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wideeyedloner · 2 months

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[fic] [sga | weir/dex; mckay/sheppard] let me be pacific

let me be pacific sga weir/dex; mckay/sheppard 4.5k words thank you so much to 429_CarCrash for the beta! :)

Summary:

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint. Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.” Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.” Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

ao3 link

Elizabeth is on the gangway outside her office when she first begins to notice.

Several huddles of extraneous personnel cluster around the gate room. Civilian and marine alike, they clutter the crosswalk, obstruct the stairs, and block access to the gate controls, talking closely and seemingly heedless of the work taking place there. Sergeant Chuck wears an annoyed expression but says nothing as he weaves around one such group to reach his control console.

“As a reminder,” Elizabeth announces, sweeping her gaze over the interlopers. “For everyone’s safety, all personnel non-essential to gate room operations should congregate in other, cleared areas of Atlantis. Thank you.”

The groups drag their feet but comply, and Elizabeth makes it with time to spare for her group Bantos fighting class.

—-

“This belongs to the Botany lab!” Dr. Parrish is easily a foot taller than Dr. Simpson, and holds the palm-sized bottle out of her reach with little effort.

Simpson glowers at the towering man’s hand as she stands on tiptoe and strains futilely for her objective. “The soft sciences are for—“

“—Toddlers and liberal arts majors, I know. You and McKay are cut from the same supercilious cloth. That doesn’t help your case.” Then, just because he can, Parrish lifts the bottle even higher.

Elizabeth really doesn’t want to get involved in this conversation, but it seems unavoidable; Parrish and Simpson are blocking the entrance to the mess hall. And today they’re serving that delicious meaty gourd from the cannibal planet. If she wants some before it’s gone, she has to get past them soon. With a pained little sigh, she fully rounds the corner, squares her shoulders, and makes her presence known.

“Doctors! What seems to be the trouble?” She makes sure to give them her least-friendly smile, hoping they keep it brief.

Parrish tips his head downward toward Simpson. “Dr. Weir. I was just explaining to my colleague that she may not just commandeer Botany equipment willy-nilly.”

Elizabeth turns to Simpson. “That’s true. Might you have a compelling reason to warrant diverting supplies from another department, or for not going through your department head?”

“No.” Simpson deflates. “It’s…a personal project.”

“That’s wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaims, smiling hopefully not-too-tightly as the lunch line grows behind the instigators. The meaty smell of the gourd makes her mouth water and her stomach growl. “While I’m afraid that I can’t support a formal request, it’s important that all of us here cultivate enriching personal lives that balance the stressors of our unique working environment.” She turns to Parrish. “With that in mind, Doctor, do you think Botany would be willing to share or trade?”

“I can’t.” Parrish looks truly pained as he grips the bottle with both hands. “This bottle was given to me personally by Dr. Abrams before he died of old age.”

The smile drops from Elizabeth’s face, realizing this is a massive waste of time. “Please excuse me,” she mutters, winding her way to the end of the very long lunch line. Behind her, Simpson exclaims, “Didn’t he get drained on that wraith supply ship?!”

Elizabeth holds on to the hope that she will at least receive half a gourd.

—-

She’s on her way to her quarters for the evening when she passes Dr. Biro and Lieutenant Reed speaking in hushed tones in the corridor. She tells herself she would normally mind her own business, but her ears pick up the words ‘orgy’ and ‘scissors' in distressing proximity to one another.

This makes her pause briefly in her stride and consider asking if she heard what she thought she heard, but then she’d have to admit to eavesdropping and she honestly doesn’t want to be involved with any more than she has to.

Still, those words bounce curiously off the walls of her mind until she falls asleep.

—

The library is one of the few places Elizabeth can count on enjoying the quietude that the ocean view promises. The tall windows, the smell of aging paper, and the unusual hours she’s usually there give Elizabeth the impression of the softest mohair shawl embracing her while she’s there.

She trails her finger along the spines of the fiction books, taking her time making a selection, when she almost bumps into–

“Ronon! We meet again.” Again, indeed. Sometimes before or after work, or on nights when she can’t bear to stay in bed, she’s found herself in the library, either alone or with Ronon as her sole companion. They’ve spent many nights in hushed fellowship, discussing Atlantis’ modest but growing collection of physical and digital books.

Elizabeth isn’t embarrassed to admit that attraction to Ronon has been coiling inside her like a spring, ever-tighter with each new encounter. He’s a handsome and clever man.

Ronon looks down his broad chest to meet her eyes. Elizabeth backs up a step and blindly slides a novel off the shelf to keep her hands occupied.

“Weir.”

“What are you looking for this time?” She peeks at what she’s selected. Fifty Shades of Grey. Oh, excellent.

“Something I haven’t read too many times.” Ronon glances at the title in her hands before smirking at the hot flush blossoming on her face. Of course he’s read this one, too. Hopeful arousal and mortification compete for emotional primacy at the moment, and she’s afraid to find out which will win out.

“Best of luck.” Elizabeth attempts to play it cool, reminding herself that they’re both adults. “Are you coming next Friday?”

Ronon grunts. “Sounds like you are, too.”

She doesn’t know if either of them says anything else–only that she flees the library without a book.

—

“Elizabeth, did’ye receive ma supply request?” Beckett’s distinctive brogue comes from behind Elizabeth. She picks up her pace in the corridor, racing for the transporter.

“Elizabeth! Didnae ye hear me?” Beckett’s footsteps hasten behind her and she knows the jig is up.

She was almost there. Chagrined, Elizabeth wheels around with a grimace. “Carson. I don’t want to be insensitive, but I’ve explained that I only understand English.”

“Ah wis speaking English, woman! Ah wis talking aboot ma supply request! Medical’s stores o’ gauze an’ silicone adhesives hev diminished at in—“

“I’m so sorry, Carson,” Elizabeth said, holding her hands out in a helpless gesture. “But you’re going to have to email me.”

She continues backwards towards the transporter as she calls out, “We’ll figure this out!”

—-

This is supposed to be a mission debrief meeting for AR-1, but Teyla is on the mainland to discuss crop rotation with Halling, and Ronon (thankfully) only attends meetings he thinks will be interesting. With debriefing business concluded, she has further matters to discuss with the other members of the expedition’s triad.

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint.

Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.”

Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.”

Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

Next to him, McKay doesn’t look up from what he’s typing on his laptop to say, “By the way, Elizabeth, Donaldson wants you to know that Botany is out of that paper made from whettle reed from that bog planet. They use it to press the local flora samples. I told them to fill out the form and I’d sign off and pass it on so we can arrange the supply run.”

Elizabeth nods, adding that to her mental checklist. “I also spoke with Dr. Parrish. He had mentioned something you said about botany being—“

“—for toddlers and liberal arts majors,” McKay finishes. John mouths the words along with McKay, bobbing his head in amusement. “Yes, and?”

“Not that I disagree, but that’s not something your subordinate should hear from you. He looks up to you, Rodney. All of your staff do.”

Sheppard scoffs. “Isn’t Parrish like, six feet tall?”

Glaring at Sheppard, McKay sighs. “Point taken, Elizabeth. Although, I do seem to recall you calling me a ‘condescending poindexter’ under your breath before you signed off comms two months ago, so I wouldn’t be so quick on the draw with that rebuke.”

—-

On Friday afternoons, Elizabeth hosts a book club in the large rec room. The group is larger than normal tonight; Elizabeth attributes it to this month’s book, a perennial favorite.

“On Sateda,” Ronon rumbles, “Courtship rituals were more direct. Darcy would have died a virgin.” This elicits some giggles and murmurs of agreement.

“Courtship as portrayed in the novel is difficult to understand, even to many from Earth,” Elizabeth says, not meeting his eyes. She nods to Dr. Harris, who has been eagerly awaiting his turn to speak.

Suddenly, Dr. Kavanaugh’s braying laugh from the other side of the large room startles several of them.

Once that passes, Elizabeth nods encouragingly. “Please, Dr. Harris, go on.”

“I think we all know the feeling of being attracted to someone who’s out of our league in some way. That’s something I found relatable.”

Elizabeth reaches out and pats his hand. “There’s no such thing as a person being out of anyone’s league. I’m certain there are things about you that make you unique and a treasure to which no one in any galaxy can compare.” The other club members burst into a soft chorus of ‘aww’s, and Harris blushes. Elizabeth glances around, making brief eye contact with everyone. “That’s true about all of you. Don’t let anyone or anything let you believe differently.”

Laughter from the other group swells again, drowning out Harris’ response. Elizabeth excuses herself to cross the room. Several heads from Kavanaugh’s group turn as she approaches, and she recognizes Bates, Dr. Kusanagi, and Dr. Corrigan among those with him. Some are cutting out shapes: suns and moons, and some are sewing.

“Pardon me,” she says, bending to speak into their midst. “We’re having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room and are having a hard time understanding one another. Would you keep it down a little?”

Kavanaugh blanches as though caught, but quickly blurts, “There’s no need to get hysterical. Just mind your business–” Bates jabs him hard in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a look Elizabeth can’t decipher. “Fine. Yes. My apologies. We’ll keep it down,” he grits out.

Elizabeth bares her teeth, barely curling her lips enough to call it a smile. “Thank you so much.”

As she returns to her group, she wonders if she can still make good on her promise to send Kavanaugh to a desolate planet.

—-

During her individual Bantos fighting session, Elizabeth asks Teyla if she’s noticed anything unusual about expedition staff behavior.

Teyla advances with rapid, spinning strikes, forcing Elizabeth to struggle to maintain her defensive stance and on her feet at all.

“Elizabeth,” Teyla admonishes archly, “You know I do not participate in gossip.”

“Then what do you and Sheppard laugh so much about? He’s a notorious gossip.”

Elizabeth is nowhere near skilled enough to be a decent sparring partner, so Teyla provides generous openings for Elizabeth to launch her own offensive. Elizabeth spins and attacks those openings, which Teyla proceeds to block easily.

“He teaches me about Earth culture. I find your people fascinating. He has recently taught me about re-gifting and telemarketing.” Teyla delivers a swift blow to Elizabeth’s calf, knocking her to the ground. She rests the blunt end of her stick in the dip of Elizabeth’s throat in victory.

—

Simpson comes pounding on the doors to Elizabeth’s office with Beckett in hot pursuit.

Elizabeth stands slowly from her desk, watching Simpson fume and Beckett wring his hands outside her office. Eventually, she decides she can’t nap until she deals with this. Too many windows, not enough opaque walls.

When the doors open, Simpson demands, “Tell him what you told me!” pointing at Beckett. Elizabeth says a lot of things, so she can only shake her head in confusion. “About supporting my interests!”

Elizabeth curses her love for that gourd. It’s far too late at this point to pawn Simpson off on McKay. “What happened?”

