#I am also sick and watching and writing this while the inside of my sinuses feel itchy as FUCK and that's probably affecting me
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I'm watching EXU and just
Does Gilmore exclusively hire the most horny people in Aabria's version of the setting?
Between Gilmore himself, the very CHA based party and this poor employee this episode has a degree of horny audacity and casual favors coming from just about every direction that's actually giving my boring ass some intense secondhand embarrassment at the thought of even asking for some of the things that are happening here.
My assumption would be that Gilmore would want to hire a bunch of hardasses to make up for the discounts he gives to people who will flirt with him (which. he does employ Sherri so that's one hardass.)?
I guess if he's important enough to get funding from the government for taking care of things like the ash-hole he can afford to be more lax with discounts. And haggling is more commonplace in Exandria's setting than ''X thing costs Y amount, it just does," that we have. But the degree to which these characters are successfully going above and beyond their budget does not slide in easily with the expectations inside of my brain.
#I will note that I'm NOT complaining. Just observing. But. How????#I may be Too Autistic to theoretically survive in a Barter Economy.#I am also sick and watching and writing this while the inside of my sinuses feel itchy as FUCK and that's probably affecting me#also ALSO I AM A FUCKING HYPOCRITE because I am playing Flight Rising AS I Watch This#and that game's player-player economy is often (famously!) Exactly like this#like ''You complimented my favorite dragon really niceys have a 50% discount on this dragon I'm selling'' is a thing that happens#I still don't know how to navigate that scenario. I mostly just Exalt Dragon and Sell Egg I'm a biologist not a salesperson#always always always comes out of left field for me and I end up taking like an extra HOUR to answer the message when someone offers#CREXU#EXU-CK3#Critical Role#CR Gilmore#CR NPCs
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a sky full of stars
Hello everyone so I wrote a er//aserm//ic fiction and it’s 5513 words I know right what the fuck I just kept writing and I didn’t want the story to end but it came to a lovely end
TW WARNING it deals with sui//cide depression,anxiety,panic attacks as well as medical surgery
TO NOTE In the story endeavor is not a hero and is a local tea maker and his wife is the surgeon which I just think it’s cute it comes together in the story it will make sense don’t worry
This is using my original AU with the Quirk flu
And lastly I hope you enjoy it I had a lot of fun riding and it has definitely improved since my last fic enjoy
you can read it on A03 or down below
https://archiveofourown.org/works/33360760
How Shouta got here was anyone's guess. Sitting on the edge of the roof of UA looking at the shifting colors as night began to fall around him. As the shades of reds mixed with the blues and yellows, how they washed over the buildings and trees with a gentle golden glow, Shouta closed his eyes and smiled. The tear-stained face of the Pro was hidden from view under foundation and tired eyes. With the still night air, he heard the roof entrance unlock and movement behind him.
“Hello, old friend,” Shouta said not even turning to look at him.
“What the hell are you thinking, step away from the edge now.” Mic's voice boomed over the concrete and echoed in the tranquil night air. “Please, people need you…. I need you.”
Shouta took a deep breath and stood to face his old friend. Mic’s face was panicked and he could see the crumpled note in his hand. Shouta was glad to see his friend one last time. He shook with adrenaline as he spoke in a quiet voice barely louder than a whisper. Years down the road Shouta in the confession of therapy would say he said it this way because whispers make people listen while shouting just falls upon deaf ears.
“All my life, I have been in love with the sky. Even when everything was falling apart around me, the sky was always there for me. I’m glad to see it hasn’t changed. Goodbye old friend.” And he stepped off the roof Mic’s voice echoed in the night sky as Shouta plummeted down and down until darkness.
---
That was five years ago. Shouta had been getting better about talking about his depression and the struggles but the one thing he could not do was hurt Mic again. Hizashi also died that day, his cheery disposition of the world changed, and he hasn’t been the same since. He had improved but Shouta still had guilt deep down but would never admit it. Hizashi's confidence was always so fragile, like a child’s, it took him years to return to radio and music. He once in a foggy drunken state told Shouta that music died the day he fell and all the sounds of the world that created such unique and beautiful different melodies, fused into one agonizing wave of sound that made Hizashi hate music and his Quirk. He had gotten better they both had recovered from that day but if they were both being honest, they were still those scared little Pros inside.
When winter came the vows of in sickness and in health were tested. Hizashi got sick first and Shouta played the role of nursemaid and helped him get better therefore it was no wonder Shouta got sick. When he was a child Shouta would hide under his bed to avoid being seen as sick, he had enough of name-calling at school he did not need it at home too. This continued into his adult life even after the accident 5 years ago.
The next time he had woken up he almost suffered acute heart failure from the number of stress hormones that were immediately pumped through his system as long-term best friend and husband Hizashi better known as Present Mic had busted through the bedroom door with a shout of “Shouta” with his remarkably deafening voice. “Wow were you sleeping?”
As if it would be a shock that he was. He has been up most of the night coughing and generally feeling ill. Shouta was having trouble getting out of bed today as a dull pain racked through his body pulsing through every limb. He merely grunted in response and the strawberry blonde-haired man sat down and rubbed his back.
“Shouta,” he asked his voice worried with concern and suddenly Shouta was back on that roof. He shut his eyes and winced at that memory and shook his head. The movement of his head caused the room to spin and he reached out to grab onto something stable the only thing near him being his husband.
The pressure in his cranium had built itself up to the point where he knew he had to get away to get checked out. Somehow, he had to take a trip to get medicine, the question was how would he succeed with such a mission when Hizashi worried about his every movement.
Mic continued to rub his husband's back. After receiving no answer, his usual jovial expression continued morphing into one of pure concern. “Hey, Shouta are you okay?”
The tired pro sighed but when he went to open his mouth the tickle which had been prominent in his sinuses flared to life and he quickly turned his head to the side gripping the side of the bed as the sneezes ripped through his body.
“Heh-R'SSHH! Hh-Hih-AET’SCHHH! ESCCH!”
Hizashi jumped in surprise. “Woah, many blesses,” he said. “I’m going to pick you up some meds, okay?”
Shouta grabbed his arm and said, “no you barely over being sick, I can get some.”
As he went to put on his shoes, he sniffed back the congestion that was threatening to flow. Hizashi watched him gathering his wallet and keys before hugging him tightly and whispered in his ear.
“I know how you get with these things; I call you in a few hours and you better pick up or you’re in trouble. I love you Sky.”
Shouta hugged him back and said, “I love you to songbird.” And he left the house with the sound of thunder in the sky boomed over him.
---
His feet hurt.
It was a stupid thing to focus on. Stupid because Shouta was still heavily limping his way through darkened alleyways and shuffling through crumpled up newspapers and puddles of...something. His breath came out in ragged gasps, the medicine still clutched close to the chest. Shouta had no idea where he was going. He just kept moving- one hand drifting along chipped brick walls and graffiti-stained cement, something to keep him steady. Focused. Home was the mission but it wasn’t the goal. The goal was-
Freedom from the pain.
His knees buckled and Shouta couldn’t stop himself from tumbling forward. He smacked into a dumpster; the weak thump of a body against rusted metal ringing in his ears. The stench of rotten food clawed its way into his nose; the pain now liquid fire in his veins. Get up Shouta told himself even as his eyes started to flutter close. You have to get up. His fingers twitched; they landed in a puddle of something gross. “Please,” Shouta whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please~” Thunder rolled off in the distance- a heavy, almost shuffling sound. Maybe- maybe he could get clean in the rain? Maybe-----
“Ah, your awake!”
Fuck! Shouta started, brain a sluggish mess. He- the last thing he remembered with solid clarity was collapsing against a dumpster. Rain pattered against the rooftop- a strange melody that did nothing to put the Pro at ease as he stared at the old man before him. He was heavyset, a long red beard neatly trimmed and a topknot giving him off an old school look. Shouta glanced around the room, just a little more awake now. He still felt like shit, wet from the clothes he had when-
“My shoes,” Shouta rasped, gaze falling to his feet. They were bare, his socks neatly placed on the floor with his shoes beside this...futon. A sad, threadbare thing on the floor. It took all he had not to run his hands over himself-no. No injuries. The only thing Shouta wasn’t wearing was his shoes. Shouta inhaled congestion thick and he wiped his nose on the back of his hand. An oven mitt was sitting on the floor between them, a teapot gently clutched in the old man’s hands. “You put band-aids on my heels?”
“I did,” came the quiet hum. “You’ve traveled quite a way. Those blisters are impressive.”
Shouta’s gaze flicked to the two clay cups- one by his feet, the other next to the old man’s knees. Steam started to curl out of the teapot; a fire Quirk perhaps? “...You’ve got a fire Quirk.”
The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “You’re very observant. Yes, I do. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Herbal Spring at the moment it might help with that cold you got.”
Shouta eyed the teapot in question- the steam was barely more than a little trickle of a cloud. Could he have poisoned it while I was out? He shrugged, looking away.
“Ah good!” The old man leaned forward to pour tea- Shouta first, then himself. “Herbal Spring is a very fragile tea, you know. Raise the temperature too much and you’ll ruin it. Keep the water too cold, and it loses its flavor.”
Shouta didn’t reach for his cup. He heard the soft clink of China being set down on the oven mitt. He- he saw the near-empty room he was in. “Where am I?”
“My tea shop! Aaah well,” the old man smiled again as he reached for his cup. “Soon to be my tea shop. This is a storeroom of sorts.”
Shouta watched the old man drink first. A happy hum, a deep sip that made the Pro finally reach for his cup. He brought it to his lips, taking a tentative sniff. Even with his blocked nose, it smelled sweet. Shouta took the tiniest of sips; the warm liquid sliding down his parched throat with ease. It had a soft note to it; sweet and almost fruity, enough to make Shouta …breathe. “Who are you?”
“Just a simple tea maker.” Another calm sip, the old man closing his eyes for a moment. “Who are you?”
It...it lacked the same venom that Shouta’s question had. The same cautiousness, an almost feral edge to it. The old man’s question was simple. Calm and steady; Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he took another tentative sip. “No one.”
“It is an honor to meet you, No One.” The teapot was held out like a porcelain olive branch. “More tea?”
Was this...a joke? Shouta bit the inside of his cheek before he held out his cup. There was still plenty of tea left in the small cup and it took all the Pro had not to wince at how hands were still shaking. Hot liquid sloshing about, threatening to go right over the dull rim. Yet...if the old man was going to say anything, he didn’t. He merely poured Shouta more tea, careful to keep the liquid from the rim.
Shouta brought it up to his lips, taking a bigger sip. “You’re,” this time he winced. His throat was still a raspy mess. “You’re not going to ask me why I was outside?”
“Mmm, you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”
Shouta watched the teapot be set gently on the oven mitt, the old teamaker once more quietly enjoying his cup. The two sipped their drinks in relative silence- only broken by the steady drumming of the rain overheard and Shouta sniffling. An odd sort of silence, almost peaceful; Shouta wasn’t bombarded with questions. The old tea maker was content to drink his tea; he’d already downed three cups by the time Shouta had managed to finish one. He sneezed 3 harsh sneezes and drank more tea hoping to soothe the throat. The teapot seemed to rise without being asked; a second cup poured, a second cup that Shouta found himself willingly drinking. “Aizawa,” he whispered, staring down at the amber liquid. The Pro’s voice was painfully loud in the quiet. “My name is Aizawa Shouta.”
The old man gently smiled; callused hands curled around his cup. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Aizawa Shouta.”
“What-” Shouta shifted on his futon; the tremors had finally left his hands. “Who are you?”
“Just an old man with wisdom and regrets,” came the happy reply. “You can call me Enji if you wish.”
Enji? It was a familiar way to address someone he’d just met. Right. “...I’m not calling you Enji.”
“Fair enough,” the old man chuckled and there was something warm in his voice that begged the Pro to relax. Maybe he has another Quirk? Can someone have two Quirks?
Shouta glanced down at his cup, his thumbs brushing the rim. “Why are you doing this?”
“Sharing tea with a fascinating stranger is one of life’s true delights~”
That...was not what Shouta was expecting. He frowned; was it too late to make a run for it? He was pretty sure he had strength in his legs now, even if he still felt awful. “That’s some bullshit,” the dark hair huffed, settling on something solid. Something he could trust. He attempted to rise to his feet and he wobbled for a moment. Pain that rolled through Shouta, begging for him to plop his ass back down. “You’re crazy, old man.”
The old man didn’t move from his spot on the floor. He merely hummed, a red eyebrow rising at the uptick of rain against the roof. “You will need a proper raincoat then. You’ll be soaked if you leave now.”
“...You’re not going to stop me?”
“I cannot stop you from your long journey, Shouta. Just as we cannot stop the fire from burning the log or ice freezing a pond.” Shouta watched the old man set his cup down; empty. “But please,” he groaned as he lumbered to his feet and Shouta was pretty sure he heard joints pop. “Let me get you an umbrella at least.”
His chest hurt. Shouta’s throat was stupidly tight. Painfully tight as he stood there, watching Enji dig around in the storeroom for an umbrella. “...You,” Shouta tried to clear his throat. To stop himself from crying like the idiot he was. “You don’t have-”
He shouldn’t have wasted his breath.
The umbrella was pressed into his hands with care. It was an old thing that had seen better days- a raggedy blue thing with a few frayed strands and a scuffed handle. It was old and worn and the most precious thing Shouta had ever held in his life. “Thank you,” the Pro whispered, clutching it close to his chest.
“Of course,” Enji hummed, bowing in return. “Please stay dry.”
---
Shouta descended the step of the tea shop, his body aching with every step. The medicine still clutched to his chest. The words still echoed in his mind. “You tell me when you’re ready.” He found himself walking the feeling of cool water running down his wet body was quite unpleasant. The wind blustered and the rain pattered on the antique umbrella and the way home seemed twice as long as usual. His mind raced, how could a stranger see so clearly into his mind was it that transparent to everyone that he was broken. As his feet hit the sidewalk a single thought crossed his mind. Hizashi. His songbird. His love. He was probably worried sick. As he pulled out his phone, he saw the screen was broken and as the light lit up his face, he could see 54 unread messages. Fuck. He ran, he didn’t even notice the tightening of his chest and the pain in his limbs, as he rounded the corner almost slipping on the wet pavement. He saw the lightly tan building of his home; the outside light was still on. As he unbolted the door and took a step inside, his heartbeat deafening in his ears, a pair of arms wrapped around his torso and pulled him inside.
