#my immune system is as melodramatic as i am

[thoughtsofthegirlwiththecurl]

Me @ my immune system: "okay gang, this vaccine contains a blueprint of what I want you to be prepared to fight off this year, so if you could-"

My immune system: "BURN IT TO THE GROUND"

Me: "oh, I mean, you don't have to-"

My immune system: "SCORCHED EARTH"

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[twilitty]

By The Moon

By: @twilitty

word count: 3.9k

Chapter 5: Fishing

I wake up early, going through the motions of getting ready for school, even going so far as to pull some old essays and assignments from the depths of my computer's file system. I reread my writing, making notes in my new notebooks about themes and characters and plotlines for English class.

Charlie meets me down in the kitchen, even though it’s his day off and he could be enjoying his well-needed rest. “Morning,” he calls as I step into the room. I squint my eyes at him, his lively expression and straight posture.

He seems a little too awake for a Tuesday morning, especially considering how incredibly exhausted he was yesterday after work. He sips on a steaming cup of coffee, watching me as I open the fridge and pour myself a glass of water. “Morning,” I grumble back.

I’m not tired, not enough to excuse my lack of excitement for the day. Instead, my brain has been flooded with images of my afternoon. Sitting in a lawn chair, sinking into the mud, my toes and fingers freezing off as I struggle to keep warm. The prospect of spending my afternoon at the Black's house is not interesting to me. While I enjoy Jacob Black and his father, their matched happy-go-lucky smiles, and positive attitudes, I don’t know what Charlie plans for me to do the entire evening.

I’ll bring homework and a book. Hopefully, they won’t complain about my reclusiveness. Am I supposed to watch a movie? Talk to them for the entire time?

Charlie watches my face inquisitively as if assessing my mood. “You don’t seem too pleased,” he notes. I shoot him a look and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, give the boy a chance. He’s a good kid.” I know he means Jacob.

“I don’t have an issue with Jacob,” I emphasize the last part so that he knows I do have an issue with someone else.

He heaves a sigh. “It’ll be a good day, just you and Jake-”

“Me and Jake doing what?” I interrupt him, my voice level but throat thick with annoyance. “I’ve barely spoken to him in like twenty years.” Charlie rolls his eyes at my dramatization.

“Listen, you’ll get along. I promise. Just give the afternoon a chance, if you don’t enjoy yourself, I won’t make you go again.” I sniff at his words, their similarity to his words over the late summers I had spent here a little uncomfortable. I don’t like to be reminded of my distaste for Forks, but his statement is almost identical to what he used to tell me over the phone before I flew day. Promising that if I still didn’t enjoy myself, he wouldn’t make me come down again. Eventually, he caved and I was no longer forced to join him in this gloomy town.

School comes and goes too quickly, but I suppose good things always come to an end sooner than we’d like. That’s melodramatic, I chastise myself. You’ll be back in school tomorrow morning. Yeah, yeah. But until then I’ll be doing who knows what on the Rez. I just hope Charlie’s right and it won’t be awkward.

Charlie piles his fishing gear into the backseat of the cruiser and opens the passenger door for me. I thank him quietly, turning my attention to the floor. I’m dressed conservatively for the weather, jeans and a long red sleeve shirt, a burly sweater overtop to shield me from the cold. At school, Jessica had sported a thin tank top with a long cardigan, and if she was cold, she didn’t mention it to me.

I hope I develop some immunity to the cold soon.

The drive into La Push is narrated by the radio, Charlie tapping his fingers along to the tune of music I don’t know the lyrics to. “So,” he turns the music down as he speaks. “I’m going to drop you off with Jake.” I nod. “Billy, Harry, and I are taking out the Clearwater’s boat. I’ll have my cell on me, but reception tends to be spotty.” Of course, you’ll be out on the water in the middle of nowhere. “If you need anything Jake can drive and knows where it all is.” I know he’s referencing my chronic clumsiness, but I don’t grace him with a sarcastic remark.

“I won’t trip or anything,” I tell him. As if I’m surprised he had ever alluded to it. I receive a knowing gaze and turn my attention to my window.

We pull up outside of a small red house, the paint peeling off in places. There are window boxes beneath the windows facing the driveway, filled with soft yellow and white flowers that I can’t recognize. There is a cover of trees before the cruiser, and through the shield, I can see a structure.

Charlie must notice my curiosity because he pipes in. “That’s Jake’s garage. He’s a mechanic.” His voice swells with pride, so much so that you’d assume Jacob was his own son.

“He did a good job on the truck,” I add.

Charlie nods quickly, opening his door. “He’s a very talented boy.”

Billy opens the door after the first knock, rolling backwards to give us space to step into the small entryway. I can hear something playing on the TV, from the sound of it a sports game of some kind. I imagine Billy and Charlie must have similar television habits.

“Bella,” Billy croons, taking my hand and giving it a kind squeeze. “You look lovely, dear. Take care of my son, okay? Keep him out of trouble.” I nod in acknowledgement as someone groans.

Jacob Black steps into view, rubbing the back of his neck in mock annoyance. He’s big. Taller than I am by at least a foot, and brawny enough to… I don’t know, throw a big boulder or something. I’m not great at estimating strength, but I can be sure Jacob Black is strong.

He places a hand on his father’s shoulder. “If Bella is playing the role of babysitter, you might as well buy her a pizza for her troubles.” He shoots me an award-winning grin that brings a small smile to my own lips in response. I find his optimism, and his happy-go-lucky demeanour, contagious. Even after only being in his home for a minute or two.

Charlie laughs and prods me forwards with a gentle push on my back. I realize I’m standing in the doorway still and step further into the house, the door closing behind me. The four of us standing in the entryway makes for little room, but the main culprit is Jake. He tries to make himself smaller, even I can see that. The way he seems to slouch forward over his father’s chair and raise his shoulders up to his neck. It’s as if he’s completely aware of his size and tries to minimize its impact on others. Very unlike the boys in Phoenix who would spread their legs across bus seats, forcing me to fold into myself.

“Jacob has money for food if you kids get hungry,” Billy assures me with a look shot at his son above him. “And if us fishermen are lucky, we’ll bring back some of Harry’s fish fry.” Charlie hums at that, entranced by the idea of his friends cooking.

Charlie and Billy exit the front door, and from the sound of honking outside, it sounds as if Harry has arrived to pick them up.

My anxiety about this afternoon was an unnecessary use of my mental resources. Billy and Charlie step out of the house and immediately Jacob has crushed me against his chest in a warm embrace. “Bella,” he says above me, the noise echoing through his chest and into his ear. “You are so much smaller than I remember.”

He releases my body and takes a step back to assess me, his eyes gliding up and down my frame with ease. I feel alight under his gaze, the skin of my chest and neck flaming. “You’re a whole lot bigger than I remember,” I tell him with a dramatic wave towards his towering posture. “You’ve got to be on steroids or something.”

“Nah, nah,” he assures me, lifting his arms to flex. The fabric of his black shirt strains impossibly so, his muscles clearly defined and larger than any other boy I’ve ever gone to school with. “Just the Quileute genes.”

I bite out a laugh, averting my eyes with the hopes that he can’t see the blush creeping across my face. I do not remember Jacob Black looking like this.

“So,” he says, dropping his arms and motioning for me to step further into the house. I oblige. “What do you want to do?”

I shrug my shoulders, the bag sitting on my shoulders suddenly feeling ten times heavier than it was earlier today. He’d probably be offended if he knew I brought homework and a book to his house. How boring of me. “I’m okay with anything,” I say noncommittally.

“Alright…” He purses his lips, looking over each shoulder as if trying to find something for us to do. “We can check out my garage. I could show you the car I’m working on?”

“Yeah, that’s cool.” I try to maintain a casual tone, not wanting to seem overeager to see the mechanic boy wonder at work. Especially with those muscles, my brain sings excitedly. I try to ignore the thought, but as Jacob steps in front of me to lead the way I can’t seem to avert my eyes from the muscles lining his back through his shirt.

Oh, holy hell.

Jacob leads me out the front door and down a well-worn, steep path towards his garage. The cover of trees provides privacy for his garage, so much so that only from the driveway I can only truly gain the barest glimpse of the siding.

The garage is constructed out of sheet metal and has a large set of doors swung open on their hinges. I wonder, idly, if Jake had made this himself. I steal a glimpse at him out of the corner of my eye, his large hands and broad shoulders seem capable of constructing this shelter. I don’t ask him, out of fear that I might embarrass him if the answer is no.

“This is where the magic happens,” he narrates dramatically with a large arm swoop to encompass the entranceway. I step in before him and am immediately set in awe.

A noise of surprise escapes my mouth before I can swallow it down. There’s a large vehicle standing in the center of the area commanding the attention of the room. It’s low to the ground, sleek in design, and painted a dark green. “Mustang,” Jake answers my unspoken question. “From the seventies, I’ve been fixing it up.” I notice at this point that it is stood up on some sort of makeshift lift and has an assortment of tools laid out before it.

“It’s so cool,” I don’t try to push any interest aside for the sake of appearance. This is an awesome car.

He pulls his bottom lip into his mouth as if suppressing a smile. “Thanks.”

I turn my attention to the rest of the room. It’s not insulated at all, which accounts for the currently unused space heater sitting in the far corner. There’s a beer fridge, a couch, and an impressive sound system all claiming that this garage doubles as a hang-out for Jake and his friends.

“This is such a cool space,” I tell him earnestly, painfully aware that I keep repeating the word ‘cool’.

“Thanks,” he says again with a full smile. “Do you know anything about cars?”

I snort at his question, recalling all the mechanic bills I’d had to help Renee cover in Phoenix. If I knew anything about cars I would’ve put my talents to use, not pay someone else hundreds of dollars to change tires.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he interprets with a grin. “I shouldn’t be surprised; you are the same girl who asked me if I made your truck.”

“Hey!” I smack at his shoulder, which is significantly harder than I had anticipated. I lock the muscles in my face to not wince at the shocking pain in my palm. “In my defence, you pretty well did make it. I doubt all it took was an oil change.”

“Yeah,” his eyes soften and flicker quickly to my offended hand, now stuffed into my pocket. “It definitely did take more than an oil change.”

We lapse into silence, but it’s not awkward and I don’t feel the need to fill it. I sit on the orange couch, grease-stained and tattered with age, as Jake pops open the hood on his prized car. At some point, he turns on the radio and rock music plays through speakers interspersed throughout the garage.

I watch Jacob Black as he reaches down and pulls at a couple things, occasionally crossing the room and picking up a metal tool to bring back and use. He’s methodical in his work, always knowing which tool to use, which way to turn something, and how to remedy the problem at hand. Occasionally he mumbles something under his breath, but never anything crass. He doesn’t lose his temper, just takes a step back and retries it a moment later.

His silky black hair is tied at the nape of his neck in a short ponytail, and I remember the day he had gifted me my truck. His hair was down, long to just past the tops of his shoulders. I remember him as a child, although the memories are foggy and distant, and that his hair was longer then. He would wear it braided back most of the time, and it had always managed to stay in place.

“I like your hair,” I tell him honestly as he grabs a rag and rubs it over his hands. He turns to me, his strong jaw working as if something is funny.

“Yeah?” I blush at his expression, eyes lowered to me, and mouth open just enough to-

My blush deepens and I avert my gaze from his lips. “Yeah. I used to be jealous of your hair. As kids, I mean.”

He laughs deeply and walks over to the couch, sitting next to me. The fabric dips and I slide a little towards him as his weight brings my cushion down towards him. “My mom used to spend so much time on my hair,” He reminisces, still wringing the towel around his hands. “She’d brush out every single knot, spray my head with stuff and wrap my hair in conditioners.” He laughs again, but it’s lighter, nostalgic. “I used to love that.”

