#this is where my fear of antibiotics comes from

[kebriones]

Greek doctors won't prescribe you painkillers after surgery but will prescribe you antibiotics after bacterial infection test turned out negative "just in case" lmao.

[zeldasnotes]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS 34 👽

Im obsessed with Fama(408) Persona Charts they will tell you sooo much! For example the microbiologist Alexander Fleming whos known for his discovery of penicillin, which started the antibiotic revolution. He got asteroid Aesculapia(1027) (Aesculapius was the god of medicine) conjunct Ascendant in his Fama Persona Chart.

There is nothing like the eyecontact between you and the person you have Pluto conjunct Ascendant in the composite chart with. 🥵

Dejanira(157) is a very sad asteroid but when its conjunct a planet like Mars it can make a person refuse to be a victim. It can make someone fight back hard even at the slightest sign of being victimized.

People with Venus Conjunct Chiron usually blow up and become extremely famous because people have a sensitive (Chiron) reaction to their beauty(Venus). For example: Sydney Sweeney, Ice Spice, Ana De Armas, Marilyn Monroe.

Check asteroid Spirit(37452) & Psyche(16) for a deeper understanding of yourself. 🔮

One thing Ive noticed with my Lilith 3rd house friend is that shes good with coming up with something to say FAST. If she sees that someone have a hard time answering something or that someone is embarressing someone she will quickly jump in and fix the situation to help that person.

Venus sextile Ascendant is an underrated aspect. These people seem to be able to turn their charm on and off. Ive also noticed it to be a natural beauty indicator. They have the Venus qualities without the vanity.

As someone with Moon in the 11th house I dont get how people can exist without social media. And Ive noticed this with other 11th house Moons too.

Sun conjunct Lilith & Leo Lilith can indicate a weird relationship with attention. They NEED it but for the wrong reasons. Might do weird or shocking things for shockfactor. Might be jealous of people who get too much attention. But some people with this placement (especially if they have 10th house placements) can get wayyyy too much attention to the point its scary, for example Kim Kardashian & Britney Spears.

Batsheba(592) conjunct Sun/Ascendant might experience being pursued a lot and aggressively.

I dont think Ive ever gotten so much attention from men as the year I had Venus in the 10th house in the solar return chart and transit Lilith conjunct my natal Ascendant. It was crazy.

Im not shocked by P Diddy having Karma(3811) conjunct Mars in his chart. If you have this aspect Karma might take her time but WHEN she comes, she means business.

Nadherna(5089) = beautiful, gorgeous, splendid, magnificent in czech.💋✨

Lilith in the 8th house might see powerstruggles in everything bc of a subconscious fear or being powerless. Might have been put in a scary situation in their childhood where they had no control.

Venus 6th house makes me think of ”everything showers” and those accounts who post their matching showerscrubs and body lotions.🧼

I also love how people with 6th house placements especially Venus 6th house can make something fun and exciting of a mundane task. Makes life so much more enjoyable.

Tiktoker and model Kenz Lawren have Lilith in the 10th house which is probably why she challenges the model industry so much (which I love). Shes also a Scorpio Rising with Venus in the 8th house so she loves to show the raw truth instead of hiding all flaws. 👑

Neptune/Moon 1st housers yall need to learn to protect your energy. Dont go to certain places if you feel uncomfortable there. Dont let people tell you ”just go there” because your energy is so much more sensitive. Its not being ”weak” its protecting your peace. Im not saying yall should lay in bed all day but if nightclubs makes you uncomfortable bc of all the noise and strangers then dont let people call you boring for not going there.

If you have Chiron in the 9th house people might constantly be on your back about your cultural background. For example Jessica Alba who have this placement and she said shes been told shes too latina for certain roles and too white for the latina roles etc. Hollywood was constantly nitpicking everything she did during her prime to make it look like she disliked other mexicans no matter what she did. She also have Mars in the 9th house which I think makes it worse.

©️ 2024 Zeldas Notes All Rights Reserved

[luna-rainbow]

idk if you've seen that post, it's from years ago at this point, where someone is surprised to hear that Bucky has a disability. i think it's in an ask with a response like HE'S MISSING AN ARM. remembering that left me thinking,,, what are your thoughts on Bucky's own comprehension of his disability? like, i'm sure he experiences chronic pain, and he's aware of his disability *especially once he has a metal arm that can be detatched as we see in tfatws* but i also feel like he might feel guilty taking the title of disabled because he has the serum and is "super" plus he doesn't feel like he deserves the support/help that can and should be given to disabled people when they need it. ALSO he hasn't had all that much time to process as a human rather than a controlled weapon that he is missing an arm. his prosthetic has been welded into him,, with probably less sensation,, but it functions like an arm,, idk i just feel like it probably hits him out of the blue, too 🥲

Oooh thanks for the interesting ask nonnie! And yes I do remember that hilarious post.

Here's my usual disclaimer that this is just throwing out ideas and that canon lends itself to many different interpretations.

I think the first thing to consider is Bucky's relationship with disability as a concept. He was good friends with Steve, a chronically ill person, but sometimes people have a different bias when it comes to invisible illness versus visible body difference. I have seen people, including disabled people, who are more accepting of one type than the other. He had grown up during a time when disability was considered a "defect" and there was talk of eliminating them from the gene pool, so there might be some inherent fear of being seen as "disabled". At the same time, he had also fought through one of the bloodiest wars of human history but also post the antibiotic era, which means a lot of major injuries became survivable compared to WW1. He likely saw many people around him become physically marked in one way or another. I have a feeling that that experience would have reconciled him with the fact that the value of life is greater than physical wholeness. So overall, I think Bucky probably had a fairly accepting view on disability and illness back when he was able-bodied, and while he needs time to process the loss, that acceptance is probably somewhat protective against self-hatred.

The second thing is the curious subject of Bucky's bionic arm. I have met (lower limb) amputees who reject the "disabled" label, because to them once they put on a prosthesis they could walk and run and work and exercise. I think worrying about being "deserving" might be a small part of it, there's a bigger part of worrying about social perceptions of disability -- they didn't want the "handicap" label to be used to hold them back. I suspect you are right, in that Bucky probably sees himself as very capable, even super-humanly so, with the (very high-tech) prosthesis. He most likely feels that being a soldier is a big part of his identity and sense of worth. I suspect also...going back to what Bucky's relationship with the word "disability" means, his interpretation of that (given he came from the 1940s) might mean something that has a profound impact on function, and he may feel that he doesn't fit that mark.

The third thing is Bucky's relationship with body image, which has varied from movie to movie. The Winter Soldier had no qualms flaunting that arm, but then the Winter Soldier had no mind of its own, and its handlers knew the metal arm was intimidating. In both Civil War and TFATWS, we see Bucky wear gloves and long sleeves to hide his arm, which he removes when he starts a mission. It could be that he doesn't want to scare people or draw attention to it day to day, or it could be that he associates the arm with the soldier part of himself and he doesn't want to see it when he's trying to return to a normal life. Interestingly, in Wakanda, Bucky had been quite content to walk around without any sort of prosthesis at all. This might suggest that he's less bothered by the missing arm than he is by the need to wear a weaponised prosthesis.

But you know, people are fickle creatures, and I am sure when he's hit by PTSD or a bout of anxiety or depression, his views on body image and his physical limitations would take a very nasty turn and he would have to work through all the stages of grief again.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka // Female Narrator

Part Two

After a blinding light eradicates mankind, you're left in a desolate and empty world. A year of solitude eliminates all belief that anyone else was left behind. Until a chance encounter on the side of the road. Jake is injured and fighting for his life, but his presence brings a renewed sense of hope. Touch starved and lonely, you need him. And undoubtedly, he needs you too.

"It would be the last man on earth that would end up being mine..."

Explicit sexual content Sex (penetrative & oral) /Foreplay /Blood / Injury / Hunting. / Intense emotions / Death.

Day 396 ~ Amelia

His preferred it when I called him Jake. Whenever I had cause to use his name. He began to move around on his own on the fourth day, stumbling into my side tables and clutching his ribcage with each tumultuous step. Like a fawn on trembling newborn legs.

It was somewhat endearing. The way he smiled through the pain and sat with me at the kitchen table eating vegetable soup and crackers in the silence within which we had both become accustomed to. An impenetrable veil between us that didn't seem to want to come down.

We shadowed one another. His eyes averting to the ground whenever I stole a glance. My concern for his healing injuries something I didn't want him to confuse with mounting interest. Even though I had begun to actively consider him, despite my inward protests that he would one day want to continue his search for others.

He was a gentle enigma. My fear that he might gain enough strength to hurt me dissipated with each passing hour. When he didn't sleep he would sit by the fire with a book, his gaze easing up from the pages whenever I had reason to pass. Sometimes he would smile, other times he would just follow me with his eyes before reverting back to his story.

I didn't want to come to rely on his presence. I had made my choice to stay at the cabin and try to survive. I had driven across the country and seen nothing but desolate emptiness. The hopes of my family sitting on the cabin porch waiting for me dwindling with every mile I'd reached.

I didn't want him to become necessary to me. Even though I suspected that I had become somewhat necessary to him, if only whilst he was still recovering. I prepared myself for the day he would stand up and announce that he was leaving. That day drawing unflinchingly closer by the second.

"Amelia." He said, the sound of my name on an unfamiliar voice sending an unrequited chill down my spine.

There was nothing nefarious in his tone. He sat, quite pleasantly, on the chair which he had commandeered for reading and placed his book on the coffee table by the fire.

"Are you in pain?" I replied, shooting up from my place at the kitchen table where I'd been peeling carrots. "Can I get you something?"

The easing of a joyous smirk curled within the corners of his mouth. As if he was amused by me. Shaking his head as I stood in the open space between the kitchen and the den. Feeling a little foolish for rushing to him like that for no particular reason at all.

"Nothing a little whiskey couldn't fix."

He knew better than to ask for a drink whilst on the course of medication I'd put him on. He was staring at me with a mischief that would usually incite me to join, but I'd tried to keep a professional distance. He was my patient, not my guest.

"I had to put you on a course of antibiotics for the wound to your head." I explained, "I didn't want there to be a risk of infection. If you need some pain relief, I can grab you some tylenol."

His shoulders slumped. And he forgot himself for a moment. Hissing back a stab of pain as he eased back into the chair. He was a terrible patient. Pain didn't sit well with him, despite the fact that I had noticed two major scars running up either side of his left forearm. They were neat and perfectly stitched, no doubt from surgery rather than an open wound. I had meant to ask him about them, stopping myself when I realised that I shouldn't get to know him.