As Shouta panted, Hizashi's grip gets getting tighter and tighter. No words were said but the silence spoke volumes. Shouta felt tears spring to his eyes and choked back a sob as Hizashi guided him to the living room sofa and sat him down. Wordlessly Hizashi began to take Shouta's shoes off, gently searching his dark eyes for some kind of answer of where he was. Shouta could not meet his gaze, and just shook from the wet clothes and clutched the sofa tighter. Hizashi nodded and went off down the hall. He returned a moment later with fluffy towels and the first words were spoken.
“Out of those clothes.” Shouta blushed but did as he was told and as each soaked article of clothing was removed from his body it was replaced with a warm fluffy towel. However, it didn’t stop his shivering and Hizashi started rubbing the frozen skin of his lover. After a few minutes, Hizashi suddenly stopped and stood up, turning his back from Shouta.
Suddenly the blond jolted forward. “heh… ehh…. heh'ISSShooo!" and went into the kitchen to grab a box of tissues.
As he sheepishly returned and met the gaze of his husband, he muttered an apology. “Sorry.”
Shouta was at a loss for words. Why was he sorry? It was not his fault Shouta got sick, not his fault he was broken. He had done everything right, Shouta was wrong. He blinked in rapid succession before finding his voice. The voice of Enji filled his head ‘When you’re ready. He spoke with a voice broken and small.
“The day that the rain smelled like ice cream, my cat went to heaven in front of my eyes. The day that the copper pipes in the old building smelled like burnt food, my best friend... went to heaven in front of my eyes. I couldn't save them. It's sad. Neither one had the chance to become an adult. They should have become adults. They should have had children of their own and loved those children. And I want to make that possible for other people. So don’t be sorry. You saved me. I love you.”
He had never expressed that amount of raw emotion in his whole life, not even to his therapist but it felt right. The nerves he felt flowed out of him as his tears decorated his face. As he sat covered in the towel he sobbed, all the emotions he had been holding released like the steam from that teapot that brought him warmth not a few hours before.
Hizashi cradled him, as his body racked with sobs, gently like how a mother would cradle a baby, pausing to kiss him and repeat gentle nothings. As Shouta began to wind down, all the strength he had been pretending he had disappeared and he slumped against Mic and closed his eyes and soon unconsciousness took him.
--
Shouta slept for hours it seemed like. Each dream he had was confusing and odd as if he had two brains competing for the dream. His tired muscles ached and the dull pain between his eyes had increased to a dull migraine. Truth be told he felt awful. But soon his body had had enough and he felt the being of a sneeze. He tried to hold back for a while longer but found it futile. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as the tickle reached its climax.
“Eschht, Eschht eh ugh sniff heh hhh AET’SCHHH!”
The last sneeze ripped through him with such force all the blankets and towel that had kept him warm fell off of him and he was left sniffling chest exposed to the room and his husband who look just as surprised as himself.
“Goodness bless you Sho, you have caught my cold.”
The tired man just groaned and said with a voice still raspy and strained “Not a cold, it's probably the flu, I should have told you sooner, I just- ugh sniff again heh hhh Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”
With the last sneeze, he felt his Quirk go haywire and soon his hair was floating above him and his eyes had turned a red hue. Luckily for him, no one was in the radius but he still felt awful. A hero could only depend on two things in this world, their Quirk and the one they loved. If Shouta could take one of those away without realizing it, it could mean trouble.
Mic had knelt in front of the laying down Pro and gently cupped a tissue around his husband's nose. “Bless your hon, come on blow for me.”
Shouta did a wet gurgling blow and groaned as the Quirk deactivated his dry eyes yearning for water. Mic dabbed at Shouta slowly being red nose and stood. He made his way over to the linen closet and grabbed the warmest winter sweater and returned to his sick husband.
“Arms up you know the drill.” As Mic helped the Pro get dressed, he called out to Siri.
“Hey, Siri, text Doctor Green we are coming in an hour.” As Shouta's head came through the sweater hole he simply frowned. This Doctor had treated him after the accident but was a close friend of theirs. As Siri confirmed the appointment Mic sensed Shouta's discomfort and replied to him. “I know sweetie you don’t like the doctor but you know he can help better than over-the-counter drugs. He continued and I will be there the whole time.”
Shouta shook his head. “Together,” he said in a small voice
Mic helped the sickly Pro stand and guided him to the mirror next to the door and kissed him on his flushed skin. “Forever Together.”
--
The train ride for the first leg of the journey was uneventful. The hum of the fluorescent lights and the moving subway train was distracting enough to distract other passengers from Shouta's constant sniffling. Mic was stood holding on to the overhead bar while Shouta was sitting with his head in his hands. Mic was constantly asking if Shouta needed anything even though he would not be able to provide much relief besides encouraging words. As the overhead speakers announced their stop Mic helped Shouta stand as the train came to a hard stop be cursed in English as Shouta stumbled forward again him.
The misty afternoon after the rainstorm was heavy in the air but still, Shouta shivered a clear sign of a fever and the couple picked up the pace to the doctors. As they rounded a corner a few blocks away they were met with the flashing blue and red of a line of police cars. As heroes, they knew a situation was happening. Mic half dragging Shouta went to them who seemed to be in charge of the crowd of citizens and asked what was happening. The short man with light brown hair replied with the normal answer for any citizen. “Nothing to worry about Sir heroes will handle it.” Mic frowned and dug in his pocket and grabbed his Hero license and flashed it at the man. Taken aback the man quickly responded. “Oh, um sorry, a Jewelry store has been taken hostage, he paused before continuing “my chief might need an extra few hand…he paused and looked at the struggling man Mic was holding up “is he also able to help.” Mic didn’t have time for this and he ducked below the police tape and began walking to the line of cop cars. Shouta followed but sluggishly. As he neared the chief of the police, he quickly scanned the street. He could see the jewelry store in question had a broken window and was heavily surrounded by local heroes as well as other members of the police task force. As Shouta caught up his eyes were half-closed and looked like he was going to pass out any second. Before Mic could attend to Shouta a round of gunshots filled the air and out of instinct he grabbed both of them and they hit the pavement hard. After a few moments, he helped Shouta lean against a cop car tire and checked over his body. ‘No wounds’ Mic thought ‘I don’t have time for this we need to get through this street.’
Mic looked at the task force and saw the numbers had decreased whoever was in the store had an amble firearm. As a local hero approached the car Mic asked what the status was and what they know. The local hero stating that the man inside the store had a bullet-type quirk and could shoot many rounds of ammo and was demanding everyone to leave and no one would get hurt.
Mic thought ‘a bullet type quirk, like Pro hero Edgeshot’ Mic continued to question. Did they have any other people with them? The local hero shook his head no they are alone. Mic could work with this. He waved over the chief, a man he had worked with a few other times.
If they could stop the man quirk do, they have enough to help the hostages and defeat the villain. The chief simply nodded his head and Mic set to work.
He gently shook the arm of Shouta who barely raised his head. “Hey love I know you are exhausted but we need you Quirk right now can you aim your Quirk over to the storefront.
Shouta tried Mic had to give him credit for that, but as soon his hair started to rise it quickly fell. Shouta mumbled a response thick with congestion. “I. Can’t…tired”
Mic rubbed his arms in understanding and replied “What about if we use your illness as an advantage, you can’t control when it happens right, what if we use that.”
Shouta turned to look at Mic. “What are you suggesting?”
Before he could reply another round of gunshot shot at them and he quickly covered Shouta's body with his. He immediately felt the sharp pain as a bullet entered him under his ribs, and he could feel the blood start to spill. With an adrenaline-filled body, he quickly pulled Shouta into a somewhat kneeling position and aimed his head toward the storefront. “I’m sorry about this love this isn’t going to be big on dignity.”
He grabbed the end of his ponytail and brought the split ends to the underside of Shouta's nose. The already irritated organ began to twitch as the strands of hair slowly twisted around.
Shouta tried to ignore the incessant prodding of the frizzy hair against his sensitive nose, but with each swipe, the tiny hairs that shook loose were soon sucked up into his twitching and quivering nostrils. He shuddered and froze in place a tear slowly trailed down from his eye to his cheek as his nose began scrunching and wriggling from the irritation.
“Come on Shouta you can do it,” Mic said. Shouta’s chest heaved and he couldn't help but give in to the itchy and tickly urge to expel those irritants from his nostrils.
“H...hhih...” The beginnings of a sneeze showed as his eyes began to droop. His chest expanded further “Haaahhh! Aaahhhh!” His eyes fully closed, head tilting back and signaling the oncoming release. Mic aimed his face toward the storefront and sent a silent prayer that this would work.
“Hit'choo!! Hih-tschh!! Hihh…hih-tsCHEW!”
As Shouta sneezed his hair lifted with ease and soon the storefront was temperately Quick free. Mic activated his Quirk and told the task force to go. Shouta was still panting from sneezing but his eyes were open however Mic didn’t know how long he could keep them open. As the task force ran in the subject found his Quirk would not activate and soon found himself being put in handcuffs and a medical device being placed that would stop his Quirk without the help of Erasure.
As Mic received the thumbs up, he spoke to his shaking husband who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Bless your hon you did it, you can relax now.” As Shouta did all the energy slipped from him and he lost consciousness and slumped over on the wet pavement. Mic grabbed the fragile man and began to walk to the nearest ambulance, as he stepped into the back of the ambulance the medic and himself helped Shouta into the gurney, and soon the siren wailed and they were finally off to their destination.
--
As they entered the hospital fast lane and the medic was ready to receive both of the ProS, Mic was insistent to be placed near Shouta as he wasn’t comfortable around hospitals. The medic nodded and escorted them to their joined room. Shouta was seen to first. They took blood and gave him fluids; they also provide pain medicine and sadly they had to wait until he woke up.
Mic surgery was quickly scheduled. He met with the surgeon while sitting next to Shouta and rubbing his arm. The female was fairly tall and had blue tint to her eyes and white hair. She explained the surgery before Mic consented.
“Upon examination, we identified 1 cm diameter entry wound at the left lower abdominal wall, Sir. The images we took showed the bullet in the peritoneal cavity but no injured intraperitoneal and retroperitoneal viscera. We decided to remove the bullet laparoscopically.” Mic nodded. She noticed the band around his finger and smiled. “How long have you two been together?”
Mic smiled and replied “4-year next month, but I have known since we were 14 that this is what we both needed.” He paused before swallowing hard “We've been through a lot but I can’t imagine life without him. He is my whole life, my Sky. He bent down and kissed the sleeping man's hand. The surgeon smiled and spoke “I see, well that must be hard with both of you rushing into battle all the time,” she looked down at her clipboard before continue “I have treated a lot of patients in my day but never have I seen a love quite like your, it’s very special.” A monitor beeped and the surgeon motioned him to follow. “Well, shall we take care of the bullet Mr. Hizashi. Mic kissed Shouta’s hand before leaving the room.
--
Shouta was hot. It was too bright wherever he was. His mind was foggy. He groaned as he sat up, he immediately recognized the smell of a hospital. What happened. The last thing he remembers is the sound of gunshots and Hizashi…Shit Hizashi he jerked into a sit-up position and looked around. The nurse that had been changing his fluid jumped back. “Calm down you’re okay! Just relax.”
“Where is he…what happened?” He asked rage filling his croaky voice. The nurse replied, “Sir he is in surgery he will be out soon don’t worry he is okay.” She laid him back against the pillows before continuing “We need to make sure you’re okay Sir make sure you don’t have a concussion. He pulled out a light and shown it in his eye without much warning. The tickle flared to life and he turned his head.
“Issh’iIEWW!....hhh..heh… “TSCHTIEW” Thankfully his Quirk did not activate he wiped his nose on the back of his arm as the nurse apologized.
“Sorry Sir, but the good news is you don’t have a concussion so you will be out of here as soon as we can get some medicine and your husband is awake.”
Shouta relaxed slightly and closed his eyes and tried to keep the panic from getting too much to handle. Within the next 2 hours, Shouta tried to not be a bother to any of the staff but his flu had proven a little too much for him to handle.
As a nurse with a gravity-type quirk was walking down the hall with floating plates of dinner, he groaned as another tickle forced him to sneeze and he felt his quirk activate and he heard the crash as the dinner plates fell and crashed on the floor. Many of the nurses were understanding but he still felt awful. When his husband was wheeled into his room Shouta's eyes began to water and he had to fight back tears. The surgeon explained the surgery was a success and he would be discharged later today. She told Aizawa in a voice soft and comforting. “He loves you so much, you are a very lucky man.” She sat on the edge of his bed and looked into his eyes. “I know you feel broken but he is trying so hard to make sure you are taken care of. The world is a cruel place and I know you have suffered more than most. But know this, he loves you and has sworn to protect you. You might be a Hero to the public but he is your Hero, let him save you. She wiped a tear from her eye and turned to leave. Before leaving the room, she said “Oh and you have a gift make sure to grab it before leaving.” And placed a small box on the counter next to the door before leaving him.
When Hizashi woke and passed all the discharge tests and Shouta had his medicine they left the hospital holding each other’s hand and holding a box of tea that they would use for the rest of their life.
The end.
#Vic writes#vicwrites#bnha fic#fanfic#my fanfiction#My fic#sneezefanfic#sneezefic#sneeze fic#mysneezefic#bnhafanfic
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Hello! I...I love your writing so much, true talent served on a golden plate. May I ask for a JuZen request? One where Juju gets a flu and without realising Zen gets into mama mod? Jumin is used to be pampered but he never felt this genuinly cared for, his entire life. Some domestic and cozy love in your style? Thank you. I hope you are healthy and doing well 🌹
ljsdkjdskljdskdsdkljs I don’t deserve these compliments anonny aaaaahhhh~~ Also yasss I love this! One mama bear Zen, coming up! I hope you enjoy
He couldn’t breathe through his nose. Thepounding headache and burning sensation in his sinuses made Jumin groan as heslowly woke up. Strange, he was lying down. And that didn’t look like a C&Rcompany ceiling. Hadn’t he been at work earlier?
There was a blanket cocooning his body.From what he could feel, his jacket, pants and shoes had been removed. Jumintried to turn his head to scout his surroundings but his body protestedheavily. Another wave of dizziness and fatigue hit him and he was forced to liestill.
“It’s so like you to work until you passout,” a familiar voice nagged him.
“Zen?” Jumin asked, own voice nasal. Hefelt a cool hand on his forehead, his blurry vision showing him the whitesilhouette of the actor. “Where am I?” Andhow did I get here?
