#not immune to cardboard... unfortunately

[nyupuun]

I keep thinking about cardboard and how much I love it. The other day I pulled Sirocco the Dawn and its like. Not a card you run in an actual Blackwing deck but just me owning it made me happy. Also thinkign about building out my crystal beasts has me. Kicking my feet in joy.

[dei-lab-assistant]

Nothing Builds a Friendship Like a Crisis (part 3)

Co-written with multifandoms27 Summary: Kaiba hired you to assist Mokuba as he performed his monthly inspection of the local, Domino City branch of Kaiba Land. Unfortunately, Mokuba was kidnapped before your eyes, and now there's nothing left to do but talk to Kaiba about what happened. Dub canon plus a version of DSOD. Female Reader. Set maybe two years post DSOD. Fun fact: I always write my Reader character with personality and specific description. Each reader character also has a specific place in the Yu-Gi-Oh world, and is basically an OC with set connections and feelings about the various canon characters and other reader characters. This is reader B, who is immune to the siren song of romance, cheap, eccentric, logical, and hands-on. Word count: 2,217 You can read part 1 here. You can read part 2 here. The next minutes were a blur of worrying about Mokuba, security men asking questions, and being hustled through staff-only sections of the park. After the third round of debriefing, in the second nondescript meeting room, you wished with all your heart there was a way to help instead of repeating yourself to various Kaiba Corp employees. But there was nothing you could do. You had helplessly watched as men kidnapped Mokuba, and nothing had changed since then—you were still unable to act, stuck in a state of frustration, failure, and misery. By the time you were brought to Kaiba’s office, you braced yourself for his anger. It was almost welcome. If one more soft spoken individual kindly told you that everything would be alright, the situation was under control, but would you mind answering a few questions… You hated being lied to, and all the comforting fabrications from total strangers were grating on your frayed nerves.

As the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath. You imagined running away. Each step towards Kaiba felt like a bad idea. Since the plush green carpet ate up the sound of your footsteps, the room was silent but for the urgent clacking of the keyboard as the company president steadfastly ignored you. It had been a long time since you had been here—and back then, Mokuba was filling in as the company president. Another step. Behind Kaiba, light flooded in from the windows making up the entire back wall of the office. Step again. Nestled up against the left wall was a table with a detailed model of Kaiba Land, which you remembered Mokuba showing you the night you had been here last. Step. You couldn’t think about Mokuba now. Step. You needed to stay focused, present, involved. You reached the desk. Kaiba had his laptop out beside his desktop monitor, switching back and forth between the two machines. He never looked up from his screens. You hated to interrupt, so for over a minute You stood in silence, watching his fingers fly over the keys. But if he told his men to bring you here, he must have wanted to see you, or at least chew you out. “You wanted to talk to me?” “In a moment.” Kaiba kept his eyes buried in his monitor, as you took a wider stance and clasped your hands behind your back. Eventually, he asked, “How do you feel?” What?! You thought you could count on Kaiba to not ask about your emotions—they weren’t something you wanted to talk about. “Worried. Guilty.” At last, Kaiba looked up in exasperation, “I meant physically. You were drugged, after all.” “I feel… well enough. What do you mean, ‘I was drugged?’” Kaiba reached into a cardboard box perched on the corner of his desk, and pulled out a clear plastic cup containing neon green liquid. He all but slammed the cup down on the polished wood, “Lab results show trace amounts of a rather expensive medical concoction in your drink.”  “But… how? When could someone have slipped drugs into my slushy?” “This was from Bishop?” You nodded. “Yeah, and I didn’t set it down until after Mokuba left. So there’s no way anyone could have—” “I don’t have time for your naivete. Bishop drugged you.” “Wha—Why? He was always so nice to me….” Your mind reeled. No one had ever betrayed you before, but it was the simplest explanation. And you had seen three men leave the tunnel and fly off in the helicopter. “I’m sure he wanted two of the guards to stay behind with you.” Kaiba had resumed typing, although he was moving slower now, giving half his attention to you. “Kaiba, I’m really sorry. I should have stayed with Mokuba—” “And what would you have done? Got yourself shot like the other guard with my brother?” “Shot?!”

Kaiba glanced at you, “Consider yourself lucky Bishop only drugged you.” “Is he dead?” “No, but he’s in the hospital.” Kaiba almost sounded, for a fraction of a second, like he regretted his employee being in such a state. But he kept working, acting like the conversation was a secondary concern. “How did Bishop stop the roller coaster?” Your mind had been mulling over the question of stopping the cars ever since the incident.  “He carried a localized field which blocked power to the brakes and triggered their failsafe, causing them to lock up until Bishop left the area.” “That’s impossible. You can’t dampen electricity like that. An EMP might have knocked the power offline, but then the cars would have been stuck there.” “It’s possible. My stepfather sold designs for such a device to the military.” You crossed your arms, “Fine, but no one would have access to those designs, much less the device itself.” “Despite my efforts, there’s still old Kaiba Corp tech scattered across the globe, and not exclusively in the US military.” “Seriously?” You supposed even Kaiba couldn’t always buy his way out of other men’s contracts. “But in this case,” Kaiba switched to his laptop, “an unauthorized individual accessed those files internally. Probably Bishop.” “He’s a hacker?” “Or his boss is, and Bishop followed his instructions in order to steal the plans, as well as several other, more recent files related to Solid Vision.” “I would have thought that was impossible too.” “Almost impossible. The bypass was impressive. I’ve been rebuilding the system’s security protocols from scratch this week, but the damage was already done.” Silence fell again, and you wondered if the conversation was over. You were tired. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you asked, “Am I still going to need to talk to the police after this?”  “Why would you talk to the police?” Kaiba stopped typing and stared at you with genuine curiosity. “Because I watched your little brother get kidnapped!” “I know, but what do the police have to do with it?” “Well, yeah, okay, it’s probably the FBI’s job, and not the local police, but you know what I mean.” You were rarely sarcastic, but there was no reason for Kaiba to be so pedantic. To your surprise, Kaiba stopped typing, leaned forward on his elbows, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I thought Mokuba explained our situation to you.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You were more confused than angry. Kaiba sighed. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the super rich can do whatever they want?” “Yeah, but I’ve never believed it.” “It would be more accurate to say that we can do whatever we want, to those in our league.” You stared blankly.

“If a corporation kidnapped a random child, the government would intervene on behalf of the kid, but they won’t interfere with something like this. I’m expected to use my own resources to rescue Mokuba, or take revenge on his kidnappers—whatever I want, so long as the perpetrator is playing the same game. And of course, there’s always the possibility for further retaliation from the other side.” You grasped desperately for words. “This is…” Kaiba had ripped aside the curtain, revealing a view of the world you were never supposed to see. “Where does this leave someone like me?” “Employees of Kaiba Corp are under my protection. Any of my rivals who bothered or harmed my people would know to expect retribution. And of course, we’re careful not to harm unrelated… civilians.” Kaiba paused, as though questioning his choice of words, then continued. “If someone like Pegasus grievously hurt one of your sisters, then the government might get involved, and the whole thing could drag out in a multi-year legal battle. No one wants that.” “And where do I fit into this?” It felt like you had tumbled into a dangerous world running parallel to your own. “You?” Kaiba leaned back in his chair, “Right now, you’re an edge case. Although your decisions today will plant you squarely in, or out, of the game.”   You wondered what decisions Kaiba was talking about, but didn’t feel ready to ask about them. “So, why would Bishop do something like this? Shouldn’t he be on your team?” “Until last year, Bishop worked for Knightly Rook. When he applied here, he said he didn’t respect his boss, and wanted to work for someone with real power. But now, I know he never left his previous employer.” Kaiba smirked, “The man will regret crossing me.” “Knightly Rook kidnapped Mokuba? Why on earth would they do that?” “The company has been pestering me to meet with their president for months now. Apparently, they won’t accept that I refuse to collaborate with talentless hacks.” “And their president thought kidnapping Mokuba would enable him to win you over? The man is a moron.” “He thinks he can use this to prove he’s better than me.” Kaiba aggressively struck a few keys on his keyboard and swung around his desktop monitor to show a paused video. A graying redhead with a roguish grin and playful green eyes stared out of the screen—the president of Knightly Rook, Reginald O’Malley. Wearing a silky black shirt and perfectly tailored matching suit, the man looked more professional than Kaiba; and his mahogany tie and cane added an extra smidge of respectability. As the video resumed, the camera slowly zoomed in on his face. “I tried to play nice, Mr. Kaiba, I really did. We could have built something grand together.” From behind his desk, Kaiba snorted at the assertion.

“Alas, I could handle your refusals,” the video continued, “but your spurious claims that my company is nothing but pathetic puffery were an affront to my pride, sir.” Twirling his cane with practiced ease, the man continued. “And as you can see, I’m ready to challenge you, to show the world it is Seto Kaiba who should be pitied, as I rip from your inhospitable grip everything you hold dear.” You had heard O‘Malley many times, but never like this—with menace lurking behind each cheerfully delivered word. Although as his threat grew more obvious, some of the cheeriness fell away. “But of course, I propose a fair match, Mr. Kaiba, me and my Queen, against you and yours.” O’Malley switched to a mocking tone, “And worry not, I am aware you are a pathetic man, who has never known the sweet joys of a female companion, but I speak metaphorically.”  You and Kaiba shared an annoyed look at the assertion of singleness being equal to patheticness.  The video continued, “I am the black king, you are the white king, and each of us shall bring our strongest piece with us into symbolic battle via your favorite game. The stakes are high, and poor, young Mokuba awaits his dear older brother.” O’Malley chuckled, “The black king has made the first move, what will you do next, Mr. Kaiba?” Kaiba paused the video and rotated his screen back to its usual position as you asked, “I thought white always made the first move in Chess?” “Correct. But apparently he overlooked that detail when composing his speech.” Kaiba crossed his arms. “Will you be my tag-duel partner against this imbecile?” You were caught off guard by Kaiba’s question, delivered without preamble, “Shouldn’t you ask Yugi to be your partner for this duel?” An image of Mokuba suffering because you lost surfaced in your imagination, only to be ruthlessly shoved away; you needed to stay focused on the conversation. Kaiba stared at the top of his desk, “Yugi’s in New York, and we’re on the clock.” The last time you had agreed to help Kaiba, the two of you had ended up scrubbing floors in Pegasus’s castle, which felt like nothing compared to what was at stake today—Mokuba’s safety. “Why choose me?” You trusted Kaiba to give you an honest answer. “I’m not the strongest duelist around.” “You care about Mokuba almost as much as I do.” Kaiba’s mask of impassivity slipped, an almost childish desperation in his eyes. “And I trust you.” Having tasted betrayal for the first time today, you understood the value of his declaration. Your mind splintered into factions, wanting to accept his offer, arguing other candidates would be a better choice than you, screaming to take action, whispering that joining Kaiba on this venture could cost you a great deal—your privacy and anonymity, your safety, your right to be excluded from these power games. But your friend was asking for help, and your almost-a-little-brother needed you to rescue him. The seconds of confusion ended. You planted your hands on the edge of the desk and leaned towards Kaiba. “I’m in. But not as an employee, or a subordinate. As friends. Equals.” Kaiba stared into your eyes, as though seeking your resolve. “Very well.” “Also, you know that outfit you had made for me last year that matched yours? I wore it to Pegasus’s party to help you try and win a bet?” “Of course.” “Do you still have that? ‘Cause if we’re gonna play this guy’s stupid game, I want to lean into the aesthetic while we trounce him.” A smile tugged at the edges of Kaiba’s mouth. “I’ll see what I can do. Here.” Reaching into the cardboard box again, he handed you the deck box you had left in a locker back at Kaiba Land. “You’ll need this.” Part 4

[orcboxer]

Thank you very much for the knowledge Mr orcboxer but now I have a follow up question, any hand lotion you could recommend? Really hate the greasy feeling ones :V

Oh god same, I'm so sensitive to hand feel that ever since I was a wee orcling I've kept my hands balled up into fists constantly, I get questions about it a lot. That ain't a boxing joke, I'm actually like that lmao. Anyway the one that worked for me was jergens ultra healing. I still kinda hate how it feels for the first few minutes, but after that the feeling fades, and then it keeps my big ol paws nice and healthy for hours of work. I got the bottles that could slip right into my pockets so I could have lotion ready to go whenever my hands got dry. And they were so fun to pay for at the register but that's a whole other tangent.

It also makes my hands indestructible? For years I used to get cardboard cuts all the time, especially around the fingernails, and my hands got so dry that not only did my knuckles just bleed every day, but also half my hand was turning green. Those developments would normally make me ecstatic but unfortunately in this case I was not transforming into an orc boxer, my hands were just falling apart. I'd never used lotion before because it was seen as girly, thanks toxic gender roles, but a very kind elderly man told me to use Work Hands lotion because he had the same problem and that worked for him. I didn't end up using that specific brand but that remains some of the best advice I ever got from a stranger, because good lort did I ever need it. Once my hands got healthy again, I found that using lotion at the start of my shift made me virtually immune to cardboard damage. Even my precious cuticles didn't get hurt nearly as often (literally happened only 3 more times over the next 4 years). That's when I developed my Ripping Boxes Open With My Bear Hands technique, which is of course inadvisable with dry, destructible hands.

Anyway yeah I would recommend the jergens ultra healing but of course everyone has different preferences so you may need to try a few varieties to figure out what works for you. I would see people test em out right there in the aisle all the time.

[bracketsoffear]

The Fungus (Harry Adam Knight) "London mycologist Jane Wilson's efforts to cultivate a new species of agaricus bisporus fungus, using an experimental enzyme, CT-UT-8471, have success in the laboratory. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts at containment, she accidentally carries several thousand microscopic cells of a. bisporus infused with CT-UT-8471. The enzyme spreads throughout England, causing all manner of local fungi to begin growing like crazy, soon overtaking the whole country, including infesting the bodies of human beings. None of this was on purpose, but once the fungus has taken over Britain, Jane goes full mad scientist and declares that it is Gaia's Vengeance, so she goes from unintentionally causing catastrophe to being glad that she did. It's eventually revealed that she isn't as immune to the fungus as she thought; after she's killed it turns out her insides are riddled with the stuff."

Caterpillars (E.F. Benson) "In the beautiful Villa Cascana on the Italian Riviera, all is not as it seems. Why does the hostess leave a perfectly charming bedroom unoccupied? Why does Arthur Inglis present our nameless narrator with a caterpillar in a cardboard pill-box one lunchtime? And rather more bizarrely, why do luminous, bloated and gigantic versions of this creature haunt his dreams? Or could it possibly be that he is wide awake?"

SPOILERS BELOW CUT

At the end of the story, the narrator is visiting the Stanleys in England. It turns out that Inglis is riddled with cancer. No operation is possible to save him. Mrs. Stanley can’t help but thinking he caught it at the villa even though she took precautions to clean that vacant room and have no one stay there. It seems that someone had died of cancer in that room a year before. The notion of cancer as something infectious may, given the state of medicine at the time, been prevalent (and some cancers are caused by infectious agents).