"Forgive me." He sighed, "Sometimes I just need a little something... to forget."

He was bored. I'd seen boredom before. When people who could barely stand would fight to get out of bed just to shift their perspective a little. Nights in the hospital when I'd catch my patients trying to inch their arms up the vending machine to retrieve snacks simply because there was nothing else to do. Nothing good ever came of boredom and he seemed to know this, his gaze shifting around the room looking for something else to do.

"Would you like to help me peel these carrots?" I offered, knowing that it was better than him hankering for a drink.

I pulled out a chair for him as he limped over, seemingly grateful for the distraction. It was still early in the afternoon, but the sun had already dipped below the surrounding trees and it felt much later. I switched on the oil lamp in the centre of the old rustic table, the remains of knives that had been sunk into the old wood scattered the grain. And he noticed.

"Peeled many carrots at this table?" He asked, running his fingers along a particularly deep divet.

What I could offer him, I would grant him. The way he asked so sweetly meant that I couldn't ignore him. My manners were still in there, somewhere. I handed him a peeler and a bunch of carrots encrusted in mud and bade him peel.

"My grandparents didn't believe in waste." I replied, driving the blade down away from me a little more aggressively than I'd intended. "I don't remember a time where this table wasn't here."

He nodded and began peeling a little slower than I would have liked. Taking his time to shave each side meticulously in careful hands so that he didn't cause himself unnecessary pain. Sitting at a strange angle on the admittedly uncomfortable dining chairs.

"It's a nice place." He surmised, "I feel like time stopped here a long time ago and never really caught up."

I quite liked that analogy.

"I guess so." I agreed. "Coming here always felt like I was a child again."

Perhaps he sensed my unease. He didn't say much else for a while, sitting with me in that comfortable quietness as we peeled and chopped and prepared another batch of soup for the coming week. Every now and then he would look up from what he was doing as if to check my mood. To make sure that I was even tempered. And I would try to meet his gaze with something reassuring. Even if I felt like my space was being inadvertently invaded.

"You see places like this in movies." He mentioned, breaking a tension that had seemed to come from nowhere. "Old cabins in the woods. Cosy little fireplaces. Beaten up old furniture and appliances that have no business in the modern world."

I quite liked that analogy, too.

"Well, I think that was the whole point." I shrugged, taking the peeler from him as I took the pot over to the sink. "I don't think my grandparents wanted anything to do with the modern world. They liked it out here. They liked the steady pace. My Dad used to say that they were waiting for the end of the world. Seems a little like a prophecy now..."

I'd said too much. I didn't want him to reel me in, I didn't want him to know me any better than I wanted to know him. The need for conversation had been somewhat diluted with him spending most of his time asleep. But now he was wide awake. Asking questions and spending time with me. And I was terrified of it.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Amelia." He said softly, turning in his seat to face me despite the fact I knew it hurt him to do so. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt you. You saved my life."

His debt of gratitude was misplaced. I'd had no choice in the matter. If I had walked away from that smoking wreck I'd have damned myself regardless, even if faith was something I'd long since abandoned. There was still a part of me that hoped for salvation. I just hadn't known it would come the way that it had. And it was true. I was afraid of him. But perhaps not in the way he perceived.

I was certain that he wasn't going to try and force himself upon me or steal anything. There was a softness to his demeanour that I had picked up on almost the moment he'd regained consciousness. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was which scared me so much. Other than my intense reluctance to have him become detrimental to me. It didn't really have a name.

"I'm sorry." I faltered, letting the sink run a little before filling the pot. "I've just been alone for so long..."

"As have I." He replied without hesitation. "I've driven north and south, east and west. Towns and cities and country. I've slept in cars and trucks and houses that didn't belong to me. Eaten food out of a can and burned shit to the ground just to stay warm. There's nobody else out there. If there was, I'd have found them. I mean, I did...I found you."

The way he lingered on that last word made me not want to look at him. He was sitting on the edge of the chair, as if he was about to get up but couldn't. I turned away from him and filled the pot with water, doing anything that meant I didn't have to turn back around.

But I knew he was watching me. The kitchen was small, the window above the sink overlooking the woods outside. The gravel path leading up to the cabin winding down into encroaching twilight. I could see my reflection staring back in the dim lamp light. And I knew he could see the pain etched on my face through the glass.

"I'm just one person." I reasoned, "I'm not people."

All his belongings had been burned in the car wreck. He'd been wearing some of the shirts and slacks I'd found at the back of my Grandmother's wardrobe since his arrival. Clothes that were ill fitting and didn't suit him at all. He wasn't comfortable in them and I could see that when he rose from his seat. Not just in pain, but conscious of the way he looked as he appeared in the glass behind me.

"Together we are people." He said, keeping his voice low and soft. "I don't know about you, but I'm just glad to know I wasn't the only one left behind."

I did find some comfort in that. It wasn't something I would ever deny. I found the courage to meet his gaze in our reflection, both of us standing at the window and looking out whilst looking in.

"That's what I'm afraid of." I confessed, swallowing thickly on it as if it was trying to choke me. "What if we weren't left behind? What if..."

There was something in his face that let me know I was safe with him. Enough that I'd let my mouth run away with my thoughts again. Made him listen to me, understand me.

"It's ok." He said comfortingly, touching me for the first time with a careful palm to my shoulder, leaving me breathless where I stood. "Everything's going to be alright."

Day 12 ~ Jake

The grid gave up. I only realised when I reached Detroit and every house I broke into had no power. Every single street light failed to come on. Every single TV wore a blank screen. I couldn't cook a meal or enjoy a hot shower. Nowhere to keep me warm. It was as if everywhere was just giving up. Every last trace that mankind was ever here slowly slipping away.

I weaved through cars on the interstate that had been travelling when it happened. Whatever it was, the thing which had left cars with no drivers barrelling down all four lanes. I didn't want to give it a name. To name it would give it too much power and I knew I wasn't ready to search within myself for emotions that could overcome it, yet.

Dogs were roaming freely in the city, now. Calling out for their masters who would never come. I'd found a few dead ones in houses I'd passed through, unable to free themselves to go hunting or find food and water. Cats, too. The ones roaming free were slowly turning back to their primitive states. Others, dead behind locked doors.

I couldn't seem to find anywhere I wanted to stay around too long. The urge to keep moving ever prevalent. There was a fire in my belly that burned so fiercely I couldn't sleep anymore. Determined to find just a shred of humanity left in the world.

And I wouldn't rest until I had. Even the bones of where people had been were paper thin, echoes long since dimmed. I was losing all sense of time. Each day seemed to merge into the next until I found myself sitting on a curb outside the Detroit motown museum. A place where I had been so many times before. A landmark I could put some familiarity to. Only to feel more lost than I ever had before.

I missed my family. My girlfriend. I couldn't erase the sounds of their jovial laughter on Christmas day. Making the most of our cherished time together, which came so seldomly. The look on my parents' faces when we dropped our luggage at the door after months apart. My brothers and my sister all under the same roof we'd grown up in with our partners and our pets to celebrate for just a few precious days.

I couldn't move past it. The way I'd looked to the sky and thought, at first, it was a shooting star. Only for it to evaporate my senses and render me a prisoner within something I couldn't see. Blinded by the whiteness of it. Replaying it over and over for it to still make as little sense as it had on that very first day.

I sat on that curb and I roared. I let the tears come. The anger and the confusion. Waiting for just one voice to respond to my madness. To just ask me if I was ok and if I needed any help. To just let me know that I wasn't completely alone. To no avail. I was screaming into the ether for none to hear it.

Was I left behind? Or was I spared? Where had they gone? Were they taken or did they go willingly? What had I done to deserve this? What had they done to deserve this? If God had done this why did he forsake me? Or was I so beloved by him that I'd been left behind for a purpose not yet known to me?

I pounded my fist into the concrete. Until it was bloody and I could finally feel something. Aching for a resolution that simply wouldn't come. There was only me.

"Don't be fucking stupid, Jake." I told myself, gathering my bleeding hand into the folds of my t-shirt as I tried to figure out what my next move would be. "Nobody's coming."

That was the moment I realised I couldn't survive if I didn't keep moving. That I would die if I stayed in one place. Where there was nothing but memories and slowly decaying homes and I knew I had to tread through these places like a ghost until I found something that resembled another human being.

I thought I had a kinship with the open road. I had travelled it long and hard. But always with my brothers. Their camaraderie and company had been with me all the days of my life. And I knew that there was no music without Josh. There was no song in my heart without my twin. Only a gaping wound that bled for my counterpart. My soul cried out for him in ways that I never thought I'd have to endure. Of all the people I had loved the most, he was the most fundamental to me.

I'd walked through life with Josh, our paths weaving in parallel lines no matter where our feet would take us. Me with my guitar and him with his voice, knowing that we couldn't make it on our own. We didn't fit. There was nowhere for either of us if we were alone. I missed my little brother and my little sister. I missed our parents and I missed the woman I'd chosen to spend my life with. The echo of her laughter woke me from fitful sleep whenever my body gave in to it.

But it was Josh who left me feeling as if my being there was some grave anomaly. That wherever he had gone, I should have gone too. We came into this life together, surely we must go out of it together? I could still feel his presence in the corner of my eye. The outline of him at my side, faded whenever I turned my head to look. And the sadness of knowing I would feel his absence for the rest of my life was a burden I packed into my car and took with me wherever I would go.

That day it was the new centre one mall. I prized the automatic door open and stood in the empty atrium, my own footsteps too loud for me to tolerate. I couldn't bear the reverb of my boots on marble floor.

I didn't linger. I gathered enough supplies to last me a few weeks, not giving too much thought to what I would need. A winter coat and a few clothing items to replace the ones I'd hastily left behind. I grabbed some pain meds from the pharmacy and a few pouches of tobacco. Loading it straight into the back of my jeep, I felt the creepy chill of the empty mall still climbing up my spine as I sped away. Determined to put as many miles between me and civilisation as I could.

I didn't want to be reminded of it. I hit the road and left the city behind and didn't stop until my palms bled.

Day 2 ~ Amelia

I had to know.

Staring at the blurred outline of myself in the morgue fridge doors, I hesitated. I could feel the palms on both my hands grow sweaty against the cool chrome.

The morgue itself did not appear to look any different than any of the other white washed, sanitary rooms. Except for the slab behind me and a row of handles that once opened would reveal a truth I wasn't certain I was ready for.

I wondered which of the outcomes would give me the most grief. If I opened the door and found nothing there I would know that I'd been forsaken. But if I opened the door to find frozen corpses resting in body bags did that mean only the dead were meant to be left behind? Was I meant to be dead, too?

