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notiddygxthgf · 6 months

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★ pairings: suguru geto x satoru gojo, satosugu

★ synopsis: Suguru Geto struggles with letting people in after leaving a three-year-long abusive relationship. Enter Satoru Gojo, the boy who doesn't seem to take no for an answer.

★ c.w.: slow burn, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, dub con elements, implied/referenced rape/non-con, mahito is a real abusive asshole, past relationship(s), past abuse, recovery, hurt, comfort, vent fic, based on my shitty ex, my therapist told me it'd be a good idea idk, im a good writer I swear, brought to u by the bch who wrote best friend's brother!choso, sexual tension, new love, fluff, angst, smutt, graphic, psychological trauma, theres a happy ending in here I swear, angst with a happy ending, psychological trauma, PTSD, idiots in love, sexy smut I swear.

★ a/n: NGL I kinda hate how this turned out. but! it had to be done! I had to get it out of the way. the way I think this is gonna work is past flashbacks first, present time next. it's gonna prob alternative between the two for a while. comment your thoughts! let me hear u! feel free to slander mahito... he plays the shitty ex.

★ w.c.; 3.4k

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𝐔 𝐍 𝐅 𝐎 𝐑 𝐓 𝐔 𝐍 𝐀 𝐓 𝐄 𝐀 𝐈 𝐋 𝐌 𝐄 𝐍 𝐓

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PROLOGUE

2019. MONTH UNKNOWN.

I WAS ONLY 12 YEARS OLD the first time I tried to kill myself. In retrospect, I can’t possibly imagine what could have been so important to little me that he firmly believed he would rather die than live without it. I wish I could say that I had a difficult life. That simply was not the case. I grew up with two loving parents and a kind brother, in a small town where every friend I’d ever had was within a mile of me at any given point in time. We weren’t rich, but we most certainly weren’t poor. I had everything a child could ask for and so much more.

Again, I wish that I could say I had a difficult life, but that simply was not the case.

It’s just that I’ve had these… thoughts for as long as I can remember. An unfortunate ailment, if you will. No matter what I did, there always seemed to be something missing. Something I felt I would spend my whole life searching for – or at least trying to supplement.

At 12 years old, I planned my first attempt.

It didn’t work.

So, now, faced with the unbearable burden of deciding what I was going to do for the rest of my life, I chose to pursue a childhood dream of mine. I wanted to go to school to become a doctor. I didn’t know what kind, per se, but I knew that I wanted to heal.

Maybe I thought, I don’t know… that if I healed enough people, I may have been rid of the ailment – healed, myself.

So I left my small town, enrolling in an academy 30 minutes away from the house. I got into their Healthcare program. Again, what more could a kid want?

Yet the void inside of me only grew larger, more ravenous. I lost touch with all of my small town friends – one by one. I had no one.

But I was pursuing my passion, right? Why wasn’t it enough?

It was in that godforsaken academy that I met him.

“Pick a card,” he asked me. His grey eyes were so sharp, even then. “Any card.”

I glanced down at the fanned-out deck in his pale hand, eyes crawling over the many different suits and shapes before eventually settling on an ace. I pulled the card out.

Ace of spades. I tried to memorize it. I also, coincidentally, tried my best to ignore the incessant thrum of my racing heartbeat against my veins, my arteries, my chest. He was sitting so close to me.

It was just the two of us in the hallway. Just me and him and the infinite space between us, the small gap between my right shoulder and his left.

I handed it back to him. “What are you doing?” I asked.

He slipped the card back into the deck without looking. He shuffled it once, twice, three times. Made a bridge with his hands and let the cards fall back into place. I watched with a remarkable sense of interest.

“Is this your card?” He tucked a stray blue hair behind his ear, producing a card.

I furrowed my brows, about to say something, when I noticed something off about the card. It was different. Where there once was a large blue spade, there now was a small, torn piece of lined paper taped to the surface. The gray lettering on the handwritten note read,

WILL U GO OUT W/ ME?

My eyes went as wide as saucers. My mouth lolled open, lips shaped around his cursed name, “Mahito, I…”

I thought of my parents. I thought of my religious father. What would he say? What would he say if he found out his 14-year-old son was a homosexual?

I thought of my parents, and I bit my lip, “I don’t know if I can… I don’t know. What if my dad finds out?”

Mahito tucked the deck of cards neatly into the pocket of his black cargo pants. His hoodie was rolled up to his elbows, revealing intricate stick-and-poke linework over his forearms. He shrugged, humming, “Who says he has to?”

The tardy bell rang. We were late for first period.

My mouth opened by itself again. At fourteen, I wasn’t so sure I was ready to lie to my father about something so serious. Not yet.

Seemingly sensing my hesitance, Mahito laid a hand on my stiff shoulder. “Hey,” he muttered softly. “Think about it. Give me your answer after school, yeah? We’ll meet here at 3:30.”

And then he slipped away with a quiet, ‘See ya’.

Without confirmation.

In his absence, I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.

2019 February.

Mahito ran away from home two weeks into our relationship. Ran away without so much as a notice or a warning. Ran away and left me there to assume the worst. He didn’t live in the best area. Perhaps he was staying with a friend? If not, was he dead in a ditch somewhere?

There was no way to tell.

He could have at least told me, I had thought. Then again, would I have tried to stop him? Undoubtedly.

They issued a missing persons alert the day after he didn’t show up. I remember seeing the poster all over my social media, all over the streetlights and posts.

It didn’t seem real. Even as I held the missing poster in my trembling hand, I remember feeling numb. I remember feeling as if this were all some sort of cruel prank, that he would be back just in time for our after-school walk with a smile on his face.

But there he was, smiling up at me from the page in my hand.

MISSING PERSON: MAHITO

Height: 5’8

Weight: 150

Eye color: gray

Hair color: blue

Remarkable features: tattoos on arms

Last seen: February 14th.

I crumpled the piece of paper up, tossing it across my messy bedroom with a sigh. I hadn’t slept last night, and I wouldn’t have slept tonight either.

I sunk into myself, curled into a ball on my twin-sized mattress – the same one I’d had for as long as I could remember – and cried. I was utterly inconsolable. I cried until my voice was hoarse, until there were no more tears left to cry.

Until my phone buzzed.

I assumed it was another homework notification. I didn’t check. What did it matter? In my eyes, my world had stopped spinning. It had stopped the moment he ran away.

But it buzzed again, and again.

It was then that I realized I was getting a call. Begrudgingly, I picked my phone up off of the bed. I turned it over. The screen was lit up with the words ‘NO CALLER ID’.

I wanted to hang up. Desperately. Wanted to save myself a shred of peace and dignity and move on with my night – in hindsight, I probably should have just hung up when I had the chance. But, no, I felt something in my gut call out to me.

Against my better judgment, I answered, “Hello?”

The line crackled. “Suguru?”

Suguru.

My heart leapt up into my throat. With wide eyes, I answered again, “Who’s this?”

“Suguru, it’s me, Mahito,” He sighed with relief, like he hadn’t expected me to pick up. Truth be told, I hadn’t expected it either. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call you sooner, my love. I’m calling you from a phone booth right now.”

My love. The nickname sounded like honey coming from his lips, but I knew it was laced with venom. Still, as would seem to be the trend, I was weak for it.

My eyes began to water again, somehow. “Where are you?”

I knew better than to call him ‘baby’. Not when my father was sleeping in the room next to mine.

“I can’t tell you that right now,” He answered. Of course, he couldn’t. There always seemed to be something he was hiding from me. I didn’t see it that way back then. “Look, I don’t have much time to talk, I–”

“I’ve been worried sick about you, Mahi,” I spoke again. I felt numb. So numb. “Please, just–”

“I stole ten grand from my mom,” He cut me off. “I’m running away from home. The abuse, it’s just– I can’t. I can’t, anymore.”

His mother was a real piece of shit. I knew that. She never wanted Mahito, not as a single mother. So she tried multiple times to be rid of him – beating him senseless with hangers and wires and even going so far as to attempt to poison him on his birthday.

Still, ten grand was a lot of money.

Stolen.

“I’m on the run from the cops, I– I think they’re trying to find me,” He panted into the microphone. “You can’t tell anyone, okay? You gotta lie for me.”

I felt sick. Sick to my fucking stomach.

“I’m sorry, I…” I trailed off, holding back vomit. “Hold on.”

I ran to the bathroom and promptly emptied the contents of my stomach into the sink. I had just eaten mac and cheese an hour or so ago, and the vomit was tinted yellow. I could still see a few noodles here and there, only partially digested.

It made me want to hurl again.

“You okay?” he asked me.

“Am I– No, I’m not fucking okay, Mahito! First, you run away without–” I had to swallow bile a second time. I felt it burn as it slid back down my throat. “You could have fucking warned me , or something, and now you’re calling me at eleven at night to tell me you’re fleeing the fucking cops?”

He paused. “I know,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry. You know I love you.”

And immediately, like some sort of magic trick, I felt my exterior soften. I didn’t even care that we were only a few weeks into our relationship. He was my first. It was like he knew the effect he had on me.

“Suguru,” he said again. “I love you.”

His words were like honey. I took a spoonful.

“I love you, too,” I sighed into the receiver.

“You’ll keep quiet about this for me, right?”

I was weak for him, as always.

“Okay,” I said.

I found myself sitting at my desk in the middle of the day, struggling to concentrate on the lesson. The classmates at my table – more like a group of desks placed together – were talking about the missing boy.

My missing boy.

They were talking to me, actually, but I had long since tuned them out. It was all a blur for me – a blur of faces and voices and words I didn’t want to hear.

“He’s a freak,” The boy across from me, Choso Kamo, remarked. “If I were you, I’d break things off before it’s too late.”

Choso’s critical words sent a sharp pang right through my rotten heart.

“Exactly,” My friend, Shoko, chimed in. She was a pretty thing, about a few inches shorter than me with brown hair up to her chin. She always looked so tired . I wonder if she recognized that I felt the same. “He’s got some serious issues. Guys like that rarely make for healthy relationships.”

Choso leaned in, leaned over the desk to offer more of his thoughts, “You can’t just ignore the fact that more people are catchin’ on, either. What if your dad finds out? You know he thinks that… kind of stuff is wrong.”

Choso was Shoko’s friend. He wasn’t homophobic. A little misguided, but he had the spirit. Hell if he weren’t a raging heterosexual, I might have even gone for him instead. He had that look I liked – sleepy, downturned, dark eyes framed by messy bangs. He never wore colors. He was content to make a statement in black. Black eyeliner, black shirt, black doc martens, black hair done up into two messy pigtails.

It was his signature look.

Our classmates didn’t take too kindly to ‘emos’ like him, though. He was an outcast. Hell, we all were. That’s why we sat together, after all.

The harsh opinions of my classmates threatened to erode my self assurance. I knew people were talking – people always talked. I knew the hushed whispers of my name as I walked past people and cliques in the mornings on my way to class weren’t a hallucination.

I knew I had to stand by my boyfriend. I knew I had to stand by Mahito, but the weight of their disapproval put a strain on my shoulders. Does anyone want to hear that their friends don’t approve of their partner?

Admittedly, he wasn’t a very good partner. He had demonstrated that much in the first few weeks of our relationship. I knew he wasn’t good for me, but, fuck, I wanted to try. I wanted to make things work so badly that I ached for it. Everyone else knew he wasn’t good for me, too.

But, fuck, was I naive to wish I could prove them all wrong?

In my eyes, he was only misunderstood. The ghosting, the red flags, the alarming behavior… I could see past it all because I loved him. My first love. No one understood him the way I did. How could I blame them for their concerns?

It didn’t matter how many voices I had in my ear telling me it was wrong. Soon, he would come home to me, and I would feel his skin against my cheek as I hugged him hello. That’s all that mattered.

How could that be wrong?

“It’s not wrong. How could it be?” I kept my gaze trained on my desk. My vision was blurry, unfocused. My mind felt numb and detached. I muttered. “I love him. He loves me, too. He told me he did.”

He did.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Choso and Shoko exchange a dubious look.

They didn’t understand him the way I did.

“He told me he loved me,” I repeated the words like a mantra, like a reminder to myself that I was fighting for something.

That as long as I was loved by him, I would be okay.

He called again that night. Earlier, this time, at nine o’clock.

I was in the shower at that time, curled up on the floor, sobbing into my arms. The water streamed past my shoulders, my arms, my nose. I glanced over at the screen through blurry eyes.

NO CALLER ID.

I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath.

Then, I let the call ring.

Current Day.

[12:13 PM]

[Automated]: you have 3 new messages. Play back?

[USER] Selected:

[NO] ...

... [View Inbox]

...

[ Last 6 Years ].

[REPLAY>>] Message from 'Blocked Number'.

Transcription:

" Suguru, this is me, Mahito. I don’t know if you can hear me or not– I don’t know if anyone can hear you or not, so please use headphones, or something, I don’t know. I just wanted to call and make sure you’re okay. I’m gonna try and call you later. Right now you seem to not be answering your phone for some reason. Doesn’t matter, though. I’m not in a really good place, right now, I’m… surrounded by a lot of people. So, um.. I just wanted to say that I love you, and I’ll call you a little bit later, okay? Bye– kisses…….”

[End of Transcription]

[Automated]: Would you like to play the next message?

[ Yes. ]

“ Suguru, is this– this is me, Mahito. Um.. I just wanted to say that I’m okay. Nothing has happened to me yet. I’m perfectly safe. I’m in a laundromat somewhere. And, uh, I said I love you… I don’t know why you’re not answering my calls… You know that I always try to text you whenever I can– and try to… call you, but… I don’t know, maybe you’re too depressed, or some shit. Maybe you’re mad at me. I understand. I– what I did was wrong, I… What I did was idiotic, and what I did was stupid, and shitty… And I understand if you’re mad at me and you don’t wanna answer my calls. So, yeah, I gues… I’ll try to call you again tomorrow.

If you’re hearing this voicemail, but you probably won’t, um… I just want you to know that I love you. And I’m trying to do my best just… to see you again. You like pizza, don’t you? How about we do a pizza date sometime, yeah? Somewhere around next week, maybe. Huh? How about that? Sounds cool, right? Yeah, yeah it does. Um, anyway, I… gotta… I gotta go. I have to… do some things. Uh… uh… at least I love you.

And, I– I might not have brought much with me, but I have the little stuffie that you gave me. It’s in my book bag. Not gonna take it out because people are gonna know what my things look like. I’m always gonna keep these memories close to my heart. I don’t care what anybody says. Even if I go to prison, I’m taking this shit with me. Alright? Um, I guess that’s it. And… last thing? I love you.

Please, answer me. If you’re calling, that means you actually care, but if you don’t, then… it’s fine. Don’t recall this number. I’m not gonna respond. This is just some random guy’s phone. Okay? Um… I love you, and please stay safe. Please don’t worry, I’m still alive. I miss you. Okay, bye, I love you.”

[End of Voicemails Received on February 18th, 2019].

[Automated]: Would you like to replay the messages?

[ No. ]

[ Delete ] > [ All messages from {Blocked Number}]

[Automated]: Are you sure?

[Yes]

[Automated]: Deleting all messages from {Blocked Number}.

THE WIND BLEW IN HEAVY from below, sending a plethora of leaves flying out in all directions. As I knelt down to test the current with my fingers, my boots sank deeper into the muddy riverside.

I sat on the bench in front of the riverbed. Wiping my fingers dry on the fabric of my denim jeans, I took a moment to take in my surroundings. The park was mostly empty, save for a few teenagers

The water always looked pretty this time of year. For a few moments, you stood there drinking in the sight of it.

In the present, I sat alone in front of the serene lake, surrounded by the picturesque beauty of nature. Lush green trees lined the shore, their leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. The scent of damp earth and the distant call of birds created a peaceful atmosphere, contrasting with the turmoil in my mind.

I watched as groups of carefree teenagers ran around, their laughter and joy a stark contrast to the heavy weight I carried in my heart. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I averted my gaze towards the shimmering water.

I wished for the water to possess the power to cleanse me, to wash away the burdens that weighed on my soul.

The sound of the water rushing past was almost deafening, drowning out the laughter of the teenagers. It consumed my thoughts, leaving me with an overwhelming feeling of dread and isolation. I yearned for the water to offer solace, as if it held the key to absolution and a fresh start, but it remained an unsettling reminder of my own inner turmoil.

I had a vision every time I came here for some peace of mind. It was the same vision every single time. It plagued me every time I found myself in front of the water. It was an image of me, standing at the water's edge, and then, with a deep sense of despair, throwing myself into it, sinking into the abyss and drowning.

As I sat there, the scenery around me seemed to blur, and the vision of my drowning self played on a loop in my mind, a relentless nightmare that I couldn't escape. The lake, which should have been a source of tranquility, had become a symbol of my pain and a relentless reminder of my inner struggles.

It seemed to call to me. I could almost hear the wind carry my name.

Suguru.

The water always looked pretty this time of year. I sat there watching it for a moment too long, wondering what it would feel like to be enveloped by the cold current, to feel it wash me away.

And, again, the sound of the current grew louder. Deafening. Consuming me.

a/n: l comment and lmk what u think pookiesss

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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wanna join the taglist?| mlol; chapter index

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menalez · 6 days

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this might seem a little insane but ive been thinking about this topic lately and figured i'd share some of my rambles in your ask box, perhaps you'll also find it interesting: the original concept of comphet, as in, adrienne rich's, is obviously polilez nonsense. but a couple aspects of how the term "comphet" is used nowadays in social media might actually have some truth to them. i don't use the term that much anymore since it's become so broad, with so many different connotations. i've come to find that, in some cases, it's accurately describing the phenomenon of meta attraction, a concept in sexology. now, i've got my own criticisms regarding sexology as a field, and especially some of Ray Blanchard's claims... but allow me to explain what i've been thinking: meta attraction to men, in this case, is when you experience arousal of some sort in sexual situations with men, but you aren't actually physically attracted to the man, his body and genitalia and so. you can't even fall in love with men. instead, the arousal is the product of an attraction to yourself. in trans women who fit the autogynephilia category, they are actually exclusively gynephilic, but may experience arousal when they're with men, because comparing themselves with men makes them feel "more like a woman," it makes them feel validated. they're attracted to themselves as women, being with men is simply a proxy by which they experience this attraction to their conceptual womanhood. somewhat similarly, but obviously with a different etiology, some women (as in adult female human this time), especially if they've undergone psychological trauma, aren't attracted to men or male bodies at all, ranging from lack of attraction to active repulsion, but may end up in situations with men as self harm, seeking some kind of gray area consent/nonconsent that makes them feel victimized, vulnerable, endangered, small. they're experiencing meta attraction fueled by masochism, by an erotic target location error; the erotic target being themselves, how they look in comparison to the violent male. this hypothesis i've been thinking of regarding what actually constitutes as legitimate "comphet" has been helping me a lot, sorting out my feelings and organizing them. it just makes sense. there can even be feminist analysis surrounding this aspect of sexology. it honestly helped me heal from trauma and made me more willing to assert my boundaries. i don't need to give in to men's advances just because i hate myself and have some kind of impulse to hurt myself further. recovery is possible and i genuinely want to heal now. so, what do you think?

honestly i’m not sure about the arousal part, it’s interesting for sure but i don’t think lesbians face arousal during sex w men caused by them imagining themselves in contrast to the man. i do think someone traumatised might put themselves thru that but the reasoning for it that u came up with has the groundworks of a good sexology theory…. but i don’t think it reflects reality

#i agree experiencing a bodily response can be separate from attraction entirely #but i disagree w what u think it could be caused by

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rich-info · 3 months

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Embracing Emotional Wellness: The Role of Counsellors in Melbourne

Nestled within the vibrant tapestry of Melbourne's diverse communities lies a beacon of hope and healing: professional counsellors dedicated to fostering emotional wellness and personal growth. In a city known for its cultural richness and dynamism, the presence of skilled counsellors adds another layer of support for individuals navigating life's myriad challenges and triumphs.

