passion and allure. He knew that if he'd look into his eyes he would start talking in no second. It proved to be a futile attempt as his silence gave Jimin the answer he hoped he wouldn't have to hear.

"You went to her place again?" Jimin whispered, knowing fully well just how much-unwanted attention this would bring.

#bts #ultkpop #kpopworksnet #kpopwonderlandtag #thekpopnetwork #jeon jungkook #jeongguk #bts angst #son of ares jeon jungkook #college au

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allofthesins · 4 years

Text

Forest of Solitude

For an entire year Mycroft acted as though the kiss had never happened. Holidays were awkward for him because though his brother seemed unbothered, Sherlock couldn't get the feel of his lips out of his head. Every time he saw the older man there was a longing, but he didn't dare approach.

In this time, Sherlock had graduated and moved back home. There was a lot of room to think out there. It was a blessing and a curse for him as it gave him plenty of time to day dream about his big brother rescuing him, only to be kissed so tenderly and passionately by the other man.

He found a place not far from the family house with an interesting tree that he liked to sit under and think. He often took his drugs there, forcing vivid hallucinations before his vision. This day he accidentally took too many and everything went black.

Consciousness dragged him back to an existance of pain and Mycroft was suddenly there. It was pouring and he was shivering. He felt feverish.

"Sherlock? I'm calling the doctor. We've been looking for you for two days."

Sherlock's eyes were barely open as he watched the bleak sky. He couldn't even feel Mycroft as he was carried out of the woods and into the family home. His mother looked on worriedly as she had opened the door for them.

"So hot..."

Mycroft frowned and carried Sherlock into the bathroom, giving their mother a look as he closed the door. She immediately called for an ambulance. Mycroft stripped Sherlock and turned on the cold water.

"Really brother mine, this was not the way i wanted to take off your clothes."

Sherlock chuckled half heartedly.

"I didn't want you to kiss me and disappear for a year...."

"Touche."

He closed his eyes but was slapped hard as he was set into the cold tub.

"Stay awake brother!"

Sherlock looked up at him, but it was so hard. He lost everything again as Mycrofts lips once again closed over his.

The next time he woke he was in a hospital bed on an iv drip. The beeping was giving him a horrible headache. The room was dark but the second he was conscious again, he was being kissed rather roughly.

"Sherlock..."

He heard Mycroft moan in his ear.

"Mycroft..."

His heart began to race and mycroft turned the monitor off before unhooking him. He stood just before the door opened.

"Everything is fine. I'll reattach him when i leave."

The doctor looked at him odly but said nothing.

"He's my brother, I'm not going to kill him."

He looked down at Sherlock, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk for just a second.

"As much as I'd like to sometimes. "

Sherlock composed himself and cleared his throat.

"I'm fine. The incessant beeping was all but giving me a migraine."

The doctor nodded and closed the door as he left. Mycroft continued with his assault on Sherlocks neck and ears and lips.

"This is risky."

"Are you complaining? "

"...no..."

"We won't be caught. I've brought all of the necessary tools. "

"Wait a second. You kissed me and disappeared for a year. You're going to make love to me and disappear again."

He was pouting even as Mycroft reached a hand down to touch him.

"I won't."

"It's a promise? "

"I never promise Sherlock, promises can be broken. You scared the hell out of all of us. I didn't realize how it had affected you. "

Sherlock suppressed a moan and Mycroft kissed him again.

"I want more than this Mycroft. Even if we must keep it secret. If you don't see me more often. If you don't give me attention, I'll go to the police."

"Sherlock, don't ruin the mood please. I was afraid I'd lost you."

He looked into Sherlock's eyes and stopped. Sherlock closed his eyes and growled softly.

"Don't stop. It's what i want. It's what I've been dreaming of. Please don't stop. Just make it as quick as possible so we don't get caught. And make it up to me later at home."

Mycroft chuckled and kissed him again.

"Every night."

Sherlock bit his wrist in fear of being too loud as Mycroft prepared them.

"Mycroft!"

He whispered harshly as he was entered finally.

"Bite my jacket if you must. I'll be quick."

Sherlock chuckled darkly.

"I might not..."

"Shut up and enjoy it brother mine."

"Gods i love it when you call me that. I'll obay."

In fifteen minutes they were both done and Mycroft cleaned up quickly, shoving the condoms into his pocket to dispose of later before zipping up. Sherlock lay there panting and grabbed Mycrofts wrist.

"Don't go."

"I must."

"You'll come back?"

"I'll take you home. Just call."

"Stay the night."

"I said I'd take you home. I meant to my house. I'll send the servants on long errands so we'll be absolutely alone. "

Sherlock breathed a sigh as Mycroft re-hooked him to the heart monitor and stopped him from turning the screen on.

"It's too loud. I want to remember my first time fondly, not with obnoxious beeping."

Mycroft sat beside him and ran his fingers gently through Sherlock's hair, taking his other hand.

"If i had known I'd have waited and made it more special. "

"It was special enough. It wasn't meaningless and it was with you. "

Mycroft kissed him again softly before standing. He reluctantly let go of Sherlock's hand.

"Tonight brother mine. Tonight will start something that will never end. I love you so much."

"Perhaps i should have od'd the next morning. I could have had a whole year of fulfilling sex.”

"Shut up and go to sleep. Mother and father will visit in a few hours and you know you'll hear about it."

Mycroft left quietly with a smirk and Sherlock lay there with a smile. He drifted to sleep slowly, dreaming about what was to come between them.

#holmescest #oneshot #pls gimme propts #mycroft is top change my mind

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years

Text

The Rebel Queen (viii)

Chapter Eight: Cicatrized

Pairing: Poe Dameron x (OFC) Princess Calista Ordell

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | A03

Words: 6k | Warnings: Some medical jargon... A lot of use of the word rancor!

Taglist is open

Epilogue | About Thesmora

The smell of spice and hooch filled his senses as Banden left the lower quarters of his gambling establishment. The merry laughs and slurred words of his regulars were becoming too loud for his busy mind to sift through.

Emory, his tough-skinned head of security led the way back to his offices. It wasn’t a necessity for her to be by his side, but with Maligma loosening the ties around her militia, violence between thug and lawman had increased exponentially. Emory was there as a scare tactic and because she worried too much for a ruffian. Underneath that heavily tattooed face of hers was a woman who took pride in her job, even if it entailed handling the security detail of a highly detested mobster in the eyes of the law. She saw him the same way the people saw him and they sung a different tune. They all painted him up to be an everyman kind of man. That sort of praise had its benefits –for one, it kept his business running while the civil war marched on in the background.

There was a snippet of truth to that version of him, that everyman’s man. At least he tried to keep that version of himself alive for as long as possible.

Banden’s droid, Cory, shuffled into his office unannounced once Emory made her exit. The annoying grind of its joints pestered Banden’s ears.

“What is it, Cory?”

The droid went stiff and then retrieved a data chip from one of its hidden compartments, “The intel you requested on the new CIC of the Garrison, boss.”

Banden sighed and then waved the droid over, hand outstretched expectantly.

Cory dropped the data chip and shuffled back out of the stuffy office.

When he was alone again, Banden stared at the little chip for a long while, pondering whether he should poke this particular rancor. For some reason, the tattoo on his chest began to itch but he refrained from scratching. He knew it was psychosomatic. Just a ghost letting him know he wasn’t alone, even in the seclusion of his locked office.

A beeping noise disturbed his train of thought. Thankful for the interruption, he glanced over at the transmission call signal and grinned. He accepted the transmission with enthusiasm.

“Well, well. I must say, princess, being a fugitive becomes you,” he said.

Calista huffed, lacing her hands together in an attempt to keep her wits about her. Banden had gotten under her skin before she’d had the chance to speak. This was good. This meant there was a string attached to this call.

“Murray,” she said dryly, glaring with murderous intent.

The way her eyes narrowed and her cheeks were sucked in, Banden saw a bit of Maligma in her features.

He reached for his pipe and lit it, “What can I do for you?”

Koa was shocked to consciousness by a jolt travelling from her fingers to her brain. She couldn’t move or speak or open her eyes right away, but she could hear. By the animated sounds of a debate being had in her room, she wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse just yet.

“I’m telling you, Kashmyre Düne would be able to take on Boba Fett any day of the week. I’d be willing to bet my last credit on it,” a bright voice spoke in exasperation.

Is that Zeeke? She wondered.

Faster than a pod-racer, argumentative Jawaese shot off in reply.

That’s obviously Ton-Ton.

“Sure Boba Fett wasn’t a joke but he still wasn’t anything special. Düne was a member of the Death Watch! He lived on Ankhural, that place is no paradise. Trust me, he’s the better merc.” The words were spoken with admiration, as though Düne was some sort of childhood idol.

A mocking tone was mixed in with the next Jawaese-filled sentence as the scuffling sound of card shuffles licked at Koa’s ears.

“Of course I know my Mandalorian lore. You think I don’t have facts to back up my claims?” A scoff trickled out. “Düne had one of the most frightening ships in all the galaxy! You mention Soren’s Blade in any cantina worth its spice and I guarantee you at least half the bar will know of the ship and who it belonged to. And it was rumoured that Düne killed one of the Empire’s most feared Intelligence officers before his disappearance. That’s no easy task.”

The argument went on in the background. Koa was a little annoyed at the fact she only understood one side of the conversation. It didn’t matter to her much anyway, she had more internalised issues to worry over.

Her mouth tasted like metal. It wasn’t the same alkaline taste as blood, this one was closer to cobalt or titanium perhaps. As she ran her tongue across her teeth she felt a cold, hard substance fused into a tooth. The sensation was like running her tongue over a thin metal snake. It felt odd, but not as odd as her arm.

Her left arm was heavy, heavier than normal. Her nerves felt like they were frayed, sizzling with electricity. She thought to move her hand and at the simple idea it moved, barely, but with that perfectly normal action came an incredibly unnatural pain. Her brain jolted from misfiring neurons and a migraine settled on her temple as she croaked out a gasp.

Koa thanked the gods her eyes were still closed because had she been staring up into the light that she knew was shining over her face, the migraine assaulting her senses would have hit ten times harder.

She let out a raspy sound and realised her throat was dry.

“I think she’s waking up,” Zeeke said softly.

Ton-Ton whispered something as though they hadn’t already been causing quite the disturbance a few seconds ago.

“Water,” she whispered as she tried to pull her eyelids back.

Her facial muscles were numb, moving sluggishly from the cocktail of drugs being pumped into her system through a vein. She was surprised that the drugs were strong enough to numb her body but not strong enough to ease the small shocks of lightning travelling up her arm.

With one eye halfway pried open, Koa got a better picture of her surroundings. The med bay was spacious. Its walls were whiter than the tiny planet of Hoth she had seen from the station window they had docked at after leaving Thesmora.

“Easy there,” Zeeke laughed awkwardly as he helped Koa adjust her bed upright.

He handed her a plastic cup of ice. When she tried to move her left arm to accept the cup, more lightning shot through her and this time she winced. She looked over at her arm and had the air knocked out of her lungs.

Half flesh, half metal and all wrong. The artificial prosthetic was larger than her other arm, made of a versatile carbon material that emphasised durability over aesthetics and kept sending charges through her overstimulated sensory nerve endings. In short, it was ugly and alien to her body.

The flesh which joined her two halves was scarred and had purple trauma scars that resembled Lichtenberg marks travelling up to her shoulder and further. From the throb in the back of her neck and lower half of her cranium, Koa was certain those scars reached all the way from her triceps to the lymph nodes in her neck.

She felt raw. Raw and… different.

Zeeke didn’t try to help her bring the cup to her mouth, for which she was grateful, she didn’t need or want to be babied. Once she managed to bring the cup to her chapped lips, Koa decided to suck on the cubes instead of chewing them. The metal snake on her tooth made her paranoid that if it cracked apart so would she.

“Where…” she rasped and then swallowed a large cube of ice to ease the soreness. “Where are we?”

“Resistance base. On D’Qar.” Zeeke said as he pulled the makeshift sitting area he and Ton-Ton had rigged up closer to her bed.

A set of cards and dice littered the flat surface of the table. On the centre was a pathetic pile of credits barely enough to afford a day’s ration of food on a skeevy spaceport. By the looks of it, they had been gambling to pass the time.

How long have they been in my room?

Koa adjusted her spine until she felt more comfortable, “Calista… Is the princess—?”

Zeeke started shuffling the deck of unused cards and Ton-Ton waved his hands in the air with impatience.

“…Is she safe?” Koa finally finished.

Zeeke nodded as he dealt the cards, “Yeah, she’s with the General now, discussing terms. The scary guy who’s always with you is also alright. He’s in another room getting his shoulder and ankles examined. I think he actually asked the doc to dislocate them just so they could be set right.” He shuddered. “I watched them reset his shoulder. Didn’t flinch. He looked bored actually. Maybe tired. I can never tell what he’s thinking to be honest. Scary guy that.”

Koa failed to fully let out a laugh, it seemed whistling exhales was the best she could do right now. Her screaming must have damaged her vocal cords slightly.

Zeeke’s eyes glossed over for a moment, his presence stolen from the med bay to another place that neither Koa nor Ton-Ton could follow, “He kinda reminds me of my brother. Acting like he’s got the weight of the galaxy dangling over his head, just waiting for the rope to snap.”

There was a bleak silence in the room as Zeeke kept shuffling the cards like a robot. Ton-Ton tried to kick him with his short feet but they didn’t reach. Koa softly cleared her throat to bring Zeeke back to the present moment. It worked.

“Oh, hah, sorry. I… uh, zoned out there didn’t I?” Zeeke ducked his head away from the light so his features could be obscured.

“What are you guys playing?” Koa asked as she watched Zeeke and Ton-Ton lay out several cards.

“You’ve never played sabacc?” he asked.

Koa tried to shake her head, “No.”

“I’ll teach you,” Zeeke smiled like a kid and wiped all the progress of his current game by sweeping up all the cards and reshuffling them all over again.

Ton-Ton tried to hit him with his short arms but missed. Vexed, the little guy hopped off his chair, shouted some choice words and left the room.

Zeeke started delving into the logistics of the game and its rules. The calm enthusiasm of his voice distracted Koa from the lightning shocks in her arm and she felt thankful for the pleasant distraction.

“Manoloa,” she said gratefully in her native tongue once Zeeke had finished explaining everything.

Zeeke’s ocean coloured eyes lit up, “What does that mean?”

“I don’t think there is a word for it in Common. I suppose the closest thing would be ‘Much gratitude’.”

“Oh,” he said as he placed the deck of cards on the flat surface, ready to begin the first round. “In that case, you’re welcome.”

After his cold and dissatisfying shower in the cramped stalls on the Somnambulist, Odhen busied himself by continuing to work over the repairs Zeeke and Ton-Ton had abandoned him with after they heard Koa was out of surgery.

The day was hot and he sweat through his newly cleaned shirt faster than a blind man in a blaster duel.

An exposed wire came in contact with his screwdriver and he hissed and kicked the electrical panel in frustration.