It did not make sense to linger. Although almost paralysed with the fear of what either outcome would be, I held my breath and gripped the handle tightly with sweaty hands that almost slipped right off.

The lump in my throat threatened to choke me. All I knew was the dragging sensation of my stomach as it dropped. I almost wished that I'd stayed upstairs. On the empty wards where I was none the wiser. Where my ignorance was truly bliss.

There, the shape of what I knew to be a corpse laid motionless inside the bag. Unable to take my eyes from it, I could feel the bile and panic rise in my chest. My mouth filled with saliva and my head spun with a thousand reasons why I should run.

I promptly turned on my heels and vomited into the paper bin by the clinical desk. The contents of my stomach being nothing but water in the last 24 hours. There was nothing but yellow bile in my retch, but I couldn't stop myself. My body ached to purge what I had just seen.

What I knew to be true felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake from. I spat the bitter taste in my mouth out as I went to shove the trolley back where I couldn't look at it.

“Our Father, who art in heaven…” I whispered, never having had much faith in God, I wondered if the prayer would make a difference. "Hallowed be thy name..."

I recalled the prayer from memory. The damned thing etched on my brain from school where I'd been forced to recite it until the words bled on my tongue. Prayer seemed a little futile now, and I was angry with myself for reciting it.

Tears of desolation began to build at the futility of a life that had lead up to this. All those years being taught that the rules of society are absolute. We must pay our taxes and stay in our predetermined lanes. We must adhere to the morals expected of us and dress appropriately for the occasion or the weather. We must respect those above us even if they have little to no respect for us. One of the greatest lies we tell ourselves is that we will be happy if we have a good job and find a partner to share life with and buy a house to live in and drive a good reliable car and have children that meet every expectation once put upon us. Happiness is guaranteed if we can just obtain these things.  

In my fury, I grabbed the fridge handle again and pulled out the trolley, a little more aggressively this time and without hesitation I pulled the zip down on the body bag to reveal the crimson and blue face of a young man who had sustained a fatal head injury. I knew it was wrong, but who was going to know? I looked at his peaceful face and countered that he had not been dead for very long. Only a matter of days. He had a look of complete serenity and had it not been for the color of his skin I might have thought him sleeping.

I didn't know his name. His job. If he was married or if he was gay or straight or neither. I didn't know his favorite color or what he liked to do on the weekend. I didn't know a damn thing about him other than he was still here. Where all others had vanished, he and I... we remained. And in that, I found the most soul crushing realisation that I, too, wished that I was dead.

When I put him away there was a sense of loss that I had not expected. A desire to crawl inside there and just fade away like every one else had.  

"Rest easy, friend." I sighed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

I hadn't left the hospital since I'd picked myself up off that cold, hard floor. I'd wandered the corridors and the wards, meandered down into the morgue fuelled by my own morbid curiosity. The dead were still here. And without knowing what that truly meant, I ran until I was out on the eerily empty street.

And it hit me for the first time. Truly. I was alone.

Day 399 ~ Jake

She gave me a room to sleep in. A small, low beamed space that was at the end of the hallway. Served with only a set of pine drawers and a bunk with only the lower bed made up with floral sheets and a knitted comforter. She'd even taken the liberty of leaving me a few clean towels on the end of the bed. Perhaps an insignificant gesture on her part, but to me I almost broke down in grateful tears.

There is no greater sorrow than the memory of love, and the knowledge that it is gone forever. But I felt some warmth walking into that room, despite the pain of climbing the stairs and not really knowing how to properly thank her without spooking her.

"This is the kids room." She explained, "I would have made up the main guest room, but I don't rate the mattress in there. This ones a single, but much softer. I hope it's alright for you. You can use it for as long as you need to."

She lingered in the doorway. I wanted so much to tell her that I had no intention of leaving. That I wasn't a threat to her nor did I intend on ever doing anything that might cause her harm. But the words meant nothing if she wouldn't receive them.

"Thankyou." I managed, "You've been very...hospitable."

Her chin wobbled a little before she smiled. As if the very action of it was a duty to placate me. She would keep me at arms length. And although I didn't blame her, I was curious about her. I couldn't help it.

I'd been out there, suffering. And she'd been here the whole time, not only surviving but thriving.

"Do you need anything else?" She asked, sounding eager to be gone.

I shook my head. "No, this is more than enough."

"Well then, I'll bid you goodnight." She replied sweetly, raising one last smile before she closed the door.

It felt like the entire cabin was a cave of wonders I'd yet to explore. As I slumped down onto the mattress, I noticed a toy chest at the side of the drawers with the name Charlie carved in an ornate font on the top. There were a few children's books piled on top, old and worn spines where they had been lovingly read over and over with a few of them with covers missing entirely.

I was a stranger here. These were her memories, her ties to those who had disappeared. I was a passenger, hitching a ride on everything she had built here to keep alive. If her resources couldn't stretch to accommodate me, it stood to reason that she would want me gone.

A part of me ached to stay, still. The thought of another night alone filled me with a dread I hadn't yet begun to process. If I couldn't go home, then where did I belong? Not here. Not out there, either.

I was thinking about Josh again as I closed my eyes. His infectious, toothy grin and his unflappable optimism. I wanted so much to hear his voice and have him feed me some wisdom he'd learned as he so often did on his spiritual journey. Sometimes I'd agree wholeheartedly, other times I'd roll my eyes at the ridiculousness of the thought but now it all seemed so trivial.

Josh would have been far better suited to being left behind. He'd have found some comfort in the event, no matter how deeply traumatised it had left him. I was the darker entity of our whole, a little more tortured than he was. What a cruel twist of fate to be the one to walk the earth where he had once been. There was no doubt in my mind that Amelia would have felt much safer in Josh's company than whatever I had to offer.

I fell asleep with his voice in my head. For the first time, I managed to drift away without too much of a fight. The closest thing to comfortable I'd been in so long, eventually I slipped into a sleep so deep not even dreams could penetrate.

Her screams did, though. The silence of the night broken by the terrible sounds of a banshee crying out into the darkness. I hit my head on the top bunk as I rose, cursing myself and forgetting for a moment precisely where I was.

Pain ripped through me as I shot out of the bed, tearing down the hallway towards the door at the top of the stairs. With one arm wrapped around my chest, the other lingering on the door handle. I could hear her screaming and crying, her voice unearthly and afraid.

If I had left her to her nightmares, she would have greeted me in the morning knowing that I'd heard her. If I went to give her comfort, would she reject me in fear that I would hurt her? Either way I was damned to my need to respond. I couldn't hear those sounds and not go to her.

"Amelia?" I hedged inside quietly, only to find her thrashing in the bed sheets. "Amelia, wake up..."

She violently tore through me as I reached for her. My healing bones taking a pounding as I wrapped my arms around her body. The gentle hush seemed to break the spell. Although not enough to bring her to full awareness. She breathed heavily against my chest. Her hair drenched in sweat. I swept it back from her face, holding her as tightly as I could.

"I told you, everything's going to be alright." I soothed, letting her calm in my pained embrace. "I'm here, you're not alone anymore."

I was consciously aware that I wasn't dressed. My boxer shorts were enough to conceal the most intimate parts of me. But she was pressed against my bare torso, legs entwined. The darkness of the room shrouding any mounting humiliation in our position.

"It was just a bad dream."

I couldn't be certain if she was still lost to dreams, or awakening as I held her. She stayed so still, like she was locked in a purgatory I couldn't follow her into. All I could do was hold her and pray that she didn't hate me for it.

She was wearing nothing but an old t-shirt and underwear. Her hair all knotted and damp. I could feel the erratic thrum of her heart in each breath she took. My own fluttering uncontrollably at the close proximity of our bodies. She felt like velvet against my skin. All warm and soft, tender to the touch. Eventually, her breathing evened out. And I was gripped with a genuine fear that I'd have to let her go.

"Ever since it happened, I've had nightmares." She said quietly, not daring to move. "Like I've forgotten something and my mind wants so badly for me to remember it but I refuse."

Here in the darkness she could lie in my arms and speak her truth. I would dwell in darkness if it meant that I could keep her. She made no attempt to lift her head, staying firm against me as she let me know my presence was wanted.

"What did you see?" I asked, caressing her with my free hand, sweeping it over her warm cheek.

"Nothing but white." She replied, allowing me to covet her in the only way I knew how. "And that's all I see in my dreams. I'm always back there, blind."

She would speak to me as if I were a stranger in the cold light of day, but here in the middle of the night I knew this was where we truly existed. Every single real thing I had ever known had happened at night. She unravelled in my arms, whether she wanted to or not. Her vulnerability I held like fine china, stroking the side of her face as she continued to calm.

"I saw it too." I replied, trying to keep myself together in the no mans land of how good it felt to hold her and the pain shooting through every single nerve ending.

There was a shaft of moonlight spilling in through the gap in the curtains. A silver shard, like a sword to split the room in half. It illuminated a part of her as she was curled against me. Dark and almost blue, I could see our bodies intertwined. Nothing had ever felt more necessary.

"It never goes away..." She began sobbing, her body vibrating against mine. "It's always there, like it still wants me..."

I searched within myself for a reason to put her aside. To comfort her from further away now that she was settled. But she curled her fingers around my hair, dragging it down against her tear stained cheek.

"Amelia, I..."

What could I say? That I wanted to hold her until dawn, until she was ready for me to slip away? That it had been so long since anyone had touched me that I just wanted to lay there with her and drink her in?

I couldn't say any of it. The moon drifted in and I was beholden to it. To her. To the way she had saved me, not just from the wreck. But from the ruin of a loneliness that was on the fringes of ending me.

Instead I kept my thoughts to myself, giving her only what I thought she could tolerate.

"I'll stay with you, until you tell me to go."

She looked so weary in the light of the moon. Rising from my chest, leaving me cold where she had kept her warmth. Staring at me in the darkness, the whites of her eyes twinkling as she regarded me.

"You would do that. For me?" She asked, the veil between us somewhat torn.

"Of course." I replied, "Whatever you need."

I thought, perhaps, that she would tell me to go. I could see the struggle in her lip as bit it nervously, her chin doing that little wobble that betrayed her desire to smile. I almost cupped it between my thumb and index finger, in a move that felt so natural and yet I had to stop myself.

She propped herself up on the pillow beside me, untangling herself from me. Taking her essence. She remained close, but not enough for me to feel her heartbeat anymore. But I didn't mind. I could see her face in the blue moonlight. Finally it was serene.

"I don't want you to stay if it isn't what you want." She said, her flushed cheek resting in the palm of her hand.

"Are we talking about here in your bed, or are we talking about something else?" I needed the clarification.