Beckett responds as though Elizabeth was talking to him. “Ah caught her taking medical supplies, an’ we’re already short!”

“Carson,” Elizabeth warns, but her eyes slide over to Simpson, and she notices bandages over her earlobes cut into the shape of a moon and a sun. “Dr. Simpson, are your ears okay?”

One of Simpson’s hands flies to her ear, fingers self-consciously running over the bandage. “Er, yes. It’s for…fashion.”

“Elizabeth, ur ye gunna dae summat aboot ‘is?”

“Carson, please.” Elizabeth can’t focus when people speak to her in two languages at once. “Dr. Simpson, are the bandages from Medical’s supplies?”

“Where else would they come from?”

Elizabeth sighs; this is really a problem for Rodney. “Only authorized personnel may take those supplies, and for authorized purposes.”

Simpson crosses her arms and glares around the room, but finally spits out, “Fine.”

The issue has been resolved, so they can leave, right? “Carson–”

“‘At’s all ah wanted, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re really going to have to email me.” Elizabeth gently ushers Beckett and Simpson out of her office, and as soon as her doors close, she reactivates the lock.

—

At dinner, one of the sergeants on mess duty tries to hand her a bundle of cloth along with her plate of spicy braised invertebrate. She holds up her hand and says, “No, thank you.”

Dr. Heightmeyer reaches across her to take it as she says, “That’s mine,” and waves ahead in line to Biro, who waves back.

“What’s that about?” Elizabeth asks, intrigued. Heightmeyer rolls the fabric tightly and tucks it under her arm.

“I’m making a dress,” she murmurs, clearly trying to avoid conversation with Elizabeth. This strikes Elizabeth as odd; until now, she had considered Heightmeyer a close colleague and perhaps even a friend—certainly not someone she’d avoid in the corridors like Beckett (due to the language barrier) or Kavanaugh (for being a cretin).

“I’d love to see it when you’re done,” Elizabeth tries, feeling foolish for her wheedling tone.

“I bet you would,” Heightmeyer sneers.

—

Elizabeth has finally had enough. After dinner, she forgoes her usual cursing session off the northern pier and marches up to Sheppard’s room.

She enters without knocking.

Sheppard is on the floor next to the bed, holding War and Peace on his lap, ostensibly reading. McKay is seated at the head of the bed, a tablet on his lap propped up with a pillow. They look up in unison upon Elizabeth’s entrance and Sheppard slides the book—which he has been holding upside down— to the floor.

“Elizabeth,” Sheppard drawls. “I could have been naked.”

She arches an eyebrow. “With Rodney in your room?”

Sheppard screws up his face, seesawing his head from side to side in consideration. “Well, no? But a knock would have been a nice courtesy. Anyway, what’s up?”

“What’s going on with the personnel?

“Nothing more than usual. Why?”

“It just seems like something strange is happening around here and I can’t put my finger on it.”

Eyes back on the tablet, McKay makes a sound of derision, and Sheppard quickly elbows him with an apologetic grimace.

“If there’s something I should know…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a non-issue, really, and it’ll work itself out.” Sheppard smiles in a way that probably made all his previous commanding officers want to punch his lights out.

“Rodney?”

“Hmm? This is me minding my business.” McKay is becoming quite a skilled deflector, even if he still can’t lie outright. Elizabeth hates it. “Passing on the supply memo like you wanted. Doing genius things. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

—-

Elizabeth is supposed to hole up in her room today for twenty-four hours of uninterrupted rest, and no fewer than five people have intercepted her on her way to her room to bother her for last-minute action items before she can sequester herself. If one more person pesters her, she’s going back to Earth and never returning.

When Moore approaches from the opposite end of the hall, Elizabeth eyes her warily. But as she comes closer, Elizabeth sees that she doesn’t need anything; she’s holding small, flat items in her outstretched hand like an offering.

“Moon or sun?” The way she asks is breathy with excited secrecy. She wears a crescent moon on her forehead. Elizabeth is faintly curious, but doesn’t care enough to ask for clarification. She needs to get back to her room, drink a thimble of Genii rotgut, rub one out, and sleep for twelve hours.

“Sun?” That seems like an appropriate choice. She works mostly during the day and enjoys being out in the sun. Moore plucks a blazing sun-shaped piece of fabric and sticks it to the corner of Elizabeth’s eye with a ‘boop!’ There’s some kind of adhesive on it to make it stick to her skin. Moore smiles widely, sweetly, and continues down the hall. Elizabeth blinks and makes her way to the transporter.

Clearly, her memo has gone ignored, and the odd behavior continues. Many of these recent strange occurrences seem to be related. The mystery is unspooling. If this turns out to be some kind of cult trying to blow up the city, Elizabeth hopes it happens while she’s off-duty.

When the doors open, Ronon steps out, startling her. His eyes narrow mirthfully when he sees the sticker, and he looks her up and down, a slow grin forming on his face. When his eyes come back up to hers, he maintains contact for a few beats, allowing tension to build in the silence, before continuing on his way. “Weir.”

Elizabeth watches Ronon walk down the hallway before the transporter doors close, wondering how tight the spring inside her can get.

When Elizabeth gets to her room, she takes the sticker off so she can wash up, and continues with her plans for the evening.

—

Carson’s email comes through during AR-1’s pre-flight meeting. She notes which planets they need to visit for the requested supply ingredients and ignores the rest of his bleating message.

“Rodney, have you discovered an ancient device that would help me understand Carson?”

“Hmm, no. We have the translators, but those,” he says, circling his index finger around his ear, “only work if the other person is actually speaking another language.

Sheppard crosses his arms and slouches further into his seat with a look of confusion. “I love to razz Doc as much as the next guy, but I don’t get it. I can understand him fine.”

A loud peal of group laughter from downstairs cuts off Elizabeth’s reply, and she stands up to look out the window overlooking the gate room. It’s full of people milling around, leaning into each other’s faces, talking and laughing.

Elizabeth glares back over her shoulder. “One of you needs to tell me what’s happening. Now.”

Even though no message has come over comms, Teyla taps her earpiece and murmurs, “Yes, Halling, I would love to discuss my internet service provider options,” and racewalks out the door.

McKay rolls his eyes. “Sheppard told everyone that Ronon is single and looking.”

Elizabeth purses her lips, giving Sheppard and McKay what they refer to as her ‘mom look.’ “I should have known you two had something to do with it.”

“Us two?!” McKay protests, pointing at his own face. “I’m an innocent party, here.”

Sheppard throws his hands up in exasperation. “Just back that bus right over me yourself, Rodney.”

Glancing back at the commotion in the downstairs, Elizabeth objects, “There’s got to be more to it than that. This has been going on for weeks, and this is the second time I’ve had unauthorized personnel cluttering my gate room in that period.” When no answer is forthcoming, she continues. “May I remind you, John, that your mission will be grounded until all of this is dealt with, so now is the time to come clean.”

Sheppard takes a deep, slow breath, and blows it out all at once. Elizabeth feels the same way. “We were shooting some hoops, and Ronon asked if people on earth really ‘hook up’ in a sedoretu—you know, like in those Ursula K. Le Guin stories, with the morning and evening people?”

Elizabeth nods, squeezing the bridge of her nose against the pressure of the headache building there. She already knows where this is going. Sheppard has such a big mouth it’s amazing he ever got or maintained a security clearance.

The mystery is almost completely unspooled now, and instead of being satisfying, the answer is utterly stupid.

“The Colonel thought it was so funny he was practically giddy to share it with all the other little campers at the bonfire, and it spread like wildfire from there,” McKay adds.

Elizabeth’s head swivels back to Sheppard, staring disbelievingly. “So you were happy to let this rumor spread unmitigated and wreak havoc, not just among the marines, but throughout the entire expedition?”

“The Colonel was too busy enjoying Ronon’s hot space bimbo act and watching the rest of the expedition pant after him. Ronon was a soldier and knows that military installations are basically twenty-four seven hook-up parties. I can vouch for the scientists being a pack of filthy sexual deviants, myself, so once Sheppard opened his mouth, disaster was inevitable.”

Sheppard waves his arms in front of him emphatically, as though attempting to physically clear the air. “What Rodney’s trying to say is, I didn’t take it seriously, thought it’d work itself out, and no one else seemed to have their thinking hats on.”

McKay’s protest is vigorous as he stands and raises his voice: “Because you have them fantasizing about foursomes with Ronon the Barbarian!”

Sheppard leans into McKay, who shoulders him away quickly. Sheppard only leans into him again. “Aww, he’s so cute when he’s jealous.”

“I am not—“

“He is. Remember Chaya? She was in a real rush to leave. Said it was the wraith attack but Rodney here threatened to hoover her up,” Sheppard mimics vacuuming, ‘vrrrrm,’ “with a proton pack, Ghostbusters-style, and use her to recharge our ZPM.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows jump all the way to her forehead. “I didn’t realize you were together.”

“What? You literally walked in on us the other night.”

Elizabeth squints as she recalls what she saw. “You could have been having a LAN party or a sleepover.”

Sheppard cracks a little grin at that, but McKay exclaims, “Sheppard said he could have been naked!”

“Okay. Well, I’m happy for you both and trust you to maintain the same standard of professionalism you were known for before your relationship.” That’s as tactful as she can be about it. Frankly, these two deserve each other. “You can count on my discretion, but I do want to point out the obvious: what about the US military’s policy against homosexual relationships?”

“I’ve given some thought to that. As you know, the US military back on Earth has a reputation for causing a lot of problems with the locals, especially overseas. Less supervision and all.”

“Where are you going with this? Are you saying you want to turn a new leaf, forge a new reputation?”

“Oh no, our reputation is trash out here, too.” Sheppard cringes deeply to indicate his feelings about the expedition’s activities in Pegasus, including his own. “We woke the Wraith, take ZPMs from civilizations that are already using them, and commit war crimes. I’m just saying Uncle Sam can’t see us, so I’d like to disregard certain rules and regulations that hurt our people instead of helping them.”

Elizabeth can’t disagree with that. “I’m sure there are LGBT service members who will be glad to hear that. You can count on my support,” She nods, smiling to see John embracing his role as the military commander of Atlantis in this way. “Now, are you going downstairs to clean up your mess?”

—-

The gate room is in chaos, leaving no room for authorized personnel to move around. Expedition members are scattered like stars, wearing cloth stickers of a sun or moon, or sometimes both. Some individuals wear bracelets, knitted hats, scarves with the symbols, or have added the adornments to their work uniform. Kate Heightmeyer, who spares Elizabeth a withering glare, wears a floor-length gown made entirely of what Elizabeth assumes to be gauze pilfered from Medical, and dotted with suns and moons made from whettle grass paper, whose supply is now completely depleted.

Scientists and military alike gather in groups, comparing decorations, comparing projects, laughing.

