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#me. an asthmatic. ‘where is this magical place???’
happyheidi · 2 years
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go where u breathe free. x
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firespirited · 4 months
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I got boosted six hours ago. At last. So relieved, of course I might feel horrid in six hours time, but woof.
Last night, I walked the dog, chatted with a couple of people who's faces I know about the hot weather and a little girl wanted to touch the doggy but that's outside and at a slight distance so no mask
but I got cornered downstairs by a neighbour, not one of the grannies, she's got a teen and an adult daughter and let's call her chatty because she always takes at least half hour even if you try to signal you have to go. In the middle of a lovely convo about pets and how home is where ever you are, I say I'm taking tomorrow off as I get vaxxed and she tells me proudly she's never been vaccinated and never caught it knock on wood (she works in a school and has two asthmatic daughters). 💀👀
I tell her she really should, it's an awful disease, I try to insist again then I blank.
I'm having to battle my thoughts between blurting out that she lives in a building filled with the elderly and 3 immunocompromised folks she claims to care about. And infodumping about SARS coronovirus1 the og, how incredible it is that we have a vaccine for something so violent and complex, the scientific developments involved are mind blowing. To have a vaccine, to have developed somewhat effective treatments, it's the work of millions, we haven't seen a medical 'miracle' like this since HIV treatment which took over twenty years.
The fear didn’t hit until about an hour later. At the time I was too busy trying to stay upright and keep the sweat out of my eyes (hot evening and POTS and this woman is very chatty). I was trying to make something quick to eat while covid diabetic : it's been almost 3 years and my pancreas didn't bounce back. So even fruit and white starches need to be carefully measured. There's baguette in the freezer but I can only have it if the other meal was relatively low carb.
Anyway I'm grateful for the vaccine. Knowing the science and history behind them makes it even more 'magical', I hold on to this despite vaccine injury from a cheaply made low effort hep B jab that gave about 1% of us all auto immune disorders.
Next time I see chatty neighbour, I'll try and get a word in to ask that she consider getting protected for the grannies and us.
I'm also very grateful to all the folks in my orbit on tumblr who've been wearing their masks in public places and got their vaccines. It really is saving lives and if no one else has thanked you yet, allow me ❤️❤️❤️
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bookgeekgrrl · 1 year
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My media this week (9-15 Apr 2023)
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ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᶦ ᵇᶦⁿᵍᵉᵈ ʸᵉˢᵗᵉʳᵈᵃʸ
📚 STUFF I READ 📚
🥰Love Exactly (darter_blue) - 64K, zimbits AU - fluffy AU with a chance meeting in a bar and instalove - fun read, like wrapping a warm blanket around yourself
😊👂‍Death Beside the Seaside (Lady Hardcastle Mysteries #6) (T.E. Kinsey, author; Elizabeth Knowelden, narrator) - Emily & Flo try to take a holiday at the seaside but there's no sea and a surprising number of internal spies. -
😍Wish Granted (ambut) - 40K, stucky no powers AU - reread of this fave D/s getting together fic
😊👂‍A Botanist's Guide to Parties and Poisons (Saffron Everleigh Mystery #1) (Kate Khavari, author; Jodie Harris, narrator) - entertaining enough cozy mystery set in 1920s British academia with the standard 'plucky & smart-but-also-foolish' amateur detective (newly minted botanist) trying to exonerate her mentor from murder charges. I enjoyed it enough that I might read another but I'm not feral for it
🥰Winter's Children (Neery) - 66K, stucky - "When their attempts to recreate the super soldier serum failed, Hydra started trying to breed Captain America clones from his genetic samples. Unfortunately, the serum's effects aren't passed down genetically, so instead of an army of tiny Captain Americas, they get a bunch of tow-headed, asthmatic, allergic, immuno-compromised little Steves. And then the Winter Soldier stumbles across Hydra's failed experiment…" - just a great fucking fic. I stayed up until 1AM to read and I am too fucking old to be doing nonsense like that, but it was totally worth it.
😍Fourth Floor (dirtybinary) - 41K, stucky modern magic AU - "The one where Steve is an angry millennial wizard, Sam is a Disney prince, Natasha is a shapeshifter, and Bucky is a spoiler."
🥰👂‍Rattling Bone (OutFoxing the Paranormal #2) (Jordan L Hawk, author; Tristan James, narrator) - another enjoyable & spooky ghost hunting adventure with the OutFoxing The Paranormal found family, this time dealing with Oscar's actual family history/trauma.
🥰You're the One That I Want (PR Zed (przed)) - 53K, stucky modern no powers AU - reread, angsty arranged-marriage-for-insurance that is so satisfying
💖💖 +203K of shorter fic so shout out to these I really loved 💖💖
toasty warm heart (wearing_tearing) - Stranger Things: steddie, 9K - TOO FUCKING CUTE AND WARM AND FLUFFY
as sunshine falls on the wretched (KivrinEngle) - The Hobbit: gen, 18K - a very sweet canon-divergent AU where bilbo adopts a lost little dwarf baby
Handy (softestpunk) - The Sandman: dreamling, 3K - ceramicist Dream lusts after handyman Hob, doesn't make his move, is sad but is saved when he meets the hot professor he's giving a guest lecture for - short and sweet!
the game is on again (ReinventAndBelieve) - The Witcher: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel, 7K - hot and tender af!
📺 STUFF I WATCHED 📺
Dirty Laundry - s2, e5-7
Ted Lasso - s3, e5 [x2]
The Brokenwood Mysteries - s9, e1
Uncommon Comfort Reads with Malka Older, Martha Wells, KJ Charles, and T Kingfisher - super fun panel
Schmigadoon! - s1, e1-6
Schmigadoon! (Schmicago!) - s2, e1
🎧 PODCASTS 🎧
99% Invisible #316 - The Shipping Forecast
The Sporkful - Bill Nye, The FOOD Science Guy!
Big Gay Fiction Podcast - A Trip to the Ballpark with KD Casey
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Places Our Families Took Us
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Ashley House
The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Fairy Circles
Vibe Check - A Satisfied Geriatric Millennial
99% Invisible #532 - For a Dollar and a Dream
⭐The Atlas Obscura Podcast - Fun and Funny Science with Mary Roach
Off Menu - Ep 187: Lily Allen
Into It - Are We Into Taylor Swift's Breakup, Lofi Girl, and a Baby Shark Podcast? {worth a listen to hear whatshisname Alwyn described as 'sentient mayo'}
You're Dead To Me - Al Andalus
ICYMI Plus - Meet the Internet’s Princess
Welcome to Night Vale #226 - Creditors
⭐Hit Parade Plus - The British Are Charting Edition
🎶 MUSIC 🎶
CREDITS: Burt Bacharach
AM In The A.M.: '70s Pop Morning
Classic Sunny Afternoon
Best Of '81 To '85 [Ratt]
Essential Glam Rock
Ratt radio
"Summertime Girls" [Y&T] radio
The Fixx radio
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Emma To Bruce
Dear Bruce,
We went back to Devil Tavern today with Jem’s advice (bring family rings, show to bartender, gain access to secret room). I don’t know, the Devil Tavern seems to really like elaborate ways of getting in places? So we went in and there was some confusion because when we were there before I heard one of the customers call the bartender “Ernie,” so we asked one of the waitresses for Ernie, and she said there was no Ernie. But then, because we were Shadowhunters she thought we were there to question Ernie about something, so I figured she was just covering up for Ernie and I said, “No, it’s okay, you can tell Ernie he’s not in any trouble,” and the waitress looked even more baffled and said there was no Ernie…we went around like that a few times.
Anyway eventually the bartender comes back up from the basement or wherever he was, and he explains that he is Fred, not Ernie, but that for many many years the bartender was named Ernie, his grandfather and his great-grandfather at least were both named Ernie. So most of the vampires and faeries who have been coming since the Time of Ernies have just stubbornly refused to learn any of the newer bartenders’ names. He tried, when he was a younger man, but they just laughed and said, “That’s a good one, Ernie.” He sounded kind of sad when he said it. I guess everyone has their weird stuff they have to deal with.
We explained to Not Ernie about what Jem had told us, and we showed him our rings. He said yeah, there’s an old room that used to be used by Shadowhunters for clandestine meetings, upstairs. There are instructions left that go back a hundred years that say the room has to be maintained for the use of Shadowhunters, even though none have come around for a long time. They take it really seriously though.
He brought us the key from somewhere—one of those old skeleton key type keys you never see anymore—and we went upstairs and let ourselves in. Let me tell you, Bruce, they do not think being obligated to “maintain” the room means they are obligated to “dust” the room. Absolute nightmare for an asthmatic.
The room is still intact, though—actually, it’s more like a tiny apartment (a “bedsit,” Julian adorably called it), with a tiny bedroom off of a sitting area with a table in the middle and a rather shabby couch. It’s not like the rest of the tavern at all, it feels like you’d imagine a study room in the oldest library at the oldest college in Oxford would feel. Books everywhere, lots of big chunky carved wood, people’s initials carved into the table (note for people scratching their initials into tables: include your last initials! It makes it much easier for your descendants to figure out who you were! There could be a million people named “J!”).
There was nothing obviously ghostly, so Julian used the Sensor we got from Ty. It didn’t find much, but eventually it reacted near a particular book on one of the shelves built into the wall. We pulled it out and it seems to be a handwritten book, with a really elaborate stitched cover. It was called The Beautiful Cordelia and it’s by “L.H.” I would bet any amount of money “H” stands for Herondale. But there was nothing magical about the book. I mean, I didn’t read it yet; maybe it weaves a truly magical tale. But the Sensor didn’t react much to the book itself, there was nothing in between any of the pages, the ink wasn’t sparkly, etc.
Eventually we thought to kneel down and look into the space on the shelf where the book had come from, and sure enough, there was a little nook carved deeper into the wall. Julian and I agreed that in that nook was definitely…a ton of spiders. So we rock-paper-scissorsed for it, I lost, and stuck my hand back there. Luckily, no spiders. Instead, a surprise: an antique metal flask! Like the kind a gentleman would keep in his coat pocket. It is silver—well, at least the color is silver. It might be pewter. It is also definitely not a “band.”
BUT. The Sensor went bananas. We put the flask on the table and the Sensor next to it and it wailed like crazy. It looks like a normal flask to me, kind of blackened with time, and it’s not like when we opened it, a ghost slithered out. I don’t know. It was empty, and the Sensor didn’t react to anything else in the room. We hung out there for about half an hour even after we were done, though. The place did feel comfortable, it must have been really great in its day. I thought I might go back sometime and offer to pay Fred if he would have it dusted and cleaned. There’s probably stuff in there the London Institute would want, too. But that’s for when we’re done with Blackthorn House (and its ghost).
We couldn’t think of anything to do with the flask there at the Tavern, so we left and locked it up and returned the key. We brought the flask into the house, and Julian went to get the silver polish. When we cleaned the flask up, we saw that it had a pretty, elaborate tracery pattern of leaves and flowers on it, and was monogrammed. Not a Herondale this time. Not a Blackthorn, either. The initials were M.F.
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Julian is squinting angrily at the witchlight I’m holding to write this. I guess it is pretty late. Good night, Bruce. Good night, groovy bedroom. Good night, ghost. Good night, mysterious flask.
Good night, Julian my love.
— Emma
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themculibrary · 2 years
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Steve + Asthma Masterlist
Links Last Checked: December 8th, 2023
Asthma (ao3) - Somerandomauthorrr steve/bucky T, 3k
Summary: Steve was having an asthma attack. He was having an asthma attack and Bucky wasn’t there. He’d been on the couch and he wasn’t there when he woke up and he was having an asthma attack.
Bucky spent so many years comforting Steve when he had an asthma attack, he knows exactly what to do. Maybe.
Back to Square One (fanfiction.net) - Ratchet's Apprentice 88 T, 2k
Summary: The research proved it was going to happen, but now they have to deal with it. Steve is left with a pre-serum immune system, forced to relive the main sicknesses from his childhood. Follow the Avengers as they help take care of their almost constantly ill captain. How long can this possibly last?
Be My Breath (ao3) - ClarkeStetler, Goosenik steve/bucky T, 44k
Summary: For the Shrinkyclinks Fest 2021 prompt: Steve needs a roommate. He thinks he will never find one but then he meets Winter Soldier Bucky who needs a place to stay while he recovers. Steve offers him the room immediately and it turns out Bucky is a great roommate.
Basically: Bucky moves in with Steve after he escapes from Hydra, and Steve begins the long process of helping Bucky remember how to be human again.
Breathless (ao3) - littleblackfox steve/bucky E, 3k
Summary: He likes the guy. Likes that he's six feet of piss and vitriol in a 90lb body, likes the wrinkle in his brow when he's sketching, likes the way he presses pencil to paper, all bold movements and elegant lines. Likes the way he approaches everything like it's a battlefield.
Buchanan Medical (ao3) - Metalbvcky steve/bucky T, 54k
Summary: Steve's childhood was filled with illnesses and dread of going to another no good doctor. Even now as an adult, his asthma persisted. But three months ago, Dr. Erskine passed away. Procrastination and fear ate him away. Now he had to find a new one since his medicine supply ran out.