She considered it for a moment. Her gaze lowered, she pulled the blanket up towards her chin and offered me some to cover myself.

"Here. In my bed." She replied softly.

I took the blanket that was offered and leaned back into the pillow behind me, propped up against iron bed rails. I covered my lower body, but kept my top half exposed. Rubbing my hand across my ribcage to ease the strain.

"I don't think I could move right now, even if I wanted to." I tried to jest, realising that I'd sounded entirely the opposite to how I truly felt. "Not that I want to... I'm where I want to be. I promise."

Day 399 ~ Amelia

So many nights my screams had rung out unheard. My nightmares gone uncomforted. I would always wake with the same feeling that I couldn't quite put my finger on. That something was trying to make me remember it. And I would always be fighting against it. My bed sheets a mess, tangled in them and my hair pressed to my forehead feeling as if I'd been completely outside of my body.

I wanted so badly for him to remain indifferent to me. But how could I deny this man when he had come to me like that? Without a care for himself. Gathering my shivering body into his arms and holding me when all the other nights I'd fought this battle alone.

He felt so good. Relief surged through my veins, rushing out from the space between my chest and my stomach in waves of heat and yearning for another human's touch. It made me want to stay right there in the crook of his arm, where his hair rested against his shoulders. It made me want to tell him how I felt.

But most of all it made me want him to stay so completely that I found myself relenting to him. Taking a piece of his hair and moving it through my fingers, anything to keep his body attached to mine.

But not if he didn't want it, too. Not if this was just some misplaced sense of duty to go running to my aid.

"I don't want you to stay if it isn't what you want." I told him, dragging myself away from him just enough to gauge his reaction.

He would stay, though. In my bed. In the cabin. I dared to look into his face as the moon shone in through the window. Aspects of it becoming familiar to me in ways that still gripped me in fear.

"I'm where I want to be, I promise." He said, his jaw flexing as he prepared for my response.

.

"Me too." I replied, turning to catch the first flurries of snow as it danced across the crack in the curtain.

Part Three

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@thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy

[midwestmade29]

Never Alone 🩵

Thanks @brideofinfamy for the request 🥰 It's always a good day when I get to write about Kenny! I hope you like it 🖤 Word count: 1,115 Divider by: @saradika-graphics GIF credit: @junglehooks

Original Request:

I adore Kenny as much as you do and gosh i miss this guy,

So can you write something with him and Fem Y/N where both are dating she's also an Wrestler in AEW, but their relationship isn't out to the public eye, and Kenny is about to underwent the surgery for his diverticulitis, and reader is from the moment he's going into the surgery room until he comes back out at his side. when he wakes up in his room he feels that reader is sleeping with her head on his chest while holding him tightly, he takes his arm and pulls her closer kisses her forehead lightly and taking his phone from the nightstand and snaps an quick photo which he posts on IG and makes their relationship public with the words,

"she went through all of the medical procedures with me and never let me down and deal with it alone, thanks you (yn) i love you"

Disclaimers: Hospital, surgery, recovery. Read at your own discretion.

When Kenny needs you the most, you're right by his side...

It's hard to have a private life when you’re on live tv every week. Most details of your life are out in the public eye, but you and Kenny worked very hard to keep your relationship under wraps. It was something special and important to the both of you and there was no way you were going to let anyone burst the bubble of happiness you lived in together.

The happiness that surrounded you and Kenny quickly turned into worry and fear when he was diagnosed with diverticulitis. Neither of you had much knowledge of the condition so there were many uncertainties and unknowns. For a while after his diagnoses, the doctors had a “wait and see” approach along with antibiotics and other vitamins and supplements. While they worked for a while, it was ultimately decided that Kenny would have to undergo surgery. Tony Kahn granted you time off from wrestling and encouraged you to take all the time you needed to help care for Kenny. Being on leave from AEW allowed you to go to all of Kenny’s pre-op appointments and give him the love and support he needed to get through it all. He was handling everything extremely well, but when his nerves bubbled to the surface, you were right there to calm them.

It was the night before Kenny’s surgery, the two of you were packing your hospital bags and soaking up the time together. “You know, you don’t have to stay in the hospital every night baby. I can only imagine how uncomfortable their pull-out beds are. I promise I won’t be upset if you need some time away from there,” Kenny shrugged. He tried to hide the worry in his expression, but you know him better than he knows himself. You could see right through him.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side, even if that means spending days in the hospital. We’re in this together, every step of the way,” you reassured him. “You’re my whole world Kenny and I’m going to take care of you,” The night didn’t bring either of you much sleep, but you remained tangled together while you tried. When your alarm went off, you woke Kenny up gently as you nuzzled closer into his neck, kissing his cheek and whispering sweetly in his ear, “Good morning handsome. Time to get up,”

The ride to the hospital was quiet, you kept your hand laced with Kenny’s the entire time. Even after he was officially checked in and registered, situated in his hospital bed and prepped for surgery, you never let go. Before the nurses wheeled him back to the operating room, they were kind enough to let the two of you have a few moments alone. Kenny cradled your face in his hand, softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb and gave you his best smile. You pressed your lips against his, savoring every second of it, hoping that somehow it would keep him safe during his procedure. “I love you, Y/N. I can’t wait to see you after this is all over,” Kenny murmured against your hair while you hugged him. As you ran your fingers through his curls, you made one request before they wheeled him away, “Dream of me,”

Every minute of Kenny’s surgery felt like it drug on while you waited for him. Your leg bounced with anxiety, your body was tense and at one point you paced the hallway. You knew he was in good hands, but you couldn’t take not being with him. Slowly but surely one hour turned into two, and when you checked your phone, it was a few minutes past the three-hour mark. You were on your way to the nurse’s station to ask for an update when you saw the doctor round the corner and walk in your direction. “Boy, am I glad to see you!” you called out eagerly. “How is he? Any updates?” The doctor informed you that everything went well and according to plan with Kenny’s surgery. There weren’t any complications or troubles, so he was going to be wheeled into a recovery room where you could see him once the nurses got him comfortable and settled in.

When you were given the all clear to see him, it pained you to see him in such a frail state, hooked up to monitors, tubes and wires. Despite all of it, he still looked like the handsome man you had fallen in love with! It took a little while for Kenny to open his eyes, but when he did, they sparkled just like they always do when he looked at you. You’ll never forget the moment you heard his raspy voice call out, “Hi baby. I missed you,”

The hospital bed you were given was as uncomfortable as you thought it would be, but you ignored the rock-solid mattress and the paper-thin sheets so you could be with Kenny 24/7. He was on day 4 post-surgery and was finally starting to feel a little better. Last night you and Kenny laid in his hospital bed while watching Dynamite and at some point afterwards, you both fell asleep. It was one of the more peaceful nights of sleep you had since before his surgery, the feeling of his steady heartbeat underneath your ear along with the slow rise and fall of his chest soothed you.

 When morning eventually came, Kenny started to stir but quickly stilled his movements when he felt you holding him tightly with your head still on his chest. It made his heart soar having you there with him, so he pulled you closer to him and planted a soft kiss on your forehead. As he watched you sleep, an idea came to his mind. He reached over to the side table where his phone was and tapped on the camera icon. Kenny took a picture of the two of you together, already having a caption in mind for the social media post he was about to create. While he knew posting such a picture on his social pages would oust your relationship, after everything that’s happened the last few months, he wanted to let the world know how he really feels about you. “She went through all the medical procedures with me and never let me down or let me deal with it alone. Thank you, Y/N. I love you,”

Your phone dinged with a notification from across the room, making Kenny smile as he thought about the reaction you’d have once you notice it. He has a long road of recovery ahead of him, but with you by his side, things don’t seem quite as daunting.

[feartoxinjelloshot]

Poor little Jonny with guts made of straw;

Far from his bed did he go that night

Jon, Mama and Papa, early in thaw

Flew he to the cornfield, sickened with fright.

Too close, too close! Cried the mother crow

And with her beak tore poor Jonny's hand

The child asked weeping his parents to go

But all still and quiet they both did stand.

Checkered blue curtains his morning-bird;

Mama's scratch fire burning his blood

Laid sick little Jonny and said not a word

In his hospital bed of magnolia wood.

They had given him water and supper and tea

And ointments of healing all down the limb

Still Jonny said nothing: they could not see

The straw-filled man stood in front of him.

Threw up the supper and bled out the tea;

Pecked and scalpeled the arm that he kept

Woken by terrors in the moon's light of three

All of the doctors and nurses had left.

Jonny cried mercy to the spiders and dirt

Lord, said he, one who made me so sick

His prayer then he spits like a curse

Heal me, my God, sweaty hands in a grip.

And to the son's cross on high he turned;

For black into the morning the sun had crept

But Jonny was older and soon had he learned

That God was a scarecrow with a noose 'round its neck.

I actually have not talked about Jon's original-original scarecrow incident here (as opposed to the NJ hospital one or sitb), mostly because it didn't really exist in any kind of coherent form until recently: the story goes that Jon, as mentioned in my other posts, was a severely chronically ill child and spent large chunks of his upbringing in and out of the hospital. as a teenager (somewhere in the 14-17 range) he was on a very rare family vacation with his often-neglectful parents; he was of course ecstatic to spend quality time with them outside of a medical environment or school. during the vacation Jon went into a cornfield by himself and ventured too close to a mother crow's nest, who pecked and drew blood from his hand in an attempt to defend her babies. Knowing of his own weakened immune system, this frightened Jon immensely, but upon telling his parents of it they were skeptical and said as long as he cleaned and wrapped it it would be fine -- it was just a bird peck. It wasn't worth ruining a whole vacation over. And Jon didn't really want to go back to the doctor, anyway, so he did as they said and went on with the trip.

Within several days the wound got severely infected. Jon was carted to the hospital in a feverish fugue and pumped full of an antibiotic cocktail that, while it did save him the arm and eventually fight off the infection, gave him a medley of hallucinatory side effects. The important thing to know about Jonathan here is that this was not an isolated incident -- he had a history of bad medication reactions, and coupled with his severe anxiety and potential undiagnosed psychosis, over the course of his childhood he had come to personify his own fears in the form of a frequent sleep-paralysis-creature-slash-nightmare-visitor that he dubbed The Scarecrow. Up until the crow-peck incident he had purely been afraid of it: the Christian ideals pushed on him over time led him to think of it almost as a devil figure, haunting him for his imaginary sins.