“Hey trashcan, pass me some conductive tape will ya?” he held out a hand at Watts.

The droid did not take kindly to being called a trashcan, “If I had legs I know just where I’d shove them.”

“Remind me to tell Ton-Ton to inhibit your freewill functions,” Odhen bit back.

The droid slammed the tape into Odhen’s palm.

Odhen grumbled like a brooding old man, “Ow! Damn droid! Stupid Ship! Hot planet!”

Ton-Ton came waddling close to the open side panel Odhen was working under. The tiny Jawa kept complaining about how Zeeke had scrapped a game of sabacc and robbed Ton-Ton of his winning streak.

Odhen sighed and kept his head firmly stuck under the open hatch to keep the sun out of his eyes and the view of the base out of his sight. He didn’t want to be on this cursed planet let alone close enough to the damned base to see it. It held too many sour memories. Too many failures to count.

“Eh, shut it shorty, the kid’s just a better player. Don’ be a sore loser. It makes you look small,” Odhen said.

“I’m inclined to agree with the Captain, you are a terrible gambler!” Watts chimed in.

Ton-Ton grabbed a spanner for good measure in case one more person dared to say anything else he didn’t want to hear. Everyone grew silent and the Jawa huffed, feeling insulted and dismissed.

Odhen braced for the oncoming whack from Ton-Ton’s spanner, but it never came. After a beat, Ton-Ton said something that garnered his attention from the hole-riddled side panel.

“Who’s here?” he looked at Ton-Ton.

The Jawa and the droid pointed to someone in front of them.

“Captain Odhen Boro, it’s been a while,” the wet, gravelly sounds of Admiral Gial Ackbar’s voice called out from his flank.

Odhen swore low, “I’ll be the hide on a rancors backside.”

The Mon-Calamari laughed, “Is that any way to greet an old friend.”

Odhen turned and greeted him brazenly, “Admiral.”

“We’ve missed you around here. I have to admit, the Resistance feels a little emptier after your departure.”

“It felt plenty empty before I left.”

Gial sighed, looking up at the old ship and Odhen’s beat-up appearance. There was pity in his eyes when he glanced over at all the medals pinned to Odhen’s small jacket. Maybe there was guilt too, but Odhen didn’t care enough to try and decode Gial’s facial tics. He just wanted to be left alone.

Gial placed his webbed fingers on his waist, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, old pal. I should have done more.”

“It’s in the past,” Odhen’s eye twitched. “Leave it there.”

Gial took a step closer, trying to see if Odhen would retreat, when he didn’t, the Mon-Calamari closed the distance between them to put a moist hand on Odhen’s shoulder, “The past can still hurt us, Odhen.”

“I’ve done a pretty good job of forgettin’ so far. So, if you don’ mind, I’d like to get back to fixin’ my ship, Admiral.” Odhen shoved off Gial’s hand and went back to taping up the exposed wire.

“I’m sorry for not telling you in person back then.”

“Don’t,” Odhen warned.

“You need to hear this. I regret signing off on letting Hadlen go on that mission so soon after Una’s death. The boy had just lost his mother and I should have known better, but instead, I chose to let Leia send him into battle without telling her my worries. You lost a son because of me and I lost a friend in you because of that,” Gial sighed, his voice burdened by shame. “I won’t ask forgiveness, but I will ask that you forgive yourself… old pal. Come back from this… self-imposed exile. Una wouldn’t want this for you. I know I don’t.”

Odhen tried to ignore Gial’s words by putting razor-sharp focus on wrapping up the exposed wire. Ton-Ton waddled over to the towering Mon-Calamari and lifted his spanner high, intent on slamming it into Gial’s foot. Watts reacted quickly and ripped the spanner out of his master’s hands before it struck. Ton-Ton swore and kicked at his droid.

Gial was startled by the sound of a spanner knocking into the droids metallic hand and Watts covered for Ton-Ton’s foolhardy behaviour, “Terribly sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, he almost tripped.”

Gial sighed and waited for Odhen to give some sort of answer in reply –from the cold shoulder treatment, it didn’t seem likely that any more words would be exchanged.

Odhen had wrapped the same wire over ten times by the time Gial had left. It was the only thing he could think to do to keep his hands from shaking. His weight crushed down on him and Odhen found himself crumbling to the floor with watery eyes, a hand reaching into his small jacket’s pocket to pull out a photograph.

Odhen was younger in the image, cleaner, healthier. His wife Una was a vision in blue. She always looked good in blue. Their son Hadlen was squished between them, a fighter pilot’s helmet covering half his face as he smiled down at the first medal he ever pinned to his jacket –the jacket Odhen had passed on to him after he joined the Resistance. The jacket Odhen was forced to reclaim and wear in memory of his son.

Ton-Ton walked over to his side and placed his small hand on Odhen’s knee. Under the safety of a friendly touch, Odhen began to weep.

The transmission room held no odour or natural light. The hologram transmission died out and Murray’s smiling face disappeared from view. If Calista hadn’t walked off a ship and onto hard ground, she would have believed she was still in space, in a cold, hard compressed room on a dead ship, floating in deep space.

The demanding expectations were beginning to crush her from the inside out. Her spine was straight and her shoulders set, but on the inside, she felt like a centipede curling in on itself to stay protected. In her mind, she was staring down through weak glass tiles, looking at the centre of a lightless spiral that tunnelled into nothingness. This was her internal spiral and there was only one column keeping her floor from caving in.

“How did you do it?” she spoke to the vast emptiness surrounding her.

An imagined mirage of her mother stood where the hologram of Murray had been, her face blank and unresponsive to Calista’s demands.

Calista looked up at her hallucination, anger squeezing at her chest.

“How?” she shouted, voice ringing out.

When she didn’t get an answer back, Calista stormed out of the room.

The med bay was practically deserted save for a few maintenance droids sweeping up boot dust and sanitizing the floors. The smell of antiseptic pinched at her nose. As she made her way to Koa’s room, she recognised one of the medical specialists talking amongst a crowd. Curious and afraid, she walked over to the doctor and pulled him aside for an update.

“How is she... really?” Calista asked.

The doctor looked at his datapad for any updates he might have missed, “The surgery went as well as could be expected. We retrofitted her with an old model prosthetic. It’s a tricky bit of engineering. That particular model tends to put too much stress on motor nerve receptors. Your friend’s going to have a more difficult time adjusting to her new arm because of her brain physiology. Put simply, until we can get a better replacement limb, she won’t be in any fighting condition. The stress will be too much for her handle. It could risk neural overstimulation or worse. I recommend she stay out of high-stress situations or situations that require a lot of manual labour.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario?”

“If she puts too much strain on that arm… she could risk full paralysis. The neurological effects of the prosthetic could induce a stroke from overexertion. There’s no good alternative here. She should stay on bed rest until we find a better prosthetic.”

“Does she know?”

The doctor sighed, “I’ve had to tell many soldiers and fighters they can’t return to duty because of their injuries. Many don’t have family, and news like this… its best if a familiar face does it.”

Calista could feel the blood rush away from her face, that glass floor caving in slightly, dragging her closer to that spiral. It was her fault Koa was in this predicament, she was only thankful that an arm was all that was lost.

The doctor placed a comforting hand on her elbow, “It was quick thinking cauterizing that wound when you did. You kept her from bleeding out. Now she has a second chance. If you’ll excuse me, I have to see a Mon Calamari about his tonsillitis.”

Calista nodded at the doctor and continued on her way, feet barely moving.

Koa and Zeeke were smiling behind glass doors, a stark contrast to the sight of Koa screaming and bleeding and then shivering while unconscious. Calista looked down at her hands expecting them to still be slick with blood, they weren’t, but it didn’t stop them from feeling like they were.

Zeeke pulled a card trick and Koa’s eyes went wide with intrigue.

“How’d you learn to do that?” she asked as she tried to copy the same card trick with her right hand.

Zeeke shrugged, his lips tweaking uncomfortable, “Ran with a bad crowd as a kid.”

Calista took a deep breath, it was time to be brave. She walked passed the sliding door and stopped short of the medical bed Koa was laying on. Zeeke tilted his head in greeting, a welcoming smile chasing some of the stale atmospheres away.

“You look better,” Calista smiled at her friend, assessing the extent of the modifications made to her body. The purple lighting bruises traversing through Koa’s veins shook Calista to her core.

Koa laughed with some struggle, her robotic fingers failing to lift off the bed completely, “It’s barely a scratch.”

Zeeke’s eyebrows rose high as he tried to keep focus on his card shuffling.

“Can you give us a moment, Zeeke?” Calista asked softly.

Zeeke hummed and set the cards down, “Came by at the right time, she was about to rob me of my last credits. I should probably get back to the Somnambulist anyway, she’s in need of a hell of a patch job and I don’t want to leave Odhen and Ton-Ton hanging.”

Zeeke patted Koa’s leg and then jogged out of the room.

Calista sat at the edge of Koa’s bed, fingers too afraid to touch the metal casing of her new arm.

“I hear you met with the General,” Koa said with interest.

“Indeed.”

“And did she agree to help us?”

“Not without some difficulty on my part, but she agreed to certain terms.”

Koa frowned, her good hand tugging at the blanket draped over her in an effort to sit up more, “What does that mean?”

Calista sighed, “It means I’m going to Telos Four with Poe and a small Resistance company.”

“Something else is bothering you, I can sense it…” Koa tried to move her robotic arm out of habit, but the sound of live electricity caused her to lock her jaw and burrow her palm into the pressure point between the flesh and whole shoulder blade and the purple and scarred frayed skin.

Anger struck hot at the back of Calista’s eyes and she had to refrain from moving or breathing in fear she’d lose the last column of sanity she had left. She could practically picture the sturdy, chipped column toppling over, allowing the glass floor of her inner mind to sink from under her feet and send her even tumbling into that dark and endless spiral.

Calista cleared her throat and looked Koa in the eye, “I spoke with your doctor…”

Koa could tell what Calista was getting at, her flesh fingers closed in a fist as she spoke out confidently, “I’m fine.”

Calista glanced down at the purple markings on Koa’s skin, “You don’t look fine.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“I know the arm is causing you pain. The doctor recommended you stay out of strenuous situations, something to do with the sensory implants not synchronising correctly with your brain. He recommended we wait until a new prosthetic is availa—“

“The arm works fine.”

“The doctor recommended bed rest. After everything you’ve been through, there’s no shame in taking time to heal.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend for me. It’s me. I know you. I know your limits. These past few days have taken their toll. You lost an arm. The last thing you need right now is to be back in the thick of it. You need time. You need to rest.” Calista urged, her hand grabbing ahold of Koa’s closed fist in an effort to make her see reason.

Koa didn’t reciprocate, instead, her eyes narrowed, “Is that an order?”

Calista kept her voice soft, “A suggestion.”

“Then, respectfully, your highness,” Koa’s voice grew deeper, the rasp clearing slightly. “I decline the offer to stay behind.”

Calista closed her eyes for a moment before standing from the edge of the bed, “Fine, if that is your wish. We leave as soon as the repairs to the Somnambulist are complete… I should go and check on Mokk-Toh.”

Koa shifted awkwardly under the blanket until her legs were left to dangle on the edge and her body was slumped over, “My body may have changed but my duty has not. I go where you go. That’s all there is to it.”

Calista smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes, “There’s more to it than that. Truthfully, if I lost you… I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You’d know exactly what to do. This war we’re fighting is bigger than any two people. Thesmora is counting on you to liberate her and it’s my duty to ensure you succeed… No matter what.”

Koa’s words were sharp. As unpleasant as it was for Calista to hear them, they needed to be heard. Suddenly, a new column was erected beneath her. Her glass floor becoming reinforced, the spiral descending away from her. Her heart, on the other hand, grew a degree colder.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Calista whispered out in a childishly frightened voice then she made her way down the hallway until she came upon Mokk-Toh’s room. He was having his shoulder examined by a physiotherapy droid. The sound of joints popping made her shiver. Mokk-Toh was stone-faced the entire time.

“Your highness,” Mokk-Toh motioned to get up off the examining table.

Calista held up a hand, “No need for formalities. I came to see how you are doing.”

“I’ll let the expert handle this,” Mokk-Toh pointed at the droid hovering over his shoulder.

The droid finished up the examination and then answered in a mechanical voice, “His contusions have healed nicely. His cuts have cicatrized. A few of his joints have suffered severe trauma, they may never heal as they were before, but all in all, he’s in good fighting shape… for someone his age.”

The droid gathered new garments from a drawer and handed them to Mokk-Toh before going to work over a bacta tank in the background.

“I assume everything is in motion then?” Mokk-Toh asked as he pulled a white shirt over his lean frame.

“It is.”

“You don’t look too thrilled,” he was fastening his arm guards now.

“There’s not much to be thrilled about,” Calista reached for fresh bandages out of Mokk-Toh’s reach and handed them to him.

He started wrapping his ankles for extra pressure, “We’re alive and now we have allies. That’s plenty more than we had yesterday.”

“Is that all there is to it now? Making sure we aren’t worse off now than we were the day before?”

Mokk-Toh stood on crooked ankles, “We endure.”

Calista unfolded a grey cloak that was folded on the table and spread it out so Mokk-Toh could slink his arms through the sleeves, “Koa worries me. I fear her stubbornness is clouding her judgement about her health.”

After tying the robe's belt around his small waist, Mokk-Toh placed his hands on Calista’s shoulders, “Would you like me to talk to her?”

Calista looked up, thinking on his offer. “Yes.”

Mokk-Toh looked over Calista’s face as though he were trying to conjure up someone else from under her skin. There was a fondness to his touch and a warmth to his dark eyes that she’d never often seen from him. His thin lips curled ever so slightly at the edges to form a reminiscent smile.

“I see a lot of your mother’s strength in you,” he said. “You share in her fortitude as well, it’s admirable, but no one is supposed to shoulder what you’re going through alone. That was her shortcoming. She thought she could be a symbol of strength and not lose a part of herself in the process. I watched your mother distance herself from everyone that mattered when things became too much. A lot of her relationships suffered for it. Including her bond with Maligma.”

Mokk-Toh took a pensive breath before continuing, “What I’m trying to say is… don’t be afraid to take a moment to yourself. Let people in. Trust them. Share your burdens. Sometimes a moment of peace can last a lifetime. And peace is a rare commodity these days.”

Calista nodded slowly, letting Mokk-Toh’s words sink in. He seemed sad. Most of the time Calista would see him as a soldier. Always alert and always on guard. But right now, he seemed like any other person on this base and that scared her a bit. It meant that even Mokk-Toh had his limits. His concealed cracks were beginning to surface, and as a result of his candour, Calista now had a third column she could lean on.

The spiral seemed even further away now.

Mokk-Toh found Koa riffling through compartments and discarded blood-stained clothing in search of something. Her robotic arm joined securely to her bicep was resting against a leather sling wrapped around Koa’s neck and chest area. He thought it looked incompatible.

