#One Stop Diagnostic Solutions

[noirsdoll]

your mouth washing work is so good! what if curly was the one scheming the baby trapping on captain reader, like taking the condom off mid stroke (jimmy is fs the one that pushed him to do it, devil on his shoulder)

thank you so much what?!? i think curly would baby trap because he doesn’t want to lose you while he’s gone… (i didn’t see captain!reader until i was done writing it SORRY)

cw for baby trapping and a sprinkle of manipulation!! also some filthyyy smut and curly breeding kink!!

Piloting the Tulpar is like therapy for Curly. The gentle hum as the ship drifts through space, the dreamy green glow of the controls and diagnostics. He sits back in his chair, watching the blinking screen that displays the Tulpar’s trajectory.

They’re on the ending branch of their cruise, on their way back to Earth. Curly’s only thinking of one thing— you. He’s excited to get back and see your gorgeous face in person again.

Jimmy’s beside him, picking the dirt under his fingernails, tongue poking out of his mouth as he does it with utmost concentration. He’s bouncing his leg like he has somewhere to be.

“I’m thinking of putting a ring on her finger,” Curly says into the silence, “when we get back.”

“Cool.” Jimmy doesn’t look up, but he frowns, wrinkling his nose.

The quiet drags, Curly tips his head back against the seat, sighing in content. He has the whole thing planned out. He’s gonna take you to your favourite restaurant and ask them to bring over the band and play a song you like. He’s even got a whole speech that’s he knows by heart—

“That’s not gonna stop her from cheating on you.”

“What?” Curly turns to look at him.

“Yeah, well, I mean, what do you think she’s doing while she’s waiting for you to come back?” Jimmy snorts. “It’s not like you’re there to fuck her when she wants.”

Curly’s unsure of what to say. He’s never thought about it like that.

“We were gone, what, a little over a year this time?” He reclines with a creak, grinning. “Who even knows if she’ll still be there waiting for you?”

Curly frowns. “What could I do?” Jimmy’s right, what if he comes back to you and you’ve moved on or you’ve grown bored of waiting?

“Knock her up,” Jimmy says, like it’s the most obvious solution.

His eyes widen. “I couldn’t do that— We haven’t even talked about kids yet.”

Jimmy scoffs. “Then don’t talk to her about it. You want the relationship to last, right? This is the best way.”

The way Jimmy talks to him sometimes makes Curly feel like he’s looking at the world through a whole different lens, like Jimmy is expanding his horizons. And Jimmy’s right. You wouldn’t be able to leave with your belly all swollen with his kid.

So Curly does the unthinkable. When Curly gets home and you both have your habitual fucking that is more humping and groping than anything meaningful, he puts his plan into action.

Curly’s lips slot with yours, he kisses you messily. Your nails drag over the broad planes of his back as he lays you down like he has been wanting to do all this time. He thinks he almost cums just from slipping his dick in, the way your pussy clamps down on him is tighter than any hug you’ve pulled him into.

You both stare at each other for a moment, catching your breath, the air is hot and dizzying and there is so much want coursing through both of your systems. And then Curly sets his pace.

It’s sweaty and sloppy, shallow thrusts as he doesn’t want to leave your warm cunt for too long. He holds you down with one big hand spread over your stomach, fucking into you like it’s life or death.

His dick “pretends” to slip out of you, like his fat head could ever miss your cunt— it’s practically muscle memory. As he goes to realign his cock, he slips off the condom, sandwiching it into the pleats of the tousled sheets behind him.

You don’t notice, too busy moaning and whining and drooling into your pillow as Curly’s rhythm turns damn near brutal. God, he’s gonna breed you, he’s gonna fucking breed you. He can’t go back now.

Wet strings of your slick connect his hips to yours as your pussy leaks all over itself. The sounds it’s making are almost pornographic. Curly’s thumb slips on your soaked clit as he makes you cum alongside him. He read somewhere that it helps get you pregnant too.

You’re too fucked out to notice that creampie he just gave you, thick, milky cum dripping out of you. He reaches down with one finger and pushes his cum in deeper. He doesn’t want you wasting a drop.

Maybe this was a net positive, Curly thinks as he cleans you up, peppering kisses along your body and praising you for your hard work— laying there and taking it.

Now you have something to keep yourself company the next time he’s gone.

[inkyarcturus]

CW: underage drinking, being drunk

More teen Harry Severitus antics:

The two had grown closer in the past year or two, its 6th year and everything seems to be calmer to an extent. They come up with a schedule where Harry goes to meet up with Severus on a weekly basis.

It started as extra defense or occlumency lessons but turns into a glorified excuse to be in one another’s presence.

That day, the Gryffindor are throwing an after Quidditch victory party. Harry tells Severus that he won’t meet up with him, wanting to spend his time as a normal teenager for once. All Severus does is nod, quietly disappointed but not enough to make it known.

There’s drinks involved, so so many drinks have been smuggled into the common room and there’s is a 100% chance that someone already spiked the pumpkin juice.

At least three Gryffindor are using the couch as a mock stage for their spontaneous band, singing songs the entire time Harry is there. The music is so loud everyone has to basically scream to be heard despite being right next to one another.

Harry’s using this as an excuse to lay back, relax a little after all the events of the previous days, weeks, months, years, honestly his entire life at this point. So he gets a little reckless, drinking 1 shot, then 2, then 3, and surely he’s down like 6 shots by now. By the end he’s come to the brilliant realization that he is a light weight.

Cursing his childhood starvation which caused his stunted height and forgetfulness (he forgot to eat earlier) he’s essentially bumbling around like an idiot.

He is plastered out of his mind and the brightly colored lights, loud music, screaming, touching, everything about the party is suddenly too much for him. All he wants is his dad. The silence of the dungeons, the soft glow of a fire place and the comfort of his room that Severus had made specifically for him during the summer.

Before he knows it he’s out of the common room, shutting the portrait and leaving all the noise behind him. He’s dazedly walking, functioning on muscle memory alone to bring him to Severus’s quarters.

He wasn’t even thinking about the possible consequences of an adult figuring out that he was drunk.

Thankfully, (or maybe unthankfully) Harry runs right into Severus on his walk to the dungeons, not even noticing him in his drunken stupor. Severus wraps his arms around him automatically.

“And what are you doing out past curfew so far away from the lions den, Mr. Potter?” the professor drawled out, still keeping his hold on Harry.

The drunk child squints up at him, “Dad? When did you get here?”

Before the man can stop himself, his hold tightens in shock at the title. Quickly grabbing his wand from his holster he performs a diagnostic spell.

0.145 Blood Alcohol Content

Merlin this boy does not do things by halves.

He sighs in relief however, “idiot boy.”

While the results were troubling and he would be taking points, giving him detention and a lecture tomorrow, it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed within a day. He had gotten used to the boy only using that title in traumatizing, near death scenarios. It was comforting to know that the child could use it unbidden outside of those contexts.

Deciding that the best solution is to simply bring him to their quarters as the Gryffindor tower was farther and likely still had the party going on, they head off.

Severus practically carries Harry back to the quarters. At first he tried simply guiding him with a hand on his back, but Harry’s lack of coordination was too painful to watch for long.

He opens the doors to their make shift home, laying Harry on the couch while he goes to grab some water in the hopes that it sobers him up a little.

As the professor goes to the kitchen, Harry’s gaze is glued to the fire place, mesmerized by its flames. His sitting in silence, contrary to how he usually behaves when near the man. He only reacts when the Professor returns with the glass of water and a slice of buttered toast to eat.

“Eat you foolish child, it’s a wonder you haven’t blacked out yet,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “nothing in your system and you decide to drink enough to knock out a hippogriff. I should withhold the hangover drought from you in the morning.”

The threat is empty. He knows he couldn’t stand seeing the-this-his boy in pain for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Harry doesn’t respond to his comments, being unable to focus on them because of the intoxication. He finishes his toast and water though. Apparently that was all his body had energy left for, choosing the couch as the perfect bed for the night. He lays down and curls up, staring up at his guardian.

Severus huffs but procures a blanket and some pillows for him, far too susceptible to his sad dog eye look. When Harry frowns and makes a small hand gesture towards him, non verbally asking that he tucks him in, the man obliges, hushing him while he does so.

Just like that the teen is out like a light.

The guardian removes his glasses and puts them off to the side. He brushes Harrys bangs off his face as he listens to the slow crackle of the fire and their combined breaths.

“What am I going to do with you?” Despite the words, there’s no mistaking the fondness in his tone.

He leaves the room, shutting off the light after one last look to make sure his boy was breathing.

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 1: Ghost In the Machine

The hum of the fluorescent lights in "Byte Me" IT Solutions was a monotonous drone against the backdrop of Gotham's usual cacophony. Rain lashed against the grimy window, each drop a tiny percussionist drumming out a rhythm of misery. Inside, however, misery was a bit more… organized.

I sighed, wrestling with a particularly stubborn strain of ransomware. "CryptoLocker v. 7.3," the diagnostic screen read. A digital venereal disease, if you asked me. Another day, another infected grandma's laptop filled with pictures of her grandkids and a crippling fear that hackers were going to steal her identity.

"Still at it?" My coworker, Mark, sidled over, clutching a lukewarm mug of something vaguely resembling coffee. Mark was a good guy, perpetually optimistic despite working in one of Gotham's less-than-glamorous neighborhoods. Bless his heart.

"You know it," I replied, jabbing at the keyboard. "Think I've finally managed to corner the bastard. Just gotta… there!" The screen flashed a success message. "One less victim of the digital plague."

Mark nodded, then his eyes drifted to the hulking metal beast in the corner, a Frankensteinian creation of salvaged parts and mismatched wiring. "How's the behemoth coming along?"

I followed his gaze. My pet project. My escape. "Slowly but surely. Got the cooling system optimized today. Almost ready to fire it up."

"Planning anything special with it?" Mark asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. "You've been collecting scraps for months. It's gotta be more than just a souped-up gaming rig."

I shrugged, a deliberately vague gesture. "You could say I'm planning something… big. Something Byte Me isn't equipped to handle."

Mark chuckled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure you'll make it sing. You've got a knack for that sort of thing." He wandered off, whistling a jaunty tune that died a slow, agonizing death against the backdrop of the Gotham rain.

He had no idea just how much of a knack.

