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sitepathos · 9 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 5: The Departure (Warning: this chapter will contain violence. Read at your own risk.)

It’s been around two months since you accepted the Megamycete into your body and for the first time since you were dragged to Gotham, you’re actually happy. With its vast archives, you’re bursting with knowledge spanning over the course of four-hundred years, ranging from the academic to the arts and it’s thanks to that knowledge that your grades have skyrocketed in the past few weeks; where once you struggled with something, now you know better than even the teachers, even correcting them when they make a mistake and outpacing the best students in your class. Sure, by this time, it’s a little too late to get to the top of your class, but you really don’t care about your ranking; all that matters is being able to complete your homework, class assignments, and tests in record time, giving you time to work on more important things, like your game.

Included in the Megamycete’s records are the knowledge and memories of many computer programmers, some of them working for Bruce in his tech division; you also have many artists and musicians swimming in your head, many of them talented in making art on computers, so with your newfound knowledge, you’ve made tremendous strides in making your game. A year ago, you thought you would have to find a way to crowdfund the game in order to pay artists, musicians, and programmers and it would take a few years to make it ready for players, but now, you’re sure you can have this game ready by yourself within the year.

Not only has your intellectual attributes increased, but so have your physical abilities; the Megamycete’s records also include many athletes, both professional and student, and you know how to play every sport that’s ever been played in Gotham, but you haven’t shown any improvement in gym class. You never had any interest in sports before and you sure as hell don’t know. Plus, if you suddenly start showing everyone in the school that you’ve all of a sudden become smarter and stronger out of nowhere, you might attract enough attention that not even the Waynes can ignore.

And that won’t end well for anyone.

Speaking of them, you know they heard about what happened at the My Alibi bar and are working overtime to find the culprit, the only thing they know for certain is that it was the work of someone new. It actually brought a smile to your face when you learned about it, that for all their detective skills, they have no idea that the person they’re hunting for is under their own roof. While Damian is the only one to have ever told you to your face, you know they all think you’re stupid; that because you chose to deal with your fucked up life in a semi-healthy way and not dress up in some stupid little costume and fistfight psychopaths, that must mean there’s something wrong with you in the head.

Fuck all of them. You don’t need them and tomorrow night, you’ll be driving back to Goodsprings.

When you turned eighteen, you inherited all of your Momma’s assets, namely her life insurance policy, bank accounts, and royalties from all her books, all of which was worth a little over two-million; at first, you were going to save that money for when you moved back to Goodsprings in case you had to fix up your old home and pay the bills, but after almost dying due to relying on bus stops and bumming rides off of Alfred was unfair to the man, you decided to take some of the money and invest it in a car. The Megamycete had absorbed many modern car experts, so you were able to pick out a brand new car that was worth the hit to your wallet.

Plus, you had a way of earning a pretty penny and stick it to Bruce at the same time: sell his proprietary technology to Lex Corp. Many of Bruce’s employees are buried in Gotham’s cemeteries, some of them working on the latest technological breakthrough at the time of their deaths and you knew Bruce’s biggest business rival would kill to see what Bruce’s scientists are cooking up in their lab.

You reached out to the man using your computer knowledge to send him an email that couldn’t be traced back to you, stating you had the specs for several of Wayne Enterprises’ latest large scale projects and asked him if he was interested in buying them for a couple million in cash. Knowing he’d never consider the deal without some proof, you included bits and pieces of what you were offering, just enough to show you were legit, but not enough to be useful without the rest of it.

Sure enough, he took the hit and now, here you are, meeting with the most powerful man in Metropolis in his office, which overlooks the entire city. Of course, you’re smart enough to not show him your face, so you took the form of some Joe Schmo that died years ago.

“I don’t believe it,” the man exclaims as he sifts through the papers you drew the designs on. “Medicine, experimental aircraft specs, software designs! Over a million spent in corporate espionage and nothing to show for it. Then you come along, offering more than enough to recoup those losses and then some.” He looks back at you, an ominous twinkle in his eye that makes you shiver. “Any chance I can rely on your services in the future?”

“Perhaps,” you say in your disguised voice. “If I get my hands on more WE secrets, I’ll keep you in mind. Now, about my money?”

“Of course,” he purrs. He snaps at his assistant, who places the briefcase she was holding on his desk and opens it, revealing more money than you’ve ever seen in your entire life. “Twenty million in unmarked bills. I trust that’s more than enough?”

“Yes,” you say, trying to hide your shock from earning enough money to last you the rest of your life in just a few seconds. “I believe it is.”

(We see no signs of sabotage or subterfuge,) the Megamycete says. (It would appear Luthor intends to keep his word. For once.)

“Mercy will see you out,” Lex says as you take the briefcase. He then holds out a business card. “And this is my personal number and email. If you have more secrets you’re looking to sell, call me day or night.”

“Thank you,” you say as you pocket the card.

And with that, you follow the assistant out of Lex’s office and down to the lobby.

(You must be happy to have amassed such a fortune,) the Megamycete states as you walk out the front door. (And exacting revenge on Bruce Wayne makes this moment all the better.)

“You’re damn right,” you respond with a chuckle.

(Perhaps you could use some of that money to enjoy yourself? Since our joining, you have been hard at work with your education or your project. Taking some time to have fun will do you a world of good.)

Its words resonate with you. Sure, you’ve been busy with catching up on school and the gaps in your game, but you’ve done some fun things the last few weeks, right?

(No, we are afraid you have not.)

“Damn,” you mutter. “Guess I should change that.” You glance down at the briefcase in your hand. “Well, we have twenty mil of Lex’s money in here. How about have a night out in Gotham?”

(We agree wholeheartedly,” it exclaims, its voice full of joy and anticipation. (We look forward to seeing what you have planned.)

You chuckle as you change your form to your hardened mold armor and wings and take flight into Metropolis’ night sky. Fortunately for you, it’s a quiet night in the massive city, so Superman isn’t flying around, so you don’t have to worry about bumping into the Man of Steel.

“I gotta say, this city looks a helluva lot better than Gotham,” you remark as you soar above the skyscrapers. “Gotham looks like a giant tomb while Metropolis looks like the future.”

(Yes, we have noticed that no matter the era, the architecture of Gotham refuses to change. The city seems to be doomed to remain locked in a by-gone age. We look forward to seeing the world beyond.)

“You’ll love Goodsprings. Sure, it’s the size of a stamp compared to a behemoth like Gotham, but you can actually sit on your porch at night and not have to worry about gunshots or escaped lunatics. People actually have conversations with one another instead of telling you to fuck off.”

In a less than thirty minutes, you arrive back at Gotham and land on the roof of Wayne Manor and quietly sneak in. Joker’s still on the loose, no doubt waiting for the perfect moment to unveil his latest sick and twisted plan, so everyone’s out and Alfred’s stuck in the Batcave, keeping an eye on camera feeds.

You take out a few bills from the briefcase before hiding it under your mattress and heading out to the back where you keep your car parked. While Bruce has multiple cars, every single one of them is a high-end luxury car that costs way more than yours, so you didn’t want to take the risk of Bruce or the others finding it and doing something to it, so you keep your car behind a large barn that’s used to hold all the groundskeeping equipment.

As you drive off the property, you tell your phone to dial Alfred, who answers it halfway through the first ring.

“Master Y/N, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, Alfred, everything’s fine. I was just letting you know that I’m going out for a bit. Thought some time outside the house would do me some good.”

“While I agree that you need to get more, perhaps tonight isn’t the best time,” he says hesitantly. “I mean, the Joker is still out there, no doubt planning another heinous act.”

You’re touched by the man’s concern for you. Really, you are. But, with the Megamycete, you have nothing to fear.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’ll be fine.,” you reassure him. “I promise I won’t be gone too long. I’ll just be in Amusement Mile for an hour or two.”

“Still, I wish you weren’t going by yourself. Perhaps I can get one of your siblings—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m going out to have fun before I graduate, not be miserable. If I wanted to be tortured, I’d throw myself in Arkham’s Intensive Care Building.”

“I know why you feel that way, Master Y/N, but maybe you can give them another chance? You’ll be graduating tomorrow night and leaving after the ceremony. I just don’t want you leaving us under such bad circumstances.”

You know the man’s been trying to get the Waynes to notice you, but they’re all busy with their own lives in addition to being vigilantes at night, either fighting crime in Gotham, Blüdhaven, or elsewhere around the world. And when they’re all home, they’re spending time together, having fun that was never meant to include you. You learned that after countless times coming downstairs and seeing them, eating delicious food, laughing, watching movies, and enjoying themselves without you. After a while, you stopped going downstairs when you heard noises coming from the living room.

You don’t belong here, either in the Wayne Family or in Gotham. You never did. You know it, they know it, and deep down, Alfred knows it, whether he wants to admit it or not. You’re a Gould, not a Wayne and there’s nothing that’s going to change that.

“Alfred, I think the ship for us being a ‘happy, loving family’ sailed long time ago. They’ve made it clear that there’s no room for me in their world and I sure as hell don’t want them in mine. All I want to do is go home.”

“I understand,” he says after a brief moment of silence. “I hope you have fun, Master Y/N. And please, if you get into trouble, call me straight away.”

“I will, Alfred. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that, you hang up.

You let out a sigh when the line goes dead. You hated saying things like that to the poor man, but it’s how you feel about the Waynes. Ever since you moved in, all you heard about Bruce is that he’s a caring man and a loving father, but that care and love only appears to be for those he deems worthy of it. For someone like you, a bastard born from a careless one-night stand, he has nothing but neglect and indifference.

And the same goes for the others. They’re all a dysfunctional hodgepodge that are saturated with so much trauma and paranoia that it’s a miracle that they haven’t killed each other yet. You’re sure if they were locked up in Arkham and studied, they could fill an entire library’s worth of psychological textbooks.

(You should not concern yourself with them. They have made it clear that they are not worthy of your love or forgiveness. After so many years of suffering, you are so close to breaking free from your prison. By this time tomorrow, you will be back where you belong.)

“Yeah, back home. Finally.”

After thirty grueling minutes of dealing with Gotham’s traffic, you finally reach your destination: Bat Burger. As much as you hate any mention of Batman, Gotham’s cashed in on the “Bat Craze” and inserts him into anything they can. At least the food’s good; almost good enough to make you ignore the cartoonish Batfamily designs on all the walls. Emphasis on the almost.

“Welcome to Bat Burger,” the teenage cashier, dressed in a uniform designed around Batman, says in a monotone voice as you approach the counter. A brief look in his eyes tells you he’d rather be anywhere else right now. “How can I bring justice to your hunger today?”

“Can I get a Batburger with ketchup, large fries, and a large Bat Cola?”

“Do you want to Jokerize those fries,” he asks as he types in your order.

“No thanks.” You hand him a hundred dollar bill. “I don’t need the change. Keep it as a tip.”

“Oh,” he exclaims, the dead look in his eye gone, replaced by shock. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” you respond, happy to see such a transformation in the teen.

“Thank you,” he stutters as he hands you your cup for your drink. “Your food’ll be out in a minute. Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nod as you take the cup to the drink station.

(That was quite charitable of you,) the Megamycete remarks as you fill up your cup. (Such an action is rare in this city.)

“He looked like he needed it. I know what it’s like to be that miserable. Plus, it’s not like we’re hurting for money. If I ever run low, I still have plenty of Bruce’s secrets I can sell to Lex for a couple million.”

(Indeed. It would appear he had many of his employees working on secret projects that were not meant to be released. Perhaps such things were only meant for his nightly activities?)

“Wouldn’t doubt it,” you say as you sit down. “Kinda surprised no one’s figured it out. Batman’s toys look expensive and there’s not that many people in Gotham that could foot a bill that big other than Bruce Wayne.”

Not long after that, your order was called and you collected your fast food goodness. You practically moan as you take your first bite.

(This is quite appealing,) it says as you take another bite. (Savoring the food in real time is far batter than savoring it from the memories of the deceased.)

“I’ve wanted to come here for a while,” you say as you take a few fries. “Always saw the garbage cans full of Batburger bags when they came back from patrol. They never offered to take me and I never asked.”

(Their loss, we assure you. We can think of no better meal companion.)

“Shucks,” you chuckle. “You’re making me blush.”

After your meal, you decided to go to the arcade a few blocks away from the restaurant, eager to show the Megamycete all your favorite games. Also, with it behind you, you might be able to earn more tickets and win some of the bigger prizes. Your stride’s broken when you hear screaming, gunfire, and people running from the Gotham Arcade.

“What’s going on,” you ask a man as he tries to run past you.

“It’s Joker,” he exclaims, his eyes full of fear. “He’s shooting up the place!”

He runs away as you duck into an alley and call upon the mold to form the armor you’ve been using a lot lately. As you walk towards the arcade, you look through the roots and see the Bats scattered across the city, handling other crises; meaning they wouldn’t be here anytime soon.

“Guess it’s up to us to save the day.”

(The Clown has added many into our archives, all of whom spent their last moments of life terrified and in pain. We think it is time he knows fear.)