Little did he know, his new doctor would be the greatest thing to happen in his life. -- Modern!AU. Bucky is a doctor and Steve is his patient. This is their journey through Steve's asthmatic issues
Cold Winter's Night (ao3) - fadedlullabyes steve/bucky G, 3k
Summary: Steve has an awful time getting back to his and Bucky's place. He finally makes it home only to suffer an asthma attack.
Does not play well with others (ao3) - usedupshiver steve/tony T, 11k
Summary: While sneaking into the Starks' abandoned home, Steve makes the startling discovery that even though no Stark is living in the house anymore, not all of them have actually left.
G.I. Joes and 2AM Diners (ao3) - OhCaptainMyCaptain steve/bucky E, 100k
Summary: They look nothing like what they used to. Time and life have completely changed them. But as they sit there in silence, eating two halves of one cupcake, letting Brooklyn remind there where they came from, and enjoying a sky full of stars… They are those same little boys, somewhere deep down. For just a second, you’d be able to see them again.
And Bucky thinks to himself that maybe it’s little moments like these – fleeting as they may be – that remind him why life is still worth living.
Little and Broken, But Still Good (ao3) - AnonEhouse G, 3k
Summary: De-aged Tony and Steve bond together to escape their kidnappers. It's not easy when you're five and one of you has asthma, but they're both stubborn. And they have friends they don't remember.
No really angsty bits, just an excuse for me to write little Steve and Tony.
quiet breathing (ao3) - HunterPeverell steve/bucky T, 21k
Summary: Bucky lived a charmed life for exactly twenty-two years before the Incident interupted his life and reduced him to a shell of who he once was. Now twenty-eight, Bucky must deal with nightmares, apathy, therapy, and the scattered remains of his life.
Then came Steve, who radiated sunlight and may spark life and magic back into Bucky's heart.
safe in your arms (ao3) - orphan_account steve/bucky E, 3k
Summary: The kick came before Steve could block it. One minute he was standing and the next, he was pinned underneath a beefy, impressively muscular body.
“Oof!” Steve groaned, for a moment closing his eyes. His chest was heaving, after a heavy session and the sweat on his back was making his top stick to the matt in the private room he’d booked with his instructor. His instructor who happened to be holding his hands above his head.
His instructor who’s sinfully red lips were seconds away from his own.
Selective Service (ao3) - Kroki_Refur N/R, 10k
Summary: The serum's given Steve a lot, but it hasn't taken anything away from him. Not even the things he never wanted in the first place.
The Regal Conflict (ao3) - BarqueBatch steve/bucky M, 18k
Summary: Steve Rogers is a comic and graphic novel artist that needs a minimum of seven hours sleep every night to keep his problematic health issues at bay. That becomes nearly impossible when his new neighbor’s dogs start waking him up at 4 AM every morning. When Sam makes a suggestion on how to handle the problem, Steve doesn’t quite follow through the way Sam intended.
James Barnes just wants a quiet place to hole up with his dogs when he’s not working. He’s paying decent money for a place more off the grid so he can steer clear of people and be left alone. So why the hell is he coming home to a hostile note on his door?
The Soldier and the Mountain (ao3) - MarleyMortis steve/bucky M, 110k
Summary: This is a story about recovering from rape, society's apathy toward victims of campus assault, and one man's trial to escape an abusive relationship in a world where men are painted as the batterer. When James Barnes, professional dancer, starts realizing his long-term boyfriend isn't interested in a healthy relationship, he meets Steve Rogers, one of his boyfriend's victims and a soon-to-be-graduate from NYU. Their friendship seems impossible, but maybe they are what the other needs to start clawing out of their traumatic pasts. The road is long and arduous, but recovery always is.
The Taste of Ink (ao3) - AidaRonan steve/bucky E, 5k
Summary: It's Valentine's Day and if Bucky has to make another Red Hot Red Velvet frap, he'll personally find Cupid and murder him with his own arrows. It's been six long months since he broke up with his ex when an old familiar face walks into his coffee shop.
And if Bucky still remembers his coffee order after two years, well, it's not at all because he wants every inch of him from his high tops to his tattooed neck.
The Winter Wolf (ao3) - JBankai89 steve/bucky E, 95k
Summary: No one thought the Great Depression would be an easy time, but none knew it better than Steven Grant Rogers.
When his mother married a farmer from out of town with a mean streak a mile wide in early 1938, twenty-year-old Steve honestly thought his life couldn't get any worse. Steve was sickly and unable to hold down any kind of job; a burden on the struggling family. When it all became too much, his stepfather talked Sarah Rogers into the unthinkable—abandon the young man where no one but the wolves would find him.
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reddie but richie meets his future self ft. turtle magic
The last thing Richie Tozier remembered was tripping over a small green turtle before face planting on the ground and knocking himself out cold. He’d been running from the Paul Bunyun statue that had come to life and tried to kill him. That much was clear. However, when he woke up, despite the blurriness that came with not wearing his glasses, Richie found himself inside someone’s house. Had his parents found him and brought him home? A good samaritan? He felt around blindly for his glasses, almost falling off the sofa he was lying on.
“Here, kid,” a strange voice said somewhere to his left, holding out Richie’s glasses, “you’re gonna need them repaired.”
Richie took his glasses and shoved them on his face, taking in his surroundings. He was in a dimly lit lounge in a house he didn’t recognise. It was nicely decorated and a small dog slept soundly in the corner of the room. Richie had been covered with a soft blanket and a glass of water rested in front him on the coffee table. He sat upright and gulped the water, glancing at the stranger. He was in the kitchen, perched on the table to watch over the teen; he was a tall man, around forty, wearing glasses much like Richie’s and possessed a very similar fashion sense. The child scrambled from the sofa, backing away from the stranger.
“What the fuck? You fucking kidnapped me, you weirdo.”
“Whoa, whoa, why the fuck would anyone want to kidnap you?” The tall stranger chuckled, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. Richie adjusted his glasses, folding his arms as the stranger gestured in his direction, “you’re welcome, by the way. Next time, I’ll just leave you out in the street on your ass, yeah? Asshole.”
Richie drew himself up to his fullest height, which wasn’t much considering he was only thirteen, “you don’t know shit about me!”
“Yeah, I do. I am you,” the alleged older Richie shrugged, draining his glass of whiskey. He could see the cogs whirring in his younger self’s head, adding, “okay, before you freak out and shit your pants-”
“Will my forehead really get that big?”
Older Richie looked appalled, lowering his glass in offence, “hey, fuck you. Have I always been such an asshole?”
“You’re the asshole, asshole,” younger Richie began pacing, trying to wrap his head around this confusing turn of events. He had many questions for his adult self but first he had to make sure this was genuine. He stopped pacing and faced his amused looking counterpart, “okay, wise guy, if you’re me, what’s my favourite video game?”
“Street Fighter,” adult Richie gleefully announced, a far away look of reminiscence in his eyes, “and don’t worry, little dude. It’s still cool as shit. Only, you don’t have to go to the arcade to play it anymore.”
Younger Richie frowned in confusion, deciding to leave that line of questioning for now. He cautiously sat at the other end of the sofa, his leg bouncing erratically, “no offence, old man, but you’re, like, so fucking uncool. Are you sure you’ve got the right kid?”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Are you married?” Young Richie asked without a beat of hesitation, practically bouncing with feral teenage energy that exhausted his adult self, “is she hot? Are you getting laid, like, a lot?”
“Jesus, kid, buy a magazine,” Richie had forgotten what a closeted mess he had been when he was younger. Then, growing up in Derry of all places hadn’t helped. He took a deep breath, avoiding looking at his teen self, “yes, I’m married but-”
“YES, I knew it. Is she like a model?” Older Richie wanted to laugh at his excited younger self, shaking his head fondly as Richie continued to ramble on, “are you famous? You look poor as fuck though or is that, like, your thing? Are you still funny ‘cause you don’t look like you sell many tickets. Are we still friends with the guys? Do they hang out?”
As young Richie continued his loud musings, speaking more to himself than to anyone else, older Richie pinching the bridge of his nose under his glasses, “we married Eddie.”
That shut Richie up. The teen snapped his mouth closed, blinking at his older self in disbelief. Could it be, all his dreams coming true? He swallowed as hope filled him, hope for a world where he and Eddie Kaspbrak, the boy he was head over heels in love with, could be happy and in love together. Adult Richie rolled his eyes, removing his wallet and handing over the small photo he kept inside. Young Richie glanced at asthmatic boy, a man in this photo, a man with his arms around his older self, kissing his cheek enthusiastically.
"Whoa, that’s Eddie Spaghetti?” He nervously glanced at his adult self, who nodded happily. Young Richie allowed a small smile to spread across his face, “he’s hot as shit.”
Adult Richie raised an eyebrow, "yeah, okay, dude, that’s my husband.”
"Can I keep this?”
“No. Fuck you.” Older Richie snatched the photo from his child self’s hands with a frown. The kid just shrugged, looking very pleased with himself. Older Richie decided to throw him a bone, “Derry’s a shithole, Rich. But he likes you, too. Take my advice, get out of here as soon as you can. And take Eddie with you.”
Young Richie nodded, leaping up from the couch. He was about to leave the house when he paused at the door, grinning widely, “hey, old man, one more thing? What’s the sex like?”
His older self didn’t answer but Richie caught the disappointed look he gave him before he was shoved out into the bright sunlight. He felt something slapping at his face and he opened his eyes. Eddie was standing over him, fresh faced and concerned.
“What the fuck are you doing, Richie?”
The taller boy lifted his head, looking around; he was back in the park he’d collapsed in. There was no sign of his adult self and Richie began to wonder how hard he’d hit his head. He fell back against the grass with a thud, smiling up at Eddie. His fight with Bill meant they hadn’t been hanging out much lately and he’d missed Eddie.
“Just clown stuff, Eds,” he pushed himself upright, still shaking as he remembered his encounter with Pennywise. He indicated Eddie’s arm, “how’s your arm?”
“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie shrugged, hesitating before taking a seat beside Richie on the grass. He automatically withdrew his inhaler, taking several puffs, “allergies,” Richie nodded, gazing softly at his best friend. His soft brown eyes, hair gently blowing in the wind, cheeks rosy. Richie really loved him. After a while, Eddie noticed Richie’s silent staring and blinked, “what?”
“I’ve missed you, Eds.”
Eddie smiled, standing and offering his good arm to Richie and pulling him to his feet. They embraced, neither wanting to let go, “I’ve missed you, too, idiot.”
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themarvelhorse · 3 years
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Empathy for the Devil Re-Read: Chapter 4!
WOAH WE’RE HALFWAY THERE
Or I guess a quarter of the way there, if the halfway point is the 7th chapter. BUT IT’S HALFWAY OF WHAT’S RELEASED!
...she didn’t even want to see her own face in the mirror, and only partially out of a paranoia she’d find soulless demon eyes staring back
Like looking into the abyss eh?
The subtle hurt in Twilight’s eyes made Sunset want to punch Timber, but then she’d only be punching herself.
Oh yeah, like you do emotionally? A different version of beating yourself up?
...tried (and likely failed) to hide her dismay that Timber’s biceps were leagues stronger than hers based on how easy it was to flex
Timber flexin on you Sunny? You worried Twi might like bulging biceps more than yo’ on the couch-gamer-ass?
Well shut the heck your mouth. You’re a cute.
But boooi he jacked af.
Twilight murmured, fresh horror settling over her expression as Timber clapped his hands over his backside, blushing.
SciTwi: Hey! Don't touch my gf's booty! That's mine and mine only!
Poor Flash and Timber, that look was really something the two of them should've shared.
At least the smell wasn’t something she had to worry about, but she hadn’t exactly been expecting guests, so her apartment was a bit of a mess, take-out boxes and laundry galore. Fantastic, she thought. Now Timber thinks I live in a dump.
"Damn, bitch, you live like this?”
Seriously though, wasn't it so much better and nicer in the Castle? You had everything there, except maybe video games. But now here you are, all alone. Even Twi got her own place later AND the opportunity to continue studying at the same time. Never once had to live like you did. 
You have every right to be jealous.
I wonder if that means that Timber doesn't smell anything at all?
Timber raced from the window to the futon as if doing so would hurtle him forward through time to Hearth’s Warming morning.
Oh, such childlike awe and wonder at the world and new things. I know Timber spends most of his time in nature, so this is less of a surprise. But you know that kind of optimistic is refreshing.
Also it kind of illustrates Sunny's priorities. She had a gem she'd been keeping for something special, but didn’t spend it towards fixing her apartment. Granted, I'd think that'd be the responsibility of the landlord and one gem is not enough to make a long-term investment for a better home but still. You could spend that towards extra things that could make the apartment more comfy and less of a “disaster”, right?
Also a little telling that Sunset knows nothing about the human economy, I mean, aspects of economics has become pseudoscience anyway but still, she's probably easy to take advantage of.
“Holy crap! He likes me!”
