#doctoring machine manufacturer

[slittingrewinding]

[naamahdarling]

Maybe it isn't that I actually hate medical professionals? They just suck and are weird sometimes, and a lot of them shouldn't be practicing, but I don't hate them as a group, like, personally.

What I hate is their ability to make my life harder in ways that are often completely opaque to me, and a lot of the crap things they do are not really possible to challenge. And I hate the fact that holding them responsible fort dogshit behavior in any way that will actually benefit me is almost always impossible.

And I also hate the fact that they have to do stupid things sometimes because that's how the system is set up, and those things sometimes mean patients actually get harmed. They aren't fond of that part either! They don't want the system to be the way it is! But they don't have a choice, so sometimes people like me get forced by bureaucracy into doing things that are re-traumatizing. And I can't imagine that feels good for them at all, knowing that their patients are sometimes only "consenting" because that bureaucracy will not let them be helped in any other way. Which isn't consent at all. I imagine that must be pretty traumatizing for them, too, sometimes.

If it were easier to actually access medical care without tremendous delays in this country right now I would have much less trouble finding providers who are good at what they do and are not horrible people, and who have clinic staff who can do their fucking job.

Oh and I also don't appreciate how evasive and unwilling to commit they are out of fear of being held to an answer that turns out to be inaccurate, but I can't make an informed decision about my own care unless they give me at least some information about probabilities and trajectories and typicalities. Genuinely, how the fuck am I supposed to navigate that shit. I get that some patients are really fucking difficult, but I should be able to get a special stamp on my file or something that says I understand that sometimes medicine isn't an exact science and the best answers that my doctors can give may not always prove to be accurate in the long term. I know they don't like being in that situation either.

A lot of medical professionals are fucking assholes, and unfortunately the ones who are not are still hamstrung by a system set up to actively prevent people from getting care.

I miss my old doctor. He gave no shits about anything that wasn't the patient. He prescribed scheduled meds based on what the patient needed and not based on fear of consequences potentially being imposed on him by the punitive patient-hostile drugs-are-bad moral panic machine developed to force suffering people into buying more dangerous drugs off the street in order to prevent far fewer people from maybe getting high off of drugs that at least weren't laced with lethal substances. (The purpose of a system is what it does.) Did he get sanctioned and become locally unhireable? Unfortunately yes he did. Does he now provide concierge care to rich people? Yes he does. He found a way to make it work, God bless him.

Everything about the medical system in this country is fucked. Hospitals, doctors, nurses, pharmacies, pharmacists, pharmacy techs, phlebotomists, clinic administrative staff, insurance companies, medical schools and schooling, licensing boards, drug advertising to both providers and patients, pharmaceutical reps, researchers, research, publishing, medical trials, pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers and distributors, medical equipment, charting software, billing and billing codes, diagnostic criteria, charity and low income services, accessible transportation, home care, the lack of independent individual patient advocates, dietitians and nutritionists, access to physical and occupational therapy and physical and occupational therapists, the massive bigotry of every kind rampant in every corner of the medical field, social work, senior care and assisted living, deprioritization of informed consent and harm reduction, disability applications, inaccessibility of medical records, especially psychiatric notes which are specifically allowed to be withheld from patients, lack of continuity of care for disadvantaged people, care that is equitably accessible to disabled people, telemedicine, patient portals, phone systems, clinic hours, every single aspect of inpatient and outpatient psychiatry, facility security, all sorts of things going on with therapists who are nevertheless probably the least malicious group of people in this entire charade, aaaaaand patients themselves.

Also hospital toilets that are too tall and make it literally physically impossible for me to poop while I'm there waiting for somebody to come out of surgery. I just needed to take a crap, guys. You didn't need to make the toilets so tall that my feet didn't even touch the floor. It is very clean but there is no shitting for short people at St Francis.

[multiplicationdivision]

Abott Inc.

The manufacturing plant was abuzz with Tony Abott

Two of him handled a repair on the bottom floor, replacing a slipped wheel in record time. Another watched, ready to jump into motion at any evidence of a problem. Six others manned the quality checks, spouting off curses and shooting the shit as their muscle memory handled all the heavy lifting of searching for faults. Two were out to get lunch, carrying in tow the same burger order for a factory’s worth of the same exact man.

Only the forewoman was unique, a beautiful buff woman who acted to make sure that their unified state of mind never got them in trouble. She kept them out of trouble just as a single Tony kept the factory full of identical copies of her safe in turn.

It was good being Tony.

Years of education in all manners of factory positions, skill in any task that this facility could need. A physique built by an equal time training practically, nothing gained from the gym. Each muscle was built for practicality and each of him could handle a world of weight just on his own.  

This body had once been a man named Braedon. He’d been college educated in computer sciences, a prodigy of his field. He could code anything given a couple hours alone, so long as he had coffee and some good junk food. He was set for a comfy corporate throne after a few years on the bottom, rising high and fast.

It had been boring.

Years of brutal education gave way to months spent in bureaucracy, unable to complete a task that would’ve taken minutes without weeks of back and forth with incompetent bosses. Emails that took longer to write than the quick line of code that would fix the issue.

Braedon loved the feeling of a job well done. Reclining back as the circuits ran perfectly and the tasks played out like a line of dominos falling one after one.

Corporate was like watching every step of his Rube Goldberg machine get interrupted by a whiney man in a suit named Todd or Larry. Made Braedon want to scream and tear down his perfectly built systems just so he could be the one to fuck it up.

The factory had been his life line.

It had been a simple invoice. A practical job that promised everything he could ask for. No boss criticizing his work at every step, chipping away at his confidence. No choking atmosphere to his work, watched by a hundred people in the building that thought their business degrees gave them insight on system design. Way more money than he ever thought possible for a blue-collar job. More than he was making at the moment in his bland yet expensive cubical.

There was a catch.

Braedon had no experience in anything outside of the digital world. He’d traded his body and health in exchange for his degrees. One couldn’t become as specialized as him without sacrificing the self-care that was so important in the labor required of a factory worker.

The factory knew that, but they had an easy fix.

Tony Abott had interviewed him. The singular original Tony Abott.

He was a prodigy in his own right. The industry wet dream. Ruggedly attractive and overly competent. Charismatic and eager to please.

He’d been honest with Braedon from the start. They had their hands in some strange technology and they needed even stranger candidates. Each selected for their unique physiologies and mental states that would make them perfect for their shared role.

Tony said that he’d been selected for his flexible sense of self and pathological loneliness. He’d been like Braedon, giving up his social life so he could be the best of the best. Was left hollow when he reached that height and started depersonalizing without staring himself in a mirror to remember that he existed.

Braedon had been selected after being profiled as similarly lost. Doctor’s notes demanding he eat anything that wasn’t processed. Caffeine and cigarettes letting him keep up with hundreds of email arguments over a simple fucking project. The gut twisting feeling of watching what that abuse did to his body, stealing away whatever youth was left and replacing it with something tired and boney. The hunger to be anything except for Braedon, who never wanted to be understood by another person as the gaping pit of rage and self-disgust that had taken root in his heart.

They were a match for each other and Braedon hadn’t cared for whatever physiological horror a happier person might see in this deal.

He’d quit his shitty corporate hell the next day and made his goodbyes to whatever people passed for tolerable in those minimalist nightmare hallways. Wished them good luck breathing recirculated air-conditioned smog as he got ready to breath real fucking air.

He’d arrived at his second “interview” a week later, having spent the last days wrapping up affairs and communicating with the labor board. The factory wasn’t doing anything shady and the government had needed to setup Braedon’s paperwork for his new life. Little benefits and tax write off as reward for joining the latest and greatest of industrial innovation. That alongside the mountain of appointments they’d needed to make for new identification as his old ID photos wouldn’t identify him for shit in the following day.

Tony had joined him for this “interview”. Dressed to his best in a soft dress shirt and new jeans. Boots barely broken into and a new watch. A professional shave and tussled hair atop a cap, branded with the company logo. A shining example compared to the loose clothes Braedon had been told to wear, making him look anything but a put together future coworker.

A second set of Tony’s exact outfit lay next to the door, atop a shoebox and a fancy new duplicate watch.

They’d made a toast to brotherhood, those two lonely men. Tony had supplied his favorite beer, cheap piss Budweiser. It went down watery and flat, nothing like the vodka tonics Braedon felt most suited to when he was in an alcoholic mood. The slight burn of it travelled down his throat, soothing yet peppery. It brought a head high like nothing else, feeling as if the golden liquid had flowed into his brain and body before it could even reach his stomach.

Alcohol didn’t feel like this, but this wasn’t exactly Alcohol.

Tony had tried to explain whatever biochemical cocktail was laced into the drink. It was all for the sake of complete transparency, they weren’t in the business of trickery. Something to do with forced recombination and stem cells. Braedon was a highly intelligent man, but there was a reason he’d never dipped into biology. Tony seemed the same, rattling off a scripted explanation that he had probably practiced time and time again to look like he understood what he was saying.

Braedon sipped his beer as Tony attempted small talk. They were very different people. Tony seemed awkward as if he felt judged by every little glance that Braedon gave him. Braedon was used to analyzing a person by now, searching for faults that he could use to his advantage. Braedon had been the kindest person at his old workplace but that had been a low bar and he had still become cruel. Braedon could see every way that Tony felt insecure around anyone but himself, as if he didn’t have every tool at his command to be a juggernaut.

The ichor in the drink flowed through Braedon’s neurons and there was a memory. A kid who wasn’t him being criticized at every turn for jobs he’d sworn he’d done correctly. Credit taken from a pre-teen for perfect machines that could cut production times by half. The same instances over and over, leaving a man desperately trying to prove himself to a system that would use him and give the patent to his boss. That despair and betrayal settled comfortably in the spaces of Braedon’s own memories.

Braedon grit his teeth in subtle rage. His jawline had broadened and his face itched and it felt good in some odd way. Matched that swelling feeling of righteous anger.

The ichor altered how Tony fit in his brain. The insecurity became more and more relatable with every swallow. A memory of the guy’s only partner calling him pathetic, using every shitty doubt Tony had confided to wicked abandon. The breakup replayed in the man’s mind like nothing else, a cacophony of how he was weak and annoying and awful in every way.