“Shit, you’re burning up,” Zen commented,removing his hand. “You’re in my apartment on my bed, aka house arrest for dumbtrust fund jerks who get sick and don’t take a fucking rest. Jaehee told me youfainted at work again this week. Iconvinced her to let me handle you.”
A damp, cool cloth was placed on Jumin’sforehead and he let out an audible sigh of relief as some of the pressure fadedaway. “We have an important deadline. The clients-“
“The clients can wait. Who will it benefitif you die?”
Jumin chuckled lightly and winced from the achesin his body. “You cannot die from a flu.”
“Knowing you, you’re going to damn welltry. Jaehee’s already moved all your appointments for the week and taking careof your furball. I already told her she’s getting a holiday for this, so youbetter follow up.”
“Her name is Elizabeth the Third,” Jumincomplained. “You should just ask Assistant Kang to call my private doctor, thisis a waste of time for both of us.” It’s what his parents did for him when hefell ill as a kid, and that suited him just fine.
Zen’s irritation was evident. “All thedoc’s going to do is feed you painkillers and tell you to rest, which is exactlywhat you won’t do, so forget it. Plus I’ve got a few days off because my co-actressis sick as well. I swear, this country is hellbent on infecting everyoneinstead of recovering.”
Whatever retort Jumin wanted to give, ittrailed off when he felt his eyelids droop, the exhaustion of his illness takingfull control. Last thing he felt was Zen pulling up the blanket to hisshoulders and kissing him on his head.
“Get better soon, you fool.”
***
How long had he slept, was the firstquestion on his mind as he woke again. His nose was still clogged and burning,but the fever had gone down. With some effort, he pulled himself up until hesat with his back against the headrest.
“Don’t you dare leave the bed,” he heardZen demand beyond the open door. Soon the albino appeared with a tray in hishands. “If you’re hungry, you can eat some soup. Otherwise just have the tea.”
“What time is it?” Jumin asked, staring asZen placed the tray next to him. Chicken soup and herbal tea, it had to be. Itdawned upon him that Zen couldn’t have slept here in this tiny bed. “And wheredid you sleep?”
Zen fished a metal spoon out of his back pocketand put it in the bowl. “It’s 10 AM, and on the couch of course.”
“You should have given me the couch.”
Zen rolled his eyes. “I’m not the sick one,and my couch is perfectly comfortable for me. Will you stop fighting me! Stubbornman.”
You’rethe stubborn one, Jumin wanted to say, but fellquiet while Zen checked his temperature by placing a hand on his forehead. “Wheredid you learn to be a nurse?” he asked. A devilishly handsome, muscular nurse.Every fan in the world would murder him for this privilege.
“When I was a little kid, my mother thoughtI was always sick because of my pale skin and hair. If it weren’t for mybrother, I would have been locked inside forever and fed a million types ofmeds.” Zen conjured another wet cloth out of nowhere and wiped Jumin’s foreheadand neck. “Sleep as much as you can. You recover the most when you do.”
“I should take a shower,” Jumin said,worried he stank after wearing the same clothes.
Zen bent down to kiss him gently on hisneck, and slowly made his way upward to the corner of his mouth. “You’re fine. Youstill smell like your stupidly expensive perfume.”
“Cologne,” Jumin corrected him, enjoyingthe touch. “You’re going to catch the flu at this rate.”
Zen shrugged as he left the room. “I’dprobably heal through it in an hour.”
Grabbing the cup of warm tea, Jumin knewthat Zen was right, but his pride wouldn’t let him say it out loud.
***
This was the longest he had spent doingnothing productive, and it felt foreign and pleasant at the same time. Zen had broughthim books, his phone and even his laptop so he could keep himself entertainedwhile he was conscious. His lover had caught him working and since then cuddledup by his side to keep an eye on him. It was an exaggerated amount of attentionand Jumin couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it.
The flu had properly dissipated at the endof the third day. Jumin left Zen’s bathroom feeling refreshed, wearing theactor’s clothing, his nose still sniffy but nothing that deterred his energy. Zen,with his head propped on one arm, sat on the couch and smiled at the healthyCEO-to-be. “Look at you. I think I deserve an award for world’s best doctor.”
“I think a lot of doctors would argue withthat.” Jumin headed over to lover and and tilted his head up to kiss himfondly. “Thank you. You’re amazing.”
Zen blushed fiercely at the compliment. “Iknow,” he said in a tone that always begged Jumin to confirm it anyway. “You’releaving?”
“I’ve really spent too long away from thecompany and taking up your time.”
“You should stay. It’s the end of the day,they’re not going to miss you,” Zen harrumphed and rearranged himself on thecouch so Jumin could sit next to him. “And! I think I’m feeling under theweather. You owe me, so take care of me until I get better.”
Justlike Elizabeth, he’ll say anything to get his way. Jumingrinned at the thought, even if Zen would loathe to be compared to a cat. Acquiescinghis obvious request, Jumin sat down next to the albino, who wasted no time wrappinghimself around the raven-haired man. “Just for an hour?” Jumin teased.
“It turns out I might have overestimated myhealing ability. Best to stay the entire evening.” Zen looked at him in a waythat said you know I’m bullshitting butyou love me for it.
And as Jumin snuggled him while theywatched a reality show, he knew he did love him for this and more.
#juzen#zumin#juminzen#jumin x zen#mystic messenger#mysme#I took experience from my own flu lel#fanfic#fanfiction#drabble#sick fick
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•You never really go to parties and are always really uptight and we made fun of you for it/expressed frustration at this so you forced yourself to go to this party and shit you’re so sick and you won’t go home because we made you feel bad I’m so sorry how can I make it up to you?? (Keith is not a fan of parties but his friends eventually pester him into going to one despite being sick as a dog.)
(I started this fic with the intention of having it for whumpmas, so if that is not a testament to how slow I am as a writer, idk what is! Also, btw this is weird but I love when sicknarios I write get back to me, lol! And I did write this scenario with Keith and E from les mis in mind, so this is a great prompt! This is college au, btw, I find it kinda difficult to write alien parties lmao!)
Parties are the perfect culmination of everything Keith hates in life.
Bright, strobe, head ache inducing lights with a wide variety of flashing, psychedelic colours, ear piercingly loud music with a tremendous beat that makes his heart thump and thump and feel way too overwhelmed, warm, sticky bodies way too close too each other and making him feel suffocated, too much people, having fun and feeling free when Keith can only feel more trapped.
Too much people.
Too much.
Keith has spent so much time in solitude, in simplicity. And being thrust into a situation where there is too much all at once is alien to him, and he can’t help the rapid beating and thumping of his wild heart when he looks around for some sort of serenity.
Keith feels trapped in this room, the overwhelming humidity and heaviness of this air weighing down on him and compressing his lungs so he can’t breathe. He hates watching all these people exhilarated, vibrant, alive. When he can only feel more lifeless by the second.
He feels like an alien like this. Like he isn’t part of this world. Keith doesn’t even feel like here’s here. He can’t even feel his body, he doesn’t feel like he’s connected to it, and he’s floating away. Looking down. And he hates what he sees.
All Keith can feel is the pounding and raging headache that seems to pierce into his skull and the pain is only worsened by the tremors of the pulsating waves of sound from the obnoxiously large speakers that litter the place.
He didn’t even want to be here; Shiro had told him this would be good, that college was great, and he needed to start living that college life. Shiro said he needed to be more sociable, because he would make the best friends of his life here. Pidge would tease him , and so would Lance. And Hunk encouraged him kindly, and Keith did not have any energy to fight them. So he went. And he could not have regretted a decision more than this very moment.
Keith stumbles around the night club like he’s drunk, and he doesn’t have one single drop of alcohol in his body. If he can be drunk on a fever, he definitely is. Due to his feverish haze he’s lost Shiro and Pidge, and his only hope is finding Lance and Hunk who are probably the life and soul of the party.
In this haze he hasn’t even realised the tickle blossoming within his sinuses and before he knows it he’s doubling over with one loud, powerful sneeze that grates against his throat with no time to cover, and just aim towards the floor. He gets a slightly irritated look from some person, and honestly, he doesn’t even mind. Keith feels awful being this germ incubator in this tightly knit space. This cold is horrendous, and he’s probably just passed it on to a good three people and he feels terrible.
Keith stumbles and wobbles around the night club dizzily, the technicolor lights seeming like an acid trip he did not consent to, and it seems to be sending waves of messages to his brain to hurt and throb. He feels a tad bit of anger and bitterness towards Shiro, Allura and Pidge, and maybe a little bit towards Lance and Hunk, but in fairness to them, they hadn’t pushed him to go this particular evening, but they had in the past.
“You need to enjoy your college experience, Keith! Get out of your room for once, embrace your youth!” Shiro had told him, in a way that was so middle aged dad he wanted to tear his hair out but so perfectly Shiro he couldn’t help but be persuaded into it.
“Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Keith,” Pidge had whined.
“It’ll be so much fun, Keith! Plus, I heard that Lance is wearing a pretty cute outfit tonight,” Allura had teased, causing him to scowl knowing she had played with his heart and manipulated him with the promise of his crush looking cute.
And Keith couldn’t even find Lance, so there was about zero reason for him even being here.
As Keith continues to feverishly navigate around the crowded night club, pushing past bare, sticky skin and profusely overheating, he is suddenly tapped on the shoulder.
“Hey, will you kiss my friend?” A girl slurs, an arm sluggishly wrapped around her equally as wasted friend, giggling to her heart’s content.
Keith opens his mouth to politely refuse, but before he’s even aware his nose is itching horribly and Keith is doubling over with one loud, almost obnoxiously, heavy and sickly sounding sneeze he doesn’t cover.
The girls take a step back, giggling and backing away from him and fading away worth the crowd.
“Too bad, he was pretty cute though, just gross,” He hears one of them say before they disappeared entirely.
Keith sighs sadly, the girl was pretty, and he didn’t swing that way but he still felt kinda bad for being so gross. But his guilt doesn’t last long before he’s back to pitying himself and reembarking on his quest to find Lance.
He doesn’t even know why he’s so keen on finding the guy, he doesn’t really know what he’s expecting and maybe it’s his fever talking, but he’s not leaving this damn club without seeing his cute as fuck crush who is the reason he’s in this hellhole to begin with.
And it’s almost like a fairytale but it’s the sound of a beautiful melody, like a mesmerising serenade that captivates him him and lulls him over to the source.
He knows that voice anywhere.
He would know Lance’s melodic, tenor voice anywhere, it’s sweet and enthralling and it makes him feel all warm inside. Everything the little shit does makes him feel that way, but Lance’s voice is a siren’s song calling him and putting him on this spell and he’s forever his.
His voice has taken on an edge, a kind of rock and roll gruff to it that he finds insanely hot–maybe the fever adds to it though, he doesn’t know–and it’s sure tell sign that Lance is drunk.
“I guess I got what I deserved, kept you waiting there too long, my love. All that time without a word, didn’t know you’d think that I’d forget, or I’d regret, the special love, I have for you, my baby blue!” Lance sings, people dancing and bopping and head banging to his song.
Keith manages to get a glimpse of Hunk who was jamming it out on the drums, and then he saw what he was looking for.
“Fuck,” Keith breathes out, “Allura was right.”
He did look pretty great.
He had his hair tousled and ruffled in a way that made him look so irresistible and adorable and these strobing lights that he hated served one purpose, and that was making his skin glow and his eyes twinkle and pop. His blue t-shirt hugged his body and his jeans were flattering and he looked so great. Keith wanted to faint.
Partly because of how attractive he looked, but also because he was now super light headed.
Lance looks beautiful and radiant, flashing a random girl watching one of those charming, flirty smiles that makes Keith jealous every time he does. He understands Lance isn’t his, but god he wished he was.
Keith shakes his head angrily, he’s never his sentimental or sappy over Lance, maybe he really is that sick.
Then Lance looks over and they lock gazes, and this stupid lazy grin wipes across the boy’s face and any jealousy or bitterness or illness Keith is feeling seems to disappear when he does.
However Lance seems to realise his current state because his face drops. He quickly passes the mic to the random guy who’s playing the guitar and rushes over to Keith, albeit in a zig zagged direction as he seems to be tripping over his own feet.
“Keith?” Lance greets worriedly, only he can still remain appealing despite reeking of alcohol.
“Hey Lancey-Lance,” Keith slurs feverishly, before his nose twitches and he’s doubling over and aiming two harsh sneezes towards the floor.
“Lancey-Lan–god, you look awful! And Jesus, for you to be calling me that you must be running a–” Lance cut himself off and placed the back of his hand against Keith’s forehead and frowned.
“Dammit, Keith! That’s not good, we gotta get you,” Lance hiccups, “–home!”
“Why did you come, anyway, while you were this sick?” Lance frets, hiccuping again.
“M'not a stick in the mud,” Keith mutters feverishly, leaning into Lance’s side and nuzzling his face against his chest in exhaustion.
He pulls Keith into his embrace and kissed the top of his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “What? What are you–oh.”
Lance’s heart sinks, “Keith. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for teasing you, I didn’t mean to hurt you at all, I just..I wanted you to be with us. When you’re not here..I miss you.”
Keith shakes his head, “Not you.. you didn’t make me come tonight.”
Lance bites his lip, “Still. I contributed to make you feel like you were uptight and boring when you are nothing but exciting and lovely. I’m sorry Keith, please, let me make it up to you.”
Keith cant help but crack a weak smile, “I didn’t know you were an emotional drunk. I’m glad I came here tonight, now I can blackmail you.”
Lance can’t help but laugh a little, “But we’re taking you home right now.”
Keith sneezes loudly into Lance’s chest, muttering, “Sorry.”
Lance smiles softly, tapping him on the nose, “Alright, Mullet. Enough, we’re going home.”
“But they’re having so much fun..look at Hunk..he’s jamming out..” Keith points over to Hunk.
“And you..need to keep singing..” He insists tiredly.
“No way, you’re too sick!” Lance protest as he began to walk Keith out, simultaneously pulling out his phone to order an uber.
Once they arrive outside Keith let out a sigh of relief to feel the fresh air, basking in all the space and the soft lighting. His head seemed to ease up a little bit.
However the cold quickly began to seep in, causing him to shiver violently. Lance pulls off the jacket he had tied around the waist and helped Keith out it on. He then pulls the boy into a hug to share his warmth.
“Thank you,” Keith manages to choke out before erupting into a series of harsh, heavy coughs.
Lance could only smile weakly, obviously feeling guilty but pushed it aside to wave over to the Uber driver and guided Keith in.
