#its a nightmare going to specialists its a nightmare going to any doctor its a nightmare trying to communicate what is wrong its a nightmare | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cressiprompts · 11 months

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oh that's okay. hope you are doing well & not stressing yourself to finish your stories plls take care.

i would love to know the plot and scenes that you thought of🤗

Hello, sorry for taking a while!

so, because there are SPOILERS for the main story of You made flowers, I'm going to put the plot after the "read more:

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS

What I had written:

The first signs of the illness took him by surprise. The heaviness on his chest suffocating on some days, on others being negligible. He had more important things to worry about, especially as no club doctor was able to find anything wrong with him, telling him the sensation might be psychological.

Which only made Anto raise an eyebrow and be on his case about seeing someone, didn't matter if it was a psychiatrist, psychologist or therapist. He couldn't even blame her. The throwing up sickness he had was bad enough on its own, after all. The last thing he wanted was another non-explainable thing, especially if it messed up his breathing, something essential to him as an athlete.

Still, Lionel dragged his feet. Opening himself up to a stranger was almost inconceivable. It was hard enough talking to his friends and family! The idea of being vulnerable with someone he had no true assurances of, that he had no idea of their character or proof of their intentions beyond a flimsy oath that could be disregarded with few true consequences? It was the stuff of his nightmares.

In the end, he hadn't needed to go, the cough had manifested first, bowing down Lionel before dinner and scaring little Thiago. Antonella calmed the boy as Lionel recovered his breath after the sudden bout of illness. It was Thiago who first noticed the petals, the soft orange of their color contrasting with the dining table's wood, the toddler's little hands trying to catch them in his pudgy fingers, even as his mother drew him away.

Both adults looked at the appearance of them uncomprehending. The only flowers on the table were on the centerpiece vase, and those were red roses that served as a decoration, so the petals were a mystery — one that would have to be solved much later, as Antonella was more worried about how Leo kept coughing and complaining about his breathing. She all but marched him to the doctor, but nothing was found through x-rays.

It wasn't until Leo coughed up a petal in his own hand that they associated one thing with the other, and they went back to see a specialist, to understand what was happening.

This si the first difference: Leo and Anto are doing this TOGETHER. they get the diagnosys together, and while they fight, it's less bitter, because Anto doesn't feel as if she was put aside, as if Leo doesn't trust her, even if it hurts that he doesn't love her anymore.

He does.

When she gets away for two weeks, to think better on what she's going to do, Leo gets sicker, and now he is throwing Red Rose petals too. Anto goes back, to help, and because she doesn't want to be irrevocably cut from Leo, even if he doesn't love her like she loves him.

Aaaand... yeah, The red rose petals are for Anto. When Leo's family discovers that, Matias makes a very inconvenient joke about how greedy his little brother is, what with loving to people and not wanting to give up on either.

Even after that discovery, Anto asks for more time, even if it's inside their house, because she has to think if she can deal with sharing Leo's atention and affection with someone.

Either way, she stills helps with trying to find who it is that Leo loves, because he is the father of her children, and she doesn't want him to die.

When they discover it's Cristiano, it's a bit like: "wait, what?" for teh entire family, and both of Leo's aprents are... disappointed, and very much against any contact between the two players.

The family fights pretty badly about what to do, until Leo says he doesn't want to try and force somethign with Cristiano. So instead they go back to the doctor and ask if there's any way to make this work.

Basically, Leo survives by having small doses of Cristiano's presence when they are not playing together — they have "surprise" meetings in high end restaurants, fashion events, parties and whatever places Leo's family can discover that Cristiano will be there. That's enough to tide him over, keeping him marginally healthy, and with less attacks. The amount of Classicos they play help too.

Anto decides to stay with Leo, even if she hates how he's destroying himself in longing, how stupid he is by thinking he will be less of a man by loving another man. Some of their fights are just about that.

They stay in this stalemate for years...

Until Cristiano says he will change teams and play in italy. They can't engineer "convenient" happenstance appearances in Italy, ways for Leo to meet him, be at the same place.

So they have to talk with Cristiano, and explain what''s been going on.

It takes a while for him and his entourage to believe Leo's story and condition (the Messi's end up giving the medical files they have).

So they settle appointments with time and date for them to meet, and it's the most awkward thing. For the first time, Leo's family realises they are asking this man, this person to have life and death power over their son, brother, husband.

Everyone suffers, and Cristiano's not really happy with the situation either, buyt he also doesn't want the other man to die.

All this while he's in a relationship with Georginna and waiting for the twins to be born. He's stressed and under enough pressure to make the move work for him, so Leo's problems don't help.

It makes things even harder when Georgina has a miscarriage and loses Alana, and the couple breaks up because while she still likes him, she can't deal with the twins while knowing her little baby girl is dead.

Cristiano is also suffering, but he has to pay attention to the twins, has to train, and is exhausted, he doesn't know many people yet on the club, and doesn't really trust anyone to take care of the twins. He's on a spiral, and Leo notices when he visits the next time.

He's a father too, and while he can't udnerstand that kind of loss, he asks if he can try and get trustworthy babysitters from the other Argentinians who live there or nearby. Cristiano agrees, more out of exhaustion than anything else.

Leo talks with Anto, and... she kind of takes over, declares a holiday, marches her husband back to Italy and goes herself with their children.

In two days, there's a reliable babysitter, Cristiano is stunned because Anto pretty much took over his house, Cristianinho and Thiago are getting along like a house on fire, and the ration of Argentinians to Portuguese is way too much in favor of the Americans.

Things between Cristiano and Leo get better from there, and Cristiano and Anto start talking too.

From the closeness of their children, things slowly start to fall in place. They start becoming friends, and that's somethign they intentionally let the news know (so Leo and his family can come over with less trouble).

And... that was all I had an idea for.

#writing #my fics #you made flowers AU

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onefinem0rning · 1 year

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Tag some folks you’d like to catch up with, or get to know better!

I was tagged by @hargrove-mayfields — thank you EJ! This one is really fun!

Last song: Paint the Town Red, Doja Cat. I’m a bit obsessed with this one at the moment and me and my ADHD tend to replay the same 5-10 songs for a few weeks at a time so it’ll be in rotation for a while.

Last film: Empire Records. One of my dad’s favorites, and he picked the movie at our last movie night :)

Currently reading/last read: Other than copious amounts of Harringrove fanfiction, like, all the time—shoutout to all of you amazing writers, for real, I’m constantly blown away by the talent we’ve got in this fandom—I’m reading “Red, White, and Royal Blue” with zero shame. Give me all the young guys in love thanks! I’ll live in an alternate reality of romance that has nothing to do with me, I’m good with that. #ace

Currently watching: A few things right now! Jersey Shore: Family Vacation. You guys, my millennial ass can’t express how amazing it is that Sam is back! I’m also rewatching all the old seasons of Project Runway. I don’t watch a lot of reality tv but when I do I watch it forever. And I'm rewatching The West Wing for the 6th time...really painful to hear them talk about Roe v. Wade as if it's this stronghold that will never fall. It's cool, it's fine, I'll be over here sobbing about the hell scape that is the United States in the 2020s what is this waking nightmare.

Current obsession: Other than Harringrove... My health. I've been dealing with ongoing fatigue for YEARS but over the last 9 months it's been unbearable. My doctor and a team of specialists can't pinpoint exactly what's going on. I have markers of certain issues but not enough markers to say it definitely IS something in order to get treated for it. For example, I've got a few markers of lupus but not enough for them to say "yep it's lupus" so they can't/won't treat me for it. I've been feeling like I have to get worse to get better, so lately I've taken it upon myself to start tracking any trends I can, from my blood sugar spikes to my temperature, just to see if I can break the code so to speak lol. Tired of American health care and its limitations, and tired of being tired.

Tagging: Anyone who would like to play!!

#tag game #fun!#personal

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byunmyeon · 4 years

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Philophobia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: in a world where a red string connects soulmates, everyone knows who they belong with. except you, who hasn’t been able to see your string since you were a kid.

↳ warnings: language (like one word), a copious amount of angst and heartbreak

— note: there’s a serious lack of suho fics out there so I decided to write my own. lmk if you guys want me to write a second part!

There was something inexplicably eerie about being the new girl in a school that was twice the size of your old one. Not because it was an unfamiliar setting, nor was it because you were painfully shy and terrible at making friends. It wasn’t even your disparaging insecurities that had you feeling so shook. No, it was something you couldn’t put your finger on, something you couldn’t begin to name. A discomfort you could feel all the way down to your bones.

Your inordinate unease swelled into full blown panic with every step you took toward your new classroom. Somewhere in your unorganized mind, you could hear your mom’s reassuring voice. Everything will be okay. You didn’t know if her words held any truth, but you really, really, really hoped she was right. You were being stupid, honestly. There was nothing to fear, but you couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling from your stature. Despite all the undesirable emotions you felt, your breathing was normal and your heartbeat was steady.

It took you a minute to gather yourself. You could do this.

After a very ineffectual pep talk, you finally got your feet to move. Your eyes were cast down as you entered the classroom. The rowdy classroom went silent once your presence became known. You swallowed the nerves and chanced a glance at your new classmates. The reactions were a mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

When your teacher introduced you to the class, you decided to really look at your new classmates. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stuck out. An unnaturally attractive face belonging to an unfamiliar boy. His stare was strange. It was full of an intensity you couldn’t comprehend. You kept staring, in spite of yourself. Fuck. Was it possible for someone to be so attractive?

The clapping of your classmates pulled you back into reality. You were quick to look elsewhere, unable to understand the sudden lurch of your heart.

Suho couldn’t take his eyes off the new girl, more specifically, the string neatly wrapped around her index finger. He watched her carefully. The shy smile she wore was annoyingly adorable, and it made a foreign warmth spread across his chest and along his entire body. The new girl didn’t spare him another glance as she took her seat next to Jugyeong.

Lim Jugyeong.

He wasn’t her soulmate and she wasn’t his, but she was the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart. That wasn’t about to change because some stranger who he was supposedly meant to be with came into his life with no warning.

Suho looked back to the front of the classroom without looking at the new girl again.

The first time it happened, you wrote it off as fatigue. After all, you had just started middle school and trying to keep up with your new workload as well as your budding social life was exhausting. That day, the color of your string had faded a bit, but it was still visible. By the time you were on your way home it disappeared for a mere second before regaining its color. Days later, it was completely gone.

When your mom first found out you could no longer see your string, she became extremely distraught. It had affected her more than it did you, honestly. She wasted no time in taking you to see countless specialists and psychologists. Anything to keep you from becoming a freak that didn’t know who they were meant to be with. She unknowingly made you feel exactly like that.

Apparently, you were a rare case because every person you went to for help wanted to conduct a study on you and your condition. Fortunately for you, your mom didn’t want you becoming a lab rat and decided to stop seeking out help from strangers. Left with no other option, you went to one person who she believed could help you. An old friend of hers.

He wasn’t a specialist, just a regular doctor who came to the conclusion that a deep, scarring trauma had caused you to no longer see your string. You could remember the heartbreak on your mom’s face because you both knew what that trauma was.

Your mom did her best to help you. Spending more time together and countless hours of therapy did nothing for your condition. Nothing worked. You became convinced that trying to see your string again was futile.

And you were right.

As time went on, you grew used to the unease that had latched itself onto you on that first day. The feeling in your bones settled in like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. No matter what you did, you couldn’t shake the feeling. Eventually, you gave up trying.

However, something shifted when you crossed paths with Lee Suho.

You two had been put in the same group for a science lab. His attention had been solely on Lim Jugyeong, but there were times when your eyes would meet. Those milliseconds were just that, but to you they felt like an eternity. He rarely addressed you, but when he did, you could feel the pressure weighing on your bones fade bit by bit. That familiar feeling soon shifted into a more comfortable presence that you yearned to feel forever.

It was subtle, but at some point, Suho’s emotionless face changed. The change would last for no more than a second, but it always did when he looked at you. That change had your entire stature seeping with warmth. You vaguely recognized the feeling as something akin to infatuation.

It scared you.

Of course, the possibility that he might be your soulmate crossed your mind, but you quickly dismissed that thought.

Too many times had you gotten in trouble for insisting someone was your soulmate when they really weren’t. Any special bond or feelings that grew between you and someone else couldn’t always be interpreted as the ones between soulmates. You learned that the hard way.

Besides, your soulmate would make it clear to name themselves as such even if you couldn’t see the string.

At least, you hoped they would.

Philophobia.

Before you went into high school, your mom insisted you see one last psychologist with the promise that the one she found was different. Reluctantly, you went to see this woman who diagnosed you with this absurd illness. You felt like it was made up, but your mother was adamant that you did have it.