Honestly, Timber, I'd react the same way.
“He’s not a hobo,” Sunset said, choosing not to mention the box the cat was living in beforehand. “He just chooses to live his own life and only go home when he wants. What’s wrong with that?”
Woah there Sunny, you speaking for the cat, or yourself?
Wait, Timber's thigh is really Sunset's thigh. Does that mean that Sunny's thighs are as soft as dough? That’s adorable.
Uh, did you hear something? It sounded like the heavy breathing of an asthmatic breathing combined with the sound of a book being slammed shut.
If I die, delete my phone photos
No seriously I have over 300 pictures of Sunset in there I can't let anyone know about th-
Dammit...
“Oh my goodness, he’s such a good boy! Okay, really what’s his name? Lucky? Houdini? Chance? Ooo, I know! Warlock, Master of Equestrian Magicks.”
Wait what's with all the fortune and magic names? I mean, magic I get, but fortune?
Hmm, the babytalk reminds me of someone longing for some family. Maybe someone who saw a certain someone else needing to be taken care of and doing just that.
Made himself sick, too. Sunset stayed up with him that whole night until he was done coughing up noodles. She made sure Scruffers knew where his food bowl was from then on.
Seems like you learned from the best mother figure around.
It's increasingly apparent to me that Sunset isn't jealous of Twilight becoming the de-facto leader of Equestria. She's jealous of everything it came with. 
A mother figure, warm household that developed skills to survive in that life and what was going to be hers, promises of personal security and stability later in life, a rewarding career that emphasized all your efforts to that day. 
Everything decided for you, from childhood to the end of your days
And now, you're told you're not the one for that life  thrust into a different world, a cruel and uncaring one. You sleep in a box in the streets until you can get your shit together. No one told you how to survive. How to live your life. No one guided you in learning how to live on your own, do simple tasks, find a home, find a job, find love.
You had to figure it out all on your own, and it was totally freeing.
You just wished you'd known how to do it sooner. The clock is ticking and you're running out of time. All those years that came before are now wasted in comparison to what you could've learned, had you known this is what your life was going to be. But no one would've let you anyway. They told you you'd never need that. They told you you'd always have a home, food in your belly, and the love of a family. They lied.
Now you're just getting by, thought you moved on by now, because you found some sort of love again. But everything else came crashing back with that damn letter. And now, even more is taken from you. Your own body, your girlfriend whom you cannot touch because it isn't you. Even your cat isn't giving you the love you deserve. Right when things were picking up, you're tripped and thrown on your ass, kicked in the gut and your face in the mud. 
And of course, there's an evil dark lord running around and you can't even stop him. You're not paid to stop him. You caused all this anyway, why should you get paid? Volunteer superhero isn't something you can put on a resume is it? You're way too soft for that, you don't even have the muscle.
Everything is hanging by a thread, and you're just barely holding on.
Sorry, got lost in the moment there for a sec
Sunset wasn’t Equestria’s most naturally gifted magical prodigy for nothing. Even if all her records had likely been broken by Princess Twilight.
Damn. Always playing second fiddle to Twi, huh? In this world and the next, at least according to the Friendship Games. But now you've accepted your lot in life, trying to train her to be what you think she should be. Which isn't wrong per se, but like, you don't have to do that. You've come a long way and you'll be better off as leader of the Rainbooms now. Unless the band breaks apart thanks to distance and going off to your own universities and separate paths in life and such.
...just in case the cat got swept up in their body switching magic
Can you IMAGINE one of them becoming the cat? Omg
Flash and Timber discovered they had magic by holding hands, she and Twilight learned they could heal the same way, and Flash only needed to touch her shoulder to put her emotions on blast across Canterlot High’s entire campus
What if SciTwi had something to do with it though? She was there in both instances. She's got relationship stuff with Tim and Sunny, and almost with Flash... but I guess that's not there. SciTwi's is very much a distance power, but Sunny herself is very much a touch power, maybe like Flash. Maybe SciTwi can combine hers from a distance? Timber DID interrupt her speech and mess her up, maybe she responded with some distance zap teleporting?
“Not anything. Magic is always emotion-based at its core. That’s why true friendship is so powerful,” Sunset reiterated. She could feel her throat constrict as she thought back to what she was feeling before the switch when her date with Twilight had been interrupted. “Timber?”
I like this interpretation of magic, it makes sense.
She studied him for a moment longer but didn’t overdo it. Accusing Timber of wanting to steal her girl wouldn’t solve anything (maybe from his perspective wanting to steal her back?)
Goddammit Sunny quit it with the jealously. Is it so hard to believe that you simply both had good relationships with SciTwi? Just cause you actually didn't with Flash (still wondering about that nickname thing) doesn't mean they didn’t too.
But I understand. Everything else was taken from you, why not this too?
Also Sunny, NOT talking about it is a sure fire way to make things worse and NOT make a new friend, which Timber seems quite open to since he's a presh lil Timbit sweetie pie.
"Inventive"
OKAY CAMPERS, ITS TIME FOR A CAMP BONDING ACTIVITY 
WE'RE GONNA PLAY PATTY CAKE
Timber's such a goof. He thinks as he talks. Relatable. Some things only click when said out loud.
...‘routine’ was an extremely loose term to the point of not having a definition; assuming she didn’t stay up until the sun rose playing video games and/or recording Shimmer Code.
What a dork, maybe you could be a Twitch streamer or Youtuber, Sunny. Honestly who wouldn’t wanna watch that?
Timber, who had ditched the heels but was still wearing the Daydream dress from Sunset’s date, stared up at her.
Oh my goood
I totally forgot he was in her dress the entire time
I feel like I need to re-read that whole thing now
Wait, it's called the Daydream dress? Sunset had the daydream dress when SciTwi had the midnight blue tux? Yes you mentioned that earlier I knoooow, this was written before that. This is a re-read but I still miss plenty of things >_>
Timber made a motion with his hand
SIGN OF THE CROSS? TIMBER IS NOW CATHOLIC?
Scout’s honour
Oh yeah, that makes more sense from Mr. Camp Counselor
Many ponies would contend that Princess Celestia’s cutie mark held more cultural significance than any other symbol in the nation’s history.
Maybe, but for Sunset, it's the equivalent of getting a heart tattoo that says "MOM"
I wonder when she got that though, just after she made up with Celestia? Earlier, when she wanted to start being good again? And why not her own cutie mark? Or simply during? Might look weird on a pony though.
Timber bit his cheek, nodding. At the very least, he could read when he’d touched a nerve, but that didn’t stop him from picking up the smart TV remote. “That’s cool, it sounds really meaningful.”
Timmy Tim sure doesn't want it to get awkward. Or maybe he really doesn't want to push anyone before they're ready. Any slight pause could mean they want to know more.
Canterlot Broadcasting Corporation, and their gruff evening news host passed it over...
THE CBC???
REX MURPHY???
Oh no wait it's Grandpa Gruff, lol.
But that’s why we’re keeping you up to date with our ‘round the clock coverage! No need to be afraid!”
NO NEED TO BE AFRAID, WE WILL ONLY FEED YOUR ANXIETY BY SHOWING THIS NONSTOP.
Every news channel covering the election rn
Philomena was SUNSET'S????
What the hell's on the other side of that tear?
Gooood question. Again something I didn't consider too heavily the first time around. I kind of thought it was just what happened when you go through and come out, like Spike coming out with speech.
But Spike only came back with that, he didn't come out as a dragon.
Hmmm...
My only guess is that it's the MAGICINATOR! Dr. Doofenshmirtz is literally just zapping things as they come through and sending them back
...Intro to Omens and Prophecy to forewarn her that her heart was sinking.
Wow
Only stopping to fill Ray's food bowl and give him a pet that he slunk away from
Sunny gets no love whatsoever ;~;. My poor, poor girl. Everyone she loves and who loves her, leaves. What hope is there for my darling sunshine, my only sunshine?
An unshakable chill settled over Canterlot High. Despite what the weather reporter predicted, the snow stayed overnight and the winter storm carried on.
And with the King comes the winter storm.
The long night comes
Not sorry, I have fond memories of my experience with that show, cause I did then what I’m doing now with family and friends using that show
Also I totally predicted Jon and Dany getting together.
It was partly a joke sure, and before the weird revelations and “family” stuff but still I WAS RIGHT
All that pity… Sunset shuddered.
Okay yeah now I kinda feel bad for pitying her too BUT SHE'S BABY. SHE'S BEEN BABY EVER SINCE RAINBOW ROCKS! EVEN BEFORE AT THE END OF THE FIRST ONE.
Princess Twilight wouldn’t have to be bothered with another one of Sunset’s magical screw-ups.
You mean your FRIEND wouldn't get the chance to help out her other FRIEND as the princess of FRIENDship is inclined to help her FRIENDS CAUSE FRIENDS HELP EACH OTHER OUT CAUSE THEY'RE FRIENDS
I'm glad Wallflower and Juniper are pals. I think that's a Bookish reference too?
“That’s going to be so perfect for our production, Canterlot High: A Retrospective…”
Are we gonna see the Retrospective near the end of the story?
“Hey, anytime,” Timber told her, and when he and Sunset had gotten far enough down the hall that the other students couldn’t overhear, Timber beamed to her.
ANYTIME? You hear that Sunny? Timmy's making promises for you and forcing you to socialize and interact with folks.
Also I gotta appreciate Bevin more. Seriously, that perspective, and those expressions, it’s like an elaborate icing design all over this delicious storycake.
Timber giggled as if tickled by the silliest idea he could think of. “Pity you? What are you talking about? You basically own the place!”
Look Sunny. Timber's trying to tell you that everyone at that school genuinely care about you. You see the impact you've made in their lives? You'd make a great staff member around here, methinks. 
Vice Principal Luna muttered in a strangely archaic, nightmarish voice, "Who would dare use the last creamer?"
CONSPIRACY THEORY: That's really NMM who came through the crack. Or maybe something did pass through and it hit Luna? Something dark, and eviiiiil. Or maybe Sombra successfully separated himself from his evil part, and now the evil part is in Luna.
“See? This is what I’m talking about,” Sunset said, glaring at the speaker as if it were exhibit A. “She’s doing that for me because she feels sorry for me and knows I don’t eat meat. I’m pretty much the only student who doesn’t⁠.” Which, okay, wasn’t entirely true. Fluttershy and Bulk Biceps were vegetarian, too, and that was just the two she knew about. But still the timing made it stupidly obvious: “It’s a pity vegetarian option.”
Sandalwood seems like the type to be vegan. Every event hosted by my school's environment student group had them. AND THEY WERE DELICIOUS GODDAMIT. IT'S THE WAY OF THE FUTURE, SUNSET, ITS HOW YOU FIGHT CLIMATE CHANGE AND BE SUSTAINABLE. YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO IT, I DON’T, BUT DAMMIT IT HELPS AND THAT MATTERS
While Sunset’s friends had been talking, the Principal’s announcements continued, so Sunset only caught the tail end after Applejack tapped a finger over her lips.
Honestly that's some good AJ representation right there, she’s usually the one who notices things the others don’t, and works to right them.
Okay so it's Sombra BUT...
Which Sombra? Clearly this one is a pony Sombra, cause magic, but the comics have already shown an AU with a good Sombra. I know the comics are sorta fringe territory these days but nothings off the table. Which is why I think this Sombra's actually a good guy. But the one they fought was this universe's Sombra who passed through the crack and out the other side and is suddenly superpowered and unable to handle magic and shit properly without it going to his head?
Geez I’m saying Sombra like SciTwi says guidance counselor
Actually, adding onto that. It could be NMM, because she can make herself look like other ponies, like the Shadowbolts.
Well, that’s all for this week friends and folks, take care and be excellent to each other!
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The Marathon
Fandom: Scrubs
Ship: Jdox
Word count: 2,777
Notes: So yeah uhhh if you didn’t know, this is an old ass blog and I am still officially a Scrubs stan, so if this is a surprise to you...I’m sorry. Here’s a little Jdox oneshot because my rewatch is giving me feels.
Summary: One hard night at the hospital brings two pining doctors together.
Also on FFN and AO3
JD wasn’t the most athletic guy growing up, and he certainly wasn’t anymore, but from 7th grade until he graduated high school, he participated in a horrible, deadly, thrilling sport called cross country. Initially, it had been the bright idea of his optimistic father in a fit of wishful thinking. Optimistic, because 7th grade JD looked like a stiff breeze could give him a panic attack, and the thought of running in front of people in the woods nearly made him go catatonic.  But as time went on, he realized it helped a lot with stress and anxiety, whether he was any good at it or not.
There was this race, hosted by the Minooka Mountain Lions. It was the longest course in the conference. High school kids ran 5ks, or about 3.1 miles, but by middle school standards, the winding 1.8 miles of Minooka Park’s trails may as well have been a marathon. And at the end, a hundred scrawny twelve year olds were expected to drag themselves up a hill that seemed to shoot straight into the sky before shoving themselves across the finish line at a dead sprint. The year asthmatic, skinny, pale JD, pre-puberty and all elbows and knees, joined the team, it was the first race of the season, so they all had about a week and a half of conditioning under their belts. It was like asking toddlers to conquer Europe.