I don't think that I need to explain why caterpillars either supernaturally spreading a lethal disease or being a metaphor for said disease is peak Corruption.

[theretirementstory]

Bonjour à tous, it is the first week of January, New Years Day came and went with me feeling rather glum. I didn’t feel like eating and consequently had no “special” meal on that day. By Wednesday my good humour had returned as had my appetite.

It has been a year now since I had my stent fitted in my heart, I am hoping to have another appointment with a cardiologist in the next couple of months just to confirm that all is well. I go to see the oncologist on Monday to (I assume) discuss how I feel after the radiotherapy.

It is currently 1c and cloudy and the highest temperature is due to be 3c, I don’t think I will be poking my nose out of the door today. My friend said she felt that snow was on the way, I am praying it is not!

Pauline eventually came to see me on Tuesday, she had been to Dijon for New Year but hadn’t really enjoyed herself as she was too busy looking for accommodation in Barcelona. Then she messaged me on Wednesday to say that her mother’s partner had passed away that morning. Her mother was due to drive her to Lyon on Thursday or Friday for Pauline to take a Flixbus from Lyon to Barcelona. She is flying today from Paris, she hadn’t really wanted to fly because of the smaller luggage allowance but maybe that is better.

Monique came to see me on Tuesday too, it was wonderful to see her and we had a good chat. She had had a great Christmas with her family and grandchildren, the twins will soon be celebrating their 2nd birthday, it’s amazing to think they are only two as they seem to have been around a lot longer.

I didn’t get in touch with the plumber (again) as the central heating and the pressure bar on the boiler seem to working satisfactorily.

Anie has sent me a photo of her with her family in Indonesia, she seems to be having a wonderful time. I am very pleased for her, although her family have been in France a lot in 2023, it has been a lovely holiday for her.

So the cleaner came on Thursday and asked if I would like to go to the Casino restaurant in Montier en Der. As I am really trying to keep myself safe from any infections, wearing my mask while out shopping, avoiding crowded places, plus only eating food prepared by myself. I explained it was something I could do after March but she said how about going next Thursday. I said I would let her know, went online to check out the menu, discovered there were only a couple of dishes that I would eat and decided to decline her offer. It’s important I keep myself well until my immune system is back up to full capacity.

I am “itching” to get out into the garden and prepare things for the springtime. Unfortunately, a lot of weeding is needed and the ground is too wet to deal with that at the moment. I do want to place cardboard around the rose bushes and mulch on top of the cardboard (this should be done in January) I am wondering if that will work around the hydrangea paniculata. At the moment there are so many weeds around it I fear it will become smothered. I am considering covering the area, weeds and all with the cardboard.

In France, from January 1st, they are encouraging people to discontinue putting food waste in the dustbin and encouraging the use of composters. Looking at the booklet that arrived it states quite categorically “no weeds, their seeds etc in the composter.” Now when your garden is full of “mauvaise herbes” where on earth are you supposed to put those when you clear them out? How do I stop my neighbour from putting the grass clippings (including dandelions etc) into my composter when he is being kind enough to mow the grass? Answers on a postcard please 😂. Speaking of compost, I am so terrified that there are 🐀 and 🐁 in my composter that I could do with a young man to come and empty all of my compost out. Where do you find a young man willing to do that? Is it something my gardener will do? I guess I will be making enquiries this year. Then I could start again and perhaps make better compost. I have never got right thé the bottom of the compost bin. As my friend Marlene was telling me something about rats in the composter I am worried that if they have them in their compost bin then I surely must have them in mine. Mind having said that I don’t put tomatoes, or anything with seeds into the compost, which I think they must have done, as she said they had tomatoes growing in there one time.

My potager, which I had covered with cardboard last winter, is full of violas (plus a few weeds). I was hoping to transplant the violas to the back garden, and feel sure I will, given some drier weather. The same applies to the iris I planted in the raised bed years ago, they are coming through well and keep multiplying but are becoming too crowded in there and I need to thin them out. All this talk of what I would like to do, is making me want to rush out and start doing something in the garden.

Let’s have a look at the music this week, back in the 80’s this first group would really have had no interest to me, however, all these years later as part of a car advert here in France, I find myself singing along (possibly my own words I hasten to add) and find the music quite “upbeat”. The song is “Oh l’amour” by the group Erasure dating back to 1986. The second song is one of my all time favourites, it’s a song that I feel as soon as you hear it you want to get up and dance. Of course the “old body” has done a good few miles since this was released in 1978 but somewhere inside my “mojo” is still working 😂. The song is “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real) by Sylvester. This is another song which has been used in an advert recently.

My grandchildren FaceTimed me last Sunday, I wasn’t wearing my hat so my very short hair was on display. At first my granddaughter wouldn’t speak to me she just kept staring as I spoke then eventually she asked “where’s your hair?”. We explained I had had it cut off because I had been very very poorly, she accepted that and we continued the conversation as normal.

“The Photographer” had his car repaired on Tuesday, no really large expense and I guess it is still running okay as he has been out and about in it. Yesterday was his last day working in a branch office and from tomorrow will be doing his training for home working. I am hoping that it all works out well for him as it saves on his long commute, fuel, wear and tear on the car and means that he will hopefully get to see more daylight.

“The Trainee Solicitor” has been busy at work. Not too sure how his ankle is now, it had still been swelling but he thought that was due to the heat in the office and having his foot down all day. He is currently doing housework while “The Ex-Graduate” has a well deserved rest. She is still waiting to hear about a start date for her new job but at least she has a job until the new one starts.

The books I had ordered arrived on Thursday and I was just so excited! I opened the bag but didn’t remove all of the books until yesterday. Oh did I want to cry! I had only ordered two the same. Instead of five books to read I now only have four but that’s fine and I will make sure I check my order before I press “Send” next time.

Yesterday, I did not a lot at all, I had my bloods taken and for the first time in a long time the results didn’t arrive by the afternoon. I need them by Monday afternoon for the oncologist so fingers crossed they arrive. After the visit from the nurse, I decided to have half an hour reading my book unfortunately that half hour turned into the rest of the day with only breaks to make food and to go to the shops for a few things. I must get myself moving today.

Knitting is on the back burner at the moment but I am crocheting. Next week sees the first knitting group of the year but more about that later.

I have posted the photos of my beautiful planter, which doesn’t look like that at the moment, and of one of the hellebores. The hellebores this year are obviously going to flower later as they are just producing green leaves at present and I need to get the planter cleared of weeds and put some new compost in it to encourage the lovely flowers. I would like to get a primula to put into it as well as a few more violas. The planter that Monique made for me about November last year is flowering so well it really is beautiful.

Jusqu’à la semaine prochaine.

[mariopokemonuniverse]

Mimikyu Manual

General Information

Evolution

Does not evolve

Forms

Usually in Disguise form. Changes to Busted Form on the first hit it takes in a battle.

Mimikyu

National Pokédex #: 778

Category: Disguise Pokémon

Type: Ghost/Fairy

Height: 0’08”, 0.2 m

Weight: 1.5 lbs., 0.7 kg

Ability: Disguise

Gender Ratio: 50% male, 50% female

Egg Groups: Amorphous

Temperament: Charming, Curious, Feisty, Friendly, Intelligent, Perceptive, Quiet

Diet: not specific

Introduction

Mimikyu is a Ghost/Fairy type Pokémon that has become very popular in recent years due to its desire to make friends with people. It is one of the smallest Ghost-types, making it conveniently sized for Trainers who live in apartments, and is very well-behaved. Unlike many Pokémon, it can also thrive on any type of food, making it very easy to care for. Its unique Ability, known as Disguise, prevents it from taking damage on the first hit it receives in battle.

No one knows exactly what Mimikyu looks like, as its costume is always kept on. It may serve as protection against sunlight, and rumors state that those who see Mimikyu’s true form will become cursed and die, so the costume likely protects others as well. To be safe, it is advised not to try looking underneath Mimikyu’s costume, and it will resist these attempts violently anyway. Mimikyu is also very particular about the condition of its costume, spending all night repairing it if the neck breaks or if there are any tears in the rag.

Because Mimikyu is listed as being a potential danger to humans (although not intentionally), it requires an additional Pokémon license to legally own.

Pros and Cons of Mimikyu

Pros

Usually quiet

Low maintenance

Adapts well to apartment living

Can eat any food

Immune to three types (Normal, Fighting, and Dragon)

High Special Defense stat

Cons

Low HP and Special Defense stats

Not resistant against any types except Bug

Does not learn many attack moves naturally

Can be clingy

Not a great guard Pokemon

Important Considerations for Owning Mimikyu

Providing enough attention: Mimikyu craves companionship, so it will need lots of time with a Trainer or with other Pokémon.

Moveset: Mimikyu can only learn seven different attack moves on its own, so TM’s and TR’s may come in handy.

Care

Like many Ghost-types, Mimikyu has minimal nutritional requirements, so it can theoretically eat only Malasadas. However, a varied and healthy diet is essential for most Pokémon, including Mimikyu, to perform their best and to avoid boredom. An ideal diet for Mimikyu consists of Pokémon food, fruits, and vegetables. There is no specific amount of food that Mimikyu should eat daily.

In addition to good socialization, Mimikyu also thrives on behavioral enrichment. This includes items such as puzzle feeders, plush toys, cardboard boxes, and balls that are not easily popped. Recall training is also an excellent form of enrichment for any Pokémon. Use a whistle or call the Pokémon’s name, and have treats or a toy ready so that the Pokémon is motivated to come to you. When using this for play, do it while hiding out of view of your Pokémon so that it has to find you, like hide-and-seek. Mimikyu is naturally motivated to come towards people, so it does great at recall training.

Pokédex Entries

Disguised Form

“Its actual appearance is unknown. A scholar who saw what was under its rag was overwhelmed by terror and died from the shock.”

“A lonely Pokémon, it conceals its terrifying appearance beneath an old rag so it can get closer to people and other Pokémon.”

“Although it's a quiet, lonely Pokémon, if you try to look at what's under its rag, it will become agitated and resist violently.”

“A gust of wind revealed what hides under this Pokémon's rag to a passing Trainer, who went home and died painfully that very night.”

“It wears a rag fashioned into a Pikachu costume in an effort to look less scary. Unfortunately, the costume only makes it creepier.”

“There was a scientist who peeked under Mimikyu's old rag in the name of research. The scientist died of a mysterious disease.”

“This Pokémon lives in dark places untouched by sunlight. When it appears before humans, it hides itself under a cloth that resembles a Pikachu.”

“Mimikyu was only recently identified as a Pokémon. Previously, people thought it was just a ghost wearing a cloth.”

Busted Form

“After going to all the effort of disguising itself, its neck was broken. Whatever is inside is probably unharmed, but it's still feeling sad.”

“If its neck is broken or its rag torn during an attack, it works through the night to patch it.”

“It stands in front of a mirror, trying to fix its broken neck as if its life depended on it. It has a hard time getting it right, so it's crying inside.”

“Sad that its true identity may be exposed, Mimikyu will mercilessly seek revenge on any opponent that breaks its neck.”

“There will be no forgiveness for any who reveal that it was pretending to be Pikachu. It will bring the culprit down, even at the cost of its own life.”

“Its disguise made from an old rag allowed it to avoid an attack, but the impact broke the neck of the disguise. Now everyone knows it's a Mimikyu.”

“Even as it struggles beneath the cloth to repair the broken neck of its disguise, Mimikyu keeps up its impersonation of Pikachu.”

“It has taken damage and can no longer hold the head of its cloth disguise upright. For as long as it lives, Mimikyu will never forget its attacker.”

[sorcerous-caress]

Don’t worry, I went to sleep and I’m at university and a whole adult so you aren’t corrupting the youth or anything.

Jubilee is a gold dragon sorcerer, and I have a hell of a lot of thoughts surrounding that she jokes that she’s biologically obligated to worship Bahmut but maintains that Justice really isn’t her thing. Her companions usually tease her about this because she’s generally such a goody two shoes but she maintains that compassion and justice are extremely different and compassion is the superior option by a lot.

I also think most draconic sorcerers have keener than normal senses with her large ears Jubilee is practically a radar dish and her sense of smell is on point. It’s very useful and actually is great because most illusions don’t account for smells so she’s quite good at sniffing them out. Unfortunately these overly keen senses can lead to some pretty severe sensory overload and she has to bury her face in someone’s shoulder and try too block everything out, I like to imagine Karlach bought her earmuffs at one point trying too help but Jubilee’s floppy rabbit ears are too big for them.

I also think that if Jubilee uses too much magic (aka runs out of spell slots) feral dragon brain takes over. She still retains her personality as a sweetheart so the worst she ever really does is hiss at someone and lay on Karlach like she's a warm rock but it's absolutely hilarious to watch their normal overly chatty and charismatic leader just go creature for a few hours. Jaheria and Halsien will wild shape to join her so it's bonding time.

The best and most practiced draconic sorceress in the lore of D&D can sometimes ascend to become actual dragons Jubilee has no real interest in this however Lae’del found out and is constantly badgering Jubilee to do it and be her Dragon mount. She maintains that since Astarion didn’t get to ascend it is only fair that she doesn’t either.

She says “my friends are my horde” like it's a joke, it is not she loves them, treasures them and guards them as fiercely as any Dragon would protect its horde. Other thing in her hordes included various insects (because she thinks they are neat little guys) and recipes (because she is a baker and cooking for people is her love language.)

I can not stress how much Jubilee adores each and every one of her companions because she does to pieces, even astarion (he is lucky Jubilee has more love in her heart than I do)

She seems so lovable, She is really keen on showering all the companions with all the love they never got, which honestly yeah. Love is the best medicine especially after traumatic events.

Halsin, Jaheira, and Karlach would probably adore her creature mode. First two because they can relate and Karlach because she thinks it's absolutely adorable.

She seems like the kind of person who is immune to being teased or bullied because she is so sincere and pure hearted that the offender just feels bad or backs off. Like if someone was mean to her, she'd disregard it and ask if they're okay or need help, completely taking people by surprise and making them feel ashamed of their actions.

Maybe she can be a sister or a friend figure to Asterion, god knows he needs platonic love so desperately. He is akin to a wet cat in a basket with a soggy cardboard cutout saying "adopt me" above it.

She does seem very selfless to a self sabotaging degree, Minthara would try to half a talk with her about it maybe. Halsin might encourage it or make it worse because he is like that too.

And the companions as her hoard thing, yeah, I relate to it! My sorcerer did the same thing, except it just resulted in them being more controlling, possessive, and protective.

I don't care what Mystra says Gale, you belong here.

Shadowheart sit your ass back down, I'm talking to Viconia when we get down there.

Vlaakith can suck my massive cock, Laezel, the gith hunters can claw you out of my cold dead hands.