Melbourne, with its bustling streets and bustling hearts, is a melting pot of aspirations, dreams, and aspirations. Amidst the vibrant energy of this cosmopolitan hub, individuals often find themselves grappling with the complexities of modern living – from career transitions and relationship dynamics to managing stress and coping with unexpected life events. It is in these moments of uncertainty and vulnerability that the guidance of a compassionate counsellor can make all the difference.

What sets Melbourne's counselling community apart is its unwavering commitment to providing tailored, client-centered support that honors the unique experiences and needs of each individual. Whether you're seeking assistance for anxiety, depression, trauma recovery, or simply looking to enhance your overall well-being, counsellors in Melbourne offer a safe and nurturing space for exploration and growth.

One of the remarkable aspects of seeking counselling in Melbourne is the diversity of therapeutic approaches and modalities available. From traditional talk therapy to experiential techniques such as art therapy and mindfulness-based interventions, counsellors in Melbourne embrace a holistic approach to healing that acknowledges the interconnectedness of mind, body, and spirit.

Moreover, the warmth and authenticity that characterize Melbourne's counselling community foster a sense of trust and rapport between clients and therapists. Building upon the foundation of empathy and understanding, counsellors in Melbourne create a supportive environment where individuals feel empowered to explore their innermost thoughts, emotions, and aspirations without fear of judgment or criticism.

Beyond providing emotional support, counsellors in Melbourne equip individuals with practical tools and strategies to navigate life's challenges with resilience and grace. Through evidence-based interventions and personalized treatment plans, clients learn to cultivate self-awareness, enhance coping skills, and foster healthier relationships – both with themselves and others.

In addition to individual counselling services, Melbourne boasts a rich tapestry of support groups, workshops, and community resources aimed at promoting mental health and well-being for all. From mindfulness retreats to peer-led discussions on topics ranging from self-care to stress management, Melbourne's counselling landscape is as diverse and dynamic as the city itself.

It's important to remember that seeking counselling support is a courageous act of self-care and self-discovery. By prioritizing your emotional well-being, you're investing in a brighter, more fulfilling future – one guided by authenticity, resilience, and compassion.

In conclusion, the presence of counsellor Melbourne serves as a testament to the city's commitment to nurturing holistic well-being and personal growth. Whether you're a lifelong resident or a newcomer to this vibrant metropolis, know that help and support are within reach. By embracing the guidance of skilled counsellors, you're embarking on a transformative journey towards greater self-awareness, healing, and empowerment. Together, let's celebrate the invaluable role of counsellors in Melbourne in fostering healthier, happier communities.

#counsellor melbourne

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healthmatters520 · 7 months

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High-protein macronutrient sources for muscle recovery

Want to recover faster after grueling workouts? The secret may lie in the protein-rich foods you eat. As any athlete knows, muscle recovery is key to improved performance over time. But did you ever wonder which everyday foods can really help your muscles bounce back stronger?Proteins play an essential role as the "building blocks" for repairing and reconstructing damaged muscle fibers. They provide amino acids that are the basic materials for this recovery process. Getting enough high-quality protein in your diet after exercise is crucial.This article will explore some very simple, natural protein sources that are perfect for promoting rapid muscle recovery. We'll look at which everyday whole foods and snacks contain the protein your body needs. And we'll give you tips to easily add these muscle-healing foods to your regular meals and diet.By focusing on small changes to favor protein-rich whole foods, you can discover natural ways to help your muscles feel renewed after tough workouts. Let's discover some powerful protein helpers for faster recovery through nourishing whole foods.

How Much Protein Do You Need?

Protein needs vary based on your size and activity level. Most experts agree active individuals should aim for 0.4 grams of protein per pound of body weight after exercise.For example, a 150 pound person should try to eat around 60 grams of protein within 30 minutes of finishing a tough workout. This amount stimulates maximum muscle rebuilding in your body.The 0.4 gram rule is a general guideline. Your exact protein needs may be a bit more or less depending on factors like age, gender and fitness goals. Speaking with a dietitian can help determine your individual requirements.The important thing is to make sure you refuel with high-quality protein within a short window after exercise. This primes your muscles for efficient recovery and growth over time. Don't worry about exact amounts - just focus on whole protein foods as part of balanced, healthful meals.With the right protein intake as a foundation, your body gets what it needs to mend and strengthen overworked muscles. Now let's explore some top whole foods choices to power your post-workout recovery.

Best Protein Foods for Recovery

Certain whole foods are simply packed with the muscle-mending protein you need after exercise. Consider these top choices:Chicken and Turkey Poultry like chicken and turkey is very lean yet full of high-quality protein. It's easy to add to salads, stir fries or eat on its own.

Fish Salmon, tuna and trout offer protein plus omega-3s to fight inflammation. Canned varieties make quick snacks or additions to meals.

Eggs Eggs are inexpensive protein all-stars. Hard boil for easy snack or scramble for a fast breakfast.

Dairy Greek yogurt, cottage cheese and milk provide protein along with bone-boosting calcium and potassium.

Plant-Based Proteins Beans, lentils, nuts, seeds and soy products like tofu and tempeh add variety as meatless options.

Nut Butters Peanut, almond or other nut butters spread on whole grain toast offers a portable, tasty protein boost. Focusing your post-workout eating window around any of these balanced, minimally processed whole foods sets your muscles up for effective recovery and growth. The key is choosing options you enjoy as part of meals and snacks.

Eat Protein the Easy Way

To fully benefit from high-protein whole foods, aim to eat some within 30 minutes after your workout. Here are some simple tips: Timing is Key The window right after exercise is best to start muscle recovery. Plan ahead for this refueling opportunity. Mix it Up Choose a variety of the protein-rich whole foods above to get different nutrients. Pair with carbs and healthy fats. Prepare Ahead Hard boil eggs, roast extra chicken or make protein-packed smoothies to grab easily after sweating it out. Protein portions A serving size may be 3-4 oz meat or fish, 1 cup beans or 1/2 cup nuts. Build meals around protein foods. Eat Regularly Don't just focus on the immediate post-workout window. Spread protein intake throughout your day for constant muscle care.With a little planning, it's easy to eat delicious whole foods optimizing muscle recovery. Focus on simple, balanced protein choices as you actively support your fitness goals.

Sample Muscle Recovery Meal Plan

Follow this simple sample menu to feed your muscles the protein they need after tough workouts: Breakfast - Eggs scrambled with spinach and tomatoes - Whole wheat toast Mid-morning snack - Greek yogurt with berries Lunch - Tuna salad sandwich on whole grain bread - Carrot sticks Afternoon snack - Hard boiled eggs Post-workout - Protein smoothie with milk, banana, peanut butter Dinner - Baked salmon with asparagus and brown rice - Salad with beans and light dressing Before bed - Cottage cheese topped with pineapples Rotate protein sources like chicken, beans, nut butter or cottage cheese when prepping meals. Focus on whole, minimally processed foods.Space protein intake throughout the day, not just after exercise. Staying hydrated also assists muscle recovery. Make simple swaps as needed based on your preferences and schedule.Nourishing your muscles properly allows them to recover strongly so you can keep pushing play and making progress. Enjoy satisfying whole foods to feed your fitness goals.

Considerations for Effective Recovery

While protein is important, balanced nutrition supports overall health and progress. Some final notes: Individual Needs Vary Factors like age, hormones and activity level impact protein requirements, so listen to your body's cues. Whole-Food Focus Emphasize high-quality, minimally processed sources of protein from real foods rather than supplements whenever possible. Check With Experts Consult trusted medical or fitness professionals if you have specific health conditions or recovery goals. Hydrate for Healing Water carries nutrients to muscles and eliminates waste, so drink plenty of plain water throughout the day. Balance is Key Protein should be part of a nutritious diet including fruits/veggies, whole grains, healthy fats. Don't overdo any one macronutrient. Be Patient and Consistent Stick with a routine focused on whole-food protein, balanced meals and adequate rest to gradually improve recovery over weeks and months.With mindful food choices you can give muscles the right building blocks to bounce back better than ever. Enjoy nourishing whole foods every day for long-term fitness success.

Conclusion

Making whole food sources of high-quality protein a regular part of your diet is a natural way to support your muscle recovery needs. Small changes like consistently choosing clean protein options after exercise sets your body up for efficient repair and growth over time. Staying fueled with balanced nutrition, staying hydrated and listening to your individual needs will foster the best results. With simple meal planning and a focus on nature's protein powerhouses, you give hard-working muscles just what they require to feel renewed and come back stronger for your next challenging workout. Focusing on recovery nutrition through whole foods can make a real difference - your muscles will thank you!

FAQ

What are the best macronutrients for muscle recovery? The top macronutrients for muscle recovery are protein, carbohydrates, and healthy fats. Protein provides the amino acids needed to repair damaged muscle fibers. Carbohydrates replenish glycogen stores and support protein synthesis. Healthy fats aid in nutrient absorption and hormone production. How much protein do I need after a workout? The general guideline is to aim for 0.4g of protein per pound of body weight within 30 minutes of finishing exercise. So a 150lb person would target around 60g of protein. Individual needs vary, so consult a dietitian to determine your optimal intake. When should I eat carbs for recovery? It's best to consume carbs along with your post-workout protein. Pairing protein and carbs stimulates muscle protein synthesis and replenishes glycogen stores more effectively. Good options are whole grains, starchy vegetables, fruit, or a recovery drink. What fats are best after exercise? Monounsaturated fats from foods like avocados, nuts, and olive oil or polyunsaturated omega-3 fats from fatty fish support recovery and reduce inflammation. Include a small amount along with protein and carbs for optimal absorption and muscle rebuilding. How long does it take to recover from a workout? Recovery time can vary depending on the intensity and duration of exercise, as well as individual factors. For most light to moderate workouts, 24-48 hours of rest, proper nutrition and hydration is sufficient. More demanding exercise may require 72 hours or longer for complete recovery at a muscular level. Read the full article

#high-proteinfoods #macronutrientsformusclerecovery #musclerecovery #protein-richfoods

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princeanxious · 3 years

Text

New au idea just dropped: abducted by aliens + found family; familial anadukeceit addition with a twist:

tw: minor abducted by aliens, mentions of illegal scientific experimentation on a minor, general au theme following the rescues of ppl getting abducted, those are the big ones, lmk if i missed anything!

Virgil and Remus are normal adult humans that are part of a galactic crew that specializes in rescuing aliens that were abducted for black market trade and experimentation purposes and rehabilitating them

Janus is a young teenage human who'd been abducted and experiemented on for two years before his rescue, leaving him half-covered in abnormally healthy scales, sharp fangs and coldblooded-like qualities, and without a way to talk like he used to.(he can growl and hiss and whine ect., but they mostly ruined his ability to mimick sounds without it being painful and thus he cannot actually try to speak without pain.) He's not seen another live human in years, and is way too young to know how to cope with it, so he doesn't trust anything anymore and often comes off as extremely violent because he doesn't know whats a threat and what isnt, and isnt honestly sure hes not experiencing a vivid nightmare half the time.

Cue this team getting a report from a different rescue group about requesting help for a specific rescue from their mostly human rescue team, this time its about a small earth-like dealthworlder that had been discovered and rescued as one of the few surviving aliens from an illegal testing facility.

Report lists it as extremely volitile and hostile, but only when provoked(see: any attempt to interact with it). If left alone, it simply cowers in a corner and cries. There have been efforts to get it to eat that have only been semi successful due to the poor thing seemingly not being able to digest certain foods, and they worry it will simply die of starvation, or loneliness, if they cant get it's condition stable.

The reason theyre requesting Virgil's team is because the original rescue has never seen this kind of alien before, but it looks mostly human and thats the assumption. Humans are known to have high-packbonding instincts, and that persistence for kinship is pretty much this rescue's last hope.

To the humans, its a bit of a far leap seeing as they arent provided with any clear pictures of the thing, but its their job and theyre getting paid to do it, might as well try.

They.. They arent prepared to arrive to the sight of a child. Well, sort of child. A teenager? Whose regardless way too thin and quite too small to look anything but vastly unhealthy.

From his one side of his ribs curled up all the way around one side of his face and down that arm are rich yellow scales, that perhaps look like the healthiest part of him.

He wears a blindfold from his previous containment, and word has it the first alien to try and take it off was met with the worst lash-out yet and was still in recovery. They had kept it on him because he wont let anyone near take it off. It keeps him calm to be sightless, and its unfortunately all they can do to keep him that way.

And well, while Remus has always been the best at taming some of the wilyest deathworld creatures, its actually Virgil who has skill in taming those few labeled 'deadly.'

He sees this 'dangerous' behavior for what it really is.

Fear.

This is a child who is scared, terrified, and lashing out at anything that doesn't feel safe.

So you can imagine the brief uptic in nervous alien chatter from the main observation room when Virgil decides to walk straight into the containment room with no gear, no food, nothing but himself and his jacket.

Its a little jarring to hear a teenager hiss angrily at you, but Virgil used to Be That Teenager, so he doesn't really react. And he can see it when he speaks, using a soft and comforting voice, the way this kid freezes at being spoken to. In a langauge he understands.

"Hey buddy."

There's an immediate growl of uncertainty, pressing himself further away. Disbelief. It cant be, right? It's been 2 years since hes been in a room with another living human, there's no way.

..Right?

"Cmon now, none of that. It's just me here right now. My names Virgil."

He doesn't really want to believe it, that hes hearing another human. But he cant help the instinctual need to turn and hide the scales, the thing that makes him a freak of nature, no human would want him after what had been done to him.

Its a slow back and forth, really. Virgil asking a mundane question and getting some cautious hiss or growl or click in reply. But slowly, ever so slowly, the boy is relaxing.

"Can I reach my hand out? I wont touch you, okay? I want you to reach out too, if you're okay with that. We can move at your pace, okay?"

And maybe he gets a slightly petulant whine, but theres no aggression. Just. stress.

He holds his hand out, palm down, and waits. And is rewarded with an extrsmely shaky hand reaching out and grasping his own with a little fumbling. And then theres a pause, where the boy is taking thw time to register the hand.

Human.

And then the boy is all but flinging himself forward, blindly reaching out with a sob. Maybe some aliens in the observation room tense, but the humans in the room remain completely calm.

And now Virgil has a lap full of entirely too distraught child and no say in the matter, but thats fine. Hes content to just hold the poor thing and let the kid cry it out, god knows he needed this.

They learn this kids name, Janus, through some shake tracing of fingers on skin, then pen to paper. He's barely 16, and was abducted at age 14.

They learn one eye had been tampered with as well to match the scales, but all that was successful was a color change to yellow. It fortunately affects Janus's sight very little, except when hes tired and finds himself with migraines from his eyes being tired.

Janus is a special case, because he cant go back home, not with the things hes seen and experienced, as the galactic rescue is still a bit of a secret to earth. But hes a minor, so he cant very well join the rescue yet, even if he wanted to.

So, Virgil and Remus adopt him. Janus is more than happy about it, despite his struggles to show it.

They have a number of humans and humanoids on their team, one of which is a therapist named Emile(human), and another who is their navigator and unofficial translator named Remy(half-human).

Janus p much gets unofficially adopted by them as well, standing in as the cool uncles most likely, but through them he learns to deal with his trauma, and gets to learn how to communicate via galactic hand-sign language.

Sometimes a family can be a Team Rescue Group Leader, his Danger Tamer Chaotic Boyfriend, and their Half Danger-Noodle Half-Sassy Human Son, and two fun uncles who collectively know how to heal trauma and 47 different ways to say 'fuck you' in alien.

#sanders sides #anxceitmus #familial dukexiety #familial anxceit #anxceit #luka writes #luka's aus #virgil sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders

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arcane-apathy · 3 years

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Chapter 1

Prologue | Next

AN: The first full chapter of this new series. I’m trying very hard to make the character dynamics different than those of my other stories. Also writing things in a High Fantasy world is a challenge. As I’m used to Modern Fantasy and Sci-Fi. Enough talking from me! Thank y’all for the support, and I hope you’ll enjoy this chapter!

Warning(s): Mention of Injury, Brief Mention of Self Harm/Suicide,

Warmth was the first thing you recognized. There was no longer a breeze on your face, and you didn’t even feel the wet habit sticking to your skin. That was the first sign that something was wrong. You sit up quickly, your eyes flying open as you try to piece together what happened. No longer were you in a field, but a circular tent made of animal skins. Completely bare beneath a fur pelt, your habit and supplies nowhere in sight. A small fire was lit in the middle of the tent, the smoke escaping through a small hole at the top. The smell of burning herbs was almost suffocating.

Even though there was no one around, you used your arms to cover your chest. You didn’t dare move from the bed. You peeked under the pelt to see your leg has been bandaged, and bandaged well. From what you could gather you were in a healers tent, especially since it smelled just like every apothecary you’ve ever been in. Why the Orcs even bothered to heal you, you had no clue. But your gut says not to trust them.

“You’re awake,” a gruff voice catches you off guard. And you quickly pull the blanket to cover yourself. A pale Orc with ashen hair and tattoos on his chin chuckles as he approaches you, “I have treated many people, you have nothing I haven’t seen before.” You fought the urge to glare but watched as he pulled up a chair beside you, “how do you feel?”

Like you’ve been dragged out of a bush by a vicious beast, “could be better,” you opted for the more polite response. The Orc lifts the pelt up just to your thigh, checking over his work. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his lack of bedside manner. He raises a bushy brow curiously, but he says nothing. “What happened?”

“The warriors say you fainted at the sight of the Warchief, but you just passed out due to the shock.” He covers your legs again and stands up, “I’ll let him know you’re awake.”

“What will he do with me?”

He shrugs, “whatever he wants.” That just made your heart sink. It was vague and it could easily be taken as a threat. The tent now empty as you were left alone with your thoughts. You sigh and hold the blanket tighter to yourself. Hoping it would bring you some form of comfort. It didn’t.

“Hello healer,” a familiar voice enters the tent. You didn’t bother to look up from the pelt. The Orc's broad shadow casts over you, he doesn't bother to sit in the stool beside the bed. Opting for a more dominating stance, arms crossed at his chest as he glowers at you. "The Shaman has high hopes for your recovery.”