Ronon and Teyla lean against one of the pillars, observing the tumult and leaning in to speak to one another. Teyla catches Elizabeth’s eye, grinning in a way that confirms that she has kept up with expedition gossip, after all. Ronon follows Teyla's line of sight and sees Elizabeth, slowly stands to his full height, and crosses the room to meet her. The crowd, totally aware of his location, parts around him.

Service members and civilians alike, surprisingly, maintain their distance from Ronon, despite their interest. Their scheming, crafting, and adornment were where their daring ended; now they loiter, awaiting Ronon’s attention with an air of ‘pick me, choose me, have sex with me.’

Ronon crowds Elizabeth in where she stands beside the stairs, his eye flickering to something above Elizabeth’s right ear. His hand reaches up and slowly pulls something from her curls, maintaining eye contact and a self-satisfied smile the entire time. The attraction coils even tighter, making her whole body feel tense and hyper-aware.

Ronon’s thick fingers bring a crescent moon made of medical tape up to her face. Strange; she swore she had left that in her bathroom. She holds out her hand so he can place it in her palm, and he does, fingers pressing in and lingering for interminable, intentional seconds. Elizabeth swallows and stares at where their hands touch, even as Ronon dips his head down to meet her eyes.

“Weir.”

“Ronon.”

“Heard you might be the one to help me with an Earth book I don’t understand.” His eyes shine with mischief.

Elizabeth arches a brow. “Oh? Well, I’m happy to help you if I can.”

“Great.” Ronon’s smile is broad, and as he grasps her hand, it only now occurs to her that this powerful attraction hasn’t been entirely one-sided all this time. Her breath catches and her heart pounds harder than ever. “Left it in my room.”

Elizabeth looks around the room at Sheppard inexpertly de-escalating the arguing between marines and civilian scientists, at McKay getting shouted down by Heightmeyer, at scientists and marines accusing one another of jealousy.

Gate room operations will be suspended for a while while Sheppard deals with the consequences of his actions, hopefully without resorting to excessive threats of violence.

“I have time now,” she offers.

Still pressing the sticker into her palm as he takes her hand, Ronon leads the way.

Naturally, there is no book. Elizabeth is happy to relieve some tension regardless.

#stargate atlantis fanfiction #sga fanfiction #elizabeth weir #ronon dex #rodney mckay #john sheppard #mcshep #crack fic #stargate atlantis fanfic #stargate atlantis fic #sga fanfic #sga fic #i’ve made a huge mistake

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leefi · 7 months

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its still so crazy to me that this massive debilitating phobia that affected me seeking medical care and didn’t alleviate even with prescribed anxiety medication is just…gone. i lost sleep over getting the covid vaccine and would get lightheaded just thinking about blood draws. contrast that to earlier this week when the phlebotomist had to retry my vein twice and i didnt even blink. it’s such a weird feeling that what was once a gigantic scary stressor in my life is so inconsequential now. also

malgreens

#woof #last dose of hpv done thank GOD

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ener-chi · 3 months

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Hello Zee, I'd love your input on the purpose of "fear"? My fear I feel it in my stomach and when it's bad enough It can be suffocating I need to take deep breaths. It's kind of like an suffocating parent that wants to baby me (e.g. "you're not ready :(", "this seems like it would tire you/you're too uncertain so it's fine to push it off!" but having listened it too many times has made me unhappy even if at its core maybe it wanted to protect me.

Hi anon!

It's funny that you ask me this. Fear is actually like the main thing I've been working on/grappling with for like the past year or so.

Moving into the hyper stressful school program that I am basically like shattered any coping mechanisms and ways that I had to deal with fear and anxiety, and made them worse - or at least brought them to the forefront of my mind and attention.

I realized that I have a lot of fear, from like past trauma and internal stuff. I also have a lot of anxiety.

But my relationship with fear has been... idk not good lol. My issue is that I would be afraid, but I would then be afraid of being afraid, because I hate how it makes me feel. This would cause me to be more afraid, and long story short for like. A year I have spent so much time just completely disassociated and in this massive fear spiral, spending all of my time and energy trying to get rid of it or trying to cope.

But I've started seeing a counselor, and I've had a lot of helpful insights. You mentioned that you've listened to it too many times, and that it has made you unhappy - my counselor said that anxiety makes you want to either fight or flight from the trigger of whatever it is.

But doing either of those things is just validating and feeding into the fear/anxiety - it reinforces that behavior, that thought processes, and those neuropathways, and propagates it and makes it worse.

This is something that I've found holds very true for me. I think that it's important to not reinforce those things - to not give into fear and anxiety.

I think that fear and anxiety has its place - its information, and its survival - but any more than that and it is unhelpful and can entrap us.

Another thing that has been helpful for me is learning about trauma, and how it affects our brains. Like a healthy person experiences a stressor, and they might feel stress or fear or have their fight or flight activate - but once the stressor is gone, those feelings and the fight or flight state disappears as well.

For people with trauma, those feelings and that state lingers for much longer. Or it might be triggered during times where there is no stressor. Both are... can't find the precise word right now, but your brain chemistry and neural pathways are out of sync, due to trauma.

Learning about trauma and its mechanisms, and how to heal from it has been really helpful in dealing with my own trauma and anxiety as well. And yes - you can heal from trauma, and the brain changes from trauma can be healed as well.

I know that I didn't exactly answer your question, but that is because I am still exploring that question myself. I share my experience and thoughts in the hopes that you find it helpful. This is something that I've experienced - and am still experiencing, and working on even now. I still have a long way to go, but every day I make improvements and I am happier now than I was a year ago.

Thanks for the ask!

Blessings!

#mine #asks #about me #anxiety #fear #trauma #healing

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thyhalloweddesign · 1 year

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So I've been doing a Medical Billing/Coding course thru the AAPC, and it has been. A Mess. This is one of the worst designed and planned "textbooks" I've ever seen, taking notes is an absolute Bitch. Studying for exams is a Bitch.

They keep going back to topics and adding more info, in later paragraphs and even whole chapters later, so my notes are just so messy. Never know when they're actually done with a topic, they can't organise for shit. I know I'm already going to have to basically rewrite the damn thing so the damn topics are all together properly AND THEN. These fuckers decided it was Smart to test you on information that's located on Other websites that are Not owned by the AAPC. Which means if the page is no longer there, or the info changes, well fuck us! Then they have to update their textbook, once they realise. Do you know how many times I've read something, taken notes down, then gone back to study and the entire chapter is different??? THREE TIMES, FOUR CHAPTERS SO FAR. Fuck.

Latest biggest stressor with this damn thing, is that the CPT codes are. *takes very slow deep breath* That book is Not organised. I understand /why/, but I do Not Fucking Approve. Finding ICD-10 codes can be tricky bc they're just bitches inherently, but finding Any CPT code in that book is a goddamn adventure. And yet! I ace those exams way better than the ICD-10 exams despite the Massive amounts of stress I am feeling XDDD Absolutely rude as fuck.

BTW going thru schooling for Coding is not required to do the job, which is why everyone's medical bills are so fucked up all the time - this system is a mess, considering just how many people and groups that work together to try and make a "uniform coding system" (y'know. not talking about how we need at least 3 code systems and every payer has their own requirements/regulations, on top of the state and federal regulations). But most people who do medical coding don't go thru classes and so so so many things are done hella wrong. And going thru this course, it makes so much sense Why it's such a mess Even When You Have Certification.

I am so glad I'm going into a single specialty bc trying to do billing/coding for any and all medical services would drive me batshit. I'd be constantly contacting the providers for clarification on their lackluster documentation so I'm not getting denials and messed up payments all the damn time. (This latest chapter has been dragging on for 4 days now, I am Very Grumpy*wheeeeeze*)

#reddspeak #dont mind me just bitching due to stress #honestly tho guys i have never hated a textbook in my damn life #and i have gone to college THREE TIMES NOW #fuck me aaahhhhhh

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venovenous · 10 months

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I really want to start reflecting on my time in sixth grade through the beginning of middle school. it's difficult because I have significant memory loss around this time in my life. I was watching a lecture on clinical diagnosis of schizophrenia, where it was said that most people present with many years in the prodromal phase throughout childhood and adolescence with hours spent in daydream and overly relient on imaginary friends to cope, but still manage to hang on by a thread. then it's usually around the transition to young adulthood where some crisis happens, a loved one dies, they break up with their first serious boyfriend/girlfriend, or something significant stressor happens that triggers a psychotic break. To this day, I don't know what happened to me to cause me to break from reality for the first time.

When I look back, it seems more like a gradual decline. I can remember clearly my first panic attack in the sixth grade during English class. My teacher had sent one of my close friends Naomi after me as I was walking to the school nurse, because she was so worried about how I had presented, it was so out of character for me. Before that point, I was incredibly high functioning. I was social, had plenty of friends, was involved in sports and did well academically. I can't remember the summer between grade school and high school. I can't remember when I first became ill in seventh grade. I am almost sure my first hospitalization was in 8th grade after months of outpatient therapy. I was gone for more than a month. I was thirteen. when I came back, my English teacher, someone I had been somewhat close to because I really enjoyed her class, had everyone make me a poster where they had signed notes saying they hoped I would feel better soon. everyone in the whole school avoided me, my best friend through grade school included. I had special privileges to leave class whenever I wanted to go to the counselors office, but I usually just went to the bathroom to cry and use toilet paper to dry off the massive amounts of sweat I shed constantly. I won't get into my experience of psychosis, that's not the point. I want to know what happened to me that made me break.

My mom had been consistently abusive my whole life, but it didn't get too bad until she started drinking after my diagnosis. I doubt it was something she did. My (step) dad wasn't home often, and I didn't have much of a strong relationship with him until the end of high school. Before that, he was a good, caring father to me but we weren't all that close. There was a time in our old house around the holidays where I was sleeping in the attic in the room attached to my sister's because we had friends and family staying over. There was one morning I woke up and took off my blanket to find my wool pajama bottoms and underwear had been removed sometime overnight. I thought this was strange but figured I might have gotten hot sleeping in the carpeted floor and kicked them off in my sleep. I have a memory of being extremely paranoid about being pregnant whenever I looked at my body while showering, and worrying that my parents would find out and kick me out of the house. I can't recall if this fear began before or after the attic incident. I place the attic incident after age 13 because I remember having a tumblr account then, and I used to blog on my grandpa's laptop in that attic as I hid from all the holiday company. The last time I was hospitalized, this forensic psychologist who took immense pity on me and always fretted about my high suicide risk as a trans person told me that I had the behaviors and presentation of someone who was sexually abused. I remember him leaning in and holding my hand I was picking at and asking me if I had ever been hurt by someone badly. and I said something about how my mom was always hard on me growing up and he just shook his head and changed the subject. I don't know if I was hurt badly, or experienced some traumatic event around the ages 11-13. I truly cannot remember.