Braedon wanted to punch that piece of shit and laugh in their face. Braedon knew to heart what human garbage was and Tony was anything but. Braedon could feel the waves of Tony’s insecurity reach through his mind and falter in the wake of Braedon’s own memories. Braedon wished he could have someone like Tony, over eager to be romantic and prepare for anniversaries. Wished he could inject his own point of view on the guy’s memory of his part love and how jealous and narcissistic they actually were.

The Budweiser began to taste good. Braedon could remember the first time they’d drunk it. A trade school kid picking up the cheapest shit at the gas station on their twenty first, drinking as he carved away at a block of wood deep into the night. The carbonation had made the swill all the more comforting, a bitter spot against the peace of his work station. It tasted like shit, but the good type of shit. Fit him and his sweaty downtime, relaxing as he sculpted pine and oak into art.

At some point their conversation stopped being awkward. The words flowed better and better as Braedon felt understanding coating his mind. Nervous jokes became relatable and the nasty feeling that had sat at home in Braedon’s chest for so long felt like it was shrinking. He found himself chuckling at the stories Tony explained, remembering them in tandem with fresh eyes.

The times Tony had nearly burned down any number of mills and processing facilities. The rampant animals that added chaos to his life, including amongst their diversity a very confused bear and a unfortunately horny moose.

Braedon was crying with laughter as he and Tony pieced together how he’d pranked an old shitty supervisor. Braedon could practically hear that supervisor’s rage as his computer downloaded virus after virus, prompted by a helpful little auto-clicker that Tony had installed one late night after another unpaid bout of overtime.

Tony physically unwound as their conversation went on and the number of empty beer bottles increased. He no longer looked stiff in his new clothes, rather his relaxed muscles filled them out comfortably. His confidence changed him, his smile lighting up the room and his mood infectious.

Braedon hadn’t been gay before this, but a shift in his sexuality had been a part of the deal. Tony’s basic information had been open to him and a little pansexuality felt like a pretty good upgrade to Tony’s own deal.

Braedon could remember all the times Tony had felt wrong in the mirror melding into one. Picking apart himself for looking too old, too awkward and too fake. It was all insane of course, as Braedon could easily dissect. Braedon felt his own mind guide that fragment of Tony in his mind to see what he saw, forcing it to witness Braedon’s own perspective instead of that toxic mindset downloaded into the guy since his father had disowned him.

Braedon could feel all his own shit get digested into the well of personality inside his head. Not destroyed exactly, but reorganized. His own insecurities broken down by the logic of Tony Abott as the logic of Braedon Santoro did the same in turn. Fast tracking therapy with only a couple bottles of booze.

He could feel his own memories of coding alone slot next to Tony’s life of construction. The things that made Tony burned brighter in his mind compared to his own pieces, but they were never devoured. Braedon felt himself begin to lurk behind the soul of the man in front of him, but it wasn’t anything like a mask.

The deal hadn’t been to bury Braedon beneath Tony. Braeden would still be there but the man that Tony was would predominate. Tony would trade him his individuality in exchange for this new self. Braeden would give up his old life in exchange for an equal claim to this new identity.

Braeden became Tony, from inside out as the beer coated his tongue like cold nectar. Felt himself become saturated with the man, siphoning every bit of his personality into his soul, feeling the ichor in his blood tremble as it changed the body to fit the mind.

His scrawny body filled with density, calories from the beer being more than efficiently transformed into muscle fibers and sturdy bones. The tar in his lungs dwindled and he breathed clearly. Tony had never smoked a single day in his life and the man that was once Braeden savored the feeling. Savored the experience of having lived a life with more than microwaved meals, even if that life had its own many faults.

The loose clothing filled, his sweatshirt and sweatpants becoming oversized. He’d taken his shoes off prior to his first drink to Tony’s recommendation. Tony had larger feet than him as well as larger everything. Even his pants fit differently, filled much differently than they were before.

It was strange to no longer identify with a name, but he couldn’t think of himself anymore as Braeden. It didn’t fit anymore, supplanted by the name of the man in front of him. It wasn’t just that man’s name anymore, they shared it now.

They needed to share more than that.

Interviews should never go where they took it, but interviews rarely meddled with identity on such a scale. Tony had more understanding for the man in front of him than anyone else and the call to act on it was irresistible.

It happened when the man that was once Braeden began to strip his clothes off, forgoing the last thing that differentiated him from the other. They’d planned to don him in matching clothes and continue their conversation with the last of the prescripted beers. Head to the facility’s temporary doctor to confirm a success.

Tony had joked that he’d only felt this comfortable with another man once. The new Tony had replied that he knew and the part of Braeden permanently at his core flirted. Some charged comment that made them both blush, something about how it would be easier for them to match if Tony just took off his clothes.

They’d been awkward in it, because how couldn’t someone be awkward masturbating like that. A whole other body added to the scheme, even if that body was one you’d always known. They’d forgotten to remove the clothes of the first Tony entirely, so caught up in the feeling of that lockstep of their shared bodies working as one. Whatever was done would be mimicked in turn, a duet in symmetrical motion.

They’d finished together and the awkwardness dissolved. Both no longer held back by the fear of judgment from the other, when they functioned like two parts of the same being.

They’d gotten dressed together, tying their boots up and pulling their shirts on. An entirely new outfit that both Tonys reveled in without the presence of strangers making them second guess it. The one that was still Braeden in memory could feel the twist of amusement at their preening, his heart racing as he looked at his new twin. Braeden had never strongly cared for his appearance, but the sensation of feeling good in his new boots and new jeans was exhilarating compared to the apathy of before.

They’d headed to the doctor together, excitement in every step. With a clean bill of health and permission to continue on with the next man the following day, they were a force of nature.

One became two. Two prepared for three to become one. Three identical men lining up identification and licenses for a factory’s worth of them. Buying clothes in mass to handle a platoon of them.

The first Tony became lost in the crowd and it felt good. Most people weren’t cut out to spread their sense of self across so many. Tony seemed built for it, the pressure of being the best dulled to nothing as he became part of the best. Seeing numerous of himselves discover their identity as a group in their work and downtime. Using the memories of the men they once were to build upon what it meant to be Tony Abott.

They’d bring all kinds of folks home and show them what it was like to be with them. Give the few a taste of a whole world of confidence built through reinforcement. Strings became strong when wrapped into a rope and they were a realized person together.

Tony Abott, operating Abott Inc. Alone yet definitely not.

Pictures taken from Construction Bros series by GymDreams on Deviantart.

[dizzymoods]

People are starting to ask the question "Are we replicating colonial violence by sharing images of Palestinian martyrdom."

This is a question borne out of the decolonize movement which in practice restates the neoliberal, pro-capital status quo in radical language.

This question not only fails to employ the basic principles of media literacy but also fails an understanding of national liberation movements. It's an unnecessary and dangerous question.

We have a 56 year history of Palestinians using images as part of national liberation. 55 years of an international standard for the use of images in national liberation movements (Third Cinema).

When we hold these images to those standards, we don't even need to ask that question. It's been answered for us already. The answer is no. In the context of national liberation, images are supposed to shock the consciousness of the people. These images did that.

What didn't happen is that we didn't do the necessary and effective work of organizing those who have come to support the Palestinian cause into affecting a ceasefire. That is not the image's fault. That is an indictment of our organizing.

The principle point of Third Cinema is that the image is a detonator. It is a spring board for direct action. An excuse to gather people. Third Cinema is not delusional. It knows that only such action can stop colonialism.

The question that needs to be asked is one of tactics.These images would not still be circulating if there was a ceasefire. And the Palestinians have told us this time and again.

This is why that question is dangerous. Because we can circle the drain all day talking about the epistemic violence of the camera, the camera as an a priori, always already, in perpetuity, ontological white supremacy machine.

The question asks us to investigate our individual consumptive habits. Not what can be done to materially support the Palestinians. You can answer that question without engaging with the history of Palestinian political images. Without reference to the directives the Palestinians have given us on the ground. With no knowledge of politics.

The Palestinians are creating, sharing, contextualizing these images. The Israelis are cutting hasbara to discredit these images. In no way can these images replicate the violence of colonialism bc the colonized are producing them and the colonizer is trying to stop their circulation. In fact, by asking this question we invite people to do the work of the colonizer by stopping the circulation of these images. We proudly delude ourselves into thinking that we are helping the Palestinians when we are materially aiding the israelis.

The AnsarAllah showed us what to do politically. Stop the weapons manufactures and stop the shipment of arms. They took over the red sea by hijacking only 3 ships. Evergreen & BP stopped using the red sea after that.

Last tuesday America and ~10 other countries declared that they would retake the red sea. But by that friday, the mission collapsed before it started.

And, quiet as kept, we knew Biden and congress would not yield to mass demonstrations. We spent the last decade doing mass demonstrations to stop police violence but the only action that lead to a guilty verdict (which did not stop the violence) was the burning down of a police precinct.

If it is true what Fanon says about violence yielding to a greater show of violence, and that is the level of violence necessary to put one cop behind bars then.... 🤷🏾‍♂️

But, ironically, this question does replicate the very violence that it attempts to not engage in.

The Palestinians who take photos of Palestinian martyrs are the same photographers who take images of Palestinian life and the resilient spirit of the Palestinian people. Palestinian kids playing in bombed out ruble, Palestinians sharing scraps of food with others who have none, doctors "adopting" children whose families israel killed, Palestinians dancing. Why aren't these images worthy of our anxiety? I mean they condemn us to hell, don't they? "We are alive! Please keep us this way" and everyday there isn't a ceasefire is a day we fail them.

Why aren't the images of the al-Qassam brigades wiping out israeli encampments in minutes worthy of discourse?

Why does this question exceptionalize the image of a helpless, pitiful weak, dead people? Is that not how the colonizer sees the colonized? Is this not the same hubris israel had by ignoring all signs of Al Asqa Flood for a year and a half?