***
Lance hauls Keith onto his bed, with him muttering about taking out the aspirin because they’ll both need it the next day, and heads straight towards the bathroom to collect a damp towel for him. Once he returned he laid the cloth gently over his forehead and pulled a chair over, sitting beside him.
“Shiro called. He was wondering where we were, I told him you were sick and he feels awful. They all do. Pidge says Korean takeaway is on her tomorrow, if you’re up for it,” Lance explains softly.
“You’re not a stick in the mud, Keith. Okay? You’re not boring. You’re not any of these things we made you feel and I’m so sorry we ever did. You’re sweet and kind and such a great friend and– I’m so sorry, Keith, we should’ve understood. I love parties but there are days where I just don’t even want to get out of bed, I should’ve understood, showed you some compassion. I should’ve..”
“Lance, stop.”
He looks over Keith, feeling guilt and feeling responsible for Keith being this sick. He feels awful, he had made yet another mistake. He feels so stupid for being unable to read in between the lines, his jokes going too far and he hadn’t even noticed it. He just wanted Keith to be with him, to be happy. And he had to go and fuck it up.
“You’re really good at hiding how you feel, Lance, but you can’t hide it from me, stop feeling so guilty,” Keith croaks.
“I can’t help it, I was hurting you and I didn’t know,” Lance murmurs.
Keith coughs harshly, feeling his chest rattle from the force of it, “I’ve felt worse pain.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
Keith smiles softly, “But you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know you never would try and hurt me. ..you said..you missed me when I’m not there. Yeah, I was hurt, but now I feel wanted.”
Lance manages a smile, “Always. You’re always wanted.”
“I hope you know that.”
“I know now,” He slurs feverishly.
Keith coughs again, and when he finishes he looks over at Lance with bleary, glazed eyes, and giggles, “You looked very hot tonight.”
Lance blushes hard, his eyes widening, “U-uh..n-no, you’re the feverish one, you’re hot.”
Keith scoffs before yet again coughing, “Don’t play dumb, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for. You know what I meant.”
Lance shakes a little, so unused to being the one flirted with rather than the one initiating it, Keith did this thing where he shook his entire world and turned it upside down and he’d lose control.
“You’re not..you’re..you’re..uh..pretty. Uh, pretty cool. Pretty handsome. Whatever,” Lance blurts , extremely flustered.
Keith grabs at his hand with the sweetest look in his eyes, “Sing for me, please. It makes everything feel okay again.”
Lance swallows as his hand was grabbed, but he let himself relax into his touch and let it happen. He smiles.
“I’ve got no use for moonlight, or sappy poetry. Love at first sight is for suckers, at least it used to be. Look, girls are nice, once or twice, til’ I find someone new..but I never planned on no one like you.”
#keith kogane#lance mcclain#klance#klangst#voltron#whump#sick Keith#fever#sneezing#snz#hunk garrett#takashi shirogane#pidge gunderson#allura#voltron college au#vld#vld keith#vld lance#prompts
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Svt reacting to if their s/o was upset or sick
requested by anon: "Can I get a reaction of how svt would you all treat your gf/wife if she was upset or sick plz?"
Seuncheol- Leader is probably freaking the fluff out. If you're upset, he'll sit in a corner and run through all the things he's said to you in the past five days and try to remember every little detail to try to figure out what it is he did. If you're sick, he'd be running around trying to find ways to make you feel better. He'd offer you medicine, soup, anything you could want, he'll purposely go out of his way to get it for you. The TV remote is too far? Your book is on your nightstand? You know Seungcheol is going to run all over to accommodate for you
"There's this tea that my mom says is good for sore throats, I'll go pick it up now, call me in ten minutes so I can check up on you, y/n."
Jeonghan- He would wait patiently until you told him why you were upset, and if it's at him, he'd apologize profusely and hug you, refusing to let go until you tell him he's forgiven. If you're sick, he knows all the hacks for feeling better and he'd wrap you up in blankets and refuse to let you move an inch while he makes tea and then sits behind you giving you your tea and cuddles. He'd probably get sick too but he'd refuse to let you go and you'd both fall asleep on the couch with the TV on and his arms wrapped around you and your blanket.
"If I get sick, at least I can suffer happily knowing that we can nap on the couch and not do anything together."
Joshua- He's probably so concerned and bothered if you're upset about something. He wouldn't want to make it into a big deal, but he'd tell you he's always here to listen to you and be there for you and he hopes you don't forget that he cares a lot about you. If you're sick, he'd be constantly making excuses to help you out even if you didn't want him to cook you dinner, or fold a heated blanket around you, or play your favorite movie (without you even having to ask), or putting fluffy socks on your feet.
"I was going to the grocery store anyway to buy chocolate and also bought you cough drops. No, I can't return them, just have some so you can feel better faster."
Junhui- If you're upset, he'd take both your hands in his, and ask what was up, and sit you down on the couch until you told him what was wrong. He'd even offer you his shoulder if you needed to cry. If you're sick, he'd give you his favorite over-sized sweatshirt and then pull the hood up for you and make sure you're nice and warm. He'd probably know some traditional Chinese herbal medicine too that could help clear your sinuses up too. He'll prob use baby talk when asking you if you need anything, which results in some cute but tiring tickle fights.
"I have to talk to you like this, how else am I supposed to show you that you're so precious and need to be taken care of?"
Soonyoung- Acting cute all over the place to try to cheer you up, and if you're upset with him, be prepared for the aegyo overload as he tries to apologize cutely for whatever he did. The same cuteness applies to if you're sick. Heck, Soonyoung would wrap you up with like five blankets and any stuffed animals you have lying around until you're a big marshmallow and then feeds you medicine and food, whatever you need just so you don't have to move an inch. Then, he'd probably perform a small silly dance for you just to make you laugh.
"I call this dance. . . ACHOOOO NICE and HIGH RICE."
Wonwoo- He's pretty good at these sort of things and comforts you in the best way possible. He's a fluffball, probably would give you some really good advice hidden inside a story and then you'd be confused and ask him to explain and then everything is put in perspective. If you're sick, the two of you will sit in front of the fireplace toes side-by-side and read and he'd make sure you always drink lots of water and take your medicine and eat good food. He'd probably try his hand at cooking too and stand around reading recipes with his glasses on.
"How do people even come up with recipes? Is it just put whatever you want and then write it down? I'll just make my own recipe then and hope you'll feel much better afterwards."
Jihoon- The poor guy is super worried and concerned but probably tries not to show that he is. If you're upset at him or something, he'll try to get you to tell him about it while secretly panicking inside until you felt better. The same would go for you being sick. He'll tell you to rest and feel better and he'll bring you medicine and food, whatever you need really calmly, but if you so much as sneeze or cough, he'll jump and look up at you with concern before quickly turning back to whatever he was doing.
"You're going to be fine, I have no doubts, tell me if you need anything and I'll be there in 1 second or less, promise."
Seokmin- Literal sunshine, he’d try making jokes to make you smile or laugh if you were upset. But if you were upset with him, he’d try his best to understand why and make sure that you’re ok and would shower you with love to make sure you weren’t upset anymore. If you were sick, he’d probably tell you to sleep every five minutes, even if you’ve slept the whole day away and he’d insist on doing everything for you so you could rest, even if it’s stuff he doesn’t normally do. The jokes wouldn’t stop also.
“Can I call you Little Asthma? ‘Cause you take my breath away.”
Mingyu- Mingyu would not leave you alone, knowing you're upset, whether it's because of him or something else, he would hug and comfort you first until you calmed down before talking with you and asking what you were upset about. If you're sick, he has everything to make you feel better. The boy can cook incredible foods with whatever he has and then you'd both eat together on the couch. He'd get sick too from staying close by your side catering to your every need.
"It's ok since I know how to cook and take care of myself, but no one's there to take care of you, but me, so let me be here."
Minghao- He's a big fluffball too. He'd pull you down onto the couch or on his lap and wrap his arms around you and listen to why you were upset without interrupting and just hold you, until whatever you were upset about just slips from your head. If you're sick, he'd pull you to the bed and watch you to make sure you're sleeping and would watch you while you're sleeping while holding your hand and maybe humming a quiet song for you to fall asleep too. And when you wake up, he fell asleep next to you, still facing you and holding your hand.
"Oh you're up? I'll order breakfast from your favorite place, but stay in bed, let me do everything today."
Seungkwan- If you're upset, try not to cry, because Seungkwan, knowing you're upset about something, he would also get upset, and if you're upset with him, he might start crying his apology and asking you to hold him. If you're sick, same thing, he'd be running around super upset that you caught a cold, probably calling his mom to ask what the best recipe to help with colds are, or calling the local pharmacy and drilling the people answering his call with questions about the best brand of cough syrup to get you.
"No, it's not for me sir. . . yes I realize it's like 12am . . . Then why'd you answer my call?. . . Pleeease, I have to take care of someone and they only deserve the best."
Hansol- Hansol would be shuffling around awkwardly at first because he's not too sure how to comfort you, but seeing you upset, he can't stand it and he'll pull you into his arms and hold you and pat your hair and tell you everything was going to be ok. If you're sick, he'll be so happy to be able to take care of you, it'll be so cute with him walking around trying to figure out what he should get you first, whether it be blankets, one of his sweaters, a stuffed animal he got you as a present, medicine, he'd get you all of it.
"How about some music, we can jam out, but no- just rest and I'll get you- wait, are you hungry? How about some food... food sounds good right?"
Chan- Chan, although the maknae, he's really mature and knowing you're upset, he'll have probably figured out what it is before you even tell him and he'll have advice or your favorite activity set aside to make you feel better without even having to tell him. If you're sick, he'll tell you to rest in bed and refuse to let you leave the room until you've slept at least the whole day while he goes out to buy medicine and food. When he comes back, he'll have way more stuff than you both can actually eat and you'll both sit around the dinner table messing around and feeding each other.
"When I was at the store, there was this teddy bear the size of you, and I kept telling the cashier about how you were sick at home and I guess they got tired of it because they shooed me out once I was done paying."
MASTERLIST
#ask seventeen#ask#request#reaction#svt reacts#svt reactions#svt#svt17#17#seventeen#reactions#kpop scenarios#seventeen scenarios#svt scenarios#kpop#kpop idols#kpop reactions#scoups#jeonghan#joshua#Jun#hoshi#wonwoo#woozi#dk#mingyu#the8#seungkwan#vernon#dino
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I just read the Freezerburn Arranged Marriage AU in one go, and I. Need. MORE.
Yeah, haha, I got a little distracted with other projects, so part 11 isn’t done yet, but- WAIT. SHIT. AFTER CHECKING, I APPARENTLY DIDN’T POST PART 10 YET. I AM SO SORRY.
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 (here)
Yang awoke with a curse caught in her throat and a thickness in her chest that promised to take a week’s worth of coughing to dislodge. Although extremely well versed in using her chi to deter grievous wounds, the blonde had yet to master keeping herself free of illness, which meant her trek through the freezing rain the night before had left her facing the mundane nuisance of a minor cold. Her head felt cloudy, as though she was wading through a swamp just to reach the next thought, and the pressure above the bridge of her nose hinted at built up mucus clogging her sinuses. With a groan, she pushed herself into a sitting position, suddenly aware she was on her back but not quite sure why that set off alarm bells in the back of her mind until she managed to get herself upright. Forcing her bleary eyes open, Yang cast a look around for her wife, an apology replacing the curse as she remembered not only her propensity for snoring but the position which seemed to cause it. Dull lilac searched the immediate area but Weiss was nowhere to be found, though a few things had changed since she’d fallen asleep the night before.
The slim blade had disappeared, likely with its owner, but her gauntlets were laid with care above the orange cloth as always, the fabric looking freshly cleaned rather than simply dried after being peeled off her the night before, and the gleam to the metal spoke of a recent polish applied to it rather than the water spots and mud from when she’d stumbled on her way back home. At first, guilt washed over her, the obvious explanation being that she’d driven the woman from their bed in the wee hours of the morning and the Atlesian had taken to occupying her time with cleaning up after Yang rather than sit idle, but she could see the sliver of bright sunlight peeking past the bottom of the blinds on the window, indicating that it might well be afternoon rather than morning. She’d obviously overslept, which gave her hope that she hadn’t rolled onto her back until sometime after Weiss had awoken naturally, but it didn’t bode well for her; the messengers from the day before had brought with them enough news to nearly bury her, meaning she’d already lost far too much time to slumber. There was too much to do for her to stay in bed, succumbing to a simple cold. She needed to get to her study immediately, pour over her maps and wrack her brain until a solution presented herself, and she only had about two days to do it by her guess, considering the dire situations presented to her.
Honestly, Yang wasn’t even sure if she could find a suitable solution- one that would solve every problem presented to her- but lying in bed certainly wouldn’t help her one way or another.
Throwing off the blanket and swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the curse she’d bitten back earlier slipped from her lips as her chest and throat protested the movement, followed by a coughing fit that shook the frame beneath her.
That was as far as she got.
“Yang?” Her wife called from down the hall, entering the bedroom a moment later and scowling when blue eyes fell on the scene before her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I- I have- my study-” The blonde fought valiantly to silence her cough, drawing forth the warmth of her chi to try calming her stuttering lungs, but to no avail. Eventually, she stopped trying to speak, hoping that if she allowed the fit to run its course, she might be able to get her point across before receiving an earful for proving the woman right about her reckless actions the night before. The rain and wind certainly hadn’t seemed so bad when she left the tavern’s warmth, but the walk home felt longer than ever as the heat was leeched from her body. She pounded on the center of her chest with one closed fist, hoping to loosen the phlegm she could feel clinging to the inside of her lungs and making every breath a battle, the mucus in her nose starting to leak out instead and making the whole situation that much worse. Before she could think to curse her luck, though, slim hands landed on her shoulders, guiding her to lay back down, the covers pulled up to her chin a moment later. From the brief contact, she could feel Weiss’ cool chi flow into her, just enough to settle her cough and give her much needed time to catch her breath, the cadence quick and labored. Still, she could at least breathe, so she turned a small, grateful smile to the woman now hovering at her bedside. “Thanks.”
“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” her wife said, blue eyes flashing with determination as her jaw set, the hard expression being directed at the warrior Queen promising no easy way out. “You are in no condition to do anything more than lay there and rest. Going out in a storm like that would’ve killed lesser people and I’ll not stand idly by while you work yourself to the bone trying to meet that end yourself.”