Koa saw Mokk-Toh’s reflection through the plate glass window that overlooked an assembly line of docked ships gleaming like crystals from the intense sun rays, “I see you’re disarmed. I suppose that means both our swords got left behind on Takodana.”

Koa stopped her search and moved on to tidying up after the mess she had made. It was almost as though she was too afraid of being still.

“Unfortunately so. It does feel odd, being without my weapon,” Mokk-Toh tapped the place where his sword was usually strapped.

“Like losing a limb,” Koa said without thinking and then froze when her robotic fingers twitched, crease lines forming on her forehead as her nostrils grew larger in frustration. “She sent you to check up on me didn’t she?”

Through controlled breaths, Koa was trying to make a fist. The difficulty of such a simple task did not escape Mokk-Toh’s attention.

Koa was struggling to adjust.

Mokk-Toh folded his arms, “I offered to come and talk to you.”

Koa winced, her tongue running over the snaking line of titanium used to fuse her cracked tooth back together, “Like I keep telling everyone, I’m fine.”

“I don’t doubt that. After all, you of all people would never be so selfish as to endanger the princess’s life by going into the field with anything less than a hundred percent.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated herself like a broken record.

Mokk-Toh made sure his voice was monotonic, he didn’t want her to assume he was being condescending or argumentative, “You keep saying that.”

She side-eyed him, “Because it’s the truth.”

He looked away from her and out towards the gleaming ships, “Hmm.”

His impassiveness seemed to strike a nerve.

Koa opened up, “If the queen was still alive, can you honestly tell me you would be okay with leaving her side while her life was in danger?”

Mokk-Toh let the silence hover, he wanted her to stew in the uncertainty of whatever emotion caused her to ask that question in the first place.

He rubbed at an old scatter of irregularly spaced out scars that once held hundreds of shrapnel pieces on his thigh. With that old wound thrumming with intent, he knew just what to say, “When I was younger –about your age perhaps– I had passed up the opportunity to become the youngest admiral ever appointed to the Royal Guard because I was afraid that the greater responsibility would deter me from keeping the queen safe. As a Knight-Commander, I would always be by her side and that was all that mattered.”

Koa looked down at Mokk-Toh’s thigh where his nails were digging through his trousers, “I didn’t know this.”

Mokk-Toh’s back curved, an irregular slouch making him lose a few millimetres of height, “Not many do…” he cleared his throat. “Anyway, the promotion went to someone else, someone I trusted deeply and he was good at his job too.”

She placed her palm over the metal chassis of her arm, “But?”

“But I was stubborn and even though he was my superior, he let me keep my stubborn ways. During a diplomatic visit to an Outer-Rim planet, our convoy was ambushed. The admiral had asked me to head the scouting party responsible for spotting any potential threats ahead of time. I refused.”

The memory was so vivid in his mind that he could practically feel the rain and the stickiness of the humid air on his nape from that dreadful day. His heartbeat slow and sluggish like the intervals of the lazy thundering that had boomed across the bluish night sky. He remembered being bewildered by Lenora’s serious expression locked on the treaties laid out on her lap. The thought of her was bitter-sweet. Unconsciously, his nails unclenched from his thigh.

“In my mind, the only logical place for me to be was by Lenor- the queen’s side. The scouting party had been overcome by marauders and we lost more than half of our ground team. I would have died as well, if the admiral hadn’t sacrificed himself,” Mokk-Toh’s voice fluctuated towards the end. The flashing image of lightning striking and metal shards exploding into his skin was upsetting.

Koa took a step towards him, “You couldn’t have known—“

“I knew. I knew the man leading the scouting party wasn’t as skilled as I was. The admiral knew it too. So did Lenora. The point is… everyone knew and no one fought me on my decision. So when the next promotion came around, I took it, because there’s more to protecting the people you’ve sworn to keep safe than just being able to stand beside them,” He looked at Koa.

“This is different.”

“That may be, but if you go through with this knowing what you know now, you have to prepare yourself,” there was a dark edge to his warning.

Koa cocked her head to the side, a threat heard in his words. “For what?”

He turned his whole body to face her, “Whatever consequences may arise.”

Mokk-Toh had said all he came to say, maybe more, he was neither wanted nor needed anymore. With a stiff bow, he started on his way back to his quarters.

Koa stopped him in his tracks with an abrupt question, “What was his name?”

He half turned, “Who?”

“The admiral.”

His eye twitched on reflex, “It doesn’t matter anymore. He’s a ghost of the past. The name died with him.”

Koa walked over to stand in front of him now, she looked to be in a confronting mood, “Is the bounty hunter we faced on Takodana also another ghost of the past?”

Mokk-Toh didn’t have an answer for her nor was he comfortable discussing any matters to do with Versengen, especially not to the woman who just lost her arm to his malice. He could tell she wasn’t satisfied with his silence.

She closed in on him like an interrogator trying to intimidate a thug, respect for her elders be damned. “You know him, don’t you?”

Mokk-Toh kept his answer straightforward and to the point, not wanting to play the game of a thousand questions with a woman running on a sparking fuse, “I know of him.”

Koa looked at the space around his face and then settled on the spot where a plasma bolt from a rifle had burned through his flesh less than a day ago, “No. The two of you share a bond, I sensed it. His technique is similar to yours, like you’re cut from the same cloth. You know who’s really beneath that helmet.”

Mokk-Toh turned stiff, “I don’t know who is really beneath that helmet –if there even is anything left beneath that helmet.”

She bit back a hiss as her robotic fingers moved, “What are you hiding?”

Mokk-Toh stepped around her, “Make sure you’re ready to go when by the time the ship is fixed.”

Hiding behind the darker side of a moon orbiting D’Qar, Versengen’s black ship purred in stasis. Inside, a trail of luminescent blue liquid led away from the healing chambers to an empty training room.

Versengen stared up at his weapons locker stocked with all manner of primitive weapons. With steady hands, he picked up a long, blunt-edged staff about his height.

His footing was soft and quiet. Like a boatman rowing against rushing waves, he twirled the staff from side to side, interchanging grips and moving with grace and precision. It was a kind of sacred dance, his partner was the rush of air that whined every time his staff moved swift and sure. His muscles uncoiled and relaxed only to clench a second later, his anger turned into an afterthought as the movements of his training technique took over his body with the intimacy of muscle memory.

For now, Versengen was dormant and he would remain dormant for as long as the beacon on the Somnambulist was immobile over D’Qar soil.

But as soon as the signal moved… the hunt would resume.

To be continued…

Tags: @carolinamalo53 @everything-intertwined

#star wars #poe dameron #star wars imagine #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x ofc #original characters #original worlds #pre swtlj #swtfa

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junghelioseok · 6 years

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duplicity.

↳ as long as you’re happy, he’s okay.

◇ onesided!yoongi x engaged!reader ◇ angst ◇ 1.8k [1/1]

notes: i don’t have a good explanation for this. all i know is that i wanted to get back into writing so i sat down with a word doc and this happened. also, an engaged!reader??? take one guess as to who the fiancé is. like. just. take a wild fucking guess. lmao. and then keep reading, and see if you were right!

Yoongi has never been able to resist you.

There’s something in the delicate curve of your frowning mouth and a certain charm in the way your pleading eyes gaze up at him so sweetly. You never fail to render him speechless with just a look alone, and today is no different. Yoongi can only nod dumbly when you repeat your soft request, drawing his attention away from the way your hair shines in the golden morning light.

“Can you give me a ride, Yoongi? Pretty, pretty please?”

Which is why, nineteen minutes later, Yoongi finds himself hovering awkwardly in the corner of the most unpleasant store he’s ever had the displeasure of stepping inside, a near-permanent scowl etched across his features. There are too many flowers, he quickly decides. The heady aroma makes the entire space smell far too sweet, and he’s pretty sure that the beginnings of a migraine are starting to take shape behind his eyelids. Nothing could be worse than this.

Nothing, except maybe the fact that in a few short weeks, you’re going to marry his best friend instead of him.

Yep, Yoongi muses, rubbing idly at his temples. That’s definitely worse.

There aren’t many things that Yoongi regrets in his life, but if he had to make a list, not asking you out during your sophomore year of college would be at the very top. The second would be introducing you to his best friend.

And the third—well, the third would definitely have to be agreeing to play the piano at your wedding.

In any case, it’s not as if he could have said no. Yoongi is well aware of his inability to turn you down, and it’s almost equally painful to see his best friend’s radiant smile falter. So when the man had approached with a tentative question in his eyes and you on his arm, Yoongi had found himself utterly incapable of saying anything. Anything, except:

“I… yeah. Of course. Nothing would make me happier, Hoseok.”

The words had barely left his mouth when Hoseok’s entire face lit up, an earsplitting grin stretching across his face as he babbles about what a marvelous best man he’s been blessed with. You’d beamed just as wide, eyes shimmering, and before he could even react Yoongi found himself wrapped up in a group hug, unsure where to put his hands and even more unsure about his acquiescence. But it wasn’t as if he could take it back now—not when your arms were wrapped around him so tightly, your face nestled in the crook of his neck with your hair tickling his nose. Yoongi remembers the scent of your shampoo so vividly that he can almost smell it now, can almost forget the overly-sweet perfume of the flowers littering every available surface in this godforsaken store. He’s so lost in the memory that his mind barely registers the sound of the dressing room door clicking open, and it’s only when you speak that he snaps out his reverie, eyes wide.

“H-huh?”

Your voice is soft—softer than he’s ever heard it. “Yoongi? What do you think?”

His muddled brain takes a few seconds to realize that you’re asking him something, forcing his eyes to race to catch up. And then he looks at you—really, really looks—and all the air disappears from his lungs at the sight before him.

You are wearing a wedding dress. The satin wraps around your body and stops just below the knee, but it’s your face that really catches Yoongi’s attention—the hesitance etched across every feature and the nervous smile that you are giving him. “Yoongi?”

“It’s, um—“ He clears his throat before trying again. “It’s nice. You look nice.”

“Just nice?” You take another step and let the dressing room door fall shut behind you, your smile turning mischievous. “I don’t think this is the one, then. I’m looking for something a little better than ‘nice’, you know?”

Yoongi’s sure that his answering smile looks more like a grimace, but it’s the best that he can manage under the circumstances. “I know. Go on, try a different one.”

You tilt your head curiously, hand already reaching for a new dress hanging on a nearby rack. “Really? You don’t mind if we’re here a bit longer?”

I’d spend the rest of my life here if you stayed with me, is what Yoongi wants to say. Instead, he grabs another dress from the rack nearest him, shoving it into your hands. “No. Go on, seriously. Come out and show me every single one.”

“I want your honest opinions, then,” you say, turning back toward the dressing room.

Yoongi nods. “Promise I won’t mince my words.”

“Perfect.” You flash him a grin before closing the door, and Yoongi collapses into the nearest armchair to calm the erratic thumping of his heart.

///

“This might be worse than the last one,” Yoongi says bluntly, twenty-four minutes and six dresses later from his sprawled position on the plushy velvet armchair, gazing up as you regard your reflection in the three-paneled mirror on the wall.

You giggle, flapping your arms and watching as Yoongi’s mouth drops open in horror when your enormous silken sleeves billow outward. “But it’s better than the third one, right?”

“Christ,” he mutters. “We don’t speak of that monstrosity. Ever.”

“Don’t let the shop owner hear you,” you chide, but Yoongi recognizes the playful twinkle in your eye and feels an amused smile twitch at the corners of his mouth in spite of his tumultuous thoughts.

“I only speak the truth,” he says, but lowers his voice regardless. “Anyway, the fourth dress was okay, wasn’t it?”

You make a face. “It was kind of itchy. Plus, I’m pretty sure it gave me a permanent wedgie.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

As you gather up the rejected dresses and return them to their designated rack, Yoongi stands up, peering around the shop critically. Slowly, he meanders his way into a new corner that he hasn’t been in yet, browsing through the endless rows of white satin and lace.

By the time he emerges again with three new dresses in tow, you are standing in front of the massive three-paneled mirror trying to secure a veil onto your head. “This isn’t working,” you complain, catching sight of his reflection and turning around to face him with a pout. “Can you help?”

“I really don’t think I’m the person you should be asking,” Yoongi says even as his feet automatically take him several steps closer. He pauses to hang the dresses on your door before approaching you. “I might end up accidentally stabbing you with a pin or something,” he warns, steadfastly ignoring how sweaty his palms suddenly feel.

You laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve already stabbed myself twice.” Handing over the pins, you turn back to the mirror, and Yoongi catches sight of your relaxed expression as he gingerly places a hand on your head. Your hair is soft underneath his fingertips, and he does his best not to disturb your bun as he carefully pins up the veil.

“There. I think that’ll stay put.”

You don’t notice the way Yoongi steps away immediately after saying the words, dropping the extra pins as if burned. Rather, you are gazing, wide-eyed, at the sight of your reflection, the lace now falling delicately around your face. “Yoongi, you’re amazing,” you say earnestly. “An absolute miracle worker.”

Hardly, a derisive little voice in Yoongi’s mind whispers. You wouldn’t be marrying Hoseok if I was. “Don’t be dramatic,” he says aloud, waving you off. “Go try on those new dresses I brought over.”

You are still distractedly fiddling with the veil, adjusting it so that it cascades neatly over your shoulders. “God, I hope one of them works out. I’m starving,” you mumble under your breath, and Yoongi snorts at the sudden turn in your train of thought.

“You’re cute,” he says before he can stop himself. Immediately, he backtracks, adding, “Now get your ass in that room and try on those dresses. We can get lunch after.”

A smile settles on your face, warm and affectionate. “You’re amazing,” you repeat, and the way you’re gazing at him makes Yoongi feel as if he’s been punched in the stomach. “Thank you for driving me today. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Yoongi swallows, hard. “Yeah, yeah.” Grabbing your shoulder, he gives you a little nudge in the direction of the dressing room. And when you disappear inside, he finally lets out the long breath he’s been holding, collapsing into the armchair again with a low groan and burying his face into his hands.

At least you haven’t asked him to zip anything—a reprieve for which he is infinitely grateful. He’s certain you would be able to feel the way his hands are shaking, and after almost ten years of friendship he knows exactly how stubborn you can be sometimes. If you felt him shaking, you would definitely ask him about it, and the reasons behind his behavior are not something he wants to discuss. Not now. Not ever. He’ll keep it bottled up for as long as he needs to, until his feelings disappear. Because they will, he tells himself. They will.

So maybe he’s a little stubborn, too. But he doesn’t have time to dwell on those thoughts, because the dressing room door is clicking open again. Yoongi stands up and raises his gaze expectantly, only to feel his breath catch in his throat, mouth suddenly dry.

“Oh fuck. Wow.” His tongue feels like sandpaper.

You beam, stepping over to the mirror to take a look. “That good, huh?”