Also, the second they unlocked level 11, they just flew everywhere. Even places that are walking distance, they just kept flying on buildings and forgetting their companions back down.

I made them carry my 100,000 gold worth gem pouch because it got too heavy, it was a privilege to the most favourite of the day tho.

Mostly Halsin, no one else really had the inventory space tbh. The dead clown body parts couldn't carry itself.

[spartamover]

LONG DISTANCE MOVING SERVICES IN CANADA

Introduction Moving to a new home can be an exciting but overwhelming experience, especially when it involves a long distance move within Canada. The logistics and challenges of relocating your belongings across provinces or even from coast to coast can seem daunting. That's where professional long distance moving services come in. In this article, we will explore the world of long distance moving services in Canada, from planning and packing to transportation and settling in. Whether you're moving for a new job opportunity or a fresh start, these services can help ensure a smooth and stress-free transition.

What are Long Distance Moving Services? Long distance moving services refer to professional assistance provided by companies specializing in helping individuals and families relocate their belongings over significant distances within Canada. These services go beyond simply transporting your possessions; they offer a comprehensive range of solutions to make your move as seamless as possible.

Long Distance Moving Companies Calgary

One of the primary benefits of hiring professional movers for a long distance move is the expertise and experience they bring to the table. They understand the intricacies involved in long distance moves and can provide valuable guidance throughout the process. Planning Your Long Distance Move A successful long distance move starts with careful planning. Before you embark on your journey, it's crucial to invest time in researching moving companies and obtaining cost estimates. This allows you to compare services, prices, and customer reviews, ensuring you choose a reputable and reliable moving company that meets your specific requirements. Choosing the Right Moving Company for You One of the crucial aspects of a successful move is finding a mover you can trust. Unfortunately, the moving industry is not immune to scams and unreliable service providers. Therefore, it's essential to conduct thorough research and opt for movers who have a proven track record of reliability. CAM members fit this criterion precisely, as they are held to high standards of professionalism and ethical conduct. The Canadian Association of Movers (CAM) has been a reliable and authoritative voice in the moving industry since its establishment in 1969. Over the years, CAM has actively participated in the development of industry guidelines and maintains open communication with various stakeholders, including the media, the Better Business Bureau, law enforcement, and provincial consumer protection agencies.

Sparta Movers is a proud member of the Canadian Association of Movers (CAM). When you hire a CAM member, you are entrusting your belongings to a certified professional mover. Unlike anonymous entities you may find on the internet, CAM members are actual moving companies with physical locations in your local area. This means you can easily visit their offices, meet the team, and discuss your specific moving needs in person. Creating A Moving Checklist Creating a moving checklist is another vital step in the planning process. A detailed checklist helps you stay organized and ensures you don't overlook important tasks. It should include items such as notifying utility companies, updating your address, transferring services, and scheduling any necessary repairs or maintenance for your new home. Packing and Organizing for a Long Distance Move When it comes to packing for a long distance move, efficiency is key. Start by decluttering and downsizing your belongings. Not only does this reduce the number of items you need to pack and transport, but it also allows you to start fresh in your new home. Consider donating or selling items that you no longer need or use. To pack efficiently, use high-quality packing materials and strategies. Strong cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, packing paper, and sturdy tape will help protect your belongings during transit. Remember to label each box clearly and create an inventory list to keep track of your items. Transportation Options for Long Distance Moves Long distance moving services offer various transportation options tailored to your needs. If you prefer a DIY approach, truck rental services are available, allowing you to load and drive the moving truck yourself. This option is cost-effective but requires more effort and planning on your part. Full-service moving companies, on the other hand, handle every aspect of the move for you. They provide packing materials, pack your belongings, load and unload the truck, and transport everything to your new home. This option is convenient and less physically demanding but typically comes at a higher cost. Portable storage containers are another popular option for long distance moves. These containers are delivered to your doorstep, allowing you to pack and load your belongings at your own pace. Once you're ready, the container is picked up and transported to your new location. The downside of container option is a higher likelihood of damages to your belongings due to a nature of container handling (pick up from your residence, loading onto a rail car, rail transport, and delivery to your final destination). Ensuring the Safety of Your Belongings During a long distance move, it's crucial to ensure the safety of your belongings. Fragile items such as glassware, artwork, and electronics require special attention. Use appropriate packing materials and techniques to protect them from potential damage during transit. Wrapping fragile items in bubble wrap, securing them with packing paper, and cushioning them with soft materials will help prevent breakage.

Furniture and large appliances should also be adequately protected. Disassemble furniture when possible, and wrap individual pieces with moving blankets or furniture pads. Secure drawers and doors to prevent them from opening during transit. For electronics, consider using their original packaging or investing in specialized boxes designed for their safe transportation. To further safeguard your possessions, inquire about insurance coverage when hiring a long distance moving service. Most reputable companies offer various insurance options to protect your belongings against loss or damage during transit. Review the coverage details carefully and consider purchasing additional insurance if necessary. Managing Logistics and Timing Managing logistics and timing is crucial for a successful long distance move. Once you've chosen a moving company, schedule your move well in advance. Popular moving times, such as weekends and holidays, tend to fill up quickly, so early booking ensures availability. Coordinate with the moving company to establish a timeline and confirm the pickup and delivery dates. Keep in mind that unexpected delays can occur during a long distance move, such as road closures, weather conditions, or other logistical challenges. Stay in communication with your moving team to stay updated and informed about any changes or potential delays. Flexibility and clear communication are key to managing such situations effectively. Settling In: Unpacking and Post-Move Organization After the long distance journey, it's time to settle into your new home. Start by unpacking efficiently. Begin with essentials and items you'll need immediately, such as bedding, toiletries, and kitchen essentials. As you unpack, assemble furniture and decide on the optimal placement for each item in your new space.

Don't forget to connect utilities and services in your new home. Contact utility companies to transfer or activate services such as electricity, water, gas, and internet. Update your address with relevant organizations, including your bank, insurance providers, and government agencies. Tips for a Smooth Long Distance Move Moving can be stressful, but there are several tips to make your long distance move smoother: Communicate with your moving team: Maintain open lines of communication with your moving company. Stay in touch to address any concerns, provide additional instructions, or ask questions. Maintain a positive mindset: Moving can be emotionally challenging, but try to focus on the exciting aspects of your new adventure. Embrace the opportunities that lie ahead. Take care of yourself during the move: Moving can be physically and mentally exhausting. Get enough rest, eat well, and take breaks when needed. Prioritize self-care throughout the process. Conclusion Long distance moving services in Canada offer valuable support and expertise when relocating your belongings across vast distances. From careful planning and packing to secure transportation and settling into your new home, professional movers can help ensure a smooth and stress-free experience. By choosing the right moving company and following best practices, you can embark on your long distance journey with confidence and excitement.

FAQs

How much do long distance moving services typically cost? The cost of long distance moving services varies depending on factors such as the distance, the volume of belongings, additional services required, and the chosen moving company. It's best to obtain quotes from multiple movers to compare prices and services.

Are there any restrictions on what can be moved long distance? Certain items may have restrictions when it comes to long distance moves, such as hazardous materials, perishable items, or illegal substances. It's important to check with your chosen moving company regarding any specific restrictions.

Can I transport my car with a long distance moving service? Yes, many long distance moving services offer vehicle transportation as an additional service. They have specialized carriers to safely transport cars, motorcycles, or other vehicles to your new location.

How far in advance should I book a long distance moving company? It's recommended to book a long distance moving company at least 8-12 weeks in advance. This allows you to secure your preferred moving dates and ensures availability, especially during peak moving seasons.

Is it possible to track the progress of my belongings during the move? Yes, some moving companies offer tracking services that allow you to monitor the progress of your belongings during the move. This provides peace of mind and keeps you informed about the status of your shipment.

Get More: Calgary Professional Movers

[sodamnradd]

Hermione’s dart missed the board entirely and nosedived into beer-stained carpet.

Laughter rose behind her.

She flushed, unaware she had an audience. “You were supposed to be fetching drinks.”

“Potter’s round,” said Draco. “Bit of a queue, actually.”

“Why do you sound happy about it?” She picked up her fallen dart and joined Draco at the shooting line, which was really a smudged cigarette burn beneath their feet.

“These Muggle pubs aren’t so bad.” He closed one eye, lining up his target, then flung his dart with a sharp flick of the wrist. It whirred forward in a straight line and landed just short of a bullseye. “Not a soul’s heard of Potter.”

Or him, Hermione added mentally, knowing it was what he meant.

“Your turn.”

Pointing her red dart again, she chucked it forward and watched it miss the target entirely, clanging against the windowpane.

“You aren’t even aiming.”

“Am too.”

“Watch me.” Draco shot again, landing a millimeter short of his target. “See that?”

“Watching you taught me nothing.”

“What are you two arguing about now?” Harry carried three pints of beer, one precariously close to becoming a new carpet stain. Hermione leaped forward, rescuing it in the nick of time.

Draco retrieved his dart. “Teaching Granger how to shoot.”

“If it’s not taught by a professor or published in hardcover, she won’t listen.”

Draco gave her an amused once over. “Unsurprising.”

“Love when you two gang up on me.” She shot them a dirty look, taking a stool behind their high-top table. “Where are you going now?” she asked Harry, who’d left his pint next to the cardboard coaster instead of on it.

“Loo. Be right back.”

“Don’t be glum.” Draco tugged at a loose curl impishly. “Get up.”

“Why?”

“I’ll teach you to throw.”

“Draco,” she began to protest, but he had that quality that made people listen and, unfortunately, Hermione wasn’t immune to his charms. He dropped the dart into her palm.

“Hold on.” He came up behind her, luxe clean aftershave overpowering the damp wooden pub. “Soften your grip.”

She swallowed hard, aware of his chest pressed against her back.

“Face the target properly.” Strong hands on her hips, rotating her. “You know, I have one of these at home.”

“An unfair advantage,” she managed, voice little more than a throaty rasp.

His fingers trailed up her sides, creasing the fabric of her t-shirt and exposing a patch of skin above her trousers. “I’m willing to share my knowledge.”

“Share your knowledge or feel me up?”

“Must it be one or the other?” Finally, his hand swept up her forearm, light as a feather, until his thumb rested at the base of her wrist, pressing the pulse. “Relax,” he coaxed. “You’re working too hard.”

How was she supposed to relax when every nerve ending was on fire?

“Potter’s coming back,” he noted. “After this round, come home with me.”

“To play darts?”

“And other games, if you want.”

“What about Harry?”

“He’ll leave any minute now to floo Weaslette.” Draco shifted his hand to her nape, kneading deep circles with his thumb. Divine circles that made her eyelids heavy and her mood light. “Besides,” he murmured into her ear. “I want you to come alone.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Cheeky witch.” His lips were soft on her temple. “You can come alone the first time. But games are meant for two people.”

“Must warn you,” she drawled, “I play to win.” Then fired.

Harry whistled. “Wow, Hermione, you actually took Malfoy’s advice?”

Draco retreated, watching her with a mixture of awe and lust.

“Just needed the right motivation.”

Bullseye.

(605 words, cross-posted from twitter)

[almostgenerallyalways]

A Matter of Record (1/2)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f/reader Category: fluff, angst, slow burn Word count: 2.1k (part 1 of 2) Cw: canon typical violence, military? Author’s note: I’ve been trying to write after a very long pause and I’m working on a longer fic but it’s not finished - I wanted to post something shorter for Valentine’s Day. It turned out not very Valentine’s-y, but there you go!

Summary: Adjusting to civilian life after the military is a challenge, but your job as an Information Management Specialist at the FBI is the perfect place to land. Out of all the agents you’re assigned to, you soon come to have a favorite - if only you would ever meet in real life.

---

Thursday morning at work sees you opening a box of file folders freshly received from Winchester and immediately regretting it. “Tina!” You yell, slamming the cardboard cover back in place in disgust. “Central sent us another rat!”

Your coworker Tina (in her fifties, heavily myopic and a literal angel) pops her head around the corner and tuts. “Wish they would check. That’s twice this month.”

The FBI Central Records Office in Winchester, Virginia is a state-of-the-art facility, housing billions upon billions of the FBI’s documents, going back a hundred years to the Agency’s inception. It’s cavernous, climate-controlled, and largely operated by robots – but unfortunately not completely immune to small pests.

When you left the military two years ago and took this role as Information Management Specialist with the FBI, you knew it wasn’t going to be glamorous, exactly – Certainly far removed from your X-Files-inspired teenage fantasies. You had not anticipated dealing with mummified rodents on a semi-regular basis.

Still – you couldn’t complain. After eight years with the Army and two deployments, you’d needed a change. The FBI recruited veterans, and the job was interesting enough, came with a stable government salary, and had you working right in the center of your favorite city.

And there were certain other advantages.

Walking back to your desk in the corner of the room, the landline rings. Reading the caller ID, your face lights up, and you grab the receiver. “Agent Reid, how may I help you today?”

Across the walkway between your desks, you see Tina roll her eyes, and pointedly ignore her.

“Hi!” says Spencer (you almost always address him as Agent Reid, but in your head, you call him Spencer). “How are you? I have a little bit of a strange request, I’m afraid.”

You love to hear him say those words. “I’ve had better mornings. Haven’t even had coffee yet and I’ve already got a rat corpse to dispose of. How about you? What are you looking for?”

You hear him suppress a laugh. “My condolences. I’m alright, we’re headed to Nebraska later today, actually. Could you pull anything you can find from the archives about murders or attempted murders occurring in or near crop circles?”

You raise your eyebrows, though of course he can’t see you. “You’re going alien hunting? I work in the wrong department.”

“Unfortunately, I think the person we’re looking for is very much human.”

Writing down his request on a notepad, you ask “Alright, got a timeframe in mind?”

He pauses to think for a second. “I think we can safely exclude anything pre-1990.”

“Cool, shouldn’t take too long then. I should have most of it heading your way by tomorrow. Do you want copies shipped to Quantico or do you want me to digitize them for Penelope?”

“Send them to Penelope, please. And thanks.”

You smile. “Anytime. Stay safe, Spooky.”

Spencer laughs, and you hang up.

* * *

Collecting information from the FBI’s hundred-year store of files is an art form.

While the agency went digital in the late eighties, and has since been slowly digitizing its vast amounts of pre-computer age data; those records are often rudimentary. As an Information Management Specialist assigned to support active cases, your main task is to identify and pull up physical case files requested by Agents to aid in ongoing investigations.

You open the portal for the Central Recordkeeping System and start trying out different combinations of keywords. More often than not, you have to cast a pretty broad net, since the case files aren’t tagged exhaustively (you note with some disappointment that “crop circles” is not an existing tag).

You spend a few hours poring over the summary records of homicide files in rural areas of Nebraska, until you find a few that look promising and send in a request for them to be unearthed from the vast depths of the Virginia facility. When they arrive tomorrow morning, you’ll take a quick look and discard anything irrelevant to your search parameters before having them scanned for Penelope.