Yang opened her mouth to argue but paused. She couldn’t ignore her duties, true, but that didn’t mean she had to start a fight over it either. Another time, perhaps she’d press the issue and test which of them could be more stubborn, but at present she merely wanted to preserve the warmth she’d felt the night before when they laid down together, at peace with each other for the first time in far too long. The affirmation that she could one day hear the woman sing… she didn’t want to push her chances quite yet. “Would you be willing to help me?”
Clearly surprised- either at the lack of rebuttal or the offer, it was tough to say- her wife blinked for a moment before speaking, choosing her words carefully. “What, exactly, do you want help with?”
“The messengers who came yesterday; they need my help.” She sighed, wincing at the wheeze that replaced her normal exhale. “Well, two of them do, and a third requires our presence, but each is pressing. I need the maps from my study, a pen brush, a… lot of scrolls, and enough ink to write out my replies.” The blonde paused, drawing in a deep breath that nearly sent her into another coughing fit, her chest tightening once again. While Weiss’ touch had calmed her before, it hadn’t healed her nearly enough to take away the ache of congestion and the lethargy of her body requesting more sleep and sustenance to combat the illness certainly didn’t help matters in the least. Yet, she managed to offer a small smile, noting the worry on the Atlesian’s face. “I promise, I’ll do nothing but rest after I’ve figured out a way to help them.”
Weiss watched her for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re eating breakfast first. Or lunch, whichever you prefer. After that, I’ll bring you whatever you need.”
“Deal.” Settling back against the headboard, Yang gave a passing thought as to her absent appetite before admitting defeat; food rarely seemed appealing when she was sick, and now proved to be the same, but her wife probably wouldn’t accept that explanation as a good enough reason to skip a meal. It seemed better to cede the fight and force down what she could rather than try and talk her way out of it. “It’s about lunchtime, right? What’s Dad cooking?”
“Stirred noodles, with chicken and vegetables, and a side of fried rice. He mentioned that it’s one of your favorite meals and we both thought you could use a pick-me-up considering your health.” Blue eyes darted away briefly, drawing Yang’s full attention. She could see how the Atlesian seemed torn between speaking more plainly and keeping her thoughts to herself, that age old habit she seemed reluctant to break but also put noticeable effort into doing so, like now. “Our cooking lessons have been quite… enlightening, recently. He’s told me more about your favorite foods than you have.”
“Well, he’s been our resident chef for a while now,” she replied, fighting back the tickle in her throat. Swallowing thickly- and handed a cup of warm milk tea that had likely been hot when it was first brought up- Yang fought to keep her cough under control, grimacing as she drew in a slow, steady breath. She found it a tad curious- cooking lessons with Dad, although it brought a smile to the blonde’s lips, hadn’t been something they’d talked about before- but kept that much in check for the time being, opting to address what other enlightening activities the two were getting up to while Yang attended to her duties. She’d hoped the two would get along despite past misgivings and this seemed to be a sign that they were doing just that, but she didn’t want the learning to be entirely one-sided. Perhaps Weiss could teach one of them how to make her favorite dishes from Atlas- but that would be something she’d have to address later. One thing at a time. “Lunch sounds delicious.”
“I’ll bring you some when it’s ready.” Weiss stood, straightening out her dress- this one was an older Valen style, with another robe beneath it, the cool blue hardly showing through the white outer robe- and then helped tuck the blonde in with quick, gentle tugs on the covers. “Would you like another blanket?”
“No.” She wanted to say more, to express her thanks, but she could feel the cough building in her chest and just waiting to burst forth. The last thing she wanted to do was cause the woman to worry further.
“Are you sure?” The skepticism in those blue eyes hinted that no amount of misdirection on the blonde’s part would dissuade Weiss but she tried anyway.
“Yep.” Yang smiled, silently proud she’d managed the single word without devolving into a coughing fit.
Although wary, her wife accepted her response and left the room, allowing the blonde to quickly grab one of the pillows to bury her face in, muffling the sounds as her lungs began the arduous task of breaking up the phlegm within. The last time she got sick like this was during the early days of the clan war, when she’d yet to master her chi and the fighting took them farther north on the mainland. The cold mountain air had nearly frozen her lungs, burning with every breath in a way that brought pain- nothing like the warmth of a fire or even the sometimes overbearing heat of summer. Back then, she’d tried using her chi to heal herself quickly and got even sicker for it; something about her inner fire simply wouldn’t cooperate when it came to illnesses like this.
“I can take an ax to the back and walk away without a scar, but a little cold and I’m suddenly invalid,” she said once the fit passed, wincing at the wet sound in her voice that promised more of the same if she continued pressing her luck. It helped, she thought, taking a moment to acknowledge the irony before turning her attention to the dire problems she needed to solve. Her body would take care of itself in time but she had an obligation to help her people when she could, especially when asked directly for assistance.
The matter of how to accomplish that remained to be seen, though; attending to everyone’s woes herself would be her default option, of course, but it also proved to be the least feasible- at least, as far as she could remember. Organizing the clans would take a bit of bartering on her part, too, seeing as many had their winter harvest coming up the same as Patch, but those who didn’t would likely have the hands to spare. Unless they had a festival devoted to the Winter Maiden pending, which would require extra help to call forth the blessings. She wouldn’t want to impede either event, partly because it would impact whoever remained behind and because those who volunteered to go would still worry after their family and friends back home. A distracted mind would be more help than none at all but she’d seen how a warrior driven to distraction made more mistakes; it wasn’t the ideal option and she’d prefer to avoid it if she could.
On top of all that, she also needed to visit the Fall Maiden’s temple with Weiss to receive their full divination from the Voice. Personally, she didn’t put too much stock in those old rituals, though she maintained a profound respect for the Voices and their duties. In bits and snatches, she could remember her younger days alongside Ruby, listening to Mom’s stories, the ancient legends that spawned each of the complex rituals carried out by everyone who followed the Maidens’ teachings. They’d listened intently, drinking up every word with starry eyes, and feigned sleep at the end of every tale, waiting until their parents went to bed before stirring. Then, the two little girls with dreams of adventure would trade excited whispers about the stories yet to be told, the ones that would chronicle their own journeys across Vale and spawn even more rituals for people to practice, the Voices lifting up their names in song as the Maidens bestowed their blessings. They would slay terrible monsters, rescue beleaguered villagers, and turn the tides of epic battles together to prove themselves worthy heroes in the Maidens’ eyes, with speeches given- often by Yang, holding her nose closed to affect a stranger tone- citing their mother and father as raising them to be such superb warriors. Her sister thought that, one day, she would triumph over an evil so great, she would become the tallest mountain in Vale, or a perpetually blooming cherry blossom tree, or be whisked away into the heavens to streak across the night sky as a shooting star. Yang wasn’t as ambitious with her aims; all she wanted was a song, an epic ballad sung from temple to tavern detailing her last grand battle, the one where she singlehandedly defeated Gelinlong- the horrible dragon that had put their ancient progenitor, Jianhuren, into his deep sleep.
In hindsight, she’d trade her crown and every ounce of ‘glory’ just to have her family back.
That was the part both of them had always somehow forgotten about whenever Mom told the stories, or when they read Ruby’s books. No one ever woke up and decided to go on an epic quest; something always happened to them. Their parents got sick, their sibling died, their spouse disappeared, their village was destroyed- no quest started out by someone just choosing to look for wrongs to right.
She really wish theirs had.
“Yang?” The blonde blinked, snapping out of her dreary trance as her wife started opening the door. Quickly, she reached up and scrubbed at her eyes, just to ensure she’d removed any evidence of tears beginning to form in them. Yesterday was exhausting enough; now that she was sick, she didn’t want to dedicate any more time to becoming mired in her own sorrows, especially not when others were depending on her. “Yang? Is something wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replied, forcing a smile even as she mentally lamented not being able to smell the delicious looking food laid out on the tray Weiss bore. Two full meals plus a steaming kettle; as much as she’d likely struggle through the small talk, she appreciated the company. Being left alone at present didn’t seem to be doing her any good. “That looks delicious.”
For a moment, her wife seemed more than a little skeptical, but she said nothing as she set the tray down across the blonde’s lap and went to fetch a chair for herself. The Atlesian pulled it up to the bedside, allowing them to both use the tray as they ate. Yang considered- briefly, very briefly- that it might be better to pretend she wasn’t hungry and wait for her wife to leave the room before trying, the hot steam from both food and drink threatening to send her into another coughing fit, but she really couldn’t bear it. She enjoyed Weiss’ company and, considering how rough the past few weeks had been, she wanted to take whatever opportunity she could to just… exist, side-by-side. No unspoken tension, no lingering doubts, nothing hidden between them- it was a nice feeling and she wanted to indulge just a bit more.
They began eating in silence, likely because she couldn’t fool the other woman in the slightest; she could probably tell that Yang was a hair’s breadth away from another coughing fit and opted to give her a chance to clear her lungs out through hot food and drink first. Idly, she mourned that she couldn’t properly taste it, because it would be nice to offer a compliment, she thought. An insincere one would do her no favors, though, and it instead opened up a different avenue for conversation.
“Do you-” She cut off, trying to clear her throat a bit before starting again. “Do you miss the food from back home?”
Weiss paused, her chopsticks halfway to her mouth before returning to her bowl as a thoughtful expression crossed her features. “Yes. Some times more than others, but I do.” She stirred the contents of her bowl, brows furrowing just slightly. Yang watched between mouthfuls, the congestion in her chest doing its best to distract her, but she remained focused. “Our spices are different. Valens use more chicken than pork. Rice rather than wheat. But I think I’ve adjusted rather well.”
The blonde frowned slightly, allowing a few more moments to pass where they simply ate before starting again. “You seem sad.”
“Perhaps a little.” Her wife looked up, a small smile on her lips. “I think, sometimes, that I’d like some apple wine or fried pork, or maybe one of our breakfast pastries with the fruit filling- they were some of my favorites.” She shrugged. “But… I never learned how to make them myself. I… know how to cook more Valen food than I ever thought to learn of Atlesian cuisine.” Returning her attention to the bowl in her hands, Weiss continued without a hint of duplicity in her voice. “However, I have no complaints about Valen meals or learning how to cook them. Your father is an excellent teacher.”
“He is,” she replied, offering a small grin when blue eyes darted her way. She allowed it to fall in the next moment, when the woman had looked away to grab a drink- warm milk tea, just like Yang. Mentally, she tried to count off the weeks until the next time Coco would stop by their small port. The Vacuon merchant would likely have an easier time acquiring items from Atlas than her Faunus counterpart, she reasoned, and would cut her a fair deal for the trouble. A few recipes and ingredients would warrant at least two more bags of rice and three bundles of wood in addition to the usual agreement but she’d make sure to handle that portion of the transaction herself. The last thing she wanted to do was overburden her people with her own whims; the moment her wife considered her fit to leave the bed, she would personally gather the resources herself. “I hope this cold passes swiftly. I wish I could taste this.”
“It’s… probably better you can’t.” Weiss’ brow twitched, a frown flashing across her lips. “I… may have added too much salt. Or not enough fen?”
Yang chuckled, regretting it almost immediately when she started to cough, raising her forearm to shield her face and doing her best not to upset the tray over her lap. About halfway through, her wife appeared at her side, rubbing her back and the cool bite of her chi appeared again, surging through cloth to sooth aching lungs. At this point, the constant coughing was more an annoyance than actual pain but it still threatened to sap her strength.
“Your cough will pass swiftly if you take care of yourself.” Blue eyes fell on her half empty bowls, humming softly. “We’ll make you soup or stew for dinner. That should be easier on your throat.”
“Have you gotten sick like this before?” She cleared her throat again, feeling the thick mucus sliding down the back of her throat and grabbing the tea to try and ease its passage with a long pull. “I’m- I’m usually healthy as an ox.”
That comment received a sharp look as Weiss warily made her way back to her seat. “You shouldn’t talk so much; it’s just going to make you cough more.” At the sheepish grin she received, her wife’s expression softened slightly. “I’ve gotten sick myself a few times, yes. Illnesses like this are common during this time of year in Atlas, but we’ve become well versed in overcoming them.” Her gaze hardened again. “Which is why I’ll allow no arguments until you’re back to your normal self. The last thing your people need is their queen bedridden for a month, or worse.”
Although she sincerely doubted things would get that bad- it wasn’t like Valens didn’t get sick, during the winter months especially- Yang nodded her acquiescence all the same. She hated being sick, so if her wife had experience in recovering quickly, who was she to argue?
They returned to their meal, the blonde pausing only to drink more of the soothing tea and pound her chest when the loosened phlegm became annoying. Weiss would occasionally lean over if she carried on too long, offering light touches to her shoulders, the soft bursts of cold chi creeping into her chest and calming the muscles. Before the warrior queen had finished her meal, though, she found herself full, her stomach unwilling to entertain the idea of finishing off the last few bites like she normally would. She apologized to Weiss- needlessly, she was assured, but she still felt bad about it- and the woman collected the tray, presumably heading to the kitchen. Some part of her felt even more guilty for that but she tried to remember that doing anything to help would get her more of a lecture than simply waiting until she was healthy to repay the favor.
It was only a little comforting.
When Weiss returned, she bore all the supplies the blonde had requested from the study, plus a fresh kettle with a different sort of tea this time that soothed the creeping sourness in her throat from coughing so much. The first thing she did, aside from taking a steadying gulp of the hot liquid, was grab the map from among the pile, unrolling it across her lap. Lilac eyes scanned across varied terrain and boundary markings, the characters for each of the ruling clans etched by a steady hand.
Ren had created it himself, in the months after his clan fell during the Xiao Long’s long march to unite Vale under a single clan’s rule. Every mountain and river, every fertile field and the fresh water lakes, and the thick borders separating clan lands- each marked with care and precision that she admired the man for and greatly respected. Very little had changed over the course of the past three years, thankfully, except a name or two as leading families were replaced. Ren’s family formerly ruled the southern lands at the base of the mountain range separating them from Vacuo, but his father had stepped down as the official leader to join the Valen defense against Atlas, not wanting divergent loyalties to erupt within the clan when he wasn’t there. Ren and his mother had followed, never the sort to be bogged down by status when the lives of others were on the line. When the Lie family returned to find their clan running smoothly, they refused to fight for their former position, content to act as proxies for Yang’s edicts now that she was the recognized Queen of Vale, and they’d served that purpose with utmost honor.
She wished Ren was here now and could somehow use his ink to redraw the physical world rather than simply replicate it onto a scroll. Fingers brushed along the space in the middle of the map, across marked forests and a lake and so much space, her shoulders falling in time with the whisper that left her lips.“How am I going to do this?”