“Better,” he manages, voice cracking somewhere on the second syllable. Yoongi doesn’t know what kind of fabric this dress is made of, but the silky material clings to your curves like a second skin before flaring out into a skirt near your hips. A wisp of hair has escaped from your already messy bun to tickle your bare shoulders, and Yoongi’s fingers itch to smooth it away. “You look beautiful,” he tries again, clearing his throat. “Really.” A lump rises up, and he’s forced to swallow again before continuing. “Hoseok’s a lucky guy.”

You light up at the mention of your fiancé’s name. “I’m the lucky one,” you murmur, a fond smile crossing your face and settling there.

For a moment, Yoongi is at a loss for words. He cannot speak; he cannot think. All he can do is stare, memorizing every detail of your face. You are positively glowing, and he wonders vaguely whether or not the mention of his name would ever make you anywhere near as joyful. After what seems like an eternity, he finally finds his voice again. “You two are going to be really happy together,” he manages, reaching up to tuck the flyaway strand behind your ear.

And as long as you’re happy, I’m okay.

#yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi scenarios #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #yoongi x you #suga #suga scenarios #suga x reader #suga x you #min yoongi #bts #bangtan boys #bts imagines #bts fic #lia writes

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plussizeappreciationfics · 6 years

Text

Headcanon: Overwhelmed

Requested by anonymous: Hello! I hope your day is going alright~ I was wondering if you could do a Doctor Strange X white reader headcanon ~ Reader has the power of telepathy but has the relationship with it like banner has with hulk~ she suddenly gets it back and she can’t control all of the thoughts she’s hearing from others around them ~ maybe they’re out somewhere when it happens? I’m giving you freedom with this~ thank you love xx