Sarah Black had died when we were kids, I hadn’t gone to her funeral because it wasn’t in the summer, but I remember going back the summer afterwards and seeing the heartbreak on everybody’s faces. “She sounds like a really great person.” “Yeah, she was.” He looks down at his hands, the towel now blackened with the grease and oil that was on his hands. “Anyways, you’re lucky you came into Forks when you did, I had cut my hair all of just a while ago.” I start at this, turning to face him completely and pulling my knees up onto the couch. They brush against his outer thigh, and I swallow thickly at the warm contact between us. “You cut it? Why?”

He shrugs his large shoulders as if cutting it was nothing more than a split-second decision. “Things change, you have to adapt.” Like moving to Forks when Renee wants to move with Phil, a voice whispers into my head. I shush it.

“What does cutting your hair have to do with adapting? Was there a conditioner shortage out here?”

He laughs heavily, pushing at my knees gently with a large palm. “No, no, I have a whole stockpile of conditioner. If the apocalypse comes,” he points a finger at me in false seriousness, “you come here for your hair care needs.” I laugh at this, but I don’t miss that he deflected off my question. I don’t ask him again, deciding that everybody has things they’d rather not talk about. Who am I to force his response?”

We continue to joke around, he shows me around the border of his property, and then we head into the house. There’s a pile of muffins sitting on the countertop, dusted with something white and packaged in light pink wrappers. He passes one to me, then unwraps his own and takes a large bite. “These weren’t here before,” I notice.

He nods, “Yeah. One of my buddy’s fiancées dropped them off.” I hadn’t heard a car pull through at all, but I suppose I wasn’t really listening for a car.

“Fiancée?” Jacob is only a couple months younger than I am, I can’t imagine being engaged at our age.

He reads something on my face and waves away my question. “No, no. Bella, he’s older than we are. Sam and Emily have been together for a while, they’re, like, in love.” He finishes off his muffin and motions to the untouched one in my hand. “It’s good, blueberry. If you want something else to eat, though, I can-”

“No, this is really good. Thank you.” I take a bite for emphasis, and he rewards me with a grin. It is really good. “Emily must be a master baker,” I tell him as I swallow. “This has to be the best muffin I’ve ever had.” “Yeah, she does a lot of baking.” He considers his words then says, “She’s kinda like a mother hen to us.”

“Us?”

“Uh, yeah. Like me and the guys.” It feels a little like he’s evading the question, so I don’t push it. Instead, I take another bite of the muffin, leaning my hip against the counter. “My friends and I are really close, we spend a lot of time together,” he says as a way of explanation.

“That’s cool.” We pause as I work on my muffin, and he starts a new one.

He opens his mouth to say something but quickly cuts himself off. His head tilts to the side and immediately goes still. He stands like a statue, eyes narrow and staring over my shoulder at the front door. I look behind me, following his gaze and finding nothing.

By the time I turn back to him, less than a breath of time, he’s already finished his second muffin and is clearing his large hands of crumbs over the sink. I watch him rub his hands together, swallowing one last bite of his food, and turn abruptly to me. “Bella, I got to go.” His words are rushed but not harsh. Not mean. His feet carry him over to the front door in only a couple of paces, his hand already curled around the handle. He looks over his shoulder at me, eyes tight around the edges, “I’m really sorry. I just completely forgot I, uh, had this thing with Sue.”

“Sue?” I repeat, unsure.

He nods three times, quickly. “Yeah, yeah. Clearwater. She’s the doctor on Rez…” He trails off until I smile in recognition.

“Okay, yeah. I think I remember the name.” Even to my own ears, I can hear the humiliating disappointment of being left behind.

“The house is yours; I’ll try to be back before the dads.” The end of Jacob's sentence is a brief whisper on the wind as the door closes behind him.

“Well,” I say to the empty house. “I guess it’s a good thing I brought my book.”

I spend the last couple of hours alone, reading on the soft couch and texting Angela. I told her about my predicament, and she had only laughed. I wish I could get the house to myself, she had texted me back. Angela has two younger brothers, twins Joshua and Isaac Weber. She affectionately refers to them as the “Chaos Twins”, which I find hilarious.

Being raised as an only child isn’t lonely until you talk to someone who has siblings. Growing up I spent a lot of time alone, but it wasn’t like I disliked being alone. I revelled in it. I’d put in my headphones, pick a playlist, and let it work as the background music to my life. I had no issues walking to the grocery store alone. No issues communicating solely with either my mother or my inner monologue. It was restful, peaceful. I could work on my own time; I didn’t have to accommodate for anybody but Renee.

But when Angela talks about her brothers a pang of envy ignites in my chest. I’d never felt it before. She talks about them crashing around the house in spiderman suits and riding their bikes into ditches and throwing mashed potatoes at each other last Christmas. The entire time I compare my own experiences, even though I don’t mean to. I think about my quiet Christmases with Renee and the occasional new boyfriend of hers. I think about learning to ride my bike in Forks, Charlie’s hand a firm hold on my seat as I raced down the road. I think about watching all my favourite movies alone in the living room because Renee had work or a date or a new hobby club to attend.

The door opens with a creak that pulls me from my phone and the book slumped on my lap. Three men enter the room, laughing heavily and carrying coolers and fishing rods. I notice Charlie gripping the shoulder of a tall, white-haired man that I scarcely remember. Harry Clearwater. Billy rolls into the kitchen, opens the fridge and pulls out something to drink. “Bella,” he says kindly. “How was your time? Hopefully Jake wasn’t too boring?” I stand up from my seat and give a polite smile. “No, no, of course not. He was really nice, showed me his car and everything.” Billy nods thoughtfully, taking a long drink from a water bottle.

“Where’s the boy now?” Charlie asks, assessing the open floorplan and then looking back at me.

I shrug my shoulders and focus on maintaining a neutral expression, not acting like I was hurt by his abrupt departure. Because I’m not hurt by it. I barely know him. “I’m not sure, said he had something to deal with.” I pause when Harry looks at me from the doorway, cradling a tacklebox under his arm. “I think with Sue?” I say, directing it towards him.

His eyebrows lift infinitesimally before resting back down above his eyes. Something strange shifts in me. “Yes, Jacob had promised to help her out with something.” He looks at Billy and gives a knowing grin. “Good kid.”

Billy agrees and the men ramble on for a minute about the fishing conditions and other topics I zone out for. Before long Charlie is loading everything up in his cruiser, including me, and heads back down the highway towards Forks.

“You had fun?” He asks hesitantly, watching me from the corner of his eye.

I blush at the reminder of my negative outlook on the afternoon. “Yeah,” I tell him without looking away from the windshield. “It was fun.”

A/N: sorry this is posted a day late, I wasn't feeling well :(

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Time for a story - Restoration

“Et voilà!”

Pulling away the dishtowel from the plate of breakfast in her hand, Felicity revealed the small mountain of muffins that she had hidden underneath. She smiled at the kids, waiting for them to lose their minds of the extraordinary breakfast. Instead of the expected screeches of joys, there was nothing but silence though. Her kids were looking at her with doubting eyes and slightly furrowed brows.

“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Millie scrunched up her nose, straightening up on her chair a little to get a better look at the offered breakfast. She leaned her head forward and sniffled at it slightly.

“What is that?”

“Chocolate muffins,” Felicity replied, frowning, “you know what chocolate muffins are.”

“Yes,” Tommy replied for his little sister, “but we don’t get those for breakfast.”

“Dad always says that sweet breakfast is not appropriate,” Emmy agreed with a nod of her head, “because good breakfast needs-“

She puckered her lips and narrowed her eyes. She thought about what exactly Oliver always said when it came to breakfast. She seemed unable to remember though. Looking for help, she shot William a brief glance.

“Grains, proteins and fruits or vegetables.”

Emmy nodded her head once more, recognizing that those were indeed the words Oliver used to describe their breakfast or at least the lunchboxes that he prepared for them. She looked at her mother with slightly scrunched up nose.

“Is all of that in there?”

The lie could have fallen from Felicity’s lips easily. After all, she shouldn’t have to answer a question like this to her kids after all. They should be happy about the sweet relief from the healthy diet Oliver had imposed on the entire family.

“Daddy wouldn’t approve to that.”

Felicity didn’t know what she should be more surprised about – the fact that Tommy hesitated to eat the wonderful chocolate muffins that Raisa had prepared for them or that he knew words like approve. Felicity guessed the latter was more surprising after all, but that didn’t mean that the first didn’t surprise her either.

She could see in her kids’ eyes that all of them had something more to say about this unusual breakfast. The only one who wasn’t reluctant about it seemed to be Hawk. She grabbed a muffin, peeled it from the paper and dropped it for him to catch. Hawk didn’t waste time on chewing. He just swallowed it in one go.

Looking back at her kids, she smiled softly. Her kids were used to healthy breakfast, Oliver had basically indoctrinated with the need of healthy food. That was what happened if you left parenting to a man – all heart got lost.

Felicity almost smiled about how melodramatic her inner voice was this morning. All of this was kind of unusual to her too because Oliver had been the one to make breakfast for the family in the past years. They had a thoroughly planned morning routine that was barely ever interrupted. Today, they had had no choice but to interrupt it.

“Daddy is still asleep,” Felicity said with a gentle smile, putting the plate of muffins onto the table, “so he won’t find out. Everything that is still on the plate when I am back downstairs is going to be given to Hawk.”

With that, Felicity turned around. She hadn’t yet left the kitchen when she could already hear that the kids were fighting over the muffins though there were more than enough for all of them. She smiled to herself. Chocolate muffins were exactly the start into the days that her kids needed today. If they had to relinquish the presence of their father, they had to at least get spoilt with sweet breakfast.

Knowing that her kids had everything they needed for the next thirty minutes, Felicity hurried upstairs. She slipped out of her shoes in front of the door of her bedroom and shot a brief look back over her shoulder. Since neither the kids nor Hawk had followed her upstairs, she opened the door and slipped into the room quickly.

Felicity didn’t dare to close the door behind her, afraid that it could make a sound. Instead, she left it ajar. She stayed up on the tips of her toes, afraid to make any sound. The quiet snoring behind her made her smile, telling her that she had made the right choice when she had set Oliver’s alarm late.

Turning around to him, Felicity watched Oliver intently. He was lying in bed, his face down in the pillow. He looked dead, and she’d probably be worried if it wasn’t for his soft snoring. The week he had spent at City Hall 24/7 and the week full of work he had added after that had exhausted him much more than Oliver had let on or he had been willing to show.

As quietly as possible, Felicity tiptoed to her side of the bed or at least to the side where her nightstand was because she and Oliver didn’t really have their own sides of the bed. She crawled onto the mattress and lay down next to Oliver, just watching him for a moment. He looked so incredibly peaceful.

Felicity barely resisted the urge to touch Oliver’s hair in a gentle attempt to make him turn his face towards her. She really wanted to touch him, but she didn’t do it. If she touched him, he’d wake up. She wanted him to have every second of sleep that he got. He needed it and he deserved it after the good work he had done after the earthquake that had turned Starling City upside down almost three weeks ago.

Despite the hate that Oliver had gotten for being a Queen, a member of the family had had taken part in creating the Undertaking all those years ago, he had made sure that this crisis was handled better than the aftermath of the Undertaking had been taken care of. He had gone out onto the streets right after the earthquake to help finding people that had been buried under collapsed buildings. He had done everything he could as a person living in Starling City and as the city’s mayor to handle this crisis in a way that would help the ones that were in need the most.

