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housano · 1 year

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Housano's Live-A-Half Assed summaries presents: How Alphecca Got His Groove Back Final Part

CW: Live a Hero spoilers

For the previous part, click here

Well here we are folks, the final episode of this event.

Our heroes are greeted to the sound of thunderous applause and rain of glowing petals and are thanked for saving the city from the Kaibutsu. Obsidious is a bit disappointed he abandoned the ores since no one was hurt and Rakta checked with the local infirmary, confirming no injuries and expressed relief everyone is in good health. They also praise King Alphecca, which suprises him as to how they know his true identity. Obsidious points out he literally declared that he was Alphecca, King of Alcidia, out loud. Alphecca realizes that old habits die hard and must have blurted it out as an autoresponse. We decide to join in the festivities and after some unseen sightseeing, we unfortunately all went our separate ways (save me from office work Obsidious!).

Obsidious and Rakta

Obsidious finally relents and travels to Lunar city gets his physical checkup which he is not a happy camper (I believe he doesn't like needles but translation is still out for deliberation on that one). Rakta does finish up the physical checkup. Obsidious says if he needs to thoroughly inspect his body to go ahead. Rakta says that won't be necessary as this is merely a routine checkup, but if he is interested in a more detailed examination then Rakta would definit-Obsidious immediately declines.

Both he and Rakta are thankful for their time and what they learned in Awkwes. However both express their regret about the trip being too short (don't we all feel that way about summer vacation?) Obsidious laments there were so many rare ores that a few days were not enough to analyze and having to submit a full scale investigation request to the university but it moves at a pace slower than Lifewonders translation team (they're not on Tumblr, I can call them out like that). Rakta said he wanted more time to research the medicinal properties of the bath waters. He also says he wishes he could do it with everyone again, but with Alphecca's schedule that might not be feasible. They also have no idea where Theoreol gallavanted off to, and even though he awakended as a Hero, he declined joining the Heroic Educators and Rakta theorizes that it may be for the best that he remains unaffiliated.

Rakta mentions that he has the rest of the day off and asks Obsidious if he would like a tour of the city. He mentions how it's always changing and places come and go quickly. However, he determined to learn as much as he can about his home so that he can make refugees and immigrants to the city feel as welcome as possible. Obsidious takes him up on that offer and off they go.

Theoreol

Our silly boy is off on a desolate planet where they find an injured habitant where they give them a new and medically approved concoction. THe person thanks Theoreol and offers to take him back to his place but mentions that the only delicacy is wilderness potatoes. Theoreol is intrigued of food that would grow on this planet, but warns that he isn't human and the way he eats things may freak out the person he saved. The anonymous person doesn't give a shit. He mentions he hopes to write a travelogue and travel the stars one day and asks Theoreol if he has any good stories. Theoreol starts off "Once upon a time, in a far off kingdom, there lay a small village at the edge of the woods. And in this village, there lived a childless baker with his wi-"

*Gets smacked by the Musical police and issued a Sondheim Citation*

Actually he talks about how stories have different value but the one that sticks out to him most was his recent trip to Awkes....

Alphecca

Rutilix is rutilixing about looking for Alphecca to let him know that the messenger from Awkwes has arrived. Thanks to his efforts and autopilot self-promotion, The Kingdom of Ardisia and Awkwes have established diplomatic relations. He has had Rutilix help him with examining the land to see how they could increase tourism to their Kingdom. He mentions the road he wants to choose is the People of his Kingdom. he wants to open the univserse to them so they can choose the path that is best for them. It is time for the meeting the Prime minister and Alphecca thinks to himself that his present should be arriving at this moment.

Our Live a Hero Stand In

We now return to our boring as hell desk job Parallel Flight where we are drenched in sweat. Mokdai, being the perfect cinnamon roll he is, gets us a cold wet towel and even relents in letting Akashi hand out his secret ice cream state. Ryekie and Huckle are out on business but will be back soon. They saw the news about the event and want to know all the details about what happened. However, before we get into that we got a package from Alphecca as a thank you gift. We open it up to find that he sent us: a tank full of Awkwes eels.

Mokdai immediately wants to know how to prepare it and Akashi grabs one before we can warn him not. Sure enough, it goes right for the cleavage and Mokdai and us struggle to get it out as Huckle and Ryekie return.

Still trying to process what is going on, we manage to get the eel out of Akashi and the eel makes its way into Huckle. They may all have gone to the hot springs to clean off but those are skins for another event.

How Alphecca Got His Groove Back, Finale- Eels well that Ends Well- END

Final Thoughts:

I thought this event would be underwhelming, but I was pleasantly surprised. All the characters had great arcs and Obisidious and Theoreol are absolutely wonderful additions to the cast. I'm sad that the event is over but now counting down the days to Obsidious's alt. My favorite still remains tied between Virtual Festa Royale and Melodic Meteorite Christmas. I'll give this 7/10. My support lineup already has Toshu and Shaft in it so it's ready for the VFR rerun. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed

#liveahero #live a hero #ラブヒロ #live a hero spoilers

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bjfinn · 8 months

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If you’re still up for it, Beetlejuice or Dewey (or both) for the character ask game? :D

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

23. Favorite picture of this character?

I'm always up for answering questions about my two favourite boys! So here we go ...

A headcanon I have for this character?

1. Beetlejuice: Lol -- that's a tough one to choose! I've written so many of them into my stories -- with more to come.

Beej has SOOO many issues, and it's no wonder. It's canon that his mother was verbally abusive -- we saw that during the wedding scene. It's likely that she was physically abusive, as well, though -- at least, that's what I think. If he were human, I'd say that he has ADHD, bipolar, borderline personality disorder, schizophrenia, childhood trauma -- he's a walking, talking example of just about everything in the DSM. But since he isn't, there's no way to tell what is neurodivergence and what is just regular demon behaviour.

I feel that he doesn't like the Netherworld AT ALL -- not just because it's such a drab, dreary and dismal place, but also because he doesn't really have any good memories associated with it. As a half-ghost half-demon, he would have been hated and shunned by everyone. Ghosts would have been afraid of his demon side, and the demons would have considered him a dirty half-breed and bullied him horribly at every opportunity -- killing his pet sandworm, even sexually abusing him. And, because his own mother hated him, he probably felt that he deserved everything they did to him. He probably still feels that way.

2. Dewey Finn: First, I have no doubt that Dewey has ADHD -- and it's uncontrolled. He was probably diagnosed as a kid, but the doctors couldn't seem to get the dosage right for his medication, so once he was old enough he said "Fuck it" and went off meds completely.

I believe he's basically a good person, but doesn't always (or ever?) think through the consequences of his actions -- another ADHD trait. This has gotten him into trouble all his life -- at home, at school, with his band ... Nonetheless, his heart's in the right place, even if he thinks with his ass sometimes lol

I also believe that neither of them really knows how to fight -- Beej always relied on magic to defeat his enemies, while Dewey depended on his quick wits and his mouth to avoid physical conflict. So when they get into it with each other in my stories, it's meant to be more of a slapstick comedy thing than a Frasier vs Ali "Rumble in the Jungle".

Now, you might be wondering why Beej doesn't ever use his magic to win against Dewey -- he could easily defeat him without hurting him, after all. I think, once Beej becomes friends with someone, he puts a geis on himself prohibiting him from doing so. It's an Irish word (pronounced "gesh") that refers to a sacred obligation or prohibition, and was a feature of pre-Christian Irish culture. Sometimes a geis would last only until it had been fulfilled once, but sometimes it was for life. And you can't remove it yourself -- a geis can only be removed by the person who had laid it on you. But since he placed the geis on himself, he can't remove it.

What's my favourite thing to do when writing for this character?

No matter what I'm writing, I like -- no, need -- to voice-act the dialogue. Not just doing their voices, though -- I actually adopt their mannerisms, as well. (It's subconscious -- I just do it automatically.) So for Beej, that means the vocal fry, the raptor movements, the lip- biting, all of it. And for Dewey, it's his smoother voice (which is a bit higher than mine -- he's a tenor, while I'm a baritone), as well as his stutter when he gets excited or flustered, his rapid head shaking when he hears something that doesn't track at first (like in the song "Stick It to the Man", when Billy says he can't tell if his mom is happy after she's had Botox lol), his manic ADHD energy -- the whole bit. (I really should have become an actor lol.)

I do this for the other characters, too -- it's the best way to make sure that the dialogue doesn't sound stilted. Mind you, my cousin (who lives with me) probably thinks I need to be institutionalised -- and he might very well be right! 😜🤣

I also like listening to music as I write -- but it has to be the right music for the character. That's why I started making the playlists.

Favourite picture of this character?

This last question I'll have to answer in a separate post -- for some reason not all my photos show up in my gallery on Tumblr (maybe it's because I'm on a tablet idk). And it's really difficult to choose! I love just about all of the pics I've seen, but ... I'll pick out one for each of them and post them.

Thanks for asking -- I really enjoyed it! 😁

#ask game #beetlejuice #dewey finn

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electricbluebutterflies · 11 months

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Kabby + making sure your partner gets into bed on time (because they have a tendency to stay up until 4 a.m. and thus sleep deprived)

Post-s2 grayspace, PG-ish, also on ao3.

She worries him.

This in itself is not new, to the extent that Marcus is capable of feeling normal human emotions about any human being, but… recent events, to put it politely, have made clear just how much he can justify this tendency.

Which is to say, the fact that Abby is apparently a masochist with a real talent for self-neglect is only a problem when it impacts his life, and lately, well… lately her passive-aggressive self-destruction is the most consistent thing in his life. That has to stop. End of.

She worries him, and he knows exactly how bad that looks. If he were to say anything to her, to this woman who’s driven him slowly crazy since they were children, she would overreact and he’d get accused of… the options vary depending on what mood she’d be in, but she’s always been creative, and-

He needs her functional. That too looks bad. Doesn’t make it any less vital. Something happened to them during the descent to Earth, he thinks sometimes, something in the new atmosphere changed their roles and made her the more stable one for the first time in their lives and-

He tries to hold back. Loses track of how many days it’s been since they’ve screamed at each other in public. Watches and wonders if anyone else might be able to get through to her, and…

Eventually, in the way of such things, he gives up.

It’s late, exact hour not checked because she’s gotten it into her head to do an inventory in medical and talked him into helping with some vague comment about how competent he is and oh that kind of compliment has gotten him into a lot of situations over the years, and damned if he knows what half of this stuff is but most of it’s labeled, and-

This is not an overnight project, he thinks but doesn’t say, and Abby isn’t as nocturnal as she thinks she is. Not anymore, at least, not since…

There was a breaking point somewhere, he suspects. There are a few plausible options for where it was. But that’s yet another conversation they’re just not in the right place to have, and-

“You need to sit down,” he starts, not ready to escalate, since when did he start holding back around her of all people, why is this so-

“Last I checked, you have more pain issues than I do,” she counters, glaring at him from a body-length away. Fingers wrapped around the edge of a table, body practically vibrating, he’s not sure how she thinks-

“Last I checked, I’m a lot better at hiding them.”

“Since when did you care how I feel?”

They’ve had this fight before, at least. Usually not at such volume, but it’s been a daily conversation since-

“You need to rest, Abby.”

“I need to finish this.”

“You need to-“

“If you don’t want to help any more, you can leave, but I-“

“I’m not leaving you alone. Not like this.”

She’s quiet for a few heartbeats, that ominous quiet of she’s about to say something he doubts she even knows sounds so vicious, shifting into cornered-animal mode, shifting into-

“Why do you care?” she repeats, voice all forced-calm and lurching at the restraints. “Don’t give me some comment about how important I am for our people. Why do you, separate from all of that, care what I do?”

Because he’s pretty sure he’s the only person she has left, he’d say if he wanted to find out which implement in their current location she’d prefer to use as a murder weapon. Because that sense of obligation bloomed into something damningly like affection, because if he’s capable of that then he feels it for her, because-

“You make things make sense,” he murmurs, settling for a compromise.

“That’s terrifying.”

“I need you functional. Everything falls apart otherwise.”

She’s quiet again, continues her tasks, and he’s not sure they’re going to get anywhere, and-

“If we finish this shelving unit, that’s at least a clear stopping point. Will you shut up for ten minutes if I promise that’s it?”

He has his doubts she’ll be so cooperative, but…

“Fine.”

#ebf writes fic #kabby #queue

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free--therapy · 7 months

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Hi it's anon again!

I've sort of asked about this before I think but I've been wondering about certain things related to anxiety and stuff.

Anxiety is something everyone experiences, right? Like getting very nervous, worrying a lot over something, overthinking, panicking a bit in certain situations, etc. And from what I've learnt in the last three years, when all of those "symptoms" get too frequent or to put it simply, when they start disrupting or negatively affecting daily life, we call it a disorder, right? Like any anxiety disorder- could be gad, ocd, panic disorder, ptsd, etc. I'm not too sure though but that's my general understanding.

You know how I've mentioned about me not liking labels before? I've been wondering....suppose a person gets diagnosed with any anxiety disorder, I'm assuming, in those cases, most times, the person does have their daily life or functioning affected in a certain way, is it not?

Hmm then when can we say that person no longer has that disorder? What I mean is, a person isn't going to completely forget their thoughts or worries or triggers, right? Even in recovery, there's bound to be times where someone sees/hears something triggering which might make them worry or make them anxious for a small while. Does that mean their "disorder" never went away? Or like.....do they have their diagnosis back? Umm I don't know how to explain this properly tbh.

For example, if a person has a GAD diagnosis but then they work through it and start recovering, they learn to not react too anxiously in regards to most of their symptoms, or don't get as triggered by their symptoms....like getting worried/anxious for a few seconds to minutes but letting it go, then does that count as recovery?

And if that same person, suppose stumbles upon something too triggering which might make them have certain symptoms back for a few days, does that mean they completely relapsed and have their diagnosis back again?

I'm confused by this because most people (those who do not have anxiety disorders) still feel anxiety at a general level, right? Since it's a human thing, a normal emotion/feeling or response to a scary situation. And I'm assuming most people have certain things or topics that make them anxious and make them worry. So for those people, just because they feel anxious when it comes to certain things doesn't mean they have an anxiety disorder, does it? Because that would mean almost everyone has an anxiety disorder which isn't true I guess. So I just wanted to ask about that oh and I'm not asking for a medical or professional opinion of any sort! It's just a genuine question I wonder about sometimes.

If I have to explain my situation.... I've talked many times about how throughout second half of 2020 and more or less 2021 too, I had more anxiety issues but I was in therapy for about half a year and by the beginning of 2022, I was doing much better.

Since 2022, I've had ups and downs ofc. Like moments of worry here and there but also longer periods like the whole July of 2022 was just me worrying and being anxious and overthinking and stuff. But just that one month. After that passed, it was back to like a few small moments of worry/anxiety, at most a day or two or three. Even in 2023, the worrying came back around late June and since then until now, it's been fairly....idk how to say this.....it's been well?

Since July 2023, I've had times where I've worried a lot, or ended up overthinking way too much about really really silly stuff or even had one moment where I almost started feeling shaky from anxiety but it didn't happen because I managed myself well in that moment.

For the most part, for me, it's almost always just excessive worrying and overthinking. Most times, I'll just worry for a few minutes, sometimes it takes me like a day to get over something, sometimes it takes multiple days to a week. A major contributing factor to this is also that I'm home with really no schedule to follow because I've noticed whenever I go out, I pretty much never think about my worries.

Also in the last two months, I've really managed my thoughts well I'd say. Even if a certain "worry" thought comes up, even if it pops up in my mind more than once throughout the day, I don't dwell too much on it or even if I do, I don't do it with fear but try to do it with a curious outlook. And I try to rationalise a little (not too much because that doesn't end well), I try to simplify it and let it go.

To put it simply, I've felt pretty good mentally since 2024 started. I've had occasional worries about the same old topics I always mention to it (just lots of what ifs about my mistakes, if I deserve stuff, about ocd a panic disorder, intrusive thoughts like what ifs and about if anxiety will "ruin" my future, about apologising, if I should be moving on with my life without guilt, etc.) These are all topics that mostly I've always talked about to you so even now when a thought does pop up that makes me worry or anxious, it's almost always related to one of those topics but I can manage it well, that's what I'm saying.

Throughout 2022 and first half of 2023 and last two months, when I say I've been doing good, I mean, worrying intrusive thoughts (like what ifs) do pop up but I don't let them affect me too much, I keep my focus on my ongoing tasks and remind myself that those are just thoughts and old negative thinking patterns. Simply put, I don't let those thoughts take over my day, my week or my life. Something like that.

And I'm assuming that is more or less how someone without any anxiety disorder feels too? Like having certain old/new worries pop up, those worries might come and go throughout their day or week and they might have moments of worry and anxiety over those but they don't let it affect them or their life too much. Isn't that normal for most people?

So if my days or my experience is similar to that for weeks or months, does that mean, my anxiety is no longer "disordered" and back to normal levels more or less? I mean, the "topic" of the worry doesn't really matter, does it? Like for me, it's those topics I mentioned above, for someone else, it might be some other things that they worry about sometimes like finances, health, etc.