I think it makes sense, but I also can't point fingers at anyone without any clear memory. When I think back to the attic, I always start towards my uncle Andy, who isn't really my uncle but my dad's close friend who has been accused of sexual assault before and is an alcoholic who my dad has since cut contact with for beating his wife and running off to another state with another woman. It wouldn't be out of the box thinking, but I feel no strong way when I think of him in mind. I can't rationalize it. I can't think of anyone in my life who would hurt me that way, though it wouldn't surprise me. Maybe I'm making things up by thinking too hard about them. Maybe I wasn't sexually abused, but some other traumatic event happened around that time I can't think of. My memory is very boggy from the surrounding trauma of the sudden rejection and loneliness I faced in school, the unsupportive home environment I had, and the daily prescription Klonopin I was on at the time. Whatever happened was a very formative moment in my life that changed my trajectory forever. It's the seed inside me that all my current deep troubles have grown from. I don't know what it is. I have to keep digging.

I don't know what it is.

#long.#mee #sa mention 73'!38 #im too scared to talk to my therapist about it so we're microblogging like its 2015

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emmyrosee · 2 years

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You were mad at him. For something.

What, Atsumu didn’t know. Honest! You’d quickly snapped him out of his habit of leaving the toilet seat up, you’d taught him countless times to sort the laundry, he’s learned extremely quickly to not leave your child in the cart at the grocery store alone- you’d been particularly ruthless with that lesson.

But for the past two days, you’ve been absolutely exhausting. Petulant, and he genuinely questions if that’s how he acts when he’s upset, and if it is, good god he’s sorry to anyone he’s ever come in contact with him.

You’re huffing in annoyance, denying him any closeness and affection, cooing at Hisako that apparently she’s the only Miya that loves you, and Atsumu truly is at a loss of what happened. Two days ago you were fawning over him with all the love you could muster, and yesterday morning it was like you couldn’t stand the sight of him.

More than anything, you look sad. You’re sad in his presence, your eyes glimmering with a certain disappointment and discomfort. You’re hurt, by something he did, it’s something Atsumu never thought he’d witness, and now that he has, he wants to make sure he never does again. Whatever it is.

He just has to get you alone first.

“Hisako’s down for her nap,” you mutter, causing the blonde on the couch to finally turn up at you. “I have to go get some sugar, keep an ear out for her while I’m gone-“

“Want me to come with?” He asks, hopeful. You furrow your brows and cross your arms, waiting for him to realize what he said.

“Did you seriously just ask if I wanted you to come, after I just said I put our infant down for a nap?” You scoff, and he deflates like you’ve kicked him. “It’s good to know you’ve reached the point of ignoring me, too-“

“Why are you so mad at me?” He asks, getting up on his feet and tossing his phone to the side. “What did I do?”

You tense up at his words, hurt spreading over your face and arms tightening protectively across your chest. You chew at your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling, and Atsumu is sure he’s got you now.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“And you lie like a rug,” he says immediately, crossing his arms and quirking a brow. “You can’t fool me, we’ve been together for waaaaay too many years for you to think you can lie to me.”

You send him a glare, and he looks at you expectantly. Your jaw tightens, and he’s ready to listen to your worries and stressors, and be a better man from it, and-

“Just forget it,” you mutter, carrying yourself into the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Clearly it does!” He protests, following behind you. You visibly jump at the loud whine of his voice, and he does feel bad about it, but he’s got a point to make, and he can’t let it go.

“God, would you just drop it!” You hiss.

Frustration takes over Atsumu’s body, and he cards a massive paw through his hair, gripping it at the root, “you know I can’t!”

“Well then that’s on you! Not my problem if you can’t play detective and figure out why your wife is feeling a certain way.”

“Baby please for the love of the gods tell me what I did wrong because if you’re waiting for me to figure it out, we both know how long that could take!”

You pause again, and he raises his brows expectantly. “Fuck, fine- it’s…” your bottom lip wobbles as you sniffle, “it’s… it’s… fucking asshole, it’s because you didn’t look!”

Instantly, Atsumu’s brows shoot up to his hairline, any frustration dissolving into surprise; he watches you fiddle with the drawstrings of your hoodie, and he reaches out to cup your hands in his. “I didn’t look?”

“In the bathroom, yesterday,” you murmur, eyes wetting with humiliated tears; from the circumstances, or from crying in of itself, atsumu doesn’t know. “You… You were coming in to pee, and I was in my towel drying off, and I told you not to look. And you didn’t.”

“Baby,” he sighs in relief. “I thought you really just didn’t want me to look and-“

“But you always used to!” You wail. “Always, before I got pregnant! And-And-And I would watch you peek around your fingers or look in the mirror and giggle when you looked, and I’d swat you with my towel and you’d pull it off of me with your stupid smirk, and you’d give me this insane kiss, and…” you pause your rambling to take a few deep breaths. “And you didn’t…” you wipe your eyes on your hoodie, “do you even find me sexy anymore?”

“Honey, that’s not what that meant,” he husks, trying to pull you in for a hug and frowning when you reeled back. He shakes his head, “there are times I can barely keep my paws offa you, you know that.”

“Then why didn’t you look!”

“Because Hisako was waking up,” he explains quickly, once again trying to reach for you. This time, you let him, and he feels himself relax simply from the contact. “And she doesn’t do well on her own, and I thought I heard her cry, so I hurried and peed and quickly ran out to check on her… I’m sorry I didn’t look, baby, I just… dad instincts kicked in, and I wanted to check on her so you could keep doing your morning routine in peace…”

You wipe your cheek and nod sadly, “I’m… ‘m glad your dad instincts are strong… and I appreciate the thought…”

“Believe me, momma,” he mumbles; a slow smirk splays over his face and he picks you up to set you on the counter, smiling as a shy one eases over your cheeks. “We still got the hots for each other, good god, I’ve got the hots for ya…” he grabs your hands to kiss your knuckles. “But we’ve got so much more now, too. We’ve got a family. And I got you and ‘Sako, and that’s more than I ever deserved. Let alone the sexiest woman who deals with my ass every day… we’ve got something good. I’ve got something good.”

Blinded by his affectionate words, you nod and lean forwards to rest your head on his chest, and he quickly wraps his arms around you to hold you close. “I love you, ‘Tsumu…”

“I love you more, momma,” he murmurs into your hair, and he feels all his broken pieces snap together at the feeling of you in his arms.

Then you stiffen again. He furrows his brows.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Did… did you wash your hands after you peed? Before you checked on our infant?”

At his silence, you start to fight his grip again to start your outrage once more, but he instantly tightens his arms around you with soft “no, no, no,”’s falling from his lips.

“God, honey, please, one battle at a time.”

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psychoticallytrans · 2 years

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This post is going to extensively discuss suicide and how we treat and mistreat it. Please press "J" to skip this post if that will be more upsetting than helpful to read.

I've been suicidal. So have a lot of the people I love. From what I've seen, there are two rough categories of suicidal desire. This is a heavily simplified model, and I would be happy to see people add nuances to it.

1.) Circumstantially motivated. The person sees no future for themselves because of how their life is. This can range from being bullied, to poverty, to minority stress, to chronic pain. This type is more likely to sit down and make a pro and con list to death, and death comes up as a rosier and rosier option.

The treatment that they require is not within them, it is around them. They require the removal of barriers and the lightening of burdens. Attempting to treat them with therapy and antidepressants is not going to fix the core issue.

2.) Motivated by a disorder. This person has an internal issue that has wired their brain to see death as appealing. This can range from PTSD, to bipolar disorder, to major depressive disorder. This type is more likely to be impulsive and reckless about death.

The treatment they require is personal and medical. While fixing their circumstances may lighten some stress and alleviate their disorder, they are going to need medical treatment as well. This medical treatment does not always come from doctors.

These types can exist at the same time, in the same person, and in fact very frequently do. Constant stress can generate medical issues, and vice versa. That mixed type can be especially dangerous to them, because the planning can allow for plans to be set up that can be gone through with on a whim. This makes their attempts more effective than just type 2 and more likely than just type 1. It also means that attempting to treat just one side of their suicidal desire can frustrate and confuse everyone involved when they do not get better. I personally was a mixed-type case, and needed a lot of help and change to recover.

I find that a lot of the truly ineffective ideas that people have about suicide prevention stem from mixing the two treatments to insist that suicidal desire can be fixed with individual work towards gaining hope. That would not work well for either type. The first type sees nothing to work towards, and the second needs medical treatment. The only pros of this idea are that it allows people to say that they tried to help someone recover from suicidal desire by making the most anemic effort possible, and that it upholds the idea that if you can't make it, you were simply too weak, not too unsupported and unhelped.

If people would mix the two ideas to say that suicidal desire can fixed with systemic availability of mental health care, then we might be getting somewhere. Type 2 might need individual treatment, but it's an issue that exists on a mass scale. Still, though, lack of mental health treatment is not the only stress in the lives of people with type 1, so their other needs have to be addressed as well.

A real effort to reduce the suicide rate would require massive reductions in all the stressors that people experience, from housing insecurity to medical care to uncertainty about global warming. It would require a tremendous investment in the welfare of all people. It would require an acknowledgement that the way that we currently live is not okay for many, many people. It would require acknowledging that suicidal people are not selfish, can be healthy or sick, and that they are valuable enough to put the effort in.

Speaking specifically about the USA, all that we have right now are really stopgap measures. Crisis lines, whose support ends when you hang up the phone. Inpatient, if you can afford it or are forced there. An absolutely threadbare and inaccessible mental health care system, and the same for the welfare system. It's a safety net that does not catch enough people.

That needs to change.

Summary for accessibility: There are two basic motivations for suicidal desire, circumstantial stress and sickness. Often, people have both. Suicidal people need to be treated for the correct one or ones, and there is currently not a great system or effort in place to actually do that. Things need to change so that correct help is available for everyone.