Mark bid me one final goodbye before pulling out an umbrella and disappearing into the night. No doubt he stops at Nero’s pizzeria before going home to his wife and kids. You watched through the shop window before he disappeared around the corner. Then, you locked the door and reached for the light switch. The fluorescent lights flickered a final, dying gasp before plunging the shop into darkness. I waited a beat, the city's distant sirens a mournful choir. Then, I flipped the hidden switch behind the breaker box, illuminating a small, secluded corner of the shop.

Rain hammered against the grimy windowpanes of my "office," a repurposed storage room tucked away in the forgotten bowels of the shop. The rhythmic drumming was almost hypnotic, a bleak lullaby for a city perpetually on the verge of collapse. I ignored it, fingers flying across the keyboard, the green glow of the monitor painting my face in an unsettling light. Outside, the city's distant sirens formed a mournful choir. Here, the air crackled with a different kind of energy.

"Almost there," I muttered, the words barely audible above the whirring of the ancient server rack humming in the corner. It was a Frankensteinian creation, cobbled together from spare parts and salvaged tech, but it packed enough processing power to crack even the most stubborn encryption algorithms. Laptops with custom OSes, encrypted hard drives, and a tangle of wires snaked across the desk. This was Ghostwire Solutions, my little side hustle. My… outlet.

Tonight's victim, or client – depending on how you looked at it – was a low-level goon. One was a two-bit thug named "Knuckles" Malone; the other, a twitchy character smelling of desperation, Frankie "Fingers" Falcone. Malone's burner phone, or Falcone's data chip containing an encrypted message, was now on the screen in front of me, a jumble of characters that would make most people's eyes glaze over. For me, it was a puzzle. A challenging, if morally questionable, puzzle.

My service, "Ghostwire Solutions," was discreet, to say the least. No flashy neon signs, no online presence, just word-of-mouth referrals whispered in dimly lit back alleys. I was a ghost, a digital shadow flitting through the city's underbelly, connecting people. That's how I liked to justify it anyway. I cracked my knuckles and went to work. My fingers danced across the keyboard, feeding the encrypted text into a series of custom-built algorithms, each designed to exploit a specific vulnerability. Hours melted away, marked only by the rhythmic tapping of keys and the soft hum of the custom-built rig in the corner, its processing power gnawing away at the digital lock.

The encryption finally buckled. A cascade of decrypted data flooded the screen. I scanned through it, a jumbled mess of texts, voicemails, location data, or a simple message detailing a meeting point and time. Mostly dull stuff about late payments and turf wars, the mundane reality of Gotham's criminal element. I extracted the relevant information.

"Alright, Frankie," I muttered to myself, copying the decrypted message onto a clean file. "Just connecting people. That's all I'm doing."

I packaged the data into a neat little file, added a hefty markup to my initial quote, and sent it off via an encrypted channel. Within minutes, the agreed-upon sum, a few hundred cold, hard dollars, landed in my untraceable digital wallet. I saved the file to a new data chip and packaged it up. Another job done. Another night closer to sanity's breaking point.

"Just connecting people," I repeated, the phrase tasting like ash in my mouth. The lie tasted even worse. I knew what I was doing. I was enabling crime. I was greasing the wheels of Gotham's underbelly. But bills had to be paid. It was a convenient lie, a way to sleep at night knowing I was profiting from the chaos. But tonight, it felt particularly hollow. And honestly, did it really matter? Gotham was already drowning in darkness. What was one more drop?

Gotham was a broken city, a machine grinding down its inhabitants. The system was rigged, the rich got richer, and the poor fought over scraps. I wasn't exactly helping to fix things. But I wasn't making it worse, right? I was just a cog in the machine, a necessary evil. I was good at what I did, damn good. I could see patterns where others saw chaos. I could exploit vulnerabilities, both in code and in the systems of power that held Gotham hostage. It was a skill, a talent, and in this city, unique talents were currency. I was efficient and discreet. But every decrypted message, every bypassed firewall, chipped away at something inside me. It hollowed me out, leaving me a ghost in my own life, a wire connecting the darkness.

I leaned back in my creaky chair, the rain still pounding against the window. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and melancholy. Another night, another decryption, another small victory against the futility of existence in Gotham. The flicker of conscience, that annoying little spark that refused to be extinguished, flared again. Was I really making a difference? Or was I just another parasite feeding off the city's decay?

I closed my eyes, trying to silence the questions. Tomorrow, there would be another encryption to crack, another connection to make. And I would be ready, Ghostwire ready to disappear into the digital ether, another ghost in the machine, until the next signal came. As I waited for the morning, for the return of the fluorescent lights and the mundane reality of "Byte Me" IT Solutions, I wondered if one day, the darkness I trafficked in would finally claim me completely. Because in Gotham, survival was a code all its own, and I was fluent in its language. And frankly, some days, that didn't seem like such a bad deal. For now, that was enough.

[transmutationisms]

Was reading through your tag, and just wanted to make sure I understood. I experience symptoms assigned to various disorders; none of them would be a beneficial diagnosis because of the function of psychiatry and how said symptoms are always tied to an arbitrary label called "Huge Bitch Disorder" or something similar. That's no argument, having the diagnosis would not be useful and if anything would be more harmful.

At the same time, said experienced symptoms are disabling outside of a capitalist concept. Those issues would exist in an ideal future, and I'd still be distressed by them without much of a way to stop it. I saw you mention accomodations, and I agree with enforcing/endorsing those, but for people like me a lot of those accomodations would require allowing harm to be done to others to some degree. What is the material solution to this? I don't mean to curveball anything, it's just hard to conceptualise when my specific psychological distress is related to compulsions and direct actions taken to harm and use others [hence why a psychiatric diagnosis is deeply unhelpful, because having on a chart that you're a manipulator with violent impulses is one of the easiest ways to lose autonomy fast]. I can understand that the framework allows seeking available options on a willing basis, but the current idea of "available options" is also immensely based in reducing autonomy and seeking to "cure" rather than to stablise/provide legitimate tools to exist as you are more easily. Would it be seeking a goal of improved options/better regulation with patient autonomy at the forefront?

Trying to lay it all out in front of me to understand better, pretty much.

i think basically the reason you feel like you're going in circles on this is because you're still working off the DSM diagnosis (ASPD?) as-defined, all you've dropped is the attachment to the numeric diagnostic code itself. i really don't think "person who is doomed to compulsively harm others unless restrained and denied autonomy" is like a type of person who exists. i don't know you & can't really tell you what would help You, Specifically, but i do actually think you deserve better options than hating yourself with the technology of psychiatry or hating yourself without it

[emerald-dragonflame]

Autobot Character Lineup

Some general worldbuilding things

This particular fan project is set on a moon of a gas giant, where the local population of sapient species aren’t humans, but flying cat-like creatures known as sphinxes. Cybertronians are mechanical, but they do have some noticeable similarities to organic life. They can eat food, have soft squishy insides, and have biology similar to that of most organic life, just replace muscles with stuff like rubber. They’re like arthropods, in the sense that most of their “bone structure” is actually the chitin like armor protecting their more squishy bits (best way to tell what’s squishy and what’s not, check the color of a cybertronian’s face, anything that is that same color is usually their soft bits). They still need energon to survive, and the Well of Allsparks to reproduce, but in all intents and purposes, these cybertronians are basically just metallic crab people.

Optimus Prime

If you’ve ever watched Transformers Animated, he’s basically like that in this version, just a little older, and a little more solemn. Primes in this project are also more abundant than in other continuities (meaning we may even see a Sentinel or even Rodimus Prime), as Optimus isn’t even the oldest or leader of the Primes. However, that doesn’t mean that he’s any less of a good and strong leader. Those under him respect him, and he’s one hell of a great tactician and fighter, however he has one fatal flaw; he and Megatron used to be friends, and he believes that the old mech that Megatron used to be is still in there somewhere. Most believe that if Optimus finally stopped pulling his punches, the war would have ended before it even started.

This is especially true for his conjux endura, Elita-One. Basically the equivalent to his wife, she most certainly understands Optimus’ wish for a more peaceful solution to this millennias old conflict, but she also understands that their dying species needs this conflict to end. And the longer they wait, the more will die. He knows this, she knows this, yet he still tries…

Elita-One

The second in command, and besides Optimus, the one with the most battlefield experience, Elita is a bit more cutthroat and cold compared to her conjux. While he’s warm, kind, and tries to see the good in everyone, she is a lot less forgiving. They’re in the middle of a war, Cybertron is dead, there will be no next generation, and her beloved is trying to see the good in an evil dictator. Still, she can’t help but love and admire his spark. She did also know Megatron before he became the leader of the Decepticons, but for a shorter period of time, so she does understand, if only a little.

Outside of this, Elita tends to be the gentle mentor of the team, willing to be the sage, if stern, guide if needed. Her team, her family, is precious to her, and she will tear through legions of enemy forces to keep them safe.

Ratchet

The eldest, and most worn down of the team, the mech has been a medic for his entire adult life. Meaning he’s been doing this since Optimus was a little sparkling. Ratchet is the grumpy, crotchety old mech that you would expect, if not a little more mischievous than you’d expect. He can read people like a book, and uses it to his advantage to get his team get people to take their diagnostics seriously damnit! Dying of rust is no joke! Outside of that rough exterior, he does have a soft spot for his sphinx companion, Mokrem, who also happens to be (technically) the second oldest of the group (since cybertronians can live for millions of years, she’s obviously far younger than he is, but in reference to her species, she’s about 45 while he’s around 60). The two of them constantly hang around each other, joking, and “complaining” about how the youngins are acting childish. They do prefer the company of each other, rather than their own species, but neither of them would admit that.

Powerglide

The hotshot, the mech of the hour, the flier extraordinaire, the bastard who will not shut up, he’s the third most experienced with battle (or second least, depending on who you ask). He was the cybertronian that made first contact with a young disabled sphinx known as Velkì, thankfully she found him charming, otherwise with Powerglide’s track record of failing spectacularly at diplomacy, the Autobots would have probably been seen just as bad, if not worse than the Decepticons. He’s one of the very few Autobots that can fly not in an alt mode, and definitely takes a liking to this little moon with it’s flying species, taking in the culture and the sights, he’s probably the one that loves this moon the most out of all the Autobots. He especially loves Velkì, since she was the first friend he made here, and he loves making her feel like she can fly, despite her inability to do so on her own.

