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silvercrystalwhump · 3 years ago

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Little thing based on an idea for Ash

@ashintheairlikesnow owns all of these characters I just an idea one day and decided- Hey I'ma write this. Enjoy

TW: implied noncon, noncon photo taking, general bbu warning, Owen Grant exists

Vincent drums his fingers across the wood with nails bitten to near bleeding. A hard drive sits on the table in front of him, almost eating at his eyes by simply existing. It’s red, and the word Memories is written on the side. His eyes bore into the table, wanting the hard drive to combust and leave his life.

“You know I could always see what's on there?”

James, the only person other than his therapist to know about Owen, leans by an open window. The sound of Blue Jays singing outside dances through his words like background music on set. The only reason he had the displeasure of knowing about that migraine-inducing part of his life was that Vincent forgot to watch his liquor intake at an event and vomited out his entire life story to James in one night. Needless to say, he woke up the next morning with a hangover that could kill god and a very concerned James who knew too much.

Vincent shakes his head, “I am fairly certain I know what's on this, I don’t want you seeing that.”

James doesn’t respond, “I have an incinerator at home. You can just get rid of it there.”

“If it’s not I’ll be destroying something I actually like.”

Vincent did not even know why he had him come over. After he saw the handwriting he just went on autopilot. “Could you drive down about five minutes down, there’s this small coffee place that makes pecan pie flavored coffee, can you go get me some?”

“Sure,” James says, “Do you want me to go so you can do this alone and I can come back later or?”

“No, I just need you out of the house for maybe 15 minutes, it’s not like you probably have already figured out what I think is on this hard drive.”

James shrugs, “You want something to eat too?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Vincent hears James’ keys jungle quietly and the door opens. He can hear his footsteps walk down his porch. As he listens to James’ car start, Vincent puts his head in his hands. His finger knit into his hair and closes, threatening to rip the follicles right from his skull. I really don’t want to see this. He exhales as he hears the car pull out of the driveway and his gate slide closed.

Inhale, he closes his eyes and fumbles the hard drive into the laptop. Then, exhaling, he opens his eyes.

USP Pot In-Use. Transfer 486 GB of data onto this device?

Half a terabyte of data just sitting on a hard drive. A hard drive that was in the button of one of Vincent’s bags for months. Vincent starts to chew on the inside of his cheek, hands trembling near the mouse pad.

Yes.

Not enough storage for transfer. Preview file?

Yes.

A handful of files transfer to his laptop. Some files were named with dates, some with pet names, some with actual event titles but all were photos. Vincent closes his eyes and opens one simply labeled Coffee. The actual photo itself is just him sitting in one of his old dressing rooms back when working with Owen. There is a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner of the photo. This was definitely Owen’s phone. Owen’s phone always had a blurry spot in the upper left-hand corner no matter how much Owen wiped it off.

The photo looks like it was taken at an awkward angle. Vincent pinched the bridge of his nose and mutters, “So he stalked me long before the incident, I stopped working there months before it happened.” The other handful of photos are similar; pictures were taken without Vincent noticing, usually at work. The last one was in his own house, but it was during a party he remembered that he invited Owen to.

Then a video pops up only labeled with a date.

Vincent reaches up and mutes his computer, and slowly presses play on the video. It starts with Owen muttering something before sticking his phone up and peering through a window. The video is of Vincent sleeping, and it lasts for nearly 30 minutes before the phone is dislodged, and the video finishes.

The next set of photos and videos are dated during his time with Owen.

He gets through three before rushing to the bathroom to puke.

When James gets back, Vincent has seen enough. He was right. It was Owen’s hard drive, and somehow he got a hold of it. James hands Vincent the coffee and the bag.

“I’m not gonna lie, I kinda forgot what you said about food so I just got you a scone since I was listening to the radio talk about the new federal policy on box boys.”

Vincent took a sip of the coffee and raised an eyebrow at James, “Something changed?”

“The emancipation law, it was signed by the president a week ago and the changes went into effect today,” James says as he sips his own coffee, “If you own a box boy for over a year and they meet a handful of prerequisites you can emancipate them and give them legal citizenship.”

“I honestly thought it would get shot down.”

“Well since the senator that was so against it was voted out this election no one else has objected,” James says, and he pulls up his phone, “Well the owner has to be the one to sign them for emancipation. Senator Grant was her name wasn’t it?”

Vincent takes a bite out of the scone. He swallows both the scone and a thought.

“Does it say anything about private transfer?”

“I think you just have to have their papers. Why?”

Vincent looks down at his food, and an idea pops into his head, “What’s Senator Grant doing now since she’s not in office.”

James shrugs, “Let me see if anyone said anything?” He taps on his phone, the little buzzes echo around the room like flies to trash. James pauses, “I’m pretty sure she’s just at home preparing for the next election why?”

“I think I might need you to help me make a phone call.”

Weeks later, Vincent paces, listening to James talk on the phone in the other room. He could not physically hear Owen’s voice through the phone without falling apart.

“That’s my ear,” James says sarcastically, “Do you agree with this or not?”

Silence.

Click.

James knocks on the half-open door, “You alright Vincent?”

“Are you done?” Vincent asks, tighter than a spring.

James nods, “After the screaming he agreed, do you want me to go over with the papers so you don’t have to see them?”

“Please, I’m more than likely already going to have to be on a phone call with his Mother and that's stressful enough.”

Vincent opens the door of his study and steps out, “I need a drink.”

“It's noon Vincent.”

Vincent has one hand on the liquor cabinet and chuckles dryly, “Perfect.”

‘Vincent, no.”

Making dead eye contact with James, he pulls a bottle of sweet tea vodka out of the cabinet and pours himself a glass. James sighs and shakes his head, “I thought Dr. Brycan told you not to drink.”

“He said that I need to wait until at least noon since I used to drink from dawn until dusk unless I had work, it’s 12:01.”

“Didn't you tell me that you’re probably going to get a phone call from the ex-Senator today,” James says, stepping back, “I think you want to wait at least until then so you're sober when you two talk.”

Vincent pauses with the glass halfway to his lips. He sets it down just hard enough to hear it but not hard enough to crack the crystal. Vincent grumbles, “Fine,” and walks back for his study to wait by the phone.

“You do know this is blackmail, Vincent,” Mrs. Grant grinds through the phone, “And that is illegal.”

“So is paying off someone to hide criminal charges. He either takes the deal or I take this half terabyte hard drive filled with evidence to court and get the press involved, his decision.”

“How much do you have to pay you,” she says after a moment.”

“No amount of cash will buy me over, he either takes the deal or I contact my manager.”

Silence through the phone. Vincent’s nails dig into his jeans. The woman on the other end of the line can’t see the tears pouring down Vincent’s face. One thing acting taught him was how to keep his voice steady for clarity in a microphone. The only difference here is that the microphone is in a phone rather than on a long stick.

“We’ll think about it,” she finally says.

“You have until Sunday.”

“Fine.”

Click.

Vincent holds the phone up to his ear for a second before dropping it onto the table. His head falls into his hands, and he sobs. His mind, blank yet filed with too many feelings, recoils under its own weight. Tears that had been held back for months spill across contract papers and blot through blank ink. The ink spread like blood across bed sheets.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to knock his teeth in?” James asks as he holds the contract and transfers forms in one hand and a Sprite in the other, “Because I will and want to.”

Vincent shakes his head, fingers drumming across the velvet seats of the limousine he almost forgot he had. When did I even buy this was the first thought he had when he dug through contacts. “No, just go inside, get him to fill out the forms, and come back. Then we go home and I gorge myself on M&Ms and fudge ice cream.”

James laughs, “Room numbers on the card right?”

“Yes.”

James steps out of the car. The condominium looms over the limousine, and James bites through white-knuckled rage as he steps into the lobby.

Guess who’s standing there waiting for him, Owen Grant, and his mother. James steps up to them, “Grant, correct?”

Owen looks surprised and gives James a quick not-so-subtle scan, “Are you who Vince sent, I thought he was coming?”

“Do I really need to explain why that will never happen?”

Mrs. Grant gives James a glare to rival the sun’s wrath on gingers. The demeanor shifts almost instantly to a more business appeal, “Well allow us to get this paperwork sorted out as painlessly as possible.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

How long does it take to sign papers? James thinks as he watches Owen go through the forms. These are pre-filled out records; he just needs to sign in three spots. Pen scratches against the paper, Owen’s friendly demeanor evaporated when he reached the final form.

“Why this of all things?” he grinds out.

Neither of the two people answers him. Owen finally tosses the form and an orange file in James’ direction. “All of Kauri’s paperwork; if Vince needs anything else, he’ll have to contact WRU directly.”