You walk into the arcade and are greeted by with over a dozen bodies, all of them riddled with bullet holes.

“My god,” you say, stepping over two teen boys who look like brothers. “There wasn’t a point to this. This is an arcade, not a bank. He just did this because he could.”

You follow the sound of gunfire until you see the Joker, dressed in his signature purple suit, shooting at a bunch of arcade cabinets.

“This is so much fun,” he exclaims as he rips a bunch of tickets from the machines. “Don’t you agree, Harley?”

“Sure do, Mistah J,” his partner, clad in her usual red and black spandex and jester hat, answers as she slams her giant mallet down on a poor Whack-A-Mole machine. She bends down and rips out a bunch of tickets from the smoking husk and holds it up to Joker like some offering to an ancient god. “Look, Puddin’, I won so many tickets!”

It’s then the two lunatics notice your presence.

“Well, well, well,” Joker says as he pockets his ill-gotten tickets. “Not the costumed freak I was expecting.” He holds his hands up to his head. “You’re missing the ears and everything.”

The two laugh and you roll your eyes under your mask.

“Looks like Ol’ Batsy has a new brat in his nest,” she jokes. “So, who’re you?”

“Oh, Harley, his name doesn’t matter.” He pulls out his gun and points it at you. “He’ll just be another corpse.”

He fires the gun and this time, the bullet actually penetrates your armor and pierces your lower torso. You wince at the feeling of a bullet in your gut.

(It would appear the clown uses a higher caliber than the common scum of Gotham,) the Megamycete explains as it heals your body, stitching the wound closed and hardening your armor to repel the stronger bullets. (Funny how he possesses such toys after being in Arkham for so long.)

“Oh, you’re a tough one, aren’t you,” he says, seeing that you’re not going down. “Normally, his little birdies go down from just a little love tap. Are you sure you belong to Batman?”

Now that pisses you off. Bruce may have had a hand in bringing you into the world, but you’re not his. You’re so pissed, in fact, that you raise your right arm and call upon a long tendril that pierces the center of the clown’s chest and pull him towards you.

“Mistah J,” Harley shouts in fear as you bring Joker to your face. She’s obviously paralyzed by fear because she stands there, doing nothing but watching the scene unfold before her.

His pasty white chin is covered in blood as it pours from his mouth and his eyes are wide as saucers.

“Now ain’t that a surprise,” he says with a chuckle, causing him to cough up blood.

“Get this through your sick and twisted head, clown,” you hiss. “I’m not Batman’s anything. There’s no words in any language that can express how much I hate him.”

You twist the tendril and take pleasure in watching him wince in pain.

(He fears you more than the Bat right now. Good. You are far superior than that worm and his collection of misfits. You always were.)

You feel yourself grin at that. You are better than them, aren’t you?

“And as much as I hate to admit it, Jason was right on how to deal with you. When you have a tumor, you don’t dress up in some stupid costume and beat it until it stops being a tumor.” You lift him far above, his head almost touching the ceiling. He flails around, but your tendril holds him in place. “You take a knife and cut it out.”

And with that, your tendril sprouts dozens of smaller ones that burst through his body, rendering it full of holes that it looks like a blood soaked piece of Swiss cheese. Said tendrils twist around until what was once the Joker is reduced to chunks of meat.

“Mister J,” Harley shouts, her voice full of agony, as his remains fall to the floor, landing with a wet splat. She looks at the pile of flesh, tears streaming from her eyes before turning to you, her gaze full of hate. “You bastard!”

She charges at you, her mallet raised and ready to strike, but you wrap her in your tendril, stopping her advance and making her drop her weapon. She struggles and as she does, she lets out loud sobs; ones were intimately familiar with. You let out similar ones when you lost your Momma and over the years you’ve spent in Wayne Manor.

“You killed my Puddin’,” she weeps. “When Bats hears about this, he’ll hunt you down like a damn animal! And when you’re thrown in Arkham, I’ll be waiting for ya!”

(She has a point. Batman and his flock are already looking for you and when they learn you have killed the clown, they will make finding you their top priority; they will marshal every resource at their disposal to finding your identity. Even if she cannot provide them with your identity, she presents a risk to our secrecy.)

You ponder on this as you watch Harley struggle against her bindings, her sobs now filling the arcade. You know the Megamycete is right; she’s a loose end you can’t afford, especially when you’re so close to going home. Plus, you know with Joker gone, Harley has no one to control her and with how racked with grief over the loss of her “love,” she’s a huge risk to everyone on Gotham.

You decide the risks are too great and command a smaller tendril to emerge from the one holding Harley, have it wrap itself around her neck, and quickly snap it, the noise it makes ringing in your ears like a gunshot. You release her from your grip and she tumbles to the floor, lifeless.

(It had to be done,) it assures you. (She represented a threat not just to you, but to the rest of the city. There is no telling how many people would have been hurt the next time she broke free from the asylum’s confines. Plus, the influence of the clown would have stayed with her, even after his death. She would most likely never have returned to what she once was. The rest of her life would have been spent mourning over the clown, inflicting pain onto the innocent, and escaping from and being returned to the asylum. You showed her mercy.)

You hear the words and in some way, they make sense, but right now, you don’t feel like you showed mercy. You’ve heard of the Tragedy of Doctor Harleen Quinzel, everyone in Gotham has at one point or another; the story of a poor psychiatrist new to Arkham who had been prayed upon by a manipulative mass murderer, turning her into his demented partner in crime and cutting a bloody swath across Gotham every time they escaped, leaving behind many orphans, widows, and corpses in their wake. She had spent years listening to other people’s problems and for once, wanted someone to listen to her, to make her feel like she was important.

In many ways, you can relate. Maybe in another life, you two could’ve been friends, wallowing together in your shared misery.

Just then, you learn from the roots that the Bats have been informed of the Joker’s appearance and are now on their way here to capture hm, unaware that you’d already beaten them to the punch.

“Let’s go,” you say, moving quickly. “We’re done here.”

In no time flat, you’re back to your car and out of the area before the Bats showed up.

“Sorry, buddy, but it looks like we may have to take a rain check on that night out.)

(We understand. And you should not feel guilty because of your actions. It is thanks to you that not only many will be able to sleep peacefully in their beds, but many beyond this mortal realm will finally know peace. While many threats to Gotham remain, its largest one has finally been put down.)

“Yeah, I guess.”

(It is also worth noting that we have only been joined for a short time, you have accomplished much more than Batman has the last two decades.)

That actually makes you feel a little better. Yeah, Bruce has been doing this for years and Gotham’s still a hellhole. In the span of a singe night, you make it visibly more safer. And to top it all off, he’ll be racking his brain trying to find out who the hell killed him and he’ll have no idea it was you, his forgotten firstborn son.

“That does make me feel a little better. Thanks.”

“Ok, when you find out who did this, can you please tell me so I can end them a thank you card before you lock em up,” Jason says as they watch what remains of the Joker being collected into a large evidence bag by GCPD while Harley’s body is placed on a gurney and covered by a sheet before being wheeled out.

“You know, I hate to say it,” Jim says as he dismisses a detective. “But I think this is going to make the city way safer. Hell, the mayor may want to offer whoever did this a key to the city.”

“It doesn’t matter if all crime in Gotham stops because of this,” Bruce responds. “It was done the wrong way and when I find out who did this, I’ll deliver them to Arkham myself. I’ll take Joker’s remains back to the Batcave, see if I can find any clues on the identity of his killer. I’ll give them back to you along with my findings.”

“Thanks,” the police commissioner responds as he takes the bag from a forensic investigator and hands it to him.

“Come on, B,” Jason whines as they leave the arcade. “Joker was a piece of shit and it was only gonna end with his death. Whoever this person is, do they really deserve to rot in Arkham over someone like him?”

“Whoever this person is, they took the law into their hands.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason mutters, but Bruce doesn’t acknowledge the remark.

“And this person clearly has powers. If they go off the deep end, there’s no telling what will happen. We need to find them before something happens and someone gets hurt.”

Finding this person just became their top priority.

This is it, the night you’ve been waiting for: graduation. It’s funny, when you first woke up this morning, you could feel every second of the day tick as you waited for the graduation ceremony. The only thing that made the time go by fast was you thinking about the conversation you overheard in the kitchen this morning.

Bruce and Tim talking about spending the day at their computers, analyzing every camera feed in Amusement Mile to look for whoever killed Joker. You had to bite your tongue to keep you from laughing. Here you are, the person they’re chomping at the bit to catch, and they have no idea you’re in the other room. You should be happy that they finally want something to do with you, but you know it’s only because you sent Joker to hell, something Bruce should’ve done years ago.

And when you heard that Tim was skipping the graduation ceremony to aid in patrolling? You immediately did a cartwheel down the hall. Not only will you finally be free from Gotham, but you won’t have to share the spotlight with Tim and risk catching their attention, though they probably would’ve had no idea who you were. Alfred tried to get Tim to reconsider getting Bruce to attend, but when those two are obsessing over something, it’s impossible to tear them away from it. The butler tried to tell Bruce that he had another son graduating, but the man left before the sentence could be complete, stating he had work to do.

At this point, it doesn’t even phase you. You know they’ve practically forgotten your existence and you couldn’t care less. You have everything you need to go back home and start your new life, you don’t need them for anything.

“Master Y/N, are you sure you don’t want me to call master Bruce and have him attend your graduation,” the butler fusses over your cap and gown for the umpteenth time. “As you father, he should be here to see one of the most important moments in your life.”

“It’s fine, Alfred, I don’t need him here. Frankly, with the way he’s acted over the years, I’m glad he’s not here. Same with Tim.”

The butler looks at you and you grimace at your remark. Ever since becoming the Megamycete’s host, you’ve noticed changes in your behavior. Where once you use to keep comments like that to yourself, you know say them in front of Alfred, unafraid for his reaction. Or how you use to always speak in a barely audible whisper for fear of being overheard by the Waynes, now you talk to Alfred at a volume that could easily attract unwanted attention. And you’re certain he’s noticed your change, too. God knows that man is aware of everything that goes on in his house.

(It is because you no longer have that fear. Before, you were a timid little thing, afraid of being seen by a predator lying in wait. Now? You are the hunter. They can’t hurt you anymore.)

Alfred opens his mouth to day something, but one of the teachers calls for all seniors to make their way to the field, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. He heads to the stands while you follow your fellow seniors to the field where you’re herded in alphabetical order. Once the teacher was satisfied with the order, she typed on her phone and the graduation music started playing from the speakers at the top of the stands.

As you follow in line, you look up to see Alfred in the front row, holding his phone up, no doubt intending to take several pictures and record just as many videos. You smile at the man, thankful to have him here on this important night. It’s then you think about your Momma and how she’d be cheering for you so hard, everyone could hear her. You feel something slide down your face and realize you’re crying. This is an important day in your life and you’re missing an important person in your life.

(She would be so proud of you. If your memories are anything indication of her character, she would give anything to be here right now. While the butler can never replace her, he is an acceptable stand-in.)

“Yeah,” you whisper as you take your seat near the front of the stage set up in the middle of the field. “He is. And I’m gonna miss him like hell.”

While you’re overjoyed to leave Gotham in your rear view and never step foot in it ever again, you’ll really miss Alfred. The man has been your rock since day one, celebrating your birthday which also happens to be the day of your Momma’s death. He held you while you cried and was your only company in the lonely halls of Wayne Manor.

Maybe you can hire him as your butler? Your smaller house would no doubt be much easier to clean than that behemoth of a mansion. Plus, Alfred is way more than people like the Waynes deserve.

After an eternity, the valedictorian finishes his speech and takes his place at up front, which is when the headmaster walks up to the podium and begins to call the students to come up and receive their diplomas. With each name called, you feel chest begin to tighten. This is the first time in years that so many eyes will be on you. What if you fall flat on your face while walking? Or try to shake the headmaster’s hand with your left instead of your right? Or—

(Relax,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out of your thoughts. (All will be fine. When your name is called, you will rise, walk with a level of pride none of your peers could ever hope to match, accept your diploma with such grace the headmaster will b in total awe, and walk back to your seat with the same pride as before. You are better than any of these children and you will make them know it.)

Hearing those words instantly makes you relax, your the knot that had been building up in your chest untangling, allowing you to breathe again.

“Thanks,” you say, taking a much needed deep breath. “Glad to know you think so highly of me.”

(We speak only the truth. We have seen the lives and memories of countless people over the past four centuries and not a single one holds a candle to you. You possess much potential and now that we are joined, we know you will unleash that potential and the entire world will be in awe of it.)

Wow. You actually have no idea how to respond to that.

(Pay attention, now. You will be called soon.)

It’s then you realize the headmaster is now on the Fs, almost to the Gs.

There’s three people ahead of you.

Then two.

Then one.

Then…

“Y/N Gould.”

This is it, your biggest moment in Gotham Academy. You stand up and walk with the grace the Megamycete said you would, accept your diploma from the headmaster with your left hand and shake with your right, and walk back to your seat. As you do, you see Alfred, a smile stretched across his face and cheering your name as he continues to hold his phone, probably recording a video just before your name was called.

