#Old Bridge Physical Therapy

[enderpearlll]

Yandere!Bob Velseb - My Favourite Employee. PT 6.

So um… This isn’t the last part. I got a BIT carried away writing this part (haha definitely didn’t rewrite this 2 DIFFERENT TIMES). I’m super glad all of you enjoy this series, so I hope this’ll keep you all fed until I figure out part 7. Which’ll be the final part. Enjoy.

Gender-Neutral Reader, but pet names such as sweet pea and darling are used.

TW/CW: Yandere content, emetophobia (vomiting), vivid descriptions of panic/anxiety attacks, harsh language, physical violence, etc…

• It was a cold, solemn January morning. You gnawed on a granola bar and sipped on cold coffee, candy club uniform disheveled as you plopped onto the couch. You can't remember the last time you slept in late, nonetheless pass out in your work uniform. It was a long night last night, since your boss had extended the opening hours. With bleary eyes, you opened your phone to check the calendar. Three years ago, Bob Velseb had been arrested for the murder of several townsfolk. This Halloween would be the fourth year.

• Those past three years had been... Eventful, to say the least. You remember that night as clear as day, haunting you for an ungodly amount of time. The interrogations that never seemed to end, the news reporters that hoarded you and your other coworkers after the restaurant was closed, your coworkers funeral... With a deep sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose. You knew you shouldn't be overthinking the past, just gotta remember what your therapist said...

• On a good note, you had reconnected with some old friends from high school. You remember being in the same grade, and had even been in an after school club until the struggle of being adults caused a drift between you three. Especially when you got a job at the Boys and Grills, and Bob taking up all of your time. In a tearful reunion, you had spilled your sorrows to them, telling them everything that had happened over the months you've worked at the restaurant. They both heard you out, and had promised that they wouldn't drift away again.

• Hell, one of them got you a job with him at the local Candy Club! But even after you slowly got back on your feet months after the incident, nothing truly felt right. You felt lost. Haunted by guilt and paranoia, you started to attend weekly therapy sessions. You never truly felt safe in your own house for months, having to double check every lock and keep a knife in your bedside drawer in order to sleep at night. Even now, three years later, you still struggled to sleep through the night. It was bearable now, but you much preferred to hangout with Kevin and Streber at their apartment or at work.

• Kevin and Streber were with you every step of the way, and were always happy to lend you a helping hand. At first, you were terrified to even speak to them for long, in fear that Bob would somehow find out and get to them. But as months passed by, accompanied with the aid of therapy, you slowly broke out of your shell. You finally felt safe again, safe enough to talk to people and enjoy life after so long. You felt a smile peeking through the corners of your lips, taking a sip of your coffee. You didn't know what you would do without those two.

• Grabbing the TV remote, you decided to catch the morning news before getting ready for work. You took a large sip as you watched the intro for the news station, the booming intro blaring through the speakers of your TV. Watching with intrigue as the reporter clears their throat, a grim look in their eyes.

• "Local police report that a serial killer named Bob Velseb had broken out of jail last night, along with two other criminals. He had been arrested three years ago for the murders of several community members..." Spitting out your coffee, you nearly dropped both your mug and the TV remote. What? You blasted the TV, slowly shaking your head in denial. No, no, no. You watched as Bob's mugshot had appeared on screen, his signature grin stretched wide across his face.

• No. This had to be some sick fucking joke, no way. He was in prison for years, why would he get out now? Who knows what he might do?! What if he came for you first—! You couldn't control the trembling in your hands, nor could you avoid the panic bubbling throughout your body. You shut off the TV, before stumbling back onto the couch and curling into a ball. With shaking hands, you struggled to dial Kevin's number through teary eyes.

• You clutched at the front of your shirt, the beginning of a horrible panic attack brewing in your chest. "Please pick up, please—" On the verge of throwing up, you thanked whatever was up there when Kevin had picked up. "Hello? Dude, where are you? I was just about to open the doors—" "K—Kevin— The n—news, last night—!" You could barely speak, sobbing into the speaker and heaving for air. "Woah, calm down... Remember to breathe, okay?" You heard the jingling of keys in the background, along with the crunch of snow underneath his feet.

• "O—Okay..." You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, with Kevin helping you regain your composure over the phone. "Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, concern in his voice. You took a deep breath, rubbing your eyes. "Yeah... On the news this morning, there was a report saying that Bob had got out of jail this morning..." "WHAT?!" Kevin shouted, frantic as you heard him drop his phone. "Shit, sorry— But are you serious?! I'll send Streber over right away!" "Wha—?"

• And... He hung up. You loved Kevin and Streber but they were complete worry warts and you appreciated them for that. You waited in the kitchen, nursing another cup of cold coffee. You should make a new pot— Then a sudden knock came at the door, making you scream at the top of your lungs. You quickly opened the door to see Streber, out of breath and holding a huge suitcase. He obviously just woke up, having thrown over his winter jacket over his pyjamas, which was bat-themed pyjama pants and a band tee he 'borrowed' from you years ago.

• "Hoo, holy fuck... I'm here now, are you okay?!" Streber asked, grabbing you by your shoulders and shaking you. "You gotta get out of here!" He said, still gasping for air. "What???" You were dizzy from how hard he was shaking you, swaying around as he grabbed your hand and dragged you to your room. "It's okay, me and Kevin were thinking about this for awhile now," Streber said, sitting you on the bed and digging through your drawers. "About how you can stay with us, and that way we can keep an eye on you!" He threw armfuls of your clothes into his suitcase, struggling to close it.

• ... Huh? "And now that the weird guy that was stalking you broke out of jail, we think it's the perfect time for you to move in!" Streber finished his ramble, a big smile on his face. He shoved the handle into your hands, a look of anticipation in his eyes. "Well, at least until they catch him... Which'll probably take a few days... Maybe I shouldn't have packed so much— But anyways! What do you say?" He clasped his hands together, a toothy grin on his face. "It'll be just like our high school sleepovers!"

• You barely had the chance to process anything he said, finally having a moment to take it all it. Well, they did mean well and you know damn well it was a bad idea to stay in your house while Bob was on the loose... You gave Streber a nervous smile, giving him a shaky thumbs up. "Yeah, sure. It'll probably only be for a few days anyways!"

• And Streber wasn't kidding, it really was like your high school days! You all played video games well into the morning (which you and Kevin regretted at work), watched a lot of horror movies, played board games, and spent a lot of time just talking and chatting into the night. You had to go to work still, but Kevin was happy to walk with you. Having them around really distracted you from everything going on with Bob.

• But as days went by, there was no news of his recapture. After a week you were getting restless, constantly on edge and watching the news 24/7. Kevin and Streber literally had to force you to go to bed. Eventually weeks went by, and after a month you all were concerned about your safety. You rarely went out of the house whenever you could avoid doing so, only going to work and therapy. When the first disappearance happened, you felt like throwing up when you found out who it was. It was an old coworker of yours.

• He was found in the next week afterwards in his own house, dismembered with some body parts missing. He even lived on the same street as you did, which only meant that Bob had at least attempted to look for you. One month slowly grew into two, and so on and so on. So did the number of bodies. Most were people you knew, but were never close to. You feared for your friends safety, afraid that Bob would find them and kill them just like he did to your coworker... No, they were okay. Bob hadn't found you. Yet.

• You practically lived with Kevin and Streber now, unwilling to be alone in your house. The next few months were hell for you, paranoia and anxiety chipping away at your wellbeing. Kevin and Streber were by your side whenever you needed, more than willing to help you through your situation.

• It was the ninth month of you living with your friends, stuck on the couch with paranoia-induced nightmares. You were still wide awake by seven in the morning, unable to sleep for more than an hour without being rudely awoken by another nightmare. Today was Halloween, which only meant that the Candy Club would be ten times more busy today. You got up, creeping towards the washroom to get ready for work. You peeked into Kevin and Streber's shared room, with the former spread out over Kevin and snoring loudly.

• You smiled at the two, happy that they had gotten together after graduation. It was bound to happen. You turned to face the washroom, when you saw a devil-horned silhouette standing in the doorway. The toothy grin that haunted you for years stretched impossibly wide once his eyes landed on yours, a wicked scream tearing from your throat. You fell on your ass, scrambling backwards until you hit the wall behind you. You rubbed your eyes and looked around wildly, realizing that it was just a hallucination.

• Kevin and Streber had come stumbling out of their room, both of them fighting to squeeze through the doorway in order to get to you. "A—Are you okay?!" Kevin yelled, kneeling beside you and placing a hand on your shoulder. Streber had peeked into the washroom, quirking an eyebrow. "There's no one in here. Did you see something?" He asked, both him and Kevin staring at you with concern. You sighed and rubbed your eyes, avoiding their gazes. "Yeah, I guess I did... I didn't get any sleep last night, that's probably why. Sorry, guys..."

• Kevin and Streber frowned, each of them sitting on opposite sides of you and giving you a sideways hug. "It's alright dude, we get it." Kevin said, giving you a small grin. Streber nodded, smiling at you brightly. "If you'd like, you could probably stay home tonight. Me and Rick can handle it. " Kevin said, watching as you shook your head. "No, it's okay. I think it's best if I go to work. Thanks though." You tried to reassure them both, a weary smile on your face.

• And you weren't kidding when you said it was going to be ten times busier than usual today. When you and Kevin got there to open the store, there were already people lining up to buy candy for tonight. It was going to be a long day... You struggled to stay focused, running on an hour of sleep. You ate a lot of candy in order to stay awake, causing your stomach to ache with both worry and an overload of sugar.

• "Ugh..." You groaned in pain, slamming your face into the counter while Kevin rung up someone's purchase. Your coworker Rick stared at you with what seemed like concern, leaning onto his hand while staring at you. Luckily, kids were starting to go out trick or treating which meant that the store wouldn't be busy for a good while. All you three had to worry about was keeping the store well stocked and handing out free candy cans.

• But without any more customers to distract you from the situation at hand, you were lost in your thoughts. Bob was still on the run and he could be anywhere, and there was ten confirmed deaths— and parents were STILL letting their kids go trick or treating?! Rick seemed to notice your inner turmoil, poking you on the shoulder.

• "What." He asked, his voice as monotone as ever. "Hmm?" You replied blankly, still lost in your thoughts. "What's wrong." Rick said, watching as you glanced at him with a frown. "Oh, nothing. Just worried I guess." You answered, looking at Rick with a reassuring smile. Rick's droopy eyes widened as he avoided your gaze, cheeks turning a slight shade of red. "Hmm."

• Kevin had come back from the back with armfuls of candy, a tired look in his eyes. "Ugh." He uttered, glancing at the muddy floors. You got up from your seat to help him restock, sparking up a conversation with him. You all had collectively sighed when you both finished up your task, thankful for the moment of peace. Rick watched you with interest as you walked past him with a box of candy, getting up to help when you couldn't reach the top shelves. You grinned at him, watching as his shoulders tensed. What a nice guy.

• You were stationed at the till listening into a conversation between Kevin and Rick, leaning onto your hand. Interrupted mid-yawn by the door ringing, you watched as two kids in a pumpkin and skeleton costume came barreling in. You grinned cheekily and got out of your chair, stretching out your back. "Hey, Kevin, your kids are here." You gestured towards the two with a sly grin, watching as his face dropped.

• Kevin gave you a dirty look as you pardoned yourself to the washroom, stifling your laughter. As you got to the staff washroom, you adjusted your uniform. When you were fixing your hat and bow tie in the mirror, you let a yelp of shock tear from your throat when the lights had gone out suddenly. What the hell?

• You flailed around, patting the walls and sink in order to find the door. You heard a loud thud on the sales floor, and then a flurry of footsteps running out of the back door. Unlocking the washroom door, you peeked out of the doorway. It was obviously dark, with only the candy machines illuminating the store. You walked out nervously, grabbing a nearby broom and holding it close. Maybe it was some kids playing a trick... "Hello? Kevin? Rick?" You called as you walked into the sales floor, glancing around nervously.

• No one was there except for a costumed man bent over a mess of gum balls on the floor, eating them by the handful... Disgusting. You cringed and tried to walk over, unaware of the blade sitting next to him. You slipped on a stray gum ball and fell on your ass, a loud grunt of pain coming from you. Man, fucking kids... You knew you should've swept earlier. The man turned to face you, eyes wide with shock as your eyes met. His wide grin faltered as he stood to his full height, towering above you with shaky hands.

• "S—Sweet pea..?" Oh. Oh FUCK. You knew you should've recognized that eerie grin right away, pure terror evident on your face. "I—I finally found ya! O—Oh, it's really you, darlin'!" Bob uttered, like you would shatter at the sound of his voice. He slowly reached towards you with a trembling hand, smile soft and full of wonderment. Where was everyone— How did Bob find you?!

• You couldn't move, nor could you even think straight. You were petrified, glued in place as Bob came closer and close with booming steps. Oh god, no. You knew you shouldn't have come to work tonight. This was you died, wasn't it? You finally snapped back to reality when his fingers grazed your cheek, Bob kneeling in front of you gingerly.

• Do something, do something—! You pat around the floor, fingers landing on the handle of the broom. You shut your eyes tightly as you took the handle in both hands and swinging with all of your might, hitting Bob straight in the face. He screamed in pain, watching as you scrambled away from him, chest heaving with panic. You felt your feet roll over even more gum balls, making it impossible to get up.

• You watched as Bob's shoulders tensed, his smile fading into a grimace. Someone had taken you by the shoulders and pulled you to your feet, dragging you away by your arm. You glanced back at Bob, who's face contorted with anger as he stood up obviously dazed. "GET YOUR HANDS OFFA THEM YA—!" And then he was interrupted by the back door slamming in his face. Your saviour was Rick, who was panting for air as he barricaded the door with a wooden plank. Kevin was currently throwing a box of candy into the arms of the costumed kids, sweat beading down his forehead.

• "Here!" You and Rick watched as the kids thanked him with gigantic smiles on their faces, walking off with an entire box of candy. You and Rick glanced at each other and then walked over to Kevin, who was angrily grumbling to himself. Kevin sighed in relief when he saw you with Rick, running over to you both. "Oh thank god you're okay, I would've came to help but—" He angrily jabbed a thumb in the direction of the kids, furrowing his brows. "I had to deal with THOSE two."

• "Do you deal with this everyday." Rick had asked, deciding to ignore what had just happened. You stood close to Kevin, giving Rick a nervous smile and a little wave. Rick's lips twitched slightly before he gave you a thumbs up. The realization of what just happened hit you suddenly, so as you stumbled away from Kevin with nausea brewing in your stomach, anxiety evident in your voice. "I—I think I'm gonna be sick..." You said quietly, grabbing your stomach. You ran towards the dumpster and threw up, with Rick following close behind and holding your hair out of your face. Kevin grimaced and kneeled next to you, patting your back.

• He was about to pull out his phone to dial the police but someone in a devil costume similar to his had approached you three, scaring the hell out of you and Kevin. Rick could care less. Kevin had also panicked and threw a handful of candy at them, watching as they recoiled in pain. "What the hell dude!" They yelled at Kevin, who stared at them in shock. Rick had stood in front of you and pushed you behind him protectively, shielding your cowering form from the stranger.

• Kevin and the devil guy argued back and forth for a moment until the former threw their arms up, pointing towards the store. "I just wanted to say that kids are stealing candy!" You and Kevin shared a look that said 'oh shit' and both collectively cussed and ran back inside. While you may be on the verge of a panic attack, you still needed a paycheque.

• The night was relatively peaceful after that, but you were pacing back and forth trying to keep yourself occupied with cleaning up and restocking everything. You kept mumbling to yourself, jumping whenever someone walked in. It got to a point where Rick had gotten up and dragged you towards the counter, said "Sit.", pushed you into a chair, and then sat back down like nothing happened.

• Kevin was calling Streber like crazy, but he wouldn't answer any of his phone calls or texts. The both of you were on edge until closing. Kevin was fidgeting as Rick locked the front doors, all three of you overtired and exhausted. It was closing time, finally. God, you needed to call the police— or get home, you didn't care anymore. You just wanted to be out of the public eye, sick to your stomach. Too bad you had to stay behind and clean up.

• Kevin took you by the shoulders and pulled you aside. "Listen, I've gotta go find Streber. He isn't answering any of my calls and I'm scared if he's—" You took a deep breath and placed a hand on his own, a nervous smile on your face. "I—It's fine, I can get home by myself." Kevin frowned and shook you by your shoulders. "Your stalker is on the loose! You should call the police or something, or you can wait here for me." He offered, obviously desperate to go and look for his boyfriend.