The race day came, no matter how much Johnny begged it not to. The gun went off, he jogged a bit and then walked on and off for, like, a mile, and when he turned the corner out of the woods and saw the most legendary sledding hill in the county looming over him, he fully stopped at the foot of the hill, not even noticing the parents screaming encouragements or the equally skinny and asthmatic competitors passing him. He simply stared up at the slope, awed by its incline.
That’s how he felt staring at a 12 hour on-call shift on Christmas Eve with Dr. Cox, a board member in the ICU, 4 car accident victims, one of which had already coded twice, and a young man desperately awaiting a kidney. It was the same feeling, only this time he didn’t start puking Gatorade so violently that his dad had to run onto the course and help him to a porta-potty while a coach directed traffic around his stinking lunch.
At least, not yet.
The door to the on-call room swung open, a figure standing in the door frame, and his heart was in that race again, fleeing his chest in a panic
In a rare moment of Christmas spirit, Kelso had granted a small splurge for some fairy lights in a few places around the hospital. Their twinkling light cascaded through the open door and cast Doctor Cox’s sharp silhouette in a gentle glow. JD had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
“Let’s get to work, Newbie.”
The hill loomed.
JD barely registered what he was doing, his world becoming a blur of rooms, beds, faces, charts, pens, needles, and Perry. Perry wasn’t blurry. Perry’s hand was on his shoulder, Perry’s eyebrows were furrowed as he wrote, Perry didn’t even blink while tossing JD a chart. And every time he got a chance to finally close his eyes, it seemed like only seconds later that Perry was shaking him awake, helping him to his feet. God, his feet. He just wanted to get off his feet.
Despite the rants and the fights and the distinct lack of affection that JD caught himself daydreaming about, they made a good team. One to think and process, one to bark for efficiency. One to feel, and one to do. One to ground the other. They had to snap at each other, shove charts in each other’s faces, whistle, touch, anything to keep one another focused. Suddenly the hill was muddy. JD was injured, Perry was barely awake, someone was shooting at them, and they were dragging each other up the slope, JD screaming for bandages — 
Just a dumb fantasy. Focus, JD. No, don’t. You’re in a brief moment of blessed peace. Savor it. He tilted his head back against the wall, just wishing he could sit, but knowing the trip to the break room would only waste his precious respite. Perry was handing him coffee.
And then, his pager. Perry’s pager. They locked eyes as they recognized the room number. 
Zoe.
Among all the christmas bustle there was one of the usual snow related accidents on the freeway. A little 7 year old girl had been in the pileup. Her 16 year old brother, Charlie, had been behind the wheel driving in his first snow. He was dealing with broken ribs and internal bleeding, but he looked like he was going to pull through. Zoe had been touch and go for a while, but she had seemed stable enough. What the hell had happened? He abandoned his coffee without hesitation. Charging towards her room, all JD could think about was how young she was, how guilty her brother had felt about the whole thing and how relieved he’d been when he’d found out she was stable. 
She wasn’t dead yet.
JD pushed every thought that wasn’t do this now out of his head as he sprinted down the hall, his stethoscope bouncing on his chest, running on his toes, muddy tennis shoes digging into the earth and bounding up tree roots like stairs…
“Starting CPR.”
It was probably going to rebreak her ribs but he didn’t care. Broken ribs are common when bending them two inches past their normal state, especially when they’re barely healed on a little girl.
He was sweating from the effort of the compressions. His heart was pounding. He found himself wishing for the magical ability to transfer his racing heartbeat to this little girl, to give her his shallow breaths.
“C’mon…” He was climbing uphill, carrying Zoe on his back. She was heavier than she looked. His lungs burned, his calves screamed, but he pressed on. The end was so close.
But medicine isn’t a race. There’s no finish line that you have to push for, no giant timer telling you your level of success, no string of plastic flags to funnel you into the blessed end. Saving lives has a time limit. If you’re not fast enough, the finish line disappears.
Zoe ran out of time.
He slumped to the floor outside the room. Doctor Cox stood above him. “Can’t win ‘em all, Newbie.”
All he could do was rejoice in being off his feet.
He could feel Perry’s eyes on him as he decided whether he wanted to listen to the half of his brain that begged for sleep, or the half that knew he didn’t deserve it. For a moment, it almost seemed like Dr. Cox could hear those voices too, or at least could identify the outward signs. Either way, he simply said, “Go home.”
JD couldn’t even muster the energy to express his surprise. He had come to expect baiting and tricks from his unwilling mentor, but for once he seemed genuine. He hauled himself to his feet again. God. “Merry Christmas, Doctor Cox.” And that was the closest they would get to a fanfare, to a roaring crowd praising them for collapsing across the finish line.
The sliding doors opened to greet his approach and a gust of wind dusted a few flakes of snow onto the carpeted entrance. The asphalt had already been salted, leaving goopy gray puddles of slush that squished and splashed in grainy chunks beneath his sneakers. But beyond the parking lot, outside the perimeter of the hospital, the snow glinted off the trees colored by dancing Christmas lights.
His mind wandered to his apartment, to Turk and Carla, who were already asleep in the apartment. They would wake up only a few hours after he got home, ready to celebrate and smile and laugh with their favorite third wheel.
He thought about that warmth, that contentment, that boost that he couldn’t bring himself to believe he deserved, and decided he wasn’t ready to leave.
Suddenly invigorated, JD about-faced and power-walked to the nurse’s station, filled with anxious adrenaline that he knew was a sprint and could only last a moment.
“Where’s Doctor Cox?”
The nurse pointed, and before he could stop himself, JD had flung open the door to the on-call room. Breathless, he wondered if the lights silhouetted him the way they had Doctor Cox mere hours ago. He’d been breathless then, too.
“Belinda, what are you —”
“Is anyone else in here?” He was stalling — he knew the answer.
“Not a soul. Newbie —”
JD shut the door behind him, at a loss for what the hell to do next.
“Sasha, you’d better go ahead and tell me what the hell is happening or so help me —”
“I don’t want to go home.”
Silence. JD cringed, realizing how childish he sounded. But that was just it. He felt like a child, reduced to basic emotions of tired, frustrated, sad. He couldn’t express anything else. Not that he should, even if he were able. He couldn’t just say, “Kiss me so I know that everything will be okay.” Like most things, that was better left in his head.
“Come here.”
JD obeyed semi-consciously. Dr. Cox’s warm hands connected with his shoulders, their heat spreading through his veins like ink in water and guiding him toward one of the beds. JD had a brief flash of clarity, realizing he was about to be tucked in. Child, his brain scolded. He ignored it, toeing off his shoes and folding himself under the thin blankets.
Dr. Cox sat on the edge of the bed, half on and half off. The sight of his profile, curved forehead, elegant nose, full lips, strong jaw, outlined against the navy darkness behind him took JD’s breath away. With all the running and the shoulder touching and closeness, he hadn’t even taken a moment to question why Dr. Cox hadn’t already put his foot up JD’s ass. Before he could dwell on it, let alone say anything, Perry’s fingers were in his hair and every one of JD’s brain functions stalled.
“It’s been a while since this job got to you, huh? Yeah I think you’re about due for a breakdown.”
His throat felt thick. Despite finally being in bed, off duty, off his feet, JD felt less like relaxing and more like crying.
“Now, me, I had mine last week, a few days after Jordan finally decided to leave for good. So I’m a solid rock. Whatever you need, Newbie, I’m here.”
All he could do was nod.
Dr. Cox sighed, the soothing motion of his fingers combing through JD’s hair as steady as his presence ever was. “What I’m saying there, Newbie, is that there’s no shame in letting go and breaking down, as long as you’re still ready to put your dukes up the next day and take some more punches.”
So he let go.
He had cried in front of his reluctant mentor several times, but never like this. These weren’t angry tears or exhausted tears or frustrated tears. These were all of the above, shoved down for god knows how long. And Dr. Cox endured it, scratching gently at the short hairs on the back of his neck and not saying a word. Minutes passed, and JD felt his mind coming back to him, along with the clarity he needed to be embarrassed. He sat up, shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes as if trying to force the tears to stop flowing. Dr. Cox gripped his wrists and pulled them away.
“Sorry,” JD said. Whether he was apologizing for the tears or the self-abuse, he did not know. He reclaimed his hands, which felt heavier than he remembered, and lifted the sleeve of his scrubs to wipe his eyes.
“Maggie, if you didn’t gather from my highly out of character kind speech from before your little sobfest that you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for, I’ll repeat it in a way that you can understand.” Perry gripped JD’s chin, and oh how he wanted that to be real affection. “This. Place. Sucks. And no matter how thick your skin is, this hellhole is going to get to you. Bottling it up will drive you crazy, Newbie. Take it from someone who knows.”
“...Thank you.”
“Of course.” 
Of course. What an odd response to a thank you. As if JD shouldn’t expect anything less.
It was then that JD realized that Perry had let go of his chin, but their faces were still achingly close. He could feel Perry’s breath on his lips, beckoning him closer. It was so tempting to reach forward and kiss him, not in some fireworks display first kiss full of romance novel heat and passion, but to just kiss him once on the lips, once on the neck, and just fall asleep in his arms as if they’d been lovers for years.
The unusual comfort and warmth was getting to him. He was drunk on the affection and everything felt so twisted, but he was spellbound, unable to move away. Only closer.
And closer
And closer
And—
Dr. Cox put a hand on his chest. “Newbie—”
“No,” he interrupted firmly. “No more excuses.”
And just like that, they connected. It wasn’t a fireworks display, but it wasn’t familiar either. It was easy, natural, electric. Like he was meeting Perry Cox for the first time. It was that final sprint, pushing everything he had into gaining seconds. It almost snuck up on him. One second he was enjoying the scent of Perry’s cologne up close and the next they were gripping each other’s faces, enraptured by the taste of one another. For a few unending moments, they couldn’t get enough of each other. For a few brief infinites, they gave into the absolute irresistibility of one another, the magnetism that they had fought for so long. And like magnets, they clicked into place.
And then they parted, slowly, achingly. Their lips hovered centimeters apart as they tried to breathe in one last taste.
JD pursed his lips, his head swimming as he fought for the courage to speak. “I…” just do it, Dorian. “Um, I have feelings for you.”
A tense pause. And then, he laughed. Doctor Cox actually laughed, and JD froze.
“That’s your glorious love confession?” Perry said, still grinning against his lips. “‘I have feelings for you?’ Surely after years of pining you can come up with something better than that.”
JD felt like an idiot. Of course. Of course Doctor Cox didn’t reciprocate. This is why he didn’t say anything for so long, because he knew it would turn out this way. All thought was replaced with action. He panicked and pulled Perry in for another passionate kiss, one he couldn’t escape from. Just keep kissing, pretend it never happened.
He seemed to gain ground for a moment before Perry shook off his surprise and pulled away, ducking another attack. 
“JD,” He said. “I have feelings for you too, they’re complicated, messy feelings, but there’s no use denying them anymore.
JD felt the breath leave his body. “Really?”
A chuckle and a sweet kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Give me a chance to speak before you panic next time.”
Next time. There would be a next time. JD had been waiting for this moment since the first day of his internship. Perry Cox was confessing his feelings while kissing him in the on-call room, and suddenly he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. They clicked into place once again, grinning against each other’s lips. JD sprung forward, and they fell together, tumbling and laughing and kissing and feeling and lifting shirt hems and grabbing skin and— 
“Not here, Newbie.” The nickname had never sounded so sweet. “Not now.” He granted JD a kiss. “Soon, I promise. But not in this dump.”
JD wanted so badly to protest, but he was so goddamn tired, and Perry’s arms looked so inviting. His face fit perfectly in the crook of his harm, and fingers came to ruffle his hair briefly, but JD didn’t let them leave. Perry chuckled and obeyed, gently scratching at JD’s scalp until his eyes could barely stay open. 
Every shift at the hospital felt like a race, filled with hills and obstacles. But Perry...Perry had been a marathon. And it felt so good to cross the finish line.
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edsrosetattoo · 4 years
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For anyone interested, I have decided to blow off at least an hour of work to make a list of all of the books visible in Ian’s hoard on the floor. I work in publishing so maybe making this post at work is like, 5% justifiable. Yes, my job is fucking boring, yes, I have a terrible problem with procrastination but I thought it also offers a bit of a glimpse into Ian’s interests since other than the army and religion, we don’t know a whole lot. Here we go!
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Knight of Darkness, Kinley MacGreggor, 2006
For countless centuries, I've been the assassin for the infamous Merlin, even though the woman who birthed me sits at the right hand of our enemy, Morgen le Fey...
Circumpolar!, Richard A. Lupoff, 1984
Summary: Aviators Howard Hughes, Charles Lindbergh and Amelia Earhart are pitted against The Red Baron, his younger brother, and the Princess Irini Lvova in a daring race to fly around the poles for a $50,000 prize.