And if so, then if somehow it happens that in the future, I end up getting triggered enough that it sends me into an on and off overthinking spiral that lasts for a few days, then will that mean that my anxiety disorder is back? Or will it just be a normal anxiety flare and not that diagnosis which can be labelled again?

Like if you've recovered now and no longer hold that diagnosis which you initially had but still if you might get triggered by something in the future and have an anxiety spiral over it for a few days or so, does that mean you have that disorder that you were diagnosed with again? Or does that simply mean, it's just a longer than usual anxiety spiral but not that anxiety disorder that you used to have before..... something like that.

Because if someone recovers from whatever they were diagnosed with, they still might have times here and there where they think about those things they used to be anxious about, they might get a symptom or two sometimes too because it's not like we are erasing the memory by recovering, right? So any small setback or any time in the future where they have a day (or a few days) worrying or getting anxious about their worries or certain thoughts, doesn't have to mean that they never recovered or that their disorder or diagnosis is back again, does it?

And recovery doesn't mean the complete absence of worries or triggers does it? At least, I think that recovery is more of a habit of outlook of not letting the triggers affect you so much that the anxiety takes over your life again. Like it's natural to have moments of uneasiness and anxiety still about things you thought you were over but just because of that, it doesn't mean that you never recovered or that you are back to your condition again or something, right? That's what I meant....

Am I making any sense? I'm hoping my point reaches across to you because it's a bit hard to explain this.....

Also, you don't have to answer if this makes you uncomfortable in anyway! And as always, thank you for hearing me out 💖

Hey Anon,

Yes, anxiety is something everyone experiences at some point in their life, to varying degrees. It's considered a survival mechanism that we all possess. If it gets to a point where it disrupts your quality of life for longer periods of time, then yes, I'd consider it to be a disorder.

Hmm then when can we say that person no longer has that disorder? What I mean is, a person isn't going to completely forget their thoughts or worries or triggers, right? Even in recovery, there's bound to be times where someone sees/hears something triggering which might make them worry or make them anxious for a small while. Does that mean their "disorder" never went away? Or like…..do they have their diagnosis back? Umm I don't know how to explain this properly tbh.

Anxiety is something that comes in waves. If you know anything about your Autonomic Nervous System, it's made up of 2 divisions: sympathetic (fight-or-flight) and parasympathetic (rest-and-digest). We're supposed to be in rest-and-digest mode 80% of the time, while fight-or-flight should be 20%. However, someone with anxiety is likely in fight-or-flight mode 70%-100% of the time. When you're able to regulate your nervous system to the point where you're only in that fight-or-flight mode for less than probably 50%, I'd say that you've overcome that disorder. Anxiety is a survival mechanism so it'll never be 0% because our brain will never operate that way for us to be able to react to threats/danger.

As someone who used to suffer from depression, I knew I was healed when I no longer thought about killing myself or wanting to die every day. I knew how to combat the thoughts that used to take me down and win those battles, but also could sustain that. Do I still get depressing thoughts? Yes…but I know how to let them go without it bringing me down to those low places where I would beat myself up or turn to self-destructive behaviors (but it doesn't mean I havent tried doing them in the past!) Things just no longer have the same power as they used to before. That's how I knew.

Recovery is not a linear process, so I get why it's hard to grasp. Given that they learned the proper tools how to handle any triggers, then they just have to apply what they've learned before to get themselves out of this trigger too. Healing is a constant and never-ending battle. I still find myself being triggered here and there with things, but I know how to handle them and disarm them fairly quickly instead of letting it consume me entirely. As you go along in your journey, you should already be well equipped to figure out how to handle things…and even if you can't do it on your own, you should already hopefully have a support network to help give you insight into how you can handle this particular trigger this time. I've never experienced total relapse where I've gone all the way back to the bottom of the staircase. Yes, I've had setbacks, but never to the point where I felt like I should give up and resort back to my destructive and unhelpful behaviors. To me, I found that I wouldn't let myself go back there.

I'm starting to find that the common misconception people feel about "those without anxiety disorders" is that they've never experienced before, but that's not true. A lot of the time, people have learned to copy with them. Just like weight training, the weights never get lighter, YOU just get stronger and are better able to lift them. The weight has never changed, but YOU have. These people (myself included) have learned the right tools to be able to deal with these worries because it's something that will never go away. Like I mentioned above, that fight-or-flight mode is a survival mechanism that will never be 0%

I think you have to be suffering with the anxiety for several months and even years for it to be considered a disorder. I think it's natural to dwell on certain triggering things for some time, but if you're able to eventually overcome it, then no, I wouldn't consider it being something you're diagnosed with again.

And recovery doesn't mean the complete absence of worries or triggers does it?

Recovery means being able to handle the worries and triggers right as they happen and not letting it consume you for long periods of time :) The weight doesn't get lighter, YOU get stronger.

#ask #answered #anon #anxiety #anxiousness #anxious thinking #sympathetic nervous system #parasympathetic nervous system #nervous system #mental health #mood disorders #ocd #obsessive thinking #the healing journey

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years

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Hi Hi!!! I was wondering if I could request a reader treating their S/O's wounds after a fight/accident. Possibly with Diluc, Kaeya, and Albedo? Thank you so much I absolutely love your writing :D

^ I love Albedo so much - silly little forgetful genius

Warning -> cleaning injuries, playful/joking

Character X GN Reader | Anthology

Includes: Diluc, Kaeya, Albedo⚘

Diluc

Diluc would be pretty angry if he got hurt. It doesn’t matter hoe either, it could be because he was out protecting the city or found himself in a fight, but his pride would be hurt the most if it was because of an accident

He’d beat himself up for being careless and not paying attention - don’t mistake his terrible mood for being annoyed at you, it’s all turned inward

“This is a pretty bad cut.” You take his arm in your hand and look over the wound. It’s hard to tell, but it looks as if it spans from his triceps to his upper bicep. The blood has soaked into his shirt and when you go to examine the rip he pulls away from you.

“You don't need to fuss with it.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Of course I do.” You reach back out to him but he pushes your hand away which makes you huff. It was admirable how much he did and how hard he fought for others, but sometimes his pride got in the way of what was best. You wished he would let those walls down easier.

Diluc was always so much for you - in everything he did you couldn’t keep yourself together and you felt your body tingle from the tips of your fingers to the bottom of your feet. You loved him and sometimes it was painful

“Still, it needs to be treated.” You reached for him for the third time and his hesitancy began to slip. Carefully, you unbuttoned his shirt, keeping a close watch on his facial expressions. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is turned into a frown but he isn’t fighting you. Once you get enough of it unbuttoned, you slide it over his shoulder, and, as if you could forget, you catch sight of his beautiful skin. The muscles around his eye scrunched as you slide the sleeve of his shirt over the injury. “Sorry.”

You’d seen him many times before, but the air in your lungs always escaped when you did, there was something beautiful about him with his shirt half off - how it accentuated his chest and back muscles, the way his vibrant hair complemented his dark shirt and pale skin

You began to clean his wound. First, you wiping it with a cloth, making sure to use a gentle touch so as to not irritate the skin anymore before applying the medicinal cream you often kept on hand.

Even as your eyes looked over the injury, you couldn’t help but glance at his face and look for any sign of discomfort. Soon, you found your gaze trailing down his neck and over his chest. It was unbelievable how attractive he was, and you couldn’t understand that out of everyone, he chose you.

You rummaged through the medical supplies until your hands found the bandages. Shifting closer to Diluc and resting his hand against your outer thigh you began to wrap his injury as carefully as you could.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Not particularly, all that you need to know is the issue has been dealt with.” His chin rested in his free hand and he avoided your eyes.

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you’re more than capable. I’m nearly done.” You wrapped his arm a few more times for good measure before clipping the bandages together with one of the small metal clasps. “That should do. We should change the bandages tomorrow, but I don’t think you’ll lose the arm.” You chuckle and bend to your side, the items in the medical kit a disorganized mess and you work quickly to get them back in order. When you sit back up Diluc is still sitting in the chair in front of you, which you didn’t expect.

You open your mouth to say something but stop when he turns to you. He runs his fingers against the side of your head, pushing strands of your hair over your ear. His hand rests there for a second, his thumb sliding across your cheek and you feel the goosebumps climb up your back and over your shoulders, seeping into your heart.

“I’ll be more careful next time.” His eyes shift back and forth between your own, his face haloed by fiery hair.

“Mhm.” You nod and he releases you. You gaze at him as he stands by the dresser and works his way into a fresh shirt.

Kaeya

Kaeya loves being pampered by you - he cannot get enough of your touch anyway, and when you care for him, clean him up - all your attention on him - well he gets kind of a big head

“How many times have I told you to be more careful.” You scold him as you position yourself behind the chair.

“At this point, I’ve lost count.” He bent backward and tilted his head until he could look up at you. Even though the two of you had been together for some time, he still found ways to set your veins on fire.

He looked at you and at this angle, you were given a perfect view of his neck and chest. You couldn’t help but notice the discolored skin where he had been injured in battles past. He may be quick on his feet, but he was still human.

As nimbly as he could, he wrapped one of his arms around your back and pulled you close to him.

“Who needs to worry about being safe when they have their own personal nurse.” You laughed and leaned down to place a quick kiss on his forehead. He hummed and the sound warmed your chest.

“I might be out of a job if you don’t be more careful.” You traced your fingers up his neck and along his jawline before giving him a gentle pat against his ear. “Now lean up so I can work.”

He complied, returning his arm to rest on his legs and you settled back over his shoulder. With a light touch, you gripped onto his bicep and pushed it further into the light. The injury, while painful looking, didn’t seem to be too dangerous.

Kaeya was cocky - sometimes more than he should be, and while he was perfectly capable of keeping himself out of harm's way, he didn’t know everything all the time

Taking care of him like this was intimate in its own way. He wanted to be close to you and normally his hands were the ones trailing their way across your skin, but when these situations came up you had more justification to touch him without reservation

The cut stretched across his shoulder blade, almost as if a blade was deflected from striking him in the back. You grabbed the cloth from the warm tub of water and wring it out until there were only a few drops coming off of it. Wrapping it around your hand so you have more control, you slip your pointer and middle finger into the cloth and hold it together in your palm, this way you can clean the skin around the cut more efficiently.

You admire how flawless his skin is as you clean the blood. You hope this doesn’t leave a lasting scar, but honestly, it wouldn’t be the first and unlikely to be the last. As carefully as you could, you begin to clean the edges of the injury. When you hear him suck in the air quickly you stop.

“Ah, did that hurt?”

“Heh, nothing I can’t handle.” He laughs in good humor and shifts a bit in the chair.

“Oh, so I can stop being so gentle then?”

“Now hold on.” He begins to turn around, his confident smile already slipping.

“I’m kidding.” You reassure him with a snicker, placing your hand on the side of his arm. “Be a good patient and relax.”

You finish cleaning his wound and covering it with the healing ointment before working on placing the bandage. Thankfully, the Knights always had everything on hand so it made the whole process quick and relatively painless.

“I think we are good.” You pack away the items and place them back into the medical cabinet, the door closes with a satisfying click. Walking over to the small refreshment table you pour water into a cup and make sure you take both it and the pain medication back to Kaeya. As you make your way back to him he’s already putting his shirt back on, a shame really. “Here, these should help with the pain.”

You hold out your hand to him and wait for him to finish. When he turns around and his eyes land on the pills in your hand he smirks.

“I know another way to alleviate pain.” He walks toward you and you already feel the urge to roll your eyes.

“And what is that?”

“Kissing.” He looks down at you and pulls at your shirt. He closes his eyes and leans down to your face but you hold him off.

“Hey now. Why don’t you take these and then we can talk.” You knock your knuckles onto his slightly exposed chest and with a huff he concedes. Quickly, he takes the medicine in his hands and tosses them in his mouth, you offer him the water but he doesn’t take it. “Good jo…” He cuts you off. His lips connecting with yours and his hands pulling you close.

He pulls away and looks at you, “See, my way is so much better.”

“Cheeky.” You poke back and fail in your attempt to get away from his lips.

Albedo

He’s taken care of himself for so long that it’s still a shock sometimes to have someone dote on him as much as you do - you’re always around to help him and he’s starting to find your company quite enjoyable

Here’s the kicker - Albedo wouldn’t notice if he had been injured until way later - so when you react loudly near him he doesn’t completely follow nor understand what has made you so upset

“Albedo! What happened?” You reach out to his face and when he disconnects from the papers that have kept his attention for so long you see the confusion in his eyes.

“Y/N, sorry. I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“You have a cut on your face.” You brush his hair away from his forehead and shake your head as you see the cut across his brow.

He reached up and touched his head, when he pulled his hand back to his line of sight and saw the blood on his fingertips his reaction was calm. “Well, this is a surprise.”

You turn around and walk toward one of the cabinets in the research facility. It wasn’t uncommon for small accidents like these to happen here. Often, the experiments would become quite volatile or their reactions unexpected. You pulled the items from the shelf and remembered the time an unfortunate student lost his eyebrows.

Quickly, you made your way back to Albedo’s side and placed the medical box on the counter next to you. As you rummage through the items in the box you start to talk to yourself, narrating out everything you were doing as well as your thoughts.

“I know there should be some things in here that will help. I could have sworn that it had, ah yes. Here you are tricky thing.” You tear open a small bag and pull out a cloth. As quickly as possible you get it wet and feel it begin to lather under your fingers. “I’ll use this to clean your wound and then I’ll bandage it.”

You walk back to Albedo and place your hand against his cheek. He’s been watching you this whole time and lets you do as you please. “Where is Sucrose when you need her. At least she seems to keep you out of harm's way … sometimes at least.” At this point, you are mumbling, and more to yourself than you are to Albedo. When he laughs you freeze, one hand resting under his chin and the other against his forehead. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re so upset that you’re talking to yourself.”

“Oh … really?”

“Mhm”

“… I didn’t even notice.” You feel your ears get warm and pinch your lips together.

“It’s fine. I often talk out loud when I’m looking at my research.”

It never ceased to amaze you how similar the two of you were - how you could both get so lost in whatever you were doing that the world seemed to fade away

Still - Albedo was the only person in your life who could keep your attention on the here and now - from the day you met him he was your present and, hopefully, your future

“This should be enough, does your head hurt?” You placed the bandage over his injury. The research facility was really to thank for the adhesive additions to small bandages like this. Somehow, they managed to make the edges sticky enough to adhere to the skin, but not too much to make it impossible to remove.

“No, it seems to be okay. Thank you.” He reached up and grabbed your hand and let it rest in his lap.

“No problem.” You avert your eyes and let them rest on the floor. He gives your hand a squeeze before letting you go and the warmth of his palm leaves yours chilled. The two of you just live in the comfortable silence for a second, he glances your way and you push the medical box along the counter. Finally, you break the silence, “I should put this back.”

You pack up the items and close the box before walking back to the cabinet where you got it. As you slide it back onto the shelf the question you never got the answer to slipped back into your brain.

“Hey,” you begin, turning around and leaning against the counter. “So do you remember how you got the cut on your head?” You cross your arms and stare at him from across the space.

He scratches his head with his pencil and shakes his head. “I can’t recall. Oh, are you busy though?”

“No, I’m free the rest of the day.” You reply.

“Excellent, would you be inclined to stay and assist me? I have a number of things I’m working on and would appreciate the extra hands.”

“Sure. Where can I start?” You push yourself from the counter and take a few steps toward him.

“Ah yes, I need to organize the specimens in the closet back there … ” he stands and begins to walk toward the back closet, you head that way and reach it before he does. “There were a number of things to do …”

His voice trails off as you open the door and find a great number of items littering the floor. Boxes, books, papers, and other random items spread about in complete disarray.

“Oh … I think I remember how I got injured.” He stares over your shoulder and in defeat, you cover your eyes with your hand.

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Curse-breaker (Chapter 4/4)

- ao3 -

“You know him, right?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Xichen. He was trying not to appear as nervous as he felt in asking, but he was pretty sure he was failing. “Nie-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I do. And thank you for calling him that, he prefers it.”

There were those that had started calling him Curse-breaker, as if it were a proper title; Jiang Cheng had heard it said a few times, and while he didn’t personally disagree with the moniker, which seemed appropriate, he also knew better than to just drop it into a conversation.

Luckily. He was trying to make a good impression here.

“What’s he like?” Jiang Cheng blurted out, then immediately wanted to kick himself. “I mean – it’s just – I didn’t see him much when he visited the Lotus Pier –”

He was making it worse.

It was only that he’d never quite met anyone with so much presence as Nie Mingjue: taller even than Jiang Cheng’s father, with that strange eye that seemed to see everything and anything. His features were generally set in a neutral expression that made him seem almost unworldly, like some god untouched by human concerns, but which sometimes softened a little when he approved of something – or someone.

Jiang Cheng could feel his cheeks going red, and tried to suppress it.