Pairing: Caucasian plus sized reader x Stephen Strange

Warning(s): none

Word count: 738

~~~

-Having telepathic ability were both a curse and a blessing to you. Of course, you decided to do something good with your powers and joined the avengers and Doctor Strange to help them save the world from the most dangerous threats

-The only thing you hated about your ability was that it was hard to control. One second you were able to read one person’s though, the next second you could hear every single thought of New York Cite, which caused the most painful migraines and nose bleeds

-It was funny how your telepathic ability got you and Stephen together. You made a promise to not get into the heads of your teammates and the doctor as it was an invasion of privacy. Despite that their thoughts were so loud sometimes, you were always able to tune them out or distract yourself before curiosity got the best of you

-But you had noticed that the Stephen had been acting weird around you, stuttering or leaving the room whenever you entered and it hurt because you had fallen for him. You were so glad that he wasn’t able to hear your thoughts because you were always gushing about how handsome and heroic he was

-You found out that he felt the same way when you tried to confront him but he tried to deny it until he began to scream and scold at himself in his head for lying to you. The second you began to try to tune his thoughts out but when he yelled, “Tell her you’re in love with her dammit!” so loud that it made your head pound painfully

-“Okay I hear you!” you yelled out of frustration before realizing that Stephen hadn’t said a word and that he found out that you had listened to his thoughts. Stephen wasn’t even mad, he stepped forwards and kisses you sweetly, “Thank god you can red thoughts” he mumbled in between the kisses to which you giggled and kissed him back

-After that Stephen was always at your side whenever your ability became too much to handle and was the one calming you down and taking care of you whenever you felt the aftermath effects

-Stephen decided to take you to a fancy restaurant on your one year anniversary. You were dressed in a beautiful long dress with matching heels while your boyfriend was sitting opposite of you in a sexy black suit

-The two of you clinked your glasses together and grinning, “To our love” Stephen said and winked at you before taking a sip of his wine. You repeated his action and took a sip of yours before your ears suddenly began ringing loudly

-You clenched your eyes shut as you heard a high pitched beep sound before you heard hundreds of loud voices in your head. Yelling, whispering, mumbling, cussing, gushing all at the same time, making you drop your wine glass onto the floor as you held your head in your heads

-You groaned as the thoughts got louder, making your head hurt instantly. “Darling” Stephen frowned as he immediately knew what was happening. You didn’t react to his call and covered your ears, desperately trying to tune the thoughts out of your head

-It didn’t got better because now the whole restaurant was staring weirdly at you, no one said a word but they were judging you in their heads. “Make it stop” you whimpered and felt your boyfriend gently help you out of our chair before leading you out of the restaurant

-Tears brimmed your eyes as your head was painfully pounding, but the voices slowly disappeared. Now all you could hear was the noises of the cars and busses passing, people talking and laughing and the wind softly blowing

-“Are you alright?” your boyfriend asked concerned as he engulfed you in a soothing tight hug. You sighed and nodded your head while blinking the tears away, “It just sucks when it gets too much” you confessed and closed your eyes, being happy to hear only your thoughs

-“ I understand darling” Stephen whispered, “Read mine” he suggested. You frowned but took a deep breath before concentrating. “I love you so much [Y/N], I promise to protect and take care of you whenever life gets too much for you my sweet angel” your boyfriend’s inner voice gently spoke, making you smile before you leaning in and pressed your lips against his

Tag list: @buckybarnesappreciationsociety l @pleasantdreamqueen l @disneymarina l @koizorahana l l @harleycativy l @itik-angsa l @sparklemichele l @melaninmarvel l @amethyst09 l @the-force-of-imagines l @bossyboyd03 l @sapphiretouch l @pebblesz892 l @stars8melanin l @brittyevans l @toc1985 l @janeyboo l @badassbaker l @greyfourrose25 l @lafayettes-baguettes-1 l @winters-beauty l @cannonindeez l @purplemuse l @ilovefanfic86 l @foureyedsiopao l @adorablespecialsnowflakes

-Emma

#doctor strange #stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x plus size reader #plus size reader

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fluffyllamas-23 · 6 years

Text

The Cruise (1/2)

Part one of two, in which Paige has a really Bad Time(tm)

(See guys, I AM capable of writing more than just Chase/Mason and Declan/Matteo lmao)

A cruise, Hannah feels, is exactly what she and Paige need. It’s Paige’s first year as a preschool teacher, with her own class (and a co-teacher) and while she loves it, she’s been more stressed out than Hannah had ever seen her.

Hannah has been working more than her share of overtime shifts lately, which stresses her out and more often than not, she comes home from work with a migraine.

Paige, God bless her, has been so great about it and has spent countless hours taking care of her after she already had a full day of teaching twelve, three and four year olds. She’s exhausted and worn out, and Hannah can tell she needs a break.

“So, I did a thing,” Hannah says, coming up behind Paige and wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Oh?” Paige says, not looking up from the salad she’s chopping, “and what might that be? Did you finally kill somebody? Do we need to bury a body?”

“No…not yet at least,” Hannah chuckles, “how do you feel about cruises?”

Paige looks up in shock, sets down the knife and then turns around to wrap her arms around Hannah’s neck, “is this a trick question? You know I love cruises, and I swear if you’re teasing me-”

Hannah grins, “-I’m mean, but I’m not that mean. I booked us a cruise.”

“You didn’t!”

“Uh, pretty sure I did,” Hannah chuckles, “I have the tickets in my email.”

“Where are we going? When are we going? How long are we going for?”

“We’re going to around the Caribbean - Jamaica, the Cayman Islands, Cozumel, Belize - we’re going for two weeks, and leaving in eight days, once you’re done teaching.”

“Incredible,” Paige breathes, “so...um...why are we going? Not that I’m not excited to go, because I am, but what made you decide to book a cruise?”

“We’ve both been stressed...you’ve definitely been looking run down the last couple of weeks, I figured that you could use a break.”

“You’re the best, you know that, right?” Paige says, kissing Hannah’s cheek.

“I try,” she grins, nuzzling her face into Paige’s neck, “go lie down, you look exhausted.”

“S’because I am...it’s been a long week.”

“Kids were hard?”

“Yeah and I don’t know why? I think they sense that it’s the end of the school year or something...they’re lucky they’re cute and I love them.”

The morning they’re to leave for the cruise, Hannah is awoken by Paige sniffling softly next to her, still asleep with her black hair sprawled everywhere.

Hannah brushes the hair out of her face, the corners of her mouth tugging down into a frown at how pale and tired she’s looking.

“Paige,” Hannah says softly, stroking her cheek, “wake up, honey.”

Paige forces her eyes open, and immediately squeezes them shut with a low groan, “what do you want? I’m sleeping.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Mmhmm...fine,” she mutters, “m’exhausted though.”

“You sound really stuffy...are you going to be okay for the cruise? I can try and postpone it, tell them you have the plague,” Hannah says, stroking Paige’s cheek.

“I don’t have the plague though,” she sniffles, batting Hannah’s hand away as she pushes herself into a sitting position.

“Yeah, but you’re sick.”

“Very mildly. It’s not that bad, I hardly even have a headache.”

“What about your throat?”

“That hurts...but it’s fine. You really don’t need to worry, it’s not going to get worse than this, it never does.”

“I know, but I’m allowed to fuss over you a little bit. You’re not feeling good and I love you.”

Paige’s cheeks flush, “I barely feel bad.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll leave you alone, but tell me if you start feeling worse.”

Paige rolls her eyes, “you know I will. I’m not you, I don’t run myself into the ground.”

“Ouch,” Hannah mutters, trying and failing not to grin.

“I’m going to take a shower. We still need to get everything together...I need to pack.”

“You haven’t packed yet? Paige! We have to leave in two hours!”

“I’m not an organized person, you knew this when you started dating me!”

“You’re a teacher! You have to be an organized person.”

“I’m organized when I’m teaching. I don’t know why you’re freaking out so much, we’ve been together for four years. We’ve taken trips together before, it’s not like you didn’t know I wait until the last minute to pack.”

“Yeah...but this...this is two weeks! I thought you’d have packed by now.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t,” Paige snaps, rubbing at her forehead.

Hannah raises a brow, “uh...yeah, I can see that.”

“I’m going to go take a shower,” she mutters.

Paige disappears in the bathroom, and as soon as Hannah hears the water start running, she changes and heads into the kitchen. Paige is never this snappy in the morning, even when she’s as mildly sick as she’s claiming she is.

Hopefully the shower would help.

Hannah is cooking at the counter when she hears Paige come into the kitchen.

“How was your shower?”

“Fine,” Paige yawns, slumping down in one of the chairs at their table.

“Still sleepy?”

“Yeah, a little...d’we have any coffee?”

“Mmhmm, here,” she says, pouring her a cup. Hannah pours one for herself before sitting across from her.

“Thank you, you’re the best,” Paige groans, sticking her face over the steam. She sniffles lightly, trying to ignore the throbbing in her sinuses and temples.

“I know. Are you excited?”

“Yes,” Paige grins.

They’ve been walking the cruise ship and exploring it for the last two hours. As much as Paige hates to admit it, she’s starting to feel far too shitty for this just to be as mild of a cold as she thought.

Black spots cloud her vision and she stops and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Paige?” Hannah frowns, “are you alright?”

“Can we go back to the room?” Paige asks quietly, the edges of her voice going raspy.

“Yeah of course, what’s wrong?”

“Jus’don’t feel that great,” She mutters.

“Oh shit,” Hannah hisses, tugging her in the direction of their room, “yeah, of course we can go back. Do you want to go see the doctor? I think the ship has a doctor. Maybe they can give you something to help you feel better.”

“Relax. I’m fine, I’m just really tired. I think I just need to sleep, I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? I’ve known you for six years and you’ve never ever said that you don’t feel well...even when you have a cold.”

“I also just finished my first year of teaching yesterday and I’ve never been this exhausted. I’ll be fine, Hannah.”

“Okay...what’s bothering you exactly?”

“Uh...head, throat...everything is aching...I don’t-I’m not used to this.”

Hannah winces, “body aches suck. Do you think you have a fever?”

“I don’t...know? Maybe?”

“You don’t know? When’s the last time you’ve had a fever?”

“I dunno...freshman year of college? Briefly? I don’t get fevers.”

Hannah feels her cheek, a frown crossing her face, “if you do have a fever, it’s just barely one...either way you need to sleep.”

“I’m with you on that one,” Paige mutters, opening the door to their cabin.

“I’m going to try and track down some medicine,” Hannah says once Paige is under the blanket.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes I do. You’re sick, and I know you don’t have experience with this, but normal people take medicine when they don’t feel well.”

“I’m not that sick,” Paige grumbles, cheeks flushing, “it’s fine.”

“Are you...embarrassed?” Hannah asks.

“...A little…”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…s’dumb.”

“Paige, come on...talk to me, what’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” she groans, rolling on her stomach, “just ignore me...do whatever you want to do, I’m too tired to function.”

Hannah grins, “I’ll be right back. You sleep, I’ll see if I can find something.”

When Paige opens her eyes next, she can’t breathe through her nose and she’s fairly certain that she’s done something to royally piss off the big man upstairs.

She can safely say that this is the worst she’s felt in her entire life, and that’s even counting that awful sinus infection she caught the first month of her freshman year in college.

“Hanndah,” she croaks, groaning as she curls into herself.

Hannah is sitting up in bed next to her, watching something on TV, the volume so low that Paige can’t make out what anybody is saying. Of course, that could be more because it feels like her head has been stuffed with cotton, and she can’t really hear anything.

“Oh, hey, you’re awake,” Hannah says softly, carding her hand through Paige’s hair. Paige groans again, and presses herself closer to Hannah.

“Just...throw mbe overboard, right indto the oceand.”

“Fuck,” Hannah hisses, “oh, baby, you sound miserable.”

Paige buries her face in the blankets, sneezing once. It tears at her throat and pain explodes in her sinuses, making her choke on a sob and press her face into Hannah’s thigh.

“Mbake it stop.”

Hannah’s heart skips a beat, and she can feel herself beginning to panic, “shit, shit, shit, shit...okay, okay, stop panicking, you’re okay.”

“I’mb ndot pandicki’gg,” she rasps, rubbing at her nose.

“I know, I was talking to myself. What do you need? What can I do? Can I get you something?”

“I dond’t...kndow?” She croaks, a shiver running down her spine. “I’mb just...dyi’gg, I think.”

“I’m going to call the doctor.”

“What doctor? We’re ond a cruise ship.”

“They have one onboard, remember?”

“Oh,” she sniffles, “I dond’t ndeed onde...I’ll be finde.”

“You fucking do need one,” Hannah snaps, putting a hand on Paige’s forehead, “you spiked a fever.”

“...Is this what they feel like?” She asks, eyes going wide. “Oh mby god, this is the worst thi’gg ind the world.”

“I’m calling the doctor.”

“You dond’t-”

“-Yes I do. Now shush and go to sleep.”

“You’re a ndurse...why are you freaki’gg out?”

“Am I not allowed to be worried about you? Honey, I think you might have the flu, you never get sick, I’m out of my element, here.”

“You’re ndot out of your elembendt...you see sick people all the time.”

“I’m out of my element with you, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”

“What’s bothering you? Head, throat, all that fun stuff?”

“Uh-huh...s’ndot fund.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Hannah chews on the tip of her thumb anxiously as she dials the number.

“Carnival Infirmary, how can I help you?”

“Hi, um...my girlfriend is really sick, and I was just wondering if there was anything I can do, or if someone can come check her? I think she might have the flu, and i know you can’t do anything about that, but I want to get a reading on her fever, and I don’t have a thermometer.”

“What are her symptoms?”

“Headache, sore throat, congestion, fever.”

“Any coughing? Sneezing?”

“Not yet, no.”

“What cabin are you in?”

“3205.”

“One of our doctors will be there in a couple of minutes.”

“Thank you so much,” Hannah says, hanging up the phone.

“Hanndah, mby throat is killi’gg mbe.”

“I’m pretty sure we have some tea bags and a keurig...want me to make you some?”

“If it’s okay.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, “of course it’s okay, don’t be dumb.”

“Sorry,” Paige mutters, sniffling as she rubs at her eyes.

“Don’t apologize, baby,” Hannah frowns, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re really layi’gg the pet ndambes ond thick, arend’t you?” Paige mumbles, shooting her a tired grin.

“I can’t help it, I’m worried.”

There’s a knock on the door just as Hannah is about to go make her the tea. She glances back at Paige, who’s curled up as tightly as possible, back to the door as she trembles. Hannah bites her bottom lip anxiously as she opens the door.

A kind, older woman with light blonde hair is standing outside of their door, a medical bag in her left hand, “hi, I’m Doctor Hansen. Someone called for a doctor?”

“Yeah, that was me. I’m Hannah, uh...my girlfriend is Paige, she’s laying down. I think she has the flu.”

“One hell of a time to catch that, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Hannah grumbles, crossing her arms. This trip is turning out to be a disaster, and Hannah really hopes she’s not sick the entire time, because what a waste.

Paige is half asleep when she feels a hand on her forehead.

“Wha-huh?” she mumbles, staring in confusion at the blurry figure in front of her.

“Paige? I’m doctor Hansen. Hannah called, she said you weren’t feeling very well.”

“Oh…ndo.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Everythi’gg...s’that and andswer?”

She chuckles lightly, “it is, but can you be a little bit more specific?”

“Umb...head hurts...throat hurts...I’mb really cold...everythi’gg hurts. I’mb dizzy, too.”

The doctor listens to her lungs, a frown crossing her face, “have you been coughing?”

“Ndo.”

“Does your chest feel tight at all?”

“Mbaybe a little bit?”

“You have a lot of congestion in your lungs.”

“What does that mean?” Hannah asks, crossing her arms.

“She’ll probably start coughing soon. Keep an eye on it, if it starts to get excessive, call us again and we can check and make sure it’s not bronchitis.”

“Does she have the flu?”

“That would be my best guess,” she nods, feeling underneath her jaw, “her lymph nodes are swollen and she’s definitely feverish.”

“Can you get an exact number? And is there anyway I can get a thermometer so I can monitor it?”

“You can borrow this one when I’m finished,” she says, sticking the thermometer in her ear, “just leave it on the desk when you two leave at the end of the cruise.

“Thank you.”

“One hundred and two,” the doctor sighs when it beeps, looking at the numbers on the screen. “Since it most likely is the flu, there’s really nothing we can do for that. Make sure she’s resting and drinking fluids.”

“‘Flu?” Comes Paige’s groggy voice.

“Mmhmm. Does it feel like the last time you had it?”

“I...dond’t….” She trails off, going cross-eyed as she fights to stay awake.

“She’s never had the flu before,” Hannah says quietly, “she hardly ever gets sick.”

The doctor winces, “well...you’re in for a treat.”

“Is there anywhere I can buy her some medicine?”

“There’s a convenience store on the lower deck, but it’s not going to be open right now. I have some Tylenol I can give you, but that’s all we have.”

“That’s it? You’re telling me she’s going to have so suffer all night with nothing more than Tylenol to help?”

“I’m sorry…I know, I know…the box from our supplier was lost in transit, we haven’t been able to stock up.”

Hannah sighs in frustration, “okay. Fine.”

Once the doctor leaves, Hannah climbs onto the bed next to her, “alright, want to put on a movie? It’ll be a good distraction.”

“I’mb so sorry, Hanndah,” Paige croaks, tears springing to her eyes.

“You’re not seriously apologizing for getting sick, are you?” Hannah asks, putting a hand on Paige’s back.

“I amb...s’that bad?”

“Honey,” Hannah starts, exasperation flooding her tone, “you’re a preschool teacher, this comes with the territory. You can’t help being sick, I’m just sorry it’s while we’re on vacation.”

“You planned this great cruise,” she whimpers, “I ruined it.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she says gently, tugging Paige down from a half-slumped over sitting position.

She lays her head on Hannah’s chest, eyelids drooping, “ndo? You seem mbad.”

“I’m not, I’m just worried and I want you feeling better. Now stop stressing, let me cuddle you, and tell me what movie you want to watch.”

“I dond’t really care...I’mb too tired to focus ond andythi’gg.”

“Okay. Do you want to just go to sleep?”

“Ndo...put ond a mbovie...wannda cuddle,” she mumbles.

“I can do that,” she says gently, kissing the top of her head.

#Hannah and Paige #sickfic #ocs #flu #fever #congestion

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oveliagirlhaditright · 3 years

Text

Show Appreciation

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33771730

Joshua tries to tell Shiki that she did something that an Angel could have, something hella powerful, but he does it sort of creepily. But even with that, Josh and Shiki find themselves having a pretty pleasant day with each other, as they more and more find their footing with one another.

A story where Shiki/Neku/Joshua are all in a relationship but Shiki/Josh is the focus here. Neku Sakuraba mentioned a lot.

Shiki was shopping at 104—thinking of buying some violet thread, since she could finally sew purple clothes again, without being depressed after Neku’s disappearance; she was even thinking of buying some ashen colored ones—when she ran into Joshua.

Quite literally, actually.

He was drinking an espresso, while he was in the check-out line with magazines he’d bought about the Prince’s latest fashion blunders, Shiki saw. And she’d fallen backwards into him, when she’d been going into a changing room nearby… but one of the workers had decided last minute to put up tape, so that no one could go in there, since the pandemic clearly wasn’t over and they must have decided they didn’t want people trying on clothes, after all. And since Shiki wasn’t expecting that sudden change at all, that was what had caused her to trip and fall into the Composer.