If we understand the principles of montage, then we know the images of Palestinian martyrdom do not mean anything outside of the context of the other images coming out of Gaza. And taken as a whole, the images lead to the same conclusion as our political analysis. The Palestinians have the ground. It's israel's air power that allows it to commit this genocide. We must stop that air power by any means necessary.

Decolonize wants you to think, not act. It wants you to forget about the socialist history of national liberation movements. Lenin put anti-imperialism at the heart of the socialist project in 1916. Every single anti-colonial, national liberation movement was either spearheaded by or had the necessary participation of Marxists. The practitioners of Third Cinema made reference to socialism and many had party affiliations with socialist movements.

Decolonize, like critical theory, is explicitly anticommunist. It doesn't want us to engage in real socialist politics which directly oppose and break from this neoliberal hellscape. Instead it channels our anger into a discursive, metaphysical effigy that we can sacrifice so we can sleep at night. But tomorrow will be 85 days and 75 years of the Palestinian genocide.

edit: changed houtis, a colonial designation, to their proper name the AnsarAllah.

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

What follows is a retelling of the Jurassic Park story, mainly based on the 1993 film, with portions of the original novel used to supplement the story. The main point of divergence occurs when the park is unable to find workable nonavian dinosaur genetic material for cloning, since - as in the real world - dna degrades much too rapidly. Instead, the park consists only of extinct dinosaurs that can be brought back - birds from the last 2.5 million years. What happens after that is, as Ian Malcolm would say, an emerging pattern.

Infinite thanks to beta readers @killdeercheer, @otussketching, and @plokool! And extra thanks to @i-draws-dinosaurs for the killer logo!

Link to the masterpost of chapters

Chapter Two: Egg Mountain, United States

“Doctor Sattler! Doctor Grant! We’re ready to try again!”

Ellie stood up from the dirt in front of her, brushing off the sand from her shorts and looking around for the source of the call. Alan took a longer time to get up, looking grumpy and befuddled at the interruption.

“I hate computers,” Grant muttered.

Ellie wanted to laugh, but she managed to keep it in. Computers felt like something from a separate world – a cleaner one, a manufactured one. Out here, in the badlands, surrounded by mountains and dust and old bones, computers were alien. But they had one.

And it had quickly become Alan’s archnemesis.

“The feeling’s mutual,” Ellie joked, smirking at him as he shook his head in bemusement. The two walked down the side of the mountain towards the equipment, including a large lead slug dispenser (aka Thumper) and a portable computer covered in dust and dirt. The computer ran the computer-assisted sonic tomography (CAST) program – Thumper would send a lead slug into the ground, which would generate waves, allowing for the computer to get an idea of the layout of the ground around the slug. The computer would then, theoretically, show a reading of any fossils detected by the sonic waves. Usually, the best it could do was show the approximate location of a fossil – which saved significant amounts of time on digging. But, with repeated readings, sometimes a more detailed outline could be found. That detailed outline was then helpful for digging in the right location – and preserving that location from further environmental damage.

As they reached the bottom of the valley, the students activated Thumper, causing a loud boom to resonate through the mountains. Alan made a beeline for the computer monitor to read the info, while Ellie meandered behind him across the dirt.

“Hey Dr. Sattler!” one grad student shouted. She waved back at her with a smile. There weren’t a lot of women on the dig site, so each one supported the others as much as they could.

By the time she reached the monitor, the image from Thumper was finally loading on this screen.

“This new program’s incredible,” another grad student, a man this time, said, “Few more years development and we won’t even have to dig anymore!”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Alan scoffed, causing the gathering crowd around the screen to laugh with him.

“It’s... a little distorted, but I don’t think it’s the computer,” the student continued, typing away to try and manipulate the image’s presentation. Ellie could see right away, however, that the skeleton was in the right pose. She walked up to the screen and pointed, from a distance, at the tell-tale characteristics.

“Post-mortem contraction of the posterior neck ligaments... Deinonychus?”

“Yes, and it’s in good shape, too,” Alan confirmed, walking closer to the screen himself, “Five, six feet long, I’m guessing nine feet tall. Look at the –“

Suddenly, Alan’s touching of the monitor made everything go fuzzy.

“What’d you do?” Alan asked the student angrily.

“He touched it,” Ellie laughed, patting the student comfortingly on the shoulder, “Dr. Grant’s not machine compatible.”

“Hell, they’ve got it in for me,” Alan grumbled, before composing himself, “And look at the half-moon shaped bones in the wrists. It’s no wonder these guys learned how to fly!”

Everyone laughed around him. While birds being living dinosaurs was a fairly widely accepted hypothesis in the field, it still drew some chuckles – especially from the unaware.

“No, seriously!” Alan said, turning around to look at everyone, his educator face completely taking over the irritation face he had previously, “Dinosaurs have more in common with present-day birds than they do with reptiles. Look at the pubic bone, turned backward, just like a bird... look at the vertebrae, filled with air sacs and hollows just like a bird... and even the word Raptor means, ‘Bird of Prey’.”

“That doesn’t look very scary,” scoffed one of the children on the dig, an annoying little boy who was constantly complaining about the connections between living birds and their extinct dinosaur relatives, “More like a six foot turkey!”

Alan lost his educator face, and Ellie found herself smirking at the sheer irritation he had for an expression instead.

“Have you met a turkey, kid?” Alan asked.

“Oh no,” Ellie muttered, but she wasn’t about to stop him. Alan had been patient with the kid for weeks, and his time was up.

“Um, at Thanksgiving,” the kid responded.

“Okay. So, to begin with, a turkey is already nearly six foot – they can grow up to four,” Alan stated, smirking, “Then, when you are just alone in the woods – or, you think you’re alone – with no one around, guess what is the last thing you want to hear?”

“Um, turkeys?”

“The distant sound of many turkeys coming right in your direction. You see, turkeys – they aren’t predators. So they know at any time they could be on the receiving end of a horrible, horrible attack. And so they, like all prey animals over a certain size, will defend themselves to the death. More human deaths are caused by the vegetarian hippopotamus each year than by sharks or any other predator. And turkeys? They have that ferocity, too.”

The kid did not have a response to that.

“Some might peck you. That has a nasty sting. Others may just run at you, flashing their feathers, making loud sounds. Enough to set your teeth on edge. And then there are the kickers. Nowhere more than the feet can you see how birds are just dinosaurs among us,” Alan let out a snort, “Those claws, that force, it is enough to break bones and other organs.”

Alan stepped up closer to the boy, getting right in his face. Ellie watched, moderately mesmerized, too much so to intervene.

“Just one, a human alone could not deal with. But on your own, surrounded by who knows how many? You would wish it was a Deinonychus, kid. A Deinonychus eventually gets full.”

The boy visibly gulped in front of everyone, who was dead silent. No laughs emerged from a single person.

“So, you know. Try to show a little respect.”

“Okay,” the kid said, nodding. Alan nodded in response, and turned to walk away.

The child’s mother ran forward to him, while Ellie followed after Alan, shaking her head in bemusement.

“If you wanted to scare the kid you could have pulled a gun on him, you know,” Ellie snorted.

“Yeah, I know,” Alan sighed, “Kids. You want to have one of those?”

Ellie laughed, gesturing behind her, “I don’t want that kid, but, a breed of child, Alan, could be intriguing.”

“Ha!”

“I mean, what’s so wrong with kids?”

“Look, they get in the way. I mean, I never thought I’d date anyone, before I met you,” Alan said, “It never interested me.”

“You just wanted to find the bones,” Ellie laughed, shaking her head.

“I just wanted to find the bones! But one person is enough for me. More, and this time I’m responsible for their well-being? For what kind of person they turn into? Nah.”

“You didn’t think you’d like dating me, and you did!” Ellie countered, jabbing him lightly in the arm.

“Cause you’re the only person who understands me,” Alan scoffed, “Besides. You don’t smell.”

“What? Kids don’t smell, either!”

“Some of them smell!” Alan insisted, “Babies smell!”

The whirring of a helicopter cut off their conversation, and both immediately ran down to the site to cover up the new find, shouting for tarps to drape over the rocks and exposed bones. Alan sprinted to the helicopter, while Ellie ran down to the site, covering it quickly with the help of the volunteers and students.

“Get it down – yes – secure the corner – don’t let it be exposed! Even this amount of wind from the helicopter could erode away important information! Yes, get that side down, too!” Ellie barked at everyone, directing people to properly place down the tarp. Satisfied the specimen was secure, she quickly ran towards the trailer, where she had just seen Alan disappear into.

“Alright!” Ellie shouted, opening up the door, “Who’s the jerk?”

“Uh, this is our, paleobotanist, Doctor –“

“Sattler,” Ellie filled in, frowning. In the room was an older man, with a white beard and glasses, wearing a beige hat. Ellie didn’t have a moment to ask before Alan continued,

“Ellie, this is Mr. Hammond.”

Ellie felt her mouth drop open in shock.

“I’m sorry about the dramatic entrance, Dr. Sattler, but...”

“Did I say ‘jerk’?” Ellie laughed, grimacing.

“We’re in a wee bit of a hurry, here. Will you have a drink? We don’t want to let it warm, come along, sit down, sit down.”

It was weird, how he managed to make the space his own, just by virtue of having paid for it, even though it was Ellie’s and Alan’s. Ellie tried to take control, reaching for glasses in the sink, as he protested. Before she knew it, she was sitting at a table.

“Now, I’ll wait a minute, because I have a surprise for you!” Hammond laughed. Conveniently, the door opened at that moment, and a tall dark skinned woman entered the room, her hair done in dreads, a grin spreading across her face.

“Guess who’s baaack!” the woman sang, beaming at Alan and Ellie.

“Miri!” Ellie shouted.

“Miri!” Alan said in unison. Miri laughed and ran to hug Ellie, shaking Alan’s hand eagerly afterwards.

“Mr. Hammond picked me up on the way over here, I’ve been a consultant on his project for the past year down at my dig – I have so much to tell you, when was the last time we saw each other?” Miri said rapidly, laughing at the shocked looks on Ellie and Alan’s faces.

“Last SVP, I think!” Ellie responded, “Oh it’s so good to see you! Are they treating you well down in Florida?”