“He has my gratitude,” your grip on the pelt tightens with anticipation. His moss colored hand turned your head to look at him. He looked to be inspecting you, his pale blue eye going up and down the length of your body. You try not to look him in the eye, choosing to look at his hair instead. The raven black locks braided in multiple rows along the sides of his head, the hair on top remaining loose. His braids are decorated with various beads, the majority of them being made of gold. Probably to easily denote his status within the horde.

His hand finds its way to your hair, causing you to jerk away from him. Your hair was usually tightly bound and hidden within a white linen cap. He scowls and firmly grips your hair, but yet he doesn’t say anything. Then his hand traces along the curve of your ear. While his were pointed and the outer shell dotted with piercings, yours were round and bare. Only rich and noblewomen wore piercings. “What is your name?”

You provide your name and title quietly, “ a Maid of Eia, nothing more and nothing less.”

“A priestess?” You simply nod and watch as he finally takes a seat beside you. Yet he still towers over you. He was as broad as he was tall, and burly like a bear. Not only did he have the scars on his face, but you could see them littered along his arms and chest as well. And his left arm is covered in detailed tattoos. He no longer wore armor, just a knee-length skirt made of leather strips. How he could be so bare as it was nearly winter was a mystery to you. You wondered if he was prepared at all for the winter. “So you are holy to your people?”

“I’m important, not holy.”

"Are you important enough to be rescued?"

"Not in a swift manner."

The Orc smirks and finally lets go of you, "good." You actively frown as he rests his elbows on his knees. His gaze was curious yet domineering. "How skilled are you little healer?"

"I have assisted many births, cured many ill, and have seen the aftermath of battles and fights. I would say I'm proficient."

"And your Orcish?"

"I've been told I speak like a child."

He chuckles, “I suppose that is better than nothing.”

You muster as much courage as you could, looking him in the eye for the first time. “What is your name?” He doesn’t respond, simply raising a scarred brow. “I’ve given you my name and title. I know you are the Otoschlibt, but I do not know your name.”

“Kurakh, Son of Urul Malkal.” You offer the faintest of smiles but his expression remains unchanged. “You don’t look like you have seen battles.”

“I have… However, this is my first battle with Orcs.”

“I meant that your skin looks untouched.”

“Women don’t fight battles unless we’re desperate.”

“The last resort?” You nod in confirmation and watch as rolls his eyes, “human customs allude me.” You watch as a few strands of hair fall into his face while he contemplates.

“What are you going to do to me? Why take me?”

“You are not a soldier and you showed no desire to fight, it would have been dishonorable to kill you. You were even hidden.”

“I was told to hide by my Lieutenant.”

“Why?”

“I am no warrior.”

“Yet you carry a blade?”

“To cut the armor and clothes off wounded soldiers and to cut bandages. Could I use it to defend myself? Yes. But, I am a Maid of Ia, a pacifist and healer by trade. I barely know which end to hold.”

Kurakh laughs, an actual laugh, “do not sell yourself short little healer. There is a fire in your eyes.” His large hand grips your chin. His skin is rough and calloused, product of hard work. Your hands had a few callouses, as the life of clergy isn't the most luxurious.

“What will become of me?”

Kurakh smirks and traces a finger along the curves of your cheeks, "you might just warm my bed."

You scoff and instantly pull away, "I'd rather cut out my still beating heart."

"There's that fire again," he chuckles and stands up. Motioning to a small and worn out box nearby the bed. "Your clothes are in there. I will be waiting outside. Don't take forever." He leaves the tent in a hurry and you struggle to your feet. While you could put some pressure on your wounded leg, it wasn’t enough to get up easily. And it wasn’t enough pain to call for help either. Especially in your bare state.

Your muscle memory quickly took over as you donned your habit. However your hair ribbon was missing, nor did you have a brush. So, you hastily stuffed your linen cap as if it was a snood. It would do for now. With more effort than usual you made your way to the opening of the tent. It was just after sundown, and there was a chill in the air. However you didn’t see your cloak within the box. Kurakh’s ear twitches and he turns around, “how is your leg?”

“It’s fine,” you step out of the tent with a little hobble to your walk. He rolls his eyes and swiftly picks you up. Cradling you on his hip like you would a toddler. You try to push away from him, your hands coming in contact with his bare chest. The heat coming off of him would be worrying if he was human. “Put me down, I can walk just fine!”

“The Shaman says otherwise,” he huffs and pinches your uninjured thigh. You bite back a squeal and frown as he carries you through the camp. You look around curiously, knowing nothing of the Orcish way of life. Children could be heard playing, women were cooking around fires, wargs lazed about nearby the homes of their riders. It was peaceful, almost as if there was no war to begin with. You were the only reminder of that. Kurakh carries you towards the middle of the encampment, to the largest tent.

Inside the tent was much like the Shaman’s, a few boxes full of his belongings, a small fire in the middle, and beds made of pelts and bedrolls. Kurakh sets you down on the largest one, obviously his, before kneeling down to start the fire. The tent soon filled with a warm orange glow. “Tonight we rest, tomorrow I will have work for you. I presume your penmanship will be better than mine.” You simply nod and watch as he retrieves a metal teapot. He fills it with water from a ceramic jug and sets it on an iron grate that sits above the fire. “The nights get colder the further north we go. I wasn’t much of a tea drinker before then.”

“Our winters are harsh,” you move to sit more comfortably. “First the winds will be cruel and cut at your face, then there will be snow up to your knees. And avalanches when you get closer to the mountains.”

“Good thing we brought plenty of furs.”

“Indeed,” you play with your fingers subconsciously as you watch him. He picks up a blade that was leaning against the side of the tent. The curved blade coated with dried blood. Kurakh sits at a stool with a wet rag, washing the blade meticulously. As if it put him into a meditative state. “May I ask you something?”

“You already have,” he smirks at his own joke but motions for you to continue, “go on.”

“Why north?”

He stills and takes a deep breath, “there are many reasons, odmi.”

You glance around the tent, the faint patter of rain could be heard on the animal skin covering, “I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

“We wanted to escape a war… with our own kind. Hordes seem to always be at war with each other. I’ve lost all but one of my blood family to these wars. Sadly we have been met with insults and war even in the north.”

“I am sorry to hear that… I can admit, even we have our grievances about our current king.” You look up from your hands, offering a sympathetic smile, “though I suppose they do not compare to yours.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for odmi,” he finishes cleaning his blade before sheathing it.

“Odmi?”

“Prize,” he states simply before hanging the sword by a nail in the wooden pole that holds up the tent. “Which is what you are.”

“I thought I was a prisoner.”

“No, prisoners are treated worse and have the chance to be returned to your people as a hostage deal. Prizes are kept.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me perfectly fine human,” he huffs and pours two glasses of tea. He sets it on the ground in front of you.

You don’t even look at it, “it sounds exactly like a prisoner to me.”

Kurakh scowls at your defiance and motions to the cup, “drink your tea human. In the morning I will make sure you know the difference.” Then he begins to do something you least expected. He puts a pot on the grate and takes food out of a box on the far side of the tent. He puts the leftover water from the teapot into the pot and begins to cut pre-cleaned beets. If he didn’t just inform you of your predetermined future, you may have felt more inclined to help him. “Someone will bring the rest of our meal shortly, along with my nephew.”

“Nephew?”

“He is all that I have left. When we don’t need you as a healer, it will be your job to help take care of him.”

“Oh… How old is he?”

“Two,” he drops the beets into the water unceremoniously. “You will be his Nian, his nanny. He already knows about this.”

“Okay,” you pick up the tea cup and take a sip.

“He, like the rest of the horde, is excited to meet you.”

“They’re excited to meet me?”

“Yes, you’d be the first prize that we’ve taken. And humans are an oddity to us anyways,” he takes out some tin plates and a fork. The tent flap opens and a female Orc walks in, holding containers of food. She glances at you as she sets the bowl and a round lidded container onto the floor, a young Orcish boy following behind her. He wasn’t the size of the two-year-olds you were used to, he was closer to the height of a three-year-old. Yet he moved and had more of the mannerisms of a child his age.

Kurakh and the woman share a few short words before she leaves, the toddler immediately hiding behind the Otoschlibt once he sees you. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him. He was chubby like most kids his age should be, and his tusks just started to come in. Like most Orcs his hair was long, but only worn in a low ponytail. Probably due to his youthful impatience to sit through an intricate Orcish braid. Kurakh looks at you and motions to the little one hiding behind him, “this is Mazna. He is a little on the shy side.”

“He is precious,” you smile once the youngling looks you in the eyes. You quietly introduce yourself in Orcish, hoping the familiarity of his own language would put him at ease. However he ended up looking more confused than anything. Kurakh nudges him forward, whispering something in his ear that makes the child giggle.

Mazna steps forward and points at your head, “keinze havlas?”

You chuckle and untie your linen cap, showing you were indeed not bald, "Ikh hane havlas." Instantly his hands were drawn to your hair, a common occurrence with children. You wince a little as his chubby fingers tangle in your hair. "Vorostig prazi," you remind him to be careful. Kurakh watches the two of you as he plates the dinner.

"Leide," Mazna apologizes and gently holds your hair to the light. You couldn't help but chuckle at his fascination with your hair, like he had never seen hair before. Kurakh calls him over Mazna over and speaks quietly to him. Mazna nods excitedly and crosses the tent with the plant, setting it onto your lap, “aksovesch.”

“Danz,” you thank him for the dinner. Which you didn’t really know what it was, besides the beets. It looked to be small pieces of meat covered in a thick gravy, a couple round things that are very flat, and some sort of shredded vegetable.

Kurakh chuckles and hands a plate with smaller servings to Mazna, motioning for the kids to sit on the floor, “you look confused.”

You poke the meat with the fork, “I don’t really know what it is. Other than the beets.”

Kurakh uses his finger to point to everything, “this is venison with gravy, skillet bread, and spiced cabbage.” You watch as he puts the venison and gravy onto the bread, then puts a little of the cabbage and a beet on the very top. “Usually we eat as a group with family outside. That way we can all share from the same pot, and there is no need for plates. You just put it on the bread and eat. However the lack of a family pot, or nice weather changes things.”

“I suppose,” you use the fork to poke at the meat. Kurakh and Mazna share a wooden utensil to put their food on their bread. It was mostly flat, and almost looked like a wooden spoon. But it was only curved at the very end, like a scoop. You took cautious first bites of everything, the venison and gravy were very good and the spiced cabbage took some getting used to. The spices used were common in the southern kingdoms, but very rare and expensive at home. And they somewhat burned your tongue, but the bread and beets helped balance it out.

“What do you think?”

You look up surprised and quickly swallow your food, “the venison and gravy taste like a dish we have here, the beets are cooked well. I like bread and how you can fold it around your food, our bread is never flat like this. And the cabbage… I have mixed feelings.”

“Most humans do,” the meal was finished in silence. Kurakh puts the dirty dishes outside so the rain would rinse them off and so they’ll be out of the way. Mazna goes to the other side of the tent where the smaller bed roll was, taking off his knee-length tunic. Only wearing his loincloth as he wrapped himself in the blanket. Tightly gripping a toy of sorts, but you couldn’t see what it was. You could faintly hear Kurakh talking to someone outside, but you remain still and finish the last of your tea.

Kurakh returns with your satchel in his hands, his skin shiny in the light due to the rain, “I figured you would like this back.”

You take it from him with a nod, “thank you. It’s mostly clothes and things for hygiene.”

“I know, I looked through it to make sure you had no weapons or poison.” You scoff as you ensure nothing was taken. Kurakh remained standing, and you couldn’t really tell what he was doing as you were focused on your task. “I know I made a crude joke earlier… But we will have to share a bed.” You look up from your satchel quickly and immediately regret it. As Kurakh stood there in his loincloth that was tied to securely cover and hold his genitals in place. As quickly as you look up from the bag, you avert your eyes. "Don't worry, I'll put on some linen trousers."

"Thank the gods," you sigh as you can hear the rustling of fabric behind you. The bedroll dips a little as he sits behind you. You glance over your shoulder, noticing he was pulling apart his braids and putting the beads in a decorated box. You took the opportunity to take off your boots, stockings, and apron dress.

“You’ll sleep by the wall,” he huffs and shifts around, “don’t want you trying to escape at night.”

You roll your eyes at the humor in his voice, “like I’d make it pass the wargs.” Wincing as you moved you crawled further up the bedroll to where the pillows were. Kurakh pulls the blanket up as you try to make yourself comfortable. Luckily the bedroll was made to accommodate two full grown Orcs, so there was plenty of room between the both of you.

"At least you're self aware," he blows out the candle that was beside the bedroll. Opting to let the fire die out on it's own. Kurakh moves to lay on his stomach, gaze focused on Mazna on the other side of the tent. While your gaze landed on his back, thick scars litter his skin and you wonder how you didn't notice it before. The scars were deep and looked as if they were made by a whip. His deep voice shakes you from your blatant staring, "go to sleep odmi, we have much to do tomorrow."

#tpow series #m orc x f reader #fantasy #the prize of war #tpow #exophilia #orc x reader #my writing

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senju-sekhmet · 3 years

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The Leash (Part 5)

Summary: Your rescue was supposed to be as smooth as these missions can be. However very quickly, Tobirama faces off against an enemy that has no form, color or smell - and time is running short, very fast. Unless he figures out what truly holds you hostage, your life will be lost. Warnings (for the finished work): Blood, illness, descriptions of heavy injuries and graphic violence, torture (both depicted and implied), needles, morally grey territory, human experimentation, panic attacks, character death ~7600 words (this chapter, finished work: 80.000) Previous: Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4

Read on AO3! Disclaimer below the cut!

DISCLAIMER! -i reckon I don’t need the paste it again… but in short: this is a purely self-indulgent work which contains a lot of my own headcanons and whatnot. this chapter especially so! lots of talking and thinking - curious to see what you think!! THANKS FOR READING <3 Consciousness was slowly seeping back into you. Like proverbially melting snow, the rivulets of thawing water were running over you while somehow you still felt coated, blanketed in heavy coldness. You blinked a few times before you realised no matter how often you did that, the darkness would not vanish: Tobirama had made good on his promise to provide an environment for you that was deprived of outward stimulus as much as possible. He had blindfolded you - though now the article was causing a rapidly budding sense of dread. Ignoring the ever present aches in your body, you snuck an arm up from under the blanket to rip it off quickly. The rest of the haze quickly cleared up.

The room was still dark, though.

Your breaths were beginning to come more uneven now as you tried to fumble for the light on the nightstand. You had to clench your teeth to bite back on sobs that wanted to break out. How pathetic. Since when were you afraid of the dark?

But then you now were also scared of sleep.

Where was all of this coming from? Silly, you knew the answer, anyway.

A moment later, the dim light bulb illuminated the room. It was stale comfort.

You swallowed down the panic that was still settling in your chest. A whimper echoed in the lonely room. Your eyes wandered to the window - the curtains were drawn closed. Of course. Maybe-

With clenched teeth, you pushed the blanket aside and prepared yourself for the pain that would follow now. First, you pushed your chest off the bed with both arms. For now, the anguish was bearable, but you knew it'd get worse - next, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and before you could hesitate again, you rose to your wobbly, weak legs.

The pain exploded. It was searing through your body like a wild fire rampant and uncontrolled. The wounds you almost - almost - had forgotten you had suffered from were acting up to remind you they were far from healed. There hadn't been a part of you the Stone hadn't cut, sliced, ripped, stabbed - and the healing had been reduced to a bare minimum. All the aches you suffered from now was tissue that didn’t want to be moved, that was broken.

You might even risk tearing open the injuries again - but you didn't care.

Because this was nothing compared to the increasing dread you felt now - caged, haunted, alone.

Helpless.

You just needed to get that damn window open. See the village.

You staggered over to the window. Each step felt like knives being driven through your legs, wrenched around, tearing muscle apart, pulled out and then plunged back in. Tears began to stream down your face as memories of precisely that happening were starting to blur your focus.

Just four steps.

Four fucking steps.

With a gasp much like a drowning man's final one, you ripped the curtain open.

Pale moonlight filtered through the window. Before you, the Hidden Leaf was peacefully slumbering. Your haggard form was shaking as the panic subsided, slowly. Sobs were wrecking through you as tears flowed freely.

Free. You were free. You just needed to remind yourself of that.

You wanted to linger at the window, but your power was leaving you rapidly. Already, you could feel your legs give in to the exertion. Not to mention the red-hot pain burning through you.

Standing. You just wanted to stand by the window.

You had to turn around. The last thing you wanted was for Tobirama - or anyone, for that matter - to find you crumbled in front of the window. They’d ask questions you didn’t want to answer.

With a hiss, you began your martyrdom back to your bed. By the time you arrived, you felt ready to pass out from both exhaustion and agony alike.

Still, you refused to lie down again. You wanted to keep looking out of the window. Focus on anything that didn't remind you of everything that happened to you. Therefore you opted to simply sit on the edge and gaze outside, marvel the night sky. When last had you seen the stars?

The second dose of the leash had been quite different. Since Tobirama had put you to sleep, the effects of the drug had taken place in your dreams entirely: vivid scenes, nightmares your deranged mind would cook up from memories and physical sensations alike. Since the latter had been mostly absent, it left the focus on the former; unfortunately it had an extremely rich stock to draw inspiration from. What few pleasant ones you had made were overshadowed by the hell you were running through again.

It just was so real. Everything. Real - and in bizarre forms even worse, thanks to the drug. Your tormentors had you in their grasp again, they were forcing you down on the dreaded table again. The restrains were biting into your skin as you fought bitterly against them, but it was futile. It was all futile and you had no choice but to relive all the torture again, every knife that cut you, ever drill that went into your bone, your skull, the saw at your ribs, the kunai they had stuck into your abdomen-

You closed your eyes and drew a deep breath.

Still - recovery was a tad bit faster. You knew they were hallucinations quickly. And as soon as the effect began to wane, the sleep was powerful enough to put you to rest. In a way, that was better.

A little bit.

And because it was artificial sleep, you wouldn't wake and nobody would hear your screams.

That was a relief.

You were going to relieve torture for as long as you were tethered to the leash - over and over again, in horribly deranged ways. Tears were flowing down your cheeks again as you sniffled, rubbing your hands over your face.

You'd endure.

You had endured so much now.

This was just in your head.

You started to take deep breaths in order to soothe yourself when suddenly, the silence was cut through harshly, eliciting a surprised yelp from you and a slight flail of your arms as you tried not to slide off the bed.

"You are supposed to be resting." Tobirama's baritone voice behind you was stern - leaving no question about how displeased he was to see you like this.

Before you could speak he had rounded the bed to stand next to you and stare you down with a frown etched into his forehead, the scarlet gaze miffed. You closed your eyes briefly and found you had grasped for your chest instinctively. "T-Tobirama," you breathed, "Maybe a knock next time…" Where had he placed the hiraishin seal?

Tobirama ignored your quip after having gotten a real look at you, and not just your back - you wanted to squirm away from the thorough glance he was giving you. Too late. You must've looked bad since you didn't pass muster - "Y/n?" He knitted his eyebrows, his expression softening. "What's going on?" He kneeled down next to you.

