#ive experienced worse since. but this is the thing that stuck. probably because i was younger? that would make sense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mari-beau · 3 years

Text

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FOUR - A Rogue One Fanfic

So this part/scene got a little out of control. Ironically, since I only had the base idea of when it would take place until I started writing it. You can also find/read this story on AO3 now.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Four

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Some sappiness?

Words: 2,978

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

...

“Ms. Erso, it is time for you to vacate the infirmary.”

Jyn jerked, jarred from sleep and reaching for the knife she no longer had on her person. Her situation settled back around her surfacing consciousness, calming her immediate fight-or-flight response but keeping her on edge.

“No,” she told the medical orderly droid. “I already told the doctors, medical staff and you lot that I’m not leaving Captain Andor. I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

“Yes. You were most clear regarding your intransigence, Ms. Erso.”

Droids had the worst attitudes. Shouldn’t med ones be programmed with a better bedside manner?

“But the bed is needed,” the droid went on when she just wanted it to go away so she could wallow in the overwhelming mix of emotions drowning her; loss, guilt, relief. “There are numerous incoming casualties from a skirmish in the Za’dan sector.”

Jyn scowled, but didn’t budge.

“What difference does it make if I leave? It’s not like I’m taking up an extra bed.” As if to prove her point, she shifted closer to Cassian in the infirmary cot, making her already petite body take up even less room.

“Captain Andor is to be processed for discharge. So you will keep your superfluous vow that he won’t wake up alone. Even though he wouldn’t be alone anyway. There are medical staff and med-droids present.”

Jyn was too alarmed by the droid’s revelation to mind the griping typical to its type.

“You’re discharging him?!” Jyn shifted, pushing herself up to study the unconscious man.

How well she knew every bruise and injury visible and many hidden by the white medical tunic and pants. She’d passed out herself from exhaustion as they began treating her injuries, but as soon as she’d woken up, she’d bullied, threatened and pleaded until they brought her to Cassian, making her wait outside the operating room, only able to watch as they finished the surgeries and treatments. They’d let her curl up in a chair next to the Bacta tank they’d stuck him in afterward, and no one even questioned by the time he was relocated to an infirmary bed when she climbed in beside him.

She’d seen the bandages, bruises, burns and scars. And she knew how they’d changed as the hours, the days had passed. Barely days, just three days since Scarif. Were they insane? They were just going to turn him out, in his condition?

Apparently, they were.

The med-droid was already injecting him with something, and Cassian was rousing. Jyn’s heart beat faster and she practically held her breath, on her knees on the edge of the bed, leaning forward with anticipatory anxiety, clutching at her kyber crystal with one hand. His past few hours of sleep had been strained. He’d been unconscious but also tense, in pain. She’d felt it in the rigidity of his muscles, the periodic hitches in his breathing.

“Did you give him more meds for the pain, too?” she asked the droid. How could they ask him to get back on his feet when he was in so much pain just lying still?

“Yes. And the stimulant should keep him awake until he gets settled back into his quarters.”

Jyn sagged in relief slightly until Cassian came crashing back into reality with a gasp and a jerk, and bewildered, began to thrash. She threw herself on top of him, placing her hands on his shoulders to hold him down, hoping he wouldn’t hurt himself worse, but understanding how confused and frightened he must feel.

“Cassian, It’s Jyn.” As if that would make a difference to him, if he even remembered her upon waking from a days-long practically-a-coma, someone he’d only met far less than a week ago and since had suffered devastating traumas. “You’re safe. You’re on the rebel base on Yavin 4. In the infirmary.”

Almost instantly, he went still, calmed, like a switch had been thrown. But she supposed the man did have quick reflexes, was highly adaptable to various situations. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it so long as a rebel spy.

“Jyn?” His eyes found her face. They were a little glassy and unfocused but were still, well, captivating, dark, intelligent and expressive. “What happened?”

“We did it.” She shifted back to kneeling beside him, gave him a smile, a genuine one albeit bittersweet. They had succeeded in their mission, but at a tremendous cost. “The plans to the Death Star were received by the fleet.”

“Are they planning an attack?” Cassian pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing and inhaling sharply, making Jyn picture the freshly healed surgical incisions that were doubtless strained by the movement.

“I…” Jyn had never thought to ask. The moment she realized they weren’t going to die on that beach, making sure Cassian survived had become her only concern. “I don’t know.”

“I should report to Command.” Cassian moved to get out of the infirmary bed, but Jyn stopped him, grabbing his arm to hold him back. She shimmied across the bed and hopped off it to stand in front of him.

“If they needed any more information or intel, they would’ve asked me.” It sounded plausible, even though if they’d tried it, she couldn’t rightly say she would’ve cooperated (they hadn’t listened to her the last time she tried to convince them of the truth), but especially if it meant leaving Cassian’s side. Even for a moment. How had someone else become her primary, her only concern, that she now cared only for his welfare? “And you’re not in any shape to help. Give yourself a little more time to heal.”

She reached for him as he was already trying to stand, stiffening and wobbling for a moment when he was fully upright. But Jyn would support him without him needing to ask, slid her arms around his waist and tucked her shoulder under one of his arms. He leaned into her, likely without even realizing it. From what Jyn could tell, Cassian was an independent sort of person, like herself, but unlike herself, was not too proud to accept help, being more of a team player than she ever had been.

His fingers went to pinch the bridge of his nose and his eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, deep breath, swaying a little.

“How far are your quarters from the infirmary?” she asked.

He sighed. That close, was it?

“Can you make it? If I help you?” Jyn looked around, but the droid had already stripped the bed and skittered off. She would go find whatever he needed for assistance because maybe he was a little proud, too, and had sacrificed a good portion of his independence by leaning on her. She waited, letting him decide, despite her wanting to wrap him up in soft warm blankets in a fluffy bed of pillows and keep him safe.

“Let’s try it. I should probably find out how bad the damage is sooner than later.” His expression had gone tight and unreadable, and her heart broke to think of the justified fear he must be feeling, that he may have suffered permanent damage that could affect the rest of his life, that might take away his purpose of serving the rebellion.

“They healed the blaster wound easily, but you’ve got an impressive scar,” she said as he took a tentative step, using her like a crutch, not questioning why or how she knew his wounds and medical diagnosis and treatments. “The fractures in your vertebrae and ribs probably haven’t completely knitted yet but the prognosis is good.”

Well, this wasn’t so bad. His weight was a burden making her own steps difficult, but Jyn didn’t begrudge it, not when it meant he was alive, and on his feet even. And they were already at the infirmary door. The medical staff hadn’t given them even a second look, but Jyn steeled herself for the possibility of stares as they entered the rest of the base. She couldn’t care less but these were Cassian’s fellow soldiers and he deserved their respect and not pity.

“They replaced your hip and part of your femur,” she said when they entered the hallway.

“Is that why it feels like I’ve been sliced open from my ribs down to my knee?”

“They sealed you back up.”

A light chuckle escaped him. “Things could be worse, then.”

They could, they really could. If Jyn were to make comparisons, it wasn’t just the fact that they hadn’t died on Scarif like it seemed they should’ve, but this situation she found herself in, saddled with a wounded spy (by her own choosing), on a rebel base, a Death Star out there somewhere in the galaxy… It was still the best place she’d been in since… Since she was abandoned by Saw at 16? Since her mother had died and her father had been taken?

Part of her that enjoyed the warmth of Cassian’s body beside hers, the feel of his wiry flank beneath her hand, the smell of his skin, even the weight of him he placed on her shoulders, that part proposed that this was the best situation, the best time in her entire life.

How pathetic did that make her?

She enjoyed dragging a severely wounded man around some giant old ruins half-reclaimed by the jungle converted to a military base… sort of base… The Alliance was so loosely confederated, everything seemed slapped together and piecemeal.

But hopefully the medical facilities had been up to par… They had seemed nicer than anything Jyn had ever experienced. But that wasn’t saying much at all.

“You need a minute?” she asked, finally realizing Cassian’s steps and breathing had become labored. She maneuvered him towards a wall and leaned up against it with him, nodding to a passing rebel soldier of indeterminable rank and unnotable appearance.

“Maybe it would’ve been better if you’d left me on Scarif,” he said, his voice low, quiet and pained as he almost-panted, sagging against the ancient stone wall.

“No,” she said. “You don’t mean that.”

“I was ready to die.”

She didn’t want to hear this. The meds and the strain were making him say things. She told him as much.

He shook his head.

“Listen to me, Jyn.”

What could she do? What could she say? That she didn’t want to hear how he valued his life so little, that he’d throw it away just for the slim chance of providing an opportunity for the rebellion to destroy some Imperial weapon, a terrifying one, but one weapon of many. She-

“I felt peace. For the first time in my life, probably.” His voice had gotten even lower and quieter, almost a whisper, wistful even. Jyn didn’t dare look at him, had to concentrate on breathing normally when she felt his fingers slip into her hand. It was easier to consider her unsolicited affection for the man when he was giving no indication of whether or not he returned it. “And I think it was because you were there. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I didn’t feel alone.”

Oh, Force. He was getting delirious, saying things that, from what she knew of him, he would never share even if he did feel them.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your own bed.”

He didn’t say anything else as they traversed several more halls, and Jyn wondered if she’d hurt his feelings by not responding to his raw, quiet confession. But he continued to lean on her without any hesitation and the silence between them felt comfortable. It was strange. He’d made her so tense in the beginning, the way he watched her, how secretive he was, so guarded. But somehow, somewhere along the way, she grew to not only feel comfortable with Cassian Andor, but to trust him as she’d never trusted anyone else before.

And she thought, maybe he trusted her in return. He followed her on a suicide mission, let her support his injured, vulnerable self on Scarif, let her drag him off that cursed planet, and now lead him across the rebel base, passing by people who really amounted to the only family he’d ever had.

There weren’t many, however. And none stopped. Or stared, too much. The med droid must have been right about the incoming survivors of the skirmish, everyone seemed a little rushed and mission-oriented. Or maybe there was more going on…

“Stop. Stop.”

Jyn immediately froze.

“Are you okay?” she asked, shifting beneath Cassian’s weight to try to get a good look at his face. “Do you need a break?”

“We’re home,” Cassian said, his eyelids sliding nearly shut before they shot open again.

“Oh,” Jyn said, ignoring the way something fluttered inside of her over his choice of words. “Which one?”

“Left side of the hall.” He indicated the door directly to their left with a nod of his head. The stimulant must be failing to combat the pain meds, and his body’s need to rest, to heal. Because he was getting heavier and more slack in her arms.

They staggered over to the door to his quarters and he was at least coherent enough to punch his code into the lock. His room was by no means large, barely larger than Jyn’s cell on Wobani. But at least he didn’t have a cellmate, er, bunkmate… Well, not officially…

She basically dumped him on the narrow bed, which he didn’t seem to mind at all, making a groaning sound of relief and taking several deep breaths, his legs hanging awkwardly off the side. Not knowing what else to do, she bent to lift his legs and slide them onto the bed, forcing him to lay down in a less uncomfortable position. She pulled the white slip-on infirmary shoes off his feet and tossed them in a corner, feeling only a flash of contrition over sullying the pristine room. It was so austere, even with two of the walls comprised of the old stone of the ancient temple. It could’ve been anyone’s quarters. No. That was wrong. It’s nondescriptness, everything hidden away in the meager storage units, only Cassian would keep his personal space in such a spartan manner.

“Cassian…?”

He mumbled something she took to imply he was listening and not passed out yet.

“Do you have extra bedding? A blanket or something?” She could do without. She had, many times. But it would be a little bit better than sleeping on the bare hard stone floor.

“No… Jungle moon… Already too hot… Why?”

“I was going to sleep here, if you don’t mind,” Jyn said. Why was this an awkward conversation to have? Why was she so afraid he’d say no, send her away? “On the floor.”

His eyes opened and that furrow formed between his brows as he studied her with a gaze that seemed to be having trouble focusing. But then he was scooching over until he was almost touching the wall.

“I think this is a nanometer larger than the infirmary cot,” he said. “What do you think?”

Jyn tried not to smile as she kicked off her own flimsy infirmary shoes and climbed onto Cassian’s bed to stretch out beside him. Something inside her sighed, content. She didn’t let it out.

“I don’t know…” she said. “But I guess if they made the infirmary beds nicer than the barracks, they’d have sick rebels all the time.”

A chuckle escaped through his nose.

“I don’t think they usually offer an ángel as a companion, either.”

“What?” Jyn shifted onto her side to study his face. His eyes were closed and he seemed content. The pain meds must be working.

“My mother was a believer in an Ancient Festian religion that worshipped a creator god. I don’t remember very many specifics...” Jyn didn’t dare breathe out, afraid of interrupting the story, softly spoken with hints of nostalgia, sharing a childhood memory, an intimacy she knew Cassian permitted, well, probably no one. “Except, there were these creatures that did the creator’s bidding, guiding people, aiding them, saving them… Angeles… I don’t know the word in Basic…”

He looked at her, and her apprehension about breaking the spell ebbed. Cassian knew full well who he was talking to, even if the pain meds had loosened his tongue, broken down the rigid walls he kept around his private self.

“I don’t know the word, either,” Jyn said. “I’’ve never heard of such creatures, mythical or otherwise.”

Cassian laughed, a soft little rumble that was accompanied by that rare smile of his that was brighter than a yellow dwarf sun and warmed her just as well. But, “What’s funny about that?”

“You…” His hand found hers, fingers sliding against her palm to curl around hers, engulfing her smaller hand. He shifted to face her, wincing a little, but his expression was soft if serious and . “Jyn, you saved me, guided me, are still coming to my aid… You’re my angelita…”

Oh, shit, he was so tired and drugged up he was becoming incoherent. Hopefully, he wouldn’t remember saying such emotional things- oh.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of her knuckles, making her swallow a gasp of surprise, and fight the sigh when he held her hand to his chest as he lay back, his eyelids finally losing the battle and sliding shut.

Oh, Cassian…

“Don’t worship me,” she whispered to his sleeping form. “I’m nothing worth venerating.”

Of course, was she behaving any different when it came to him?

They were quite the mess, the two of them.

She wriggled her fingers in his hold until she was able to interlace them with his and feel the warmth of his palm against hers. Jyn closed her eyes, immersing herself in the quiet, safe moment.

#fic: give me a reason #Rogue One #fanfiction #rebelcaptain #cassian x jyn #Cassian Andor #Jyn Erso

16 notes · View notes

witchcraft-in-wonderland · 4 years

Text

Ships and Shells (Pt.2)

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

Virgil was already aware he wasnt the best tracker of time, but this was getting ridiculous. How long had he been trapped here? Two? Maybe three weeks? Was it more? Was it less? He couldnt tell, all he could count on to tell time was the appearance of Roman with trays of food at exactly six in the morning, noon, and six at night.

"So I take it we're still not close to land hm?" Virgil growled as he heard footsteps yet again.

But then he realized, these were different, these were heavier.

"Ah, Mr. Duke." Virgil said with a smirk and a snarl.

"Now your highness I know you dont like me but downgrading my title so harshly? Have you no heart?"Remus said, faking hurt.

"Nope, not one," Virgil responded, which, oddly enough, earned him a laugh from Remus' end.

"Aaawwweee, you poor thing, it must be so hard to breathe," Remus purred, Virgil rolled his eyes.

"What do you want." Virgil said lowly.

"We're almost to the next town, so we need to establish some rules," at this, Virgil straightened up slightly, this could be it, his chance at escape.

"There will be guards on all exit points, and no other ropes will be far enough down to reach, so dont plan anything stupid," Remus said, Virgil smirked slightly, pitiful, he thinks ropes being a little high up is going to stop me he thought.

"You will only be allowed in the main part of the ship, not the cabins, those are reserved for crew members," Remus continued, that was probably a given, but Virgil would find a way to break that rule to.

"And finally, Don't. Touch. Anything." This last rule was said with such aggressiveness that it nearly caused a shiver down Virgil's spine, he felt mildly betrayed by that.

"Is this understood?" Remus said coolly, Virgil merely nodded in response.

"I meant for you to respond verbally, your highness," Remus said.

"Understood." Virgil said, slowly regaining his composure.

"But, I do have one question," Virgil said, turning slowly.

"And that is?" Remus raised an eyebrow.