James scoops the papers off the table, flipping through them; he looks to make sure Owen didn’t deliberately miss any signatures. An extra envelope sits in the orange file. James pulls it free and waves it in Owen’s face.

“What’s this?”

Owen, stupidly, answers, “A goodbye letter since I just filled out a no contact agreement, I want to give my final goodbyes if you will.”

James rips open the envelope and takes out the letter but keeps in anything that may be important.

“That’s for Vincent’s eyes only!” Owen snaps.

“And that hard drive was for your eyes only wasn’t it? I got Vincent’s consent to look through these forms.”

Owen and his mother glare daggers at James as he tosses the letter back onto the table, “Goodbye.”

James can still feel Owen’s teeth grinding gaze on his back as the door closes behind him.

Jake answers the door, “Hello Vincent.”

“Is Kauri here?” Vincent asks as his fingers shift around the orange folder.

“Depends,” Jake says, leaning against the door frame, “What do you want?”

Vincent sighs, “I called Natalie yesterday and---”

“Just let him in,” Kauri’s voice echoes from inside the safe house, “Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake pierces his lips and steps out of the way. Vincent steps past him and enters the safe house. Natalie had told him to make things as quick as possible, and if Kauri told him to leave, he would. Vincent agreed. Now he simply hoped that he would be able to get this across without being told to leave.

Kauri steps around the corner, a look of tired anger sits behind his eyes.

“Kauri I’m so---”

“Skip the bullshit, Nat said this would be quick.”

Vincent nods and forces the new wave of guilt back into his stomach, “A few days ago, I was able to… convince Owen to transfer ownership of you to me. I want to ask if I can transfer you to anyone else for your own security, so you are entirely out of Owen’s grabbing range.

Kauri stands there with an expression of absolute disbelief. Then, finally, he opens his mouth to speak before stammering, “I said quick but not one sentence, elaborate.”

“Well, to put it in simply I was going through some of my old stuff from during the incident. I found a hard drive with nearly half a terabyte of… evidence that could be used against Owen,” Vincent says as his shoulder tense at memories he wishes to be buried. “A friend of mine brought up the new box boy emancipation law and after that I got an idea. This friend, who I vomited out my entire life story to black out drunk, was willing to help be the liaison between Owen and me. After a telephone call between Mrs. Grant and I, we got the papers signed and so now I have all of your paperwork under my name.”

“Okay?” Kauri says with disbelief still in his tone in tiny blips, “Then why are you talking to me, just leave me alone and I won’t have to worry about Owen.”

Vincent chews at the inside of his cheek, “Here’s the thing, what I did is, in the eyes of the law, black mail. While he could be charged with the same thing, if he took me to court one of the first assets taken for compensation are box boys. So, you could stay under my name but I don’t trust that he won’t try to get you back by either suing or doing something. My question now is, is there someone who you trust enough for me to transfer your ownership form to.”

Kauri pauses. The gears shift in his head for a moment before he looks past Vincent and back at Jake. The widest shit-eating grin nearly splits Kauri’s face in half. He looks over Vincent’s shoulder and laughs, “Hey Jake, want your own Romantic?”

Vincent looks over his shoulder and sees a very exasperated, tired, and just downright flustered Jake.

“I- um- Kauri- I- please don’t wrd it like that, that makes me sound terrible.”

“And.”

“I- mean in order to keep Owen away from you then yes I will but please don’t,” Jake stampers, “I don’t and won’t own you.”

Kauri pushes past Vincent and boops Jake on the nose, “Congrats you get your own boxie.”

“Kauri, please.”

Vincent clears his throat and interrupts, “While I am used to being third wheel um I know you all want me out of your hair so I have the forms with me and after they are signed I will do the heavy lifting with WRU.”

After a second, Kauri chuckles before walking away. Jake just watches as he leaves, a sigh escaping his lips, “He is never going to let me live that down.”

“If you don’t want to-”

“No no,” Jake says, “I will, he's just teasing. What do I have to sign?”

#owen grant should be castrated #bbu #ash is cruel to the boys #kauri #jake #vincent shield #blackmail #tw: implied noncon #tw: noncon phototaking #whump #box boy #box boy universe

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bi-rising · 3 years ago

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hey I just saw your post about PCOS being a hormonal issue not a gyno one while I was surfing the tag. I was diagnosed a couple months back and all my gyno did was a 2 min ultrasound and then prescribed me birth control. I would like to have actual help and more info on it but I'm not sure who I'm supposed to go to for that. Seeing as you were in a similar situation I'd appreciate your help.

seems like gynos really suck with pcos, don't they? 🥴 warning you now, this is going to be a very long post, because i'm essentially writing out absolutely everything i did and everything i've learned, so strap in for a ride aldksfjasldf

the first thing to do is research, research, research. i spent a whole week constantly on pcos websites (such as pcosaa and this article, tho fair warning, the article does use academic speech so it might not be the easiest thing to read) and watching videos and doing what i could to inform myself. the way you can know if you're looking at a credible resource is how the source defines pcos: does it pose it as a reproductive system disorder? or an endocrine (hormonal) disorder? if it talks about it as a reproductive system disorder, then it's probably wrong.

please note that i am not, obviously, a medical professional, but this is how i understand pcos works. i'll use me as an example just so i can use first person perspective, but it applies to pcos patients in general.

so, my cells are insulin resistant. that means that when i eat, my body releases, lets say, 100 (x measurement) of insulin. because my cells are insulin resistant, they say "hey, i'm only gonna use 50x of that insulin". but they still NEED that 100x to function. so my body releases ANOTHER 100x of insulin, so my cells go "ok i'll take 50x" and so while my cells now have the 100x they're supposed, to i now have 100x insulin floating around.

that extra insulin not only wreaks havoc on many systems of the body, it is the reason why most people with pcos that goes untreated end up with type 2 diabetes. the extra insulin is also converted (or spurs the creation of? i'm not entirely certain on the how here) into testosterone and other androgen (male) hormones. so your body has too much insulin, and now it has too much testosterone, too. that extra testosterone is what fucks with your reproductive system and prevents the follicles on your ovaries from maturing (which is what the 'cysts' are). it also often creates increased facial hair, acne (especially on the 'beard line'), and worse body odor. between the testosterone and the insulin, it's nigh impossible to lose weight.

also note that because your body has to release more insulin for your cells to get an adequate amount, you likely crave carbs and sugars (salty/crunchy things and sweets), and you're likely frequently fatigued, bc your body isn't, well, working correctly and it's taking more energy to perform basic functions.

secondly, take all this information that you know to your doctor. i legitimately wrote down some notes about this process in a little notebook and took it with me so that i wouldn't forget/get too anxious to bring any of it up. i also wrote down the things i had been doing to help up to that point (working out, what my diet was, etc etc) and what i was concerned about. lastly, i also wrote down what medications and supplements i had heard of in my research to see what my doctor thought of them.

my doctor's first 'attack' choice is ozempic--it's a weekly shot that helps to regulate insulin levels and also is pretty good at helping weight loss. be aware though that most commercial insurances don't pay for this, but if your doctor is good, they'll try to work around that so that you're not paying a frankly outrageous amount for it. also look out for sometime this fall, my doc said that the ozempic manufacturers are trying to get ozempic approved for weight loss (it's approved for other things) and that should help bring the price down?? anyway, that's my doc's preferred method, but because of my finances, we currently can't do that.

his second attack, which i'm now on, is metformin. it's a medication mostly used for diabetics that helps with blood sugar levels which, again, is that insulin issue. my mom has been on it for 14 years bc diabetes runs in our family anyway, so it's perfectly safe for long time use and definitely helps with keeping either away from or within the pre-diabetes phase. again, i've only been on it now two days so i can't say anything for me but we'll see how it goes lmao

he also approved of me using omega 3 (fish pills) supplements because they help balance things out in general, not just pcos, and he was good with me using spearmint, too. i'm starting out on one cup of spearmint tea a day and see how that effects me, but i've heard of people having up to two spearmint supplement pills and a cup of spearmint tea a day, too. spearmint is a 'defense', as far as i can explain it: it has (tho limited) research that it lowers the testosterone levels in women with pcos. so while it doesn't help with the insulin so it doesn't attack the source, it can help with the testosterone aspect, aka facial hair, acne, etc. i've also heard of cinnamon supplements and inositol supplements helping, but i didn't get a chance to ask about either of those from my doctor, so make sure if you want to give those a try, you talk about them and make sure they won't interfere with any of your other medications and get your doctor's approval on them, first.