You knew she only thought that because you had told her you no longer had any interest in finding your soulmate. Her panic was unrivaled after hearing those words come out of your mouth. You wrote off her panic because your disinterest in soulmates was only natural. How could it not when—at the time—it was all your friends could talk about? Talk about being the odd man out.

Okay, and maybe you also weren’t keen on meeting new people because of the fear that they could easily ignore the string you couldn’t see. There was also the fear that if you ever did meet someone you wanted to spend your life with, they could end up not being your soulmate and vice versa.

But those feelings would all fade with time, you were sure.

Hanging out near the back of the school where no one ever went became a regular thing for you. It was the one spot where you didn’t have to worry about your soulmate or anything related to that—a safe place. Until it wasn’t.

“You can’t just ignore the bond you have with her.”

The angry voice was one you vaguely recognized. You peeked around the corner, eyes widening when you saw Han Seojun and Lee Suho in the middle of what appeared to be an argument.

“Why are you bringing that up?” Suho’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still like Jugyeong?”

Seojun’s gaze hardened. “It’s not about that.”

It was wrong to listen on what was clearly meant to be a private conversation, but your feet wouldn’t move. You could see Suho’s anger and irritation from your hiding place, and for some reason seeing him that way made a blistering discomfort latch itself onto your chest.

“You’re being unfair to Jugyeong and Y/N.”

The mention of your name had your insides twisting into an uncomfortable knot. You didn’t understand why or how you had anything to do with the discussion, but you had a feeling the reason wasn’t anything good.

“Just because she’s my soulmate doesn’t mean I owe her anything.”

There was a sharp pain in your chest, one that grew into a searing pain as the seconds ticked by. You might’ve cried out in pain had it not been for the shock that consumed you. In a sudden instant, your vision became blurred with tears as you staggered back. His words were the worst form of torture, like a piece of barbed wire that wrapped itself around your heart.

Your fate was a cruel one, forever bound to someone who refused to acknowledge the bond between you two. Lee Suho was your soulmate, but he didn’t want to be.

It was a cruel reality to have your worst nightmare come to life.

“Is it true?”

Suho raised an eyebrow at you. His gaze didn’t soften like it once did. Now it just remained impassive, almost annoyed. The cold look he was giving you was making you regret even coming to him in the first place.

“Are you really my soulmate?”

“Why are you acting like you don’t know?” Suho’s unaffected stare unsettled you. “You’ve known since the first time we saw each other.”

But you hadn’t known. This entire time you had been driving yourself crazy thinking you were only imagining the connection between you two like you had done countless times after you first lost the sight of your string. Despite wanting to tell him that, you settled for a question.

“What about Jugyeong? Don’t you think she—?”

“Are you going to tell her?” He interrupted you.

You could literally hear your heart crack. Of course that’s all he cared about. He didn’t care whether or not you were hurt and upset, hell, he probably thought you had no interest in your soulmate. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

“Why?” He demanded. “You don’t want me as your soulmate either. You’ve been ignoring the bond, too.”

I can’t see my string! You nearly yelled. The words were clawing at your throat, eager to be released. But you found yourself unable to tell him the truth.

“My soul chose yours,” you said, close to tears. “And a soul just doesn’t forget that.”

For a moment, one that was so quick you thought you imagined it, Suho looked remorseful. Stupidly, it made you hope that he would accept you and the bond that bounded you together.

“Don’t tell her.” His voice didn’t sound like a plea, but you knew what he was asking you to do was clearly important to him. “I can’t loose her.”

And so, you agreed. Even if it meant that your own heart would be left in tatters.

#lee suho x reader #true beauty fanfic #lee suho imagine #lee suho fanfic #true beauty imagine #cha eunwoo #cha eunwoo imagine #cha eunwoo x reader #true beauty tvn

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pi-cat000 · 3 years

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (4)

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

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

START / PREV / NEXT

Doctor Wada makes an unscheduled appearance the same morning. Kakashi has the doctor’s schedule memorised and knows the man usually spends his first work hour in his office before checking in with various patients. The change is not unexpected.

“Ms Iori finished her rounds, marked everything as normal and handed the ward off without incident.” Wada and one of the floor’s morning shift nurses talk, voices lowered, too quiet for a regular person to pick up.

“It was called in around 4:15 am. We confirmed it as a burst blood vessel behind his quirked-eye, but we don’t know what triggered it. Without examining the eye itself it is hard to draw any definite conclusions. Since we don’t know what his quirk does, we didn’t want to risk staff safety without a specialist on hand.”

“Nothing else? No other symptoms?” Wada asks.

“No external bleeding. No signs of irritation around the eye socket. Clear, coherent verbal responses from the patient. Vitals are stable. The dressings on the eye were changed yesterday, and nothing was flagged then either.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Depressed at the thought of what amounted to a forced long-term infiltration mission, Kakashi’s attention drifts away from the hushed conversation. Kakashi has never been assigned to any extended infiltrations. Long, tedious things that they were. Jōnin were usually too valuable to waste on them. Even before he had made jōnin, his skillset lent itself to tracking, assassination, ambush and one on one combat not undercover assignments. It was just his luck -or maybe it was karma-that he had been shunted into one. Three years of ‘mingling’ amongst these soft-acting civilians, waiting to build enough chakra for an attempt at a technique he wasn’t even sure would work. It was enough to make even the most battle-hardened shinobi depressed.

Maybe he should run off and hide somewhere. He would skulk around for three years avoiding the locals. Less of a hassle that way. Kakashi lets out a weary breath.

“See if you can bump up that MRI. We need to make sure this isn’t anything serious,” Wada’s voice breaks through his musing as the doctor starts in the direction of Kakashi’s bed. The nurse he is talking with nods and leaves.

“Well, you have certainly had an eventful night,” Wada greats when he draws near, leaning in to visually scan Kakashi, “Let’s see what we have going on. Can you close your left eye for me so I can unwrap it?”

He habitually pushes down his natural discomfort at having a stranger close to his sharingan as the doctor reaches to tilt Kakashi’s head to the side for better access. If he was going to be stuck here then he should maintain his complacent, harmless persona. At least, until he leaves the hospital. Besides, if they had wanted to hurt him, they would have done it while he was unconscious.

“No swelling around your quirked-eye and the bleeding has stopped, that’s a good sign. We’ll run a few tests and get to bottom of this, not to worry.”

“Yeah. About that,” Kakashi rubs the back of his head to look sheepish and apologetic, “I might have tested out my, eh, quirk. You know…I wanted to see what it would do…”

There is a beat of silence, the older man drawing away, too surprised to respond.

“I think it lets me memorise things it sees?” Kakashi continues. Even if he wasn’t 100% sure about what he would do next, he is not about to abandon his shaky amnesia cover story.

“Of all the reckless, irresponsible decisions!” the doctor snaps out of his surprise moving straight into anger, “I expressly told you to wait and not to mess with it. You had no idea what sort of quirk it was! What if you had injured someone or yourself.” The concern seems pretty genuine and Kakashi almost feels bad for manipulating him.

“Young people these days…honestly. No patience.”

Young? It had been a while since anyone has called him that. Kakashi is practically ancient by shinobi standards. The response prompts a semi mournful, almost amused sigh from him, “I know, I know. I just wanted some sort of clue as to how I got here.”

The doctor takes a frustrated breath, calming “Yes. I know it’s frustrating, being restless and hold up in this bed for three straight weeks, but there is a procedure to these things. You got lucky that the only side effect was a burst blood vessel. Next time you want to test your quirk we’ll make sure it is in a controlled environment with an expert on hand. I don’t care if you have some sort of passive regeneration, quirks can be dangerous. The hospital has offsite testing facilities for a reason.”

“Yes. I understand. I won’t do it again,” he says dutifully and gets a huff of disbelief and a head shake.

“You better not.”

A pause.

“So.”

“So?” Kakashi raises a brow.

“So what did you discover? Explain it to me again.” Wada motions, impatient, repositioning a nearby chair so he can sit comfortably beside the bed.

“It lets me remember things…” Kakashi had given a lot of thought to what he wanted his fake ‘quirk’ to do without giving too much away, “I’m pretty sure I remember anything it looks at perfectly.”

A somewhat true explanation, in that recoding information and prefect recall was one facet of the sharingan; a side effect of its primary function which was to copy ninjustu and taijustu. The explanation also played into the diagnosis Wada had already written into his medical files, making it more believable.

“Then, lucky for you, something good came of your reckless behaviour.”

Kakashi just smiles which elicits the beginnings of another lecture. “Not that you should ever take quirk safety lightly. Quirk licenses exist for a reason. People can’t go about throwing their quirks around willynilly. A licence, I might add, that you don’t have.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

After witnessing several televised reports on police arresting people for quirk misuse Kakashi knows the people here, for whatever reason, are leery when it comes to using their abilities. To the point where they actively outlaw it. He is banking on Wada being sympathetic enough not to push the matter.

Wada sighs again, “I’ll write it up as accidental use this time. Now. If your quirk lets you remember everything perfectly then what about your past memories. Any change on that front?”

“No. Still gone.”

“I see. That might mean the part of the brain linked to its memorisation function was damaged, disrupting the memories stored by the quirk,” Wada rubs his chin thoughtfully, “We’ll have to run a few more tests…a lot easier now that we know what it does I suppose.” Good. That was the conclusion he wanted Wada to come to.

“Alright, before we get to testing, were there any other side effects. Aches, pains, fatigue?”

Even as the man asks, he is pulling out a familiar penlight to shine in Kakashi’s regular eye.

“No. Nothing.”

What follows is his standard check-up routine. His vitals are recorded, his head checked over, the area around his sharingan examined thoroughly. Again. Well, as thoroughly as it could be examined without uncovering it. Next is an inspection of the chest wound he now knows is from Obito alongside a glance over his shoulder, arm and leg. Wada nods to himself as he goes, signalling that all is well.

“Your blood pressure is a little high for my liking. I’m guessing you didn’t sleep much last night what with how you were messing around with your quirk. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Wada instructs as he fits Kakashi with a padded eyepatch instead of the usual wrap of bandages. He pauses to wait for a nod of confirmation.

“I will,” he blatantly lies. Kakashi hasn’t had a proper night sleep since waking up the first time, dozing for shortened intervals only. With so many squishy doctors around he doesn’t want to accidently hurt one of them should he be woken from a nightmare. It did put additional strain on his body.

Doctor Wada peers at him, “We’ll give you another week of monitoring then get some authorised quirk testing done. A brain scan as well. Depending on what we find, we’ll see what we can do about getting you a diagnosis and then discharged.”

“Hmm,” he answers, noncommittally. Not like he has anywhere else to go until then. If this were Konoha, he would have taken off long before now and seen to his remaining injuries alone. This would be the first time in a long while that he is waiting for an official discharge.

Guess he would be finding out how the hospital dealt with amnesiac patients after they healed. In Konoha, a displaced citizen would be given a menial labour job as part of the village’s many reconstruction projects and sent on their way. But this wasn’t Konoha and he should really stop with the comparisons.

He needs to decide what he wants to do: Take off, find somewhere secluded and wait the years out. Or hang around to try and salvage the situation. This world did have a lot of interesting technology so there might be value in getting a better feel for the society here. Maybe he would find something useful to take back as an apology for abandoning everyone…

What a mess this all was.

...

The following week has Kakashi splitting his time between gathering supplies for a chakra storage seal and reading through Wada’s patient files to get a sense for his upcoming quirk tests and ‘brain-scan.’

He also takes the time to read through everything else Wada has in his office - mainly medical journals - to better understand the biological differences inherent in a place without chakra. Primarily, the people were physically weaker. However, there were a lot of mutations or ‘secondary quirk factors’ which reinforced the body to better deal with the stress of the primary quirk. All interesting and potentially relevant information to remember when he got into fights. Once he knew a person’s quirk he would be able to guess how their body was reinforced and act accordingly. A fire quirk would make someone naturally heat resistant but not impact resistant, is what Kakashi concludes as he re-reads the profile of current number two hero ‘Endeavour.’ The magazines gifted to him by Iori all contain a statistical breakdown of the top 10 heroes, their strengths, weaknesses, and their criminal apprehension and crime prevention rates. It is a list that rarely changes between issues. He commits it all to memory, idly planning out combat strategies that didn’t involve obvious ninjutsu or chakra use. It helps pass the time when he is not trying to make sense of what he sees on television or stalking various people around the hospital.

At the end of the week, he steals Wada’s fountain pen, adding it to his growing pen hoard which he stashes in a vent on the roof. The storage seal he wants to make is complex and would need ink to complete. A mix between a chakra-draining-seal-trap and a storage scroll, it is well on its way to completion.

The seal would drain his chakra at a consistent and manageable rate, store it efficiently, and give him a way to turn the chakra drain off and on at will. Also, as a precaution, he includes an emergency stop in case his chakra levels became dangerously low, so it didn’t accidentally kill him if he fell unconscious.