“Mingjue-xiong liked you,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng lost the battle at once, his whole face heating up until it felt unbearably hot. This was worse than the time that Nie Mingjue had come to the Lotus Pier and told his parents to value Jiang Cheng more or else, and then his father had come in with a smirk and a snarl and somehow made them do it. “He said so.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. He said you were talented and faithful, with a good heart, and that we’d see great things from you.”

Jiang Cheng was going to die.

“That’s nice,” he said, with an effort. “I thought very highly of him, too. He’s…great.”

Wow. ‘Great’. Was that really the best he could do?

Lan Xichen studied him for a moment, then nodded. “He really is,” he said, and sighed. “I had the same reaction, you know. He’s…a lot.”

Jiang Cheng felt seen. “I know,” he said effusively. “He’s just – you know?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Just –”

He waved his hand in the air. Not even making some sort of gesture, just a meaningless sort of wave, but for some reason Jiang Cheng understood him completely.

There really just weren’t words sometimes, when you wanted to describe things or people that inspired feelings that went beyond the merely describable. Nie Mingjue was one of those – Jiang Cheng had known that Lan Xichen would understand, and sure enough, he did.

And to think that Wei Wuxian liked Lan Wangji better!

Really, his shixiong might be more talented than Jiang Cheng in many ways, ways that were often a matter of jealousy, but Jiang Cheng clearly had better taste.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice said, and Jiang Cheng tensed and turned to look – but it was only Wen Qing, so that was fine. “Lan-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi, I was sent to spend some time with you.”

She probably meant that she was sent away so that the adults would have time to talk about issues they thought were too sensitive to involve the younger generation, or else they just wanted to start drinking earlier in the afternoon than usual and didn’t want her judging them from a medical standpoint. Either might be true – Wen Qing was widely acclaimed as one of the most talented in their generation, as terrifying with her needles as other people might be with their sword, from more or less the first moment she’d finally been allowed to join the rest of them on equal grounds.

They greeted her, trying to stand up to be polite, but she waved them down irritably and took a seat instead. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng nodded. “We were just commenting on his many admirable qualities.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, even more emphatically.

Wen Qing looked at them both with that critical eye of hers for a long moment.

Then she sighed in a huff. “He’s really all that and more, isn’t he?” she said.

“He is,” Lan Xichen said.

“He’s just –” Jiang Cheng tried the same gesture as Lan Xichen earlier, and was gratified when Wen Qing started nodding herself in total agreement. “Right?”

“Right.”

Nie Mingjue was aware that many people liked to stare at them, but they had assumed it was because of how unusual they were – even putting aside the eye, which was their most obviously not-normal feature, their behavior was not always in line with regular people’s. They didn’t show their emotions on their face as easily, being more naturally inclined towards sternness, and their manner was both sharp and incisive, straightforward and blunt; they had missed critical years of social development while lost in what amounted to seclusion, too busy solidifying their sense of self, consolidating their we into an I.

(They were still trying to figure out gender, a process complicated by the fact that it hadn’t made much sense to either of them to begin with. They were starting to suspect it would be better to just give up on it entirely.)

It turned out, according to Nie Huaisang, that that was not why all those people were staring.

“When you say they like me…”

“Sexually or romantically attracted, usually both,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have a lot of would-be suitors. Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Jiang Yanli –”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use their names directly like that,” Nie Mingjue said, though they weren’t sure about that. They’d forgotten more etiquette than they’d ever learned. “Also, isn’t Jiang Yanli getting married to Jin Zixuan?”

“He’s another of your admirers. As is Meng Yao…no, sorry, Jin Ziyao. You know he secretly thinks that you killed Jin Guangshan for him, right?”

They’d killed Jin Guangshan because he was rotten through and through, and he didn’t even have a qi deviation or a tormenting heart demon to blame for it. He just thought of people as things, even the ones he supposedly liked, and acted accordingly…they hadn’t really thought through the consequences of killing him when they’d done it, having long ago forgotten the concept of political considerations, but it was really amazing what could be covered up or excused if multiple sect leaders put their minds to it while the rest just breathed a sigh of relief that Jin Guangshan was gone.

“That seems like too many people,” they said. “They can’t all be my…admirers.”

“You think that’s it? I haven’t even gotten to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian – both at once, if that’s your preferred flavor – and even that feral child Jin Ziyao found in Kuizhou…you know just the other week, he loudly declared that you were better than sweets and the entire room sighed all at once in agreement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. There are even rumors that say that Sect Leader Wen might be interested…”

They shrugged.

Nie Huaisang squinted at them. “Da-ge. Did you know about that one?”

“Sect Leader Wen is not subtle,” they said dryly. “But if it makes you feel better, his interest is purely a matter of cultivation, and also our father has already hit him for even making the suggestion.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t look impressed. “Are you sure it’s purely a matter of cultivation? Would you be able to tell if it wasn’t?”

Nie Mingjue considered how little they’d recognized any of the other people who were purportedly interested in them. “No,” they admitted.

“Hmm. What about Teacher Lan?”

“What about Teacher Lan?” they asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing. Just something I read somewhere…”

Probably one of those spring books that he was always sneaking around, they concluded.

“Though…you have been going out of your way to meet up with Teacher Lan more often recently…”

“He’s helping me figure out some of the bureaucratic intricacies of changing succession,” they said. “He’s had the most experience, having to do it twice – once to get his brother out of the line of succession, and another to get him back in. He’s a good teacher.”

He was, too. For all of Nie Huaisang’s tall tales about Lan Qiren’s strictness and overly-rigid insistence on orthodoxy, the man himself had a very calming presence, still and tranquil. It made them think of a musical instrument and, using the Nie cultivation method as a base, start to think strange thoughts…

Though not the sorts of thoughts Nie Huaisang had in mind.

“I mean, I guess. Even I learned eventually, and – wait. Why do you need to know about how to change succession? You’re already the heir.”

“That’s the problem,” Nie Mingjue said. “I need to figure out how to abdicate my position in your favor.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“No, I’m not joking,” they said, because they knew their little brother. “I’m not suited for politics. I don’t think I ever was, and after everything that happened, I’m even less suited.”

They really weren’t. Too blunt, too sharp, too concerned with justice, too inhuman – they were good at fighting, in the sense that they knew how to be a saber as well as a human and could wield sharpness in the same way, a slash from their fingers being enough to cleave a man in half, but that wasn’t what being a sect leader was about.

No, Nie Huaisang would be much better at it.

“Da-ge, you can’t do this to me!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Do you know how much work it’d be? Anyway, you can’t – our father’s already promised all of Qinghe Nie to your future spouse! So there!”

“Then I just won’t ever get married.”

“What?!” Nie Huaisang waved his hands wildly. “You can’t do that! You – you – do you know how many hearts you’d be breaking?!”

“So you’ve informed me,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “It’s all right, Huaisang. I rather like the life Teacher Lan has made for himself, traveling all around and coming back every few seasons to teach something. I want to fight evil, and there’s a lot more evil out there than there is in here.”

Or, at minimum, there was more evil of the sort they were allowed to just stab. That was apparently frowned upon, in politics – there was a reason they said they weren’t suited for it.

“You’re not suited for fighting evil with a blade,” they added while Nie Huaisang was still spluttering. “But you can do wonders with people, if you’re given enough time to plan it. Being sect leader will put you in the position that will let you fight evil best, in your own way.”

“Not everything is about fighting evil, da-ge!”

“Isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to have a good answer to that.

After a while, he finally said, “…you really think I’d be good at it?”

Nie Mingjue pulled their younger brother in for a hug.

“You’ll be magnificent,” they promised.

They liked travel, just as they’d suspected they would.

People always recognized them – the eye was very distinctive, and they were also very tall – and immediately rushed over to share all their problems. They were very happy to help. Some of them they could fix personally, generally the ones that were stabbable, while they had a wide enough set of acquaintances to deal with many of the others: those who needed healing to go to the Lan sect or Wen sect, depending on whether problem was mental or physical; those that needed advancement to the Jin sect or Jiang sect; mysteries to be solved to the newly established Wei sect over in Yiling; and anyone with anything more abstruse than that over to Nie Huaisang personally to sort of.

Their little brother liked a good puzzle.

As for Nie Mingjue’s part, they liked fighting evil, and they liked helping people, too, if they could manage it, so it all worked out quite well. The road could be a little lonely at times, all alone with no one around, but it wasn’t really that bad. They were welcome at just about every cultivation sect and most of the other places they’d passed by, so it wasn’t like they were lacking for company if they wanted it.

It was only sometimes that they wished that there was someone else who might want to share this type of life with them.

It was a difficult life, always roving and never satisfied, intent on fighting evil for an eternity and prizing the doing of it over normal things, everyday things; they knew that they couldn’t ask someone else to take on a mission so absurd as stamping out all evil in the world, and so they didn’t. Who would be so foolish as that? Not everyone could leave behind all their responsibilities and ties to the world the way they did, passing instead through their beloved one’s lives by chance like a leaf tossed in the wind – nor should they, if those ties gave them joy.

Take their current mission, for example. One of Nie Mingjue’s earlier trips had taken them from Yiling to the Baixue Temple, with the highly unorthodox Wei sect’s equally unorthodox head disciple, Xue Yang, tagging along with them so that they could – in Wei Wuxian’s words – beat some sense into his head, and it had been on that trip that they had met Song Lan, who was thoroughly charmed by the idea of a sect established on principles of brotherhood rather than blood.

He'd also been rather charmed, they thought, by Xue Yang himself, and the interest had been mutual.

(They were getting better at recognizing that sort of thing.)

So Song Lan had gone off with them, with Nie Mingjue dropping both him and Xue Yang back in Yiling, and when he’d gone back again another time they had seemed very happy. But Song Lan had been thinking about his master and martial brothers back at home, and he’d asked if Nie Mingjue would be willing to carry along some letters that he didn’t dare trust to the post.

Nie Mingjue, suspecting a request regarding marriage was involved, had readily agreed. Sure enough, once they’d dropped it off, the entire Baixue Temple had all but exploded in excitement – they’d barely managed to make it out of there in time to avoid being dragged into all the fuss.

And now they were wandering around nearby, shaking their head in amusement at all the noise they’d left behind, looking for something more interesting to do. Some evil to fight, or something like that.

They found both.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” they commended to the cultivator in white that had worked together with them to defeat a rather astounding number of evil creatures in an effort to save some rogue cultivators who’d gotten in over their heads. Nie Mingjue’s reputation was already ridiculous, and was only going to get worse, they knew, but really this was a lot even for them. They wouldn’t have been able to manage it without help.

“It was,” the cultivator said, and smiled at them. “My name is Xiao Xingchen, disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Who are you?”

“Nie Mingjue,” they said. They thought they’d heard of Baoshan Sanren before, but they weren’t entirely sure – they had a tendency to forget things that weren’t that important to them. They thought it might be something to do with Wei Wuxian’s mother –something to do with the immortal mountain, and a doom that fell on those who descended from it…?

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did those rogue cultivators call you Curse-breaker?” Xiao Xingchen asked.

They thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

Xiao Xingchen laughed.

It was a warm sound.

“Where are you going?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I can escort you, if you like.”

“Don’t you have things of your own to be doing?”

“Not really,” Nie Mingjue said. “I want to eradicate all evil in this world, a task that’ll take me a lifetime – and evil can be found anywhere. Why not with you?”

Xiao Xingchen ducked his head. “I don’t have a destination either,” he admitted. “I came down from the mountain because I wanted to help save all the people in the world.”

Nie Mingjue blinked. That was nearly as stupidly idealistic a goal as theirs.

“Well, then,” they said, and smiled. “In that case, why don’t we go together?”

It would be nice to have company, unrestrained by any obligations tied to the mortal world, and in return they could show Xiao Xingchen everything there was to see – introduce him to all the people, eat all the food, fight all the battles. And if in the end it turned out that that doom people talked about in regards to the mountain really was a thing…

Well, they’d see about that.

After all, Nie Mingjue had a bit of experience with curses like that.

#mdzs #nie mingjue #jiang cheng #lan xichen #wen qing #xiao xingchen #my fic #my fics #cursebreaker #hey remember when I asked for help in deciding the ship

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erimeows · 3 years

Note

Could we maybe get some Sentinel falling for a human and hating it headcannons/scenario? The human is just really nice and very smart! An ex Sumdak scientist who moved in with the bots and Sari after Sari got kicked out? They help them find the AllSpark? Magnus has a lot of respect for them as they've helped find the All Spark shards and done a lot of research on autobot and decepticon history and found out weaknesses. Sentinel is so angry cause Magnus clearly favors them over other humans so he has to get used to that and them? Maybe Optimus likes them and that sets Sentinel off?

Sure thing! May have twisted this a bit, but hope you enjoy!

Oh my God, he hates it with everything in his entire being.

It starts simply enough. When he arrives on earth, he notices that, like the tiny rude organic known as Sari, you’re around the Autobots all the time. Like... All the time. Helping them find All Spark fragments, doing research for them, helping Isaac Sumdak with his creations, taking care of Sari.

So, since you’re a tiny adult human and he has unchecked mental health issues that he likes to take out on others, he starts off trying to be mean to you.

The first time, he trips you while walking past you in the hallway. You don’t notice it was intentional, but fall pretty hard and scrape your hands up so badly that you’re tearing up. Sentinel refuses to apologize or acknowledge that he’s in the wrong but feels oddly guilty and decides to help you take care of your hands. You’re very thankful, offering him a hug, which he denies and runs off because of, spewing some half-assed insults on his way out.

He can’t get you off his processor after that. He feels like a shitbag for not even owning up to being the one who tripped you and feels like a loser for helping you. You’re an organic, he hates you like the rest of them, he doesn’t feel bad for you.

Next time he sees you, he tries again to be mean to you, making a comment on what you’re wearing and asking what trashcan you dug it out of. Most humans get frustrated and yell at him or insult him back when he talks to them like that unprompted, but you only shrug him off and asks if he’s feeling alright or wants to sit down to cool down for a moment. Uh. Huh? He’s confused at first, utterly perplexed that you might think he’s weak, upset, or hurt, or... Something, but then his confusion turns to anger, and again, he storms off, unsure of how to handle someone who’s not angry at or annoyed by him.

You pay a lot of attention to him after that and he hates it; always trying to offer him things, share smalltalk, take him places, etc. He hates it even more when he notices just how much everyone else loves you, too; Sari was fine, and so was Optimus and his stupid pile of scrap metal that he called a team, but ULTRA MAGNUS? Oh, it had him fuming from his exhaust pipes. Even Ultra Magnus was charmed by you and looked for whatever excuse he could get to talk to you on earth.

Okay, whatever. Everyone and everybot likes you, so Sentinel is convinced he hates you for that and for having a holier-than-thou attitude that won’t allow you to retaliate against him when he’s rude to you even though all he wants is for you to feed into it. Totally.

That is until he starts getting... Jealous, namely of Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime for talking to you so much. The embarrassing thing is that he can’t even pinpoint it at first; all he knows is that he gets pissed off when he sees Optimus giving you a shoulder rub after a long day and having a conversation with him over dinner (for you) and energon (for Optimus) and gets pissed off when he sees you, a human, walking by Ultra Magnus’s side and casually conversing with him like he’s your equal.

“I don’t get it, Jazz! Why is she talking to both of them like that? Why is it making me so mad?”

“Could it be... You aren’t so much mad that she’s a human who’s close with Ultra Magnus, but that you’re jealous of O.P. and Ultra Magnus for being so close to (y/n) when you’re not?”

The conversation with Jazz had been impromptu and a big mistake, as he blew a fuse immediately after and had to be taken to Ratchet for some minor repairs. Everyone is concerned, no one has any idea what’s going on, but he’s stuck in Ratchet’s medbay for a day and you’re asked to watch him overnight since you’re the most qualified to do any fixes should he have any issues, and Ratchet needs to recharge.

“So... What happened?”

“Don’t worry about it! Primus, you humans are always so nosy-” Sentinel starts scolding you and moves to get up from the medberth, but you place a gentle hand on his servo and he can’t help but freeze in place.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight, Sentinel Prime. Recover and let me stay by your side to make sure you’re okay.”

“Just leave! I’ll be fine, I’m a member of the-”

“I know.”

“Then why do you care!?”

“Because I know you can be kind, and whether you want to or not, you need to rest and have someone monitor you over night! You blew a fuse in your head, and while that itself is a minor injury, if you do it again it’s going to be harder to fix and you could blow more. I’d rather not extent your stay in here.”

Naturally, he asks what you, as a human, could possibly know about robots/Cybertronians and their health. After getting him to lay back down, you tell him about how you used to work for Isaac Sumdac as a scientist before you started taking care of Sari when he disappeared, and that right after the Autobots arrived on earth, you studied them closely enough to figure out most of their anatomy and received some training under Ratchet to act as a second medic for them.

Oh. That makes sense. Sentinel feels a bit foolish but doesn’t say anything and waits until he can fall into recharge, but when he wakes up the next morning, you’re sitting on a stool by his berthside, passed out with your head resting on his thigh.

He doesn’t have the heart to wake you up and pretends to still be resting with his optics shut until Ratchet comes in and wakes you up himself.