Thankfully, Joshua had the grace of—well—an angel, and didn’t spill any of his drink (actually, he have even made it disappear from existence to keep it safe), as he kept Shiki from a very nasty fall (something she was most thankful to him for), but she could tell he wasn’t exactly happy with her for colliding into him.

And Shiki sighed.

Even though she and Josh were sort of dating now (her and Neku and Josh—all three of them, actually—were a thing), she still understood this one the least. Partially because she less of him, of course.

They actually had hung-out a few times in the three weeks before Neku’s second murder (and Neku had probably been more surprised about this than anyone). And that was probably where the feelings had started.

Neku and Joshua would stay up late at some Tin Pin event—that they would also kindly invite her to, in order to be nice… moreso Neku (and Beat and Rhyme, too)—and then the two of them would end up crashing at Shiki’s place, since it was closer to the Molco than their homes (Beat and Rhyme did go home, however, as the Bitos were still worried about their parents giving Beat a hard time. And didn’t want to start Beat’s revival on the wrong foot. Also, thinking about it now, Shiki wondered if Joshua had kind of been lying about his home being “far away”. For all she knew, he could have magicked a house in the sky with his powers, but she’d only been too happy to help).

But even though all three of them were exhausted by the point they made it to Shiki’s house, they still didn’t sleep a lot. No. Instead, Shiki would work on some fashion designs, of course, and Neku would then be inspired to draw some characters… And the two of them would talk about how if they ever became famous, perhaps Neku could be a character designer, but Shiki could help him with clothes ideas for his drawings, because he still somewhat struggled with that. And then Joshua would say that if they ever made it that far, he would Produce everything—because he was filthy rich, of course—and he perhaps owed them something.

And it was all so fun.

…But then Neku was shot again and Shiki’s world fell apart. And Joshua left it just as soon as he’d entered it, pretty much.

And though Shiki had gone to the Dead God’s Pad with Beat and Rhyme (Rhyme had refused to stay behind when Beat had asked her to), Joshua had only told them that Neku was as fine as he could be in this situation, and the three of them would hopefully see him again someday, but he couldn’t spare them anymore details than that and wouldn’t do so.

He’d ushered them all away sort of rudely after that.

And other times they’d all went back there, it had seemed like Joshua had set up operations elsewhere… or was at least acting like he had.

And, of course, he’d changed his phone number, too.

Shiki hadn’t seen him again until he’d shown up when Neku had—when everyone was trying to fight against Shibuya Syndrome. But he’d only had eyes for Neku then, and hadn’t said a word to her.

Since then, the five of them had miraculously begun hanging out again. Sometimes with the Wicked Twisters, too, and even with Hazuki at rarer times.

And even more crazily… Neku, Shiki, and Joshua had all picked up their relationship together again.

And it was even better than it had been before… It was pretty similar to past times—with them all three working on their dreams together—but now sex was involved too, and that was so nice.

Though Shiki and Neku had both told Joshua that he needed to be a better partner if he wanted this to work, which meant he needed to show up to group outings more… he needed to be more transparent… and he needed to treat Shiki like an equal, as well.

And bless him—and bless Shibuya, Shiki supposed (which was also Josh?), that showed that it could change—Joshua had done all of these things… but he was still Josh, and maybe that was okay.

“Shiki,” Joshua told her now, as he steadied her form, so she was no longer wobbling into him or the worker behind her. “I came here to tell you that you should have died during the last Reapers’ Game.”

Scratch what she’d said about him not being happy with her before. Clearly that wasn’t it. He’d decided to be creepy with her. That was it.

“Joshua,” Shiki started, feeling a migraine coming on, as she pinched the bridge of her nose and decided to buy the slinky black dress, after all, even though she couldn’t try it on… If the way Joshua was eyeing her purchase, as she made her way down the aisle with it, she’d made the right choice. “What did I tell you, first off, about saying that kind of thing at all? But secondly, about speaking like that in public?!”

“Hehehe,” Josh laughed, with a hand held high in a symbol of peace, no doubt. Shiki groaned. “I don’t mean to offend, dear. Really, I don’t. But this is my work. Aren’t I supposed to talk about my work with my spouses… or whatever you and Neku might one day be to me? And it hardly matters if I say this stuff in public or not, no one listens. Or if they do, they think we’re talking about an anime, or perhaps that a hidden camera show’s being shot here—and they’re all on camera right now—… or that I’m crazy. Which I can live with. I don’t care what they think about me, since understanding people is impossible, as I’ve said.”

With her purchase in one hand, Shiki grabbed Joshua’s wrist with her other hand, and headed out of the store, and began making her way towards the Scramble. If Joshua wanted to talk about his work with her, she wondered if he’d want to go to the Shibuya River, which was clearly open for business once more.

And she must have been right, because Joshua began leading her there—running quite fast for someone who usually didn’t like to break a sweat—before she could even blink. And then Mr. Mew was almost falling out of Shiki’s purse with how fast they were now jogging.

“Hey, Josh. Slow down. Slow down! Hey!” Shiki urged him, moving herself to be in front of him once more, as she grabbed ahold of both of his arms and pulled him onto one of the crosswalks. “I’ll have you know, that if I lost Mr. Mew to the traffic, I never would’ve forgiven you!”

But Joshua wasn’t listening to that claim in the slightest. Instead, he was looking at her faux-starry-eyed…. Or was it? “My, my, my. I have to say, I love the way you manhandle me, Shiki. It sure does get the blood racing, you reversing the gender roles this way. Why don’t you push me against a wall next?”

Shiki rolled her eyes, pulling Josh over to a small bench, so they could sit down and talk about all of this civilly, like normal adults…

But, she wasn’t going to lie, Joshua saying that to her sort of got her going, too. If only Neku were here, as well…

“If it’s really important work stuff you want to talk about, I’m sorry for snapping at you before, Josh. Mind filling me in now?” Shiki asked with a wide smile on her face, just as she reached across the table so she could hold Joshua’s hand in her own.

And it was certainly a testament of how far they’d come, that Joshua didn’t flinch away in the slightest, but rather held her hand… Their fingers still weren’t laced yet, their hands just cupped, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, Shiki knew.

“Hmm… I probably misspoke in making you think it was something that mattered now, Shiki. I was just trying to tell you, that in the last Game… you actually did something on an Angel’s power level, when you freed Tsugumi’s Soul from Mr. Mew, which is most impressive.

“Furthermore, Shiba had last Game set up, so only people with more and more impressive psychs could keep joining in. That’s essentially why no one joined after the Wicked Twisters did. But as I said, dear, you did something that an Angel could have… You definitely would have been able to enter back into the UG, even with that stipulation, and would have been a great help to the team, I’m sure.”

While Joshua was complimenting Shiki here—which was something that never came easy for him, so she was definitely happily taking it all in—there was also a lot wrong with this scenario, too.

First of all, Joshua had earlier said she should have died in the last Game. What? Did he think she should have killed herself to help Neku and everyone? To help him? Shiki wanted to believe that he would have found a way to let her into the UG while alive. And that if she had committed suicide, he would have brought her back to life in the end, of course, like he had Neku… but something about this all still stung.

Shiki also now feared, that Joshua would use this as reason to try and make her ascend. He was always trying to convince her and Neku to become Reapers (and they mostly had decided they probably would do that when they both died again, but not before that). But now would he want her to be an Angel instead? Maybe that would be better than having to erase Players, and perhaps that was what he was doing for her here, but…

“Shiki, look. Your Mr. Mew did slightly fall out of your bag and get damaged without our noticing. I’ll fix him, toot sweet.”

And Joshua did just that, before Shiki’s very eyes, with his lovely Composer powers.

So, she was clearly worrying over nothing, huh? Maybe Joshua still had some issues to hammer out, but so did she. So did everyone!

Shiki still wasn’t Miss Congeniality… not that she thought she ever would be, or really wanted to be. Heck, when Shiki was sort of trying to be like that—like Eri—it had been when Neku had hated her!

Leaning into kiss Joshua for a sweet kiss, when a fluffy cloud—that almost looked blue because of the lighting—floated by, right after Joshua’s blue powers faded away, Shiki decided that Joshua was plenty peculiar, alright… but that maybe that was a good thing.

“Shiki, what-” Joshua asked plenty startled—and the Composer usually didn’t do startled; Shiki almost laughed—when she pulled away from him.

“I just want you to know that I like you as much as I do Neku. That’s all.”

“Hmm…” Joshua hummed now, standing up and grabbing Shiki’s hand, so he could begin leading her towards the River once more (was Neku there?) “And I suppose I like tolerating you, as well.”

And with Joshua, that might as well have been a proposal for marriage. Shiki would take it for what it was. She leaned into him merrily, with her hand in one of his own, while her other hand held Mr. Mew.

“Now let’s go find something related to edible art that the three of us can do together,” Joshua smirked.

#neo twewy spoilers #spoilers #ntwewy spoilers #neo spoilers #joshuashiki #shikinekujoshua #shiki/neku/joshua #shinekujosh #mine #my writing #shanna writes #my work

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savetheblackpaladin · 7 years

Note

Sooooooo I was thinking what would Shiro do if his s/o showed up to party in a sexy black dress just to get him back for spending so much time with Voltron P.s I love your Blog!

I like the way you think! I do love me some petty revenge.

“Hey Shiro! What are you up to today? Cause I was thinking–”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I need to go over Voltron’s last battle and come up with some sort of game plan,” Shiro sighs and glowers at the screen in his hand, “We should have taken that Robeast out before it had that chance to knock us down. Maybe if I had had Lance and Hunk move us–” He’s talking more to himself now so you just cluck your tongue and walk away. Maybe next time.

You paced back and forth on the observation deck, growing increasingly agitated with every slowly passing minute. Seriously? He’s thirty minutes late! Where the hell was your boyfriend?!

You stop and loudly vent your frustration before storming storming towards the training deck. God help Shiro if he’s still training during date night because oh…he’s not here. None of the paladins are. So, clearly they finished?

You sigh and head towards the rooms. You can hear various showers running and the thought of scaring the crap out of Shiro while he’s showering brings a skip to your step. But when Shiro’s door opens, you can see him laying face first in bed with his armor still on. You deflate and let his door shut on its own. If he’s tired enough to sleep in his armor then there’s no point in waking him.

And so it keeps happening. Every time you think you finally get Shiro on his own he either has Voltron related business, extra training, or is passed out in places he shouldn’t be. It’s frustrating. It’s vexing. It’s starting to piss you off.

Of course, you don’t think you’re more important than defending the universe from evil purple aliens but dammit, it hurts to be pushed aside so easily!

But tonight…oh-hoho, tonight you were going to get back at the Black Paladin.

You see, Allura, Coran, and Shiro have been in negotiations for the last week or so with the twin High Priestesses of Il’rea, who have long been fighting the Galra in their own quadrant of space. They’ve been highly successful; due to the combined power of Lady Arcadia’s tactics and Lady Selena’s bloodlust and frankly, Team Voltron needed help from people like them if there was any hope to defeat Prince Lotor.

Tonight, the whole planet was celebrating the new alliance in Voltron’s honor with a huge party. Food, music, pretty girls, pretty guys (just pretty people in general), and displays of power and magic promised to be a fun night.

But there was a small problem. The problem was, as Lance put it: “Those Priestesses are total babes! They could literally crack my skull between their thighs and I would die happy.” Whether he was on duty or not, Shiro was spending a lot of time with beautiful women that were not you and tonight was the night you were going to drag his attention back, Voltron and the Alliance be damned. Especially since it’s been a good two weeks since you two had some true alone time.

You smiled triumphantly at the sexy little black number hanging on the back of your door, ‘Watch Shiro ignore this.’

Shiro missed you. God, he missed you so much it started to hurt and the guilt he was carrying about temporarily pushing you aside to focus on Voltron was starting to haunt his nightmares. He was determined to fix it tonight. He was going to apologize for being a shit boyfriend, apologize for overworking himself, and apologize for making the love of his life feel like she no longer mattered to him.

Keith had made it a point to find Shiro tell him that last little tidbit last night. It hurt. It hurt so bad Shiro actually spent most of the night crying and beating himself up mentally for that one. He royally fucked up, and he knew it.

So when the shuttle carrying you and the Paladins arrived, his heart began racing and Shiro felt the telltale fluttering in his stomach that told him he was nervous. But there were only four bodies on that shuttle and none of them yours. Concerned, Shiro pulled Keith aside to speak to him in a low whisper, “Hey, Keith. Wh-where’s Y/N? Isn’t she coming?”

Keith pursed his lips and glared. Shiro dropped his hand from Keith’s arm and took a step back, caught off guard by the uncharacteristic hostility in his friend’s eyes. He waits and Keith looks away before clearing his throat, “She’s not coming. She said she has a migraine so she’s going to take advantage of a silent castle and sleep it off. She doesn’t want you there.” He walks away with a final glare, making sure to clip his shoulder against Shiro’s.

Shiro rubs his shoulder and glances towards the other paladins. He blanches as they quickly turn away to hide their glares. Crestfallen, Shiro swallows the lump in his throat and blinks back the tears that threaten to spill. He has a job to do tonight so he steels himself and turns around, stepping out of Takashi Shirogane - the failing boyfriend, and into Shiro - the Black Paladin and Leader of Voltron.

He doesn’t see Lance and Hunk sharing concerned glances as they wonder if they took their glares too far or Pidge and Keith giving each other a thumbs up. He also misses you slipping out of your hiding place in the pod and moving to the next hiding place, shoes in hand. Allura, who has been your silent partner in tonight’s shenanigans, gives you a wink as she steps in front of your new spot, further hiding you. Bless her. She’s just as petty as you are.

Parties.

There was a time in his life that Shiro once enjoyed a good party and the chance to get shit-faced drunk without a care in the world. Now his anxiety was acting up, telling him there were too many people, too many points of entry, too many chances for an assassin to sneak in, this is was just another chance to get Lance blow–no. No. He needs to stop. There’s no point in thinking like that.

God, he needed a drink.

Luckily, Il’rea has alcohol, or something like it, and Shiro grabs a glass from a passing waiter and downs it in one gulp. Much better.

He grabbed another drink with every intention of downing that one too but he was stopped when he saw you flitting through the crowd. But it couldn’t be you, you were in the castle. Right?

He drops the glass from his mouth and moves to follow what he swears was you. His searching is fruitless and Shiro gives it up as a bad job only a few minutes later. He was looking for a black dress in a sea of black and white with little variation. Why couldn’t the woman have been wearing a red dress? That would be so much easier!

Like Allura! Shiro could make her out easily since her dress started as a bright yellow and faded to a soft orange. She looked like an Earth sunset was easily the brightest person in the room. Shiro smiled as she laughed at some aristocrat’s joke, happy to finally see her so carefree after the stressful week they had. He wished he could be like that.

He watched for a few more moments and was about to turn away when Allura hooked her arm through the arms of another woman and they turned as one to move together. His heart stopped for a split second because he knows that face. He knows that face.

Where Allura was as radiant as the sun, there you were, looking like the human embodiment of the night. Your hair was pulled up and artfully messy, lips painted a deep purple to match purple eye shadow, the front of your black gown draped over you to deeply expose your breasts and Shiro swallowed when he saw the long beautiful silver necklace he found for you sitting innocently on your chest. The last time he saw it he was watching it shimmer and shine as it moved with every thrust of his hips against yours.

You looked like Sin. And when your eyes locked Shiro swore then and there to have you underneath him before the night was over. He continued watching with hungry eyes as Allura twirled you two around and revealed the (pretty much non-existent) back of your dress and he changed it to within the hour. The wink you gave him over the shoulder as you disappeared into the crowd gave him the fuel he needed.

But it wasn’t that easy. Every time he got close to you, Hunk or Lance would whisk you away for a dance and pass you off to someone high ranking enough in the Il’rean hierarchy that Shiro knew it would cause tension if he just cut in, so he was forced to wait.

And wait.

And wait. Prowling like a panther at the edge of the dancing crowd, waiting for his chance to snatch you up.

Eventually there was a lull in the music and Shiro used it to beeline towards you, determined to have you in his arms and screaming his name in one of the smaller rooms next door. But he was stopped by Keith shoving a plate of food in his hands with a cheeky grin. “You haven’t eaten all night. Here. It’s delicious.”

“I-Uh…What? Oh,” he looked down at the plate just long enough to loose you in the crowd again and he cursed his luck. And his crew, the shits. He could spy Pidge up on the balcony, no doubt keeping an eye on the situation and instructing each of the Paladins to intercept him every time he got too close. He should have known they’d be in on this. They do like to stir up trouble.

Well. There would be no getting to you this way. Not with Pidge directing them. And he couldn’t just run up there like a psychopath and stop her. She’d see him. He popped some of the food Keith brought him into his mouth and saluted Pidge. If this was his punishment, it was his punishment. But he could spoil their fun by giving in. His own private revenge on his crew for their mutiny.

“Surprise, surprise. You didn’t come for me,” you sigh as you lean against the balcony entryway. Shiro turns towards you with a bittersweet smile, “Would you have let me?” He leans against the balcony, doing his best to appear nonchalant even though his heart was hammering in his chest because there you are! His beautiful girlfriend! The light of his life! The woman he would willingly risk life and limb for! Dear god, he could see how pissed you were.

You fake thinking for a moment, making sure to bring a finger to your lips, just to enjoy the way Shiro’s eyes darken at such an innocent gesture. “No, not really. I was enjoying myself soooo much. I didn’t want to distract myself with my significant other.” Your pointed glare hits home and Shiro drops his gaze to the floor. You do nothing but wait, letting his shame settle in.

You soften as his shoulders drop and he slowly walks towards you, frightened that with each step closer he moves, you will bolt. You both release the breaths you didn’t know you were holding as Shiro slowly brings his forehead to yours. His large hands feel so right as snakes them around your waist and just holds you, taking a moment just to savor you in his arms before he can gather the courage to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to push you away. I didn’t intend to make you feel like you don’t matter to me, because you do. You are–I love you,” you gasp at his confession and the urge to scream ‘I love you too!’ is almost to much to bear but Shiro isn’t done talking, so you bite your tongue. Literally. “I made a mistake. I need to try harder. I will try harder. For you and Voltron.”

The kiss he gives you is so tender and so sweet it nearly brings tears to your eyes. You pull him down for another harder kiss as he pulls away, wrapping your arms around his neck for leverage before pulling away enough to mumble against his lips, “You beautiful idiot. I love you so much but you’re too hard on yourself. I just…I missed you.”