The seal would need to be positioned somewhere on his body in a spot where the doctors wouldn’t immediately notice. He doesn’t what to explain why he suddenly has a tattoo. If he had had access to properly made fūinjutsu ink, the seal would be invisible. Alas, he would have to make do with chakra-infused pen ink.

Kakashi manages to keep himself busy enough that he expertly avoids making any concrete decision on what he wants to do with the next three years.

Note: this is slowly turning into a medical drama

#bnha #naruto #CrossOver #my hero academia #hatake kakashi #kakashi headcanons #dimension travel AU #fanfiction #world building #culture shock

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much-ado-about-whumping · 3 years

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Taste of Ashes

Previous installments for Callistos: [Bite the Hand that Feeds] [Canvas] [Paying Dearly] [Callistos Masterpost]. I'm gonna go ahead and give this whole series a blanket warning of Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

A fresh and exciting CW all its own: aftermath of suicide attempt (off-screen, non-graphic)

Other CWs: suicidality, near-death experience, past non-con, past abuse, past self-harm, brief mention of conditioned behavior where rape survivor tries to offer himself to someone sexually (that explanation is longer than the moment in the text tbh), dissociation, past objectification, past dehumanization, depersonalization, brief mention of medical restraints, potentially unrealistic institutional handling of a suicide attempt because I wanted things to get a titch easier, uhhh hurt/comfort on the scale of being handed a pocket-sized umbrella in a category 5 hurricane

The full post is under the cut this time. <3 More context in the end notes.

For a few minutes, Callistos is dead.

For a few minutes, he feels nothing. There's nothing to feel. It's gone, the body others can act upon, the walls that failed to keep him safe. It's all gone. He doesn't even feel the nothingness - it's just oblivion, the vacuum of space, a total absence. He doesn't see a light. He wouldn't go towards it if he did - what's a light ever done for him?

But they save him. They restart his heart, patch him back together. They make him talk to doctors, who make him talk to more doctors. The first round of doctors doesn't understand him - one of them cuffs him to the bed with medical restraints and gazes at him in utter revulsion when he licks his lips, opens his legs. They give him medication that takes the edge off the pain. He sleeps a lot.

It's hard to feel his body. Sometimes he realizes he's crying, or rocking, or shaking, and he doesn't remember when he started. He has nightmares that he can't remember when he wakes up. Some things feel like they happened to someone else. Some things feel like they never happened at all - but he has the scars, so they must have, right?

He talks to more doctors, who help him talk to more doctors. These ones understand him better, seem to sense that he can't get better unless they leave him room to breathe. They give him choices. He tries to care, tries to choose.

He isn't ready to go back to his shitty little apartment. He knows he'll try again. He knows he'll do better, this time. Something deep, deep inside him doesn't want that to happen. Some quiet voice inside him wants to live.

They aren't forcing him to stay. They know that wouldn't help. They're trying to let him make his own choices, trying to encourage him to get what he needs. He qualifies for special programs, they tell him. The government will pay for the care he needs because he's at such high risk. Unspoken, he hears: the high rates of suicide among refugees like you looks bad for the state. Someone has a lot of money riding on you getting better. But he also knows that Someone isn't his doctors, and he doesn't have any better ideas.

They hook him up with a residential program. He's free to come and go, but the days have a suggested structure. He has doctors and counselors and trauma specialists. He has a physical therapist. He hadn't realized he was scarred inside, that the amount of pain he walked around with wasn't normal. He has support groups. He has floormates. He gets reminded to eat.

He reads a lot, old things, things written by people who've been dead longer than his homeland has even been there to run away from. He reads the ancient Egyptian book of the dead. He reads about the ancient Sumerian afterlife, and he can taste the ashes in his mouth. He's been there, he thinks. He lived there for a long time.

He thinks of the people who have devoured him, and for the first time in a long time he feels a spark. He hopes they fucking choke.

---------------------------------

Context: At some point his homeland's government collapses, and Callistos (along with many of his compatriots) flees across the border to a Slightly Better Country with Rather Better Laws. He tries to adjust. Trauma hits him in waves. I don't know what happens in between, but eventually he attempts suicide, and help gets to him in time. I'm not sure if I'll ever write that part. But here's this! <3

#bel's ocs #bel's writing #callistos #suicide attempt cw #suicide mention cw #past noncon cw #depersonalization whump #derealization whump #dissociation whump #ptsd manifesting as depression #please see the in-post CWs for more!

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graffitibible · 4 years

Note

Do you have any hcs for the Girl? Because I love her and I must know everyone’s Thoughts™ on her

i do have MANY but i’m gonna only pick ones that don’t contain Big Future Fic Spoilers so this isn’t all of them, merely a Taste™:

hellish combination of being simultaneously extremely touch starved and extremely touch shy. spent the first 3 or so years of her life in relative isolation in a BLI containment unit, so she didn’t get much in the way of physical affection. she got used to only being touched when BLI doctors and specialists wanted something from her (blood work, tests, etc.) so it took her a minute to realize she’s actually an EXTREMELY physically affectionate person by nature. cuddling, hugging, handholding, piggyback rides - she loves all of it. it was a learning curve for her cause she was touch averse by survival instinct thanks to how BLI treated her, took her a bit to figure out that touch is Good, Actually. spending a lot of time on her own after the four’s death until the events of the comics was kind of a nightmare for her since she was so isolated.

afro latina cause i said so! i love her

such a little foulmouth oh my god. the four made absolutely no attempt to prevent this and were in fact extremely proud that she grew up spewing the filthiest expletives known to the zones. means people know she can handle herself! and the four all know that there is nothing on this earth more terrifying than being charged by a three foot tall toddler screaming FUCK YOU!!!!! in your face

gets a bit of weird bleedthrough in parts of the zones where reality is especially tenuous. the first time she saw a mailbox she didnt realize that she was crying, or why. she couldnt explain why the sight of it weighed on her. she really doesnt like going near mailboxes since every time she gets close enough to one she gets this immense melancholy, a pathological distress that doesnt feel one hundred percent hers. its the only way she knows to contact her mom so she just...lives with it.

theres a reason that her official personnel file lists her father as “N/A” and thats all i can say on that :>

#nightwing-hunter #ask #danger days #the girl #*fabrication #theres so much i wanna add but im limiting myself so i dont give anything away lol

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justanotheronechicagofan · 4 years

Text

Previous Chapter

10. Elephants

series summary - Will the Halstead brothers be able to reconnect with their sister after 5 years? chapter summary - the Halstead reunion continues Madeline Halstead (oc), Will Halstead, Jay Halstead, Mouse [mentioned] TW - pregnancy related death

series masterlist | main masterlist

Madeline basked in the warmth, feeling her roots revitalising as their chatter enveloped her, a sense of tribe, a much missed shield. Still, It seeped in corroding the cocoon.

It. An unwanted guest - never leaving, always looming. Ready to creep, sprinkling in doubt, threatening to ruin… well, anything. They won’t like them. A decorated hero turned detective and a doctor. They like boxes, they like lines, they like nor-

“Babe, just tell them already!” she could hear Jess’ laughter. Angelic against Its coils.“You’ve got this! They all love them, what’s different this time?”

But what if they don’t Jess? What if they lea-

"-addie, you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry" The brothers watched Madeline flash a smile. They didn't miss her tenseness, the way she clasped her trembling hands onto her teacup. The siblings were glad at the more smoother than expected reunion but they all knew of the certain elephants they couldn’t ignore. They decided to ride out the silence.

Finally, she broke the quiet. “I uh- I need to tell you guys something. Something important” That phrase paired with her expression would have warranted teasing from the brothers followed by Madeline's bursts of laughter. Something related to getting seconds of ice cream or wanting a second dog perhaps. But this wasn't 5 years ago.

Madeline bore into them, searching as if their eyes laid a hint of what their reactions would be. Both brothers tried for a reassuring smile, hoping to pass this sudden test she had put them on. Jay hadn't felt this level of nervousness, if ever - which was saying something considering he sat across from _the worst _of what Chicago had to offer everyday - he felt as if she didn't like what she found, there would be another five years lost.

When she seemed satisfied, Madeline spoke, “Jay- you’ve met but uh I don’t think I introduced him. Not officially anyway. And Will, you haven’t met yet but,” she took a deep breath and beamed, “I have a son. His name is Nathan, Nate … He’s 3 and I love him, more than anything in the world. I know- sounds corny but it’s true” Her expression was undeniable.

Will was elated. He had heard from Jay that night when the detective had stumbled into his apartment - “Will, she was right there. And there’s this kid, the cutest kid man. He called her mama… Fuck - Will, she had a kid and we weren’t there” - still, he could count the times he had been this happy. The brothers knew that after half a decade apart, it would be a gamble if their little sister would want them to be in her life let alone her family’s. Will hoped that her telling them was a good sign - maybe some sort of invitation that would lead to him becoming an uncle… He realised he had just been sitting there - smiling like an idiot - and rushed to congratulate but was stopped by Madeline's shake of her head.

"Please. J-just let me- I need to tell you this" Madeline breathed out, her eyes dripping with something they couldn't quite place.

Jay recognised the mint green envelope that she pulled out of her purse. She opened it and laid out a photograph on the table, her movements so careful as if the slightest jolt would would make it evaporate.

They immediately recognised Madeline - younger and thinner - sat on a sofa, mid laughter with a young woman in the middle. The woman reflecting Madeline (who Jay guessed was in her early 20's at most) had blonde hair, glowing skin and a growing bump to match. She was snuggled against a similarly aged man with dark brown skin who lovingly gazed at her as he held her close.

"Danny took this one, it's one of my favourites," her eyes crinkled at the memory. "That's Ty and Jess - they're family y'know. Really helped me out"

Jay recognised that look even through her misting eyes - it was one he had seen many times before - the look Nadia and Erin had when they had talked about each other.

Madeline continued, "Jess and I - we were so close, like sisters. And people used to think we were cause of our eyes," she shared a wistful smile, pausing as her baby pink nails traced the edges of the photograph.

Jay furrowed his eyebrows at the past tense - were they no longer friends? did this 'Ty' have something to do with it? had this ‘Jess’ just upped and left?

When she looked up, her eyes were filled with pride, "Nate ... he was a preemie, nearly 2 months early. But healthy considering - 4 lbs, 6oz."

A smile touched the brothers' eyes as they imagined their little sister, a part of that precious moment. But it faded away at her features starting to cloud.

"But Jess-," Madeline started as if on rote, her agony seeping through her blankness, "-she had complications and they took her for an emergency c section-”

Jay recognised that look as she trailed off. It was one he was all too familiar with - the one he couldn’t hide. Hoping to be the anchor Will and now Hailey were, Jay shifted closer to her where she was fiddling with her bracelet.

Madeline jerked, blinking herself back to the banquette. She took a shaky breath and continued, "Before they took her, I was so scared y’know?” Jay couldn’t take his little sister’s gaze as it crushed his spirit.

Her eyes empty, she shared a hollow laugh, “But she was laughing … told me to chill out, that she'd be back with Nate before I knew it-” She braved a tight smile, hoping to smother the pain. Knowing it never did. It didn’t matter that every syllable had been rehearsed, imprinted in her mind - Madeline always wished she could pause at Jess, beaming before they wheeled her away, before they-

The brothers held a breath as they realised where this was heading. Will had seen one too many of these cases even working in the ED. The ones where what should be a happy occasion would turn into one of much grief - the ones where more often than not, they couldn’t give answers.

“They said she lost too much blood- t-that there was nothing they could do.”

“Jess- she never got to hold him”

They saw the blame laced with confusion. The waves of emotions she had fought to surf, the numbers of tears she had shed, the days she had clung onto to arrive at this exact place with her grief. They saw it all. They knew the power of the nightmare those two sentences held. It was too great.

Will found himself thanking God in that moment. He didn’t know what to feel about that. Or in fact any of it. Guilty for being thankful that it had been the friend that was struck with the ultimate misfortune? Or was it because he let this happen to her, his little sister in the first place? Maybe it was both. Or was it relief? None of that changes anything. He could hear in the back of his mind. None of that changes the fact that you failed her.

Jay didn’t know what to say. Having done one too many notifications and witnessed the tragedy that came with the job, he knew. That no apology would be enough. Probably better than none though he thought. But everything about one just sounded phoney. Because in the end, it wouldn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been there. That he had failed her. All he could bring himself to say was,

“What’s he like?”

“Nate? He has Ty’s eyes y’know. So Much life in them. And he has this laugh … you have to hear him, it’s just like Jess’ - it lightens everything. Oh and he’s silly and hilarious, just like his Dad … has the biggest heart … he’s just amazing.”

You have to meet him, I want you to. She wanted to say. Madeline didn’t know why she felt as if she had to make an appeal of Nate. You’ve done this before - why all this now? she thought. But she knew, that this was different. Because this was Jay and Will.