"... Okay. I'll just stay here and clean up with Rick." You said, glancing at Rick. He looked at you with wide eyes before coughing into his hand and flushing pink. Everything was going to be okay, right?

(I’m a simp for Rick also R.I.P Streber LOL)

[possibilistfanfiction]

avatrice + kiss on the back of the hand?

[ava + some friends, more outside pov (in the future!) for @unicyclehippo]

//

despite the fact that physical therapy is boring, and not at all your favorite activity, you like your therapist, brian, and at least you’ve gotten to consistently schedule it early enough in the morning you don’t miss your bridge group. and you’ve been compliant — mostly; you did spend more time on your feet last week than you were supposed to, but your grandson was visiting and you would never let him leave without having his favorite brisket and matzoh ball soup — and have done the exercises brian gives you to do at home every day. 

the physical therapy gym is mostly boring, more — and you hate to say it — old people, like you, recovering from total knee or total hip replacements, and a few young athletes. your son, ezra, drops you off and picks you up twice a week; sometimes his husband, marcus, fills in and he always takes you to get donuts afterward, your little secret. today you sit at the table you always start at, your walker steady and almost unnecessary at this point, and a young woman, exhausted-looking and the kind of pretty that could easily belong in a party when you were young, sitting in a sleek wheelchair by the table, smiles gently across you. you’re early by a few minutes — ezra is wonderful, but he’s a bit wound up all the time — so you smile back. ‘i’m ruth,’ you say. 

‘hi.’ the young woman seems happy to talk, cheerful. ‘i’m ava.’

‘very exciting beginning to your morning, it seems like.’

she groans. ‘ugh, tell me about it. my partner barely woke up in time to drive me here.’

you laugh. ‘not a morning person?’

ava rolls her eyes. ‘no, not at all. i love mornings though, even if they’re at physical therapy.’

‘it’s not so bad,’ you tell her. ‘have you done it before?’

‘not really.’ she shrugs. ‘i have some chronic spine stuff from a car accident when i was younger, and my doctors have tried… a lot, so we’re hoping this helps everything.’

‘i hope it’ll help.’ you gesture to your walker. ‘total hip replacement. from being old.’

ava’s smile is bright. ‘kinda cool, to get old, though, huh? and to have as cool of clothes as you do? i can only hope the same for myself, one day.’

it’s sweet, and sincere, and aching under the surface. ‘it is wonderful, to get to grow old. and —‘ you wink — ‘to get to be better dressed than everyone around you.’

‘hell yeah.’ she looks at her own hoodie and joggers. ‘i usually am better dressed than this, or, at least, more fun; i just had surgery last week.’

‘well, when you’re feeling better, i’m sure i’ll be very impressed.’

‘i don’t know about that.’ ava blushes a little, and you’re delighted. ‘i think my partner is probably the better dressed of the two of us; she’s very chic. but i’m fun!’

‘fun is the most important part. especially when you’re an old lady.’

she laughs and then brian walks up, says hi to you, and you wave. ‘good luck, ava. i’ll talk to you soon.’

‘for sure,’ she tells you enthusiastically.

/

you’re waiting on a bench in front of the physical therapy gym in the warm sunshine — not too hot, not too cold, perfect — when ava walks toward you, slowly and with a cane, but walking.

‘is this seat taken?’

‘for a pretty girl like you? absolutely not.’

she laughs, bright and warm. ‘ruth, you flirt.’

‘i’m old.’ she sits gingerly and it makes you hurt for her, just a little — not that she needs any mobility aids, but because it’s clear she’s in pain. ‘i get to flirt whenever i want.’

‘oh, is that how it works?’

‘absolutely,’ you tell her sagely.

‘well, other than me, of course, let me know if there are any crushes i should know about? i love drama, and my life is, both tragically and fortunately, drama free right now.’

‘well, sean in my bridge group, and david from shul. oh, and lee from my favorite cafe i go to for lunch.’ 

‘hmm, pros and cons? or are we playing the field?’

you laugh, and you tell her about sean’s clever hands, the beautiful way david reads scripture, how lee always offers you half his reuben. ava listens attentively, like she really cares, and, after she asks a thoughtful series of questions about how to play bridge — my girlfriend would probably demolish at this game, honestly — you understand that she really does care; she really does want to know you. so you ask her questions too; her partner’s name is beatrice, and she is, according to ava, beautiful and kind and exacting; ava grew up mostly in spain and is a bartender, which she loves, and they live in a house on the beach because beatrice, apparently, works in consulting all over europe, and also enjoys teaching aikido. ‘she has four black belts,’ ava says, and fans herself. it makes you laugh, and when marcus drives up in his practical, nice bmw hybrid, you pat her hand. 

‘see you tuesday, ruth.’

‘enjoy your weekend, ava.’

/

ava’s walking better on tuesday, and she sits next to you without asking this time, after you’re both finished. she fishes around in her crossbody bag and then holds out her hand, some candy with wrappers in mandarin on her palm. ‘they’re plum candies. they’re beatrice’s favorites, so i thought i was being sweet, but, i kinda went overboard and ordered, like, enough for a small army.’

you laugh but take one — you would never turn down an offered sweet; something of a communion — and open it while ava does the same. it’s wonderful: flavorful and sweet and a little sour, and you tell ava that.

‘ugh, i know,’ she says. ‘i don’t think bea had had them for a really long time; she cried the other day.’ ava smiles, like she’s trying not to laugh. ‘it was very sweet. a little dramatic, but i get it. i kind of go crazy for panellets.’

‘well, i’m making babka tomorrow, how about i bring you both some thursday?’

‘ruth, that’s too much.’

‘i love to share food,’ you say. ‘really, it’s part of the job description of a bubbe. they only let you in if you share your babka.’

ava rolls her eyes but then she nods. ‘i would really love that.’

ezra drives up, and you stand — easily, now, without pain and much stiffness — and wave.

/

your babka turns out as good as it always does — the best at shul, despite the fact that yael claims hers is better — and you place a few carefully in a tupperware to bring to ava, who seems a little wilted when she sits next to you. she waves you off when you look concerned.

’no big deal,’ she says. ‘just didn’t sleep too well last night. but! now i’m going to eat the world’s best babka and nap after bea drops me off. do you think i could convince her to nap with me?’

‘depends on why you didn’t sleep well last night.’

it takes ava a minute but then she laughs, brightening immediately. ‘ruth!’

‘you’re young, you should be having fun.’

‘oh, we have fun.’ ava grins. ‘don’t worry.’

‘well, speaking of fun,’ you say, ‘a few of my friends and i go to this water aerobics class at the country club together, every wednesday. i’m sorry if i was eavesdropping, but i heard kayvon tell you that some water therapy might be helpful? it’s really quite fun.’

‘that sounds awesome, honestly. i just got cleared to drive myself next week, so i would love that!’

you don’t bother to mention that everyone in the class is over seventy, mostly because you don’t really care, but, also, ava doesn’t seem to care, at all, that you’re at least fifty years older than her: you’re friends, and she’s kind, and bright. 

once again, marcus is there to pick her up before her ride, but you give her your number — and you add her on facebook, because that’s easier for you sometimes — before you leave. you send her the details later that day, and she responds with a few emojis you don’t understand, but that your grandson laughs at when you show him. good enough. 

/

‘i didn’t know, really, what to wear to water aerobics,’ ava says, happily sitting on the edge of the pool with you. she has on a simple red one-piece, her hair tied up in a bun, although short pieces escape. the back dips low and you see multiple scars, some faded and one new, and painful looking; ava’s light often makes you forget why you first met. 

‘this is great,’ you tell her. you gesture to your brightly colored, polka dotted tankini. ‘you can spice it up however much you want. just wait until you meet angela.’

as if on cue, angela, tall and Black and striking, walks in, with her perpetually perfect close cropped hair, in a pair of heels and draped in an elegant silk coverup over a royal blue bikini. ‘whoa,’ ava says, and it’s so earnest it makes you laugh.

‘listen,’ ava says, ‘i’m bi, queer, and, yeah, i have a partner who is so so so beautiful, like, god, this morning she came home from surfing and used our outdoor shower — thank god for her trust fund, am i right? — but… ruth, i have eyes.’ she looks over to you. ‘you have eyes too, right? like, no offense to sean and david and lee, but… angela is stunning, okay?’

‘she is,’ you grant her, mostly because you’re amused. angela walks over and smiles, gracious and perfect, and you gesture to ava, who gulps. ‘angela, ava. ava, angela.’

‘hello, ava,’ angela says. ‘ruth says that she’s quite fond of you from physical therapy.’

‘yeah,’ ava says, a little stunned. ‘that’s — that’s really kind, ruth.’

‘we don’t invite just anyone to water aerobics. it’s an exclusive club.’

‘other than courtney,’ angela grumbles.

’well, true,’ you admit. ‘but she’s not part of lunch. ava, next week, you should come join us.’

‘i would love that,’ she says. ‘beatrice will too, i’ll make sure of it.’

you laugh, and angela waves to rosa and farha when she sees them. class goes great; ava seems, when you look over at her a few times, to enjoy it a lot. even though you hadn’t really worried that ava would feel out of place, any nagging feelings are assuaged when she gets out of the pool and wraps a towel around her shoulders, carefully moves on the wet floor with a cane.

‘i told bea i’d be home soon,’ she says, ‘and she gets kinda nervous when i’m late. but! i’ll see you at therapy tomorrow, and i’ll definitely plan on lunch next week.’ she hesitates for a moment and then gives you a hug, which fills you with a very particular kind of warmth. ‘thank you, for inviting me.’

‘of course, ava. see you tomorrow.’

/

you see ava at therapy and you think, for the most part, she’s improving: you haven’t seen her wheelchair in months, and she still uses her cane, but you think it’s mostly because it feels safer, especially if she’s sore. you start going once a week but it doesn’t really matter, because she comes to water aerobics in increasingly fun swimsuits, including a purple stripped bikini that makes even angela whistle. ‘oh, to be young again,’ she had said, and ava had blushed.

‘so, how did you meet beatrice?’ margot asks, back from her annual trip to florida.

ava puts down her fork and smiles, so soft. ‘work, in spain. a job i didn’t even want, even. but, even from when we first met, she’s always just been so kind. we spent a sabbatical together, one summer, and that’s when i really fell in love with her.’

‘love at first sight, then?’ angela grins.

‘maybe not quite,’ ava says, then laughs. ‘i was… difficult, back then. obviously, i’m a total angel now.’

you roll your eyes and farha says, ‘oh, sure.’

‘we’ve been through a lot,’ ava says, softer and very sincere. ‘she’s — she’s the best person i know.’

‘well we need to meet her,’ you decide, even though you’ve been meaning to ask them both to shabbat soon anyway. ‘bring her to lunch friday?’

‘if that’s okay with everyone? i guarantee she has exceedingly good manners, much much better than mine.’

‘low bar,��� rosa says.

‘ha ha, very funny.’ ava tries her best not to smile but then does anyway, brighter than the noon sun overhead outside.

/

you’re just sitting down at the table, one extra seat this week, when ava perks up and then stands, steady and even, and you see who you know, from pictures ava has shown you, is beatrice, smiling a little nervously. ‘hi, baby,’ ava says, and beatrice takes ava’s hand and gently places a kiss to her knuckles, like a genuine knight.

‘absurd,’ angela whispers from next to you, and you try not to laugh loud enough for them to hear you, because they’re young but they’re not that young: they have a home together, and you know, from the few things ava has mentioned privately, usually on days that are too, too bright, things have been hard, and they’ve had to spend time apart in the past, and ava is thankful.

‘hello, everyone,’ beatrice says, her accent and posture extremely formal, in contrast to her casual but still, somehow, smart black hoodie and white sweatshorts and birkenstocks. her hair is in a messy bun, a few strands escaping that ava happily pushes behind her ears, and a big tattoo sitting above her left knee; she’s muscular and strong, but there are freckles spread across her cheeks and, when ava smiles at her, she softens, entirely. they are young, and, even though ava has shown you pictures, you’re still struck, in the moment, by how much they fit. 

there’s a chorus of hi, beatrice and it’s so good to meet you and ava talks about you all the time, but beatrice takes it all in stride, a happy little smile on her face. you understand, quickly, that they fit, the same way you and aaron had, so long ago: ava is loud and overwhelmingly bright, enthusiastic and generous with all of her affection, and beatrice is quietly funny, whip smart, and thoughtfully attentive to ava. she turns and listens, fully, to whoever is talking, and knows about rosa’s birding, and the shrine farha talks about in lahore, and the new podcast angela is listening to. she’s impressive, as a person, and ava seems distinctly aware of it, basking, a little, in being chosen by someone so special.

‘sorry i’m underdressed,’ beatrice says after you order. ‘i was surfing this morning, and then had to jump on a work call, and i didn’t want to be late.’

‘everything okay?’ ava checks.

‘yes,’ beatrice says, soothes a hand along ava’s thigh and then squeezes her knee. ‘nothing of concern.’

ava squints. ’were you just asleep? you wouldn’t lie to me, right?’

beatrice pauses. ‘i was — well, catching up on some sleep, when camila called.’

ava barks a laugh. ‘bea is the sleepiest person i know.’

‘sleep is one of the great pleasures of life,’ angela says, regal and finite in her statement, ‘among other things in bed.’ 

beatrice grins while ava blushes. ‘now i know why you like coming to these classes and lunches so much,’ beatrice says, shooting angela a wink. ‘you do have a type.’

‘ah, and what a type it is,’ ava says, sighing for effect, seemingly recovered from her momentary emabrassment.

at the end of lunch, you do invite them to shabbat, and beatrice asks your favorite kind of kosher wine.

/

‘okay, you are all sworn to secrecy,’ ava says, leaning forward at the table. it’s not particularly quiet, because farha’s hearing aides can only do so much, and rosa flat out refuses to wear any, but there’s no on important around you anyway.

‘wonderful,’ angela says.

‘i love a secret,’ you agree.

‘well.’ ava lets out a big breath. ‘beatrice and i are going to switzerland, next week, to the alps, where we spent our first summer together, and i —‘ she shakes her head — ‘this feels so crazy, but i’m going to propose.’

it sends the whole table into a flurry of excitement, asking about ava’s plan — a hike, the one they would go on every tuesday together, slowly and for fun — and the ring ava had picked out — beautiful, and elegant, and perfect, you think — and, ‘do you think she’ll say yes?’

ava gulps. ‘i know she wants to spend her life with me.’ she sounds sure, and calm, despite her fingers nervously fidgeting with her napkin. ‘she was… very religious, for a long time, so, like, she’s always been really accepting of other same sex marriages, but i think it’s taken her a minute to get her to feel ready for, like, our own very queer marriage. sacrament, and all that, i guess.’ she shakes her head. ‘but anyway, yes! i think she’s ready. i think she really wants to get married.’

her smile is gentle, serene, and you had watched beatrice — in neat linen, her hair long and swept over her shoulder, fight her way through eating multiple bites of gefilte fish last friday, even though it was clear she hated it, and say prayers in hebrew, quietly. ava had been in her chair; you hadn’t asked, and neither had anyone from shul or your family, but beatrice had made sure that she had everything she needed, unobtrusive and practiced. ava had been, unexpectedly, the life of the party, charming everyone with her laugh and her silly puns and a very spirited debate with your granddaughter about women’s soccer. they’re a pair, you understood, very clearly: at the end of the night, ava had encouraged beatrice, gently, to take extra kugel along with the challah and chicken you’d already put in tupperware for them; beatrice had gotten their sweaters from the closet and handed ava’s to hers with a kiss to her forehead, tender and private, a moment that had belonged just to them.

‘we’ll all be eagerly awaiting the engagement photographs,’ angela says with sure gravitas.

‘post them on facebook,’ you tell her, and ava laughs, but she promises, later, when you give her a hug, that she will.

/

‘thank you, for inviting us,’ you tell ava, a bit in awe, if you’re being honest, of their house. she bounces around happily, and angela just looks at you with a raised brow for a moment. there are bright red and gold decorations everywhere, and beatrice walks over with a neat bun and beautiful jacket, embroidered so elegantly even angela seems a little in love with it.

’happy new year,’ she says, and you both give her a hug as you return the sentiment, then shows you to their kitchen, with a spread of chinese food that smell so, so good, and then gestures out to the open-air doors and patio that overlooks the ocean. ‘help yourselves to whatever you want. ruth, there are plenty of dishes that i made sure meet all kosher standards; they should be labeled. and there’s plenty of seating, and come find me if you need anything.’ she pauses. ‘or ava, but she gets a little… activated when we have a lot of people over.’