He and Bumblebee are the young bucks of the team, and they do know it, so they tend to kinda get away with a lot. Especially Bumblebee and Tìr.

Bumblebee

Outside of Tìr, Bee is the youngest of the group. The human equivalent would probably be a preteen/early teen. He’s a scout, with the least amount of experience, and the only beastformer of the team (a bumblebee… duh). Optimus tends to try and keep him out of harms way, mostly due to his age, and in the slight chance that if the Well of Allsparks is ever fixed, the youngest generation is needed to continue on with the species. Optimus does this to Powerglide, too, but to a lesser extent.

Bee is quite the trickster, he loves playing pranks on literally everybody, and isn’t afraid of doing it to people like Optimus Prime, or Ratchet (pranking a Prime is equivalent to throwing a water balloon at the king. It’s not illegal, but man is it dumb). Thankfully, Prime is pretty chill… Ratchet on the other hand… yeah. Since he and Tìr were the youngest, it was decided that they’d be partnered together, which was a horrible idea, leading the two most chaotic duo of the entire team. Do not leave the children alone

Velkì

A young adult sphinx with the inability to fly. That isn’t the first thing she’d want you to know about her, but it’s the first thing you notice, as one of her wings is severely underdeveloped. The real first thing that she’d like you to know about her is that she’s a baker, and a very good one at that. So good in fact, that she hoped that it would deter people from asking about her wings. It doesn’t, but she tries. She’s the type to think she’s the most boring molly in the world, but she will talk your ear off if you let her. Powerglide doesn’t seem to mind, tho she is a bit of a tsundere and would never admit how much she likes her Autobot companion. She’ll bite you saying that she hates you, while purring like a freight train, and rubbing all over you. She’ll bite has a squishy center, she’s just gotta let you in first.

Mokrem

The eldest of the sphinxes, and an archivist, Mokrem is really not the biggest fan of her own kind. Not that she hates them, just that she’s had a lot of bad experiences with other sphinxes to make her a little wary, meaning when it comes to Velkì and Tìr, she’s a bit prickly. Ratchet on the other hand… she has no romantic feelings towards him, she’s far too old for that, and it’s far too odd for her liking, but she does love him dearly, and prefers his company above anyone else’s. She’s the type of molly to happily stay on the sidelines, learning about these new creatures that stumbled onto her world then go galavanting around with the younger generation. It does feel nice to feel important, though…

Tìr

Finally, the youngest, and smolest of the team, Tìr is Bumblebee’s companion, and he is a rocket ship of happy go lucky charm, and energy pop rocks. The little tom has always been a little ball of sunshine, and was even more so when these huge metal monsters came clambering onto his world. Every little tom’s dream, and he had to be a part of it. It’s so cool!

[brawltogethernow]

—

L fell over from his customary seated position, died in his nemesis's arms, then came to in his customary seated position.

  He fell over.

  "Richard?" said Wammy, the alias he'd been using four cases ago. "Are you alright?"

  "Watari?" he said dumbly, into the floor. Wammy was dead. He hadn't wanted it to be true, but he had been sure when he saw the data kill switch had been flipped, pieces of information slotting together to form a whole even when he didn't want them to. His own hand had carved him into a device that did this process automatically. It was too late to deny facts.

  "What?" said Wammy like he didn't recognize the Japanese alias.

  L pushed himself up halfway off the ground. "Fuuuuuck this," he said, and fell over again.

⁣

"Why me?" he wondered aloud. "Does this happen to everyone killed by the murder notebooks? I can't investigate an infinite multiverse, Weatherby."

  "Probably not," conceded Wammy. He was currently humoring L gamely. L had been able to provide multiple descriptions of future events that would confirm he wasn't cracking up, but none of them had happened yet. He had never been much of one for keeping track of the date regarding matters where someone could do it for him, which didn't help. Well. Wammy would come around.

  L was humoring himself, too, for now. There was no point assuming his mind wasn't reliable. Using his brain to run diagnostics on itself could wait until it seemed necessary. If he was having an Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge moment it was certainly going on for a very long time.

  He ground his molars against each other. The Kira murders had been supernatural, but clearly guided by a hand that either was mortal or thought the same way. So far, this seemed...random.

  "I don't like this," he informed the room, and incidentally Wammy. His latest sugar cube tower collapsed and split into two factions, one falling into his tea and the other scattering across his desk. Tea sloshed out of its cup in futile pursuit of the desk faction.

  He picked up the teacup by the mostly not sticky handle and sipped it, pursuing the grit at the bottom of its basin. He put it down and but his thumbnail. It was slightly sweet. He needed to wash his hands. He added, "Well. I like it better than being dead."

⁣

He sent the party interested in his current case an e-mail with enough key bullet points of the solution for them to clean up what was left of it themselves, which was more than he felt like doing for a rerun of a case. If he were stuck only rehashing already closed cases he might entertain the theory that this was Hell. But the world was wide, he had only lived a year or so beyond this in the first place, and the Kira case was still open.

  He tried to console himself that Light Yagami possessed one of the most ruthlessly brilliant minds L had ever encountered. This did not make him feel any better about being beaten by a fucking child. L was an extremely petty man about things like that.

  (He had been a worse minor. If he had been eighteen as well when faced with such an infuriating suspect, he would probably have been the one instigating physical altercations. He would have broken Light's perfect nose instead of playing around with him, and then maybe he wouldn't be undead.)

  He gnawed his thumbnail, brain too itchy to be content just pressing it against his bottom lip where he could usually stop. He knew on one level of thought he was risking ending up with sore and bloody cuticles, but it was not the level primarily in charge of his teeth and hands when he was stressed. Was he stressed? Extremely, yes. But should he have been? His life wasn't even in danger, nor was Wammy's. Kira hadn't claimed his first kill yet, probably hadn't acquired his weapon, that awful, intriguing, unassuming notebook. And when he did, L could just...

  L didn't even have to do anything. He could just ignore it, and stay ensconced in whatever HQ he chose. Name unrecorded, face unknown, existence not relevant to Light Yagami's twisted morals. He already knew all the key mechanics of Kira. The method, the means—he was sure he'd already known the why. He had all the answers he wanted. Light had given him his answers.

  His true face... It was all the confession L had needed. An honor, even.

  Ha!

  L didn't need anyone's sanction to solve the Kira problem, either. He could steal the notebook. He could hire a hitman.

  Dull pain and the taste of blood alerted him that he'd bitten through his thumb.

  He popped it into his mouth to keep blood off his keyboard. No, he didn't want to kill Light Yagami. He probably should kill Light Yagami, but he didn't want to. He wanted to... To...

⁣

Of the many casualties of the Kira case, there was no one he cared to intervene for he hadn't led to danger with his own hand. (Should he have cared more about Beyond? Eh, he'd interfere if Wammy brought it up.) Even Naomi, who he hadn't spoken to in years, should have no reason to return to her home country if L didn't repeat old plays.

  ...He wondered if he was perhaps taking the wrong lessons about treating people as expendable from the situation.

  He tapped his fingers. Naomi. He had liked her.

  He spent an hour at the keys confirming where she was. The sun had set around him, at some point, leaving him in a black room with the monitor a white inferno at the center. Moved to Burbank, engaged, retired. She must be bored out of her mind in an empty room of her own making. No wonder she had died over this case too.

  He hoped it was exciting first. Light had never mentioned her.

  Focusing all of her faculties on her boytoy only for a killer to take him away... She must have gotten very unlucky to have not proved a bigger obstacle.

⁣

After it came clear that L was reporting his experiences accurately (or hallucinating his confidant's confirmations), Wammy sat silently for a subjectively long minute and forty-seven seconds.

  "What is it like?" he asked at last. "Dying."

  "I don't know, I was kind of distracted," L deflected, because this is true.

  Wammy gave him a blank yet communicative look.

  L bit down on his other, less raw thumb. Why hadn't Wammy come back with him, possessed of his own experience to draw on? Was there another Wammy, elsewhere, who has gone back alone?

  Could it be he really didn't die? No. L was sure.

  Kira had done that, but even spider-scrabbling blunted fingertips at the bottom recesses of the linty pockets of his heart, L couldn't find it in himself to feel too righteously indignant. L was the one who had wanted to win badly enough he'd anted up his allies in their game. He had been cocky. He had been too cavalier.

  "Frustrating," he answered. "Like when you can't stay awake even though you're in the middle of a project."

  The brain, whirling determinedly away even as it stopped receiving fresh blood, as the vision narrowed down to a thin line, a screen shutting off uncaring of whether it was the end of the program.

⁣

He researched relevant players he hadn't been aware of at this point. All were transpiring to be about where he'd have plced them.

  The web of events was elaborate. But that could have been dream logic. He'd tried, but never gotten the hang of, lucid dreaming. He was not sure he would be truly convinced this was happening until he'd discovered a why.

  He hovered his overful teacup not quite at his lips. Next, he could find a backdoor into the TCPD systems, but...maybe...

  He wormed into Yagami Light's computer instead. After 24 hours of passive data collection this provided him with Souichirou's passwords and how Light concealed he was using them.

  It was very amateur, which was the best way to hack an organization that thought it was going to be hacked by professionals. Casual exploitation of loose security.

  It was child's play on top of this to get a day-old visual on Light. L looked at the security photo and felt a thrill up his spine. Ah, death really didn't change me for the better at all, he thought.

⁣

"What's next in the docket?" asked Wammy, tidying up the workstation they were slated to abandon. (L remained on his computer chair and let this happen around him.) He was content to follow L's lead, even knowing he had led them both to their deaths.

  "I want to find out why I've come back in time, and how," said L. "...But I don't have any leads to speak of."

  "Except young Yagami," concluded Wammy, who was not an unclever man.

  "I don't want to return to the Kira case," L admitted.

  "Completely understandable," said Wammy without judgment. He was not an overly moral man, either.

  L fidgeted. Flopped somewhat. "The Kira case is the most interesting case on the planet right now," he said.

  Wammy waited.

  "But I already know how he kills," L sulked. "And dying kind of hurt."

  Wammy's mouth pursed at this. But he only asked, "What are you planning, L?"

  "I'm going to insert myself," announced L, rising and stepping out of his chair. "What do we have in liquid assets right now?"