You buried yourself into Shiro’s chest and squeezed him tight, enjoying the way his arms tightened against you and the gentle way he nuzzles into your hair. He was so warm and comforting and you couldn’t believe that you had gone nearly two weeks without this. These were the moments you lived for: domesticity in a universe at war.

“I’m going to fuck you in that dress the moment we get back to the castle,” his voice is low and gravely in your ear and you shivered. Moment ruined.

“I’ve had to watch you prance around in that sorry excuse for a dress all night. Did you even see how much people wanted you?” A moan escapes as Shiro mouths directly against your ear and he moves his cool metal hand up your exposed back. You can feel his half-hard erection against your hip and he grins wickedly against your ear as he lightly rocks against you, “You naughty thing, I’m going to–”

“Sorry to interrupt,” you and Shiro jerk apart as Lady Arcadia glides by, her sister in tow, “but might I trouble you to use one of the rooms down the hall? As lovely as public displays of affection are, surely you two would enjoy privacy?” They quirk twin eyebrows and smirk, gliding away the way they came.

You adjust your dress and hair, thankful that you were interrupted before anything else started. You share a bashful look with Shiro and clasp hands before re-joining the party; putting a pause on your libidos to play ambassadors. There would be time to play later tonight.

~*~If you enjoyed this or any of my other works please consider donating to my Ko-fi or Digital Tip Jar!~*~

#Il'rea Arcadia and Selena are my oc's who've I've had for years #lol also guess who i took my name from? man i am original #takashi shirogane X reader #shiro X reader #takashi shirogane #voltron headcannons #voltron scenarios #voltron imagines #mod sel #i hope this works for you!#i realize this might have been like a hc sort of thing #but i wanted a story bc im petty

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mhsn033 · 4 years

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Best health For pandemic jobless, the only real certainty is uncertainty

Best health

CHICAGO — For three decades, Kelly Flint flourished as an organization streak agent, sending each person from enterprise titans to oil riggers around the planet. Then came the worst pandemic in a century, leaving her jobless and marooned in an unsure economy.

Furloughed since March, Flint has dipped into her retirement account to pay her payments, frustrated that her $600 weekly emergency federal aid payments secure expired. She yearns, too, for an rupture to the twin disasters that now dominate her lifestyles: recession and pandemic.

“I don’t deal smartly with the unknowns,” she says. “I by no methodology secure.”

Throughout The US are legions of Kelly Flints, ladies and males who don’t know after they’ll obtain one other paycheck — or if.

The coronavirus outbreak and resulting financial upheaval secure thrown thousands and thousands of lives into disarray. Industries secure collapsed, companies closed, jobs disappeared. Compounding the misfortune is a inquire of no one can answer: When will this all be over?

In most novel congressional testimony, Federal Reserve Chairman Jerome Powell repeated his earlier warning: The strength of any restoration will rely on the nation’s skill to be pleased the virus. The outlook for the U.S. economy, he stated, is “extraordinarily unsure.”

Unsure. If 2020 needed to be condensed into a single observe — and there are many, many words to allege it — uncertainty would soar at the head of the list. Uncertainty about smartly being. About the future. About the nation itself. And uncertainty about livelihoods and jobs and financial safety in a historical 2nd where day to day looks to lift a fresh wave of unwanted developments.

The US has confronted financial calamity sooner than, most no longer too long ago in some unspecified time in the future of the recession of 2008, when the jobless price soared to 10%. That pales compared to the two crises that secure price more than 160,000 American lives and ushered in spiraling unemployment — 30 million job losses, of which 17.5 million folk remain unemployed.

“It’s no longer appropriate the scope of the losses,” says Martha Gimbel, an economist at Schmidt Futures. “Till we have solved the general public smartly being disaster or secure a timeline … none of us is going to know what’s going on.”

Uncertainty, painted onto the panorama by the numbers. And at the aid of everybody, a human being.

———

LISA VINES

When she lost her job, she wrestled with a flood of emotions: shock, fear, then chance.

“I went into survival mode,” Vines says. “My faith kicked in cherish a ninja.”

Her first job became as soon as to examine every that you simply may have faith govt earnings. But even with that, she grew to turn into to food banks to present for herself and her 8-one year-frail granddaughter, who shares her home in Memphis, Tennessee.

Vines became as soon as terrified when she became as soon as laid off in March from her sales job at a promotional product firm. She’d labored there 20 years. “You imagine that it’s also possible to very smartly be going to be sorted,” she says.

A aloof contrivance in as Vines inventoried her lifestyles, shining she had a little financial savings and a home she will be able to be able to even sell. “I checked out my granddaughter and stated, ‘OK, we’re to salvage through it,’” she says.

She doesn’t know what the future holds. One chance: working for the same firm, but on a price basis. But at 56, she has a philosophy: “You be taught what to fear about and what to hope about.”

She’s confident a technique forward will emerge. “I’ll both be right here or I’ll fabricate my peace in other areas,” Vines says. “I will be able to’t salvage wrapped up in the unknowns when I basically secure blessings in front of me.”

———

JARED SAIGH

He had a boulevard contrivance for his future. A brand new job in his fatherland in rural Michigan. An opportunity to make expend of his advertising abilities. The comfort of residing with his of us.

Saigh became as soon as desirous to open over after being laid off in 2019 from a Detroit-situation advertising firm. After a half-one year of browsing for work, Saigh made up our minds it could per chance be cheaper to proceed his quest from home. He moved in with his of us in Iron River, in Michigan’ s Greater Peninsula.

About a months later, Saigh became as soon as employed to lead a nonprofit connected to his local scientific institution. He’d be working 5 miles from home, reuniting with mates in Iron River, inhabitants 3,000 — and doing something certain for his neighborhood.

“It became as soon as appropriate ultimate,” he says. “It became as soon as cherish, “Wow! The entire lot is falling in situation.”

Then the pandemic swooped in. Hospitals confronted new financial pressures. The offer became as soon as rescinded. Saigh went from dream job to no job.

It became as soon as aid to sending out resumes, checking LinkedIn, canvassing for interviews in some unspecified time in the future of indubitably one of many most brutal job markets in decades. “It must be overwhelming infrequently appropriate to battle through this over again,” he says.

He considers himself fortunate, conserving off rent and other prices residing with his of us. He no longer too long ago grew to turn into down a job offer to dash a neighborhood financial group; it didn’t seem cherish the appropriate fit, and he feared there may no longer be money for the plight beyond the rupture of the one year.

Now, Saigh plans to originate some listing and video freelance work as he tries to land one other job. He’s adjusted to an economy where so worthy stays unknown.

“I’ve realized that you simply may’t per chance opinion for the entirety and, though it’s a cliche, you’ve appropriate bought to roll with the punches,” he says. “And I’ve realized to dash where the next thing leads me. Expectantly, that will be soon.”

———

JAMES JACKSON

Daily, he confronts the realities of too many payments, no longer ample money, a job that’s on serve — and no timetable for when any of this may occasionally alternate.

Jackson is amongst tens of thousands of hospitality employees who’ve been sidelined in an change devastated by the pandemic. His employer, the Diplomat Sea plod resort in Hollywood, Florida, closed in March thanks to the outbreak. That left Jackson, an assistant to the bartender and server at a hotel restaurant, and his wife, an elementary college trainer, scrambling to present for his or her three asthmatic children.

They’ve tried to protect them from money troubles. “It’s no longer their job to exit and invent things happen,” Jackson says. “As a father or mother, you don’t deserve to present children the concept that the bottom is crumbling beneath your feet.”

Complicating the issue is Florida’s unemployment procedure, which has been marred by computer system defects and prolonged delays. No subject limitless calls over the months, Jackson, 51, says he has but to acquire a single $275 weekly impart unemployment take a look at — even though his final day of labor became as soon as March 21. That cap is amongst the stingiest in the nation.

The stress has frayed his nerves. His doctor, who waived copayments for visits, prescribed medication for his excessive blood stress, but he can’t manage to pay for it. His hair is thinning. He will get migraines.

Jackson and his wife secure historically relied on aid from her instructing wage, but she’s been off in some unspecified time in the future of the summertime. With $3,200 in month-to-month payments, the two assuredly face subtle choices. “If you originate secure money,” he says, “originate you expend it on gas or originate you salvage food?”

Jackson is hoping to determine on up a warehouse job for now. He worries about having ample food for his children — 8 to 18 — and being in a position to manage to pay for faculty presents, apparel and the entirety else they will need in coming months.

He refuses to dash searching too far ahead. “This is a day-to-day process,” he says, “and I will be able to’t fear in regards to the things I will be able to no longer alternate.”

———

BRETT LIPSHUTZ

He can’t aid but state he became as soon as a victim of scandalous timing.

Closing one year, after wearisome of being an educator, he gave up a job instructing French in a non-public college in suburban Milwaukee. He became as soon as recruited to turn into a bilingual utility coach, traveling to Canada three weeks a month. Within the spring, he rushed aid to the U.S. as the border became as soon as about to conclude.

Then all all of the sudden, at 46, Lipshutz became as soon as out of labor — something entirely new for him. He filed for unemployment and joined a increase neighborhood of jobless employees in Wisconsin. He began realizing how worthy to dip into financial savings that had taken years to amass.

“No longer having ample money can paralyze you,” he says. It’s a lesson he realized at a younger age.

“I grew up with a single mom on welfare in the ’80s,” Lipshutz says. “And I do know what it’s are searching for to win govt cheese and free lunch and to stay paycheck to paycheck and feel that stress of monetary instability. …. It brings aid trauma from that time of, ‘Oh, my God, am I going to must stay cherish that over again?’”

Lipshutz’s 2nd utility mission became as soon as canceled thanks to funds cuts. He’s now starting a tofu enterprise with mates. He moreover expects to be aid in the research room this descend, instructing French to Milwaukee public excessive college students.

Lipshutz has turn into more contented, too, accepting the limitations of this chaotic ambiance.

“There are explicit stuff you may’t control, and you favor to let it dash,” he says. “I will be able to’t control the pandemic. I will be able to’t control the job market.”

“Within the aid of my mind,” he adds, “there’s unexcited a microscopic drawer of fear and fear. … But I’m starting up to say myself, ‘Listen, you’re going to be horny.’”

———

MORGAN GITHMARK

For her, the pandemic has been a smartly being possibility and a job destroyer.

Closing March, she needed to stop her job at a advertising firm in North Carolina because face-to-face encounters with possibilities at colossal-box stores had been potentially dangerous. A diabetic, Githmark, 24, has an increased chance of becoming critically ill if she contracts the coronavirus.

“I feel cherish I don’t secure very worthy of a motive now,” she says. She feels as if she’s “floating around in lifestyles” as she searches for work, along with her father helping retool her resume. She knows her job possibilities are microscopic because she will be able to be able to’t be exposed to enormous groups of folk.

Githmark plans to signal up in grad college, though she hasn’t chosen a field of mediate. She taught in a charter college in Durham, North Carolina, sooner than going in advertising. She can even merely return to education.

Meanwhile, gardening and writing aid encourage the tension. “It’s appropriate been a extraordinarily disturbing time,” she says, and sighs.

———

MICAH ANDERSON

When the Portland, Oregon, club where he tended bar became as soon as forced to conclude in the pandemic’s early days, he had no time to situation how he’d pay his payments. But he knew some routine prices would must aid.

On the head of the list had been $250 month-to-month payments he’d been making for more than a decade to whittle down $45,000 in pupil loans. There became as soon as no methodology he can even shoulder that. His instantaneous worries had been food and refuge, and he became as soon as pleasantly stunned when he became as soon as given some leeway in paying rent and utilities.

For the previous six months, Anderson, 37, has relied on impart unemployment and $600-a-week pandemic-connected federal advantages that appropriate expired. In Washington, Democrats and Republicans are clashing over how worthy of that aid can even merely unexcited proceed and for the methodology long.

Anderson has been cautious about spending. He walks virtually all over. He has reduced his food funds to requirements. He doesn’t exit with mates. He’s turn into politically active, calling the workplaces of federal lawmakers, urging them to aid a invoice rising a $120 billion fund to aid rescue involving areas and bars.

And as disturbing days give methodology to sleepless nights, he and his mates commiserate over their shared predicament.

“You’ve bought fashion of overwhelming sense of fear,” he says, echoing the feelings of a buddy who stated being caught in the pandemic is “cherish standing on the shore and you’re searching at this mighty tsunami wave coming in. and it’s going to hit. But there’s no longer loads of I will be able to the truth is originate about it.”

———

DEANNA KOUSKOULAS

She isn’t one to point fingers. She knows many others who’ve checked out the staggering numbers of unemployed and don’t feel the same methodology.

“I look loads of folk blaming firms, announcing, ‘How dare they lay off their employees!’” she says. “But those decisions can even merely unexcited be made.”

Kouskoulas, 30, became as soon as laid off in April, about six months after being employed for a copywriting-advertising job at a suburban Detroit building firm.

She’s now interviewing for jobs, preparing for the post-pandemic period. She spends fragment of every morning sharpening and expanding her abilities, studying graphic device on YouTube, amongst other things, “so I will be able to advance out solid when things originate return to customary.” And he or she speaks assuredly with a CEO she as soon as labored for who acts as her mentor.

Quickly after Kouskoulas lost her job, she notion she had a fortunate rupture: She became as soon as employed to originate advertising at a utility company. She labored 60-hour weeks, she says, but became as soon as many times rebuffed when she asked for a paycheck. After four weeks, she’d had ample.

In most novel weeks, Kouskoulas says she senses the “quietness in the economy” that existed just a few month ago has lifted and there are more alternatives. But she moreover worries some employers will be consolidating roles, producing fewer jobs with more tasks.

She’s ready, too, for what she expects will be “a long haul.”

“On the rupture of the day,” she says, “the most attention-grabbing one who’s going to salvage me out of right here is me.”

———

Uncertainty ripples outward. There are such a extensive amount of things that, thanks to it, merely can’t be completed.

It spreads to folk that’ve permanently lost jobs as smartly as furloughed employees wondering in the occasion that they’ll be called aid. “Other folks can even merely say you to retrain,” says Gimbel, the economist. “What are you presupposed to retrain for? You don’t know what the economy is going to dash searching cherish. All individuals appears to be frozen because it’s so unclear how the issue is going to evolve.”

And long-term planning? Even murkier — not probably, the truth is, says Adam Ozimek, chief economist at Upwork.

“We don’t know whether at the rupture of the one year there are going to be 15 million folk with out a job or 5 million folk,” he says. “From high to bottom, every single particular person in the economy is plagued by this uncertainty in a single methodology or one other.”

Job uncertainty is new for Flint, 53, the streak agent. She’s by no methodology been unemployed, and it’s “doubly upsetting,” she says, because she’s single. Her furlough is up at the rupture of October, but there’s no converse she obtained’t be laid off sooner than then. Every week, she sends out fresh resumes from her home in Galveston, Texas. And day by day, she fends off rip-off artists who call with bogus job presents as they strive to ferret out her interior most knowledge.

“I’ve had fear that I’ve by no methodology had sooner than. I’ve even had fear assaults. I’ve had loopy dreams of zombies,” she says. “It has extinct on me.”

For Micah Anderson, the uncertainty has been the toughest fragment — “having zero opinion of what next week is going to even look cherish.”

“I’m the secure of one who, if I if I basically secure an opinion of what I’m facing, I will be able to strive to invent a opinion that is luminous,” Anderson says. “But you don’t the truth is know what it’s far you favor to originate.”

“You appropriate achieve no longer secure any clue. You invent decisions the most attention-grabbing you may. And likewise you hope that they turn out OK.”

———

Contributing to this listing had been Desiree Mathurin and Haleluya Hadero in Atlanta. Sharon Cohen, a Chicago-basically based nationwide creator for The Associated Press, may be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter at http://twitter.com/SCohenAP

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susantregre · 5 years

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You’re Having ANOTHER Baby?

We recently announced to family, friends and co-workers that we are expecting our fourth child.

However, not everyone shared in our joy.

“Don’t you two have anything else to do?”

“Wait, how many kids do you have at home already?”

“Can you guys even afford another?”

“This couldn’t have been planned, right?”

“Wow, a fourth. Did you even want another kid?”

Still, whatever the reasoning, the criticism didn’t catch us completely off-guard. In fact, it was something we had grown accustomed to over the years with each new addition to our family.

The day we announced our first pregnancy, people were shocked. We were too young. We couldn’t afford a baby. We were foolish and should have waited.

We seemed to get a pass on our second child under the guise of it “made sense” to give our daughter a sibling to play with.

We would not be so lucky with our third pregnancy. It seemed that people in my life just couldn’t wrap their heads around the idea of three children, two parents, all co-existing in the same home. Is it really that mind-boggling to society?

As long as we were done, then maybe we could reclaim some normalcy to our family and be responsible, stop having children and try to deal with the chaos we already had on our hands.

But, that was not in our plans.

The day after I delivered our third, I was scheduled for a tubal. My husband and I had this responsible plan laid out for months prior to my delivery. But when that day came, I burst into tears and refused to consent to the surgery. The thought that I had even agreed to this plan in the first place made me ill. My husband tried to calm me and reassured me that it was all of the hormones talking and to trust what we had decided months ago. That day, as I held my third baby in my arms, I knew right then and there that there would be a fourth. It’s incredible what our maternal instincts can speak to us if we pay close attention.

And here we are, a year and a half later, a third of the way into our fourth pregnancy. And with that brings the list of questions that are asked by everyone, including ourselves at times.

How could someone possibly want to add a sixth member to their family? A fourth baby in six years; have we gone mad? Our house is already beyond chaotic, our bank account runs extremely low and too close for comfort by the end of each month, and there are days we search for our sanity, and as hard as we search, it can’t be found — anywhere.

Another couple years of giving my body over. Nine months of carrying this child to term, endless days and nights of discomfort. Another pregnancy of severe sickness, constant fatigue and more migraines than I can count. Once again my hormones will leave me feeling as if I’m ready to jump out of my own skin at times, let alone the up and down roller coaster my poor family has to deal with. And after this newest member of the family enters the world, I will no longer be a home for him or her, but I will be their only source of nutrients to keep them alive.