He’s released with a clean bill of health and immediately goes to find Jazz.

“What do you mean by that!?”

“Uh, slow down before you blow another fuse, S.P., but you know what I meant,” Jazz laughed at him, and naturally, Sentinel took a few to process what had been said the previous day.

Jazz was implying that Sentinel wasn’t mad at you for being a human and interacting with Optimus/Ultra Magnus, but that he was mad at Optimus and Ultra Magnus for interacting with you because...

Oh. Sentinel realized that he was jealous, and in not being able to be mean to you anymore, he found himself watching you a lot. You were intelligent, kind, attractive... The opposite of him, to be honest, but when it hit him all at once, he ends up having a melt down of sorts.

Locking himself in his berth on Ultra Magnus’s ship for days on end, not drinking enough energon, going between sleeping to escape his feelings and pacing around doing nothing but dwelling on them, Sentinel Prime is a mess when he realizes that he has a crush on you. It makes sense, but... Why did it have to be an organic? He can’t even cope with it.

Eventually, he snaps out of it and decides that he’s going to take the logical approach with this; ignore his feelings and push them deep, deep down in his spark so he doesn’t have to acknowledge or deal with them. He shouldn’t like you anyways, right? You’re just a stupid human!

Except... You’re not. You’re beautiful, you’re brilliant, you’re caring, and a million other things he cares not to admit. So he’s stuck. He won’t confess his feelings to you or really think about them because he knows all he’s ever done is be mean to you, and honestly, he doesn’t deserve you and is afraid of you rejecting him.

Things stay stagnant for a while, but he’s a little nicer to you. Still rude, still making unnecessary comments about you being a human, but hey, he doesn’t try to trip you anymore and is always defending you when anyone/anybot brings up your name behind your back. Every other Autobot catches on to what’s happening but just doesn’t say anything because they know Sentinel will try to pummel them LMAO.

But then... Valentine’s day rolls around. For whatever reason, he decides to hang around earth that day and learn about the customs since you and Sari seem excited to teach him and the other Autobots about it.

A day of romance where lovers give each other gifts... Okay, so basically, nothing to do with him, but he notices that Sari, Bee, and Bulkhead decide to go see a movie since they don’t have anyone/anybot to do anything with, and Ratchet goes off to work in his medbay, while Jazz and Prowl suddenly disappear to do their own thing and Ultra Magnus is preoccupied with work on his ship. That just leaves Sentinel, you, and Optimus.

The amount of frustration in him when Optimus hands you a bouquet of (f/c) roses is something he can’t even comprehend. So, when you walk off to go find a vase to put them in, Sentinel turns to his old friend with a glare.

“Who do you think you are? How long have you felt that way towards her?”

“Uh, Sentinel? (y/n) and I are just really good friends? I know she’s what her species would refer to as “single” at the moment and I didn’t think you’d do anything for her, so I got her those to make her feel special tonight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Sentinel exclaims at Optimus’s bold assumption that he wouldn’t do anything for you for Valentine’s day... Which was totally true. He didn’t have the guts to buy you flowers or chocolates or any of the other things that Sari said humans liked for the occasion, but apparently Optimus did, and while he now knew that Optimus didn’t have any romantic feelings towards you, it still hurt.

“It means that even though you’ve been obsessed with her since the Elite Guard got here, you treat her with no kindness whatsoever because you’re too prideful to admit your feelings and want to cover them up,” Optimus puts a hand on his shoulder. “Now, I’m going to go spend the rest of the night with Ratchet so he isn’t by himself, but I’ll leave you to figure this out. Good luck, old buddy.”

Optimus walks off, and the words hit hard. Sentinel knows that what his friend said is right, so when you get back with the roses in a vase to set down on the table and ask him where Optimus went, he decides it’s time. Without dwelling on it too much, he grabs your hands to hold in his servos, standing in the middle of the living room and spilling his guts out to you before telling you “Happy Valentine’s Day... Or whatever,” and pulling you in for a kiss.

Thankfully, you reciprocate.

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bamf-jaskier · 4 years

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Who the Fuck is Eskel?

If you have ever gone on The Witcher tag on Tumblr, I’m sure you’ve seen dozens of blogs dedicated to this guy named Eskel and for people who have just seen the show you might be wondering - who the fuck is this guy?

Hi, I’m Aaliyah, and this is Part 5 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subjects from The Witcher Books.

Post under the cut

Let’s jump in by talking about what books Eskel is in. He’s only mentioned in one line in The Last Wish, The Tower of Swallows and The Time of Contempt. He has a flashback scene in Lady of the Lake and the only book where he plays a heavy role in is Blood of Elves.

For all you Eskel Stans out there, this is good news, because it looks like S2 of the show is going to be taking some cues from Blood of Elves and we do know Eskel is going to be appearing so these scenes might be showing up in some form or another in the show.

We first meet Eskel in Blood of Elves when Geralt is first bringing Ciri to the keep:

“Who comes?” Ciri heard a menacing, metallic voice which sounded like a dog’s bark. “Geralt?��

“Yes, Eskel. It’s me.”

“Come in.”

The witcher dismounted, took Ciri from the saddle, stood her on the ground and pressed a bundle into her little hands which she grabbed tightly, only regretting that it was too small for her to hide behind completely.

“Wait here with Eskel,” he said. “I’ll take Roach to the stables.”

“Come into the light, laddie,” growled the man called Eskel. “Don’t lurk in the dark.”

Ciri looked up into his face and barely restrained her frightened scream. He wasn’t human. Although he stood on two legs, although he smelled of sweat and smoke, although he wore ordinary human clothes, he was not human. No human can have a face like that, she thought.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” repeated Eskel.

She didn’t move. In the darkness she heard the clatter of Roach’s horseshoes grow fainter. Something soft and squeaking ran over her foot. She jumped. “Don’t loiter in the dark, or the rats will eat your boots.”

Still clinging to her bundle Ciri moved briskly towards the light. The rats bolted out from beneath her feet with a squeak. Eskel leaned over, took the package from her and pulled back her hood.

“A plague on it,” he muttered. “A girl. That’s all we need.”

She glanced at him, frightened. Eskel was smiling. She saw that he was human after all, that he had an entirely human face, deformed by a long, ugly, semi-circular scar running from the corner of his mouth across the length of his cheek up to the ear.

“Since you’re here, welcome to Kaer Morhen,” he said. “What do they call you?”

“Ciri,” Geralt replied for her, silently emerging from the darkness. Eskel turned around. Suddenly, quickly, wordlessly, the witchers fell into each other’s arms and wound their shoulders around each other tight and hard. For one brief moment.

“Wolf, you’re alive.”

“I am.”

“All right.” Eskel took a torch from its bracket. “Come on. I’m closing the inner gates to stop the heat escaping.”

Couple things here. First, for all the game fans out there, Eskel’s scar in the books is VERY different. It’s not the lightening-like claw marks that go over his eye but instead it goes from the corner of his mouth to his ear. This is interesting because it really parallels in my mind Ciri’s scar she gets later on that extends from under her eye to her ear.

Also, the little reunion between Geralt and Eskel, so sweet. The line about Eskel in Last Wish establishes that they were close friends so here is the snippet just to give more backstory to the two of them:

“Once, years ago, when a little snot-faced brat following his studies in Kaer Morhen, the Witchers’ Settlement, he and a friend, Eskel, had captured a huge forest bumblebee and tied it to a jug with a thread. They were in fits of laughter watching the antics of the tied bumblebee, until Vesemir, their tutor, caught them at it and tanned their hides with a leather strap.”

Childhood friends and brothers is just so damn great. Actually, speaking of brothers, it is stated in Blood of Elves that Geralt and Eskel actually look very similar and are often mistaken for brothers such as in this scene from Triss’s POV.

Eskel stood next to Geralt, resembling the Wolf like a brother apart from the colour of his hair and the long scar which disfigured his cheek. And the youngest of the Kaer Morhen witchers, Lambert, was there with his usual ugly, mocking expression. Vesemir was not there.

“Welcome and come in,” said Eskel. “It is as cold and blustery as if someone has hung themselves. Ciri, where are you off to? The invitation does not apply to you. The sun is still high, even if it is obscured. You can still train.”

“Hey.” The Enchantress tossed her hair. “Politeness comes cheap in Witchers’ Keep now, I see. Ciri was the first to greet me, and brought me to the castle. She ought to keep me company—”

This really interests me because Ciri is very young child when she meets Eskel and she is very terrified of him and intimidated. Which makes sense, she is very traumatized. But, when Triss meets Eskel she only makes a short note of his scar and focuses more on his resemblance to Geralt and commenting on the lack of politeness. It just goes to show how different characters perceive people differently. A child’s perspective of a warrior is not going to be the same as a Mage’s.

“You didn’t even know.” She nodded in what was now a calm, concerned and gentle reproach. “You’re pathetic guardians. She’s ashamed to tell you because she was taught not to mention such complaints to men. And she’s ashamed of the weakness, the pain and the fact that she is less fit. Has any one of you thought about that? Taken any interest in it? Or tried to guess what might be the matter with her? Maybe her very first bleed happened here, in Kaer Morhen? And she cried to herself at night, unable to find any sympathy, consolation or even understanding from anyone? Has any one of you given it any thought whatsoever?”

“Stop it, Triss,” moaned Geralt quietly. “That’s enough. You’ve achieved what you wanted. And maybe even more.”

“The devil take it,” cursed Coën. “We’ve turned out to be right idiots, there’s no two ways about it, eh, Vesemir, and you—”

“Silence,” growled the old witcher. “Not a word.”

It was Eskel’s behaviour which was most unlikely; he got up, approached the enchantress, bent down low, took her hand and kissed it respectfully. She swiftly withdrew her hand. Not so as to demonstrate her anger and annoyance but to break the pleasant, piercing vibration triggered by the witcher’s touch. Eskel emanated powerfully. More powerfully than Geralt.

“Triss,” he said, rubbing the hideous scar on his cheek with embarrassment, “help us. We ask you. Help us, Triss.”

Now, if you can’t tell, Triss’ favorite is Eskel. This scene is also implies that Eskel is more magically powerful than Geralt which Is very interesting. But Triss is an Eskel stan, in fact a couple lines later Triss thinks to herself:

Vesemir hawked again. But Eskel, dear Eskel, kept his head and once more behaved as was fitting.

“Of course,” he said casually, smiling. “We understand and clearly we will postpone your exercises until your indisposition has passed. We will also cut the theory short and, if you feel unwell, we will put it aside for the time being, too. If you need any medication or—”

Eskel definitely has the older sibling energy where he ends up in charge sometimes and knows how to keep a cool head. He’s also the most aware of societal norms of behavior which is why Triss likes his so much. She really respects people who know how to move in society.

There’s also this scene in Blood of Elves where Eskel is drinking and offers Triss some:

“White Seagull.”

“What?”

“A mild remedy,” Eskel smiled, “for pleasant dreams.”

“Damn it! A witcher hallucinogenic? That’s why your eyes shine like that in the evenings!”

“White Seagull is very gentle. It’s Black Seagull that is hallucinogenic.”

“If there’s magic in this liquid I’m not allowed to take it!”

“Exclusively natural ingredients,” Geralt reassured her but he looked, she noticed, disconcerted. He was clearly afraid she would question them about the elixir’s ingredients. “And diluted with a great deal of water. We would not offer you anything that could harm you.”

I think it’s very funny how secret The Witcher keeps all their potions and elixirs. Whether it’s mushrooms or potions, they gotta keep those secret drugs locked down tight. Also the fact that Eskel is the fantasy equivalent of high every night? Love that for him.

Eskel really is the peace-maker of the group. He’s not a push-over by any means but he is definitely more willing to play along that any of the others. When Triss is talking at night, Eskel is really the only one listening and engaging, even if it’s very half-hearted.

In the evenings, consistently and determinedly, Triss guided the long conversations held in the dark hall, lit only by the bursts of flames in the great hearth, towards politics. The witchers’ reactions were always the same. Geralt, a hand on his forehead, did not say a word.

Vesemir nodded, from time to time throwing in comments which amounted to little more than that “in his day” everything had been better, more logical, more honest and healthier.

Eskel pretended to be polite, and neither smiled nor made eye contact, and even managed, very occasionally, to be interested in some issue or question of little importance. Coën yawned openly and looked at the ceiling, and Lambert did nothing to hide his disdain.

And he is really the only sort-of listener to Triss’ stories and retellings of events:

This time it was Triss who began to yawn and stare at the ceiling. This time she was the one who remained silent – until Eskel turned to her with a question. A question which she had anticipated.

“And what is it really like in the south, on the Yaruga? Is it worth going there? We wouldn’t like to find ourselves in the middle of any trouble.”

“What do you mean by trouble?”

“Well, you know…” he stammered, “you keep telling us about the possibility of a new war… About constant fighting on the borders, about rebellions in the lands invaded by Nilfgaard. You said they’re saying the Nilfgaardians might cross the Yaruga again—”

“So what?” said Lambert. “They’ve been hitting, killing and striking against each other constantly for hundreds of years. It’s nothing to worry about. I’ve already decided – I’m going to the far South, to Sodden, Mahakam and Angren. It’s well known that monsters abound wherever armies have passed. The most money is always made in places like that.”

“True,” Coën acknowledged. “The neighbourhood grows deserted, only women who can’t fend for themselves remain in the villages… scores of children with no home or care, roaming around… Easy prey attracts monsters.”

“And the lord barons and village elders,” added Eskel, “have their heads full of the war and don’t have the time to defend their subjects. They have to hire us. It’s true. But from what Triss has been telling us all these evenings, it seems the conflict with Nilfgaard is more serious than that, not just some local little war. Is that right, Triss?”

Once more, Eskel is the peace-maker of the conversation and he brings it back around to what Triss originally said and also points to her expertise. Basically, Eskel is not really a fan of verbal conflict.

This is actually the last line we see Eskel in a scene outside of the flashback in Lady of the Lake. After this, Triss, Geralt and Ciri head off. It is important to note that near the end of Blood of Elves Ciri says this about Yennefer:

The lady magician knew a surprising amount about a witcher’s sword and “dance.” She knew a great deal about the secrets of Kaer Morhen; there was no doubt she had visited the Keep. She knew Vesemir and Eskel. Although not Lambert and Coën.

Yennefer used to visit Kaer Morhen. Ciri guessed why – when they spoke of the Keep – the eyes of the enchantress grew warm, lost their angry gleam and their cold, indifferent, wise depth. If the words had befitted Yennefer’s person, Ciri would have called her dreamy, lost in memories.

So clearly Yennefer is also friendly with Eskel and knows him. I love the idea that Yennefer regularly visited Kaer Morhen before Ciri came into Geralt’s care and I would literally cry if they did a flashback sequence in S2 of Yennefer visiting Geralt in Kaer Morhen.

The flashback sequence in Lady of the Lake with Eskel goes like this:

The fire in the huge fireplace went out. A gust of wind from the mountains whistled through the crevices of the walls and screamed through the improperly closed shutters of Kaer Morhen, Home of the Witchers.

“Damn it!” Eskel said, standing up and going to the cupboard. “Seagull or vodka?”

“Vodka,” Geralt and Coen said with one voice.

“Sure,” interjected Vesemir, hidden in the shadows, “Yes, of course! Drown your stupidity in vodka. Damn fools!”

“It was an accident…” muttered Lambert. “She had already mastered the comb…”

“Shut your big mouth, you idiot! I don’t want to hear any more! I warned you, if something happened to that little girl…”

“Enough,” Coen interrupted him, softly. “She sleeps peacefully. Deep and healthy. She will wake up a bit sore, but that’s it. About the trance, and what happened, she will not even remember it.”

“As long as you remember,” said Vesemir, panting angrily. “Cabbage heads! Pour for me too, Eskel.”

They were silent for a long time, listening intently to the howling gale.

“We will need to call someone,” Eskel finally said. “We will need to bring a sorcerer here. What is happening to the girl, it is not normal.”

Eskel is one of The Witcher who really pushes to call Triss in order to help with Ciri’s trances. Also, once again this guy is hitting the drinks.

So yeah! That’s Eskel in the books. Based on how in the non-canon wedding short Asaps wrote where he ended up having Triss and Eskel get together, I think his hints of them having a connection in the books is very intentional and if The Witcher wasn’t such a god damn tragedy and Triss wasn’t mooning over Geralt, I’m willing to bet they would have gotten together at some point.

Eskel is the peace-maker of the family and is the best at recognizing the norms of “polite society” (or at least noble society) and while Ciri might have been scared of his appearance, it isn’t enough to phase Triss who is considered rather vain. In fact, she seems to respect Eskel the most out of the Witchers. Just imagine a dark-haired, scarred Geralt and BOOM, you got yourself an Eskel.

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myenterpriseisparked · 3 years

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can.... can we get a cast for your zoologist Trek show?

I don't have names for them but here we go! This is kind of long, so I'm putting the characters under a cut.