(Excellent, Y/N,) the Megamycete praises as you sit back down. (We offer our most sincere congratulations on your triumph.)

You stare down at the piece of paper down in your hands and you while the evidence is right there in black and white, it still doesn’t feel real. You’re actually in awe of the fancy kind of paper Gotham Academy uses to print its diplomas, with its Coleen gilded edges, bold ink, beautiful calligraphy, and soft feel.

Hell, Alfred may fight you to keep it so he can frame it and mount it somewhere in Wayne Manor.

After that, the rest of the ceremony seems to speed up, the last of the names being called, the headmaster deeming all of you graduates of Gotham Academy, and the graduating class being told to gather behind the chairs for the moment every senior looks forward to: the Cap Throw. You follow your fellow graduates with bated breath, eager to throw your cap and complete your graduation experience.

“On three,” the valedictorian yells from the center of the crowd. “One! Two! Three!”

You eagerly toss your cap with everyone else, your cheers and laughs joining everyone else’s. You watch with joy as the caps soar above you all and begin to float back down to the field, your eyes tracking your cap, which you had decorated with paintings (the Megamycete allowing you to make them flawlessly) of the team you beat Cynthia from Pokémon Platinum with: Infernape, Luxray, Staraptor, Floatzel, Lucario, and Garchomp (you had no idea so many used the same team before you discovered the internet).

You collect you cap while so many try to find theirs and had towards the exit to meet Alfred.

“Congratulations, my boy,” he greets you, his wide smile still adorning his face, before bringing you into a tight hug.

“Than you, Alfred,” you respond, returning the hug.

When you separate, he flags down a passing man. “Pardon me, sir, would you be so kind as to take a picture of the two of us?”

“Sure,” the man says, taking his phone and aiming at you and taking the picture.

“Thank you, good sir,” the butler says as he takes his phone back.

He types on his phone and not even a second later, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket beneath your gown, indicating he sent you the picture.

“I’m so proud of you, Master Y/N. You’ve certainly earned this.”

“Thank you, Alfred. And not just for this, but for everything.”

You two leave the field and he follows you to the gym so you can return your gown and once you do, you two make your way to your car, which is when you realize this is the part of the evening where you two say your goodbyes and you leave for Goodsprings while he returns to Wayne Manor. And the sweet moment you’ve been waiting years for now turns bittersweet. You’ve looked forward to this moment ever since you started high school and while you’re ecstatic to finally leave this godforsaken city, you hate that you have to leave Alfred behind.

“Master Y/N,” he says, breaking the tense silence. “I know you’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, but do you have to leave right now? Maybe your return to Nevada can wait until morning? You really shouldn’t be driving so late.”

“We can put it off for as long as we want, still won’t change the outcome.”

“I know,” the poor man sighs. “But still, it’s over forty hours from here to Goodsprings.”

“I’ll be fine, Alfred. Really. I’ll be super careful. I’ll stop at a motel a few hours from here, take regular breaks, stop at restaurants to eat, and I’ll be there before you know it and in one piece.”

“I just wish I could convince you to stay. I’ll miss you, terribly. The manor won’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Alfred.”

You two pull each other into another hug.

“Promise me that you’ll call me if you run into any trouble, be it on the road or in Nevada.”

“I will.”

“And that you’ll try to visit whenever you can. I’ll arrange for Master Bruce’s jet to come and get you, you just say the word.”

“I’ll try.”

You’re lying. You’re lying and both of you know it. But, neither of you bring it up.

“And promise me you’ll take care of yourself. I didn’t raise you for over ten years just for you to end up in the hospital just because you didn’t feed yourself.”

“I will,” you laugh. You know he’s joking, he taught you everything he knows about cooking, cleaning, and housekeeping. That, combined with the Megamycete’s records, you have everything you need to keep your house together.

“I just wish your father and siblings were here.” You just did manage to fight off the flinch at the mention of those assholes. “This is an important moment of your life and they should be here to celebrate it with you.”

“I know you do, Alfred,” you respond, thankful that you’re still hugging so he can’t see the face you’re making at the thought of them being here, insulting you and making you feel like graduating somehow made you feel like a failure.

Finally, you two pull apart and with one last goodbye and promise to be careful, you get into your car, the backseat covered by boxes that couldn’t be placed in the trunk. When you woke up this morning, you packed your computer, video games, books, and other things that you refused to leave behind at Wayne Manor, your Momma’s pen sitting in your pocket as you refused to part with it. Sure, there were some things were left behind and while Alfred told you repeatedly he could arrange for them to be delivered to your house, you told him that anything you left behind wasn’t important and could be thrown away.

You didn’t leave much behind, some stuff like a few books you hadn’t read in years, a bunch of notebook paper with stupid ideas for video games that you had years and threw away when you realized no one in their right mind would play them, and an old journal you kept when you first move to Gotham. You archived every major event leading up to Damian’s arrival in those pages, which is when you finally filled it up. You briefly thought about keeping it, but decided against it. You had your stay at Wayne Manor burned into your memory and weren’t eager to have been more reminders around you. Plus, you’re about to start your new life, so there’s no need to carry it around. Maybe you can start keeping a new journal?

You start up your car, put it into reverse, and when you backed up enough, put it into drive and wave at Alfred as you leave the parking lot and follow your GPS to Goodsprings. That’s when your phone finally connects to your radio and starts playing music, Hollow from FFVII Remake, playing at just the right volume.

“Wow,” you chuckle as the music begins. “Talk about great timing.”

(We agree. This song is about heading into the unknown with hope; perfect for the start of your new life. It is as if fate itself is smiling down upon you.)

“Seems like it. You with me, buddy?”

(Every step of the way. Until the very end.)

And with that, you pick up speed as you get onto the interstate.

Alfred watches you drive off and only when you’re out of sight does he finally shed a tear. To see Master Y/N leave is one of the most difficult moments of his life.

He understands, of course. Not only did you leave much behind after the tragic and unexpected loss of your mother, but Master Wayne and the children had given you zero reasons to stay. In fact, they’d given you a million reasons to leave.

But he can’t let you go. Not his favorite member of the family.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but out of everyone in the Wayne Family, he cared for you the most. You were raised by a wonderful, loving woman who knew how to properly raise a child and didn’t skulk about at night, battling with criminals night after night. You had a normal life and knew what life was like outside of being a vigilante, bringing a much needed balance to the manor.

You were a delight to raise, always saying please and thank you, offering to help around the manor, and carrying on pleasant conversations that were the highlight of his day. And if the family would take the time to get to know you, they’d come to the same conclusion he did many years ago.

However, as brilliant as everyone in the family is, they can also be equally foolish. Too wrapped up in their civilian and vigilante lives to see the gift they had been given, but spurred for years. And now, you’re gone.

But not for long. You belong here, with your family, and by God he’ll make sure you know it, your father knows it, and your siblings know it. One way or another, he’ll bring your father to his senses, and when that day comes, he’ll make him go to you and beg for your forgiveness, even if he has to get on his hands and knees. And after that, your father will bring you back home, where you’ll be lavished in the love they should’ve shown you from the beginning.

He’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back home, where you belong. He doesn’t care what he has to do or how long it takes, he’ll make sure you come back to the place where you belong. And when you, you’ll be showered with so much love that you’ll never want to leave ever again.

A/N: I got lucky this week. I was going to have 4 tests this week (2 regular tests and 2 midterms), but a professor I have for two classes got sick and cancelled, pushing the tests for next Monday and Tuesday. With only one midterm left and a study guide basically matching the test, I had plenty of free time to make this chapter. Hope you all enjoyed it!

Tag List: @space1crow @bat1212 @minkyungseokie @nosyrobin @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @prettyboys247 @paolexsstuff @c0l1fl0r @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @starsdotalk @luna57765 @jsprien213 @lizz-lrm @chericia @lunaluz432 @orbitingtraveler @roseytheteacup @meechibee @bellethesleepypotato @exactlynumberonekryptonite @marsmabe @ellaprime7

#male reader #yandere batfamily #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #batman #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #batfam #dc x male reader #from gold to mold

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liketwoswansinbalance · 6 months ago

Note

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

#my post #ask #personal post

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annoyinglovetyrant · 4 months ago

Text

Stranded

Cosmic Traveler x Reader

You'll never be alone again..

21 days, 15 hours, and 32 minutes ago you had lost contact. You were assigned to a highly important, highly classified mission; You’ve always loved the stars, a tranquil reminder of our insignificance here in the universe, a forever constant in an often bleak looking world. Determined to one day see them out of our small planet, out of our dying atmosphere, you worked hard. Studying hard in school and college, then making a quick name for yourself at NASA, and from that determination and will, came your salvation. Or, so you had thought. The mission was supposed to be relatively simple: fly into space, take readings on a nearby nebula cluster that had somehow wandered too close to our solar system, then come home. It wasn’t supposed to take longer than a few years, your higher ups deeming you mentally well enough to partake on this alone, with a communications expert at your beck and call, his main objective to make sure you don't go insane up there.

What nobody accounted for was your ship slowly starting to malfunction. It was little things at first: the team back home not making out certain words through interference, the kitchen and bathroom appliances flickering on in the middle of the night, you even started to notice your camera systems turning off, then right back on. The mission had gone smoothly for the first half, and you weren’t sure what exactly went wrong. Now, you were only a handful of Earth days away from the nebula. The beauty of it almost speaks to you. You’ve been staring at it through the window for the past few days, at least you think. It’s hard to tell the passage of time out here, even more so without Adam, the communications expert back home.

Your fingers work deftly on the controls, your hourly routine of checking to see if anyone can hear you. You don’t know why you haven’t given up yet, supposing the most human part of you yearns so deeply to speak to someone else, something that can’t be gotten over. You didn’t have family back home, only a few close friends that kept your loneliness at bay, but now you’ve almost accepted you’ll never see them again. Almost. Adam, too.. He was kind, understanding, he shared the love of the stars and the universe with you, talking to him everyday was your only respite in these cold cosmos. Him and the beauty of everything, of course. You still your movements on the controls, an innate knowing that there’s no one out there, no one can hear you. You slump in your chair, the front window giving a perfect view of the nebula before you. You stare at it some more, eventually forgetting how long you’ve been sitting there, almost forgetting your problems. You fall asleep, head lolling to the side in a way that will surely hurt you when you wake up. The ship is silent, the quiet rise and fall of your chest being the only sound.

“Hello?”

Your eyes snap awake, your body jolting towards the controls, quickly switching on your radio.

“Hello? Y-Yes, hello. Can you hear me? Hello?”

Your movements still, not even daring to breathe in case you miss anything. You wait a few seconds before trying again,

“Hello? Please.. Can anyone hear me?”

Nothing.

It must’ve been a dream, your subconscious trying to soothe the unbearable ache. That small flicker of hope being taken away is your breaking point. A heart wrenching sob leaves you, a deep pain in your chest taking your breath away. You sob harder than you ever have in your life; An overwhelming fear of being out in space alone, grief of the life you threw away, of the people you will never see again. You kick and scream, banging your hands and wrists against the metal hull of the ship, damning it for damning you. After a few hours of this, your body nearly passes out from exhaustion and lack of care. You probably could have slept forever, if it wasn’t for the kitchen microwave incessantly beeping. It eventually wakes you up, the beeping making its way into your dreams, slowly pulling you from the comfort of sleep. You find that you had fallen asleep on the floor, the unchecked amount of time sleeping on the metal ground making your bones ache as you stand. They creak and pop as you force your body to move towards the sound, the lack of nutrition making you lightheaded as you begin to walk. Rubbing your eyes groggily, you slide open the kitchen door, then freeze.

There he was, there it was. It almost looks human, with a chiseled male torso and arms, leading to a somewhat human head. That’s where the similarities stop, however. The lower portion of his body is snake-like in appearance, his skin dark blue, almost like the color of space itself. A long row of sharp teeth rest where his mouth is, and his eyes are long and wide, with no discernible pupils or sclera, just a haunting shade of milky white. You both stare at each other for a few seconds, your shock evident on your features. The beeping from the microwave stalling as he stops his movements on the chords. Slowly, you slide the kitchen door closed, walking backwards until bumping into the wall. You turn your body autonomously, taking deliberate steps towards the control area, and sitting down carefully in your chair. The shell shock doesn’t leave your face, every negative emotion a person can experience raging through your body as you sit there silently.

“Please, do not be scared. I mean you no harm.”

His words hardly register, the ringing in your ears preventing you from hearing properly. “I’ve gone crazy..” You say to yourself, doing everything you can to ignore any noise the creature may be making behind you. A terrible shiver runs down your neck and through your spine, your breathing picking up as the animal part of your brain alerts you of nearby danger.

“Please, do not be scared. I do not wish to hurt you,” This time, you are able to make out his words, but no part of you trusts them. Your body shakes uncontrollably, an overwhelming sense of fear and acceptance washes through you. If this creature decides it wants to kill you, there’s absolutely nothing you can do.