"If I cant touch anything," Virgil wrapped his hands around the bars of his cell, "then I've broken rule three every day since ive been here," Virgil smirked.

Remus stared at him for a few moments, dumbstruck, or at least, Virgil hoped he was.

"I meant, dont touch any items outside of your cell, floor and walls are fine, but no papers, books, ropes, wheels, candles, none of it," Remus said. Virgil ran the phrase over and over again in his head to try and find some type of loophole, but when none presented itself, he went quiet. He watched as Remus produced a key from his pocket and began working the lock on Virgil's cell.

Virgil rushed out nearly immediately after the gate swung open, half expecting Remus to grab him and shove him back. But no such moment came, soon he was out in the open air, the scent of salt water enveloping him, the feel of the breeze on his skin was almost comforting now.

"Keep him alive, please." Remus stated to the guards. Virgil watched as he, Roman, and Janus, jumped off the boat, each dragging something behind them.

And then Virgil was left with two guards on each side of the boat, standing beside the openings that would allow for Virgil to rush off onto the mainland. But he'd worry about that later, the twins and the snake were still all to close for him to run for it now, so it was unsafe for him to attempt anything just yet.

So he waited.

And waited.

For what seemed like years, he waited.

And finally, he noticed a slip up, and once he did, it was showtime. He knocked the closest desk over and waited for the guards to attempt to restrain him, only to sneak under their arms and rush out through the now open exit.

He landed with a thud on the harbor, and ran into the town as fast as his legs could carry him. He ignored the shouts from his captors, ignored the staring, ignored everything that was keeping him trapped in that ship.

The buildings in this town were a lot smaller, and there was no wall around the outside. The docks were lined with shops, jewelry and clothing and all sorts of other things hung from booths and lay on counters. It was then that Virgil realized, he didnt have money. Lucky for him, most of the people in the crowd were nearly a foot taller than him, which made it much easier to snag a cloak and an apple from the booths on which they lay.

This was alright for a while, until he ran into other people. Though in this case, the couple seemed far to focused on each other to even realize he was there, until the shorter man, dressed in light blues, with a grey scarf and cap on his head, broke away from his partner and turned in Virgil's direction.

"Oh dear- my apologies- didnt see you there-" said the shorter of the two.

"That's the idea," Virgil said quietly, this earned a worried expression from the first boy, the second, dressed in a blue long sleeved shirt with a black bandana around his neck, merely seemed intrigued.

"Are you hiding from someone? Is everything alright?" The first man stepped forward a little, cautiously.

"Oh yeah it's great, been stuck in a pirate ship cell for like two weeks with nothing to go off of but cryptic messages but its fine!" Virgil exclaimed with a sigh, barely caring about the fact that he didnt even know these people.

"Oh dear- that must've been awful," said the first boy.

"You'll have to excuse him, hes never actually interacted with pirates before," said the second boy, fixing his glasses.

"And you have?" Virgil said, looking him up and down.

The boy quirked his mouth slightly, into a sort of half-smirk that he couldnt quite finish.

"Former Lord Admiral Logan Sanders, at your service," Logan said, bowing slightly. Virgil's eyes widened slightly, he pulled the cloak further over himself. If Logan had been in charge of ships at one point, he likely knew about Virgil, and he had no plans to go back to the castle either.

"Nice to meet you," Virgil replied.

"And this is my fiance, Patton Boleyn," Logan said, gesturing to Patton, who gave Virgil a wave and a nod.

"Nyx," Virgil said plainly, though the word felt like bile as he tossed it out, it was the safest thing he had for now, but he certainly didnt want it.

"Oh have I been getting it wrong then? I couldve sworn the queen called out for a Virgil when we brought you on the ship," Virgil froze as he heard Remus' voice, and then he ran. He didnt care where he was going or how long it took to get there, but he wasnt staying on that ship, nor in that castle. He could hear footsteps racing after him, the sound swinging and wind blowing through the air.

And then again, cold metal pressed against flesh.

And then he woke up back where he'd started, a cell with wet wooden planks and a falsely comfortable looking bed.

Only this time he wasnt alone, this time he heard crying, and yells, fury like he'd never heard before.

"Oh quit whining, we're not going to hurt any of you, but we cant have you running off to tattle on us, now be a good prisoner and shut it," Virgil snarled as he heard Remus' voice, he was beginning to hate it, hate every joke that fell from his lips, hate the way he twirled that stupid mustache of his when they talked, all the flirting and the compliments, it was like the captain thought he was to foolish to see what was really going on!

"Ah! Our perfect prince has awoken from his slumber, now tell me Virgie, did you really think it would be that easy to escape?" Remus said, leaning on his morningstar and flashing a grin.

Virgil was about to open his mouth so he could tell Remus where to stuff it, when suddenly, he began to feel sick. Not just a fleeting sickness, either, no, this was like someone had set his insides on fire. He held back the screams for a few seconds, and was surprised to find a worried expression make it's way up Remus' face when he let loose.

"JANUS! MEDIC!" Remus turned and rushed out of the cell room.

Virgil couldn't tell what happened next, because one second, he was curled in a corner and clutching his sides from pain worse than anything he'd ever experienced before, and the next, everything was swirling away into a deep blue and black, almost like a dream.

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

Tag list:

@thefivecalls

@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@itsnithbabey

@private-snippers

@extercs-experiences

@rich-flower-17

@theonetruebeepboop

@mycatshuman

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

47 notes · View notes

bakugoukatsuki-rising · 4 years

Note

Ive had this story ive been wanting to share ever since i started following this blog (months) which is the main reason why i started shipping bkdk and why, whenever i hear people saying their relationship hasnt changed at all, or that Bakugo hasnt grown enough, or that Midoriya is just being delusinal on "admiring" kacchan(have you ever heard that one?), i get very frustrated, soooo

May you listen to my story? :T

Basically i also had a childhood friend i shared the same class with for 10 years. From 5 to 15. So a big chunk of my child/teenage years

We were besties for 8/9 of those years?

She was... What my sister calls "a fictional character in real life". She was just... A huge princess, bratty, confident, and always made sure she got her way. She also grew up to become, in my opinion, the prettiest girl my age I'd ever met.

I dont know how we became friends, but my youngest memories of us together are of me chasing after her while she, (and the rest of her admirers) did whatever they wanted.

She wasnt the best person to me.. I dont think even half of the stuff she did she realised she was hurting me for real, but she did. I was her bestie, so i couldnt play with anyone else, but while i was with her I was called useless, nerd, weirdo, annoying. Once, when we were little, she isolated me from a sleepover at her house cause i didnt want them to cut my stuffies fur. That might not seem like much now, but inside the world of a 7 year old.. It was big. Once we got older, it got much worse as i was the only girl in my class who was still flat as board, didnt have an insta, and worse off all, they found out i liked anime and games :00.. It was as if i had been outed for liking that stuff and they constantly shamed me for it.. It was absolute hell for at least 2 years until we got to a bigger school where more people liked those things and people with more strength than me and didnt take shit made her shut up.

This might already remind you of a certain angry boi from a certain bnha(or not, thats fair), but the part that connects it all is that.. I really really admired and liked her despite all that crap, for all those years.

Honestly, shes the reason i still question my sexuality. I think i had a crush on her back then.

She was just.. So awesome when she wasnt bullying me! She was confident, and made friends easily, and had a way to manipulate others that was so obvious snd yet somehow no one seemed to get it, and she just had this charm, and always looked so pretty... If she decided she was gonna do something, then she'd do it. And she was strong too.. Some stuff would happen in her home life and shed shrug it off. Then there were also these moments where she opened up a little and let me see inside. One of my sweetest memories of her was once where she appeared as a surprise to my birthday to sleepover. She begged her mom to do it cause she wanted to see me during my birthday,as i later learned. We spent the night undercovers playing and talking. My mom had a photo of us all tangled up together sleeping the next morning. I was the only one she did that for. I loved knowing that. I was proud of it.

And so, no matter what else she did, i never left her side.. I didnt have anymore friends, and despite our relationship being toxic, i couldn't leave her..

But eventually, we just, broke? Im not sure how it happened. I met other people, better people, who were good friends, and i still talk to. She also met other people, who liked taking pictures and going shopping, and gossiping. And then, for the first time ever, we were separated into different classes. We never really talked again after that.. And that just makes me.. So empty inside. I wish i could talk to her now, and tell her so much crap. How she hurt me, and how i loved her despite it, and how she was my definition of confidence and victory. Still is.

When i met bnha, Bkg and Mdr, i remembered her, and our friendship, and now when i see them together in the manga now,i just think what couldve been for us if we stuck together. Especially cause i still see her sometimes, with other friends and boyfriend now, and she really seems older.. More grown up. Not the brat i knew. Im not sure cause we dont talk, but yeah.

So i completely understand Midoriya. How he admired Bkg despite the bullying, and believes in him, and felt overjoyed when Bkg spoke to him, or simply doesnt care anymore when Bkg is meaner. He knows its just him being bratty, not exactly mean

And when people say they haven't evoluted(?) enough, i just... Get frustrated!

Theyve changed so much! The way they interqct now is different, and will probably keep changing, and whqt i think they really need to fix theur relationship is the apology.. I long for that horribly.. For maybe obvious reasons :|

I wish id had the opportunity to work through my relationship with her too.. If our relationship could be like theirs is now.. Id be overjoyed

Sooooo, just a little story for any anti-bkdk or just people that cant understamd how Deku still tolerates Bkg.

To anyone who cared enough to read this, hope you have a super duper day! ^^

(this was too big omg, im sorry Q^Q)

-The Shy Pancake 🥞

Never too big, my friend. Thank you for sharing your experience with my, I love to learn about my followers and this was very sweet to read. It's always wonderful to be able to connect to fiction based around our real life experiences, as long as we're able to separate ourselves from it, of course.

I think it's great how you're able to better understand Deku because of what you've experienced in your own life, and I love that it allows you to appreciate the relationship between him and Bakugo.

I hope maybe one day you could talk to that friend again. 💕

#bnha #bkdk #welcome to the farm #anon #asks #basketball idiot replies #basketball idiot #shy pancake

24 notes · View notes

albatris · 4 years

Note

ik this is probably an inappropriate question to ask but i deal with stpd and just recently discovered this. Previously thought it was just depression/anxiety but ive been on like 7 antidepressants/2 of which were more geared towards anxiety. I was wondering if you take any meds or have any advice you might recommend. Id really appreciate it. Im running out of ideas lol.( Sorry to bother and thank you)

nah you’re all good, I don’t have any problem with questions like this n I’m happy to share any experiences of mine that people might find useful!! though in this case idk how much help I’ll be, sorry D:

mostly about meds but my bad for goin on a whole ramble in the middle about therapy?? I talk a lot and have trouble staying on topic

'cause meds n therapy both have been useful to me but both probably would've been pretty useless without the other

under cut for personal rambles

so I was in the same boat as you for several years, I was in treatment for depression and anxiety and then borderline later on, way way way before anyone landed on schizotypal

as such I’ve been obviously dealing with stpd symptoms for basically my whole life but I only got diagnosed early last year n it’s the first time I’ve been. like. actually in any sort of therapy that addresses it properly and I’m still getting a feel for it

in terms of meds, I’ve been on a whole slew of different antidepressants, didn’t find one that worked until I was maybe 18 or 19? so I’ve been on the highest dose mirtazapine since then....... helps with that kinda baseline anxiety background hum, helps with obsessions and guilt spirals..... I didn’t think it did much for depression until I tried coming off it??

like, it gave me a slight boost in terms of energy and motivation, not a huge one, but definitely noticeable once it was gone

but yeah, it was kinda..... yeah, this med is about as helpful as I’m gonna get, so I decided to stick with it. I recently have considered coming off it ‘cause the sedation was a nightmare, but that’s on hold for the time being

I’ve been on two different antipsychotics, first quetiapine, which did absolutely nothing and was even more sedating on top of the mirtazapine, and currently I’m starting on aripiprazole. still on a super low dose, but working up to something that will hopefully ease some psychotic symptoms. side effects of insomnia and nausea but eased off mostly after the first week

but yeah, I haven’t really had much experience with antipsychotics or how helpful they are yet, atm I’m gonna wait and see whether there’s any real positive effects

but meds are super hard to give advice about, ‘cause different ones work for different folks, what works for me might not for you, what works for you might be something I tried and hated, etc etc etc, y’know

honestly the most helpful thing for me has been therapy, I’ve pretty much been in therapy since I was like 5 and I’ve done a lot of it

meds might be helpful to some people on their own but for me I think they would have been mainly useless without some form of therapy

meds kinda helped with some of the “edges” ie, the resulting depression and anxiety of the personality disorder, hopefully will help with some psychotic symptoms too, therapy has also helped with some of these issues on the edges, and I’m currently addressing some of the more specifically schizotypal core issues, although I will likely have to continue doing the work on those issues for most of my life

if you have a good doctor who listens to you, if you want to continue trying out meds then you might still find one that helps you out! I don’t really have a lot of advice here, because the effects can be so different from person to person. but I’ve found that meds only help on a really small scale, they kind of take a little bit of the weight off but it’s still a whole lot of heavy lifting on my own

so therapy was real good for some of that stuff too, skills for easing some of the load. therapy for me involved Other People, but for others it could involve other resources, such as online workbooks n that kind of thing....... ‘cause I know personally for me I fuckin HATE meeting new people and having to bare my soul for them, so therapy gets. interesting

and I know therapy is not realistic for some folks (and also not what this question was about but I’m just rambling now)

n I know especially that that shit gets fucking HARD when any sort of psychosis and paranoia is involved, in terms of stpd, I flat out refused to speak about certain symptoms with professionals due to paranoia and fear, and had a lot of issues trying to come into a therapy environment and immediately having complete strangers be like “ok tell me about what’s up”

like, no???? fuck off?? I don’t even know you??

n until recently all my therapies where only tangentially useful as a schizotypal, like, I did a bunch of social anxiety stuff which helped with some of the surface level day-to-day social anxiety (not so much the more deep-seated stpd social anxiety, that whole “it gets worse the closer you get to people” type, very fun), I did a lot of work around depression and suicidal urges and goals and meaningful living and whatnot, I did DBT which also encompassed a lot of work on interpersonal skills and handling dissociation and paranoia

n like. some of it was helpful? none of it got to the core of the issue or addressed what I really needed to address

I got super lucky with my current psychiatrist in that she was someone I already knew for around a year and a half beforehand ‘cause she helped out in my DBT group therapy. so I was able to get a feel for what kind of person she was beforehand and got to find my feet in trusting her in a more distanced context before entering one on one therapy. she also specialises in personality disorders and was the one who actually diagnosed me so it wasn’t like she was like “oh you’re definitely schizotypal, I’m gonna just pan you off to someone more experienced now” which was nice

she’s also the one who’s helping me out with meds currently

but ya, therapy can be A Lot, ‘specially for schizotypals who tend to isolate and get uncomfy in those vulnerable scenarios. in order to make the most out of it I have to practice an extremely uncomfortable sort of “radical openness” which is like..... well, I’ve spent most of my life being miserable and unhappy and feeling trapped and stuck in these patterns, and this has gotten me nowhere, in order for something to change I need to be radically open about my experiences

which gets HARD because the knee-jerk reaction to paranoia and delusions is often to pull back and isolate, and often I’ve struggled with the idea that it’s not “safe” to speak about certain things or that something bad will happen if I do

so it’s difficult, but I have to continually commit myself to being open and placing myself in intensely uncomfortable scenarios, getting used to the idea of trust being An Action, and practicing trust even when I don’t necessarily Feel It

that’s been a really helpful outlook for me and the only thing that’s kept me involved with therapy and meds and treatment. idk if it’ll be useful to others. I also know that some therapists and psychiatrists are shit and being radically open with the wrong people can be a nightmare

but it’s something that applies in my other relationships too and with my relationship to myself, so. *shrug emoji*

but yeah. that’s been what’s helpful for me

meds do a little bit of the work, but honestly I still have to pull a fuckload of the weight on my own, I kinda got to the point with meds where I was just like “ok this is obviously as good as it’s gonna get” and just stuck with it......... which is kind of a bummer of an answer

ik that kinda turned into a whole unrelated ramble in the middle there but I hope this kinda answers a bit of your question maybe or maybe not ‘cause I don’t really know what I’m doing

but also

I hope you have a nice day

#sorry this is such a rambling wishy-washy answer #tl;dr meds r good but sometimes shit. therapy is good but sometimes shit #like both have probably been really instrumental to me in learning how to manage my symptoms #but also #both can be a nightmare #also idk if this made any sense at all it's a bit of an all-over-the-place response #n bits of it aren't really relevant i don't think #schizotypal #Anonymous

16 notes · View notes

littlemiss-eat-a-lot · 4 years

Note

What was your worst / most embarrassing experience, what have you experienced since gaining weight / getting fatter?