The ship is called the USS Frontiersman. It works mostly in deep space, studying new forms of life on newly discovered planets. Crew compliment of 160. 50 exozoologists, 50 exobotanists, 20 environmentalists (including geologists and atmospheric experts). The remaining 40 crew members are engineers, security officers, helmsman, and the captain and first officer. I'm not positive on the time period this is set during, but it's at least at a point where there's not much conflict between Cardassia and the Federation.

Captain: She's a 40-year-old Engineer who never expected to make captain. Finding out she was being offered a command was the best day of her life. The worst day of her life was the next day, when she stepped on board and realized it was an exobiology ship filled with eccentrics. She slept through her required exobiology course so she has no idea what any of her crew members are talking about. She's basically that babysitter who's charges are all extremely passionate about things she doesn't understand and the parents have asked her to drive them around to local museums and science learning centers while the kids yell in the backseat about who's topic of interest is better.

First Officer: She's a 30-year-old who went through the academy on the command route and was known for being an excellent pilot. Has less knowledge of exobiology than the captain. The two of them keep trying to push interpersonal conflicts to be solved off on one another because neither of them understand what anyone's talking about enough to truly help solve the issue and, frankly, they're both a little frightened of the ferocity of their crew.

Head Engineer: Bajoran who actually did pay attention in biology and, while she's a little confused, she's eager to learn about what the others are prattling on about and is an excellent listener. She tries her best to translate for the non-exobiologist crew members, especially the captain and first officer. She was married (spouse died. tragically) and has a daughter that follows her around engineering. Everyone loves the kid and tries to convince her to study whatever their area of expertise is. Later in the show, when she's a little older, she decides to go the command route at Starfleet and become a pilot, much to the crew's dismay. The First Officer is absolutely tickled.

Chief Medical Officer(s): The Frontiersman actually has 2 chief medical officers; a doctor and a veterinarian. Yes, this is terribly inefficient and yes, they constantly butt heads. The vet is a young human woman from Ohio with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for snark. The doctor is a young human male from Michigan with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for snark. They absolutely hate each other until the day they realize that they are actually in love with each other and all of their arguments have been attempts to deny their attraction. Both of them are absolutely disgusted that they could fall in love with someone so... so... infuriating gosh dang it. They try to continue denying their feelings for each other because they are from rival states and they constantly fight over jurisdiction in the medbay for new species. One day, however, one of their most heated arguments ends in a passionate kiss and they stop fighting their feelings (but not each other).

From there, the rest of the crew is divided up under chiefs of specific taxonomical divisions. Sometimes a division will only have 1 scientist, other times it has a whole crew of people. Depends on the frequency of that type of living thing appearing. Most divisions only have 3 people; a chief and two junior officers. Not every chief is featured in the show because that would be too many characters, so just the ones that are considered part of the senior staff, which were selected by Starfleet at the time of commission based on training.

Chief of Feliformia: She's a hotheaded Betazoid in her mid 30's who spends her free time boxing on the holodeck. She argues a lot with the Chief of Canidae, but they still have breakfast together every morning to trade ship gossip. She wrestles with PTSD and anxiety, which she hides under a layer of bravado. Surprisingly enough, the only person she really feels comfortable opening up to about her past is the Chief of Canidae, because, despite all of their banter about cats vs dogs, they're her closest friend and she appreciates their blunt honesty.

Chief of Canidae: They're a Trill in their mid 30's who's passionate to the point of poetry about dog-like creatures. They're host to a younger symbiont, and they're one of the shortest people on the ship. They also only really open up to the Chief of Feliformia for similar reasons; the blunt honesty. Their relationship is strictly platonic (and I mean actually platonic, not whatever the VOY writers were trying to sell to us about Janeway and Chakotay).

Chief of Rodentia: He's a 70-year-old Bajoran/Cardassian. His mother defected from the Cardassian army to be with his father and the two of them raised him on earth where he raised pet rats. He always has about 7 various rodents tucked into his lab coat. He is a neat freak about his lab space and refuses to let anyone into his area unless they have completely scrubbed up and promise not to touch his PADD stack. Part of his particularity about his lab comes from the fact that he faced a lot of public ridicule due to his mixed heritage when he was young and so he's naturally very defensive of everything he does and owns.

Chief of Chiroptera: She's a twenty-something Half Vulcan-Half Betazoid who was raised on Betazed. Her Vulcan mother was the Vulcan ambassador on Betazed, and her work made her somewhat absent so, while she has enough of a restraint on her emotions not to be violent or aggressive, she's also more Betazoid in terms of personality. The combination of telepathic and empathic abilities from her parents has made her sensitive to large crowds, which is why she LOVES working in caves with bats away from other people. The combination of the two species' abilities constantly bombarding her and the need to restrain her Vulcan emotions have also resulted in her having ADD (her attention is being pulled in every direction so focusing on other tasks that don't immediately grasp her interest is SUPER difficult for her). However, she's also incredibly kind, difficult to shock or surprise, and very passionate about her work.

Chief of Reptilia: They're a human in their early 50's, a bit reclusive, and VERY unwilling to let people in their lab. They never show up to a meeting without a snake around their neck. The snake might be venomous. No one knows for sure. Whatever the case; everyone on board is pretty sure the reptile division is actually a cult because they never see anyone from that crew outside of the lab decks.

Chief of Aves: She's human, no one knows her age, and she refuses to wear a standard-issue lab coat, opting instead to wear a tie-die coat that reaches the floor. She speaks in riddles and everyone thinks she's crazy, but she's actually incredibly wise and an excellent listener. She specializes in raptors.

Chief of Livestock: Even though it's not technically a taxonomical order, they have a guy who specializes in studying livestock of alien cultures. No one is sure how old he is, or what his species is, for that matter. He has the calm, level-headedness of a Vulcan, but he always wears a hat so no one sees his ears or eyebrows to know for sure. He might just be a Midwestern farmer, because they can be Like That too. Despite working with livestock, he also never gets injured, so not even the doctor knows. Some people speculate that he's not human OR Vulcan, but some other immortal species, like a Q. This mystery is never solved on the show, but everyone really likes this guy.

Chief Exobotanist: Despite the fact that the plants are divided up into other taxonomical species, they all report to one Chief Botanist because the plant department is a lot more efficient and interconnected than the animal departments. Despite this, she's completely overworked and undercaffeinated. However, her workload doesn't stop her from being one of the sweetest and most creative people on board. As to the rest of her character, I defer to @emilie786 , as she is the inspiration for this character!

There are other chiefs who are occasional recurring characters, like the Chief of Aquaculture and the Chief of Amphibians. There are also several junior officers who we get to know a bit that are kind of fun. I'm thinking there's some kind of star-crossed lovers arc going on between someone who works in exobotany and someone who works in exozoology. There's also an overworked head of security who is getting really sick and tired of all the escapee animals he has to track down. I think he might fall in love with the Chief Exobotanist partially because plants don't run away and get into the Jeffries tubes (until they do, of course).

Anyway, if anyone wants to add to this, go for it! I'm open to ideas!

#Star Trek: Frontiersman #star trek oc #sorry for the long post #to be continued probably

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ask19thcentury-doctorgilbert · 3 years

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Hey there! I thought I’d answer this ooc because Gilbert would never give a straight answer to these questions and after last night’s post I’m really down to talk more in depth about the doc’s mental health.

But before I dive into that, I just wanted to say thank you? I’m really glad to know that you think I do a good job at handling the portrayal of his mental health struggles, that really means a lot and is one of the best compliments I’ve been given ;v; I try to be as realistic and sensitive as I can and I’m glad to know that it pays off!

Alright, onto some headcanon rambling. Fair warning, this post is long and I go off into several tangents sdjjkds

Trigger warnings for the content below: depression, anxiety, suicide, childhood neglect / abuse, self-harm, and bad coping habits.

There’s at least 6 points in Gil’s life wherein his mental health was at its worst: the death of his father, the majority of his duchy years, frederick’s death, the napoleonic era, the entire stretch of the gdr era, and those years between the fall of the wall and him leaving to go to university in Zurich. I can write an entire post about each of those times, but for the sake of answering these asks, I’ll be focusing mainly on the first point and his crusader years.

To answer the first question, I think Gilbert’s first major depressive episode happened when he was a child after his adoptive father, Otmar Beilschmidt, died. He was a constant, comforting presence in the boy’s early life; someone he knew he can depend on and turn to if things ever got too scary or overwhelming. Even after he got ‘turned’ into a representative and the heads of the Order formally took him in, little Gisil still kept being stuck to his father’s hip. And Otmar, as unsettled as he was to find out that his son was suddenly some kind of miracle child, did his best to come to terms with it and help his son cope with his new nature too.

(Slightly off topic side note but I always had the idea that Otmar never really got over reacting with shock whenever he witnessed anything that confirmed that his son wasn’t fully human anymore, like watching a small scratch stitch itself back together. Gisil, being a perceptive and sensitive child, would catch on to that quick and I’m 100% sure he’s asked his father if he was afraid of him before. To which I’m sure Otmar told a half-truth and said that no, he wasn’t afraid of him --- After all, how could he be afraid of someone that God created to bring some good into the world?)

Either way, the sudden loss of that steady, dependable figure in his life really knocked Gisil’s world out of balance and triggered his first major depressive episode. He wouldn’t eat much at mealtimes and found it hard to sleep at night which would then translate into the kid being far more irritable and restless than usual during the day; prone to tantrums and crying if something didn’t go his way. But instead of someone sitting down and trying to understand why he was acting out, he was chastised for acting the way he did; told that he was allowed to grieve his father, but he had to be more mature about it and behave better. Not wanting to disappoint the adults who would be looking after him now, Gisil taught himself how to swallow back the hurt and put a lid on it. It didn’t make him hurt any less, in fact it may have started to translate into physical symptoms like a mildly upset stomach or a headache, but it didn’t bother anyone and his new parental figures seemed to approve so he just came to accept that it must be the right thing to do.

While he eventually got over the worst of the pain relating to his father’s death (or at least learned how to stuff it far enough in the back of his mind that he could pay it no mind) those symptoms continued to quietly haunt him. Mikael was prone to having trouble sleeping in the night (and he often passes the time by practising his writing, or sometimes he’ll get up and sneak out of the sleeping quarters to just sit in the chapel. sometimes praying, sometimes just sitting quietly and hoping that the silence and the coolness coming from the stone walls would somehow lull him to sleep) and to having days where he acts more hot-headed and impulsive than usual.

The disconnect between desperately wanting to be the ‘good’ person he believes he was created to be and some of the awful things the Order has done to do ‘good’ in the name of God also feeds into that depression and anxiety, especially when he keeps bottling it up because he really has no one to talk to about these things and because that’s what he’s used to doing. This internal conflict will eventually bubble over in his Duchy years, a period of time where Gilbert’s whole mental and emotional well-being was incredibly fragile. (If you wanna read more about what happened during that time, I have an old post about it here. Trigger and content warnings are at the very beginning!)

As for the second question, I think it’s safe to say Gilbert was messed up by essentially being a child soldier. Physical damage doesn’t stay long but the mental/emotional damage was extensive.

Even if his first depressive episode was triggered by his father’s death, the things he saw and experienced during his time as the representative of the Teutonic Order, definitely helped to make things worse. All the bad habits and symptoms he experienced in his youth continue to haunt him until adulthood. Gilbert would still rather brush someone’s concern off with an ‘I’m fine’ coupled with a reassuring smile than risk bothering them with whatever he’s dealing with. Since staying with Konrad and Reiner (who have their own struggles that deserve its own post) he’s learned to open up a little more with enough prompting, but he’d still much rather keep his problems to himself. He still regularly struggles with insomnia that gets worse when he finds himself in a slump, which then translates to frustration, irritability, and a tendency to neglect self care like forgetting to eat. He’s struggled with suicidal thoughts before and has made an attempt on two occasions: once in his Duchy years, the other right after the Napoleonic Era came to a close.

I think another thing that really added fuel to the fire is just the nature of Gil’s existence? Like most nations in his generation have had the chance to just roam around being children in their childhood, some might have even been cared for by the ancients, but he’s never had any of that? He had 10 years of it as a regular human child and then another 8 years after he was ‘turned’ of simply tending to sick and injured pilgrims. He had only 18 years of relative normalcy before he was thrown into a life of constant war, made out to be some holy figurehead, while I feel like most others had much longer. His ability to compartmentalize, to separate the self from the nation, was lacking compared to others in his cohort because he was just so young, physically and in nation years, when he was thrown into the mess. He’s a child nation who’s still young enough to remember his life as a human, to remember what it’s like to think and feel and to fear like a human and I think that messed with his ability to cope. Templar and Hospitaller might be the only ones who can understand what that was like since I think they were thrown into the fire relatively quickly after they were turned as young kids, but Ezekiel is far away and Sanson... Well, we all know what happened to poor Sanson.

The good news is, in the modern day, he is doing so much better since he started regularly meeting with a therapist and getting on the right medication regimen. It took him a while to really accept the fact that he needs help, even if logically he knew this was the right thing to do. There are still bad days but the genuinely good days far outnumber them now and that’s worth the uphill climb that is trying to sort out his issues.

#answered #[ headcanon ]#aph prussia #hws prussia #gilbert beilschmidt #depression tw //#anxiety tw //#suicide tw //#self harm tw //#childhood neglect tw //#gilbert looks put together on the outside but #he's really that image of the china cabinet with all the dishes pressed against the door #and if you open it everything's just gonna come crashing down #but he tries to do better #and tries his goddamn best not to repeat the bad parts of his upbringing #when it comes to raising his boy #in fact he tried so hard that he messed it up BUT #thats a conversation for another day

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

Text

BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (6)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START / PREV / NEXT

As predicted, the day following the seal’s application is miserable. His chest is tight with almost anxiety, pins and needles run up and down his arms making his skin itch, and he is increasingly lethargic. All symptoms of a chakra imbalance and to be expected when one’s normal chakra replacement rate was thrown out. The sensations would pass once his body adjusted as they had with his sharingan.

He is eating three square meals a day, doing the bare minimum when it came to exercise routines and avoiding excess chakra use. It had been literal years since he had had this much bed rest. If he were ever going to slap a chakra collecting seal on himself, this was a perfect time. Okay, so maybe he should have steadily increased the chakra drain over the course of a few weeks for a smoother adjustment period. Hindsight and all that.

What mattered was that he would be fine, and he just had to wait it out. Bright side? No one had commented on the seal yet. Oh, he has definitely noticed serval people throwing the odd confused frown at his shoulder, but that was as far as anyone had gone in acknowledging it. His oh so clever strategy of acting like nothing was wrong worked so much better when he wasn’t surrounded by other shinobi and medic-nin.

“Your blood pressure is still too high. Are you sure you haven’t been experiencing any additional fatigue or other symptoms? Is something about the hospital causing additional stress? If there is something wrong, we should work on strategies to fix the problem.”

Well… it worked on everyone who wasn’t Wada. The man was irritatingly persistent in his doctoring. Apparently, the pressure of adjusting to an increased chakra drain wasn’t doing his body any favours.

“Maybe it’s a part of my quirk. High regeneration. High blood pressure.” Kakashi shrugs loosely not bothering to look up from HEROES and HEROINES May Issue. Unlike his previous reading material, people gave him odd looks when they saw him reading these magazines which immediately upped their entertainment value 100-fold.

Wada undoes the compression sleeve he had been using to measure Kakashi’s blood pressure, lecturing as he goes, “From what I can tell your cells produce more energy-rich molecules, ATP, NADH, then is typical, increasing cellular functions. Where your cells are getting the energy to produce these molecules, I have no idea seeing as you eat about the same amount as any baseline human. What I can safely say is that it should not influence your blood pressure. If anything, your blood pressure should be a bit lower than average. Now don’t dodge the question.”

He pauses, waiting for Kakashi to cave and suddenly confess. Kakashi, an old hat at dodging medical questions, continues reading unperturbed.

“I’ve been at this for over 30 years. An attack like the one you suffered is understandably traumatic, not to mention the stress of severe amnesia. I’m sure, whatever is bothering you, I’ve heard it before.”

Kakashi very much doubts that. “I feel fine.”

Wada huffs, unconvinced, “Young men. You all think that admitting you have a problem is a sign of weakness. High blood pressure can damage your heart and lead to problems later in life so finding the cause is important.” Good thing a shinobi life spans tended to max out around 30. The odds of him making it to an age where he’d have to worry about the long-term effects of anything were pretty low. He doesn’t voice this opinion, continuing to read.

Wada continues talking with greater gusto, “No matter, I’ll prescribe you something for stress hopefully that’ll help with your blood pressure. However, this is no replacement for healthy habits both physical and mental. You should consider professional therapy.”

Kakashi snorts. Yeah, that sounds about right.

“Oh, you think that’s funny do you,” Wada makes to grab HEROES and HEROIENS and he lets the doctor pull the magazine free from his hand. It gives him a good view of the man’s irate expression.

“No, of course not.” Kakashi attempts to placate and gets a light smack over the head with said magazine for his troubles.

“There is no shame in pursuing a healthy mind!”