A low sigh fell from Felicity’s lips. She knew how important this city was for Oliver. His father had asked him to right his wrongs by doing this city much better than he had. Oliver had taken that promise his father had asked of him right before he had killed himself in front of his son maybe a little bis too serious. For a long time, his entire life had revolved around making this city a better place. It was different now that Oliver had a family of his own, a wife and kids to come home to every day, but in times like these it was difficult for him to hold onto his still quite newly found peace.

Setting his alarm late had been the right decision, Felicity thought to herself and finally allowed herself to reach out her hand and brush her fingers through Oliver’s hair. With a low sigh, he turned his face towards her just like she had hoped he would do. As soon as his cheek was resting in the pillow again, he closed his eyes and continued snorting once more.

Last night, when Oliver had come home and told her that everything had been taken care of and all of his plans had been approved to by the aldermen, she had watched him carefully. She had seen that he had been exhausted and tired. There had been more than that though. She had crossed the distance towards him and just hugged him tightly. She had held him in her arm with her fingers brushing through his hair and her face resting against the crook of his neck.

Although she couldn’t say with certainty, she had wondered if he was getting sick. With everything he had put himself through, Felicity was sure that his body would react to it eventually. Oliver rarely ever got sick, but a condition of permanent physical and mental exhaustion left its traces on everyone.

Felicity was relaxed when her kids were sick by now. With five children, she didn’t have the time or energy to freak out every time that one of her kids was sick. She had gotten used to it. With Oliver, it was a completely different case. She was used to him being the big, tough guy that was vulnerable, for sure, but that only shrugged his shoulders even if he was hurt badly and who denied ever being sick to a point that his body didn’t bother to fight him on that anymore.

A couple of seconds more passed before Oliver’s snoring fell quiet. Felicity’s fingers stilled against the side of his face for a second. Just when she was about to pull her hand back, hoping that it was soon enough for him to fall back asleep, Oliver put his hand to the back of hers. He rested his hand over hers and made sure it stayed where it was resting.

“I am worried about you,” Felicity whispered, “like really worried.”

Oliver’s eyes locked with hers immediately. Despite the sleepy haziness that was visible in his eyes, Felicity could see that he wanted to reassure her. He was doing his best to look okay. That he didn’t succeed didn’t take away from the effort though.

“I am fine,” Oliver whispered, “or better at least.”

Felicity had trouble biting back a smile. Oliver could read in her face so easily, and he knew her so well. He had known that a lie like claiming that he was okay was a lie that she could recognize easily. She wouldn’t let him go with a lie, especially not one like that. Oliver had lied to himself and everyone around about being alright for way too long.

“Are you sick?”

“No,” Oliver replied quickly, “at least not that I know of.”

Felicity hummed quietly. She wasn’t exactly convinced, so she rested her hand against Oliver’s forehead and felt his temperature. Since feeling with her hand wasn’t exactly giving her a good result, Felicity leaned her head forward and brushed a kiss against his forehead.

“Not too warm.”

“Like I said.”

With a low sigh, Oliver wrapped his arms around Felicity’s waist and pulled her on top of him. Although the tiredness and exhaustion were still on his face, there was a glimpse sparkling in his eyes. Felicity knew that he was going to tease her.

“You know, the last time that I have been sick and have been to the doctor, she gave me some great advice how to strengthen my immune system when I feel like I am getting sick.”

Felicity did her best to bite back a smile and just perked up her eyebrows instead. “Shoot.”

“Dr. Schwartz said that kisses will be the best way to strengthen my immune system,” he explained, pointing his finger right at his lips, “so maybe you could help out with this.”

Felicity chuckled slightly. “Well, if this helps to restore you.”

She leaned down and brushed her lips against Oliver’s lips gently. He was about to deepen the kiss, but Felicity pulled back before he could do so. He groaned lowly, making her grin in amusement about the power she had of him.

“Like that?”

“I think she said it should be a little longer.”

Again, Felicity angled her head down. She brushed her lips against Oliver’s once more. Instead of pulling back, she let him deepen the kiss this time. His lips puckered, pressing against him more fully.

“And she said more kisses,” Oliver told her when she pulled back this time, “a lot more.”

Felicity smiled and followed the doctor’s subscription. She kissed Oliver again and again and again. Her chest eased at the thought that Oliver was feeling well enough to demand kisses by teasing her. It meant that he was at least okay.

When Felicity pulled back between two kisses, while Oliver still had his eyes closed, she noticed a movement from the corner of her eyes. Turning her head, she saw Hawk standing in the frame of the door. He was waggling with his tail nervously, looking at what Felicity and Oliver were doing.

Oliver cleared his throat and pointed his finger at his lips once more, wordlessly demanding more kisses. Felicity grinned to herself, getting an idea. While she was leaning down to kiss Oliver’s lips once more, she lifted a hand and gestured for Hawk to come close. The dog followed her suggestion easily, sitting down at Oliver’s side of the bed.

Pulling back once more, Felicity hurried to point her finger at Oliver’s lips and mouth the word “kiss”. Hawk didn’t need more prompting. He got what was asked for him and hurried to jump into bed and lick all of Oliver’s face thoroughly.

“Hawk!”

Of course Oliver didn’t have to open his eyes to know that it was not his wife’s tongue licking his face. He lifted his hands in front of his face in a halfhearted attempt to get Hawk to stop. The Bernese Mountain Dog was all too willing to help Oliver getting better though. He continued to lick his face, making Oliver and Felicity laugh to no end.

* * *

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[brokenfoetus]

...Real Talk for a Moment....

This is gonna be a long rant post, so by all means... quickly scroll past. Parts may even be a tad emo feels for some folks for one reason or another... There’s no shame in skipping for reals.  A lot of days I can’t bother to read anything too in depth... anyway... HERE goes.... While I absolutely love art, and performance, and surreal awkward characterization of myself I call “THE END”. I also value truth, and being understood. My blog here started more as a journal for me to vent, and place to post music and art for me to look at in order to try and just relax during a very difficult point in my life. Every now and then I like to stop and ground myself and post in a sense about the actual me.  There’s frankly not anything magical here, everyone has a story and their experiences and struggles we all do no matter who you are. I suppose like I said, I just like to be understood where I am coming from typically can only be slightly grasped like anyone.  Even if you agree with views and relate to feelings, things become clearer with details.... hence my rants. I get it out of my system and state my perspectives all at once and anyone who happens to be curious gets to read it. Maybe gets to relate and frankly that tends to help us sometimes. It helps people realize they’re not alone in their situations.  Anyway.... I was born a tiny premature gremlin on the east coast of the U.S. I was raised a devout Catholic boy. At age 11 I was diagnosed with the chronic illness Diabetes. when the symptoms started my mother called doctors concerned. We had to wait a full month for my appointment.  It was rough. Some people don’t know of the disease, but most people generally are aware. It typically doesn’t seem all too dramatic to most since people think of it as old grandma and grandpa taking their pills and measuring their food. When you’re talking juvenile onset diabetes it’s different... severity can vary. but, I caught some sort of virus, with flu like symptoms... I was very very sick for a week or two.  Once it passed, I was okay but slowly started feeling gross in other ways.  By the time we got to see Doctors it was too late, and the damage done to my pancreas made it so it created pretty much no insulin. The only theory Doctors had at the time was the virus freaked out my auto-immune system so it made my body attack itself.  It seemed that my white blood cells had attacked my pancreas. I was 11, so... I didn’t know what diabetes was. I asked my doctor if there was a cure, and he explained that there was no cure. My little boy brain after feeling so awful for a month and a half assumed I was going to die. I burst into tears as I was very very afraid. My Doctor quickly explained I wasn’t going to die like I had assumed and that it can be treated. It doesn’t seem so scary most the time when you realize it can be treated. The thing is the hormone insulin can be quite dangerous, as low blood sugars are actually very much more dangerous than high blood sugars. Insulin allows glucose in the blood to travel into cells to basically use as fuel. without it sugar levels rise in the blood stream, and the body starts rapidly breaking down fat cells to use as fuel. Now, that happens normal some anyway usually after eating. Just not rapidly.... when it does, the fuel it breaks down creates ketones which can make the blood toxic... by making it acidic.... Like I don’t really think... there’s any way I can describe what high blood sugar feels like... or what it feels like when your blood starts to become acidic.... I can’t... but... minor low blood sugar attacks can happen to anyone just by skipping lunch or forgetting to eat... and those suck... bad ones... well... they feel like you’re dying. Not to be melodramatic about it all... but that’s all I can say to explain it... it just feels like you’re dying.  Probably because you sort of are..... The brain runs on glucose so when the levels get too low... your brain panics and tries to save itself and alert you. It’s not fun. It’s been many years since I had anything dangerous or serious in terms of low blood sugars but, a couple times in my life when I wasn’t doing very well emotionally and mentally I wasn’t paying attention or being careful with my insulin dosages and how much I was eating. I’ve had 3 grand mal seizures in my life when I was younger.... it’s hard to explain the experience... in mine... I don’t know.... It was like not existing at all, there was nothing. I woke to pain, I couldn’t see or hear it just hurt. Everything hurt head to toe. Then I could hear myself saying it hurt, then I could hear the people around me, and then I could see the people around me.  Then I knew what had happened.  I felt a bit guilty for scaring my loved ones so much.  That honestly made me more upset than the pain. The reason I spell all this out... is my life has mostly been surrounded by fear. I’ve been aware of my mortality and trying to avoid dying on a daily basis since I was a very young boy. The strange thing I suppose.... is after a while... you just get sick of being afraid.... you kind of stop being scared and just get angry... I was a shy timid nervous little dude.... I’ve had long long times where... I’ve felt worthless, I’ve hated myself, felt I didn’t deserve happiness, or love. I’ve let people use me, without standing up for myself. I’ve let people be toxic and cruel, while excusing their behavior. While at the same time condemning myself for any tiny mistake I may have made in any way. I’ve made myself a martyr in personal relationships, sacrificing myself and my feelings. I’ve frankly... done a whole bunch of fucked up things turned inward. The nice thing I suppose, is I don’t do that anymore.... I still make mistakes, and I like to take responsibility for them and make amends or fix them. You can get used to some really fucked up things. Especially when struggling with self worth. I used to think I was useless and undeserving. Today... I’m well aware I’m a PRETTEH PRETTEH GOFF BOI.... I have long time close friends who love me just as much as I do them. I have a wonderful beautiful lovely lady who has my heart and soul whom I want to spend every moment I possibly can with until my bones are dust.  Who helped me a great deal over the past couple years or so.  Helped me with myself and helped me believe in myself again. Just by being my friend and supporting me while I continue to be the eccentric artist asshole I am. and I have Scrambles... THE MOST CUTEST BLACK KITTEH KAT EVAR. I feel rather lucky to have all I do. I appreciate what I have very very much. I’ve been dealing with Diabetes since I was 11... and had been dealing with Severe Major Depression symptoms since my early 20s. over the past five years I finally started getting help, Turns out I don’t just have diabetes.... I have adhd and some kind of sleep disorder. we’ve been calling it narcolepsy but it’s hard to say exactly, it could be hypersomnia which is a super fancy way of saying I’m fucking always exhausted 24/7 which is pretty accurate.  That is usually caused by narcolepsy or something else but... who knows... still trying to figure that part out. I have discovered though that, being fucking exhausted non stop for 20 years will make you very depressed.  Sometimes depression makes you tired, and sometimes being tired makes you depressed. When I was a young lad, I gave myself one single life goal.... That was to finish an electro industrial album and play some live shows. I dunno, to some that might not be a big deal.... I never said it had to be “good” after all. But, when I was at a low point dealing with my stuffs, trying to take care of myself... I honestly spent most my days sleeping. I was awake maybe 4 hours a day.  Things felt very hopeless, that learned hopelessness made me believe things were pretty much pointless.  I would shrug... and talk to my psychiatrist about my suffering in a manner that people talk about the weather.  I didn’t even care anymore it was happening.  It was “oh well... is what it is.” Until I got angry, it was a good thing I was so frustrated.... because it meant I finally gave a shit again. I wanted to get better and I wanted it to hurry the fuck up. Anyway... I’m just rambling and ranting because I was thinking back a lot after doing a sleep study... probably the first in a series of them. I don’t have apnea so I mean... that’s good. I also got to see what some of my brainwaves look like... I also apparently wake up after dreaming some a lot... I also apparently yelled in the middle of the night hahaha. So back to the whole life goal thing.....my long time friend, who introduced me to shitloads of music and bands and has always been close through good and bad times.  Was saying how he knew it was something I’ve always wanted to do, so he wants to help me.  He’s starting to help me plan the performance and then later will help me setup my shows and come with me to what will be really awkward and silly first couple gigs I play.  An open mic night will be particularly hilarious to me, since instead of hearing shitty rock song covers, it will be an insane goth punk dude screaming distorted vocals to weird electro noises haha.  It’s taken a long time to get shit finally going... but... it’s getting there... it’s still going to take a lot more work... on both me and the music.  I have countless things I have to do, but I’m just happy I finally got angry enough to scream fuck it... and go for it... I love a lot of various kinds of work. I don’t really fit there very well though.  Now that the sleep disorder stuff has become worse over time... it’s not really possible anyway.  That’s okay though, since now I’m just doing what I’m actually good at.  Eccentric artist asshole has always been my key features.  xD So, here’s some photos of me before and during my sleep lab and random enjoyable crap I suppose... and my general mood.  It’s been a while....                                                  -The End-