To look at me you or talk to me you wouldn't know but i struggle (in my head) with pretty bad social anxiety so I dont put myself out there too much , like theres things id wear around the house that i wouldnt wear in public because even if i feel confident in them , i know how others would react and i like to kind of keep myself to myself if that makes sense? so I haven't really had many embarrassing experiences as such and I'm quite open about being fat (although not the feedee lifestyle) so people see me as this outgoing person who makes fun of herself , is open and happy with being really big and doesn't give a shit what people have to say (again I dont seem outwardly anxious) . So people tend not to say anything to me , my mum says I'm beautiful no matter what and she saw me struggle with my weight as a teenager and is just happy that I'm happy in myself.

I did once sit on one of those chairs that hold some air in the seat and it let out a loud noise which was embarrassing in step 1 of a job interview , in step 2 for the same job I broke a chair from sitting on it so yeah I wanted the ground to swallow me whole 😂.

Theres a lot that comes with getting bigger that people don't realise . There's painful joints (mainly my knees are stiff in the morning ) I have to roll over a lot more at night because my legs get sore on the side im lying too. You don't have as much motivation to do things like (at risk of sounding like a terrible mother) I hate swing parks and running around although I do it because I want mt child to be as happy as possible. I get out of breath easier ofcourse.

And something no one thinks about is well its hella expensive to be this fat 🤣🤣 between the foot i eat , the clothes are more expensive right down to the fact I've broken numerous beds!! The bed I have right now has a big ditch in it where I sleep because I've broken the divan base , wooden slats are a no go and neither is a metal frame , i need something reinforced 😅.

Aside from all of that theres the medical aspect , I damaged my gallbladder from doing high calorie weight gain shakes back in 2014ish and had some minor issues with it for years and then it got 10 times worse when I had my child in 2017 . I struggled with excruciating pain after heavy meals and after one really bad attack in December 2018 I ended up in hospital with acute necrotizing pancreatitis- a gallbladder stone was stuck and my pancreatic juices were literally eating me from the inside out , my kidneys started failing and remain damaged to this day along with my pancreas which now only has 50% function , the rest is dead, the pain was the worst thing I've ever experienced and I couldnt walk or breathe without pain for days- it took me 20 minutes to get to the toilet in the hospital room. My surgeon didn't think I'd make it through the night but I fought! I had to eat no fat for 3 months and lost a few stone by the time my operation came round, i had my gallbladder removed last March and been fighting fit every since with no side effects, no more pain and ive found it very easy to gain weight without trying ever since!

I know you probably expected my reply to be 'im so fat I break shit a lot , get stuck in the bath , my belly touches my steering wheel when I drive' etc but yeah this is the reality of being a very fat person . Ofcourse theres lots of good too but you didn't ask for that 🤣🤣💗

28 notes · View notes

chickensarentcheap · 4 years

Text

Best Part of Me -Chapter 88

Warnings: none

Tagging: @tragiclyhip, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007

The final attempt at sleep had been successful. Although the road ahead of him is destined to be long and extremely difficult -and no doubt agonizing- his brief moment of wakefulness had done wonders to life Esme’s spirits. That chance to speak to him; to see him open his eyes and know -with one hundred percent certainty- that he was able to acknowledge her. It wasn’t a drug induced incoherent rambling or hallucination. He actually saw her and was able to engage; giving appropriate responses and showing concern for her and the baby. Able to express how he was feeling and that telling her he loved her. No one could ever possibly understand how just incredible that small moment was, or what an enormous impact it had on her state of mind. She knows it won’t be easy. There will be weeks, even months, of healing; tremendous pain and more hard times than easy ones. A full recovery could take as long as a couple of years; countless rounds of physical rehab will be needed and most likely therapy for mental health and addiction issues. But he’s already shown just how tenacious and strong he actually is; his will to live a lot more powerful than the agony he’s experiencing. With so much to live for, his desire to be with his family again is his main driving force, and she knows he’ll be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on his feet again.

Nathan may have been able to break his body, but he hadn’t made a dent in his spirit.

The burden she’s been carrying -the fear, worry, and uncertainty- had been lessened, and she’d been able to drift off; both body and mind allowing her to rest. So soundly in fact, that she’d only briefly stirred in the wee hours of the morning when Julie had come in while on her rounds. Merely lifting her head from the pillow; quietly observing as the nurse switched empty IV and medicine bags with full ones. Then she’d simply rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head, and easily drifted off.

Her sleep once again had been filled with dreams of the past. Millie’s first steps and how ecstatic and proud Tyler had been; never getting to experience many of Austin’s milestones because of deployments. How tearful he’d been the morning he’d walked into her room and Millie -who’d been standing up in her crib, excitedly bouncing up and down at the mere sight of him- had called him ‘daddy’ for the very first time. And the way he’d broken down in the delivery room when the twins had been born -even harder than he had when his daughter came into the world- and the nurse had given him TJ and said “Here’s your son”. He’d lost his first, and getting that moment again -a baby boy presented to him- had profoundly affected him A man that rightfully shouldn’t even have been alive. Who’d been given a second chance and at times didn’t feel as if he deserved it. There are still times he thinks that way. When the demons of the past resurface and play havoc on his brain; convincing him that the mistakes of a younger man and the amount of blood on his hands has turned him into a monster. It’s the nightmare of living with mental health issues and PTSD; those dark moments where he questions his mere existence and openly states that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now; a wife and children that love and accept him unconditionally.

It’s hard for people to understand. How a man that is so big and so strong -and often intimidating- can have those kinds of thoughts and vulnerable moments. But they don’t know everything that he’s battled. His childhood is one of his best kept secrets; only her and Koen know the full extent of his father’s behaviour, the abuse inflicted, and the long term damage it has caused. It’s not something he readily talks about; even with her. That toxic masculinity still gets the better of him at times. His father’s attempts at beating into him that a man -a REAL MAN- doesn’t show emotion; it means that he’s weak and there’s nothing more pathetic than being weak. And she’s tried to break him of it; years spent assuring him that he isn’t a weak man. A weak man would have given up in that storage facility. In the same way he would have given up on the Sultana Kamal Bridge seven years ago. And he certainly never would have survived the nightmare of his upbringing. Nor would he be so determined to be a better man; the kind of husband and father that a wife and kids can brag about and proud of. Who never have to live in fear of him ; cowering every time he raises his voice or even comes too close to them. Who know -beyond the shadow of a doubt- how much he loves him.

Tyler Rake is anything BUT weak. And he’d shown that the night before. Somehow finding a way to battle his way through this thick haze of multiple medications; gathering the strength to not only open his eyes, but actually think coherently and communicate. He was right. He DOES do whatever he wants.

When she finally wakes, it’s to the patter of rain against the window and the sounds of hospital life trickling through the half open door. Doctors being paged, the shrill ring of patients’ using their call buttons to summon for help, the loud rattle of gurneys being pushed through the halls. It’s a harsh reminder of her current situation; stuck in the ICU of a private hospital in Dhaka, thousands of miles away from her children and the comforts and security of her own home. She misses it. The sound and the smell of the ocean. The morning breeze and sunshine as she stands out on the back deck enjoying that first cup of tea, watching her husband as he helps Millie and the twins search -and dig, at times- for shells, rocks, and beach glass. Often wondering who is enjoying the quality time more; father or children. The dinners cooked on an open fire down by the water; the smiles brought to their faces -and that unconditional love and immense pride in his eyes- as they watch their children play and listen to those little voices and musical giggles floating on the air. And those strong, protective arms wrapped around her from behind as she sits between his legs. Her head resting against his chest as they quietly marvel at the sky; painted vivid shades of orange and pink as the sun sets.

It’s a life she had never even dared to dream about; a beautiful home in an even more even more beautiful place, amazing children and a husband that is faithful and loyal and only has eyes for her. All those things that she’d come to believe SHE didn’t deserve and had long ago given up on finding. How poetic in a way; two broken people coming together to make a slightly dented whole.

Sighing heavily, she rolls from side to back; eyes closed as she stretches and yawns The morning sickness has returned. With a vengeance. More than likely made worse by lack of food and the stress and worry that have accompanied the last twenty four hours. When she manages to quell the threatening nausea and brief spell of dizziness, she opens her eyes and sits up, finding a small paper bag sitting on the extra pillow beside her; name written on the front of it in black marker. And the contents bring the first genuine smile since yesterday morning; aside from Tyler’s brief period of consciousness. A bottle of prenatal vitamins, a small carton of chocolate milk, and an enormous blueberry muffin. Accompanied by a handwritten note from Julie; asking Esme to promise she’ll look after herself AND the baby, assurance that she’ll be back on in the evening, and her home phone number. The latter being offered as not only a ‘helpline’ if she feels overwhelmed and scared and needs someone to vent and cry to, but so she can give the nurse a list of some of her favorite foods. Julie vowing to bring a selection when she clocks in for her shift. It’s refreshing; having someone WANT to take care of her in that motherly fashion. Especially when her own has been anything but.

She shoves her feet into her sandals and climbs off the bed; returning it to its couch form. “Hey baby,” she greets as she stands at the side of Tyler’s bed; combing her fingers through his hair and pressing her lips to his temple. “Good morning. I hope you slept god. You didn’t snore, I know that much. That’s a first, huh? Me not complaining about your snoring? Must have been a really good sleep for you to be THAT quiet. You deserve it; that kind of sleep. Your face looks a little better, I think. Not as swollen. Pretty bruised though. And you’re going to have a couple wicked scars at the end of this.”

Her fingers gently touch the stitches below and above his eye.

“You’d probably joke about how it balances your face out; the right catching up with the left in the scar department. I think they’re going to make you even sexier. Which should be illegal, if you ask me. One man being that sexy? No wonder you’re a DILF. The thirsty ladies may drive me crazy, but I can’t really blame them. Right now I’m kind of mad at you though. I am so nauseous. And I swear, the bump is even bigger this morning...look…” she pushes her fingers through his, then draws their joined hands through the safety railing and places them on her stomach. “...bigger, right? You can’t tell me this is normal. None of the other ones were this size so soon. Not even Declan, and he was over ten pounds when he was born. And you better not be thinking multiples; one is all we can handle right about now. Let’s not bite off more than we can chew, alright? Six is more than enough. And speaking of babies, I’m going to ask Ovi to bring Addie here. She’s tiny still, Tyler. She shouldn’t be away from us this long. Especially me. She needs to be with her momma. And I think it would do you some good, too; having at least one of them here. So that’s my decision and you’re just going to have to live with it.”

She moves his hand back inside the confines of the bed, gently setting it on the mattress

“I love you,” she says, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You keep sleeping, okay? And I hope if you’re dreaming, it’s good things for a change.”

****

She gives a small start when she exits the bathroom and finds Koen sitting in the bedside chair. Sipping from a take out cup of coffee and freshly shaven; his face bearing its own fair share of bruises and a handful of butterfly bandages keeping small, superficial wounds closed.

“Morning, sunshine!” He cheerfully greets, and nods to the cup of tea and a bag of fast food breakfast sitting on the window ledge. “I finally get to see you in your sexy jammies.”

Esme gives a derisive snort. “You DO have issues if you find sweatpants and an oversized shirt sexy,” she says as she journeys over to the window “I was going to give you shit for scaring the crap out of me, but seeing as you come bearing gifts, I’ll let it slide.” She peers into the bag, a grin tugging at her lips. “Either it was just a lucky guess, or you somehow know that when I’m pregnant, I always crave breakfast burritos.”

“There’s a lot I know about you. Someone talks about you. All the time. Mostly about shit I don’t need to know.”

“Well I’m glad you listened. Because this is a very nice surprise. Thank you,” she lays a hand on his shoulder and presses a kiss to his cheek. “And what’s up with this?” She lightly taps a hand against the side of his face. “All cleaned up. Smooth like a baby’s bum.”

“I thought there might be some hot nurses walking around. Want to put my best foot forward. Maybe you can hook me up; put in a good word for me.”

“Why would you want to hook with someone here? You’ll be going home soon.”

“Exactly.”

“Ewww…” she grimaces. “...I don’t need to know that you’re a ‘pump and dump’.”

“Considering the things I’ve had to hear from you and him?” Koen nods in Tyler’s direction. “What I said is tame. I’ve actually had to listen to you two….”

“I thought you were moving on from random hookups?” Esme remarks, and she perches on the arm of his chair and delves into one of the burritos. “I thought you were getting too old for that shit?”

“Excuse me, who are you calling old?”

“I thought Tyler was rubbing off on you. That he was some sort of inspiration to you and Rata; convincing you two it was time to stop sowing your wild oats and settle down once and for all. Didn’t you say it gave you hope? That if...and I quote…’someone can put up with the likes of him, that’s proof there IS someone out there for everyone’.”

“I did say that.”

“So what gives? Why are you looking for a random? You deserve more than that”

“Well if he was awake and could tell me where to find another one of you, I’d be all set.”

“Sorry. I’m limited edition. And I’ve already been claimed. A couple breakfast burritos just aren’t enough to make me divorce my husband and run away with you. It definitely takes more than that.”

“I knew I should have gotten you hash browns too.”

“That would have done it! Boy, did you ever blow that. I would have for sure ran away with you. Right this very second.”

“You know, as much as I enjoy our little banter, I don’t think I could handle you.”

“Oh, you definitely couldn’t. It takes a special breed of man, believe me. And I’m serious; aren’t you tired of NOT having someone to call your own? Someone to go home to at the end of the day? Someone that is your ‘be and end all’? Your ‘ride or die’?. You deserve to be happy. I WANT you to be happy.”

“I think Tyler took all the happy and didn’t leave any for anyone else.”

“When we get home, I am finding someone for you. I don’t care what it takes; I will put you on every dating site out there.”

“What about your sister? Or step sister. Whatever she is.”

“Riley? Are you serious? She’s twenty three!”

“And?”

“And you’re thirty years older than she is!”

“How old do you think I am?”

“I know you’re eight years older than Tyler. He’s almost forty two. So I lied; you’re only twenty seven years old than she is.”

“And?”

“And that’s fucking disturbing!”

Koen shrugs. “She’s cute”

“She is. You know who else finds her cute? Women. Who she is into. And she’s not a switch hitter.”

“Doesn’t take after her older sister, huh?”

Esme frowns. “He told you THAT, too?”

“He’s told me a lot of things, sunshine. You forget; he’s a chatty drunk. Until he’s a depressed and weepy drunk, that is.”

“There are many sides to him you don’t get to see. Sober sides. And don’t worry; my sister isn’t in contention, but I WILL find someone for you. And speaking of someone, where’s your sidekick?”

“He saw something downstairs he liked.”

“Really…” she playfully wriggles her eyebrows. “...blond or brunette?”

“Something in the gift shop. For the baby.”

“He knows?”

“EVERYONE knows.”

“Yaz has a big mouth,” Esme grumbles. “We weren’t going to tell anyone until we got home and found how far along I am. It’s what Tyler and I wanted.”

“I could gather a guess. About how far.”

“Sure you could,” she mutters. “And why do you keep looking at me like that? Why do you keep staring at my crotch?”

“I’m looking at your stomach. Where’d that come from?”

“It’s been there. I’ve just been hiding it because no one was supposed to know! Now that everyone does, I guess I don’t have to wear baggy clothes anymore. And it’s big, right? The bump? Bigger than any of the others?”

“How should I know? I only saw you pregnant with Millie and Addie. Never saw you with any of the boys.”

“It’s never been like this so soon! How big IS this baby?”

“Look at the size of the kid’s father. Maybe it’s taking after him. Or maybe there’s more than one.”

“Why would you do that? Why would you think it? Don’t put that out into the universe. There’s just one. That’s it. That will make it six. A nice even number.”

“Number six must be pretty damn big then.”