Fifth Planet, Fred Hoyle and Geoffrey Hoyle, 1963
Another star is due to pass close to the sun, close enough for conventional spacecraft to reach it. The first planets observed are four gas giants, but then an inner 'Fifth Planet' is found. Signs of chlorophyll are detected, suggesting that it supports life. Rival Soviet and US expeditions are launched to visit it.
A for Andromeda, Fred Hoyle and John Elliot, 1964
Ten years from now, from the faraway constellation of Andromeda, a complex series of signals are collected which prove to be a programme for a giant computer. When the computer begins to relay the information it receives from Andromeda, scientists find themselves possessing knowledge previously ‪unknown to man. Knowledge of such a nature that the security of human life itself is threatened.‬
The Bard of Sorcery, Gerard Daniel Houarner, 1986
When Tralane, an itinerant bard, was captured by the dread Sorcerer King, his only hope lay in stealing the Eye of Wyden. With that powerful amulet, he was able to escape to another variant world, but he could not so easily escape the destiny that seemed to pursue him.
Demon 4, David Mace, 1986
World War III is over. Everyone knows it. Every survivor, every man, woman and child left on Earth knows it. But KRAK-1 doesn't. In the depths of the ocean, its mighty engines still pulse, a nuclear doomsday machine fast approaching the fail-safe point. No one alive can stop it so the desperate survivors decide to send a machine to kill a machine.
Damiano’s Lute, R.A MacAvoy, 1984
Set against the turbulent backdrop of the Italian Renaissance, this alternate history takes place in a world where real faith-based magic exists. Our hero is Damiano Delstrego who has forsaken his magical heritage to live as a mortal man. Accompanied only by the guidance of the Archnagel Raphael, the chidings of a brash young rogue, and the memory of a beautiful pagan witch, Damiano journeys across a plague-ridden French countryside in search of peace.
Cambodia Travel Guide, Lonely Planet, 2018
Out to Canaan, Jan Karon, 1997
As the story of Father Tim's Episcopalian Mitford parish continues, he finds himself in the very thick of things. Far from the bachelor life he knew for 62 years, he now finds himself opening his home to a myriad of friends, neighbors, and other lost souls, each giving new meaning to his God-centered life.
Science and Human Behavior, B. F Skinner, 1951
Since he wrote the text, an empirical science of human behavior has developed, supplementing Skinner's conceptual analysis in this book. Skinner's later chapters, in which he analyzes economic, social, religious, and governmental agencies remain illustrative of how his concepts can be applied to understand complex human behavior, leading to insights not forthcoming from conventional concepts and methods of analysis.
Prisoners of Our Thoughts: Viktor Frankl’s Principles for Discovering Meaning in Life and Work, Alex Pattakos, 2004
World-renowned psychiatrist Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning is one of the most important books of modern times. Frankl’s extraordinary personal story of finding meaning amid the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps has inspired millions. Frankl vividly showed that you always have the ultimate freedom to choose your attitude—you don’t have to be a prisoner of your thoughts.
The Holy Bible
The Catholic One Year Bible: The Entire Catholic Living Bible Arranged in 365 Daily Readings by The Living Bible, 1987
Peace Like a River, Leif Enger, 2001
Narrated by an asthmatic 11-year-old named Reuben Land, Peace Like a River is the story of Reuben's unusual family and their journey across the frozen Badlands of the Dakotas in search of his fugitive older brother.
The Ego and the Mechanisms of Defence, Anna Freud, 1936
A classic and a founding text in ego psychology. Written by a pioneer of child analysis, and illustrated by fascinating clinical pictures drawn from childhood and adolescence, it discusses those adaptive measures by which painful and unwanted feeling-states are kept at bay or made more bearable.
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little!peter, please?
This isn’t the pool party bit that I’m working on, but an AU of that same pool party but where Peter is asthmatic. I chatted to @that-tiny-dumb-artist about this and honestly couldn’t let go of it bc it was so cute!! So here’s a lil thing ahah
Daddy Tony, Uncle Stephen, 18+ asthmatic little Peter, ageplay, pool party, inhalers, whump, fluff and comfort 
——————
It was Stephen who noticed Peter’s wheezy breaths, as everyone else was quite occupied. Nat and Pepper were busy with re-applying sunscreen on each other, Thor was tending to the grill and Tony and Steve were inside in the kitchen chopping up more watermelon.
Excusing himself from Thor’s company, Stephen set his drink aside and made his way down to the pool where all the littles were. Well, except for Loki, who was lurking around the pool and instead of joining the others, he explored the large garden and all the pretty flowers. Loki was quite new to being little, so they had all agreed to let him be during the party. The other littles, MJ, Bucky and Peter were all playing together by the stairs of the pool where the water was lowest, splashing around with the plastic sharks and little boats. MJ was the captain of the ship, while Peter had a white shark and Bucky had a hammer head one. The boys were trying to sink the ship, which MJ would not allow.
”Dun-dun-dun-duuuun!” Bucky hummed the Jaws theme sinisterly as he circled the ship with his shark. Peter tried to hum along, but couldn’t as he was trying to hold back coughs. MJ nor Bucky seemed to notice Peter’s state and continued with laughing, shrieking and singing along. However, they did stop when Stephen crouched down by the pool side.
”Steph, look at my scary hammer head shark! It’s called that because it’s head looks like a hammer!” Bucky explained proudly, showing the toy in question to Stephen. Before he could reply, MJ spoke up.
”His name isn’t ‘Steph’, James. It’s Doctor Stephen.” MJ corrected, her chin raised and eyes narrow as she looked at Bucky. Turning to look at Stephen, her expression softened. ”Right?”
”Both Steph and Doctor Stephen is fine, guys.” Stephen assured with a chuckle.
”Come play with us! You can be the scary alligator and then we’ll sink MJ’s stupid ship!” Bucky suggested enthusiastically and pointed at the rest of the plastic figures by the pool side beside them.
”No! Doctor Stephen is gonna be the King ship to my ship Queen MJ!” The little girl argued and made her ship do a spin on the water surface to show off her boat.
”I would love to guys, but I don’t have time right now.”
”Aww, why not, Steph?”
”Because I’m here to get Peter. His Daddy needs help in the kitchen.” At the mention of his name, Peter turned around to face them where he stood at the last step in the pool. The little boy had been holding back coughs while the two other littles were arguing.
”D-Daddy needs- my help?” Peter stuttered out weakly in between coughs and now MJ and Bucky seemed to catch on that something was up, but before they could ask, Peter went over to Stephen and took his hand as he climbed out of the pool.
Draping a towel around the boy’s shoulders, Stephen placed a hand on his back and lead him inside to the living room.
”Peter, how are you feeling?” Stephen asked and Peter frowned at him.
”I-I’m fine, Uncle Stephen. I gotta help Daddy.” Peter said, coughing again, and was about to head to the kitchen, but Stephen grabbed him by the shoulder.
”Hey, hey. Your Daddy doesn’t need help, Pete. I just said that so you would come inside with me. You need to use your inhaler, all right? You’re wheezing real bad, baby boy.”
Peter was about to argue how he was fine, but before he could he doubled over with a coughing fit. Stephen knew where all the inhalers were stashed in the house and retrieved the one in the living room quickly before sitting onto the couch, pulling Peter onto his knee.
”Come on, just open your mouth for me and I’ll do it, yeah? Be brave for me, Pete?”
”B-but what if- what if the others see? I’m not a baby, U-Uncle Stephen…” Peter stuttered out, his voice growing more high pitched and breaking due to all the coughing. He was starting to get teary eyed too.
”You’re not a baby, Peter. You just need some medicine now and then. That doesn’t make you a baby. And Bucky and MJ aren’t here, it’s just the two of us and I won’t tell anyone besides your Daddy. Can you open for me, hmm?”
”Promise?”
”Promise. Now open your mouth for me, Peter. Please?” Stephen tried to encourage with more urgency now as Peter’s wheezing only grew worse each second. The doctor could clearly tell that Peter dreaded this with every fibre in his body, but still he was brave enough to part his pink lips. Shaking the inhaler a few times, Stephen placed the device in the boy’s mouth and pressed the button so that he inhaled the medicine. Peter pulled a disgusted face, but he took the medicine correctly and slumped against his Uncle with a whine.
”Well done, Pete. You were so good for me. Your Daddy is gonna be so proud of you when I tell him how you used your inhaler like a big boy.” Stephen praised as he held the boy close, feeling his heart swell at the little noises he made against his neck.
”Not a baby…”
”Of course not, Pete. You’re a big and brave boy.”
Peter sat like that in his Uncle’s lap for a bit as the inhaler did its magic and soon enough he was breathing a lot easier.
”Peter! Peter! Peteeeeeeeer!”
”Sounds like someone’s missing you.” Stephen said with a chuckle as Peter sat up in his lap at Bucky shouting his name. ”Go on then!”
And with that Peter dashed outside again, leaving the towel on Stephen’s knee. With a chuckle, the doctor folded the towel neatly and got up to put the inhaler back where it belonged before going to the kitchen to tell Tony about how brave his little one had been.
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obsidiancreates · 5 years
Text
So I fell asleep in the afternoon.
I didn’t fully mean to, but I think not being able to breathe made me more tired.
I’ve barely been able to breathe all day. I walked quite a distance in a ton of fire smoke a few days go, the smoke has been lingering in the air ever since and continuing to make it hard to breathe, and then there was all the nail polish remover fumes from yesterday, plus the fact I am asthmatic and have no inhaler.
My mom is making us go out to her meeting with her.
Where a very rambunctious young girl, I think she like 10 or something, will also be. And Mom says we won’t have to watch her, just “hang out” with her, but there is no “hanging out” when it comes to kids. She like, runs around Target and plays specifically the audio clip of 24k Magic very loudly on the speakers display, and then films Tik-Toks to that, and she’s a sweet girl but she’s just a lot to handle right now because I can’t breathe and am still drained from babysitting yesterday.
Mom said that she’ll just text the girl’s mom, whom she is having the meeting with, and let her know I can’t breathe so we’ll just hang out in the Starbucks. In the freezing cold Starbucks. With uncomfortable chairs. For multiple hours. For no fucking reason.
“You’re in the house too often.” Yeah!!! No shit!!! We’re homeschooled!!! We have no friends to go hang out with!!! Even if and when we did you wouldn’t allow that unless you could also go!!! And you never can because you’re either working or doing the stupid fucking meetings!!! I like being in the house! I’m fine with it!!! I don’t like being in public places and just being there for no reason, with no purpose!!!
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lotus0kid · 6 years
Note
There’s plenty of homeless regulars at the library where Belle works, but she’s been turning a blind eye to the yellow VW bug parking overnight in the lot for weeks, because two teens and their newborn are living in it. When she hired Neal Cassidy to paint a fairy-tale mural in the kid’s section, she never imagined she’d find the corpse of Peter Pan sprawled on the storytime rug with an ornate dagger in his back, or that she’d end up hiding the scaly murderer in the library basement.
OUaT: Anniversary Fic the 3rd
((Okay, I get the feeling you want me to write TheConfrontation, but I prefer to focus on the door-slamming French farce aspectof this scenario, so I hope this works for you.))
 Belle isn’t going to get a bit of work done like this.  It’s a good thing the East Side Branch Librarydoesn’t get too many visitors.  Theair-conditioned building is an oasis in a Tallahassee summer, but you stillhave to go outside to reach it.
 In any case, she stops contemplating the weather and returnsher attention to the one visitor she does have, and does not want.  “Okay, so, can you explain one moretime?  Peter Pan is... was who?”
“My father.”
 “And you killed him because...?”
 “He lied to me.  He’sbeen coming and going from the Land Without Magic for centuries, stealingchildren for his sick games.  But Istopped him.  I forced him to bring mehere, and then I made certain he’d never harm another boy.  Let his shadow wander the realms forever, it’sa better fate than what he deserves.”
 “And you came here because...?”
 “I need to find Baelfire.”
 “And you don’t know anything about his whereabouts.  You said he’s your son and he’s...” Bellechecks her notes, “Got brown hair and brown eyes and is between the ages offifteen and three hundred.”
 “That’s right.  Godsdamn it, if I could work some simple blood magic this would all be solved!”
 “Uh huh.  And, sorry,what was your name again?”
 “Rumpelstiltskin.”
 None of what... Rumpelstiltskin... has said has made anysense whatsoever from the instant of his arrival.  The only thing stopping Belle from callingthe cops is his reptilian eyes and strange skin, which should look like nothingmore than Hollywood make-up effects and yet... They’re not.  She knows it,viscerally.  There is in fact some kindof magical being standing in her library, ranting about his missing son.  Oh, and he’s responsible for the coolingcorpse on the Story Time Rug.  Let’s notforget that.
 “I... I don’t know what to tell you.  The world is a big place.  It’s going to take time to find one person ifyou’ve no idea where to look.”
 “Well, time is what I’ve got, dearie,” he says with a flickof his black-nailed hand, “I’m immortal.”