Inwardly, you cursed yourself - you didn't want Tobirama to see you like this. He had enough to carry as it was. He didn't need to worry more about you as it was. And you didn't want to be weak. Sitting alone in a hospital room with bloodshot, wet eyes, heaving sobs and drawing heavy breaths.

You were a shinobi, for crying out loud.

You broke a weak smile and shook your head. "Just a few bad thoughts, is all." That was a bold understatement. But you knew 'nothing' wasn't going to pass by him. You extended a hand Tobirama took cautiously, still studying your face thoroughly for any sign of a lie. "Honestly." You reinforced. Well, you didn't lie.

The way his eyelids narrowed indicated he still wasn't quite sure if he was sold on that, but lucky for you, there was something else bothering him: "Lie down again," he instructed, softer this time but with no less firmness. You rolled your eyes now since that hadn’t passed your mind exactly. He already drew in a deep breath, no doubt to prepare himself to argue with any protest, but when he rose up to reach under your knees and help your legs into the back, you didn't resist at all. The exhaustion had gotten to you, after all, and lying down would feel better now.

"Thank you," you breathed once you were flat against the mattress again. Still, you didn't want to lie down completely just yet - so you opted to try to shift up on your elbows to rest on the headboard of the bed with your back. From the corner of your eye you saw Tobirama half opening his mouth, probably to protest, but he was cut short when you grimaced as searing hot pain shot through your chest and arms and you sunk down with a yelp.

Tobirama frowned again now, eyelids narrowed. "Are you in pain?" His voice was less soft now as the worry broke through more. He took a seat on the side of the bed again, but his hand was reaching for your abdomen, pushing the gown up enough to place it on your skin.

"Tobirama," you protested, but he flat out ignored you.

His touch felt warm, his calloused hand rough on your soft skin. You knew what he wanted to do and inwardly sighed - already, his chakra was pelting your network in a smooth, familiar way. A welcome, soothing sensation - even with how paralyzsed yours was, you wouldn't deny that. You responded in kind as best you could, momentarily. However he intensified the connection quickly and it became more of an examination. Immediately he'd become aware of all the aches and damages you still had to repair from the torture. Maybe some new damages from your latest stunt. You really hoped not. He'd be royally pissed.

Even so, you rolled your eyes at his action, but you did your best to let your expression mellow somewhat after his inquiry and you attempted another smile that you knew didn't reach your eyes.

One of your hands came to rest on Tobirama's, whose frown deepened now. "Y/n", his stern voice was more demanding, "Tell me." He definitely had caught on to your ruse.

Besides, with his examination, it was pointless to outright lie. Still, you didn't want him to worry more. You knew he did that plenty already.

You knew the whole ordeal was as much hell to him as it was to you.

You sighed then. "I'm-", you started, then you shrugged awkwardly. "It's bearable. Honestly."

He huffed sarcastically in response, "I can see that." Then, he shifted so he'd face your side more to put his other hand on your abdomen and then closed his eyes. You felt his chakra swell.

"Tobirama," you protested again more sternly now, raising a hand to lay over his and shove at them. He needed his energy for something else. Your wounds will heal in time. Heck, there were healers here. He didn't need to burden himself more.

"No." He cut the discussion short with a decisively stern tone, practically a growl, earning him an exasperated groan from you. Any further resistance would result in a lecture, you sarcastically realised. You rolled your eyes again and briefly wondered what he'd do if you flicked your finger at his facial marking on his left cheek. He'd probably shout at you.

Then, the healing started to kick in slowly.

Very carefully he began to tend to the many injuries of varying age that you had suffered from - Hashirama and he had laid the foundation when you first arrived back in Konoha. Their work had paid off, the healing process had kicked in nicely. But in your malnourished state, you'd recover slowly - and there still was the fact to consider that you had been exposed to sloppy, intense manipulation for weeks in which they kept you alive.

Alive. Nothing more. That much Tobirama would be seeing once more. You felt it every time you moved.

He still needed to be careful and not overdo it to not cause you distress or worse, symptoms of extensive chakra manipulation - but enough time had passed to heal some more damages. You knew because Mito had talked about this - and while your skill at healing jutsu was basic, you knew enough. Meticulously he tended to each injury as best he could, expanding on his own and his brother's work. Sometimes microscopically tearing down tissue of inferior quality to let it regrow better and reduce the scar tissue overall, sometimes rebuilding where the body hadn’t begun to heal at all. The worst damage was to your muscles - seeing how they weren't vital organs, they had been neglected most during your captivity. Here, Tobirama took quite some time to amplify, heal, cut down or redirect, much like a gardener tending to the plants. It was like surgery at the smallest possible size; the efforts were tiny, though with time - and rest - they’d pay off well.

You almost groaned from the thoroughly comfortable feeling that was settling into your body. A procedure like this was like a healing massage of your being as a whole, tuning down the pain quite a bit and at the same time making you feel refreshed - something you had been unable to before, due to the 'leash'. The hand that had tried to push Tobirama's away from your abdomen was patting them now.

"Thank you," you uttered when he was finished, smirking then. Now, it reached your eyes. "You stubborn man."

Tobirama enclosed your hand briefly in his while he huffed. A smirk stretched his lips in a smug gesture. Still, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead. Then he pulled back to cover you in a blanket. "No more than you."

You had to laugh a little at that. Then, you became more somber. "You need your energy for other things. I'll heal, eventually. And you know, there are medical nin here." A wink. And a more serious reminder at what truly was important.

Tobirama snorted again. You knew precisely how he thought about placing important tasks out of his hand. His answer didn't surprise you. "I assure you, I have enough energy for every task I need to perform, Y/n," he countered evenly and firm enough to indicate he wouldn’t sway on this.

You rolled your eyes again. In fact, if his tone was any indication, that was a discussion you were not having, now. Or ever.

Tobirama then shifted a little and frowned again. He opened his mouth and closed it again. There still was a question burning under his skin, you knew. And you really hoped you could answer without breaking into tears again.

He tried to make his deep voice as soft as possible. And ask in a smart, roundabout way. "How have you been doing?"

You gulped a little, but arched an eyebrow of your own to indicate you'd seen through his intention right away. You wouldn't let that be taken from you. Tobirama frowned a little, likely picking up on the dichotomy. "It's - it's difficult," you admitted eventually after trying to scrap every description of 'nightmare', 'torment' and 'horror' from your explanation. Tobirama didn't need to know more details. "But I will manage." Besides, lying was a futile effort with him, anyway.

Tobirama's arms crossed in front of his chest as he hung his head momentarily. His shoulders had tensed and when he looked back up, his face was scrunched up in a frown again. "Is there anything I can do?"

The frustration in his question was tangible.

You were surprised he didn't ask for details - but then he knew you well, of course. You'd talk when you wanted to.

Frankly with the time he probably had spent researching this drug, he was aware of the effects it caused - what you were going through.

You smiled weakly and freed your arm from the blanket to hold your palm up for him to take, which he immediately and firmly did. His warmth alone was soothing.

"I'm going to be fine, Tobirama. It's just in here," you tapped your forehead with your other hand, noticing your movements were less painful now - sure, the aches were still there, but duller. That was comforting. They would flare up again - but you'd enjoy this moment. "Still, it's good you put me to sleep after."

So nobody might hear you.

His lips turned down in an almost helpless fashion as his thumb stroked your hand gently and he let his chakra pelt yours tenderly. His gaze on you was glossy, almost. "Alright."

Your heart ached.

You both knew there was little to be done at this point except finding the antidote, as fast as possible.

"How are you doing, Tobirama?", you inquired then, a question you had been wondering about since noticing he actually came by in the middle of the night. You could only guess at how he felt, but of course you knew him well enough to paint a pretty picture of his emotional landscape right now.

The dark rings under his eyes bore witness to that.

Tobirama merely quirked up an eyebrow, snorting a little. "It's difficult," he answered, a little ironically.

You had to roll your eyes now. "Are you taking care of yourself, Tobi?" Now was your turn to become more stern as you made another attempt to sit up at the headboard of the bed to get more on eye-level with him.

Which Tobirama shut down quickly with his free hand on your chest pressing it down and shaking his head. "Better than you, it seems," and already, his voice stern again.

You half had a mind to be stubborn and get up anyway, but it was ridiculous how easily he flattened your chest against the mattress again when he felt the resistance. You huffed, he gave a grunt. "Right, sitting up will seriously hamper my recovery-", you began.

He shifted again so he'd face you more, an eyebrow rising slowly. You knew that face. Time for a lecture. You wanted to sigh. "You've already sat on the side of the bed, you were clearly in pain - no, don't deny it-" he held up his free hand when you opened your mouth, "- there is no way you weren't with what I've seen - and that curtain," he gestured for the window, "didn't just open itself miraculously."

You were speechless.

"Unless you devised a way to pull it back from here." His head tilted forward questioningly.

"I used a wind release jutsu." You snorted, tone sarcastic.

"You sure did." He was entirely unimpressed, but he had the decency to not point out that right now, you weren't using any jutsu at all.

"I could've easily sat up now," you pouted then finally, dropping the act. You were quite thankful Tobirama just scolded you for getting up - and did not ask why you'd take such a painful endeavour upon you.

"I know," he replied evenly, holding your hand a little bit tighter now while still stroking it softly. His expression mellowed again, his voice became pleading. Firm still, but the scolding tone had vanished - momentarily you wondered if he had guessed why you had been sitting and that was why he was showing leniency. "You still need to rest, Y/n. There is…," he paused, taking a deep breath, "a lot of damage that still needs to be tended to. We've just started patching you up. Don't aggravate it."

You sighed. "You changed the topic."

He snorted, but smiled slightly for being called out so easily. "I'm taking care of myself, Y/n."

"When was the last time you slept? Ate?", you asked then, frowning.

He sighed exasperatedly. "Y/n, don't worry about me, please." 'Worry about yourself' is probably what he had wanted to add there with the way he gazed back at you - there was desperation in that.

You knew, then - he didn't want you to see it.

Plus, the fact he didn't answer the question said it all, really.

"Tobirama…", you scolded, your frown deepening. "I can't force you to rest - like you can -"

"Y/n, you-" his voice's volume rose again.

"- but you damn promise me, you're going to take care of yourself. Or else." Your stare bore into his eyes in the exact same fashion his did.

You both held each other's looks in what seemed to be a duel before Tobirama gave an exasperated sigh. "I will, Y/n."

You smiled then, immediately mellowing. "Thank you."

Suddenly, Tobirama released your hand and shifted forward. Both of his arms reached under your thin chest to enclose you in a tight embrace as he buried his face in the side of your neck. You were flabbergasted - it was rare he did something like this. The both of you often settled for small gestures outside the privacy of your home - you both preferred letting your chakra mingle and graze over each other's network. It was your much more intimate and tender way of showing affection nobody else could see or know like you both did. But to feel Tobirama's chakra pelt over you and him hugging you this fiercely at the same time - it was special.

Your arms closed around him just as tight as his did around you. His heartbeat thundered against your chest and his breaths came deep, but fast.

"Tobirama?", you asked, now worried.

"You'll be alright," he answered. Taking another deep breath to inhale your scent, embrace you even firmer.

His voice - his voice had sounded perfectly desperate now.

You turned your head slightly to peck his cheek.

"I will be."

________

Tobirama had embraced you fiercely for longer than he ever had in public. Semi-public, he reminded himself. It was night, and the hospital staff knew better than to come in there without a knock.

The truth was, the despair had been eating him away inwardly. Still was. To see your haggard body - to examine you and again recognise the vast damages they had inflicted upon you, over and over again - and to know you still were in lethal danger - it was driving him insane.

And yet there you had been, quipping about your in Tobirama's eyes irresponsible behaviour - after waking up from what probably had been a horror trip still.

You, his beautiful, strong woman - still undergoing regular doses of a torture drug - being herself.

Berating him on his health.

He would never, ever forgive himself if he lost you. His heart was bursting from anguish just knowing that possibility was out there.

No. He'd figure this leash out, he'd find the antidote. Holding you this close, he reaffirmed himself of this truth and his promise to you.

Eventually, he drew back slowly.

Your gaze had become a little tired.

"Sleep some," he instructed softly, his hand caressing your face.

"You too, please," you mumbled.

He leaned forward to place an utterly tender kiss on your lips. He couldn't yet. The experiments were over - he had results now he had to work with. "Soon." He wouldn't lie to you.

Fortunately, you had already fallen asleep.

He let his chakra flow over yours in a warm motion again gently before he took the blanket in both hands and put your arms under it. His heart skipped a few beats uncomfortably when he reminded himself that in a few hours, he will have to be back here no matter what. But for now, he used the hiraishin seal to teleport into the basement and swiftly made for the makeshift laboratory.

As he had expected, the contents of the leash were found exclusively in Konoha's forests. Three different herbs to be precise, all of them known for potent psychoactive qualities. Or, in layman's terms, used as drugs. So far, so good. The real trick of the leash - the reason why it was called that - was the chakra altering component. And there his problem started again. None of these herbs were known for anything like chakra disruption or slowing chakra flow in the body.

Tobirama damn near smashed a glass vial into the next wall.

He was confronted with his worst fear once more; not that he hadn't gathered enough evidence to that effect before already. But he had hoped to at least glean something of a lead in how the chakra altering part of the drug worked by identifying the chemical components of the drug. Again, luck wouldn’t be on his side. Now, the real trick would be to find out how the whole chakra component worked separately to these herbs. Researching that went beyond simple chemical experimentation.

Tobirama sat down in front of the small vial that still held a small amount of the leash and stared at it as if that might make it show him on its own. His hands raked through his hair. Truth be told, he had felt the chakra signature the substance emitted the same way Hashirama had when he first had singled out this drug - but he hadn't paid much attention to that yet. It wasn't so uncommon for substances or items really, chakra was a very versatile thing and could be used in many ways - paper bombs for example and many more different tools used in combat. Still, it gathered his attention more now.

"I must be mad," he mumbled to himself after an inspiration struck him.

He closed his eyes and tuned into his sensory skills, sending a potent, short wave of chakra through the vial in a way he'd search for enemies.

The result was, to say the least, interesting.

The substance was swirling, almost like an alive being. Tobirama's scarlet eyes flew open in shock.

He had never seen anything like this. To him, the vial was a tiny, sparkling beacon of chakra now - this thing wasn't just altered by chakra, it was loaded with it. Static, certainly, not flickering or flowing like an alive person’s should be - but stationary evidence to the fact someone had done something .

If this was possible, then that meant...

Tobirama's hand grasped around it to do the next thing he had never ever done before in his life: he tried to examine the contents of the vial much in the way a person was examined.

This time, the result wasn't as impressive. Of course, there was no network and no substance as such to feel or investigate. Still - Tobirama could sense the echo of the person that had synthesised the leash. Their signature - and through this echo, he could very vaguely guess at the alteration process that had taken place. It was so faint, Tobirama's head almost hurt trying to trace it down. He had to be careful - if he poured too much of his own chakra into this now, he'd destroy the drug. Besides, it wasn’t so much the signature of the maker he was interested in, but rather the structure of the drug - or rather, the chakra stored within.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, all he could make out was a confusing, ever-changing swirl of finely threaded chakra that was woven together in a clever pattern Tobirama couldn't grasp the slightest. Almost like a foreign language, flowing with no such thing as a thread to unravel it with - no key words he could make out. It fluttered, convulsed around the liquid it had been imbued into; locked in structure and yet eerily flexible.

This wasn't a subtle alteration of some herbal components.

This was more comparable to a damn bomb to the chakra network of a victim.

And it was dauntingly sophisticated.

Tobirama heaved a heavy sigh. The tight feeling had returned to his chest, constricting it while his heart burned painfully. It could barely get any worse. He sat the vial down and put both palms to his face, dragging them down slowly as he mindfully took deep breaths.

He'd get this.

His breaths were getting more rattled.

He just had to, there was no choice.

He forced his breath to even out again. The blood was rushing in his ears.

Numb, he rose to start setting up new experiments to determine the quantities of the three herbs in the leash - a mandatory, but simple task compared to all else now. His hands moved automatically as he prepared everything, his head felt heavy. Stuffed. There were so many things to consider, now.

He still couldn't rule out alteration of the herbs entirely; he still had no idea whether there was a jutsu involved. Or was the substance just imbued with chakra? Was it the chakra itself that caused the effects on you? Plain, simple, stored for a later usage? He had no answer to any of these questions. All he could do at this point was test it out. Again and again. Luckily, synthesising the base of the leash - the three herbs in the right quantities - would be a simple task after these experiments.

That was a small relief.

When all was up and running, he glanced at the clock. Just two hours were left before you needed the next dose. It was still night outside.

For the first time in days, Tobirama actually felt like he needed sleep.

He returned to your side at the very first rays of dawn from home after a short, dreamless nap using the hiraishin seal. In his hand the next dose in a closed vial.

You were in the beginnings of the withdrawal phase again, squirming slightly in the bed. Your skin was glistening from the sheen of sweat that had formed, but your eyes were closed. Perhaps you actually were asleep, or maybe you just didn't even try to fight the delirium off. Not that Tobirama could blame you. You looked paler than before, too; he knew it must be your blood pressure dropping - all signs pointing to the withdrawal setting in and your body repelling the disruption of your chakra network due to the leash. The systemic response was beginning.

With slumped shoulders, he walked closer to your bed when a new thought occurred to him.

All they had ever done was analyse the drug itself - and you, using their chakra. There still was an angle they hadn't yet tried: what your body itself had made of the chakra - the leash, really. Wordlessly, Tobirama turned around and slipped the vial back into his pocket to retrieve a few items: disinfectant, a tourniquet, a needle and three vials.

Right now, he might not be able to recreate whatever the creator of the leash had done to the substance with his chakra using his own, but perhaps whatever your body did to metabolise the substance might yield new information.

He was desperate. He knew it. This - this was desperate. But it was a small price to pay.

When he opened the door to your room again, he didn't make a sound and rounded your bed to sit by your side. Gingerly, he produced your weak arm from under the blanket. You stirred more then and your squirming increased, but your eyes didn't open. Tobirama gave you a brief once-over before he got to work. As usual, your weakened state caused his heart to ache again and the sorrow to flare. No, he'd never get used to seeing you like this. When the leash wore off, it’d always become worse - as what strength was being left in you was sapped away and you were even stripped of consciousness.

Likewise, strapping the tourniquet around your arm just showed off how agonisingly thin you were. When he flicked your cubital vein, your elbow felt sharp in his palm.

The sorrow was beginning to feel suffocating, really. Tobirama hated to be subject to his emotions like this - it was unlike him. And yet on the other hand, what else could he expect? He’d just learn to deal with it.

The moment the needle pierced your skin, you whimpered quietly, trying to wrench your arm out of his iron grip that he quickly reinforced. "I'm sorry," he whispered, already filling the second vial.

You had stilled again. He looked up again to find you gazing at him.

"Y/n," he breathed, furrowing his eyebrows sadly, but not letting go of your arm.