“As well as can be expected for Florida!” Miri laughed, “But we just found a new Titanis skeleton, and since Pierce passed I’m in charge of the dig site!”

“I was so sorry to have heard of his passing, Miri,” Alan said, “You’re more than capable to take over for him, but so soon after you graduated from here –“

“The man lived in a hoarder house, Alan,” Miri snorted, “A literal hoarder house. Besides that, I was brought on the team because he knew he needed a good replacement. Regardless, I’m here now.”

“And good thing, too!” Dr. Hammond laughed, “Your former mentor would never have been able to come alone on our little trip, Dr. Spinoza!”

“About that, as I was saying in the helicopter, you’re never going to get Alan to –“

“Never going to get Alan to what?” Alan asked, affronted. Ellie snorted, making him glare at her for a moment.

“I’ll get right to the point!” Hammond chortled, clearly delighted by the proceedings, “I like you. Both of you. I can tell instantly about people, it’s a gift. Could tell I liked you, could tell I liked Miri. Now,” Hammond took a deep breath, beaming, “I own an island. Off the coast of Costa Rica. I’ve leased it from the government and spent the last five years setting up a kind of biological preserve. You remember the consultancy you did for me at the time?”

“Yes, but after a point you said we were no longer needed for that?” Alan asked in confusion.

“Which is when he reached out to me,” Miri said, nodding.

“Well, the island is really spectacular. Spared no expense. Make the one I‘ve got down in Kenya look like a petting zoo. And there’s no doubt, our attractions will drive kids out of their minds.”

“And what are those?” Alan asked sarcastically. Miri snorted.

“Small versions of adults, honey,” Ellie laughed.

“And not just kids, everyone! We’re going to open next year, that is if the lawyers don’t kill me first. I don’t care for lawyers, do you...?”

“Oh we... uh...” Ellie began.

“Don’t really know any,” Alan and Miri finished with him in unison.

“Well I do, I’m afraid. There’s a particular pebble in my shoe who represents my investors. Says they insist on ‘outside opinions.’”

“What kind of opinions?” Ellie asked.

“Well, your kind, Dr. Sattler and Dr. Grant, not to put too fine a point on it. And Dr. Spinoza’s too. I mean, let’s face it – in your particular fields, you’re the top minds! And if I could just persuade you to sign off on the park, you know give it your endorsement, maybe even pen a wee testimonial, I could get back on schedule!”

“Is the work I’ve been doing for you not enough of a testimonial?” Miri laughed.

“Well, they want you to see the place, get a feel for it, as it were. They want an expert’s eyes on the whole proceedings.”

“But why would they care what we think?” Dr. Sattler asked.

“With your expertise from paleobotany and paleoecology, Dr. Spinoza’s in behavior, and Alan’s in anatomy, you have the best handle on what sort of problems we may deal with in the park –“

“What kind of park is this?” Alan asked, frowning in confusion.

“It’s right up your alley,” Hammond laughed, handing the three of them drinks.

“Please come down, you two, with Dr. Spinoza and I, for the weekend. I’d love to have both of your opinions on the project. We have a jet standing by at Choteau,” Hammond pleaded.

“I basically had no choice, since he’s sponsoring the dig,” Miri sighed.

“Well, look, we just dug up a new skeleton –“ Alan began.

“And I will compensate you, as well, by fully funding your dig...”

“This is a very unusual time,” Alan continued.

“For a further three years,” Hammond finished.

“Well.. uh...” Ellie stammered, “Where’s the plane?”

“Yeah, okay, okay!” Alan shouted, clinking his glass with Hammond and turning around to Ellie in excitement. Both shouted happily and hugged each other, spinning around the room.

“Three more years!”

“We can get the entire raptor nesting site!”

“Three more years!”

Hammond chortled happily, as the pair reached to grab bags from under the table and pack them.

Soon, they would be off to Costa Rica.

[bestjeanistmonster]

With Dc au Sonic i wanted the theme nature vs machine to be demonstrated on an emotional level

He had lived in Gotham his entire life and Gotham isn’t exactly a safe nor healthy place to live cuz of all the crime, chaos and rampant pollution from factories that the citizens have to breathe in daily

Plant life in Gotham suffers heavily because of this too, healthy plants aren’t really commonplace

Nicky hated the pollution in the city with a burning passion but after Eggman brainwashed him, he saw the pollution of the city as not that bad of a thing and sees it as a sacrifice for scientific advancement, Doctor Eggman’s scientific advancement to be specific

Working with Eggman meant being exposed to the worst of the pollution with his constant manufacturing of robot henchmen and chemical experiments with Joker venom on the daily, it isn’t good for Sonic by any sort of means (mentally and physically) but he doesn’t really care about that, just about helping the doctor in any way he can

But then he meets Shadow, poison ivy, a hedgehog who can literally control nature, is part of nature and he starts benefitting from being around him both physically and mentally, Shadow’s lair supplies the cleanest oxygen that Sonic has ever breathed in, he can be his own person when he’s with Shadow, etc.

With Eggman and his machinery he gets more hurt but with Shadow and his connection to nature he starts to heal

Idk i just thought it was cool and wanted to talk about it

[pinkestlittlebutterfly]

Servamp hospital AU with no plot only vibes but I do the rest of the cast too so everyone can suffer:

Iduna – Clinical engineer. Though her responsibilities are mostly limited to testing, maintaining and occasionally doing small repairs on the medical equipment, she always looks at the machines in her care like she’s itching to do more. She’s vastly overqualified for her position, but left what would be any other engineer’s dream job at a well-known medical manufacturer to take it, for unknown reasons. 

Freya – The resident pharmacist. She wouldn’t usually have much contact with patients, but sometimes exasperated nurses will ask her to explain how some patient’s medication works to them, counting on her fierce glare to hammer the message home. She’s precise in her work but not opposed to chaos, as evident by how much time she spends watching Iduna come up with creative ways to test the surgery robots. 

Licht – Paramedic, stoic in even the most stressful situations. Though one wouldn’t think of him as good with people, the confidence he has in everything he does is a pillar of comfort to those he treats as well as his team. Some people think he developed a bit of a complex, saving people’s lives on a daily basis, but Hyde assures them he’s always been like that. He rarely starts fights (with those who aren't Hyde) but will end them.

Hyde – Paramedic. Whether he’s well-suited for his profession is up for debate, as stress makes him act out easily when in the wrong mood. He put himself on a team with Licht, and for a long time any emergency doctor made to work with them would groan at the thought of their squabbling. Recently they have gotten along better, and Hyde’s stress tolerance seems to have improved. 

Niccolo – Emergency doctor, originally an internist. Though he spends most of his time looking like he’ll fall apart at even the suggestion of stress, he changes completely once in an actual life-or-death situation and will easily take charge of his team. He’s happy in his job, and it’s a step up from working in the hospital itself, which was the actual cause of his stress. 

Ildio – ER nurse. Though he seems to be a perfect fit for his job – fiercely caring but looking rough enough to nip any problematic behaviour in the bud – it’s actually just what he first fell into when completing his training. Recently the emergency doctor he spends his breaks with has encouraged him to find something he actually enjoys doing, and he has been looking to become a NICU nurse. 

Krantz – Professional translator, working wherever a bridge between the staff and one of their patients needs to be built, and is thus always busy. No one knows how many languages he actually speaks. His most impressive achievement in bridge-building is getting paramedics Licht and Hyde to form a somewhat cohesive unit, to a point where their long-suffering ambulance driver has him on speed dial.

Johannes – Haematologist. He is obsessed with his work and spends a decidedly unhealthy amount of hours in the lab, living off strange concoctions presumably containing lots of caffeine and lots of sugar. Though he's not supposed to collect his samples himself, he does so with great joy. Few of the studies he proposes make it past the ethics committee.

Gear – Lab tech. The quiet world of the lab suits him, and he’s well adapted to the traditions and mindsets of those who live within it, though they tend to come off as bizarre to others. He spends his downtime scouring catalogues for the latest lab equipment, and sometimes brings some of it home to decorate the house with. His husband Youtarou seems strangely okay with this.

Youtarou – Social media manager. Most people think of his job as useless, but he thinks it's important for patients and even more so potential recruits to have a friendly face to associate the hospital with. His favourite part of the job is working with Iduna, who in turn loves the opportunity to make the surgery robots do something funny for a cute video.

[eaglyn]

Heart or Brain? | Wriothesley x reader

This is sort of a trailer of mine for an AO3 project that I've been working on, albeit I haven't published any chapters yet. Not proofread :)

You were an average girl in Fontaine, living an average life with your family, or at least that's what it looked like on surface level.

What you really were was a member of the House of the Hearth, working as an informant, detective, intelligence manager, you name it. The point is, that you were in a high position and an invaluable member, sitting right by The Knave's side during every meeting.

When you ended up in the Fortress of Meropide, it was also for the sake of an investigation regarding some of its inner workings, and the easiest way to do that was faking a fraud case through your day job, which was a logistics manager at a big Fontainian manufacture company.

Queue fake crying at the trial because of made up reasons that your nonexistent sister living in Mondstadt needed medical attention and had no money for it. Through this, your public image remained almost completely intact as the sweet girl who would help everyone in Fontaine if they ever needed assistance. But more importantly, you were in the prison, serving a three year sentence, which would give you more than enough time to play the slow game and gather as much intel as possible without becoming suspicious.

As a fellow inmate, you became sort of a mentor to fresh inmates, teaching them the know-how about the place, and telling them what and what not to do. You got the reputation of the nice, reliable girl who's totally eager to pull you out of trouble or help you get special perks if you know how to ask her nicely.

But there was one thorn in your side, namely the Duke, Wriothesley. As what you were, a normal inmate, it didn't matter how high of a regard you were held in by others, you had no way of getting close to him and getting your hand on the knowledge that he possessed.

You expressed these concerns to The Knave in a letter, who suggested infiltrating Wriothesley's inner circle through Sigewinne, the melusine girl who worked as the head nurse of the infirmary. As such, you would eagerly ask Sigewinne about any and all questions regarding medicine and healing, meanwhile you learned how to use your Hydro vision to heal wounds and such things.