“May I ask what the problem is?” Yang looked up, noting the genuine interest and concern in blue eyes as her wife drew closer.
“Two of the messengers from yesterday are from clans requesting my help,” she said, swallowing past the itch in her throat and the urge to growl out in frustration as she traced her fingers along the map. “One is here, on the east side of Dragon Tears Lake, and the other here, on the south side of Forever Fall. They’re about a three weeks’ ride from each other, and from here almost the same; I have to pick one to help first and by the time I get to the other…” She started coughing, covering her mouth again and grimacing as it passed. She put up a hand, trying to ease the concern in Weiss’ eyes. “I’m fine.” She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “Anyway, the Daichi clan is reporting strange beasts harassing their herds and circling their villages. Takes more than a full quiver of arrows to bring them down, or so it’s said. That should be my priority, but they’re supposedly holding the creatures at bay with fire. It’s wearing on them, though, and using up vital stocks. The Ming clan, on the other hand, is dealing with bandits of some sort. It’s a small group, but they’re stealing supplies, and with a potentially harsh winter about to bear down on us, that could be terrible. The clan leader would rather rout them, but they’ve made their hideout in Forever Fall. It’s sacred ground.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” The Atlesian furrowed her brows. “If it’s to protect people, does it really matter where these bandits are hiding?”
Yang ran a hand through her hair, suddenly noticing the texture. Despite their attempts to dry it the night before, it obviously wasn’t the same as when freshly washed, but she ignored the sensation for the moment. “Yes. Forever Fall is home to the Fall Maiden Temple; the clan leaders will not lead their people into the forest for the purpose of bloodshed.”
“And you’re somehow different?”
She nodded, and then sighed heavily. “On top of that, we’re both being called to the Fall Maiden Temple anyway. The Voice wishes to speak with us- nothing bad. It’s just… customary, after unions, to visit the officiator for another blessing.” There was more to it, of course, but she needed to drink more of the soothing tea before she could continue. “So, really, three places to be, and no matter what I do, I get the feeling it’ll be the wrong decision. If I take too many from Patch to ride with me, I put my home at risk. Dedicate to one and the other suffers.”
Her eyes scanned the map again, as if some secret lay within the rice paper to present a solution. Every hour she delayed, the fate of her people could be hanging in the balance.
“Four messengers, three requests…” Weiss spoke softly, as if presenting the option to the blonde whether or not to answer the unspoken question.
“The fourth…” She lifted her gaze, looking towards the door. “Just… let me know that Ruby’s still alive. She sends someone our way when she can.” The letter that the lone man had brought with him, tucked away beneath his orange cloak, lay somewhere in her clothing from the night before. He assured her that her sister was heading north as they spoke, but she couldn’t be so easily fooled; he hailed from the lands far to the south, and this was nothing more than a defense for her to deny anything her little sister might be doing near the Vacuon border. They rarely favored such subtle measures but both of them learned discretion as a matter of course after Yang took the crown. “She’s somewhere in the north. Nothing to be done about that.”
“That makes things marginally easier, then.” The other woman sat beside her on the bed, tracing along the map. “There are two pressing matters, and both of us are needed at the Fall Maiden Temple. It seems most prudent, then, for you to go aid the Ming in launching a counterattack against the bandits, and I can help the Daichi with these beasts of theirs. We can meet at the Temple after both tasks are complete.”
“No,” she said immediately, turning to look at the woman beside her. “It’s too dangerous. What if you get hurt? What if you get separated from the others and then lost?” More and more scenarios popped into her head, each worst than the last, until she could do nothing more than shake her head. “There had to be another way.”
Weiss seemed prepared for a negative rebuke but appeared surprised that it came from a place of worry and not pride, the tilt of her chin and defiance in her eyes shifting to a gentler expression. “I don’t think there is. I understand your concerns, Yang, but I won’t be alone, correct? I can see the task done or at least keep everyone calm until you arrive.”
The warrior queen opened her mouth to reiterate her objection but a sudden coughing fit seized her, stopping the words in her throat as she tried pounding on her chest. It did nothing, of course, except maybe vent some of her frustration, but a moment later Weiss’ touch was there at the base of her throat. The fit lasted a few more seconds, though it didn’t hurt as much as it probably ought to, and the blonde had to concede that her wife seemed to be learning how to utilize her chi more effectively than either of them thought possible.
At the same time, she wasn’t quite ready to be fighting bandits or beasts… but neither was Yang the first time she charged into battle, truth be told. They’d skipped the customary rite of passage due to the clan war and she came of age wiping blood from her brow on the battlefield. Half her life was spent fighting, or riding to a fight, or recovering from one, so it was nothing for her to ride off to yet another one even in the midst of peace. Her wife, on the other hand, grew up in relative safety, with high stone walls and tales of the battles but no true experience as part of them. Yet, Weiss was clever and determined, and she’d somehow kept Blake at bay, though the Faunus wasn’t truly trying… but of the two options, neither was a proper fight to begin with, so perhaps it didn’t matter. The bandits were clever, too, and the beasts strong; anything less and her assistance wouldn’t be needed. Two hard fights lay ahead… and she direly wished there was another way.
Briefly, she considered asking her father for help, but instantly dismissed it. The battle that had nearly claimed his life hadn’t robbed him of his strength entirely, but he would never fight again and they’d found that out the hard way. His chi wasn’t strong enough to protect him anymore, worn down to nothingness in order to save his life, and he only wielded his ax against trees ever since. Plus, with the harvest on the way, every hand that stayed behind would need to pull considerably more weight, and that was exactly the sort of strength he still possessed that Weiss certainly didn’t, though through no fault of her own. In time, it would come, but they didn’t have that at present.
When she could breathe easier, and after finishing off her cup and halfway through the next, she looked at the woman beside her. “Will you promise me you’ll be careful?” She tried to keep the quiver out of her tone but it was there, hinting at all the unspoken worries and concerns. “Retreat the moment things don’t work out. Just your presence may be enough to deter the worst. You don’t have to fight.”
The hand at her clavicle traced up, cupping her cheek softly. “I promise I’ll be careful.” She held her hand there long enough for Yang to lean into the contact before drawing away, taking the map out of the blonde’s lap and beginning to roll it up. “Whatever these beasts are, I’ll do my best to eradicate them.”
“No.” She settled back against the headboard, furrowing her brows slightly. “You’ll go deal with the bandits.” The warrior held up a hand, preempting the argument before it began. “These beasts are too strong to fight with a sword or spear. We have to bring them down or weaken them from afar before even trying up close. Can you shoot a bow?”
“Well… no.” Her wife quirked a brow. “You can?”
“Every Valen learns.” Yang took a deep breath, suddenly feeling weary. Now that the hot meal had settled in her stomach and she at least had a working theory of how to deal with the situation, it seemed her body was rather keen on getting more rest. She couldn’t give into the inclination, though; she still had too much work to do. “Sword, ax, staff, bow, fists- the five core disciplines. I can use a bow… I just don’t like it.”
There were better ways of articulating that, but it escaped the woman at the moment. It wasn’t easy, being locked in mortal combat with others, be they countrymen or foreigners, but being able to see the looks in their eyes, feel their strength matching hers; it made the fights easier to handle, easier to process, granting her the split second decision to take or spare a life just by pulling her punches a little or allowing her full weight to carry her through. Her dad tried to get her to take to the ax- or the staff arts, like Summer and Ruby- but she’d taken the route that suited her. It was for the best, to her mind.
“I suppose that makes sense.” Weiss made a thoughtful noise, looking over at Ember Celica resting peacefully on the dresser. She could see in the woman’s eyes the desire to prod further, ask more questions, but she refrained, instead walking over to the desk and setting down the map so she could bring over the necessary items to write out her responses. Even if she hadn’t gotten sick, the blonde would’ve sent word ahead of them that help would be on the way. She could only hope they wouldn’t arrive too late. “When you’re feeling better, maybe we can talk about that some more.”
“You want to learn?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she chuckled; of course the woman would. Not a single aspect of the blonde’s people or upbringing came up without the Atlesian trying to learn more, and doing an impressive job of it, too. “When we get back. Promise.”
Her wife gave her a small smile before her brows furrowed. “Are you certain no one will object to me entering…” she paused “… Forever Fall?”
“I’m sure.” She winced, trying to pass it off as just discomfort from her illness and not a flicker of doubt on her part. It made perfect sense to her, of course- she carried with her the blessings of the Maidens, or so her people believed, and her life was now entwined with Weiss’ as one- but the Ming clan had remained lukewarm on the topic of her marriage. They might be inclined to reject the woman’s presence once she arrived. “But if anyone gives you trouble, just go to the Temple and I’ll meet you there. Or just stage a defense.”
She’d meant it as honest advice but the flicker of annoyance that passed over her wife’s expression indicate it wasn’t received as such. “I’ll keep that in mind but I’m certain it won’t be necessary.”
“Me too,” she replied with a small, hesitant smile. “I know you can take care of some lowly bandits.”
“Of course I can. I’ve had excellent teachers.” Weiss watched her for a moment before taking back the scrolls and ink, setting them on the bedside table. “You can send out your replies later. Right now, you need to sleep.” The blonde tried to argue but found herself on the receiving end of a forceful glare. “You’re tired, are you not?” She nodded. “It’s your body telling you to rest. Listening will do you and your people more good in the long run.”
“Okay.” Shuffling down slightly, Yang let out a sigh while her eyes slid closed, apparently keen on obeying the woman’s suggestions. “But… just a nap.”
She heard soft footfalls by the door, too heavy to belong to Weiss and their owner revealed himself a few moments later. “How long do colds like this one usually last?”
“Just a few days. If she rests well and doesn’t waste her energy arguing with me.” Yang’s lips twitched into a soft smile, amused by the light teasing the words implied. Even if the whole series of events brought her to this moment of bedridden, annoying agony, it seemed her wife had finally become more comfortable here, enough to return to taking light jabs at each other and earn her a gentle kiss to her forehead. She kept her eyes closed and they seemed content to lower their voices while exiting the room, leaving her to her illness induced slumber.
“Hmmm… I guess there’s no helping it.” The man sighed, heading back out of the room. “We were supposed to start gathering firewood from the north side of the forest today.”
Her brows furrowed. Damnit, he was right; on top of everything else, they still had to gather as much wood to start the tedious process of drying it out before the weather worsened. With winter on the horizon, she’d hate for a shortage to lead to long, cold nights for the residents of Patch.
“Perhaps I can assist you?” Weiss offered, seeming rather confident. “I’ve little experience with an ax, but there surely must be something I can do to assist.”
Forcing her eyes open, Yang started to sit up just as the door closed, the two stepping out into the hall. She almost called out- because like hell her wife was going to spend hours hauling wood thanks to an inconvenient cold- but her father’s thoughtful hum stopped her.
“Now that you mention it, I think we can work something out,” he said with a chuckle. “Go grab a snack from the kitchen and meet me by the door.” Yang had almost sat up when the door opened again, her father peeking his head in with a smile. “Thought that’d get your attention. Don’t worry, I’m not going to take her into the forest.”
“You know she’d do it.” She coughed to clear her throat, grimacing slightly while swallowing down a mouthful of phlegm. ���Weiss would find a way.”
“I know, and that’s why I’m going to take her into town.” His eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. “I think it’s about time she met Grandmother.” Yang’s shoulders slumped, mouth opening to object as another coughing fit seized her. Her father chuckled, amused by her concern. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Get some rest, little dragon; you deserve it.”
“But- wait- stop!” Despite her attempts, she ultimately failed to articulate anything remotely convincing to stop Taiyang before he slipped back out of the room, the sound of the front door echoing up to the second floor. Bonelessly, she collapsed back against the bed, focusing on clearing her throat enough to breathe while running a hand over her face.
Silently, she begged the Winter Maiden to give her wife patience… and Jianhuren to protect anyone foolish enough to try and mediate the impending battle of wills. It might be an empty gesture but it was all she could do, aside from closing her eyes and reaching deep within herself to stoke her chi into hurrying her recovery process.
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Letter to the Prime Minister
Dear Prime Minister Trudeau,
I am the woman who was tortured over a period of years, up to, and including, the present, with chemicals, noise machines, fly pasts, alterations of objects in my apartments, plants, bugs, damaged furniture, theft, sirening, stalking, a tasing, and a shooting, by the Vancouver, Toronto, and Ottawa police departments.
Further, I was nearly a casualty of a Carlington landlord, who assaulted me with paint fumes, in the apartment where I still live, and I believe the apartment to harbour the remaining toxicities.
Further, this landlord, of which I speak, assaulted me with gasoline, and plastics, so that I could not breathe well for some years.
Further, I am of the belief that many people infringed on my copyright for Bros Before Hos, The Equality Apocalypse.
Further, I have been a victim of the mental health system, including pinching of my fingernails, a sprained ankle, confiscation of foot wear, when I had open wounds on my feet, being refused soap, and being told to use the alcohol cleanser when I had open wounds on my hands. I was tied down, denied an adequate diet, denied food supplements, inadequately supplied with toilet paper and towels, and finally gasolined, again, by someone in the hospital.
Further, I was instructed to push down the garbage, since my chemical affection caused frequent trips to bathroom.
Further, I was exposed to toxic cleaning fluids, and further, I was assaulted with Haldol gaseous. I awoke to hear my roommate gasping for breath, as I was. Once it was naphtha, or something like it.
Further, once, several nurses stormed the bathroom, and kept telling me not to shower so often.
Further, upon admittance, a single vial of blood drawn caused a chemical overload, nearly causing my death.
Further, in the PSA, I was given a bed pan to go to the toilet in the room, on the floor. I was never asked if I wanted to use the bathroom.
Further, a security guard, female, watched me toileting, and conducting rituals, to stay alive, throughout the night.
Further, there was untreated rashing, from chemicals, all over my body. I was given hydrocortisone, which I thought would aggravate it. A glaxal based cream was helpful.
As for the police, the chemicals were aviation gas, the propellant for dry ice, and what I believe to be, white gas, mustard gas, and hydrogen gas. Also, I am, currently, this day, being gasolined in my apartment at #15 - 1481 Morisset Avenue, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada.
Further, several substances have been used in this very apartment, over the past four years, in addition to substances by the landlord, by the police, I believe, since access to all my apartments would be difficult to achieve. They include joke shop chemicals, like cat urine, garbage, and exhaust, also gasoline, it’s lighter smelling than real gasoline, what I believe to be an industrial adhesive, which caused a slight aching sensation in my sinuses, as well as paint thinners, at least two kinds, one made me smell funny. On that topic, there have been times over the past years, when I could smell like a toxic waste dump, it’s chemical, and it comes out in the urine. Plastics, I have been blowing out of my nose for four years. In fact, you can’t blow your nose anymore, the air sticks, I don’t know how else to describe it.