“You know what? You’re off my Christmas card list. There’s no way we’re running away together. You totally shit the bed. No second chances for you.

“What if I bring you chocolate?”

“Not even then. You just had to jinx the entire thing.”

Koen gives an over dramatic pout.

“Buddy, I have seen better pouts on a much bigger man. That won’t work on me. You have nothing on Tyler’s pout.”

“He doesn’t pout.”

“He sure as shit does. I’m going to prove it one day. I’m going to catch him doing it and take a picture. Then I’ll have the evidence. Tanner has the EXACT same pout; he mostly does it when he’s sleeping.”

“Speaking of pictures, I’ve got a little something for ya.” Koen reaches into the side pocket of his cargo pants, pulling out his cell and then thumbing through the gallery; choosing the image he wants and offering the phone to her. “Thought it would make you smile. The world’s a shitty place when you don’t. You got yourself a pretty nice smile.”

“You’ve been taking ass kissing lessons from the best, haven’t you,” she chides, then pops the last of her breakfast into her mouth and wipes her hands on her thighs. “Oh...my...god…” she breathes, and almost squeals in delight at the sight before her. Her husband long before the hardness and weariness brought on by his time in the military, substance abuse issues, and the dangers of the job. Before all of those demons took hold of him and he’d yet to go under a tattoo artist’s needle and no scars marred his body. Tall and lean; broad shouldered and bearing the start of the strong and solid physique of a soldier. A brush cut and a smooth, clean face; the smile -genuine and pure- making his eyes crinkle and sparkle.

“Back when he couldn’t even grow a proper beard yet,” Koen muses. “When he was still wet behind the ears. Nothing hard ass about that bloke in the picture, is there.”

“Where did you get this?” Esme can’t explain it; the tug at her heart and the emotion choking at her and the tears that well in her eyes. There’s something so surreal about it; seeing the person you love long before a hard and unpredictable life got a hold of them.

“Found a box of old pictures when I was going through some stuff back home. Meant to show it to him, but never got around to it. You mentioned before that you’ve never seen what he looked like before...well...before all of this.”

“I’ve only ever ever seen one picture of him. When he was five; with his mom on his first day of kindergarten. He doesn’t have any other ones; he says it’s not worth the grief he’ll get if he asks his dad if he has any. This is…I don’t know...it’s amazing. You have no idea what this means to me; seeing this. ESPECIALLY right now. This is everything. You can’t possibly understand what this does for me.”

“I think I do. I know how you feel about him. That you’re just as much a fool in love as he is.”

“I certainly am,” she smiles. “How old is he here?”

“Nineteen. Hadn’t been out of basic long; a couple weeks maybe. When he was a cocky little shit and as green as fresh baby shit. Cute, ain’t he?”

“Very cute. It’s weird seeing him like this. I’ve only seen MY Tyler. The one I’ve spent seven years with. I’ve never seen THIS Tyler. I know that sounds strange.”

“I’ve heard stranger.”

“Fourteen year old me would have had a huge crush on him.”

“What was fourteen year old Esme like?”

“Awkward. Geeky. Short as fuck and chubby. I had braces and jet black hair and I dressed like a goth. Big old Doc Marten boots that went up to my knees and everything.”

“Now THAT I’d like to see.”

“I don’t even have pictures of ME when I was that young. Tyler’s never seen old photos of me, either. I think the youngest he’s ever seen me was when I was twenty-three and just got into the Corps. It’s what happens; when your family is toxic and you’d rather not deal with them. Can you send this to me? I’d love to have this. And I’d love to show the kids. Especially Millie. She’d like to see her daddy when he was young and cute.”

“I’ll send it to ya. And when we get home, I’ll bring that box down and we can go through it. I’m sure there’s more you’d love to have. “

“Thank you.” She can’t hold back the tears. “You have no idea what it means to me. Even just having one picture. And I’m sorry; that I’m a whiny bitch baby. I would like to be able to blame it on the baby and my hormones, but it’s not those things. It’s just me. I’m not exactly having the best twenty four hours. I miss my kids. I hate being so far away from them. Especially Addie. But I can’t leave Tyler here. I just can’t.”

“I could stay,” Koen offers. “He wouldn’t be alone, you know that.”

“And I appreciate it, I do. But I need to be here with him. I didn’t leave him seven years ago, and I’m sure as hell not leaving him now. It’ll be better; when he gets sent to a hospital back home. Closest one is an hour from the house. It’ll be better than.”

“Well I’ll stick around as long as you need me to. Sort of made a promise that I’d take care of ya. I ain’t breaking it.”

“You’re all heart, Koen. You can pretend to be surly and hard ass all you want. I’m onto you.”

“Yeah, well I kind of like that giant, dumb ass bloke you’re married to. And you’re growing on me. So I figure I might as well step up and take his spot and treat like you like the queen you are.”

“You smooth talker,” she teases, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you. For the picture. You really don’t know how grateful I am for it. And thanks for being here; for both of us.”

“Anytime, sunshine.”

“And thank you for being with him yesterday. I could tell he was scared and in pain, and when I think what would have happened if he’d been alone…”

“Well he wasn’t. Alone. So don’t even think about that.”

“Thank you for getting him out of there. At least if he DID die, he wouldn’t have been left there. I don’t think I’d ever get over that; if I had to leave him here. I couldn’t cope with that.”

“Let’s not think about that, yeah? He got through it. He got out of there and it’s only uphill from here.”

“He really thought he was going to die, didn’t he.”

“Honestly? We all thought he was going to die.”

She releases a long, shaky sigh and blinks back tears. “I’m glad you were there with him. At least if the worst happened, he wouldn’t have been by himself. That is my biggest fear when it comes to the job; that if it DOES happen, he’ll be alone. I don’t know why it bothers me as much as it does. I just don’t want him to be alone...you know...IF…”

“Can’t dwell on stuff like that. You’ll drive yourself insane. Or give yourself gray hair.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t already HAVE gray hair.”

“I don’t see anything.”

“I appreciate you feeding my ego, but I know you can see it. And believe, every one of my gray hairs has Tyler’s name on them. Maybe TJ too. Go figure; the junior being a TRUE junior.”

“That kid is his dad through and through. Tough on the outside, all heart on the inside. And that Millie…”

“Female version of him.”

“Exactly. It’s fitting if you ask me; him having a girl first and her being just like him. Gonna have his hands full with her.”

“She called last night. Wanting to talk to him. She had a bad dream and he always makes her feel better after a bad dream. Daddy’s the one that chases all the monsters away. She has so much faith in him; she knows he’d never ignore her. She’s already questioning why she can’t get a hold of him. I have to tell them; I can’t keep lying to them. And I’d rather they hear it from me than someone else. They’ll take it better if it comes from me, I think.”

Koen nods in agreement.

“But on the bright side, he had a really good night. An amazing night, actually. He woke up. Twice. Once for the nurse, once for me.”

Koen frowns.

“What?”

“He woke up?”

Esme nods. “The first time, Julie...his night nurse…said he woke up and wanted to know who the hell she was and that he asked for me. And he even told her he was feeling sick and she gave him some meds for it.”

“Hmm…”

“Second time, he opened his eyes and looked right at me. Told me to not cry. He said he wasn’t in any pain and that he was just tired. And he asked if the baby was okay and he said he loved me. It was amazing; to see him open his eyes and hear his voice.”

“Are you sure? That this happened?”

“What do you mean am I sure? Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Thought the doctor said they weren’t going to bring him out sedation for a few days? At least.”

“Julie said it isn’t uncommon; moments of wakefulness and some lucidity. It’s just sedation, it’s not a medically induced coma like last time.”

“He actually woke up? After everything he went through during the day? All the surgeries, the amount of meds they’re pushing into him? He opened his eyes and talked to you?”

“That’s exactly what happened. Why are you questioning it? I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying. Maybe you were dreaming. Maybe you were hallucinating from lack of sleep.”

“I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t seeing things. He woke up, looked at me, and talked to me. It happened. It was real.”

“Esme, don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe it was wishful thinking on your part and…”

“It happened,” she insists. “I was there. I witnessed it.”

“And I was there in that storage and in that van. I know what kind of shape he was in; I know how close he was to lights out. Permanently. And you’re telling me, after all the injuries, all the surgeries, all the meds, he just woke up? The same day?”

“I know it sounds crazy. And I wouldn’t believe it if someone told me either. But I SAW it. With my own two eyes. And you know how tough he is; how damn stubborn he is. Does it really surprise you that of all the people who would fight THIS hard, it’s Tyler? You know him; you know how strong he is. You know he’d do anything for me and the kids. So is that big of a stretch that he’d wake up like that? Even if it was just to give me some hope?”

Koen sighs.

“He woke up AND he talked to me. And you know what? It was incredible and made me feel better; to know his brain is working and that he’s not giving up. I needed that; some kind of sign that he’s going to be okay And he gave it to me.”

“So why isn’t he awake now?” Koen challenges.

“Maybe he used up all his energy last night and he needs to build it back up again.”

“If he’s got it in him to wake up last night, he should be awake right now. I’ve got some shit to say to him for scaring me as bad as he did. How come he’s not up now and talking to me?”

“I don’t know. I only know what happened last night. I only know…”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you,” Tyler’s voice -weak, groggy, and slightly slurred by the effects of medication- pipes up. “Now shut the fuck up. You’re given me a headache.”

“See!” Esme smiles triumphantly. “I told you.”

****

When she returns from taking a much needed shower, she finds Rata outside Tyler’s room tightly clutching a gift bag from the shop in the front lobby and pacing at a near frantic rate. It’s odd to see him this way, clearly frazzled and nervous shoulders tense; chewing on his bottom lip and occasionally stopping and peering into the room. Normally he’s the ‘life of the party’; clueless in an adorable way, always acting far less intelligent than he actually is just to get a laugh. Possessing an air of confidence without an ounce of cockiness; quick with sarcastic comments and witty comebacks. The ‘uncle’ that always sits at the kids’ tables during Christmas dinner and then helps build lego sets and put together toy car race tracks instead of socializing with the adults.

“Hey you,” she warmly greets, and lays a comforting hand on his back. “You okay?”

He responds by wrapping her in a huge; strong, muscular arms noticeably trembling.

“You alright?” Esme asks, as she runs her hands up and down his biceps. “You don’t look so good. What’s going on?”

“I don’t like hospitals much. Especially a place like THIS in a hospital. Where people are really bad. EXTRA bad.”

“He’s a lot better than anyone thought he would be. Especially so soon And he doesn’t look THAT awful, I swear. He’s even waking up for a little bits at a time. A person who is ‘extra bad’, wouldn't be doing that, would they?”

“I just don’t know if I can go in there just yet. I mean, I was there. Yesterday. In the van. I saw what he was like; how bad he was. And I’ve never seen Tyler like that. I’ve seen him shot a couple times during our tours in the Middle East, but those were nothing. Just flesh wounds, you know? But that? Yesterday? Those weren’t just flesh wounds. And by the time he got back home seven years ago…”

“He was already somewhat on his feet and in rehab.”

Rata nods. “He was almost back to himself. It’s going to be a long while before he gets back to himself this time.”

“Yesterday was pretty awful, huh?

He releases a small, shaky sigh. “Wasn’t so much how he looked. All the blood and what not. I mean, that was bad, don’t get me wrong. It was fucking awful. Pardon my language.”

“I hear and say worse all the time. You don’t have to filter yourself around me. You’ve met my husband, right? You can’t be easily offended AND stay married to him. It just won’t work.”

“It was terrible. A fucking nightmare. To see a friend of yours THAT messed up. But the worst part? It was what he SOUNDED like. When he was talking to you. I’ve never heard him sound like that. Ever.”

“Neither have I,” she admits. “Not seven years ago, not even the two times he tried to...well, you know. He never sounded like THAT.”

“Like he was going to die.”

“Yesterday I tried telling myself he didn’t sound that way. That he was just tired and scared and in pain and he just needed it to end. I convinced myself that he didn’t sound THAT bad. Near death. Now I realize I was just trying to make myself feel better, know what I mean?”

Rata nods.

“He was a lot closer to it than I want to admit. I thought nothing could be worse than seven years ago. I was so wrong.”

“It was what he said to you. How he said it. He was pretty sure he was never going to see you again. That’s the only thing he was really scared of; the thought of not getting to be with you anymore. You and the kids. You’re his entire world. I didn’t think I realized how much he loves you all until I heard the things that came out of his mouth. Opened my eyes; made me see him a different way. A good way, just different. He’s lucky. He’s got someone that loves him as much as he loves them. That’s something I think we all want but never seem to find.”

“Sometimes I wonder what I ever did right to deserve him,” she confesses. “And he’s here because of you guys. You and Koen. You did whatever you had to go get him here alive. So thank you. I know it wasn’t easy; what you had to see and do. I was there myself. Seven years ago. I know how hard it is.”

“I feel like such a dick. For not being able to go in there. Like a total pussy.”

“You’re not any of those things. People handle stuff like this in different ways. But you should go in there. He’s really not that bad. And he was awake and talking a bit to Koen. I don’t know if he still is, but I do know he’d like to see you. I know how much he appreciates what you did to help him. I’ll go in with you if that would help.”

“It would. A bit. But first,” he offers the gift bag. “ I have something for you. And the baby.”

“The baby won’t be here for months. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to. Just a little something.”

She reaches into the bag, smiling at the stuffed tiger that she pulls out of its confines. “How did you remember the tradition? Every Rake baby gets a stuffed animal?”

“Just something that stuck with me, I guess.”

“It’s adorable. Thank you. Better not let Millie get a hold of it. That girl and her stuffed animals, I swear. You didn't have to do this. You didn’t…” her voice trails off, fingers reaching for the familiar object tied to the ribbon around the tiger’s neck. Eyes narrowed at first, then slowly widening when the realization sets in it. “Where did you find this? Where…?”

“I didn’t find it. Tyler gave it to me. Before we got to the storage place. He asked me to give it to you if something went wrong.”

“He did?” Esme unties the thin piece of fabric, sliding the ring off of it and then cradling it in her palm.

“He wanted me to make sure you got it. If he didn’t make it. Said it was important that you got it.”

“I thought it was lost,” her voice cracks with emotion. “I thought maybe he took it off beforehand and put it in his pocket and it fell out. Or that the ER staff misplaced it. I didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

“I should have given it to you right away. Yesterday. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did or didn’t do. I thought it was gone. Forever. And I know it’s not much; it’s not expensive or fancy or anything like that. But it’s his. All the dents and scratches that he’s on it over the years. Sounds weird, but they all mean something. I really thought I’d never see it again. And I didn’t think I’d be as torn about it as I was. But it killed me inside; when I couldn’t find it. It felt like a piece of him was gone and I was just waiting for all the other pieces to disappear too. Thank you; you have no idea how much this means to me. To have this back.”

She hooks the handle of the bag around her wrist, then reaches around to the nape of her neck and removes the necklace -the custom made piece with the beach glass Millie had found- and slips the ring onto the chain.

“I’ll do it,” Rata offers, and steps behind her. Large fingers clumsy and struggling at first, but then manage to secure the clasp.

Esme lays a palm over the ring, firmly pressing it into her chest. Feeling the smooth, cool metal with its many imperfections, the familiar weight of it against her. And the relief that simple piece of jewellery brings is profound, stifling sobs with both of her hands as she turns and tightly embraces her friend.

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Tyler Rake fan fic #Extraction fan fiction

6 notes · View notes

ciathyzareposts · 5 years

Text

Camelot: What Makes Us Unique

This particular Camelot character has probably never existed before or since.

Back in 2004, I was meeting a friend at a bar in Boston. I opened the door to look in for him, saw that he wasn’t there, and backed out, elbowing in the stomach the man behind me. I turned around and saw that it was the governor of Massachusetts. Since then, I’ve liked to think that I’m the only person to have ever elbowed Mitt Romney in the stomach while he was walking into a bar. I’m sure plenty of people have elbowed him in the stomach on other occasions.

This is the kind of story I like, because it’s an assemblage of circumstances that has probably never occurred to anyone else. I look for those in life. I may not be the world record holder in any sport or hobby, but there’s a decent chance that by the end of my life, I will have published more blog articles on CRPGs than anyone else alive. If that turns out not to be true, I’ll only need one other modest qualifier (“than any other Mainer”) to make it true. I guarantee that I’m the only person in the world to have my particular combination of jobs (if you include CRPG blogging as one of them). I don’t hold the record for the number of airline miles flown between 2010 and 2018, but I’ve got to be within the top 10%, and when you’re in the top 10%, you only need one or two additional circumstances to make yourself unique. It’s possible that I’m the record-holder out of Bangor, Maine, for instance.