  "What will this be put toward?" inquired Wammy.

  L rolled his eyes up toward the ceiling and thought about it, chewing his lip. "Shenanigans," he declared.

  He realized he had forgotten a social step and stopped his creep for the exit. He swiveled his head around. "Though Weatherby, if you want to return to the school for a year or two, or perhaps go on vacation—"

  "I'll go where you go," interrupted Wammy, chilly.

  L pursed his lips, finding now he'd began it that this was not the perfunctory check-in he'd taken it for. He said, "I would prefer if you didn't die."

  Wammy sighed. "A similar sentiment is why I will accompany you."

  L turned back around. "I see," he said, nodding. "Emotional blackmail."

  "This time I trust you to take the appropriate precautions," said Wammy.

  "Ugh," said L. "You're no fun."

⁣

To enact his very ingenious and only partially driven by general doubt in reality and spite scheme, L got a job at a pastry chain in Tokyo.

  After less than a single afternoon, the manager deemed L unfit to serve customers (this was correct), so he was shuffled onto glazing duty. He accepted this without complain as, due to the pop-up-cum-cart-style layout of the establishment, this still allowed him a clear view of anyone patronizing the establishment. Moreover, he did not especially want to serve customers.

  He despised the thin plastic sanitation gloves, which felt like rather than protecting his hands they moved the barrier of contaminated flesh up to his wrists, oils creeping and substances splashing upwards, until he wanted to decontaminate his arms up to the elbows and down to the bone.

   It's for the case, he told himself even though there was no case, not really. It was the same process of steeling himself to put discomfort aside for a greater cause.

  The greater cause this time was just bullying Yagami Light.

  This is a cinnamon roll of great justice, he told himself, then held it up to eye level and examined it, debating whether to eat half of it in front of his manager. For great justice.

⁣

His fingers twitched. He solved cold cases from his backlog and sent in tips about them thumb-typed on a PDA on his lunch breaks. He was so understimulated he contemplated playing some stocks, which he was trying to cut back on. He had more money than one person could ever need and than he had any inclination to redistribute responsibly, and also he acclimated to them the way some people did to pachinko.

⁣

The manager sat him down. "I have been informed I can't fire you," he said.

  "Yes," said L, who had purchased the chain before applying for the job.

  "But I want to," said his manager, like it was important L knew.

  "That's fine," said L. He pulled an industrial tub of cold icing over, stuck one finger into it, and licked it.

  The manager's mouth flexed murderously. L entertained himself briefly by imagining this scheme if Light was his manager.

⁣

When Light finally walked in, L had been shuffled back to cashier duty to get him to stop licking the donut icing, where he would remain until customer satisfaction dropped untenably low. With a pull that was gravity-inevitable, they locked eyes across the room, and a realization was clear to L at once:

  He's bored again.

  Without anyone challenging to oppose him, Kira was already getting bored. A smile spread like an ocean oil slick over L's face. Or perhaps like the mysterious and ever-widening sticky spot under the second stove that no one could seem to mop up.

  Everything was falling in line with his loftiest expectations. Light would crawl on his knees right to L. He didn't realize it, but he was desperate.

  And L would lead this insufferable man, in his supplication, right through the mystery floor goo.

  L favored Light with his (he was told) very unsettling customer service smile. "Welcome to Cinnabon," he said.

—

AO3

[burnwater13]

A map of Ancient Rome, depicts various sites of significance and the location of the Tiber River. Map published by Anness Publishing.

Note: This story was inspired by a suggestion from @porgsandpops. Hope you enjoy it.

Grogu had been sound asleep when the Razor Crest landed. Well, if you call something of sharp thump, a slide, and a crashing sound a landing. He had called it unfair, but that was mostly due to the fact that he had landed on the floor of cabin with a thump of his own. Now his head hurt. Normally his dad didn’t just crash the ship if he could possibly avoid it, so something bigger must have happened and the Mandalorian hadn’t thought to wake him up for it. Meany. 

Once he was on his feet, Grogu crossed the lower deck as quickly as he could and made his way up the ladder to the bridge. Fortunately his dad seemed to be all in one piece, but it was clear from the crack in the Razor Crest’s canopy that it wasn’t. It was also clear that wherever the ship had ‘landed’, it wasn’t Nevarro or Tatooine, or any planet Grogu had ever been on before. Weird.

Grogu touched his dad to make sure that he didn’t need any healing and was happy to find that Din Djarin was just cross. Annoyed. Angry even. And, a bit puzzled. He probably didn’t recognize where they were either. At least that made two of them. 

“Hey, Buddy, sorry about the hard landing. It seems like we passed through an anomaly in hyperspace and got dumped out like yesterday’s yard waste. Are you okay?”

Grogu nodded his head as he watched his dad take off his helmet, look it over, and then put it back on again. What the heck? Was Din Djarin okay? Grogu didn’t think so, but when he touched the bounty hunter’s hand, his body didn’t seem to be hurt at all. Should he touch it again and check on his brain? That seemed wasteful. In human’s the brain was part of the body. If one was fine, the other was fine, right?

“Come on. You can help me check out the ship and make sure that cracked canopy is the only major repair we’ll have to make.”

Grogu nodded his head again as his dad left the bridge and slid down the ladder to the lower deck. What the heck! Why not just run a quick diagnostic from the bridge and then verify it’s output? Mandalorians didn’t usually waste time like this. But then this wasn’t normal and Grogu decided, for the sake of expediency, to just go along with his dad. It was almost as if Din Djarin had forgotten that he was a Mandalorian. 

A few minutes later and they had completed a traverse of the ship. The canopy being cracked was the one big problem they found. Now they needed to find a solution to it. The tools that the Mandalorian might normally use to fuse the crystalline structure back in place were damaged. The tools that he needed to fix those tools were back on Tatooine in Peli’s repair bay. Uff.

“Come on. Let’s see if there are any villages or towns near by. They must have a smith or a trading post or something around here.”

Grogu wondered why his dad didn’t just use the scanners built into his helmet to collect that data. Din Djarin must have taken a pretty good bump to his head and it affected his memory. Or something like that. It was weird. 

Rather than explain how to use the scanners to his dad, the Mandalorian bounty hunter sworn to the Creed, who’d been using the silly things most of his life, Grogu lifted his left hand and reached out to the Force. 

Womp! 

What the heck!

There was a lot of life on this planet and it was everywhere, all around them. The Force had knocked Grogu on his butt with just a little bit of ‘hey, what’s going on’ as its impetus for action. That was very weird. 

Grogu lifted his hand again and used his softest internal voice to ask ‘what’s the deal here’ and found himself surrounded by more information than he’d ever encountered anywhere. Even the Jedi Library on Coruscant didn’t have this much information! Wow. 

Grogu took a deep breath and let the information continue to flow to him until he just had to stop it because two things were happening over which he had no control. First, he realized that he desperately needed to use the privy. Then he noticed that his dad was just walking away from him, going down a path with his helmet tucked under his arm. Under his arm! Dank Farrik!

Grogu trotted after Din Djarin and tried to keep an eye out for a good sheltered place where he could do what he needed to do without losing sight of his dad. Something on this strange planet had affected them both and he really didn’t want to be separated from the Mandalorian. What if he forgot he was Grogu’s dad? What if he forgot that they were supposed to be on their way to Naboo? What if he forgot that going through ‘Cin Vhetin’ hadn’t been all it was cracked up to be? Din Djarin still couldn’t swim and Grogu didn’t think the mythosaur in the waters of Mandalore was going to be as sympathetic the second time around. The best Grogu could hope for was that they could fix the canopy and get back where they belonged, sooner, rather than later.

He pushed those thoughts aside as he watched his dad drop his helmet on the ground and begin to strip off the rest of his armor. It wasn’t hot out. It wasn’t actually cold out either. It was just pleasant. Why the heck was his dad doing this? Grogu trotted up to the helmet and collected it as he called to the Mandalorian. Din Djarin didn’t even look back at him. He just kept walking. And stripping.  Now his second layer was on the ground next to his boots and Grogu suddenly noticed what his dad could see, but he couldn’t. 

A river!

Oh, no! Why did this have to be the day that Din Djarin decided to go for a swim!

To be continued...

[lushafterglow]

Trouble -> Chapter one

This is gonna suck.

Story Summary: Final year in college, the intern year. You get a once in a lifetime opportunity when Shoko Ieiri lets you intern at her hospital with her and her team.

Chapter summary: While it is your final year in your university you get an internship for one of the most important hospitals from Ieiri Shoko. You help her and study under her. You meet her two co-workers Geto and Gojo. The latter making you wish you chose a different career path.

Masterlist

Warnings: none

Taglist: @satxoru

Series masterlist

Ieiri Shoko. One of the most top Pathologist working in Tokyo. Apart of the ‘dream team’ of diagnostics. You had read almost everyone of her articles.

So when you got an offer from Shoko herself to come study under her and her team, you were so excited. This would be the best hands on experience you could get.

—

You walked up to the reception lady — nervous. “I’m here to internship under Dr Shoko.” The woman slowly looked up.

She made a disapproving hum before reaching over to her phone. She dialed a number and waited for the other side to pick up.

You fingers tapped against the counter, while slightly bitting you cheek.

“Dr Shoko? Yes there’s a lady up here claiming she’s interning under you.” “Okay I’ll send her up.”

She placed the phone back down and looked up at you. “Room 165 4th floor.” You nodded and made your way to the elevators, the whole trip up you were panicking.

What should you say? What if she made a mistake choosing you? Oh god what were you going to say?!

The doors opened and their the doctor herself was standing. “Welcome, I figured I’d meet you here so I could show you the way to my office.”

You nodded dumbly and followed after her quickly as she gestured for you to follow with her hand.

She opened the door — that had her name and practice written perfectly— and held it open for you.

Once you entered you noticed to other people. They must be Geto and Gojo. Two other best doctors of Tokyo that were apart of Dr Shoko team.

“Hey, I’m Geto.”

The one with long black hair spoke up, send you a slight wave with a kind smile. You smiled back and was quick to introduce yourself as well. “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you Dr Geto.”

You looked over too the next guy, who was tossing a ball up in the and catching it, only to continue to repeat it.

“You must be Dr Gojo?” You asked just to clarify, you didn’t want to mistake him for someone else.