[armitage-hux-dameron]

The Journal of Armitage Hux-Dameron Vol. II - Entry 56

Following an ill-advised mission to Ahch-To (suggested by Supreme Leader Ren, of course), over half of the DN Stormtrooper Division has caught Porg Pox. Kaleb was vaccinated during his first pediatric examination on Yavin 4. Dameron was vaccinated years ago as well. I am anxiously awaiting my immunization but, per usual, nothing in my life comes without difficulty. Snoke was adamantly opposed to vaccines, and the First Order Med Bay has had difficulty providing immunizations even after his death. I hear that “Dr. Palps” has been spreading falsehood about the Porg Pox vaccine, claiming that it increases one’s risk of “Sudden Midichlorian Departure Syndrome” (which is a fictitious illness). Clearly, our medical system warrants reevaluation.

I hope I can get my vaccine soon. I’ve heard that Porg Pox causes terrible symptoms though it is not lethal. According to MedDroid.net, it can induce “increased agitation”, “melodramatic reaction to handholding”, “cravings for dairy products”, and “a strong desire to go spearfishing”.

Previous Entry

(Credit to @esmethesciencewitch for introducing “Dr. Palps” as a character in their RP.)

[humansunshineao3]

Magnus Gets The Flu

When he had magic, Magnus was impervious to all human illnesses. He's never been sick a day in his 4 centuries of life... Until now.

Read on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alec should’ve been used to sudden wake-up calls, having grown up as a shadowhunter, but he’d been spoiled in the last few months since he’d started living with Magnus. He was awoken gently, these days, with kisses and warm, strong arms around him.

Not today.

Today, he was awoken by urgent shaking, and a yelp of his name.

“Huh?!” Alec grunted, sitting up with his eyes half open. “Wha’? Wha’ issi?” He slurred, trying his hardest to open his eyes.

“I’ve been poisoned!” Magnus hissed, right before his body was wracked with a cough.

Alec squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them hard to coax them open. “What? When?!”

“I don’t know, but my throat is burning and I-” Magnus coughed again, the sound raw and dry.

“Lemme get you some water.” Alec rolled out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing his glass from the nightstand as he went. “Here.” He said, rushing back in with a half-full glass.

Magnus downed the water and paused, blinking up at Alec. “Huh.”

“What?”

“The burning’s gone.” Magnus swallowed hard, his nose wrinkling. “Sort of.” He coughed again, and his eyes widened. “It’s back!”

Alec frowned, scratching his hand through his hair. “Magnus… It sounds like you just have a cough.”

“A cough?!” Magnus repeated. “Alexander, I am 400 years old, I know when I’m dying.”

“Oh, you’ve died before?” Alec snarked back, and Magnus scowled. “Babe, you don’t have a magical immune system anymore. You probably picked up a virus on the subway.”

Magnus coughed again, three times in succession, his hands covering his mouth. “No, no, no mundane could survive this, it must be some kind of… Disease. Like… Throat disease.”

He did sound a bit croaky, and Alec couldn’t help but find it cute. “Well, lucky for you, I know how to cure this particular throat disease.”

Once Alec had made Magnus some hot water with honey in it, he seemed to realise that it really was just a common cold that he’d been infected with. He was staring down at the surface of the table, his eyes narrowed.

“So mundanes… Feel this crappy… And just…? Get on with it?” Magnus said after a few moments, looking up at Alec with something like horror on his face.

Alec smiled, propping his head up on his hand. “Well, men tend to be more dramatic about it, so don’t feel too bad.”

“This feels terrible. My head… It’s like the time I let Lord Byron talk me into doing cocaine and opium as a double whammy.”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” Alec agreed, pushing Magnus’ floppy hair out of his face. “You still look cute as ever, though.”

“Well of course I do,” Magnus sniffed, reaching for a tissue to cough into. “I’m Magnus Bane.”

Two days later, and Magnus didn’t look so cute anymore.

He’d holed himself up in bed with a space heater on one side of the room and a fan on the other, and Alec had dragged the TV in to keep him occupied when he got too sick to continue his translation work. He hadn’t had the will to drag himself into the shower, his nose was all dry and red from all the tissues, and he was always tacky with sweat. He was anxious and worked up from feeling so lousy, too. New experiences made Magnus a little nervous after such a long life, and having the flu was definitely new to him. Luke had bought Magnus an Alexa last Christmas, guessing it would make adjusting to life without magic a little easier. At the time, Magnus had turned his nose up at it, but it was coming in handy now.

“Alexa, turn on the fan,” Magnus croaked, kicking off the blankets. He turned his face towards the cool air as it started to blow over the bed, and shuffled to sit up.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered was Alec running his hands through his hair, though, so he supposed it made sense. He squinted at the clock on the wall, balking when he saw it was 3pm. A grown man should not be napping in the middle of the afternoon, he told himself, swinging his socked feet over the edge of the bed and fighting down the nausea that came from moving too fast.

“Urghh…” He grumbled, shivering now. “Alexa,” Magnus moaned, snatching up a blanket, “turn off the fan.”

Alec wasn’t here now, and that was a problem. He’d promised Magnus that he’d be here to look after him, and while Magnus wasn’t usually (openly) clingy, he didn’t want to be left alone while he was practically dying. Luckily for him, he didn’t have to look too far for Alec. He heard quiet humming coming from the kitchen when he padded out into the living room, clutching the blanket tighter around himself as he followed the sound.

“Oh, no,” Magnus whispered as he neared the kitchen. He couldn’t smell much with his stuffy nose, but he could just make out the edge of… Paprika?

Alec was cooking.

“Oh, you’re up!” Alec grinned, stirring a large pot that sat on the stove. “I called my Mom while you were sleeping to get the recipe for her Mom’s secret recipe spicy soup.”

“Oh… Another… Another one of your Grandma’s recipes.” Magnus said, hoping that his throatiness would hide his dread.

Alec shrugged one shoulder. “She used to make this for me when I was sick as a kid. It’ll clear your head and your nose, I promise.”

“Wonderful,” Magnus offered, walking a little closer. His stomach turned over at the memory of Alec’s last sojourn in the kitchen, and he pressed his lips together. “Is it done?”

“Not yet,” Alex answered, putting his free arm around Magnus’ waist. “It needs to simmer for an hour.”

“So you can come back to bed?” Magnus asked hopefully, leaning into Alec’s warmth.

Alec smiled, tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before setting it down. “Yes, I can come back to bed.”

Magnus hummed at the news, taking Alec’s hand and pulling him back towards the bedroom. “You’re sure you can’t get sick now, right?” He checked, letting go of Alec’s hand to climb back under the covers, tugging them up to his chin.

“One hundred percent sure,” Alec promised. “I’m using iratzes every six hours to get rid of any bugs that find their way into my system. So I can cuddle and kiss you as much as you’ll let me.”

“Mmmm… Good. Come here,” Magnus ordered, immediately wriggling his cold toes between Alec’s calves when he got close enough.

“Yes, boss,” Alec murmured fondly, shuffling across the bed until he was flush against his boyfriend. “Anything for you.”

Magnus smiled a little, kissing Alec gently on the lips. “I feel like shit,” he whispered, like it was a secret, and it made Alec laugh.

“Really? I never would’ve guessed.”

“I probably stink.”

“Mmmm… I mean, I wasn’t gonna say it.”

Magnus grumbled, but Alec kissed him on the forehead between soft chuckles. “Mean.”

“If it bothered me that much, I wouldn’t be here nuzzling into your neck, now would I?” Alec pointed out, his face pressing into Magnus’ skin as he spoke.

“True,” Magnus allowed. “How much longer?”

“About five days.”

Magnus groaned, his lower lip fattening up. Alec cooed at him. “I don’t like it.”

“I know, baby. You’ll be back to your debonair, larger than life self before you know it.” Alec assured him, “but look at it this way. You get me all to yourself for a whole week, no late nights, no emergencies. Just you and me.”

After a moment’s consideration, Magnus sighed happily, squeezing Alec a little tighter. “That is something. How did you pull it off, anyway?”

“Left Izzy in charge. I was due holiday time,” Alec shrugged, “and besides, when have the Clave ever been able to keep me away from you, hmm?”

“I love you so much,” Magnus said quietly, looking up at Alec through his eyelashes, “but I really, really don’t wanna eat that soup.”

Alec pouted. “But it’s good!”

Magnus grimaced. “Alexander, I adore you, more than life itself, but you also thought that trainwreck of a recipe that you tried to feed your mother tasted good.”

“This one really does taste good,” Alec tried, “I checked with Mom.”

“Oh…” Magnus wrinkled his nose. “Fuck. Okay, I can’t say no to you.” He went to sit up, and Alec made a noise of protest.

“Where you going?”

“To write my will, just in case your cooking kills me,” Magnus explained, and Alec growled, a grin growing across his face as he snatched up a pillow and hit Magnus in the face with it. “Hey! I’m sick, you can’t start a pillow fight.”

Alec sniffed. “I think you’ll find you started it.”

Magnus hummed, the croak in his voice breaking it in the middle, “fine.” He wrenched up a pillow and pushed it into Alec’s face. “I’m sorry for insulting your terrible cooking.”

Alec laughed, catching Magnus around the waist and turning them over so he was leaning over his boyfriend. “I love you.”

“Mmmm, I love you too,” Magnus returned, raking his fingers through Alec’s hair. “Thank you for looking after me the past couple of days, you’ve had the patience of a saint.”

“I did snap at you that one time,” Alec mumbled like he was ashamed of it, swallowing hard.

“I was being annoying.”

“Well…”

Magnus chuckled. “Alexander, I made you move the TV six times because I wasn’t comfy.”

“Yeah, alright, that was super annoying,” Alec admitted, his hands stroking up and down Magnus’ sides. “But you’re having a crisis, so I forgive you.”

“I wouldn’t call it a crisis…”

“Babe, you thought you’d been poisoned,” Alec chuckled, eyes warm with fondness as they met Magnus’.