But the delirious hallucinatory episode of the concentrated antibiotic treatment, over the course of a long hellish week or so, started to change his perception of it. He had elaborate out-of-body experiences where he took his Scarecrow's place, lumbering and silent, following a sick child in the night, peering into the windows of sleeping households. He unbuckled the white face of the straw-filled man and found his own rotting skull inside. He prayed to God and the Scarecrow answered, speaking in a deep hoarse voice that sat hollow in his lungs. For the first time in his life he grasped the purpose of his own creation beyond the clutches of sickness -- he was to become his own Lord. He was to hang on the nightmare's noose and leave his human body and mind behind him. For the first time he felt strong.

The fear hadn't left him -- it never would -- but when he emerged from his fever and into the new world, it was with a black fountain of faith at his lip.

[nescaveckwriter]

Paintbrushes And Romance 🥰🐞 - Part 12

Dean x Fem/Reader

Part 12🥰🐞

A/N: Dean saved her, or did he? This is a tear jerker, trust me. 🥹 Side Note: thank you all so much for the support. Much love, my bugsies 🥰🐞

Warnings: hospital scenes, trigger warnings, sadness, 🥹

......

Running through the door, while she's in his arms, barely breathing, his face over written with fear, shouting, asking for help, the doctors placing her on the bed, sharing concerned looks, looking over seeing Bobby also in bad shape makes him want to kill the damn, bastard all over again.

If only he'd figured out it sooner, if only he'd never left her side, if only he'd...

Dean! Sam's voice filled with urgency and concern, damnit Dean, man! Sam hit's Dean's arm!

"What? Dean's voice filled with anger but not towards Sam!

Listen man, your bleeding the doctor, needs to check you out.

Dean's face puzzled, he's voice more distant, no, I'm fine, its not that bad, pulling his shirt a little to the side, exposing the muscular chest, with the blood seeping through the torn open stitches.

Sam, gives him a look that say's he needs to sit down, while saying come on, let them stitch you up real quick,!

Dean not looking away from where she's laying, I don't want to leave her, saying underneath his breath.

Okay man, I get it but you need to look after yourself so that you can take care of her, when she wakes up, she's going to need you. Sam says, gesturing to the open bed.

Dean just nods, knowing there's a long road ahead of them, but he's willing to do anything to help her get through this, sitting down on the bed, taking off his shirt, not taking he's eyes off of her, waiting for the doctor to stitch him up, he just recalls every memory everything, he could have done differently.

....

Its been four days, and she still hasn't woken up, Dr Stone, what is going on,? the sadness in Caroline's eyes and voice is just a bit to much for the doctor.

She's exhausted, her body is fighting the sepsis, we have her on great antibiotics , but its going to take a while, for her, she suffered a great trauma, and her body was malnourished when she, came in, so her body is trying to restore antibodies to fight. The good news is her vitals looks really well. Caroline, don't you worry, your daughter is fighter, Dr Stone says with a reassuring smile.

Thank you Doctor, I really appreciate all your doing for her, a little smile tugging at her lips, the sadness and worry visible on her face.

Hey! Mom, Joe said with a smile and a gigantic teddy bear.

"Son what in the world is that,? laughing a little.

"Mom, you know how sis always said she wanted a big damn bear, well I found one, and I know she's going to love it, as soon as she wakes up, she'll want to hold it!

"All Caroline can do is just shake her head and smile, while looking at her very handsome son, with his bright blue eyes, dark hair, and viking beard, come here she says, pulling him into a hug. I love you son.

"I love you too mom, he says with his deep, low voice, glancing over to his sister, laying there, the bruises on her face, have discoloured a bit, its more purplish-yellow than the dark blue it was before, but it's still like someone has taken a knife and twisted it in his heart, over and over again.

"He is just so mad, so mad at the scum who took her, so mad at Dean Winchester, for breaking her heart, even though he cleared everything up, by telling them what happened, so mad at himself, for not being there when she needed him, just so damn mad all the time, but he knows he, has to be strong for his parents , they need him now!

....

Walking through the doors, he came to know so well, everyday hoping, praying for his daughter to just be okay, be that little girl, who looked at the world, wide-eyed with so much kindness, so much love, and so much hope. Why did life, had to beat up his little girl? Why did this damn world had to be so cruel? She didn't deserve any of this!

Clenching his fist's, whispering, I had one job, and that's to protect my daughter, and what did I do? Damn nothing, what could I do? Driving up and down, searching everywhere and nowhere,for days, barely getting any sleep, replaying everything over and over, he catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the stainless steel, that's on the doors he passes, walking to his daughter's room, his eyes tired, every line across his face defining his age, became more prominent, knowing this week and a half made him older than what he should be.

Before entering the room, taking a deep breath, in his nostrils, making his chest rise and fall down, so that he can sort of gain courage, so that his beloved wife and son can lean on him, whenever this get to much.

A little smile tugging at his lips, when he sees Caroline and Joe hugging eachother, knowing even though, there sitting in this hospital room, waiting for his daughter to wake up, day in and day out, night after night, taking turns with Dean, he is stil a very blessed man, his family is together again.

...

In the distance, in the corner, there's balloons, with the words imprinted, stating, "get well soon" , There's flowers different, colours and shapes, something that looks like postcards, with pictures ranging from bears to hearts, and then chairs, underneath the big window, with two figures just sitting, heads resting on the not so comfortable, backdrop of the chairs, and then, a hand holding her hand loosely.

Your eyelids still heavy but your just taking everything in, your in the hospital, how did you get here? Looking towards the big window, it must be late at night, just before dawn, because its so dark!

Trying to push yourself up on your arms, just to collapse back , to your previous position.

Trying to figure out why you feel so damn weak and exhausted, your thoughts get interrupted by a soft, kind voice, saying "hi honey, sweetie"

Mom? Confusing clear in your voice...

"Yes sweetie it's me mommy, her voice breaking, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Mom, it's really you, your voice sounds sweeter than normal, your here, I'm here, its going to be alright now, isn't it, a silent tear escaping your eyelid."

Yes sweetie, your safe, we've got you. Caroline's voice filled with so much love.

"Joe waking Bill up, saying she's awake"

The two men come walking closer...

Your eyes big and wet, with tears you're trying to fight back. Daddy, Joe, your voice Breaking.

Joe speaks first, a smile on his lips, hey sis, I know you like your naps, but goodness, did you need so long, he says mockingly.

"A little laugh escapes over your busted lips, sorry I was just probably having a good dream.

Bill's deep voice breaks the lightheartedness shared between the siblings. Sweetheart, look at you, my brave girl, daddy is so happy your awake.

"Daddy, I'm so happy too see you, all of you, a little sniffle and silent tears rolling over your cheeks.

The three of them just standing there, eyes filled with hope and tears they hug you tightly. It hurts everywhere but damn it feels good, you think.

....

The black coffee, going down smoothly over his lips, not taking the punch it used too, I guess that's what you get, by the 10th cup, he says to no one really, the hallway lighting is dim, as its early morning, looking down at his watch, 3'o clock, hearing Sammy's voice in his head, "Dean you can't just sit here waiting for her to wake up, you need some sleep man, just take care of yourself too."

He does do the basic shit, taking a shower, eating now and then, living on coffee, because whiskey is not appropriate in the hospital, he says with a scoff. I'm not leaving her sight, now way in hell. The only reason I'm sitting in the hallway is when her family stays the night, he can't help feel like he's intruding. He sees the way Joe looks at him, not even to talk about Bill, like he's the bastard in this horrific story.

Wishing he could just tell them how badly, how guilty he feels about every damn thing that happened.

I need damn refill, he says getting up, walking past the room, he knows so well, something catches his eye.

Just standing in the door, trying to slow his fast beating heart. She's sitting upright, talking, she's awake, what the hell. Walking closer, the low light, illuminating the beauty in her eyes, her hair hanging over her shoulders, framing her face, his voice sounds, lower and more gruffy than normal when he says baby.

"Caroline gesturing to Bill and Joe they should leave the two of them alone, as they walk out"

Her eyes wide, the surprised look on her face, letting him know, that they haven't told her, he's alive. Bobby said what happened, what Luke told them.

Hearing her sweet voice say his name. "Dean, is, is that really you, she stutters"

Coming closer the side of her bed, yes, sweetheart its really me, I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, he says in a firm but loving voice.

The tears streaming down her beautiful face, she's frantically sobbing now, when she says I love you.

Dean smiling at her, I love you too, he's big calloused hands cups her face, searching her eyes, if it's okay, he leans in, his lips crashing against hers, tasting the saltiness, of the tears on her lips, knowing he loves this woman more than life itself, thinking I will stand by you, I will help you through, I will dry your eyes, I will hold you tight, I won't let you go..

[bettsfic]

Hi Beth!!! How do you deal with the pain of someone giving you bad or negative criticism on your work? Sometimes it's hard for me to decipher between good criticisms that are painful to hear vs just bad criticisms of my work. It's something I have a hard time with

the answer, unfortunately, is time.

it may take weeks or months or even years to look back on painful feedback and either go, "yeah i could see where they were coming from, but they didn't have to be an asshole about it," or "oh wow, they were just flat-out wrong."

until then, you have to let yourself feel your feelings, and maybe set the work down, and maybe lose a little faith in it, and try not to internalize the voice of that person. (i have a story about this at the end of the post.)

the trick to not internalizing that critical voice is to assess the level of respect that person has for you and your work. if they respect the work and what they say is hurtful, the feedback is worth considering, even if you end up tossing it out. if they dismiss or invalidate the work, you just have to go, "wow, you're an idiot and an asshole," and move on, hoping that they'll never read your work again. if they don't respect you now, they never will. their disrespect and the misunderstanding that arises from it comes from a place of fear and self-doubt, and no matter how good their work is, they are still a long way behind you in their writing journey. getting better at writing means getting better at reading and vice versa. if they aren't a good reader then they will never meet their potential as a writer.

the lesson i keep coming back to, that i try to encourage writers to remember, that often feedback that is hurtful may be flat-out wrong, but if you're upset by it, if you can't brush it off, that means it poked at something you've not yet seen, something that may have nothing to do with their feedback at all. maybe they tell you there's too much passive voice in your prose, too many "was"s, and that hurts, but what they're really saying--what they maybe can't meaningfully articulate--is that they want more texture, more style. they just see a problem they've been trained to believe is a problem but don't understand why they think it's a problem, and they try to prescribe a solution. it's like going to a doctor when you have the flu and she gives you a box of tissues. like, sure, the tissues will help your stuffy nose, but you need antibiotics.

the solution to getting over the flu is not to repeatedly blow your nose, just as the solution to "too much passive voice" is not making your verbs active. go through and highlight the sentences you personally find weak and play around with them a bit, recast them, not necessarily with active voice in mind but with elevation.