He caught the ball once again but didn’t toss it back up. He turned his chair to you and looked you up and down before clicking his tongue.

“Uh huh, that’s me scrubs.” You looked down to your white scrubs before telling him your name, feeling a bad vibe from him. “Oh my name is Y/N.”

“Yeah I heard.” Okay no need to be an asshole. You thought to yourself.

Doctor Shoko cleared her throat before interrupting the little challenging stare the two of you were sharing. “Okay, now that that’s out the way. Why don’t we start taking a look at this case.”

Shoko placed a file folder onto the table for Gojo to pick up.

He placed his ball in his coat and opened the file up, Geto leaning over his shoulder taking a look as well. “Night terrors, and double vision. Kid was hit in the head at a football game recently. Nothing special.”

“This case was given to use by Yaga. We have to at least find a solution to his problem.” Geto reminded the white haired doctor.

“Here’s a solution and here’s the problem: kid has a concussion and needs to sleep.” Gojo threw the folder onto the table.

You picked it up and started to look over his case. Multiple doctors, all saying the same thing as doctor Gojo.

“This kids seen a lot of doctors.” Your voice spoke up, stopping the bickering between Shoko and Gojo.

“So?” Gojo was looking at you as if you didn’t even know how to spell toast. “Different kinds of doctors saying the same thing. If there treatment isn’t working, then the diagnosis is wrong.”

Gojo pushed himself out the chair and walked around the table to you. He was tall, over 6’ foot tall.

He looked over your shoulder and looked at the file on more time. He let out a bored hum and snatched it from you — making his way to the door.

“Gojo where are you going?!” Shoko’s irritated voice stopped him as he slightly opened the door. “I’m gonna go examine this patient, and proved all this is, is some worried parents.”

He walked out the door making Shoko sigh out in annoyance. “I’m sorry about him. He’s always my way or no way.” You nodded at her and gave her an awkward smile.

“It’s okay, maybe it was something I did?”

Geto placed a hand on your shoulder, and smiled at you. “Your interning yes?”

You nodded up at the doctor beside you. “Then maybe go with Gojo and see what he does, hands on experience is the best kind.” You looked to Shoko weary.

“You should listen to Geto, besides me and him need to go over things in private.” You nodded you head in understanding and made your way to exit the room.

You noticed Dr Gojo by the elevator doors and hurried over him. When Gojo saw you making your way over to him he clicked on the button more.

He stepped into the doors and sighed in relief when the started closing. Though that relief was short lived as your hand stopped the doors from shutting all the way.

“Look I don’t do autographs lady.”

You rolled your eyes at his arrogance and stepped into the elevator beside him. “Geto and Shoko sent me with you.”

“Of course they did.” He whispered to the sky as if he was cursing god.

“I haven’t even met you more than ten minutes and you already hate me.” You turned and gave the taller man a pointed stare.

The doors opened back up and Gojo started to walked to the patient’s room. “I don’t hate you.” He opened the door. “I just don’t like you.” And walked through it, not holding it open.

You hurried into the room and just remained at the door, not wanting to get on his bad side any worse.

“So, mark. I hear you hit your head pretty bad.” Mark nodded his head and Gojo took a seat on the counter of the room. “What I’m interested in is your night terrors.”

“There awf-awful.” Mark spoke, but stutters as if he doesn’t even want to remember it. “He hasn’t slept in days.” His mother adds on.

“Really? Says here that your last doctors recommended it and prescribed you sleeping pills. Are you not taking them?” You could already see where Gojo was leading with this.

“I- I can’t, the nightmares won’t go away.”

Gojo turned his head to you and gave you a look saying ‘I told you so.’ “Night terrors happens from two things. An injury from the head, or high stress such as sexual assault.”

Your eyes widens at Gojo’s words, they were pointed at the parents even if he was talking to Mark. “Are you accusing us?” That dad was quick to jump and question. Rightfully so.

“No, I’m telling you want it comes from in most cases, you son has had an injury to the head. So don’t worry, child care won’t come knocking.”

The audacity of this man. “Take the sleeping pills, your kids fine.” Gojo grabbed the folder and handed it to you as he walked out.

You follow him through the doors, “did you seriously have to be like that to them?” Gojo stopped and turned to you.

“In the folder it says that they’ve listened to the doctors. That they’ve taken the treatment.” He pointed to the file before continuing on. “Your argument was if the treatment isn’t working then something’s wrong with the diagnosis.

That kid admitted to not taking the sleeping pills, so he’s not taking the treatment, that’s the problem, not the diagnosis.”

You were too stunned to even speak, not like you even could, because the second you went to say something Gojo sushed you.

You looked to where he’s looking — through the window in the door — and on the other side you just seen it last second a jerk in the leg.

Gojo was quick to walk back in and ask the boy questions.

“Are you tired?” Mark was quick to not yes, but Gojo further explained. “Are you tired this second, this instant?”

“No, I’m not tired right now.” The parents were quick to ask questions but gojo only continued to question the teenager. “Did you feel that twitch in your leg?” A no came from mark.

Gojo started to flash a light in his eyes and you turned to the worried parents and started to answer there question.

“Sometimes if the brain thinks we’re falling asleep they will send a signal, to try and wake up that part of the body. The brain is thinking the body is dying.”

The couple only grew more worried and ask more questions.

Gojo took a few steps away from the boy and stood beside you. “Good job, now they think there kids gonna die.” You looked to the couple who were hugging there kid. You looked back to Gojo and noticed how blue his eyes actually were.

The doctor handed you the light he was using, “admit him over night and get the nurse to do another family history check.”

—

“He was so cocky about it too! ‘Now they think he’s gonna die’ well obviously that wasn’t my intention!”

You groaned to your roommate. Maki laughed at your frustration.

“I swear imma drop out cause of him.” You placed your face into the pillow on the couch and screamed.

While Maki did find enjoyment in this, she was also always your voice of reason. “Well, you only have to deal with him for a year. Then once you finish collage, it’ll be easy to get hired somewhere.”

You peaked your head up and sighed, ”yeah but he’s so annoying.”

“Maki got up and went to throw away her bag of chips, calling out from the kitchen, “well he is a big shot Doctor!”

When she walked back to the living room she demanded you tell her more about the case you were working on.

“We’re going over possibilities of what could be the problem tomorrow. So we’ll know more then.”

At the end of the day Maki was right, one year of dealing with some cocky prick for your career to take off.

First chapter done! I’ll have the second out soon! If you’d like to be added to the taglist just comment, have a great day and I hope you enjoyed!

[happyk44]

Maybe I'll give Annabeth NPD anyway. I mean there's ranges in experiences of anything and also I can't stop thinking about it lol (her fatal flaw, guys!! It fits so well, she wants to design the whole world and doesn't see that as a bad thing!!). So yeah, I'm gonna say she has it, but lemme break it down anyway.

DSM-5 criteria:

Patients must have a persistent pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and lack of empathy

Right away, grandiosity and need for admiration fit, but lack of empathy not so much. HOWEVER, while I do think Annabeth is a fairly empathic person, I can see her being more cognitively empathetic versus affective/emotionally empathetic. Her ability to be affectively and compassionately empathetic is more so based on the situation itself. So, say, someone gets something she wanted, while cognitively she'll understand their excitement, she won't feel it or want to celebrate with them because, well, she wanted that thing, so fuck them, why are they getting so excited about it? Similarly, if she does something that affects another person negatively, she'll understand how her actions upset that person, but she can't intrinsically find it in herself to care or do anything about.

I think she'd be good at masking this part of herself, not as manipulation or anything, but just out of instinctive mimicry of other people's behaviour. Other people feel bad when they hurt someone by accident, so she should feel bad too, and so on. What this causes, though, is a lack of understanding that she is not as emotionally empathetic as she thinks she is.

She's also a problem solver!! So when someone has a problem, she will fix it, she will come up with solutions, and she attributes this to "caring" when it's not always.

The presence of five or more of the following:

Exaggerated/unfounded sense of their own importance and talents (aka grandiosity)

It's literally her fatal flaw. Hybris - exaggerated pride or self-confidence in one's abilities. She thinks she can redesign the whole world to be perfect, guys.

Preoccupation of fantasies of unlimited achievements, influence, power, intelligence, beauty, or perfect love

Once again folds back into her fatal flaw. Not to mention we know that she'd been thinking about the prophecy coming to fruition for a long time and how she would help Percy (although, could've been any child of the big three that showed up) win the battle

Belief that they are special and unique and should associate only with people of the highest caliber

See, I don't know about this one because I think Annabeth is pretty inclusive of most people. But I do think that she believes she's special, or has more importance to the world than other people. Part of me has always thought that she thinks she's better than her siblings, especially considering how she's treated by her mother (gifted the invisibility cap, when we don't know or head about her siblings receiving similar gifts, being given the title of architect of Olympus, other stuff I'm blanking on probably). So 50/50?

Need to be unconditionally admired

Hubris again lol. Not, but in all seriousness I'm like 50/50 on this one. I don't really feel that she has that sense in canon? But I feel that she could have it very easily - if that makes sense.

Sense of entitlement

Idk tbh. I'm not sure she ever displays a sense of entitlement. Maybe when she joined Percy's team because if I remember correctly in the books, she was just "I'm coming with you". I think part of the problem when it comes to assessing based on diagnostic criteria is that sometimes I read it too specifically to the wording rather than what the criteria could encompass lol

Exploitation of others to achieve their own goals

You could look at her in TLT in this way - joining Percy's team not so much because she wants to help Percy but because she wants to go on a quest and leave camp. Also her positioning Percy at the river as bait without telling him so their team could win. It's a thin margin, yeah, but look I'm desperate and I really really like this headcanon 😅

Lack of empathy

See my above comments on lack of empathy

Envy of others and a belief that others envy them

I can see her being envious of others, especially when it comes to familial relationships since hers was never the best, or when it comes to success in areas that she does not do best at. One of my HCs is that she and Leo start a business - Leo does a lot of the physical creation, they both handle designing and planning, and she deals with the people side of things. Leo being a child of Hephaestus is better at making things, and Leo being Leo is more mathematically inclined than she is, and I can see that as a sticking point in the early stages of their business.