You hummed lowly in response. Either you had forgotten about the needle in your skin, or you didn't care.

When the last vial was full, he made quick work of pulling it out and disposing of it as well as quickly closing the wound.

Time for the far less easy part of his visit.

You must have known too, because your eyes closed again and you only gave a drawn out groan as you squirmed uneasily again.

Fortunately though, the matter went about the same as the last time - Tobirama soothed you as best he could with a calm voice and his hand on the back of your neck, though his heart felt heavy. You needed a moment again to work through it all before he placed the vial on your lips and you swallowed with two big gulps. By the time you stilled, he already had put you to sleep again, but not without giving you a gentle caress and then blindfolding you again.

He lingered a moment longer to find he picked up on someone standing in the doorway. His head snapped up.

Hashirama was gazing at you, wrought with the same sorrow Tobirama dealt with. "How is she?"

Tobirama's scarlet eyes fell back on you, enduring the anguish of the sight a moment longer before he forced himself up and shook his head. The vials with your blood he slipped into his pocket. He waved his brother out and followed him, closing the door as quiet as he could.

He walked for the laboratory again, his brother followed suit. "She's still quite weak. I've healed some of the damages a while ago, at least as much as her state would permit. Which wasn't more than… ground work."

Hashirama hummed thoughtfully. "In her malnourished state, her body's own healing capacity is severely hampered."

"Indeed. Add the lack of a functioning chakra network, and I have to admit I'm rather surprised she is not driven insane by the fact her life consists of sleep, nightmares, the onset of first powerlessness and then a delirium. Oh, and the few precious hours in which she is awake - which are ruined by the pains of her wounds." Tobirama's voice was dripping with cynicism. That was a joke, really - he knew you were suffering, badly. You hadn’t fooled him before.

Hashirama sighed and wisely decided to switch the topic. "What's your progress on the leash?"

Tobirama sighed. His shoulders slumped as his pace got a little slower. He might as well break the news now. "It's - it’s as we guessed. It’s all chakra based and very sophisticated, in fact," he pressed past his clenched teeth.

Hashirama caught up to him and placed a hand on Tobirama's shoulder. His gaze was burdened with worry. "Explain that to me."

Tobirama told him in detail about his findings earlier this morning, as well as the report from the interrogation unit. While he did, his heart began to hammer against his chest again, his nostrils flared. He felt fierce determination and hopeless agony at the same time.

Hashirama's expression had turned sorrowful while he listened to the explanation. His hand squeezed Tobirama's shoulder. "We'll figure this out. We always do."

Tobirama really wanted to latch onto his brother's optimism. Heck, by now he was beaten down enough to do it.

Just for a moment. He wouldn't admit it, though.

Hashirama smiled slightly then. "If there's one person in Konoha to figure this out, it's you."

And the healing effect died right there, then. Tobirama rolled his eyes then. "That's enough sap for one day, anija," he chided before turning and continuing their walk to the laboratory.

Hashirama sighed again and Tobirama knew his brother was probably drooping again in his famous way. He had no time for this stuff.

He flung the door open and reached for the vials containing your blood to place them on the rack on the bench.

Hashirama stood next to him, crossing his arms. "What is your plan?", he asked after a moment, having noticed the setup had changed since last he had been here.

"Ascertain in what quantities they used each of the three herbs. Then, I'll have the base from which they created the leash. After that…" Tobirama's hands gripped the edge of the bench. "I'm going to have to try to replicate the chakra alteration." He might as well be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Hashirama knew that too - he knew they still didn't know enough about the kind of alteration to even begin researching into a certain direction. His hand reached for one of the blood vials, which he grasped around and closed his eyes. Tobirama turned his head slightly to watch his brother work.

“What can you feel?”, he gruffly inquired when his brother wouldn’t speak.

Hashirama hummed thoughtfully. "I'm… not sure," he mumbled, reaching for the leash's vial to examine it in kind.

Tobirama stayed perfectly still.

"It feels different," he judged after a moment, "The substance definitely got metabolised in a way that altered the chakra that was in the original vial."

Tobirama frowned and now took one of the blood vials in hands, closing his eyes to examine it, as well. He proceeded the same way he had with the leash: a careful pulse to first check with sensory abilities. No response there. The signature must be too weak. That wasn’t surprising; given the small amount you’d ingest. Then, he tried to examine it closely, like he would if this was still flowing through your veins: there, he received an echo. It was yours; traces of your chakra clung to this blood. That much was to be expected. However when he concentrated harder and poured more of his own into it, he found another trace: it was the leash's. More precisely, its creator's. This time, it felt different though - not the delicate, confusing swirl of the drug itself. This felt sharp - stingy, as though it had hooked onto your blood and ripped everything your blood was passing through. Sharp daggers of chakra that had latched themselves onto your cells to damage all the came into contact with.

Tobirama opened his eyes again, slowly.

"This is…" he uttered slowly, awed - but in a horrified way.

"... unlike anything I've seen before." Hashirama finished for him, placing both vials in the rack again. His tone was grave.

Tobirama placed your blood back on the rack as well, his heart's rhythm pounding in his ears.

Hashirama had turned around to lean against the bench and crossed his arms. "Tobirama," he finally started.

Tobirama gave him a curt grunt.

"It might be worthwhile to take another blood sample now," he suggested, turning his glance towards Tobirama. "I'm fairly certain we'd find the drug was acting different in her blood now."

Tobirama nodded slowly, still focusing on taking even, deep breaths before he shoved off the bench. This would very likely reflect in your nightmares - guilt churned in his gut already. Yet there was no other way, and the information was invaluable. "I'll do it."

"No," Hashirama cut in sternly. "You will go home and get more sleep now. You look awful, brother." Already, his brother was heading for the lab door.

Anger flared in Tobirama. He couldn't be serious. He contemplated simply using the hiraishin seal to get to you immediately, but Hashirama suddenly stopped.

"Go, Tobirama. You set everything up here. I'm more than capable of taking blood from Y/n." His voice left little room for discussion.

He crossed his arms and scowled at his brother. "Don't agonize her, anija," he warned scaldingly, then he took off for home.

He didn't want to. But Hashirama was right. And for the task ahead, Tobirama needed the sharpest mind he could ever have. That wasn't to say that when he was home, the crushing sense of forlornness gripped him like the heartache did. He missed you. So much. The bed felt colder without you in it, and the thought that unless he replicated the leash in the next six days, it would become a lot colder - for the rest of his life. It felt like a rock that was crushing his chest. He showered in hopes of alleviating the feeling somehow, but it was futile.

His sleep was short - he would not allow himself a second longer than he'd be idle otherwise.

Just a couple of hours later, he was back in the laboratory, pleased to find not three, but six vials of your blood on the rack next to the leash.

He got to work immediately. The analysis of your second blood sample was different indeed: the leash's chakra was latched to your blood nonetheless, but it was not the stingy, cutting thing he had recognized earlier: right now it felt fuzzy, almost like pollen. Clogging and heavy.

It fitted, of course - in your chakra network, this was causing the muteness they had witnessed; the muzzle that was ensnaring it after indigestion. And the way the leash seemed to change perfectly explained why it would cause the effects they witnessed later in you: disruption not only to your chakra network, but quite literal damage to you as your body tries to repel it once your own chakra awakens again.

Tobirama cursed quite colorful profanities at whoever had devised such a sophisticated way of using chakra in a substance. He still had no idea how - if - the psychotropic agents played into all this but at least this was lead.

After having verified the quantities of each herb in the leash he set up to craft a large amount of a solution he now called the basis of the leash. It wasn't a complicated process as such; given the fact the herbs used were not so uncommon in Konoha's shinobi forces, so all Tobirama had to do was tap the hospital's supplies for more. Not long after, he stood in front of a large glass bottle filled to the brim with the basis.

Now, to create the actual leash.

He never had done anything like this. Using chakra to craft an item was one thing - usually there were seals involved that described a certain effect; but these needed activation and wouldn’t trigger upon indigestion by a victim. Things like chakra chains also interacted with a victim’s chakra but only so long as they held them - this drug worked, as far as Tobirama knew, simply by being drunk once until the victim was given it again or… killed. In fact - to imbue a liquid with chakra in such a fashion that it remained changeable, responsive to an organism - he had no idea where to even start. His first attempts all ended up with the basis either boiling or the solved, herbal contents beginning to break down and flocking to the bottom of the vial. Tobirama opted to try the same with plain water, but was entirely unable to even store a shred of chakra in it. The herbs were necessary, apparently. It didn’t surprise him - the chakra seemed to have been latched to something, it must be the herbs, then.

The frustration culminated in Tobirama snagging the vial with the water off the table and smashing it against the wall in a fluid motion where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

This was all so frustrating.

He didn't even know if he was on the right path - if a jutsu was involved here, he could try all he wanted. He’d never pull anything off. Where to even start with such a jutsu? Or maybe a seal, actually? But if there was some other trick behind it, then he’d have to figure that out, otherwise he'd never synthesise the leash and you-

He sucked in a sharp breath through his nose.

Easy, now.

It was a far-fetched guess, but involvement of a jutsu could’ve possibly resulted in a bigger resonance of the creator’s chakra signature. Such was the nature of huge releases of energy to his sensor skills. The leash barely gave off anything, so that seemed unlikely. That left the option of a seal. But if a seal was used then certainly first there’d have to be something to seal off - some kind of chakra.

Which meant somehow, the chakra had been stored in there.

All Tobirama could think of at this point was the way medic shinobi treated their patients: no special jutsu involved but rather establishing a deep connection to the other person’s body, their chakra network; and after examination they’d alter the body with their own chakra, letting it flow freely into the patient. If he were to start viewing the vial like that, he might get somewhere - and if he thought about what he wanted to do - create a drug that near muted the victim’s chakra network, later become disruptive to it - maybe it’d work.

By the end of his patience with the laboratory, he had managed to produce a substance that contained his chakra to a certain degree. It was nowhere near as intricate as the leash itself, but the effect Tobirama thought he had poured in there might at least alter a person's chakra flow. At least it would have done so were the fluid a living person and he were to affect their network. Truth be told, this endeavour had felt like chiselling a statue from a rock with a fork alone. This couldn’t be right; the process of creating this in greater quantities would be a head-splitting process. Not to mention, this wouldn’t cause a disruptive effect in the slightest.

Still. He could take this to the interrogation unit, now. And hope they had some more answers by now.

He still had a little bit of time before you'd wake.

#tobirama #tobirama senju #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju x reader #sekhmet writes

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pennamesmith · 3 years

Text

Romeo and Skeletor

Double Trouble needs dating advice. The Super Pal Trio is here to help. More Skeletor stories!

“Remember,” Wrong Hordak recited, “recovery comes from connection!”

Several hands went up. Most belonged to clones. This was a common and welcome sight in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde Therapy Group.

“And no,” Wrong Hordak continued, anticipating everyone’s question, “that does not necessarily mean romantic connection, or even connection with another sentient being. It means that in order to heal our traumas, we must be a part of the world around us, and acknowledge the world as a part of us.”

Most of the hands went down. Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the crowd. It was the end of another day of helping and healing. With a few more words of wisdom Wrong Hordak closed the meeting, and the assembled members began to stand and make their way out of the room. Most seemed sanguine and cheerful, but one stayed seated and watched the others wearily.

Double Trouble was the group’s newest and most skeptical member. They were trying, they really were, but it wasn’t easy. A lifetime of artful deception did not exactly lend itself to sharing or emotional honesty.

They had their reasons for being there, though.

Wrong Hordak, effervescent as ever, looked over and winked. “Another successful session, my most exalted paramour!” he told Double Trouble proudly. “Now then, I must consult with Perfuma about the itinerary for next week’s field trip to Mystacor. But tonight, I hope you are prepared to be dazzled by my famous quiche!” He beamed brightly.

Double Trouble worked very hard to maintain a calm expression while their stomach did acrobatic flip-flops. “My breath is bated, darling,” they finally managed, before scurrying off to the other side of the room.

The thespian cursed, internally. It should not be this difficult for a shapeshifter to hide a blush.

Closer to the door, Hordak was showing Adora something on a data pad. Double Trouble wended a wide circle around them, even as Adora gasped in surprise and began babbling what certainly seemed like juicy gossip. They simply weren’t in the mood.

Outside, Catra, Scorpia, and Entrapta were strolling away together, while the scorpion princess spoke excitedly about something called ‘Super Pal Trio Game Night.’ Double Trouble pricked their ears — this, perhaps, was a more promising prospect for their problem.

They took a step forward, and were immediately interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

Besides Perfuma, Wrong Hordak’s other assistant for his therapy group was ‘Skeletor,’ one of Entrapta’s eccentric bots. Once, he had been a part of Horde Prime’s drone army. Now, he had a nasally voice, a talent for self improvement, and a puppy.

The puppy’s name was Relay.

“How’s this for a surprise?” Skeletor said, holding Relay and patting the robotic canine gently on the head. “I’m considering putting him on a leash!”

“That’s very nice dear, but you’ll have to excuse me,” Double Trouble deflected. “I’ve got issues right now.” They began to move past the skinny robot, before a thought occurred to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with something. Tell me, how do you feel about aiding and abetting identity fraud? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Mehehehehe! Just like the old days!” Skeletor cackled. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal! What’s your plan?”

Shadows Over Salineas was going swimmingly.

It wasn’t really a game night, more of a game afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped Scorpia from bringing a tower of boxes into Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab. An entire world of cardboard and plastic was spread out before the three women.

“I am going to finish this Sword of Protection quest!” Catra angrily declared as she moved her game piece back and forth. “No matter how long it takes!”

“Okay, but the Evil Horde already has a lot of points at the Princess Alliance table,” Entrapta cautioned, gesturing to another part of the board. “Plus they’ve got a lot of tanks in front of the castle.”

“Anyone want to help me battle the Laughing Dragon?” Scorpia spoke up from behind a clawful of cards. “I’m gonna —”

She was cut short as the laboratory door suddenly opened and Skeletor slouched inside, wearing a miserable expression.

“This is the worst day of my life!” Skeletor moaned, flopping bodily across the table. Game pieces flew in every direction and clattered on the floor. The other three exchanged nervous glances.

Catra tossed her cards aside. “Well, I guess this is what we’re doing now. What’s the matter, boneface?”

“You’ve got to help me!” Skeletor blubbered. “When are you goody-goody fools going to understand? I care for no-one and no-one cares for me!” He shook his fists and produced a rose tied to a card covered in cartoony hearts.

Scorpia tilted her head. “Is that a flower?”

“It is a flower!” Skeletor howled. “The bitter rose! From a secret admirer.” He clutched it to his chest lovingly.

“Seriously?” Catra floundered. “Does somebody actually have a crush on that goof?”

“I know it sounds strange,” Skeletor retorted. “Never mind that!”

Entrapta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So, to be clear. You’re happy about getting the rose?”

“Yes, I am!” Skeletor shouted.

“But it’s a problem because…?”

“I live to be bad!” Skeletor whined. “How else can I act when I’m surrounded by such fools?” The robot swooned again. “Nice? Doesn’t sound like much fun to me! Yuck! What a disgusting idea!”

“Oh, I get it!” Entrapta grinned. “Skeletor needs us to teach him about love!”

Scorpia’s eyes sparkled. “A Super Pal Trio rescue mission? For love? I accept without any further questions!”

“Wait, wait,” Catra protested. “Stop. No. None of this makes any sense. Entrapta, is this another one of your secret friendship experiments?”

“Nuh-uh,” the scientist shook her head. “But... it is unexpected. Skeletor, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Skeletor looked uncomfortable. “Certainly! Um… Tell me about the loneliness of good! Is it equal to the loneliness of evil?”

Entrapta seemed suspicious. “Hang on,” she said, peering more closely at Skeletor. “Something isn’t quite right here.”

At that moment, Skeletor walked into the room, again. This time he was holding Relay and a fresh armload of barbarian romance novels.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug, sheepishly handing back the books. “And, I do not look like you.”

“Oh phoo. I went too far, didn’t I?” the other Skeletor sighed, in a completely different voice. “I knew this wasn’t going to work.”

In a flash of dark light, Skeletor morphed into a decidedly more reptilian shape. Double Trouble huffed and tossed their hair back. “Well, that was different, at least. I’ve never done a robot before!” They paused. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Catra started out of her chair. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Just what I said.” Double Trouble sat back down on the table and nonchalantly studied their nails. “I need advice. Romantic advice. And since you three are all half of some of the oddest couples on the planet, I thought I might start here.”

“Okay,” Entrapta said, already beginning to take notes. “But you’ve come to me for that before. Why the disguise?”

Double Trouble looked away and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s because I was embarrassed, all right?” Double Trouble crossed their arms and pouted. “This is not something I usually need help with. I’m supposed to be the one who’s cool and in control. I’m Double Trouble! But now I keep feeling things! In my mind, and my body! Making my guts act all weird, and my brain stop working, and… gah!”

“Those are called emotions, Dee Tee,” Catra deadpanned.

“Plus, you and Wrong Hordak have been going steady for a while now,” Scorpia added. “What’s the matter? Oh no! Have you lost… the spark?” She gasped, claws to her face.

“Just the opposite. Wrongie is perfect! He’s always in a good mood, he always wants to spend time with me, he always knows the right thing to say, and he’s just so darn cute! All the time!” Double Trouble’s face sank. “And sooner or later he’s going to realize that I’m not perfect, and it’s all just an act.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Entrapta pointed out, looking up from her notes.

“This is just like what happens in Romeo and Julian!” Double Trouble wailed, ignoring her.

“What?” asked Skeletor.

Double Trouble sniffled. “It’s a play. Someone in the Bright Moon army wrote it and it’s been getting rave reviews in all the theatre magazines — oh, but that’s not important! We’re talking about me!” The lizard flailed their hands helplessly. “What I mean is, it’s like we’re from two different worlds!”

“What, Horde World and Etheria?” Scorpia guessed.

“I’m thinking more Innocent Baby World and Cynical Opportunist World,” Catra cut in.

“Hey!” Double Trouble snapped. “I am not a cynic! Anymore!”

They turned to Scorpia. “But I can still make it work! I just need more research. Your girlfriend is all about this self-care nonsense. How do you deal with that?”

Scorpia got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, Perfuma’s pretty great. She’s kind, and patient with me, and she knows all kinds of meditation stuff, which is good because hey, funny story, it turns out I’ve actually got a lot of pent-up anxiety from —”

“Ugh! Useless! Next!” Double Trouble pointed to Entrapta. “You! Space bats. How do they even work?”

“Good question! I could share some of my research on Hordak with you,” Entrapta suggested. “It’s more of a hobby though, so I’ve only got a few terabytes of data. Did you know their species has an entire sub-language of ear movements? It’s fascinating!”

Double Trouble paled. “Um. Do you have an abridged version, or…?”

“Look,” Catra interrupted. “I think you’re coming at this the wrong way. First off, you can’t control what other people do or feel.”

Double Trouble narrowed their eyes. “That’s a bit rich coming from you, kitten.”