Further to the plastics, the fear in shortness of breath is very real. I found, and this is very private, but some people know, rest assured, that I would find, as a sex worker, if someone was on top of me, I wouldn’t be able to breathe at all.
Further to the plastics, again, they adhere to the inside of the nostrils, and, perhaps, sinuses, causing nose bleeds, though I was using drugs in my nose, a bit, at the time.
Further, even the joke shop chemicals cause headaches, though not sinus pain.
Further, noise machines have been installed in adjacent apartments at times, in a hostel, on a roof top, and in a man hole. These provide such a grinding sound, so as to compel one to move.
To elaborate on the noise machines, it would be hard to compare the noise with the surrounding construction noise, but it would be all night, compelling me, along with the inundation, with the propellant for dry ice, through the penthouse fan vent, to move to the small bedroom where I preferred to see clients, saving the queen bed for myself. The irritation I felt at paying $1950 per month and being unable to utilize the master bedroom and ensuite cannot be overstated.
Further, it was upon making this move that I heard what I suspected were officers on the adjacent roof, talking, and, presumably watching me through infrared cameras.
Further, there were fly pasts, including small planes, and helicopters, large planes, up to 747′s and larger, I believe, on a flight path, but loud, and deviating. One incident involved the chemical bombing of my open windows and a concurrent chemical bombing of the penthouse, at the time, bathroom fan vent.
This continued, in Vancouver, through fan vents, for several years, including shorter stints, with less intensity, in Ottawa and Toronto.
The hovering and fly pasts continued too. Sometimes there is a dump of aviation gas. Even this past summer.
Once, I wrote a nasty letter to Global News complaining about the traffic helicopters, and, that night, a helicopter hovered for over three hours.
Once, a friend of mine was helicoptered too, for three hours.
The disruption of the planes and helicopters cannot be overstated. They are loud, and annoying.
Further, there were intentional air craft simmerings, on the water front in Vancouver, once by Cobras and in Kanata, at a small airport, I believe, well within earshot of my building, causing ear pain, and extreme annoyance.
Further, the police entered my apartment a number of times, tilting pictures, putting in bugs, the live kind, once putting an old pair of 50 Cent tickets in a book I was reading, confusing me immensely, once putting a green glow worm in my kale.
Further, there were a number of thefts, and what I believe to be called exchanges, of my belongings, so many over the years that I still have memories of things that have been missing for years, including my only two pairs of glasses.
It is my belief, on that topic, that my townhouse, at the time, in Kanata, was entered while I was sleeping, as, at first, the arm of my newer glasses, and the screw, lay beside the glasses, themselves, in the morning. And then both pairs were missing the following morning.
And finally, the old, ugly, scratched, and discoloured pair of glasses turned up again.
Further to exchanges, almost every pair of Victoria’s Secret panties were exchanged, and it took me some time, again, sick as I was, to realize that they were not mine. This is disgusting. I could have got a disease from them.
Further to my mental health experience, blankets are shorted, leaving one cold, I was a little bit attacked by my roommate, and nothing was done. I was a victim of unlawful confinement by a young man I let kiss me, he would entrap me in the bathroom, and I would beg to leave. Further, the same young man would hump me unsuspectingly in front of the microwave every morning, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. Nothing was done. He was sent home. I did several months more.
After my transfer to The Royal, it was decided to place me on Seroquel, I have no idea why. I was perfectly calm, as opposed to when they were going to take more blood, I was calling out, “You’re gonna kill me! You’re gonna kill me!” Further, the security guard bent my wrist, and I called out, “You’re gonna break my arm! You’re gonna break my arm!” I almost died on Seroquel. One night, my legs were kicking uncontrollably, and I was falling off the toilet, sick as I was.
Further, I have since been told, by my psychiatrist, that there was liver damage. Further, I am blamed for drinking beer.
Further, my apartment keys, which the arresting officer showed me were placed in my wallet, disappeared in emergency, and also, money was missing, about two hundred dollars, and also, change.
To further illuminate the sprained ankle, I was dumped into a transfer chair, while engaging in passive resistance. I limped around the hospital for two months. On that note, that was also when my thumb nails were pinched. I was obviously conscious, as my eyes were flickering.
I was sufficiently depleted by each hospital stay, I came to realize I would lose eight pounds with each stay. Further, the medications gave rise to many side affects, such as deep wrinkles, frown lines, sore feet, exhaustion, sexual dysfunction, and agitation.
Further, with respect to the police, my computer has been hacked for several years. I believe material has been stolen. The screen jiggles up and down almost always, and, most recently, side to side. The hacking also involved the theft of four hundred pages of original material, and, maybe, the installation of some porn on a roommates computer, which ended up on mine, as we were connected at the time, and she placed it there. It included a scene of beastiality, which I believe to be illegal. It has since been removed, parts of it, anyway.
The jiggling makes it impossible, at times, to use my computer for blogging, and email. I no longer write in Word, since I can’t afford it. I would prefer to, as some of my work is private, but I see no point, as I can’t hide anything, and I’m a drug user, so all my money goes to that.
On that note, I believe that my phone calls are tapped since, a few times, during a drug deal, a police vehicle happens to appear, though Carlington is a busy neighbourhood for such crimes, at least it was.
Further, in an apartment on West 11th was where the tasing took place. It was not painful, as I understand it to be, because it was through the wall, but it caused my body to tense into a curl, and vibrate, and I knew what it was.
Further, once, I believe there was an obstacle course set up for me, while I was driving. I would even guess that two police officers, a man and a woman, on bikes, sports bikes, not ten speeds, who drove quickly and haphazardly, in a diagonal, actually, across the middle of a residential street, were wearing dark contact lenses and grey tone clothing to appear evil.
Further, on another occasion, a driver pulled out right in front of me, while I was driving along 12th Avenue in Vancouver, unpredictably, and late, after looking right at me.
I believe I was on camera frequently, even infrared camera. This was embarrassing for me. I would notice responses to my movements in the form of laughter and conversation, even, once anyway, two phone calls.
Further, sometimes officers, as I believe, will throw rocks or something up under the appliances, disturbing me at night. Further, they will knock on the wall, causing me stress, and a reason to go check the door. Sometimes, there is a noise at night, which I believe to be exclusively to frighten me.
Further, I believe the officers still enter because of tilted pictures. Also, there was a spatula, missing for years, which was replaced recently. The same thing happened to a foot file.
An Ikea quilt deserves special mention, it was exchanged, and I was left freezing under an old technology quilt, I suppose, with black feathers, freezing. I am still cold, because whatever that landlord used to jack the heat, stayed with the apartment, whether it’s dirt in the lines or what have you, it’s seventeen degrees, borne out by a call to the city last spring, after freezing for four winters.
Further, and I take this moment to apologize for the haphazard nature of this letter, but such as it is, I’m sorry, Prime Minister Trudeau, I also experienced a few moments of deafness, due to construction noise, in the downtown eastside, prior to the 2010 Olympics, as well as weeping, due, specifically, to a certain machine, and frequent migraines.
In the hospital, after getting arrested under the mental health act for refusing to leave Vancouver City Hall at closing time, I was diagnosed as having “somatic delusions.”
Upon arrival in the downtown eastside, in a higher end apartment on Water Street, I was the victim of acidizing, not knowing what it was at the time, my father said to me, “What’s wrong with your face?” It turned my skin yellowy brown, and rough for a period of several months. My skin, to this day, peels, and is rough.
Once, I was hanging a picture, and then went out for a walk. A truck licked up my heels, and when I returned home, the picture was askew by eight inches.
Further to the deafness, I had gone to visit my father when I noticed that his voice was a whisper, frightened, I said, “Dad! Dad! Your voice is a whisper.”
Once, when at 550 Taylor, there were two fake fires. I heard later that someone had lit a jacket and two phone books on fire, and not been evicted. At the time, due to the chemical bombing, I phoned the security desk, and said the following, “I know you’re involved in this,” and was told this, “You can’t prove anything.”
Much later, in Ottawa, while living, for a short while, in a townhouse in Kanata, where the police had taken up residence in the attic to white gas me, I believe, I was shot at. I have a tiny bit of experience with guns from army cadets, and, though I have never seen a round fly, I believe it was a .22 caliber, it fluttered by me, about a meter behind me, as I trudged through the snow late, about 10:30 PM, at night.
Further to the damage to furniture, besides annoying nicks and scratches, the pins were bent on a chest, and on my sofa, causing them to shift dangerously, and a wheel was bashed off a table, leaving a rough metal edge, and leaving the table permanently unstable. I believe that the stove was chipped, in a relatively new building.
Further, it is my belief that something, perhaps gasoline, as I’ve heard from God, was added to my vodka, causing extreme discomfort, in my bladder, for seven months.
Further, I would like to emphasize that whenever a client was present in my home, all assaults would cease. I could not prove anything, ever.
During one phase of the torture, I began writing what I call the Armageddon letters, including, in one, the suggestion of a “whispering campaign,” which, to me, was the only way anyone could help, as I felt, since my building emptied out, that anyone who spoke for me, or, complained about the environment, would be done too, with white gas, I felt. This effort was to no avail, and created further vulnerability.
Further to the fake fires, in one, the stairwell was filled with smoke, and the other stairwell housed a massive shit. I’ve heard of shit from fire fighters, in the boots of female would be fire fighters, so I wondered if they had become involved.
When I called the police to report the gases, I was told immediately, “We’re not coming out.”
Further, I am of the sincere belief that I have been channel blocked for years. I noticed it first about the age of thirty three, as I phoned Shaw in Vancouver and asked for CNN, which I never received, nor the BBC. CNN looped a weather story. I forget what was on the BBC. In addition, though I believe I have always been, since, a victim of this, channel blocking, it was made clear to me at this address, as, first, though I had yet to pay for cable, the English channels disappeared from a small TV given to me by a client, and then the channel channel disappeared, leaving only French stations.
On this note, when my things arrived from storage, in a rage from chemical affection, calmly, however, I threw my large TV out the window, and served five and a half months under the mental health act at both the Queensway-Carleton, and The Royal.
On the topic of the chemicals, the spot under my nose was burned red, and bubbly, though not exactly blisters, more just round and red. Also, my skin was blotchy.
Further to the landlord who tried to kill me, he also used bleach and birch sap, I believe it is, which caused coughing. He would also, regularly, take a shit on the roof, near or in the fan vents, causing the smell to spread through the suite. It is my belief that he would also use semen and shit and boil it on the roof, placing it in the fan vents. I understand e. Coli has an airborne quality, and this worries me too.
In Toronto, in an effort to escape the torture in Vancouver, and also as evidence of call tapping, I was about to sign a lease when, that night, there was a gas used in the hostel, and a noise machine too. This caused me to move again, closer to family, who have since taken up an opportunity to live in [ ], leaving me alone again.
It is my belief that I have no allies at all. I walk the streets for errands, and for exercise, a bit, and nobody looks at me anymore, unless they are laughing. This is my home now. And I have no one. And I have no money either to save myself from ridicule, and ostracization. Nobody looks at me. I’m not that old. I’m not that ugly. But this is how it is now.
To return to the green glow worm, though I was suspicious that the police were entering because of picture tilting, they would always choose one picture, where I ate my dinner, and it was right against the furnace, so that I would wonder if it was vibrating itself sideways. The green glow worm was on a cookie sheet of cooked kale, and despite my suspicion, the truth escaped me. I ate the kale around it, as I was being pushed out of that apartment, and was exhausted and hungry from working seven days a week in massage parlours.
Further, also, once there was a massive cockroach, and once there was a BC spider, when I first arrived in Ottawa, that is.
Once, I confronted the officer whom I thought was responsible for the majority of the chemical torture on West 11th, saying, “Why are you torturing me?” And he only snorted.
Further, once, I was doing laundry, and, on that note, the dryer was gasolined once, and a man raced in, looked right at me, and walked out. I believe the police also exhausted up the parking garage a few times, right next to the laundry, which I would do daily.
Further, I suspected, at any rate, thought, that I had noticed many cars stalking me while I was running on the canal. The cars were very similar in appearance, older, and small, like hatchbacks or something, causing me to wonder if police officers would have a second car for this purpose, for the purpose of crimes, Prime Minister Trudeau.
Further, in Vancouver, I noticed that a bird call was installed along my running route. I could hear it whirring. On that note, bird calls were also used around my apartment, and, even, possibly, at this apartment, a few years ago.
I have neglected to mention that I was both stalked and sirened all the time, even when I was out, even out with a favoured client, even being helicoptered or planed with him. Once, I was planed in a neighbouring small town where family were living at the time. And once I was planed when visiting a friend in [ ].
Having said that there was never any corroboration, there was once. It had become apparent to me that a din would ensue the moment that my client and myself turned to each other to have sex. Once the din was so obvious, that we both remained silent for some time. The din included sirens, planes, helicopters, beeping garbage trucks, and drive bys in general. I was right on the lane.
Further to one of my mental health stays, I was, once, after fleeing medication, locked in a room with no toilet for three and a half days. It smelled of piss.
I believe I was the subject of gossip by nurses, once over hearing a nurse declaring, “sexual grandiosity.”
At one mental health stay, I noticed the tea had been removed. At the desk, I was told, “You don’t need three tea bags.”
I had specific, I felt, tampering with my food, once, believe, my cranberry juice was replaced with communion wine, and, these are the worst, two pieces of white fish tasted like moldy plant pot soil. I had to spit them out. ALL of the meat caused my ovaries, and bladder, pain.
At one stay, I was denied walks, in the form of being left out of the timing for leaving. Once, I signed up, and was not collected. I would see the walking group forming and not be invited. I know this is protocol, from other hospitals.
This seems petty, but the plentiful cereal at night was replaced by humous and crackers or a tiny yoghurt.
This brings to mind incidences which occurred nightly at one hospital, I would, despite the frequent urination caused by my chemical affection, be encouraged to drink “a little more” water with my nightly medication. I begged and pleaded, and the encouragement only continued.
My room was moved repeatedly. Once, I asked to be moved away from a shitter, and I was moved, only to be moved again the next day.
This brings to mind another set of complaints. This time, at the shelter. I was chased for being naked, right into my room, by a staff member. A woman from the street was plaintive, asking for something, I thought it was a blanket, and the response was sarcastic, and unrelenting. After being told to turn in paraphernalia and bottles, I handed in a beer can, and was locked out for three hours. I missed curfew once, sitting at McDonald’s, and my bed was stripped of all my carefully washed linens and blankets. The sweater that I had been using as a pillow was taken too.