“I am not going to hurt you,” He’s right behind you now, one hand coming into your view. You slowly shift your gaze to look at the arm out of the corner of your eye, sharp claws coming to rest on the control pad. If possible, your breathing becomes more ragged, unable to inhale a proper amount of filtered oxygen. Even more slowly, you shift your gaze some more to look at his face, only a foot or so away from yours. His head tilts as you finally look at him, though you can’t discern any emotion on his face.

“I will not hurt you. Please, do not be so afraid.”

You swallow hard, a massive lump having formed in your throat and tears starting to spill from your eyes. It takes you a few seconds of mental warfare before you open your mouth to speak, a few seconds longer for words to finally come out, “What.. What do you want?” You say finally, a constant quiver in your voice, “You are alone, scared. I want to help you,” He says bluntly, though careful to read your body language. You don’t say anything back, mulling over his words and how well you believe them. You’re honestly not quite sure if he’s even real.

~~~

You’ve locked yourself away in your small room, only leaving when it’s absolutely necessary. He’s still here, what he’s doing though, is not something you care to know. However, you can’t deny his respect for your boundaries, allowing you your safe space on the relatively small ship, not pestering you as you emerge from your room to eat or use the facilities. It doesn’t take long for your loneliness to creep back up on you, but this time, you have someone, or something, to talk to. You mentally debate with yourself if you should entertain him, but the reality of your situation sets in again, and you realize he’s all you have..

Exiting your small room, you see him wrapped around the ceiling pipes in the kitchen, curiously looking at the human food and decor. He turns to look at you when he hears the door open, setting down the half eaten package of freeze dried skittles. Your heart beats faster when you see him still, though the fear is minuscule compared to the first meeting, “Do.. Do you have a name?” You ask him, fiddling with your hands nervously as you stare up at him. He tilts his head at you, a gesture he seems to do when he’s somewhat surprised at your actions, “Not one you could understand..

You can call me Adam, though, if you’d like.”

Your eyebrows furrow at him, apprehensive of why he chose that name specifically, “You have a fondness for that name,” he says, like that answers any questions. “How long have you been here?” You ask, distrust clear in your tone.

“Long enough.”

“How long is ‘long enough’?”

“Since your systems malfunctioned. Your fear called to me, your loneliness made me stay. I was intrigued by you..”

You don’t know why, but his words make you feel profoundly.. Special.

~~~

By now, you’ve closed in on the nebula, the sole purpose you came on this mission, and yet.. You pass by it without so much as taking a note. You’re not sure when you allowed it to happen, but soon after your first real conversation, you started seeking out Adams’ presence, his touch. His arms gently wrap around you as the ship passes the nebula, knowing, feeling, the deep ache it gives you. Any sliver of hope you had of going home, passed by with the cluster of gas. His arms are tentative, yet strong, holding you physically and emotionally. You aren’t quite sure why he’s still here, what about you had intrigued him so much, but you can’t bring yourself to be upset about that anymore, quite the opposite, actually.

As time ticks by, and the ship drifts further and further away from your turning point, your grief grows deeper and deeper. Adams’ arms squeeze tighter, as your mourning grows, firmly keeping you in reality, forcing you to not lose yourself in the pain. It’s endearing watching him try and give you food, him trying to care for you in general with his lack of knowledge on humans, him not knowing the proper things to provide any nutrients for you. The gestures are enough to get you up and find yourself some ‘real’ food. You wonder to yourself how many more meal times you have before all of your rations are gone. Before you eventually succumb to the mercy of space. You don’t voice this thought aloud; Adam may not convey much emotion, but his species seems to communicate their feelings through energy. And, the energy you feel from him when his arms are around you is immense.

At some point, you had learned he was so intrigued by you, because he felt the same: lost, alone, scared. Your body is not meant to withstand the trials of space, but his is, causing him to be alone for most of his long life. Space is so vast, he hasn’t found any intelligent life in a very, very long time. Until you, a beacon of light and warmth in the never ending darkness and cold. He’s been alone for so long, as much as he tries to keep the feeling to himself, you can sense how he plans to never let you go. You belong with him, why else would he have found you, if not for a reason?

You know that soon you will have to voice your concerns about the food rations, but for now, you two just lay together, wrapped in each other. Your bed is only meant for one, and he’s much too large to try and fit in there with you, so you two lie on the hard metal floor. Any soft or pliable item or fabric is spread along the control room, somewhat cushioning you two. His hands roam any exposed skin, in your hair, along your face, anywhere he can touch freely. The long rows of sharp teeth that encompass the majority of the lower half of his face open and close, using the scent glands in his throat to smell you, to memorize anything and everything he can.

Since his species communicates feelings with energy and emotions, it allows him to sense and feel other beings’, even if they try to convey those feelings or not.. He knows. He knows you think you’re going to die soon. You won’t. He simply won’t allow it, not after finally finding you. Even when you grow old and decrepit, he’ll find ways to keep you alive, he’ll do anything for you, surely you know this by now. At this point, you’ve fallen asleep against his chest, your soft breaths like music to him, a constant reminder you’re here, you’re alive.

Once he’s sure you're firmly asleep, he uses a sharp claw to draw blood from his wrist, slowly bringing it upwards to you, small droplets falling in your mouth and against your lips. His life force is different than yours, it will keep you alive, even if it slowly kills him. If you’re both lucky, maybe you’ll die at the same time, one not having to be forced to live without the other. He watches as your unconscious form swallows the foreign substance settling in the back of your throat, effectively tying you to him forever. If he had the capability to smile, he would. He watches you sleep, him not needing to do something so trivial, a sense of peace settling in him, knowing that no matter what it takes, you will not die. You will travel the cosmos with him, you will be by his side. He’s careful not to allow you to sense how happy he is that you became stranded out here, alone. He knows how completely selfish that is, yet he can’t bring himself to hate the feeling. It’s been just him for countless life cycles, no matter the species, he will live to see them die.