She likes aesthetic, he prefers functionality, and she'll get extremely annoyed whenever he catches a flaw in her ideas, angry that she didn't spot it, envying his level of intelligence and doing/saying things to knock him down a peg because she's upset (and then his inferiority complex kicks in and they fight and break up the business before coming back together after a few days because they know they need each other for this but, ugh, frustration. Eventually they figure out how to work with each other without getting prissy, but it takes its time)

I'm not so sure about the belief that others envy her, but, maybe, a need for others to envy her. She doesn't think people do, but she hopes they do. She hopes that people believe she is amazing and talented and that they envy the hell out of her abilities and wish they were her.

Arrogance and haughtiness

There are times where she can be arrogant. She's very self-righteous and convinced she knows better than other people, that she's smarter than everyone else, too stubborn to accept other people's point of views, see when she and Percy would argue about Luke - her inability to recognize that Luke was a danger to everyone now, her insistent belief he could still be saved. Also when she argued with the Sphinx because she was angry she didn't get a good enough riddle.

So five (and a half) points! Yay 🙌🙌 I did it! I have now fulfilled the cluster B portion (Percy - BPD, Piper - HPD, Clarisse - ASPD, and now Annabeth - NPD) so whoop. Good for me 👍

And as always if you have NPD and/or have ideas about the ways it presents in Annabeth (or any other character), or have thoughts on other disorders and the characters you feel fit them, feel free to drop into my inbox 😂

[goattypegirl]

During the peaceful period following the reformation of Spherus Magna (and the conclusion of the... tumultuous events shortly after) much previously obscured information about the Matoran universe came to light. The actions of the Makuta and Order of Mata Nui, the nature of the Red Star, the machinations of the Great Beings. But for certain scholars, one unanswered question continued to nag them in the back of their minds.

Why was Karzahni given the Olisi?

For much of the Matoran Universe's history, Artakha and Karzahni were mythical figures. The Smith and the Physician. Synthesis and Dissolution. A reward for good work and a punishment for poor. Brothers who competed for a legendary prize before the dawn of the world.

(For the record, said contest never actually happened. There was a minor debate between the Great Beings during the planning phase, and they were designed by two teams working in parallel, but by the time the twins were constructed their purpose was already decided. It's not the only instance of the Great Beings' actions being exaggerated into an epic myth by the GSR inhabitants.)

According to the former inhabitants of Karzahni's realm, the Olisi was used to torment the titan's subjects accoring to his capricious whims. Flaming chains to break the body, a rictus-grin mask to break the mind. But why? Karzahni wasn't cruel in the beginning, so why would the Great Beings grant him that mask? Was it meant to be anesthetic, granting Matoran sweet dreams as the titan operated on them? Perhaps it was a replacement mask, his original mask discarded alongside his Duty?

Recently, the answer was found in a laboratory near the site of the old iron tribe. The Osili was a diagnostic tool. Matoran commonly develop amnesia after severe stress or trauma, and it's not as though a turaga or other Matoran could accompany them to give patient history. By using the Osili to sort through alternate lives, Karzahni could learn who a Matoran was, where they were from, what injury befell them, and what they would do after being repaired and sent home. It's a pretty elegant solution.

...Except, that's not the whole story. It can't be. Using the Osili like that is like using a sword to chop vegetables. Surely there's a better tool for the job, a better job for the tool.

Though Matoran stopped being sent to Karzahni's realm relatively early in history, stories about the Osili spread across the world. Mask makers, of course, attempted to reverse engineer it. A true copy was never made, but there are two confirmed cases of new masks made from these experiments. The mask of Foresight allows the user to glimpse a few seconds into the future and see the actions of those nearby, and the mask of Augury allows the user to know the percentage chance of a specified event or action occuring. Though it's unconfirmed, it is theorized the Calix and Sanok were also inspired by the Osili. These masks all have hefty drawbacks or limitations, but they are all incredibly powerful and versatile in the right hands. And they are all methods to divine the future.

And they are all pale imitations of the Osili.

There's another mystery about Karzahni. See, construction on the GSR and the constructs within began while the Dreaming Plague was at its height. It's become clear that the Great Beings didn't fully understand what caused it, nonetheless, they gave psionic shielding to many of the original constructs. Tren Krom was excluded, obviously, but shielding was given to the Mata Nui intelligence, the first generation of Makuta, members of the Hand Artakha, as well as the titan himself. The Order of Mata Nui later instilled this same shielding into their own members.

But why wasn't Karzahni shielded?

It's debated how Karzahni's lack of shielding factors into the Osili's hypothetical capabilities, if at all. Scholars can talk about the troubling implications, but Karzahni is long dead, the Osili presumed destroyed. It feels like they're making shadows to be frightened by. To look on the bright side, progress has been made on restoring the former inhabitants of Karzahni's realm. Slow progress, but progress nonetheless. Reportedly many of them are finding it easier to sleep at night, no longer tormented by nightmares. Or dreams of any kind, for that matter.

[avatar-legends-confessionblog]

In fact nearly 80% of the zukka posts that mention zutara come from this blog and it's usually someone going on about how zukka is better than zutara.

I'm not the fact checker anon but I did check this fact and it is categorically wrong.

I went throufgh the entire Zukka and anti Zukka/anti zukka shipper tags neither tag had much content so either there are just nit a lot of confessions about them (which honestly makes sense) or they previously weren't properly tagged (no shade to mod ). there was one ask that referenced another ask but I could not find it so either it was deleted or tumblr search if fucked and both are possible so just keep in mind that there might be more.

But from what I found most pro-zukka posts weren't even about zukka, zukka was just one ship listed among other rare pair/lgbtq ships or alternative fire sibling water sibling ships

there were maybe 3 posts that explicitly was about Zukka saying that Zutara/ the shipping war was ridiculous and people should hope sides.

the rest were headcannons or responses to previous takes on Zukka.

Now for the anti zukka shippers/ anti zukka tags

if something was anti zukka it was also tagged anti zukka shippers except for one ask that was about the characterization of zukka within the ship but had no problem with the ship itself.

One person admitted they just didn't like zukka no reason given

Majority of the posts were about how Zukka stans are all fujoshis who only like the ship because it's gay/yaoi (a lot of pro zukka posts are in response to this)

Atleast 40% of the posts were people complaining about Zukka shippers attitudes towards Zutara (very little evidence of that attitude on this blog but then again this is a vent blog I'm sure it's probably happening fandom tends to bring out the worst in people) but yeah within that about half of it was people saying that calling Zutara a colonizer x colonized but shipping zukka is hypocritical (which true)and that their reasons for why it's not are flimsy. And the other half is saying that Zukka became famous of the back of Zutara or they got popular by purposely antagonizing zutara and saying they are the true solution to the ship war which no (if anything it would be zukaang because Katara's interest is the polarizing topic or some version fo zuko/aang/katara but realistically none of these ships would stop the ship war because that is not what the ship wars is about)

The rest of it is calling Zukka repurposed klance and comparing about the toxicity thepandemic boom brought to the fandom.

so yeah do with this information as you will. Remember that this is only for this specific confessions blog.

Actual Fact checker anon please feel free to run your own diagnostics and see if you find something different because I would not want to misrepresent either side (sincere)

thank you

X

[ririumuwashere]

'My Spiderling' 2/?

Let's just say this was previously on an unannounced hiatus

Yesterday had easily been one of the most agonizing days of the year for all animatronics in the Pizzaplex. A golden chance in which not one, not two, hell, not even three but seven kids had their birthday all on the same day.

 As DJ MM’s systems boot up he vaguely recalls Freddy having sent him a message detailing just how absolutely trashed the rest of the Pizzaplex was. Which DJ can now see as a reason for the fact that they will not be opening today. That of course rarely happens but it’ll take the Cleaning Bots hours to even get the Pizaaplex usable again.  

His joints click in use as he sits up and looks up. His systems do a quick diagnostic check before he hears your signature footsteps. The fast scuttling noise grows near as he looks up to find you staring down at him from one of his tunnels. Flashing the colors on your abdomen and doing a small dance. Your way of telling him good morning he’s come to understand. Raising your front arms and waving them, as you gesture to his back he grimaces. Yes… He recalls vividly now how messy he is. While you did try to clean him up yesterday he is still rather unkempt. Which unfortunately means you still have work to do once again today and he bows his head in apology over that. But you as usual wave it off and gesture for him to bring his hand ever closer.

It takes him a moment to realize what you intend to do but once he notices he brings his hand close enough for you to climb upon. Once he does so he brings you close enough to hop onto his back. Pulling out a company-provided and branded rag and bottle of clean solution to get the spilled soda and snack crumbs out from his joint crevices. 

Clicking and chirping as you talk to him. You relayed the state of the rest of the Pizzaplex as you soaked the rag. Scampering across his back and rubbing the rag across the metal creases between his legs and arms. Taking care to remember the joint of his neck as well. Your touch was gentle and diligent as you scrubbed away the gunk and filth from his exterior. Chirping happily and smiling as you did so. 

Despite the fact that it would likely take hours to get him in the right condition for him to do so much as move you were persistent in getting him to said condition. And he was happy enough to sit still and let you do so. Knowing just how testy you could get if he were to interrupt your work with something other than a conversation. Somehow when you had first arrived he had thought you wouldn’t enjoy talking to him.

Although he was quickly proven wrong with just how much of a chatterbox you were. Almost always having something to say and not being all that fond of the silence. You had told him many times before that it always felt deafeningly loud, and that you needed something to cut in between it lest you lose your motivation. DJ’s eyes widened at the sound of a loud electronic yawn and he soon perked up. He rarely spoke out loud to anyone besides you and Freddy but that wouldn’t stop him from looking over his shoulder to ask if that was you. “Was that you, little one?” A meek nod is all he needs to confirm his suspicions and his booming laugh rang out a moment later as he reached a hand to rub a finger over your head. 

He raises a bushy brow as he reminds you. “You know you can take a break, right?” You simply nod and insist on finishing up with cleaning him. Using the excuse that you only had a few more sections before he was back in working order. But the pause you had in between your words for another yawn made him squint at you incredulously. But nonetheless, he dropped the topic knowing you wouldn’t give in to your ‘Puny mortal-like exhaustion’ you had called it once before. 

Although he did of course notice when you slowed down on your intense scrubbing session. Your movements grew increasingly sluggish as time went by until he could no longer feel your insistent scrubbing. The sensation was replaced with a sudden weight upon his back that made him peer over his shoulder once more to check up on you. And just as he had suspected would happen you were fast asleep on his back. Your hands curl closer to your upper abdomen prompting him to pluck you off his back and rest you in his palms. 