As he listened to Madeline beam about her son, Jay couldn’t help but replay the all too short meeting he had at her porch that day. And before he could swallow it back, it slipped out,

“Can we meet him?” Shit. That was way too soon.

But his growing doubt came to a halt as soon as Madeline’s features lit up. “Y-Yeah? For real? You want to?”

“Maddie, heck yeah! Of course we do” The brothers’ reply didn’t do justice for how truly, undeniably happy they were.

See? Told ya Madeline heard Jess’ smile. She breathed again,_ It_ silenced. Madeline couldn’t put a word to it but it felt great, something like relief and ecstasy rolled into one. But she wasn’t done yet. She still had another brother to ask about …

"And Mousey?”

Will gave a cautious glance, knowing how much it hurt his little brother to see his best friend go.

Jay chuckled at that nickname. He hadn’t heard that one in a while, “He went back about 2 years ago, comms specialist”

“Really?"

“Mmhh. Do you remember the sergeant we used to tell you about? Well, he put a unit together and he reached out to Mouse” Jay smiled, proud.

With the same admiration as when she was little, Madeline spoke, “Seriously? That’s awesome! That unit’s lucky they have him. And … he’s okay?” Will noticed the look his younger siblings shared - he wondered if it had something to do with that one and only phone call he ever got from Pat while he was in New York.

“Mads, He’s good, spoke to him about a month ago - I should probably call him again soon though” Tell him you’re finally home, safe.

“Yeah? That’s great. Maybe I’ll join you, make it a surprise? Oh! And do you know his address? I want to send him something. Samoas and Cinnamon Crunch right? And jerky. Wait… or was that your thing?”

Jay smiled at her chatter, “No, he likes ‘em too Mads. And yeah, I’ll text you everything - Man, he is gonna freak out when he hears you.” He was surprised that Madeline had remembered those little details because even though the nightmares chased him, being overseas felt like another life ago. He guessed in a way it was. Will couldn’t help but feel a pang as he was reminded yet again of how his sister who was barely in school at the time knew more about Jay’s time with the Rangers than him.

“Good. I missed him” she shared a sweet smile before it turned into a mischievous grin. “So?”

“Yes Madeline?” Will amused, raising his eyebrows.

She huffed in return, “C’mon! All I know so far is that Jay’s a detective in a district with a nice sergeant and that you work in the Emergency Room in the same hospital as Connor which who kne-”

“Hang on ‘nice’? Which district did you go to?” Jay joked. There was one thing everyone agreed on at the 21st district - Trudy Platt although one of the best cops in the city, nice was not the first word that came to mind.

“Yeah, Sergeant Platt” she stated as if it was the most obvious.

“Pretty sure this is the first and last time I’ll ever hear Platt and nice in the same sentence - the less I have to interact with her the better.” Will dramatically shuddered before laughing with the others.

“But seriously, stop avoiding my question.” Madeline mocked annoyance.

Will jokingly put his hands up. “Alright, alright,” He straightened up and announced “Well Maddie, I have a girlfriend. Her name’s Natalie-”

“About damn time too. He’s been pining after her for how long? since you started there?" Jay smirked.

“Ooooh. So she’s at Gaffney’s too? Is she a doctor? Or a nurse? What’s she like?”

Will’s eyes crinkled at her curiosity. “Yeah, we work in the ED together - she’s a doctor too. Natalie’s great, I think you’ll like her. Hang on -” he paused, fumbling with his phone. “She can’t wait to meet you by the way.” He added before giving her his screen.

It was a selfie taken in a park or maybe a garden. Will’s girlfriend ‘Natalie’ was white and had shoulder length brunette hair - there was something kind in her eyes as she laughed. Probably to one of Will’s Really Bad jokes… Madeline amused. She’s pretty … I’m loving that top, maybe I’ll ask her where it’s from. Madeline chuckled at her eldest brother’s grin as he held her close. There was only one word to describe his expression - Smitten.

When she swiped to the next picture, she was pretty sure her heart stopped. It was probably taken a few seconds after the first one and everything else was the same except from one unmissable detail. Madeline zeroed in on the toddler now in Natalie’s arms. Crap, I waited too late. Did I miss becoming an aunt?! How old is he? Maybe like two?

Will laughed at her shocked beyond belief expression. “You’re not an aunt just yet Tiny. He’s Natalie’s son but hoping that down the road y’know …” He trailed off, giving a lopsided smile.

“You are SO in love with her” she teased before turning her attention to … “Jay?”

“Good luck” Will laughed. “Even if there is someone, he’s not sharing - Believe me Maddie, I’ve tried.”

“Uh-huh. Like I believe that. C'mon there's no one?” She tried again, now putting the puppy eyes on max.

“Nope.” Jay smiled and she couldn’t tell if he was lying - she never could to be honest. Damn his Ranger training. She was about to let it go but she saw Will raise his eyebrows and take a sip of his mug.

So there is someone she smirked.

As he looked at the row of townhouses standing impressive against the dusking sky, Jay wondered what this place was to his little sister. He had barely resisted the urge to ask the whole less than 5 minute drive to this street. The not knowing was honestly killing him but he heard his partners voice, “She’ll come home Jay.” He smiled, hugging Madeline. Guess I’ll have to follow Hails on this one too.

Watching his younger siblings hugging, Will smiled. Our family’s back. Maybe he hadn’t let himself get there but it was clear to him now how much he had craved it. He squeezed her tight, feeling that missing part of his soul starting to be found. And as he watched her walk through the gate, he made a promise right there and then - He wasn’t going to let go. Not this time.

Walking up the stone steps, Madeline couldn’t hide her grin at her body full with that warm cozy feeling. That’s got to be one of the best days ever. Replaying bits of the long awaited catch up, she chuckled at Will calling her Tiny - a nickname she almost forgot about and hated when she had turned a teen - she now realised how much she missed it.

The brothers drove back in silence for a while and when Jay heard Will say,

“She didn’t ask about Dad.”

He nodded and stared ahead. That was an elephant he was unwilling to touch. Not yet anyway.

💙✨🦋✨💙

A/N - The characters belong to Dick Wolf and are from the One Chicago universe he created. Thank you so much for reading! This chapter was really difficult for me to write and at one point I considered deleting the whole series but I kept at it and about 4 months later here we are ;) This one touched on a really heavy topic but I hope I was able to do it justice and that you enjoyed it. I’m still not sure how I feel about it but I think this is the best I can hope for in this chapter - let me know what you think 💗

#halstead brothers #will halstead #jay halstead #halstead sister #tw: pregnancy related death

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thebachelordiaries · 4 years

Text

Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in.

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme.

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.”

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests.

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked?

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late.

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare.

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that.

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life.

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts.

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story.

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?

#The Bachelorette #abc #clare crawley #chris harrison #photo credit: ABC

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gumnut-logic · 5 years

Text

Need (Part Two)

Title: Need

Part One | Two

Author: Gumnut

8 - 10 Mar 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: We need to do what we need to do.

Word count: 2166

Spoilers & warnings: Season 3

Timeline: Sometime after the end of season 3

Author’s note: I had dental surgery this morning, but fortunately I wrote this a couple of days ago and only had to polish it and add an extra scene. I hope you enjoy it :D

This is in answer to the ‘brain trauma’ prompt from the whump prompt list. Many thanks to @sofasurf for the suggestion and the plotwork chat ::hugs you::

Many thanks to @scribbles97 and @i-am-chidorixblossom for the read throughs and reassurance.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy quite liked maintaining his ‘bird. He wasn’t a grease monkey like his engineer brother, but there was something meditative about caring for the great vessel that kept him safe. He listed it under his routine alongside his running and gym time. It was usually something he did by himself or with Virgil or Brains on hand for the more complicated repairs, both of whom were quiet company.

Alan was most certainly not quiet.

“It was the greatest. You should have seen him, Scott. Brandon beat all five of them to the finish line.”

This was the fifth blow by blow rendition of Brandon’s latest escapades. Scott didn’t miss the longing in his little brother’s voice and he couldn’t help but second guess the decision to let his teenage brother hang with the thrill seeker. He felt Alan was smart enough not to do anything stupid and Virgil had agreed, but now he was questioning that. There was a difference between Alan on and off duty.

“Sounds great, Alan.” He shoved the scanner into One’s port thruster assembly and checked the security of the welds and bolts.

Everything came up green.

“Why are you down here again?”

“Virgil said you needed help.”

“He did, did he?” That wasn’t a good sign. In fact, it was code for Alan doing something that Scott needed to know about. The fact his brother hadn’t followed up with that information was odd.

“What have you done now?”

That earned him a guilty frown. “Who says I’ve done anything?”

“What did Virgil want you to tell me?”

“Nothing.”

Scott turned in his harness and stared down at his little brother on the hangar floor. “Want to try that again?”

His brother’s entire body slumped a moment before straightening again in obvious defiance. “I’m going to race Cherry.”

Scott’s foot slipped on the skin of his ‘bird and he spun halfway around before he caught himself. “What? No, you’re not. We discussed this.”

Hands shot his little brother’s hips. “No, we didn’t. You talked. Virgil talked. I only got to listen while the both of you told me what to do.”

He looked down at his brother again. For the love of-! He shifted in his harness and lowered himself hurriedly to the floor. A flick of a hand, he disconnected from the safety rope and turned to face his brother. “Racing is dangerous.”

“So is flying Three, but you don’t hesitate to send me out, do you!”

“That is a risk for a reason. We risk our lives for the chance to save lives, not just to have fun!”

“So, I’m not allowed to have fun?”

“That is not what I am saying, Alan, and you know it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m old enough to do what I want now and you can’t stop me.”

He almost took a step back. “Alan-“

“No, Scott. I’m an adult and this is my decision.” It was said calm, but firm.

He stared at his littlest brother, ever reminded of those early days, those blue eyes staring up at him in admiration, fear, hope and love. “Just trying to keep you safe, Allie.”

For a moment that stern face softened, but it hardened a moment later. “I have to do this, Scott. I need to find my own way.”

Alan was never going to be as tall as Scott, but he had gained a few inches over the last few years and could at least look Virgil in the eye. His littlest brother was an adult.

It was ever so hard to let go.

“You have to promise me you will follow safety protocols, that you will do your best to keep yourself safe. I don’t want a callout where I have to pick my own brother off those desert sands.”

Alan wilted just a little. “I will be fine, Scott. Don’t worry so much.”

He silently scoffed at that. Easier said than done. Reaching out, he grabbed his brother and pulled him into a hug. “Virgil’s going to kick your ass.”

A sigh. “I know.”

Speak of the devil, his dark-haired brother suddenly appeared in front of him. “Scott?” Virgil was pale and his frown screamed worry.

Scott let Alan go. “What’s wrong?”

Brown eyes flicked to Alan and Scott immediately knew this was eldest brother territory only.

Unfortunately, Alan didn’t miss the gesture and scowled at the medic. “Trying to get rid of me again?”

Virgil’s expression became desperate.

Scott reached up and put his hand on his littlest brother’s shoulder. “Could you excuse us a moment, Alan?”

Blue eyes turned towards him in scorn. “What? Are you kidding me?” He held up both hands and backed off, his whole stance reeking of sarcasm. “Oh, I am sorry. Big brother secret business.”

“Alan, please.” Virgil’s tone was pleading. Whatever was bugging Virgil was serious.

“No, Virgil, when are you going to treat me as an equal and not a three-year-old?”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Then what is it about?”

Scott bristled. “Alan!”

“Okay, you know what? I don’t care! Have your little secret meetings. I’m outta here anyway. Got better things to do.” Alan spun on his heel and stormed off to the elevator and disappeared between its doors.

What the hell? Scott stared after him for a solid several seconds.

“Scott?”

A blink and he turned to Virgil. The worry he found there shoved his concerns for Alan out of his mind. “What is it?”

“It’s Dad.”

-o-o-o-

It was so frustrating. Alan stormed through the villa to his rooms. He was going to pack and fly to Australia. It was his leave and he would use it as he liked. Molly coddling brothers be damned.

The thought of taking Cherry out on the dirt of the Outback was just too much to resist. Sure, he could race her on asphalt. He could gain higher speeds that way, but the challenge was in the dirt where her wheels spun and he almost floated above the road in manoeuvres requiring the same skills he used to spin Three in space.

And he craved the adrenalin. All these years it had been video games and simulators. None of it could compete with the dust, dirt and excitement of the real thing. The roar of atmosphere against the silence of space.

Not to mention the fact that Brandon had questioned his Earth-bound skills. Apparently, he may have it in space, but did he have it on the ground?

The challenge was one he was determined to meet. He was a Tracy, after all.

If only the other Tracys would finally realise that.

Each of his brothers had excelled in their chosen fields and yes, Alan adored space. But he had been in space so long, it was effortless.