My enthusiasm for unique experiences filters into CRPGs and probably explains why I like open-world sandbox games so much. I don’t like the idea that I’ve reached the end of a game in the exact same position and circumstances as everyone else who has ever played the game. When you can’t even name your character, this is particularly infuriating. Look at my recent review of Deadly Towers, for instance. How do you really know it was me playing that game? I could have taken those screen shots from anyone. At least Dragon Warrior displayed the first four letters of “Chester.”

These issues got me thinking about the peculiar trade-off that exists between player and character. Think of a game like Pac-Man. When a champion like Billy Mitchell achieves a perfect score, we don’t say, “Wow, you created a great character there. You put a lot into him.” The very statement is absurd; every player’s Pac-Man is the same as everyone else’s. Instead, all praise goes to the hands and eyes of the player himself. In contrast, when we watch the ways that various players have won the Mulmaster Beholder Corps battle in Curse of the Azure Bonds, we look for clues in the characters–their levels, their spells, their weapons, their movements. We’re aware that there’s a player behind it all, of course–perhaps a very intelligent and strategic one. But his success is slightly diffused by the imposition of the characters. We are aware that his strategy only “works” because of the allowances of the game. Perhaps most important, we are aware that we could have done the same thing, whereas no studying of his technique is likely to make most of us like Billy Mitchell.

It is for these reasons that I don’t think it’s really possible to be “good at” a game like Skyrim. Experienced, sure. Patient, definitely. But “good”–what does that even mean? Early in its existence, some players proudly posted images on Reddit of their characters clad in leather armor and wielding pick-axes (possibly the worst weapon in the game) killing dragons. I thought it was silly. Either the game has enough flexibility to allow you to do such a thing or it doesn’t. It says nothing about your skill as a player that you were able to do it except that you were willing to use the game’s resources to grind, or enchant that pick-axe, or improve that armor, or carry and drink a hundred potions, or whatever you did to make it possible.

I just bought Irene the Myst 25th anniversary collection for Christmas. That is a “good at” game. A player that possesses the strength of puzzle-solving to blaze his way to the end without any spoilers is an impressive player. But his end-game screenshot is the same as everyone else and the “character” of the game is essentially invisible, a no-one, a ghost.

In many modern games, “uniqueness” extends quite literally to the character’s appearance.

In case it’s not clear, I’m not particularly interested in being “good at” CRPGs. I don’t play them for competitive reasons. I play them to enjoy the strategy, tactics, world-building, plots, and sense of character development. I like a challenge, but only a modest one–a temporary bump in a game that, because of its very nature (particularly because of reloading), you’re almost certain to eventually overcome.

Many people prize the opposite. I suppose even I do, in different circumstances. The value of most competitive games is that everyone’s playing the same game under the same circumstances, with no real imposition of “character” between the player and the performance. A king in chess isn’t a “character”; he’s just a piece. You don’t give him a name, and he doesn’t acquire new abilities as he defeats pawns and levels up. When he moves to take a rook, there are no probabilities associated with the encounter. When he wins, all glory goes to the player who moves him.

When my king reaches the end of a game, on the other hand, I want him to be my king–a unique character that no other player has won with. I want my endgame screenshots to look different from everyone else’s. And in those screenshots you should be able to tell something about how I played the game. Was I careful or daring? Did I rely on brains or brawn? Did I favor equipment or skills? What role-playing choices did I make along the way?

To me, some of the worst RPGs are closer to chess. Your “character” is just a gambit that you’ve moving across the screen, offering you no sense of connection or identity. These are essentially arcade games with a few nods to RPG mechanics. We’ve seen a million of them: Caverns of Freitag, Gateway to Apshai, Sword of Kadash, Sword of Fargoal. Even worse is when the game offers RPG-style inventory and leveling, but at fixed intervals along a linear plot, so that “character development” is just an illusion and everyone does reach the end the same as everyone else.

The best RPGs, however, offer plenty of opportunities to make your character your own:

Name

Selection of race, sex, alignment, and class

Attributes

Skills and talents

Inventories, especially those with multiple slots

NPC interaction, dialogue, and role-playing choices

Choice of what order in which to do quests and side-quests

Ability to grind, or not (only meaningful without artificially low level caps)

Customization of character appearance

Statistics, achievements, and trophies

The multiplication of these various factors means that many modern RPGs feature characters as unique as the humans who create them, finally achieving some of the sense of ownership and identification that tabletop RPGs allowed from the outset.

Every player may have had to do exactly what I did to win Ultima IV, but at least my name and the number of turns are unique.

Camelot is an early game, and thus not as advanced in the originality of its characters. But of the single-player PLATO games, it comes the furthest. When I play it, I do not feel as if I am feeding so many characters into a meat grinder, as I did with The Dungeon, The Game of Dungeons, and Orthanc. Its allowances for stealth, magic, and multiple fighting styles, paired with the strategic nature by which you must explore dungeon exploration, create as close to a unique experience as anything we’re going to get for many years. If nothing else, the combination of items in the 13 inventory slots likely creates characters for each player that no one else has ever played.

I’ve put about 12 hours into the game since the last Camelot entry and I’ve gotten a lot more powerful–enough to take on dungeon Level 5 with relative ease–but it’s still slightly frustrating how long its’ taking to finish the game, much more so because I keep dying and resetting my score back to -99,999. But I recognize that it was designed for different players in different circumstances.

There was an interesting moment the other night where creator Josh Tabin happened to be logged into the system at a moment that I got stuck. I had teleported into a section of Level 4 that offered only one exit: a downward chute. Unfortunately, I had taken a Potion of Levitation upon beginning the expedition (you always want to use Scrolls of Protection, Potions of Cepacol, and Potions of Levitation at the outset of each expedition if you have them). It turns out that Levitation stops you from using chutes, even deliberately. The condition doesn’t wear off until you return to town. There were no other exits from the area, and I was out of Scrolls of Recall. The only solution I could come up with is to wait until the turn of every hour, when the dungeon levels respawn, and kill everything in the half-dozen rooms I had access to, hoping to get a Scroll of Recall at some point. But since Josh was there, I informed him of my trouble and he opened a secret door for me, then spent some time patching the game so that even if you’re under the effect of levitation, you can manually choose to take a chute.

Other things about the game since I last wrote:

As I previously mentioned, the game occasionally gives you a specific monster to kill before it will let you level up. It’s very erratic. I had a period from roughly Level 10 to 20 where I got a quest every level. Then I didn’t get any at all between Levels 20 and 29.

A “Palantir” tells you at what level you can find the object of your quest. If you’re already on that level, it tells you the specific coordinates. Of course, if the hour turns while you’re still seeking the quest creature, everything resets.

As you move downward, enemies get harder but rewards get better. Some of the magic item rewards are awesome. I’ve had a couple of Wands of Fire that completely clear out rooms in one turn. The problem is how frequently they require recharging and the expense thereof. The game’s economy is still excellent. I make a lot of tough choices between leveling up, recharging, and purchasing new items.

It turns out that items don’t have a fixed number of charges but rather a small probability of running out within any given use. High intelligence seems to lower this chance.

Some of the best items that you can find increase your attributes. Manuals and tomes increase them permanently by one point while various potions increase them temporarily for several points. I have maxed out my strength, intelligence, and constitution with these items, and I must be close on the other two.

A Manual of Bodily Health raises my constitution.

Scrolls of Taming, Orbs of Entrapment, and Wands of Charming all work on different creatures. I’ve learned that when I lose a companion (or one leaves), I want to head down to the lowest dungeon level on which I can survive to start hunting for another. About six hours into this session, I was able to charm a succubus, and it’s remained with me ever since–an extremely powerful ally.

I probably mentioned this earlier, but there are special rooms on each level that the creator calls “stud rooms.” They feature enemies 2-3 levels harder than the normal ones on the same level, but with rewards 2-3 times greater. Any new expedition needs to begin with clearly the stud rooms that you know you can clear.

In one of the “stud rooms.” Seven green dragons are a little much for me. The Scroll of Identification gives grim odds.

There’s a magic item called a “Tardis” that resets the dungeon in between the normal hourly resets. It allows you to quickly hit the stud rooms multiple times in a row until it runs out of magic. It’s incredibly useful but back in the day when there were multiple players hitting the dungeon at the same time, it must have been very annoying for some of them.

The two players on the leaderboard who have won the game both have Level 60 characters, so I assume that’s the game’s level cap. Thus, I’m halfway there. I probably won’t have much more to say about Camelot until I win, so hopefully I can get it done this week while I also wrap up Challenge of the Five Realms. I’ll say this for Camelot: it’s the first PLATO game that I’ve enjoyed lingering with, rather than blasting through it just to document its historical value.

Time so far: 40 hours

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/camelot-what-makes-us-unique/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

1 note · View note

welllbeing · 7 years

Text

so idk what’s happening to me but like

my days are all running together. like I literally have alarms on my phone that go off all week just to remind me what day it is and basic tasks that i do every single week but I still set the alarms because i am about 73% sure I’ll probably forget what day it is at some point during the week and wont realise it until friday when everyone is asking about my weekend plans. you know the other week when I thought it was wednesday for like three days? yeah like that.

and then i also have them for basic every day tasks like taking my meds and brushing my teeth and showering. like these things used to be engraved in me, I would religiously shower every night and brush my teeth no less than twice a day, it was habit, but in the past few months i have been forgetting EVERYTHING and i will literally wake up at 3am and my brain is like ‘SHIT WE DIDNT SHOWER’ and then i cant sleep until i wash so i will literally wash myself in the sink so i dont wake myself up too much and can still go back to sleep after or i will wake up to brush my teeth and go back to bed.

my meals are all off wack because sometimes i forget to eat, some times ill forget that i already ate and will eat again, and sometimes i eat normally but just at weird times because my timing is off. for instance, on thursday, for whatever reason, my brain was like 3 hours behind so i ate breakfast around 11 (I remember because i didnt finish since i had to go get lunches for my boss’s meeting and I do that at 11), lunch at like 4 (I remember that because I left work shortly after and i leave at 4), and then didnt notice until i was ready to eat dinner because it was totally dark outside that something was off. i think thats just because im used to it getting dark early though idk.

but anyway yeah ive been forgetting about stuff like that and ive also been forgetting about people too like I would always call grandma at least every other day but now its been about a week and i literally just realized as i was typing this that i havent called her. and i have been totally forgetting that i have a boyfriend like he probably doesnt think i love him now because ive only remembered to text him twice in the past week and a half and then i just forget entirely until someone asks me about my boyfriend and im like ‘oh yeah.. I have one of those.’ and its nothing that they did, im just stuck in a really weird headspace and it’s progressively getting worse.

it just started as constantly feeling emotionally and physically disconnected from everything. it hard to explain but i have one general emotion that just very ‘whatever’ about everything. like i have no interest in anything anymore, i dont feel excitement or pleasure when i do things i usually like, it feels different than depression to me because i dont typically feel sad or down i just feel.. idk. like a robot? like im doing things because im programmed to do them rather than because i have an interest in trying to do them. like i just dont care about anything and its not in a cynical or angry way, I just feel neutral about everything if that makes sense. anyway, now its that in addition to forgetting everything and then this week its all of that and also the random crying and depression but i know thats just because i started my period and thats what always happens

so idk maybe this is a form of depression i just haven’t experienced yet but its just really weird and i dont want it to stay like this

i mean i even feel disconnected from my boyfriend, i havent talked to him much because i forget and because i just havent wanted to. i dont get the butterflies with him anymore, the puppy love is gone, and now that i think about it im not really even sure if its just moved to that ‘im used to you and am comfortable with you so this is just a normal every day thing now’ or if this is me falling out of love with him. if its the former then thats fine because when he gets back then maybe all of that will come back, like maybe its just because I was gone and then he was gone and its just been a while since we’ve been able to spend any real time together so maybe when I see him things will be normal. but if its the second reason then im afraid that when he gets back im just not gonna have any of those good feelings anymore and im not gonna feel any of that and then I’ll feel like the biggest asshole in history because he has been the sweetest guy ever to me but my head still decided that it didnt want him

maybe this is all just something that will pass? maybe my meds just arent the right ones? maybe im just getting worse? i dont know anymore

4 notes · View notes

greekowl87 · 7 years

Text

Fic: Runaway Christmas Pt 11 (End)

AO3

Once upon a time, I had an idea. Then it was left alone. After a year of hiatus, I struggled to finish this. I don’t want you to think I went all Chris Carter on this but I just don’t have it in me. Please don’t hate me and I apologize in advance. No beta. I wrote this before season 11 was even in the works but it’s a nice little Will AU. Hope you all enjoy.

11.

Will checked his bag for the nth time, making sure he had the picture album. The picture album was one of the few things he still had from Wyoming. He grabbed his jacket, phone, and skateboard before pulling on his book bag over his shoulders. He jogged down the stairs and saw his foster mother, Mrs. Gardner. She eyed him, as if she was unsure of what to do with Will. “Where are you going, William?”

“Out,” he said vaguely. He shifted uncomfortably at the door. “Is that okay?”

“Where exactly is ‘out?’”

He bit his lip. “The National Mall. I’m meeting...I’m meeting Mulder.”

There was the disappointment in her eyes. She nodded. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up, Will.”

“Why?” he asked. “They’re good people.”

“We’re good people too.”

He bit his lip, trying to refrain from making a dumbass comment. “Look, I’ll be back around ten tonight. I have my phone.”

She nodded. “Well, call if you need anything.”

He nodded quietly. It still felt awkward. “I’ll see...I’ll see you later.”

Will disappeared out the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar SUV down at the end of the block. He jumped on his skateboard and skated the short distance down to them. He smiled when he also saw Scully sitting in the front seat with Mulder. “I hope you weren’t too disappointed, Will for me to barge in on this day of male bonding,” she teased.

“Male bonding, Scully? Honestly?”

Will grinned and climbed into the back seat. “Nope. I’m actually really happy to see both of you. So, are we going to Bed, Bath, and Beyond or what?”

“Actually,” Mulder began, looking up in the rearview mirror, “you know we don’t just have the apartment, right? We have a house about an hour in rural Virginia. We were thinking…” he looked at Scully for support, “that we could go by there first. You could…”

“You could pick out a room,” Scully finished for Mulder. She looked over her shoulder to Will. “I mean, we might be getting ahead of ourselves but what could it hurt?”

Will shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. “You don’t think they’ll approve of it?”

Scully looked to Mulder for help, her blue eyes full of emotion. “We did not say that, Will. We...Scully and I...we’ve just experienced a lot of heartbreak and pain in our lives. This seems almost good to be true. I mean, what were the odds you rob your birth mother and she chases you down and high heels?” Scully playfully smacked Mulder’s arm. “What? I was just stating the obvious.”

Mulder carefully maneuvered the SUV out into the Washington D.C. traffic. “The point is, Will, we just don’t want all of us to get our hopes up. I know you don’t call me ‘mom’ but I’m still your birth mother and I only want what is best for you, including trying to protect you in any way I can,” she said softly. “Mulder and I both only want to protect you.”

Will smiled slightly, touched by Scully’s admission. He glanced to the rearview mirror where Mulder’s hazel eyes glanced warmly up at him and then back towards the road. He focused on Scully’s blue eyes and continued to smile. “You know when you get a feeling that something is about to happen? You like to know in the bottom of your heart, that despite everything, as much as the world says no, your heart says yes.”

“Of course,” Mulder piped up from the driver side.

“Well, I can’t explain it, but that is how I feel now. I just know everything will work out in the end,” their son determined. He shifted his gaze out the passenger window, watching Washington D.C. slip by. “I just know.”

Nervously, Scully glanced at Mulder and she sought his hand in reassurance as a glimmering fear that she had put aside for fifteen years sat restlessly in the back of her mind.

. . . .

“This is where you live?” Will asked in disbelief as he got out of the SUV.