‘so, did we know how rich they were?’ angela says, loading her plate with everything she can after beatrice walks away to greet more guests.

‘not this rich.’

you both wait a beat and then laugh, and you find seats by the railing; your hip doesn’t hurt at all anymore. ava finds you both eventually and steals an egg roll from your plate with a laugh. ‘i’ll get you another one,’ she promises. ‘and, i just wanted to say, thanks for being my friends. i know it’s silly, but the water aerobics have really helped me feel better — and much less bored — when my mobility has been limited. and i love hearing about your lives, and sharing mine. i just —’ she scrubs her hand along the back of her neck, her hair neatly trimmed to her chin, fluttering in the breeze. ‘i went a long time without great role models.’

it’s so sincere and so touching. angela sniffles and you fish a hanky from your purse and hand it to her; she dabs her eyes.

‘don’t call us old,’ she says, voice breaking, and ava laughs.

‘i could’ve called you my adoptive grandmothers, so count your blessings.’

you roll your eyes when she takes a big, smiling bite of her (your) egg roll. ‘you are a blessing,’ you tell her.

ava swallows her bite and then leans to hug you, tight and sincere. ‘thank you,’ she whispers.

‘happy new year, ava.’

‘yeah,’ she says, a little teary but with a huge smile. ‘happy new year.’

[luchitohamilton]

lewis with moritz steidl back at the austrian gp '23, part 2 [part 1]

I don’t know whether I’d be a writer. I’ve always wondered, when I hear about writers I’m always like I’d love to know what that entails, like, I couldn’t even, I’ve seen a script, but I would have no idea where I would start with a script. I’ve written songs and that process’s been, you know, learning about the pre, the verse, the bridge and all these different things and how you narrate through that and that’s been a process of learning that so. I don’t currently have any desire to write a story. I feel more compassionate and more driven to like give people opportunities that would never normally have, an opportunity to uplift their stories, whether it’s in documentaries, whether it’s real life stories, whether it’s people from diverse backgrounds who, you know, or something that would normally not get seen and so, you know, as you go across the industries there’s little access for people with disabilities, for people from diverse backgrounds and we gotta disrupt that, not only in this sport but across the most[industries].

They posted another version of this interview and in English so, transcript below 👇

So, Lewis, first of all, thank you to be invited here in Mercedes [My pleasure.] And how is it? Finally you come to a race weekend and now this could be a really really good one.

Yeah, well, we’ve had a couple of really good race weekends, in Montreal, in Barcelona, which to be on the podium on those two, to be so close in Monaco, was a real positive for us. So, we wanna try and continue with the consistency. The team had done an amazing job to point us in a better direction.

When you enter the car, or when you also leave the car, do you or does your body gives you any other specific signs? In a good ones or some, I don’t know. [My Body?] Yeah, yeah, your body. Do you feel like… I’m 30 years old, 29 soon 30, and I remember when I was 20 everything was quite smooth and so, I’m not asking but can you imagine you as a top sportsman you can maybe, you have other signs your body sends out to you?

I think uhm, I’m 38, I think I feel stronger than I’ve ever been so, I think the thing you notice when you get older is recovery takes a little bit longer but it’s not massive. There’re so many different solutions today like cold water therapy, there’s cryotherapy, there’s all this other things to help speed up recovery and better understanding of diet so, it’s not as bad as people say it is. If you look at Tom Brady, he was 44/45 and still performing so that gives people like myself a lot more confidence.

When I get out of the car I feel generally fresh, as I’ve said, I’ve been training in a slightly different way this past year and I feel a lot stronger and more stable that I’ve ever felt in the car physically now, then the car it’s not been great to drive for the past year and a bit, but now it’s slowly starting to give us more confidence as a driver.

You know, actually, to be honest, I just wanted to ask you this question because I think it’s kind of pushed also by the media, all over the world, for example “oh, you are a 7-time world champion against now a younger man” and so on. I think it’s the narrative all the media wants to hear but it’s so untrue. I have a quote for you, Mohammed Ali once said, and I also can relate this to myself, “Just remember you don’t have to be what they want you to be”. Do you know this quote? Do you like it?

Yeah, I like that. Definitely, I mean, if you see how I’ve navigated over the time that I’ve been here in this sport. It’s been a challenge, you know, and you have of course, I’m sure, your own challenges. I think always just knowing yourself and staying true to yourself is the most important thing and not trying to change yourself to suit what other people think.

I think on the racing side of things, yeah, the narrative’s been interesting in the past year, you know, it’s a new scenario to have a new driver, George he has nothing to lose, zero, you know, so if he finished behind, they say “well, you’re driving against a 7-time world champion”, if he finishes ahead, is a win-win all the time, but for me if I finish ahead it’s kind of like “oh, well you’re 7-time world champion [so it’s expected]”, you know, and finishing behind is all doom and gloom, you know, so uhm, I just don’t read any of that stuff so I’m not like, I don’t get sucked in by the BS as you mentioned, you know, I just focus on everyday trying to be the best version, trying to work towards building the best version of myself, physically, mentally, you know, I’m trying to work on my entrepreneurial stuff, I’m trying to make sure my foundation is having true impact on people, I’m trying to make sure that when I travel around the world I’m utilizing this platform that I have, like social media, in a positive light that’s educational and it’s uplifting, and what else? I don’t know what else I can do.

You know when I have the most motivation is like when people say like “you can’t” and then, my motivation is lifted up extremely high to prove them so wrong and I think, their faces when you look at them and they are like "he's really has done it", you know what I mean?

Yeah, I love that. I have that, I can empathize with what you're saying there, my whole life also people said, "you can’t", when I was a kid people said, "you can’t", when I was at school my teachers said, "you can’t", when I said I wanted to be a Formula 1 World Champion they said, "you can’t". I’ve had team drivers and drivers, so many people, so, so many people trying to create that narrative and let that sink into your head and if you let that into your head then it can become a reality, right?, so just blocking it out, continue to believe, that's been the key and then proving people wrong, it’s the best thing ever, so I love that you’ve done that, and you’re doing that, and I think that’s part of our role, on this Earth, right, is to prove them wrong and, yeah.

I remember when I was joining this team, Niki was one of those, he said, “You can’t be doing this, you can’t be doing that” and then, you know, in one of the races he was saying to Toto “He can’t be doing this things [going to a fashion show in New York right before the Singapore GP in 2018]. There’s no way, he can't be traveling here and arriving here fully focused” and I arrived, and I did the best time in Singapore in qualifying and he was like “Ok, maybe he can” so, you know, even the young to old, you're having to prove that too.

You know like for me, you know, what comes through today like talking to you, doing an interview and a Formula 1 panel, was always my dream and I remember back in University and also back in my high school days people doing like “ah, it’s so difficult in this world” and so on, and I always think if you give up and show them that’s what they want to see and I always had the most motivation out of them.

Yeah, no, well congratulations to you.

Congratulations to you. And I have another example for you. I saw a video of you where you said that also when you got your puppy Roscoe back then you also liked the fact that people always told you…

Yeah, everyone said to me in my family “ you can’t have a dog, you’ll never be able to take care of a dog” and yeah, I just, anything anyone say I can’t do I just feel for me I have to go out and do it, I’m like “dammit, I have to go and do it now” and so, you know, look, I skydive, I surf, I try everything even if I’m not good. I’m not good at everything but I’m very very focused when I try everything that I do to try to be the best I can be.

At least try, I think, that’s the most important thing, right?

Exactly. You gotta try everything, anything and everything so, whether I’m trying instruments, I’m trying, and I’m not great at the piano but I’m trying…oh God I still dream of one day playing a lot better and one day I will be able to play really really well.

You’re a 7-time World Champion, someone who knows maybe most of the world. Do you also sometimes, at home, it's silence, you have self-doubt?

Uhm, there’s definitely…I wouldn’t be human if that, there weren´t ever. Sometimes it pops up, sometimes it's creeps op, and that´s part of my experience of growing up when, you know, with these people telling you "you can't" and then sometimes it creeps out inside that voice that comes in and says, you know, "you´re no good", " you don't look good" or "you're not this", "you're not beautiful", all these different things and I've just learned to really continue to build a positive, a strong mental approach to my days so that can penetrate me ever.

Like you block it, you’re so focused, also in a personal manner it doesn’t influence you.

Yeah, and I also don’t do things that take away my energy, I don’t put people around me that take away my energy. I surround myself with people who are like-minded, I surround myself with people who are positive and who are like also driven to, not to be, they are not negative, they are not on social media saying negative things about people, yeah.

Are there people, like when I have self-doubt when I think about things, I know certain people I want to ask, I mean, the friend and family, they tell you always the best because they want you to feel good, but there are some people around, I know, when I have self-doubt I don’t know if I can make the next step, whatever, personally or business-wise, I go to them. Do you also have those kind of people around you?

I would say if there was ever somebody it was always my dad. I mean, I went into the boxing ring and this kid beat me up in the boxing ring and I was like "I don't want to go back in. I can't do it" and my dad said "Yes, you can" and that was the first time he told me "Yes, you can", and those words are so powerful. You tell yourself that every day, then, it can liberate you, you know, so I tell myself in the morning [You can meditate] Yeah, tell myself this morning "Oh, maybe I can't do this" "Yes, you can". So, anytime those doubts come around I just I would rather just keep telling myself "Yes, you can. Yes, you can. Yes, you can". If I go to the gym and I don't feel I could do the weights [I would say] "You can do it. You got this", and that's just all in the mind and my mind is so infinitely powerful, that we don’t even realize and so it's making sure we’re feeding it with the right positive information.

I also heard you’re really inspired by, or was inspired by, Kobe Bryant, you also have your own production company. Is this something you can see yourself in the future also writing narratives, writing stories?

I don’t know whether I’d be a writer. I’ve always wondered, when I hear about writers I’m always like I’d love to know what that entails, like, I couldn’t even, I’ve seen a script, but I would have no idea where I would start with a script. I’ve written songs and that process’s been, you know, learning about the pre, the verse, the bridge and all these different things and how you narrate through that and that’s been a process of learning that so.

I don’t currently have any desire to write a story. I feel more compassionate and more driven to like give people opportunities that would never normally have, an opportunity to uplift their stories, whether it’s in documentaries, whether it’s real life stories, whether it’s people from diverse backgrounds who, you know, or something that would normally not get seen and so, you know cause as you go across the industries there’s little access for people with disabilities, for people from diverse backgrounds and we gotta disrupt that, not only in this sport but across the most [industries] [Across the world of business as well] so I applaud you, because you know, you’re the first here, you know, you’re first and that’s huge and there’s people that are gonna see that and we need to make sure that we highlight that more because, you know, my brother has cerebral palsy and he’s the first in touring car that’s showing we can also do this thing.

[lady-bess]

Fallout - Chapter 7 "An Encounter"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/ 18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 4k Chapter Tags: First meetings, Thank the Gods I finally got to this part, References to Weapons, Explicit Language, Tequila returns so we make fun of him, typical bantering, References to therapy, References to rehab, Agent training.

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 6 - "The Start of Something New")

With recruit training amping up, the days at work were getting longer. You and Clara had plans for later, but an unexpected visitor (or two...) might just derail your evening.

Today had drained you more than any other day. All the recruits you currently had on staff were going for their first rounds of examinations in just over a week, so these last few sessions with them were all about fine tuning everything they’d learnt. For some classes that meant just ensuring they were up to date with case files, thoroughly familiar with the databases, and had all their uniforms up to code. 

But for you? It meant several gruelling weeks of meticulous training, recalibrating old habits, and testing the recruits at a moment’s notice. Emergency drills, weapon’s inspections, and long long hours in the training quarters. You honestly couldn’t wait for the after-work drinks you’d be having with Clara tonight. 

Sighing to yourself, you motioned for your final recruit to step up to the mark. He nodded, reaching for his pistol from his shoulder holster, and lined himself up before the target. 

Today’s goal? Consecutive long-range accurate shots. If recruits hadn’t mastered these by now, they’d never make it further than this point.

One, two, three. Three clean shots, right on target. You smiled at your recruit, satisfied he had been practising his technique enough to get the aim right - which was always important; but you did worry about the speed in which he achieved it.

“Alright, nice work; just focus more on your speed. Your aim is always spot on, but you’re too slow to draw. Act like this in the field and we’ll be burying you before your time,” you said, gently patting James, your recruit, on the shoulder. He smiled taut, nodding, then pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll be sure to prioritise it in my training,” he said.

“You better. I like you too much to send you out there unprepared, kid,” you teased, “Now run along. I know you’ve got a lab session with the other recruits this afternoon, and Whiskey doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Think she’s tired of me holding people up,” you chuckled.

James laughed with you, disarming his weapon as he nodded. Since you’d started training recruits there had been at least half a dozen incidents where they’d been late to another class because you’d lost track of time. You’d always been acutely aware of it, but Schmidt’s comment earlier today made you realise just how tardy you’d been making the recruits. 

You watched James put the weapon packs back to their allocated spot, then lean down and grab the satchel he’d brought with him. All the recruits who had come through for one-on-one weapons training today had brought large bags with them, which you knew meant one of two things; they were filled to the brim with paperwork for Clara’s class, or someone had planned a vigorous physical training class for them today, and their bags carried gymnasium clothing. 

You didn’t envy either option. 

“See you soon, ma’am,” James said, slinging his satchel over his shoulder.

You smiled, waving James off the premises, before turning your attention to the array of weapons in front of you. You’d seen James disarm his rifle, but after an unfortunate incident about a year ago where a recruit almost blew your head off ( no, they didn’t pass basic training) , you always double checked the weapons were disarmed, and the safety catches were on.  

You’d not used many weapons in today’s training session, so it didn’t take too long for you to tidy your work station down. All ammunition was back in their allocated cases, tucked away in drawers, and all pistols and rifles were unloaded with their safety latches back on. You smiled to yourself as you reached for a microfibre cloth just to wipe the handles down with, when footsteps began approaching you from behind. 

“Mimosa?” a voice came from behind you, making you jump slightly, even in spite of the footsteps preparing you. But the reason you jumped was not the sudden intrusion of a voice, but rather from who the voice came from. You turned around on your heels, your hand on your chest as a reflex from being startled. But when you were greeted with a familiarly broad frame filling the doorway, clad in denim, and chewing a wooden toothpick , instant relief washed over you. 

“Tex!” you said, smiling wide and heading over to him after setting down the cloth you had in hand. He grinned, opening his arms wide and pulling you into a tight hug.

“London, my doll ! How the heck are you doing?” he asked, scooping you up in his arms and squeezing you tight briefly before setting you back on your feet.Tequila smiled wide down at you, his hands still firmly on your arms for a moment. 

“I’m good! How are you? You look well!” you said, stepping out from the embrace and gesturing to his frame. He chuckled, shaking his head as he rested his hands back on his hips. 

“Oh, charming , I’ll report back to Astrid that her cooking is making me gain weight,” he teased, winking at you. You rolled your eyes, grinning. 

Tequila and Astrid hit it off the night before you all got your assignments. Tex already knew ahead of time that he’d be going to London after training was complete, and he confided in you that he was quite relieved Champ had decided to send Astrid to the UK with him too. They’d explored their flirtatious friendship that night and discovered a much deeper connection, and it was like watching a jigsaw puzzle complete itself before your very eyes. You’d watched all the agents board that plane to the UK two years ago, but you’d never forget noticing Tex’s hand on the small of Astrid’s back guiding her in. 

The two of them had opted to share accommodation once getting to the UK. All the agents trained to be part of the team had housing provided for them, but as Tex was only ever meant to be a temporary addition, his arrangement was that he was going to stay with either Harry or Eggsy. But when it came to it, there was someone else he much rather wanted to be with. Since that day you’d all kept in touch, your friendship with both your fellow agents never wavering, even in spite of the distance. 

“ Jefferson Lane , stop that now!” you laughed, scolding him, “You know that isn’t what I meant.”

“Jesus Christ you’re full naming me already! I said to Astrid I’d be in trouble for something when I got back,” he laughed. You rolled your eyes again, smirking at the mockery and glad to be back with your friend.

“Where is Astrid, anyway?” you asked.

“She had to go to a meeting with Champ shortly, so she’s just gone to set up our apartment quickly before she gets pulled into that for who knows how long. She’ll be around later, no doubt!” he said. 