thirdly, ask about what else you can do to help yourself. my doctor stressed the importance of a proper night's sleep, as well as advised to try to cut back on carbs and sugars (IMPORTANT NOTE: some people claim that you HAVE to be on a keto diet to get results with pcos. WRONG. please don't do this. keto diets are entirely unsustainable. and cutting back on carbs and sugars does not mean cutting them OUT, it just means if you want a snack, try reaching for a protein or a vegetable instead of a carb. but don't limit yourself!! please, be conscious about what you eat, and remember that sometimes yeah, a slice of cake or a serving of chips isn't going to kill you or set your pcos back. don't risk getting an e.d. just for the sake of your pcos). he also told me that the best exercise that i personally should do is either HIIT exercises or cardio, and to do at least an hour a day, even if it's 30 mins in the morning, 30 in the evening--and to work up to that so even doing ten minutes a day, then increasing it from there, is healthier and better than jumping straight into a whole ass hour. he also told me to aim for a certain heartrate. i don't remember the formula he used, but for me at 22 (based on age) he wanted me to try to aim for 150-160 bpm. again, especially with exercise, that was what he recommended for me. you're likely different from me, so ask your doctor and see what he says.

fourthly, and perhaps most importantly, DON'T BOTHER WITH A GYNO. all of this that i've gotten done for me was from my family doctor, so just the guy i go to for yearly check ups. see if you can do some routine blood work to give him (or her) as wide of a picture as possible, and then go in and talk with a regular doctor about this. a friend of mine also has a friend who actually goes to an endocrinologist to get her pcos sorted out, so that's also an option. gynos seem to just treat the symptoms; birth control gives you a regular period by helping with your estrogen, but that doesn't decrease your testosterone OR do anything with the insulin. my doc is keeping me on birth control pills just so that i have a regular cycle so we can watch and see if anything else happens to it, so it's okay to stay on the birth control, but ultimately, birth control pills don't do anything for pcos.

i know it's difficult and probably kinda scary/anxiety inducing if you're younger or just have anxiety, but you've gotta advocate for yourself in this case. you have to show the doctor that you know what you're talking about and that you're able to call him out on his bullshit if he doesn't take you seriously. also, if your doctor is helpful, don't be afraid to be frank with him about what your gyno did. like i've said with my experience, i got the validation of knowing that my gyno was wrong by explaining to my doctor how he treated me. you deserve better than what your gyno did, and you deserve to actually be treated as a person and your disorder be taken seriously.

i'm wishing you the best of luck, and i hope that you'll be able to get the help that you need 💕💕💕

#jupe's inbox #medical tw #just in case i guess lmao #long post

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hairlossforum · 3 years ago

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hair loss forum

My True story

Like many of you, I'm also a victim of hair loss.....

More and more Singaporean men are losing their'crowns of glory'and this trend may be getting earlier and earlier.On the streets in these recent years, we might spot a comparatively amount of teenage boys who're bald or balding. Compare this phenomenon to state ten years ago when this phenomenon is not commonly seen.

This balding trend among Singaporean men is sparking an increasing proliferation of hair treatment centres. Hair treatment centres have practically sprung up all around the island with famous brands Beijing 101, Yunnan, Svenson, Bossin, etc. Factors behind hair loss can be hereditary, or due to stress, drug medications, poor diets, oily scalp etc and these causes manifest into the many forms or types of hair loss forum such as for instance male pattern baldness, telogen effluvium, alopecia areata, etc. A standard human loses about 50 to 100 hairs daily and this loss is not alarming.

However if more than this number is lost daily, one should seek a physician before it's too late.Hair grows from follicles, and if one balds and takes no actions, the follicles could eventually die and there will be you can forget growth. It will undoubtedly be too late for just about any action. Note that after I say bald, normally a human will not go totally bald, the follicles at the sides of the human scalp, the parts above the years are programmed for a lifetime, and hair grows for a lifetime at these particular areas. Balding follows a design referred to as the Norwood chart. You can find three stages of hair growth: anagen (the growing phase), catagen (the intermediate phase) and telogen (the shedding phase). Hair thinning occurs when the hair grows and sheds fast.

The common life cycle of a hair is 2 to 3 years and each hair growth to fall can last 25 cycles, balding occurs when these cycles are accelerated and completed so fast that the cycles end, the follicles dies off and the hair cannot grow back again. I realize in this post, there are numerous jargons and technical terms which can be used. The net provides a rich variety of resources for which can research thorough and understand more about hair loss. In this post, I'll just roughly summarize what I realize and experience about hair loss from my studies and individual personal experiences.In yesteryear, I have very thick volumes of hair so much in order that I complained about having to go to the barber often as my hair grows so fast. Showering, there could be no hair lost as my hair is so strong. Carrying out a medical treatment some couple of years ago from a supposedly reputable clinic and consuming the drug nimigen, I notice hair loss, my hair shed in the dozens on the bed and at the bathtub sinks daily so much in order that I stopped taking this drug nimigen and stop the laser treatments.

During the consumption of nimigen, my complexion becomes too dry as it is meant to stop facial oiliness but it overdoes. Till today, I still don't know the actual reason for my hair loss though I believe it's to do significantly with the laser treatment and the consumption of nimigen. On hindsight, I shall not have carried out with the procedure and the consumption of the medicine and this doctor still asked his nurses to force me back to keep with the rest of the treatments and at the same time frame, refuting all my allegations squarely. I spent near to $3K only to lose even more. Anyway that is yesteryear already and nothing can be achieved to turn back the clock. What I do want to share with readers listed below are my experiences and what I have experienced to combat hair loss and hopefully it can provide some useful glimpses or lessons to those who find themselves currently experiencing hair loss.Okay for the start, I first stopped all the causes that I believe have contributed to my hair loss and that is to discontinue with the medical treatments and the nimigen consumption. But even with that, two months in the future, the hair loss forum doesn't subside, so it absolutely was time to take some real actions.

On the internet, I stumbled on learnt of two drugs called Propecia, an oral medication, costing about $95 dollars at that time for 28 pills, to be taken one pill a day; and a topical hair spray called minoxidil (called Regaine, Rogaine, Growell, etc in the market) also at a $95 for just one bottle that may last a month.I visited a physician and was prescribed Propecia, taking one pill a day for three months, and I stopped.

Why do I stop? Firstly, there was no improvement and secondly, I started to have the thing that was mentioned as the medial side effects with this drug, i.e. I commence to feel less manly, although it was a minor side effect that the drug claimed and that it affect merely a small percentage of users. With these two factors, I stopped applying this drug and the less- than- manly feeling, which was temporary finally subsided. I did not use Minoxidil, as I also learnt of its negative effects too. I do want to list down the possible side ramifications of these two drugs here:Propecia: Insufficient'manliness'Minoxidil: Increase scalp sensitivity, itchiness, dandruff, increase sensitivity to the sun. And the main drawback of these two scientific proven drugs is that when you stop using these two drugs, whatever new hair that you have grow will fall again! Thus these two drugs should be useful for life! Imagine the cost involved to maintain these newly formed hair: $100 (for each one of these treatments per month), this amount translates to $1200 and more annually, and so on......

So after ending the utilization of the Propecia, I started to explore natural means of cure. One method that I looked at was using mild shampoo like Johnson Baby Shampoo, however its mild concentration was not strong enough to clear the oilness of my scalp. My hair loss may be as a result of oiliness and dandruff as I did so notice these symptoms like dandruff on my pillow.

So I decided to explore assistance from professionals and there was a vast variety of choices from the dermatogists and hair treatment centres. I visited one such hair treatment centre for a free consultation and these'professionals'scanned my hair, only to reveal many patches of oil and these'professionals'introduced me an offer to clear my scalp greasiness. The package cost a bomb and I did not just like the pushiness of those professional in introducing these packages to me. Also I have heard many stories of men and women having spent more than $10,000 on these supposedly good cures only to lose a lot more hair or having no improvement seen, besides wasting their hard-earned money! Thus, hair treatment centres scared me off when this occurs and I decided to consult a premier hair dermatologist in Singapore instead. It was not cheap. First consultation alone cost $80. The dermatologist inspected my hair and said there was nothing wrong. She prescribed me with two shampoo, Nizoral ($25) and a Gentle Shampoo ($21) to be rotated interchangeably daily and a sebum regulator to be applied on the scalp during the night after washing ($18). However, there was still no improvement.