“Well, we did not split our time between here and the city until recently,” Scully began, carefully glazing over their brief separation. “We thought it was best that to stay in the middle of nowhere when we bought the place. I originally just worked at the hospital and Mulder…”

“I wrote,” he shrugged simply. “And was a good housewife.”

Will smiled. “I like it.”

“We need to come out here next weekend, Scully,” Mulder called, flipping through the mail. “Get some things cleaned up. Change our address to the apartments?”

“In time,” she replied distractedly as Will carefully went through the house, touching something every now and then. “You okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just a bit weird. I don’t know how I fit in all this. I mean, what were the odds my own birth mom would be the one to arrest me,” he laughed. “And find out my parents are so…”

“So what?” Mulder asked, looking up. “Spooky?”

“Mulder, don’t start it with him.

“What?” Will asked, intrigued.

“Well, when I was at VCU originally, they called me Spooky Mulder,” he began.

“Because your father’s a weirdo,” Scully retorted before walking into the kitchen to inspect the contents of the fridge.

“Well, it sort of carried on with me, especially when I went down to the basement,” he said. “It was just me and my x-files, that is until I got word they were going to straddle me with a partner.”

Scully came back into the living room, shaking her head. “He thought I was a spy.”

“Well, that is why they assigned you to begin with, Scully.”

“You were a jerk. Are you hungry, Will?”

“I’m good, Dana. So what happened, Mulder?”

“She fell for my boyish charms enough in the first 48 hours to run to me in nothing but her underwear to check for mosquito bites. I knew it then I had a winner.”

“Mulder!” A balled up piece of paper came flying at him, which he ducked. “You don’t have to say every little detail!”

Will grinned. “So what is with the Spooky part?”

“I became Mrs. Spooky and we lived in the basement,” she shrugged. “It just sort of stuck.”

“So I’m Spooky Jr. then?” Will asked, arching an eyebrow similar to Scully’s.

Mulder looked at him for a moment. “If you want to be, sure.”

It was weird as their long lost song continued his inspection of the house as if nothing had happened. Scully quietly went to Mulder’s side, rubbing his arm. “What are you thinking?”

“The Spookys finally have a kid,” he whispered proudly.

. . . .

Will sat between both of them on the couch back at the Washington D.C. apartment. They had spent the day out at the unremarkable house, caught an early dinner on the way back into the city, and Will was finally able to show them what he had been lugging around in his bag all day. He pulled the large photo album from his backpack and opened the cover. “I thought, since we’ve just met--again, you would like to see pictures.”

“What sorts of pictures?” Scully asked but her voice fell silent of she saw a brown hair woman grinning and holding the William she remembered in that little UFO onesie. “Oh my God. Is that your adopted mom?”

“Yeah,” Will answered sadly with a smile. “That was the day I arrived.”

Scully had her own memories. The endless days of crying, sleeping on the floor in his room in her Georgetown apartment, holding Will’s baby blanket and one of Mulder’s shirts. Unable to help herself, she ran her fingers through his unruly hair. Will turned with surprise and she immediately withdrew. “I’m sorry.”

He smiled at her and, just as hesitantly, reached to take his birth mother’s hand. Mulder smiled and met Scully’s eyes. There was so much emotion at play. “I hope the judge rules in your favor,” Will began, removing his hand. “For what it’s worth. I want to live with you. Nothing against my foster parents.”

Mulder smiled and clasped his son’s knee in affirmation. “Us too. But even if the judge doesn’t rule in our favor, that doesn’t mean we’ll be completely out of your life, Will.”

“We’ll always be your parents too,” Scully said, “no matter what, and we will always have that.”

“True,” Will nodded, closing the photo album. “Do you mind if I leave this here? I thought you might like to look through it a bit more. Besides, it’s late and my foster parents are probably ready to call the cops on you.”

“Well it’s a good thing we’re FBI,” Mulder chuckled getting up. “I’ll drive you back.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can take the Metro.”

“It’s not a big deal, Will. I want to.”

Scully smiled despite herself. “I’ll talk to you later, Will?”

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Will remarked, kissing her cheek. “Ready, Mulder?”

“Yeah. Do you want any leftovers or anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Okay. Scully, I’ll call when I’m on my way back. Let’s go, Will.”

“Coming. See you later, Dana!”

Scully smiled, raising her hand slightly in goodbye as Mulder walked out the door. As the door closed, she cast her eyes down at the photo album and smiled. She settled back on the couch again to watch her son grow up one more time.

. . . .

Mulder pulled up to the townhouse in northwest D.C. and saw a small woman staring at the window like a peeping tom. Will groaned and rolled his eyes at the sight. “She’s worse than my case worker. She honestly thinks that you all are crazy or let aliens abduct me,” he moaned.

He bit his lip and shook his head. “Well, we won’t let that happen. Text me and Scully together?”

“Of course,” Will said slipping out of the car. “Talk to you tomorrow?”

“I’d like that,” Mulder smiled. “Call me if you need anything.”

“You got it.”

Will closed the door and noticed how Mulder kept the SUV in place until he was safely inside the townhouse and he smiled. It was endearing to him to know that his birth father was already (or maybe had been all along) protective of him. He inwardly sighed when his foster mother stalked towards him.

“Where have you been?” she squawked.

“With my birth parents,” Will said curtly as he climbed the stairs. “I told you where I was. Why are you making such a big deal?”

“I almost called your caseworker!”

“Why? They are following the judges’ orders!”

“I don’t trust them! I am trying to do what’s right for you, William!”

“Will!” he snapped. “And it’s my life. I have a right to know my real parents.” Will steadied himself. “I know you are trying to do the right thing, but I know what’s right.”

He stormed up the stairs without another word.

. . . .

Three months passed with prolonged court dates and endless lawyer visits for Will, his case worker, the Gardners, and Mulder and Scully. CPS and the courts investigated the FBI agents thoroughly before coming to their conclusion. On April 1st, April Fool’s Day, Scully thought God must have been playing a joke on her when she received the call shortly before she and Mulder pulled into their parking space at the Hoover building. She burst out crying as Mulder hugged her tightly. Will was their’s, their baby son was coming home.

. . . .

“Home sweet home,” Mulder whispered into Scully’s ear as they sat on the porch swing. He slipped his arm around her cozily as they watched Will pick up a wooden bat and attempt to hit a tennis ball for an overeager Daggoo. “Ease up on the grip, Will!”

Will huffed in annoyance and in looked down at the mutt. “Hands before hips, right?” he asked the dog.

Daggoo barked eagerly in response.

“Hips before hands, honey,” Scully called. “Just like your father taught me.”

Will dropped the bat in annoyance. “You all were on a date. That isn’t sound advice.”

“I was teaching Scully how to play baseball,” Mulder corrected.

Their son shrugged. “I don’t know why. She’s a better hitter than you.”

Scully laughed, burying her head into Mulder’s chest as he did his best to hide his smile. “Don’t make me regret not staying in D.C. for summer school, Will.”

“And miss all this?” Their son motioned to the property, the house, and lingered on his birth parents. “Good luck, Dad.”

Mulder felt his chest puff slightly with pride. He never got tired of Will calling him ‘dad’ or Scully ‘mom.’ He had always dreamed of this. The perfect ending. Scully smiled and stroked his chest. “He’s too much like you,” she mumbled.

Will had picked up the bat and tossed up the tennis ball. The bat cracked against the rubber and sent the ball flying and Daggoo after it. They watched Will paused and smile, marveling at his hit. “He’s too much like you,” he whispered to Scully.

“Really? You know, he’s sixteen. He’s already asking about the car.”

“He needs his learner's permit first.”

“You can take him.”

“You’re teaching him to drive since I have short legs.”

Mulder snorted in amusement as Will dropped the bat in annoyance. “Daggoo!” he called. “Damn dog, get back here with that ball!” He jogged out into the field when he heard the yippy barking in the distance. “Daggoo!”

Scully watched their son chase the Jack Russell. “Should we help him?”

“In a bit,” Mulder replied, rubbing her back, “I’m just taking a moment to immortalize this.”

“Why?” She kissed his cheek. “What’s so special?”

“We finally got our happy ending,” he told her, stealing one more kiss.

End.

#runaway christmas #xfiles #xf fic #txf fic #txf #au #msr #mulder and scully #teen!will #happy ending #fluff #i finished it #finally

4 notes · View notes

logan-are-you-okay · 7 years

Text

Anti’s Backstory part 5

Nurse: “Sir, I need you to calm down so we can check what’s wrong.”

Jack: “No! I want my Dr!”

Nurse: “Then who’s your doctor then?”

Jack: “You just kicked him out of here when I asked! I don’t trust any of you fuckers!”

Jack then starts pulling on his brown hair. The pain was so intense that he keepings trying to hurt himself in other places so he can focus on something less mild.

Nurse: “Sir. You need to take a deep breath so we can put in your IV.”

Jack: “Fuck you!”

He doesn’t mean to be rude, that isn’t the kind of person that he is. But when he is basically feels like he’s getting his leg pulled off, that can cause a little manners to change.

Somehow the nurse... with ten other nurses are able to get Jack’s IV into his arm where the release a drug to help him with the pain so it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. Once he’s finally able to calm down he looks at the nurse how was talking to him.

Jack: “Sorry... I didn’t mean to swear.”

He the proceeds to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment.

Nurse: “It happens all the time. The Dr will come in soon to see what is the problem.

Jack: “Thank you.”

Even though his leg still hurt like hell, he did want to calm down. Acting like that wasn’t something That he liked to do. Even if it was just from the pain.

***

Schneeplstein keeps pacing around in the waiting room. Jacks only been back there for a couple hours, but it feels like an eternity. It was absolute torture to not know what was going on. Why would they just leave him to think of all the bad possibilities that could be happening? Randomly a nurse from the front desk walks over to Schneeplstein.

Nurse: “You’ve been here for quite awhile. Do you want anything to drink or eat?”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Not really. I just want to know what’s going on so my heart can stop having heart palpitations.”

Nurse raises her eyebrow. She didn’t know if he was joking or not, but that was really weird to just randomly say.

Nurse: “Heart Palpitation?”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Skipping heart beats. I basically said it because my hearts going time million miles an hour, so it feels like it’s skipping beats.”

Nurse: “Oh, Okay. Is there anyone you need me to check on to see if they’re in stable condition?”

Schneeplstein’s eyes light up. If she could do that, why the hell wouldn’t they just come out and say that he’s fine. God, this hospital needs better protocols.

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Sean McLoughlin.” (I DONT KNOW HOW TO SPELL JACKS LAST NAME)

The nurse goes back to the front desk and types in Jack’s name. Surprisingly, he’s been able to see visitors for the past hour.

Nurse: “He’s stable, you can go back and see him. Room 24-A.”

Without a second thought Schneeplstein runs through the automatic doors to the room the nurse said. He didn’t even say thank you, he was to worried about Jack.

***

Once he gets inside the room, he sees a nurse changing out the IV fluid while Jack was asleep. At least he was able to calm down. Schneeplstein then goes over and sits down in a chair next to Jack’s medical bed. The new nurse notices that he just came in and recognize him almost instantly.

Nurse: “You said you where in the middle of getting your License right?”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Uh... yeah, Something on those lines, sure.”

Nurse: “Well his broken leg was worse than we thought. There’s a certain medical term that you wouldn’t have learned yet. When the leg broke it ruptured a vein and the blood started to clot and run up to his chest. That was the stinging pain that he felt that went to his spine. Also the bone wasn’t fix back into its original place when it was attempted to reset it. Which confused his brain and heart which sent blood to his lungs.”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “What the fuck!? How on earth does that happen. He was fine until he tried walking around!”

Nurse: “It takes a while for the syptomes to accrue.”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Is that why he’s wearing a breathing Mask?”

The nurse nods and then leaves after finishing changing Jack’s IV fluid. Schneeplstein then looks over Jack who looks like he’s having a nightmare. To bad they can’t help with that part. He sighs to himself, and decides to grab his phone and take a picture of Jack. Knowing that he had blood in his lungs, means that he’s going to be stuck here for quite awhile. Schneeplstein then uploads the photo to Jack’s twitter and tells them briefly of what happen acting as if he was Jack, and that a friend took the picture while he slept.

Almost instantly people start freaking out and wishing that he’ll get better. That’s one thing Schneeplstein loved about Jack’s community that he created. All the love and support, them never thinking he was just doing it for popularity. Schneep then looks over at the clock hanging on the wall.

7:48 AM.

Wow, time passed a lot faster than he has expected. Since Jack’s asleep there’s no point in him being awake. So he props himself against the chairs and falls asleep.

***

Jack jumps awake from the nightmare he was having. It felt so real, and it didn’t help that the breathing mask felt like it was suffocating him. He makes an attempt to take it off, but Schneeplstein stops him from doing so.

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Don’t take it off Jack! You need it to help you breathe!”

Jack: “I can breathe just fine Schneep, I don’t need this to help me.”

Schneeplstein then makes a very stern look at Jack, which prompts him to keep the mask on.

Dr. Schneeplstein: “I know you made a video about your broken leg, but I posted a picture on twitter saying it. You scared the living daylights out of me you know.”

Jack: “I didn’t CHOOSE to break my leg you know.”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Whatever, but lots of people are wishing you to get better.”

Jack starts smiling. He hasn’t ever been really Hurt while doing YouTube, so having people send ‘get well’ stuff was amazing. Even all of Twitter was filled with getting better fanwork. It was amazing.

Suddenly a Doctor walks in... they think? He wasn’t wearing the usual uniform that the other doctors were wearing. He had on a long polo shirt, with scruffy gray hair. He then walks over to Jack and takes of the air mask. Instantly earning him an angry Schneeplstein to stand up.

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Hey!”

The Doctor?: “He doesn’t need it anymore, he’s able to breathe fine now.”

Schneeplstein quickly looks over at Jack to make sure he can breathe alright, which thankfully he can. He then looks over at the so called doctor. Schneep May not be licensed, but he knows that, that would not be acceptable.

The possible doctor then sits on the bed next to Jack, which instantly raised some concerns. Doctors where NOT suppose to do that. Jack has a pretty good bullshit detector, and this man was setting it off like wild fire. But he still wanted to be nice.

Jack: “So... what brings you in Doctor?”

Defiantly a doctor that doesn’t look suspicious at ALL: “I just wanted to warn you, not to be as crazy next time you decided to make woopy.”

What the fuck!? Who the hell was this man to assume such a thing, he probably doesn’t know a thing about what happened so he just assumed!? This made Dr. Schneeplstein’s blood boil!

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Excuse me!? How dare you come in here and assume such a thing! We where not having sex Mr. He’s basically my brother and we’re not gay!”

Jack gets startled in surprise. He has never in his life seen Schneeplstein so mad at someone, he was the most down to earth person out of any of them.

Jack: “Woah, Schneep calm down a little bit.”

Not going to lie, Jack didn’t like how the so called doctor assumed. Maybe it’s because Schneep didn’t have a shirt on, or maybe because they where both guys. It doesn’t matter, but Jack still didn’t like the looks of this doctor.

The doctor: “It’s just common sense to me. But, we would like to give you something for the pain you might be experiencing.”

The doctor turns around to pull something out of his pocket.

Jack: “But.... I’m really not feeling any pain right now?”

The doctor then turns back around carrying a injecting kneedle filled with... a glowing green liquid!

Jack: “Oh hell no! Keep that away from me!”

Jack practically throws himself off of the bed away from the doctor. Pulling out his IV from his arm and the heart monitor which made it sound like he flatlined.

Thankfully Schneeplstein caught Jack in his fit of escape so he didn’t hurt his leg anymore. Even though he barley caught his arms. Even though it sent a sting down Jack’s entire body when hisbleg barely hit the floor.

The doctor: “What? It’s just going to help with the pain.”

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Jack what on earth are you doing!?”

Jack might have had very little sleep last night, but he was still able to put two-two together. Even though it was decades ago, this man looked very Similar to what Anti described in his journal. The gray shaggy hair and age range! Also the glowing green liquid isn’t something just to randomly had. Even jack matched the serial kidnappers victims al except the age range. Maybe it was his son who wanted to replicate his father’s legacy?

Jack: “I don’t want to be anywhere near this psycho!”

Even though Schneeplstein didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t want to be anywhere near this dude either.