He needed a challenge.

And the dirt was it.

Reaching his rooms, he threw what he needed into a bag and decided to buy anything he missed.

For a split second he almost commed John to advise him of his flight plan, but caught himself.

He didn’t want to have to explain himself again.

He was leaving.

He took the stairs down to the hangars and prepped Tracy Three for flight.

He taxied her to Two’s hangar door and activated it.

Or at least tried to. He hadn’t counted on Kayo.

-o-o-o-

“What about Dad?”

Something in Scott’s gut squirmed. He hadn’t seen Virgil so upset in a long time.

“He’s speaking to our mother.”

“What?”

Virgil bit his lip. “He was sitting on the patio, waiting for me, and when I came back, he was talking to ‘Lucy’.”

Scott stared at his brother.

Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “God, I don’t know. He was alone so long. He’s been through so much, I just thought-“

Scott grabbed his younger brother. “Hey, hey, take a breath.” This was so unlike his usually calm second, it had him concerned about Virgil as much as his father. He manoeuvred the engineer to a chair and sat opposite from him. “Start at the beginning.”

Virgil closed his eyes and drew in a breath. “I came across Alan declaring his adulthood to Dad.” His brother looked up. “Did he tell you he’s going to race that car of his?”

Scott nodded.

Virgil frowned. “Dad wasn’t happy but seemed fine. We sat down for breakfast. Gordon called with some trouble with Four. I went down to help. When I came back, Dad was sitting on the patio by himself talking to ‘Lucy’. H-He compared me to Mom and said how hard it was to try and be a father again. How he didn’t know Alan. I...I don’t know. I guess it just scared me.” His brother looked down at his hands.

A forced calm settled over Scott. They had been ever so lucky with Dad’s health. So much more damage could have been done. If he hadn’t crashed into that planetoid that gave him at least some gravity, things could have been so much worse. The bone degradation on those scans had Scott changing John’s rotational period the moment they got home. It was a long road back with a lot of pain to get his father fully comfortable in Earth normal gravity. Thank goodness for Five. Thank goodness for so many things.

Of course, his father’s mental health had been a major concern. There had been doctors specialising in PTSD, isolation and space psychoses. Bar a few obvious issues, their father’s mental health had been surprisingly good.

There were nightmares, sensitivities to too much sound or too many people. Several of these were things Virgil, or for that matter, John, were familiar with, so those two brothers had fielded those issues.

There had been no sign of hallucinations or any need to speak to dead people.

Scott squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “Okay. We watch him. It may be nothing.” He caught Virgil’s worried, brown eyes. “If it becomes a problem, we speak to him, we speak to some specialists.”

Another deep breath. “Okay. Okay.”

It was odd. Leading up to rescuing their father, it had been Scott who was frantically worried and Virgil was the calm rock keeping him sane. Since they brought Dad home, they had swapped roles. It was like Virgil was terrified the man was going to disappear again. He hovered. He fussed. Bar a rescue, Virgil was never far from their father.

This wasn’t the first time Scott had had to calm his brother down due to his father showing a symptom of his trauma.

It was becoming a serious concern.

“Are we good?”

Virgil blinked. “Of course.”

Scott nodded in the direction of One. “Want to give me a hand?”

The engineer looked up at the towering Thunderbird. “Sure.”

The distraction worked and it wasn’t long before Virgil returned to the more familiar calm brother he knew, working quite happily alongside him.

But Scott was worried and his thoughts distracted him for the rest of his time with his ‘bird..

-o-o-o-

“Where do you think you are going?”

Alan jumped as his sister stepped in front of Tracy Three. Her voice over comms was firm.

“I’m on leave, Kayo. I’m going to Australia.”

“Without contacting John with a flight plan? Without saying goodbye to your father or your brothers?”

“They know where and why I’m going.”

“I’m not going to give you clearance.”

“You? C’mon, Kayo, you know what it is like. They don’t treat me as an adult.”

“Perhaps if you behaved like one, they would be more inclined.”

The betrayal in her words burned in his stomach. “What would you know?”

“I know enough. Alan, stop being dramatic and act like the reasonable man I know you are.”

He glared at her. Kayo had always been the one who understood his point of view. She was older than him, but had battled with Scott even more than Alan had.

“They won’t let me do what I need to do!”

“Now, you’re just lying to me. If you think I wouldn’t track your recent activities when you start acting erratic like this, you’re not giving me any credit. Both your father and Scott gave you grudging permission.”

He didn’t answer that, because she was right. He was throwing a tantrum. “Virgil-“

“Is just worried, and rightfully so. Are you aware of the accident rate on those outback tracks?”

“Kayo, I know, okay? I will be careful.”

“Don’t put your family through this.”

“It isn’t about family. For once in my life, this is about me and only me. No responsibility. No brothers!”

“It will always be about family, Alan.”

“Why?!” He was yelling and he really wasn’t sure why. “I give everything to my family. Why can’t I have this one small thing for me?”

“You can. Just not like this.” She straightened where she stood. “You don’t have clearance to leave Tracy Island. I will not allow the doors to be opened. You’re not going, Alan.”

-o-o-o-

End Part Two

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #kayo kyrano

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distinguishednachotale · 4 years

Text

The DJ

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four

A farmhouse cottage stood swallowed beneath a field of lush green grass, a wooden fence surrounded the boundaries with beautifully tended to flowers weaving their way through the timber. A cobblestone pathway led to the front porch where a middle aged couple were enjoying a quiet Scotch to wind down the end of the day, a pipe hung loosely from his mouth while she had her feet up on the his lap enjoying a soft massage. The farm was running smoothly, enough profits coming in to put on another farmhand allowing the older man to spend a little less time in the fields and more time enjoying the company of his now retired wife.

“Have you heard from Everly this week?” James wandered out loud, knowing the answer would still be a ‘no’ but hoping that even an e-mail had been exchanged, a photo or anything. With a sigh Leticia shook her head. “Did we do something, do you think?” The silence between themselves and their daughter as painful, they didn’t know her address to visit, their e-mails and text messages went unanswered. Occasionally she would send a two or three word response, but never any detail. Their older son, Angus, worked on the farm with them; his house across the road where he, his wife and four children lived. It was a rare day that the grandchildren didn’t wander across to their Grandparents house to spend time together. To have the polar opposite from their daughter was eating away at them.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Leticia smiled widely, her mobile phone lit up with a photo of her beautiful daughter and her name. “Oh Everly, my love we were just talking about ye.”

“Mrs McCarthy, it’s Richard Madden. Uh, I’m not sure if you remember me,”[/I

Sitting forward and pulling her feet down from her husbands lap, a frown crossed her face, “Richard, has something happened to Everly?” It wasn’t like Everly to call, let alone having someone call from her mobile. “Please, lad, tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Mrs McCarthy. I was trying to help her leave him, she was coming back to life and, god, she was her again…” Though a broken voice and breaks to compose himself Richard told the McCarthy’s all he knew. The phone placed on loud speaker so both parents could hear of the journey their daughter had been on over the years without them knowing. Angus had wandered into the yard with a cheerful ‘Hello’ only to stop when he saw the look on his parents face. Running to them he heard the tail end of the explanation, the attack.

“He broke a lot of bones, her wrist, two fingers, jaw, cheek bones, eye socket, ribs.. Her rib punctured her lungs, there’s a tube in there at the minute to fix that. Uh,” His voice broke looking at the sleeping figure before him, your jaw wired shut to help it heal while an oxygen mask covered you face gently. “They fixed her liver, it was lacerated as well as her right kidney. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him.”

“It’s not ye fault, laddy. Thank you for finding her. We’ll get a flight-”

“I’ll have my assistant organize it, one less thing to take care of. Angus, can I get you a flight too?”

“If ye could, Rich. I’ll bring Ma and Pa over.” Jotting down their details on his own phone Richard sent everything to his own assistant to have organised, flights and hotels to be close to their daughter at hospital. Bidding them farewell he promised not to leave her side again, to stay with her and keep her safe until they arrived. You hadn’t woken up since you were found, the Doctors assured Richard this was common when suffering trauma and a severe concussion; rest was the bodies natural defence.

Police had been by to take statements after scouring the trailer for evidence to link Nate to the attack, evidence was taken from beneath your fingernails; his skin and DNA was trapped there from you clawing at him. He had been found, drunk and covered in dried blood in his hotel room. He was sure he had killed you, hoped he had killed you. Disappointment was evident when he found out you were alive, fighting for your life despite his attempt to end it.

The following morning Richard had not yet moved, occasionally he was brought a coffee or a sandwich by the kind nurses; otherwise he sat there watching your every breath. You’d had a small turn overnight, your heart rate dropping dangerously low but it was stabilised quickly by the Doctor’s on hand. The swelling was increasing, as expected. The broken bones were being inspected by a orthopaedic surgeon, plastic surgeon and ear-nose-throat specialist to ensure a healthy recovery with minimal facial scarring.

Two days passed before your family arrived, they had quickly taken their belongings to the hotel before coming straight to the hospital to be with you. Leticia had crumbled upon seeing her only daughter so broken, bruised and damaged. James was quiet, trying to stay strong for his wife while feeling his own heart shatter upon seeing his baby. Angus turned to rage, having to immediately step back outside to regain his composure. Richard followed him outside, wanting to make sure he was alright.

“Its one thing to hear it, ye ken. But to actually see it…” Angus ran his hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it off his face. “I’ve never wanted to kill someone before, but now. Thank you for finding her.”

“I’m expected back on set this evening, re-shooting some scenes with a stand in for Ev, I’m sorry I’ll have to leave soon. Are you going to be okay-”

“She’s awake.” Richard and Angus both jumped hearing your Father speak, his voice shaking with both relief and sadness. Walking in they saw you laying very still, eyes open and breathing slowly with trepidation. The ache and pull in your side told you your lung was damaged, you were afraid to breathe too hard or deep.

“Angus and Richard are here too, Evey.” Your mother quietly told you, running her hand over your hair gently. You flicked your eyes over to the figured standing near the doorway, hardly able to make much out with your limited vision. Any calm quickly faded when you attempted to move your mouth, the wires on your teeth bound together keeping your jaw closed and still, it caused an immediate panic inside you.

“What’s going on?” Angus worried, looking a the heart rate machine escalate into fast rhythm as your body jolted. “Doctor!” He darted out the door searching for help. Richard recognised the look on your face, despite the swelling he could see your fear. Crouching beside you he softly placed his hand on your cheek and ran his thumb gently and slowly.

“Shhhh… Ev, I know you’re scared.” You raised your hand to your jaw and mouth, he picked up your non verbal worry. “It’s wired, Love. It’s a little broken, it’s going to be a couple of weeks wired to heal. But I’m sure you’ll find a way to talk our ears off still.” He teased lovingly. “There’s a tube in your nose, I’m sure it’s uncomfortable. It’s your feeding tube, you can’t eat for a little while either. There’s another in your lung, just keeping it inflated for now…” James, Angus, Leticia and the Doctor’s watched as your heart rate lowered as Richard explained what was happening, neither of you breaking eye contact with each other.

Three weeks passed, filming was rearranged so Richard could do his part quickly to be alongside you as you healed. Your jaw was released, you were unable to eat solid food still due to the pain but had enjoyed being able to slowly have spoonful’s of soup, and the occasional sneaky liquid treat brought into the hospital by your brother and Richard. The tube in your lung had long been removed, stitches still in place helping the skin recover from being open. The swelling around your face had gone down dramatically, your eyes were open fully but a dark shade of blue still. New’s had spread around the media, a news outlet had gotten photos of you being taken away from the trailer - you had unwillingly become the face of domestic violence, a pressure you were not ready for.

You had been taken back to Scotland to finish healing at your parents farm, Richard had brought himself a little time before he had to go into intense filming of his upcoming program ‘Bodyguard’ to be with you. His role was going to leave him drained, he knew it. Between rest and physical therapy, you ran lines with him when and when he was doing his workouts you watched from the porch while admiring his physicality.

“I forgot how fresh the air is here,” You breathe in deeply, leaning back as Richard ran a brush through your hair softly. Putting the brush down he ran his finger tips gently through the strands of your long hair, tying it into a loose bun at the nape of your neck for you. “You don’t have to do all this, you know?” Looking back behind you, Richard had his eyebrow raised at you.

“Stop protesting, ye stubborn woman.”

“I’ll miss you when you have to go.” Sadly the time was coming, you both knew it. “Although I won’t miss my Pa making me sleep with the door open.” James had allowed Richard to sleep in your bed with you under the condition the bedroom door remained open, a traditional man and not wanting anything to be happening under his roof. Although nothing had been said, the mutual feelings you had for one another had you spending your nights curled up safe by his side; nightmares and anxiety were common overnight, the security of having Richard there was soothing.