Sure, it took about six months of your sentence, but you became highly trusted by Sigewinne and 'doctor' also got added to your excessively long list of entries in your job description. From now, it didn't take long before you were actually attending tea parties with Sigewinne and Wriothesley, who was most likely none the wiser about your machinations, as you managed to build a perfect stack of cards for yourself that all played in the favor of your mission and helped you evade suspicion with every move you made.

Tea time with Wriothesley became a common occurrence even when Sigewinne wasn't around, and slowly but surely you managed to get more and more information about him, his past, the fortress, and anything for that matter. In order to keep your friendship with him genuine, you also told him things about your life, albeit from before joining the House of the Hearth, as well as your previous day job as a logistics manager, and pretty much presented him the same persona that you portrayed during the trial, the kindhearted, selfless girl who would risk her life and freedom for those who she cared about.

You truly became his closest confidant when he finally introduced you to his secret project, the ship that he had been constructing under the prison, as well as the strange door that separated Fontaine from disaster.

He arranged for you to work full time as a healer who would treat injuries with her hydro vision, while in your free time, you helped out with your project, and you'd notice that he'd always go out of his way to do things from you, from making sure that you'd eat the best food at the cafeteria to giving you exquisite teas and pastries imported from the surface.

He'd look into your eyes so genuinely that it almost made you cry, knowing that you were nothing more than an undercover spy, a con artist and a fraud. But in terms of the mission, it would be the cherry on top if you managed to get him to fall in love with you, regardless of how bad you felt about it.

Besides, you wouldn't mind having to act like you were madly in love with him, after all he was a smart, strong and incredibly handsome man, and there was something about the way he spoiled you with amazing teas and treats, and the way he would hug you goodbye, or put his arm around your waist when you were together in private that made you question how much longer you could keep everything professional on your end.

When the day arrived that he took your chin in his hand and kissed you softly, you didn't even think of resisting. You kissed him back as if it was your last minute alive, enjoying the way you could still taste the tea in his mouth as he continued stealing your breath.

Being with him felt so genuine and real that whenever he kissed you, you completely forgot about being a liar and a fraud, only to remember it as soon as you looked into his eyes after pulling away.

It wouldn't hurt the mission if you just enjoyed a little bit of spice every now and then, right?

You were utterly torn between two worlds. On one hand, it was your entire life's mission to help prevent the prophecy from coming true and contribute as much to the Fatui as possible, but on the other hand, you had actually developed feelings for Wriothesley, and it was only the matter of days before you could say that you're completely in love with him. Telling 'Father' might damage your reliability and reputation as a Fatuus, while telling Wriothesley would completely ruin your relationship with him. After all, it may have started as you schemes of getting information for the operation, but your feelings for him were real, and you've never felt this way about anyone before.

You'd soon have to choose, but you really didn't want to. Should you let your heart or your brain dictate?

[the-white-void]

A benevolent and kind God that rules over Teyvat was treated as if they were the most fragile of all the glass made in the world but what if that same god was also mischievous enough for their followers to not notice them

Diluc

The manufacturer of the grandest wine in Mondstat and the mysterious Dark Knight Hero known as Diluc Ragenvinder but also a loyal follower of their Grace

Their grace looked upon the red-head and smirked at their plan to tag along his day tomorrow, they turned into a tiny mouse and hid under his coat waiting for the next day to come

When it was dawn you were still cozying in the young Ragenvinder’s coat while he was already awake ready to start the day

you were unnoticed the entire time in his coat as he went on his day until he reached into his pocket for some change but he grabbed you

He was shocked to find a mouse inside his pocket he dropped you on the ground and the impact from the drop caused you to transform back to a human form

Diluc was traumatized from the realization that he basically dropped his god from his hands

You tried to calm him down while Venti, Kaeya and Rosaria were drop dead laughing their asses off drunk until Jean walked by them wonder what happened

You explain what happened and that you weren’t really injured at all and it was just an accident

“DILUC DROPPED YOUR GRACE?!!”

“Don’t worry I wasn’t hurt”

“I dropped their grace from my own two hands”

It took until morning for them to all calm down

Ei/Raiden Shogun

The Electro Archon meditated within her euthymia while her machine dealt with the mortal realm in her stead

That was until you came for a visit

The Shogun was ecstatic that you would bless her nation with your presence

You were given a room in Tenshukaku to rest from your journey and along with the room had a fancy fluffy white carpet

Your neuron activation said to sleep on it instead of your fancy bed

So you turned into a fluffy white cat and slept on it with your belly exposed meaning you felt safe

After some time Ei went to check if you needed anything and when she opened the doors to your chambers

She saw the white fluffy carpet in the middle of the room and decided to kick to the side so no casualties could happen

Bad decision

When she kicked the carpet she kicked you along with it and you flung to the side and you transformed back to a human form

Caught off guard of what she did she yelled for the most experienced doctors to your aid while you were whining on the pain you were in

THEIR GRACE NEEDS HELP, DOCTORS IMMEDIATELY!!

She was ashamed that you blessed her with your visit and she kicked you

Klee

Klee was a fun kid, bright and joyful, you needed some of that every now and then

So you played with her today

You went to get her from the Favonius headquarters to go fish blasting

But you saw her running down all the stairs from the fountain near Good hunters

She said she wanted to meet you early so you won’t have to wait her her

She was so kind and so pure, this was exactly why you wanted to play with her and maybe you should do it more often

You ran to the lake behind the city and started fish blasting

You decided to turn into a dog and teach Klee to swim

“Hey Klee, if you want I can teach you how to swim to day”

“Yaaay, Y/n is going to teach Klee to swim today” she said while holding her Jumpty Dumpty

She ran toward you but she tripped and her Jumpty Dumpty flew all the way to your face

It exploded a big kaboom

It alerted Jean to see if it was Klee fish blasting again but when she got there she saw Klee crying waterfalls

“Klee what’s wrong”

“Jumpty Dumpty accidentally hit their grace”

You were fished out and Klee was in solitary confinement for a week

[ellipsae]

Here's the next Post-Epilogue design for Jade! I struggled a lot with this one because a lot of his design has specific purpose so I was weighing function against aesthetic and had to make some trade offs. Anyways, the small satchel and wrist contraption is a prototype for strengthening fonic artes.

More details under the cut. !Lots of Spoilers as well under cut!

-So firstly, I fully believe Jade would return to his research on Fomicry and lead the medical movement for replicas and replica health as he had mentioned in-game. I like to imagine that he goes by Jade Curtiss-Balfour as it's just easier than being called two different Family Names (as he's more well known in the research circles as Balfour).

-In the post-Epilogue world with the Planet Storm stopped, the concentration of fonons have dramatically decreased so I imagine spellcasters like Jade would find their fonic artes significantly weakened and perhaps some higher level artes can no longer be activated in normal circumstances. So to supplement the lack of fonons, the prototype uses concentrated fonic crystals (manufactured by fontech machines) that can be consumed during casting. For most efficient usage, the crystals can be absorbed into the body via contamination so it doesn't dissipate into the atmosphere.

-It's a bit hard to see, but Jade has half-glasses and one eye is darker because he's dispelled the fonic eyes on one of them. My understanding of the fonic artes is that it opens the fon slots in the eyes beyond normal circumstances to absorb more fonons in the air. With the lower concentration of fonons post-Epilogue, I figured that in desperate situations, the fonic eyes might overstrain themselves to try and draw in fonons (which increases the risk of going blind) and it happens to Jade once and he decided to cut his losses by removing it/disabling in one of his eyes and keeping the other one as a last resort (even if it may result in sacrificing sight in one eye)

-His turtleneck sweater is an homage to Professor Nebilim. The quilted coat is partially based on his young design. I had really wanted to keep his military boots in the design in the same colour scheme but having them all blue-teal made it really hard to colour coordinated the rest of his outfit so I changed it to grey. I wanted him to be able to switch between 'Doctor Balfour' and 'Colonel Curtiss' mode very quickly.

-I'm not too familiar with military ranks but I really hope that Jade tried to resign from the military so he could focus on his research (he can't do both jobs full time) but Peony wouldn't let him so he either demoted him or gave him a sideways promotion into a non-commanding officer role. It works out for Jade in the best way because he can take advantage of his military resources and access to help his research.

-His main research base is in Keterburg hence his winter-oriented outfit but he frequently travels to Belkend to collaborate on research and projects. He will sometimes help with theory behind new fontech and also deciphering old Dawn Age technical manuals (which were released in small batches from the forbidden archives in Daath).

-End of the day, Jade becomes super well known because of his knowledge and expertise that eclipses his former research and Necromancer title from his military days which makes him more approachable for marriage meeting requests plus he's more personable now after his travels and friendship with the party

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

When the Doctor left Rose with Tentoo, his part-human, part-Time Lord clone created from his own hand, he knew he was leaving her in good... well, hands.

Tentoo had quickly demonstrated a remarkable knack for domestic engineering. Leaky taps, creaky hinges, and even the ancient vacuum cleaner that had been gathering dust in the cupboard since 1994—none stood a chance against his magic touch. It turned into an ongoing joke between them: each time a new item malfunctioned, Rose would say, 'Must be time for the HAND-yman!'

One dusky evening, with Tentoo immersed in the guts of the washing machine, Rose leaned on the doorframe, watching him. 'Y'know,' she mused, 'I always wondered what it would be like to properly live with the Doctor. Never thought it'd involve a lot of appliance repair.'

Without missing a beat, Tentoo looked up, a grin spreading across his face. 'Ah, but you see, the inefficiency of human manufacturing is pretty staggering. It's practically a miracle the Pyramids haven't crumbled to dust.'

Rose playfully narrowed her eyes at him. 'Okay, now I know you're made from his right hand,' she quipped, 'because you're a complete and total wanker.'

The last Doctor Who Jokes and Incorrect Quotes for Monday by GIL

Monday jokes to get repped by 🔥Trending.

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[rosen-dovecote]

Got ahold of my pharmacy to see what on Earth was up with my Dexcom Patch because it still hasn't come in. Turns out Insurance was blocking it for a Prior Auth (Because of course. Of course they were) and my Pharmacy wouldn't order it until it cleared (and also wouldn't call to tell me. Like you could've just done that).