The ship had malfunctioned on its own, you were always going to be lost out here, but.. You didn’t need to communicate back home, that would only make things harder for you, even if you may not see that. He had no other choice than to tamper with your radio. He’s lived for a long time, he knows the best things for you, your species is too young and naive to truly know what’s right. His hands glide down your shoulder, to your waist and hips, squeezing lightly to feel your soft skin under the clothes. He’d never touch you in a way you would deem immoral, not without your consent, but feeling your body over your clothes surely can’t be too bad, especially if he steers clear of your sensitive areas. He will wait to touch you more intimately, he can’t risk scaring you away.

~~~

As more time passes, you don’t realize how little you’ve eaten, yet how much better you feel. Any thought about it, is met with a sense of tranquility, passing it off as finally having someone to hold you. And, he does. You quickly notice how little he lets you go, a small flicker of anger and sadness emanating from him when he reluctantly does.

“I love you.”

You freeze, a spoonful of peanut butter resting in your mouth. You look at him confusedly, “What?” You ask muffled, pulling the spoon from out of your mouth.

“I love you. More than anything I ever have in this existence.”

You’re unsure where this came from, or how he knows the right word for ‘love’, but your stomach flips at his confession nonetheless. You smile at him, a giddy feeling rising in your chest you haven’t experienced since embarking on this mission,

“I love you, more.”

“That is not possible.”

“But, it is.”

“Your words are foolish, you cannot possibly believe that, can you?”

He seems somewhat offended that you would think such a thing, he is slowly stripping away his ability to live for you.. And you think you possibly feel more? Even if you may not know that factoid, surely you can feel how strongly he feels for you, how utterly overwhelming it is for him. He slithers over to you, wrapping you in his arms, chest to chest. His hands come to cup your face, communicating with you in his way how he feels towards you, the energy so all consuming, it almost makes your knees buckle and tears start to well in your eyes.

“You have absolutely no idea how strongly I feel for you, the things I would, will, am doing for you.

Do not ever doubt that. Please.”

#alien oc #self insert #oc x reader #self ship #oc x you #soft yandere #writing #my ocs #original character #yandere x reader #devotion #Insp by Spaceman 2024 #On a HEAVY alien kick idk #alien x reader #teratophillia #yandere teratophilia

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satanfemme · 4 months ago

Text

On Supporting the Trans Community in Virginia (US):

as of February 2025, Virginia is the safest southern state for both trans kids and trans adults. anecdotally, I've met many trans families in the south who have fled to our state to avoid persecution. major cities, such as Richmond, are in particular safe havens for the LGBT community here. however, we are a purple state with our fair share of fascists in government and conservatives voting those fascists in, and as such we are obviously not as protected as many blue states have shown themselves to be. so, many of the rights afforded to trans people, especially to trans children, are currently at high risk.

this will be a simple guide to some ways that you, especially if you are a Virginian or new to politics, can help advocate for and/or protect the trans Virginian community politically. I am invested in this topic as someone who has been involved in this state's politics professionally for over a year now, and who has personal interest in this state not only remaining safe, but broadening its protections in the future. I am also writing this as someone who is hopeful that broadened protections are very possible to achieve, if only people are loud and unwavering in their support.

(disclaimer that this guide is being written on 2/11/25, and with the way politics move sections of this may become obsolete in the future. I am also speaking directly to Virginian state politics only. if sections of this feel relevant to other states and/or federal politics, good. if sections of this feel contradictory to how you understand other states and/or federal politics to be, please don't harass me about it ^_^. lastly, I would consider myself knowledgeable on this topic but not an expert or authority figure by any means.)

topics of pressure I will cover here: the Virginia High School League, the VCU/UVA healthcare systems, the General Assembly, the 2025 election, and pro-trans organizations I trust

I am putting this under a read more because it is a long post (I have a lot to say), but I want to encourage people to reblog it if they find it helpful.

Pressure the Virginia High School League

yesterday, the Virginia High School League, which overseas over 300 public high schools, announced that it would walk back its 10 year long policy protecting transgender athletes in Virginian high schools, instead caving to the recent executive order on this topic and banning transgender girls from competing on a high school level. over the past 10 years, their trans policy has protected 42 students total, an average of 4 a year across the entire state. we are still waiting for more information to come out about this decision, but if it is upheld it is likely to take affect over the summer.

notably, the vote behind this decision was likely rushed and unfair. the meeting this vote took place through was called last minute on a friday afternoon and at least 2 pro-trans members of the voting committee, Senator VanValkenburg and Delegate Cousins, who would have fought against this transphobic decision, were unable to vote because they were stuck at the GA serving the state when the meeting was called.

additionally, this decision is likely illegal, as it goes against Virginia's Human Rights Act, an act that is embedded in our legal code. this act explicitly protects against discrimination on the basis of both assigned sex and gender identity.

anyone can contact the executive director of the VHSL, Billy Haun, and inform him that this decision is harmful and not going to be accepted quietly. his public email is [email protected].

if you live in Virginia, or know any students who do, you should also contact the committee member who oversees your district to let them know how you feel. a full list of committee members with their contact information is available here. demand that they are accountable for this decision and that they re-instate their previous trans-inclusive policies.

Pressure the VCU and UVA healthcare systems

across the country, only a few hospitals so far have caved to the executive order banning gender affirming care for people under 19. this executive order is not yet law, and is unenforceable, therefor these are conscious decisions being made by boards of directors.

two of these hospitals are in virginia: VCU Health and UVA Health. trans minors and young adults in their care have already been denied treatment going forward. this, once again, goes against Virginia's Human Rights Act. in other words, these decisions are being made to prioritize unenforceable orders over the democratically decided upon code of law in our state.

to my knowledge, the reason VCU Health caved so fast is that they have many expensive programs, such as their cancer center, and they're concerned about losing funding. so they've thrown trans children and young adults under the bus to secure more money. I am less aware of the situation at UVA Health but I would assume it's similarly funding related. this is not an excuse, as they are still required to follow Virginia law, including the Human Rights Act, and they are obviously still expected to center their patients' best interests. this new policy is going to get kids killed.

VCU Health is intertwined with the state's attorney general, who seems to be the one who pressured both of these hospitals into making these decisions. I recommend contacting attorney general Jason Miyares about this to let him know how you feel. his public phone number is (804) 786-2071.

besides Miyares, I'm not currently aware which points of contact are the most effective, but any noise about this is good and helpful right now.

The General Assembly

Virginian lawmakers meet in Richmond for about 3 months at the start of every year to pass the bulk of state legislation. when it comes to trans rights, votes fall along party lines with democrats reliably voting in support of us, and republicans reliably voting against us.

a list tracking all current LGBT+ related bills can reliably be found through Equality Virginia's website here.

I have been tracking trans legislation in this state for 3 years, and this is the 3rd year in a row that all anti-trans bills have been defeated in committee thanks to the democrats and those lobbying the democrats.

this year we have 6 pro-LGBT bills which right now have successfully crossed over, meaning they're progressing through the GA and are on track to pass. (at which point our governor, who is a trump supporter and anti-trans, could still veto them)

how you can participate in this: when deciding how openly supportive or unsupportive they want to be, and when deciding which bills are worth submitting for the next GA session (because they are limited on how many bills they can submit each year), legislators look at what their constituents are telling them over phone, email, and in person. it is important that we pressure republicans to stop targeting us AND that we pressure democrats to continue supporting us even if/when their staff tries to convince them we aren't worth saving (something many people are predicting is going to happen with elections coming up). in other words we can rely on the dems now, but we need to ensure they still have our back in the future too.

side note for this section: when contacting a legislator and their staff, you should at the very least tell them your zip code, if not your address, so they can confirm you are a constituent.

you can find out who your VA legislators are through this website.

when deciding how to contact them, I would personally rank in-person above emails, and emails above phone calls.

you can meet with your legislators, or their staff, in-person with or without a prior appointment AND with or without the support of a larger organization. you could, right now, walk into the GA building in Richmond, find their office, and tell them your thoughts directly. anyone is allowed to do this during working hours. in my experience, this is incredibly easy to do, and they will be cordial with you even if they disagree with you. it costs you nothing but your time to force them to listen to you rant and vent. if you want to go in a group, you can join a lobby day with an organization you trust, or go with a group of friends and host your own personal lobby day. the reason in-person meetings are so important is because they allow you to have a natural dialogue with your legislator and it forces them to put a face to what you are saying, so you are more than just a statistic.

emails are also incredibly beneficial, especially when it comes to legislators who are already supportive of you, because it allows them to easily reference your statements during debate. I have heard from legislators themselves that they like it when people send them informative emails, even if they have already met with or been called by the person, so they can pull up exact quotes during committee meetings and directly speak to what the facts are, and how their constituents are being affected.

year-round outside of the General Assembly session itself you should continue calling and emailing your legislators, though I am less informed on how to meet with them in person as this depends on the specific office and representative. (I know my RVA reps have open offices year round for example, but I can't promise that of everyone).

On Voting

this November, every Virginia lawmaker including the governor and attorney general will be up for re-election. this has the potential to flip our GA to a republican majority, which would guarantee an onslaught of anti-trans legislation. or, alternatively, it could broaden our democrat majority, which would bode well for expanded protections for trans people and create stronger opposition against transphobia in the state.

as someone who has been watching the dems on a state level, and has been speaking to many of them directly, I strongly encourage you to vote blue for the GA this November. I can not stress enough how important it is that we at the very least maintain a dem majority in this state if we want to protect and expand trans rights, not to mention the rights of women, the Black community, and the LGBT+ community as a whole considering the important constitutional amendments that are making their way through the multi-year voting process now.

I am aware it makes me sound like a liberal. in this instance I do not care, because I have seen the impact first hand. on a state level, the VA democrats are not spineless, and they are making genuine efforts to support our community.

there will also be a vote this November on our next governor, which has the potential to be a game changer (either for the better or worse). currently, our dem-majority GA has been passing many great bills that are just getting vetoed by governor Youngkin, who is a big Trump supporter. if we elect another republican governor, the best we can hope for is a few more years of stand-still. if we elect a democrat governor instead, a lot of the pressure that's been building up these past few years will finally be released and we could genuinely push this state to the left. a lot of people, including legislators themselves, are hopeful that our next governor will be a democrat. but this is NOT a guarantee.

lastly it's a similar situation with our attorney general, Jason Miyares, a republican who pushed the VCU and UVA decisions I mentioned before. he has been directly responsible for holding back many LGBT+ rights. replacing him with a democrat has the potential to shift this state's approach to trans rights for the better.

personally, I am very nervous about these elections and would like it if more Virginians were aware of their importance.

Organizations I trust

fighting this battle alone isn't going to be as affective as if you get involved in larger organizations with the resources to put large amounts of pressure on the state. I'll give you the local groups I most trust, and who I've seen do the most good. through their websites and social media pages, you can find ways to support them and/or get involved through events or calls to action.

ACLU VA

Equality VA

He She Ze and We

Side by Side

that's all I have today

I may have more to add to this in the future, but these are just some basic directions for anyone who feels overwhelmed and isn't sure how to approach this topic outside of social media.

I don't have any big conclusion here, I just hope this is educational and/or informative to someone out there, thank u

#virginia #virginia politics #us politics #trans rights

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pokemonshelterstories · 9 months ago

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How does one sex a Spiritomb? A professor at school recently caught one and introduced it as female. I had assumed that they were a genderless species but no, the Pokedex says they're a 50/50 gender split.

sexing ghost types is a bit of a learned art. there are actually plenty of ghost types that have a "gender" split, but honestly with ghost types leading research indicates that their sexual system is far outside the simple binary that we tend to use for pokemon for the sake of breeding registries. they're not the only pokemon that have a more complicated sexual determination system than just male vs. female, but a larger number of ghost types than other types of pokemon have this. in certain ghost types, it really is more appropriate to refer to it as gender than as sex, because many ghost types do not reproduce sexually, and their "sex" can only be determined by consulting a medium. yamask, for example, have supposedly been shown to have a preference for being referred to as one gender over the other- but there's not been a lot of research into it, and the most definitive study has been largely debunked for a variety of poor research practices.

spiritomb, as spiritual amalgams, don't have a single consistent sex-determining factor, which actually makes sexing them as either male or female incredibly difficult, and a lot of ghost type experts think that attempting to assign one sex or the other to them isn't particularly beneficial. the main reason why they've been given a 50/50 split is that they aren't considered genderless, but we also have no way to really fit them into the system that the pokedex uses to explain sex determination, because the pokedex isn't meant to go that far in-depth.

effectively, it's more of a placeholder than anything else! it'll likely change once we gain a better understanding of the species, which is hard to study on account of its rarity.

#charlietalks #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #spiritomb #pokemon biology #//fighting for my life figuring this one out

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sanerontheinside · 5 months ago

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On the basis of my own comment, "I fully missed this because I cannot handle the news except in ‘weekly postmortem’ format", I've decided to do a write-up of everything I've been reading about the crash over Washington, D.C.

If this isn't the sort of posting you'd like to see from me in the future, please feel free to block "#the post mortem". I'm not sure how many of these I have in me, but if I ever find myself struck by the fancy to do another, that is the tag I will be using.

I'd also like to thank Canary (canary_lux on Discord) for help gathering, scanning, and organizing sources, and for their insight on flight training.

Throughout this write-up, I will refer to the current president by number of term (45 or 47), mostly to differentiate policies enacted during his first term from the present.

Intro