“You know as soon as you’re ready, my house is ready for you.”

“The movers are getting my things from my house this weekend, moving it to storage.”

“Have them bring it to my apartment, no point moving it twice.” The warm sun shone down on you both, a picnic rug beneath you both as you sat in the front yard of the farm. Over the fence you could see your Pa, brother and farmhand moving the sheep into the next yard; the well trained dogs doing their part to herd the sheep over. It was peaceful hearing them call to the dog in Gaelic, you missed hearing the language you had grown being spoken to in.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I ever lost you again,” You told Richard, looking over at him

A soft kiss was pressed against your lips, “You’ll never have to find out.”

#richard madden #richard madden x ofc #richard madden fanfiction

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tolkien-in-beleriand · 4 years

Text

so a number of people is curious about PhD here in Brazil and as I have nothing else I want to do right now let me tell you about it

I’ll talk about the two processes I went through for my PhD (masters is kinda the same but a bit simpler)

as I already told you here in Brazil the best universities are free, it’s kinda hard to get in but if you do you have the best education available in the country and chances are you will get some kind of scholarship. in my case as I am poor as hell I had a scholarship since first year of grad school and also a place to live. yes, I was paid to live in a nice city away from my abusive family and to study in the best program of my field in Brazil

then came the masters in which I also had a scholarship

and then the nightmare begins

see as part of my scholarship I had to finish my masters in two years. what does it mean? it means that in my second year I was writing my masters dissertation, finishing papers, preparing for qualification, then argumentation, writing my PhD project and preparing for the PhD tests

and of course as you probably know by now I love complicating things so I applied for two PhDs programs. why? only God knows, but I did. now each university has its own way to deal with PhDs applications so I’ll tell you about the two kinds of tests I had to go through

first my home university:

first you write a project. 20 pages. must have: abstract, key words, title, introduction, methodology, cronogram of activities, bibliographic references. it must present a certain novelty in the idea, they want something new, a thesis (that I will later prove right or wrong in 200 to 300 pages). my thesis was basically “Fantasy is a literature genre and it IS NOT the same as fantastic literature (don’t get me started - I wrote a PhD thesis about it but I’m still bitter)”

you need to hand this project in September. then in October is the written test. in our field the written test (in this particular university, as I said it varies) is: they pick a literary topic, that is a surprise only reveled to us mortals the day and hour of the test, and we have four hours to write an essay about it, in a room like an exam, no researches allowed. the topic in my year was History and Literature. then they grade the essay 0-10 and you need at least a 7 to go to next phase.

fine, now the few people who got the 7 go to phase “analyzing the project”. you get a grade on that too. and you need a 7 to pass as well.

then if you are lucky enough to have your project accepted you go to phase “interview” when a board will make all kinds of questions about your study, project, plans, you know... to make sure you were the one who wrote the thing and know what you’re talking about (I just need to mention here that at my interview they said my project was perfect and made 0 questions because, and I quote, “we know your trajetory and we know what you are capable of and no one else studies Fantasy Literature here”)

then they grade the interview. if you didn’t get at least a 7 bye bye bird, it doesn’t matter if your project was perfect and you aced the written test, it’s goodbye

after this they add all the scores and divide by something and if your final score is below 7, that’s goodbye too.

then you need to do the language test because oh yes YOU DO NEED TO KNOW TWO FOREIGN LANGUAGES to be accepted in any PhD program here.

and that’s it for my first application. I passed first place. usually the good programs gets scholarships and our program was very good so we had like six scholarships every year for sure and then maybe more. they give the scholarships according to the final score so yep I got it

but... when I traveled for my second PhD application I still didn’t have any of my scores, I didn’t even know if I had passed the written test and let me tell you I was desperate and honest to God terrified I wouldn’t pass

anyway, now process number two:

they make things quite different there and they are way more demanding so I was just really terrifie that I would end the year with a crappy masters and no PhD perspective.

first test they do is the language one, a translation and ooooh boi do I hate translating stuff. but it was okay, I wasn’t worried about that part. the system there was very different. while at my home university the process was spread through months, here you had three days of tests and if you failed the first day you are not even invited for the next day. again, you need 7 to pass.

so first day: language test, 52 people applying. 20 passed for day two, me included.

second day, written test. I knew they had a different style from my home university but I was not prepared for that. they gave you 10 questions, all about literature. you had to pick five and answer. so you kinda had to write 5 mini essays on 5 different topics and the questions were like “in the page 25 of the essay Memory in Baudelaire by Walter Benjamin the author express a view on how experience play a central part in the story of the narrative genre. comment on that.”

one of them was to “comment on” the trajetory of the novel as a genre. I read the 10 questions then I started laughing. then I noticed the Professor in the class was the one I wanted as my supervisor there (she is like a big deal in Fantasy studies), the one who, in two months, would be in the board of my masters argumentation. I started crying. so much. I had to be escorted to the bathroom to “calm down”. well, I thought, it’s over, I better not even come back to the exam room and save me the embarrassment of looking the Professor in the eyes. but I couldn’t do that. I had to at least convince myself that I did everything I could. so I went back and started answering the ones I thought I had a shot at. we had four hours too and after doing my darnest to answer 4 questions I wanted to die before having to answer one more. so I chose the novel one because, you know it’s not that hard to trace a genealogy of the novel as a genre. but I was so tired. so incrediby tired and I thought I won’t pass anyway so I might as well have some fun. and friends, what did I do? I wrote a mini novel where my protagonist was the novel “living” through all its phases. I can’t remember a word of that but I did it.

when I was back to the hotel I started crying so much and felt so guilty, I was sure I would fail both programs. next morning the result would be on campus and honestly I only went there because I had spent too much money to just ignore the result, I would never have peace if I didn’t check. but I was really really sure I didn’t pass so I checked out the hotel, got into a taxi, asked him to take me to campus for two minutes, so I could check a thing, and then he could take me to the station

ooooh I have no words to describe my happiness when I looked to a list of FIVE names who had got through to the next phase and my name was there.

I still can’t believe it and until this day I wonder what kind of crap did people write because they considered my “novel is a protagonist of a novel” answer over other 15????

anyway so I was happy but fucked because I had checked out the hotel so I had no place to go and the interview would be only at 5pm so there I was full of bags wandering around the campus waiting for my interview.

interview time: board with two fucking specialists in the Fantasy field and an ass who thinks she is above this. I was very nervous, they asked a bunch of questions about my project (oh yeah I forgot to say you had to hand a project like in the other uni and it is considered part of your application as well) and then... last question... from the ass “why do you consider fantasy as literature” I froze, the other two smiled (they knew my reputation). I want to murder that woman. why do I consider fantasy as literature? WHY?? son of a motherfucking bitch. so I smile*** and ask “what do you study?” she answers “Goethe” with an air of superiority. I say “oh I love Goethe, he is magnificent and the way he.... bla bla bla” I was just showing off. then I say “now think about why you consider Goethe literature. that’s your answer.” I want to say that if I had a mic I would drop it but nah... if I had a mic I would probably make that bitch eat it.

they didn’t have score there, you only passed or failed. I passed. one of five. from 52. I got a scholarship there too, but I decided to stay home. my supervisor at my uni was amazing and a wonderful person and so so smart and funny and he is in a band and is super cool and nerdy, also one of my best friends and one of the most successful translators in Brazil

so yes. this is two of the possibles processes you can go through to get in a top PhD program. and that friends is the easy part. seriously, masters and doctorates are exhausting and it breaks you. neurotypicals get mental illnesses because of it and honest to God I don’t know how I managed it. neither does my doctors. no, actually I know. it was spite.

*** funny story: because of an incident in my masters interview, before my PhDs interviews my supervisor called me to “teach me how to interact with stupid people”. he basically told me I was not supposed to laugh at a stupid question, I was not supposed to death stare the board after a stupid question and, of course, I was not allowed to get up and leave. because I did all that in my masters interview and almost didn’t get into the program. then he made me pretend he was the board talking shit and I had to smile and take notes. his words “it doesn’t matter if you are writing a curse and planning that person’s murder, smile and take notes.”

in my defence I did all that because in my masters interview a Professor asked me if I knew that Tolkien was an author who died in the 70s and that The Lord of the Rings wasn’t just a movie. after I laughed and asked if she was joking she got mad and then I tried to explain that yes, I did in fact know that John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, born in January 3rd, 1892 and dead in September, 2nd, 1973, was an author and wrote the book called The Lord of the Rings who inspired Peter Jackson’s trilogy. then I pointed out that my study had nothing to do with The Lord of the Rings, book or movie. I was in fact studying Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy Stories” and how critics point out The Lord of the Rings as the base of moderny fantasy without noting that Tolkien himself wrote the theory I consider the foundation of fantasy as a genre. then she said “that was done before” and I said “no it wasn’t, surprisingly enough people never came to this conclusion until now” and she looked me in the eyes and asked “are you sure? did you do a deep and careful research on the matter?” and I said “yes I did” and I swear to God she asked “did you try google it?”

yep I just got up and left. did I try google??? are you fucking serious? yes I did, when I wasn’t even at the uni yet you moron. google. can you believe it? I was reading papers from Oxford and Cambridge and this ass ask me if I used google.

I had a very bad score at my masters interview but my supervisor loved it anyway.

so that’s it. I hope it helps to have an idea how things work around here.

#phdblr #phd #masters #academic life #long post #very loooong post

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bluewatsons · 4 years

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Katie Lew, The Unproven Body, The New Inquiry (October 13, 2016)

Charting the losses of contestable sickness

ILLNESS is a state of the body that demands testing.

April 26th: Self-testing/Reality-checking

I woke up one spring morning with vertigo. I turned my head to the window and nearly got sick on my pillow. I was 33. It is common for the newly vertiginous to distrust their perception of motion because vertigo is uncanny. The world is familiar, and yet the known spaces of your life (your room, your street, your workplace) are uninhabitable, because they are moving. Thus, the first round of testing is a self-directed series of questions: Did that happen? Did the room turn with me? (Yes; yes and no). This second answer with its relative “yes and no” is the pivotal point of the vertiginous person’s relation to their life and to the world. Because the room turned for me, but not for my partner next to me, I would have to see a doctor. And because every space continued to turn for me wherever I went, I would have to change my relation to the world, as regards what I could expect from it and it from me. Could I expect rest? food? comfort? Could the world expect adherence to its metered and measured environment? Independence? Labor? Seemingly esoteric questions critical to daily exigencies: could I eat, and could I work?

(I said the spaces of my life became uninhabitable; I continued to live in them because I continued to live but for a time in a way that felt like a lonely death. No one can follow you into vertigo, or into any sickness for that matter.)

May 1st: Wild Rose Vestibular Rehabilitation and Audiology Clinic

The first symptoms of my illness were tinnitus, hyperacusis (a rare condition of hearing sounds at painful volumes), and vertigo, and so Google told me my problem was otological (a word that autocorrects to ontological, which also feels appropriate). There are several ear conditions that cause spinning, which specialists can identify by tracking nystagmus, the abnormal beating of eyes as they follow objects. My mother took me to a vestibular therapist. I entered the clinic staggering, my arms reaching out in front of me for any wall, or chair, or countertop, to let me know where I was in the organized space of the room. A zombie in a vertigo nightmare. The therapist was surprised at my state. In medicine, you never want to look like something no one has ever seen before, something beyond evaluation that will not fit within the known universe of legible maladies and, especially, remedies.

The vestibular test involved opaque goggles that project the eyes on two TV screens. I cried in protest at the darkness that I knew would accelerate the spinning. I reached my hand to hold the therapist’s arm — uninvited skin on a stranger’s skin. She looked at my mother and my mother at her; which of them could explain my excess? Or this breach of social boundaries? Then I went and laid my head in the stranger’s lap. She said: “Listen to me. I once had vertigo too. And guess what? Last weekend I went skiing with my husband and my kids.” I wanted to throw up. But I allowed the darkness of the goggles because even that kind of alright-ness was desirable. The site behind the drawn curtain of the medical cubical was one of uneasy conjunction: all of those measuring apparatuses, and every space between them saturated with fear. When she fit the goggles to my face, I caught a glimpse of the left TV, there a giant eye flitted like a cornered animal, and I recognized my own horror.

(I was incapable of thought then, but remembering it now I think of Anne Boyer: “This is the problem of what-to-do-with-the-information-that-is-feeling.”)

“Her eye movements are irregular but not in a recognizable way. I’m not even sure if the distortion is coming from her ears or her brain.” — a vestibular specialist.

The body that refuses the parameters of the medical test is an unlucky body. Especially because it means more, even unlimited, testing, more encounters with non-recognition, further alienation. But also because sadness, fear, and desperation are considered interference in clinical testing, and these emotions increase the longer a diagnosis is deferred. Affect is surplus without value.