“We’ll all have to go out for drinks later then, if you two are free? Clara and I were gonna swing by the bar after work,” you said. Tequila smiled, a lot sweeter this time. 

“Back to where it all began,” he chuckled, “I’m sure Astrid won’t say no. I know I won’t,” he winked. 

“It’s a date!” you sniggered. “But anyway, I highly doubt you’ve come across seas just to grab a drink with Clara and I. To what do I owe the pleasure of your return?” you asked, leaning back on the workbench you’d been stationed at for the last few hours, folding your arms across your chest. 

Tequila smiled at you, and it was the kind of look you recognised as the one he’d give when he was either up to something, or needed a favour. He didn’t even have to utter a single word before your eyebrows were raised in a questioning manner, quizzing him with your eyes alone silently asking “so what is it, what do you want?”. 

Much to your shock though, he didn’t want anything. 

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and flicking it into a nearby bin. You watched as it flew through the air before successfully landing in the trash, then turning back to Tequila. You’d picked up enough of his discarded toothpicks in your time already - you had to make sure it definitely was in the bin. 

“Oh yeah? Have we got a new recruit?” you asked. Champ had mentioned that there might be a few new people heading your way soon now that the first round of assessments for your current recruits were looming, but it all depended on a lot of factors, so you weren’t expecting anyone just yet. 

Tequila grinned before stepping to one side, out of the way of the door frame, then turned to speak out into the hallway. 

“Agent? Can you come on through, please?” he said. 

Footsteps padded down the corridor and towards the doorway of the training room, and you stood to attention the clouser the sound got. Standing straight, you held your hands behind you and rolled your shoulders back, not wanting to be seen for the first time by this agent as someone who slouched against furniture or was too laid back. If this was someone you were training, you had to make sure they started off with the right impression of you. 

The agent’s footsteps got louder until they reached the doorway, and finally you could lay eyes on this mystery person. Your eyes scanned the image of the man who stepped through the door frame, watching as he nodded at Tequila, before turning to you. 

The man before you was fairly tall, and yet simultaneously broad, strong looking, and slim around the waist. It tapered in, enhanced by how tailored the smart suit he wore was in the middle, the denim cladding his body and leaving very little to the imagination. Atop his shoulders were brown suede patches which drew attention to his broad chest, and overall stature. The suit was smart, clearly tailor made, but yet still retained elements of the old western theme that this company so loved to imitate. 

Continuing on with the Statesman themed ‘uniform’, the man held a dark brown cowboy hat in front of his torso, leaving his head bare for you to properly see who this man was. He had thick brown hair, almost jet black in colour except for shots of silver laced around his temples, and it was neatly styled with a parting slightly to one side. The ends of his hair flicked up slightly, telling you that it probably had a natural curl to it when it wasn’t styled like this, and you wondered what that might look like when left unkempt. 

Finally landing your eyes on the cowboy’s face, you admired the man properly. He smiled nervously at you, a neat moustache curling up slightly as he did, something that he clearly put a lot of effort into. The rest of his face was clean shaven, with not a single speck of razor burn or a hair out of place. Unlike Tex, who you could see had nicked himself on his neck probably only just this morning… 

There was something about this man which looked vaguely familiar, but it took a few moments for the cogs to start whirring in your brain, desperately trying to piece together where you might have seen him before. Did he just have one of those faces that seemed familiar? Was it the fact he was clean shaven; did that put you off? Or was it the remarkable similarity to Burt Reynolds that had you confused?

And that’s when it clicked.

Jack Daniels .

The man from the photograph you found over two years ago, a former senior agent, now stood before you. He’d clearly aged, but there was no denying it - this was the same man from that photograph, complete with the same signature hat and a suit that was reminiscent of the one he wore in the anniversary photograph.You could almost feel your eyes widen in slight amazement as you took in the sight of him, amazed that he was now standing in your makeshift office.  

Tequila had mentioned that one day he would return to the agency, but that had been the last you heard of anything to do with the former agent. A part of you assumed you’d never live to see the day he came back, given how long it had been since anything to do with his existence had been acknowledged. But now, over two years later, that day of reckoning was finally upon you. 

“Agent Mimosa, this is agent Seltzer. He’ll be joining the team in the next few days. I’ve put you in charge of training him,” Tequila said. You smiled warmly at Jack as he leant forward, outstretching one arm to grasp your hand in a firm handshake. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Jack said, and you nodded at him as you returned the handshake. 

“You too, agent,” you said, finally releasing Jack’s hand. You looked over at Tequila, hoping he’d throw a bit more information your way about the new agent. If nothing else, you needed to know if you were able to let onto the fact that you knew he was or not. A sly smile from Tequila answered your question though, and he cleared his throat before speaking.  

“Alright, I’m gonna address the elephant in the room. Mimosa knows about your previous time with Statesman, Jack. But she’s the only one outside of me, Clara, Champ, Harry, and Eggsy, who do know,” he said, and instantly you felt a wave of relief wash over you. If you were in Jack’s position and were being re-trained at something you’d already been a part of, you’d want your trainer to know about your past. 

Jack, however, clearly seemed less enthused about this. He furrowed his brow up at Tequila before passing glances between him and yourself. Doubt and worry were evident in his face, and you could virtually read him like a book. 

“Tex, with all due respect, how can I trust that this information hasn’t gone any further?” he asked, side-eyeing you slightly as he focused on the senior agent. 

You understood his scepticism - hell, you’d probably harbour something similar if you were in his shoes. But you weren’t the slightly shy, closed off, MI5 agent any more. You’d earnt your place here at Statesman, and keeping this whole situation under lock and key was just one way you’d been able to prove to Tequila that you were worthy of the job you’d been trained for. Smiling gently at Jack, you spoke, snapping the two agents out of the focus they had on each other. 

“Because, sir, I’ve known for over two years now. And if you ask a single other agent, outside those Jefferson mentioned, nobody knows who the hell you are,” you said. Tequila smirked at you, chuckling slightly under his breath. He wasn’t in the least bit surprised that you’d spoken up. 

“She’s right, Jack,” Tequila corroborated , “Not another soul knows a thing about who you are. Mimosa here was just unfortunate enough to see me on the day you happened to come back from the fuckin’ dead . I think even you can understand that I wasn’t best pleased with the news,” he said, playfully slapping Jack’s shoulder.

Jack grimaced slightly as Tequila recounted that day. It was something he tried not to think about too much - for as much as he absolutely deserved the welcome wagon he got, the trauma of coming back from essentially the edge of death was enough even for the strongest person to cope with. 

But still, faced with no other real option, he nodded slowly to himself. He looked back up at you and smiled properly - nothing was forced or pained about this one. 

“Alright, if Tequila trusts you then I’ve no reason not to. Thank you for keeping that information to yourself,” Jack said, and you nodded your head. 

“Something I shall continue to do, especially if I am to be your trainer,” you said, “How’s that going to look, by the way? I’ve read your file, I don’t think there’s anything you don’t know. There’s certainly nothing new I can teach you.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong, London,” Tequila said. You furrowed your brow. 

“Do enlighten me, Jefferson?”. 

“I will when you stop using my first name. I feel like I’m one word away from gettin’ into trouble,” he chuckled. 

“Well, no change there then,” Jack said, making you laugh to yourself. His eyes met yours as you both chuckled under your breath, the shared joke acting like an icebreaker between you. It was refreshing, and after an initially cold greeting it was nice to feel like there may be some common ground the two of you shared. 

Even if that was mocking Tequila. 

“Zip it, Seltzer,” he shook his head, but the smile he adorned betrayed him. There was no genuine frustration here. 

“Jack here hasn’t used a weapon in two and a half years. He ain’t been in a physical fight for that amount of time too. I’m sure there’s a lot of muscle memory in him, but it’s been a long time since he’s needed to use it,” Tequila began, heading over to Jack and placing one arm around his shoulder. His palm smacked his friend on the back gently, making Jack roll his eyes as he sat his hat back on his head at long last. 

“You make me sound senile,” he said. 

“Jack, you’re forty-five,” Tequila teased. 

You had to stifle a laugh as you watched the two men bicker playfully, evidence of a friendship that had perhaps suffered as of late, but looked to be finally on the mend. 

“So, if I’m correct, you need more of a rehab training programme, rather than a full on one?” you asked. 

Jack winced slightly at the use of the word rehab. You noticed it, and figured it was a visceral response to what he’d likely been put through these last couple of years. Mentally you made a note to ask Tex about the kind of rehab he’d been going through - there was no way you could train him properly without a thorough evaluation, anyway. 

“Something like that, ma’am. And, from what Agent Tequila tells me, there have been a lot of changes to how things run around here anyway. Changes which I am certainly not going to be accustomed to,” he said, his smile back albeit a little shy. 

You felt for the guy, really. Sure, what he’d done was shitty on a multitude of levels, and you don’t think there would be many people who would disagree with that sentiment. But he’d suffered, too, and for so long. You just hoped that what he’d had these last couple of years had started to heal his deep wounds that life had inflicted upon him.  

“Alright, I think I can put up a more suitable programme for you, Jack”. 

Jack smiled at you, warmer this time, and you watched as his eyes softened for you gently. To him this had probably been the most kindness he’d been shown by another person for some time - sure, he’d had Loretta, and Champ had been a support for him during rehab. But he always felt like they were being nice under the guise of duty - for Champ, he had a responsibility to Jack, and the atrocities that unfolded in 2017. And Loretta? She was employed by Champ to help - on a personal level, she likely had no cares as to how he ended up. 

But you? You were different. You might be an agent with the very organisation he was working hard to atone for each day, but you also had no loyalty to him. There was nothing to stop you from saying ‘no’, and that you wouldn’t train the disgraced agent, that he’d be Tex’s problem again. You had no reason to keep his identity hidden, either. 

And yet, you did . 

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jack said, nodding his head before putting his hat back on his head. Tequila smiled at the both of you, then patted Jack on the shoulder. 

“Well, now introductions are out the way, I think we should let Mimosa get on with some training plans. Besides, you’ve got a hot date with your psychiatrist!” he jested, and Jack rolled his eyes. It was obvious looking at the two men interacting that there was a deep rooted friendship beneath the cowboy facade, and one which seemed to be surviving the test of time. 

“It’s been lovely to meet you, Mimosa,” Jack said, tipping his hat towards you. 

“You too, Jack. Come by my office tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll have something drafted up for you then,” you said, smiling at Jack as you watched him head out of the training room.

Jack wandered away from the training facility with his head held high even in spite of the borderline nausea he’d had going into that meeting. Champ had done nothing but sing your praises this afternoon once he’d been for his suit fitting and headed back to the bottleneck office, and he’d realised just how much of an honour it was going to be to have you on his team. It had filled him with an anxiety that he perhaps wasn’t ready for this role yet, as he didn’t remotely feel like he had the right to be working alongside someone who had climbed up the ranks here so swiftly. Let alone be trained by you. 

But now having met you, and seeing first hand just how kind you were, put him at immense ease. The road ahead was still going to be long and arduous, but today he’d felt more like a Statesman agent than he had in the last three years. He almost had a skip in his step as he headed towards Loretta’s office, and the faint evidence of a smile. 

Loretta looked up from her desk as Jack stepped into her office, smiling towards him as she leant back in her chair. Her eyebrow immediately quipped at his disposition, and she knew something good must have come of today, as for the first time since their meeting Jack seemed completely content walking into the office. A new suit, a smile, and a sparkle in his eye. 

It was as if he was brand new. 

“Afternoon, Daniels. And how are you today?” she asked, trying to hold back a wide smile. She knew that he didn’t believe she actually cared about him beyond hitting his quotas Champ had sent, but he couldn’t be more wrong. She’d thoroughly enjoyed watching this man get back on his feet, irrespective of the reason he’d been sent to her in the first place. 

Jack sat in the seat in front of Loretta, taking off his hat and setting it down on the desk. He ran a hand through his hair and then inhaled sharply, taking a big breath, as if out of relief. 

“Loretta…I feel alive again,” he said, the slight sparkle in his eyes now definitely being caused by a prickle of tears. 

Tears of happiness. 

And that’s when she could see just how far Jack had come. There would still be trials and tribulations, there was no doubt about that, but for the first time she felt confident in sending him out there without her supervision being on-hand whenever he needed it. His vulnerability shining through in this moment, the fact he’d long since stopped feeling like a burden for asking for help, all cultivated in him being able to get what he so desperately needed to rebuild that part of his life. To put the pieces of his soul back together again after they had been so terribly shattered. 

For the first time since their initial meeting, Jack was whole again. 

And he was ready to take on the world.

Series Masterlist | A03 Link | Tumblr Masterlist

Next Chapter (Ch. 8 - "Back to Basics") ->

[ivycorp]

Riot's TFP AU: Megatron as a patient, or how Soundwave tries to not go insane with his leader's unfortunate addiction to a certain Prime

From the moment Megatron left his quarters knowing that Soundwave was really cross with him, he knew there would be more consequences than just the communication blackout. Walking to the bridge he was barred from entering by the TIC, who simply pointed him in the direction of the medbay.

There were battles to be picked in one's life - and usually the warlord picked them all - but this time the guilt from disappointing his most loyal friend (beyond acceptable parameters) could not be stopped. It flooded his circuitry, making him flinch away and nod; he turned away from the door and followed the path to Knock Out's domain. Soundwave followed him like a shadow, most likely to ensure he reached the medic and stayed there for whatever reason he deemed necessary.

Megatron doubted he would like the outcome, but he knew that the blue mech was not actually plotting his demise - if Soundwave wanted him dead, he would already be melted down for the Cause before he stepped out of his room.

He wouldn't even blame him - TIC did not wish to lead, so it would not even be a selfish decision to climb rank. If Megatron ever became unsalvageable, Soundwave would put him down, simple as that. But before that ever happened, he would exhaust all the other options first.

Which, apparently, included getting the warlord examined. 

Knock Out turned towards the opening door, unsurprised to see their leader sulk inside, nor to see the company. He gestured towards the berth the warlord was repaired on just a day prior.

"Hop on, my Lord, I have been informed you require a full physical," the medic began, as he took a relevant datapad in his servo to take notes on.

Megatron shot a look at his TIC, and upon seeing a small motion of the helm indicating the direction of the berth, he crossed over and laid down his tired frame. When he felt a gentle tap and heard a firm but polite 'please open the mediport for me, sir', he allowed a rarely used panel to reveal the port entrance, feeling oddly vulnerable. He didn't have to worry about Knock Out doing anything dangerous in Soundwave's presence, but the multitudes of professionals had taken a look at him and either gave up at once, or did the same just after a short while - when they realized how uncooperative of a patient he was.

The silver mech didn't really mean to be so difficult - but nearly every piece of medication tasted so bad to him that he would end up throwing it up or away instead of taking it. His body was in a permanent state of screaming, and his coding had not been updated in eons. Because of this, there was a limited patience to explain to yet another doctor that:

Yes, he couldn't recharge regularly;

Yes, he was very sensitive to the bright lights, and it made his helm feel like it was splitting apart at times; 

Yes, he was aware his optics were no longer working as before.

No, he was having enough exercise;

No, he was not trying to off-line himself from lack of maintenance;

No, he would most certainly not discuss his self service schedule.

Meds, injections, operations - and, of course, therapy. The standard result. 

This only meant he would be purging his tanks for a month trying to follow any instruction and fail from the distasteful residue from the medicine - all of this causing him to lose hope of the diagnosis being correct. He would feel let down at the lack of effect, get angry, and the cycle continued. There were periodic attempts to get this addressed - until he finally went out to get Dark Energon and was under nobody's care for a couple of years.

Not that he needed somebody to take care of-

An image of smiling Optimus crossed his mind, and he scratched out that last thought.

Knock Out used his distraction to plug into the exposed port, completing handshakes with his old programming and starting the check-up procedure. He raised the datapad, frowned at it, and took a look at the warlord.

"My Lord, when was your last full frame medical check-up?" Knock Out inquired, tapping the empty log on the patient file.

Megatron muttered something quietly. 

"I didn't catch that, sir, you need to speak up, please," he asked again, a bit less patiently.

"I think it was before we left Cybertron," the mech answered without looking at the medic. He knew what to expect by then - a huff of anger, an exasperated sigh, or a combination of both.

Instead, Knock Out grew silent. 

The red bot turned towards Soundwave, clearing his intake to catch his attention. TIC flashed a questioning glyph on his visor, as the medic asked:

"Is there any upcoming operation that requires Lord Megatron's presence or particular skill set?" 