The doctor rolls his eyes and leaves the room. However as he leaves, he drops a bar code out of his pocket and doesn’t even notice. But, Jack did. Schneeplstein sets Jack back into the medical bed and reattaches everything to where it’s suppose to be and grabs the bar code off the ground. He then inspects it, but he notices Jack becoming relatively antsy as he does.

Dr. Schneeplstein: “Why are you so excited?”

Jack: “Can I see that real quick?”

Schneeplstein shrugs his shoulders and hands it over to Jack who quickly takes a picture of the bar code and it takes him to some weird website. Schneeplstein looks over Jack’s shoulder and gasps at what the first thing that pops up.

Jack: “What the fuck?”

The first that that appears is a picture of Jack from when he dyed his hair back to its original brown color. The whole website was in a green and black, and there was descriptions of him all over. ‘Age, 27. Hair, Brown. Eye Color, Blue.’ There was very personal stuff on him that he didn’t expect to notice. However one thing stood out to him the most. ‘Resembles subject 748-YB. The one subject who was succefulky able to perform all tests on, yet to far of an extreme to which he died and couldn’t reconnect. Tests have yet to be conducted.’

Normally this would be weird on its own, but after reading Anti’s journal, it’s pretty obvious that subject 748-YB was Anti.

(Doesn’t really have much of Anti, but I’m setting up for something)

#antisepticeye #dr schneeplestein #jacksepticeye #septicart #it counts fanficton is still a form of art

6 notes · View notes

cyb-by-lang · 7 years

Text

OSF AU - All the Little Children (6/?)

Part 6: Wherein alliances are forged out of shared experiences and the Hero departs.

Content Warnings: Blood, mention of injuries, Garp, shitty parenting, and shitty grandparenting as demonstrated by Garp.

“Let me see that, brat,” said the old man who had introduced himself as Monkey D. Garp.

Eventually. After running the gauntlet every trap Naruto, Fū, and Gaara could construct, after punching Gaara through a tree so hard that his own sand broke his nose, and after chasing Fū and Naruto’s clones all over the mountain like a bear on an IV drip of Elder Chiyo’s most dangerous combat steroids. The old man had finally settled down. Worst of all, he barely looked scuffed-up by some of the strongest attacks any of them could use without destroying the forest.

Gaara stared flatly back at the old man, though he couldn’t breathe through his nose and needing to keep his mouth open was sort of ruining the mystique.

“Gaara, have you ever had a broken nose before?” Naruto asked, after turning his head and spitting something that was at least partly blood into the fire.

Gaara shook his head. Before today, he’d only been injured—only seen his own blood as opposed to someone else’s—twice in his entire life. And those were both after leaving Sunagakure and the Land of Wind for the first time.

“Yeah, me neither. But I used to hang out with Aunt Rin a lot, so I think I know how to fix it.” Naruto slapped the old man’s hand away as he sat right in front of Gaara, leaning forward. “Just hang on a sec.”

Gaara blinked slowly as Naruto’s hand gingerly—ow!

Gaara jerked back as his sand shield flared, nearly bowling Naruto over. He blinked tears away as he stared at Naruto in shock.

“Sorry, Gaara. Had to straighten it out before your healing kicked in,” Naruto said with a grimace, before turning to Garp. “Hey, old guy, got any bandages?”

“Call me ‘Grandpa,’ brat,” Garp said, but he handed over a roll of linen first.

“Like hell,” Naruto replied under his breath, before carefully treating Gaara’s wounds. “You don’t even know my name, so why should I?”

Garp almost immediately seized Naruto’s ear and pulled on it, eliciting a yelp of pain. “Quit mumbling!”

Naruto snarled, his eyes turning red for a split second as he fought out of the old man’s grip. “I already have a grandpa, you old coot! You’re just some power-tripping asshole who hits kids and calls it ‘training!’”

“You do?” Gaara asked, though his voice still sounded off to his own ears. Luckily, the statement seemed to have given Garp pause, which let Naruto finish patching his face back together.

“Yeah. Dad and Mom’s birth parents are dead, so my ssiter and me don’t have any by blood, but I’ve got kinda like…” Naruto trailed off, his hands stilling for a second. “You’d know him as Toad Sage Jiraiya, and then there’s Granny Tsunade and Aunt Mikoto and…” Naruto sighed as he got back to work.. “I miss ‘em, is all.”

With a sidelong glance at Garp, who had turned away and started poking the campfire again, Gaara said, “I don’t quite feel the same way, but… I’m sorry you’re stuck here with us instead of at home. It sounds nice.”

“It’s not all bad,” Naruto said, clearly putting on a brave face. “This way I got to meet you and become friends. That’s good, right?”

“It is,” Gaara admitted, and Naruto clapped a hand onto his shoulder with a wide, not-completely-fake grin. If they hadn’t vanished from home and ended up in this strange, unpredictable world, Naruto would have been a fellow jinchūriki, yes. A penpal, in some ways. But their first meeting would have been in the Chūnin Exams instead of waking up on the same beach, with a common need to survive.

“Hey, we’re back!” Fū's voice called out, and both Naruto and Gaara turned toward her.

She had all three of the younger boys with her. In the hours since the disastrous morning fight, she’d managed to get everyone in her group covered in bandages and to change their clothes. With Chōmei in their group, too, Gaara wondered if any of those bandages were silk instead of linen, then decided it didn’t matter. Somehow, their two gangs of three children each seemed to have turned into a single gang of six.

Huh. Common enemies did make uncommon alliances, Gaara thought. He was nearly certain he was getting the exact phrasing wrong, but that had been somewhere in his studies, once upon a time.

And they were now sitting down to dinner with the aforementioned common enemy.

Fū and the three boys sat around the fire alongside everyone else, though only the two dark-haired boys trusted Garp anywhere near them. The blond one trusted his friends, sort of, but Gaara personally didn’t want anyone near the old man if he had a choice. But so far, forcing the issue hadn’t worked.

“Good, you’re all here now,” said the old man, crossing his arms and looming over them even while sitting.

Gaara blew his nose and sprayed bloody snot onto his sand. Naruto wordlessly handed him a handkerchief, which he accepted. Fū looked slightly ill, but the other three boys didn’t even look surprised.

“Quit ruining the moment, brat!” Garp shouted.

Gaara ignored him and took the handkerchief.

“Just get it over with,” Fū said in about the most serious tone Gaara had ever heard from her. While she wasn’t above yelling to get her way—as much as that didn’t work when Naruto was around and willing to shout right back—Fū was generally an upbeat person. The only things that really made her mad were evil and indifference to it.

Gaara waited.

“You three should become my grandchildren!”

“No,” Gaara said immediately, and Naruto and Fū's voices joined his in perfect unison.

“I didn’t ask for your opinions!”

“I told you before—I have a grandpa, and I don’t need a punch-happy replacement!” Naruto snapped.

“I don’t need a parent at all,” Fū said, crossing her arms to match the old man.

Gaara thought about it. Then, “…What worries me is that this is still less dangerous than spending time around my father.” Sure, these were some of the first injuries he’d ever experienced, but the Fourth Kazekage was much more upfront about occasional murder attempts.

Fū whipped her head around. “What?”

Gaara shrugged.

“That’s horrible,” Fū said, almost teleporting to Gaara’s side. “Your dad’s horrible.”

“I know,” said Gaara, because it was hard not to know by now.

Then Naruto and Fū squished Gaara between them in a pair of bear hugs. They pinned Gaara’s arms to his sides, so all he could do was sigh and rest his cheek against the top of Naruto’s blond head.

The old man, thankfully, didn’t say anything else to make Gaara hate him more. He produced a giant boar from basically nowhere and cooked it for the sake of both the old and new child acquaintances he had, of which Gaara only considered himself vaguely involved. Garp’s two already-grandsons fell on the food with about as much restraint as a pack of hyenas, quickly joined by the blond whose name Gaara still didn’t know.

Naruto and Fū joined in more slowly, with Gaara joining in last of all.

But it wasn’t until the old man left, meal completed and check-in with borderline-feral grandchildren accomplished, that any of them spoke to each other.

“Hey,” Naruto said, once the entire experience was over, “I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves to you, not really.”

“I’m Monkey D. Luffy! You’re Naru, right?” said the smallest of the other kids. “You sound like Sabo, but act like Ace!”

“Should I be insulted or not...?” Naruto wondered aloud, nonplussed. He shrugged to himself. “Anyway, no, my name’s Naruto. Think of a whirlpool…” Naruto paused. “Or a fishcake.”

“Like on ramen?!” Luffy chirped.

“Like on ramen,” Naruto said, though his smile was a bit strained. Gaara wondered briefly if he was taking the time to remind himself that Luffy was a really tiny kid, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

“And I already know Fairy—”

“Fū,” the kunoichi corrected.

“—from before.” Luffy grinned. “I’m really happy we’re friends now.”

“Are we?” asked the blond. He managed a half-hearted wave. “I’m Sabo, by the way.”

“And he’s Gaara,” Naruto concluded, patting Gaara’s shoulder.

All eyes turned to the holdout.

“Portgas D. Ace,” growled the last kid, full of resentment. “None of you had to go interfering like that. We’ve had worse from the shitty old man.”

Fū's fists clenched. “That��s the whole problem.”

“Whatever,” Ace grunted, looking away from them. “…But I guess… I guess you’re not totally hopeless.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean, Freckles?” Naruto demanded.

“I meant exactly what I said! And quit calling me Freckles!”

“Take it back!”

“Hell no!”

Gaara shook his head slowly. While Ace and Naruto wrestled with each other and probably ended up throwing a few unfair elbows or bites, everyone else at this campfire seemed content enough just to get to know one another. Fū and Luffy seemed to get along all too well already.

To that end, Gaara said to Sabo, “I’m sorry for scaring you before.”

“Oh, that? Well, the sand part was scary, but I’ve lived in Gray Terminal all my life. I’ve fought tough guys before,” Sabo said, rubbing the back of his neck. “As long as you’re not gonna do it again, it’s okay!”

Gaara could tell instantly that at least part of the first thing he’d said was a lie, but didn’t call him on it. “I won’t,” Gaara promised.

“Yay, we’re all friends now!” Fū and Luffy said together.

That seemed to be the end of it.

“OW! He bit me!” Naruto yelped.

For a few seconds, anyway.

#Ocean Stars Falling #All the Little Children #Monkey D. Garp #Gaara #Sabo #Portgas D. Ace #Monkey D. Luffy #Fu #Naruto #Chomei

48 notes · View notes

burning-up-ao3 · 6 years

Photo

NEWARK, N.J. — While on a five-day trip to Jackson Hole, Wyo. during the Penguins’ bye week late last month, Sidney Crosby began to feel something he had not felt in years, since the most recent NHL lockout in 2004-05.

On the second-to-last day of what was supposed to be an enjoyable vacation, the Penguins captain wound up a couple thousand miles away from either of his two homes, miserable and sick, unable to do much of anything.

“You get used to having to play through colds and stuff like that,” Crosby said. “People go to work with them. It’s a part of life. But sometimes it stops you in your tracks like that. There’s nothing you can do.”

What Crosby went through is common for NHL players, who are constantly shuttling on and off airplanes, checking in and out of hotels and entering and leaving (entirely too) cold buildings, all during the darkest days of winter.

Ron CookRon Cook: Evgeni Malkin may be ready to break out of long slump

No matter how many vitamins they take or calcium they consume, they’re inevitably going to get sick. Sometimes it might get ugly. And they’re well aware that sick days are almost never an option.

Which means that Crosby, given what he contracted, was actually one of the lucky ones, in that he could rest some. More often than probably anyone realizes, NHL players have to play through some ugly stuff, flu bugs and stomach illnesses the public never hears about.

“It happens every winter, where half the team gets sick,” Matt Cullen said. “The training room is busy. Guys are looking for anything to help them get over the hump so they can feel well enough to play.

“It’s why you try so hard to take care of what you can control. You’re getting your sleep and fluids because it [stinks] as a player when you’re sick. You have to play regardless.

“You see it every once in a while, when guys are throwing up in the bathroom during warmup or between periods. I’ve had teammates run off the bench. It’s part of the deal.”

2. And when it happens on the road, Bryan Rust said, there’s nothing worse.

“It’s miserable,” Rust said. “It’s kind of a helpless feeling; it’s not like you’re in your own bed, and you can rely on someone.

Matt VenselPenguins blue line hopes to keep up its contributions on offense

“You also feel bad for the maids who have to come in there afterward and clean up.”

It’s a feeling Rust knows well, too. He said he was knock-down, drag-out sick twice: once in college at Notre Dame and another time during the early days of his Penguins career.

What does the versatile winger do when it happens?

“Lie in bed, turn the lights off, close the shades,” Rust said. “And hope it goes away as fast as possible.”

3. It was a funny topic to take around the Penguins dressing room: Have you ever been sick on the road?

Those who hadn’t, immediately found some wood on which to knock. Those who had, launched into some humorous tales.

In 2013, Olli Maatta was playing for Finland at the World Junior Championship in Ufa, Russia. Maatta thought he ate something funky, food that was potentially undercooked. The next few days were brutal.

“Not the best thing that ever happened,” Maatta said with a smile. “Although being stuck in my room and trying to watch whatever it was on Russian TV might’ve been the worst thing.”

4. Before he was traded, Riley Sheahan told me a good one about when he was with the Detroit Red Wings a couple years ago. He vacationed in Mexico during the All-Star break and brought back a little present.

“I caught a virus or something,” Sheahan said. “I was sick for like five weeks. I actually had to miss a game, on the Moms’ trip, in Florida. It wasn’t fun.”

Garrett Wilson was a proud member of the knock-on-wood club. Despite playing for San Antonio in the AHL — where they’d have to leave for a month every winter because the rodeo came to town — Wilson has never been sick on the road.

“I don’t puke too often, either,” Wilson said. “Even drinking or anything, I don’t puke. Pretty lucky that way.”

Wilson said he did play with a guy — John McFarland, in the Florida Panthers system — who didn’t feel right until he forced himself to vomit before a game, although that wasn’t related to being sick.

“You definitely hear the odd time a guy is hurling in the bathroom before a game, whether they’re sick or nervous,” Wilson said. “It almost makes you sick hearing it.”

5. Whether or not it’s better to get sick in a hotel room versus at home sparked a lively debate. Matt Murray is all for the road option.

“I think a hotel room is a good place to be,” Murray said before taking his knuckles to his dressing room stall. “You’re not bugging your family or anything like that. You get to sleep it off.”

Wilson agreed.

“I don’t think it’s too bad on the road,” Wilson said. “You’re with the trainers all the time. They’re usually at the same hotel. If you do get really sick, they’re just a text or phone call away.”

6. My personal opinion: These guys are nuts. It’s much worse to be sick in a hotel, with none of the comforts of home.

It happened to me recently, too, around the same time as Crosby. In San Jose, Calif. for the NHL All-Star Game, I literally could not stand at Media Day because I was dizzy and nauseous.

Eventually, with neither Crosby nor Letang there, I decided to cut bait take an Uber back to my hotel room — backpack open the entire way, praying there were no issues.

Yada, yada, yada … the next 24 hours were not fun.

“Hotel room, being stuck in a little space there, it’s terrible,” Maatta (correctly) said.

7. Back to the war stories, though, which turned out to be my favorite part of reporting this.

In Wilkes-Barre/Scranton, Rust’s next-door neighbor in the dressing room was former Penguins prospect Jayson Megna.

“One game, between periods, he was hugging a trash can,” Rust said. “On the bench, same thing. It was impressive to see him play through it. I don’t think I would have been able to. It was pretty wild.”

Penguins coach Mike Sullivan experienced the same thing when he played for the Calgary Flames.

“I had the flu,” Sullivan recalled. “Played through it to the point where I was throwing up between periods, and they had to put an IV in me to replace all the fluids I had lost. That was the hardest one from a personal standpoint.”

8. When he was with Minnesota — the first time — Cullen once played with walking pneumonia. To conserve as much energy as possible, Cullen skipped the morning skate and stayed home basically until puck drop.

With the Wild apparently short on players and unable to make a roster move in time, Cullen said there wasn’t another option.

“That was a tough one, running to the bathroom between periods,” Cullen said. “We were in a pinch. Just had to do it.”

Being able to rely on a routine, Cullen said, does help.

“It helps to normalize everything even if you feel terrible,” Cullen said. “You get out and do warmup, get some blood flowing, you’re out in front of the fans, it gives you some adrenaline. But after the game, you feel it.”