Actually, the residue from the sebum regulator produced tiny sticky white residue on my hair once my hair dried to the extent that my colleagues thought my hair had dandruff. Anyway my hair was still very oily and coated with some dandruff too, despite applying the supposedly strong and beneficial shampoos that the utmost effective dermatologist prescribed. I confirmed this fact when I popped into one of the hair treatment centre at a shopping centre for curiosity and did a free consultation with the centre. The'scanner'that the centre operators used magnified my scalp glands often over, revealing the oily spots, it certainly look disgusting with this kind of hundred times over magnification of the sebaceous scalp glands. The operators said my scalp glands were choked with oil, and this might cause hair loss; but I did not want to take any chance with this specific centre and off I left. I went for another consultation with the dermatologist I saw previously. Again, the dermatologist said there was nothing wrong with my hair or with my scalp and the outcomes from the'hair-pull'test she carried out on me revealed no extraordinary hair loss.

After hearing the story of the medical treatment I did so and the drug nimigen I consumed, she suspected that it might be telogen effluvium due to the medication, a condition which could only disappear in times to come; though my oily scalp might be a contributing factor too. She told me that she could not do anything except to simply help me diagnose the explanation for my hair loss via a scalp biopsy ($589) and a blood test ($169); all price stated without GST. Hearing the costs, I hesitated however in a desire to find out the actual cause, I decided to take the plunge and carried out the scalp biopsy and the blood test.I did the blood test first and the pain was nothing compared to the scalp biopsy I undergone later on. It had been no joke, having an item of your mind scalp being removed surgically and the pain was terrible despite the applying of anaesthetics prior to the treatment. After both the tests, the nurse rubbed a Bactroban cream on the element of my scalp which was operated on to kill the bacteria; after sewing this area of the scalp. There is still little pain that subsisted every time I shampoo the sewn area of the scalp. I was told to come back fourteen days later to get rid of the stitch and to acquire the outcomes of the diagnosis. I was handed the rest of the of the Bactroban cream to utilize daily on the affected scalp to help ease the pain and kill the bacteria. Fourteen days later, I returned to the same clinic to get rid of the stitch and the dermatologist handed me the effect; and the effect indicated that it was telogen effluvium.

The dermatologist said it absolutely was good news as this disorder which might be as a result of medication I took would finally subside after some time. I could be looking forward to this to come soon.But alas, days pass and then months, it absolutely was futile. Seeing tons and a great deal of hair on the bathroom sink and waking up everyday to witness the a huge selection of hair strewn across my bed and on my bedroom floor did nothing to assuage me that my illness would go away. The visits to the dermatologist have drained me financially and in a desperate move, I decided to try out some off-the-counter hair loss products offered at pharmacies. I tried the Himalyan Hair Loss Cream (Herbal) for around 30 days but it absolutely was useless so I visited see the dermatologist again for the fourth and fifth time (that was in April and May last year), but again the dermatologist assessed and said there was nothing wrong with my hair, no male pattern loss or whatever. But indeed, my hair was getting thinner and thinner by the day.

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lilhemmo · 5 years ago

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can i get a geeta w/ the prompts #32 #12 #8 ??? i think it'll be really interesting to see what you do! love your geeta!

a/n: thank you so much for your request! i hope you enjoy it!

prompts:32: “Keep your eyes on me.”12: “Don’t come near me or I swear I’ll kill you.”8: “Go to hell.”

here is the request list

Your knuckles are split wide open, your mouth trickling with the taste of iron. You shake your head, sweat pouring down your back, and you know that you look pathetic as you hold back tears.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone else,” you manage, wiping your gloved hand against your bleeding mouth. You snarl at him, the one man you never thought you’d fight again - Vegeta.

He smirks, tongue protruding just between the cupid’s bow of his lips, “Oh you putrid earthling, stop kidding yourself,” he lunges forward in midair, his hand clutching your throat, “As if you ever had a chance.”

There is one item left in your arsenal, something you watched the very man in front of you use to defeat the Majin Buu from years ago. Every fiber of your being screams at you as you begin to build up your energy, starting in your core. Your muscles feel like they’re tearing and you can’t keep the tears from your eyes as the ki swirls like a vortex in your soul.

A feral scream splits your lips and you tilt your head back, resisting the hold of his palm as you do so. You finally feel yourself charged up, every blood vessel in your body crying for relief. Your body can’t handle the stress much longer before it will be torn apart - and you know you’ll never recover. You will go to Other World and fight for your right to keep your body. You haven’t been a saint, but you hope you’ve done enough good to keep the one thing that reminds you of your time on earth.

“Oh, Prince, do me a favor, why don’t you?” your lower lip wobbles but you feel the steel in your gaze as your bright white ki energy swallows your pupils whole, “Go to hell.”

At that moment, you release your energy in a flash of light, that same bloodcurdling screech you hear in your nightmares echoing in your own ears as it tears your throat to shreds. The last thing you see before your body gives out from the stress and pain alone is Vegeta’s cold, dark eyes mirroring the look of betrayal in your own.

You did not expect to wake up in a hospital in Other World. You figured that when you were transported to the next plane of existence, your spirit would float down the line and wait to see King Yemma and his book of souls.

Your tongue is like sandpaper in your throat and your eyes are practically glued shut, but you manage to open them eventually. You sit up and suddenly a beeping sound begins to resound in your ears. The piercing noise hurts down to your spine and you try to plug your ears, standing to your feet as you try to get away from it.

Your body seems to be relying on its most primal instincts - you’re scared, so you run away. You push through the hall full of people, completely unaware of your appearance - hospital gown split down the back, the unclasped corners of the coat billowing in the wind you are creating as you rush through the hallways.

There are wires and plugs attached to you and you can vaguely hear someone who seems like a doctor calling out for you, but the ringing won’t stop and you can’t make out much of anything other than what’s five feet in front of you. The edges of your vision is blurred, and no matter how many times you shake your head, you can’t get it to clear.

A familiar pair of vocals calls you out of your rampage and you bare your fangs, the Saiyan in you bristling at the enemy you felled before you fell yourself.

Every muscle in your body tenses, but the Prince is walking ever so carefully towards you, as if you were a wild animal foaming at the mouth.

“Don’t come near me,” you warn, holding your hands up in your standard fighting position. "Or I swear I’ll kill you!”

You’ve never seen Vegeta wince before, and it does something to your heart. You find yourself blinking hard to be sure he’s real - he must be, because you killed him back on earth. It’s strange that he has his body, though. He was always telling you how he’d done such horrible things that he’d go straight to hell. You suppose he didn’t take your final words literally, considering he’s stood in front of you.

“Hey,” he sounds almost tender and you swear you must be in some alternate dimension. Vegeta tilts his head and approaches you slowly, his hands facing you, palms up. It’s unlike the Prince of Saiyans to show himself as vulnerable, and you’re becoming more confused as the seconds pass.

You’re blinking hard now, your vision sparking. You see stars and you can’t blink enough to try and clear the path in front of you. A primal shout echoes in your throat and you grip your hands in your hair, crouching slightly at the knees.

Vegeta is closer to you now and you want to rip into him with your teeth, tearing him to shreds for what he did to you. You feel tears water in your eyes and it takes away even more of your vision.

“Look at me,” his voice is rough and he’s now just in front of you.

You grind your teeth together and shake your head, hands pulling at your hair follicles until your scalp burns. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you swear it’s going to burst forth from the cage of your lungs.

Vegeta’s hand is on your shoulder, “Look. At. Me.”

Your eyes snap upward and the small pinpoints you can see allow you to look him directly in the irises. Something is different about him, something you can’t quite make out. He seems almost back to the way he was before you had to fight him to the death.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Vegeta is calm and quiet and his hands frame your neck. “You look like you’re about to transform.”

You shake your head, “Wh-What the hell. Why are you here and not trying to murder me? Just because we’re in Other World does not mean you get to touch me like this.”

Vegeta’s brows knit together and he tilts his head, “Other World? Silly woman, what do you mean?”

“I died and I killed you!” You grunt, a striking pain shooting up your spine to settle in the base of your skull. “Wh-Why are you being like this?”

The Saiyan Prince licks his lips and tries not to laugh at you for fear of you striking him across the face, “You’re not dead. You’re in a hospital. You killed my dopple-ganger, one created by an intergalactic deity. I was on another planet when you unleashed your energy.”

Your eyes go wide and you stumble forward onto your knees, hands gripping at his armor as the tears flow freely, “Y-You’re...this is real?”

Vegeta chuckles as he shakes his head, wrapping you up in his arms and effectively closing the gap created by the split in your hospital gown. His mouth is against your temple when he speaks next, “Kakarot told me you’d sacrificed yourself to save the planet. How noble.”

You sniffle and dig your nails into what skin you can reach at the base of his back, fingers clutching onto him like you might lose him all over again. You gasp out a breath, “I-I thought you’d turned. I...I had to kill you.”

“I know,” his voice reverberates against you as he speaks. “I’m so proud of you.”

Humans don’t understand Saiyans - your insatiable desire for pride and power, the way you speak to one another, and how the tail at the base of your back flickers to find another.