There are several tests that every first-year medical student can use, and with fair accuracy, to determine the presence of a neurological disturbance in a patient. They are the finger-to-nose test, the heel-down-the-shin test, and the follow-the-pen test. There are non-invasive tests that will reveal with more precision the location of that neurological disturbance: the computerized axial topography scan, which can detect brain swelling and hemorrhaging, and the magnetic resonance image, which will light up tumors and lesions. There are invasive diagnostic tests that can more narrowly decide the cause and nature of a tumor or lesion: the lumbar puncture, which collects a sample of cerebrospinal fluid, and the biopsy, which extracts tissue for microscopic investigation. If the tumor or lesion is too deep for biopsy, such that a biopsy would cause damage to the brain, then there is one final test, non-invasive and barely medical, and that is time.

(I used to say damn it some one must tell me what is happening to me. I used to call sickness up to my every measurable surface with the incantation: Show yourself.)

May 9th: Medical Imaging Department, University of Alberta Hospital Multiplanar, multisequential MRI of brain with and without IV contrast

FINDINGS: T2/FLAIR bright lesion in the right middle cerebellar peduncle measuring 1.3 x 1.0 cm.

A lesion is any localized abnormality found on the body. Lesions are not particular to a disease or condition: they signal a structural difference from healthy tissue, nerves, etc. My lesion is in my brain, on my cerebellum. My lesion is too deep for biopsy. After this MRI, my diagnosis was brain cancer with a differential of multiple sclerosis.

Following some diagnoses, sadness, fear, and desperation continue to increase. For the moment, the doctor’s work is done, and emotions unfold in private interiors, among you and others near you, where they disrupt no one but yourself and these others near you. I tried to move around my home the way I had the day before. I tried to move as if I could feel the floor beneath me, and as if I could breathe that easy breath of the continuous life.

May 17th: Diagnostic Imaging, St. Mary’s Hospital MRI HEAD C-\

FINDINGS: solitary lesion in right middle cerebellar peduncle, could represent a demyelinating plaque.

Demyelinating plaques are the scleroses of multiple sclerosis, areas where the protective myelin that encases nerves is stripped away. After this MRI, my diagnosis was tentatively multiple sclerosis. Finding out that brain cancer is a misdiagnosis is at once a relief and a terror. The razor edge of life newly-granted balances just on the other side of a gaping death. How to live when you know how easy it is to die? It was not so much a misdiagnosis as a difference of opinion. The lesion in my brain is hunkered down deep, unavailable for biopsy, and so, in itself, gives no more information than the fact of its existence. Doctors have argued right in front of me, before a screen of my brain, the points for and against both tumor and plaque. (Some illnesses submit only to that final test, time).

“This is a difficult case.” — my neurologist.

I wanted an etiology. Diagnostics and prognostics are future-orientated projects, optimistic in form if not in content. I wanted that dire course of my recent past, the charted points of my specific failure. I wanted an etiology general to the type of neurological event I experienced, but also specific to my personal life. What had my body done to itself? And when, exactly? What time was it when those changes in my brain became irrevocable? (When I fell sideways up the stairs on Tuesday? When I hugged the lap of a vestibular therapist instead of going to the ER?). There are no tests that can identify these moments, and these are not in fact medical questions. They are the existential crisis and the abjection of feeling, and then seeking, the fracture-line of meaning in a life.

(For a long time, I didn’t let myself remember anything from before. I stored a lifetime in the orbital bone around my right eye. The skin there became painful to the touch. This is the pain of non-recognition, I told myself. And it was.)

“The real question is, what will this look like in your life, practically speaking.” — my insurance adjuster.

“MS is just a word, it doesn’t change who you are.” — a different neurologist.

I disagree. But this is the nexus of insurance pragmatism (who you are is the same as what you can do), and brash medical optimism (illness affects what you can do only in so far as you let it).

While diagnostics are the test of illness, function is actually its truer measure. How much will you lose? What can you expect to be able to do around the house? At work? In the bathroom? And with what good humor, what positive attitude, will you confront the losses? For every functional loss, the medical industrial complex offers a mechanical, technological, pharmaceutical aid to replicate the function, which insurance adopts and identifies as the means of labor in illness. The sick person is responsible for availing herself of all of these accommodations. I have a bar in my shower so I don’t break my neck when I close my eyes. And that is about all the accommodation available to me. Yet the promise of medicine and the expectation of insurance is that I will find a way to reproduce all my functions, and myself.

(As if I could sit right back into myself. As if a self was an armchair. As if I wasn’t recast anew by illness. As if I had it all save for these isolated deficits.)

An insured body is a body that demands evidence.

My losses are both difficult to measure and to accommodate: chronic fatigue, chronic headaches, motion sickness, poor balance, tinnitus, hyperacusis, sadness, nostalgia, anger. The latter three are not in relation to loss of function. They hover over the outrages that are: the inexplicable, the past, and the eternal subject position of patient. The former kept me out of work, and qualified me, for a while, to a partial salary replacement through my work’s insurance plan.

The discourse of insurance shares interests with the discourse of medical testing: it is concerned with naming (secular baptisms), with categories, and with function, but insurance has fewer classifications — payable and non-payable conditions — and is interested only in function insofar as it relates to labor, and labor to paid work. Where medicine seeks results, positive proof, by which to name, authenticate, and file illness, insurance seeks negations. The first principle of insurance is the de-authentication of bodies, and the discovery of function where there is no health.

“How long can you keep your head up unassisted? How long can you read a screen before becoming nauseated? Have you attended acupuncture for the recommended 6 months?” — my insurance adjuster.

Insurance banks on the wellness industry’s persuasive, and now fully internalized, imperative to maintain ourselves, to somehow counter deficits in function that are medical, social, or economic. (Wellness is a leveler). It says: supplement yourself until your awkward and angular disability becomes streamlined quick-stepping ability; until, in spite of your age, illness, children, or finances, you are as able as a young god who has never been sick or poor or pregnant or faltering, or any age but twenty or any color but golden.

Health insurance is a fitting figure for the neoliberal relation between wellness and money. The obvious relation between the two is that diligently minding your health will keep you well enough to stay in paid work, or to keep looking for paid work. But the lens of insurance tightens focus on the actual obligation to self-care as an act of compliance in this exchange. To receive benefits, the sick have constantly to prove their dedication to health, their sense of their own responsibility for recovery, to earn the insurance money they actually need to survive. It is too easy to forget that whatever compensation we get, either private or state, we have agreed to pay for in one way or another. We have bought it like every other thing.

Because it functions as part of the service economy, insurance is in the business of selling lifestyles. But insurance doesn’t pay the sick in health, if it pays at all. Because the product is money, insurance effectively sells the material ability to sustain your life, the lifestyle of being alive. The emails from the insurance adjuster were full of resources: organizations and websites dedicated to the management of diet, sleep, pain, relationships, stress, and general outlook on life. They recommend supplements, meditation, stretching, and saying yes to social engagements. It is a deft slight of hand; insurance’s identity as pure finance (money making money) is obfuscated, and self-care replaces money as the means of survival.

(Don’t weary of supplementing, of fighting, of therapy. Don’t let on that your one desire is not to reenter the competition.)

The adjuster gets a bonus when she helps someone get back on her feet. She was eager to find a diagnosis for me that fit within the company’s regulations of non-payable conditions (any condition with qualitative effects; any condition in which a measure of ability remains). And because I myself was in the fading twilight of believing that knowing more could mean feeling less, I went to a neurotology clinic in Toronto for a last round of testing.

August 12th: Hearing and Balance Centre, St. Michaels Hospital

The neurologist in Toronto sits me on a swivel chair before a room of medical interns. This one is a test for all of us. I stretch out my arms and look at my thumbs. He spins my chair.

“Eye movement normal or abnormal?” “Abnormal!” “Disturbance from ear or brain?” “Brain!”

We all pass. But abnormal brain is not a diagnosis, nor is it new information. I undergo seven more tests, the data from which yet again evade a secure diagnosis but confirm the following: “The patient has a demyelinating plaque that involves the function of her cerebellum, which is readily evident in both her neurological history and the appropriate abnormalities on her neurological examination.”

My last visit is with a psychologist. I answer a questionnaire:

Do you ever think about past instances of vertigo and feel fear? Yes. How often do you worry about your vertigo returning? Fairly often. Do you feel anxious talking or thinking about vertigo? Yes. Very.

I begin to cry, not like me, but maybe like I did as a child. The psychologist looks at me and I see I have become an informer for the wrong side. My affective response is not appropriate to the questionnaire. I drop tears on it. My face is hot and red above it. My body is full of the wrong kind of information. Not data. Not paper print out. The typed questions before me should not elicit this much sadness. It is the sadness of memory, the sadness of waiting, the sadness of testing, the sadness of never knowing. It is the sadness of illness.

The psychologist writes a prescription. “I want you to take this every day, in increasing doses until you feel one hundred percent better. Don’t stop increasing until you forget that any of this ever happened to you. Until you forget the word vertigo altogether.” His reaction to me is remarkable for a few reasons. He asked me no questions related to sadness and made a diagnosis based on the sight of my crying. But while paying attention to only my body’s visible reaction to the questionnaire, he also forgot my body. Chronic is that which continues. In this instance he has forgotten my lesion and its daily symptoms. I will never forget that this has happened to me, because it continues, returns, flares and eases and flares again. But his advice also relates to function. He thinks I am too sad to function, as if memory (which shares a certain form of repetition with the chronic) is keeping me from “living my life.”

(Why say, I won’t let this change me? Why not say, this is a small death? There are many deaths before the end.)

Two months after this, I lose my insurance on the grounds of an “unmanaged psychiatric illness.” The immeasurable and qualitative displays of affect that once obstructed the object of medical investigation become themselves the object, and finally the primary diagnosis, when run through the metrics of insurance. Losing health insurance to an unnamed mental state is a gothic, a spectral, a gnostic kind of sexism. Hysteria, nervousness, sadness. Neurological exams and MRIs — literal pictures of illness — are nothing against these feminized monoliths. I didn’t see it coming. Because the front end, the interface, of insurance operates as customer-service, my insurance adjuster never let on that she was gathering information for anything more than helping my case, finding me resources, keeping me covered. She called me by name. She called me at home. Insurance is the long con.

What is insurance but an incorporated wager against you?

It sounds counterintuitive; insurance always assumes the lesser risk. But the lesser risk is not illness — the lesser risk is the contestable data of illness. A dismissal such as mine comes down to an easy gamble that has little to do with health, or even function: What does she have in her hand? Is it enough to overturn this ordinance?

(I lost the same game we are all losing.)

I can say that after everything I still don’t know what happened to me or what will happen. I know less about my body than ever. All that data, all those tests, all of my own Googling, and I will still never know if I am doing the right thing. I don’t know if I’m doing the right exercises, or eating the right foods. I don’t know if I bought the right shoes or painkiller or pillow. I don’t know. I don’t ask anymore either. With the lesion came an initial threat of cancer and death, and then the differential of multiple sclerosis and the prospect of immobility. For now, in that final and enduring test (time), I live beside, or within, or along a set of chronic symptoms, which, gathered together, have no medical precision, but exist in my body as the residuals of a neurological event that is either ongoing or not; that will either repeat itself or not; that will either kill me one day or not. I’ve spent the interim attending to losses not physical. Opening that safe of memory around my right orbital bone and letting out old bits now and then to look at, from a great distance.

#chronic illness #embodiedness #illness #sickness #contested illnesses #medicine #medical insurance #commodification #health #vertigo #diagnosis

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oddcoupler222 · 5 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you had any more lesbian books recommendations since I've read most of the ones you recommended and I loved them so much

boy oh boy do i

- Pretending in Paradise by M. Ullrich -

When travelwisdom.com assigns PR specialist Caroline Beckett and travel blogger Emma Morgan to cover a hot new couples retreat, they're forced to fake a relationship to secure a reservation. Ten days in paradise would be a dream assignment, if only they'd stop arguing long enough to enjoy it.

Reputations are Caroline's business. Too bad she was forced out of her previous job when an ex smeared hers all over the office grapevine. She's never getting involved with a coworker again, especially not one as careless and unprofessional as Emma.

Emma knows that life is too short to play by the rules. But when she goes too far and a defamation lawsuit puts her job in jeopardy, she has to make nice with Caroline, the image police, and deliver the best story of her career.

Only pretending to be in love sure feels a whole lot like falling in love. When their story goes public, ambition and privacy collide, and their chance at making a fake relationship real might just be collateral damage.

- The Goodmans by Claire Ashton -

Doctor Abby Hart lives in a small, quintessential town in England, and is pretty content in her life. Maggie Goodman - a passionate and fiery woman, is like a mother to her, and Richard Goodman is a father she never had. However, she’s in love with their daughter, her best friend, Jude Goodman.