#Discussion of suicide issues #Discussion of the issues of suicidal people #Discussion of the inadequacies of current systems for treating suicide and suicidal people

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nickywhoisi · 2 years

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It's midnight mods are asleep post chefs

That's right, we're veering off course from my usual project again as I have officially gone full batshit and dove head first into the Pizza Tower fandom. No regrets baby. I mean have you seen the shit poppin off over here rn? Buck wild. And all the cool kids make ocs, so

The dude in purple is my oc Adlin Bäkermann, he/him/ they-them sometimes, probably mid 30's, and they run a bakery just down the block from Peppino's pizzeria. It's the best in town because all of it is homemade by him. Peppino gets the pizza dough from Adlin, if he doesn't make it himself. Adlin sometimes comes by for a snack break. Sometimes Peppino comes over for a well-needed coffee break. Local businesses supporting other local businesses <3

Adlin is a very quiet guy. He rarely speaks in more than affirmative sounds or disapproving grunts, but on occasion he will use his words. And he is one cool cucumber, so instead of frantically worrying about what his friend's went through, he will just ask calmly, practically like a therapist, "What happened?" He's an honourable soul and cannot stand seeing injustice. Things like that, and other stressors (like work) can bring up his inner rage meter though, because he is not impervious to anger management issues. And he's German, so he can be scary about it. It really isn't a smart move to piss off a lad who will throw massive gauntlet hands that can crush you like a bug, or make him use his steely eyes to bore into your very being. And, strangely, he can be a tad absent-minded. If he screws up something, you will hear a quiet, ashamed, "...Sorry." There's more times than he'd care to admit that he was kneading dough while fuming, and before they realized it, the work table was fuckin shrapnel. Oops. Lil' bit of a klutz. Better watch those mitts of yours, boy! Ooo hoo hoo hoo

Now with that blurbo finished for my blorbo, I wamna discuss the pic. Specifically, I love how the colouring and effects used turned out. So close to what I was looking for! Huzzah! I'm happy with the mach speed lines and Adlin's beeg bright rocket blasts. I was also on the fence about colouring in Adlin's pants, was thinking of keeping them white, but...actually it was a really good idea. It matches the other guys, and when I designed Adlin, I really wanted to make it a point that he had things that could make him a playable character. Just like one of the cast. His hands fire little dough blasts, but because of the hole of fire he launches them out of...they come out as little cooked brioche buns. Gdsffddsggssgff This is basically a proof of concept for my jump 'n shoot baker boi. I love my child so much. My sweet bebeh. In canon, he's got that androgynous pretty swag, which makes him all the more intimidating to approach. Oh and before I forget...there isn't any shipping. Naughty children ;) I know what you're after you wanna know if my boy smooches the italian like a lot of the other ocs. Nah. These guys are literally only friends, but good friends. Which might not be so obvious with how I introduced them, but that happens in universe too. You'd think there's rivalry going on, and there is occasionaly some weird indescribable tension between them, but nope. I'm just so happy that I drew Adlin just like how I wanted and then suddenly he looks like the metal to Peppi's sonic. It just happened outta nowhere, and that's frankly amazing. Pizza Tower is the gift that keeps on giving and I am alive

And yeah this was my first try at drawing The Noise, can ya tell? He has details that aren't so correct, but I'm kinda diggin the caramel top I put on his hat. To make him look closer to a cream puff. And I wasn't sure how many teeth he was supposed to have. But there ya go I think I still captured his noisy noidy e s s e n c e . AND THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE HIS BUTT NOT A BIG KOO- OKAY JUST SO WE'RE CLEAR THAnks. And the same applies to Brick, I didn't think to study his design and then draw so it was off memory. Still looks super cute though ngl

What are they racing towards? Who's gonna win? Idk I just like the stardust speedway vibes goin on look at these funky little dudes go

#oh shit (siren)#the boys are here aw shit whuddup #so proud of my deutsch boi over here I have so many more things I wanna draw him in #this fandom is a treasure y'all and I will protect it with my life #pizza tower #pizza tower oc #Adlin pt oc #zomg my art!

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flame-cat · 3 years

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ok one person liked the post so here is

Raz' Mind

the inside of what looks like a massive oversized aquato dome, piled high with bags of all kinds. the floor is damp and the height of the ceiling makes you feel like an ant. hectic and cluttered.

the first time you see raz is immediately, running around sorting bags to go to certain places in his mind. upon reading the labels, they belong to various people raz cares about- lili, the interns, his family, the psychonauts. there are none belonging to raz himself that he carries. when you find one that has his name on it, he quickly throws it against an ever-growing pile stuck against a wall. the pile looks like its barely holding back a cracked brick wall that is leaking water. when asked about it, raz says he will "get to it later." you can see why- the stack he carries is at least three times as tall as him, and five times as heavy by the way he struggles with it.

if you offer to help, he'll say "really? you dont have to, ive got it handled." if you insist, he'll be extremely grateful, showing you a small pile you can start on. its not as hard as it looks, especially with multiple people. there are many shortcuts you can take as you flit around out of the tent into other areas- layouts of all of the places raz has been. its all surface-level and nothing seems wrong. the only caveat is the lack of other people.

the "raz" pile shudders ominously.

once you go through a pile, raz will thank you and give you an item- the item varies based on how many piles youve gone through. each time you sort through a pile, you need to go back to raz and ask to help again. each time he will thank you profusely, still leaving most of the work for himself. however, once a pile is sorted, another will quickly take its place; a never-ending litany of responsibilities and distractions that raz has to deal with all by himself. there is no end in sight. when asked, raz will say hed rather do this than... and trail off as he glances at his own pile.

if you try to go through the pile labelled as his, he'll quickly stop you, shouting that he can take care of that himself later. if you insist, he will be extremely nervous but say you can if you really want to- before youre suddenly accosted by enemies! hes been holding the censors, doubts, regrets, bad moods, panic attacks, and judgements back so they won't attack you, but this stressor has finally let them all out.

once you clear them out, a leak will spring in the pile. then another, and another. the tent is flooding, and raz is desperately trying to plug the holes. at this point he will finally try getting you to leave, because you "dont need to deal with this." the only sure way to move forward is to take one of the bags in the pile and open it. once opened, youre transferred inside, and you get to see whats really going on in here.

Bag #1: the Beginning

the first bag is the memory of when raz decided to run away. you enter in complete darkness, the only light coming from underneath the tent flap in front of you. you hear muffled arguing. if you go out, you see raz and his dad arguing, mr. aquato holding up a flyer. you hear the argument play out, finishing when Augustus rips apart the flyer, saying "youre no son of mine." raz looks stricken and then runs off into a tent, presumably his own.

if you follow him, you see the inside of his tent. raz quietly tells you how much that rejection hurt him, how he tried to just forget about it and move forward. he shifts aside the entrance flap of the tent and shows you a slideshow of himself alone on the road, desperately searching for the camp and eventually making his way inside.

"i made great new friends. i saved the world. i proved him wrong. he even said he was proud of me. so... why do i still...?"

he closes the entrance, and plunged into darkness, you emerge from the bag.

Bag #2: Pressure

the second bag is more of a rapid-fire collection of scenes. it begins in the rebraining room with ford. hes telling raz hes the only one who can do this. raz looks conflicted for a moment before nodding.

the scene shifts, and now we're outside of the asylum with lili. the building begins shuddering and falling apart. a giant piece falls, rushing forwards to crush the preteens-

raz falls through the darkness into the meat circus. his dad is there, much larger, and the room is flooding. if you go up the ladder, a massive chopping knife almost cleaves you in half, wielded by ollie's massive monster dad. he swings downwards again, the knife obscures your vision-

raz opens his eyes in loboto's laboratory in the rhombus of ruin. the water is climbing, hes still strapped down, and no one else is able to help. the camera zooms out, out, out. hes alone in here. the camera goes up, and you emerge from the water...

now youre in trumans grotto. truman is telling raz that he cant tell anyone about maligula. the scenes only alteration are the puppet strings truman holds tied to raz. the boy nods. the camera turns, going behind truman, and he turns into...

ford cruller, this time at green needle gulch. once more telling raz he's the only one who can help him.

raz turns and sees the deluge. he runs into the forest, narrowly dodging water and heavy objects. raz's voice cuts through the cacophany:

"i know it doesnt matter now, but..."

a hand reaches towards him from a cyclone, yanks him in, hes drowning, hes...

the scene fades to black. raz's voice, again, hesitant and small:

"... i was really scared."

and out of the bag you go.

Bag #3: Judgement

the third bag is small and short. raz is sitting alone in a void, curled up, knees tucked close to his body. he looks very small. in the background are voices, all things hes heard before.

"... only problem was YOU..."

"... wouldnt have FOUND you..."

"... betrayed the family..."

if approached, raz says this:

"i have to be better."

and out you go.

#psychonauts 2 #razputin aquato #in the life #pheo drabbles

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licncourt · 3 years

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I believe Cumberbatch channels Louis's energy of intelligence being a facade in Sherlock. But they both do have the extent of Analytical intelligence to back that claim. It is very Paul Dirac.I have met such people in real life of startling academic records and questionable morality who have gone places in life. I would like to know more about your ideas on the intelligence part.

Ngl, the mention of BBC Sherlock in 2022 threw me for a loop, but yeah I have a lot of thoughts about Louis and intelligence.

Even in his mortal life, I assume Louis was far more of a thinker and intellectual than most, but it becomes really interesting once he becomes a vampire and Lestat enters the picture. In their relationship, Lestat really has all the power. He's physically much stronger than Louis (age plus Magnus and Akasha's blood), he has a great deal of knowledge that Louis needs in order to be independent (whether or not that's true is irrelevant because that's what Louis believes), and eventually Claudia comes along and Louis feels trapped with Lestat out of concern for her wellbeing. The power imbalance is massive, so what does Louis have to fight back with?

That's where the intelligence angle comes in. He clearly knows he has the upper hand over Lestat when it comes to education and culture. He points this out several times over the course of Interview, so by emphasizing his own intellect he can maintain some type of advantage. We learn in Interview and TVL that Lestat is very sensitive about his mortal illiteracy and poor education, so it would make sense that Louis would want to hold that over his head, play up his intelligence and schooling to make Lestat feel stupid or inferior to him, the way Louis feels in all other aspects. His situation is so out of his control, but his own mind is the one aspect of his being that Lestat can't interfere with or take from him even if his physical autonomy is restricted.

The only defense Louis has against Lestat is the ability to lord over him intellectually, both to cause pain and probably as a comfort to himself. Those mental pursuits, reading in particular, double as an excellent escape from what is essentially a toxic marriage. Louis' intelligence is as much armor as Lestat's cruelty, the only weapon he has against the way Lestat treats him and the only thing he can hang his self-esteem on. Louis is smart and cunning and educated and very good at using that to his advantage. He also doesn't seem to have much of an ability to emotionally disconnect from like. Anything ever. So the methods we see him use to cope with painful situations are this cerebral persona that helps him defend and distance himself emotionally from stressors, or later the total detachment/borderline dissociation we see after Claudia's death. His toolbox is...small.

Outside of his specific relationship with Lestat, Louis is still a fairly weak vampire in terms of physical strength and supernatural gifts, so I would imagine that facade remains important to him. He's clearly dismissed by other vampires in the later books (I don't know if that was an intentional choice on AR's end or just part of her bizarre hatred of Louis, but I'm going to pretend it was A Character Choice). He has Marius infantilizing him, Armand being condescending, D*vid T*lbot being a total asshole in every way, Lestat dismissing his concerns, and that's just major characters. He's still not being taken seriously or treated as an equal, so I kind of think he ends up with the vampire version of Gifted Kid Syndrome where intelligence is the only thing others praise or respect him for (besides being beautiful), so he uses it as a crutch and a source of control within his relationship, his larger community, and even to cope internally.