That’s why you know none of the human fighters would understand the weight of the words Vegeta has just spoken to you; how they settle on your shoulders and lift your spirit. Your voice breaks, “I almost c-couldn’t.”

Vegeta tugs you back to look you in the eyes, “Don’t tell the others, but I don’t know if I could’ve killed you either.”

Your eyes widen and your tail wraps around his waist, holding him close as you yank him forward to kiss him directly on the mouth. Your arms rest against his neck and you toy with his hair, feeling as his scalp pulsates with the threat of super energy.

“Was the hardest thing I had to do,” you murmur against his lips, the gentle prodding of his tongue making your stomach do flips. “I-I don’t know if I could live without y-”

Vegeta’s mouth bruises yours as he cuts you off, unwilling to let you finish your sentence. He shakes his head, “Don’t go there.”

You swallow and your lower lip wobbles but you clutch onto your Saiyan pride and tense your muscles, pushing the doubts away and replacing them with the desire to grow stronger, more powerful. Your body is throbbing with the desire to flex your fists, the inability for your Saiyan body to sit still making your toes curl.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said this before,” Vegeta helps you stand to your feet, “but I think you need to take it easy for a while.”

You push yourself up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth, “You just don’t want to get your ass kicked.”

The blush that burns into his cheeks does not go unnoticed, “I wouldn’t be so attracted to you if you were a weakling. Take it as a compliment.”

And you do show him your strength later, both on and off the training grounds.

#vegeta x reader #vegeta dbs #vegeta imagine #vegeta one shot #vegeta fanfic #vegeta fanfiction #prince vegeta #prince of all saiyans #my writing

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aesop1 · 5 years ago

Text

clumsy [5]

pirate!chanyeol x reader

a/n: hello everyone! so sorry for the unexpected hiatus. lots of stuff happened with my mentality, but im okay now! i hope you’re all not too upset, because this chapter isn’t too shocking and eventful. thank you for all of your kindness, i love you!

word count: 4.5k

warnings: i think there’s cursing in this?? nothing else

(i do not own the gif)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

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"mother?" you let out barely above a whisper, as if afraid the volume of your voice would shatter whatever hallucination your mind had conjured before you.

"(y/n)?" she mirrored your tone; confusion with just a lilt of shock.

it was upon hearing the faint familiar voice of your childhood that you found yourself standing and colliding into the woman in question. she reeked of rum and salt, but had that same undertone that flooded your senses with memories of when you were younger and playing in the flowers. a blossom of excitement bloomed within your rib cage, a stress akin to awakening on one's birthday, or celebrating a festival, caressing your heart, once plagued with agitation mere minutes ago. your worries seemed to wash away like the waves on the shore, drifting away as far as the eye can see. although strangely foreign, the warmth radiating from the arms of your former matron only served to remind you of happier days.

"your majesty," you heard a voice from the sidelines sputter out, rising from his seat in a frantic manner. turning, you watched as jinyoung bowed his head, hand resting atop his trepidatious heart.

"no need for formalities, young man," your mother reassured, stroking your hair like her prized doll. jinyoung's actions seemed to bring you back to reality, and you found yourself retracting from the comfort of your mother, stumbling into a standing chanyeol's arms behind you. "my flower, what seems to be the issue?"

"you can't be my mother." your eyes darted across her face, trying to pinpoint the flaw that would indicate that what stood before you was merely a mirage. everything seemed so real, though. every curve and every angle, every follicle of hair in it's rightful place. she seemed too good to be true, and you stood wary of whatever figment of your imagination your mind had decided conjured. "my mother is dead."

she blinked at you, bewilderment taking over her prior sense of joy. she seemed to be awaiting for you to reveal this statement as a gag or something of the like, however you stood your ground, retracting further into chanyeol. shaking her head and clearing her throat, she let out a chuckle of disbelief.

"so that's what he told you," she muttered. she tossed her head back to look up at the ceiling, trying to keep her composure. you furrowed your brows at her behavior, chanyeol sensing your distrust towards her and wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders.

he breathed a sigh of relief as you accepted this gesture, even going so far as to cling onto his sleeve. if he really wanted to, which he found himself with the surprising urge to do so, he could bury his face in your hair, shield you from whatever harm may come to you from the woman before you. his confusion equaled your own, conflicted between your blossoming affections towards chanyeol and your reluctance to accept the possible impostor of your mother.

your mother finally looked back down and to you, a smile tugging at the corners her lips.

"yes," you whispered out, clutching onto chanyeol's arm more and keeping your ground whilst remaining eye contact with her. "my mother died in her sleep and her body was transported to the cemetery before I could say goodbye."

"that is far more gruesome than I had expected from your father." her eyes widened as you had elaborated more so on her supposed death, but nonetheless folded her hands in front of her and remained calm. "I know it must be hard to believe me, considering the situation looks pretty tangled, but I assure you that I am not dead and I did not mean to leave you."

"oh yeah?" you scoffed, deciding to play along with the skit. "why did you leave then?"

"I'm an ancient being, ruler of the seas and the oceans," she answered, no hint of annoyance at all towards you. "I cannot deny my duties as such to hide away on an island with my family, no matter how much I desire to do so." your eyebrows quirked up, leaning entirely on chanyeol now; not out of fear, but out of pure exhaustion of the situation. "you must believe me."

"I mustn't do a thing aside from retiring to my quarters," you snapped back, already preparing to turn around until she called out to you once more.

"(y/n)," she said aloud, voice steady and sure. this did nothing to deter you, already patting chanyeol's arm as a sign that you would like to leave. "(y/n), listen to me. to your mother." chanyeol hesitated, looking between the stern glare on your mother and the dead look on you. it was like watching a teenager rebel against their parent. except it was a young adult denying the validity of an ancestor. he was just about to turn around with you, your eyes already facing his chest when your mother captured your attention. "you can't walk properly."

the hustle and bustle of the bar seemed to fade away to you as her words hit. she shouldn't know this. whether she truly is your mother or not, you hadn't seen this person in years. you could've very well learned how to walk in the near score she was absent from your life. it didn't make sense. chanyeol stepped forward, ushering you behind him so he stood between you and this being. you kept telling yourself that the best course of action would be to run off like you had originally planned, but your mouth moved far too quick for your mind.

"how do you know this?" you uttered out, still in shock of what was said. if this was a mere guess on her part, you really solidified her stance with your statement.

"you are my daughter," she explained as if it were the most obvious concept in the world. "my daughter is supposed to rule the waters alongside me. we have no purpose on land." your heart throbbed at her words, and you began racking your brain for any sort of explanation for this. you truly had no purpose on land anymore. why were you so distraught over the implication that you don't belong on the earth? "our duties lie in the water."

"stop," chanyeol demanded, tossing his arms behind him to pull you against his back.

"you are the goddess of the seas," she laughed out, her voice growing closer and closer.

"stop it," chanyeol continued to hold you, trying to ward off the ever approaching ancestor.

"where you topple over on land, you excel in the waters."

"away with you, or so help me–"

"your father and I tried to scare you away from the waters." she was relentless, chanyeol now beginning to back up with you. "we tried to ward you off with tales of ferocious pirates who would kill and enjoy it, yet here you are in the clutches of one of the most infamous ones," she laughed in disbelief. chanyeol turned, wrapping you up in his arms properly and never breaking eye contact with the assailant. "have you touched the water yet?"

you've touched the water. you've touched the water plenty of times from all of your falls and your valiant escape from the infirmary. never before, however. it now had you question your abilities. how you so easily swam when you have never even stepped foot in the ocean.

"what are you getting at, witch?" chanyeol held you closer to him, afraid that she'd actually phase you in some way.

"you swam so easily because you belong in the water. with me."

you were just processing how exhilarating the water had seemed, not really processing your emotions during that time. she was right. she had to be right. everything she was saying was undeniably true.

chanyeol felt his heart throbbing, gripping onto any part of you he could. anger broiled within him, his veins alight with anxiety. he had never been this clingy of anything, let alone anyone. he once tried hitting a seagull with gold coins, all of which are now residing at the bottom of the ocean as he failed every attempt he made. he was near apathetic his whole life, and now here he is clinging onto (y/n) like a child with their toys.

he pursed his lips and gave a low growl, eyes boring holes into your mother's forehead.

"we're leaving," he grumbled, turning around with you, hoping that the loss of eye contact was enough to break you from your stupor.

"sweetheart," your mother called out to you once more. "meet me by the beach at dawn if you want to know more, maybe catch up."