The blue mech paused, visor flashing with a flurry of images as he cycled through the upcoming plans and schedules. When the screen blanked once again, Soundwave shook his helm negative.

"Lord Megatron: not critical to operations before next rota generation," he added in a short burst of combined recordings. Knock Out nodded thoughtfully, still connected to the silver mech, and reached out to another datapad, filling it up and passing it to the TIC.

"That would be probably enough, if we don't take too many breaks," the mech said matter-of-factly, as the blue mech read up the contents of the form - before adding his own signature. 

"Splendid, that's taken care of," the red mech smiled, and added as an afterthought prompted by the newfound professional concern:

"Some of the tests will take a while, so I believe we could turn this into an opportunity to check up on the entire staff," Knock Out observed the TIC for a moment, and after receiving a tired nod, waved the mech politely away.

"Fantastic, I will send over the list for the worst offenders and for the necessary shopping - or specialists to start looking for," he added, as he already was opening up a call to his conjunx to get cracking on the personnel's files.

Megatron was slightly confused at the odd exchange, but when the form was passed back to the medic, pieces fell together. 

The rota is generated every six Earth's weeks. He could vaguely recall seeing the update warning a few days prior. The fact that the TIC signed anything the medic gave him, meant he was officially approving something.

They benched him.

As Soundwave turned to leave, Megatron blurted out a short chirp of distress, but remained in place when the visor turned to look at him one last time. 

If it had been anger, he would have understood, possibly tried to overwrite the signature with his own - but he knew his loyal friend for a long time, and this was not that. 

No, Soundwave was trying to hold onto hope. That Megatron could still be 'fixed'. The door slid shut, and the warlord felt hollow as his CPU supplied him with a number estimate of that happening. 

It was depressingly low.

"Well, My Lord, your file is currently very patchy, I will need to check everything," the medic's voice drew his attention back, as he stared at the smaller mech blankly. He tilted his helm curiously, but his silence was taken as a permission to speak more. Knock Out started explaining the details, the plan of a lengthy cycle of checks and possible treatments, when Megatron raised his servo to cut him off.

"Why do you bother telling me this?"

The implied 'it's not like I can disagree and leave' hung in the air. 

The red Con looked at him with a mix of worry and hesitation; putting the data pad he was holding on the side table, he decided to respond:

"Because you are not a subject to be studied, sir; you deserve to know what am I going to ask you about and why, especially since I would rather we worked together instead of me having to fight you on providing you medical care," said the medic, looking Megatron straight in the optics. Normally, it would make the bigger mech tense up, sensing competition - this time, he felt it was more of a look of careful wish for cordiality. 

He sometimes forgot that Knock Out was an actual medic that could do his job well. And apparently, for some inexplicable reason, decided to employ his skill fully in his case.

Megatron nodded his helm, and tried to focus on what his old-new doctor was saying. It seems he would be in for a long haul. 

*****

The check-up took a long time. As the warlord and medic were cooperating to help get a complete picture of what was out of the acceptable norm, Knock Out cursed not being able to discuss this with another professional - he was sure even Ratchet would not scoff at the multitude of issues he kept on adding to the file.

Lord Megatron was a medical disaster. 

The silver mech had been riddled with pain that became such a norm that only the strongest pain relief would have made any difference. He did admit that the Dark Energon provided a dampening effect, and the medic immediately pushed the internal fluid check to highest priority. 

Contamination from the use of the mysterious substance was spread out across the frame, lingering despite lack of external exposure at surprisingly active levels. Knock Out noted with alarm that the normal Energon digested was being tainted, most likely keeping the warlord sedated without his knowledge. 

To remove the influence of the Unmaker would be to remove the only relief - and Megatron was still in a lot of pain despite its presence. 

The red bot called for Soundwave's support when he had to share this particular piece of diagnosis, afraid of a possible lapse in the arrangement he managed to turn this situation into - worried it would cause the warlord to lash out. In an unlikely turn of events, Megatron's face blanked out, before he tersely agreed to get the flushing procedure started.

When he woke up afterwards, he stared at the ceiling of the medbay for a long time and turned to Knock Out:

"I severely underestimated just how much the Dark Energon numbed the pain," he said, gritting his denta, and the medic took the hint, excusing himself for a moment.

The low wail of pain could be heard through the walls. When it stopped, the red Con let a couple of short, measured in-vents out, before he got back. The silver mech was back to his stoic expression, but the curled servos indicated he was still struggling to get back to living with the actual amount of pain he knew he managed to suffer in silence before.

The return to the prior state of things was way harder than he expected.

Knock Out did not hold any viable alternative that could have rivaled or surpassed the effects of the substance they just purged from Megatron, but he was going to try to get one - or possibly get some of his patient's aches away. 

One of the easier identifiable issues came to when the red bot examined the warlord's optics. When the silver mech flinched away at the passing light, Knock Out nearly dropped his tool - he knew there were going to be problems connected with them, the medic himself left some notes with a string suggestion for corrective action, but it never went beyond a temporary measure in form of shaded corrective visor.

Mostly because Megatron kept on 'forgetting' to wear it. 

This time around, however, the access to mediport allowed the smaller mech to see the intense flare of pain, suggesting a helmache forming. He hummed before reaching out and deactivating the light, and ordering the other lights to dim. 

The ache receded, systems noting lower strain.

"My Liege, I know we talked about this, but you really should be wearing the shaded visor we prepared for you," Knock Out mentioned, putting the tool away on a prepared tray table. Megatron grumbled a bit, but the medic had grown to know by then that it did not mean he reached the end of his tether, but that the mech was reluctantly listening. 

The warlord not doing some sort of token protest usually meant he tuned the conversation out. Knock Out learned to sense those moments, usually waiting for the mech to get out of this particular tactic from sheer boredom.

"Do you still have the old one we made you?" asked the doctor, and seeing the shake of the silver helm, sighed. 

Another thing to make. 

"I will get one more done for you, sir, but if you don't use it, I'll have to wield the next onto your frame - your optics are set for much darker surroundings and no matter how many times I fix it, it shifts to pre-sets every time, causing you helmaches," he promised, putting a note down on the file. The medic could see Megatron was observing him, trying to gauge the seriousness of the threat; and at that point, Knock Out was very serious.

His momentary suggestion to check out the entire ship had ended up with way more work on his servos than he expected - worse yet, the mechs he was treating needed help beyond his skill. 

Soundwave was updating him daily on the procurement and negotiations, but the millennia of war effort meant there were not many who would be willing to provide help to Decepticons - unless, of course, they paid a hefty fee.

Starscream was handling the budgeting, and seeing this supplied his recommendation: they needed to call Swindle. He would be most likely to get the results despite the cut he would be taking, so they allowed the mech to search the markets for their targets. 

The shopping list grew every day. 

Swindle was ecstatic.

Knock Out additional concern was the odd disposition of their supreme commander - namely, the distaste for one of the most common additives there existed. It was nearly in all of the medications as a stabilizer, and it was very rare to have any perception of it in the Cybertronian population.

Obviously, Megatron had an extreme case of it.

At first, when the medic realized his patient was very reluctant to take the meds, he tried hiding it in refueling rations.

It was also the last attempt of this solution pathway.

Megatron was able to feel the slightest presence of it in whichever substance he consumed, making it impossible to hide. Knock Out had to go apologize to the SIC who got accused of trying to poison the warlord that day.

For some reason, however, when the medic found colored glass in a similar pattern as the meds, the warlord ended up loving them - crunching on the marbles happily. Bribing the mech into taking more medicine became slightly easier with the promise of getting more of these in return.

Luckily, this time around the oddities of the Decepticon commander's frame came in handy - the glass didn't cause any issues, instead processing them easily. Knock Out checked a few times for possible residue buildup which occurred in some mechs with foreign substances, and noted with relief no adverse effects. For all he cared, Megatron could eat as many as he wanted, if it meant he would take the medicine. 

Especially that they were still battling his insomnia… 

The silver mech's recharge logs were all over the place - with no rhyme or reason, and an alarmingly low average time of rest. 

There were, of course, exceptions - but the analysis of those, run in tandem with the known occurrences of loud music being played in particular quarters made it clear why that would be. 

Knock Out cringed inwardly; since they were trying to solve this problem too, that was not the answer they could utilize. 

*****

Solar cycles passed, and the life on Nemesis carried on. 

With the warlord confined to a rigid schedule and the SIC at the helm, everyone seemed to lose some of the tension that came with Megatron's return from space.

Dark Energon was now fully isolated in Shockwave's lab, behind three different access codes held between Starscream, Soundwave, and Knock Out - their commander was banned from approaching the substance under threat of getting Tarn as a round-the-clock minder. As the DJD's leader volunteered readily to do it, the warlord kept far away from the lab.

The peaceful time was met with enthusiasm: the Vehicons were thrilled to have time to indulge in their hobbies and getting slagged less, thus the sense of community grew. The trinkets that got collected from around the Earth started showing up in shared spaces, colors and soft lights getting incorporated into spartan decor of the Nemesis. The dimness remained, as per Knock Out's insistence, but the variety of the glittering points strewn across the halls provided enough coverage in a pleasant manner that even the officers found appealing.

As the majority of the crew had been either dragged or came in willingly for a check-up at the medbay, the morale improved; who knew that showing concern for the troops would make them feel better?

The communication blackout was still in effect, but there were exceptions added to the list, allowing the troops to be contacted on operations outside of the ship; the ongoing income streams have been re-opened too, due to the increased spending estimates.

The Nemesis has changed - but none of its inhabitants could say anything negative about it.

*****

After the first three weeks, both Soundwave and Knock Out were satisfied with Megatron's progress - to the point they found it fitting to provide positive reinforcement. 

Namely, returning the access to his private room for recharging.

Releasing the warlord from the all-cycle supervision was done on a condition that he would still show up at scheduled times so the medication could be monitored, but the privacy of own berth and trinkets was to help facilitate a gradual adjustment back to the normal daily routine. They couldn't shut him in medbay forever. 

Though it seemed Soundwave wouldn’t mind this idea, if it kept him away from Optimus.

For a while, it worked as intended - Megatron followed up on their agreement, coming on his own volition to see Knock Out before he would be escorted by Soundwave to the office, where he would be finishing up on the reports back-log. He was not yet allowed back on the bridge, but there was not so much happening with the operations schedule keeping things on the down low for at least another couple of weeks. Starscream had a good hold of matters, so he couldn’t even have an excuse to be more involved - it was annoying, but as the medication went on, he appreciated having time to deal with the most irritating of side-effects at his own pace, without multiple witnesses.

Coming back to his own quarters was odd, at first - he didn’t miss the sounds of resident medical staff getting it on, but that was mostly because he couldn’t reach the same level of completion in his own self-servicing due to his odd arrangement with Optimus; not to mention that he couldn't deny the couple their happiness when one of them was his direct physician which could (and would) leave Nemesis at the mere suggestion of this sort.

He got used to the red mech, and would rather avoid having to lose the one medic they have around - or at least the only one they had that did not look at every patient as a science experiment.

As he closed the door and started getting on the berth to rest, he sighed, feeling the buzz under his plating come to the forefront of his mind yet again. In the medbay, it was easier to avoid the temptation, but in the privacy of his room, it came back in full force. The warlord was trying to wait the desire out, already sensing that he was fighting a losing battle. He could not allow himself to overload, his mind reminded, indulging into it would only drive the frustration higher.

Megatron managed to wait it out for the entire three days.

As his systems reported increasing signs of struggle, on the fourth day he found himself stepping over the threshold and going automatically to the interior sound controls.

He didn't think consciously about what he was doing - his servos moved in a well-known pattern, familiar music filling the space, as he turned to resign himself to losing himself for a bit in another fantasy. 

A small explosion rocked the ship, stopping him from arranging himself in a preferred position on his knees. Momentarily distracted, he went to check it out, his combat systems greedily hoping for something to punch. When it turned out to be nothing major, he took off back to the room, where he was stopped by Soundwave standing by the door.

The music was still playing, only fractionally muted by the walls.

Megatron's plating tightened defensively, but when the TIC pointed him away with an air of disappointment, the silver mech sagged and obediently dragged himself to the medbay.

*****

The Decepticon leader had known payment for his relapse was due - the reinstated ban of his quarters was proof of that, but even he couldn't expect what his friend would choose as a revenge tactic.

When he heard the news of Autobots showing up to Starscream's operation, he was understandably curious, but as the fighting occurred during his scheduled medbay visit, he didn't pay it much thought.

Until the message arrived later on with two attachments. No words. Just the files.

But they came from Soundwave.

Megatron braced himself, and opened the first one.

The recording opened to his quarters, quickly led towards the storage compartment. The silver mech was mortified when a slim servo reached inside the closet and pulled the box with interfacing toys out. There was no looking around - Soundwave knew where it was and came for it directly. 

As he watched the path of the TIC lead to the incinerator in Shockwave's lab, he started to panic. 

The warlord was in denial the entire time, until he saw the box get tossed inside, opened slightly to allow the heat to reach the interior. The blue digits turned the settings lower - the container would not incinerate completely, but it would be greatly damaged nonetheless.

As the fire raged, Megatron's spark filled with anguish so visceral, he let out a noiseless cry the entire time the box burned. When its charred remains were moved into another container, his throat hurt despite him not uttering even a whimper. 

The recording ended.

He didn't want to see the other one, but he knew that if he didn't see it, Soundwave would force him to watch it the next day in the office. He resigned himself to being mortified beyond what he already felt.

Megatron was not disappointed in that regard.

It must have been the fight earlier this cycle, as they didn't get to face the Autobots in the meantime; he could see that the TIC emerged from the ground bridge carrying the same box he saw on the previous file. 

The warlord was initially alarmed that the blue mech would just give it to the Prime, but instead a fight broke out, the box forgotten.

Seeing Optimus struggling against his top lieutenants was difficult, but he could not stop feeling proud of his crew - he knew they were capable, and seeing it was always fantastic to witness. As much as he didn't want the Prime dead, he couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Starscream and Soundwave partnering up. 

At least if they off-lined him in the end, he knew that they could take on anything. 

He was surprised to notice the newcomers to the field, recognising the frames easily from memory - nearly forgetting what this all was about.

When a sharp order to retreat came, he noticed Soundwave pointed towards something, prompting Starscream's goading towards the Prime, who was barely holding himself from overheating from exhaustion.

The box. 

The TIC stepped through the portal, but he looked back towards Optimus one more time.

Megatron knew he saw it too.

The wide blue optics filled with dread.

Optimus suspected what was inside - and if the warlord knew his lover as well as he hoped, he would have confirmed his guess. 

Prime knew their collection was gone.

The silver mech curled in on himself, his spark pulsing with sadness and humiliation.

*****

Megatron was devastated - and it showed.

The progress made with Knock Out, the changes to Nemesis, the general improvement of morale, even increasing the rate of victories - all of this didn't matter.

Their box was destroyed. There was no fixing it. 

And Optimus knew about it. They gave it to him, after all. Like a cursed gift.

The warlord felt unmoored - carried only by the routine he had complied with so far, missing at least a solar or two from his memory. He was mostly staring into nothingness, barely acknowledging anyone. 

At least Soundwave did not act like he didn't know why he behaved like this. The TIC was waiting him out, as the silver mech would not even speak to his friend, communicating in nods instead. Megatron still followed the schedule they set up for him, but the balance has shifted - the repetitiveness of his days was grating, instead of grounding. 

He felt trapped inside his frame.

Lying down on the slab in the medbay, he idly noted Knock Out's presence - he opened the medical port without prompting, and the red bot plugged in while maintaining a bit more distance than before. 

The warlord couldn't explain why it bothered him, so he kept his mouth shut; with the other monitoring his systems, it was hard to avoid confrontation.

"There was an odd spike across your multiple processes right now, my Lord - would you be able to tell me why that happened?" Knock Out asked tentatively, more carefully than he used to. Megatron didn't think he actually needed to provide an answer, but something in the medic's posture prompted him to say:

"You are acting differently."

The red mech startled at the reply, expecting another session of complete silence. He weighed his options, and sighed.

"Lord Megatron, your recent behavior led me to believe you wish to be left alone - as your physician I am unable to comply with this preference, but I will not force my presence on you more than necessary," Knock Out explained, tapping idly on the pad in hand. 

"I do wish to be left alone, but this has nothing to do with you, doctor," Megatron's words sounded perplexed, but honest. The title had been slipping into their conversations before, so the medic was pleasantly surprised it was not rescinded.