 That statement doesn’t even crack the top five weirdestthings she’s heard today.  “Okay, well, Ithink-”  Belle’s words are choked off whenshe looks over Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder through the glass panes of theentryway and spots a yellow Beetle pulling into the car park.  She spits out a curse and rounds thecirculation desk to grab Rumpelstiltskin’s arm in both hands.  The silk of his shirt feels incredible.
 “What are youdoing?” he inquires.
 “You’ve got to get out of sight, right now.”  Recent events had actually distracted Bellefrom worrying about her latest charity case. But now the two are going to come crashing together if she doesn’t actfast.
 “Why?”
 “Because if anyone sees you, they’re going to scream andfreak out.”
 Rumpelstiltskin grunts as if he’s not surprised, just disappointed,and lets Belle manhandle him into her office.
 “Stay here.  Do notmove.  Understand?”
 He sniffs like a disdainful cat, then drapes himself overher desk chair and folds his leather-clad legs. “Don’t let me keep you,” he says with another graceful gesture of hishand.
 Belle rolls her eyes and steps back out into the lobby areajust in time to see young Neal Cassidy walking in, paint cans dangling from onearm and baby carrier from the other. “Hey, Belle, look, I know I’m not supposed to bring him in here, but thebreeze has died down and it’s just way too hot in the Bug, even in the shade.  It’s not a huge problem, right?”
 “It’s- it’s fine, Neal, don’t worry about it,” Belle says,not at all sure if she’s lying.
 “Thanks.  Again.”  He hefts the baby carrier onto thecirculation desk.  Henry stirs, thensettles back to sleep.  Belle smilesinstinctively at his rosy little face before her gaze slides over to take inhis father’s look of fearful exhaustion. In this moment he seems centuries older than his nineteen years.  “He’ll sleep for a while.  He used up enough energy wailing all the wayto the store and back.  At least we knowhe’s not asthmatic, right?”
 They share ironic grins over the carrier.
 “I’ll get to work, it’s just...  I don’t want him near the paint fumes.  So, you’ll watch him?”
 “Yeah, go ahead.”
 Fearful exhaustion is replaced by guilty relief.  “Thanks,” he says before wandering toward thechildren’s section where a mural is half-painted.
 And there’s a corpse on the floor.
 Belle’s stomach falls into her feet and she bolts afterNeal, who has stopped walking and now stands over a newly transformed pile ofashes.  “What the hell is this?” he asks.
 “I, uh, I’m not sure. Someone was in earlier, while you were gone.  They must have tracked it in.”
 “What were they doing, cleaning a chimney?  A lot of chimneys?”
 “Must have been,” Belle repeats, silently begging Neal tobuy the flimsy fairy tale.
 “And they shook it out all over the carpet?”
 “I suppose.”“Man, people are weird.”  With that, Nealheads to the mural, and Belle nearly passes out with relief.
 “Okay, so, you’ve got all you need?  I’ll just leave you to it?”
 “Yeah, I’m good.”
 “Great.  So, shout ifyou need anything.  I’ll be at the deskwith Henry.”
 Neal turns from the mural to say, “Thanks, Belle.  You’re amazing.”
 Belle grins and shrugs and escapes from the children’ssection, only to find Rumpelstiltskin bent over the carrier, smiling as a tinyhand grasps at his narrow nose.
 “What are you doing?” Belle demands in a harsh whisper.
 “Just saying hello. Is he yours?”
 “No!  Look, get backin the office.  I told you not to move.”
 Rumpelstiltskin curls his lip, “You know I’ve turned peopleinto snails for lesser shows of disrespect.”
 “Fascinating.  Nowgo.”  She pushes him around thecirculation desk, but freezes when she hears Neal’s footsteps approaching.  She shoves Rumpelstiltskin down under thedesk and plops herself in the chair.
 “Hey, Belle, Emma said she can bring food back from thediner when her shift’s over.  Do you wantanything?”
 “Umm...” Belle ponders while her knees press into Rumpelstiltskin’swarm flank.  “A hamburger, maybe?”
 “Sure, I’ll tell her.���
“Great, thanks.”
 He ambles off and Belle waits an extra minute before pushingaway from the desk.  Rumpelstiltskinclambers out, grabbing her knee to lever himself up.  Belle grimaces at the hot flare in her cheeksand sets to herding him back into the office.
 “Listen,” she says once the door is shut behind them, “Neal andEmma and Henry are living in their car outside because they have nowhere elseto go.  Life is really hard for themright now and the last thing they need is the insanity of- whatever you are!  So stay in here and I will come get you whenit’s safe.  I’ll ask again, do youunderstand?”
 The disdain has faded. Belle can’t quite read Rumpelstiltskin’s expression as he looks over hershoulder in Neal and Henry’s general direction. “I understand very well.”
 “Good.”  Belle turnson a heel and marches from the office. Right now, she’s not going to figure out anything.  All she knows is that no matter what elsehappens, she has to keep Neal and Emma away from Rumpelstiltskin.
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When Children Stand
The hype was real. His father had agreed to letting him go on the college tour with the other seniors. Hamza smiled and stretched his arms out wide. His phone buzzed, Asr, it notified. There’s enough time, Hamza thought to himself.
Musa and Ubaid were betting on who could slide down the banisters with the most flair, while the rest of the tour group was listening to the guide’s speech about the founder of the school. Hamza was only partially listening.
“And this is Westhaven Building, also known as The Haven. It is a common area for all students who are looking for a quiet place to study for a test. It was donated to the school by Samuel Westhaven…” the sophomore explained as Hamza sent a snapchat of the old time, gothic building. It was an ominous castle, even sporting a few gargoyles, and looked anything but like a Haven.
The students looked around, like excitable puppies, the song from Aladdin playing in their hearts. A whole new world, indeed.
“Hamza,” Musa yelled from the steps, stretching out the ending. “They’re going to leave you,” he wailed, ghostlike.
The boy in question tore his eyes from his phone, which flashed a low battery message, to see the tour group disappearing around the corner.
“I promised your mom I’d make sure you go back safe,” Musa continued yelling.
“I’m here, stop being an idiot,” Hamza jogged over.
Musa was not quite done being an idiot. He cupped his hands, even though Hamza was now two feet away and bellowed, “My boy!” He was wheezing like an old man.
“Do you need a change of the nappies?” Musa finished the part, coughing asthmatically.
Hamza smacked him behind his head, “No, but if we’re changing things—your face should be pretty up there on the list,” he grinned, all teeth.
They continued throwing jabs at each other until they caught up with their group. Hamza joked with a few people, talked with others, and was overall feeling very at home, away from home. He had known these people for the past four years, either through school or Facebook. There were also a few lingering parents, who were raptly paying attention to the guide’s every word, some were even taking notes.
While Musa and Hamza exchanged insolent comments regarding their respective dignities, Ubaid was being a bit cleverer. Ubaid’s specialty was knowing how to make people talk, in the gentlest meaning of that phrase. He didn’t even need the bat or cement shoes.
Frivolities aside, Ubaid had learned quite a bit about the school, which he had taken a shine to. He bragged about his immense wealth of knowledge to his friends.
“Just tell us already,” Musa swatted away Ubaid’s guessing game.
“Fine. Okay, so Steven told me that his sister goes to this school and she knows where to get the answer keys to all the tests.”
There was a pause. Hamza gave Ubaid a blank stare. Musa began snickering.
“What?” Ubaid asked, following a tennis match between Musa and Hamza’s face.
Hamza sighed dramatically, and just covered his face with his palm. Musa decided to educate their unworldly friend.  
“We thought you had some good stuff, the way you were banging on about it. Like, I know something you don’t know,” Musa explained, pretending to wipe away a tear.
“What, and having answer keys isn’t good stuff?” Ubaid frowned, affronted by their dullness.
The three began a heated debate on what qualified as ‘good stuff’, which ended in a miffed Ubaid, who muttered, “When you morons need help with your finals, don’t come crying to me.”
The sun was shining, the foreign birds sang beautifully and the youth were carefree. School was out, this was their final summer as kids and they all wondered about the nearing initiation to adulthood. But not for too long, because updating social media was a consuming task.
The university offered a complementary lunch, and who was Hamza to refuse? They all ate sandwiches on the grassy field, under umbrella tents.
While the sun’s fierce glare was shaded, the warm nostalgia slunk beneath the umbrellas. The youth seemed to know that this was the start. This is where their bonds frayed, and ran into millions of smaller threads that connected, separated and reconnected. Infinite opportunities, riding on the wings of their individual choices.
After refueling, they began the final leg of the trek around campus, which was to end in front of the dorms. They would spend some time there, before the bus came and picked them up in the late evening.
But burdened with food, laziness swept over the youth, like fairy dust in a Shakespearean play, and there was a group vote to just spend the rest of the time on the grassy lawn. The majority voted to just chill, and so summer time lethargy ensued.
Hamza, Musa and Ubaid were sitting under the shade of a tree, each with their back to one side of the trunk, when they heard the news. Rather, they heard their phones ding and they were fed information straight from the magical highways of the internet.
“Crap, my phone died. Where did they say it was going to be?” Hamza asked, pushing up into a sitting position.
“Uh, let me check with Sarah,” Ubaid typed a question, and sent his thoughts travelling to Sarah.
A second later, they heard an urgent ding, and Musa read over Ubaid’s shoulder. Hamza already knew they were going; he didn’t hesitate.
“She says she heard it’s gonna be in front of the mall we passed by.” Hamza remembered the squat complex and did a mental calculation. It shouldn’t take them more than twenty minutes to get across campus then to the mall. Fifteen, if they ran.
“Avengers Assemble?” Musa asked, reading Hamza’s thoughts.
“Avengers Assemble,” Hamza confirmed.
“Are you guys sure? My mom always warns me about this stuff. You never know what might happen. Once—”
“Avengers,” Hamza said through gritted teeth, and Musa finished for him, “Assemble.”
Ubaid knew a lost battle when he saw one, and reluctantly stood up to join his friends. The three of them went over to discuss with their larger group of classmates. They were young, they were fearless and they knew they could change the world.
Given that Hamza’s generation was known for eating tide pods, the youth were often side eyed by their elders. So, it was an unspoken agreement to leave the adults out of their decision to counterprotest the alt-right protest.
No need to have adults protesting their need to counterprotest a protest.
Anyways, this generation was also known for the March of their Lives and so they gathered their belongings and walked off campus.
Right, they were young. Right, they sometimes made dumb choices. Right, they had a particular aversion to rules. But there was no moral quandary here. They knew racism, sexism and blind hatred were wrong. They were emerging from their techy cocoons, spreading their wings and opening their eyes on a divided world. It was as though the hateful whispers, once entangled in between the lines of society, were suddenly shouting, an orange-hued trumpet amplifying their voices in exchange for power.
If they listened to those elders who would have them quiet, then the shouting would eventually turn to a deafening silence of a society combusting, crushing the hope of a future.
The word on the vine was the alt-righters were annoyed about a recent local election; a Muslim was elected. And she had the nerve to be a Somali immigrant. And now she was trying to run Springfield? According to the alt-righters, she was bringing sharia not only to Springfield but all of America. There was talk of confederate flags and swastikas. Basically, the tiki torches were still burning.
Hamza was not having it.
It was pretty easy to find the protesters.  They heard the shouting from a few streets away. Then they saw the cops, in riot gear, standing in wait for some danger.
The alt-right group was ponied up in all sorts of hate symbols. They had swastikas on their clothing and posters. The confederate flag was flapping in the wind, held aloft by several members. They shouted, roared and chanted. Hamza could hear some of them just barking, “Hu hu hu,” a sickening background music that thudded in his ears. More than a few had drinks with them.
The counterprotesters were handing out signs, posters and other symbols. Hamza and his friends grabbed some and went to stand alongside the silent group. He noticed the louder the protesters became, the quieter the activists were. The latter refused to engage in the decisive commentary, and Hamza watched in silent awe. His own face sported a tight frown, waiting for a hairpin trigger. The protesters were shouting incendiary comments and making rude animal noises at him; he stood in the front lines.              
“White lives matter!” They punctuated that slogan with “You will not replace us! Terrorists and rapists should die!” And of course, the ever present, ever confounding “Lock her up!” All of their colorful slogans were accompanied by that mad-dog guttural sound.
Springfield was not a large city, and the closeness of the protests made the adrenaline flow. The students around him had faces to match his own and as the protesters began to march down toward Town Hall, the activists began to move. They barred the pathway, creating a human wall, stood, without a word, and stared down the alt-righters.
The protesters were infuriated, and began mocking the individual activists; Hamza, standing front and center, was a good target.  
The cops in riot gear began to look jumpy. They saw the alt-righters begin to approach the activists, and Hamza could see a fear in their eyes. They got on the loudspeakers.
“Please clear a path. Stand away from each other,” an authoritative man said clearly.
The alt-righters looked like rottweilers being held on an invisible leash; they were dragging at it. The cops were trying to regain control of the situation, but the activists’ silence was thunderous against the petty anger of the protesters.
Hamza felt the electricity in the crowd; he knew something was about to happen. The cops must have felt the same pulse because they got back on the speakers.