Hopefully, none of them come with stowaways.

* * *

You have never met Spencer Reid, though he’s been your favorite Agent since the day you started.

“Pardon me,” you’d said (who says “Pardon me”? You, anxious as hell on your first day, apparently morphing from 28-year-old combat veteran right into British grandmother.) “Can you repeat that? I think I misheard you.”

“I would like for you,” Spencer had repeated patiently, “to please pull any files you can find involving ritual sacrifice specifically involving Beanie Babies.”

You’d held the receiver away from your ear for a second, looking at it like it could confirm your suspicions that you were being put through some kind of hazing ritual. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he’d said, unfazed. “It’s for a seminar I’m teaching. These would have occurred between 1994 and 1996.”

You’d shrugged, still not entirely convinced. “Alright then. I’ll get back to you, Agent…?”

“Reid. And thanks.”

  * * *

You’d quickly learn that, out of all the units you were assigned to, you could always count on the BAU to make the strangest requests. Spencer, specifically, took the cake – if there wasn’t an active case, he was always researching a pet project or preparing a class to teach. You’d work on these requests in between more urgent demands made for ongoing investigations, and before you knew it, you were talking to him almost every day the BAU wasn’t on location.

  * * *

It took you time to reacclimate to the DC area, having left it at nineteen to enlist. You’d found yourself a small but airy one-bedroom apartment in Alexandria, with hardwood floors and a distant view over the Potomac River. You reconnected with a couple of friends from the high school you’d attended for a few years. You joined a gym. You went out for happy hours with coworkers.

You missed your grandmother, her grounding presence irrevocably connected with the better years of your childhood: Alexandria had been her town, where she’d lived and worked as a prosecutor her entire career, taking you in on the many occasions your mom could not take care of you.

But she was gone now, and you were determined to make a life for yourself here, finally.

* * *

He’d called one day in November of your first year to request some case files, but you could tell as he was listing off search parameters that he was on a wild goose chase – not truly believing the search would yield anything useful, but trying anyway because they’d exhausted all other options.

“Agent Reid,” you tried carefully, “It’s not my place, but… Maybe you should contact the military police. Their records are kept separate from local law enforcement and the FBI’s. It’s just, the specific torture markers you’re looking for… I would bet money your guy served in Afghanistan.”

A moment of silence stretched on the other end of the line, and you’d feared you’d overstepped. You were not a profiler, or an Agent, after all.

Then you’d heard him curse under his breath. “Fuck.” Then, “Okay. I have to go. Thank you, I’ll talk to you later, alright?” He’d hung up abruptly.

Three days after this, a standard FBI inter-office envelope had shown up, addressed to you. You’d opened it, expecting a rejected copy of your expense report, but instead it was a postcard of exotic Quantico, VA, with unfamiliar handwriting, reading: Thank you – I can’t share details, but you made all the difference. Spencer Reid.

You’d tucked the postcard into the corner of your cubicle and smiled whenever it caught your eye.

* * *

You’d started dating someone, and then you’d split up. You’d repainted your apartment.

After a few solid months of civilian life, something crept up on you and you joined the Virginia Army National Guard, committing to spend a weekend every month training in Fredericksburg. It was hard, but it settled something in you that had been set adrift when you left the Army, however necessary that had been. Pulling on your boots every month felt like staying connected to something that had been your home and your family for the majority of your adult life.

* * *

One Friday night about a year ago, you had been putting on your coat to head out when your desk phone rang. You were just about getting over your stubborn imposter syndrome: you’d spent your first year coming in early, staying late, volunteering for assignments – desperate to prove you merited your place at the Bureau despite not having the upscale education some of your coworkers had. So you unzipped your coat again and reached around the desk to pick up the phone.

“Office of Record Management and Retrieval, how may I help you?”

“Hey. It’s me, it’s, um, Agent Reid.”

“Oh, hey.” You usually greeted him by that name, but being in front of the desk, you hadn’t seen the caller ID. Something about his voice took you aback. “Is everything okay?” Then, remembering you were at work: “Do you need me to run a search?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. “Sorry, no, I don’t need any files.” He paused. “I don’t know why I called, I just…”

Oh. You clenched the receiver between your ear and shoulder for a moment, shrugged off your coat, and sat down. “Are you okay?”

You heard him sigh. “I’m fine, it’s… things haven’t been good here.” Another pause, then fast: “My Unit Chief’s ex-wife was killed by someone we were supposed to be tracking down.”

You’d lifted your hand to your mouth. “Oh, Spencer. I’m so sorry.”

“I just don’t know what’s going to happen.” He’d cleared his throat, seeming to want to find control of his voice again. “Sometimes I don’t know if I even want to do this job anymore.”

“Spencer.” You’d folded your legs under you, plans forgotten. “Tell me what happened, please.”

You’d stayed there late into the night, long after the fluorescent ceiling lighting had been switched off and the building cleared of its occupants; Quantico feeling close yet far away at the same time.

* * *

Instant message from REID, S., SSA [ Accept | Ignore ]

RS: Hey! I had to give a statement at HQ yesterday and I stopped by Records to say hi, but your coworker said you were out.

“God damn it!” You’d exclaimed, prompting Tina to look at you over her glasses and comment mildly: “Language, please.”

Hey! You typed back. I was in a training. Sad I missed you! This is a bit of an understatement. You had been dying to meet Spencer, probably not entirely appropriate where a coworker is concerned.

A couple of days after he’d poured his heart out a few months back, you’d tentatively suggested having coffee sometime that week, which he’d accepted. Then two days later, he’d called to say they’d been asked to fly to Wyoming, and asked for a rain check.

He’d never rescheduled, and you didn’t push it.

“Tina!” You could not believe she did not tell you about this. “What did he look like.”

Tina flipped a page in the report she was reading, intensely bored of your infatuation. “I don’t know. Lanky. Looked like he couldn’t shoot his way out of a paper bag.”

RS: At least I finally got to see your office. You know, where the magic happens.

You groaned, and replied: The magic of me copying 50 years’ worth of dusty complaint letters to J. Edgar Hoover while being yelled at by guys in Sex Crimes. It’s truly Disneyland over here.

The reason you never pushed for a meetup, beyond your tentative attempt at coffee, was that you were smart enough to know you were being kept at arm’s length. You and Spencer talked, a lot. But he seemed content not to take your friendship (could you call it that?) beyond that, and you respected that, not in the least because he was your coworker.

Still, it stung having missed this one opportunity to come face-to-face with him.

RS: :oD

Spencer Reid did not know how to use emojis in this decade.

RS: Maybe next time.

* * *

Crop circle cases triaged and scans sent off to Penelope, you close the last box for their return to Winchester. You’re staying late to finish this, but you don’t mind – It’s Friday, you’re meeting your friend to go see a movie downtown and get dumplings.

Your cell phone vibrates in your jacket pocket, and thinking Desiree might have changed her mind about the restaurant, you pull it out. It is not Desi – you see the number, and your blood runs cold for a second. There is only one reason this number could be calling you right now, and you straighten your back without thinking about it, bracing yourself.

(link to part 2)

[glowinggator]

S/O /w Emotional Support Cat

Request: Is it okay if I ask how the boys react to Reader (with permission) brings their emotional support cat to the lair, or them finding out reader has one.

Pairing: All, Non-Poly

Content Warnings: None! 

Word Count: 1266

Raphael

A cat!! A small friend :)

He’s not too shocked to find out that you have an emotional support cat, honestly. He thinks it’s really cool! Animals are good friends, and he’s an animal lover himself as well. Plus animals just tend to bring nice energy with them! He totally understands it.

He’d also love to bring the cat over! He even buys a little cat bed for them to sleep in.

(He loves cats, but he knows nothing about them. The cat bed never gets used </3)

Unfortunately… animals take a long time to warm up to him. He has no idea why, either! We all saw how Mayhem reacted on the first meeting. Depending on how skittish your cat is, it could take anywhere from a week to months of contact for them to really get used to Raph.

He’s a little sad that your cat doesn’t immediately vibe with him, but honestly, he’s just happy that you feel comfortable enough to bring them over. If you’re happy, he’s happy!

He gets so excited if/when your cat warms up to him though. His eyes light up like a torch in the dark when your cat presses their head into his hand for the first time.

He knows every detail about your cat, it’s really sweet. What temp they like the heating blanket on, what their favorite toy is, what their favorite brand (and flavor) of cat food is, where their favorite spot is… He genuinely considers them to be part of the family at this point.

Honestly, 10/10 he loves you and your emotional support cat <3

Leonardo

Your emotional support animal is… a cat? Alright, he can get that. Different strokes for different folks, after all.

He thinks the cat is super cute, honestly. He always brings strings and cat toys over for your cat when he comes to your apartment. They’re a member of your family, and he’s gonna treat them like one!!

He’s cool with bringing them over to the lair as well! He’s a little worried that they’ll escape or get lost or something, but like, you know them best. He trusts you!

He still sets up little cardboard cat-gates. He doesn’t know that they could just jump over them if they wanted to, but he doesn’t NEED to know that.

He actually gets a little excited when you bring them over for the first time? Like, this is such a huge display of trust and comfort, and it just makes him really happy. He makes sure to get the softest blankets for them to lay on.

The cat likes him, by the way! He has really good vibes, and most animals tend to pick up on that. Dogs usually gravitate towards him, but cats are Not Immune to Leon.

(Raph is SO SALTY ABOUT IT LIKE WHY DON’T THEY LIKE ME I LOVE CATS PLEASE PSPSPSPSP-)

When your cat isn’t by your side, they like to sit on Leo’s chest. He wants to carry them around like a parrot so bad like-

He meows back at them sometimes. It’s cute.

He also likes to do voices for them.

He loves them a lot, and he’s happy that you have such a sweet and reliable emotional support animal.

Donatello

Oh, you have an emotional support animal? Are they a therapy animal? A psychiatric service animal? Prescribed by the court, or independently pursued? Dog? Cat? Horse?

He thinks the neuroscience between human-animal relationships is neat, and it’s something he somewhat understands on a personal level. Animals are quiet and non judgemental. They don’t have the predetermined biases that a human, yokai, or mutant might, and that alone reduces so much stress and pressure.

He thinks it’s kind of cool that your emotional support animal is a cat, as well. He’s always been a cat-person.

Every now and then he’ll build a little gadget for them to play with. It’s more basic than what he’s used to, but sometimes it's just fun to tinker. It’s still stuff you probably couldn’t buy in stores too, like, what a good boyfriend!! Your cat definitely appreciates it!

He’s fine with you bringing your cat over. The only rule is No Cats in the Lab.

It’s not that he doesn’t like them, it’s just like. It’s an accident waiting to happen. He doesn’t want them to get hurt from jumping where they’re not supposed to, or from getting shocked by an exposed wire or something. He’s genuinely just looking out for them.

This is a headcanon I’ve had for a LONG time and I’m so happy I finally get to bring it up. Have you ever heard of Rubber Ducky Debugging? In short, programmers will carry around a little rubber ducky, and when they run into a problem with their code that they can’t seem to solve, they explain every line of code to the rubber duck. It makes the programmer think about their code in a new way, which points out the problem that makes the program fail.

Your cat has become the Rubber Ducky. Your cat has been blessed with knowledge including - but not limited to - string theory, black hole mirage theory, the coding to an updated battle shell, the code for a self-aware supercomputer, and much more. Your cat has transcended this mortal plane.

Like, he has full-on conversations with your cat. It’s a really silly sight to walk in on.

Responds to their meows with things like “Yes, I know. Tell me more.” He always says it in a really monotone voice, and it makes you giggle.

Your cat likes him a lot. They follow him around like a shadow when he comes out of the lab.

He’s definitely started training them on how to use communication buttons. Speech pathology is so cool… your cat will take over the world soon.

Overall, they’re good friends, and he’s happy that you have a loving outlet to help you emotionally.

Michelangelo

Oh, Baby? Tiny little baby man?

Loves that you have an emotional support cat! Cats are such good friends, and they’ll always keep your secrets. Plus, you can smooch their tiny little head. What’s not to love?

He’s actually the first to suggest bringing them over! And he’s super stoked when you agree.

He definitely spends a few hours cat-proofing the lair. He’s watched too many cat videos where they bat stuff off of ledges. He loves them, but cats are NOT to be trusted with such temptation.

Please let him bust out the laser pointer. He’ll get so excited about it, like… it’s all he’s ever wanted.

Your cat takes a little while to warm up to him, just because Mikey is so high energy! Even when he’s sitting still, he’s still a little fidgety. So depending on how skittish they are, it may take a little while.

Definitely likes to nap with them! It’s a really cute sight to walk in on.

(Sunlight lover solidarity <3)

Looks up cat-safe recipes to cook for them, and he’s memorized how much of each thing a cat can have per week. He spoils all of his pets, and your baby? No exception. (And your cat certainly isn’t complaining! Healthy and delicious food!)

He likes to talk to them. Both for emotional stuff, and for silly stuff.

If he’s cooking, and they’re not with you, they’re on the kitchen table meowing at Mikey. He always responds. Either with meows or words, but he actually feels mean if he doesn’t say something back.

He loves them a lot, and he’s happy that you’re happy!

[notaclimatemaster]

Allergies: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Hate Corn (and corn-derivatives)

As Sophia Petrillo would say, let me tell you a story. Picture it: Prague, 2012. For four and a half months, a young man and his girlfriend study abroad in the gorgeous capital of the Czech Republic. The trip is transformative - sharing a small apartment alone in a foreign country forces the couple to work out any potential issues. I was that young man, and the girlfriend is now my wife. We’ve been together now over eleven years, and married for three of those.

Unfortunately, the trip was transformative in another way as well - upon returning to the US, I was beset by a host of gastrointestinal and skin problems. In October 2013, I was diagnosed with allergies to peanuts and to corn. Though merely informed speculation, I believe that the nearly-complete absence of both corn and peanuts while studying abroad, followed by their near-constant presence after I returned, triggered something in my immune system. Whatever the cause, the allergist who diagnosed the corn allergy knew little about it, and their recommendation was simply “don’t eat corn”. Needless to say, that advice was severely lacking. A few years after that, another allergy test at a different allergists’ office also showed positive for corn allergy; that allergist didn’t believe I had a corn allergy at first and thought it was a false-positive, until I explained that I had had it confirmed via a previous test and also by personal experiences.

I am lucky in that my corn allergy is not, for the most part, deadly. There has only been one instance that almost required the administration of an Epi-Pen (luckily it did not, as I didn’t have an Epi-Pen at the time). I have gradually cut out almost all of the corn from my diet and my life in general with help from resources like the life-saving Corn Allergy Girl [1].

A few examples of my corn allergy in action:

Dryer sheets are off-limits, as they produce an itchy rash in the more delicate areas of my body.

I have changed hand soaps, body washes, shampoos, etc. again and again until I found ones that (generally) don’t cause any trouble.