"I will take that as a vote of confidence in my skills then," Knock Out smiled, letting himself slide back into a more relaxed stance, as he pulled closer the tray with assorted meds for his patient. The frown on the warlord's faceplates did not go unnoticed, but there was little to be done there.

He needed to get the alternative medications soon, the rate at which they were going through the marbles collection was concerning.

Megatron took every pill into his servo and as fast as possible swallowed them in one go - the taste was dreadful and the quicker it went down, the less suffering would be there to experience afterwards. The worst was when something got stuck and he could not flush it down - he would rather claw his throat out at times like that then let it stay there to dissolve on its own.

The silver mech started to power down, knowing he should try to allow the new concoction from the Pit to do its job. Knock Out let out a quiet sound of relief, as the evening routine went by the easy way this time around. He bid his commander a quiet farewell and locked the door to the medbay behind.

*****

Megatron didn't realize when recharge claimed him, but an undefined time after he laid down, he found himself being shaken awake by a pair of familiar servos. 

He scoffed, unwilling to wake up, because he must still be asleep.

There was no way it was actually Optimus - he wouldn't do something as stupid as come onto Nemesis, so he must be dreaming.

The touch became more insistent, so he lazily on-lined his optics.

Red and blue filled his vision.

"Hello, love - you're finally awake, I was worried I wouldn't have a chance to talk to you," said Optimus with a smile, as he stood right by Megatron's shoulder like this situation was completely normal for them.

"What are you doing here?" Megatron hissed out, starting to get up, when a servo on his chest pushed him down. 

"No, don't get up - I need to leave soon, it took me a while to get around the lock and I'm expecting alarm to be raised pretty soon," rushed the Prime, patting the silver plating pacifyingly, placing a kiss onto the other's helm. 

Right as the warlord was about to say something, the shrill sound of intruder alert sounded out throughout the ship.

The Autobot cursed, as he fumbled around some item in his servo, before he pushed it into Megatron's hold. 

"Here, I got you something - I had some time and well… couldn't stop thinking about you, and suspected I was not the only one like that," Optimus chuckled right over his audial, so he could be heard over the sharp sounds filling the medbay. 

Megatron, who could not comprehend this surreal situation while still fighting off the effects of interrupted recharge, just nodded and curled his digits around the gift. He was rewarded with another kiss, and a thrilling purr of "thank you, darling," as Optimus stepped away, watching the door to the medbay.

The warlord sat numb, observing as lights of a ground bridge flickered in the dim room, and loud shouts were heard through the walls in the corridor. 

Prime lunged into the barely formed portal right as at least ten Vehicons, Breakdown and Starscream burst into the medbay, nearly falling over Knock Out's short frame as he keyed the entrance open. The shots they sent towards the source of light never reached the mech going through it, instead leaving scorch marks on the walls. 

"Lord Megatron, have you been injured?" Starscream inquired after it became obvious they came too late. The silver bot shook his helm negative, as he kept his field tucked in tightly. 

"Move the ship and check how he had been able to pinpoint our location," he ordered, shifting focus away from himself towards the security of the Nemesis. The seeker shot a suspicious look towards his leader, but nothing seemed out of order - and the concern raised by the mech was valid. They needed to understand how the Prime was able to get onto the ship and so far inside before the alert went out. 

They couldn't let it happen again.

Decepticon SIC nodded, offering an acknowledgement of the order back to the warlord, and waved everyone out. The seeker had to find and talk to Soundwave - the TIC would be most likely the only one who would be able to trace Optimus's path, and who could counter it.

Megatron watched them all go away, and when the doors closed with a soft whoosh, his field unwound itself, spreading around the space like an explosion.

He was filled with so many contrasting emotions, there was no way he would be able to recharge again.

Curling his digits around the small item in his servo, he pondered:

Perhaps he could spend the time on something more… pleasurable.

******************************

Another ficlet inspired by @transingthoseformers's TFP AU, a direct follow-up to this and running parallel to this - and fleshed out by these posts about Nemesis time wth Megs as a patient.

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Hey so about SPD - I think I have complications from it still, my kid is like a year old. Do you have any advice on dealing with that?

Hi yes! It's funny because so much of my tumblr is Marvel fandom but I forget how some of my "indignities of gestating" posts break containment. Hi friend! Congrats on your one year old. What a sweet age!

So, to everyone who may read: when you make a whole baby inside your musculoskeletal system and especially if you eject it vaginally (well probably c-sections too I just don't know about them) it's not surprising that some of your body parts end up in the wrong place as a side effect. I do NOT UNDERSTAND why assessing for such issues is not standard. It makes me SO ANGRy. So yes I will now overshare about my experience.

You may want a chiropractor to realign your pelvis/hips/spine/etc post partum, I did this and I believe it helped. It may take 2-3 visits if things are really out of whack. If the chiro doesn't give you exercises to strengthen in addition to realignment, then I would get thee to a physical therapist next. Or do PT first if you have to choose.

Physical therapy, specifically strengthening your thighs, hips and pelvic floor I would guess, may help. You (everyone!) should find a PT that knows things about post partum bodies, which is not every physical therapist. I ended up going to a person who specialized in pelvic floor weakness after my first kid and then I had diastasis recti, which is when your ab muscles separate, as well as pelvic floor drama, after the second.

Both times I was able to find a PT with post partum experience by just calling the larger PT places in town and asking for that.

Fyi: Diastasis recti: (If you tense your ab muscles and push down right above or below your belly button, those muscles should not have a gap wider than a finger or so there, if they do that's diastasis recti and physical therapy will help). (Fwiw I didn't know I had DR but I went to the PT for crippling back pain figuring something was broken and hey! that's what it was. Fun story but my second kid was born 10 lbs and then doubled in size like immediately and oh my god. Sometimes I see one year olds that are the size my monster was at 3 months. I still remember trying to fit him in a newborn size diaper at the hospital and he just busted out of it. The nurses were so excited to weigh him when he was born because they had bets on if he would top 10 lb. When the midwife was checking my abdomen to feel his position while I was in labor, she said in alarm, "how tall are you??" i said "about 6 ft." And she said, "wow! Your baby is really huge!"

That entire human was IN MY BODY and yes, he left a trail of damage. (I love him)

My point is, most of my issues were fixed within 8 physical therapy visits. EIGHT. Miracle.

Pelvic floor: My pelvic floor muscles were so fucked over after baby #1, which I think can link with SPD, that I couldn't feel that I couldn't exercise them. This caused me a lot of issues.

So the PT hooked me up to a machine that let me see when I actually was or was not stimulating those muscles and then I was eventually strong enough to be able to do kegels and a bunch of other things. It was miraculous. I should find that woman and send her flowers as I am grateful for her help literally every time I sneeze or cough or walk up stairs (because I don't pee or have severe pain when I do those things.)

If you don't have access to physical therapy, then you might look up the SPD exercise of squeezing a can between your knees, which was my favorite. The Yoga pose bridge (with can between your knees) was also great.

As well as doing anything to gently strengthen your thighs, hips and core. Gentle yoga will help a lot, and probably not make anything worse, and well as squats and leg lifts.

Everything is all wibbly wobbly and timey wimey (wait that's the tardis) and a safe bet is slowly making things from your knees to your belly button stronger.

The safest bet is to have an actual professional diagnose what's happening. If you are really out of alignment, the muscle strengthening isn't going to help, and if your muscles are off balance (like when my pelvic floor muscles were so weak) strengthening around it can exascerbate the imbalance and increase back pain.

I really hate taking care of myself and doing maintenance but a lot of this is fixable with just a couple visits.

So please don't suffer another year without checking in with a professional. Because you deserve to have answers and live pain free. ❤️❤️❤️ Please feel free to comment/chat if you have questions.

[geekthefreakout]

In today's issue of "we need to combat people's black and white views in media"...

A ship that is not to your liking isn't automatically problematic or abusive.

To add to that: A relationship that is unhealthy/a Bad Idea Bear in whatever media you are engaging with is not inherently endorsing or glorifying what makes it unhealthy or a bad idea. It's something to be explored! Sometimes it *makes sense* that these characters come together, even if it isn't what is best for them. Because humans do that sometime, and art is for exploring the human condition.

The people who like these ships or are just interested by them are not endorsing those things either. Stop acting like this. You are showing your whole ass being media illiterate and holier-than-thou. There is more nuance to this world than "Good and Healthy and Right" vs. "EVIL AND BAD." Remember, only a Sith deals in absolutes.

That's the main idea of the post- an example and personal experience is under the cut if you want to read what I'm talking about. It's a bit long, as I felt like a synopsis was necessary to make my point accessible even to people who haven't read The Three Jokers.

For my example, let me tell you about my experience in fandom as I read The Three Jokers. First, some background and synopsis of the relevant interactions between Jason and Babs. If you already know, skip down to where it says ~~End Synopsis.

Background: Since The New 52, DC started playing around and teasing out Jason/Babs as a ship. It never really went anywhere, and was largely relegated to Jason nursing a crush and Babs having conflicting feelings about him. You'll see this mostly in Batman: Eternal and in Death of the Family. This has since been dropped entirely in the mainline comics, as DickBabs is back on.

The Three Jokers, for those who don't know, was a non-canon book written by Geoff Johns with art by Jason Fabok. A lot happens in that story, but the relevant things here is that Batman, Jason, and Babs are dealing with the trauma dumped on them by the Joker as they hunt down "the three Jokers". Anyway, the JayBabs stuff therein:

There is tension between Jason and Babs when they are able to capture one of the Jokers. The Joker taunts Jason about his death, and so Jason shoots that fucker in the head (truly a wonderful and cathartic moment imo), Babs having failed to stop him with her batarang. Babs is furious, but Jason points out that in any other situation, she could have stopped him easily, suggesting that maybe she was okay with Jason pulling the trigger. She storms out, leaving Jason to muse that he hopes the Joker he killed really was the Joker that killed him.

Barbara wants to bring Jason in, and says as much to Bruce as they follow a lead. Bruce says they'll cross that bridge if they get to it, but for now they need to find Jason, who is missing. They find him, and he is not in good shape- another Joker had captured him, and by the time find him Jason has been stripped naked and beaten with (naturally) a crowbar, and left naked and tied up for them to find with only his helmet covering him, and a Joker smile painted across it. Jason, very much NOT okay, has a whole panic attack and lashes out at Bruce. Babs embraces him as he collapses in exhaustion, bringing him back to her apartment so he can rest.

When Jason wakes up, he takes note of certain things in Barbara's apartment- books about chronic pain management and strength training, her wheel chair, and appointments on an old calendar for physical therapy. The book about pain management looks useful to him. Babs returns and they briefly discuss how it used to be painful for her to look a these things, but now she looks at it as how much she has improved thanks to the people who love her supporting her. Jason remarks that he never got any of that. Babs points out that they had all believed him dead, and when he came back he had already remade himself as the Red Hood. They all wish they had been there for him, she says. Touched and tearing up, he notes that no one had ever said that to him before. Babs reaffirms that she is saying it now, and they kiss.

Immediately (literally the next panel) Babs breaks away and says that they shouldn't have done that. She only meant that she cares. Jason, with a touch of worship on his face, says he never felt like anyone did care. Babs says "I'm sorry about that" and then firmly redirects him to getting back on the case. They then reconvene with Batman.

Jason, fresh with new Joker trauma, announces that he will be killing the remaining two Jokers, since Bruce is too weak to do it. Jason and Bruce fight, getting in each other's faces without coming to blows. Barbara mediates, and Jason's anger is brought down from a boil to a simmer. When they are alone, Jason admits to Babs that he knows he screwed up. Babs, no-nonsense as ever, says it was more than a screw up- he committed a murder in front of her, and put her in a position where she and Bruce have to let him get away with it because not doing so would mean exposing their identities. Jason says he won't do it again, and Babs warns him that she hopes he's right- because if he does, she'll unmask if she has to- and then she walks away.

Anyway, final showdown happens, it's great. Joe Chill is involved in an interesting way, Babs gets to whack a Joker with that goddamn camera, which is ALSO cathartic. One of the Jokers then kills THAT one, but then surrenders to Bruce and is carted off to Arkham, much to Jason's chagrin. Babs urges him to give Bruce a chance, and give himself one, too. Jason tentatively asks about 'them', and Babs gently rejects him, saying that they interpreted what happened between them in different ways. Jason is hurt but accepts and leaves. Gordon checks on Batgirl, affirming his support for her and Batman, but warning her that the Red Hood isn't someone she should be involved with. She tells him that it's not his business (he absolutely knows identities here).

As the comic ends, we see Babs running on a (out of order???) treadmill with a letter from Jason in box text which reads:

"Dear Barbara, I want to make a change. But I can't do that without you. I know I've come across cold and distant. But I know you know why. I've always admired you, Barbara. Your strength. Your determination. Your heart. You think what happened was a mistake. That it was a moment. But I think we could be great together. I really do. I'll give up being Red Hood for us. I can be something else. Or I can just be Jason. All I need is one chance to prove to you I can be better. And I will devote my life to making you feel proud. Happy. Loved. If you don't think I'm worth one chance, if it was all just you caught up in everything, then throw this letter away. I'll never mention it. I'll even understand. Whatever happens, I love you. Yours, Jason."

We see Jason taping the letter to Barbara's door and walking away- he doesn't notice the tape unsticking. The letter falls to the floor and is swept up by a janitor. Babs never sees it.

~~End Synopsis~~

So, that's that. I read it and I found it really compelling. I didn't think it was a relationship that should be pursued, and I figured if it was it would fall apart pretty fast. It's Jason trauma-bonding, with some of that hero worship he's always had for Babs. It's Barbara having, as she says, a *moment* where she just wants to show Jason that he is loved and that she cares for him, and getting caught up in the tension between them. But, I thought it was interesting, as both characters had been traumatized by the Joker and dealt with it in such different ways, becoming such different people. As I took to the Batfam server I was in at the time (and it was quite large), eager to discuss the book, I thought it was interesting. It made me feel things.

Instead of any discussion, instead I was told in no uncertain terms that any discussion of JayBabs was considered "dark" and had to be relegated to the channel where disturbing shit went and censored under a spoiler tag with a warning. It was disgusting and abusive, they told me. She used to babysit him in some version of canon! It's GROOMING!

This struck me as a huge overreaction. There was a lot of shaming for even finding it interesting, a lot of virtue signaling. I wasn't even allowed to argue the nuances. I realized shortly after that most of the people in that server were young- mid to late teens, some in their early twenties. I left.

Anyway, that experience has stuck with me as being a prime example of what this post is about. For a lot of people, especially young people lately, it seems like everything has to be Good and Right in order for it to be okay to enjoy it. If it isn't Healthy, it's then bad writing. Problematic. Evil.

And that's just not a very mature view, and it seriously limits understanding of how the world works- both real AND fictional. It's making fandom spaces hard to enjoy, and more importantly it's showing a weakening media literacy in fandom at large. And it doesn't just happen in DC fandom, it happens everywhere.

[ina-nis]

I "loved" having this conversation with my therapist the other day because, of course, it all boils down to "self-love" and "healing from old wounds".

And I had to be very frank about the fact that I would not meet my needs on my own, or in therapy or with friends because these needs involve, among other things, physical intimacy.

Yes, it is silly that it's a need, but this is just because I think I'm somehow different (and worse) than others, because how dare I wish the comfort and intimacy of sex, the domesticity of a committed relationship, safety and care of a romantic partnership. How dare I think I need this to survive, right?

Because, I really don't. No one does.

Now, this can greatly impact your quality of life and that becomes a problem.

But back to that talk... it's infuriating to see, over and over, from the mouths and writings of different people every time, just how you can find all you need within yourself and that's enough.

Well, I think that's invalidating as fuck.

What makes matters even worse (and more ironic) is that the majority of people who I have seen speaking like either are in relationships or do not want relationships - so, nice, thanks for nothing you both!

Oh, how I wish I would be gone and done with this now that I decided to close my heart to romance...

I've start losing my friends now, and I don't want to lose my friends. Because I cannot bear to see them in romantic relationships of their own, because removing myself from things that are none of my business means my friends are none of my business; because wishing them happiness and good fortune in these relationships means I abandon my own (because it's too painful, because I can't bear to deal with it).

I put those feelings back where I found them because I couldn't address them in the 2-3 years I've been trying to do that.

I tell myself the loneliness is a choice, so it doesn't hurt as much anymore.

I also tell myself I do not need to put up with these constant triggers, even if it means cutting people off, so I'm burning bridges without discriminating.