“Weren’t we going to test my quirk today?” He complains to derail the current line of questioning.

“I have half a mind to put it off and have you rest another week,” is threatened before Wada’s stern expression relaxes, “Lucky for you, I’ve booked you into serval tests that can’t be rescheduled.”

Kakashi breaths out dramatically. He thinks Wada might have made a good medic-nin if he had lived in Konoha. Sure, he is a little too trusting, but he was also not above pestering his patients into taking better care of themselves. Sakura would approve.

The doctor, with the assistance of an attending nurse he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of, helps Kakashi out of his bed and into a wheelchair, ignoring his protests about his leg being all but healed.

“You’re to avoid putting weight on it until you start physical therapy,” Wada snaps at his continued complaints, “You’ll need to be careful, extended bed rest and surgery can leave your muscles weakened. Also, leave that magazine behind. You’re doing eye tests when do you think you’ll have time to read!”

Kakashi doesn’t push the matter further, resigning himself to being wheeled down the hospital halls like the invalid he was pretending to be. It is not like Wada knew about his frequent excursions to the roof or the fact that he has been running through strengthening exercises on his own time for several weeks now. Best he keeps that information to himself.

Partway down the hall, he pulls out HEROES and HEROIENS from where he had slipped it into his shirt, enjoying Wada’s exasperated expression. Of course, he stops reading when the doctor threatens to start lecturing again. The man could definitely talk when given the chance.

Wada and the nurse take wheel him to a set of double-door elevators which take them down several floors below the ground level. The hallway they exit of a mirror of every other hospital hallway. Grey and white walls, pale blue lino floor and bright fluorescent overhead lights. The only difference is that this hallway is lined with heavy-looking metal doors. From snooping through patient files, he knows that all quirk tests are carried out in specially designated underground ‘safety rooms.’ That doesn't make him any more thrilled about being several stories underground. It cut down on his escape roots.

“These are some of the more secure recovery wards in the hospital,” Wada explains as their little group stops at a small reception desk where the doctor taps away at a computer screen, “they’re mostly for treating patients with unstable quirks.” Kakashi maintains a neutral expression, accepting the explanation.

Wada wheels him up to a steel door, swiping his ID card which also doubled as a key to many areas of the hospital. The heavy door is automated and slides open. A lot of the doors in the hospital operate this way and always made sneaking around slightly more troublesome.

Inside walls and floor are plain white and there is an odd number of tables and chairs pushed to one side out of the way. Everything stinks of disinfectant. On the far wall is a single solitary painting of a tree in a field, the only splash of colour in an otherwise depressingly sparse room. A poor attempt at living up the space. The opposite wall sports a rectangular, reflective surface which was probably some sort of observation booth. Well, if being underground hadn’t put him on edge, this obvious confinement room definitely did the job. Kakashi eyes the space. Worse comes to worst, he could use the kamui and remove the adjoining hallway wall then climb his way out through the elevator shaft. There are only two other people in the room with him and one woman at the reception desk, all were most likely unenhanced with quirks unsuited to combat, easily removed. He doesn’t let his body language reflect his unease. He is just a little on edge because the new seal is messing with his body’s natural homeostasis. If this is a trap there would have been other signs of deception before now.

“Yes, I know it might seem like a whole lot of fuss just to run through a few flashcards,” Wada comments, oblivious to Kakashi’s poor mood. He waves to his assisting nurse who wheels over and lowers one of the metallic tables so Kakashi doesn’t have to move from his wheelchair. “But it’s a standard safety procedure when an unknown quirk is involved. Trust me, this is a lot easier than travelling to an external testing range.”

Wada stops to give Kakashi a once over, frowning, “How much do you know about your quirk sub-type?”

Kakashi shrugs, “Nothing much.”

“Ah,” The doctor’s frown grows, and he grimaces, “Of course you don’t.” A sigh.

“Typically, ocular quirks will act to enhanced sight in some way or improve base level memorisation and recall ability. It is also common to have a replicating function, allowing the user to produce some sort of copy of things they see. In rarer cases, ocular quirks result in precognitive abilities.” Wada explanation falters, “They can also have a line-of-sight emitter effect, such as laser vision, optical blasts, a few instances of mind control and other mental effects. These can also be incredibly dangerous if the user isn’t in control. There have even been instances where whole buildings have been levelled.”

“I see.” He supposes Wada's irritation at this private 'quirk' testing made a bit more sense. A doctor faced with an unknown and possibly dangerous ability would be annoyed if said patient went about experimenting without taking safety precautions.

“I should have checked whether you knew the dangers instead of just assuming. Apologies. That is my own error.”

He peers at Kakashi, almost guilty now, “and you don’t have a phone either so there would have been no way for you to research quirks yourself.”

“Ah,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head not likening how torn up the other man seems to be seeing as Kakashi had ever been in any real danger. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassures.

His reassurances land flat, the doctor still frowning, “I’ll see if I can get you access to the internet somehow.”

Privately, Kakashi adds 'research' to the list of functions ‘phones’ apparently provided and 'internet' to his growing list of terms to investigate.

Wada sighs again. “Regardless, let’s get these tests done first.” He places a thick folder labelled National Standard for Registration: Kit Type 3 alongside one of those portable keyboard-less computers the doctors tended to carry around. “Hold on, been a while since I’ve done one of these. Need to find the rights files. Ah, here we go. First, these rooms are monitored, and all tests are recorded. The data collected is confidential, accessible only to the patient and physician unless doing so causes the patent harm. Information regarding quirk function and use is shared with the Registry Office. You have a right to stop testing at any point. You got that?”

Kakashi grunts, his already poor mood souring further. He is not sure he wants the hospital - or anyone - keeping records of anything sharingan related.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Wada continues unperturbed, a testament to his serval weeks of trying to doctor Kakashi, “remember to let me know if you’re experiencing any discomfort. Don’t want you busting anymore blood vessels.

Kakashi lets out a tired breath, “Sure.” The sooner they left this room the better.

“We’ll test memory and vision first to compare to your baseline, then we’ll run through the replication and precognitive tests just in case.”

The nurse, who had been on the opposite side of the room waves, “All ready over here.” There is now a large poster with letters of varying sizes hung on the wall. He recognises the chart from his previous eye tests.

“Okay, let’s start with just uncovering it. Make sure you’re looking away from me as a precaution.”

Kakashi resists rolling his non- sharingan eye at the obvious instruction, shifting his attention to the poster on the wall. He flips his padded eyepatch up with his index finger so it partially rests on his forehead. All the letters, no matter the size, immediately snap into sharp focus. Nothing spontaneously combusts under his gaze. When he glances at the painting of the tree, he can now see a lack of brush texture, suggesting that it wasn’t a painting but a print of some sort. With that useless information now forever etched into his memory, he turns back to examine at Wada.

The sharingan picks out all the wrinkles and pores lining the older face. It focuses in on minuscule muscle movements as the man’s expression shifts from professional and accommodating to curious. The doctor’s fingers twitch ever so slightly over his computer. Most likely an unconscious habit. The man’s breath is slightly uneven like his chest can’t smoothly expand, suggesting some sort of lung problem. A past smoking habit perhaps? Nothing threatening is revealed.

“Doctor.” Kakashi prompts when Wada spends a little too long staring back at him. The sharingun did have a weak hypnotic effect, encouraging extended eye contact to help catch targets in genjutsu. Kakashi rarely uncovered his eye in the presence of civilians so he doesn’t know if the effect is more pronounced or if Wada is just curious.

Wada blinks, “Well…I certainly see where the ‘wheel’ description comes from.” He spends a second more staring then turns to start writing notes and tapping away at his computer screen. “I wonder if those spinning tomoe are purely cosmetic or if they have some other function because they are certainly fascinating to look at. There is also faint bioluminescence to the eye which is a common feature of ocular quirks…”

Honestly, the blatant eye contact is weird. Even his closest allies tended to avoid looking at his sharingan out of habit - expect for Naruto who was an outlier in almost everything - for understandable reasons. He thinks the people here would also exercise caution if an ocular abilities included mind control or exploding a person through eye contact. But no, Wada just goes right ahead and stares. A few seconds later and the unnamed nurse is also looking curiously at his eye. … …

Aside from redoing a standard eye exam, Kakashi runs through a marathon of flashcards to test both his memory and then precognitive abilities. The tests are done with lights on then in the dark and Kakashi is given a perfect 20/20 and an enhancement score of ‘15 grades above average’ for both. There are also several pages worth of words and numbers in progressively complex arrangements to test his information retention. Of course, everything is easily remembered with the sharingun active.

“Well, it seems to give general across the board vision enhancement alongside perfect recall and retention,” Wada finally concludes as he records all Kakashi’s results, “Of course, we’ll have to re-test retention in a few days so see if the information degrades over an extended period and we don’t know whether your quirk effects your long distance eyesight, but, for now, this appears to be all. The link between your quirked eye and the regenerative side-effect is still unknown. Odd that we couldn’t trigger any ‘copy’ function considering the quirks name though ‘copy’ could also be a reference to memorisation. If any other features do reveal themselves make sure you alert a medical professional.”

… …

Kakashi despises the process of getting an MRI with a heated passion. He hates having to lie prone in a loud confined space. It is the height of discomfort, making him tense up and clench his jaw. It is only the fact that Kakashi had researched and mentally prepared himself for the experience that stops him from accidentally snapping someone’s neck.

“We’ll have the results back in a few days,” Wada informs once the trying ordeal is over with, “From there we’ll update the Registry so you’re properly in the system. Speaking of which, have you made any progress on remembering a surname? I need something for the forms.”

“Hatake,” he grunts, too irritated to bother evading - he just wants to return to his room and wait out the side effects of his seal in peace- the question like he had every other time the man asked, “I think I prefer Kakashi though.”

It wasn’t like the name meant anything here and, who knows, maybe someone would come looking for him. This way they would have a trail to follow.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #naruto #boku no academia #CrossOver #kakshi hatake #dimension travel AU #fanfiction #my hero academia #more hospital stuff #probably a bunch of medical inaccuracies #quirk biology #quirk stuff #world building

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paula-of-christ · 3 years

Note

I very desperately want to become Catholic and receive Christ via the Eucharist but I am having an incredibly hard time with the Church’s teaching that I (as a fertile woman who will probably be married in the next few years) am obligated to have children. The day may come where I want to have a kid but the idea of motherhood is quite frankly terrifying to me since my mom was never nurturing, constantly stressing, and had many health issues while pregnant with my younger brother. Plus, I’ve seen so many posts from people who say parenthood ruined their marriages or that they’re in absolute misery. I have prayed and prayed but I don’t think God wants to force me in a position where I’m depressed and closed off from him for years of my life. I just so desperately don’t want my hypothetical children to feel unloved when I might not have the capacity to give them the love they need. I guess I’m selfish in this regard but I see the potential for so much disaster and pain not just in my own life. What if I die in childbirth? What if they have mental limitations and violently lash out at me or others? What if they’re born premature and we accumulate hundreds of thousands in medical bills? The list goes on and on…. Do you have any advice or can I ask that you pray for me? Thank you <3

So first thing's first, the only "obligation" you truly have is to be open to children. If you aren't open to children, then you shouldn't be married, because that is what marriage is for. I know you've waited a long time for this to be answered so I apologize for this sounding blunt, but this is the only thing I can think reading the first few lines of this since the first time I read it. I have no other way of saying it in another way that doesn't dance around the teaching of the Church that if you aren't willing to have children, you shouldn't enter into a contract (vow) that is specifically for having and raising children.

Motherhood is terrifying, in any capacity. I highly recommend reading St. John Paul II's address on the Dignity of Women, as well as his letter to women. He talks about motherhood in both. If you can be nurturing to your spouse, which to be in a healthy relationship you would have to be, you can and will be nurturing to your children. It sounds a lot like you may, in my unprofessional and unstudied opinion, have a lot of trauma surrounding your childhood and outdated opinions on childbirth and childrearing that just isn't that true anymore. Is having a child expensive? Yes. Is it dangerous? If it were half as dangerous as you fear it is, the human race would have died out. Yet, we have more than 7 billion of us on this earth. Obviously postpartem depression is a real thing and for some women that can last a long time, but understanding it and working through it with medical professionals and having a good support network of family or friends, will make that a lot easier.

If you do want to get married but are so terrified of the idea of having children, I highly encourage you to volunteer with young kids, or find some way to safely (for you and them) spend time with them. Almost all of those fears that you have will be eliminated by actually spending time with kids over a period of time and watching them grow. It will be awkward at first, but that's okay. But if you really don't want to have kids, look into religious life or work you can do as a single woman in the local diocese (there is a TON of work always).

#advice tag #catholic #not queued #christian

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

The Colour of Waiting is Purple

Summary: Spencer's just trying to get home as quickly as possible when a bad decision to take a shortcut down a back alley leaves him broken and bleeding into the night. // Hotch thinks it's a new case when his phone rings at 3 in the morning. It isn't.

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, physical assault, major character injury, hospitals, dad hotch, hurt spencer, angst with a happy ending, eventual fluff

TW: graphic descriptions of violence // physical assault (no rape/non-con)

Pairing: Gen, Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 3.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

Disclaimer: I'm sure there are some medical inaccuracies here, everything I know comes from google, whump tumblr blogs, and my embarrassing obsession with medical dramas. I also have no knowledge of the US medical system aside from what I know from the aforementioned sources so excuse any issues there.

Spencer doesn’t think anything of it when he leaves work at his usual time, the clock pushing midnight and the offices deserted. He packs his few personal belongings up and turns off his lamp before nodding to the janitor, the only other person to be seen, and taking the elevator down to the ground floor where there’s a little more sign of human life at least.

As soon as he steps out into the crisp winter air, he feels the exhaustion of working close to 18 hours straight on far too little sleep hit him. They haven’t even been working a case, he just gets so caught up in his reports and consults that he doesn’t notice the hours whizzing by until he looks up and the bullpen is deserted, dark except for his desk lamp.

Inevitably when spending the day at the office dealing with banalities, he finds something that captures his interest. It tends to send him on a trawl through the internet — or, occasionally, to another part of the building — looking it up in every journal he buys a subscription to until that itch is scratched.

The others always gently touch his shoulder or call out to him as they leave, which he tends to hear about 50% of the time, and Hotch especially tries to make him leave at a more sensible time, but he can’t help the way his brain works. Once it latches onto something it’s not letting go until it’s satisfied.

His feet carry him to the Metro station while his brain absently thinks over his most recent fixation, and soon enough he’s at his stop and back in DC. The streets are slightly more lively in the city, and the noise and light snap him back to reality enough to remind him of his bone-deep fatigue. He usually walks down the main streets to get to his apartment building, occasionally catching a bus if he’s earlier than usual or a cab if he’s later, but tonight he’s just longing for a quick microwave meal, a shower, and his bed. So, he dips down an alleyway and takes the shortcut home.

It’s stupid.

He knows pretty much every statistic there is to know about his city, and at the forefront of his brain are those concerning crime. DC has one of the highest crime rates in America, and a person’s chances of being a victim is 1 in 18, and although it’s slightly lower in Adams Morgan which is one of the safest, violent crimes are still 36% higher than the national average. This is decidedly increased when you take stupid risks like walking through the backstreets in the dead of night when you’re on your own.

Sadly, this does not occur to Spencer before he’s deep in the back streets of the city, being slammed ruthlessly against a wall by two men he didn’t see coming.

He’s winded immediately, and before his brain can catch up with what’s happening, a knife is being held dangerously close to his neck. All his self-defence training, all the moves Derek had spent hours teaching him when he’d first joined the BAU fly out the window and he can only breathe heavily with what he knows must be a terrified expression on his face.

“Well, well, well,” the man holding the knife leers, his arid breath hitting Spencer’s face, “look what we have here.”

The other man doesn’t speak. He’s stood slightly further back, arms crossed as he stares Spencer down. Although he’s physically the lesser threat right now, something about him has ice pooling in Spencer’s stomach.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, you fucking pansy,” he continues, pushing Spencer further into the wall, pain blossoming across his body, “you’re gonna let us look through your gay ass purse, and we’re gonna take whatever we want from it. And then, you’re gonna let Paulie here do whatever he wants to you. He’s had a real bad day, and a pathetic little queer like you is just the punching bag he needs, you hear me?”

It’s all Spencer can do to nod his head frantically. He wants to open his mouth, to negotiate, to talk them down, but this is nothing like when he’s faced with the FBI’s most wanted. He’s in control there, he’s on his turf, his playing field, it’s his game and he knows every rule, every bylaw, every exception.

Right now, he’s completely at these men’s mercy.

“Paulie, take his bag.” The man doesn’t take his eyes off Spencer’s face, scanning his expression and body language for any sign he’s about to bolt, for any reason to put his knife to work.

He tries to calm himself down a little, enough to catch his breath at least. He’s taken countless beatings throughout his life, he knows how to survive, just… please, don’t let it be anything more. It’s all Spencer dares to hope for.