Jude, also a doctor, who is very straight and very unaware of Abby’s feelings. Even if Jude had ever given a woman a second glance, there’d also be the small problem of Maggie – she would definitely not approve.

But secrets have a habit of sneaking out, and Abby’s not the only one with something to hide. Life is just about to get very interesting for the Goodmans.

(not a super compelling summary, however, there are 2 love stories that are very heartwarming)

- The Do-Over by Georgia Beers -

Fifteen years is a long time. Long enough to forget the past, forge ahead, and create a terrific life. Bella Hunt has done exactly that, complete with a successful career, a gaggle of close friends, and a home she loves. Life is good.

Or it was, until her teenage nightmare and the bane of her high school existence shows up for Bella’s class on conflict resolution.

Easton Evans, in all her pretty, blond, my-parents-are-surgeons glory, throws Bella into an existential tailspin as her unpleasant memories from her past come screeching back. Easton doesn’t even recognize Bella, and what’s worse, Easton is...different somehow. Softer, kinder. And still unfairly attractive.

None of it computes in Bella’s head. She’s hated Easton for fifteen years, done her best to scrub the past away. But now here it is. The past. Sitting in her classroom and waiting for Bella to teach her how to resolve a conflict of the heart.

(also by Georgia Beers, I would recommend browsing through her extensive books because there are a ton. I’m not into all of them, but Blend and What Matters Most are also good reads)

- Beautiful Dreamer by Melissa Brayden -

Philadelphia real estate broker Devyn Winters is at the peak of her career, closing multimillion-dollar deals and relishing it. She’s pretty much blocked out her formative years in Dreamer’s Bay, where the most exciting thing to happen was the twice a year bake sale. Unfortunately, a distress call hauls her back home and away from the life she’s constructed. Now the question is just how long until she can leave again? And when did boring Elizabeth Draper get so beautiful?

Elizabeth Draper loves people, free time, and a good cup of coffee in the warm sunlight. In the quaint town of Dreamer’s Bay, she’s the only employee of On the Spot, an odd jobs company. She remembers Devyn Winters as shallow in high school, but now everything about Devyn makes her lose focus. Though her brain knows Devyn is only home temporarily, her heart didn’t seem to get the memo.

(I’m usually really hesitant to rec Melissa Brayden because I personally feel like she is highly overrated in the lesfic community. But I did enjoy this book by her. And her “seven shores” series that features 4 friends who live in LA is okay too)

- Falling Hard by Jae -

Dr. Jordan Williams devotes her life to two things: saving patients in the operating room and pleasuring her latest conquest in the bedroom. Her idea of commitment is spending a few hours together in bed.

Single mom Emma Larson is Jordan’s polar opposite. Family and fidelity mean everything to her. After an ugly divorce from her wife, a plastic surgeon, she and her five-year-old daughter move in next door to Jordan. While she finds Jordan undeniably attractive, falling in love with another womanizing surgeon is the last things she needs.

When a bad fall leaves Jordan in need of assistance, Emma decides to help her while she recovers.

Could those six weeks turn out to be the beginning of a happily ever after, or will they both end up with a broken heart?

(I rec’d Jae on my other list but I hadn’t read this one by her. I recently did and enjoyed it a lot more than I’d thought - a very nice slow build up, and Jordan is black, which is unfortunately not common in lesfic. She also has a book, Perfect Rhythm, where a main character is asexual, if that interests you)

- Easy Nevada and the Pyramid’s Curse by Georgette Kaplan -

Easy Nevada is a fortune hunter with an eye on a pyramid buried for two thousand years. She’ll do anything to get her hands on its untold riches, if she can just get past the deadly traps that protect them.

Candice Cushing is an archaeologist born in Sudan and raised in Britain, who is drawn toward the mysterious pyramid that she sees as a piece of her heritage.

Farouq Al-Jabbar doesn’t see it as either history or treasure. The zealot has come to destroy anything that smells of blasphemy, and anyone who gets in his way.

In this wild adventure, as the stakes ratchet up amid the burning, shifting sands, the women fighting for their lives start to wonder if they’re really so different after all…and if that cursed pyramid has been buried for a reason.

(admittedly, there isn’t like a “romance” in this? But there is plenty of flirting and the hint of a romance to come, and there is going to be a sequel coming out)

#book recs #please promise that you read behind the green curtain out of my first list

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breakfastteatime · 5 years

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Not!Friday Fanfic Friday

I keep thinking today’s Friday, so have a fic :P Have a dose of Thursday angst and humour, sprinkled with hurt/comfort.

And yes, I did turn my physio experiences into Noct’s. Also, exercise is great for mental health. Can’t recommend it enough. That whole runner’s high thing is legit... although it’s swimmer’s high for me because I’m not allowed on the treadmills ^^;

Physio helped.

Physio gave him strength.

Physio wasn't supposed to be easy.

Physio was supposed to make him better. That's why it hurt.

Those were the laws according to Gladiolus Amicitia.

"Ten more seconds, Noct," Gladio said.

Noctis swallowed every complaint.

"The burn's good for you."

Only an actual sadist would say that.

"Hold it. Don't let the shaking bother you. That’s just your muscles doing their job."

The Plank sucked. Especially after an entire cycle around the gym including weights, cardio and stretches. The plan was to rebuild his body's strength and stability. Noctis knew it helped; previous rounds of intense physiotherapy always helped in the past, but that didn't make it easy. He was definitely gonna feel this tomorrow. His back and bad leg had been especially troublesome lately, the combination of incredibly damp spring weather and another growth spurt conspiring to render him immobile. Which meant no combat training, just muscle strengthening and attempts to regain his pre-growth spurt flexibility. Because every time he grew, it brought a new set of challenges, undoing all his hard work.

And after a week out of school due to the chronic pain, Noctis would do whatever it took to escape the Citadel and get back to his normal life.

Gladio’s voice pulled him back to reality. "That's a minute."

Noctis didn't let himself collapse to the floor. That would hurt way too much. That said, he reached a certain point of lowering down when his arms just gave out on him. He hit the mat and groaned. No more today. He knew this pain. It wasn't the type that faded after ten minutes’ rest. This was the type that stayed unless tackled with medicine or magic and minimal amounts of movement. And given that Dad was busy and Noctis' control of healing magic sucked, it would be pills and bed for him. Unless this got any worse. Then he'd have to take one of the potions reserved for his worst days.

"Don't stay down there," Gladio said. "You'll seize up."

Gladio was right, but Noctis had pushed his body to its limits today. Sure, it was kinda stupid to go so hard, but he needed out. Also, the physio really had helped. His pain wasn't as bad as last week. His recovery times were faster than before. And he was actually able to do an entire circuit of the gym without stopping halfway through. Improvments for sure. Which meant his body needed to get it together so he could go back to school. He missed hanging out with Prompto; messaging wasn't enough.

"Can you get up?" Gladio asked in a serious tone, rather than the one used when he'd successfully parried one of Noctis' more ambitious, and ultimately doomed, attempts to kick his ass.

Pulse pounding in his throat, Noctis knew he wouldn't be getting to his feet alone. He shook his head.

Gladio held out a hand. "On three?"

Noctis took Gladio's hand. As promised, Gladio eased him to his feet. Noctis gingerly tested his bad leg. Not bad. Not exactly great, but it'd take his weight. Sort of. Like maybe a third of his weight. If he limped.

"Deep breaths," Gladio said. "Don't want you passing out on me."

Noctis took a breath. Okay, good. He didn't feel so dizzy now. He resisted the urge to lean into Gladio. He was sore and exhausted, the worst points of pain pulsing to the beat of his racing heart.

"Alright, we gotta go to the table. Work some of the issues out of your back."

Noctis restrained all complaints, mostly because they wouldn't be words but weary and embarrassing weeping instead. Gladio's deep tissue massages always felt great after he was finished. Unfortunately, they were pretty painful to endure, especially when his back had already hit its lowest point.

"Just focus on how good it's gonna feel once I'm finished," Gladio said. "You can take some meds then too. You know we have to - "

"Find the worst spots, I know." That way, Gladio could adapt the exercise programme. Slipping out of his t-shirt, refusing to dwell on the scar now exposed for all to see, Noctis settled on the massage table and enjoyed the brief relief being off his feet brought.

"Breathe, okay?" Gladio said. "Deep breaths. Focus on the end goal."

"You would've made a great motivational speaker," Noctis said.

"Hah hah."

Head turned to the side, Noctis watched Gladio grab a few essential oils to help with muscle tightness and swelling. They smelled amazing, and if Noctis focused on those, it took his mind off the pain. That, and the sound of rain washing over the window beside him. On a clear day he'd have a great view of the city, but today it was all lost to fog.

"Ready?" Gladio asked.

Noctis swallowed his fear. "Yeah, ready."

What followed was forty minutes of having his muscles, joints and bones pummelled. When Gladio found a particularly knotted muscle, he stayed with it until he was satisfied he'd worked it out. Noctis tried not to shudder when Gladio's hands and elbows worked over the scar. He hated the feeling of other people touching the gnarled, bumpy flesh. He barely liked touching it himself when he showered. Patches of it were completely deadened, but others? Sometimes he had nightmare of accidentally catching his fingers in it and clawing his way through his own ragged flesh until -

"Growing really doesn't agree with you," Gladio said, working in a particularly painful area in Noctis' lower back.

Tears sprung to Noctis' eyes. "I'd stop it if I could."

"Nah, you can deal with a bit of pain if it means you gain a few inches."

Right now, Noctis wasn't sure he agreed. And every time Noctis tensed or forgot to breathe, Gladio reminded him to relax.

"I know this sucks. Would you believe me if I told you your back's a lot better than it was at the start of the week?" Gladio asked.

"Yeah, I believe you," Noctis gasped when Gladio caught a particularly bad patch.

"Breathe," Gladio said.

Noctis gasped like he'd surfaced from deep water. "Trying."

Gladio never mentioned the wobble or crack in Noctis' voice.

Eventually, as promised, Gladio used gentler motions to soothe away the pain. By the end, Noctis was jelly. Sleepy, achy jelly. With maybe just a few tearstains on his cheeks.

"You wanna take a nap here?" Gladio asked.

He could. He really could. Except as comfortable as he was, it wouldn't feel so good later when he woke up cold and unmedicated. So instead, Noctis accepted a warm blanket and a helping hand. With Gladio's support, he shuffled back to his rooms. There, Ignis had already left out water and medication, giving Noctis the options of mild meds, powerful meds, and the specialist potions created for him by Dad and the doctors. Noctis went with option two. Ten minutes later, clad in fresh sweats and bundled under a fresher blanket, Noctis slept. And when Gladio woke him a few hours later for food and more stretches, Noctis had to admit this whole exercising thing was working. Slowly, sure, but he could feel the improvements. Soon, he knew, he'd be back to normal.

Still, it was nice to be able to settle on the couch in the parlour with a hot water bottle and feel relaxed rather than tense and uncomfortable. He checked his phone and replied to what looked like Prompto's live-messaging of another day at school. Come back soon, Noct! I can't take this boredom without you!

Noctis smiled and replied. I'll be back soon. Then you can copy from my notes again.

Isn't it your royal duty to help those less fortunate than yourself? We can't all be geniuses.

Noctis snorted.

"What?" Gladio asked.

"Prompto said I'm a genius."

"How'd you convince him of that?" Gladio asked.

"By actually doing my homework," Noctis replied. And getting top grades. Nothing less would suffice.

"Yeah, having Ignis around to make you do things sure helps your grades."

Noctis glared at him. "Ignis doesn't do it for me."

"Sure he doesn't."

"He doesn't! He's way too busy."

"Oh, so you would get him to do it if you could?" Gladio teased.

Noctis grabbed a pillow and threw it at him.

Bad idea. Pain rumbled down his back.

Noctis ignored it. The pain didn't compare to the sight of the pillow hitting Gladio square in the face. Definitely worth an extra ache or two.

"Oi," Gladio said. "You must be feeling better if you think you're gonna get away with that."

The pillow came back, smacking Noctis in the face. He fell back, laughing through his pain.

Gladio got up from his seat, grabbed the pillow from Noctis' lap, and gave his hair a ruffle. "It's good to see you're feeling better."

"Yeah," Noctis said. He looked up at Gladio, fist held out. "Thanks."

Gladio bumped his fist against Noctis'. "Any time."

#Breakfast Tea Tumblr Fic EXCLUSIVE #pre-game #Brotherhood Era #FFXV fic #hurt noct #gladio's a great big brother #ignis and prompto are mentioned #Breakfast Tea's adventures in physio #it only really hurts when my physiotherapist puts excess weight on my back #OW dude OW #he made me hop the other week when I was having a bad day #who knew hopping could be that painful?#but physio helps #like a lot #combined with swimming and yoga I'm having less pain #pain free days here I come!

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