“I’m melodramatic by nature, I was open about this from the beginning,” Magnus pointed out with a grin, “and if I remember rightly, it drew you in like a moth to a flame.”

Alec hummed. “That wasn’t what attracted me to you.”

“Oh?”

“Honestly? The fact that you overlooked Jace for me got me kinda hot.” Alec admitted wryly, and Magnus laughed so hard it launched him into a coughing fit. “Sorry,” Alec smiled, helping Magnus sit up.

“That was what did it for you? Not my clever line about Michelangelo?” Magnus asked once his coughing stopped long enough for him to catch his breath.

Alec shrugged one shoulder. “That one just made me feel inadequate. But then you winked at me and I was back in the game, so…”

“Can’t beat a good wink,” Magnus agreed, shifting around to get more comfortable.

“What was it about me?” Alec asked. He’d always been curious as to why Magnus tried so hard with him that night.

Magnus smiled, nostalgia warming his heart. “The elation mixed with panic on your face when I turned to look at you. It was just about the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my life. I never in a million years seriously thought anything was going to come of it, maybe a quickie in my office, if I was lucky. But then…”

“Then?” Alec prompted, eager to hear the rest.

“Then you showed up for Luke. Trusted me with your energy. And, I don’t know, when you held me after I healed him… I hadn’t been handled that gently since…” Magnus’ gaze was distant, his head shaking a little. “I couldn’t remember the last time.”

Alec squeezed him just as gently as he had that night, his lips brushing Magnus’ temple. “I love you so much, Magnus.”

Magnus sniffed, leaning into Alec’s hold. “I love you too, Alexander.”

“Wanna watch Bake Off?”

Magnus closed his eyes. “I really, REALLY love you.”

“And then soup.” Alec amended, reaching for the remote, and Magnus wrinkled his nose.

Annoyingly, the soup turned out to be delicious, and Alec never, ever shut up about it for the rest of their long, ever-young lives.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hi! Sorry if it has been answered but I struggle with finding a description of what a mature Fi-user looks like. When I read about high Fi on ther Tumblrs I can see myself as a teenager with eerie accuracy, but most descriptions seem to be about someone who is basically in denial about living in a social world& values "authenticity" as if the "self" could just be separated from everything that shapes it and... maybe I'm misunderstanding/am not actually a high Fi user, but it doesn't seem 1/2

like the way a functioning adult would think? Sure, I have a strong sense of self, but I'm no arrogant enough to think that my value system is borne out of the void and not at all infuenced by my culture, society and peers? (Sorry for not citing specific sources, I thought it might not be appropriate to point at specific Tumblrs) 2/2

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

Hi anon,

This is an excellent question and addresses a very important issue in getting useful MBTI information, which is that Tumblr and MBTI are both things that attract a lot of young people who haven’t figured out how to understand what information is universally applicable, what is just them, and what falls somewhere in between. They also both attract people figuring out identity, and people attracted to fake-deep things, and as a result of both of those a lot of teens.

I say a lot of things that probably sound condescending towards teens and I really don’t mean it that way. I 100% believe that your teenage years are a time to be self-important and dramatic and whatever and I did the same, but fortunately I’m old enough to have mostly done so in like, word documents and anonymous poems sent to my high school literary magazine and AOL instant messenger vague away messages with song lyrics, instead of on a public blogging/social media forum where anyone can read it. Kids: consider getting a melodramatic physical journal that you can flouncily write in a la Winona Ryder’s characters in either Beetlejuice or Heathers. It will be satisfying and also people won’t drag you for being justifiably young and inexperienced with life.

I could go on for a very long time but that’s not helpful to you so: everything you said here is true. Morals do not spring from a vacuum and everyone is influenced by their environment and you are not immune to propaganda, etc.

Healthy high Fi users are generally more invested in moral consistency. They are more interested in living their values, and while any healthy adult cares about supporting other people, high Fi users tend to be good at understanding that universal support of other people in terms of emotional needs is not really feasible. Healthy high Fi users as a rule are a lot more willing to embrace a system of morality with a high degree of individual choice as long as no one’s being hurtful - their own morals are indeed influenced by their own experiences, but they’re unlikely to impose said morals on others as mature adults (eg: healthy high Fi users may be vegetarians but they are unlikely to be preachy EVERYONE MUST EAT HOW I EAT types). It’s a lot more “as long as you’re staying in your own lane and being generally kind and supportive, the details are up to you” whereas Fe users are more prescriptive.

In terms of identity, it’s the same thing. High Fi users as healthy adults recognize that they have certainly been influenced by others, but they are their own combination of those influences, and they are secure in what they like and don’t like (this is where the Fi vs. 4 split can be observed - healthy high Fi users don’t care if they’re basic as long as they genuinely like their basic interests, whereas 4s do feel a strong need to be unique and different). This sounds very cheesy but a healthy high Fi user as an adult is unafraid to stand in their truth, without forcing that truth on others. However, they also are able to recognize that there is a difference between truly betraying your values and just not revealing every single detail of your life in every situation.

I really like high Fi in healthy adults in case you can’t tell; two of my siblings are high Fi users; my brother is only in his early 20s so he has some preachiness/deliberate uniqueness-striving still but my sister has gone from being an extremely annoying preachy teen (see: my vegetarian argument) to an adult who is just really secure in what she wants and open to listening to what others want without feeling like either she or they need to change who they are. As someone with lower Fi who can be bossy and stubborn, it’s a perspective I really admire and aspire to.

[trulycertain]

I have been either unconscious or gaming a lot for the past few days, in between jobhunting. Yay, diabetic lack of immune system.

I started the first half-hour or so of Vampyr this afternoon while cheerfully snacking on some tomato soup. The loading times aren't too bad for me (or maybe just compared to Odyssey, which I loved, but... I’d occasionally wander off to do something else during loading screens and get like four pages of a book read). 

I'm really appreciating how gothically overblown it is - I mean, that prologue does not mess around. It’s so melodramatic and I’m very fond of that. The score suits it perfectly and is just wonderful fun in its own right. I like cello and body horror. What can I say.

However, I can see why so many people have mentioned the jankiness. In terms of interface and structure, it feels like a really enjoyable RPG from about 2006. Reminds me a bit of Murdered: Soul Suspect, actually, in how it feels like a bit of an outlier on this gen. You can’t really jump, or at least not without heavy context clues, and running handles a bit like Jonathan’s made of fudge (also fangs and sadness. Sorry, mate). The graphics are... eh, but seeing as everything’s murky and atmospheric anyway and the character models do their jobs well enough, I don’t mind that. 

It’s nothing close to an immersive sim; it’s a very old-school RPG that way. You’ll get narrative choices and dialogue choices, but there’s basically one way through a level and doors will not open until you’ve killed [x] enemies, so on.

Some of the VA work is a tad wonky, but I suspect it'll settle in. I am enjoying the ideas I'm seeing laid out, though, and the range of background characters. I like the sheer amount of people you can talk to. I didn’t play any of Life is Strange because I’m terrible at keeping up with anything episodic and it seemed like it’d be really, really sad - yup, was right - so I’m not familiar with Dontnod’s work and trying to go in with an open mind. I also like that they haven't ripped off Dishonored too much, which would be an obvious point of reference. And they’ve got actual English voice actors! Thank you, Dontnod. I always really appreciate that, and I tip my hat. I can look past it when it’s in settings that aren’t explicitly England, but when something constantly mentions it’s set in London, it’d really throw me out if everyone sounded like they were from the East End... via Montreal. Now I’m beginning to get how all those poor Americans felt paying the Deus Ex prequels.

I admit, I might put it on the backburner and finish off the DX playthrough first, both because I'm doing fic research and I need to revisit canon and because after the free-running power-fantasy of Odyssey I'm in the mood for a more free-flowing, smooth experience. (Right now, I’m in the mood for a particular kind of gameplay rather than a particular kind of story in particular.) However, I know me, and that'll wear off. (One of my favourite games is Jade Empire, which is an RPG from 2004 where you can't jump, attacking is turn-based A-button combat and everyone looks like a cube on a stick, so. Still happily replay it to this day.) 

[jojotier]

Sick Day

(aka way to get an entirely preventable cold oh unbreakable one)

“Jojooooo…” Noriaki moaned, lifting his face from the sheets. “Why does my body hate me so-” The melodramatic spiel in the making was cut off abruptly by a raucous set of wet coughs that filled the room and only served to make Noriaki feel like his lungs had liquefied and were in danger of staining the surgical mask he wore. Of course, no such thing happened, as the source of his congestion was still very unhelpfully localized in his chest region and not dripping from the white cloth over his mouth.

Jotaro raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe because you chased a stand user for three sustained hours into a river, and then proceeded to get yourself soaked to the bone in said river diving after him.”

“Thank you for reminding me- I was just in the process of forgetting everything over the last twenty-four hours.” He wrinkled his nose, holding back a sneeze and just causing his chest to feel uncomfortably swelled for a few seconds. A box of tissues was very gently, but insistently pressed against his side, and Noriaki looked up to see Star Platinum’s wide-eyed face peering down at him. He sighed and took a couple tissues, trying to see if his smile could make it through the mask.

“Thank you- you can just set that box on the table, along with the car…” And the various books, and his sketchpad, and his entire set of paints, and essentially anything that Star Platinum could get his hands on to bring. Noriaki didn’t even know he still had those brushes, and hell if he knew where the bright pink toy car had come from since it wasn’t as if Jolyne had come to Morioh. 

Noriaki went back to being generally miserable with a sour little, “Besides, it was an important chase…”

Star Platinum’s hulking form went to set the tissues aside and then went off, presumably to find more things to bring to the ever-growing hoard surrounding Noriaki in their hotel bed. Jotaro came over from where he’d been packing up his supplies, apparently deciding to forego the general starfish dissection and experimentation for the day to do something that didn’t add to the disgusting smell of vomit that had gone throughout the hotel suite just hours before. Noriaki could feel Jotaro’s eyes on him, and he lifted his head up just a bit to look back at him, realizing that he was carrying water and a damp cloth.

“Three hours. You didn’t stop running for three hours straight. And then you jumped into a river that was half frozen over.” Jotaro stared at him for a moment and Noriaki turned over onto his back, huffing.

“My spine and several bones are cybernetic.” Noriaki scoffed, trying to prop himself up on his elbows despite all of his limbs having taken on the consistency of jello. He heard Jotaro shuffling around, the clink of a bowl, and a small trickle of water. “What’s the point of basically being a cyborg if you don’t take advantage of it?”

“Your immune system isn’t cybernetic- you can’t even make something like that cybernetic. Have some common sense, Noriaki.”

“Are you really trying to lecture me about common sense? That’s really rich coming from you after the rat incident-”

Jotaro’s lips twitched the slightest bit as he winced. “Give me a break…. Are you still on the rats? It’s been weeks.”

“Oh, you best believe-” Noriaki paused to cough out his own mortal life before continuing somewhat shakily, “Believe, that I’m still on it.” His voice dropped as deep as he could manage, eyebrows furrowing in an exaggerated approximation of his boyfriend’s sour expression. “My name is Kujo Jotaro, and I can apparently track two tiny rats through a field but God forbid I think to not touch the obviously poisonous projectiles that an enemy is throwing directly at my face.”

Jotaro raised his eyebrows again, and then replied in a slightly snotty, nasally tone of voice, “My name is Kakyoin Noriaki and I jump into frozen rivers in the middle of summer that are obviously caused by the stand user I’m chasing after because god forbid I think any of my reckless actions through.”

“He would’ve gotten away otherwise!” Jotaro finally made his way over with the bowl, wringing out a cloth loudly by Noriaki’s bedside and folding it up. Even if the cool touch of the cloth on his fevered forehead was very much appreciated- as was the way Jotaro’s hand lingered and gently touched his cheek- Noriaki was still rather cross with him anyway. Perhaps some slightly unsound judgments had been made the day before- but that didn’t mean that Noriaki regretted them. Even though he sorely regretted contracting this cold. 