in short, it's not the feedback you should be paying attention to, but your feelings toward it.

this, as usual, got super long, but below the cut i share some stories about receiving feedback and how i felt about it/what i did with it, along with a lot of analogies.

once, i had a professor who was so mean. i mean he ripped my work to shreds. his crit letters were pages long; he often prescribed solutions and he also spoke with brutal honesty. but i loved it. i knew he really believed in me. he spent hours on my pieces, read them multiple times over, and put so much thought and care into his feedback, even if it was sometimes harsh. i personally believe in tactful honesty, but i'm fine with brutal honesty if it comes from a place of real caring.

there was one story i wrote where i completely disagreed with a suggestion he made. i told myself i would toss that comment aside and take the feedback that felt better and more in line with what i wanted the story to be. but i really valued this professor's opinion, and i trusted him, so i copied the story to a new document (to preserve the draft i believed would be better), and implemented his suggestions in the way i would follow a recipe i've never tried before--believing the measurements and times to be correct and following them, even if they don't sound quite right. i'm just trying it out, and i can adjust it next time.

but it was a good recipe, and he was right. implementing his feedback made the story so much better.

there have been times i've received outright cruel feedback from people, straight-up insults, and they've made me laugh because i knew that it came from a place of admiration, in the same way you watch terrible movies because your favorite actor is in them, or get upset with an athlete because they made a mistake that cost your team the game. you're still going to queue up the next terrible movie in the actor's filmography. you're still going to go to the next game. but someone who disrespects your work would join you in the baseball stadium, complaining that it's not hockey.

the first time i ever workshopped something, i took the feedback i received and implemented all of it. i had this underlying assumption that everyone knew more than me about my own work. it destroyed the work in question. i had over-revised it to the point of unreadability. i truly believe it's possible to revise something too much, or revise in the wrong direction, and you don't know what that looks like until you implement bad feedback and suddenly have clarity about the decisions you've made.

when you articulate your creative choices to build polemics against bad feedback, you become more confident in those choices. the truth that no one tells you is that if you're in a group of 10 people and they all give you feedback, probably only 1 person's feedback will be useful to you, 2 if you are very lucky. the opinion of the other 8-9 exist only to make you say, "you're wrong and here's why." this requires no change to the work itself, but it does change your attitude toward it, and next time you encounter a choice that someone questioned or criticized, you'll be able to implement it more intentionally.

there is, of course, a difference between justification and defense. defense comes from that same place of fear and self-doubt i mentioned before. justification comes from a place of understanding and confidence. it may be frustrating to receive feedback that's wrong, but it doesn't usually hurt. you should be able to brush it off with a kind of "you really just didn't read very carefully" or "you just don't get what i'm trying to do, and you didn't take the time to try to understand." this is, at worst, annoying. being misunderstood is a natural side effect of creating something, and over time it gets easier.

but if it hurts, being inquisitive about that pain, seeking out why you're feeling it, will teach you something.

i've got one more story for you.

a few days ago i was working on my Barbie fic, as you do, and i needed the title of a fake novel. i tossed in a title for a novel i never wrote and probably never would. in my memory, i had written the idea down in a notebook in 2018 and thought, "that might make a cool story one day," and never looked at it again.

when i went to look for that idea i'd written, i found i had in fact written it. i had written 35,000 words of it. i started reading it and i couldn't remember it at all. i wondered if someone hacked into my drive. like always when i read my older work, i see my pitfalls more clearly, things i still do to some degree that i still instinctively grab onto in drafting but have gotten better at revising out, or in some cases making it work. and like always, i see merit in the work. i read certain lines and i go, "wow, i wrote that?"

in this case i saw evidence of a dedication to setting and description i no longer have, and remembered why it used to be important to me. i mentioned in a post last month that i had re-read a YA novel, 3 NBs of Julian Drew, that seemed to have defined a big portion of my aesthetic when i was 12. part of that aesthetic is what i now call magical objects: tiny things that hold big meanings that otherwise wouldn't be acknowledged in the narrative. and in the case of this 35k thing i'd been working on, it was about a hoarder with a terminal illness who asks a boy to help her go through her things so her estranged daughter won't have to deal with it when the mother is gone. it's from the perspective of the boy, who has an interesting relationship with material things, because a fire destroyed everything he owned. and the process is hard for both of them.

and i remembered why i stopped writing it: a good friend of mine, one of my trusted early readers, called it boring, with the implication that he found all my work boring over the past two years we'd been reading for each other.

it's one thing to receive bad feedback on a finished piece. it can stand on its own. but this story was still just an infant, and i trusted this friend with it. i trusted him to respect me and encourage me, but it turned out that the entire time, he hadn't thought very highly of my work at all.

i stopped speaking to him, not just for that but for many other reasons as well, and his feedback hurt me so badly that not only did i set this project down, i forced myself to forget it and never again return to the things he found boring about it, the careful attention to detail and the slow-moving plot.

he was right in that it was not yet doing the work i wanted it to do, and in fact at the time i didn't really understand what i was aiming for. i was only compelled by these characters and this story, and tried to follow their lives as closely as i could. i was writing far above my skill level, which feels a bit like using a screwdriver instead of a power drill. you can get the job done, but it'll take a lot longer and a lot more effort, and there are some tasks you can't really do at all.

that was 5 years ago. a couple days ago, i set down the Barbie fic for a minute and started playing with that 35k, knowing what i know now, and with the skill and patience to maybe do something with it that has clearer ambitions it might be capable of reaching. only 2k of it or so is useful; the rest can be thrown out. but that's enough. it's a foundation for a story that i think is worth existing, and which many, many people would find boring. but there will be a few people who see in it the same things i do, and i'm writing for them.

[cactusracoon]

TIM DRAKE AU HEADCANONS!!

______________________

Omega Verse

_________

Bruce is an Alpha

Dick is a Beta

Jason is an Alpha

Tim is an Omega

Damian is an Alpha

Cass is a Beta

Duke is a Beta

Steph is an Alpha

Babs is an Alpha

Alfred is a Beta

_____

Tim is the only omega because he's the Wayne Pack's Omega. Tim's nest is well The Nest, though he claims that it's not. He also has a nest in his room at the Manor where he normally spends his heats.

Tim can't take heat suppressants because of his antibiotics for his lack of spleen. He tends to hide his heats because that's what he had to do at Drake Manor.

Janet and Jack were going to marry him off when he got his first heat but Jason nabbed up after the scent of neglect, sadness, and fear filled the room one back while they were doing a school project.

Tim has stabbed a guy for trying to grab him while he was stalking Batman.

When Dick saw he promptly beat the shit out of the guy and didn't let Tim go till he dropped him off at Drake Manor.

The other Wayne Pack members tried to intimidate Tim's boyfriend Bernard but it didn't work all that well. They couldn't do that to the poor kid after they smelled pain come from him. He now comes over for family brunch.

_____________________

High School/Teacher Au

_________

Bruce is the Principle

Dick is a senor

Jason is a Junior

Tim is a freshman

Steph is a sophmore

Duke is a freshman

Babs is a senor

Cass is a Junior

Damian hasn't been born yet

______________

Tim meets Jason and Dick though theater club. Tim joined to do back stage work while Dick and Jason joined to be in the plays.

Jason actually didn't like Tim at the beginning. He was to quiet, to small to be a freshman, and far to good at back stage work for a 14 year old.

Dick on the other hand latched onto the freshman. He basically adopted him as his school child which confused Tim immensely.

Tim has a habit of working himself sick. Once Jason warmed up to him he started aggressively taking care of him. Oh you didn't eat lunch yet? Here's a bag of chips thrown at your head. Haven't drank water? Ok I'll just shove it down your throat. You haven't slept? OK you are going to nap in the back seat of my car while I go run some errands.

Tim likes to help with set painting and costume design.

The rest of Dicks and Jason's friend groups noticed how attached they got to the small black haired freshman and promptly also got attached.

Tim is just confused through it all.

________________

GIVE ME MORE AUS TO HEADCANON PLZ!!!

[monstercumhrt]

🚨 PSEUDOMONAS AERUGINOSA PROPAGANDA🚨

Listen. I can't speak outside of my profession — people in human medicine, please feel free to chime in — but what I can say is this: Pseudomonas aeruginosa is the bane of my existence in veterinary medicine.

You can smell a P. aeruginosa infection from across the room. It's the most distinctive scent. I am the only one in our hospital who volunteers to clean the ears of a patient infected with it, because my sense of smell is so poor... But this bacterium doesn't care — despite it all, it's scent still reaches me, and clings to my scrubs for the entire day. In particularly bad cases, I am barred from taking rooms for the rest of the day, lest I scare the clients away. I can only imagine the Hell that my coworkers must go through.

This is the only time I'll ever say this, but you don't even have to run a cytology to know what it is. But you know what we do run? Cultures. Because this son of a bitch is resistant to EVERYTHING. And it NEVER wants to go away. We have a patient who has had P. aeruginosa otitis externa for years, because it just keeps coming back. This bacterium strikes fear into the heart of every technician and veterinarian in the whole wide world.

And the worst part is? The owners never believe us on the first go. And so they don't come back for continued treatment... Until it returns in full force with a newfound resistance to the one antibiotic that actually worked well. And this infection is painful, beyond belief. There have been times where we've had to use lidocaine, while the patient is sedated -- to even clean the visible portion of the ear canal... Nevermind the inner canal.

I nominate Pseudomonas aeruginosa not because I love the bacterium, but because it's the only bacterium that has Demanded my respect and commanded my fear in such a way.

@bacteriashowdown

[missvelvetsstuff]

Guarded Heart

MobAu

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Y/N is the daughter of a powerful mob boss who only cares about her horses and making it to the Olympics but her father expects her to marry an equally powerful boss to help strengthen his business. Bucky is looking for a wife to help his business and give him an heir which his longtime girlfriend, Natasha, can't do.

Chapter 21

Note: sorry this is so short but I am getting ready for a trip and didn't want to leave y'all hangin till I get back. It's unlikely I'll make any updates until I return, after 6/10.

Hope you enjoy.

Bucky heard a gunshot and saw Y/N falling to the floor, in what seemed like slow motion. He dove across the room to catch her before her head hit. He looked at her and saw she was still breathing but unconscious, he flinched at the slight rotten smell. Bucky looked her over but didn't see any blood besides a spot on her arm where the bullet must have grazed her and the thin cut on her neck. He could feel that she was burning up.

Loki walked over and kicked Zemo, satisfied when he groaned, then ordered his men to take Zemo back to his office. He looked over at Y/N then up to Bucky "She was shot? Can you find any other injuries?"