I could go on, but that's my take.

Tl;dr Louis is extremely intelligent in a genuine sense but also very good at using that intelligence as a defensive persona to gain control and power in situations where he feels helpless.

#answered #vc #meta

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bcdwhcre · 4 years

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aot jean x f reader smut 😳😳😳?? maybe jean saves u from titans and after battle when ur getting patched up 🥵🥵🥵🥵

“Stressors,” Jean x Reader

SCREAMSSSS, it’s happening

Summary: you and Jean tend to each other after battling Titans

Warnings: smut smut smut

Jean x Fem!Reader

The expedition was long enough. It had made the sweat gather up on your forehead and you were convinced your gear was running low and needed to be refilled but you had continued on.

Your blade swinging up, slicing the nape of the Titans neck and dropping down to the ground as it’s large limp body had slumped over and the steam started to come out the wound.

You turned your back for a second before a Titan had approached you. You tried to use your gear but perfect timing, it had ran out and you were stuck like a stray animal.

As he stared down at you, you decided to try to run in the opposite direction and suddenly he was quick to grab you with his large hand, bringing you up to eye level with the ugly beast.

Your eyes widen, thinking this was it for you but Jean was quick to swoop it and slice the Titans nape which sent you falling down. You had to admit his fast reflexes were much better than yours as he scooped you up, flying up on a building and setting you down.

“What happened back there?” He had glanced over the cuts on your skin and you sighed under your breath.

“My gear ran out at the wrong time, I’m sorry.” You admitted, wiping the blood from your face when you felt it dripping down.

“Don’t be,”

Time had passed by, the mission finally being over and your body ached as you stepped foot inside the base, Jean following close behind you and he grabbed a hold of your arm as he walked you towards the infirmary down the hall.

You tried to catch your breath but it was getting rather difficult from how drained you were from the expedition, it had put a strain on your body and you knew you were covered in bruises and cuts underneath this uniform.

“I’ll meet you in my room.” Jean pat your shoulder, walking passed you to go grab the first aid kit while you settled in his room.

Your arms had reached up, loosening the straps and taking a few pieces off along with your boots. A low groan had left your lips, your feet in pain and your body sore.

You were beyond stressed and Jean had noticed, deciding to take things in his own hands and try his best to take care of you for the rest of the night.

As he sat next to you, making your body face him and he pulled stuff out of the box. His fingers carefully opened up the alcohol wipe, wiping the cut on your cheek.

Your eyes had scanned over his face, almost admiring him while completely forgetting about your aching body and what had happened out in the field.

“What? Something wrong?” Jean had caught your gaze, making you shake your head as your cheeks grew hot.

“No, sorry- just zoned out.” You stumbled out, seeing the small smirk on his face when he caught on and continued to clean your noticeable wounds.

“Do you mind checking my back? I just know there’s a massive bruise.” You mumbled, looking at him again and he nodded slightly.

You suck in a sharp breath, unbuttoning the white top and pushing it off your shoulders. Jean had tried not to stare as you sat there in a revealing tank top. He couldn’t help but glance at you.

You turned your back to face him as you stood, his eyes moving to your back and his fingers had grabbed the hem of the tank top lifting it up just enough to see the huge bruise you were talking about. It looked painful, the way it was dark purple and black, he knew it hurt.

“Yeah, looks pretty bad. I can ice it if you want?” He pushed your shirt back down and stood up as he looked down at you.

“Not right now, thank you though. I really appreciate you cleaning me up.” You said quietly, feeling the tension grow between the both of you as he stood a little too close in front of your small frame.

It grew quiet, his eyes almost admiring you closely and you tried to not make eye contact until one of his large hands had caressed your cheek, making you stare up at him again.

You opened your mouth to say something but his lips were quick to land on yours, shutting you up and catching you off guard. You and Jean weren’t technically a thing but there was always flirting and tension there that you two were too scared to cross but here Jean was, crossing the line and happily kissing you.

His hand had slipped further back, tangling in your hair as his lips danced with yours and he didn’t hesitate to take the chance to slip his tongue inside your mouth, swirling it around with yours.

Everything that was on your mind before was swept away including the pain you had been feeling before as your placed your hands on his chest and gently pushed him down on the bed, straddling his lap and connecting your lips again.

This was something you needed, something to take the edge off and wipe the stress off your body and Jean had felt the same way too but the one thing you two wouldn’t admit out loud, this was something you both been wanting to do to each other since the flirting first began between you two.

The butterflies had erupted in your stomach, sending sparks flying but you tried to ignore them as your fingers slipped down and started to unbutton the white top he was wearing after throwing the straps off his body.

Jean had decided to take some control, grabbing your thighs and throwing you down on the bed as his body hovered over yours without even breaking from your mouth, the light breath that had escaped your throat at the sudden impact had you seeing stars.

Your fingers brushed his shirt off, throwing it aside and he pulled back to catch his breath but it wasn’t long till his lips were peppering kisses along your throat, leaving small bruises here and there just so he could listen to your light breaths and soft moans slip off your tongue and into the air.

Jean had caressed your body, touching every curve and dip he could while finally slipping the tank top over your head, his eyes scanning over your half naked chest and you started to grow nervous but he paid no attention as he admired you.

After all the pieces of clothing were off the both of you, he wasted no time to kiss your lips again but this time it had gotten more rough and full of lust while his hips pressed into yours with your legs loosely wrapped around his torso.

The skin to skin contact had your skin growing hot, the way you were aching for him already and he hasn’t done much but make out with you and leave love bites on your soft skin. Still, you were growing needy and impatient.

Your fingers had ran over his bare chest, moving around to grip onto his back as you leaned up and peppered soft quick kisses on his skin and moved up towards his ear.

“I need you.” You whispered, placing another kiss just below his ear and his heart began to race.

The way your words had slipped off your tongue with ease had his head spinning and his hand instantly wrapped around your throat, pinning your body down against his bed and he smirked at how much of a mess you were already.

“Tch, maybe I want to hear you beg for it.” His voice was deep and it had made your heart drop down to your core, the throbbing sensation you felt made you want to flip him over and do what you wanted with him but you knew he was too strong and you enjoyed seeing him in control and throwing you around.

“Wouldn’t you like that, huh?” You teased him, his hand only getting tighter on your throat but made sure he wasn’t harming you in any way.

Jean ran his tongue over his lips, his eyes burning into yours before his head dipped down and began kissing down your body, taking his time with each patch of skin, making you grow more needy the more he had gone done until his head was between your legs.

“Gotta be quiet or else they’ll hear how good I’m making you feel.” His voice was low and he knew that had turned you on more as your legs tightened around his head.

His fingers wrapped around your legs, spreading them apart a bit more as he licked his lips again, in awe at the scene before him as you squirmed on his matress.

Without warning his mouth had latched onto your core, the sudden contact had a moan fly out of your mouth but Jean was quick to slap his hand over your mouth to keep you quiet knowing the scouts were scattered all around the base.

One of your hands flew up to grab his wrist and the other tangled in his hair as you tugged at the roots and threw your head back in pleasure from the way his tongue was working wonders between yours folds.

He made sure to go slow, running the tip of his tongue up then back down before settling with latching his mouth on your clit and began to softly suck on your bundle of nerves, making the noises coming out of your mouth muffled against his hand.

Jean had used his free hand to slip under his head, teasing your entrance and it had made your hips buck up towards his mouth while the pleasure had washed over you, making your eyes struggle to stay open.

The way his fingers danced right at your entrance, knowing well enough you were desperately craving his touch and finally he had slipped his middle finger in first, slowly pumping it in and out before adding the second finger.

He made sure to arch his fingers up, brushing them against your walls and that had made your eyes water, the knot in your stomach only growing as you were held onto his hair, wanting to desperately cum on his fingers and mouth.

But once the pleasure had gotten so good where you felt like you needed to release, he pulled away and made sure to shove his fingers in your mouth when you opened it up to whine about the lost contact, making you taste your juices.

“Good girl.” He moved to where he was hovering over you again and placed another rough kiss to your lips before looking down at you.

“Since you were so good and quiet for daddy, I’ll give you what you want.” He spoke again, your stomach doing flips again just by his words.

Your arms hung around his neck as he settled between yours legs and teased your entrance once again with his tip before sliding himself inside, making sure to be slow this time around.

His hands had grabbed into yours, pinning them both down on the mattress and intertwining your fingers together as his hips thrusted into yours at a reasonable pace at first then was quick to become rough with it.

Your heavy breathing and skin clapping echoed throughout the room, a few breathless moans and whines had escaped your mouth but you had tried your best to stay quiet and not disturb anyone down the hall.

Jean at this point didn’t care.

He had thrusted harder and harder, a few moans slipping off his tongue mixed with your name and that had sent you in a complete bliss, your head thrown back and your eyes falling shut for a moment.

“Jean,” You practically whined, arching your back off the mattress and that had boosted his ego to go even faster, knowing you were on the edge of cumming.

“I want to see those eyes on me while you’re cumming.” He ordered, making your eyes shoot open to look up at him.

You saw the sweat gather on his forehead, making his hair stick down on his skin and your teeth had latched onto your bottom lip as you muffled the constant moans that came off your tongue.

The pleasure had built up the same knot from earlier, feeling it get stronger in the pit of your stomach and you had tightened your legs around him, crashing your lips onto his and he gladly accepted your sloppy kiss, his tongue dancing with yours.

“I’m so close,” You barely managed to stumble over against his mouth and he pulled back to have his eyes on you, he desperately wanted to watch you fall in a complete state of pleasure.

“Cum for me.” He said breathless, his hand grabbing a hold of your chin and forcing you to keep your eyes on him.

His words had sent you over the edge, feeling everything in your body shake and throw into a state of overbearing pleasure. It had you almost seeing stars as you kept your eyes on his, making him more than satisfied to cum after you just by the look of your face.

As the both of you laid beside each other, trying to catch your breath, Jean turned his head to look at you and admire your beautiful face as it glowed from the dim light and the layer of sweat that was on your skin.

“Hm?” You questioned, catching his stare and a big smile had came across his lips.

“Just admiring your beauty.”

Bruh I hope this is good. I’m scared.

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 3 years

Text

It’s difficult thinking about things you don’t know much about, because you end up reinventing the wheel. I expect this topic is long established and understood in the circles that are knowledgeable about it, but it still warrants discussing outside those circles in my opinion.