I'm becoming numb again, and it's no big deal, right? It was my own choice.

[lucreziaq2001]

•TV show: "Criminal minds".

•Content warnings: Forced gender roles, period-typical homophobia, physical aggression at school, a girl not defending her friend against bullies, hints to conversion therapy, the girl's son and friends asking where she is and her mother refusing to answer.

•Some of the lines are almost the same that are in a scene of the "Cold case" episode this story is inspired by. I did modify them a bit, though. I didn't just copy and paste them.

•I made up Aaron's high school friends, they weren't in the actual show and I just needed them for this scene.

•VERY IMPORTANT THING: This chapter was pretty upsetting for me to write, so if you find it upsetting to read, I understand. Feel free to stop and go to the next one.

•Tags: @lex13cm, @golden1u5t, @avis-writeshq, @chrrysgirl, @hugyourlungs, @achillmango, @marie-sworld, @iluvreid, @babygirl-garcia, @rynwritesreid, @strangermoonlove.

The bridge to Heaven

Chapter 12: Expelled, then gone missing

The next day, when Emily went to the school cafeteria at lunchtime, she saw Jennifer sitting at a table.

Their eyes met for a few seconds, but the two girls didn't say a single word to each other.

Being ignored by one of the people she cared about the most was like a stab in the heart to Emily, who couldn't hold back her tears at that moment.

"Oh, look, she's crying! What happened to you?" Aaron said a few seconds later, walking up to her.

"Don't even try to do this! If you cry, then you're not like us guys" one of his closest friends, Alexander, interjected.

"Did you hear what he said?" Aaron added, moving closer and closer to Emily "So which side are you on? Decide!".

"You want a girlfriend, right? To do that, you'd have to be a boy! A real one!" he then yelled at her, before pushing Emily so hard that she fell to the ground.

"Go to hell! I hate you!" the girl defended herself, shouting too, but her words were of no use.

"Now I'll show you what a girl should be like!" Aaron told her, taking a lipstick out of his pants' right pocket and opening it.

Then, while three of his friends kept Emily lying on the floor and held her still, he tried to put it on her lips while the girl squirmed as much as she could.

Both Jennifer and Spencer, who was sitting at a table with her at that moment, wanted to intervene, but ended up doing nothing.

Spencer knew that Aaron wouldn't have stopped if he had told him to, and on that occasion, even with a lot of shame, Jennifer put her own reputation in front of her classmates before helping her friend.

"Emily Prentiss! In my office. Now" the principal ordered at that moment, however, entering the cafeteria before Aaron could do something worse to Emily, and the girl, naturally very shaken, got up and left the room in tears.

And at that point, a new awareness came to Jennifer's mind.

Emily was more coherent and courageous than many other people in that school, her included.

Not everybody appreciated those qualities, however.

Especially not the principal of their school.

That day, he ended up calling Emily's boyfriend, Ian, who was 21 years old at the time, and asked him to come and get her.

He expelled her from school and that same day, she disappeared.

She left the town and none of her friends were told where she had gone.

Only Ian and Emily's mother knew, but when, all within three days, Jennifer, Spencer, Derek and Penelope showed up at the Prentiss family's house and asked Elizabeth that question, she refused to answer.

Even little Declan already often asked where his mother, whom he was very close to, was and why he couldn't see her those days, but not even for him, his grandmother had an actually satisfactory answer.

"Your mommy went to get cured" she told him every time the little boy asked questions about Emily.

To get cured, yes, but where?

And why?

She wasn't sick and her friends knew it.

Not everyone, however, had that knowledge.

[primamchorus]

some updates

my dad's doing better. today, we were able to have decent conversations without too many hiccups. still some stuff that is missing, but my dad remembered a lot more today, recounting stories from when i was a toddler, all the way up to one impressive (what happened was impressive, not the remembering it was impressive; although, the remembering part is definitely a great part!) instance that he had when my cats lived with him and my stepmother.

(the instance is that he was out on the property where he lives to take photos, my cat, noir, following along after him. during a pause in their walk for photos, noir uncharacteristically bristled and growled -- he's normally very loving and never really hisses or growls. when my dad looked in the direction noir was pointed toward, my dad saw a young mountain lion crouched a good distance away and says that if noir didn't alert him, he would have been in trouble at the time)

my dad asked me how old i turned today and was like, "thirty?" i kind of laughed and said, "no, thirty-two this year." he seemed genuinely surprised. so a couple years there at least that still have to be caught up on in his memory. but he's making such good progress that i believe in him.

he was doing physical therapy today and is rejecting being in the hospital bed as much as he can, which i don't blame him after my two to two and a half years being in and out of the hospital for cancer treatments myself when i was a teenager.

the doctors took him off the anti-seizure medication to keep an eye on him. just making sure he doesn't have any more. outside of that, we're hoping that the mass they found in his kidney is benign and falls within the 10% chance of being so instead of the 90% prediction of being cancerous.

as for the swelling they found at the base of his head, they took another MRI to check up on it, and it's going down. they say it should keep going down the more that he uses his head and his memory bridges get back in order. so long as he doesn't have any further seizures, it should stay down as well.

hoping for all the best, really. it's all i can do outside of the commissions i'm doing.

[system-of-a-feather]

One more thing for the day at least cause I really wanted to put this out there, from things around therapy and recovery and healing but what with me stabilizing and creating a bridge to the side system more or less, Ray has been working with me on finding my place in the system and a few weeks ago (I think? I have a bad track of the real passage of time) he had mentioned that it would probably be pretty easy for me to fill the niche that a part that I now know the *proper* name of but for the sake of that part's preference and the system, we just will call them Shapeshifter who is a gatekeeper part that operates between the side systems

And that because I already naturally fill a similar role to them, it would be pretty easy to graft on their very nebulous but defined identity and function into me as a form of a fusion since - while that part has been around for a LONG time as that whole side of the system is very "old" in terms of being around here - a lot of the parts have become very very nebulous from how detatched from the real and physical world they are

And so that has been something I've been building on the times I am near the front and honestly its REALLY cool to be learning so much and figuring things out and becoming a part with a specialized set of skills and role to play with everyone.

I think it would be honestly kind of fair to say I am "a fused part" since I don't think Shapeshifter properly exists consistently enough, but I also don't personally identify as one cause I really haven't gotten much of a grasp on his stuff. But its so honestly cool :o :p

I really do love how enthusiastically this system has both welcomed me to the team and how much enthusiasm they had to helping culture me to find out what I want to me and where I need to be

-Lin

[killed-by-choice]

Sandra Kaiser, 15 (USA 1984)

Sandra’s story is both horrifically tragic and completely preventable.

At the age of 14, the young girl was taken to Planned Parenthood by her older half-sister Karen Flynn. Karen was 21. It was confirmed that Sandra was pregnant and arrangements were made for Sandra to undergo a first-trimester abortion at Reproductive Health Services in St. Louis, an abortion facility that killed Nichole Williams and 19-year-old Diane Boyd.

RHS allowed Karen to sign as Sandra’s parent/guardian even though this was not true in any way. Sandra herself signed consent forms that no 14-year-old should have been made to sign without parental guidance. Either Sandra or Karen told RHS that Sandra’s mother knew about and approved the plans for abortion (which was also not true) and RHS didn’t bother to confirm this. Possibly worst of all, Karen omitted critical facts about Sandra’s medical history and wrote that Sandra had never been hospitalized for any reason. Nobody at the abortion facility checked to confirm parental consent, checked Sandra’s extensive hospital records or questioned having a 14-year-old sign surgery consent forms.

Sandra’s mental health was already at risk. She had been traumatized at the age of 7 from witnessing the murder of her half-brother and had been hospitalized multiple times. She was also undergoing therapy and outpatient treatment and had been diagnosed with a behavioral disorder at age 11. By age 12, she had started consuming alcohol and frequently suffered from nightmares, emotional outbursts, crying and ran away multiple times. In other words, she had an extensive history that her actual parent would have known to list. For a procedure such as abortion that had well-documented psychological side effects, Sandra was at a very high risk.

After the two of them finished the paperwork, Sandra was allowed to watch a short video titled “First Trimester Informed Consent”. The video was highly misleading and dramatically downplayed the proven physical and mental health effects of abortion, stating “A few women have negative emotional feelings after an abortion. You may feel slightly depressed, but those feelings are normal. .. [S]evere depression is not to be expected.”

But severe depression was exactly what followed. In her last few weeks of life, Sandra was highly depressed and suffered significant changes in her behavior. Before the abortion, Sandra took great care of herself and her appearance, but she completely stopped taking care of her appearance afterwards. Out of the 51 school days in the fall semester before her death, she missed 37 ½ days of school. She spent most of the last days of her life crying in her room.

Two days after her 15th birthday, family members overheard a phone call. Sandra was talking to her boyfriend and told him that she planned to go jump off a bridge. At the time, her family thought she was just letting off steam, but she stomped off and left the house. Her family didn’t find her in time.

About 30 minutes after the phone call, a bystander on Aresnal Street was alarmed to see a teenage girl clinging to the overpass bridge. Before the bystander could do anything, the young girl jumped.

Sandra plunged onto the street below and was immediately hit by a car. The horrified driver stopped and got out, trying to save Sandra. The driver from the car behind him also stopped and began flashing his headlights and sounding his horn to alert traffic. But a woman driving saw the man waving his arms, and the car with lights flashing, and became confused and alarmed. Unaware of what was happening, she accidentally ran over Sandra.

The police were called, an ambulance was called and somebody had found Sandra’s mother and brought her to the scene. The driver who accidentally ran over Sandra told the police what happened and no charges were brought against her.

Sandra died 4 hours later of her severe injuries.

Sandra’s mother sued RHS for her daughter’s death, charging that they had failed to contact Sandra’s parent or legal guardian as the law required and that an abortion was especially dangerous given Sandra’s mental health history. An expert stated that at the time of Sandra’s death, she had been depressed for several weeks, that the suicide was a direct consequence of the depression, and that the abortion was “the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

[whimsicalworldofme]

Saving Grace: Chapter Forty-Nine

When the world needs the Avengers, Steve Rogers won’t stop at anything to keep it safe.

After spending the whole morning battling to get anything actually productive done, Grace gave up. Bruce had holed himself up in the command center, which is what her dad called the largest conference room that had all the toys and tech the Avengers would use to plan a mission, and was coordinating with whatever members of the team he could get hold of to get them up to speed on what was happening and get a response team in motion. Everyone else had made themselves busy. Pepper had meetings with partner companies that couldn’t be put off because she couldn’t very well tell everyone there was an alien invasion pending and take the day off. Grace had insisted she was fine, but she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think of anything but the looming threat and the nagging feeling that something had gone horribly wrong, which caused her father’s current state of silence.

“Friday, please let Pepper know I’m going out for a walk around the property,” she told the AI after conceding that nothing would get done and changing into a pair of yoga pants, a Led Zeppelin tee, and her comfortable sneakers.

“Of course, Dr. Turner,” the AI answered.

Pulling her hair into a ponytail as she walked down the hall towards the front door, she contemplated which trail she wanted to take. Her dad had set up quite a few nice trails around the compound because he and Pepper had recently taken up running together in Central Park.

“Uncle Rhodey?”

She halted when her dad’s best friend stepped through the front door just as she was about to head outside. He’d insisted she start calling him Uncle when they’d spent so much time together developing his leg braces and working together during his physical therapy.

“Hey Grace.”

He flashed a guilty half-smile, the sort that gave away that something was off. Before she could ask what it was that had him looking so guilt-ridden, Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross stepped through the door behind him, adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket.

“What the hell is he doing here,” she glared daggers at the old man whose lips curved up in a sharky smile that made her want to throw a solid punch right at his smug, stupid face. Clenching her fist, she did her bet to fight the urge.

“The situation that’s developing is something only the Avengers can handle,” Rhodey explained gently, taking a step to the side to put himself physically between her and Ross, just in case. He knew well enough by now that she had enough of her father’s tendencies to be the sort who could be an absolute menace and either insult the Secretary of State or throw an unsolicited swing at him. “Like it or not, he has to be involved.”

“As head of the Avengers—” Ross began and something in Grace’s brain snapped.

“My father and my fiancée are head of the Avengers,” she spat. “You’re just a bureaucratic obstacle in a cheap suit.”

“I don’t expect a civilian like you to understand the importance of the government’s oversight—”

“Oh, fuck off you overinflated stooge,” Grace rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Grace,” Rhodey laid a hand on her upper arm, trying to calm her, his eyes flashing an unspoken message of caution.

“Don’t worry about it, Uncle Rhodey. It’s not like he can send me to the superhero supermax prison for calling him names,” she stated before leaning around her uncle so she could shoot another potshot at the secretary while looking him directly in the eye. “Can you, you vacuous waste of oxygen?”

“Colonel Rhodes,” Ross growled in warning.

“Grace, there’s a line,” Rhodey cautioned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“He shouldn’t be here,” Grace lowered her voice, leaning in to whisper to him. “I don’t want him anywhere on the compound unaccompanied.”

“I will keep him in the command center and make sure I’m on him at all times.”

“And the instant your meeting is over, I want him off my father’s property,” she added.

“I will take care of it,” he promised.

Grace nodded, the momentary lull in her anger giving way to the unsettling fear that had been hovering over her the last few days. She felt her eyes stinging with the threat of tears and she sniffed, eyes dropping to her feet.

“My dad’s missing, isn’t he?”

Rhodey made an unusual, grunting sound as he fumbled for an answer and Grace looked back up at him, seeing the truth in his eyes, just in case his lack of words hadn’t made it clear.

“He would’ve recommended meeting with Ross in the sewers before he suggested bringing him here. And if he had to bring him here, he never would’ve allowed him on the premises without being here to keep him from snooping around.”

“Don’t let your brain go to worst case scenario,” Rhodey tried to comfort her, but since Grace’s brain had already ventured down that path, she couldn’t stop. “He’s gone missing before,” he reminded her. “He always turns up eventually, just give him a little time. He’ll be back before you know it, promise.”

Always with the promises. She wanted to roll her eyes but she knew he was only trying to help, so she tamped down her anger and simply nodded.

“Colonel Rhodes, this is a time sensitive issue,” Ross huffed from behind him.

“I’ll catch up with you after, ok?” Rhodey looked her in the eye and she nodded again. “Good,” he turned on his heel and stepped towards Ross, gesturing for him to make his way down the hall with him. “Follow me, Mr. Secretary.”

Despite Rhodey’s calm insistence that her dad would turn up, that everything would be fine, Grace couldn’t help the anxiety attack that she felt coming on. It felt like a heart attack, her chest tight, breathing shallow. She fumbled with her bracelet as she stepped out into the sunshine of the morning, hitting the button that unleashed her nanotech suit.

“Dr. Turner are you all right?” Friday’s voice inquired as the armor encased her and the visor of her helmet dropped. “I’m detecting elevated heartrate and low blood oxygen levels.”

“Just a panic attack Friday,” she gasped. “Gotta focus on something else, so please don’t ask again.”

“Of course, Dr. Turner,” the AI agreed as she shot off the ground, straight up into the sky.

Flying provided a good distraction as she skimmed over the top of the property’s manmade lake, dragging just the tips of her toes through the water, which threw up a rooster tail behind her, like a speedboat. She broke from the open spaces and began zipping through trees along one of the wooded jogging trails. Having to keep her mind fully on what was in front of her kept her from descending into a total and complete breakdown. After a while, she rocketed straight up into the sky, letting out a primal guttural yell to vent all the twisted knotted mass of emotions roiling around in her.

“Dr. Turner, there’s an incoming aircraft, please divert your course,” Friday stated and a dotted line display popped up on the screen of her visor to guide her out of harm’s way.

“Thanks, Friday,” she sighed and followed the charted path down and back towards the compound. Rolling onto her back she saw a quintjet approaching and wondered which Avengers were on board. With Bruce and Rhodey there already, her dad missing, and half the team on the lam, she racked her brain to figure out who it might be.

 It wouldn’t be Thor; he’s got his own stuff going on. Maybe Clint? Would they bring in Hill? Where’s Fury? Oh, what’s Ant Man’s name? Scott?

She lingered in the air, keeping her distance from the quintjet as it landed, slowly getting closer as the gangplank began to descend. She came to a landing at the foot of it and opened up her visor in time to see Wanda, Vision, and Sam, in his Falcon suit, exit the jet, Vision between the other two, clearly injured and needing assistance to walk.