On the night of Wednesday, 1/29/25, 67 people died in a collision between an American Airlines passenger aircraft and a military Blackhawk helicopter. This tragedy was immediately followed by outcry and the usual hunt for someone to hold accountable. This was also the first fatal air crash involving a US airline since 2009—a 16-year safety record.

While it’s tempting to assign blame to various politicians, parties, and policies for the accident—and in fact many do (FAA blames trump, trump blames DEI, FAA, Biden in particular and democrats in general, etc.)—sole political ownership cannot be assigned. The initial outcry drew attention to a hiring freeze for air traffic controllers, and to curt dismissal of FAA personnel, but the problem has been brewing for far longer.

This post mortem seeks to provide some context for the incident at Reagan National Airport by looking back at policies of the last two presidential terms, as well as the reality of local air traffic in Washington, D.C.

The Shortage

Before addressing the current shortage of air traffic controllers, it is important to note that since the accident all reports indicate the air traffic controller on duty that night gave proper instructions.

Both planes and military aircraft are equipped with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B), but this system is suppressed at low altitudes because of the high likelihood of false alerts. At last reporting, the Blackhawk was at an altitude of 375 ft. For helicopters, the permitted flight ceiling over Washington, D.C. is 200ft.

With that established, however, there is still value in drawing attention to the national shortage of air traffic controllers (henceforward ATC's).

In 2021, the US Bureau of Statistics ranked air traffic control as the 4th most stressful job among all. The position has a high employee turnover rate due to transfers, resignations, removals, deaths, and attrition. An ATC's skills are unique, and costly to replace both in money and time, as candidates go through 2-3 years of training and must pass a rigorous exam.

During the COVID 19 pandemic, lockdowns drove down the volume of daily flights, putting many air traffic controllers out of a job. Agencies worldwide let go of trainees, stopped hiring, and stopped training new hires. In many cases, academies closed outright. Many air traffic controllers were offered early retirement.

Once travel restrictions were lifted, demand bounced back—and the aviation industry suddenly faced a bottleneck. A 2 or 3 year one, in fact. Flights haven't really bounced back perfectly since the pandemic; many airports experience serious delays—not least because they don't have enough ATC's.

In June 2023, the DoT inspector general reported that 77% of air traffic control facilities were understaffed. In December 2023, after a series of high profile near-misses, the FAA named a panel of experts to address air traffic controller fatigue. Reuters reported that air traffic controllers work mandatory overtime and 6-day weeks.

The FAA's response to these findings was to appoint a three-member panel to "examine how the latest science on sleep needs and fatigue considerations could be applied to controller work requirements and scheduling" until more personnel could be hired. Furthermore, the FAA Reauthorisation Act of 2024 expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

Unfortunately, the near-misses and flight delays are likely to continue under recent policy changes.

The Policy of 45

The main reason for addressing the shortage itself at the top of this write-up is that a lot of early outcry held the 47th President's recent hiring freezes, cuts, and firings responsible for the accident.

Context is critical. Obviously, trump’s hiring freeze in no way helps this issue, and neither does the dismissal of people in leadership positions. Even the panel he dismissed was the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, which is geared towards TSA operations moreso than air traffic control.

But on the ground, it's probably his policies as 45 that did the most lasting damage.

In 2018, the proposed budget cut funds to the DoT by 13%, or $2.4 billion. The proposal eliminated funding for the Essential Air Service, a program that guaranteed continued commercial air service to small communities in the US which would not otherwise be profitable. Air traffic control would also be privatized under the proposal.

This 2018 post by Democracy Forward provides a good summary of 45's policies. (It's also an interesting read if you've been following the recent changes in regulation of airline fees. In brief, the struggle to regulate fees and accessibility has been ongoing since before 2013, and trump's policies are unsurprisingly airline company-friendly.)

By contrast, in 2021 the proposed budget for the FAA included $11.4 billion (increase of $432 million from FY21) to oversee the safety of civil aviation, and to provide for the operation, maintenance, communications, and logistical support of the air traffic control and air navigation systems. There were additional requests totalling over $8 billion to improve airfield infrastructure and grants for Aviation Workforce Development programs.

The final 2021 budget, the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021, passed with $15 billion for airlines and airline contractors for a third extension of Payroll Support Program which would otherwise have expired at the end of March 2021. The extension prevented the furlough of more than 27,000 aviation employees. There was an additional $8 billion for U.S. airports.

As a result of 45's budget cuts, the FAA was forced to lay off many people. “He slashed our budget and a lot of people, including myself, were laid off. So, we’re just waiting to see what programs will continue,” a longtime FAA contractor, rehired under the Biden administration, told What A Day.

Former House Transportation and Infrastructure Chair Peter DeFazio also notes, "The unnecessary government shutdown [in 2019] shut down the Aviation Academy, and a number of people did not come back after the academy closed down." He cites this as a crucial interruption that was then followed by a yearlong closure due to the lockdown.

Congested Airspace

In his interview with Politico, DeFazio puts Congress front and center: "Every senator in particular wants a nonstop flight to and from wherever they live. As you saw, [Kansas Sen.] Jerry Moran said this was a flight which he had encouraged or otherwise supported. The last FAA bill, [Texas Sen.] Ted Cruz said he needed a direct flight to [San Antonio], so he engaged in a lengthy battle."

The bill referenced here is S. 1939, the FAA Reauthorization Act of 2024, which contained many positive items. This was the bill that required air carriers to provide a full refund for a cancelled or significantly delayed flight; it expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

This bill also increased the number of daily round-trip flights allowed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), despite protests from the airport authority. (Though it should be noted that the new flights added to the airport's schedule by this bill have not yet been fully implemented.)

DeFazio has words for the military, as well: "And it’s one thing, when there’s an urgent need or a security issue, to move people by military helicopter to the White House or from one base to another in the D.C. area. It’s another to do it for convenience for generals and “very important people” who don’t want to sit in traffic. […] for training, they should be doing that in the hours when there are way fewer flights coming into National Airport."

The flight rules over Washington, D.C. are very complex, developed to manage civilian, military, and government traffic. It is simultaneously the most restricted and the most congested airspace in the country. Pilots have been complaining about the complexity of flight rules for years.

This stretch of the Potomac in particular is designated a Special Flight Restricted Area. In the words of Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL), "You don't get to fly in that without additional flight training." All crew members aboard the Blackhawk were experienced, having logged 500-1000 hours. Transcripts of the air traffic control instructions and responses from the pilots in the minutes before the accident show that the Blackhawk crew twice confirmed visual of the plane with the ATC, including approximately 25 seconds before impact.

But in multiple stories published since the crash, there are quotes from pilots who had similar experiences in that area, and recall near-misses with passenger aircraft coming in to the same runway. One retired Army National Guard helicopter pilot recalls that he lost sight of the jet in the city lights and descended to an altitude of 50 feet to avoid collision with an unseen flight. There are at least two reports of near-misses under very similar conditions from 2013 and 2015.

The Post Mortem

The President's flurry of executive orders, hiring and funding freezes, have dominated the news cycle for the last 12 days. There isn't currently evidence to support that various budget and staffing cuts, including those attempted by 47 two days before the accident, directly contributed to the incident on January 29th.

However, cutting personnel, funding, and abolishing positions once vacated will increase the risk of accidents going forward. Many US government services have not recovered from the combination of 45's policies and effects of the pandemic. They are presently in a state where funding and personnel cuts will result in direct consequences to the American people, and likely very quickly.

As for the Washington, D.C. crash itself, it is indeed a tragic loss of life. In all likelihood, it could have been prevented by appropriate response to prior near-misses, addressing concerns voiced by pilots and professionals, or perhaps a less entitled Senate.

Sources

https://webcf.waybackmachine.org/web/20250120173159/https://simpleflying.com/us-atc-shortage-analysis/

https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/panel-review-us-air-traffic-controller-fatigue-after-near-miss-incidents-2023-12-20/

https://www.tumblr.com/gunsandfireandshit/774138773393063936?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/huffy-the-bicycle-slayer/774137554059575296?source=share

https://democracyforward.org/work/sidebar-airlines-and-the-trump-administration/ (published 2018, edited 2022)

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2025/01/31/defazio-plane-crash-blame-00201767

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_United_States_federal_budget

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Rescue_Plan_Act_of_2021

https://phys.org/news/2017-06-pros-cons-privatizing-air-traffic.html

https://www.tsa.gov/sites/default/files/asac-charter-september-2022.pdf

https://www.wdsu.com/article/pilots-worried-dc-airspace-crash/63626297

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/experts-ask-why-black-hawk-helicopter-may-have-been-flying-above-allowed-altitude/

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/tammy-duckworth-american-airlines-crash/

https://commons.erau.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1910&context=jaaer

#the post mortem #don't call me shirley #current events #reagan national airport #washington dc plane crash

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angellesword · 11 months ago

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BAGGAGE | JJK (12)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, cursing, blood, stabbing, loan sharks, OC cusses excessively so watch out, hurt/comfort

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

← Previous Chapter (11) | Next Chapter (13) →

Baggage Chapter List

*****

You weren’t sure if your students prayed for your downfall after assigning them complex business cases to crack. But even if they didn't, you were starting to regret listening to Jungkook's suggestion. You missed the time when your students were your only worry. You weren’t stressed about school anymore. Unfortunately, you were experiencing frequent headaches in your business venture.

"What do you mean they won't pay?" You delegated business work to your people since you wanted experts to deal with issues you weren’t that familiar with. However, it seemed that was a regrettable decision too. Your accounts receivable manager told you the team couldn't collect your customers' debt.

"I'm sorry." The manager explained that the contract with customers was biding, so he didn't expect them to breach the terms. "They said they can't pay us on time since they're having difficulty with their operations."

"Tsk." You heard Jang Min make this sound on the other line. You were so stressed that you had to call your boyfriend and ask for business advice. As far as you know, Jang Min managed multiple lending companies. He would know what to do with delinquent debtors.

Sure enough, Jang Min rubbed his chin thoughtfully before covering his mouth with his hand. He looked as though he was deep in thought when he said, "Cолнышко мо, why don't you let my men handle those rats?"

"Rats?" Your brow knitted together as you gestured for your dejected manager to leave for a while. You were on speaker and didn't want your employees to think badly of you or Jang Min. You might be angry, but you care much about your team.

"Yeah, rats. Your debtors are filthy rats." Jang Min's face was unreadable. "My men would know what to do. Lee Sung-ssi will land in Korea in a few hours. Just say the word, and he'll handle them."

For some reason, Jang Min's way of helping left a bad taste in your mouth. Your heart was pounding, indicating that you wouldn't like whatever your boyfriend would say next. Still, you pushed through, "And how exactly will Lee Sung handle them?"

Jang Min paused—as if contemplating telling you the truth. He shrugged after a few minutes of deadly silence. "Lee Sung can visit them...they will talk. If the debtors insist on not paying, we can arrange some..." Jang Min trailed off, his eyes darkening. "Punishment."

You weren’t sure how you tolerated listening to your boyfriend despite your loud beating heart. Jang Min said the punishments range from mild to severe, depending on the loan amount. Some of his tactics involved intimidation and verbal threats, though he didn't recommend this as words didn't deter people. Harassment was an option, too. Lee Sung and the others could constantly call and show up at the debtors' houses and offices to scare them.

"We've batons and other weapons to—"

"Wait—Hold up." Your lips quivered as you stopped your boyfriend from speaking. You felt like your heart stopped beating, too. Was this true? Did the person you were dating really advise you to employ "Torture?" You gasped, taken by surprise. "You want me to give you the signal to torture my business clients?"

The thing about you was you gave people the benefit of the doubt. You had no reason to think Jang Min was lying when he said: "No, of course not, Cолнышко мо. The weapons are merely a front to scare them."

Your therapist told you to trust your instinct, but how could you do that when, deep down, your whole being was screaming at you to run away from Jang Min? How could you follow your instinct when Jang Min never gave you a reason to distrust him?

Jang Min had been nothing but good to you. He loved you. Most importantly, he trusted you.

"How about we talk later?" You knew it wasn't best to keep running away from the worry at the pit of your stomach. You avoided your boyfriend every time you didn't like what he did or said. Until now, you and Jang Min hadn't discussed your minor fight regarding Soobin from weeks ago. You thought it would go away once he ignored it.

It was a wrong assumption as you realized that your doubt and anger toward Jang Min had accumulated in your heart. But still... you couldn't—not right now. Not when your mind still couldn't wrap around the thought of Jang Min not being the person you thought he was. It's too speculative and distrustful.

Jang Min didn't hold the line longer. You didn't know why, but relief instantly flooded your veins once the line had been cut off. You sat on your chair, absentmindedly turning it, until you felt dizzy. It didn't help that your office door burst open, with Soobin barging in after eating a bar of chocolate.

"Mama! Mama!" The kid was uncharacteristically hyper. Soobin used to be a quiet child who could sense whenever you needed some space. But since Jungkook started babysitting him, Soobin's childish nature became more prominent.

Your head hurt.

"What are you two doing here?" You didn't want to sound accusatory, but your tone and glare directed at Jungkook said otherwise. Jungkook hovered around the door, smiling proudly at his overjoyed son.

"I picked up Soobin from school. The kid said he wants to see you." The pick-up was a stretch when Jungkook never left the school premises in the first place. Soobin was recently enrolled in preschool since he was almost four years old. You used to have a homeschool tutor for Soobin in France, but you figured your son needed to adapt to Korea’s school system. Besides, Jungkook couldn't always look after the kid; he needed to work, too.

Fortunately, Jungkook wasn't fired from the fast food restaurant he worked at after proving that he was hospitalized. His manager reassigned him to a different duty, though. Jungkook was now a food delivery rider in the restaurant's parent company. He ordered himself the cheapest meal and had it delivered at Soobin's school just so he could 'deliver' it there and watch over his son from the start until the end of his class.

Soobin ran to Jungkook when his teacher gave him the signal to go. The kid learned to sing and play a tambourine. He asked his father if they could visit you in the office as he wanted to show off his new skills.

Soobin did precisely that. He tried climbing onto your lap while excitedly shaking his instrument back and forth.

"Soobin sing!!"

Your head immediately pulsated when your son opened his mouth while still 'playing' the tambourine. It was the worst. You gritted your teeth in annoyance, your patience wearing thin.

"Soobin." You lightly grabbed your son's arms to get him to stop. You looked helplessly at Jungkook, too, but he was downright oblivious.

"Twinkle! Twinkle! Star! Soobin wonder! What! You are!" Soobin tried singing the song he had learned. Unfortunately, you didn't appreciate it. You unconsciously snarled at your kid.