The other man steps forward and snatches his messenger bag, unceremoniously dumping the contents of his bag on the pavement. Spencer’s just grateful that he doesn’t have anything in there that hints towards his career. He knows this type: they’re intimidating but they’re easily scared. Right now, he’s a weak twenty-something on his way home, he’s not a threat to them, but who knows what they’d do to him if they realised he’s a fed?

They take his wallet and his phone before they rummage through his pockets to find some spare cash. His badge is tucked in an inner pocket in his blazer and his Quantico ID is still hanging around his neck, hidden under his scarf, blazer, and thin overcoat; he’s so glad he never took it off.

An icy tear drips down his face as he stands there, pressed against the wall, awaiting his fate. All he wants right now is to be back at home. No, that’s not right. All he wants right now is Hotch. As soon as the thought of his father-figure crosses his mind, the tears start flowing faster, desperate to feel safe again, knowing Hotch is the only person to really let him feel that way.

The man holding the knife has turned to watch Paulie sift through his bag and rummage through his pockets, but as soon as his steely grey eyes return to Spencer’s face, his face splits into a shit-eating grin. “Aw, are you crying?” he mocks, starting to laugh. “Are the big bad men making you feel scared? You gonna run home to Mommy?”

He knows that it’s exactly what the man wants, but he can’t stop the tears from devolving into full-blown sobs at his words. The whole terrifying experience, the implications, the realisations of what might be coming for him in the next few minutes start to catch up to him and he’s violently shaking as he cries uncontrollably.

“You’re pathetic,” the man spits, releasing his grip on him slightly, letting Spencer’s shaky legs collapse under him and send him crashing towards the ground. “He’s all yours, Paulie. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

His position is quickly taken over by Paulie as the other man leans against a dumpster close by to watch the show, and Spencer looks up at the intimidating man with fear blazing in his eyes as he hangs in purgatory, knowing the hell that’s about to rain down on him.

Paulie doesn’t take long to get started and he doesn’t hold back, his sturdy, black boots kicking him relentlessly in the stomach and his thighs before moving up to his chest, slamming the toe of his boots into each individual rib. Spencer can hear the other man laughing maniacally over the sound of his own bones breaking, over his own choked pleas for mercy, but it’s like Paulie doesn’t hear either of them. His face is blank as he gives Spencer the beating of his life, and it only makes him more terrifying.

He quickly gets bored of kicking Spencer and bends down to yank him up by his scarf, only to land a hard, brutal punch on his jaw, then his cheek, then his nose before dropping him down again, this time so his back is vulnerable, at the mercy of Paulie’s cruel feet.

The torture continues for a few more minutes, and Spencer doesn’t know how no-one hears his desperate cries, but they’re left alone in the alley as he coughs up blood and feels his bones break under the tread of Paulie’s boots. He’s deprived of air as his chest is stood on, as his windpipe is crushed, but finally, finally it’s over.

“I’m bored,” Paulie grunts, giving Spencer one last brutal kick to the base of his back before walking over to the other man. They both saunter off down the alleyway, not casting a single look back at Spencer lying curled up on the ground, surrounded by his own blood.

Soon, the men have left, and he’s alone with only his ragged, painful breaths for company. He can hear the hoots of a bachelor party just a street over, but no-one’s coming to save him. No-one else is stupid enough to venture down the backstreets of DC. Not with crime rates like those of their city. Not in the small hours of the morning. Not alone.

He doesn’t even have his phone to call for help.

⭐️

Hotch expects it to be work when he picks up the phone at 3am. By the time he’s sat up in bed and sliding the bar on his phone to answer it, he’s already half in work-mode, ready to call Jessica and drive Jack over before racing into work to beat the others on the team. He can already taste his first coffee of the day.

“Hello, is this Aaron Hotchner?”

It isn’t work.

“Uh, yes,” he says hesitantly, shifting upright a little further, sleep-addled mind trying to guess who the caller could possibly be, “speaking.”

“Hi, my name is Mary Kutner, I’m calling from George Washington University Hospital. I have you down as Spencer Reid’s emergency contact, is that correct?”

Hotch’s heart plummets, and he leaps out of bed immediately, ready to get dressed as the shock wakes him up. “That’s correct. What’s happened?”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge much information over the phone, sir, but we’ll need you to come to the hospital urgently.”

He isn’t usually an emotional person, but he can feel tears springing to his eyes already. Spencer is a surrogate son to him, and knowing he’s hurt without knowing what he can actually do about it is an atrocious feeling. Please don’t let me watch another member of my family die, is all he can think as he tries to gain enough composure to reply to the nurse on the other end of the line.

“Can you tell me his condition?” he asks, somehow managing to get the words past the lump in his throat.

“He’s currently in theatre, sir,” Mary replies as gently as one can in such a professional tone. “If you come down to the hospital and report to the ER a doctor will be able to tell you more. I’ll need you to bring identification with you, please.”

“Okay,” he breathes, trying to keep as calm as possible, “okay. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be right there.”

He throws the phone on the bed as he finishes throwing his clothes on. He packs two bags: one for him (mostly filled with things Spencer might need) and one for Jack, pulls on his coat and shoes before creeping into his son’s room and lifting him out of bed gently, carrying him down to the car.

Jack is a heavy sleeper — he frequently wakes up the next morning tucked in his room at Jessica’s, sometimes in the car on the way — and he’s endlessly thankful for that now. Explaining why he’s dashing out of the flat with a panicked look on his face to a seven-year-old is a conversation he’s glad to avoid.

He rings Jessica on the way who, used to his early morning calls waking her up, has no problem with looking after Jack.

Somehow, he manages to make it to the hospital only forty-five minutes later, and he didn’t even have to park illegally. Thank God the hospital is at least a little quieter in the dead of night.

“Hi, I’m Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid’s emergency contact,” he explains shakily to the woman at the front desk, laying down his FBI identification bag down as ID. He could use his driving licence, sure, but… if knowing they’re FBI agents will make any difference to Spencer’s care then he doesn’t give a damn if this could be construed in some way as abuse of his position. He’d rather lose his job than lose his son.

“Oh, hi Agent Hotchner,” the woman says with a tone of recognition, glancing at his ID before typing something into her computer, “I’m Mary Kutner, I spoke to you on the phone. Dr Reid is still in surgery but I’ll go and find a doctor who can explain the situation to you.”

He nods absently, face stern and pinched as furious anxiety toils inside him. He feels like the last forty-five minutes have been a daze, and now the bright lights and noisy machines and bustling action of the Emergency Department at a major trauma centre are slowly snapping him out of it, the implications of ‘urgent’ and ‘surgery’ and it being the middle of the damn night finally catching up to him.

Some number of minutes pass by — he’s too anxious and caught in his head to keep track of the linear passage of time right now — before he’s approached by a young doctor, wearing a mask carefully constructed of confident professionalism and reassuring compassion.

“Agent Hotchner?” She’s clarifying uselessly, she knows it’s him. He knows she probably has to confirm for some stupid HIPAA rule, but he just wants to know what happened goddamnit.

“Yes,” he replies shortly, “what’s happened to Spencer?”

He doesn’t miss her almost perfectly concealed wince, and he feels his stomach sink further. “He was involved in an assault on his way home from work. A passer-by found him in a back road not far from the hospital and called for an ambulance. Luckily we got him into surgery quickly. Upon admission’s initial assessment, he had a ruptured spleen, a collapsed lung, a double kidney contusion, and he suffered a pelvic fracture along with multiple broken ribs, a fractured jaw and cheekbone, and several severe breaks in his left forearm, wrist, and hand.”

Hotch stares at the doctor in disbelief as she lists Spencer’s injuries: he feels like he’s going into shock. How could anyone want to hurt the sweetest person he’s ever met? How could anyone be so brutal? He’s worked with serial killers for nearly two decades and still, nothing could prepare him for this. He sits down in the seat behind him as the world spins, his brain trying to piece everything together.

“Are you alright, sir?” the doctor asks, sitting down in the seat next to him. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“What?” He turns to look at her before her words sink in and he realises what she asked. “Oh. No, I’m fine… I— is he going to be okay?” As soon as the first tear spills down his cheek, he can’t stop them from falling one after another, dripping down his face in his most public display of emotion since Haley died.

“He’s going to need a lot of care,” she reasons, “he’ll need to stay in hospital for at least a week depending on the outcome of the surgery, but we have every reason to believe he’ll make a full recovery.”

“What’s— what’s the surgery for?” He feels like he’s having an out of body experience.

“They’ll address the internal bleeding first by either fixing or removing the spleen and making sure we didn’t miss anything else on the scans. The surgeon will also assess the damage to Spencer’s kidneys and make sure they aren’t contributing to the internal bleeding. They’ll address the pelvic fractures and the collapsed lung as well. You need to understand that Spencer may need further surgery and he’ll definitely need very close monitoring over the coming weeks and months.”

“What about his broken bones?” Hotch asks. “How bad is it?”

She sighs. “They’re bad,” she admits. “The pelvic fractures are likely going to have a big impact on his mobility, and he won’t have the use of his left arm for a long time. We’re looking at a long recovery, Agent Hotchner. But we have every reason to believe that he will eventually recover.”

She pats him comfortingly on the hand before getting up. “Someone will fetch you as soon as he’s out of surgery.”

It’s not until she’s halfway across the waiting room that he realises she never even told him her name.

It’s close to 8am by the time a surgeon walks over to him, still dressed in scrubs. There’s a smudge of blood on his shirt and Hotch winces at the knowledge that it’s Spencer’s.

“How is he?” he asks, leaping up. He doesn't want any screwing around. He just wants to know if Spencer’s going to be okay.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well. Unfortunately, we had to conduct a full splenectomy to stop his internal bleed which does put him at risk for serious infections, but otherwise, it’s good news. His kidneys will need support but should heal in a timely manner, and we were able to set the rib that punctured his lung and reinflate it, although we’re going to keep him on oxygen to be safe. His pelvis was severely fractured but we managed to reposition the displaced bone fragments and inserted a screw and metal plate to hold them together.”

“Oh, thank God,” Hotch sighs with relief. The worst, immediate threats have been dealt with, and it settles a small part of the anxiety he’s feeling.

“He’s in room 338 if you’d like to go and see him. He should be waking up shortly.”

⭐️

Wasting no time, he races up to Spencer’s floor where a nurse lets him onto the ward and leads him down to 338. He pushes the door open apprehensively, swallowing his emotion at the sight of the man he considers a son lying in a hospital bed. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s been rushed to the hospital, but it’s never been like this. It’s always after a case: Spencer knows the risks of the job, they all do, and he puts himself deliberately in harm's way for the sake of others.

This time, though… this time he was just walking home from work. This time he had no say in the matter.

His left arm is in a cast and his face is bruised and swollen, chestnut hair matted and tangled. Opening the bag he packed, he pulls out a comb and gently teases out the tangles until he can comb through the curls completely unobstructed. There are undoubtedly more knots at the back of his head, but those can wait until he’s woken up at least. It just makes him feel like he’s doing something.

It’s only when he sits down in the chair by his bed that he realises it’s Thursday morning now; he’s supposed to be at work today, they both are. No-one except Jessica knows what’s happened.

The first thing, he supposes, is to ring Strauss.

Once that’s out of the way and she knows that neither he nor Spencer will be in today and he’ll inform her of the latest updates as soon as possible, he messages Rossi. He’s the only one who will be able to remain objective enough to inform everyone, and he’s enough of a dad to the team to help manage everyone’s emotional responses.

Just as he hits send on the message, his head snaps up at Spencer’s quiet whimpering as he comes around.

“Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says as soothingly as possible, “it’s okay, I’m here. You’re in the hospital. Are you in pain?”

Spencer blinks his eyes open blearily, wearing such a pained and vulnerable expression that it goes right to Hotch’s gut. He nods in response to his question, his good hand reaching to hold Hotch’s.

“Okay, there’s a PCA pump right here, I’ll turn it up a little. Is that better?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, tears springing to his eyes. Now he’s not in as much physical pain, Hotch knows this is pure emotion, and he thinks that’s somehow worse. Spencer’s been through a horrifying physical ordeal, but the emotional recovery is going to be just as gruelling and last years. If there’s one word he’d use to describe Spencer, though, it’s resilient.

He shushes him gently, bringing a hand to his hair and caressing it lightly. “I’m here,” he repeats. “You’re safe. I won’t leave you, okay?”

Spencer nods and relaxes into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as he calms down a little.

“You rest now,” he murmurs. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything’s going to be okay.”

They’ll deal with the fall-out later. They’ll deal with the team coming to visit, with the paperwork for his sick leave and the frustration of government bureaucracy. They’ll manage their way through processing the trauma of what happened to him, the physical, mental, and occupational implications of the assault. They’ll stay glued at the hip while Spencer’s interviewed by the police, while doctors explain to him just how serious his injuries are.

Right now, though, Spencer will sleep and Hotch will sit by his bedside watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to every steady beep on the heart rate monitor, searing the living breathing proof that Spencer is alive into his mind. Spencer will sleep and Hotch will cry silently over the cruelty of the world, he’ll grieve for the man he said good-bye to 12 hours earlier, knowing he’ll never quite be the same again.

Spencer will sleep and Hotch will be there, holding his hand, waiting for him to wake up again.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @strippersenseii @suburban--gothic @takeyourleap-of-faith

#criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #criminal minds whump #whump #spencer reid whump #aaron hotchner #hotch #spencer reid #aaron hotchner & spencer reid #criminal minds gen #criminal minds gen fic #criminal minds angst #tw violence #tw assault #tw beating

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doodleimprovement · 4 years

Text

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask - Alternate Ending

Or: “The extremely self indulgent 7 page fic were Nell gets to be more helpful and has some actual characterization”

Yeahhhh this isn’t canon to the fic, but I wanted to write it because I can, at LAST give ya’ll Nell’s backstory for how they came to live in Subcon in the CSAU

Per usual, the “Coffee Shop AU” belongs to the ever wonderful @doodledrawsthings

Also, note: Both MJ and Nell use “they/them” pronouns, with MJ being “He/They” and Nell being “She/They” To keep things from getting too confusing, Nell will be “They” and MJ will be “He”

Enjoy!

Nell was honestly a bit surprised when MJ came to their home the morning after Halloween, sheepishly stating that the mask seemed ... stuck.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Huh.. Come on in then. I’ll get some tea going and see about helping you out, hm?”

He walked into their house, taking a moment to actually look about the place- as he didn’t get much of a chance before- and took a seat in their small living room.

The ambiance of the outside followed inside, with the walls painted chestnut brown with warm yet bright pops of color on the windowsill and the various picture frames full of people he didn’t know. The curtain over the wide window was patterned with little pumpkins, which he found cute, and hanging from a few ceiling hooks were what Clover would call “Low-maintenance” plants. The dark colors match well with the room, making it feel a bit comfier than it otherwise might.

The couch he sat on was across from an armchair, and both were colored a warm orange, with an espresso-colored coffee table. On said table were some envelopes and a copy of “Better Homes and Gardens”

Huh, he didn’t peg them as a reader of those types of magazines. Then again, Clover was the one that knew Nell, not him.

They came back with two mugs - one was purple with the “Snatcher” face on it, and the other had a little grumpy ghost on it, with “I’m spooky before my coffee” written above the drawing.

They handed him the Snatcher mug

“Can I ask where you get all of this Snatcher merch?”

“My best friend is an Etsy fiend. Despite him living all the way in Nyakoto, he ships me Snatcher merch whenever he finds something fun. He’s a real character” they chuckled.

“Huh” MJ acknowledged as Nell walked around the coffee table and sat next to him

“Do you feel the mask?”

He nodded, his hand up at the edge, right where he felt it “When I pull, it just… doesn’t move”

“Hm..” they sipped. “When you try to take it off, how does it feel?”

“Like… it’s like a thousand little… things? Pulling at my face, I think?” MJ pulled up their mug and sipped the tea.

“Like… string? Thread?”

MJ nodded. “I think that's the right word, thread”

Nell puts down the mug as MJ takes another sip. “Let me see” they scooted closer to him, and he put his mug down and turned his head.

Their hands seemed to glow green as they raised it “There we go…” They muttered, hand immediately finding the mask’s edge, and seeing what he was talking about “... Huh, the threads… well, that's the right word. They’re… criss-crossed…”

Before he could ask if they could remove them, he felt a slight burning at the edge of his face and jumped

“Ah!”

“Sorry, sorry, but, that did work… Though, it means you might be here a while” they admit “I’ll need you to stay still, okay?”

“Oh.. okay”

It was... Not Okay.

A few minutes into Nell’s attempt at getting the mask off, they let out a huff.

“You can’t keep squirming”

“I- I’m sorry” He muttered “It's just, you know, hard to stay still”

“I understand that, but I don’t want to mess this up. I’d like to see your actual eyes” They muttered.

“I know, it just.. Weird feeling” He tried to explain.

“Moon” They pressed, but sighed “... You seem still enough when I’m talking to you, need a distraction?”

“I mean, I guess…?”