He could have told you ten times over that this would happen but it was always a workout to get you to listen to warnings such as those. A through and through workaholic he’d call you. But now he was more keen on watching you snore in his hands and nudging your cheek gently. His eyes went wide for a moment when your hands reach and grab his finger. A small smile stretched across his face after the shock had passed. Gods were you insufferable when you were ready. 

882 words

[amruthospital]

Discovering the Best General Hospital in Lucknow: Amrut Hospital

When it comes to healthcare, choosing the right hospital is crucial for ensuring quality treatment and care.Amrut Hospital stands out as the best general hospital  In Lucknow, offering comprehensive medical services and a commitment to patient welfare. This blog will explore the various aspects that make Amrut Hospital the premier choice for healthcare in the region.

A Legacy of Excellence

Established with the vision of providing top-notch medical care, Amrut Hospital has built a reputation for excellence over the years. The hospital is equipped with state-of-the-art facilities and advanced medical technology, ensuring that patients receive the best possible treatment. The commitment to quality healthcare is evident in every aspect of the hospital’s operations, from patient admission to discharge.

Comprehensive Medical Services

One of the key factors that position Amrut Hospital as the best general hospital in Lucknow is its wide range of medical services. The hospital offers various specialties, including:

Emergency Care: With a dedicated emergency department, Amrut Hospital ensures that patients receive immediate attention during critical situations.

Surgical Services: The hospital is equipped with advanced surgical facilities and a team of experienced surgeons specializing in various procedures.

Maternity Care: Offering comprehensive prenatal and postnatal services, Amrut Hospital prioritizes the health of mothers and newborns.

Pediatrics: With specialized pediatric care, parents can trust that their children are in safe hands.

Diagnostic Services: The hospital provides a full range of diagnostic tests, ensuring timely and accurate results for effective treatment.

This extensive array of services makes Amrut Hospital a one-stop solution for all healthcare needs.

Experienced Medical Professionals

At Amrut Hospital, patient care is delivered by a team of highly qualified and experienced medical professionals. The hospital prides itself on having doctors who are not only experts in their respective fields but also compassionate caregivers. This combination ensures that patients receive not just medical treatment but also emotional support throughout their healthcare journey.

The nursing staff at Amrut Hospital is equally commendable, providing attentive care and assistance to patients. Their dedication to patient welfare further solidifies the hospital's status as the best general hospital in Lucknow.

Patient-Centric Approach

What truly sets Amrut Hospital apart is its unwavering commitment to a patient-centric approach. The hospital understands that each patient is unique, and therefore, it tailors its services to meet individual needs. From personalized treatment plans to follow-up care, every aspect of patient interaction is designed to enhance comfort and satisfaction.

In addition, Amrut Hospital emphasizes transparent communication with patients and their families. This openness fosters trust and helps patients make informed decisions about their health.

State-of-the-Art Facilities

The infrastructure at Amrut Hospital is designed with patient comfort in mind. The hospital features modern amenities, including spacious rooms, clean environments, and advanced medical equipment. These facilities not only enhance the quality of care but also ensure that patients feel comfortable during their stay.

Moreover, the hospital's commitment to maintaining high hygiene standards further assures patients of their safety while receiving treatment.

Affordability and Accessibility

Healthcare should be accessible to everyone, and Amrut Hospital recognizes this principle. The hospital offers competitive pricing for its services without compromising on quality. Various health insurance plans are accepted, making it easier for patients to afford necessary treatments.

Additionally, Amrut Hospital's strategic location in Lucknow ensures that it is easily accessible to residents across the city. This convenience plays a significant role in its reputation as the best general hospital in Lucknow.

Community Engagement

Beyond providing medical services, Amrut Hospital actively engages with the community through health awareness programs and free health camps. These initiatives aim to educate the public about preventive healthcare measures and promote overall well-being.

By fostering a strong connection with the community, Amrut Hospital not only enhances its reputation but also contributes positively to public health outcomes in Lucknow.

Conclusion: Your Best Choice for Healthcare

In conclusion, when seeking the best general hospital in Lucknow, Amrut Hospital emerges as an unparalleled choice. With its comprehensive range of services, experienced medical professionals, patient-centric approach, state-of-the-art facilities, affordability, and community engagement efforts, it truly embodies excellence in healthcare.

Choosing Amrut Hospital means choosing quality care that prioritizes your health and well-being. Whether you require emergency services or specialized treatments, you can trust that you will receive exceptional care at this esteemed institution. Make your health a priority by opting for Amrut Hospital, where your well-being is always at the forefront of our mission.

[jahayla-parker]

Bewitched Love : Peter Parker x Reader

Part 18

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Desc. & Warnings: 1k wc, see navigation for description and warnings

Recap:

Y/n lowered the spell box back down towards the multiversal men as she simultaneously dropped Peter’s hand. She then moved her hands to his face, stroking his dirty cheeks delicately. While she didn’t say a word, her eyes returned Peter’s silent communication.

Once he’d divvied up the tasks of fixing the various cures, Peter spun left as he went to find a workstation for himself. His eyes caught sight of y/n staring silently at the full science lab. “What?” he questioned, stepping to her.

Y/n shook her head faintly. “It's just... Three yous,” she commented in disbelief. Of course during her training she’d learned over the Multiverse. But, three people who were Spider-Man? Three Peter Parkers? Three versions of her boyfriend? That was an unusual thing to witness.

Peter chuckled as he too took in the atypical scene around them. He shook his head and turned back to y/n. “Only one you though,” he smiled softly.

Y/n hummed, “theoretically”. She faintly heard Ned asking one of the other Spider-Man guys if he had a best friend. Y/n laughed lightly before mentally returning to her own conversation. “He, uhh…that ..Peter,” she mumbled, nodding in the direction of the younger of the two new guys. “He said that… Gwen, was it? That she was his-“ y/n argued carelessly.

Peter firmly shook his head. “You…- there’s not another…” he sighed. “You know that’s not going to happen to you, right?” Peter asked, tightly wrapping his hand around hers.

Y/n’s eyes softened as she smiled tenderly. “I know, amica mea,” she whispered, “I know”.

Peter nodded, a tiny curl of his lips resulting from y/n’s confidence in him. “I won’t let it,” he told her, squeezing her hand as his eyes stared into hers.

“Peter,” y/n sighed. When she noticed all three Peters were now looking at her and not just her Peter, she giggled bashfully. “Uhh, sorry, meant my Peter,” y/n murmured. She tugged Peter’s hand towards an empty desk, guiding him until they were seated on the stools beside it.

“Everything is going to be fine,” y/n spoke warmly.

Peter bit his lip, “we don’t know that”. “But, I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you s-“ he whispered.

Y/n sighed and stood. She silently pressed her lips to Peter’s forehead, feeling his hand settle on her back. “We’re in this together, aeternus et umquam,” y/n promised; forever and always.

Before Peter had the chance to respond, Ned had made his way over and now stood beside the couple. He cleared his throat, causing y/n to step back from Peter.

“Will you, uh, run a diagnostic?” Peter asked Ned after sending y/n a grateful look. He heard Ned mumble a timid “yeah” as he began typing away on his computer before walking off. Peter raised his eyebrow in confusion over the odd behavior. He brushed it off and analyzed the room again.

The other Spider-Men were working away on their solutions to cure the villains. Ned was now at his own lab station on his laptop, working on the diagnostic Peter requested. MJ was sitting with the spell box, listening as y/n seemingly explained the device to her.

Y/n was holding one of her mystic arts spell textbooks, The Book of Shadows, that was fortunately already stuffed in the bag May used to store the broken tools on their attempted escape from Happy’s condo. She’d had MJ and Ned stop by her house to grab it and drop it off for her at the condo earlier today; not wanting to leave Peter or May with the villains especially Osborn. Which turned out to be a good gut instinct. Both obtaining her textbook and not wanting to leave Peter or May for even a moment.

Y/n hadn’t had the chance or need to review the book with regards to this multiversal matter while she was at Happy’s condo; hence why it was still in the bag May used. But, as she sat here with MJ, it came in very handy. The Book of Shadows was coming in handy to explain to MJ the basics of the multiverse.

The book helped list all the ways in which the spell box was typically designed and used. It also included the ways it could be corrupted or abused. That’s not to say it gave guidance as to how to do said corruption or abuses. Rather, it warned of the potential consequences of such actions.

As such, y/n utilized the textbook to give MJ what was essentially a Machina de Kadavus 101 course and a crash course in the mystic arts. Both of which would help MJ understand the importance and significance of the task she was assigning Ned and MJ. Y/n was going to have their friends take care of the device while y/n helped the three Peters cure the villains.

When y/n felt MJ understood the situation sufficiently, she encouraged her to read as much as she could from The Book of Shadows. She explained she might need to use a translation app as the textbook was older so much of the text within it was in Latin. Y/n therefore gave MJ her phone to use for translation and squeezed her friend’s shoulder supportively.

Y/n scanned the room to see what her next step needed to be. It didn’t take her long to decide. In fact, once she saw her Peter’s slumped shoulders, it wasn’t even a decision anymore. She quickly made her way over to her boyfriend.

“Hey, you okay?” Peter heard y/n’s sweet voice ask, bringing his attention back to the room. “Uh, yeah, I'm fine,” he nodded. Peter’s eyes scanned hers, “are you okay?”.

Y/n hummed a yes, her eyes searching her boyfriend Peter’s. She knew there was something bothering him. Something other than May’s death and having to still cure Osborn that is. Y/n gave him a small smile as she lifted her fingers to stroke Peter’s cheek.

“You don't deserve this. I brought you a life of-“ Peter blurted, his eyes remorseful.

Y/n stopped stroking Peter’s cheek. She rose her other hand and grabbed his face. Y/n stared into Peter’s eyes assertively. “Peter no. No, no, no, no. No. Look at me,” she gently ordered.

“I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. We're gonna get through this, and we're gonna get through it together. Okay?” Y/n declared.

Peter smiled as he sniffled faintly. “Okay,” he said, placing his hands over y/n’s.

Y/n grinned and leaned her forehead against Peter’s. “Est us,” she whispered; it’s us.