"sehun, jongin, round everyone up," chanyeol announced, stomping out the establishment in a blaze of fury with a gentle hand on your back guiding you away.

why was this happening to you? everything has changed so abruptly, nothing about your life is what you had thought it to be but two suns ago. pushing aside what you've already mulled over, you now had your emotions rather than your situation: your conflicting feelings for chanyeol, and your insatiable desire to have the ocean lap at your feet.

you had blamed your quick affections on your lack of romance growing up, and you're now blaming your mother's affiliation with the ocean on the latter emotion. both reasonable explanations, but for some reason felt too... ambiguous. like there was more than what meets the eye.

you hadn't spared the front desk man a glance as you were too preoccupied with your thoughts, too much so you didn't even realize chanyeol was leading you directly to his room.

he ushered you in and shut the door. somehow, the click of the handle settling in place set you off like a fuse.

"what the hell is going on?" you seethed, dropping your overexerted body atop the stiff inn mattress. "my mother is supposed to be dead, not a damn goddess." you clutched onto the roots of your greasy locks, tugging helplessly to ease the influx of emotions. "she left me, she didn't even tell me she was alive. she could've told me. she didn't. why did she leave me without another word? why did dad support her to the grave? he never told me anything."

"don't blame your father, I'm sure he meant the best for you," chanyeol stood before you, arms crossed over his broad chest. deep down, you knew he meant well, but you were not having it tonight.

"you have no right to speak of my father." you demanded, curling your legs in to turn around and not face him.

"we're not doing this again, no," chanyeol yanked your shoulder around to have you facing him before he held you in place, hand resting on the side of your neck. "now listen to me closely: i did not kill your father. I know everything is against my favor, but I assure you, I had not shot one bullet that night." you stared up helplessly into his eyes. they were large, his usual frown in his brows doing nothing to dim the intensity of his gaze. like a window, you were able to peer through his exterior and read into his inner turmoil. he held nothing but concern for you, no indications of ulterior motives. you knew you could trust him, but you were so distraught at the moment. how could you open up to a near stranger. unaware to you, chanyeol was dealing with his own revelation, his heart near aching as tears began building up and blurring your vision. he had to hold himself back from brushing away the tears before they could fall. chanyeol felt the compulsion to not only hold you in his arms until your worries faded away, but to also dive headfirst off the plank and into the ocean he's devoted his life to, for he's broken one of his top rules in his life. "what have you done to me?"

"p-pardon?" you croaked out, throat beginning to swell with your onslaught of tears. chanyeol's hand slid from your shoulder to your cheek, falling victim to his desires to finally wipe that tear away. the furrow of his brow began to ease away the more he stroked your face with his thumb. it was as if every scrape of his calloused thumb was sparking a new flame beneath your skin like a match against a surface.

"please do not cry." he whispered to you in the stillness of his room. his spine was beginning to stiffen the more he was leant over in this position, but he barely felt the pain beneath the ache he felt from watching your crest fallen expression.

"chanyeol," you let out, eyes naturally sliding shut as you felt chanyeol's breath hit your lips. how you both got so close was beyond your comprehension, but you definitely were not complaining at the reassuring thrumming of your pulse. your hands craved the sodden material of chanyeol's shirt, practically shaking to hold yourself back, yet caught up in your resilience, you didn't even realize your hands had instead begun hovering over his neck, naturally drawing him closer to you.

you gasped as your lips brushed together, the slightest of touches. he was so gentle, just basking in your warmth as his mind became muddled with you and your presence. it was your soft, barely there touch on his jaw that brought him back to reality. he pulled away almost instantly, staring at you in awe that you allowed him to be so close. you were still in shock at what had just happened, face flushed and body light.

"I apologize, I don't know what came over me," he sighed out, hands clutching his obsidian locks to contain himself from going back to you. "you are in a time of tumult, and I am taking advantage of your weariness, I am sincerely sorry, (y/n), you must believe me." as he rambled on, you stood to your feet, hands sliding up to frame his face before dragging him down to your level and pressing your lips together. surprisingly, it was a smooth transition, no clashing of teeth or noses, which you were grateful for as you wanted your first kiss to be memorable in a positive way.

chanyeol was in shock, hands suspended by his sides in surprise as he tried to process the presence of your lips on his. it was the brush of your fingers on his cheekbones that had him sighing onto your lips and giving in, hands floating over to your neck to pull you in deeper. he basked in your affections, never feeling so warm in his life, even on the hottest of summer days. your hands made their way to his curls while his fell to your back, dragging you closer to his frame. his lips were like the softest of fallen petals, his hold on you like the rays of the sun bathing your skin; he felt like happiness. the longer you were in his grasp, the more delusional you felt yourself becoming.

a knock at the door was what disrupted your moment, abruptly bringing you back to reality as you both pulled away and stared at each other. rather than feeling an overbearing sense of regret for kissing a man you only met yesterday, you were instead met with the most fulfilling of emotions your heart could handle. no moment in your life could amount to how overwhelmingly joyful you were right then and there. nothing has ever felt more right than being there with him. a grin was spreading across your face the longer you scanned chanyeol who stared back at you with a dumbfounded expression. you rubbed your thumbs on his cheek like he had done to you, evoking a chuckle out of him as he refused to look away from you.

you both stood there like starstruck lovers, which was exactly what you two were gradually becoming. he was so smitten, he hadn't the slightest idea to how he managed to fall so hard in such a short time. there was no doubt within him when he began formulating a plan on keeping you to himself for the rest of his life.

another knock had chanyeol audibly groaning and rolling his eyes, unwillingly retracting from you and marching over to the door to give the person on the other side a piece of his mind. swinging it open, he spat out a hasty, "yes, can I help you?"

"did I come at a bad time?" yixing had laughed out upon the sight of chanyeol's disheveled locks. "I came because all of the guys left the bar as soon as jongin and sehun told us about your departure. we need our room arrangements for the night as well as our keys." yixing began making his way into the room as he spoke, gesturing here and there in habit until his eyes landed on your frozen form standing in the center of the room. yixing had clicked everything together in the blink of an eye, the cockiest of smirks making itself known. "oh, fuck, I love it when I'm right." he clapped his hands together and laughed, walking over and pulling you into his arms for a friendly hug. "thank you, my dear, I now have something to chastise our dear junmyeon on."

"yixing, release," chanyeol instructed, causing the man to step back and face his captain. "you and baekhyun are bunking with me. junmyeon will be with sehun and (y/n). jongin and kyungsoo will room together, as well as jongdae and minseok." he light-heartedly shoved yixing's shoulder towards the door. "I'm not having any of my crew kill each other tonight, so you and junmyeon will have to delay your conversation for another time of less inconvenience."

"will do, captain," he reached the door and glanced back, biting on his cheek to hold his snickers back. "don't get too loud now, kids." before chanyeol could even consider demolishing yixing, the man had shut the door and ran off to the rest. chanyeol sighed, rubbing his tired eyes as the lengthy day finally began settling in.

"I should get to my room now," you spoke up, about to walk past chanyeol before he grabbed for your arms. you halted in your steps as chanyeol tugged you over to him. you were stood in front of him again, craning your neck back to look at his flustered expression.

"I..." chanyeol was at a loss for words, eyes downcast to the wooden floors. he squeezed your biceps lightly, biting his lip before resting his forehead on your shoulder. "thank you. thank you so much." as the proximity hit you, you rested your cheek on his, soaking in his ambiance before you were to be separated again.

"thank you," you whispered back to him, hands rubbing up and down his arms in a calming manner. you weren't sure what you were thanking him for, nor what he was thanking you for. your first kiss, a sense of serenity during this stressful trial in your life, a bond you'd never thought you could make with someone in such a short time. you just felt incredible gratitude to the man before you.

chanyeol felt himself become putty in your touch, another breathless sigh leaving him. he nudged his nose into your neck, softly inhaling to memorize your scent for the night. so soothing. he could probably sleep standing right there with you in his arms. you, on the other hand, thought otherwise as you feared another crew member coming in, or your spiraling infatuation with the man before you. you cleared your throat, pulling away to face him.

"I really should go."

"of course," chanyeol mumbled out, low voice thundering within his chest, the vibrations tickling your finger tips. "just find junmyeon."

"I will," you responded, hand pushing back his curly locks, taking one last look at him before you turned and left the room with a heavy sigh. once out, the gravity of the situation finally settled. you were in love. you fell in love for the first time in your life.

this had to be what love was. never have you felt so full before, your heart swelling just at the prospect of the man behind that door. his touch lingered on your skin, taunting you to go back and fall into his arms again. oh, how you wanted to return to chanyeol, but you couldn't. you had to refrain yourself somehow, you've already given him your first kiss. who knows what will happen if you're alone with him again.

you shook your head, trying to clear your mind of these sinful, intrusive thoughts before sauntering down the hall to the foyer where the boys resided. kyungsoo and jongin were absent, so you assumed they'd already taken to their room to sleep. you frowned as you began missing your one on one time with kyungsoo, having grown rather close to him. he had to be your closest comrade of everyone in the crew.