“Those who are not with the Conservative Springfielders, clear the square. Leave the streets. Exit toward the south side,” came the official voice. Hamza felt his face grimace. As if.
The way he saw it, the alt-righters were the ones pushing forward. The activists didn’t make a move; the protesters looked expectantly at the cops.
Then it happened, the trigger. The man right in front of Hamza spat on him, and turned his flag, and pushed it against Hamza and the activists. There was a thrilled roar from their radius of space.
Hamza was caught by surprise, and he felt his blood boil at the oceans of blind hate in the glob of spit. He opened his mouth and almost lifted his fist.
Then, there was an acrid crack, as though the world’s ears were popping. And the smoke began to rise from the midst of their crowd. The activists scrambled as their throats began to fill with the tearing gas. Hamza cursed, coughing and blinking away tears. Being in the wave of human bodies, all struggling in different directions away from the epicenter of the attack was entirely consuming. Hamza went on autopilot as humans diffused like droplets of water on oil.
He just ran. There were no protesters, no activists. Only the struggle for preservation. It seemed as though death was imminent.
More cracks emanated from behind Hamza, but he didn’t turn to look back. How he managed to disentangle himself from the writing mass was inexplicable, especially by him. In any case, not focusing on specifics, he ran. Head down, sweat plastering his back to his shirt, he ran.
At some point, it became clear to him that the rioting noises had become a victim of distance, and only a faint whisper of it remained. And even that may have been his imagination. More so than anything else, Hamza heard his pounding feet and his trembling heart. Nervousness, mixed with being thoroughly winded, made Hamza’s head feel like smoke, spiraling towards the sun.
When he slowed down, one thing soon became extremely apparent. He was lost.
“Low key, but crap,” he came to a stop in front of a restaurant and pretended to observe one of their sample menus. Though he was bereft of energy, he was thankful the run hadn’t stolen his wits.
Unfamiliar town, a large population of racists on the loose, and a lost dark-skinned boy. The math was clear enough.
Not reading over the menu, he scanned the streets and tried to remember which direction he came from. He thought he was doing a pretty bang up job of not looking lost, when a waiter from the restaurant walked out and asked him, “Are you lost?”
He was a few years older than Hamza and startled the latter out of his covert operation.
Hamza being as quick witted as a dancer on tip toes responded, “Nope, just checking something for my mom, thanks.”
Maybe his self-observation was a bit out of focus because the waiter eyed him oddly. Nevertheless, he nodded and walked back inside. A civil war erupted within Hamza.
He felt stupid for not asking directions, but then countered by saying, well that’s exactly how people get kidnapped in the movies.
And at the same time, he knew if he couldn’t find his way back in time, he’d be stuck in this strange city; the bus would leave without him.
To which he responded, How hard can it be? I can figure this out—cities are pretty standard.
Hamza put the menu back and took a few steps. His legs were straws, barely able to support his weight, and his palms were clammy. The sun beat down on the entire world.
Hamza realized something: his youthful bluster was largely maintained by the support of his friends. Now that he was alone, he was second guessing everything. It was a stark contrast to his self image, as the underdog, stiff upper lipped, with his first to the world’s audacities.
The thought struck him like a veil being pulled from his eyes: did his friends make it out? Guilt took him. He was the one friend who, if he didn’t get a response back, he assumed tragedy. It seemed to him, in the vast matrix of possibilities, the probability of death was alarmingly high. He hoped they hadn’t gotten caught up in the mess. He hoped they were okay. He pulled out his phone, reflexively wanting to text Musa and Ubaid. Then he closed his eyes and mouthed a word. He had drained the last bits sending a snap to Aisha.
A gut sickening feeling seeped into him as he watched his wrongdoings become manifest against him. Without realizing it, he made istighfar.
“Okay, just get back and it’ll all be okay,” he whispered reassuringly.
He remembered something. During his Usain Bolt impression, he remembered cursing at a hill. During the upward climb, he was panting and mentally destroying every bit of earth under his feet.
If he could find the hill, then he would have a good vantage point of Springfield. Then all he had to do was find the castle walls of Westhaven and he would be back in time to not face the wrath of his family.
While he did his best to sort out his footsteps, Hamza realized that he would have done it again. He would still have gone to the protest and stood against those who tried to condemn the voices of minorities. Even with only a few suns beneath his belt, he had grasped a universal truth—if the weak allow their voices to be muted, then deafness becomes a justified pride.
Unfortunately for Hamza, the small city was full of buildings and offices that looked exactly the same. He passed by the same office three times, before realizing he was walking in a circle. When the waiter saw him again, Hamza had to pretend he dropped something. Quick witted indeed bro, he thought to himself. After, he avoided that street entirely.
A few attempts and several suspicious Springfielders later, Hamza was at the foot of the hill. Matchbox houses surround him, sprinkled in between the trees, each standing superior to its predecessor. He breathed a breath of thanks and began the climb. This time around, he took a break every so often. Hamza checked his phone several times, and the dead battery forced him to berate himself about his loose snapchat morals.
Finally, he was at the top and before gazing on the city, he said the basmalah. And when he turned his eyes on the city, the first thing they fell on was the angst filled establishment. Westhaven Building. He whooped, joy-rushed at finally succeeding. He breathed another thanks and made a mental map of how to get back.
Then he ran down the hill, hands flailing in the air, leaving behind a stream of laughter. The fifteen-minute trek up the hill was cancelled out by a minute of wind in his hair and wings on his back.  
He danced to a stop, still chortling and looked around. He knew he had to make a right at the end of the street and saw that it was the only way he could go. The street was lined with tall, ominous trees and he heard a raven’s caw in the distance. Hamza could have sworn he felt a cold chill.
He took a breath and calmed himself. He wasn’t three years old, and he could make it across without his parents’ help. The sun was preparing to set, and rain clouds filtered the orangey glow into an eerie cast on Hamza’s face.
He began walking and told himself to stop imagining things. He was glad Musa and Ubaid were not here to watch him make a fool of himself. Sweating over the sunset. He shook his head at his childishness.
But there it was again, that noise. He hoped it was just his brain playing tricks on him, but it was getting louder. He looked around for the source but his ears failed him.
“What is that?” He asked himself, already knowing the answer. Then he shook his head. “No. No, hopefully not. Maybe it’s a –” his brain took an impromptu vacation.
He could no longer deny the doppler effect; in the narrow street, lined with dark trees, the source of the noise was beelining towards him.
He glanced down at his hands, covered in liberal wrist bands. And his shirt, dotted with pinback buttons. Not to mention his kufi, which he had decided to wear that day. And aside from all the counterprotest paraphernalia, the worse case against him was his dark skin. There was no denying what Hamza stood for. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.  
The large crowd was doing their rumbling chant, interjecting it with the occasional bark. “You will not replace us,” he heard their chant. “Hu hu hu,” was the replying chorus.
The group was at the end of the street, having just turned the corner and began to slither towards him—a depraved snake made of posters, swastikas and confederate flags.
Hamza looked around and saw his one man against their hundred. They blocked out everything else like a wave of hatred over his world. Hamza felt a calm wash over him.
He coolly estimated his options. He could outrun them; there was a direct correlation between their racism and their obesity. But something in his chest stopped him from running back up that hill. Firstly, he was sure they had seen him—he had been walking toward them. And more powerfully, he refused to be a coward.
A thought occurred to him: if this was his day to die, then there was no two ways about it. If God was going to take his soul today, then Hamza was going out standing up for what was right. The cold directness of his decision shook a more emotional part of his heart, but it was drowned out by the chanting. Hamza began walking towards them, not making a sound. He was fully prepared to meet, in the best case, hospitalization. He said the name of God and stepped.
Their footsteps ate away at the distance and before he knew it, Hamza was inches away from the man who had spit in his face. He smelled like alcohol. Their deep warbling was deafening in his ears, pounding at him in waves. Hamza stared forward, not meeting any eyes, and still stepped.
And the crowd parted. Not one at a time, but simultaneously as though the whole thing was rehearsed. Or as though they were being forced to walk around him. They created this narrow path for him, a stone making its merry way along a river.
Hamza hid the astonishment that melted into paranoia. They’re going to close in around me, and swarm, he thought. He formulated the ways they would attack him. With their beer bottles, he supposed. Maybe a hate flag to the head? Hamza’s heart was the eye of the storm, as he stepped through tearing ignorance. He heard their rude comments and their curses, but not once did they acknowledge him.
He felt the impulsive nature of youthhood to grab one of them and ask, “Can you see me?” Biting his tongue, he kept walking, invisible.
The entire lot of them walked around him, regrouping once they had passed him. When Hamza made it out on the other side, he inspected his body looking for the wounds. Nothing. He stopped walking and turned back toward the still chanting crowd.
Not one turned to look back at him. Hamza’s face broke into a stupid grin as he turned the corner, looked up at the sky, and felt a newness in his chest. He ran the rest of the way back to Musa and Ubaid.
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zillanewt · 6 years
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What’s In Your Head?
Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three  // Chapter Four // Chapter Five
summary: So, the year is 1999. Eddie is 23 years old, telepathic, and lives with his childhood best friend, Bill, in Portland, Maine. He meets a young musician with a knack for speed named Richie at a bar. More details at 11.
pairing: reddie
words: 1.9k
warnings: mild violence with the Bowers Gang
A/N: this is based off of @trashmouthloser‘s mutant headcanons, so thank you for letting me write this! i hope it’s not too terrible!
EDIT: PLEASE MESSAGE ME IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST
Growing up with mind-reading powers was pretty cool. Eddie always knew what smartass comeback to make when his peers would say something dumb. He always knew exactly what to say to get on adults’ good sides. When he was about 11, he figured out he could easily cheat on most tests, only fueling his classmates dislike for him. As a child, he made his best attempts to use his mutation responsibly, but children are, by nature, prone to mistakes.
While he used it for good in regards to his best friend, Bill, he tended to use it more selfishly with his classmates, earning him the nickname “Nosy Eddie” by middle school. Occasionally, he would attempt to alter people’s emotions towards him. But, what else was a small, asthmatic germaphobic boy with a desperate need to be at least somewhat liked to do?
Disliked throughout most of middle school and high school, Eddie vowed to restrain his powers and only use them to help Bill. Besides, he had been lectured by plenty of people, such as his mother and teachers, about invading others (especially adults’) privacies. He didn’t like reading adults’ thoughts, anyway. They thought vulgar, violent, and scary things, which young Eddie didn’t even want to comprehend the meaning of, like Mr. Keene repeatedly thinking his wife his a “dumb, lying whore” with the same viciousness of a rabid dog.
But, his mother particularly drilled it into his head ever since he began to develop his power that he was never to read her thoughts. Maybe he should’ve questioned it more, but Mrs. Kaspbrak’s word was law. It just was.
In his opinion, Bill’s mutation was ten times cooler than his. Sure, Eddie could know everybody’s deepest, darkest secrets, but Bill could move things with his mind. Well, it seemed way cooler when they were kids.
When they were 13, Eddie remembers an irritated Bill accidentally using his powers to throw a large rock through Henry Bower’s car window. They ran like hell, while Eddie cursed Bill for not being able to keep his “dumb mind powers” under control. He instantly regretted it after he saw the hurt in Bill’s eyes, because Bill, just like Eddie, was prone to misusing his power. Since then, Eddie has done his best to help Bill keep his powers under control. In return, Bill always lets him know when he’s being too invasive.
Anyhow, Bill thinks his and Eddie’s mutations are the coolest in Derry.
“How can they not be cool?!” Bill had once exclaimed when they were wandering through the barrens and talking about their most recent beating from the Bowers Gang “Mental mutations makeup only one percent of the entire mutation population! Who cares if Belch Huggins has super strength? You can literally read people’s minds, Eddie!”
Eddie never liked this conversation. He’s had it a million times with Bill. Like everything else about him, the Bowers Gang had taken a liking to making fun of Eddie for his mutation, dubbing it a “useless power” and proclaiming that “of course you can only read feelings like a girl.” He understood Bill was only trying to make him feel better, but his friend could do some real lasting damage with his mutation. During junior year of high school, Eddie was receiving one of the worst beatings the Bowers Gang had ever given him, when Bill stumbled on to the scene. Seeing Eddie curled up in a ball desperately trying to protect himself from the blows while his blood spilled onto the gravel, really set something off in Bill. In an instant without moving a muscle, he had broken one of Victor Criss’ hands, flew Patrick Hockstetter backward into a nearby guardrail, knocked Belch Huggins over the head with a piece of debris on the road, and pinned Henry Bowers to the ground.
The smaller boy couldn’t do anything but watch as Bill truly became a force to be reckoned with. Bill became somebody who could defend themselves and didn’t have to fear those stronger than him. Eddie just knew how to get inside people’s heads, and there was still plenty to fear, even more so after knowing the sort of things people thought.
Now, they were adults. They had left Derry behind soon after graduation, moving to Portland as roommates. Though it’s customary for students to leave behind their childhood friends after high school, Eddie knew he couldn’t do it. Bill needed him to keep his powers in balance, just as Eddie felt he needed Bill to “fight his bullies.”