9. Tanner Pearson had some good perspective on the matter because he nearly wound up disgustingly sick on the road while with the Kings last February.

Los Angeles had arrived home from a four-game road trip that actually included its annual Dads’ trip — maybe we should blame the parents? — when Pearson started to feel dizzy and nauseous.

“I don’t know if it was something I ate on the plane or what,” Pearson said. “Just hit me like a ton of bricks. We landed, and that was the end of me.”

But there was the benefit, Pearson said, of making it home. He could sleep in his own bed. His wife was there. At least he wasn’t in a hotel room.

“I see guys who are sick on the road,” Pearson said, “and it looks like pure torture.”

10. It can also be downright scary.

Marcus Pettersson had a couple stories, one funny, the other not so much. The first was the 2016 World Junior Championship, in Helsinki, Finland. A couple of Pettersson’s teammates contracted the stomach flu.

“It’s crazy how quickly something like that can spread,” Pettersson said. “You just have to isolate yourself.”

Pettersson also heard a story about Detroit defenseman Jonathan Ericsson’s brother, Jimmie, when he was playing with SKA Saint Petersburg of the KHL in 2014-15. When Jimmie Ericsson told the team’s doctors he didn’t feel well, they treated it like some sort of illness — but never checked anything else.

Turns out Ericsson had a partially ruptured spleen, which they only discovered upon returning home.

“They just thought he was sick,” Pettersson said. “He got medicine shots in his [butt]. They said, ‘You’re good. You can play.’ It was crazy.”

11. The Penguins would never allow something like that to happen.

Sullivan explained the lengths to which the team goes to try and stack the odds in their favor, all while realizing that sickness during a winter sport are pretty much inevitable.

On the road, the Penguins will ensure that sick players get their own rooms, Sullivan said. They also get their own water bottles on the bench, the equipment staff will wash and sanitize things even more than they already do, and Sullivan has no problem sending a guy home if he’s sick.

“It’s difficult when you’re in close quarters like this,” Sullivan said. “But we do everything within our power to see if we can’t contain it when those types of things arise.”

12. Wanted to close with this anecdote from Crosby on not participating in the NHL All-Star Skills Competition when he was probably extremely contagious. Made me laugh, anyway.

“The last thing I wanted to do was get everyone sick. That’s all I need,” Crosby said before cracking a smile. “Of course, I guess it was our division … “

13. Moving on …

The more I think about it, Carl Hagelin would be a perfect fit for the Penguins at the NHL trade deadline, provided they can convince the Los Angeles Kings or or someone else to take Pearson.

Small problem: The deal actually isn’t possible.

I didn’t learn this until recently, and I’m guessing you didn’t know it, either. It’s a CBA quirk that’s actually pretty dumb, in my opinion.

Once a team retains salary in a trade — the Penguins retained $250,000 — they can’t reacquire that player for a minimum of one year after the transaction or until the player's contract expires or is terminated prior to the one-year date.

It’s a shame, too, because I think Hagelin would’ve been worth checking on.

For his penalty killing (Penguins are just 25 for their last 36, 69.4 percent), Hagelin’s fit with Evgeni Malkin and what Hagelin could potentially do for good friend Patric Hornqvist, who doesn’t have a point in 12 games.

14. As for what the Penguins could realistically do, I’m not in favor of anything big. Maybe add a depth forward or defenseman, depending on who’s out there.

But at some point, this group should be allowed to actually play together for a stretch, and we’re running out of time for that to happen.

Many of you have suggested a 1a goalie type as well. There’s a variety of problems with this. One, cost. That guy wouldn’t come cheap, if he was worth anything. Two, what do you do with Casey DeSmith? Three, how does that play with Murray?

I know he’s been hurt a lot, but I can’t imagine that would go over well. Murray is your No. 1. You paid DeSmith to be your backup. Hold onto Tristan Jarry. I’d stick with that.

15. Without Hagelin, I’m curious to see where this goes with Zach Aston-Reese alongside Malkin and Phil Kessel. It’s a tremendous opportunity for him and one for which he’s actually well-suited.

“Any time you can stay on your natural side, it’s a little bit easier,” Aston-Reese said after Sunday’s 6-5 victory over the New York Rangers. “Phil kind of has that signature shot, too, coming down on his strong side. I like to work hard defensively. It’s definitely nice to balance out those two.”

I like Aston-Reese as a lot, as a player and person. He’s extremely smart, quotable and great to deal with from our perspective. If we were ranking most media-friendly players in the Penguins dressing room, he’d surely be up there.

But hockey-wise, he’s going to make a lot of people happy if he’s able to blend some physicality with offense and a willingness to play defense. He’s still rounding out his game in a few different ways, but I think the Penguins definitely got a good one here.

16. It’s obvious — and Post-Gazette columnist Ron Cook wrote this off of Sunday’s game — but the Penguins need to get Hornqvist going. How do they do that?

I see two options. One, I’d consider playing Hornqvist with Sidney Crosby. Nothing against Rust. He’s been great there. But they need more out of Hornqvist.

My second possible solution would be trying Kessel on the third line with Nick Bjugstad — they had some chemistry — and using Hornqvist with Malkin, a situation where the feisty Swede thrived last season.

I hate Hornqvist in the bottom-six, as I’ve never seen his production give the Penguins a competitive advantage in that spot the way Kessel’s has at various times throughout his Penguins tenure.

17. This won’t be a popular opinion, but I’ve actually liked Jack Johnson on his natural left side the past couple of games.

I know what the goals-for numbers are — they’re awful — and I know how Johnson is perceived by the fan base. But if Rutherford or Sullivan are frustrated with Johnson’s play this season, they’re doing one heck of a job hiding it.

Whether you want to admit it or not, Johnson won’t be a healthy scratch. And what I’ve seen the past couple of games — Johnson’s been with Juuso Riikola with one and Justin Schultz for two — has actually been pretty decent.

18. Shut up, Don Cherry. Can we all agree on that?

He scolded the Carolina Hurricanes for, of all things, having fun. I hate giving this any airspace whatsoever, so I’m going to twist it another way: Forget about Dino Don and think of this from a Hurricanes perspective.

Great organization. Great city. A lot of fun to watch. If this gets their fans excited, my goodness, go for it. I think it’s tremendous. And I love seeing the Old (Canadian) Guard get upset over it.

19. Stat of the week: 12

That’s the number of points for Pettersson since the Dec. 3 trade that brought him to Pittsburgh. It’s also one less than Daniel Sprong has during that same stretch.

20. Non-hockey thought of the week: Apparently MLB commissioner Rob Manfred thinks we’re all stupid. Did you see this story from the Post-Gazette’s new baseball writer, Nubyjas Wilborn? Two quotes struck me.

“This narrative that our teams aren’t trying is just not supported by the facts. Our teams are trying. Every single one of them wants to win.”

Yes, they are trying, and they do want to win. I don’t doubt that the Pirates try and prefer winning to losing. But I could race Usain Bolt, and I’d still try. I’d still want to win. The problem is that I would not have taken the requisite steps to do so.

Then this gem: “I reject the notion that payroll is a good measure for how hard a team is trying or how successful that team is going to be.”

There are certainly outliers here: small-market teams that compete and big spenders that don’t. But the two teams in the World Series last year spent the most. Generally if you’re actually paying to play, you have a chance.

The only thing I hate more than baseball’s financial structure is when people in positions of power try to sell us this garbage.

Jason Mackey: [email protected] and Twitter @JMackeyPG.

#Jason Mackey #Pittsburgh Post Gazette #pittsburgh penguins

1 note · View note

chikotos · 7 years

Text

speaking of That my mom is finally recognizing that when I say “i dont feel good” it doesnt mean i have a cold or sth its that Uh, im probably experiencing suicidal thoughts and cant express it well (or at least smth along those lines) and my house has been dirty cuz i havent cleaned in a while or i cant keep it clean and she n my sister cleaned an area and i repeatedly told her not to bc shes always using my sister to do things im not adequate enough to do on time and its rlly not fair to her even if she doesnt realize it cuz like shes only 12 & we dont ever even talk so she shouldnt have to take care of someone 5 years older than her.. and i was gonna clean but I basically slept all day so i could just clean alone at night when I feel safe to walk around the house . i wasnt even tired idk why i slept but now im eerily awake and maybe will be umless i force myself to sleep

its so lonely here and thats only hit me like this year cuz all the time before I would go through periods of hanging out after school maybe.. twice a year? and only hanging out with one person whod have many friends but theyd b my only friend which is a problem i tend to have. but it jst got to the point where im realizing, i think cuz i was in my schools drama program n exposed to lots of friendships, that im jst like ,really fucking lonely. Which is unfortunate because ive always been such an internal person at home and have been able to work creatively but thats all like leaving me? art doesnt make me happy anymore because i dislike my art so much and havent had a platform to share it in so long and i guess I thrive on other ppls opinions of it? and I definitely cant write anymore. I havent been able to zone in on an interest in MONTHS and thats left me creatively drained, a lot.

I think im starting to rlly, RLLY redirect my complete attention from interests to ppl (which always ends well am i right lads) and it isnt fair to ppl who like, have others and need space and time etc or Uh, dont even know me. but its like a switch like , I can either be creative or i can feel loved and Boy Howdy, do i need both,

its just weird cuz im the only one in my family thats emoitonal like this and I think thats why i feel so isolated. like im not exxagerating when I say my dad has 0 friends tht arent family. my mom has work friends she will hang out with maybe 4 times a year not for work, but shes always complaining abt social situations which I can understand. maybe my siblings r like that too but my sisters young n focuses on minecraft n stuff n hangs out w friends more than me n we barely know each other so its not like id know, maybe my half brother is but whens the last time hes wanted to talk to me right. like i cry all the time and all it does is make my dad angry at memfor being incompetent and make my mom think its her fault and my sister confused and jst takes up everyones time

and its jst all v strange. like i was kinda raised 2 not have friends, inadvertantly i guess. i can remember my mom trying to make me feel better about something along the lines of u can b okay w/out friends if u have family but she jst told me friends dont matter and im never gonna talk to ppl i meet at my age as an adult, so it stuck w/ me and i started to make moral judgements on ppl on small things we could talk out like say, they use homophobic language sometimes but im sure theyd respect me enough to stop, but id make those judgements before we could befriend each other n take a chance, kinda to protect myself from attachments? but later in life ive found ppl who dont do stuff like that, and thats when i focus in on them im an unfair way to them and they r the only person/group of ppl in my life, etc etc and idk how to stop because im so scared of hanging out w/ most ppl alone i guess? but ill still be here, thinking about like example (namedrop bc he doesnt have me tumblr anyways) my friend jacob tht never hung out w/ me outside of school but i fuccin loved that kid n he just stopped talking to me over the summer n ignored my text i send first day of summer and now we see each other and talk briefly but its like he wont let us be friends anymore and smth like this always happens and its So

and tbh how can i expect it to not happen when i limit myself so much n they will have plenty of other close close friends when i dont? and i think ive gotten better but idk anymore.

and uh, unrelated. I think my dog ive had for 12 years may have to end up being put down this year. hes got cataracts in both eyes and skin diseases and back problems and teeth problems (hes inbred) and hes losing his hearing too and for the past two weeks hes been peeing everywhere and we can let him out but he cant climb stairs anymore n he has to walk them to get to our yard and im the only one w/ the patience to pick him up (hes only 8 pounds) n put him in the yard bc my parents will jst scream at him n my sister doesnt like dogs and hes got seperation issues w me and whines when he cant be in my room which is the farthest from the door out n stuff. and its like rlly stressful my mom will scream at him in front of my sister n brother n me and the other day she said my dad grabbed him by the neck and threw him out on the concrete cuz he peed inside and hes so tiny that thats just gonna make everyting worse and its notmlike i can stop them bc why would anyone listen to me and hed prob b fine for s few more years if he lived in a patient house with ppl who would take him to the vet but theyre prob gonna put him down early snd its gonna b so weird w/out him

when i showered earlier i took s razor with me w/ the intent to cut my thighs, and i did a little, but i never ever draw blood wnd its strange. why am i given these urges when im so fucking terrified of blood. itll still leave marks n stuff but it makes me feel weak ? n ill bruise myself up instead but its never the same. and im such an advocate for help w self harm but i cant for myself. its like i subconsciously want 2 get caught ? idk. i did throw my razor away though and the others i have r rusty and im not THAT much of a dumbass so i dont have options to self harm anymore unless i get new ones. lifehack

and uh lol, having no schedule n it being summer my eating habits r SHIT. it always hurts to eat p much, its at different times n most of the time i just snck only or i dont eat for hours n see black spots n stuff. and when i dont eat its not a body image thing (im nt rlly happy w my nody but its not sth not eating will help with) its cuz i dknt wanna go upstairs for food where my dad is n the snacks r downstairs so its easier, or cuz i forget or cuz i like, want to punish myself? but im too lazy to self harm. its weird

n since ive stopped id’ing as ace officially my internalized lesbophobia has gotten so much worse . im so repressed and lost ans sad, nothinng rly makes sense? I either fall in love w/ anyone who flirts with me or i focus on someone who ill never fucking talk to or see again and imagine countless scenarios n set myself up to b sad. i seek validation from ppl on it but nothhing comes out right or i just cant say it, because other than when i make myself the butt of gay jokes i just cant sven get the words out of my throat that im gay cuz im jst so ashamed and disgusted with myself. ive been looking at pictures of guys lately cuz ive been trying to force myself to like them. back when i thought i was pan it always felt safer bc i could always just love a cis guy or whatever and everything would b okay for my family ykno. and its such a shameful thing for me bc my irl friends who im out to, most see me as v confident abt it at least a little bc im loud abt it u kno, and make all sorts of jokes, and i jst know so many would b surprised or like sad abt that

i want to stop liking girls so much. like holy shit. i have so many straight girl friends and i hate it when they flirt with me because lik, none r my type so i feel nothing but then i feel like i shiuld then feel like No i shouldnt then feel like i shouldnt even be around them bc im a gross disgusting creepo dyke predator. n they always use the excuse of me having a gf so its fine id never hit on them well like, now im single so i have to be DOUBLE careful not to b affectionate w them as im w all my friends and itsssssssssssssmjshfjhdjfhsjdhjshdjshdjhsjdhsjhdjshdk

and i like, think abt this girl alot n yea its romantic even thomwe never fucking talked n rlly i do that w lots of girls and its making me lose out on friendships bc i wanna b their friends somehow bc i think theyre very cool n stuff but i cant stop hodling on to stupid daydreams n idealizations i get to distract me when im sad n its jst stupid like i know its dumb but guess whos boutta keeeeeeppppp doin it??!!!!! boy!!!

and i try so damn hard to talk feeling out, n talk abt who im attracted to n stuff w ppl, n i try so hard to gush but i cant cuz smth comes outta my mouth and then i cant speak past that and no one ends up rlly knowing how i feel, bc ANY time i talk abt anytingngay related abt me its what happens. and i listen to others talking abt tht stuff and i jsut get so god damn JEALOUS bc idk how to express myself

all these inadequacies n shit is making it rlly hard to see how,im gonna b on my own n its always been like this. at TWELVE YEARS OLD i came to fhe fucking conclusion that i was just gonna kill myself when i turned 18 so i didnt have to deal with all this and i was OKAY WITH IT and i just went through life knowing that and hiding it and so rarely questioning my inevitable suicide as a childc so instead of dealing with all that n my problems n getting better i let myself get worse cuz uh, fuck it right

idk its all just occured to me how im not a fully functioning human being, in seberal if not all aspects of my life, its weird. now that I actively want to live and realize i uh Kinda have to simce ill b the legal guardian of my brother its all very scary

sorr i was all over the place and all the typos i didnt mean anyof them n im not crytyping like, i cried a bit but i jst hate typing kn thsi shitty tablet keyboard, n dont wanna spellcheck. if u read through comgratulations also please dont message me abt like the self harm junk n my dog n stuff like, whatever ur abt to say. I Know my guy

time to go uhhhhhhhhhhh daydream about impossible gay shit with guilt in the back of my mind

#personal #animal abuse/#self harm/#other stuff probably i guess #nya #its long uhh full disclosure i sjt wanted to feel like i was talkin 2 someone nyall can ignore this

1 note · View note