Fried foods are a bit like Russian roulette; supposedly, corn oil is processed at a high enough heat that it “should not” cause problems, but I’ve had reactions to it before [3].

Cardboard boxes are potentially treated with corn starch; i.e., the boxes of shipping envelopes at my job have occasionally caused reactions [6].

Corn starch (or “food starch”) is often used as an anti-caking ingredient and can be found commonly in ingredients such as powdered sugar and baking powder.

Fruits and vegetables (yes, even organic fruits and veggies) may be processed with corn-derivatives (ethylene gas from corn for ripening, coated with waxes containing corn, etc.)

Baked goods (such as pizzas, Publix sub rolls (iykyk), cakes, etc.) are commonly made with corn products, like corn meal, during the baking process, but do not always list these ‘process’ ingredients in their ingredient list.

A few examples of items either derived from corn or processed with corn-derivatives: glucose, fructose, dextrose, MSG, citric acid, and extracts (like vanilla extract)

For more information about corn allergies in general, I suggest the following link:

https://cornallergygirl.com/2019/01/10/clearing-up-some-misconceptions-about-corn-allergy/

References and Other Helpful Links:

[1] https://cornallergygirl.com/

[2] https://www.eatingwithfoodallergies.com/managing-a-corn-allergy/

[3] https://www.ecoproducts.com/what-if-i-am-allergic-to-corn.html

[4] https://medium.com/@Weresquirrel/the-last-straw-starbucks-ignores-allergy-risks-in-straws-6d0c9f81cb77

[5] https://www.theatlantic.com/science/archive/2019/01/what-its-like-be-allergic-corn/580594/

[6] https://twitter.com/swiftonsecurity/status/1074810043495796736?lang=en

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: Julie and the Phantoms are on tour and Juke are dating, one stop on tour Luke gets sick  (woke up with fever, swollen glands, sore throat etc) and the doctor diagnoses him with strep and an ear infection and Julie takes care his stubborn butt back to the hotel because he doesn't like to let down the fans since they have to cancel few shows.

Anonymous requested: alive guys, out of school in the real world, now all living in an apartment together. The 5 Times Luke Was Sick, and The 5 Times Julie Cured Him and maybe add in the 1 time Luke returns the favour of taking care of Julie.

Anonymous requested: Luke and Julie are married and have a daughter (Rose, 3). Rose and Luke end up waking up sick with the flu and Julie takes care of them, and she gets worn down from doing everything and caring for them. And even with him being sick in bed he lays with Rose when Julie’s beat and cuddles her when she feels sick even though he feels the same. Cute family fluff basically.

We Will Fight To Shine Together

The entire week had been hectic. Julie – along with her boys, Luke, Alex, and Reggie – had finally got the keys to their new apartment and had spent the whole of the previous two days hauling their belongings there from their respective homes. Ray Molina, protective as always, had been breathing down their necks in a frantic and worried attempt to help them out, the presence of Willie and Flynn had resulted in less unpacking and more Cardboard Box Wars, and most of their things were strewn about in unlikely places after the chaos of unpacking; just that morning Julie had found Alex’s drumsticks in the fridge.

But they were finally there, they were finally home, and there was nothing to worry about. Everything in the apartment seemed to be in order, they weren’t set to go on tour for another six months so the stress of that was still a way off, and the band’s new-found sense of freedom and independence hung over them like a rainbow. There was nothing that could have gone wrong. Nothing except–

“Dude, you look sick! And not in the good way.”

Julie had been sat atop the kitchen counter, watching Alex prepare their breakfast, but she looked towards the door when she heard Reggie’s exclamation. Stood in the doorway, bundled in about four hoodies, his eyes bloodshot and his nose running, was Luke. Reggie was right – he looked as if he were about to keel over and die. His puppy dog eyes were wide and watery and he looked utterly dreadful.

“Luke,” Julie said, hopping off the counter and heading over to him. “Are you feeling alright?”

He shook his head and sniffled pathetically. “I’m sick,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, you look it,” Julie said. She took his hand and gently led him towards a kitchen chair. He collapsed into it with a relieved sigh as if he couldn’t have bared standing any longer.

To Julie’s surprise (and slight annoyance) Alex and Reggie were laughing.

“You must have the weakest immune system known to man,” Alex joked as he put the group’s breakfast onto plates.

“On the bright side, Willie owes me ten dollars,” Reggie said with a beam. “I bet him you wouldn’t last two weeks before getting sick.”

Julie put her hands on her hips and glared at the two boys who immediately ceased their laughter. She knew she could be quite terrifying when she wanted to and she didn’t like abusing that power too much, but this was a situation she felt called for it.

“You two are seriously lacking compassion,” she scolded, pointing to and from Alex and Reggie. “Your friend is ill and all you can do is laugh at him. It’s mean – he has it difficult enough right now.”

Luke, pouting pathetically, nodded in agreement.

Alex and Reggie, both looking suitably chastised, muttered, “Sorry Julie.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t apologise to me.”

“Sorry Luke.”

“That’s better,” she said. Julie took herself out of Mother Mode and returned to Supportive Girlfriend. She gently ran her fingers through Luke’s hair – he relaxed a little as her touch. “I’m going to take you back to bed, you’re going to get some rest while I look up your symptoms, and then I’m going to take care of you.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “It’s probably just a cold. You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t, but I’m going to. Come on.”

Julie sent one more cutting glare to Reggie and Alex before helping Luke stand and leading him back through their little apartment to their shared bedroom. She eased him back into the bed, helped him make a half-nest-half-fort with the pillows and duvet, then grabbed her laptop and set up YouTube for him. Then, she pulled up a tab on her phone and sat beside him on the bed.

“Do you feel like you’re going to be sick?” she asked.

Luke shook his head.

“Are you feeling dizzy at all?”

“A little bit,” he croaked.

She smiled knowingly. “Sore throat too?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

Julie asked him more questions, then determined that because of the stress of moving his immune system had utterly crashed and some nasty bug had seized the opportunity. According to the internet, he needed plenty of bed rest, he should have been kept warm, he needed a lot of water, and most of all he simply needed to not do anything for a while.

“But we’re supposed to go to the studio tomorrow to record a bunch of songs,” Luke protested when Julie told him. He sat up abruptly, but eased himself back down, a hand rested against his forehead, wincing.

“You’re not going anywhere like that,” Julie told him. “I’ll call the studio and let them know we’ll have to record your parts a different time. Don’t say anything,” she commanded as he opened his mouth to argue again. “I’m not changing my mind.”

He grumbled something she couldn’t quite hear but assumed was something childishly rude – it had certainly sounded as if he’d been mocking her voice. She ignored him and instead headed back out to the kitchen. Julie grabbed painkillers and a large glass of water and took them back to Luke who had started a long YouTube playlist of Bondi Rescue videos.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be sitting in front of a screen if you’re dizzy,” Julie contemplated, handing him the tablets and the drink. Luke looked up at her with a mixture of sadness and fury in his eyes.

“I’ve already lost my health, I can’t lose Bondi Rescue too,” he said.

She breathed a laugh and sat back down beside him. He immediately melted into her side, his head rested against her abdomen. She stroked her fingers through his hair and felt him sigh at the touch.

He was asleep within minutes.

*

Julie and the Phantoms were on tour. It was a moment they had all been anticipating ever since they’d inducted Julie into the band. The four of them had saved up enough money to buy their own tour bus emblazoned with their faces and the band’s logo and were spending nine months driving across the United States and Canada to perform their show to sold-out crowds. Julie could hardly believe it was happening.

Right that moment, part of her wished it weren’t happening.

Julie had been led to understand that before she joined the band and became the responsible one, Alex was the ‘parental figure’ who had kept Luke and Reggie (both far more boisterous by nature) in check. If anyone had told her that on the second leg of their tour, she would not have believed it for a moment. Alex was sat in the passenger seat beside her, but was leaning over the back of it to swat at Reggie who was kicking the back of his seat. Both were calling each other childish names and their hands were flapping about like they were having a catfight. Julie had given up trying to stop them about two hundred miles ago.

Looking after them sometimes felt like having a pair of toddlers. Though more often it was like having three toddlers because Luke would find a way to join in on the shenanigans. But right then, in the backseat beside Reggie, he was oddly quiet.

“Luke,” Julie called over Alex and Reggie’s squabbling, readjusting the mirror so she could see Luke behind her. “You okay?”

Luke nodded then tried to clear his throat. “Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly. “Sore throat, that’s all.”

Julie frowned. “Are you sure? You don’t sound good. Will you be able to sing for tomorrow’s show?”

His eyes widened frantically at the mention of the performance. “Of course! I’ll be fine, it’s just a sore throat.”

It was, unfortunately, very clearly not just a sore throat.

Julie pulled the tour bus into the parking lot of their hotel and the gang all headed to their rooms. Julie and Luke were sharing, partially to save money and partially because they wanted to. Before they went to sleep, Julie checked again with Luke to see if he was alright and again he told her in that rough voice that he was fine.

However, when they woke up Luke seemed distinctly worse for wear. He was radiating heat like the sun but shivering as if he were in the arctic, he was complaining of pain in his right ear, and when Julie looked down his throat she saw that his tonsils were swollen and covered in white spots.

“You’re not going on stage like this,” she said, shaking her head. “No way. I’m calling a doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor,” Luke insisted, attempting to hoist himself into a sitting position but giving up quickly. “It’s just a sore throat.”

“You can try telling me that again when you can swallow more than a drop of water,” Julie said before picking up her phone and calling the nearest doctor.

Luckily, the doctor was able to come out to the hotel so Luke didn’t have to even get out of bed. The doctor took one look at his symptoms, then turned to Julie.

“Looks like strep throat,” they said, snapping their latex gloves off. “The pain in the ear is because of an ear infection that came after the bacteria travelled from the throat to the middle ear. I’m going to prescribe him a course of antibiotics, he’ll need to take them all otherwise the infection will come back stronger. I recommend he doesn’t perform for at least another month to give the infection ample time to heal.”

“A month?” Luke tried to yell, but it came out as an outraged breathy whisper.

“Yes,” the doctor said, looking down at him over their glasses. “Your infection is particularly severe, Mr Patterson, and if you want to finish your tour then I suggest you take my advice.”

“We can’t cancel shows,” Luke protested weakly. “Think of how excited everyone’s been…”

Julie smiled to the doctor and saw them out of the room. “Thank you very much,” she said. “I’ll make sure he gets those antibiotics and plenty of rest.”

Once the doctor was gone, Julie called Flynn, the official manager for Julie and the Phantoms and Julie’s lifelong best friend. “Cancel every show for the next month,” she instructed. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Are you alright, Jules?” Flynn said, immediately sounding concerned. “I can come over and take care of you, whatever you need, I’ll book a flight right now–”

“I’m fine, Flynn,” Julie assured her. “It’s Luke. He’s got strep.”

“Oh no.” Flynn’s worry morphed into something akin to disappointment. “He’s literally the worst one of you guys to get ill right now.”

“Tell me about it. He’s furious that we’ve even suggested cancelling the shows.”

“He gets it’s for his own good, right?” Flynn asked.

Julie shook her head even though Flynn couldn’t see her. “He knows that but he doesn’t want to let everyone down. He’s been more excited for the tour than the fans have – he doesn’t want any of it to go wrong and this is about as wrong as it could go.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it once the ‘get well soon’ messages start arriving,” Flynn said.

“I think that’ll just make it worse,” Julie countered. “Anyway, it’s fine. There’s nothing we can do. Just make sure everyone knows the next shows are cancelled.”

“You got it, boss. Good luck with Luke.”

“I’ll need it.”

Julie hung up on Flynn and headed back towards Luke. He was still sat up in the bed, looking very sorry for himself as he pouted with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” she said softly, crouching down next to his side of the bed. “I’m going to make you some hot honey and lemon water – my mom always made it for me when I got a sore throat. It’ll help, I promise. Is there anything else you want?”

“I want to do the shows,” he said petulantly.

Julie shook her head firmly. “You heard the doctor – none of us are going on any stage for another month. Flynn’s cancelling the shows as we speak.”

Luke looked aghast. “No!”

“Yes. You’re sick, Luke. And think about it; if this were me or Alex or Reggie in your position, what would you say to do?”

“I’d say we should cancel the shows until you got better,” he said as if the answer were obvious, then he seemed to hear his own words and deflated a little. “Fine. I suppose this is for the best. I… I just feel like I’m letting everyone down.”

Julie intertwined their fingers and held his hand tightly. She gave him a soft, reassuring smile. “You aren’t letting anybody down, Luke. It’s not your fault that you’re sick and there’s nothing any of us can do about it now. All that can be done is for you to rest and take your meds so that the next shows we do are as good as they can be. Okay?”

He rolled his eyes sighed, but there was the tiniest smile playing about his lips. “Okay.”

*

Julie had said it was a bad idea from the very beginning, but the boys had insisted that they’d done it before and it was perfectly safe.

It felt good to be proven right, but less good to be vomited on.

The first problem was that there was definitely not enough room anywhere in their tiny apartment for three grown men to attempt the famous lift from Dirty Dancing. Julie had pointed that out. She had pointed it out almost a dozen times. Every time, Reggie had told her that they didn’t actually need a lot of space, trust me.

The second problem was that their heights simply didn’t add up to a safe lift. Luke and Reggie were of a similar build, but Alex was much taller and there wasn’t really anywhere for him to go – if he held up one of the guys, they’d be held at an angle; if he were the one on top, he would likely crush the other two.

The third and final problem was that none of the boys were dancers and had no training or experience, therefore none of them knew how to do the lift properly and safely. Julie had stretched this argument to its breaking point but the three idiots had not heeded her warning.

And so they had done the lift.

It had started out strong. They had decided that Alex would be the one in the air, so Luke and Reggie had got into position with their hands outstretched and Alex had taken a great running start and leapt at them. To their credit, the boys held Alex in the air for a solid three seconds before Reggie lost his balance and Luke’s grip slipped, and the three of them went tumbling to the ground.

Julie watched in unsurprised horror as Alex fell flat on top of Reggie and scrambled to get off him, while Luke dropped far too close to the dining table and whacked his head on its corner with a grotesque thud.

He was out cold.

Julie muttered a curse and hurried towards him. Alex and Reggie gathered around slowly too, warily looking down at Luke, clearly feeling guilty.

“Luke?” Julie said to the unconscious lump in her lap. He was heavier than he looked – she privately understood why they had decided to lift Alex instead. “Can you hear me, sweetie?”

After a few more minutes, Luke came to, groaning and cradling his head.

“Hey,” Alex said, smiling brightly. “You’re awake! Sorry about that, we–”

Alex didn’t get to finish his sentence because Luke interrupted him by loudly and violently throwing up on Alex’s shoes. A little bit hit Julie’s dress and she quickly yanked the fabric out of the way.

Alex looked at his shoes disappointedly. After a long while he said, “I am going to the bathroom. Either to shower or be sick, I’m not sure yet,” and then disappeared.