Jokes on them, though, because I don't need their approval for it anyways? I have a manufacturer's coupon for it, because my Nurse gave me the head's up that Insurance won't usually cover it for some stupid reason. So I'm paying $70 out of my own pocket for it anyways, you absolute goons.

I swear! The absolute nonsense you have to go through ... They didn't require anything for my nebulizer- paid for the whole machine and all of the meds in full. No payments on my heart monitor. Lung Test with followup was only $200. Never required anything for either test, just gave me both without any paperwork or fight. But they fought me on the Radiated Egg study for my Gastroparesis after me literally battling the condition for 8 years and having the paper trail to back it up. And now they fight me over a tiny 10 day Glucose Monitor patch for Diabetes testing ??? Please make it make any sense at all.

So yeah. I should finally have my Dexcom this week, now, and we can find out about this potential Diabetes nonsense once and for all; I'm so ready to be past this one. I hate this possibility so much for so many reasons.

Tomorrow I have my followup appointment with my Eye Doctor to see if my eyes've retained their new shape, and I do need the new glasses after all. Considering my vision's still pretty blurry, I'm going to say yes. But we'll see what he says tomorrow.

[uncannychange]

In 1957, Dr. Alfred Blackburn and Dr. Gregory Erasmus started an underfunded, ill-advised, and overly ambitious project to bring an idea from science fiction to life and create a way to manufacture supersolders.

Their goal was to create a machine that would turn ordinary men into physically perfect specimens full of strength, vitality, and energy.

In short, the perfect man.

After months of labor, the pair had their device ready to test.

The problem, this being an independent and totally secret project, was finding a volunteer.

A game of rock, paper, scissors placed Doctor Erasmus in the transformation pod.

What would emerge, they knew, would either be nothing, a burned-out husk, or the perfect human.

And the perfect human is just what they got.

Only it turned out that the perfect human was not as they had envisioned it.

Doughy 65-year-old Dr. Erasmus had indeed returned to spectacular youth and was indeed now full of vim, vigor, and vitality.

He was also now a beautiful woman who seemed to be around 19 or 20 years old.

It seemed that the machines' and doctors' ideas of what the perfect human would be were somewhat different.

Further testing showed the device worked its miracle by turning the Y chromosome into a supercharged X chromosome.

So, It would only work on men and, while perfecting them, also turned them into women.

The government bigwigs and brass hats gave a hard pass on funding the device on finding out about this.

Undaunted Doctor Erasmus decided to do something with her new situation. Recalling an at the time defunct superhero from around 10 years ago.

Gregory, now calling herself Gloria, put the laboratory to work, making that old fantasy come to life.

Fortunately along with the youth and vitality the Device had also supercharged Gloria’s brain and she was able to finance her work by creating a popular makeup brand for Maybelline.

Soon, America was introduced to a new righter of wrongs and punisher of evildoers, American Glory.

The press and the public ate it up with a fork.

It didn’t take long for American Glory to become very popular. True, she spent more time appearing on The Jack Benny Program, The Red Skelton Show, and The Ed Sullivan Show than she did stopping bank robbers, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to make a living.

The career of the Star-Spangled Sister came to an end when the fame started to become more important than heroic daring do.

A participant in an infamous parade in Texas on the 22nd of November 1963, Glory was too busy taking photos with the public to investigate what she thought was just the sound of a car backfiring.

Her reputation was destroyed. Gloria Erasmus collected all her equipment, along with the original Device, and disappeared to parts unknown. public to investigate what she thought was just the sound of a car backfiring.

Her reputation destroyed Gloria Erasmus collected all her equipment, along with the original Device and disappeared to parts unknown.

[luxe-pauvre]

It all goes back to Mozart. When the musical mastermind composed his 14th string quartet in G major (K. 387) in 1782, he needed four people to perform it. Now, 250 years later, it still requires exactly four. If you’re looking to up your violin’s production capacity, the most you can do is play a little faster. Put another way: Some things in life, like music, resist all attempts at greater efficiency. While we can produce coffee machines ever faster and more cheaply, a violinist can’t pick up the pace without spoiling the tune. In our race against the machine, it’s only logical that we’ll continue to spend less on products that can be easily made more efficiently and more on labor-intensive services and amenities such as art, healthcare, education, and safety. It’s no accident that countries that score high on well-being, like Denmark, Sweden, and Finland, have a large public sector. Their governments subsidise the domains where productivity can’t be leveraged. Unlike the manufacture of a fridge or a car, history lessons and doctor’s checkups can’t simply be made “more efficient.” The natural consequence is that the government is gobbling up a growing share of the economic pie. First noted by the economist William Baumol in the 1960s, this phenomenon, now known as “Baumol’s cost disease,” basically says that prices in labor-intensive sectors such as healthcare and education increase faster than prices in sectors where most of the work can be more extensively automated. But hold on a minute. Shouldn’t we be calling this a blessing, rather than a disease? After all, the more efficient our factories and our computers, the less efficient our healthcare and education need to be; that is, the more time we have left to attend to the old and infirm and to organise education on a more personal scale. Which is great, right? According to Baumol, the main impediment to allocating our resources toward such noble ends is “the illusion that we cannot afford them. As illusions go, this one is pretty stubborn. When you’re obsessed with efficiency and productivity, it’s difficult to see the real value of education and care. Which is why so many politicians and taxpayers alike see only costs. They don’t realise that the richer a country becomes the more it should be spending on teachers and doctors. Instead of regarding these increases as a blessing, they’re viewed as a disease.

Rutger Bregman, Utopia For Realists: And How We Can Get There

[fluorescentbrains]

there’s reams and reams of data stored on cpap machines and the actual users of the machines are not allowed to see most of it because we are presumed to be too stupid to understand it. meanwhile doctors can’t or won’t invest the time to thoroughly examine their patients’ cpap data. and the companies that design the machines intentionally make it as difficult as possible for patients to hack their machines, even though doing so is technically completely legal.

[annerly-san]

Till Death do we Part, my Ass! - Chapter 4 - "the reigning champion of claw machines remains undefeated even in death"

Summary:

Caleb pulls big brother ghost shenanigans to fend off any men within a 5 km radius of his little pipsqueak

A love and deepspace fanfic for Caleb

Alternative AO3 link:

Caleb was slowly coming to terms with his new ghost form.

The initial shock of realizing he was no longer among the living had been, well, a lot. But over time, the confusion began to wear off and was slowly replaced by a sort of strange acceptance. He couldn’t feel the cold or the heat, couldn’t touch or be touched, and he couldn’t interact with the physical world the way he used to—but he could still see her, still follow her, still watch over her.

Maybe that’s what he was supposed to do now, he thought, as he floated along behind her. He wasn’t just some wandering spirit with unfinished business, he had a purpose.

“I’m not haunting her,” Caleb reasoned as he trailed behind her.  “I’m just… following her in spirit to make sure she’s okay!”

The idea began to solidify in his mind, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. 

“I’m just following you around… and protecting you from… uhhh… life?  So really I’m like…” Caleb let out a gasp in realization.  “A GUARDIAN SPIRIT!  YES!”

He was on a roll now. The more he said it, the more right it felt. Caleb watched as Pipsqueak wove through the crowd, and he followed quickly behind her, phasing through any passersby and objects on the road with a newfound ease. He was getting the hang of this whole ghost thing.

Pipsqueak turned the corner and Caleb followed closely behind her, his form phasing through passersby with ease. He was really getting the hang of this ghost thing.

“You should be grateful, Pipsqueak,” he mused aloud, even though she couldn’t hear him. “You’ve got 24/7 personal protection, courtesy of yours truly!”

There was a strange comfort in that thought. If he could protect her, keep her safe in ways he never could before, then maybe this whole being dead thing wasn’t so bad after all. And once he was sure she’d be okay, he could move on, wherever ghosts were supposed to go, with no regrets.

But it seemed like Caleb might be stuck in his spirit-guardian role for a good while.

Was there really this many guys hanging around his Pipsqueak?

Zayne, he could handle. They’d been childhood friends, after all. With everything Pipsqueak had been through, it was reassuring to have Zayne nearby... sort of . Caleb still thought there should be a mandatory one-meter distance between them at all times, especially since Zayne seemed to be walking that thin line between “friend” and “flirt.”

Zayne conveniently being at the café Pipsqueak frequented after work? Whatever. Caleb rolled his eyes every time he had to hear Zayne’s “I didn’t expect to see you here,” like the guy hadn’t camped out at the café for hours, waiting.

But watching the almighty world-famous cardiac surgeon get dragged off to win a mass-manufactured plushie from a rigged claw machine was pure satisfaction . Caleb grinned as Zayne failed yet again to get the plushie. Pipsqueak’s barely-concealed disappointment was written all over her face.

Caleb cackled in delight.  Some things never changed, Caleb mused. Pipsqueak was just as bad at hiding her emotions as she’d been when they were kids—not that she ever got better at it.  And Zayne, despite only being with them for short, took notice too.

“These minor miscalculations are only to be expected,” Zayne glanced wearily over at pipsqueak.  “I suppose it’s time for me to do my best.”

“I’ll cheer you on!  You got this, Doctor Zayne!”

Caleb groaned. “Pipsqueak, you don’t need to cheer him on! PIPSQUEAK-!”

Considering that he had been blown up in an explosion, so there was no true grave for him to roll over in, Caleb took to rolling over the arcade floor in hysteria instead.

Pipsqueak decided to start patting Zayne on the shoulder, back, and arm all while calling out his name alongside sweet encouragement.  Caleb wasn’t sure if his face was burning from the embarrassment or unbridled rage.

“WHY ARE YOU TOUCHING HIM, PIPSQUEAK!” Caleb swatted her hands to no avail.  “STOP CHEERING FOR HIM!  STOP-“

Caleb turned to Zayne in desperation, hoping the doctor would at least deny some of these very obvious advances in public.  But of course, doctors and degenerates both start with the letter ‘D’ and Caleb watched in abject horror as Zayne, despite being the stoic and emotionally dense asshat he was, showcased a look of enjoyment on his face.