“Mhm.” Jotaro hummed, just staring Noriaki down with an entirely unimpressed look. Noriaki got the message loud and clear- I still think you were being an absolute dumbass. At least the dumbassery got results...

Noriaki laid back and sulked a bit, trying to hold back another phlegm-filled cough as he peered up at Jotaro. “This sucks.” He grumbled, nose wrinkling. Then he immediately descended into sounding like a thirteenth-century English peasant, complete with boils popping in his throat to come up as a wad of mucus. Noriaki whined, looking up at Jotaro. 

“I can see that,” Jotaro said, staring back at him before starting to move away again. Noriaki wanted to grab Jotaro’s hand to get it back onto his feverish self, but that seemed a little too much like conceding defeat. “You need cough drops.”

“I need some soup,” Noriaki mumbled, turning his head to look at Jotaro despite knowing full well that this hotel room had no kitchen in sight. Hierophant finally poked his head out from where he had been similarly sulking under the bed, only poking himself out enough to send two tendrils to tug at Jotaro’s jacket sleeves. “But like... my mom’s soup.”

“Your mom lives three hours from here.” 

“I’m very well aware of this.”

Hierophant tugged on Jotaro more insistently, trying to pull him back towards the bed. Noriaki probably should have stopped the stand, but at this point, the thing had a mind of its own. As his equally sick stand started retreating from the bed and winding itself underneath Jotaro’s jacket, Noriaki stared pointedly at him. “Please though.” 

“How exactly am I supposed to get your mom’s soup all the way out here.”

“I don’t know- phone Speedwagon or something. I don’t care! Just please?” Noriaki pouted through his surgical mask. “Your shit attitude is making me feel even crummier.” 

Jotaro finally gave a little sigh, muttering, “Good grief... fine, I’ll grab you some of your mom’s soup.”

“Yayyy.” Noriaki mumbled before another hacking fit got in the way. 

“Want me to grab you the puke bucket?”

“Ugh, no thanks...” At least, not for now...

[self-winding]

WARNING:  THIS IS A VENT POST.  CW FOR SUICIDAL IDEATION AND ME BEING ABLEIST.  PROBABLY DON’T READ IF YOU’RE DEPRESSED OR DEALING WITH HEALTH ISSUES.

 Been a long time since I’ve posted anything so I kind of hate to make a reentrance with something this mopey, but the past two months have been the worst of my life, mentally speaking, and the reason for that is pretty mundane:  I probably have rheumatoid arthritis.

I don’t have an official diagnosis; I have an appointment with a rheumatologist in a little over a week, and given that it hasn’t been that long since my symptoms appeared, maybe my despair is premature.  But I have a strong genetic predisposition to this condition, and I’m just the right age for it to appear.  My mom and brother both have it, and the way my symptoms have appeared has mirrored hers pretty closely.  She was around my age when she got it, and it started with pain in her left hip, as it did for me.  With each new symptom that appears, my hope that this is something temporary continues to wane.  All the classic signs of an autoimmune disorder (feeling sick and “off,” tingling/pain in the hands and feet, etc.) are there.

Because two of my closest family members have it, I’ve seen up close and personal how debilitating RA can be, and not just in terms of the pain and loss of mobility. The medications for it compromise a person’s immune system, and in the time of COVID, that’s particularly bad news. My mom is basically a prisoner in her own home these days because she’s so immunocompromised from various medications and so scared of getting infected.  I’ve talked to my family about my worries a bit but I’ve concealed the depth of my own sadness and fear from them because “the idea that I will end up like you is making me nearly suicidal” is a shit thing to say to someone, and I don’t want to make their lives harder, since they’re already dealing with a lot. And also, whenever I mention a symptom and they say “oh yeah that’s how it happened with me” it sends me into another spiral.  I’ve always been close to my mom and brother, but I feel like—paradoxically—having this in common with them has cut me off from them.  Talking about it makes it worse.  And I feel bad about feeling bad.  Because compared to them I’m so physically privileged.  My brother was already dealing with chronic pain issues in his early thirties and even late twenties.  I’m the lucky one.

The daily pain is not severe yet, but it’s there and it’s constant.  My body feels alien to me.  In addition to the joint pain it’s full of weird sensations and other little pains that continuously remind me of my fear of the future.  My mental health’s always been spotty, but until now my physical health (aside from a few relatively minor things like TMD or spells of illness) has been pretty good. Exercise and walking has always been one of my primary methods for coping with depression.  I’m looking at a future where I might not be able to do that anymore, or at least, where my ability to do so will be limited.

In June of 2021, I got married to my partner of fifteen years.  Even if I’m almost forty, even if we’ve been together for nearly half my life now, being a newlywed made me feel like a new chapter of my life was beginning. Now I worry that I’m going to become a burden on him (it doesn’t help that my usual streams of income have almost completely dried up lately).  He’s been nothing but supportive and kind and reassuring, but my fear about this is something that can’t be touched or eased by other people’s responses to it.  It’s the primal fear of losing ability, losing the simple animal joy of being able to move as I please without pain, losing a part of myself.  It’s the quiet body horror of having a body which I no longer trust.

Am I being melodramatic? Probably.  This isn’t a fatal diagnosis.  This is a pretty common and manageable condition.  1% of all people have it.  There are lots of treatments for it.  Plenty of folks live and function with far worse things and still manage to enjoy their lives on the whole.

So yeah, maybe I am just a big sissy, but my emotional truth right now is that I am rapidly losing my hope and my will to live.  I thought I knew what depression was; I thought I’d gone through it before.  This is more severe.

I look at the future now and all I can see are things slowly getting worse. I see the scope of my possible experiences shrinking.  I see a life defined by a never-ending battle against pain which can be controlled but which will never heal.  The immune system which I’ve always relied on to protect me, which has always been my ally, is now my enemy, and the enemy is inside me, an invisible and inescapable thing—not something which can be cut out like a tumor, but something which is pervasive and essential.  My body has begun to eat itself.  I can feel it happening.  This is the beginning of the end, and it will be long and slow.

I’m not planning to die because, most importantly, I wouldn’t do that to my loved ones.  And also it’s too early to know for sure that this is permanent.  There’s still a chance (small but real) that it’s all some weird fluke that will eventually go away.  But I don’t think it is.  This feels permanent, like some inner switch has been flipped.  It feels as though I’ve crossed a threshold into a different, darker world, and I can only look back on the person I was, because that person is gone.

I knew that this (or something like this) would happen sooner or later. Everyone falls apart, eventually. Everything is temporary.  Bodies are not designed to last, and considering how many things can go wrong with them, it’s kind of amazing that they work as well as they do.  But I thought I had more time.

[sabgyupsal]

Sabrina Culture is:

- having irregular sleep schedules (may or may not be caused by the ff: anxiety, depression, cramming, waking up just to write about thoughts, binging tv series with brothers, drawing)

- either replying really fast or taking a week to reply, there is no in between

- high-waisted pants

- tucked in shirts

- big feet and I have to juggle between sizes 8 - 9

- not going to do something because it might mildly inconvenience the other person (like needing help in class but staying quiet instead like a dumbass)

- high levels of anxiety when turning on the stove at home bc it might burst into flames and engulf me

- high levels of anxiety when plugging something into an electrical socket bc it might spark and ground me

- falling asleep easily on transportation

- falling asleep on trains while standing up

- motion sickness when riding taxis or cars

- never ever having the guts to try spicy food I’ve never heard of before

- short hair

- having depressive episodes that last from hours to months and feeling random spikes of being happy?? in between

- impulsive bitch

- yellow

- Van Gogh enthusiasm

- Gustav Klimt enthusiasm

- inconsistent art style

- possession of sketch books that have been around since 5 years ago just to do redraws

- draws the same damn OCs every time

- listens to Kali Uchis and Lorde on really bad days

- repeats Melodrama multiple times in a day yet still doesn’t know all the lyrics to all the songs

- Melodrama > Pure Heroine

- crybaby

- has been a sensitive melodramatic ass since birth, parents can confirm

- fighting people in my head

- wanting to buy knuckle rings but is afraid the metal detectors at the train stations will go off on them

- will have a bad image of you if you litter shit anywhere else but the garbage can

- will have a bad image of you if you spit on the street randomly

- English as a first language

- having a face so asymmetrical that if you half my face you will get two different looks (my eyebrows have different lengths, my right eye is bigger, my nose slants to the right, my jaw slants to the right, my ears are differently shaped, and even my hairline is a lopsided crow’s peak)

- having extra bones on the sides of my feet

- anime hands

- long nails

- having a ring on my left hand given to me 10 years ago by my mom but everyone keeps asking if it’s from a boyfriend

- wanting to be goth/punk but even my friends do not support it

- glasses

- having a long-ass name and being asked if I ever had difficulty during childhood in writing it

- being told that my name is really long and being asked the reason why

- actually likes all colors of the rainbow and those outside the rainbow but is really always associated with yellow bc it’s the most flattering color for my skin and hair

- being told that I’m pale

- being pale

- gets cold easily

- eats like a bird

- fluctuating weight due to bad dietary habits and stress issues

- growing fat and then being told to lose weight

- losing weight and then being told to grow fat

- history of fainting due to anxiety, dysmenorrhea, heat stroke, or poor health

- losing sense of time at random moments and it feels like I’m outside my body?? idk haha what is this

- not knowing how to ride a bike bc I was scared every time I tried it

- never in a serious relationship before

- despite being 19 is still not allowed to have a relationship

- despite being 19 is still not allowed to go out and drink

- despite being 19 is still not allowed to work part time to help parents with their expenses on my tuition

- can express better through art than through words

- can feel more emotions through visual art than through words

- Not Good Enough

- in need of constant validation bc I’m such an annoying and desperate dumb bitch :(

- never wants to tell a lie!! (does it in some cases to keep secrets and such)

- transient feelings if there’s a whopping amount of uncertainty

- does not get too excited when meeting a guy who ticks all the boxes for my ideal guy bc I don’t like idealizing people

- not being a sapiosexual bc I have been around a lot of intelligent people who are pretentious assholes and bullies

- personality > intelligence

- anime

- being able to read people easily while others are complaining that I am hard to read

- quiet when upset

- quiet when depressed

- sometimes quiet when anxious, sometimes panicky

- first panic attack landed me in the hospital

- having a lot of things my friends don’t know about me bc I never felt it was important to bring them up or to be open about it

- seasonal affective

- crying when full of anger bc it’s so overwhelming

- avoiding being angry so I won’t have to cry like a bitch

- recovers slow from sicknesses (physical and mental)

- weak immune system

- being constantly told how I almost DIED at five years old due to dengue fever

- feeling the spooks but not seeing them

- vivid storytelling

- memory problems

- retelling stories bc I constantly forget that I already told those stories

- not remembering a lot of important things under stress

- being deathly scared I am going to have Alzheimer’s in the future :(

- myopic

- looking like a snobby bitch when that is just my normal face

- friendzoning bc I mistakenly led people on when I thought they were just being polite

- slow when it comes to matters of the heart

- only believing someone likes me when I hear it directly from them

- feels guilt and shame when accidentally destroying friendships by friendzoning

- thinks about every? damn? thing???