Reggie was a deathly shade of green, staring at Luke and the vomit.

“If you don’t like it you can go, Reggie,” Julie said. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Reggie nodded and followed Alex out of the room, wide-eyed.

“Let’s get you to bed, huh?” Julie said. Luke nodded vaguely, his eyes far away, and she led him through the apartment to their bedroom. She only just managed to get him into bed before he started slipping into unconsciousness again.

It was plain as day that Luke had a nasty concussion. Julie tucked him into bed, then switched off the lights and drew the curtains so that it was almost pitch black. She got him an enormous glass of water and readied all the painkillers she could find, as well as grabbing a large bowl so that he didn’t have to run to the bathroom if he needed to be sick again. Then she looked up concussion on her phone – it said that if he’d woken up after being knocked out then he needed to go to hospital; she wasn’t sure how she was meant to get him there now that he was unconscious again.

Julie decided to wait until he woke up again. She laid down beside him on the bed and pressed the gentlest of kisses to his forehead.

“You’re such an idiot,” she whispered. “I love you.”

*

Julie loved her boys usually, but sometimes she really believed they lacked the common sense necessary for general survival.

“You did what?!”

Luke, Alex, and Reggie looked between each other frantically, stuttering for excuses.

“Uuuuhhhh…”

“Nothing really out of the ordinary, I don’t think.”

“Pretty sure it was actually you who did something they shouldn’t have.”

Julie raised her hands and the boys silenced. She glared at them, half furious and half exasperated.

“Are you seriously telling me – or rather not telling me – that after all the times I specifically told you it would be a bad idea, you went and got hotdogs that were being sold out of the back of an Oldsmobile?”

“In our defence,” Reggie piped up, raising his hand like a kid answering a question in class, “they smelled really good.”

“Wish they’d tasted as good as they smelled,” Luke grumbled. Alex hit him.

“I have never met anyone with less common sense!” Julie yelled, waving her arms. “What is wrong with you? What made you think it’d be a good idea? How did you not think that it was the dodgiest set up for any fast food ever?”

“Relax,” Reggie said, “street dogs haven’t killed us yet.”

The highly questionable hotdogs did not, in fact, kill them. However, the next day all three boys were overcome with food poisoning so horrible that Julie simply could not take care of them all by herself.

That morning she sent a quick text to Willie to offload Alex to him: Come and get your dumb boyfriend, he and his idiot friends ate bad hotdogs and got sick, you can take one. Twenty minutes later, Willie showed up to take Alex back to his apartment, an ungodly amount of blankets in his hands when he arrived at the apartment.

Reggie was the least ill – he could pretty much take care of himself and at the very least he wasn’t throwing up everywhere. He stayed on the couch, watching some cartoon on repeat. Julie let him be.

Luke, on the other hand, was quite the task. He was feeling and looking absolutely dreadful, unable to move himself from his bed and being sick whenever he tried to do so much as drink a glass of water. Julie truly had her hands full trying to take care of him.

Despite his protests, she called the studio and cancelled their appointment with Luke today. He was in no fit state to record any hit songs right then; he could hardly even open his mouth without sick coming out of it.

Feeling particularly frazzled, Julie finally allowed herself a little break from rushing around after Luke to relax, just for a moment. She settled herself comfortably onto the bed beside Luke once his sickness had calmed down a bit and fired up Netflix. She could feel his doleful eyes on her as she selected a movie and let it play.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“Are you apologising for being sick or for eating those hotdogs even though I told you not to?” she questioned.

Luke had the good grace to look a little ashamed. “Both.”

Julie shifted a little to wrap her arms around Luke’s midriff. “Don’t apologise for being sick. It is your fault, but don’t say sorry for it. I will accept your apology for disobeying me though.”

Luke rested his head against Julie’s shoulders, shuffling further into the covers. “We should have listened to you, I know. But if you could have just smelled those hotdogs…”

“Yeah, I’m sure they smelled great mingling with the stench of petrol,” Julie deadpanned. “I’m starting to think you three need constant adult supervision.”

“We are adults.”

“That’s why I’m so worried.”

Luke huffed a laugh, but then frowned. “I feel bad. You’re always the one taking care of me. Just once I want to take care of you.”

Julie raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you want me to get sick?”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” he said hurriedly, even though Julie had been joking. “I just meant that you do such a good job with this every time. I want to give you a break.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Julie assured him. “But… if I ever do get sick, I’ll make sure to come straight to you and you can take care of me. Deal?”

“Deal,” Luke said with a soft smile.

*

It had been many years since Luke had been really sick. Julie had naively thought that maybe they’d get lucky and he’d never be sick again. Maybe his laughable immune system had finally caught up and had strengthened itself against what most people could avoid easily.

Wishful thinking.

Flu season was set to ruin Julie’s life. She had woken up one Monday morning and followed her usual routine, heading to her daughter’s bedroom to wake her up for preschool. She had shaken little Rose awake, but the three-year-old had been extremely hot.

“Oh, sweetie,” Julie had said gently. “Are you feeling sick?”

Rose, rubbing her teary tired eyes, had nodded and cried very quietly.

Julie had pulled her into a hug. “Okay, honey. You go back to sleep. It’s alright.”

She laid Rose back down, tucked her back in, and encouraged her to sleep. It took a long time and a lot of tears from Rose, but eventually the little girl drifted back into a fitful slumber. Feeling like all she wanted to do was go to sleep herself, Julie headed back to her own bedroom and shook Luke awake.

“Luke,” she whispered. “Rose is sick. I’m going to call the preschool and tell them she won’t be in, but then I’ve got to get to the studio. You think you can take care of her today?”

Luke sleepily opened his eyes and groaned as he shifted into a sitting position. He held a hand to his head – it looked far too similar to him steadying his balance for Julie’s liking.

She sighed. “Please don’t tell me you’re sick as well?”

Luke tried for a smile. “No, no, I’m alright. I’ll take care of Rose, don’t worry.”

He tried to swing himself out of bed, but Julie didn’t miss the way that the sudden movement made him wince. That and the fact that he clapped a hand to his mouth, the other held over his stomach. Unsteadily, he got to his feet and headed to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came back to the bedroom looking sheepish.

“I’m sick too,” he said quietly.

Julie sighed haggardly and looked to the alarm clock on her bedside table. She needed to be at the studio to start her recording session in half an hour, but no part of her was willing to leave her husband and daughter alone while both of them were seeming awfully ill. She quickly made her decision.

“You get back to bed,” she said gently to Luke, taking his hand and leading him back to the bed.

“No, I need to get Rose,” he said, but he grudgingly followed her.

“I’m going to get Rose,” Julie told him as she sat him down and tucked him in. “I’ll bring her here and you can stay snuggled up together. I’ll call the preschool, run some errands, and I’ll check on you both later, okay?”

Luke nodded and lifted Julie’s hand to his lips as if to kiss it, then seemed to think better of it and dropped it. “Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Julie went back to Rose’s room. The little girl was fast asleep, wriggling around a little as she dreamt, her black curls that were the same as her mother’s spread out over her pillow. Gently, Julie picked her up and held her tightly to her chest, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head as she carried her to her own bedroom.

Luke smiled as Julie entered the room with Rose cradled in her arms. He lifted up the duvet so that Julie could lay Rose down beside him. As she put Rose down, the little girl woke up. She looked around, seeming surprised to have been moved. Then she began to cry very, very quietly.

“Dada,” she wailed, tiny fists clutching at Luke’s pyjama top. “Mama!”

Julie was exhausted. She could see a long day ahead of her, looking after both of the most important people in her life as they battled this disgusting illness. But as she looked at them – tearful little Rose snuggled up with Luke, who had his arms around her tightly, stroking her back soothingly as he whispered shushes – she felt a little bit of that exhaustion melt away, replaced with love.

She perched herself on the bed. “Rosie,” she whispered, tucking one of Rose’s stray hairs behind her ear. “If you quiet down, Mama will sing you a lullaby.”

Luke’s eyes widened. Behind the bloodshot sickness, Julie could see the love and admiration he had for her in them. She beamed at him, and he smiled back as if in awe of her. She felt her heart swell with love.

Rose hushed a little and Julie began the lullaby that her own mother had sung to her when she was little. It was a traditional little rhyme, simple and easy, but the beautiful melismatic notes strung together like bunting made the rising melodies sound ethereally pretty. It had always been one of Julie’s favourite songs.

Rose fell back asleep, huddled in Luke’s arms. Luke reached his hand out of took Julie’s hand.

“You’re perfect,” he mouthed, trying not to wake Rose.

Julie smiled, gently kissed his hand, and finally got up to phone the preschool.

*

Julie never got sick. It wasn’t in her nature. It just didn’t happen.

Except for that one time.

Julie woke up with the highest temperature the thermometer had ever recorded, her head was spinning like she was on a rollercoaster, and her muscles felt so fatigued that she couldn’t get out of bed.

And yet, she said to Luke, “I swear I’m fine.”

Luke, in a rare moment of knowledge and common sense, didn’t take her word for it. He seemed almost excited for her sickness – Julie wasn’t sure how to feel about that – and he pulled her into a tight hug.

“No,” he said firmly, “you’re sick. I’m going to take care of you.”

And he did. The very next thing Luke did was make Julie up a hot water bottle and bring it to her to help combat her chills, then he brought her three boxes of paracetamol and an entire pitcher of water. He called the doctor’s office for advice, then dragged the entire television set up to his and Julie’s room from downstairs. He got Rose ready for school and before he left the house he assured Julie that he would be back soon and she didn’t need to worry and, “If you need anything, just call me and I’ll come straight back.”

Julie couldn’t help but smile despite her tiredness and awful feeling. “I’ll be fine, Luke. Get Rose to school before she’s late.”

“I love you,” Luke said.

Rose, stood at the end of Julie’s bed, said, “Love you, Mama!”

“I love you, Rosie. Have a good day.”

Julie watched the love of her life and her perfect daughter leave the room and listened to their footsteps heading downstairs. Maybe she felt absolutely terrible and perhaps like she was going to be sick, but when she had someone like Luke looking after her it didn’t feel quite so dreadful.

[xiaomomowrites]

zhongli, come down

Genshin Impact | TartaLi/ZhongChi

Summary: “When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle. 

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

Or, Zhongli and Childe visit Snezhnaya, but there’s a certain adeptus on Zhongli’s mind.

Find it on Ao3!

WARNING: this fic contains mentions of death/minor character death. Read at your own risk!

This part takes place between act V and act VI, which is still in the works~

A/N: I had meant to get this out earlier, but I live in Texas so we’ve been having sporadic power outages for the past three or four days. I had spotty connection and it was freezing in my house so this ended up a little delayed! Plus, act VI really just doesn’t wanna be written :( I want it to be perfect before I post it though, I don’t wanna give y’all mediocre Tartali food lol. But I hope you all enjoy, I’ll be adding a little message at the end if you’re interested, so stay tuned. -u.n.

--

Zhongli felt another full-body shiver rack through him when the wind whistled by again ruthlessly. Archaic divinity and equity aside, he wanted nothing more but to spit and curse the harsh ice beneath his feet. He had all but lost feeling in his fingers and toes as he stood still in the snow, waiting for Childe to finish grabbing them coffee. The Harbinger had offered the drink out of the kindness of his heart when he had seen how badly Zhongli was shivering, as if they hadn’t come here together before. Zhongli accepted the coffee with enthusiasm, knowing it makes Childe happy when he accepts his gifts.

He found himself at the doorstep of Snezhnaya with Childe, visiting his family for the year as they did each November. Unfortunately, November through February seemed to be the harshest that the winters got. The weather would breach zero degrees and drop past negative ten, the wind would lash furiously past parkas and scarves and mittens and kiss bare skin. And Zhongli, in all his divine beauty, would miss the warm summer nights of Liyue so much that he needed to remind himself of how much he loved his husband just to agree to get on the train with him. 

Childe, his darling ginger, simply hummed alongside him and tucked Zhongli’s arm beneath his own to keep him from slipping on the ice. His time in Liyue had not shaken his immunity to the cold at all. His other hand sipped at the warm coffee encapsulated in green cardboard, humming a happy noise from the back of his throat. Even if it was a one time occurrence years ago that ended with minor bruising along the ex-Archon’s back, Childe never let him live the moment down and swore to hold onto him every second they found themselves in his hometown. Zhongli had insisted that he need not pace himself just to walk alongside an old man like him, but he had just pinched his cheeks, kissed his nose, and reminded him that he wasn’t that old. 

“You’ve got that sexy rich-middle-aged-man thing going on for you. Except, all your money comes from me, and you’re actually six thousand years old,” Tartaglia had told him then, beaming up at him so brightly it made Zhongli blink. 

Soon enough, Zhongli finds himself at his in-law’s residence. He takes a deep breath, preparing for the onslaught of Childe’s siblings enthusiasm, and waits for Childe to knock. The Harbinger grins at his anticipation and raps his knuckles against the comforting wood. Not even a beat later and the oak swings open, revealing Teucer, Tonia, and Anthon. They’ve all gotten so big since he last saw them, watching them grow fills the ex-Archon with pride. Zhongli finds himself smiling, squeezing Childe’s hand partially because he’s overwhelmed with joy, and also so he doesn’t slip and fall on his ass too hard when he’s tackled. 

Seconds later he finds himself with an armful of red headed siblings. He stumbles, but thankfully Childe’s there to steady him upright. Zhongli squeezes his hand again in thanks. 

“Mr. Zhongli!” One of them screeches in his ear, “You’re back! Do you have any presents for us?”

“Mr. Zhongli!” Another one yells, “did you bring me a new book?” 

Luckily, Tartaglia’s mother begins barking at her children to reign them back inside and to  ‘leave the nice man alone’, so that he has time to readjust and step inside the warmth of their cozy abode. Zhongli smiles, cheeks red and ears redder, and bows as deep as he can. 

“Thank you for having me,” the honey-like voice glides against the wooden walls like it belongs there, “it is a pleasure to see you all again.” 

“Oh stop,” his mother-in-law gushes, “we’ve seen you every year for years now, honey, drop the formalities!” she waves him off while pulling her own son into a bone crushing hug. “And it’s good to see you too, hun.”

“Hi mom,” Childe responds sheepishly, careful not to squeeze her too hard, lest her back start cracking again. He raises a hand to cradle the back of her head with a fondness reserved only for her. “Where’s dad?” 

The question hangs above their heads heavily. A beat of silence passes before she smiles warily and squeezes her son’s cheeks. “He’s at the fireplace, Ajax.”

Childe nods, and eyes the urn sitting high above the crackling fireplace. It’s a beautiful marble urn that Tartaglia paid for in full, with a single ruby gem nestled right beside his father’s name. Even in this state, his father has the largest presence in the house. It is a presence even Zhongli can acknowledge and respect. The thought pushes Zhongli to squeeze his hand and mutter, “Go?” 