I have found myself nervous, revisiting the nights I have found myself hallucinating from not getting enough sleep for not only days, weeks or months, but rather years.

I wonder how I’ll survive as some days, I have found myself completely frustrated over numerous things that are completely out of my control, but must just be endured and pushed through. Will this new addition decrease that?

We had a clear vision of light at the end of the tunnel that has now disappeared. Now we are in for a few more years of buying and changing diapers. We’ll have another toddler to eventually potty train. More sleepless nights and long days of consoling this little unknowing angel of the torments of teething.

Patience and time. Two things that seem to drastically decrease in each of my days. My husband and three other children yearn for so much more of me; how could I find room for one more? I remember falling in love so heavily with each child, I was certain with each subsequent pregnancy I would not be able to find enough love to give to another.

There are days I find myself amazed as I handle certain situations with an evolving grace and patience. And then, more often, there are other days I find myself a mad woman, running about at 65 mph. No one is listening to me, whatever I have tried to accomplish just needs to be completed again and I feel as if I’m about to break.

I go through each pregnancy trying to hold tight to my faith. I try to chase away anxiety and fear with patience and prayer and tell myself time and time again that all of my complaining and worrying will do nothing but make matters worse. I read about tragic stories of complications during pregnancies, child birth and the hardships that all too many babies come into this world facing.

There are already times in this pregnancy when I feel run down, sick and overcome with the most intense rush of hormones. I try to make it through some of my days with white knuckles as I hold on for dear life. As tears come down, I ask myself:How in the world will I handle four? So… why another baby?

Considering all of this, it’s still quite simple for me. I couldn’t imagine having it any other way. I get to experience, for a fourth time, what some women don’t get to experience nearly enough, or rather, never at all.

When I think of bringing another baby into the world, I’m completely overcome with awe that once again, I get to go through one of the most remarkable experiences that one could undergo on this earth: giving birth to a child. It’s the most intense and painful, yet exhilarating, phenomenon one could ever endure.

I get to find consolation in my children when not one other single person in the world understands me. You never know true peace and the best kind of heartache until your toddler wipes away one of your tears, rubs your head and looks deep into your eyes with the most warm, sympathetic, genuine gaze that any human being is capable of giving.

I get to refuel myself in the most incredible way possible after hours of pacing an inconsolable baby. When your baby finally falls fast asleep, laid perfectly against your chest as your hearts are now as one, their most perfect, tiny breath whispers in your ear. Right then and there, you wish you could hold onto this moment for longer than forever. You find yourself so still, not only for fear of waking this angel, but for fear of losing this moment.

Given the choice, would I choose another baby over a larger bank account? I’d pick a baby any day. Would I prefer to call myself rich in regards to growing numbers in my savings, or in terms of my precious, growing family? The latter has been the easiest decision of my life.

There are times where I get a short break to myself or when the kids are finally tucked in bed for the night when the silence can be almost deafening. I certainly appreciate peaceful, sleeping babies, yet I know there will come a time years down the road where our children no longer want to talk to us or be around us, and to be able to prolong that timeline puts me at such a great ease.

God willing, one day, our children will bless us with grandchildren. This leaves me feeling completely fulfilled with the utmost satisfaction. Big family, big holidays, ‘big’ love… it truly may be one of the best gifts you could receive in this lifetime.

Family, no matter what the size, is the most important thing you will ever have in this world. If only society could see babies just as they are: blessings. Oh, the battles and hardships and stressors that lay ahead for me, this I will not deny. But the abundant blessings that these miracles already have and will continue to bring to my life is truly immeasurable.

So here we are, another baby. Another body to clothe. Another tummy to feed. Another 18 years of growing expenses which then turn into car payments, college costs and weddings.

And let me tell you, I could not be happier.

The Real Deal of Parenting

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badweatherbiologist · 5 years

Text

one of those days

you guessed it. it’s time again

for some reason these days never hit me out of the blue. it’s always right after i watched a show in which they like do heavy research on someone’s background, after I’ve been around people close to me for too long, or after i get upset. one of those days, where my brain is just tired.

it never hits out of the blue, like i said. in general, it’s a very short and rapid build up. i fight with someone who oversteps my boundaries. someone crosses a line. someone else gets angry. in the meanwhile, people on the net, my friends, my irl friends and family all seem to want stuff from me. it’s like i’m caught in a spider’s web, but the web is just everyone sucking up my energy.

result: i get depleted. hardcore with a migraine to top it all off. and in those moments, i’m torn between wanting to cry, wanting to be alone, and wanting someone to just like sit with me

in silence

instead of being so loud

like my brain can’t function like this

i have so many things to be happy about too, you know. friends are doing well. brother is doing well. everyone did good on their exams.

notice how i don’t speak about anything about myself

because literally everything is going to shit again

but it doesn’t matter

for some reason people are only happy with me when i’m catering to their needs again. i thought by putting boundaries there, it’d stop, but people just don’t give a fuck, don’t respect them, don’t listen to anything i want or need unless they’re literally family (friends included) and even then, it’s fucking difficult

like i spent a night at my friends’ place, had a great time, even if i felt this coming on last night after we watched Hannibal, the series. for some reason, seeing socio/psychopaths exploit empaths really doesn’t do it for me the way it does for everyone else, but i guess we have different views. i could say the same about the god damn sherlock fandom, which still thinks that being high functioning and a sociopath doesn’t mean their fav is a sociopath, without feelings, thus imo, not even worth oxygen, but again, i’m biased.

i love my friends a lot, i do, but i think me watching Hannibal was a mistake. i kept getting overly distracted by Hannibal, i kept being unable to focus because my brain was already processing things, and then, for some reason, a friend of mine crossed the boundary.

one of them started whining about how i didn’t welcome them enough and how i didn’t want them in my discord server (which i literally made because i wanted her to meet my friends online, bc she and they are important to me) then another downright blocked me on everything when i told him to stop something

like i don’t know what people want from me, i can’t bend myself and my self esteem in a trizillion ways to please people, and i refuse, but the fact that neither of them gave enough of a fuck to apologise says more about them than about me.

then i went to bed and had a conversation with another friend/b and we talked about sociopathy, which did nothing to help my feels, and i woke up at 4 and have been awake ever since. then, the morning was nice, i played cah with my friends and it was great. then we start talking about our youths, and how psychologists do help. i confess that i don’t actually tell anyone the entire story simply because they’ll never stop asking questions, and we talk some more. then it changes to siblings. and the more we talk, the more i realise that even when i was a kid, my parents sidelined me.

like my brother was born when i was 2, and he was literally sick for about a solid 3 months, during which i stayed at my grandparents place (the sociopath one). they wanted me to be happy that i had a brother but i hated him with my entire being because all of a sudden the parents didn’t give a fuck abt me anymore, it was all about the youngest one. and ofc, i get it, but i didn’t realise that it started that early, because they spent more time in the hospital than with me, really. same on the weekends, we always got sent to the socio grandma (which, even if she did shit things, i still love for partially raising me, and my granddad, bless his soul, ily opa) and from there on no matter what happened, thomas was always protected.

he got to stay with the same people in schools growing up, whilst all i did was change environments. he got attention i didn’t get. he was the youngest, so he needed to be babied with everything, whilst i got treated like an adult the moment we moved to France. from there on it was literally more about him being ok and protected than it ever was about me being ok. they never cared. he always was allowed to do whatever the fuck he want, but i always got shit for the exact same things.

i was jealous. angry. upset. i have been all of those things for a long time, and right when i believe i can put a line under something, another thing pops up and breaks me. it would have been fine any other day, any other moment. but it wasn’t at that instant. i could tell by the cold shiver that it was going to be fucked.

then my mom randomly calls me, screaming on the phone about how she wants me to be at the airport in 10.

like, again, no fucking boundaries are respected here.

so i go and we talk, they push subjects i don’t want to talk about and explicitly tell them to not inquire about, they leave and i go for a drive, then the same friend who said i didn’t want them on my discord server asks for help and i, being the gentle and caring fucking mother Theresa, help her out, i get a migraine whilst driving, i come home and everyone on my fucking discord server starts pinging me because they want to spend time with me

then i just go in game by myself, offline, one of them somehow fucking manages to find me, and all of a sudden i have 5 people spectating me in game and talking to me

so even though i didn’t want to, i join vc, everyone talks, i’m already tilted because the entire fucking day like broke my back, so to speak, and we lose 2 in a row because there is 0 communication

then my friend calls again

the f/b needs attention and starts ranting about the two lost games like i could fucking do anything about it

my other friend wants to know if i’m coming over again

the in game friend wants to know if i’m okay

like i say i want to be left alone

and immediately i get pinged

like i’m just tired of everyone not caring

i’m tired of caring for people who don’t care for me

i really want people to like respect my needs and to leave me the fuck alone but alas, that only happens when i actually cry, so i’ll try that next time

i’m just tired of people in general. i don’t really want to see anyone nor talk to them because all they will make me want to do is just kill myself.

(that was ironic, i don’t want to actually fucking die, but i do want to disappear and literally watch how everyone would just be unable to cope with their shitty life without me, because that’s how it is)

cheers, and don’t fucking @ me

#bad weather biologist strikes again #i will fucking kill a bitch without hesitation #i might be an empath #but if you suck all the will to live out of me i swear to god my knife will be between your ribs faster than you can fucking finish reading

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candid-candy-and-compassion-blog · 6 years

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It’s nice to not see you again!

Those of you who know me probably know by now that I went blind in my right eye over Christmas break. What a gift, eh? I said I’d blog about the experience because I figured I’ll either A: be able to look at this later in life and remember the rough patch I went through or B: help someone else who is going through a scary time in their life, too. I decided to open back up my old Tumblr blog that I never ended up doing anything with because I’m kind of proud of the other posts and I’m not so secretly hoping people will read those, too. For those of you who don’t know me, hopefully I won’t scare you away. haha Anyway, If you’re here to read about my current predicament then buckle up buttercup, because this post is going to be long and informative.

Backstory on my eyeballs:

WELL, I’ve had trouble with my eyes my entire life. Born with cataracts (basically a milky monster that latches onto the lens in your eye and you can see about as far as anyone who walks outside in Steven King’s “The Mist”.) You generally see old people and old dogs with the milky film over their eye... it’s unusual to see this condition in younger people. (THANKS GENETICS) Luckily I had a great Ophthalmologist as a child and had surgery in Elementary School that helped me see like a “normal person”.

I was also born nearsighted/severely myopic, meaning I can’t see anything real well unless it’s a foot away from my face and my eyes are basically egg or football shaped instead of round. (Once again, YAY genetics!)

Since my eyes are elongated, I’ve always been at risk for retinal detachment. I’ve been limited my whole life in fear of losing my eyesight... No contact sports because a hit to my head could make me go blind. No contacts after my surgeries as a child because I might get an infection and go blind, etc. I have a lot of scar tissue from the surgeries and stretching of my eyes over the years.

How did I lose the sight in my right eye?

Mid-November I was working at a call center and realized one day that my vision was WAY worst than normal. I was seeing what appeared to be black ash constantly falling across my vision and weird tentacle-like floaters constantly stretching in and out of my vision. I left work early to and took a cab to a local Ophthalmologist because I couldn’t see good enough to feel safe driving. I found out at the appointment that I had (as I understood, this is what I was told) a vitreous hemorrhage due to a burst blood vessel behind my eye, which means that the blood had leaked into my eyes. Also, because of (or in addition to, they couldn’t say for sure) I had other fluid leaking into my eye. I was told to take it easy for a few days. Below is an example of a vitreous hemorrhage (sorry I couldn’t find a bigger picture):

Thanksgiving was a few days later so I ended up taking an entire week off of work and 90% of the problem had gone away. During that time, I ended up with the worst migraine of my life and ended up in the hospital sick as a dog. We aren’t sure if the two were related but it was scary. Luckily, It only took a few days to recover from that. Relieved, I went back to work for a while. I ended up quitting my job because the stress of everything was too much. I started the job search and went cleaning crazy on the apartment.

December came around and I still didn’t have a job but was receiving my last few paychecks from my previous jobs. On the 19th, I had an appointment with the Ophthalmologist that I had to cancel because I didn’t have the fund since I was going to be visiting family in Mississippi. On the 18th I’d noticed what I thought was some more fluid in the top right of my peripheral vision in my right eye and didn’t worry much because I figured it would go away on its own... and I thought it did.

Around the 22nd or 23rd I noticed the whole outside peripheral vision had started disappearing (it looked like a dark fluid was slowly creeping into my vision and every now and then I’d see what looked like bright glow worms scoot across the affected area) so I called the Ophthalmologist back home in Idaho and an appointment was made for January second.

By the 24th over a third of my vision was taken over by the dark liquid.

By the 26th I had half my vision. The fluid was forming into a backwards “C” so I could at least still see looking straight forward.

By the 28th, my flight back home to Idaho, I had less than a third of my vision.

On the 29th, the day that I was supposed to ride with my boyfriend’s brother and his fiancé to meet my boyfriend and his parents, I watched my vision completely disappear into the dark liquid in a series of a few hours. Everything had a weird, almost dark green-brown tint, I could no longer read, and the only things I could make out for sure was distorted lights. The fluid looked like bubbles constantly crashing around and little firecrackers constantly flickering about my vision.

By the 2nd, the day of my appointment, it was mostly darkness with a few lights here and there. Now I was experiencing tenderness to the touch and my eye felt real irritated. Needless to say, I was scared. But, still very hopeful.

THE APPOINTMENT *dun dun duuuuuunnnn!*

My boyfriend drove me to my appointment at 10:30 in the morning and I was feeling real hopeful. I’d done a lot of research online - which, by the way, is usually a terrible idea.... seriously... - and it seemed like everything I could possibly be faced with was curable to a certain extent. When the nurse first started checking my vision, she was surprised by my lack of sight. She literally stood in front of me with my left eye covered and waved her hand back and forth madly - which I couldn’t see - and quickly made some notes and went to get the doctor.

When the doctor arrived, I cheerily welcomed him with a “How nice to not see you again, Doctor!” (Boyfriend’s words. He’s the funny one.) No reaction. I was a bit disappointed. He did all sorts of tests, they took pictures of my eyes, and I was given a diagnosis:

1: Possible full retinal detachment.

2: The lens in my eye has come loose and there is possible cataract residue leftover from surgery. That may be why my eye is so tender and inflamed.

3: The pressure in my right eye reads at a startling 5 while my lift eye is an alarming 23. Normal eye pressure ranges from 12-22. They were a little more than concerned.

I was sent to a retina specialist two hours away in Boise the same day to discuss surgery. After they received my records and did tests of their own, they came up with the same diagnosis, plus option for surgeries.

Surgery options:

I require surgery to reattach my retina where they will inject an oil into my eye to push the retinal walls back to where they belong in hopes that it will reattach. While working on my retina, they will either stitch my loose lens into place or remove it completely, depending on what happens during surgery. Around the same time, possibly the same day, they want to use a laser in the retina of my left eye in hopes the same thing that happened in my right eye won’t happen to my left eye. That’s all I can remember for sure that the retinal specialist told me.

As for paying for the surgeries... well... My boyfriend and I were told I couldn’t have the surgeries until I had at least half of the money. The receptionist told us we would probably be responsible for around $1500 up front but we weren’t told for sure yet. The retinal specialist office reached out to an affiliate to see if they can help get me financial assistance and we are supposed to hear back anywhere between next months to two months from now. They also sent my records to another organization in Salt Lake that can hopefully offer me financial assistance as well as do the surgeries.

What now?

Honestly, we are overwhelmed. It’s a mad dash to find funding through local organizations, find work if possible, and reconsider going back to school this semester like I originally planned. If I don’t return to school, I’ve got to file an extension for my student loans, if I can’t work then I can’t pay for medical costs, every healthcare application is like a million pages long, and its difficult to read... BUT I will make it! I have an amazing support system and know that God is going to take care of me. I know He doesn’t put us through anything we can’t handle and i keep that in mind. There have been times in my past that I didn’t see how I would get through the hardships mentally and emotionally yet somehow I’m here! My faith, my friends and family, and my loyal pooch and ESA (Emotional Support Animal) have helped me through everything.

Final Notes:

I started a GoFundMe page after several friends suggested doing so. I set the goal for $1500 until we know for sure how much will need to be raised. Maybe that is how you found this blog, maybe you came here from Facebook. Either way, just reading this is helpful for me because writing is therapeutic. Know that if you are friend or family, I love you and you keep me strong. If you don’t know me, then let’s become acquainted! Don’t hesitate to reach out to me!

I need to say a huge thank you to so many people already!

To all my donors on my GoFundMe page:

R B

Ethan Richards

Courtland Pearson

Victoria Greenwood

Aimee Walters

Natalie Moseley

Kacey Croney

Anonymous A

Darian Merritt

Vu Nguyen

Karen Horsley

Cameron Moesta

Claire Hautot

You’re all an incredible blessing!

#blind #hopeful #blessed #eyesight #eyes

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