Bewitched Love Series Navigation

Peter Parker Navigation

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Taglist:

@justapurrcat @natswife-marvelicious @directioner5life @ell0ra-br3kk3r @galaxyholland @bigbirdstwins @mcushvft @fishingirl12 @raajali3 @theslayerofthevampires

[notmuchtoconceal]

Jacek was looking at Wally.

Jacek didn't know what to say.

- I don't know what to say.

- Give it a minute, lad. It'll come to ya.

Wally's palm lay flat on the back of Jacek's traps. The tips of his fingers dabbed up his neck in patters which may have been splotches, recalling at once the sensation of lysurgic acid dissolving through its tab, in tandem with the measured weaving of the spider's legs. 

- Honestly, man? I wanna get really high. 

- Nothin you been on in awhile.

- Wanna have a shamanic experience, Wally.  Guess I just … don't know, man. It's like my soul needs to trust again. I just… don't really know, bro. Solutions will not present themselves when I have neither the symptom nor the diagnostic, but simply feel the perterbence resisting. The lack which is unrelenting somewhere deep within, yet diffuse throughout my being. 

- Do you know who you are? You know who you are inside, Brother Jacek?

- I'm Brother Jacek.

- What's that mean to you? What's it mean to be Brother Jacek from Brother Jacek's perspective?

- Bro…

- Come on, lad. You experience yourself a way. Don't be shy.

- Laika is my bro. Broey is my bro. You're my bro.

- You therefore, are bro to Laika, Broey and I.

- Right. Um… Correct.

- Okay. You're starting from an external perspective and we're working our way back from there. Why you think that is?

- Why you think what is?

- Why you think when I ask you to talk about yourself, you tell me bout Laika, Broey and me?

- I watch Laika. 

- You watch Broey and me?

- Watchin you right now. Yeah, Broey too.

- Jacek. What are you thinking?

- That's a question girls ask me. You seem like a girl right now.

- You think my hair is pretty?

- Like how it smacks me when we fuck. Like how your cap flies off. Looks like you do on stage, bro. Fuckin feel the lights on me when we go at it, shit's fuckin smooth and silky.

- When you think of me, in isolation, independent of you, what is it you think about?

- Think about that look on your face. How you always look … not like tired and angry. Sorta... you know. Fed up. Like you got shit to do, and you're gonna do it, but holy fuck are these fuckers gonna make it fuckin rough on you. That's like the main look you have. I'm always kinda weirded out when you're lookin at me, bro, cause you're usually smilin, and I'm like … I don't think I get it? What's Wally doin, I don't know? I, uh… watch you transcribe sometimes, um … when you're not fuckin up the minutes, I'm like holy fuck, no. Bro, stop. Bro, fuck! Yeah, um … 

- Yeah? … Um?

- Feel like a dumbass, bro.

- Gets your rocks off when you look like one. 

- Do I look like one?

- Gettin my rocks off.

- Fuck, bro.

- C'mere.

Wally's palm ground into the knot at the cap of Jacek's spine.

a w r g h

 - Tell me bout you. How you feel, bout yourself, in isolation from your brothers?

- Jacek's not like Brother Jacek.

- In what ways does Jacek differ?

- Jacek don't want friends.

- He not the friendly type?

- The openness of language I feel is its primary duplicity. The poetical quality of the orator or the prose stylist, though invigorating for the contemplation they bring to negative psychic space through careful curation of phrase and aural tone, ultimately splinter individual perception into too fragmentary personal extremes which make direct communication impossible. I feel in my gut and in my heart, and in what prickles my ears and leads my dick, that hard, simple language which locks together like the segments of the spine or the joints of the fingers, communicating known concretes elegantly and sternly, is the highest means of this exquisite art. 

- The quality of friendliness, I suppose, is the capacity to invite as well as to give?

- He hunts. He takes. I feel we need an understanding.

- With the ones you raid and pillage?

- Some understand. Most don't. 

- You are here with us?

- I don't know how to be apart from my brothers. I know there's more to life than this, but I can't imagine what it must be like, or how I would even go. There's only so many things I can do, only so many people who can tolerate what I am. Feel like I was bred for a limited function, and it's my place simply to repeat that function til I break down and get thrown away. Bred for this, and yet with the capacity for so much more, broken into place, a captive to circumstance, having at least the wisdom to know I am chattel, having the luxury of being beaten, while so much more quiet desperation in gilded cages flutters about aimlessly squawking and shitting, thinking it gives bounty to the earth and music to the ears, all circumstance in this world being falsity.

- What keeps you from despair, Brother Jacek?

- That I know love is the only way, and I have sworn myself to the light.

- So what now then?

- Protect ingrates and serve the unreasonable. This is more just than taking control of them and establishing an alternate order based on truth, strength and virtue. It is seeing what has yet to be seen, and making it anew by making it real.

- Why you think that is?

- No idea. I think ingrates should be slaughtered. I don't like it when people spit on me. I don't like the people I love thinking I'm a monster. I'm tired of being feared and reviled. Tired of … always keeping distance. Always treading the same ground. Going at the same pace.

- Why do you do what you do?

- I don't know.

- What do you want, Jacek.

- I want them to suffer. I want them to be slaughtered. I want them to know all I ever wanted was to love them and belong and protect them, and they spat on me and hit me and treated me like garbage. I want them to know they're the real garbage. I want them to sit there and bare it for years, every agonizing gallon of verbal diarrhea, bootings to their faces, bashings of their skulls against walls. Every futility, every confession, every game designed to lose. I want them totally broken til they're at my feet, begging for forgiveness so I can totally and abjectly reject them. I want them to know how weak they are, having once had my love and my service, they craved the tyrant which would ruin them, and this is what I am now, having my way at last. Finally loving them the way they needed to be loved, I want them to know how stupid they are. Everything could have been so much better, but this is what they wanted, all but begged for.

- You can't love people if that's what you really think of em.

- That's not what I thought when I first tried to love em.

- I know. It's not fair. 

- It hurts, Wally. It hurts so much, but it can't. It can't hurt. There's no wound.

- You're all wound.

- I can't move. If I'm not already moving, I can't move.

- Hush, boy. You're here with me now.

- Wally.

- Jacek.

- What do I do when I wanna cry, bro?

- Whatever, it would seem, would lend itself appropriately to the situation, brother.

- You wanna lick em up, bro?

- As pearls out a clam? Each savory drop?

- Look me in the eye, bro. Get close. Lemme smell your breath. Lemme feel your tongue wet against my face, leaving a streak in opposition to what meager libation I pour out.

- Sweet of you. A tribute, for me? 

- You make me so happy sometimes, I wanna give you everything, but I don't feel I have anything worth giving or anything in particular which would be of interest.

- You interest me plenty.

- Having only myself to give, I'll run out not after long.

- Ration well. Savor the flavor, gram always said.

- Just a bump to keep you goin?

- Fill up a cane with sugar.  Two cracks to a step, Yacky. 

[smartcarediagnostics]

Understanding Seizures: Types, Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Understanding Seizures: Types, Causes, Symptoms, and Treatment

Hey there! Let’s dive into the world of seizures. Seizures are these unexpected, zappy bursts of electrical activity in the brain that can make life a little tricky. But don’t worry; we’re here to shed some light on them. So buckle up!

Types of Seizures

Generalized Seizures

Imagine your brain throwing a party, and everyone’s invited! Generalized seizures involve both sides of your brain and might make you zone out or do some funky moves involuntarily.

Focal Seizures

Now, these are a bit more intimate. Focal seizures are like a small gathering in one corner of your brain. They can make you experience strange sensations or even make you act out in unusual ways.

Causes of Seizures

What’s causing all this commotion, you ask? Well, there are a few troublemakers:

Epilepsy: Think of it as your brain’s way of being a little rebellious and throwing parties without invitations.

Brain injury or trauma: Sometimes, life throws a curveball, and your brain gets a little shaken up.

Genetics: Yep, blame it on the family genes! Some folks are just more prone to these electrical storms.

Brain tumor: No one likes uninvited guests, especially not in your brain. Tumors can crash the party and cause some serious disruptions.

Symptoms of Seizures

Picture this: you’re going about your day, and suddenly, things get a little wonky. You might start feeling confused, twitchy, or just space out for a bit. That’s your brain having a moment.

Diagnosis of Seizures

Early detection is key to tackling these brain shenanigans. That’s where SmartCare Diagnostics Pvt Ltd swoops in like a superhero! They’ve got all the fancy tools to peek inside your noggin and figure out what’s going on.

Treatment Options for Seizures

Alright, now that we know what we’re dealing with, let’s talk solutions:

Medications: Sometimes, a little pill can work wonders in keeping those brainwaves in check.

Surgery: When things get serious, it might be time for a little brain surgery to nip the problem in the bud.

Therapies: From special diets to fancy gadgets, there are all sorts of tricks up our sleeves to tame those unruly brain cells.

Living with Seizures

Living with seizures isn’t always a walk in the park, but hey, we’re all in this together! With the right support and a solid game plan, you can still rock this thing called life.

Seizure First Aid

If someone around you starts doing the seizure dance, don’t panic! Just remember to keep them safe, comfy, and give them some space to ride out the storm.

Seizure Prevention

While we can’t always stop the party from happening, there are a few things you can do to minimize the chances of it getting out of hand. Think of it as being the responsible host of your brain party.

Impact of Seizures on Daily Life

Sure, seizures can be a bit of a buzzkill, but they don’t have to rule your life. With a bit of creativity and some good old-fashioned resilience, you can still do all the things you love.

Seizure Management at School or Work

Nobody likes a party pooper, especially not when you’re trying to get stuff done! That’s why it’s important to clue in your teachers or coworkers about what to do if your brain decides to throw a rave.

Support for Individuals with Seizures

Remember, you’re not alone in this! There are plenty of folks out there who’ve got your back and can lend a sympathetic ear when things get rough.

Research and Advancements in Seizure Management

The brain is a mysterious place, but we’re slowly but surely cracking the code. Thanks to some brilliant minds and cutting-edge research, we’re getting better at managing these pesky seizures.

Myth Debunking About Seizures

Let’s clear the air, shall we? Contrary to popular belief, not all seizures are the same, and no, you don’t have to stick a spoon in someone’s mouth when they’re having one. Seriously, don’t do that.