Nell sighed “Hm… How about I tell you how I came to live in Subcon? That’s a long-ass story”

“Oh uh, if you’re okay with sharing!” MJ tried to be polite. He knew that even Clover wasn’t completely sure why Nell came to live in the town, she just knew that “something happened” back at the coast where they were from.

“Nah. It’s been 5 years. That’s more than long enough” The nurse stayed focused on the magic threads, their magic seeming to thrum in his ears- sounding almost like the hum of a fan in the dead heat of summer..

There was a pause, before they took in a breath.

“When I was 19, I took a job in Nyakoto, and left my hometown as fast as the train could take me. I had a scholarship to a little nursing school there, and before my 21st birthday, I’d gotten a nice, decent paying job as an ER nurse for a hospital in the East Side” They started “The hospitals were all interconnected, so I ended up meeting different doctors and nurses while I worked, and sometimes was called to assist in other hospitals.

“I was.. 25, when I met him” They recalled, something in their voice seeming heavy. “We’ll call him Chris

“He was in residency at a hospital down in the Wesservale neighborhood. We met at a medical appreciation gala… He had something about him I couldn't place. . . A charisma, almost. A kindness. He seemed so eager for the future, so excited for what the next day might bring him. I’d never been like that. His optimism drew me in.

“We started dating the year after. Like with most relationships, everything seemed great. He was funny, kind, thoughtful, all of that stuff. He even went with me to pride stuff, which was pretty cool at the time.”

“Pride?” MJ chimed in. Nell couldn’t hide a chuckle.

“Yes. You’ve heard of the Nyakoto Annual Pride Bonanza, haven’t you? One of the biggest in the country”

“I have, yes”

“Good. Back to the story” Nell redirected “When I was 27, about a year and a half into the relationship, I realized, quite unhappily, that we weren’t actually very different, and didn’t really get along as well as we thought.. It's not that we argued, but.. We didn’t really… talk. I never spoke to him about my problems, I didn’t feel like I could, and that really made me realize that we weren’t actually all that comfortable around each other. So, when he came over to my place that night for dinner, I spoke to him, and tried to tell him that we weren’t compatible, and that I thought perhaps we’d be better off as friends.

“He convinced me that we just needed work, going on and on about all these plans he had for us. Trips, dates, things to look forward to, always looking toward the future, Chris did”

Nell paused again

“.. I really should have noticed how little he cared about happiness in the present.” They commented “Not a traditional red flag, but it was a warning nonetheless”

“Well, I mean, that’s not so bad”

“In a way, no” Nell replied “But when you think about the future so much, you forget the present, you forget to live, and your past just.. Ends up a horrible haze. Even the happy stuff is hard to recall”

MJ hadn’t thought of it like that

“But hindsight is 2020, and in the moment, I believed him. I wanted to believe those bright dreams of the future, and I let go of the fact that I did not even like to talk to him very much.

“... I tried to break up with him 4 more times in the 8 years we were together.”

Okay, MJ hadn’t been expecting that much time passing.

“By the time I was 34, we were living together, but barely seeing each other. From the outside it must have seemed perfect to everyone else. I think only Daph knew about my.. Issues, with Chris. I still never talked to him about anything that wasn’t the future, or how the day was, or.. Just, absolute nonsense.

“One night, after one more attempt to break up, I’d gone to bed defeated, and woke up at 3 in the morning while he was on the night shift in Wesservale.. I came to this… realization

“If I didn’t leave right then and there, I’d marry him…. and I’d …. I’d be stuck. He’d have me, and I’d be stuck for the rest of my life..

“So I grabbed everything I had in the apartment, sent a resignation email to the East side hospital I still worked at, left him a note telling him I was leaving, took my car and just… started driving”

“.. Did he call you?”

“I blocked his number.” They answered curtly. “Drove for days until I came across Subcon.”

MJ didn’t comment.

“I stayed at the Alpine Motel for a few nights, and when I was at the diner, overheard that there was an open position for the school nurse at the elementary” They continued. “I applied for it, and 3 months later cashed in my savings to put a down payment on this little place” They made a motion with their hand briefly “The rest is history”

“Well… If it's any consolation, I think that's a good reason to get out of the city”

Nell couldn’t hold back a laugh. There was something a little… sad, in it, but the laugh was genuine.

“Yeah, then again, every reason is a good one to get out of the city” They commented, and MJ had only just realized that their hands were now on the other side of his face. Nell worked quickly, it seemed. “Hm.. okay. On the count of three, I'm going to try to take it off, alright?”

“Oh, uh, wow, okay!” He replied eagerly, closing his eyes.

“One…” They slowly started, both hands on either side, their nails right at the edge of the mask.

“Three!”

MJ startled as Nell pulled, and a cold, sharp feeling spread over his body before it abruptly ended. When he opened his eyes. He looked at Nell, who had, in their hands, that damned mask.

His hands went up to his face, and he let out a relieved laugh as he felt his skin, glasses and hair “hah! Hahah! I’m human again! No more magic!” He raised his hands and leaned back on the couch “Sweet relief”

Nell let out a chuckle, putting the mask down gently “Finish your tea, I’m gonna grab you a damp towel. You have… paint? On your face”

His brow was furrowed, but he reached for the still-warm mug anyway as Nell got up and went down a short hallway.

He took the few moments that Nell was done to think over the story he’d been told, the exhaustion in the nurse’s voice as she told it. Was he really the first one to learn? It gave him a weird feeling right in his chest.

When Nell returned, she offered a small, damp towel… that had the “Snatcher” smile on it

“... How many of these do you have?” He almost laughed again, and they just answered with an amused smile and grabbed their own coffee cup.

MJ cleaned his face, seeing a candy-red color coming off on the purple towel. “Hm..”

“What?”

“Well uh, the color looks like the magic strings I was able to summon”

Nell Blinked “... Well uh, bring that up with Tim when he’s back in town. That’s a little out of my wheelhouse”

“Noted”

The two fell into silence, sipping their warm drinks and giving them some time to unwind

“Will you need a ride home?” they asked him, putting their mug down.

He hadn’t actually thought of that.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine”

They raised an eyebrow at him

“You live 20 minutes away and Luka isn’t here to … fly you home, per se” They laid out “I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you home”

He turned a little red to the ears “Oh.. Thank you”

“No problem, Moon” They smiled back at him. “I’m going to change real quick, then we’ll leave”

And with that, they left back into the short hallway, to what Moon assumed was their bedroom.

Nell returned a few minutes later, dressed in a loose blouse and skirt that went down to their ankles, a far cry from the tank top and sweatpants that he’d seen them in before. He supposed that it was more so not wanting to go out in Pajamas than anything else. She picked up the mask, wrapping it in a handkerchief before holding it out to him

“It’s chosen you. You have to keep it”

He just nodded, and gingerly took the troublesome thing into his hands.

The two got in their truck (Nell owned a truck??) and drove into town.

MJ took in a breath as they turned onto a main street, passing The Horizon. “So uh, Nell..”

“Hm?”

“About your uh, the story you told me.. I won’t tell anyone”

“I don’t mind if you do” they answered, eyes on the road

“What, really?”

“Like I said before. Five years feels long enough”

MJ’s brow furrowed “I’m still not going to say anything.. That’s a personal story. It’s not mine to tell”

Nell glanced over at him with an unreadable expression, before moving to turn on the radio. Lo-fi started, and it seemed they were right in the middle of a Billie Eilish song.

“.. Thank you” They ended up responding as the song picked up

”I know supposedly I'm lonely now.

Know I’m supposed to be unhappy without someone.

But aren’t I someone?”

MJ didn’t say much of anything else once until they got to his apartment building

“Thank you, Nell. For everything”

“Don’t mention it” They gave him a small, but sincere smile “Get some rest, hm? The bags under your eyes are aging you”

MJ just laughed “I will. Don’t be a stranger, Mx. Buonacci”

The nurse gave him a lazy salute with a soft smile, before the window rolled up, and they drove off

Exhaling, he looked down at the covered mask, wrapped in a…. Snatcher-patterned handkerchief.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

#ahit #ahit coffee shop au #coffee shop au #moonjumper #ahit moonjumper #ahit oc #nell #ahit nell #backstory #antonia writes #this was fun

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ponnearponfarponwhereveryouare · 3 years

Text

negotiations of home

Pairing: TOS!McSpirk

Summary: Spock takes the time to examine his thoughts (and feelings) towards the Enterprise's captain and chief medical officer. He decides the most logical course of action is to address his findings.

Rating: G | Word Count: 1862 | also on ao3

Spock had long since learned not to say thoughts tied to emotion. Such ruminations had to be examined critically and in such a time and location so as to not interfere with his work. Only in this way could he put logic first, by making a habit of it. He was not sure if this was the process other Vulcans applied, but it was the one that worked best for him.

He knew he was successful when he was able to apply this method around members of his family; with positive emotions and negative. Only in absolute private he might tell his mother he loved her, tell his sister he missed her, or tell his brother that they were still, always, family.

It was best not to think about the emotions that came up involving his father. Or the feelings around the fact that his family was two and a half parts human and two and a half parts Vulcan. Of not being a whole.

Those walls had begun to slip, of late. And that was because he was faced with emotions that were not tangled up in his Vulcan upbringing. Feelings that included a sense of being held together, a chance at healing his two halves.

Which brought him to the matter at hand.

"You're you, Spock!" Leonard snapped, though the anger was not directed at Spock himself. The doctor was pacing about Jim's quarters, while Spock sat at the Captain's desk observing him. "You're not broken! All you have to do in this life is be honest with yourself."

Spock raised a brow. "Is this a time for the old anecdote, physician heal thyself?"

Leonard managed to scowl deeper. "Damn it, man, at least I'm trying. Talking about these sorts of things with someone you trust and care about is important."

"Is that not what I am attempting to do?" Spock asked. Before Jim had been called away to deal with a potential issue among the Enterprise's current guests, Spock had gathered both Jim and Leonard together with the purpose of working through a line of thought that had followed him around for the past 30 days.

Leonard deflated a bit, rubbing his hands together in a nervous manner. Spock attempted not to stare, as the emotions that evoked were ones he had not yet begun to speak of.

"Do not worry, Leonard, I will not continue until Jim has returned," Spock said in a tone he hoped would be reassuring.

"How am I supposed to do that, with you calling us by our names?" Leonard protested, now tossing his hands up in the air.

"It is a personal matter, so it would be illogical to use your professional titles."

"And that's why I'm nervous! Last time you had a personal matter that you had to involve me and Jim in, you were dying or your father was dying." Leonard didn't return to pacing, instead, he crossed the room and kneeled beside Spock. His blue eyes were wide and filled with concern.

"My apologies. I did not mean to raise alarm," Spock said, reaching out towards Leonard. He wasn't sure what he'd do, but he needed such dramatics to end. It brought an uncomfortable warmth that was tempting to lean into. To drown in. “Please, stand.” Spock stopped himself before he actually could touch Leonard’s elbows.

Leonard seemed to take a long enough time pondering this request as to border on his usual teasing. He finally stood, pressing a hand against Spock’s knee as he did. He settled then into Jim’s other chair so that they were now directly across from each other. “So you’re not dying.”

“Not that I am aware of. Though as my doctor, I believe you are to give me such status updates.”

This returned Leonard to a... huffier state. “I’d be able to do that if you didn’t lie to me.”

“Vulcan’s do not lie,” Spock reminded him.

“Oh really? Then it seems like I’ll need a copy of whatever definition you’re using for the word.”

Jim returned to catch that last exchange. “Gentlemen. I see I haven’t missed anything.” He was smiling, coming to lean against the partition that divided his quarters.

Spock found himself calmed by Jim’s presence. “The Andorian ambassador is settled?”

“Yes, Scotty was able to change the climate control settings for her quarters to something comfortable,” Jim said, as he looked from Spock to Leonard and back. “Where were we?”

“Spock was telling us something that is a “personal matter",” Leonard provided. “I’ve got him to promise no one is dying.”

“Statistically in the breadth of the universe and even just among life as we know it, at this moment-”

“Shut it!” Leonard’s tone was supposed to be sharp, but it was too rounded by his own laughter.

“Very well,” Spock turned towards Leonard, both eyebrows raised, and remained silent.

“Jim, look what he’s doing now!” Leonard complained, leaning closer towards Spock, as close as he could get with the desk between them.

Jim’s laughter filled the silence, and he crossed the room to sit on the corner of his desk. “Spock, Bones, come now.” His face was in that easy grin of his, the one Spock associated with times when all was well. “Spock, what did you want to talk to us about?”

Yes, the mission at hand. One that he had set for himself because, given the nature of their work and luck, it seemed best to share his thoughts sooner than later. Spock had planned the words he would say carefully, trying to predict what response he might get. He would not call himself nervous, as that emotion tended to be one of the most illogical.

“Yeah Spock, sorry,” Leonard smiled kindly, leaning back again. His foot nudged Spock’s under the table in what must have been encouragement. Leonard rarely apologized for their mutual antagonization of the other, another sign he was taking this seriously.

“It has come to my attention that I hold you both in strong regard.” Spock thought that was as good a place to start as any, even as his practiced words seemed to fall away. He should have written them down... But that would have no doubt brought Leonard’s amusement and possibly ire. “I also know, while it is not the practice on Vulcan, for many cultures it is customary to let those you care about know of your regard towards them.”

Both Leonard and Jim were silent, which was not one of the responses Spock had anticipated. It was Leonard who finally spoke and said, “Are you sure you’re not dying? Because you just admitted to having an emotion. Several, in fact.”

“Indeed. It was our last away mission that brought me to further examine my feelings towards both Jim and yourself.” Spock had been the one, after 27.8 frantic hours, to find and rescue the captain and chief medical officer. Between coordinating the rescue effort, Spock found his thoughts consumed with things he wished to tell them both. “I... care for you both. My existence is greatly improved by your presence in it.”

He hoped that they could understand all he was not able to say. ‘Don’t leave me, I need you, I missed you, I-’

“Spock,” Jim’s voice was soft, and when Spock looked up at him, so was his expression. “I feel the same.” He then looked towards Leonard, and Spock followed his gaze.

Leonard looked between them both, and his blinking grew more rapid. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Damnit, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost either of you. You’ve both managed to pick up my pieces and put them back together. I can’t remember the last time I felt complete.”

Of course, Leonard, who was better with emotions than either Spock or Jim, would put the words to it: that there existed between them something that exceeded a friendship bond. They had become family. Partners. A tension settled then, the question -

“What do we do?” Jim voiced it. “It’s not as if we can stop going on dangerous missions. That’s not the life we signed up for.”

“I know neither of you could be happy sitting by,” Leonard agreed. “You’re explorers to your cores. And someone who asks you to change your very nature isn’t worth keeping.”

Keep. Spock turned the word over in his mind. “It seems that what is in our power to change is the parameters of our relationship.”

Jim let out a breath that sounded like ‘yes.’

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, that’d be against regulation.” Leonard pointed at Spock. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Affirmative.” Spock had to focus to keep his tone even. This was not one of the outcomes he had let himself ponder. His desire for it would have become overwhelming.

“What about the ol’ needs of the many over the few?” Leonard said, and Spock knew he wasn’t arguing because he was against the possibility now hanging heavy in the room, more tangible than it had ever been before because it had been named. Leonard was making sure Spock was sure; that he was comfortable.

“You are both professionals, whom I trust not to let the personal adversely interfere with the running of the ship.” It was an easier answer than he thought. “I even theorize that such a change in our relationship could improve personal performance.”

“Now that is a theory that I want to test.” Jim moved to stand, so he could face them both fully. His smile was back and wider than Spock could recall seeing it. “I’d like to very much.”

Leonard was smiling now as well. “Why am I surprised that this has been the weirdest way I’ve ever been asked out?”

“Come on Bones, for science,” Jim’s eyes twinkled, and he reached out to catch one of Leonard’s hands. “But more importantly, for... love.”

Spock watched the way their fingers fit together, and almost missed that Jim had spoken the final unspoken word. He looked back towards their expressions, before standing himself and coming closer, to stand between them both.

“Of course I will,” Leonard said. “Spock?”

“Affirmative,” Spock said again, and added, while carefully watching Leonard’s expression. “It should prove fascinating.” Before Leonard could offer a retort to that, Spock held out his index and middle finger to him. A gesture he knew the good doctor had picked up the significance of.

Leonard’s eyes went wide once more, but he didn’t hesitate before reciprocating the gesture. Once he had, Spock felt a wave of affection he could not pinpoint as his own emotion or Leonard’s. Spock then offered the same to Jim, who looked like he had been given a gift to rival his captaincy of the Enterprise.

When Jim’s finger’s met Spock’s, the three of them stood visibly connected in a way Spock knew their lives had already long been. This, then, was proof that he would not lose them. At least, not without making sure they knew what they meant to him.

It spoke of a new beginning, a new adventure, shared between the three of them.

#mcspirk #spock #leonard mccoy #james kirk #jim kirk #bones mccoy #this is very fluffy #it is also a getting together fic #the first star trek fic i have written in YEARS bless a decade old hyperfixation to break writers block #star trek the original series #tos #star trek TOS #a talks #my fic

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