"Stop it! Why won't you listen to me? You're so naughty!" You got Soobin off your lap and onto his own feet. You tried to purse your lips to control your temper, but it was too late. Tears filled Soobin's eyes.

Normally, Soobin would softly call out, "Ma?" to you, but the kid's changed. He didn't like your reaction, so he flopped on the ground, whining like a true toddler as he kicked his feet in the air.

You stared blankly at Soobin, unable to wrap your mind in the thought that, for the first time, you didn't know what to do to pacify your son.

"Mama! Mean! Mean! Hate me!" Soobin sobbed mercilessly; tears fell from his eyes. His cheeks were bright crimson because of frustration.

There was ringing in your ears. Distantly, you heard Jungkook call your name. You remained rooted in your seat, though. You physically couldn't tear your gaze from Soobin.

Crying. Soobin was crying because of you.

Jungkook was a wide reader who came across a book on how to calm an agitated child. If he wished, he could rush to Soobin and soothe him. But this wasn't his call to make. Soobin was yours before Soobin was Jungkook's. He couldn't impose but couldn't bear seeing such a heartbreaking scene.

Jungkook walked behind your back, gripping your shoulder. You froze, though you didn't shy away from Jungkook's touch. His warm hand was soothing. It gave you a sense of support, as though you could pacify Soobin on your own.

You could. But first, you had to calm yourself down.

"Breathe." Jungkook crouched down until his hot breath sprayed on your ear. "In and out. I'm going to count, okay? Be with me."

You followed the sound of Jungkook's voice until you felt your heart rate picking up its normal speed. You blinked as Soobin's cries filled your system, and suddenly, you crouched down.

"Oh, Mon bébé." You embraced Soobin, embracing him while continuously kissing his head. "I'm so sorry. Mama didn't mean to shout at you." You regretted not bringing pudding, but you figured it was best not to bribe your son with things he liked just to get him to stop feeling emotions.

Jungkook didn't say anything to you. However, that small gesture supporting your back pushed you to snap back to reality and calm down. You'd probably scream at Soobin more had it not been for Jungkook intervening.

You felt shame stabbing your heart.

"I'm sorry, Soobin. Mama is very sorry." You forced yourself to stop crying as you soothed your kid. Soobin wasn't an unreasonable child. He calmed down after you gave him a few kisses and hugs. You tried to explain the situation to your son as calmly as possible. Every time you ran out of words, Jungkook would rub your back and say you were doing well. It also helped that Jungkook smiled at Soobin to assure the kid everything was alright.

"Wanna sing my song!" Soobin demanded when you asked how you could make him feel better. Your head throbbed again, but you nodded at Soobin.

"Alright, Mon bébé."

Soobin played his tambourine while singing his song. You felt dizzy; thankfully, Jungkook was there to rub your back and lightly distract Soobin from overstimulating you. Soobin played his music at least five times before he got tired and distracted by other things.

"Lego!" He dropped his tambourine on the floor and ran to the other room where you stored his toys. Jungkook was about to go after him, but you advised him against it.

"Let him be." You massaged your temples. "You don't have to monitor him constantly, you know? I didn't know you were clingier than me."

Jungkook's lips protruded. He flopped down the chair beside you. "I'm not the one constantly attached to the baby monitor at home."

"That's cause you're with Soobin all the time!" You snorted. "You don't need a baby monitor to see him."

Jungkook didn't correct you, simply shrugging his shoulders as he busied himself, looking at the scattered papers on the table. Jungkook had thirty minutes to spare before his manager looked for him. He booked five deliveries using different names and canceled them before the orders were completed. This was not honest work, but Jungkook couldn't care less. He missed Soobin. He liked spending time with his son—with or without your push.

"What's this?" Jungkook could not control his mouth or hands. There were documents on your table. Jungkook picked up the paper that caught his attention. "You're having a hard time collecting debts? What happened?"

Jungkook's eyes moved fast. He got the gist of your problem, so he didn't mind it when you snatched the paper from him.

"Don't you have work to do?" You uttered coldly, the paper in your hand crumpling. It was Jungkook's cue to shut the fuck up, but he didn't. He couldn't. His hands and feet were cold as Lee Sung's face flashed in his mind.

He hadn't seen Lee Sung in months now. Jungkook wasn't sure if the case of him getting seriously injured deterred the loan shark from bothering him. Jungkook tried not to think about his problems, but he couldn't shake it off now that he had read something about loans.

"You're not..." Jungkook's mouth went dry. Ugly thoughts circled his brain. However, he tried to fight them off. You were not like Lee Sung. You wouldn't hurt people just because of money.

He changed his question, "How long is their debts overdue? Have you tried talking to them?"

"Jungkook." You crumpled the paper entirely. "I don't see how this is any of your business. Will you drop it? I'm already stressed as it is. Didn't you see how I snapped at my son? I..."

You inhaled sharply. You weren’t over what happened between you and Soobin earlier. It was your first big fight, and you both lost your temper. You didn't know what to do.

Jungkook was still antsy because of his issue with Lee Sung, yet his heart melted at seeing that you were struggling to adjust. Jungkook wasn't a stranger to business problems. He was like you before, afraid to voice his concerns as it was too stressful and it might affect his competency. He didn't want to appear like a sore loser before you.

You were headstrong and wouldn't shut up with your I told you so speech. But Jungkook didn't want you to go through the same problem he did. He wanted his best friend to be worry-free.

"You know Soobin throwing a tantrum is not bad, right?" Jungkook's tone was mellow.

It didn't comfort you at all. You splayed fingers over your eyes, "I don't know. He's a good kid, Jungkook. He never cries like that."

Soobin usually demands crab spring rolls and pudding, but he was well-behaved. Jang Min even claimed that Soobin would just sleep around a lot. It was shocking to see him crying and screaming.

But Jungkook assured him it was fine. "Kids who throw tantrums are not bad, okay? It just shows that they're comfortable around you. Do you think Soobin will act all vulnerable with you if he doesn't trust you?"

Jungkook made sense. You were similar to Soobin when you were a child. You refused to let out your whines and sobs in front of your mother and those people at the club for fear of punishment. But with Jisoo, you slowly learned to be vulnerable.

It should be comforting, yet a scoff left your mouth as you said sarcastically, "Is that why you didn't act 'vulnerable' around me before? Because you don't trust me?"

It was petty—an attempt to throw Jungkook off because what did he know about trusting people? However, you didn't want to be in this position anymore. It was a constant battle between your past and current self. You didn’t want to stay loyal to your suffering anymore.

And Jungkook was trying. He had never done anything wrong since he first got involved with Soobin.

"I'm sorry," you said immediately. Because trust, you realized, was a two-way street. You shamed Jungkook for what he did years ago, but here you were, one step forward and two backward with Jungkook.

"That's not fair of me." You held Jungkook's cold hand in an attempt to show sincerity. The bastard's hands were warm. You wanted to press your face against them. "You're trying to be helpful. I shot you down."

It's okay. Jungkook wanted to say because, like he claimed weeks ago, he was not in any position to snarl at you. But it wasn't working anymore. No one said breaking down walls would be easy.

Jungkook needed an axe to smash those damn cemented walls.

"Then don't shoot me down anymore." Jungkook didn't pull his hands away. He wished he could caress your face. "Let me help you.”

You tongued the inside of your cheek, looking hesitant, but you nodded.

Jungkook let out a long breath.

"Thank you." Then his face turned solemn. "There are many ways to make your debtors pay. I didn't see all your files, but I'm guessing they're merely accounts receivable?"

You did not want to have this conversation with Jungkook. You thought you were still discussing how to raise Soobin. You found yourself answering Jungkook's queries, though.

"Most are accounts receivable, yes." Your forehead creased. "But I have people who loaned money from my business."

"Are you taking legal action?" Suddenly, Jungkook couldn't breathe. His throat hurt—as if he was being choked. "Please listen to me. There's no point in imprisoning or employing violence to them."

"What do you take me for?" You scoffed, hiding your nervousness behind your mask. Shit. Did Jungkook know? Did he somehow figure out Jang Min's suggestion?

"No." Jungkook pulled you out of deep thought. "I'm just asking. It's not a good idea.”

He explained to you why legal action was not worth it.

"It's costly. The court will fix a payment date for them, but your debtors are not guaranteed to pay you. Besides..." Jungkook said imprisonment wasn't viable as it would hinder the debtors from paying you more. How could they make money if they were in prison?

"Sell your accounts receivable to factoring companies. You have products nearing the expiration date, right? They're in debt because they bought similar items from your company. You won't be able to sell most of them. This is Korea. We're strict about the dates, so just hand them as freebies to those who will pay you on a specified date. As for your loans receivable, waive the interest. Do you have an accountant in your firm?"

You couldn't follow how fast things were going. Jungkook solved your worries in seconds, and none involved pressuring your debtors illegally. They all sounded fair.

"I..." You blinked and wetted your lips, "Yes. I've several of them."

"Good. Schedule a meeting with them. You need management accountants to formulate strategies for you, but I have some tricks to speed up collection without hurting anyone. Are you familiar with the lockbox system?"

Your mind was floating. This was such a dreamy solution. Your weeks' worth of stress was rapidly crumbling down.

You smiled at Jungkook—a sincere smile. "Hold on for a minute. I'll call everyone involved, and then we can all discuss. Stay. I need you here."

Jungkook flashed a smile, too. He squeezed your hands. "I'm here, okay?"

You didn't mind that you were holding hands with Jungkook all this time. Good. Everything was good.

**** The first week of you and Jungkook teaming up to solve business problems passed without a hiccup.

You were both sleep-deprived, though.

"Drink." Jungkook placed a glass of hot milk in front of you. "You’re too hotheaded. Hotheaded people need milk to cool down."

"Tsk." You clicked your tongue, but you drank the milk in one go. "You're insufferable."

****

You faced some challenges in the second week. Fortunately, it was not something you and Jungkook couldn't handle.

"I miss Soobin," Jungkook complained while you were in a boring meeting.

"He's literally on the other side of the room."

Jungkook gave you a knowing look. You raised your hand in surrender. "Fine. I miss him, too. Go on, call him. If he doesn't quietly sit on your lap, I'll kick both of you out of this meeting."

"Always so violent, sweetheart."

You just shook your head. Jungkook was wrong. You didn't have it in you to kick him out anymore.

**** The third week was where you gave your all. It was finalized. Your company has partially recovered. It wouldn't take long before everything returned to normal.

"Thank you." You told Jungkook sincerely.

"No problem." Jungkook wiggled his brows playfully. "What are best—frie—"

It was painfully embarrassing (and endearing) to witness Jungkook looking for the right word to describe your relationship.

"Friends." You supplied helpfully. "We're friends now."

Relief washed over Jungkook’s face. It showed in his sparkly brown eyes.

"Thank you." The unsaid words went like this:

I won't fail you anymore.

****

The fourth week was when you proposed an official position for Jungkook.

"Join the company." You said without any hesitation. "Head strategist in finance. The team needs you."

It should be answerable by yes or no. Regrettably, Jungkook only murmured your name.

"What." You tried to remain calm despite feeling your heart falling. Jungkook was rejecting you. "You ventured with Jimin before, didn't you? This isn't any different. I guarantee you the pay is good. It's more than what you make as a delivery rider."

It wasn't said out of spite. You simply stated a fact, but Jungkook's lips were tightly shut.

The words 'come on, bastard' were at the tip of your tongue. You didn't voice it out, opting for a safer approach.

"You've done a good job saving us all. I owe you one." You patted Jungkook's shoulder and squeezed it in a friendly manner. "Let me treat you to a fancy dinner, alright? I already bought you a suit. Wear it. Forget everything first and have fun with me there."

The silence ballooned. You popped it after a few seconds.

"Then, at the end of the night, you can tell me your answer about the offer. See you, Kookie."

Kookie.

Jungkook's breathing hitched; by the time he could react, you were long gone.

****

In spite of his doubts, Jungkook was happy to go on a date with you.

A date.

Jungkook snorted at himself. He was pretty sure you didn't see your meeting as a date, but it didn't stop him from daydreaming. Months ago, his life was so messed up that he wished he could end it all. Now, though...

Jungkook looked at his figure in the mirror. He cleaned up nicely. The white suit you bought for him was akin to royalty. He knew you spent a fortune on this one.

It's going to be okay. Jungkook cheered, a rare thing he did. It was just dinner—he'd casually talk to you, and just like you said, you would have fun.

Your meeting was timed at 7PM. Jungkook went to the washroom to freshen up, expecting you to arrive when he returned to your reserved table.

Sadly, there was no sign of you anywhere.

Jungkook looked at the time: 7:35PM. It was rare for you not to show up on the dot, causing him to check the date.

He didn't get it wrong, though. You were really scheduled to go out tonight. Perhaps you had a difficult time looking for a babysitter?

But if so, why didn't you contact him?

Jungkook shook his head slightly. Never mind. He'd just wait for some time.

****

The clock said 8:15PM, but you hadn't arrived yet.

****

9:24PM and there was still no sign of you anywhere.

****

10:13PM

Jungkook brought out the company phone you lent to him.

Are we still up for tonight? He asked.

There was no response.

****

10:28PM

Jungkook's stomach growled. The server asked if his company would still be coming.

"She is." He said as he drank his sparkling water.

His stomach growled, but he had no money to order food.

Frankly, he wasn't in the mood to eat either.

****

11:08PM

Jungkook asked for the bill. He paid a small amount since he only ordered water.

"I guess my friend isn't coming at all."

The waiter looked at Jungkook apologetically.

It's okay. Jungkook wanted to say. I've been through worse.

The walk out of the restaurant and into your home was layered with lavender haze. It wasn't raining, but a storm was brewing in his heart.

Jungkook looked up at the sky. It wasn't okay.

****

11:42PM

Jungkook arrived at your house. He still lived with you. Truthfully, You gave him a spare key to go in and out of the house whenever he wanted. However, Jungkook wasn’t sure he could enter as he pleased because outside your home was an Aurus Senat car. Jungkook had the worst timing—he saw you hopping out of the vehicle; your expression was soft as you looked at the other person getting out of the car.

It was a man. Jungkook couldn’t see the man’s face as he was carrying a sleeping Soobin in his arms. The mysterious man stood near you, crouching down a little to give you a slow kiss.

Oh.

Pain flashed in Jungkook’s eyes as he witnessed the scene before him.

You were dating another man.

Jungkook knew he wasn’t entitled to feel anger or jealousy. Unfortunately, those were the exact two emotions that engulfed his heart—jealousy being more apparent than the other.

The green monster screamed at Jungkook to storm over there, possessively wrapped his arms around your waist, and carried Soobin in his arms.

That’s my child. Jungkook’s jealousy was taking control.

And you. You were….

Jungkook’s thoughts had been cut off when someone sneaked behind him. The emotions he had yet to process went down the drain in an instant—it was replaced by fear when he felt a cold metallic blade hovering on the side of his stomach. It was followed by an overly saccharine greeting.

“Hello there, Jungkook-ah. Long time no see.” Jungkook froze. The man behind him chuckled. “Stay with me for a while, hmm? We can’t have you ruining a perfect family reunion, right?”

The man harshly angled Jungkook’s face toward your direction to see the perfect image of a family.

Jungkook’s heart clenched, but he didn’t have it in him to feel jealous anymore. His days were numbered.

Lee Sung was back.

*****

A/N: I didn't use too much jargon, did I? What do we think about this chapter.

Reblog, like, comment if you can! It inspires me to write 🎀

it's 3AM i need sleep. i have work later. good night!

← Previous Chapter (11) | Next Chapter (13) →

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #jungkook x you #fic: baggage #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x oc

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hugsandchaos · 10 months ago

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Okay, everyone gather ‘round kindergarten style! I have some ideas for “Dead Machine” AU! The title’s a work in progress, but it’s good enough.