What I’ve been thinking about lately is a phenomenon I’m going to call the Batman Effect. There are numerous posts about how Batman could do far more good by putting his fortune into good causes in Gotham than by dressing up to fight individual crimes - and yet the character continues to do the inefficient thing (and we continue to read and watch him).

We do this in real life as well. We donate food to food banks, knowing they can be more effective with a donation of the same amount. We donate menstrual products instead of cash, clothes instead of cash, we volunteer our time rather than our money. We travel to far flung places to volunteer, rather than donating the cost of our ticket or fuel to those already on the ground. We know these choices are inefficient, but we make them anyway. I’m interested in why - and I think the following reasons come into it - and I’m interested in how they can be addressed to maximise outcomes for everyone involved.

First, we can guarantee our contribution. Donated money gets immediately swallowed by a process beyond our knowledge - we don’t know where that money has gone, whether it’s to line pockets or pay for ad campaigning, to the front line or behind the scenes. Many organisations now will request specific amounts correlated to services they offer (e.g “donating £20 will pay for a pack of reusable menstrual pads”) - but we know the money won’t necessarily go to that element specifically or exclusively. Sewing reusable menstrual pads and donating them, assuming you’ve done a good job, soothes the worry that they won’t be used for any other purpose than what you intended.

I think some ways of addressing this could include total financial transparency, and a different donation model. Regarding the former, an organisation could release an accessible and understandable run through of exactly how their work happens - how much of each donation goes where, what each department does and how it contributes to the cause, and how each donation is split. If you know that donating your £20 will mean £15 of it goes to the front line work, you might be happier about the £5 you know is going elsewhere than you would be about the whole amount possibly disappearing into the hidden machine. A different donation model would also come into play here, for instance by making it clear that of your £20, the organisation guarantees that £1 is going to advertising and campaigns, £3 is going to staff and upkeep costs, £1 is going to investments and savings, and £15 is going to provide menstrual pads directly. The problem of course is that this requires organisations to both be, and be perceived as, ethical, honest, and effective. If the reality is that only £1 of your possible £20 donation is going to what you consider important, then informing you of that reality is not going to help get that donation.

Another reason I think people tend to approach things this way is that it makes us feel better. I don’t mean in terms of vanity and smugness and posting pictures on social media. The fact is, feeling secondhand stress from the suffering of other people causes us to feel awful - that comes from empathy, and we shouldn’t be ashamed or try and change it. Psychologists believe that biological stress results from perceiving a stressor as something that cannot be addressed or overcome - the difference between an exam you can study for and an exam you couldn’t possibly pass no matter how hard you try. Obviously we know that massive world events, like war, poverty, and disasters, are beyond our power to resolve - so if you have empathy, you’re going to feel stressed about that. You can address that stress by feeling that you have done something to contribute, in some small way, to make a difference. So why does donating money, which we know is effective, not scratch that itch? I think it’s because our nervous system is still set up to process stress physically. When we experience an immediate stressor - whether that’s a hungry predator, or a news update about a dire situation - our instinct is still to jump up and move; fight or flight. Tapping a couple of buttons to move money from here to there just doesn’t cut it for our nervous systems - the stress remains. It makes sense that so many of the actions we do undertake involve moving - in response to the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, people are moving to the border to help refugees, moving to collection centres hefting bags of clothes or toiletries, or even going into Ukraine to join the resistance. We feel an urge to respond to stress with our bodies.

At present, organisations try and use this urge via sponsorship/donation drives, and awareness. You get sponsored to run marathons, or cut off your hair, or you host a donation drive at your home or in your neighbourhood. You raise awareness by growing a moustache or wearing silly clothes or doing a day’s hunger strike. All this, in hope (yours and the organisation’s) that your actions will lead to donations that will actually help make a difference. Still, the link is tenuous, and might be seen as more trouble than it’s worth.

What I’d be interested in, is whether there’s a way of tying the stress-relieving action directly to a donation. For instance, if there was a way of raising money directly by doing something physical - the only way I’ve thought of so far is by transferring that kinetic energy into electrical energy e.g. creating power by turning a wheel, which is fundamental to the creation of electricity. If you knew that you could run on a treadmill for half an hour, and that would somehow make a good cause £20 by selling the resulting energy, would you be more likely to do that than donate the same amount of money? What about if you could do it with your friends, or colleagues? Would organisations be able to raise more money from individuals that way, or by some other approach to tie action to donation?

It’s a topic I’ve been turning over in my mind lately, and I’d be interested in others’ thoughts, particularly those with knowledge of fundraising from individuals and charities in general.

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

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Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 3

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader word length: 3.4k chapters: 3/? warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk.

Tony had presented as a delta at twelve, much to his father’s insurmountable disdain. Howard Stark had gone to great lengths to ensure himself an alpha prime for a son—he’d spent years hunting down the perfect omega, who proceeded to have almost unheard of difficulties getting pregnant. After a grueling pregnancy, said omega had the gall to have massive complications during birth that meant she’d never carry another pup. The fact that Tony couldn’t even do the simplest thing right—present as an alpha prime, like himself, like Captain America—was just heinous.

But for all of his intelligence, Howard Stark had been a moron. Being a delta came with a slew of advantages over alphas, over alpha primes even. His heightened empathy was an extraordinary tool, his intuition was nearly on par with an omegas. Sure, he wasn’t as dominant as an alpha but he could hold his own in most situations. Alpha orders rarely worked on him, at the very least. He could induce an omega’s heat and even if he couldn’t completely sate an omega during that time as he lacked a knot, deltas were critical in giving alphas periods of rest during the week-long estrous.

If an omega was the glue that held a pack together, deltas built the foundations. Their ability to support packmates on multiple levels was crucial—just like an omega, they were able to understand their packmates deeply and act as conduits and facilitators.

He’d never been called a manipulator before. Especially not by a sweet-faced omega with surprisingly sharp little fangs. He supposed that most deltas were considered more… cunning than other presentations. Tony preferred the terms suave or charismatic, if he was being honest. Deltas were charming, dammit. But she’d reacted like he was some sort of con artist, a blink away from hiding the Queen up his sleeve.

Letting the suit catch her while he stood aside might’ve caused a bit of unnecessary distress—it was a good thing said suit was equipped with a silencer, or the shrieking would’ve brought down every alpha in the surrounding three towns. Steve had been giving him those disappointed eyebrows since he’d emerged from the woods, even after Thor and Peter took her inside to be bathed. Tony figured that was punishment enough, especially considering their omega seemed to hate him.

“We should probably go through the car,” Steve sighed, running a hand over the back of his head—Tony knew the alpha prime didn’t want his own discontent to unsettle the rest of the pack, “thoroughly. Make sure you check for anything hidden, we’ll make stacks for what we can and can’t give back.”

The blond shifted closer to Tony’s side, his other hand brushing against his back gently. Alpha primes weren’t as in tune with their pack’s emotions, that’s what omegas and deltas were for, but Steve and Thor put in more effort than any other’s Tony had ever encountered. They’d waited for him to arrive after all, instead of converging on the scared omega in a group of two alpha primes and two alphas—even Bruce’s serene beta wouldn’t have been enough to calm her. Steve realized that Tony was put off, had made the effort to notice the shift in the delta’s demeanor, and moved to offer comfort if he should want it.

“I doubt she has much,” Bruce had his arms crossed over his chest, one hand rubbing at his chin as he stared towards the house, “I can’t decide if her body chemistry is just a 180° of what it should be because of the suppressants or if there’s something else.”

“You called her something earlier, when we were walking through the woods,” the blond had already started pulling bags from the back of her Tahoe, setting them gently on the ground so that his delta and beta could begin looking through them, “you called her classical?”

“Classical presenting omegas? It’s a theory that started cropping up in the late nineties,” Tony’s hand bobbed slightly in the air, “widely debated in accuracy. There have been very, very few case studies but they’re pretty promising—essentially, we’re looking at traits that were bred out of omegas a thousand years ago or more that are starting to crop up again due to environmental and cultural stressors.”

“Or,” Bruce sent the delta a stern look, “it could be the result of genetics; omegas on both sides of the family likely went extremely scarce, to the point of nonexistence. Both parents must’ve carried the same near ancient recessive genotypes, the alleles would’ve had to match up perfectly in order to produce offspring with those traits.”

“Like I said, it’s widely debated,” Tony rolled his eyes affectionately at the beta, riffling through the bag at his feet, “either way, our omega is displaying traits that haven’t been prominent since the 10th century.”

“What do we need to do? What do we need to watch out for?” If alpha primes were only good for one thing, it was determining the necessary course of action for their packs’ safety and prosperity.

“There’s no way to tell for sure exactly what we’re looking at, except for an omega who’s biology is incredibly convoluted and—” the sound Bruce made was one of disdain as he pulled a ziplock with what must’ve been at least a hundred small blue pills in it from one of her bags, “chemically altered beyond belief. How could she even get a hold of so many suppressants?”

“She’s willful,” Steve sighed, tossing a matching baggy towards the disheveled beta, “Even Peter’s purr doesn’t affect her the way it should, it’s a good thing Thor and I coexist so well—keeping her in hand would be difficult for one prime.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tony’s jaw dropped as he withdrew a fucking machete from one of the bags, the several hunting knives, snares, and fishing lures neatly arranged in the bag barely even shifting at the jerky movement, “can you imagine an omega using one of these?”

“That one I can,” the blond snorted, gesturing back over his shoulder with one thumb, “if she’d managed to grab that bag we’d be a couple of packmates short.”

“This is the one she was about to make a run with,” Bruce held up a wallet, opening it a moment later, “no debit or credit cards, driver’s license for Colorado, local library card, $200 in American money.”

“There’s a wallet in this one too,” Steve frowned, unzipping it and peeking inside, “looks about the same, license is out of Quebec though—and another library card. No cash in this one though.”

“I bet it’s hidden in there,” Tony stated, having already pulled out two fifty dollar bills from a small hole in the seam of the inside of his chosen bag, “oh, here’s the suppressant stash from this one.”

The sound of tires on gravel distracted the three of them, head’s popping up to see Bucky and Carol making their way down the driveway in a dark green Jeep Wrangler. Both looked antsy and there were shopping bags piled so high in the back seat Bucky couldn’t see out of the rear view mirror. Carol was out of the car before it even came to a complete stop, coming to stand in the middle of the chaos of neatly packed bags.

“This is all she had?” The blonde alpha questioned, frowning at the three remaining boxes and the camping equipment in the back of the Tahoe, eyes briefly passing over the contents of the bags on the ground, “good thing we went overboard with the shopping.”

“Did you buy her any clothes?” Bruce questioned, looking at a faded, threadbare old t-shirt he’d just withdrawn from the bottom of the duffle, “everything she has is either full of holes or has been washed so much it’s practically see through.”