"ah, (y/n)." you followed junmyeon's voice to where he and sehun resided, leaning against the wall waiting for you, you assumed. "ready to head over?"

"yes, sorry for the delay," you rushed out, hoping your growing blush wasn't too obvious. you could already tell that you were going to struggle with resting tonight, images of chanyeol's lips against yours plaguing your mind. his fingers brushing against your cheeks, so delicately. you've never been held so softly, never felt so admired. he held you like one of the many flowers of your childhood hosting a butterfly atop their petals. like the dew of the early mornings cascading down a blade of grass.

you winced as memories of your childhood flashed through your head. those exact scenes of flowers and dew drops appeared and disappeared, as well as images of your smiling mother. she loved you so much as a child, get she left you without another word. why didn't she even bother trying to explain to her child why she was leaving her rather than just disappear, leaving your father to make up her own death to give you some closure.

your eyes became bleary with tears, having to wipe them away before the two men in front of you noticed your conflict. as much as you tried to hide your pain, it was ever apparent in your aching heart. maybe you should go to the beach tomorrow for some /actual/ closure. you can't leave here just knowing your mother isn't dead; that she's instead an almighty goddess controlling the waters. you needed answers, and she was the only one who had them.

as you laid down that night, swathed in sheets and wrapped in sehun's arms, you thought it ironic how your life has turned so quickly. all those years, longing for adventure beyond the horizon, over the kilometers of blue trapping you on this little island, you finally got a taste of what you've always wanted. things never turn out the way you want them to, as you've learned so far. it all seemed too surreal to be anything but fiction, but here you lie in a pirates grasp as the blood of a higher being courses through your veins. every time you closed your eyes, recurrent visions of your long forgotten childhood continued to torment your already clustered thoughts.

why couldn't you remember your childhood?

glimpses of your mother and a field of flowers, your mother on your bed scaring you with tales of the seas... that was all.

your eyes shot open, scrambling out of sehun's arms and onto your feet. why were those your only memories of her? the rest were your father. cooking with him, shopping with him, reading with him.

flowers and lore. that was all that consisted of your mother.

you paced the small room, stomach churning as you raked your head for any memory other than those two.

you couldn't.

you yanked at your hair, crouching onto the ground with ragged breaths.

think.

just think.

please.

give me something.

suddenly, you gasped out in agony, a sharp pain invading your pleading thoughts like a needle. your perspiration was near ice on your skin, your body overcome by convulsions. the walls began closing in, a darkness creeping into your vision. without another thought, you stood and evacuated the room. barreling down the hallways like a madman, you probably alerted the all too nice boy at check in, but you couldn't care less as you fell victim to your own turmoil, allowing your legs to carry you wherever they desired.

it just so happened that they took you right to the root of all of your problems.

you stared out to the inky black depths mocking you, the water lapping at the sand just at your feet, but never touching you. you found yourself craving it's embrace, just the faintest of droplets on you, but it was as if the water detested you. oh, how the tables have turned, the waters now perceiving you as Judas, and your fear now dissipated into desperation. desperation for a place to belong, a sense of comfort and familiarity that doesn't immediately betray you the minute your thoughts kicked in. you didn't belong on land, you didn't belong in the waters. you didn't belong anywhere.

"what are you doing?”

you whirled around, heart stuttering at the deep voice you seemed to have forgotten. he rubbed at his face, attempting to mask his fatigue, yet failing. once he reached you, he tossed his free arm around your person and dragged you into his, a secure hand behind your head. he let out a yawn, burying his face into your hair and releasing his tensed muscles.

by miracle, everything seemed to stop. the white noise which drove your head mad cleared away, the crashes of the waves lulling you deeper into chanyeol's warmth.

chanyeol.

the man who took you away and changed your life. for the better, or for the worst, you hadn't the slightest idea. at this very moment, you just felt relief. a word you weren't all too familiar with, but nonetheless calmed your racing heart and rigid breathing.

"you scared me."

you looked up, unaware of how bleary your vision had become. you rubbed away the tears, blinking up at chanyeol in confusion.

"do you not realize how terrifying it was too wake up to thuds outside, your room door wide open, and you being nowhere in sight?"

you giggled, a pathetic smile tugging at your lips before you rested your head on his chest.

"I'm sorry."

"don't be." he stroked your hair softly, taking your less frazzled state as a sign of recovery. "I know you're dealing with a lot. I know only you can get through it, but don't leave me out. I'm here for you, and I'm entirely willing to assist you and heal you on your journey." he pulled away to look you in the eyes. "I know we just met." a grin greeted you as he strayed from your eyes to analyze the rest of your features. "but you have no idea how deeply I've fallen for you."

----------------------

taglist: @serendibidibidis @mrinalexo

#chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol x reader #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic

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danganronpa-21 · 5 years ago

Text

Naegiri Week Day 1: Ill

Here we are, Naegiri Week Day 1: Ill. I hope everyone’s ready for a little Post-Hope’s Peak escape fic, in which Makoto is fighting off a case of scurvy, and so Kyoko decides to make the journey to a Future Foundation Safe Haven in hopes of finding food to save him. For this one, I’d definitely issue a warning of some heavier topics of violence and in-depth descriptions of gross stuff, as there’s dealing with illness and dead bodies and all that.

It’s also way longer than I originally intended to make it. Oops. My other prompts will... probably be shorter, I think. This one was just an idea I got really enthused about! So, I hope you enjoy it!

Also, little tip to the rest of my fellow writers/digital artists participating in Naegiri Week: remember to rest your eyes! I gave myself a migraine yesterday from too many days of bright screens in a row. Be gentle with yourselves! You’ve all done wonderful things so far, and best of luck with the rest of your prompts!

____________

Four days ago, Makoto collapsed.

Kyoko hadn’t seen it happen at first. Her lavender eyes were far too focused on the path that lay ahead of them. She hadn’t even thought to look back when she heard his body hitting the pavement. Every moment she knew she had to be alert for danger; she had no time to waste on listening for tiny sounds like that. She’d expected it to be nothing. She had to focus on leading the charge. Though throes of illness and hunger threatened to overtake her, she knew she had to press on. She encouraged the same in the others, too, but completely fell apart when Makoto’s quiet gasps brought her attention to him.

Hearing Byakuya shout, she spun around without thinking. Her eyes fell immediately upon the pitiful boy. He was the strongest boy she’d ever known, yet when she laid eyes on him, he was sobbing on the road like a pathetic child. His teeth grinding together in pain. His eyes squeezed shut. Desperately trying to keep himself together.

“What happened?!” Byakuya stepped closer to Makoto, eyes narrowed. He crouched down to his level. “Get up off the ground. Now’s not the time to get all weepy-eyed!”

Makoto didn’t answer. He didn’t dare lift his face from the asphalt; his brows furrowed in emotion. Sadness, Kyoko wondered? Or maybe he was in pain. Some invisible pain, that the rest of them couldn’t see. She supposed he’d been complaining of sore legs as of late, but that was normal. Everyone had sore legs. Running and hiding during the apocalypse did that to you. They’d been walking in search of help for days; of course their legs felt like they were going to fall off. Even Aoi, who’s leg wound had adopted an infection, refused to complain. For the most part, Makoto had kept quiet, too.

Yet there he lay, his face so close to the dirty street, crying like a little boy. Something more had to be wrong. He never was much of a crier; she doubted the soreness of his own legs would be enough to send him crashing to the ground.

“We don’t have time for this!” Byakuya huffed, prying at the smaller boy’s body. He grabbed hold of his arm and tugged. Within an instant Makoto screeched out pain, desperately trying to yank his arm out of Byakuya’s grasp.

He continued to sob. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!”

Byakuya failed to respond to his pleas. He kept tugging like a toddler; one who didn’t know that it hurt the puppy when he pulled its tail. Makoto continued to howl and sob. “Would you be quiet?! You’ll attract cannibals or something! Now isn’t the time for this!”

Kyoko barked out an order without thinking. “Togami, leave him alone.” She walked towards the two of them, each step careful until she crouched down next to Byakuya. “Something is clearly wrong beyond whatever you think it is.”

“He’s fine,” Byakuya protested, “He’s not in any sort of real pain.”

Wrong, Kyoko thought. One look into Makoto’s watery green eyes, and one could see that it wasn’t anything normal. Sure, he’d had the same complaints as the others — fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, and loss of appetite… but no one else had been experiencing pain quite like this. If something had become enough to make him cry, she knew they should take it seriously.