“Oh my god,” she gaped, hitting the button to have her armor retract into her bracelet. Dashing up the ramp, she met them halfway. “You guys can’t be here. Secretary Ross is here. He’ll arrest you.”

“Good to see you too, Doc,” Sam snorted a laugh, clearly unbothered by her warning.

“Vision, are you going to be ok?” She couldn’t see any visible injuries, but clearly, he needed help. “Do you need me to help out in the workshop with anything?” Since he was a humanoid android or sorts, he needed tech assistance, not medical. She wasn’t as knowledgeable as her dad, but she could do little things here and there.

“I think I can manage, Dr. Turner, thank you,” Vision replied.

“I can get you into the building undetected but you’re going to have to lay low,” Grace felt a knot in her stomach, worrying about how to keep her little family of superheroes safe from the snarly government official she’d riled up lurking in the command center.

“Ross knows we’re coming,” Nat stated as she came down the ramp. She was dressed in her usual black spy suit and her usual red hair had been dyed platinum blonde and cut short. Coming to a halt in front of Grace, she crossed her arms over her chest, giving her a stern look. “What, no hug?” She asked in a flat tone that made Grace burst out laughing when a second prior she’d felt like doing anything but. A grin cracked Nat’s serious expression and they hugged, like sisters that hadn’t seen each other in years.  

“Oh my god, I’m so glad to see you all,” Grace felt her heart full to bursting as she and Nat each took a step back, hands on each other’s shoulders. “Are you going to be safe here though, with Ross?”

“I will let the Captain explain all that.”

Nat tipped her head back towards the quintjet and then stepped aside just as Steve stepped onto the gangplank causing Grace’s heart to leap into her throat. With a gentle squeeze of her arm, Nat headed the off with the others into the building, leaving her momentarily too stunned to move or even speak to the man she loved. It felt impossible and somehow unreal, to the point that she didn’t trust her eyes.

“Hey Grace,” Steve said softly, a shy smile on his lips.

It was enough to break her out of her stupor. She bolted up the ramp, crashing into him, feeling warm and woozy as he wrapped his arms around her. Slinging her arms around his neck she held him tight, getting as close to him as she possibly could, all her fears and anxiety momentarily forgotten. She breathed deeply the scent of his skin and relished the feel of his hand on her back as he pulled her close. He let out a contented sigh, nuzzling her neck, giving her goosebumps and making her heart flutter.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, almost on the brink of tears. “Ross is going to try to arrest you the minute you walk into the room.”

“Bruce called,” he explained. “Told me something was coming.” They parted just enough to look each other in the eye. “I’m not about to leave the earth defenseless just because I’m not government sanctioned anymore.”

Grace nodded, crestfallen. Things were worse than she’d feared if he was about to charge in there with Ross and take command back. It also confirmed even further that her dad was truly missing in action.

“I know you’re scared,” he cupped her face, running his thumb along her cheek, his soft blue eyes earnest as they met hers, “I’m not going to tell you not to be. I can’t make promises, but I’m going to do everything I can to keep you safe and bring Tony back home.”

“Thank you for not making promises. I’m so sick of everyone making promises they have no way of keeping.”

She let out a burdened sigh and leaned into him, pressing her forehead to his chest. Steve kissed the top of her head and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“We should get inside,” he said without making a move to go. They stayed like that for a minute, wrapped up in each other. Taking in a deep breath, he finally broke from her. He kissed her softly before taking her by the hand. “Come on,” he offered a grim half-smile, “let’s get this over with.”

With a nod, Grace allowed him to lead her by the hand away from the hangar back towards the residential building. She couldn’t help herself from staring at him, overwhelmed by her feelings for him in that moment. His hair had gotten longer since she’d seen him the previous year in Wakanda and he had a full beard. Just an affectionate glance from him, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners as he smiled, set her whole body aflame. But there was a sorrow mingled into the moment, the weight hanging over both of them that this was another brief moment together before Steve charged head first into danger. He squeezed her hand and she leaned against him, taking a deep breath and trying to steady herself.

 He's home and he’s safe. Just try to enjoy this moment, right now.

She leaned into him, resting her head against him, taking the time to commit to memory the way his hand felt around hers, their fingers interwoven, the feeling of safety and comfort his presence brought. It almost felt like they had stepped back in time to when Steve was training the newest Avengers, when they would take afternoon walks along the lake and talk about wedding plans, thoughts on the future, how many kids they wanted, what kind of house they wanted and where, and what they would do with their time once they were free from their superhero entanglements. It felt like a whole other lifetime.

Grace walked with him all the way to the command center, where they could see most of the team, sans her dad, gathered around the table, almost all of them avoiding Ross as much as possible.

“Come find me when you’re done,” she cupped his face affectionately, not really wanting to leave him, but knowing she didn’t belong in that meeting. Going up on her tiptoes, she drew his face down to meet hers, which made him chuckle, and kissed him sweetly. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he grinned, kissing her one more time before slipping out of her grasp and making his way into the command center.

Running one hand up and down her arm, she lingered for just a moment, watching Steve confront Ross. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but Ross’s facial expressions conveyed the gist, which picked up her mood enough to feel fine about walking away and carrying on with her day.

Chapter 48

Masterlist

Chapter 50

[ina-nis]

Sure, this generation and the previous is kind of screwed with everything today being apps, including ways to socialize, meet up and dating other people.

So... what’s the solution here? To go old school?

Adults are supposed to go to social places such as uhh... bars and restaurants, or something like that? They’re supposed to join local “clubs” about their interests and/or hobbies? They’re supposed to show up in their local libraries or network in school and/or workplaces? They’re supposed to talk to people in real life, and talk to them regularly? Yes.

Is that something that can work long term? Yes, but not necessarily. It haven’t worked for you then, and it’s not working for you now.

Let’s say, you’re a millennial, one of the many adults who grew up at the start of this boom in technology. Let’s say the social modes you grew up with never really felt right or good for you, and internet gave you the freedom to find and keep on socializing with people all over the world, all the time, in your own terms and comfort.

Maybe you heard this was only making your asocial tendencies worse - and, yes, in many ways that might have made you less tolerant of external stressors - maybe this self-imposed isolation and using virtual means to connect exacerbated and made avoidance worse, too. But maybe, these were the first times you could actually connect with people without any catch or price.

Your earliest and most traumatic experiences didn’t happen online. You didn’t suffer from virtual neglect, or virtual abuse or virtual bullying that you could not escape from (which is usually how it happens in real life). Your virtual life was not perfect but there were many, many tools you could use to protect yourself and, the most important one: you can leave at any point for any reason.

Your experiences online were mostly neutral or positive ones, so of course, that becomes a feedback loop, and you keep on using it, and do it more and more.

Years pass and you have nobody you can count on in real life. Big deal, right? A really big and painful deal. This didn’t happen overnight, and it was not obvious either, even if you can see that now.

That was all your fault of course. If instead of dedicating so much of your time building a virtual life, you tried to build an offline life, you wouldn’t be here, suffering like this. You probably wouldn’t be so alone, huh?

So why didn’t you do it?

There’s just so many answers that could fit here...

...Maybe it’s that feeling of alienation that you could never shake off, a feeling of something being wrong with your very existence, and all the external things only confirming it.

...Maybe it was the trauma, too. People hurt you in so many different ways, sometimes even physically, sometimes for years. The emotional scars are still healing today, it’s likely that they never will go away completely.

...Maybe it was neglect, too. You wonder if this was the worst culprit, don’t you?

In the end, you learned that interactions with people in real life had a very high chance of hurting you, for a very little chance of success; while virtually, you could find many people like you, who may have felt alienated and excluded from society too, and felt the effort to try blending in and “conform” was not worth it.

How do you bridge both worlds then?

How can you make successful virtual connections into connections in real life? Supposedly this is where apps designed specifically for this kind of thing shine. And with them, comes a bunch of downsides, too.

Isn’t that a reflection of today’s society? Where everything is too fast, consume what you can while you can, things and people alike. Swipe left and right in hopes to find “the one” for you. Do over. Try another app. Talk and then stop talking. Do over. Find someone else. But you can’t be too selective or you’ll find nobody. And you can’t be too friendly or you’ll find a bunch of creepy people. But you shouldn’t be using apps, people who use apps are desperate/weird/need therapy. Then you go, and therapy tells you to do things you stopped doing, because they never worked for you long term, but if you try now they will definitely help. And you try now, and it just spirals downwards because the alienation grew too large - this is why you stopped, this is why it never really worked - then you go back to virtual things and remain unfulfilled, fishing in a sea of apps, in a ocean of desperate and creepy people, swiping all directions, getting nothing.

In the end, someone is going to tell you should get a pet or plant, maybe a new hobby; and that being alone isn’t that bad; that you should already have people in your life you can try to open up with and deepen the relationship with them, etc...

And you‘ll want to scream because everything is exhausting and frustrating (and your brain is definitely not helping).

How hard is it to connect with someone deeply and unconditionally? Apparently it’s an impossible feat to someone like you, huh?

Pick your poison. None that will work long term, apparently. Don’t give up either. Something will have to happen, eventually. Or so you hope...

[sanele-sikobi]

How the Community Block Transformed “Just an OT Student” to a Community OT Student

Community service occupational therapists (OTs) are required to expand access to services in communities that do not typically receive them, and to individuals who require more health services while transitioning from university to practice (Struwig & Strormboek, 2023). This transition is challenging, but exposure to peri-urban and rural areas as part of the community block was more than just a learning experience—it was a reshaping process of my understanding of what it means to be a community OT. This blog will explore my personal growth, professional growth, and reflections on this journey.

During my community block, I observed the impact of occupational therapy interventions in various areas. In pre-school and primary school settings, I personally saw and assessed children facing bullying due to their academic performance and physical appearance. These children were assessed, revealing symptoms of developmental delays and other childhood diagnoses. As community occupational therapy students, we initiated referrals to appropriate services for these children. Teachers were given tips, and some children were referred for further assessments. In certain cases, community caregivers were asked to conduct home environment follow-ups. This experience taught me that community OTs play a crucial role in bridging the gap between access to proper education for children with disabilities.

(GPoint studios, 2016)

In one of the families I visited during my community block, there was a 68-year-old woman who had a stroke three years ago, yet no rehabilitation had been provided. She only visits the clinic to collect her hypertension medication, even though physiotherapists visit the same clinic once a month. According to Ntsiea & Mokgobadibe (2019), stroke clients often have very poor functional mobility and limited access to public transportation after being discharged from the hospital, making home-based rehabilitation essential. Since a community caregiver referred her to us as student therapists, and a nurse accompanied us on one home visit, it became clear that more team members should be involved. We drafted a referral to the physiotherapists who visit the clinic, and the nearest occupational therapist was given a letter to conduct a home visit. This experience taught me a vital skill I will need during my community service year—involving every available stakeholder.

Paediatric screenings and parent education on the early signs of abnormal child development have been ongoing in the community I currently serve as a student. One of the community stakeholders informed us that fewer children with paediatric diagnoses are now being brought to primary schools, thanks to the services provided daily in clinics by OT students. The charts and pamphlets left in the clinic by previous occupational therapy students have made a significant difference in the community. This experience has prepared me for my community service by emphasizing my role in ensuring parents are knowledgeable about potential diagnoses and the health services available to help their children.

According to Naidoo et al. (2017), community service students must spend at least 40% of their time in the community. The experience in this block has built and molded me into an occupational therapy student committed to using OT to close gaps in the community. Various OT services, including advocacy for service provision, adaptations, making necessary referrals, health promotion, and connecting clients to relevant resources, have deepened my understanding of South African OT. Conceptually, I have learned that South African determinants of health—particularly in peri-urban areas—must be considered, and gaps should be addressed. My axiological perspective now emphasizes the value of equal accessibility to resources in the community and the importance of utilizing available services, even if it requires additional effort from others. These areas will guide my future community service goals, informed by what I learned during this block.

(UKZN Collage of health science, 2020)

In conclusion, my community block has transformed me from a student who once envisioned working in a hospital waiting for clients to a student determined to go into the community and bridge gaps. The advocacy, referrals, meetings, assessments, and adaptations I participated in during this block have contributed to my personal growth. The involvement of all necessary stakeholders in their respective roles has enhanced my professional development. Ultimately, community service requires the foundational skills we learned as students at UKZN during the community block, and I am committed to applying them as I move forward.

References

GPoint studios, (2016). Kids laughing at their classmate. https://depositphotos.com/photo/kids-laughing-at-their-classmate-119430202.html

Naidoo, D., Van Wyk, J., & Waggie, F. (2017). “Occupational therapy graduates' reflections on their ability to cope with primary healthcare and rural practice during community service”. South African Journal of Occupational Therapy, 47(3), 39-45.

Ntsiea, M. V. (2019). Current stroke rehabilitation services and physiotherapy research in South Africa. South African Journal of Physiotherapy, 75(1), 1-10.

Struwig, N., & van Stormbroek, K. (2023). Support, supervision, and job satisfaction: Promising directions for preventing burnout in South African community service occupational therapists. South African Journal of Occupational Therapy, 53(1), 67-80.

UKZN Collage of health science, (2020). Students Bring Occupational Therapy Closer to the Community. https://ww2.chs.ukzn.ac.za/news/students-bring-occupational-therapy-closer-to-the-community/

[izzysarchivedblogs]

SATURDAY NIGHT WOULD SUM UP TO BEING GOOD. While Clint may have felt guilt over the fact that he was not facing a trail or jail time; it was a good day. HE TALKED at AA for the first time, and it hadn't gone terribly. He managed just fine, and it almost feel good; and it was something that he could do again.

Than the walk home with Tony; talking opening together and Clint wonders if Tony had noticed how they were walking at a snails crawl. ENJOYING THE CONVERSATION. They reminisce over some of their shared adventures together, of the West Coast days. Talk genuinely about where everyone was. He'll take to mind what Tony said about therapy, about not having to tick with his therapist if it wasn't working.

Clint even opens up the the topic of when he was going to call Kate. It wouldn't be tomorrow, or Sunday; but Monday or Tuesday. GET IT OUT OF THE WAY. Don't make it another week without her having called him.

SUNDAY PASSES BY. They find a meeting place in Brooklyn that would not be a terrible walk from his Bed-Stuy apartment, to be his Sunday place and possibly his meeting place when he moves back into his Brooklyn home and it'd be a lot more reasonable that he went there instead of made the bridge cross every time he needed aa. Although, now he's got that worry, about people; when the place he's been going this week were familiar with the few avengers there who needed it. He doesn't talk there, but otherwise its gone fine.

MONDAY comes and he has physicals therapy in the morning, and then nothing for the rest of the day. Except, he's sitting in the car after PT and he start to feel an itch, and he thinks that he should bite the bullet.

It can't go that badly, but he could maybe use a talk before he just calls. He's got her number now, given that his old phone has been retrieved, and he had been scrolling through the text messages he left everyone on read this morning.

❝ I should call Kate today ���⸻ I don't know what, I am going to say, or how to make it sound like OKAY. ❞ He brings this up, because HELP HIM OUT HERE, he does not know where to start and organizing his thoughts might help before he chicken out. THERE'S ALWAYS TOMORROW. He didn't have plans tomorrow at all.

Tony has an urge to flick him. He's doing the thing he just admitted to doing, and talking himself down. Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or not. He reached over and poked him in the side. "Cut it out, you. That doesn't work on me. I don't care where you were 'grown', you're smart. You're probably as smart as me, but you didn't get the dad who only cared about grades and the education at the highest ranked University in the country. That's not a difference in smarts, that's a difference in education. You make arrowheads just using your own gut feelings that I didn't think to make with my three PhDs. You want to go to school, Clint? It's not too late."

Tony couldn't help but smile at the memory of their time travel. Not because it was a particularly good memory. Or at least not all of it. Clint had been seriously hurt, and Tony had been arguing constantly with Simon. But there had been good. Clint had been such a strong leader and Tony had gotten to see him in full cowboy mode. So even though he'd been scared of losing him, and the team had been fractured, it had been a good time.

"Oh god, Clint," he said. "We flew for so long, and Simon was being such a fucking asshole. Like the king of the assholes. And I'm worrying that the medicine of the time wasn't going to be good enough to help you anyway. But you were full cowboy mode and you'd wake up, completely delirious, and you'd still be so in charge."

He shrugged at the question about the therapist. "I mean it can be rough the first time. I definitely think that unless you have come back with the worst vibes ever, a second chance is worth it. I'm just saying, if it's not working... don't blame yourself. Move on."