“We bought everything,” Bucky answered as he dropped down from the lifted Jeep, “clothes, toiletries, collars, nesting supplies—we grabbed some of those omega diet essentials too, the vitamins and the powder stuff they’re supposed to have.”

“She inside?” Carol interjected before the conversation could be continued, “I wanna see her.”

“Thor and Peter took her inside to get cleaned up about 10 minutes ago, Sam’s starting on dinner,” Steve stepped to the side and motioned the two towards the house, “be gentle, she’s… she’s having a hard time.”

“Have we figured out how long she’s been hiding for?” Bucky ignored his friend’s gesture, turning back towards the Jeep to retrieve several bags, “Wanda told us what sizes to buy but wouldn’t say anything else about her.”

“This ID says she’s thirty-two,” Steve flicked the plastic ID, having dropped the rest of the wallet back in the bag, “Bruce, what did the one you had say?”

“Twenty-nine,” the beta’s response was quick enough that the alpha prime knew he’d memorized the details of the ID and anything else he’d found in the bag already, “there’s no telling how long she’s been on her own though—at least a few years considering how well established she is living from her car.”

“She has two different IDs?” Carol’s eyebrow raised, taking several of the shopping bags Bucky passed her without complaint.

“And at least a thousand doses of suppressants,” Tony snorted, “a machete, I’m pretty sure if we keep digging we’ll find a gun—”

“Thank you Tony,” Steve cut the delta off before he could start any nonsense, “we’ve found two wallets with two IDs so far, but she’s got three more bags like this and then those boxes. We’re just trying to sort what she needs from what she doesn’t right now.”

“How is she?” Bucky’s question was obviously directed at his fellow delta, eyes not wavering even when he saw Steve and Bruce exchange glances.

“She called me a manipulative monster and tried to bite me.”

“There’s no telling how long she’s been hiding, or what she went through before she started hiding—or even what she’s been through while she’s been hiding,” Bruce sent the delta a look that bordered on provoked, “and you were being antagonistic.”

“I was not, I was just—”

“Being yourself, huh?” Carol smirked, dodging past the men and heading up the path towards the mansion before the billionaire could respond.

“What, you guys think we should’ve waited for the sentient iceberg?” Tony jabbed his thumb towards Bucky, “his delta charm is rustier than that heap of metal we found attached to his arm after he pulled you out of the Potomac.”

“You don’t even know what charm is yah fuckin’ grifter.”

Steve dropped his forehead into his hand; there was a consistent theme in large packs that resulted in deltas being at each other’s throats constantly. It would only get worse when Loki arrived, the third of the trio was an entirely different breed of antagonistic. Steve was absolutely sure that all of his packmates looked upon each other with affection, at least 99% of the time, but Tony, Loki, and Bucky fought constantly without an omega’s balancing presence.

The clearing of a throat silenced the squabbling deltas, attention immediately going to where Bruce stood with a stack of notebooks in his hand, “one of the boxes has notebooks and library books, the other has dry foods. She’s got a sleeping bag, tent, a water filtration system—anything she could need to survive in the woods or her car for an extended period of time.”

“No notebooks or food in the go bags?” Bucky frowned, arms crossing over his chest and he shifted his weight when they all responded negatively, “I could understand why the notebooks wouldn’t be a priority to bring with her, but no food?”

“From her supplies it looks like she’s probably a passable hunter, food would take up too much space if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Looks like she prefers hunting knives to bread and peanut butter,” the beta shrugged, motioning to the piles he’d been organizing while Steve tried to mediate the deltas squabble, “each of her bags has a wallet with an ID, cash hidden somewhere, a change of clothing, a bag of suppressants, water filtering tablets, the hunting knife, matches, a water bottle and a thermal blanket.”

“Pragmatic,” Bucky muttered quietly as he stepped up to the trunk of the Tahoe, glancing at the box of notebooks and library books, “Neotropical Diversification, Monoco—what the fuck, Mono-coty-ledons? Avian Genomics in Ecology and Evolution, Orientation and Navigation in Vertebrates. I don’t know what half of those words even mean, and they’re titles of books.”

“That’s all environment biology—ecology,” Tony’s eyebrows went up, “niche stuff too, higher level.”

“Good thing there’s a lot of us to keep her brain occupied,” Bruce’s lips split into a small grin, eyes directed at the pile of knives, “otherwise she’d be difficult to manage. Whatever happened in the meantime, it seems she might’ve attended university at some point—this level of understanding is usually somewhere in a graduate program, although it’s a pretty wide variety of specific topics that aren’t generally associated with each other.”

“They are library books,” Tony stated with a shrug, “maybe it was all she could get her hands on at this level. We did find multiple library cards, all to different library districts. The ones she has now are all from the same district—does she have any Canadian IDs?”

“One from Quebec and one from Ontario,” the beta pointed out two bags, one of which was sitting by Steve’s feet, “those two bags. The other IDs were Colorado, Alaska, and Michigan. We’ll have to figure out which one is real, if she has a real one. The name of the housekeeper the company assigned to us matches the Ontario ID.”

“This is insane,” Steve sighed, shoulders heaving with the breath, “she must be running from something, hiding.”

“Wanda will tell us, I’m sure,” Bucky’s flesh hand landed on the blond’s shoulder with a clap, fingers squeezing momentarily, “for now, how about we just focus on getting her settled in the cabin with her things.”

“Should we let her get settled here?” Bruce frowned, a worried line creasing his forehead, “I’m worried it could be detrimental, for her to adapt here and have to move to the compound once our vacation is over. As soon as she starts to get comfortable she’s gonna be uprooted all over again.”

“We’ll discuss it tonight at dinner,” Steve spoke before anyone else could prolong the debate, “Hopefully Natasha, Clint, and Loki will get here in time. Sam’s making lasagna, said we wouldn’t be eating until late anyway. Let’s bring everything in, minus the things she doesn’t need.”

“Nesting supplies to the laundry room?”

“Yeah, toiletries to Nat and Wanda’s bathroom. Put her clothes with mine or Thor’s,” the blond alpha instructed, heaving several bags into each arm before turning on his heel and heading into the house, “leave the camping supplies, we’ll lock up what she doesn’t need back in the garage for now.”

Her scent, chemically masked and altered, was emanating through the entire cabin, he could smell it the moment he stepped over the threshold. Everything looked spotless and he smiled, ducking his head slightly to hide it; he liked that the whole house smelled like his omega—their omega, who’d spent a lot of time and effort making everything look perfect for their arrival.

Wanda and Carol were in the living room, bathed in the light of the sun just beginning its descent. The stairs, one set leading up and one down, were straight ahead, blocking the view of the kitchen, dining room, and study. The parlor to his left featured haphazardly abandoned suitcases, the rest of the pack who couldn’t quite be bothered at the moment to properly deal with their things.

The smell got stronger up the stairs, he could hear the low rumble of both Thor and Peter’s combined purr. Their omega was in distress—alpha’s struggled when omegas were in distress and Steve imagined both were getting their hearts twisted in their chests. His packmates dispersed to follow their assigned tasks, Bruce joining Sam in the kitchen to help with dinner. Steve dropped bags at the appropriate doors in the hall before making his way through Thor’s room and into the bathroom, where the two alphas were practically piled in the tub with their omega.

Peter sat on the edge of the tub, pants rolled up past his knees and his legs in the water where she was leant up against them. Thor was half in the water, shirt gone as he leaned over to clean the mud and grime from her skin, manipulating her limp limbs gently.

“I take it she didn’t want a bath,” Steve murmured, eyes flashing around the half destroyed bathroom.

“She can fight my purr more than we expected,” Peter looked almost bashful, the hand that wasn’t stroking her cheek running over the back of his head.

“Omegas on Asgard are very similar to her,” Thor commented quietly, still focused on his task, “its why I found them so meek when I first arrived—Omegas are willful and determined. She just needs to be trained, her behavior can be corrected.”

“I know there are omega protests sometimes, but I’ve never seen one completely reject packs,” the brunet alpha was frowning, “they have biological requirements for interaction with others—her body can’t generate certain chemicals without the necessary pheromones that the different presentations provide. It could stunt her immune system, damage hormone glands like the thyroid and—”

“We’ll get all of that figured out Peter, we can fix anything that’s wrong with her,” Steve told himself it wasn’t a false promise, “it’ll just take time and a lot of effort. Let’s get her dressed and up to the attic. Bucky took all of the extra bedding for nesting to wash but we can make do with what we’ve got temporarily, the scents might help.”

“Would you grab one of my shirts?” Thor asked, looking back at the other prime imploringly; it wasn’t just a simple request—Thor was asking that their shared omega be scented by his clothing first.

Steve hadn’t been born an alpha prime. Sometimes, he felt like a delta that had been gutted and pumped with morphine—his empathy had been stolen, replaced with strength and adrenaline and aggression. He missed the part of himself that allowed him the deeper connection with others, the amount of effort he had to expend to determine the emotions of his pack made him feel like an alien (especially if they weren’t telegraphed by scent), but sometimes it was okay. Sometimes, it meant he had a wider understanding than other alpha primes because while he didn’t retain the heightened sense, he knew where to start to unravel their puzzles.

With Thor it was easiest. All he really had to do was follow his own stream of consciousness—wanting the omega clean and warm and fed and scented. He wanted her to smell like him, wanted her wrapped in his clothes, his blankets, he wanted it beneath her skin and seeping from her pores. And so did Thor. The Aesir was asking Steve to take a loss, to not fight him for the right to scent her first.

It was a good thing he hadn’t been an alpha prime, or the request would’ve absolutely ended in some sort of dominance display. Aggression had immediately surged though his chest at the question, the challenge, the demand, he needed to prove he deserved it more—Steve shook his head firmly, cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back before making eye contact with the other prime.

“Sure thing, any in particular?”

There was relief on Thor’s face, along with understanding; he was fully aware of the sacrifice Steve was making and the effort it took to make it, “I know you’ll chose the right thing.”

They didn’t realize their omega was practically having an out of body experience—that she felt like she was hovering over her own body, watching in horror as the two alpha primes who’s mingled scents she was sure marked each and every one of their packmates, communicated like real people. The suppressants hadn’t completely brutalized her scent receptors or hindbrain; she’d known there was something too much about the blond alphas, something that whispered to her omega senses. They were alpha primes and that was a nightmare.

Because alpha primes weren’t supposed to co-habitate. They didn’t share. They were aggressive, territorial, verging on violent. The idea that the two had somehow weaseled their way through that instinctive disposition upon meeting, had managed to form a pack—it didn’t bear thinking about. All she needed to think about was getting out quickly, before something irreversible happened and she was trapped forever.

#avengers x reader #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #thor x reader #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson x reader #bruce banner x reader #carol danvers x reader #clint barton x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #pocketful of posies #posies chapter 3 #will reblog w tags in a bit

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