Tartaglia nods, and swallows hard. Zhongli urges him forward carefully with a gloved hand against the small of his back. His mother watches him go along with sullen and somber eyes. And it is only when Childe is stationed in front of the fire, a single gloved hand covering his mouth, when Zhongli breaks the silence. 

“So,” Zhongli begins, turning to his in-law. “The last time we spoke, you promised me a recipe for that delicious meal you served us last year. Were you able to hold up your end of the contract?” 

The red-headed woman beams up at him and grabs at his hands. Her hands are so small, so soft and delicate, Zhongli wishes nothing more but to protect this family with his life. And well, that makes two of them. 

“Of course, dear,” she says excitedly, “come with me.”

The next hour or so consisted of Zhongli patiently waiting in the kitchen while his mother-in-law bustled around, excitedly explaining the process of dough rolling, frying, meat filling, and then frying again. Zhongli watched with fascination, always one to appreciate cultures from all around the world. He hummed and nodded in confirmation every once in a while when she would turn to him, asking him if he understood, and he smiled. 

Tartaglia came padding into the kitchen later, eyes slightly red and puffy, and Zhongli didn’t need to ask if something was wrong to understand what was going on. He knew all too well of his feelings of conflict toward his father in the past. Now that the man himself was gone, Zhongli could only imagine the things Childe was feeling at the moment. 

Zhongli never exactly had a family to grieve, anyway. As far as he knew, all the family he had was in this very house alone. 

And Xiao, the voice in his head whispered, snapping him out of his reverie. Zhongli blinked the voice away. Now was not the time. 

“Talking behind my back, Xiansheng?” Childe teases, coming up behind him to snake his arms around his waist. “That’s not very husband-like of you, you know.”

“Yes, yes,” Zhongli played along, “your mother and I were just discussing how unruly you are in the morning, and how you leave wet towels on the floor after you shower. Truly a horrendous habit, Tartaglia.”

The ginger pouts over his shoulder and leans in to bite his cheek, reveling in the way Zhongli squeezes one eye shut in a faux flinch. He quickly kisses the flesh he sunk his teeth into and settles back against his husband. 

“Smells good, mom.” 

“It always smells good, Ajax,” she tuts, waving her spoon in his face, “what do you think of your mother, huh?”

“Why am I being attacked,” Tartaglia pouts, the end of the sentence lilting upward in a whine. Zhongli clicks his tongue at his behavior and pats his head reassuringly. 

“The food will be ready soon,” he reassures, “besides, she was just telling me all about a soup that I must try my hand at next year.”

Tartaglia groans dramatically and leans all his weight against Zhongli in response. 

—

Night falls, and Childe finds himself lighting the fireplace in the room they stay in upstairs, letting the flames embrace the room in an auburn glow. His siblings are tucked in and finally quiet after Zhongli’s endless stories of Liyue. His mother had turned in an hour earlier after smothering the two in kisses, and the couple had stayed in the kitchen for a bit sipping wine and conversing in the moonlight. After downing a good amount and feeling a light buzz through their systems, they called it a night and headed upstairs, pinkies linked as always. 

But Zhongli was off during the entire conversation. It may have seemed like he was himself to an outsider, but Tartaglia knew better. He knew when his husband was somewhere else. He had seen it too many times before.

So later, when Zhongli finds himself sitting on their windowsill rather melancholic, watching the snow fall, Childe regards him with a careful stare. The ex-Archon eyes the way the snow falls so tenderly yet so purposefully, as if they all held a secret that even an ancient being like him didn’t understand. He shivers at the cold that seeps in through the windows and kisses his fingertips where they meet the glass, and cradles his hand back to his chest slowly. 

“Zhongli,” Childe calls. The said man turns from the window, eyes bright and oddly wet. Oh, Childe knows that look. “C’mere,” he beckons. Zhongli obeys and pads over to where his husband is situated on their bed. He crawls onto the mattress next to him and slumps against the headboard, still deep in his thoughts. 

The Harbinger looks at him with concern and squirms over to where Zhongli sits. He uses his chest as a pillow, wrapping his arms around a lithe waist and tucking his nose in the crook of his neck. He breathes deeply the mature scent of silk flowers and feels his heart thump happily in his chest. Childe stays quiet for a moment, and allows himself to focus on the rise and fall of his sturdy chest. Zhongli runs the length of his palm up and down Tartaglia’s side as he ponders.

Childe decides to break the silence before he falls asleep. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper. Zhongli’s hand comes up to his hair and scratches at his scalp the way he knows Childe likes it. 

“Nothing. I am just… thinking.” His voice trails off pensively.

“Hmm. As usual,” he hums, “what about?” Childe prods gently, knowing there’s a fifty-fifty chance his husband will indulge him.

He’s quiet for a moment. Far too quiet. Childe wonders if he should drop the subject.

“Xiao, actually,” he says suddenly. “I am thinking of Xiao.”

“Xiao,” Childe parrots, confused as to why the legendary adeptus lingers in his beloved’s head at a time like this.

Zhongli sighs, and his shoulders hunch forward, eyebrows furrowing in mild discomfort. “Whenever I am with you, I cannot help but think of him.”

Childe’s eyebrows shoot up to his forehead. “Elaborate?” He’s only mildly offended, but he jests nonetheless in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

Zhongli chuckles and pushes a thumb between Childe’s frown. “Not like that. You know there’s no one in my heart except you. Besides, he’s like… family to me. I simply care deeply for his well being.”

Childe offers a wry smile. He knows, he’s just teasing. “So what’s wrong?”

“When I’m with you, I feel happy,” his eyes are fixated on the ceiling as he speaks. Childe, on the other hand, can’t look anywhere but at him. And although he speaks of his happiness, there are deep waves of sorrow rolling off of him. Zhongli’s makeup had washed off when he took a steaming shower, leaving Tartaglia to see the dark circles under his eyes and the faint wrinkles underneath. The light in his eyes had dulled without the bold presence of his usual red eyeliner, and it seemed as though his face appeared more sunken in when the light hit him at a certain angle. 

Childe’s heart pangs in his chest. Sometimes, his husband really looks his age.

“When I’m with you, I forget all my troubles. My burdens are made lighter simply by your presence. I forget what it felt like to be a part of the Archon War, or what it was like having so much blood on my hands. When I’m with you, I forget all of that. And I am happy.” Zhongli’s tone of  voice certainly does not match the topic he speaks of.

Still, Childe gulps. The ex-Archon can be too sappy for his own good, he might have a heart attack.

“Xiao, on the other hand, carries burdens almost heavier than mine,” he speaks as if it were an irrefutable fact. Although Childe wants to protest, he allows him to continue. “Millennia of suffering. Centuries of torture. Generations worth of karma building up on his plate. And he has no one he can turn to to help him forget; no one to help him bear it. Xiao is… alone.” His voice cracks pathetically.

Ah. 

The wind turns colder. There’s a chill that goes through the room, and it seeps into Childe’s bones. The Harbinger’s eyes dart to the fireplace, almost accusing it of not doing its job. He’s mildly aware of the new presence outside of the window that reeks of karma and a heavy heart. The tidal waves of grief and remorse spill into the room, and Tartaglia almost wants to wave a hand in front of his face to waft the energy away. Nevertheless, Childe dismisses it knowing that it is harmless, and turns all of his attention on his partner. 

“What about that traveler,” Childe offers, “Xiao seems to be fixated on him.” 

Zhongli shakes his head. “Young Traveler is far too free spirited for that, and Xiao is the type to only give his heart when he is certain that the source is stable and everlasting.”

Childe nods in understanding. He’s the same way, after all. “He was right to give his heart to you.”

“And yet I betrayed him, did I not?” Zhongli asks.

Childe frowns once again. He wills his voice to not sound too accusing when he asks, “In what way?” 

Zhongli waves his free hand in the air, trying his best to convey the emotions that had been eating at him all evening. 

“I am here, parading away with my husband while he still watches over Liyue per my request. Even though our contract ended, he still persists. He still fights the demons of the gods I slayed myself. He still is trapped by the shackles of Liyue, cleaning up my mess, worshipping my name, while I lay here wondering if I want coffee or tea when the sun rises.” 

His voice wavers. Childe’s heart tugs. The Harbinger shuffles closer and squeezes him tighter. 

“I can’t help but feel as though I am responsible for his suffering. I am the one who summoned him, am I not? The fierce Yakshas… oh how truly amazing they were,” Zhongli rambles, fingers tightening their hold on Childe. “And now they are all…”

“Zhongli.” He cuts him off sternly. The man in question shakes out his reverie, glassy amber eyes meeting cerulean. Childe brings a hand to his cheek to caress the sinfully soft skin there. The ginger leans in, pressing his forehead against his temple and pleads.

“Stop,” he whispers, and then his hand finds purchase on his husband’s neck. “Stop.” 

“I am not worthy of it any longer, Ajax,” Zhongli’s voice warbles, “all I want is for Young Xiao to rest and finally find peace. I no longer want him to have nightmares, asleep or not. I want to be the one to be rid of his burdens. I want him to be happy, Ajax, I want—“

“No,” Childe interrupts again, “there is nothing you can do, my love. And I’m so sorry you feel that way. I truly am. But his suffering has nothing to do with you anymore. Xiao looks up to you—“

“But he shouldn’t.” 

“Xiao looks up to you,” he persists, “for a reason. He adores you, okay? No matter what you do. No matter what you say. No matter how you look. Even if you’re skin and bone and wrinkly with gray hair, Xiao would still admire you. Your strength has withstood the test of time, and so has his loyalty to you.” He brushes a stray hair from Zhongli’s face and continues.

“You were the one that saved him. Have you ever thought of that, old man? You saved him and named him. I mean, if someone were to pull me out of the abyss and give me a hug for god’s sake, I probably would have turned out different,” Zhongli’s eyes soften even more, but Childe refuses to make this about him. He thumps a fist against Zhongli’s chest in mock petulance. “Xiao respects you because you deserve it. It is as simple as that.”

Zhongli is quiet, pondering, so Tartaglia takes that as an invitation to continue. 

“You have served your time bearing your burdens. You have saved souls and you have killed your own share of demons, and you fought to get where you are now. You deserve a break, Zhongli. And you don’t need to feel guilty that someone out there hasn’t been liberated of their own issues. You of all people understand Xiao’s strength. Probably more than Xiao himself, right? So have faith in him, Xiansheng. And know that you don’t have to carry the burden of freedom on your own. Burdens are meant to be shared, and I’m your husband, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget,” Zhongli chuckles as he jests. His voice still warbles, but Tartaglia will take what he can get. Childe pinches his cheek playfully. 

“Sooo,” Childe trails off, running a finger down the length of Zhongli’s pale neck. “With that being said, I think you should enjoy the time you have now, with me, instead of reminiscing about the past.”

Zhongli nods. 

“After all, I won’t be here forever-”

“Do not.” Zhongli interrupts, looking away. His chest stops fluctuating, and it takes a moment for Childe to realize he was holding his breath. And just like that, his defensive wall is back up again. Tartaglia looks at him with wide eyes. Obviously he had struck a chord he hadn’t meant to. The grip Zhongli had around the back of his neck tightened like he meant to keep him close to his chest forever; greedy, selfish hands continue to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Oh,” Tartaglia breathes, “I’m sorry, I was just joking.”

“I know,” Zhongli all but whimpers, “but my brain doesn’t exactly register those kinds of things as jokes.”

Tartaglia nods, unsure of what else to say. So, he ditches the thought of saying anything, and lifts a deft finger to tilt Zhongli’s face back to him. He abandons his words and leans in instead. He captures his God’s lips with his own and presses close, desperate to show him that he’s there. Tartaglia’s alive and well and very much in love, and he’s there. He’s not going anywhere; he wouldn’t even dare to think about going anywhere. Their marriage was more than a contract, it was a covenant. The vows that were sworn on that night kept them glued together, and only ‘til death do they part. 

Well, until Ajax’s death, at least.

The thought makes Tartaglia’s head pound, and he shakes the thoughts away with determination.

“I’m here,” he reassures anyway when they part, kiss-bruised lips brush against his cheek as he speaks. “Let me prove it to you.”

Zhongli nods wordlessly, cupping Childe’s face with one hand and dragging the Harbinger onto his lap with the other. They press against each other, nice and close, so that one would not be able to decipher where one began and the other ended. 

“I love you,” Tartaglia confesses into the dark, breathless. Zhongli drags him impossibly closer. 

Xiao takes that as his cue to leave, the wind chill harsh and no longer gentle as he vanishes into thin air.

--

A/N: Okayy I’m gonna get a little serious in the end notes hehe so if you wanna skip out on that, thank you so much for reading! And I hope you have a wonderful week :) find me on twitter @/xiaoscribbles and AO3 @/unironicallynapping

I wanted to write this because I’ve been on my own journey to recovery lately. My family suffered many losses in 2020 and since then, I had been struggling to get back on path and find a healthy mindset. But there’s a passage that I read in a book I’ve been reading that covers the guilt we sometimes feel when we recover, knowing and know that there’s someone out there who is suffering, too. The guilt can become unbearable, but it doesn’t need to be felt. You can take your feelings of guilt and turn it into something good. You can enjoy the life of recovery you’re living while still being there for those who need it. You can show someone you love them while also reveling in the happiness that you deserve. You don’t need to feel like you don’t deserve it just because you recovered, and someone else hasn’t. Everyone is on their own path, so rejoice in the fact that you’ve made it to your own happiness! 

I hope this fic/message spoke to some of you. It’s a really important message to me, and I just wanted to share :)

[tangleweave]

The Keepers (RP)

@shoresofacheron (Captain America)​

Eddie Brock had become a journalist for vastly different reasons than this.

He knew the world was a cold place. He understood that most of the populace in any given community was simply struggling to get by. And from early on, he had realized that the struggle he saw on a daily basis should, by all rights, have not existed. It was unnecessary. It was bothersome at best, life-threatening at worst, and all for the petty pursuits of money and power.

He had become a journalist so that he could chronicle the acts of people devoted to those pursuits, in the hopes that he could see them put in their proper place. There was nothing special about them. To him, they were damaged specimens. Who would honestly derive joy out of standing taller by stepping on the necks of others? What soul could truly claim itself more deserving of the prize at the end of the road when it was willing to trample everyone else along the way? Was that really how humanity meant to achieve unity? To approach the stars? To face the Almighty himself, when the day of judgment finally came?

Eddie had been born and raised Catholic. The one thing he’d held onto, while his father had been the monster he was to both Eddie and his mother, was knowing that the man would receive his justice when his time came to die. But that time came too slowly… and there needed to be justice in the world more swift than that.

That was why he’d become a journalist. To expose truth. To punish the liar. To support the abused and to topple the abuser.

He’d been a journalist 5 years ago. But if one would have asked him 5 years ago whether he’d believe he’d be doing this… he would have laughed in open disbelief.