- goes to the extremes to not be publicly humiliated and will sometimes cry out of shame even if it was done in jest

- fighting back tears when a friend cries

- believing that my personality was never my own and is just fragments from the environment and from observation being pieced together to form one cohesive sadass

- trusting easily at first but has a hard time trusting again when that trust is broken

- ptsd

- not being able to breathe when someone is angrily clacking the plates while washing

- BEING EASILY FRIGHTENED WHEN YELLED AT AND WILL GO INTO A PANIC ATTACK

- not holding grudges and not taking revenge on past bullies bc they were immature and changed now

[chronic-confessions]

Confession #2,825

My mum won’t take any of my issues seriously. I have a very low immune system and am very clumsy. The a while ago I literally broke my ankle doing things for her and she didn’t believe me. She made me ride with her to a different state and walk (limp rather) all around the stores and such carrying her items and such. After finally getting home, I go to my aunt’s house and ask her to check it (she used to be an EMT) she immediately took me to the emergency room and they didn’t believe me at first either because it had been 13 hours sense the initial incident. My mum didn’t even hurry when my Aunt called, they we’re putting on my cast when she got there. That was a 3 hour hospital visit! Do you know what she was doing? She went to a buffet and ate instead of coming to check on her child! And my foot got an infection, she wouldn’t take me to the doctor, so I had to drive myself (not a huge deal, just that it’s hard to drive when your foot is broken and you’re in a lot of pain) now I’m finally out of my cast and you guessed it!  It didn’t heal right and I have some sickness that will go undiagnosed till I either get over it or die. (I’m being melodramatic, it’s just nose bleeds and puking blood)

[mikaelagioiahowie]

Reflections on "La Ecosistema Yellowstone Mayor" From the Remote Office

¡Buenas tardes, desde España!  

I am writing to you as I look out the window at a fishing vessel exit the Bay of Santander (La Bahía de Santander), surfers trying to catch the last of a dying swell, and families appreciating their holidays on the soft white sands of northern Spain.  But just yesterday, I took my sister’s dog for a swim to San Juan de la Canal, our local beach a five minutes walk from my grandparent’s house, and for the first time in my 40 years, I caught myself wondering if I was exposing myself and my dog to something harmful.  For many Bozemanites, this would be the same as considering the water quality health hazards of tubing down the Madison River in the summertime.

As a resident of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem (GYE), like many others, I come from somewhere else.  However, my story may be a little outside the norm as my family hails from Cantabria, a province on the northern coast of Spain.  Cantabria is in what is often referred to as “green Spain” due to its climate being dominated by the Atlantic coast.  I am lucky to call both the GYE and Cantabria home, giving me a unique perspective.

There are some major differences between Cantabria and the GYE, most notable the presence of an extensive Atlantic ocean coastline. The GYE, considered one of the largest nearly intact temperate zone ecosystems on Earth, is sized between 18,750– 34,375 square miles with a resident population of approximately 355,000 people.  Cantabria by comparison, is a magnitude smaller at 2,028 square miles with a population of 572,824.  These statistics lead you to believe that there are few, if any similarities among these two regions an ocean apart. However, with a keen eye, similarities begin to emerge.  Cantabria includes two mountain ranges known for its wildscapes, rock climbing, hiking, and skiing opportunities.  Along with its rocky coast often referred to as “La Costa Quebrada”, these physical characteristics make Cantabria a recreational haven with biking, surfing, and sailing being the top sports.  Large predators are found in the mountains such as wolves and the Cantabrian bear (el Oso Pardo), both of which present conservation conflicts with local ranchers,  along with an amazing suite of raptors and the Urogallo (Tetrao urogallus), in the same family as the Sage Grouse (Phasianidae) and undergoing similar population declines and conservation threats. Cantabria is also a mecca for migrating coastal birds that find intact stop-over habitats in the wetlands and estuaries.  So, when you look a bit closer, despite differences in language, culture and the proliferation of or lack of amazingly fresh seafood, Cantabria and the GYE appeal to a similar type of person, wildlife enthusiasts and recreational opportunists.

Both Cantabria and the GYE see an influx of tourists during the summer months, and with this increase in people comes economic growth as well as litter, cars, noise and crowds on trails and waters that normally see little traffic during the rest of the year.  If you are like me, you might opt to stay away from the crowds, but it makes me grateful to know that these places that I all home are once-in-a-lifetime destinations for many people and children who might not have other opportunities to experience wildlife and nature so intimately.  An opportunity that I think is imperative for us all.

However, there are costs involved with this influx of people. Costs, which for the record, I believe can be minimized and maybe even avoided entirely with education and responsible habits.  In the GYE, we are so incredibly lucky to have high quality drinking water and air due to our intact ecosystem that functions as mother nature intended.  However, we are not immune, and I have witnessed more and more invasive plants creeping on our waterways and roads, beer cans and bottles at the peaks of our mountains, fishing lines and accidentally - or purposefully - discarded trash at our campsites, in our lakes and in our rivers.  At the moment, these things seem less than the norm and singular events.  However, with the rapid expanse of Bozeman and the surrounding areas, what once seemed insignificant problems will become large-scale issues.  

Cantabria has a human archaeological history stretching as far back as the Lower Paleolithic (3.3 million to 300,000 years ago) compared to the GYE whose human history dates back to sometime after the end of the ice age between 14,000-11,000 years ago. So, it follows that Cantabria has been dealing with human-caused environmental issues since before human settlements in the GYE existed.  That being said, in my own lifetime, I have witnessed changes on the beaches and coastal areas of Cantabria that I consider my childhood playgrounds.  There are two things that have struck me the most on my current visit in Cantabria. Water quality issues and a changing climate.

Ok, so back to why I was concerned about taking a dip in the ocean yesterday.  The previous day’s headlines had alerted us to how swimmers at the local beach had suffered skin reactions to the water and this led to a temporary closure of the waters.  For me, it was a clear and very sad moment when for the first time in my life, I was questioning the health of taking a dip in the ocean rather than ranting about its benefits.  This in itself is disconcerting, but the truly scary thing here is days after water samples were analyzed, the public has yet to be told a clear story of what caused the reactions with officials vaguely citing the presence of microorganisms.  

The connection here to the GYE stems from the issues that result from a rapidly increasing population and extensive land use change. On the beaches of my mother’s hometown, there were no sewage treatments when I was a child and this waste was discarded directly into mother ocean.  This may seem outrageous, but for small pueblos where septic tanks, cow’s milk, outdoor showers, and lack of heating/cooling are the norm, large-scale sewage treatments were not needed.  However, as the adjacent city of Santander expands towards these pueblos, and more people move to the country to enjoy the space and country living that pueblos offer, sewage treatment plants have been installed.  Despite this seemingly positive change, today’s problem is that the sewage plants can’t keep up with the need of an increasing population, especially during the summer swell.  It’s not just lack of infrastructure at play here, but also mismanagement and corruption.  This rings a bell for me as a GYE resident.  As the population of Bozeman continues to grow at an alarming rate and more and more of Gallatin Valley is converted from ranch or native grasslands to semi-urban and suburban areas with paved roads and manicured gardens, we will also face the impacts of rapid land use change.  Maybe we will find ourselves with overflowing or inadequate sewage and stormwater treatment.  We could just build more and better treatment systems, but what are the costs involved - both financial and ecological?  

Changes in climate and new normals have come up in conversation a few times now during my trip.  On a skeptical but positive note, a local friend of mine who has spent his whole life in Cantabria and has one of the best gardens I have ever seen, commented on how the warmer and longer summers and more temperate winters in Cantabria have made it possible to grow avocados and other sub-tropical fruits that my own grandmother would not have thought possible.  To me, that is one of the clearest signs of climate change possible!  On a more melodramatic note, I am noticing the proliferation of trash on the beaches and in the ocean waters much more on this visit then ever before.  It has actually made me stop and consider whether or not I wanted to take a dip in the ocean.  At first, I thought I was being spoiled coming from the GYE where we rarely (but increasingly) see large amounts of litter.  But, after further thought, I have landed on a hypothesis that is more tied to changing ocean tides due to warming waters than an increase of littering culture.  Climate change is changing everything in our world, from the smallest micro-organism to the largest mountain in ways that we may never fully understand.  And, this may seem too overwhelming to many of us, but when we break it down into smaller changes that we can each make in our own lives, it becomes much more manageable.  The simplest change I would suggest is completing cutting out plastic water bottles, one time use coffee cups, and other disposable items from your life.  Sometimes, I like to remember my grandmother and what she would have done to have drinking water, groceries and coffee in her house.  She would have filled a glass jug with water from the local spring or well, collected her groceries from the market in a cloth bag and served her guests coffee in ceramic mugs - often the simplest way is the best way.

Sometimes, as a resident of the GYE it is easy to forget just how special our backyard is as one of the last intact ecosystems.  This might be what strikes me the most when I travel across the world to my homeland in Cantabria, a region that has a human history stretching 1000’s of years times that of the GYE.  It seems to me that we, as residents of the GYE, are beyond lucky to reap the benefits of a functioning ecosystem.  In my opinion, we have it easy as the great expanse of our public lands and our lack of concentrated urban areas lets us easily avoid the problems faced across the globe in regions of high populations.  It is so easy for us to lose perspective.  I complain when I find shards of glass at the top of Livingston peak, or if I have to scoop up a lost beer can on the Yellowstone River, but these are singular incidents for NOW.  We have the opportunity to keep these problems manageable and even find solutions that work for everyone.  The gift we have as residents of the GYE comes with an extremely affordable price, that of being stewards and students of history.  It is our responsibility to look toward other regions that have already experienced the impacts of population growth and who are already innovating solutions that include humans in their ecosystems, rather than separating us from our wild heritages.  We are a young community in the GYE and we need to look towards our sisters for guidance.  If we fail to maintain the health, beauty and function of our GYE ecosystem, how can we hope for change across the world?

Mikaela Howie is YERC’s assistant lab manager

[pretty-eyes-jaeger]

“You look like death” with Daisuga~~

Allison! Oh my gosh! I wish I could capture the look on my face when you send me these prompts cause I just… they make me happy! So I hope you enjoy this. It’s actually a piece from a larger fic I’ve been attempting to write but doubt I’ll ever finish. 

Sickfic! Starters

           “Hello?”Daichi poked his head around the door and took a step into the room. His eyes landedon the figure in the bed. Koushi was curled up under the covers, only his eyesappearing over the top of the comforter to see who had entered his room.Daichi, instinctively smiling on sight, gave him a tiny wave. Koushi sprang up,staring at him with disbelief in his eyes.

           Daichi tooka step forward as Koushi reeled a bit from the sudden motion, blinking rapidly afew times and touching his temple to dispel the dizziness. But when he regainedhis equilibrium, Suga smiled up at Daichi, dazzling as the sun itself. “Hey,”he said in reply, his voice bright despite the obvious raspy quality of it. Whatare you doing here?”

            Theinnocence of the question made the butterflies in Daichi’s stomach flutteragain. “I brought your homework,” he answered plainly, shrugging a shoulder tocall attention to his backpack. “And I may have missed you. Just a little bit.”

           It was thefirst time they’d seen each other in two days. Suga had been sent home sick fromschool on Wednesday, and hadn’t returned the past two days, as he was clearlystill getting his butt kicked by the flu. Daichi had struggled to stay away forthe last two days, Suga not wanting him to get sick. But Daichi had made the executivedecision that two days was too long, and was now doing a poor job of hidingthat beneath the guise of bringing homework.

           “Only alittle bit?” Suga challenged, a flash of mischief striking through his tiredeyes.

           Daichi heldup two fingers, measuring about a centimeter between them. “Like this much.”Suga laughed softly, flashing that brilliant smile again.

           “Well, Imissed you like this much,” he replied, holding his arms out to their fulllength. Daichi’s mouth fell open into an over-exaggerated O.

           “I feel soloved,” the brunette said in response. “I also come as an ambassador from theteam, who wanted to make sure you weren’t dead. A few of them are still alittle rattled seeing you pass out two days ago.”