“I have been doing a lot of self-reflection the last few years, okay?” Catra growled back. “And trust me, trying to be the coolest, the strongest, the best? It doesn’t work.”

She looked across at Entrapta and Scorpia, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. “Sooner or later you have to show your real self. Even if that’s uncomfortable. You can’t connect with someone that way until you’re willing to be weak in front of them.”

Double Trouble regarded Catra for a long time while their face registered a range of unreadable emotions.

“Fine,” they finally groaned, defeated. “But can you at least help me think of something nice to do for our dinner tonight?”

Catra smiled. Entrapta and Scorpia squeaked in excitement.

“For that, you’ll need my help!” said Skeletor. “I’ve longed for this moment!”

Wrong Hordak looked up brightly from his cooking. “You are here! Come in, come in!” He swept Double Trouble up in an enormous hug.

The lizard blushed and did not try to hide it. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” With a flourish they revealed a rose and a box of distinctively tiny chocolates, which Wrong Hordak accepted gleefully.

“Now then, why don’t I stand back and let you impress me for a while?”

Wrong Hordak glowed with excitement.

“Impressive?” Skeletor said, somewhere far away. “You boob, it was spectacular!”

#spop #spop fanfic #skeletor #double trouble #wrong hordak #wrong trouble #catra #entrapta #scorpia #super pal trio #DT had everyone fooled until they quoted Skeletor from the live-action movie instead of the 80s cartoons #Romeo and Julian was written by General Juliet #it's a romantic comedy and everyone lives

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officialyourdailyinspiration · 3 years

Text

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Visit to Nazareth (Luke 4:16-30)

Christ never forgot the place where He had spent His childhood years. We are not given many facts of His life there. Nothing indicates that there was anything unusual in the story of the thirty years He spent there. The more we think of His life at Nazareth as simply natural, without anything unusual - the nearer shall we come to the true picture of the boy and young man - who grew up in the lowly village of Nazareth. Our passage today tells of His visit to His old home after He had been away for many months.

"He came to Nazareth, where He had been brought up." It was not an easy place for Jesus to visit. Everybody knew Him. He had lived there for thirty years. He had been playmate and schoolmate with the children of His own age. He had been a carpenter, doing work for many years in the shop and about the town. The young men of Nazareth thought themselves as good as He was, and were not in any mood to receive instruction from Him. It is easy for us to understand the prejudice and envy with which people listened to Jesus, as He spoke to them that day in their synagogue.

There are some lessons to be taken, however, from our Lord's example in thus going back to Nazareth. One is that we ought to seek the good of our own neighbors and friends. Many young men go away from plain country or village homes, and in other and wider spheres rise to prominence and influence. Such ought not in their eminence, to forget their old home. They owe much to it. It is pleasant to hear of rich men giving libraries or establishing hospitals or doing other noble things for the town in which they were born. Among our first obligations, is that which we owe to our old friends and neighbors .

Another lesson is, that as young people - we ought to live so carefully that when we grow up - we may be able to go back to our old home and, in the midst of those who have know us all our life, witness for God. There are some men, good and great now; who's preaching would have but small effect where they were brought up - because of the way they lived during their youth. Sins of youth - break the power of life's testimonies in later years. A blameless youth-time, makes one's words strong in mature days.

"And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the Sabbath Day, and stood up to read" (Luke 4:16). Here we have a glimpse of our Lord's religious habits. From childhood, His custom had been to attend the synagogue service on the Sabbath. Here are good shoe prints for young people to set their feet in. The time to begin to attend church-is in youth. Habits formed then - stay with us all our life. If our custom is to stay away then from church services, we will be very apt to keep up that custom when we get older. On the other hand, if we go to church regularly from childhood, the custom will become so wrought into our life - that in after years we shall not incline to stay away. And the value of such a habit is very great.

"He opened the book, and found the place where it was written." The book was part of the Old Testament. Some people have the feeling that the Old Testament is dry and uninteresting. But we see here what precious things Jesus found in it, that day in the synagogue. The passage which He quoted drips with the sweetness and tenderness of divine love. It is a great honeycomb of gospel grace !

Some men were about to tear down an old frame house, long unoccupied. When they began to remove the outer boarding, they found a mass of honey. As they removed the boards at different points they discovered the whole side of the house, between the weather boarding and the plastering, was filled with honey. People regard the Old Testament as an old, worn-out book, a mere relic of old ceremonial days. But when they begin to open it - they find honey, and as they look into it at other points they find that all the passages, in among the histories, the chronicles of war, and the descriptions of ceremonial rites - are full of sweetest honey! Here is a bit of dripping honey-comb, and there are hundreds more, which are just as rich. We do not know what we lose - when we do not study the Old Testament.

"The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed ." These are the special classes of people - to whom Jesus was sent. What a picture this is of humanity! Some people ridicule what the bible says about Adam and Eve's FALL. They tell us there never was a fall, and that the world is all right. They talk eloquently about the grandeur of human life. But this eighteenth verse certainly looks very much like the picture of a very bad ruin. Read the description - poor, prisoners, blind, oppressed. There is not much grandeur in that. Anyone who goes about and looks honestly at life - knows that the picture is not over-drawn. On every hand we see the wreck and ruin caused by sin. Then suffering and sorrow follow, and hearts and lives are crushed and bruised!

But there is something here a great deal brighter than this sad picture. Light breaks on the ruin - as we read that it was to repair such moral desolation as we see here that Jesus came. He came "to preach good news to the poor; to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed." He saw in all these ruins of humanity, something that by His grace - He could make beautiful enough for heaven and glory. Christ is a restorer. There are men who take old, dimmed, effaced, almost destroyed pictures - and restore them until they appear nearly as beautiful as when they first came from the artist's hand. So Christ comes to ruined souls, and by the power of His love and grace - He restores them until they wear His own beauty in the presence of God!

"To preach the acceptable year of the Lord." For the Jews this "acceptable year" closed with the condemnation of the Messiah. Jesus stood on Olivet and looked down upon the city and wept over it and said, "If you had known, even you, the things which belong unto your peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes!" (Luke 10:42). When He spoke these words, amid the rush of tears and with loud outcry of grief, "the acceptable year" closed. After that - the doom hung over the beautiful city, which in forty years burst upon it in all its woe and terribleness. This is history.

But there is another way to look at this matter. There is an "acceptable year" for each soul. It begins when Christ first comes to us and offers salvation. It continues while He stands at our door and knocks. It closes when we drive Him away from our door by utter and final rejection - or when death comes upon us unsaved and hurries us away forever from the world of mercy. Since the past is gone and there is no certain future to anyone, the "acceptable year" to us all is NOW. Shall we allow it to pass and close - while we remain unsaved?

"Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing." Seven hundred years before, had the words been written. Now Jesus reads them and says to the people: "I am the One to whom the description refers! I am the One the prophet meant!" The whole Old Testament was full of Christ; and the New Testament is full of fulfillments of the Old Testament.

It is pleasant, too, to take this particular passage and show how Christ indeed fulfilled in His life and ministry - the mission which the prophet marked out for Him. He preached to the poor, He healed the broken - hearted. Wherever He went, the sorrowing and the troubled flocked about Him. As a magnet draws steel filings to itself - out of a heap of rubbish; so did the heart of Christ draw to Him the needy, the sad, the suffering, and the oppressed. He was the friend of sinners. He brought deliverance to sin's captives, setting them free and breaking their chains. He opened blind eyes ; not only blind natural eyes to see the beautiful things of this world - but also blind spiritual eyes to see spiritual things. Then He lifted the yoke off the crushed and oppressed, inviting all the weary to Himself to find rest. His whole life was simply a filling out of this outline sketch !

They "rose up, and thrust Him out of the city, and led Him unto the brow of the hill… that they might cast Him down." Their envy grew into murderous rage. We see first, the danger of allowing envious feelings to stay in our hearts; they are sure to grow into greater bitterness, and may lead us into open and terrible sin. We should instantly check every thought or motion of envy, anger or hatred - and cast it out of our heart.

This act shows also the natural hatred of God which is in human hearts. We talk severely of the Jews' rejection of their Messiah - but this opposition to God is not exclusively a Jewish quality. Is it not the same with all of us? So long as the divine teaching runs along in lines that are pleasing to us, we assent, and applaud the beauty of God's truth. But when the teaching falls against our own tendencies and dispositions and opinions - we wince, and too often declare our disbelief. They tried to kill Him; is not the rejection of many people now just as violent? They would kill Him if they could!

His word was with authority. His words are always with authority. We remember how all things hearkened to His words and obeyed them. Diseases fled at His command. The winds and waves were quieted and hushed at His word. The water changed to wine at His bidding. The dead in their graves heard His call and answered. Evil spirits owned His lordship. Nothing for a moment resisted His authority. Shall we not take Christ's Word as the rule of our faith and of our conduct? Shall we not yield to His authority?

#J.R. Miller #Devotional Hours Within the Bible #The Visit to Nazareth #Luke 4:16-30 #June 14 #2021

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a-clockwork-justice · 4 years

Text

How the SQUIP put Jeremy in the hospital - a breakdown by a second-year Biomed student (super long and very medical - apologies in advance. TL;DR at the end)

(TW: medical, burns, electric shocks, brief abuse/punishment)

(Cross-posted from Reddit)

After my last post about how long Jeremy and Rich's recovery time would've been to recover based on how long it would've taken for Jake's legs to heal*, I got to thinking about how exactly the SQUIP could've hospitalised Jeremy and possibly the others. (If you're a fan of Game Theory/Film Theory, this level of thought might seem familiar to you. Yes, this is what I'm putting my university education towards).

Firstly, it's doubtful the rest of the SQUIPped cast was in the hospital for as long as Jeremy, if at all. People apparently thought that it was either all part of the play (according to Michael) or that they'd all taken ecstasy (according to Chloe). If we go with the ecstasy angle because they would've had to have noticed the ambulances, they probably just assumed that Jeremy had taken more and/or had a worse reaction to it than the others, especially since he was the one acting the most erratically. Doesn't wholly explain why he was down and out for so long, but I don't need to explain that because, as we know, that's not what happened.

What did happen? Short answer - electrocution, similar to being struck by lightning. Long answer below the cut:

We know that the SQUIP regularly punished Jeremy by shocking him, the worst of which was enough to cause a seizure when it was first activated. Also, given the sound effects at the end of The Play when the SQUIPs were deactivated, it's easy to guess electrical shocks. The part about Jeremy having a worse reaction to said shocks than the others still makes sense - with the SQUIP regularly taking control over his nerves, those nerves would have more memory of being stimulated a certain way. Okay, I'll try and put this simply - it's the same reason for muscle memory, that phenomenon where your body remembers how to do something without you consciously thinking about it. It's because those nerves have been fired off in that way so many times that they're stimulated faster and easier. Similar principles apply for regular memory or, in this case, Jeremy and his SQUIP - the SQUIP had gotten so good at using electricity to stimulate Jeremy's nerves that those nerves now had lower thresholds to that stimulus, therefore eliciting a more pronounced response.

However, when the SQUIP was deactivated, those shocks were now non-specific, most likely stimulating almost all of Jeremy's nerves at once, as well as probably inducing substantial damage to other organs. For a point of comparison, I looked up the effects of getting struck by lightning. Lightning strikes may be a bit harsher than the SQUIP, but it still works for this analysis.

When I first saw the famous "Jared Kleinman discovers the perils of smoking drugs" (I'm sorry, I just love that name), I suspected electrical burns when he wakes up in the hospital, tries to sit up and immediately responds with several "Ow" s and has to lie down again. Whatever physical pain the SQUIP had previously caused him, it was always pretty transient, so for him to still be incapacitated to that degree indicated longer-term damage. This turned out to be pretty accurate as lightning strikes can cause deep thermal burns, particularly the tissue near bones as the bones are the most resistant to electricity. That explains why moving would hurt. The same can be said for muscle tissue, or any other soft tissues within the body.

I also theorised that the electrical shocks could've sent Jeremy's heart into fibrillation, giving them a valid reason to keep him in the hospital for that long (keep in mind, they likely thought it was due to ecstasy). I'd heard that this can happen when being shocked by a live circuit, and it applies to lightning strikes too - it can very easily send a person into cardiac arrest. Strikes can also cause a stroke or brain haemorrhage, but, again, the SQUIP's shocks probably aren't as powerful as that. We do know that it gave Jeremy a headache (the reasons for which are probably obvious enough that I don't need to explain them) from the way he asks Michael to be quiet when he's explaining everything to him.

The good news is that Jeremy is young and otherwise healthy, meaning that with quick CPR, he would've been kept alive long enough for the ambulance to arrive and take him to hospital. I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that a small public school like Middleborough didn't have a defibrillator on hand, but I don't think Jeremy's body needed more electricity at that point.

Also, bear in mind that if this is all true, it also happened to Rich while he was in the hospital with already pretty severe burns, but at least he was already in the best place to be resuscitated and further treated.

One thing that I can't give an answer to is whether this would've kept Jeremy unconscious/in the hospital for the two months I'd suggested. A more likely explanation is that they put him in a medically induced coma to give his body time to heal. Depends on the extent of the damage.

TL;DR: The SQUIP did more damage to Jeremy's body upon its deactivation than the others' (apart from Rich's) because it had forged a stronger connection with Jeremy's nerves and organs. These damages are due to electric shocks that caused electrical burns around his bones and muscles and, potentially, cardiac arrest. It would've been more than enough to land him in the hospital for quite a while.

*I’ve also since been informed that Jake's casts/crutches in VIMH vary between productions. This does make a difference in terms of timescale implications since I stated that for Jake to be recovered by the time he saw Jeremy again, it had to have been at least two months. However, I was going off of the Broadway production since that was what I was watching when it occurred to me.

#be more chill #jeremy heere #rich goranski #the squip #electricity #be more chill meta #be more chill analysis #this was extremely long #idk how many people would be willing to read/understand it #i'm not matpat #though i would actually love a bmc-themed film/game theory episode #film theory #game theory #tw abuse #tw medical #tw burns #tw electrocution

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luthienne · 5 years

Note

How does one let go? Of another, of one's self, of the life you thought you were living. Do you know any fitting poems or quotes describing the phenomenon of moving forward?

I’m not sure that I’ve ever let go of anything in my entire life. This Anne Carson quote always seems to sum up my thoughts in four succinct lines:

I find the phenomenon of letting go so inextricably tied with the idea of healing or recovery, perhaps because that’s what the desire to “let go” and move forward looks like for me. How do you let go of something that happened to you or within you, something that has altered your conception of the world from one day to the next, that has altered your own perception of yourself, of who you thought you were or could be, of what you thought your life would be? How to come to terms with the reality that there is no return to who you were before?

For me it’s less a deliberate choice to brush my hands together and “let go”, but more simply putting one foot in front of the other every day until I find myself in a (perhaps even just slightly) different place than before. It’s allowing myself to grieve what I thought my life would be, and also allowing space to hold gratitude for what my life contains. It’s waiting for everything inside of me and around me to shatter, and meanwhile still moving forward. It’s allowing myself to realize that I’m still here and I’m still a whole person, even if the pieces of me have shattered and rearranged themselves into something I don’t necessarily always recognize. It’s sitting alone with myself, with the silence that sometimes makes a home of my throat, with the restlessness beneath my skin, with the fear that who I am becoming won’t be enough, and moving anyway in any direction but back. It’s sitting with grief and shame and bitterness and groundlessness, and understanding that these feelings are temporary, and not things be used to validate my fears or distortions.

I think the deliberate choice involved for me is the one to allow space for growth, to not cling so tightly to past hopes or ideas that there is no longer any room for anything else, anything new, anything different. It’s allowing myself the belief and compassionate understanding that I can be something other than I thought or hoped I would be, and it’s ok. I think sometimes we deny ourselves chances to grow or change because of the shame we feel that we have failed, and to deny ourselves those opportunities for growth would be the real shame. What others believe does not matter—that we have invested ourselves utterly in a relationship that failed is no shame on us, that we have invested ourselves utterly in a dream or a hope that just didn’t work out is no shame on us. I think the worst thing is to remain in a place that is no longer serving us for fear of appearing the failure to others. There is so much opportunity to be had in letting go of one thing, anything, to make room for something else.

I don’t know that this compilation of poetry, essays, literature, and letters will offer any insight, or comfort, or guidance. Letting go must surely be an intensely personal process, an intensely personal thing, a different kind of animal for everyone—but still there seem to be some universal experiences. So these are some of the words that came to mind for me—whether they touch on grappling with the impossibility of letting go and moving forward, the hope of it, the desire for it, the loneliness of it, or the frustration with it (bc of course it’s something that cannot be forced, only something that can be allowed):

“What could I have grown up to be? What kind of human woman, what kind of simple, happy thing? If I had never been broken on a bird’s wing. If I had never seen the world naked. I want to be myself again…I want to stop knowing everything I know.”

Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

“On the surface, I was poised, cool, indifferent. […] The discrepancy between what I would show the world and the chaos I felt grew steadily more intense.”

Louise Glück, Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry

“There were glimpses, moments, breathing spaces of calm, but all the rest of the time it was like living in a house that couldn’t be cured of the habit of catching on fire, on a ship that got wrecked every day.”

Katherine Mansfield, “At the Bay”

“Words can’t describe the wound. / Perhaps more importantly / words alone / can’t heal the wound.”

Emily Pettit, “Hands Like Lighters”

“But sometimes words are the only hands / we have to touch a bruised memory / or cleanse a wound that never healed / or lift a body we carried for years / at last to the pyre of shared grief.”

Fred Dings, Eulogy for a Private Man

“I sat on a gray stone bench / and placed my grief / in the mouth of language, / the only thing that would grieve with me.”

Lisel Mueller, Alive Together: Poems

“I am not myself, and cannot ever be / again. I am my own emptiness, trying to fill my emptiness / with words.”

Robert Kroetsch, “Letters to Salonika”

“Now that I’m free to be myself, who am I? / Can’t fly, can’t run, and see how slowly I walk.”

Mary Oliver, from Blue Iris

“Can I never escape this interminable mourning for myself?”

Susan Sontag, from Reborn

“The light of the moon poured down; its beauty, / its radiance. / And I grieved and grieved. I grieved for so long.”

from Phoebus was gone, all gone, his journey over (tr. Eavan Boland)

“When will, when will, when will it be enough, / the saying and lamenting?”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Uncollected Poems

“…she was only trying to smooth out something she had been given years ago folded up;”

Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

“It seemed increasingly impossible to remember a time when I had been fully alive, impossible to imagine a future in which I would live that way again.”

Louise Glück, Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry

“Everything is so fragile. I feel so lost. I live off secret, radiating, luminous rays that would smother me if I didn’t cover them with a heavy cloak of false certainties. God help me: I have no one to guide me and it’s dark again.”

Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life

“Make a place for yourself in the darkness and wait there. Be there.”

Denise Levertov, To Stay Alive

“Losing is also ours; and even forgetting has its shape in the permanent realm of change. Things we’ve let go of circle; and though we’re rarely at the center of these circles: they trace around us the unbroken figure.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, “For Hans Corossa” (tr. Edward Snow)

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. / It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”

Mary Oliver, “The Uses of Sorrow”

“Things take us hard, no question. / How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?”