Further, this is the kicker, I had had one appointment with that landlord, and my housing worker at the time, and I was about to sign the lease the next day, and I was moved from a single room where I had been staying for a few months, to a triple. That day, I was sick from, I believe, a bout of salmonella. Several social workers stood at the door saying my name repeatedly, the ambulance was called, and then the police. At one point, the accountant came into the room, and shoved the dresser so hard that it bent the pins on my nightlight. I showed the police. The police helped me move many garbage bags full of things into the new room.
There were two occasions when I had to get up early for appointments, and, both times the hot water was turned off.
Recently, gasoline was sprayed outside my window, at night, so I had to get up, after a nap, and wash all my sheets and pillow cases, or change them anyway, and wash my body, as it was summer, and I was naked, and, I understand, from my helper in heaven, Patrick Crean, that more would have absorbed into the body, without coverings, like when you pump your gas.
The most recent assault was with gasoline, directly into the apartment.
Recently, I was removed from my Community Treatment Order, and yet I am still compelled to take medication. I don’t understand this. I actually consider it to be blackmail, the way I’m coerced by the threat of being placed back on the Community Treatment Order, should I fail to comply “voluntarily”. Further, I find the shot in the rump to be extremely undignifying.
Further to my mental health stays, at one hospital I was strapped to the bed five times, with what I perceived to be dirty restraints, against my bare genitals. It was hazardous to be forced into lying down for long periods because of the need for the toilet. Further, on one occasion, I was exhausted and stumbling for three days from, I believe, one dose of Valium.
Further to my brief tenancy at a townhouse in Kanata, there was a home invasion. It was almost surreal, as I was so frightened that I was praying, and God led me down to the basement, and I could hear someone running around the second and third floors.
Further to that time, I was arrested under the mental health in a most disruptive way. First of all, I had no idea I was being considered for arrest, second, I was in the bathtub when the officers entered, the female officer telling me brusquely to dress. Thirdly, a former “crime” was cited as a reason for the arrest, an incident where I had become lost in my new neighbourhood, and was sitting in a parked car, albeit illegally, I was not charged, but only driven back home.
I was subjected to four years of stalking by non-police fans, I knew who they were, but would not say their names, feeling responsible, in part, for my own silly behaviours, such as an offensive tee shirt, and a gang bang contest.
The stalking involved throwing rocks at my building. Once, pennies were scattered around the entrance to one of my apartment buildings, also dimes. I don’t know who all was involved at times. When I first noticed fan activity, they were calling my name in the downtown eastside. At the same time, I felt I hadn’t a friend in the world.
Once, I went for a jog, only to discover the entire neighbourhood looking at me over the previous night’s hovering helicopter.
Once, at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver, I was not permitted to return to my home in Ottawa, the stipulation was that I had to find my own psychiatrist. I was lucky to find one, having to call several individuals.
Prior to that, the reason for my admittance, was that I confronted a family member about some memories of rape as a child, only to be bruised on the arm, wrestled to the floor, and later arrested for refusing to speak. The fact of the matter is, I did not turn a trick in my mother’s apartment. I had sex with a client, but was not paid, as we had an arrangement.
In Ottawa, I could tell men were sharing video of me, because I saw a reaction from someone I’d never seen. There was a rash of clients wanting to take video.
Further to the single room that I stayed in, for a period of time, at the shelter. This room, unlike the others, was dirty. The sink smelled of urine, the corner had splatters of vomit and, maybe, shit, and all of the walls had been written on in red. I cleaned the room mercilessly with Lysol, only to be turfed out of it, for only two days, just to inconvenience me, I felt.
Further to that room, it overlooked two restaurants, and I asked for curtains to no avail, eventually hanging a blanket I found on the street, and washed, on one side. The mirror, hung unevenly by the contractor, was most welcome.
Further to the landlord who tried to kill me with paint, allow me to illuminate that this onslaught involved hours upon hours of paint fumes, through the open windows and the fan vents, giving rise to constant vomiting, in rituals, to stay alive, including the pounding of water, moldy, from the tap, and one episode of unconsciousness resulting in white drool from the mouth.
Further, this landlord failed to provide heat for all of October, November, and December that year.
Further, I had to walk from Morisset Avenue to Preston Street four times, each day, in an attempt to pick up my ODSP cheque, and was finally accused of cheque fraud by a clerk holding two pieces of paper, one with a photocopy of my signature. I had signed many cheques that summer, at the bank, from the shelter. I left, quickly. The following month, begging, again, for my cheque, my address was recited, and it was incorrect, so I asked, “How could I commit cheque fraud on a cheque I never received?” The response was incoherent.
The last day of walking, I went unconscious for about two days, and couldn’t walk when I woke up. I soon discovered that the pee can I had been using, to avoid further chemical contamination from the painted bathtub, had been turned into a shit can by, I assume, the landlord, and he had also used all of my toilet paper, and my torn newsprint, and it was thrown everywhere, all over the can and the bag I was shitting in, again to avoid further contamination from the bathroom.
Further, he placed an LED nightlight beside my “toilet.”
Years ago, at the start of my stint in prostitution, I applied for worker’s compensation after quitting a job, which was disallowed at the time, and was asked about my prostitution income, and was told, “Can’t you just do that?”
My doctor, my medical doctor, refused to give me a note stating that my chemical toxicity would make having an attached garage a terrible thing for me, should I ever be placed in housing.
I was recently quoted a twelve year wait from this place where I almost died from toxicity.
Though it is not illegal, the officer who, I believed, was white gassing me on West 11th, shook a dusty rag out on me, while I was cleaning my new used car.
I don’t know the law, but I received one strike and lost my driver’s license over a drug seizure.
Once, another landlord bellowed my name in the hall two weeks before the rent was due, because my roommate had moved out.
Once, a third landlord, of the other apartment I was pushed out of, banged on the door, calling, “I know you’re in there.”
Each time, I’m so traumatized by the move that I forget who my friends are. Once, my mother and I didn’t speak for two years.
The first eviction involved an oven that took six months to fix. Later, in this apartment, the oven took a year to fix. A faulty oven is most depressing.
I have a call in to the city currently about the lack of heat in this apartment. The thermostat is good for about six degrees, and that’s it. I freeze all winter long. The by law officer came out, and checked the temperature, and it is three degrees below the legal limit, and nothing has been done, save, I was given two heaters which cost a fortune to run, and peel, what I believe to be, lead paint off of the walls, and spew it into the air.
Both evictions were actually push outs, as, both times, I was allowed to remain a tenant as long as quit working there. This is illegal, I believe, to dictate how to use my apartment, with nothing official, God tells me.
My character was slandered, as, at the time, I had nothing but a marijuana habit, and the landlord did too, ironically, and she wrote in her testimony that she had read in my journal that I was “hooked up on high speed,” and thought it was another drug addiction.
Further to the police, they broke four pairs of running shoes, and stole a pair too.
Further to running shoes, which are expensive, at this apartment, they stole one runner, and, after I threw the other one out, returned it.
Further to unlawful landlords, at another place, the landlord rang the bell at ten o’clock at night for an hour, when I wasn’t answering. Another time, the same landlord, rung the bell for an hour at one o’clock in the morning, and then entered. I was shaking like a leaf.
At that same place, a townhouse, the police entered one night while I was sleeping, I believe, and broke my two epilators. I had bought a second one when I immigrated to Ontario in order to escape the white gas torture in Vancouver. Some five years later, I went downstairs to find both of the epilators broken. On the same day? Are you kidding me?
Further to the damage to furniture, they spray an antiquing compound on fabric, they did it to a very expensive pair of shoes once as well, they sprayed the antiquing compound on the fabric of a chest, a new one, from The Brick, and it has caused the fabric to fall off in dusty chunks for five years. Every time I go and sweep, there’s new fabric junk on the floor.
Further to my health, when the agent orange landlord, I believe it’s called agent orange, the bathtub, I may have mentioned it was called unguents, I now realize that this is the wrong word for it, it’s a bathtub shellac, in any case, and it causes such tremendous illness so as to cause my asshole to bleed for a year. There are also two occasions of internal bleeding, different composition, which come out in the washroom.
Further, my small B’s turned into D’s and fell. Thanks for that, guy.
Further to injustice, once I thought I was going to go blind from something, and God was telling me what it was. I believe it’s called hydrophane eyes, which causes sticking in the morning, and pain with water. Now I can open my eyes under water again, because I was helped in heaven with picking the plastic out of my eyes, and rinsing, the pain I do not recall.
Recently, I reported a rape to the police which happened some years ago, and, lo and behold, the police showed up unannounced, well, in the stairway, two seconds away. And one thing which really irked me was I asked about my medication, which they are not allowed to do, as, as far as I know, there is no active CTO on me right now, though a call to the rights advisor did not solidify an answer. Further, it was most annoying, and, I believe, illegal, when the social worker in attendance said, upon my assertion that I had gone for my shot that afternoon, “And you’re tellin’ the truth?”
Further, I was accused of having said I didn’t want to take my medication, as though, it seemed, this was some kind of crime in itself.
There was a doctor some years ago, who shoved a speculum in hard, causing my eyes to water. It was for a colposcopy.
When I arrived in Ottawa, a noise machine producing a wave sound was placed on a roof top, for eight months. I used to have to wake up and put the TV on loud on a fuzzy station in order to sleep again. I doubt the neighbours were very happy, in either case.
The was a bus stand off once, which, I believe was not my fault, though it is likely on my police record. This is when there was some snow in Vancouver, and the bus was very slow, and, upon getting on the bus, I said some friendly comment about how busy it was, and was told, “You’re lucky to have a bus at all,” to which I replied, “Oh, fuck off.” The transit police, came, the police came, and nothing was done at all, except to get me off the bus, which I was refusing to do. Funny.
There were four masturbators, or streakers, encountered by me, as a young girl, in Kitsilano.
There was a very bizarre experience in the townhouse in Kanata. It was on a highway, and cars from another part of the world were driving along it. It went on, seemingly for days. I had never seen anything like it, in all the car rallies in Vancouver, and Ottawa, around town, never.
When I arrived in Ottawa, I noted someone staring over at my balcony, and I felt sure that he was a police officer, broken hearted, over a move away from Vancouver. I feel sure of this. Thus, I feel sure that certain officers are moved around to torture me. Maybe even to this day.
I was so sick, and God told me--this is before the bathtub shellac--that my endocrine system was arrested. I had been running a lot, well, not a lot, but every other day or so, and I found that I was no longer able to take a running gait.
I lost it a bit in the hospital, at Queensway-Carleton, I had been refused soap for so long and I came out of the washroom, and was refused soap again, and I dragged my hands down the front of the shirt of one the nurses, and, I forget, but God tells me I said something like, ‘You take my shitty hands then.’ I kind of remember, but not totally. My memory has been extremely affected by abuse, I believe, not impact but ingestion, of, I believe, God tells me, anyway, e. Coli. I can’t remember anything sometimes, like names, places, like now, I can’t even think of anything to say, but I forget so much.
Some time ago, from a finance course I had taken at night school, I was awarded a small silver bar, which has been missing for some time, though I may have misplaced it.
Further, I noticed recently, after tucking away a card repeatedly, that there is only one business card of mine left, little works of art, of which I was quite proud. I was saving one of each, and I had designed them myself in Publisher.
Further to police harassment, once, I made a piece of torte for an officer whom I believed was torturing me, and out of my set of cutlery disappeared a dessert fork. Do you think that is fun having a piece of cutlery missing for fifteen years?
A doctor told me to stop talking to God.
Further, some months after I received my apartment, and the torture had ensued, and the landlord had disappeared, only to be replaced by a man of the same name, and startlingly similar in appearance once, only, the rest of the time, I felt sure it wasn’t him, but a gangster in his stead, the ODSP financial worker who I had been assigned to, also disappeared, and was replaced, though I never met her, by a woman of the same name, with a different voice.
Further to the police torture, my favorite blanket was shortened by four inches. You think this isn’t noticeable, but it is. When you lie on your back, your feet stick out. Of course, I can’t lie on my back, my lungs strain, I blowfish, or I suffocate from orthodontics.
Further to the police, they stole my black cardamom, and all my jewelry went missing from this apartment, albeit, probably cheap, from my thieving [ ].
My [ ] made me an ‘L’ ring, and I threw it in the garbage for God. God tells me that the ring was worth $7000. I had no idea, but I followed the orders of God, though, knowing they were real diamonds, feeling it strongly, because they were so pretty.
Items of clothing were stolen, and I’m still having nightmares about it. Also, five new socks were stolen from the laundry at the shelter, as well as other things, says God.
The police, probably oiled two down jackets, one long, and one short, one expensive.
The same chest with the antiquing compound, had its lining torn. If you don’t think that’s annoying, you have another thing coming.
Further to the police torture, I tasted come in my flour when I fried it. I had removed the lumps before using it, but I missed one. The sugar was lumpy too.
Further to the Agent Orange torture, I now have a gross looking and feeling bump on my sphincter, and, though I can’t bring myself to examine it, my asshole is ruined. As well, I have an annoying, similar, bump, on the roof of my mouth. I believe it’s from that. Acid bumps, God told me. Thank you, landlord.
Further, when I was arrested under the mental health act for throwing my TV out the window, the police, I believe, threw my massage table out the window on top of it, and the gangster landlord informed me a year or so later that it was found out there.
Further, my erstwhile [ ] had a key cut, and, God tells me, stole a bunch of stuff too. I still have nightmares about all my favorite tee shirts going missing.
Further to the police thefts, my box of new PEACEKEEPING tee shirts was stolen some years ago. And further, my two epilators, after being jacked, were stolen.
The police, or someone, God tells me, put gasoline in my vodka, back at an old apartment. My bladder hurt for seven months.
Further, the police in Ottawa cut the zipper on a new winter coat.
There is a cop in Vancouver, at the time, who deserves special mention. I once caught him in flagrante delicto with someone in his apartment, where he was living to torture me. His torture was replete, every fifteen minutes, for years. I have heard, from God, that he is good now.
Further, I have been told that there are new burns from acidization over the past few years or so, maybe less.
Lately, there has been a sharp increase in assaults with chemicals, over the past three weeks or so. This reminded me of a time when the police threw a lit cigarette into my window sill. The window was open.
This letter is subject to amendments.
Yours Truly,
Loraine Laney
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