“ZAYNE, YOU BITCH ASS MOTHERFUCKER-!” Caleb screamed again, as he decided to redirect his wrath towards the doctor instead.

The corner of Zayne’s lips turned upwards, and Caleb knew something was wrong. He glanced at the claw machine and saw that, for the first time in four attempts, Zayne had actually managed to grab hold of a plushie.

Oh, this was bad.

With Pipsqueak cheering him on and Zayne clearly enjoying it, Caleb knew it would be game over if that plushie made it to the drop. Acting on pure instinct—and the desire to stop Zayne from scoring any more brownie points with his Pipsqueak—Caleb reached through the glass of the claw machine and swatted the plushie with the strength of a true DAA fighter pilot. Maybe the years of hard training had finally paid off. Maybe the gods pitied him for killing him off so early. Or maybe Zayne just sucked at claw machines.

Either way, the plushie fell from the claw, landing just short of the drop.

”YEEEEESSSS!  YESYESYES!!!!”  Caleb cheered.  Caleb cried.  “SUCK IT, ZAYNE!”

Any regret Caleb might have felt when he saw Pipsqueak’s disappointed face was immediately replaced by the sheer joy of seeing Zayne’s.

“AHAHAHA! I thought surgeons were supposed to have surgical precision !” Caleb jumped around in celebratory glee. “Guess I gotta call the board to revoke your license now, Doctor Zayne!”

“We all have our strengths, and playing the claw machine isn’t mine,” Zayne muttered dejectedly as he stared forlorn at the still fully-stocked claw machine. 

Considering that Zayne couldn’t hear or see Caleb, it could only mean that Pipsqueak had the same thought, which Zayne was somehow able to pick up on. “I gotta thank that poker face of yours, Pipsqueak.” A surge of pride swelled in Caleb’s chest as he threw an arm around Pipsqueak’s shoulders and gave her a pat of approval for her perpetual inability to hide her emotions. “It’s truly something else.”

Zayne glanced around before locking eyes with Pipsqueak.

“Close your eyes and pretend you didn’t see anything,” he mumbled quietly.

His hands were back on the controls of the claw machine, but this time, a strange frost seemed to swirl around the claw, as if the air itself had turned freezing cold. Zayne maneuvered the claw to the nearest plushie and hit the button.

The moment the claw touched the plushie, a layer of ice formed around both, encasing them in an icy block as the claw moved toward the dropper.

Caleb’s jaw dropped in disbelief in the face of Zayne’s audacity.

“...Hey…” Caleb moved closer, positioning himself to stare right into the side of Zayne’s face. His nose was practically poking into Zayne’s cheek as he glared. “...Did you just cheat at the claw machine, bro?”

His accusations were drowned out by Pipsqueak’s loud cheers as Zayne casually grabbed the plushie and handed it over to her.

“It’s a little cold, but we got it out,” Zayne said with a small smile.

“That’s okay! I like it better this way!” Pipsqueak responded with glee, pressing the frozen plushie to her cheek.

Caleb wanted to strangle him. “What’s gonna happen when news of Linkon’s top cardiac surgeon cheating at claw machines gets out, huh?” Caleb pointed accusingly. “If you’re cheating at this, you clearly have no morals, you insidious doctor!” He thought about all the times Zayne had charged him for those mandatory DAA checkups. “GIVE ME BACK MY MONEY, YOU SCAMMER!”

“I think that’s enough for today,” Caleb heard Zayne tell pipsqueak.  The latter was clearly not happy to hear that the doctor was leaving already.  She clearly wanted more plushies to take home.

Caleb watched as pipsqueak waved goodbye to their childhood friend, glaring at the plushie in her arms offendedly.  “How does it feel to be taken home with underhanded methods, eh?”  Caleb glared at the plushie in her arms, wondering if he could make it move just enough to freak her out. Maybe then she’d toss it.

They watched Zayne leave through the exit, but Pipsqueak remained rooted to her spot by the machines.  Her eyes were fixed on the remaining plushies behind the clear glass. “I can’t just take you home by yourself. You need friends...”

Caleb sensed something was off.  Pipsqueak’s train of thought was interrupted by a voice behind her.

“There are a lot of plushies in this claw machine,” said a purple-haired man who had appeared out of nowhere.  “Today, if you want, we can bring them all home.”

Caleb narrowed his eyes, anger rushing through his system. Who was this guy?  He was so fishy looking.  Why was he talking to pipsqueak?  What’s with this familiarity and attitude with pipsqueak?  The nerves in Caleb flared to life as he stepped in between pipsqueak and the new man before her.

“Oh, Rafayel! You’re here?” Pipsqueak greeted him warmly- excitement evident in her voice.

“Rafa-who?”

Before Caleb could react, Pipsqueak phased right through him, grabbing this ‘Rafa-guy’ by the arm and dragging him to the machine next to the one she and Zayne had just been at. Caleb gasped in horror. Just how many guys were lining up to win plushies for his Pipsqueak?

“I’ll do my best to get a plushie, and you’ll do your best to cheer me on,” Rafa-guy said to pipsqueak as he positioned himself in front of the machine.

“CHEER YOU ON??? CHEER YOU ON, MY ASS!!!” Caleb threw a punch at the guy’s head and turned to shake pipsqueak’s shoulder in outrage.  “DON’T YOU CHEER HIM ON!  LEAVE HIM!!!”

“...You’ve got this all planned out, don’t you, Rafayel?” Pipsqueak pouted, tapping Rafayel’s shoulder in encouragement.

Caleb’s jaw dropped. “ PIPSQUEAK, NO!!! ” He frantically tried to remove her hand from Rafayel’s shoulder. “DON’T CHEER FOR HIM! NOOO!”

His cries were cut off by an excited squeal from both Pipsqueak and Rafayel. Caleb whipped around, staring at the machine in horror. A plushie was firmly gripped in the claw.

“NOOOOO!” Caleb lunged forward, swatting at the plushie in a frenzy of rapid hits. To his immense relief, the plushie came loose and fell back down to the bottom of the machine. Caleb sighed, a wave of relief washing over him. He’d been too hard on Zayne. This... this was worse. Now there was actually a guy good at the claw machine.

Caleb owed his friend an apology.  “ZAYNE COME BACK!!!  I WAS WRONG!!!  I’LL LET YOU MARRY PIPSQUEAK FOR REAL, PLEASE!  I WON’T EVEN PUNCH YOU THIS TIME!!!”

Caleb watched as Rafayel gripped the controls of the claw machine again, clearly not discouraged by his previous failure. This guy just doesn't give up , Caleb thought, his irritation flaring. As Rafayel dropped another coin into the slot, Caleb felt a sudden tingle shoot through his ghostly form, the same sensation he felt when he was using his Evol.

He could feel the machine. Really feel it.

“Oh, hell yes.”

The claw lowered, aiming for a particularly cute plushie that was right on the edge. Rafayel’s smirk was back as the claw’s grip tightened around the prize. Caleb’s instincts kicked in. With a flick of his wrist, the plushie shot out of the claw’s grasp and flew into the far corner of the machine..  Giddy excitement rushed through him as he came to the realization that he was able to influence the machine with his Evol, though it was limited to plushies.  As much as he would love to have the chance to use his Evol to send Rafayel flying into the Deepspace tunnel and lightyears away from his pipsqueak, he will gladly take the ability to fling plushies and mess with an already-rigged claw machine.

“What the—?” Rafayel muttered, eyes narrowing. He swiped another coin through the slot.

“Nice try, Fish Boy,” Caleb whispered under his breath, excitement bubbling up. Rafayel moved the claw again, but this time Caleb swirled his fingers, sending a wave through the plushies like a mini tornado. Every time the claw neared one, it would slip out of reach, as if the machine had a mind of its own.

Rafayel frowned and pulled out more coins. "Looks like I just need to buy more chances."

“Is your Evol being rich or something?”  Caleb rolled his eyes. “You’re not going to win anything under my watch.” The plushies scattered every time the claw came near. One after another, Caleb flung them as far away as possible, refusing to let Rafayel win even one .

With every failure, Pipsqueak’s face grew more and more disappointed. “Rafayel... you’re really bad at this,” she said with a pout.

Caleb grinned, satisfied. Yeah, Fish Boy. You are bad at this.

“Let me try one more time,” Rafayel muttered, jamming another coin into the slot.

“Nope.” Caleb flicked his fingers, sending the plushie flying yet again.

Rafayel groaned in frustration. “I swear, these things are rigged…”

Pipsqueak sighed. “Guess we’re not getting any plushies today…”

Caleb waved happily as Rafayel sulked out of the arcade, a wide grin plastered across his face. He whistled innocently, trailing behind Pipsqueak as she stomped around in frustration by the other plushie machines.

“Oh, c’mon, Pipsqueak,” Caleb chuckled. “Don’t be mad. I can help you get any plushie you want, just tell me which one!” Despite actively thwarting her plushie-collecting efforts earlier, Caleb truly wanted to help her fill her arms with as many plushies as possible— as long as they weren’t won by some other guy , of course.

Caleb knew Pipsqueak was cute. There were always guys hanging around, hoping for a chance to talk to her, even when they were younger. If Caleb hadn’t been there to hover, walk her home, and glare down anyone caught in her charm, she’d probably have no clue how much attention she attracted. It was unfortunate he was stuck in this ghostly predicament now. If he were still alive, he’d have flung any guy who got too close to Pipsqueak across the street with his Evol. But for now, he was just stuck flinging plushies around. Better than nothing , he supposed.

“Just pick a machine, Pipsqueak. I’ll help you get all the plushies in it!” Caleb placed a hand on her back as she stormed down the rows of claw machines. “Make sure to get a lot of them. I’m flinging every single one at Zayne and that stupid Rafayel if they come near you again.”

Pipsqueak finally stopped in front of a machine. “Let’s see if I can remember anything from my 101 Tricks and Tips to Winning Something from the Claw Machine !”

Caleb laughed. “Is that a real book, Pipsqueak? You’re pulling my leg.”