Adrienne Rich, Diving into the Wreck

“Following a fearful night I do not quite / remember came a kind / of dawn, not light, / But something we could see by.”

Edna St. Vincent Millay, “Dream of Saba”

“Afterward, you go back to the old place—all that remains is char: blackness and emptiness. You think: how could I live here? But it was different then, even last summer. The earth behaved as though nothing could go wrong with it. One match was all it took. But at the right time—it had to be the right time. The field parched, dry—the deadness in place already so to speak.”

Louise Glück, Averno

“…the longing, not for something distant or remote, but for what is lost forever, something that can never return.”

Henia Karmel, A Wall of Two

“When a thing’s gone, it’s gone. It’s over and done with. Let it go then! Ignore it, and comfort yourself, if you do want comforting, with the thought that you never do recover the same thing that you lose. It’s always a new thing. The moment it leaves you, it’s changed.”

Katherine Mansfield, “Je ne parle pas français”

“I cannot go back now. […] For me to go back is impossible, now or later.”

Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Boris Pasternak

“There comes a day when the trees / refuse to let you pass / until you name them.”

Lisel Mueller, Second Language: Poems

“Anyway, it’s in grappling with things at the source that you can tell best whether a thing is worth continuing or not… In other words, everything is worth investigating, wasting time over, if it interests you. There is always a deep, unconcealed reason why it interests you.”

Henry Miller, from a letter to Anaïs Nin

“We only live by somehow absorbing the past—changing it. I mean really examining it and dividing what is important from what is not (for there is waste) and transforming it so that it becomes a part of the life of the spirit and we are free of it. It’s no longer our personal past, it’s just in the highest possible sense, our servant. I mean that it is no longer our master.”

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to J.M. Murry

“…only one thing is urgently needed: to attach oneself with unconditional purpose somewhere to nature, to what is strong, striving and bright, and to move forward without guile, even if ithat means in the least important, daily matters. Each time we tackle something with joy, each time we open our eyes toward a yet untouched distance we transform not only this and the next moment, but we also rearrange and gradually assimilate the past inside of us.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Adelheid von der Marwitz

“Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember that nothing stays the same for long, not even pain, psychic pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.”

May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude

“One must let life run its course. The human being destroys so many things on his own, and it is not in his power to restore anything. Nature, by contrast, has all the power to heal as long as one does not eavesdrop or interrupt it.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, from a letter to Anita Forrer

“Do not try to be saved, but let redemption find you, as it certainly will. Love is its own rescue; for we, at our supremest, are but its trembling emblems.”

Emily Dickinson, from a letter to T.W. Higginson

“To take things easy, not to fight against the ebb and flow of life, but to give way to it—that was what was needed. It was the tension that was all wrong.”

Katherine Mansfield, “At the Bay”

“If you find yourself disappointing—drop self-expectations. What you are turning into you cannot expect to know, but you can trust it, and believe that if it is other than you planned, it will also be better than you planned—however different.”

Kahlil Gibran, from a letter to Mary Haskell

“To live in this world / you must be able / to do three things: / to love what is mortal; / to hold it / against your bones knowing / your own life depends on it; / and when the time comes to let it go, / to let it go.”

Mary Oliver, “At Blackwater Pond”

#this response is abominably late i know #i frankly could not bear to grapple with putting to words the concept of letting go this past year #i was in the midst of it (though tbh i think i always am)#ask #letting go #words #poetry #lit #letters #compilation

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trying-write-fanfics · 4 years

Text

Shouji Mezo X Reader Remeber part 8

Recovery girl looked at the fainted one. She came back after a little bit.

“Looks like you’re waking up.”

“I hope I wasn’t too much trouble.” She told her.

“Why did you use your quirk.”

“Promise you won’t judge?”

“No.”

Y/n sighed and explained she was worried about being late for lunch. She didn’t even have time to make herself cute for her appearance. She jumped over the stair rail, but realized she went face first and was gonna hit her head. So she used a wind quirk to push herself right back up. Then she raced to the cafeteria to get food.

“You’re reckless! You have no control over your quirk and yet you use it?” Recovery girl scolded her.

“I didn’t think it was gonna trigger an asthma attack. I had two rashes in a row.” she explained “I thought a third one would be the charm.”

“Has Aizawa been giving you quirk training?”

“Yeah… we haven’t learned much, but...I do use it without thinking.” She sighed. “Has my mom called at all?”

“No I’m afraid not. Do you want to call her?”

“No, I don’t wanna bother her. She’s probably really busy.”

“I may not trust you, but you shouldn’t feel nervous to call your parents if you miss them.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m used to not hearing from them. I just didn’t know how worried she was.”

Recovery girl felt a little bad. She wanted to tell Y/n her mom had to miss her and was worried, but she knew she would be lying to her. Her mother had to be distancing herself from UA to steer clear from the heros.

“It looks like you’re making friends here.” She told her.

“I kicked someone’s ass the other day.”

“Well that happens in a school like this.” She told her. “And just cause you can heal yourself doesn’t mean you should avoid me. You may not be a student here, but you do deserve healthcare.”

“I just feel weird about people looking at my body.” Y/n said.

“It’s okay for you to rely on others. No need to punish yourself, that’s Aizawa’s job.” Recovery girl said.

The class got the information from Shouji. Aizawa asked what happened and then got another message from Recovery girl. They went to training for the remainder of the class.

Shouji thought to himself about that whole situation. Why was she avoiding help? Would he no longer be her number favorite of the class. The image of her face pressed against his neck kept coming back to him. Was she okay? She did end up fainting. Aizawa didn’t seem worried when Recovery girl updated him on the situation.

“Shouji you seemed distracted today.” Aizawa pulled him to the side. “If you’re worried about Y/n she’s going just fine. I’ve been trying to train her how to use her quirk.”

“She didn’t want my help.” Shouji told him.

“You will get people like that, but as a hero you try your best to save them regardless.” Aizawa said. “Do you want to check on her?”

“As long as I’m not disturbing her.” He told her.

Her dorm was in the teachers area. Her dorm was strategically placed that if she did try to escape it would be a walk. Behind the door he heard coughing.

“I’ll leave you two be.”

“Why do you trust her?” Shouji asked before knocking.

“There’s a good reason why she doesn’t want to go back home, and I don’t think anyone from her old gang is gonna claim her.” Aizawa simply answered before leaving. “She’s a kid, and she knows this is her best option.”

Shouji knocked on the door after Aizawa was gone. He hoped it wasn’t a bad time.

“Knocking! You usually just barge in!” Her hoarse voice called out. “Come in.”

“It’s not Aizawa.” Shouji said entering.

The room was not what he expected for someone a prisoner of UA. She painted the room, gave it fun lights, furniture an influencer has. It wasn’t his ideal room, but he didn’t sleep there did he now. Papers were all over the floor, they looked like biology notes. She was laying in bed with a laptop on her chest.

“Damn if you were, you could help me get past the school block.” She joked.

“I just came to make sure you were fine.”

“Did you think I was gonna die? It was just a little asthma.” She told him.

“I don’t think everyone with asthma bleeds.” He told her.

She just tried laughing it off. She was way to calm for what was gonna happen when she returns to the classroom.

“We know your (full name) and that you’re basically a prisoner here.” Shouji said catching right to the trace.

“Minor to reform. Not a prisoner. Did Aizawa tell you?” She corrected

“Yaoyorozu recognized you, and then Iida and Todoroki did. Todoroki was trying to ask you something at lunch. How do you all know each other?”

Y/n’s sighed in annoyance.

“My parents were either trying to round up experiments or reform the law with influential heroes or people. I don’t 100 percent remember. I was only with them so they could show it was safe.”

He did not like that. It was almost confirming how evil her parents were. Using people and even their own daughter. He didn’t know what their goal was, but from what Shouji heard from the three who knew her, her parents didn’t seem like good people.

“I just wanted to pretend to be a normal teaching aid for a little while longer.” Y/n whined.

“We all kinda knew you were our age.” Shouji told her.

“Hey, at least I’m cool, I bet I made the class a lot more fun when I got into a fight.” She told him. “And thanks for taking me to recovery girl.”

“It’s what heroes do.” He told her. “I didn’t think you would remember.”

“I remember you were fussy.” She told him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, why do you like me so much.” Shouji asked her.

He expected her to be flustered at the question. Maybe he hoped she would shed some feelings off her chest. It was the only expectation he had, it was never normal for someone to take so much interest in him before. However his expectation of a shy weird confession was turned into something loud.

“Are you kidding! You have all these arms and not only that they don’t even need to be hands they can be ears or mouths or noses! You could be a cooler Guy Fieri! And you get to live my dream of wearing shoulder exposing shirts on school property!” She wheezed. “It’s not anything I could imagine.”

“You might be the first to say that.” He told her.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

No he was sure. It was just weird how someone who fit the conventional body standard was the one thinking he was cool looking.

“You’re studying biology?” He asked her.

“Yeah I took two different bio classes on top of the required one to impress my mom. If I had to be like either my parents' careers, I’d choose my mom’s because it’s too much to lie to people like my dad.”

“What about something you would want yourself.”

“I don’t know honestly, but I know I shouldn’t just stop to think, just keep learning and figure it out as I go. That’s what you students are doing, figuring out what type of heroes you want to be.” She explained.

“Will you be fine alone?” He asked her.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve lived this long, haven’t I?”

“Are you okay with the class knowing who you are?” He asked her.

“I don’t know. You all want to be heroes.” She said. “I’m probably some evil dangerous villain you all see me as now.”

He could only speak for himself, but to him, she was the weirdest girl he’s ever met. Taking out the evil rich parents, or the fact she was part of organized crime, just her by herself was weird, but nice. She had the look of someone popular, knows all the latest trends, can fight and defend herself, but her own body is a risk to her....and most of all she compliments him recklessly.

“I’m sure if you explain your side, they’ll come to an understanding.”

“Thanks Shouji.”Y/n replied

#shouji mezou #shoji mezo #xreader #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #shoji x reader #bnha shoji #mezo shouji #series

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transpenced · 4 years

Text

First Week Post-Op + DRAINS

I spent a majority of my time in the hotel binge watching Orange is the New Black, to be honest. I hadn’t watched the newer seasons and my friend hadn’t watched it at all, so we spent a week plus trying to get all of it in as we could.

I suppose I should mention how on the way back to the hotel, I was already attempting to put as many piercings as I could back in. Most were easy enough but a few - mainly my upper lip piercings - didn’t want to go through. Needless to say, I struggled in the hotel bathroom for about ten minutes before we decided to go to Walmart. I never recommend piercing yourself - or re-piercing for that matter - but I wasn’t about to be out $100 worth of holes. With that, we went on our merry way to Wally World and bought back-up studs and thick sewing needles. For having just gotten out of surgery not even three hours prior, I was pretty mobile and active. No pain other than my sternum feeling bruised.

I managed to get my piercing situation out of the way and back to binge watching and eating. And that was most of my first week post-op. I never had more than a discomforting feeling of pain, which I subdued with painkillers. I kept up with my antibiotics and anti-inflammatory meds. I did, however, feel horrible within my gut for a few days after surgery. To spare the details, post-op constipation is no joke. Though on the third day, I felt like a bear who just got out of hibernation when I was finally able to go. My bloated belly looked vastly different after and I felt a hundred times better.

The worst part was likely having to sleep on my back (and still is, to be honest). I mainly slept elevated with about five pillows behind me; the hotel pillows were quite squishy and not in the least bit helpful for what I needed them for, but five managed to get the job done.

The first few days we emptied the drains every twelve hours (9am and 9pm) but they then seemed to lessen and even out after that, so we only emptied them in the morning, or maybe it was at night. Either way, it was only once a day. My right drain was quick to pull out what it needed and was clearing up fast (thank you, white blood cells), but my left never wanted to drain as much and stayed a rich red throughout the week, only lightening by a few shades compared to the first day with them in.

I would rate my first seven days post-op as quite easy, thanks to having my friend to help me open or grab things when I couldn’t (yay t-rex arms). I was required to have someone watch over me for the first 24 hours but it definitely helped to have someone there for the initial week, especially to help empty the drains and such. I was paranoid about possibly snagging them on something, but managed to avoid it with only a few close calls.

The week flew by and before I knew it, we were on the way to the surgeon’s office for my post-op appointment. It was a bit surreal how I was soon going to be seeing my chest for the first time and getting the drains out. With each day, the tape and tight bandage was becoming more and more itchy and bothersome. My armpits were ready to be free of it. Not to mention my sternum wanting relief from the tight compression. It was worse than any binder I had ever wore, which amused me because I thought about all the people yelling at others to not bind for x amount of time, or don’t bind with bandages, etc. It really made me question.

The wait in the office was almost agonising. I was ready to get everything off and out and grew more and more impatient. I was the only one in the office at first, but soon more appointments started coming in and I felt the same little enjoyment I felt a week prior knowing that there were actual trans people around me; living in a place where trans people are safest living as stealth as possible will do that.

Eventually I was being called back where I then got to wait some more after being told to take my shirt off and hold my drains in my hands. It wasn’t too long before Dr Garramone came in. I mainly remember the exhilarating feeling of relief that washed over me as the bandage was undone. With each unwrap, I felt more and more bliss as my back cried for joy. Once it was off, all that was left was the actual bandage and tape, which Dr G was quick to take off; it was amazing how literally every movement by him and his staff were like a perfectly choreographed dance, though that’s what happens when you perfect such tasks and have had as much experience in them as they have.

The big reveal was honestly.. odd. I would imagine that most would want to spring up and stare at themselves in the mirror and relish in the site of their chest. I looked down and peered at the flatness that I now possessed, staring for a few moments. I didn’t get up. Dr Garramone told me that I could get up and look in the mirror if I wanted to, as if ushering me to, but I still didn’t move. I simply looked over at the mirror, at my chest, and smiled faintly. I told him I was fine with looking at it from afar. I don’t even know why I chose to stay put; maybe I had ignored/detested my chest for so long that I already knew what to expect and didn’t need to gawk at it close to the mirror. I’m not sure. All I knew is that I wanted the drains out and the quicker we could move along, the quicker it could happen.

And so it did.

Next thing I knew I was laying back in the chair and a few snips was all it took - Dr G of course explaining the process before he did it. There was only slight discomfort in the snips and he told me to breathe in. My brain automatically thinking it was going to be like a piercing and the action would be on the exhale. Haha, how wrong I was. As soon as I took in a breath, he pulled out the drain in a mere split second, telling me it was out. I was quite shocked at how quick and painless it was. There wasn’t even any feeling to it, honestly. The suture snipping being the worst. The other side was the same. Quick and painless, albeit slightly uncomfortable at most. I can’t remember if they put antibiotic ointment on them then or after the nipples, but they got ointment and a bandage before I left; that being the post op care for the drain holes once a day for the next week.

Then came the nipples. This was a little more odd, to say the least. Dr G snipped away at the sutures to remove the thick pads that squished my new nipples down and let me see. Because of the swelling and pull from the incisions, I couldn’t see much of my nipples. All I knew was that they weren’t the monstrosities that I had before. No matter how they looked now, I knew I’d prefer them over how they were. Still, it was baffling how they could reconstruct it all and I was already eager to see how they looked healed. Dumb me, though, wanted to watch him take care of the second nipple and I had to be told to put my head back down and chill. I was then told how to go through the post-op care with my nipples and they gave me the supplies before I headed off on my way.

I still had a mainly solo journey back home with flying but the worst was over with. The feeling of the polyester from my shirt on my naked back was truly unbelievable. I hadn’t felt it since trying out TransTape probably a year prior, if not longer. It was insane to me. And while I have to wear my bandage for another two weeks, it makes me look forward to feeling such again.

I still have a ways to go with recovery, at least with post-op care, but the majority of my experience was not as bad as I believed it would be. It may be from the numbness of my chest and having a high pain tolerance, but the pain is nothing where I thought it would be. Any discomfort is helped with a couple Tylenol and night time itching is fixed with Benadryl.

#top surgery #topsurgery #ftm top surgery #top surgery experience #topsurgeryexperience #surgery #surgeryexperience #surgery experience #ftm #transguy #transman #drains #top surgery drains #topsurgerydrains

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chouhatsumimi · 5 years

Text

A Day in the Life of Translation 11: Brochure for Tourism

The past day or two I was working on a brochure for a building that will open soon in Kyoto that features several restaurants/a bakery/massage studio/natural cosmetics store beneath a hotel, all of which are assembled under the concept of being good for both people and nature.

Since the aim is to advertise and promote rather than simply deliver information, it was a lot more creative than the business translation I’ve been doing at work. Of course, that makes it a bit more frustrating because you come across a lot of things that sounds nice in Japanese but silly if you put them very literally into English, like “Only the things it’s possible to believe, deliciously, fun. Food’s happiness has overflowed ‘market cafeteria’,” or “Chef-made sauce and seasoning being choosy about the production area and pesticide-free, fine cacao additive-free retort curry etc., to the heart, and to the body, delicious nature’s feast, delivered to your table.” or “[place name] is, local production local consumption, sustainable economic growth rooted in supporting the producing land, through strictly selected raw ingredients being choosy about sustainability, towards making circular shaped society a reality, through product-making that never existed in the past, a new food, beauty experience we are transmitting from Kyoto.” For these, I came up with “Seeing is believing! Delicious and fun. A market-cafeteria overflowing with joy for food.” and “Let the delicious bounty of nature feed your body and soul when you allow our chef-created specially-sourced organic sauces and seasonings, or our additive-free fine cacao curry retort, to grace your table.“ and “At [name], we select our products very carefully against the criteria of sustainability, local production for local consumption, and sustainable economic growth rooted in supporting the producing communities. We intend this to contribute to the establishment of a circular economy, and that through an entirely new means of production, we can announce a new mode of gourmet and salon experiences from our location in Kyoto. [sometimes Japanese sentences get so long that to make them work in English, you half to cut them in half and make two sentences] [[looking back now, I think I actually might have left some parts out of that last sentence that should have been in there >o<;]] There’s always a few parts where, if you can’t exactly tell what the original words were supposed to mean, you kind of just smooth it out so the words in the translation seem to fit the original idea, even in the case that the literally meaning differs a little. It can be frustrating, but I really enjoy matching up meanings and parts of speech so that they contain the spirit of the original but in words that sound really nice together!

(Did I mention this file was in Powerpoint? Powerpoint has actually become one of my favorite mediums for translating because it has such a rich variety of formatting options.)