•Danny is now a Sparkling, which are young Cybertronians. Sparklings haven’t been around since the beginnings of the war, so he’s desperately wanted by both sides. The Decepticons want to train him to be another soldier, and the Autobots want to give him the chance to be a Sparkling before helping them. Danny distrusts both sides on account that he’s never seen one of them before, and they keep trying to follow him.

•Cybertronian name for Danny! Ghost Wing? Star Frost? Ghost Star? Ghost Frost? Star Wing? Phantom Star? I’m not the best with names!

•Danny is the Earth Expert! He knows about both flora and fauna, recognizes their constellations and uses them to find him way around, and even knows and speaks human languages!

•Colors for Danny? Black and white, and some blue for the optics. Optics sometimes turn green.

•Danny showing a few signs that he’s less than healthy under a scan, but looking and acting like he’s completely fine. Also, he hates scans and the sight of surgical equipment. It took so much convincing to get him in there.

•No definitive symbol (at the beginning, at least)

•Alternate form is something flying; Vehicle, Animal form, Mythical animal form, whatever.

•Danny has to be taught Cybertronian.

•Danny teaches the Autobots human sign language.

•Starscream being assigned to watch Danny and teach him, and eventually comes to appreciate him

•Side thought: Sam and Tucker are there as humans, or other Sparklings, and the three of them are separated in the beginning. Once realizing that the others are there, they do whatever the hell they can to reunite with them.

•Side thought #2: If Predaking is included, he refuses to fight Danny on account that he’s a Sparkling and will even protect him, and straight up attempts to kidnap him if Danny’s a predacon.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #transformers crossover #transformers #danny phantom crossover

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erik-even-wordier · 4 months ago

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Here’s some absolute bulls**t DOGE f**kery which isn’t getting much play, if any, from news media. But it certainly should

Posted to Facebook by Len Nelson on February 26, 2025.

Here’s some absolute bulls**t DOGE f**kery which isn’t getting much play, if any, from news media. But it certainly should.

I’ll preface it by reminding you that DOGE stands for “Department of Government Efficiency.” Keep that last word, “efficiency,” in mind.

On Monday, federal employees who hold a government credit card, a normal and mundane tool of their jobs so they can purchase office supplies, gas for government vehicles, travel expenses or whatever else might be an essential part of doing their work, discovered that the available credit limits for the cards assigned to them were suddenly set at $1. Yes, ONE DOLLAR.

A very close acquaintance of mine is one of them. She has two government issued credit cards, one which she is authorized to use for day to day job-related purchases and the other for when she is required to travel for work. She is also authorized to use a third card, a “fleet card” for when she has to fill up her agency’s work trucks or other equipment. But, of course, you can’t pay for staples, ball point pens or gasoline when anything costing more than a dollar would result in the card being declined, all thanks to convicted felon, adjudicated fraudster and rapist Donald Trump and his unelected and unaccountable billionaire oligarch co-president and top campaign donor, Elon Musk.

I will note here that she and every other federal employee who is authorized to use the cards has to go through specific training on proper uses and procedures for them. It’s literally mandated as a condition of employment. The expenses for which they use the cards is documented, monitored and reviewed by supervisors and agency accountants who understand the nature of their work and the items they are required to purchase in order to do it. Elon Musk doesn’t have any experience or knowledge in such matters, even as he pretends it.

When I asked her just how these yahoos with DOGE expect government workers to function according to their job descriptions under the new restrictions, she said the “new guidance” from her agency, via DOGE directive, is that they can still use the cards for purchases…but only with specific prior approval. So now, every purchase in excess of one dollar (which is literally all of them), even filling up the work truck, must get approved by a district supervisor. Not approval to, say, go ahead and fill up several times this week as needed, but every single time they do so. Apparently the credit limit will then be increased to cover that one purchase and then will reset to one dollar. DOGE has also apparently created some sort of magic list somewhere which contains the names of supervisors who can approve the purchases. They, and only they, can give the okay.

Now, in my close acquaintance’s case, the district supervisor under which she works is the boss for an area which covers a pretty large swath of central, western and southwestern Wisconsin. As the insanely stupid DOGE directive went into effect, she was traveling to one of the district’s field offices for meetings when she got the directive. She had to scramble to figure out how to even get back home because the DOGE “experts” mistakenly left her off the magic list. So, she was literally stranded unless she wanted to use her own money for work expenses and then pray that somehow she would be reimbursed, not an easy task because government expense reimbursement procedures are cumbersome. That’s why workers have the credit cards in the first place.

Now, this district director has to specifically approve every individual use of the agency’s employee credit cards for every one of the dozens upon dozens of employees working in that district. Because, sure, a district director really needs to be on the phone or laptop several times each hour just responding to and arranging employee requests to buy gas for the work truck, bar oil for the chainsaw or even a package of butt wipe or disinfectant spray for the office bathrooms.

The abject idiocy of it is off the charts. I heard about it from someone close to me but I also read an account of it from a health care worker at the Veterans Administration. She complained that she went to buy supplies for the clinic at which she works, things like bandages, tape and other medical supplies, only to find her government card had suddenly and without notice been reduced to an available credit limit of one singular United States of WTF dollar.

Sorry, honorably discharged military veteran seeking care from the VA. Can you just hold back the bleeding with your hand while we wait and wait and wait to get approval from someone up the chain of command who might be on the magic DOGE list in order to replenish our bandage supply? Thanks, soldier. Then tack on a thousand or so indiscriminate firings of VA workers, including veterans employed in public service to other veterans. But sure, Republicans who support Trump and Musk, tell us more about how much you love and support our vets, right?

So, in the name of “government efficiency,” Musk and DOGE have instead injected absolute chaos into even the simplest of government operations and are forcing our dedicated civil service workers to have to perform their jobs in the most inefficient way that one could design or even imagine. But Trump says Musk is a “genius” when it comes to making government work better.

This isn’t “genius.” It sure as hell isn’t “efficiency.” It’s clearly purposed incompetence by design.

Well, I need no prior approval from anyone in order to say, “F**k these corrupt and malevolent dips**ts.”

#shared from facebook #doge #popular post

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darl-ingfics · 5 months ago

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Cowboys Cry Too (Part 3)

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: S.Coups (torn ACL)

Caregiver(s): Seventeen (Hip Hop Unit focus)

Word Count: 1,792

Notes: Fictionalized account of the weeks following Seungcheol's injury last year. As someone with chronic knee problems, I felt the need to explore it at least once.

Part 1 (RM) | Part 2 (Onew) | Part 4 (Hongjoong) | Part 5 (Suho)

It was the worst pain he’d felt in his entire life. It was supposed to be a simple game, a fun little shoot Carats would get a kick out of. Until all of the sudden, it wasn’t.

All he’d done was jump for the ball. Jumped to keep the other team from scoring. Jumped for a little extra dramatic flair.

Then he’d landed. Landed in the exact one in a million way that broke him.

Seungcheol didn’t remember much after that. He shrugged it off as a survival instinct; his brain didn’t want him to remember the shock on his friends’ faces, the pain and fear of the paramedic rushing him off the field, the bustle and dead waiting time and medical jargon at the hospital. But he vividly remembered the diagnosis. ACL tear. Eight to nine month recovery. Health hiatus.

He’d asked the appropriate questions, listened intently, thanked the medical staff profusely for their quick and expert care. He’d also waited for the doctors to leave the room to cry. The manager who’d been staying with him in the hospital had also respectfully stepped out of the room, allowing the leader at least the pretense of privacy to break down, something Seungcheol would be thanking him for later. Fortunately, though, Seungcheol wasn’t alone; his mother had made it to him by then, the one person who he never had to perform for. She’d held him, rocking them back and forth, whispering sweet nothings to him as his body released all the fear and tension and anger and frustration and despair of the last day or so.

And then he’d gone home. With his mom. To his parents, who had the free time to help him during those early days where the pain was still excruciating.

A week later, Seungcheol returned to the dorm. To his brothers. A move his mom had been hesitant to allow, knowing intuitively how much pain her son was in and how dependent on others this injury rendered him. She knew her son; he hated asking for help, hated being helped even when he needed it. But Seungcheol insisted. He needed to be home with his friends.

And they needed him. In fact, when Seungcheol returned, they’d prepared a party. He should have excepted it, but the thought and effort brought tears to his eyes all the same. From the handwritten ‘Welcome Home, Dad!” banner strung up in the living room, red and white balloons taped around it, to the ridiculous amount of snacks, to the board games chosen specifically because they could be played sitting down, everything spoke to how much Seungcheol had been missed. And how much he was loved.

“Hey, hey, no tears,” Soonyoung had chided, seeing the leader’s reaction. He moved forward, gently swiping at the leader’s eyes with the sleeves of his sweater. “This is happy times.”

“You can cry cause you’re happy,” Seungcheol replied, voice thick with the still-impending tears.

“Then no crying because if you cry, I’ll cry, and I didn’t drink enough water today and can’t risk dehydration,” Soonyoung challenged, cradling Seungcheol’s cheeks before maneuvering around the leader’s wheel chair to push him further into the party. To the waiting smiles of his brothers.

Brothers who proved to be exceedingly overbearing in the following days. Just as his mom had predicted.

They had planned a schedule so that Seungcheol would never be home alone. Sometimes it was full units off for a day, others just one member. But no matter how many, whoever had been assigned as ‘caretaker’ that day felt to Seungcheol more like an overenthusiastic babysitter.

They didn’t let him do anything. He had crutches for a reason, and had told them as much several times. Still, they refused to let him lift a finger without their help. Seungkwan brought him his meals on the couch, hesitant for him to even move to the table to eat with the rest of the group. Jun had started eating in the living room with him, Hansol joining too, and the two of them would take his dishes at the end of the meal. Mingyu or Wonwoo hovered close to the bathroom door when he was in the shower, asking him to leave it open just a crack in case he fell or needed help. Joshua had taken over his laundry. Seokmin would sit with him while Seungcheol was getting ready in the morning or for bed, forcing him to sit and offering to help with the steps that required him to stand.

The followed him around, watching him like hawks, constantly waiting for him to need their help, to fall apart. They were holding him with kid gloves, like a priceless antique that could shatter if not handled properly. It made Seungcheol feel smothered, infantilized, patronized. And the feeling was suffocating, a permanent weight in his stomach and lump in his throat.

The worst was the aching loneliness of it all. Seungcheol was forbidden to move from the couch, even when the rest of the group was off in different parts of the dorm. Sure, he was never left truly alone, but it felt to him like whoever had stayed behind did so out of duty rather than actually wanting his company. The worst was when everyone else got to go to schedules. Whether rehearsals, writing sessions, photoshoots, or anything in between, Seungcheol’s heart broke a bit more each time the door closed without him, each time his brothers’ voices faded down the hall. It broke again when they all came back, laughing and chattering about all of the memories they’d made that day that Seungcheol would never be part of. Sure, they’d summarize it for him, keep him in the loop as best they could with videos and reenactments. But it wasn’t the same.

When he asked Chan to see some videos of their choreography, the maknae physically hesitated. Of course Chan had said he didn’t want to make the leader sad, knowing how limited his current movement was; there was a legitimate, heartfelt reason behind that hesitation. But it stung all the same.

Soonyoung and Jihoon gave him summarized versions of their schedules, upcoming events, and company happenings. They did it to lessen the burden on him. But Seungcheol felt useless, as if he was absolutely superfluous to the project.

It made him feel helpless. Out of control.

And one day, almost a week after Seungcheol’s return, all of these thoughts that had been looming in his head like a raging storm reached a fever pitch.

“Hey hyung!” Mingyu’s bright voice filtered through the dark clouds for a single second. Seungcheol didn’t look up as his fellow rapper collapsed onto the other end of the couch. Mingyu was smiling at him, but Seungcheol wasn’t looking. Today’s ‘babysitters’ were the rest of the hip hop unit; Wonwoo was currently making lunch for the foursome while Hansol was sat on the armchair opposite Seungcheol, playing a video game. The leader had been watching intently, but his thoughts had escaped him. “How’s it going, Sol?”

“Good. Making progress.” Hansol didn’t look at Mingyu either, fingers tapping away at the controller as he was engaged in some sort of battle at the moment.

Mingyu didn’t mind, instead shifting his attention back to Seungcheol. His hand gently pressed against the leader’s ankle, the one on his good leg. “And how’re you?”

Mingyu’s voice was so tender, so affectionate, so fucking kind that something snapped.

“I hate this…”

Mingyu frowned. “What…?” But Seungcheol cut him off, lips trembling as he covered his face in his hands. “Oh, sweetheart,” Mingyu cooed, pulling Seungcheol to his chest as the first sob ripped from his throat.

Seungcheol could count on one hand the number of times he’d sobbed like this. His entire body shook as all of the pain, the frustration, the loneliness he’d felt poured out of his body. It didn’t occur to him once to be embarrassed of the wailing sounds emitting from his throat, or the fact that he was definitely ruining Mingyu’s shirt with the amount of tears and snot pouring from his face.

But it also hadn’t occurred to him that Mingyu had been the one to pull Seungcheol’s hands away from his face so that he could press the leader closer to his heart in hopes that it would soothe him. He didn’t notice Hansol pause his game and rush to join the hug. He didn’t notice Wonwoo abandon the kitchen to do the same. Mingyu rocked them back and forth ever so slightly. None of them said a single word, simply letting their oldest brother cry it out. Sometimes, that did more than any amount of words.

Seungcheol had no idea how long it took for his eyes to stop producing tears. How long it took his body to stop shaking. How long it took for his soul to go quiet. But even after the sobs had turned to whimpers and then silence, Mingyu kept rocking them. Wonwoo and Hansol didn’t let go. They stayed there, holding each other.

“Did that help?” Hansol whispered eventually.

Seungcheol nodded against Mingyu’s chest. “Yeah. It helped a lot.”

“Damn, maybe I should’ve asked how were doing earlier then,” Mingyu joked as his fingers played with the hair at the nape of the leader’s neck. His voice was light, tender, as it had been before. But this time, it filled Seungcheol with joy rather than despair. “Could’ve saved us some trouble.”

“Could’ve saved your shirt too.” Seungcheol sniffled, rubbing his wrist against his nose as he pulled away from Mingyu. Wonwoo was already holding a box of tissues out to him, which Seungcheol accepted gratefully.

Mingyu shrugged it off. “I feel like I owe you a few ruined shirts at this point.”

“Remember when he bled all over you last month?” Hansol spoke up. “After the thorn bush incident? Or when he threw up on you after that carnival ride…?”

“YAH! Why do you always have to bring that up?” Mingyu exclaimed as Wonwoo and Seungcheol laughed. Hansol smirked deviously. “You want me to keep bringing up YOUR most embarrassing moments? Remember that time when…”

As Mingyu and Hansol got lost in their bickering, Wonwoo rested his head on the leader’s shoulder. “Please talk to us, okay?”

Seungcheol rested his head on top of Wonwoo’s. “Okay.”

“We know things are really tough for you right now, but we can’t read your mind. If you need something, you have to tell us.” Seungcheol opened his mouth to reply, but Wonwoo continued, “And if we’re too much, just say so. We’ve never dealt with this before either. It’s okay to be sad, but you don’t need to be so sad, okay?”

Seungcheol smiled. “Okay.”

#seventeen whump fic #seventeen whump #seventeen injury #sickie s.coups #caretaker seventeen #kpop fanfic #seventeen fanfic #ballerini vault #darlingfics

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