Before Pipsqueak could respond, another voice chimed in.

“I think I remember the techniques to win from that book. Want my help?”

Caleb whipped around, wide-eyed as a blonde guy appeared behind them. “ANOTHER ONE?!”

“Oh, Xavier!” Pipsqueak exclaimed, brightening up as her coworker appeared behind them.

Caleb groaned, throwing his head back in disbelief. “How many guys are lining up to win you a plushie, Pipsqueak?”

“I read the manual, so I’m sure I can win you the plushies this time,” Xavier said confidently.

“Oh ahahaha, you’re so sweet, Xavier.”

Caleb took a step back, sizing Xavier up. This guy didn’t annoy him as much as Rafayel’s forward advances or Zayne’s obvious crush on Pipsqueak. But there was still something about him that didn’t sit right. Xavier was quieter, but Caleb knew it was the quiet ones you had to watch out for.

Caleb wasn’t going to let Xavier play plushie champion, but considering Zayne had only won one through cheating—and Caleb had actively thwarted Rafayel’s decent play—he figured he’d give this guy a fair shot. For now .

But it doesn’t seem like Caleb needed to worry.

Now Caleb is a humble man. He doesn’t brag much. So when he says he’s the best at claw machines— the God of Claw Machines —he’s not joking.

Watching three grown men struggle to win a plushie for his Pipsqueak brought him joy beyond measure.

“OOOH!” Caleb slapped his thigh in laughter. “AND HE FUMBLES ANOTHER ONE!” Caleb cackled as the claw completely missed the plushie again. “I’d have won you all the plushies by now, Pipsqueak. You wouldn’t even bother with these guys if I were still—” Caleb coughed, stopping himself before finishing the thought. He poked Pipsqueak’s cheek with a wistful smile. “I’m the best at claw machines, remember?”

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud sigh from Xavier, who watched the claw come back empty. The air was thick with disappointment.

“It’s okay, Xavier! I believe in you!” Pipsqueak gave him a few reassuring pats on the back.

Caleb had to look away to stifle a laugh. That wasn’t convincing at all.

“What plushie do you want?” Xavier asked suddenly.

Caleb turned, aghast. “ Bro—! That’s a bold-ass statement for someone on their third attempt!”

“Hmmm,” Pipsqueak peered into the claw machine. “How about you pick?”

“I’ll choose the one that looks most like you, then,” Xavier said.

Caleb rolled his eyes and pointed to a Cheerful Tomato plushie. “Get this one, dude. This is Pipsqueak.”

He groaned as Xavier moved the claw toward Fleecy. “There’s literally no resemblance—hey, is the claw... glowing right now?” Caleb squinted at the claw, then back at Xavier. “Dude, are you cheating at the claw machine too?”

He watched in curiosity as Xavier moved the claw toward the sheep plushie. The claw confidently descended... and missed the prize entirely.

Caleb figured if he weren’t already dead, he’d probably die laughing.

Did Caleb cheat at the claw machine sometimes? Sure. But at least when he did it, it was 1) subtle, and 2) he actually managed to win the right plushie every time. Was his telekinesis an unfair advantage? Maybe. Just a little.

Xavier fumbled his fourth attempt.

“Dude...” Caleb gave him a mock-sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s time to go read that manual again...”

Caleb waved farewell to the third guy who had failed to deliver on the claw machines that day. He was feeling pleased. Delighted , even. On the contrary, Pipsqueak was fuming.

“Aw, Pipsqueak, don’t be so mad!” Caleb teased as she began to walk out of the building. “It’s just unlucky today; we can try again tomorrow!”

Caleb was lost in his own little world when he noticed her suddenly stop in her tracks, her gaze fixed on an older claw machine tucked away at the back of the store. Unlike the newer, shinier machines in the front, this one was a bit more worn down.

“...Caleb?”

His heart froze. Caleb stopped dead, not daring to move. Did she just call his name? Could she see him? How could he even explain that—

But her gaze wasn’t on him.

Caleb watched in confusion as she darted towards the old machine that was tucked away near the back of the store.

“P-Pipsqueak?” Caleb called out, his voice tinged with worry as he hurried after her.

She stood still in front of the machine, her fingers fiddling with the last remaining token in her hand. Caleb traced her line of sight, peering through the dusty glass to see what had caught her attention.

Then he saw it: the familiar face of a pouting apple plushie. Its hooded eyes and pursed lips formed an adorable little pout; it sat there with two tiny arms placed defiantly on its hips.

Realization dawned on him.

“O-oh! I-It’s Caleb Jr.,” he chuckled softly, tapping the glass with a hint of nostalgia. “You remember Caleb Jr., Pipsqueak?” It was the first plushie he had ever won for her. They’d been to an arcade just like this one, and she’d named the apple plush after him, commemorating his victory—and as a playful nod to his love of apples. The bittersweet memory warmed him, but also left a lingering sadness as he gazed at the plush, still trapped behind the glass.

“D-do you still have him?” Caleb bit his lip. It had been so long; she probably threw it away or lost it. That was normal. He shouldn't feel—

“I... I lost you,” Pipsqueak’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. Caleb’s heart sank. She was holding back tears, and he didn’t know what to do.  Caleb stared at the ground, trying to avoid the feelings of hurt rising up in his throat.  No, it’s natural, she wouldn’t have kept-

“I lost you... in Grandma’s house... in the fire...” Her voice cracked. “I-I lost everything about you…”

Those words struck Caleb like a punch to the gut, and suddenly it felt like he was burning all over again. Like he was back in that fire, losing everything. The guilt gnawed at him.

She kept it . She kept Caleb Jr. in Grandma’s house. She had kept him.

Caleb felt his heart burn and his throat choke, tasting cinder and ash as he forced himself to be calm.  She needed him. She always needed him . He couldn’t fall apart now.

“H-hey, pipsqueak,” Caleb placed a gentle hand over hers and cupping her face with the other, trying to wipe away the tears that were falling down her cheek.  “Don’t cry.  Please don’t cry.”

Pipsqueak placed a trembling hand against the glass, her body shaking as she tried to hold herself together. Caleb dropped to his knees, kneeling before her, cradling her face in his hands to catch every tear.

He hated seeing her cry.

And worse—he hated knowing it was because of him.

Her eyes, glistening with tears, seemed to stare into his as he looked up at her in reverence.  For the first time since he had passed on, he seemed to finally meet her eyes.  Her eyes seemed to stare into his as he looked up at her in reverence. For the first time since he had passed on, it felt like he was finally meeting her gaze.

He smiled woefully.

“Let’s rescue Caleb Jr. from here, hm?” he smiled at her softly as he ran his hand through her hair.  “Let’s rescue him and he’ll be with you again.  Always and forever.”

“...I’ll rescue you from here,” she mumbled softly through her tears.

Caleb felt a bolt of joy rush through him. It was as if she’d heard him—like she was responding to him. But... no, it couldn’t be. He bit his lip, swallowing the bitter feeling that rose in his chest.

He watched quietly as Pipsqueak slid the last token into the machine.

The claw jolted to life.

Caleb placed his hand above hers as she carefully maneuvered the claw over the apple plushie. “Let’s rescue him together,” he whispered.

With perfect precision, the claw descended, grasping the plushie. But as it lifted, Caleb could see it wobbling—barely holding on. The machine rattled as the claw made its way to the dropper, the plush slipping little by little.

“N-no!” Pipsqueak gasped, gripping the joystick with desperation.

Caleb sprang into action, focusing his Evol to hold the plush steady as it made its journey to the dropper.

They both held their breath.

As soon as the claw reached the dropper, Caleb let go.

The apple plushie fell into the dropper and the machine rang out in celebratory lights.

“YES!!!” pipsqueak exclaimed as she eagerly reached for the plushie, grabbing it and holding it against her in a desperate hug.  “I GOT YOU!”

Caleb let out a long sigh of relief, the tension of that single attempt finally dissipating off his shoulders.  He laughed.  “You got it, pipsqueak!”

Caleb looked on wistfully at her as she held the apple plushie tight, a tender smile on his face.  Pipsqueak held Caleb Jr. close, burying her face in the soft fabric. Caleb couldn’t help but smile wider. His heart swelled with a bittersweet warmth.

“We did it, didn’t we, Caleb Jr.?” she whispered, giving the plush a little squeeze.  “You’ve come back to me.”

Caleb watched as she stared at it lovingly, a taste of bitterness lingering on his tongue, as the object of her affections were meant for the plush and not him.

She whispered softly to the plushie, her voice barely above a murmur. “I missed you... I didn’t think I’d ever get you back.”

Caleb blinked, his breath catching. It felt like the words were meant for him, not just the plushie.

He remembered the promises he’d made to her back then. How he’d told her he would always be there for her, that no matter where life took them, he’d come back to her. And yet, here he was—so close, yet so far.

Pipsqueak’s fingers traced the edges of the apple plushie, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You always promised to come back to me,” she whispered, pressing the plushie tighter against her chest. “You promised me that you’ll see me every day when I wake up… Liar…”

Caleb’s heart clenched. I did promise you that, Pipsqueak. I’m still here.

She let out a soft laugh, almost as if she was talking to him directly. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” Her voice was quiet, the words filled with a longing that tugged at his soul.

Caleb knelt beside her, his hand resting just above hers. “I’m right here,” he whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear him, but wishing she could.

Then, softly, Pipsqueak murmured, “I’m so happy that you’re here with me, Caleb…”

Caleb froze.

Caleb. Not ‘Caleb Jr.’

She blinked, biting her lip, staring down at the plushie in her arms. “Oh sorry… Caleb Jr.,” she corrected herself as she petted the plushie affectionately. But the name lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

Pipsqueak gave the plush a gentle squeeze, her smile soft but bittersweet. “You’ll always be with me, won’t you?”

Caleb smiled through the ache in his heart, knowing the answer even if she couldn’t hear him. “Always, Pipsqueak. Always.”

As she rose to leave, her grip on Caleb Jr. never loosened. Caleb followed closely behind, his gaze soft, as if the two of them were leaving the arcade together, just like old times.

And for now, that was enough.