Eddie sat on his haunches on a tree branch 30 feet above the ground. The chill of a late winter breeze rattled the twigs all around him while he held his binoculars to his eyes, scanning the compound for signs of activity. 3rd shift had arrived two hours ago, and the last of the dedicated employees were carpooling through the front checkpoint. No doubt they were headed off to either a bar or bed – maybe both. 20-foot electrified fencing topped with barbed wire surrounded the complex, and observation towers crested it in each corner. It looked like some amalgamation of castle and prison… a place for the jailers to take their pride in, and a place for the jailed to despair.

He’d found his perch in the tree three hours ago, and his heart had been racing. It was calm now, as he coolly considered his options. The only reason their IR scanners had yet to detect him was thanks to the symbiote – he could feel it fluttering around him, thrilled to be appreciated – containing most of his body heat. In the unpleasant cold of the night, the warmth was welcome, though by now it felt uncomfortably stuffy.

Front checkpoint, dressed as an agent? No, there was no chance that would work. They would be meticulous about who they let in. Appointments only. And were there appointments here? Doubtful. This wasn’t a minimum-security penitentiary for weed growers awaiting conjugal visits.

Leap the fence? That would work, yes, but there was only so much camouflage the symbiote could accomplish. Even if it could perfectly blend him with his surroundings – and it could do better than Solid Snake under a cardboard box, but it was no Romulan cloaking device – it wasn’t immune to motion sensors. For all he knew, there were pressure plates in the ground, too, and he and the symbiote together weighed a lot more than they looked. And if he didn’t want to pass out from overheating, which was becoming a possibility just sitting motionless in a tree, eventually he would have to release his body heat into the open air. He’d trigger every alarm in the compound.

Come on. This is us we’re talking about. Since when were we ever subtle?

There’s a time for discretion, Eddie advised. It doesn’t hurt to check all the avenues. Like maybe the one leading up to the place.

He turned his gaze to the road. There was only one, and it wrapped up and around a range of hills to the south. Anybody coming by vehicle would be easily seen from the compound long before arriving there. Eddie already knew that the road didn’t directly connect to any main thoroughfares – it joined to a complex of gravel roads located squarely in farm country. At its singular junction was a rotting farmhouse with a grotesquely unattractive pair of men clad in plaid shirts and muddy overalls, looking for all the world as though they’d been pulled straight from an unused Wes Craven script. Undercover agents, of course. Any poor bastard who was unfortunate enough to find that junction by accident would get The Hills Have Eyes vibes and stay well away from it.

So let’s eat them.

Eddie hesitated. He hadn’t come here with an explicit mission to kill… but then again, if he tried to gain access to what they were guarding, they would have no compunction against trying to kill him. They had taken it. Even now, they were experimenting upon it, without mercy, without remorse. And the tormentors were being protected by the men with guns.

They were all guilty. After that, did it really matter where the killing started?

Eddie hesitated.

But only for a moment.

 --

KZZT. “Chicken to Egg. 3:30 am, all clear.”

KFFT. “Roger, Chicken.”

Jack glanced over at Lee with a sour look on his face. “How’s this?”

Lee put the radio down on the table and rolled his eyes. “Yer ugly enough as it is. Don’t do you no good to try make yerself uglier.”

“Yeah, well, people see a face before they hear a voice. You’re doing that stupid hick accent again.”

Thud-thud-thud.

Jack was on his feet already, but the sound made Lee jump up as well. They looked to each other, then to the CCTV monitor on the table. It showed no one on the front porch.

Lee frowned. “That ain’t right…”

Thud-thud-thud.

Jack’s hand went to his holster, hidden behind a false fold of his overalls. “Call it. I’ll check it out.”

Lee took up the radio. KZZT. “Chicken to Egg, we may have a live one here. Sounds like someone’s at the door but no visual.”

KFFT. “Roger, Chicken. Milkman’s on the way.”

Jack approached the front door, twisted the knob, and cautiously pushed it open.

Outside, there was nothing to be seen, save for the dirt road and the hoarfrost-covered grass. Nothing to be heard but the whistling and whispering of the breeze.

The last thing he saw was a scythe, glistening and darker than midnight, swinging down from above the doorframe and into his chest.

 --

 The Milkman was, in its own way, a clever attempt at disguise. The vehicle’s shape was reminiscent of an oversized mail truck, and it was painted an eggshell white. Its driver was an unassuming-looking fellow with a mustache – pay no mind to the sawed-off shotgun beside his right thigh and the three backup weapons strapped to him.

When the truck pulled up to the barn, the driver got out with a handheld wire rack carrying four glass bottles of milk. But the glass was not nearly the thickness required to withstand impact even from knee night… so when he got within range of the smell, the bottles shattered and milk puddled at his feet.

Which promptly summoned six fully armed commandos to swarm out of the back of the truck and assume formation behind him.

The cabin was a slaughterhouse. The floors and walls of the kitchen and living space were splattered with blood, bone, and entrails. Someone on the commando team noted that the heads were missing, or at least there was nothing recognizably part of one to be found. Hands remained, though – all four of them, easily and quickly identified by prints.

So engrossed was the team in ensuring the scene was secured that one might have been able to forgive them for not noticing the tree stump on the other side of the junction, which had not been there before nightfall… and was not there when they were recalled to the compound.

 --

 There were strict protocols when it came to company vehicles returning to base. All were subject to cleaning and inspection, no matter the distance they had traveled during their shift. The Milkman was brought to the underground parking structure in the southeast corner of the complex, where a mechanical engineer with a wing of miniature diagnostic drones was prepared to go over every square inch of the vehicle.

But when two of the drones flew under the vehicle, they didn’t emerge – and they stopped relaying scan information.

The engineer frowned and tapped at his diagnostic display.

Then he felt a sharp double-tap on his shoulder.

He twisted about and looked up, to see a demonic black face, adorned with blank white eyes and razored teeth spread in an impossibly wide grin.

“Hi.”

The beast’s jaws opened wide, and the engineer’s scream was muffled by a slime-covered tongue.

[random-mha-thoughts]

Sick (Todoroki x Reader) Birthday Special!

Pairing: Todoroki x Reader 

Genre: Fluff (fluffed myself into devastation again)

Summary: It’s your boyfriend’s birthday, but unfortunately you’re feeling less enthusiastic about it because you’re sick as a dog.  So what happens when the birthday boy finds out you’re in less than top condition?

Inspo: Me, myself, and I bc I was sick this past week (and I’m still not over it), and this Tik Tok bc I’m a loser.

Word count: 1,698

Tags:  @yuki-osaki​ @liviitehe​ @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog​ @bunnythepipsqueak​

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE ONLY ICYHOT THAT MATTERS TODOROKI!!

I decided to combine a birthday special with an idea I had about a sick reader that I was going to write anyway because softboy Todo is the best Todo (besides the ones where he’s flirty but that’s different)

Don’t judge me for being on Tiktok, my cousin was showing me all the cosplayers and I was sold, the cosplayers are so talented, I’m really jealous T.T.  Not to mention there’s actually some really great fanfic fodder floating around there, so don’t be shocked if I post some others inspired by Tiktoks.  Anyway, enjoy the story!

I feel like I've been run over.

Every muscle in my body is either aching or stiff, my nose is stuffed, my throat hurts, and my body is cold and hot at the same time despite wearing flannel pajamas.  At random times last night, I woke up between whatever snipets of random dreams I can remember.

In short, I feel miserable and I've only been awake for 10 seconds.

I was hoping it wouldn't get to this point.  Two days ago, I started taking vitamin C supplements because I felt the tickling scratchiness starting up in my throat, and yesterday I was out with the Deku squad in the cold because Uraraka wanted to go to some wings place in the city in the freezing cold.  Never did I think it would escalate to this.

I blame Denki.  The idiot was coughing like a dog all over the place.

At first, I'm happy it's a Saturday and I can probably just lay in bed and sleep all day.  When I finally gather enough energy to roll over and look at my phone, I feel infinitely worse.

Fuck. It's January 11.

Today's Todoroki's birthday.  And I'm sick.  What kind of twist of fate is this?  I wanted to take him out to eat or go to an arcade or something just to spend the day with him, but it takes too much energy to get up.

I huff, guilt eating at me.  I have to do this, for my baby.  Kicking the covers off, I slowly roll up to sit at the edge of my bed, wrapping myself in my blanket and trudging to the bathroom.  The soreness in my limbs beg me to go back to bed, but I repeat the mantra, "For Shouto, it's for Shouto " to keep me going.

As soon as I see myself in the bathroom mirror I whine.  My face is so pale that my dark circles are more prominent, emphasizing my obvious lack of good sleep.  After I complete the strenuous task of brushing my teeth, I shuffle back to my bed and faceplant down at the foot side since I'm too tuckered out to get in properly.  I'll wait for Shouto to come after breakfast.  I'll just go back to sleep, I persuade myself as I drift off.  Maybe I can ask him to only spend half a day so I can come back and sleep, I'm sure he'll understand...

After some time, I'm startled out of my half slumber by a soft knock at the door.  "Love?  Are you awake?  It's me."

I smile at my precious angel's manners.  "Coming, just give me a sec."  I gather all my strength and try not to make it look like I'm dying on the inside as I open the door.

There Todoroki stands in his casual clothes, his endearing, ever-neutral face present as usual.  "Good morning.  You weren't down for breakfast, did you eat already?"

"No, not yet, I just woke up," I answer, my voice slightly hoarse.

His brows furrow.  "Did you drink any water yet at least?  They say it's good for starting your metabolism in the morning."

I shake my head.

He studies me, his heterochromatic eyes scanning me up and down in my blanket-clad state before scrutinizing my face.  "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Not really..."

He crosses his arms over his chest and steps towards me, making me take another one back.  "You know I don't like it when you don't take care of yourself.  You know what that means."  A dark aura washes over his face.

I cling to my blanket and screw my eyes shut, somewhat afraid of him when he gets like this.

A warm hand comes down on my head.  "You feel warmer than you're supposed to, the heat's radiating off of you.  Not to mention you're pale," he comments.  He removes his hand.  "Get back to bed, you're not going anywhere today."

"But it's your birthday, I wanted to spend the day with you," I cough at the end.  The muffled noise and the pain in my ears that follows males me realize my hearing is shot along with everything else wrong with me.

"We can spend the day in bed together," he argues, pushing me gently down to recline.

I groan at how stubborn he is.  "Can't we go out for half a day?  I promise I'll rest later."

"No," Todoroki dismisses tersely, refitting the blanket across my sheets.  "We can save that for tomorrow, you need rest."  He places a gentle kiss on my forehead and pauses.  "That's definitely a low to mid grade fever.  Can I trust you to stay here while I gather some supplies?"

I blink.  What.  "Yes, I'll stay put," I surrender.

After almost half an hour, Todoroki returns, awakening me from my slumber with arms full.

"What the-"  I eye the huge pot in his hands and a tote bag hanging off his arm.

He set the pot down on the floor.  "I took the liberty of making you chicken soup with some ginger for your throat.  I also brought some medicine for your fever, a box of tissues, a humidifier, some nose spray for the congestion, a bag of cough drops, a thermos of water, a carton of orange juice-"

I whine out loud like a child, feeling a huge rock of guilt on my chest.

"Is something wrong?  Are you in pain?"  His affectionate gaze flickers to me in worry.

"You're killing me, Shouto!"

He sits next to me on the bed, brushing my face with his fingertips.  "Did I do something wrong?  I'm sorry-"

"No, it's not you," I sigh.  "I just feel so bad.  Today's your birthday, and here you are taking care of me because I got sick instead of doing something fun.  I'm terrible."

His fingers brush my hair off my forehead.  "Love, it's not your fault that you're sick on my birthday-"

"Yeah, it's Kaminari's," I interject with a pout.

Todoroki chuckles.  "I'll fix him later.  I don't need anything special, I just want to spend time with you.  Besides, you being ill gives me the perfect excuse to stay by your side all day."

Warmth blooms in my chest at his loving words.  I sniff, "You're too good to me."

He kisses my forehead again.  "I'm fully expecting the same treatment if I ever get sick as repayment."

"Huh?!"

A heart-melting smile cracks across his face.  "Kidding, Love.  Just finish your soup and let me take care of you.  That's more than enough repayment."

The rest of the day passed in a comfortable blur.  Todoroki fed me soup by the bowl every few hours for my meals, made sure I drank water throughout the day, and gave me orange juice to drink.  "You need the Vitamin C to help your immune system work," he says.  All day, he wrapped us in blankets as we binge-watched shows and movies on my laptop while regulating my temperature with his quirk.  He catered to every need I had from my stuffy nose to my muffled hearing.  He even started massaging my sore muscles to ease the dull pain.  My heart couldn't feel fuller knowing he willingly nursed me back to health when he could've been doing something more fun or at least productive.

"Shouto, don't you want to at least go train today?" I ask.  "You don't have to sit here with me the whole day."

His hand around my body squeezes tighter.  "I'd rather be here with you than train."

I weakly hit his chest.  "You sound slightly obsessive."

Todoroki's cool fingers absently play with my hair, brushing my cheeks.  "If you fall asleep, I'll step out for a little so I don't bother you."

After a moment, I tilt my head up at him.  "I want to give you your gift at least.  It's in the top drawer."

Quirking an eyebrow, he gets out of bed and opens my chest of drawers.  "You didn't need to get me anything."  He pulls out a thin, black cardboard box on top.

"I'm warning you now, it's kind of stupid, but I didn't know what to get for a boy who already has everything," I admit, nervously watching him sit back next to me and open it.

Inside is a simple string bracelet with two silver balls flanking a golden Sun symbol.  Todoroki takes it out and immediately puts it on his right wrist to admire it, though his expression is blank as ever.

"I know you don't wear jewelry, but I wanted to keep it simple.  Besides, it's actually a couples set," I nod over to my bedside table.  "Mine is over there."

He surveys the mess and locks eyes with a bracelet of similar design except a silver crescent moon is in the middle.

"You get the Sun one because you're my precious sunshine boy," I chuckle before coughing to clear my throat.  "Sorry, that was really cheesy-"

Todoroki cups my face and seals my lips before I can finish.  I almost kiss him back instinctively, but I pull his hands away.  "Shouto, I'm sick-"

"Thank you."  A soft smile appears across his features and his eyes glint in affection, washing me over in warmth.  "I'll wear it every day, when I'm not training so it won't break."

Before I can respond, he tackles me in another kiss, sending my heart into a frenzy of irregular beats.  His kisses are sweet yet searing, pouring all of his love as he moves against me, clinging to my body like a lifeline.

When Todoroki finally pulls away, my head spins, but I can't miss the grin on his face as he caresses my cheek.  "I love you," he whispers.

And just like that, my heart feels squeezed again.  "You're gonna get sick."

He pecks my nose.  "At least it's from you."

I bury my face in his chest, heat rushing to my cheeks and ears.  "I love you too, you big dork."

The rise and fall of his chest and his soft touch in my hair lulls me to sleep in his arms, a smile on both of our faces.