Bucky shook his head "just a graze but she's burning up and something smells. I'm guessing her shoulder wound needs attention and she's got an infection. I'll have Dr Cho meet us at my parents." He looked around "You have this handled?"

Loki nodded "Of course, take care of her Barnes."

Bucky nodded and gently picked her up. He carried her out of the house, noting the bodies of Zemo's men, some injured others worse, seemingly stuck in various traps. He shook his head and chuckled softly "Like Home Alone."

On his way to the SUV Bucky saw Wanda and Pietro and gave them a dark look. "We need to talk, meet me at the townhouse."

Wanda looked at Pietro and gulped "He looks angry."

Pietro took her hand "Dont worry, we knew he would be but I won't let anything happen to you."

She looked at him angrily "Like you took care of Y/N?"

Pietro shook his head "Everything will be alright.

Bucky strode quickly past them to

check in with his father and Steve, who were staying behind to help deal with Zemo and his men. He gently set Y/N down in the passenger seat, making sure she was buckled in before coming around to the drivers seat. He drove as quickly as he could without tossing her around before pulling into his parents garage and carrying her upstairs.

Winnie was sitting at the dining room table with Y/N's mother, both stood when they saw Bucky carrying her.

Her mother looked her over with fear in her face then looked to Bucky questioningly.

Bucky gave a grim look "She has a flesh wound on her arm and a small cut on her neck but I'm not worried about those. She definitely has a high fever and her shoulder smells. Helen Cho is on her way but I'm guessing that her shoulder is infected. She probably neglected her dressing. I'm taking her up to my room." He looked to her mother "Can you come help get her into some clean clothes?"

Helen Cho arrived shortly after Bucky and was left alone in the room with Y/N who hadn't woken up yet. She cleaned her injuries and redressed her shoulder then started her on an IV before going downstairs to report on her patient.

Helen looked at Bucky "You were right, her shoulder is infected. I started antibiotics, a fever reducer and pain meds then cleaned it thoroughly."

She narrowed her gaze

"Someone is going to have to get through to her that she needs to rest and let her body heal or she'll never be able to have a prosthetic and that's if she doesn't kill herself first. That means no stress, James." She sat at the table and accepted some coffee from Winnie "I'll stick around in case any other injuries come in."

Bucky wanted to sit with Y/N but her mother was by her side and he didn't want to intrude. He fell asleep sitting up in the hallway outside his room.

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

Back at the scene, Steve was helping Loki sort through the survivors to let them know Zemo was down and offer the chance to join one of their families. Most caved when they saw Zemo being dragged through the house. A few refused to budge and Loki took care of them.

When they were done with the mess and police had arrived, Loki pulled Steve aside shoved him against the wall and kissed him hard, pulling his hair "I am unsure of what you have done to me Steven but I was almost as worried about you as Y/N. Will George allow you a few hours to recuperate?"

Steve just nodded, a bit dazed and called George to let him know he would be working on some business with Loki. George nodded and smiled "Of course son, you've both earned it."

Sam looked at George then laughed as George shrugged. "Cops have this handled, let's go home."

When they arrived at the Barnes townhouse, Winnie was relieved to see her husband and Sam were unhurt but looked around "Steve?"

Sam smirked "with Loki. He's fine."

Winnie smiled and nodded.

Wanda and Pietro followed quietly behind, sitting at the table without a word.

The commotion they caused downstairs woke Bucky up. He groaned, stiff from sleeping on the floor, and stretched before standing up. He looked into his room to see Y/N and her mother both asleep.

When Bucky went downstairs he was relieved to see everyone was there except Steve. He looked over at Sam questioningly, who smirked and Bucky smiled and nodded.

Then he saw the twins "You two are in deep shit. How could you take her away when she was obviously not well? You risked her life tonight and I don't know if I can forgive that."

Pietro stood up, almost as tall as Bucky if more slender, and squared his shoulders "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Barnes, but we dont work for you. We work for Y/N and follow her orders. Taking her was dangerous but it would have been worse if she had gone on her own and she was determined. You don't know how stubborn she is. If she chooses to take action against us we will accept it but not from you."

Bucky growled "Fine. I'm going to have words with her when she's up. We'll see who's more stubborn."

Y/N's mother came down the stairs. "I don't think thats a fight you can win, James but some people have to learn for themselves.

She's awake and asking for you."

@bigphattygyal @cjand10 @lokiandbuckysdoll

Chapter 22

@kimomoraba @avery199 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @esposadomd

@sebsgirl71479 @calwitch @hhiggs

[starrcrossrose]

Hello. :)

I’ve been reading your TMNT story “ Aftermath”, and I just have to tell you how hard it hit me.. You are such an incredible writer, so much so that the pain and stress of the characters really left an imprint on me.. It truly resonated with me because i have actually been going through a really hard time mentally lately. I’ve been in “ danger mode “ when my adrenaline is turned up every day for the past week.. My dads been sick and it’s been getting worse and I’ve just been so worried. God has him in His hands. But the fear of losing him was still there.. My dads going to be ok, probably get antibiotics and he’ll be fine, but the horrible fear that grips my heart remained despite the obvious fact that he was ok. That he is going to be fine.

And then I just read your chapter about Mikey snapping at Leo.. Bursting into angry tears about how scared he was.. How afraid he is of losing his family. And I’ve been fighting that fear this past week.. Even with his brother there in front of him, ( just like my dad still being alive and well ), he still felt so scared and stressed.. And I’ve felt the same way.. God is teaching me to trust in Him through it, but it’s still been so very hard.

You truly are an amazing writer and I thank you for being so raw and unrelenting with all the feelings of stress, PTSD, trauma, and so much more..

I hope this message encourages you. Thank you for your story. I truly know it was Gods timing for me to read it tonight.

~ Melissa

OUGH OHHH. WOW. THIS IS —

Hey so, ironically, I think I was meant to get this message from you today. As creatives tend to, I’ve been doubting my ability lately and fighting off the beginning stages of burn out by resting. Sometimes I wonder if anything I write is worth it. But then I’m reminded that my writing HAS reached people and it HAS left an impact.

Im so sorry to hear about your dad; I kinda get where you’re coming from. My dad spent all of last year in and out of the hospital for various awful reasons and had several close calls, so I know how hard certain situations can be. But trusting in God is important in moments like this. It’s hard and scary and people can react to trauma and loss in various ways. I believe all feelings are valid and should be felt in order to heal and move on. My dad is doing okay right now but that fear that something could go wrong at any time is… not great. I’ll have you in my thoughts and prayers 💖

I’m glad my silly turtle story can offer anything to its readers. Thank you so much for reading and for sending this message 💖 I’m hoping to have an update soon.

[themonopolyhat]

shoulder the sky au: helix whump

[ETA: this one-shot has become a round robin fic via the reblogs, but mind the tags folks!]

i have been dared by @shootingstarpilot to contribute to the helix whump “what-if” for his fantastic shoulder the sky series on ao3, so here we go.

pilot, you and i had the exact same idea on how to make helix’s life even worse than it already is -- namely, we both envisioned him on iwanaga along with obi-wan during dooku’s science project / torture spree.  this brainshare is hilarious all by itself.

(i should probably CONTENT WARN for torture, misery, and major character death right now haha)

my thoughts:

+ not sure whether dooku grabs helix on purpose or if it’s an accidental acquisition -- but since helix is along for the ride, and dooku is a bastard, dooku decides to make use of him.

+ therefore it is helix’s job to monitor vitals, update certain chart fields, and administer the antibiotics and pain meds while dooku’s minions or droids or whatever perform the experiments.

+ also because dooku is a bastard, helix has been outfitted with an explosive slave tracker right inside his skull. no escaping or even going where you’re not supposed to be on the base, pumpkin

+ so helix is in the fucking room with obi-wan when dooku questions him, and when dooku threatens him, and when the experiments begin. dooku threatens helix, too -- like shut up and do what you’re told or something real bad will happen.  obi-wan all but orders helix to comply because of course he doesn’t want anyone else to suffer on his behalf.  so helix shuts up and complies.

+ obi-wan is as quiet as he can be, quiet and straining at the restraints. it’s just another tuesday for helix, watching somebody he cares about fucking suffer while he’s unable to save them

+ helix loses his cool probably around the time that dooku proposes to drain obi-wan’s blood completely? or some other horrible thing, idk.  anyway helix responds as any horrified medic with his temperament might, and dooku has him knocked the fuck out.

+ helix wakes up in time to hear obi-wan screaming, and he gets to listen to the screams for a while before dooku wanders in like “oh yeah, if you’re not around to monitor obi-wan’s pain meds, i’m certainly not going to pick up the slack -- he’ll just suffer through the knives au naturel lol”

+ so helix goes back to work.  he gets obi-wan’s pain back under control, but of course he can’t do anything about the other sensations, or the sounds, or the smells, or the existential horror of being vivisected alive by your grandmaster who gave you tea

+ helix holds his hand, strokes his hair, tells him again and again: “look at me, look at me, don’t look down, obi-wan, you look at me”

+ they both quickly give up on apologizing for their mutual wracking sobs because they’re in this together, sweetheart

+ one night helix asks obi-wan how he can pray to the force and obi-wan (ever the teacher) haltingly talks about other force religions, the difference between praying and chanting for mindfulness, etc etc etc.  he quotes the guardians’ mantra: “i am one with the force, and the force is with me -- and i fear nothing, for all is as the force wills it.”  obi-wan seems to find it a little comforting (or maybe dissociative) to say it and hear it said, so helix bends over him and murmurs it over and over and over and over and over, even when obi-wan can’t speak the words himself. he can’t save his general but he can do this thing until his throat rips if need be

+ i don’t actually know whether sidious shows up, but if he does, he gives an Order via holo ahead of time and helix Goes Away for a little while. when he comes back to himself, obi-wan is blinded and deafened.

+ no help is coming. they can’t get out. dooku strips the skin from obi-wan’s hand and helix can only keep the meds at max, repeat the guardians’ mantra to his deaf ears, card a hand through his sweaty, grimy hair, hold his elbow, try so hard to be gentle so obi-wan knows it’s him

+ helix has had a particular intrusive thought since like day three, and he’s been shoving it aside because it’s unthinkable, but y’know, the unthinkable is becoming thinkable the longer he stays on as an accessory to the gruesome torture-murder of his general.  helix is a smart guy and figures out how to activate his explosive tracker at the time of his choosing.  useful information, under the right circumstances

+ around the time that dooku mentions breaking obi-wan’s spine for lols, helix decides he’s about had enough

+ no idea how he manages to get obi-wan alone in the lab, without dooku or droids or anybody else around, but:

+ the door is locked, the clock is ticking, they don’t have a lot of time before the window of opportunity will be lost.  helix undoes obi-wan’s restraints and climbs up on the table with him so he can prop him up in his arms and hold him close. he tucks obi-wan’s nose into his neck and rocks him for a few moments, whispering to him even though his general won’t hear, because he thinks obi-wan knows it’s him and he wants him to feel safe and loved

+ “see you soon, general,” he murmurs through his tears, and fuck, has he stopped crying even once in the past three weeks?