           That earnedhim another soft laugh, this one much more nervous and apologetic. “Yeah, sorryabout that. It’s been a while since I’ve had a fever this bad…” He trailed off,catching a cough in his sleeve. “I’m sorry I worried you. And the team.” 

           It wasDaichi’s turn to laugh now. “They’ve been pretty distraught without their‘precious vice captain, the spawn on angels whose heart is made of sunshine.’”

           A halfchuckle escaped from Suga’s lips. “Tanaka?” he guessed.

           “Thesunshine part was Noya, but the rest of it was of Tanaka’s invention,” Daichinodded. “As you can tell, they get a little melodramatic without you. And a bitpoetic.” Suga laughed again, harder this time, his usual, bright laugh thatmade Daichi’s heart flutter. But the happy sound was cut short by a gratingcough that had Suga bent over, gasping for air. Daichi moved forward onimpulse, having no idea what to do, but feeling the need to do something. Sugaheld up a hand to signal that he was fine as the fit subsided. He swallowedthickly, his lips turning into a frown that nearly broke Daichi’s heart.

           Suga lookedlike a ghost of his normal self, face pale, shadows under his eyes, cheeksbright with fever. But he was still trying to smile. For Daichi. Because he wasSugawara Koushi. And that was just who he was.

           “How aboutwe start with some homework,” Suga suggested. “I feel awake enough now, andneed to be on my A game for that.” He started coughing again, and Daichigrabbed the half-empty water bottle on the bedside table, tossing it to him.

           “Yeah,you’re definitely on you’re A game right now,” the brunette joked as Suga tooka quick sip of the water, wincing as it went down. Daichi frowned, hating howpowerless he felt. Koushi looked absolutely miserable, sounded it too, andthere was little to nothing he could do to help him. Yet, his boyfriendcontinued to pretend that he was fine, or that he at least wasn’t as miserableas he clearly was. He still hadn’t caught on to the fact that he could hidenothing from Daichi, and no amount of forced smiles would ever change that,dazzling as they were.

           Even now,Koushi was still doing his best to be engaging even though he had to beexhausted. The silver-haired boy shot him a sharp side glare, sniffling as heset the water bottle down. “I’m always on my A game,” Suga argued lightly.

           “Sure.”

           “You seemskeptical.”

           “Well you looklike death right now. I don’t know if I’d call that A game material,” Daichiadmitted as he sat down on the floor next to Suga’s bed.

           “You canpull the chair…”

           “No, I’mgood here,” Daichi interrupted. “I’m closer to you this way.” He didn’t missthe blush that bloomed across Suga’s cheeks at that, (and he knew it hadnothing to do with the fever.) 

           “Yeah,closer to catching my germs,” Suga said nervously, pulling his comforter upover his face so only his eyes were showing. Daichi rolled his eyesoverdramatically.

           “Would it reallymake you feel better if I was in the chair?”

           “Yes.”

           “Okaythen,” Daichi huffed, pushing himself to his feet and retrieving the deskchair. He set it down next to the bed with an air of finality before sittingdown and pulling open the zipper on his backpack. “Happy?”

           “Yes,”Koushi replied, pulling the comforter away from his face. “But I am stillworried that you’ll catch my germs.”

           “Well don’tworry about that. Worry about getting better,” Daichi insisted, pulling out hisnotebooks. “I don’t care if I get sick.”

           “But I do,”Koushi said in response, voice reminiscent of a whine. Daichi met his eyes. Assoon as their gazes met, Koushi’s eyes darted away as his cheeks grew a shadedarker. “You came here to see me, and I’d be so mad at myself if I got yousick.”

           Daichishook his head, touching his hand to Koushi’s forehead. “Wow, you must bereally sick if you’d rather have your boyfriend leave then give you cuddles.”Koushi pouted slightly as Daichi’s fingers moved to brush his hair away fromhis clammy forehead. “You know I wouldn’t be here if it really worried you thatmuch. And I know it bothers you, but seriously, don’t let it. You need to worryabout yourself and just let me take care of you. Plus, I’ve been chuggingvitamin C since Monday to amp up my immune system for this very moment.”

           Koushiblinked, out of disbelief or dissent, Daichi wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t readyfor the soft, demure smile that spread on his boyfriend’s lips as he replied, “Cuddleswould actually be really nice.”

           Daichigrinned victoriously. “That’s what I thought.”

           “Buthomework first,” Koushi insisted dutifully.

           “Right,homework first,” Daichi nodded, tapping the notebooks lying in his lap andplacing them on the bed. He then moved over to the desk and pulled out Koushi’snotebooks and a pencil, adding those to the pile. “Get to work, Mr. A Game.”

           Koushi setto work copying the notes, asking questions here and there for clarification.Daichi answered each one, often making jokes just to get the other boy tosmile, which he often did. Suga looked less dead when he smiled, (which Daichitold him to provoke another grin.) They started with the subjects that Sugafound the most difficult, and by the time they’d moved on to his best subjects,he hardly needed Daichi to explain anything. But he continued to ask questionsanyway to get a laugh out of Daichi, asking the first things that popped intohis head such as why the sky is blue, or why certain people were better atgiving hugs than others. The brunette answered every question with the silliestanswer he could come up with.

           “Have Iever told you how amazing you are?” Koushi asked out of the blue, setting downhis pencil and fixing a look of pure fondness, catching Daichi by surprise. Thebrunette felt his heart skip a beat at the unprompted display of affection.

           “Not thatI’m aware of,” he said around a small laugh. “How amazing do you think I am?”

           “You’re themost amazing guy I know,” Koushi replied.

           “Ohreally?” Daichi asked challengingly, even though he couldn’t keep a smile offof his face. That didn’t stop his eyes from glittering with mischief. “And howamazing is that, exactly?”

           Koushi’seyes flashed the same mischief back at him. “More amazing th-hen…” His breathhitched and he quickly turned away from Daichi, catching a sneeze in hissleeve. He kept his face buried as two more sneezes escaped. He turned back toDaichi with a thick sniffle and a groan.

           “Wow, Imust be pretty amazing,” the brunette said with a smirk. Koushi rolled his eyesbefore his nose wrinkled like a cat’s and he snapped forward with another sneeze.Daichi tossed the tissue box from the bedside table into the other boy’s lap.“Bless you, by the way.”

           “Gee,thanks,”  

           “What wereyou going to say?”

           “Hm?”

           “What am Imore amazing than?” Daichi clarified, sitting back in his chair and crossinghis arms over his chest.

           “Moreamazing than dogs.” Daichi blinked. “I’m serious. Dogs are the best. But you’rebetter than them.” The brunette nodded with satisfaction. “Sorry, that wasprobably really lame, but, as you know, I’m not on my A game right now.” 

           “Is that aconfession?” Daichi asked with mock disbelief, one hand flying to his chest fordramatic effect. Koushi rolled his eyes, laughing softly as he shook his head.

           “Icould kiss you right now, but you’re so amazing that I won’t,” Suga said inresponse. “Cause I don’t want you to be dead too.”

            Daichi smiled. “And thatmakes you pretty amazing too.”

[writeordiewithme]

Why Recycling a Bottle cap is Actually Not very Hard

Good morning weekend lovers alike, aka, everybody on the planet Earth. I can’t believe it is Saturday, just this morning I woke up feeling a little under the weather but then I remembered, wait it is Saturday. Wow, forget the Advil for the time being, I think I could coast this out for a little while longer with that in mind. Anyway, I hope that it has been a week to boot, Florida weather has been completely bi-polar (and trust me, I know a fluctuating temperament from the deep oceans to the bright blue sky, er.go a turbulent personality versus hot and cold weather) but alas things could be worse in paradise and I am feeling cheerful, sunny and so over this head cold, to say the least. Right, there is no such thing as global warming. Tell that to California or my confused immune system. Okay, maybe I am being a little bit melodramatic about my personal health and trying to tie this to the planets obvious change in temperament nation-wide not to mention globally but here we are and I woke up as Jessica Amber Perez. Sometimes I wonder where things could change around, I mean, is that not human nature, to wonder where things could change, will change as it is inevitable and how it might be stopped? I am also a Taurus so I am not a huge fan of change according to the stars but I also have a good sense of when enough is enough and our planets slow demise is moving more quickly to a very drastic change faster than I can spell out “wait”. Personal opinion here, get ready for this, I wish our current system would focus more on our environment, the environment of the country of which they overlook because seeing Facebook posts about the plastic ocean is making me really, really sad. Also, I am not sure the beaches are going to see more activity with all the bottle caps that are washing ashore. Storytime: I woke up one morning and decided to try to walk down far south because it was sunny and I felt like getting a sunburn doing so, okay, just kidding, but that is what happened because I forgot that today you’re going to need sunscreen until next Sunday unless you want to develop a terrible disease of the most sensitive organ of your body, your skin (bear with me, it is all relevant and not beside the point). I walked down the beach from where I live, probably 5 miles away from the little block of a city that is about 3 miles from the coast. It was all going well and fine, I hadn’t seen anything unusual other than the regular rush of cars and the same look of intense tiredness of enthusiasm that says with no words “I need to get there and I need to get there NOW, or I’ll die of impatience before I get there” (which, by the way, is it not the south, and are people here not supposed to take it slow, technically?) and the same flick of cigarettes and swig from big gulp, at the tired and well managed convenient shops, everything sweating and evaporating in an instant, nothing was out of the norm in tiny town America kind of near the beach, Florida. I saw myself getting closer to A1A where it curves along the coast and I am no longer on the mainland, instead, I am on a tiny island that lays in front of Floridas coast, I had crossed the bridge what felt like forever ago and was almost on the second beach town away from home. This town is full of older people with older money and lots and lots of bait shops and country clubs, which, was a surprise to me because though it was very clean, I still saw a sign that made me stop in my tracks right then and there, which is not normal for me because I am always looking for something to run to, but anyway, our sign had said “CLEAN BEACH, RED TIDE FREE.” It was incredible to me because what I think in an instant is that moment in JAWS where the Mayor tells Sheriff Brody that the beaches will have to remain shark-free for summer business rushes, only Jaws is red tide and red tide is inevitable. Walking on the sands breaks my heart because even though being on the private property of the beaches (I break laws, sue me) I still say that no matter how glistening clean the beachside properties can pertain themselves to want to shine, the beaches still will have bottle caps and dead, rotten fish/ jellyfish on the shores. It’s a glistening nightmare and the sands are not what is glistening, but if they do, it’s glass probably. 

Walking along the river where I live near, I found myself wandering underneath the underpass yesterday that runs over the marina that is sat next to our downtown. It was desolate and the only thing I could wonder first was “I wonder who slept here last night” but our homeless problem is a whole other story, but I saw one of the Floridas most well-known creatures the Great Egret finding fish to hunt for lunch. I was amazed and mesmerized by this careful and stealthy great tall bird, but then I saw him reach for a shard of glass that was shimmering in the shallow water. I wish that our community would put more of an effort into the environment, it’s hard to sit by the river to appreciate it when it smells the way it does, it just seems like people have forgotten what being in a coastal area is about, not to mention one with great reservations that have been created decades ago to be preserved and admired in the name of co-existing not capitalizing. Sebastian means venerable, or to respect with great wisdom and I think that a lot of people forget that there are greater meanings behind great things and Sebastian is a great town, I just hope it can remain a great town but the way things are going the way they are, I am losing a whole lot of faith!

Rant over, sorry about that one, its such a climb to the top of restoring our planet but hopefully with one recycled bottle cap at a time we can move toward something even more beautiful than anything we could ever imagine the future of our planet to be, which, at this point is not looking terribly difficult. Recycle!