So, the year is 1999. Eddie is 23 years old and lives with his childhood best friend in Portland, Maine. He has discovered the metropolis magic that is gay bars and being gay without fear in general. So far, he’s managed to remain pretty selective about who he uses his powers on.
Being a mind-reader wasn’t half bad when you used in on the right people.
************
Despite it being 7 o’clock in the morning and Eddie not needing to be at work until 10, he still felt pieces of fabric pelting him in the face. Groggily, he groaned and willed whatever it was to stop, but it didn’t. When he opened his eyes, Bill was propped at his door, dressed in a hoodie and sweats, flinging Eddie’s own dirty clothes at him with his mind.
This is definitely not how Eddie wanted to wake up this morning.
“Billiam,” Eddie said in a sleepy haze, glaring at the ceiling, “you better have a good reason for this.”
“Don’t forget you promised to come to the bar with Mike and me tonight,” he replied with enthusiasm, something Eddie was truly lacking this morning. “You need to get out of the house.”
Mike was a co-worker of Bill’s at a local newspaper. They were both just intern’s, but they had writing skills which looked promising. Eddie quite liked Mike, because he was polite and did not patronize Eddie about his germaphobia or hypochondria. In fact, Mike was pretty popular among certain circles in Portland, and Eddie didn’t know why he hung around Bill and him.
*****************
The bar was some hole in the wall downtown, but Mike somehow knew everyone in there. While looking for a table to sit at, he would stop to chat with someone every five seconds. Eventually, they made their way to a semi-dirty table, much to Eddie’s chagrin, near the stage. The place was dimly lit with poolhall overheads, and the red vinyl tables and chairs have definitely seen better days. Around the time the waitress brought out their drinks, a band was preparing to set up on stage. Mike prattled on about how they’ve been gaining popularity rapidly in Portland and how talented they were. Eddie secretly loved rock and roll when he was growing up, but his mom rarely let him listen to it in the house because it was “demonic” and would “corrupt his young mind.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a tall thin man with dark grey hair plugging his guitar into the large amp. He was instantly less annoyed about how Bill woke him up this morning and praised whatever god was listening for bringing him to this bar tonight. Without realizing, he had stared for too long, and eventually, the man turned around to make eye contact with him from the corner of his eye. From the smirk on the man’s face, Eddie concluded he must’ve looked like a lovestruck teenager.
Then after looking around the bar, he realized how out of place he must’ve looked. He was wearing an oversized baby blue sweater that made him look like a kid who was trying on their dad’s clothes for the first time. Picking at the label on his beer, he considered reading this stranger’s mind to know what he thought of Eddie. But, he thought better of it when Bill nudged him in the side.
“Making heart-eyes at the lead singer, are we?” Bill snickered, trying to contain himself at the rampant blush on Eddie’s face.
“No!” Eddie insisted, burying his head in his arms.
Mike giggled, “I think he’s looking at you too, Eddie.”
Despite his friends teasing, he didn’t lift his head from the table until the band’s set began and, boy, Eddie wasn’t disappointed. His head instantly shot up and the gray-haired man was strumming the opening for Zombie by The Cranberries on neon pink guitar. Eddie couldn’t get a good look at him before with everybody’s shuffling about on stage, but he could see him very clearly now. He was wearing a bright pink tank top, a grey leather jacket, tight black jeans with rips along the legs, and silver engineer boots. Everything about him seemed so interesting, and Eddie felt himself quickly sinking in.
His dark curls bobbed back and forth while he sang the lyrics in a raspy voice. Every once and awhile, he’d sneak his attention back to Eddie to make sure he still had his eyes – which, of course, he did, he always did.
The song ended too quickly for Eddie’s liking, but it was followed by another, an original, and yet another one. Eddie knocked back drink after drink, not taking his eyes away from the man. He couldn’t even if he wanted to.
Around midnight the set ended and the band began to dismantle their equipment. Mike and Bill’s teasing be damned! Eddie had just enough of the hooch in his system to have the courage to go onstage and talk to the mystery man, and damn it! He was going to!
Nervously, he approached the edge where the lead singer was working on untangling cords and packing his guitar away. The man instantly noticed Eddie approaching him and broke out into a wide grin.
“I was wondering if you’d get the balls to talk to me,” he says bluntly, still grinning at Eddie.
Normally, Eddie would be offended, but the amount of beer in his system said fuck it.
“I mean with those looks you were giving me, I’d be stupid not to talk to you,” Eddie said with the most confidence he has ever mustered in his entire life.
The man raised one eyebrow and bit his lip, looking entirely amused. “You mean my eye-fucking looks? Yeah. Those were most definitely intentional.”
Eddie felt a hot blush spread from his cheeks to his back at the man’s vulgarity, but the light’s were so dim it would have been difficult to notice if you weren’t paying close attention.
The man was definitely paying close attention.
“I’m Richie,” he said, moving his legs to swing over the edge of the stage.
“Eddie,” the other hiccuped quietly, gravitating closer to Richie and the space between his legs.
Eddie swears he can hear his friends hooting in the distance, but he really doesn’t give a fuck because he never gets hit on.
He and Richie are barely inches from each other’s lips, before there is a voice calling Richie from offstage.
“Shit,” he says, glancing from Eddie’s eyes to his lips, “I gotta go. Will you give me your number?”
Eddie fumbled through his pockets, praying for a pen for a hot minute, until Mike swooped in to save Eddie’s love life with a Sharpie.
Sloppily, he wrote his number on Richie’s hand and then watched Richie disappear with his guitar case in a literally actual flash.
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kiramxchis · 6 years
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Seido Female Manager Headcanons
I want a Daiya no A spin-off focusing on the managers. We’ll call it Daiya no Queens (Queens of the Diamond in English officially)
The managers for Act II are also included, and they will be put under a cut for anyone who doesn’t want spoilers (I’m sorry mobile users). I also might end up writing about some of these, so keep an eye out for those if I ever do
One, overall Headcanon (I didn’t know who to put this under):
Sawamura can not for the life of him remember any of the managers names outside of Haruno, so to hide the fact that he can’t remember (despite being told several times by his team mates), he refers to them with nobility titles, such as “My Lady” “Your Highness” and “Princess” (since Takako’s the head manager, she and Rei are refereed to as “My Queen”). This catches on with the others, and soon every girl is called by such names, even the new mangers
Fujiwara Takako
Takako is Biromantic Bisexual, but has more of preference for boys
Because she is considered the prettiest girl in school, she gets lots of confessions, from both boys and girls alike, but she always politely rejects them.
It’s not that she wouldn’t love to be in a relationship (she has a lot of love with no where to go), but taking care of the team is usually her top priority, so she doesn’t have time to (she keeps telling herself it would be much more easier to date a member of the team, but a good majority of potential partners face the same problem as her with the sport being more important to them) (I’ll date you Takako)
She adores cute phone charms. For her 18th birthday, Chris gave her a My Melody charm for her phone and a matching case. She still uses them to this day
All the boys in her year are very protective of her, and ever since her first year it’s not unusual to see some of the boys (both on and off the bench) glaring and chasing off anyone who gets to close (Especially Jun. You might as well prepare to die if Jun catches you so much as breathing in her general direction)
Her best subject is English, and acts as a tutor for those on the team who suck at English and don’t wanna ask Rei for help
She still visits the other managers after graduating. It’s pretty common to see her, Yui, Sachiko and Haruno at a cafe near her school, drinking their coffee (hot cocoa for Haruno) and talking about the shenanigans their teams are up to
Natsukawa Yui:
Yui is Panromantic Asexual with more of a preference for girls (yet I always write her with boys)
She’s known Sachiko since middle school, they attended the same school as Chris and Shirakawa, so their route to school is longer and the have to take the train
One time, during their first year, everyone in her year got curious to see what Yui looked like without her bang covering her eye. Zono volunteered for the job (aka: everyone was too chicken shit to do it and they forced him to), and to this day when someone asks him what she looks like, his only response is “It’s like the physical manifest of what a choir of angels sound like” (Kuramochi did it once as well, and he can confirm Zono is right. Yui’s just getting tired of people pulling her bangs back, standing there for five minutes as their face turns red and then run off)
She’s one of those girls who bring the tall bottles of Bath and Body Works perfume to school. She never uses it during school hours (unless someone stunk up the bathroom), only after school in the girls locker room after a long day of practice. Her favorite scent is Dark Kiss
While it’s not mandatory the managers help out during morning practice during the summer and winter camps, they do anyway. Meaning they get up earlier than the boys, and sometimes they’re not fully awake when they get there. Sawamura had to learn the hard way not to talk to Yui unless your a faculty member until she finished the coffee she brings with her (she brings like, three of those Starbucks frappuccino bottles). She is a demon before she has had her coffee
Her family owns two Doberman's, one with and without docked and cropped ears and tail. They are the sweetest dogs in the world, and love to play with their owners
She is the only manager to not be refereed to by nobility titles. She is instead refereed to as “Heiress” or “Mistress” because Sawamura originally confused her father to being a member of the Yakuza (her family owning two Dobermans did not help in the slightest either)
Umemoto Sachiko:
Sachiko is Aromantic Asexual
Commonly refereed to as the Kuramochi of the managers, Sachiko is very protective of her friends, especially her fellow managers
You dared to hit on Takako? You’re gonna get ambushed by both her and Jun. Made fun of Haruno? Sorry honey, only she’s allowed to do that. Breathed in Yui’s general direction? She’s gonna leave you black and blue
Remember how in the 3rd ODA “Boys Be...” Sachiko joked about her fans ganging up on Nori if he got a crush on her? She wasn’t lying about having fans. Of course there are no where near as many as Takako and Yui have, but a good majority of her fans are usually range from shy and sweet to total sports geek. There is no one who doesn’t fall for Sachiko’s charm (like me)
A total gamer, she loves to play First Person Shooters (she can totally kick Kuramochi’s ass in them), but she has a secret weak spot for games like Animal Crossing and literally any Kirby game
She’s listed at number 3 in the Skillful Singers list in the Seido Baseball Club Secret Rankings ( [x] ) and is secretly referred to as Seido’s Lorelei among both her class and teammates. The choir kids want to steal her from the team
She has a collection of baseball caps she’s collected over the years of teams in both the NPB and the MLB. She has to order her MLB caps online, but it’s money well spent in her opinon
Yoshikawa Haruno:
Haruno is Biromantic Demisexual with no set preference
Because of her clumsy nature, she always carries band-aids with her. Usually cute band-aids with Sanrio characters on them. Furuya secretly adores them and whenever he gets a cut and needs a band-aid, he asks Haruno for one
It’s also not unusual for whenever she does trip and fall and scrapes her knee that all of the members of the First String in her year drop whatever they’re doing and rush over to her to make sure she’s okay. Sawamura and Kanemaru look like overprotective mothers, acting like she’s dying, Toujou and Haruichi go to get the first aid kit while Furuya is standing about a foot away with this aura flaring, not sure what to do (imagine what would happen she actually got seriously injured)
She’s a KPop fan, and her favorite groups are EXO and Pristin (yes I know the series canonly takes place in 2006-2007 leave me alone)
Another sucker for cute things, Haruno’s whole room is practically overflowing with stuffed animals
She’s the youngest of four older brothers who put the babying of the First String First Years to shame. She’s not even allowed to hold a butter knife
Another gamer, Haruno loves to play relaxing and collecting games like Pokemon and Neko Atsume
Kuroki Anna (Tall, long black hair):
Anna is a Lesbian
She has a habit of unintentionally putting small things in her mouth and chewing on them, things like earring backings and sometimes even the earring itself. As a kid, she would sometimes chew all of the shoes of her Barbie dolls
Yet, for some reason, she always swollows gum
She is the only member of the current team to be able to watch horror movies with a straight face (fssh just imagine Ryo and Anna watching horror movies together and booing at it)
There is a current bet going around at who has the best dead eyes, her, Mogami or Okumura (currently, Okumura is winning)
She currently has no interest in dating, but has expressed she would date Haruno if given the opportunity too (honey wait until you meet Wakana)
There is a member of Yakushi in her year with the same family name as her and I am fully convinced they are twins
Oda Akane (Short, blonde hair):
Akane is Demiromantic Demisexual
She’s the chubbiest manager out of the current ones, but it’s okay because there’s just more of her to love. It also contrasts Anna’s body type, which is thin and lanky (they’re just like Popuko and Pipimi)
She and Anna have known each other since childhood. The reason Anna holds no romantic interest in Akane is because she cherishes their friendship more than anything in the world and thinks a relationship would ruin it. Akane on the other hand, has a giant crush on Anna that she does not act upon (think of it like Chinatsu and Akira’s relationship, only more stable and less hostile)
When her bangs are down, the fall very similarly to Sawamura’s. She keeps them tied up because she thinks they get in the way, but doesn’t want to cut them
She has to wear glasses, but usually wears contacts because she hates how they look on her (baby girl show me your glasses)
A gigantic anime fan, she loves Magical Girl and Sports Anime the most
She is both asthmatic, and dyslexic. Probably not a very good combination set for a manager
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