Anyway, here is a list of words I looked up that’s probably longer than this kind of tumblr post should really contain. (Under a read more)

ストイック；stoic

古来；こらい；from time immemorial; ancient; time-honoured; time-honored

根付く；ねづく； to take root; to strike

素材；そざい；1. ingredient; (raw) material; resource

追求；ついきゅう；pursuit (of a goal, ideal, etc.); search; chase; seeking after

密着；みっちゃく；1. close adhesion; sticking firmly to; being glued to

選りすぐり；よりすぐり；special selection; finest pick; top pick

地産地消；ちさんちしょう；local production for local consumption (“Local Food”)

根ざす；ねざす；to come from; to have roots in

持続可能；じぞくかのう；sustainable

経済成長；けいざいせいちょう；economic growth

厳選；げんせん；careful selection; careful screening; hand-picking

循環型；じゅんかんがた；careful selection; careful screening; hand-picking (it was actually about the concept of “circular economy”)

従来；じゅうらい；1. up to now; so far　2. traditional; conventional; usual; existing

低音；ていおん；low tone; bass; low voice As far as I can tell, this segment was about a Low-temperature Vacuum Extractor, so I think it may supposed to have been 低温? This was the one random technical thing thrown into the rest of the mostly everyday language of the document.

抽出法；ちゅうしゅつほう；sampling (i.e. as a survey method)

酵素；こうそ；enzyme

石油；せきゆ；oil; petroleum; kerosene

無添加；むてんか；additive-free

志向；しこう；intention; aim; preference (for); orientation (towards a goal) (not to be confused with 思考, thought, or 施行, enforcing)

伝統；でんとう；tradition; convention

枠；わく；1. frame; framework　2. border; box　3. limit; restriction; quota

解釈；かいしゃく；explanation; interpretation

著名；ちょめい；well-known; noted; celebrated

余す；あます；to save; to leave over; to spare 余すことなく；あますことなく；fully; thoroughly

愉しみ；たのしみ；alternate form of 楽しみ

齎す；もたらす；to bring; to take; to bring about (look at that kanji!!)

程よい；ほどよい；1. moderate　2. proper; just right

細胞；さいぼう；cell

活性化；かっせいか；activation; stimulation; revitalization; invigoration

治癒；ちゆ；healing; cure; recovery

本物；ほんもの；genuine article; real thing; real deal

天然木；てんねんぼく；1. naturally growing tree; tree that does not grow in a tree plantation

基調；きちょう；1. basic tone; underlying tone; basic theme; basis; keynote　2. trend　3. keynote (not to be confused with 貴重, valuable)

内装；ないそう；interior design; interior; upholstery (lit. ‘inside attire’)

店名；てんめい；store name

施術；しじゅつ；medical treatment (esp. surgical)　See also 手術(しゅじゅつ)

惣菜；そうざい；side dish; daily (household) dish

配慮；はいりょ；consideration; concern; attention; thoughtfulness; making arrangements; care; trouble

発信；はっしん；dispatch; despatch; transmission; submission

育む；はぐくむ；1. to raise; to bring up; to rear　2. to cultivate; to foster; to nurture

潮流；ちょうりゅう；1. tide; tidal current　2. tendency; drift; trend

独創的；どくそうてき；creative; original

仮説；かせつ；hypothesis; supposition; fictional

免疫力；めんえきりょく；immune strength; immunity

唯一無二；ゆいいつむに；one and only; unique (lit. ‘only one no two’)

パティシエ；patissier; pastry chef (not to be confused with the pastry shop, the patisserie パティスリー) Also, one of the sentences said ここは・・・・ペストリーです。Which would mean “This place is a (such and such) pastry”, so I’m assuming they meant “This place is a (such and such) pastry shop/patisserie”?

進出；しんしゅつ；advance (into a new market or stage of progress); launching (a new career or venture); expanding (into a new market); stepping forward; emerging; can also apparently be a name, ...Shinde....?? D:

ジャンル；genre (can be used to describe food in Japanese; English tends to use ‘cuisine’ or simply ‘food’ to describe types of food)

提案；ていあん；proposal; proposition; suggestion I thought it meant ‘plan’, so this was a good refresher.

I also had to look up the names of a few chefs (who luckily had their names in romaji on the first few pages I looked at!) and a particular massage’s studio’s technique.

I think that’s it for now! I really should do more of these. I keep doing work, but not writing anything about it... feel free to ask questions any time!

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scintillating-galaxias · 5 years

Text

give ‘em hell, darling

Chapter Two—Step 1

Sandalphon appears to read Aziraphale his charges and to collect him from Earth.

(read it here on ao3!)

“An’, get this angel.”

“What?”

“She told ‘im, ‘nothin’ wrong with the economy, just get your arse up and find a job!’” Crowley hooted loudly, sloshing a considerable amount of wine down the fist gripping the stem of the glass. Aziraphale, glassy-eyed, miracled it back into the cup. “An’ she hasn’t worked in years! ”

Aziraphale shook his head, tutting. “What did you do?”

“Nicked her credit card and left it for the bum.”

“Crowley…! Alright, I would have given him money anyway. Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, or something like that.”

“See, you get it.”

A very sharp rapping on the door rudely interrupted Crowley’s drunken rendition of a fool he had made out of a woman on the street criticizing a homeless man.

“Someone’s here,” said Crowley after a minute.

“Obviously,” said Aziraphale. “Doors don’t knock themselves.”

“No, I bloody well know that!” hissed Crowley, drunkenness slurring his vigilance. “Someone’s here! Aren’t you closed right now?” He stiffened abruptly, nostrils flaring slightly. “I can feel it—someone holy. Smells like bleach.”

Oh, dear. Murmuring some very mild curses, Aziraphale quickly sent the alcohol in his system back into the bottles and then told the bottles to return to the dusty cabinets from which they came. He straightened his bow-tie and after he swallowed dryly, called, “One moment, please!”

“What the Heaven do they want? I thought you said they’d leave us alone!” hissed Crowley. He had sobered himself up as well and was agitatedly pacing back and forth, shooting poisonous looks at the closed door, which shuddered fearfully in its doorframe.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale said.

“We’ve wasted enough time already,” said a sharp voice, laced with—glee? That couldn’t be good. Aziraphale pushed down his growing concern and made for the door. “Open up. I know you’re not—ah.”

“Good day, Sandalphon,” Aziraphale greeted tersely. “What business brings you to Earth?”

“You,” Sandalphon answered with a grin that was too wide to be natural. His gold-teeth, hardly having to be changed for his human appearance, glinted. He produced a stack of papers and brandished them. “You’re being recalled to Heaven.”

The shot of dread that fired through Aziraphale’s body made him feel weak-kneed. He resisted stumbling by sheer force of will and managed to coolly ask, “Why?”

Sandalphon stepped inside the room without invitation. He glanced derisively about, empty eyes moving derisively from Aziraphale’s dusty shelf of not-for-sale (read: favorite) books, to the antique rug, and finally, to Crowley, who curled his lip and let his forked tongue flicked menacingly. “Your performance lately has been lacking,” Sandalphon said, refocusing his stony stare on Aziraphale. “Heaven has decided you’re no longer the best suited for this job.”

Crowley snorted ungracefully while Aziraphale blinked disbelievingly.

“You’re kidding,” said Crowley. “Was there another angel who’s secretly been on Earth this whole time?”

“Am I—Am I being fired?” Aziraphale asked incredulously.

Sandalphon’s plastic grin stretched wider, somehow. “No. You’re being recalled. You should be fired, but this is the next most appropriate action to take.”

“That’s not—Never mind.” Aziraphale discreetly wiped his hands on the backside of his coat. “What about my, erm, performance has been failing?”

Sandalphon gestured to Crowley. “Obviously,” he said shortly, “ that has not been permanently banished to the deepest pits of Hell.”

Aziraphale bristled as Crowley loudly said, “I am right here. ”

“And,” Sandalphon continued, unperturbed, “your reports have been disappointingly lackluster. You’ve reported nearly the exact same interactions with humanity from this particular part of the world for the last year, and the year prior to that, and the year prior to that. And the two hundred before that.” He sighed in the morose manner you’d expect from a greedy boss denying you a raise. “Our expectations for you have simply not been met.”

Azirphale gritted his teeth and forced out, “May I see exactly what expectations you are referring to?”

To his surprise, Sandalphon actually handed over the papers. Aziraphale took them, staring suspiciously at first at Sandalphon, then the papers. Crowley’s lip curled as Sandalphon pointed out a paragraph on the first page.

“You’ll see here that the terms to your assignment are laid out quite clearly,” he said. Lines began to highlight themselves in golden light, obviously larger points of discussion. Aziraphale scowled. He filed his own taxes to the point of investigation by the British government, for Heaven’s sake, he knew how to read the small-print. The light only served to amplify the bleak blackness of the curling Enochian. “To begin, you were given the task of protecting the humans of the Garden of Eden from Evil. This included the terrible temptation of Eve.” Sandalphon shot Crowley a nasty look. He shrugged unapologetically. “You were charged with a Holy Blade of Flame by the Almighty to assist you in this task. However, you lost it mere week later, and it ended up in the hands of the one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, War.”

“It—That was to help the humans! It was in the name of good!” Aziraphale did not like where this was going. “It was cold. I could not send them back into the Garden after their ejection by the Almighty—but I had to do something.”

“Which brings me to my next point…”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale could only grit his teeth and listen as Sandalphon went down a list of his apparent misdemeanors with excruciating detail and slowness. Being unable to keep peace in a small village teeming with anger over a corrupt political situation in 2200 BC, allowing said political situation to become corrupt, warning families of a blight in 13 AD, healing people who Heaven wanted dead in 403 AD, miracling people to full recovery during the Bubonic Plague, and, most recently—

“You’ve been observed to be indulging greatly in the sin of gluttony—”

“Now, just one minute,” Aziraphale interrupted, beginning to feel panicked.

Sandalphon’s smile turned sour. “Angels can’t sin. This goes without saying. However, you’ve clearly proven yourself to be something else ever since that little stunt with the Hellfire. We don’t know what you are. Obviously not Fallen, but you’re not Unfallen, either. Gluttony is a sin no matter what you are. It’s only appropriate we treat it as such.”

Aziraphale froze. Beside him, Crowley had also gone still. Crowley had recounted exactly what had happened to him while he was in Heaven, including Uriel’s disgusted comment of, “What is he?” Evidently, it had not gone unnoticed. Admittedly, it was a rather logical question to ask. But Aziraphale couldn’t answer, “I don’t know either,” and he couldn’t explain what he and Crowley had done to escape extinction. That would only tell Heaven they could try again, and get the results they wanted this time. He swallowed and said nothing at all.

“So,” drawled Sandalphon, “the sin of gluttony. Gabriel noticed you partaking in some Earthly food while he was here. You explained it was for your human disguise. However, you’ve been recorded sullying your heavenly body with gross matter for centuries now. You don’t need to eat. Therefore, anything you consume can be considered excessive and unnecessarily.”

“That’s bollocks,” Crowley cut in. Both angels turned to him, Sandalphon in annoyance, Aziraphale in surprise.

“What?” said Sandalphon.

“That’s wrong,” Crowley said impatiently. “I’m the demon here, I should know what sin is. Gluttony’s supposed to be, y’know, an excess of food or wealth or whatever withheld from the needy. Sure, he eats a lot for an angel”—Crowley pulled his face into a ‘well, what can I say?’ frown—“ans he eats every day like most humans do. But he’s never sat around and ate big ol’ honeyed hams and wine all day while telling the poor people to piss off. I would know; I’ve been, erm, adversary-ing him for six thousand years.”

Thank you, cried Aziraphale internally, but Sandalphon was not impressed.

“Then what of these books?” he said at once. “Surely you don’t think we haven’t noticed the way he hoards these things. They are a symbol of status he refuses to part with, even for the innocent human pursuit of knowledge.”

“That’s different! Humans don’t need books the same way they need food.”

“Fine,” Sandalphon said with great reluctance. “The food is excluded. Then do tell me, demon; what is the reasoning for his reluctancy?”

Sandalphon turned to Aziraphale, who had gone quite pale.

“Their contents would be wasted on them,” he said. “It would be a tragedy, really.” He wanted to say collectors only bought them for the name, but he knew that wasn’t true; most collectors were just like him, in reality. The only difference is that Aziraphale has been there, living the events that inspired the legendary books of their times. There was no experience like it. Any modern day collectors were simply grasping for a way to experience a past they never could live. And for as long as a story is passed around humanity, it is eventually lost in the mess. As long as they were with Aziraphale, they were safe.

Sandalphon raised an eyebrow. His bald head was shining in the lamplight. “You wouldn’t even spare that moment of joy for a human? They don’t have forever to indulge themselves.” Sandalphon took Aziraphale’s guilty press of his lips as a victory. His eyes shone triumphantly. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Principality?”

Aziraphale blinked once and let all pretenses of politeness slide off of his face. “Nothing you would sincerely listen to.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whirled on him, gripping Aziraphale’s forearm in one hand and gesturing furiously with the other. “Wha’—You can’t just go with him!” he snapped. “There’s—You haven’t hardly got to make a case for yourself!”

Aziraphale forced a weak smile for Crowley. He patted his bony hand gently. “It’s looking like I’m having little choice in the matter, my dear.”

“Hell, even Hell at least has a jury!”

“Yes, well… this is Heaven after all.” Aziraphale leveled an icy glare at Sandalphon who shifted uncomfortably. “They can do no wrong. Can they.”

“No,” Sandalphon said airily, sounding severely less confident. His mouth opened to say something else, only it opened, and then nothing at all came out. In fact, it stayed perfectly still, as did the rest of the room; the dust motes froze mid-flight, the swaying of Sandalphon’s trench-coat was caught in a dramatic turn—

“Crowley?”

“Aziraphale, they can’t take you again!” Crowley had a snarl on his face as he angrily waved his hands in the air. “They brought a demon last time for the Hellfire, they’ll bring another to—to torture you, or something! You won’t last a second! Or they’ll find you over to Hell itself—!”

“I’m tougher than you think,” Aziraphale assured him gently.

Crowley’s face crumpled. “I want to believe you, angel, I do. But this is Heaven’s punishments we’re talking about.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached at the fear in Crowley’s voice. He took Crowley’s cold hand and folded it tightly in his own two hands, holding it against his chest. “I understand your concern, my dear. But I’ll be alright. They’re operating out of fear, at the moment, I’m sure.”

Crowley furiously shook his head and wrapped his other hand around Aziraphale’s, gripping it as though he would vanish right then and there. Which, Aziraphale thought grimly, he very well might be. “It doesn’t matter what they’re operating out of! They want to get rid of you—”

“That may be so. But I think that Heaven is being a tad ambitious,” Aziraphale said primly.

Crowley stared at him. Then he took off his sunglasses to really drive in the disbelief shining in his—entirely yellow, Aziraphale noted guiltily—eyes. “Aziraphale, what are you saying?”

“There is no such thing as luck,” he said delicately. It was not a coincidence I found a scrap of prophecy that happened to be exactly what we needed to live another day.”

Crowley’s pupils narrowed to thin lines. “I, you, wh—gh? Can you even hear yourself right now? You think—? Come on, after all of this, you really think She— ?”

The room had slowly begun to move again. Crowley’s miracle was wearing off.

“How can you be so sure?” he finally asked.

“Crowley, listen to me,” Aziraphale said lowly. “I honestly cannot say I know what they will do. Your guesses are as good as mine. But I know Heaven, and I am not stupid. They don’t believe the failure of the Great Plan was a part of the Ineffable Plan. They’re searching for someone to blame, and, well, I’m a prime candidate.”

“Then they should take me too!” Crowley said indignantly. “I’d rather be trapped in Heaven with you than be on an Earth without you.” Aziraphale’s cheeks grew faintly warm at the intensity and genuinity of that statement, but he had to focus right now. He shoved the tidal wave of adoration towards Crowley as hard as he could and hoped he would feel it.

The sway of Sandalphon’s coat has reached its apex and was now falling the other way.

“The feeling is mutual,” he said honestly. “Heaven does not care for Earth as much as they do about the War. But they do care about what will happen to Earth if Hell is given free-range. They won’t leave you alone. If—when—they take me, they’ll send another angel in my place.”

Crowley made a disgusted sound.

“Heaven does not appreciate the wonderful stories and intricacies of this place; I believe it is why they were so eager for the end of the world. And if they do send another in my place, it is under the assumption they can use any stuffy old angel to replace me. That anyone can appreciate humanity as I do. Crowley— you need to prove them wrong. ”

Crowley was always a particularly cunning demon. His distressed face went through a complicated series of emotions before ending on a positively, if slightly wobbly, serpentine grin. “And how should I do that, angel?” he purred.

The completely random thought of kissing Crowley dramatically before the miracle ended flirted intensely with Aziraphale. Startled, Aziraphale found himself leaning in to growl, “Give them hell, darling,” and then the miracle’s lifespan was up.

Sandalphon looked incredibly displeased.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable,” he said snidely.

“I delayed the ineffable,” Aziraphale corrected. Sandalphon narrowed his eyes. “Well? Go on, then. List my charges.”

Sandalphon tapped his foot on the ground and the pages went flying back into his outstretched fingers. “It is with these words that I charge thee, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the First Order of the Lowest Hierarchy, Guardian of the Eastern Gate…”

Aziraphale stopped paying attention as the list of his crimes ( crimes, he thought with a mental eyeroll, this was ridiculous) was read. He nudged Crowley, and hoped the brief contact was enough to convey, I’ll be okay, we’ll be okay, I promise I’ll come back. I won’t leave you behind.

“I still hate this,” murmured Crowley, low enough to go unnoticed by Sandalphon.

Aziraphale gnawed his cheek—a nervous habit gained after reading the phrase from a book and trying to figure out what it meant. “It is not ideal,” he said back just as quietly. He smiled tightly when Sandalphon glanced at him. “But I believe it won’t be long,” he continued. “I’ll be back before you know it. Two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“...two thousand, seven hundred, and thirty-three accounts of gluttony…”

“Yeesh. You’d get a commendation from Hell for that one.”

“Hush, you.”

Finally, after what felt like a day's worth of monotonous droning, Sandalphon lowered the papers. “Given this evidence, Heaven no longer sees you fit to be the angelic representative of Earth. You will be recalled to Heaven until given further notice, and during this time, Heaven will proceed with any necessary actions. Do you have any questions?”

Aziraphale made a show of looking cowed. “May I say goodbye?”

“To who? The demon?”

“Humans question things when a regularity in their life vanishes without imaginable reason.”

Sandalphon nodded after a very obvious hesitation. “You have one hour.”

And he vanished in a great crackle of lightning. Aziraphale slouched, unaware of how tightly he’d been holding himself up. Crowley squeezed his tense shoulder.

“I should get going,” said Aziraphale. “Clock’s ticking. Will you mind the bookshop for me while I’m gone?”

“‘Course.”

“If anyone asks, I’m on a business trip.” Crowley nodded, a pinched expression crossing his face. “What is it, Crowley?”

He didn’t answer for a pronounced moment. “Just—Don’t do anything stupid, angel.”

“I’ll miss you too, my dear.”

An hour later, after he had exhausted himself teleporting around London hastily explaining his absence to the restaurants he frequented, his manicurist, the bakeries, making phone calls, and leaving voicemails for would-be buyers of his books, Aziraphale was gone.

#good omens #good omens fanfic #aziraphale #crowley #sandalphon #gehd #my writing #drinking #drinking tw

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