+ he activates the tracker

+ he saves his general

[flock-talk]

My budgie is currently on a couple antibiotics that he'll need to take three times a day for the next two weeks. (I have to towel him to do so.) I gave him the first doses last night, and he's already acting super hesitant about being around me, when usually he's incredibly friendly and it's a struggle to get him to leave me alone. He's still accepting millet from me and giving my finger little boops with his beak, but is only stepping up for a few seconds before flying away and isn't coming over to hang out by me.

Any suggestions for how I can try to maintain his trust in me as much as possible while he recovers? Or would you recommend I just give him his space and work on repairing our bond after he doesn't need the medication anymore?

Unfortunately when you’re stuck in the middle of needing to give meds you don’t have a ton of wiggle room.

Main thing would be to just get it done as quickly as possible and follow up with a buttload of good high value treats to soften the blow.

Between doses you can either opt to hide everything so they connect that grabbing and dosing only happens when syringes are present and have less fear outside of those conditions or you can leave everything visible and work on neutrality near the items so the dosing isn’t as scary overall. Just depends on the individual bird which route to take there.

Otherwise it’s all about doing what they want, if they show fear when you offer treats and interact then I would opt to keep my hands away and just chat with them instead. Your main goal is to just help them see that you’re not always pushing boundaries and scaring them. They’re going through a lot of fear with every dose we don’t need to push their comfort zones even more working on taming and trust building at the same time. I’d give them a break or work exclusively under threshold where 0 fearful body language is present

[breakfastteatime]

Comfortember Day 16 - Shelter

The train ride feels longer today. Prauf looks down at the tiny Human sat at his side. Cal, that’s his name. He sits rigidly beside Prauf in clothes that barely fit him. It’ll have to do for now. When he joins the Guild – and he’ll have to if he wants to survive here – they’ll see that he’s given clothing that fits properly.

The train’s not overly busy, but there’s plenty of familiar faces, many of whom are staring at Cal like he was spat out by the Maw. If the attention’s bothering him, the blank stare he’s wearing does a good job hiding it.

The kid’s a little too good at hiding in Prauf’s opinion. He’s barely said anything since Prauf found him staggering into the yard, more mud monster than Human. Maybe he hadn’t appreciated being hauled off to the nearest medbay. Wasn’t much Prauf could’ve done about that. When he’d stopped the kid from walking into the path of a ship cutter, Cal had looked up, said everyone was dead after being asked where his family were, and proceeded to pass out. What else was Prauf supposed to do? Leave him there?

Plenty on Bracca would have. Not Prauf. He’s a one-Abednedo-force-for-good. A little decency goes a long way. Besides, Bracca has little use for children who aren’t Guild apprentices. If Cal’s got no one looking out for him, he’s gonna have to start working.

After Cal came to and the medics showered him off, they’d found a pale (if speckly) kid with the brightest hair Prauf had ever seen on one of his kind. His clothes had gone straight in the trash, muddy and torn beyond use or recognition. He’d been diagnosed with exposure, exhaustion and an infection from the vicious wound marring his face and neck. The kid offered no explanation for what was so clearly a blaster wound, instead accepting that even with the bacta treatment and antibiotics, it would scar him permanently.

When Cal showed no reaction whatsoever to the news, the medic went on to further diagnose him with shock and told Prauf to get a hot meal into him before making sure he got some sleep.

“And then get him signed up to the Guild, otherwise we’ll come after you for the fee,” the medic told Prauf as Cal was pushed toward him, clomping into the waiting room in boots that had to be three sizes too big.

And now, here he is with Prauf, heading to the housing district where the kid – Cal – has nowhere to stay.

Prauf can’t let that stand either. He’s way too small to spend a night on the streets of Bracca alone. Cal needs shelter, and Prauf’s going to give it to him.

By the time they reach the housing district, Cal’s lost some of the stiffness in his limbs because he’s well on his way to falling asleep. Prauf nudges him as gently as he can and the kid flies off the bench, poised for a fight. Even the other scrappers take a step back like this small, potentially feral Human might launch himself at them.

“Whoa, whoa, you’re alright,” Prauf said. “Just needed to tell you we’re at our station. C’mon, let’s go.”

As some of the fear seeps back out, there’s a sudden alertness in the boy’s expression that wasn’t there before. “Go where?” he asks in a surprisingly firm tone.

“My place,” Prauf tells him as they step off the train. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to go.”

As the last scrappers walk past them on the platform, Cal stares at Prauf with such intensity, Prauf wonders if he’s done or said something to cause great offence. Humans are a weird bunch after all, and other than Tabbers he tends not to interact with them. However, after a few seconds, Cal blinks, relaxes, and says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Prauf says, feeling bizarrely relieved, like he’s passed a test. He leads Cal through the streets to the apartment building. It towers into the sky above, a relic of a time when people still built actual structures on Bracca and didn’t expect everyone to make do with the remains of ships to retrofit into homes and shops. This whole district would probably be labelled as ‘historic’ on another planet. Here, it’s just another grubby reminder of how far Bracca has fallen.

By the time they reach Prauf’s place, Cal is dragging his feet and wobbling. Prauf guides him into his apartment and sees to it that he makes it to the couch. Cal sits, the boots falling off his feet.

“Stay awake for now,” Prauf tells him as he bustles into his kitchen. He had a few things that were suitable for Human consumption. Of course he did. Most food on Bracca was basic and designed for all species. He returned to Cal with a glass of water and a high calorie ration bar that, while generally tasteless, would at least fill him up. The kid’s back in that tense pose like he’s expecting a fight to come at him from every corner. He doesn’t exactly look like he could put up a fight, but what does Prauf know? Maybe the kid really is feral under all this silence and can fight like it too. “Here you go.” Prauf holds out the food and glass.

Cal takes them with a polite “Thank you, Prauf.”

Manners. Another surprise. “Heh, you’re welcome.”

For a moment, Cal stares at the glass with a strange look. Then he seems to come back from a far off place and takes a sip. He picks at the food until his appetite gets the better of him and he eats with more enthusiasm. While he does, Prauf heads off his closet to fetch a spare blanket and pillow. They’re both way too big for the kid, but they’ll have to do.

He heads back out to the lounge, where Cal has finished eating and is now slumped on the couch, blinking heavily, trying hard to keep himself awake and mostly failing. Prauf hands over the blanket and pillow. Cal takes them, spacing out again like maybe no one ever gave him such things before. Who knows where the kid came from and the life he left behind. Now’s not the time to ask either.

“Get some sleep kid, you’re safe here, I promise.”

Cal jolts and blinks, looking up at Prauf. “I know,” he says, so sincere it almost takes the breath from Prauf’s lungs. “Thank you.”

And with that, he settles himself under the blanket, rolls over and falls fast asleep.

[oceangirl24]

Sick Day

Shawn is really sick. Audrey is really out of town. And Jon really doesn't know what to do.

Shawn's fear of hospitals and doctors was much stronger than Jon realized. Shawn managed to get himself out of the truck before Jon got out and started toward the Urgent care center on his own. He didn't get far when he realized where Jon had brought him.

"Uh-uh!" As adrenaline surged through his body, Shawn suddenly felt well enough to high tail it back to the truck.

Jon was flabbergasted. "What is your problem?"

"You're not taking me in there! I wasn't serious about wantin' to die!"

"Shawn, we're gonna get you antibiotics. You can't go through another night like last night. I know I can't go through another night like that."

"I am not goin' in there."

In his fevered state and panic, Shawn grabbed hold of the truck's door handle awkwardly and gave it a arduous tug. The door responded by slamming the side of his head. Hard.

Jon turned him around and inspected his face. "Nice job. That's gonna leave a mark."

"It's my face," Shawn winced and tried to push Jon away. "What do you care?"

"Because I'm about to take you into a doctor's office with a red mark on your face. You know what they're gonna think in there?"

Shawn looked at him with a hand over one eye. "That truck doors hate me?"

"That I hit you!"

Shawn grimaced from pain and the absurdity of anyone thinking Jon was capable of that. Shawn had experience with those who did hit kids, but only an idiot would think his teacher was one of them.

"I'll just tell them I ran into the truck door."

"You tell 'em that and they will think I hit you!" Jon stuck his hands in his hair and reconsidered taking Shawn inside. Then he reminded himself that neither of them could handle another sleepless night.

"Let's go."

"No, thanks."

Jon made a grab for the teen. Shawn unsteadily dodged him, almost falling onto the hood of the truck. The English Lit teacher swore under his breath as he got hold of the back of Shawn's leather jacket.

"So help me, Hunter, if I have to carry you in there..."

Shawn would have put up a harder fight but between the look Jon was giving him and the way his head suddenly felt like it was no longer attached to his body, he gave up and let himself be pulled along.

Inside the Urgent Care Center, Shawn altered between ready to run and ready to pass out. When he wasn't in pass out mode, he harassed his teacher about anything that came to mind to distract himself from where they were.

As irritating as the kid was, the paperwork was worse. Jon couldn't get pass the first page of the form he was given to fill out.

Relationship to minor:  __________

He was Shawn's unofficial guardian. That was all. The only paperwork he had to prove this was sitting in his desk drawer at home. He didn't know what to do.

A nurse came over to them just as Jon snapped at Shawn to stop asking for Mom. The teen responded by growling into Jon's shoulder then whimpering that he going to throw up. The nurse smiled in amusement at their back and forth. She reached for the paperwork in Jon's hand and took it before he could protest that it wasn't complete. Glancing over the paperwork, she saw the line that wasn't filled in.

"Hey," Shawn said to her. "Can you call my mom?"

"Why do you want your mom, hun?" She could almost diagnose what was wrong just by looking at him. A lot of teens had been coming through lately.

He glared at Jon. "Because he doesn't know what he's doin'. I shouldn't be here. I should be home sleepin'."

"Where is your mom?"

"In New York with her dad. She'd come back if she knew how sick I am and where he brought me."

"She's the one who told me to bring you here by the way," Jon snapped back. "Be mad at her."

They glared at each other, and the nurse chuckled. She clicked her pen open and filled in the missing information.

Relationship to minor: Father

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