“Naegi-kun, what’s the matter?”

His face had painted itself with shame, likely at his tears. He spoke with shaky breaths, almost daring to avoid meeting her eyes. “Everything… my shoulders, and my forearms… my knees… god, everything hurts so bad… It’s like all my joints are killing me.”

She placed a gentle hand on his head, hoping to be supportive. She had never been all that good at the whole comforting thing, but she still intended to try.

“I tried to hold up, for awhile, I really did…” He sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “But I… I’m sorry, I… I tried so hard to… to… hold up, but I just… This really… really… fucking hurts...”

The curse caught them by surprise. If Byakuya had needed any more proof that he was in legitimate pain, that word was it. His scowl, however still strong, seemed to soften a bit after he heard the word. His grip on Makoto’s arm lost its firmness as well.

“Shhhhhh…” She patted his head softly, “You’re okay. I know it hurts.”

He sniffled again, seeming grateful for her comfort. In a way, it brought her solace, knowing that she gave him some peace of mind. Her presence seemed to stabilize his breaths a little. “I’ll… I’ll get up in a few minutes, I s-swear I’ll keep going I just… this really hurts…”

Wrong again, she thought. Everyone seemed to have a knack for being wrong here. There was no way in hell Makoto would be walking on his own again. He collapsed; it was a telltale sign that his joints had all given up for the day. He should have known that.

“Nonsense, Naegi-kun.” She shook her head, “Hagakure-kun will carry you.”

His brow creased in worry, and he shot a nervous glance towards Yasuhiro. Ah, she thought, he’s worried about what will be done with Aoi.

“B-But what about Asahina-san? Her leg’s so much worse than mine. She needs someone to lean on.” He stuck his arms out to try and push himself to his feet, only to go tumbling back down against the road. Kyoko prayed he hadn’t scraped his chin. “I-I can get up, if you’ll just give me a…”

He once again went crashing to the ground, letting out a rather pathetic sob.

“I c-c-can do it, I-I swear…”

Kyoko shook her head. “Asahina-san can lean on me instead. I just want you to get of here in one piece.”

____________

Patient Name: Naegi Makoto, Ex-member of Class 78-A of Hope’s Peak Academy

Reported Symptoms: Fatigue, nausea, diarrhea, loss of appetite, fever, and painful joints and muscles.

Diagnosis: Early stage scurvy. Keep an eye out for pinpoint bleeding around hair follicles and skin as time goes on. Immediate consumption of fruit and vegetables will be necessary.

Kyoko could do little more than sigh as she slammed her notebook shut, her pen unceremoniously tossed to the side. Thinking about all of this stressed her out too much, yet there was little else that dwelled in her mind. Most days she would be thinking about the next opportunity to move, to get food or water, but now… now all of her thoughts were of Makoto, and what she could do to ease his pain.

If she chose to be honest with herself, there wasn’t much she could do to soothe him. She wasn’t a nurse, nor a nurturing person. She knew little of caring for people with bubbling stomachs and crushing fevers, and she certainly did not know a thing about helping someone with aching joints. Her care methods were standard: feed them, wash them, give them something to drink, make sure they were comfortable. That was all she could do to make his suffering easier. Nothing short of searching for an antidote could ease his sorrows, and she knew there was almost no way she would be able to get by doing that. Not with the others around, at least. They’d throw a fit once they discovered her absence. Not to mention that they might try to track her down; an act that could only further the sense of disaster. If she wanted to do this, she’d have to do it on her own. She’d just… have to find some way to slip out during the night. Maybe leave a note warning them not to come after her, or they will face her wrath when she returns. Yeah, that was a good statement… she knew at least Aoi and Yasuhiro would buy into that one.

Setting her notebook aside, she sighed. Inky blackness would soon consume the ruby red sky, and she’d get a chance to relax. Well, as much as one could amongst a pile of ailing teenagers. Nights were revered among their group for their solace from pain, but getting to sleep was always the real struggle. Between Yasuhiro’s pneumonia-induced hacking, Toko’s hourly bathroom trips, Aoi’s whimpering, Makoto’s sweat-soaked fever dreams, and the whale calls made by Byakuya’s empty stomach… Sleeping was a challenge. Even if she could manage to block out the sounds of her sick and hungry friends, their environment was hardly comfortable enough to sleep in anyways. Most nights they bounced from place to place, and most of those places were not built for comfort. Some nights they were lucky and got to share a motel room or two; most of the time though, they found themselves curled up on the floors of former retail stores and restaurants. This time around, they found themselves in an abandoned library… another place that, surprisingly, had few places to sleep.

Of course, that didn’t stop some of her friends. When she looked up from her notebook, almost all of her friends had drifted off already. Toko had nuzzled her face into Byakuya’s shoulder and fallen asleep there, and he’d let her. She assumed he must have been too exhausted himself to push her off. Aoi curled herself up in a corner, trying desperately to maintain warmth against the cold breeze. As for Yasuhiro, well, he’d been dead asleep for hours. Once he could stop coughing, his favourite hobby became sleeping. He was always the most well-rested of the group, unlike Kyoko. And much unlike Makoto lately.

No surprise there that Makoto was still wide awake.

“How are you feeling?” The words were reflex. She’d asked him the very same question so many times; really any time she’d realized that he was staring off into space again.

He gave the same answer each and every time, wincing as he shifted. “I’m fine.”

She never believed it. Habitually, he held his tongue for the sake of the others. That was why he’d gone on for so long before collapsing. He sucked it up until he couldn’t anymore.

“I know that’s not true.”

He let out a small grunt, pulling one of his legs closer to his chest. He exhaled sharply through his nose, slowly turning to look at her. “Of course it’s not true.”

She tried to look sympathetic, but she didn’t know what that looked like facially. Lowered brows in concern, maybe? Jeez, she would have to reprimand her grandfather for making her struggle to express herself. That is, assuming she might ever see him again. “What’s bothering you today?”

His eyes squeezed shut tightly. There was a jarring lack of hesitation in his words, as he turned to her and said, “Kirigiri-san. I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

The question struck fear into her heart like lightning. His words vibrated through her eardrums for only a few seconds, but already she felt ready to shout at him. He was supposed to be the optimist, damn it! How could he scare her with this talk of dying? No way. No, no, no. No way.

“No, you are not.”

Her voice came out firmer than she intended, like a parent telling their child that their word was final. She imagined her face must have followed suit, an uncontrollable scowl carving its way into her lips. If her predictions were correct, this was also probably one of those times that her eyes had become scarily intense.

“Really? You think there’s something we can do?”

The lack of hope in his tone almost made Kyoko want to slap some sense into him. But hitting your friends is a mean thing to do, and hitting the boy you kind of sort of think you might have a crush on is… well, it’s a lot worse.

Nodding was a better choice in this scenario. “Yes, I do.”

To her surprise, Makoto let out a soft chuckle. As his eyes fluttered open, she could start to see the inklings of sadness that hid behind them. Like he had already begun to accept that he faced the beginning of the end.

“It’s okay,” He said softly, “You don’t have to lie to me to make me feel better.”

“I’m not lying.” Her hands curled into fists. Where had all of his positivity gone? Had this condition replaced it with nothing more than swallowing melancholy? Once upon a time it would have been unthinkable for Makoto to even speak like this, but suddenly now she was taunted by the idea that it could become the norm. “I fully intend to make sure you do not die.”

“Kirigiri-” He started, but she didn’t let him finish. She cut him off not even a word’s worth in to the sentence; furious at the way he spoke.

“It’s not up for discussion, Makoto! Whether you think you will or not, I intend to make it so that you survive.”

She gulped. Neither of them had expected her to snap like that. Usually she could be calm and reserved, even in the face of adversity. But something about the suggestion of Makoto’s death hit her differently. Like a knife being jabbed into a wound she didn’t know she had. Without her consent, her eyes had become glassy, and she realized that she felt the push of tears in her throat. Stupid, she thought. It had been so long since she’d last felt the need to cry. It was so easy to choke it down.

The words hung a long pause in the air between the two of them; both of them afraid to break it for what felt like hours. Kyoko could do nothing but swallow repeatedly and blink rapidly, hoping desperately that he didn’t notice that she wanted to cry. Thankfully, he didn’t, opting instead to pick at the dirt under his fingernails. He lacked the proper works to say… just as she did.

The act that ended up the vow of silence between them was a soft sigh from Makoto’s end of things. He bit into his lip, shutting his eyes tightly. The face he made when he was reluctantly about to go along with one of her wild schemes to save the day.

“What do you propose we do?”

_______________________

If a spring breeze even existed anymore, it carried only a bizarre chill and the stench of death.

In the air it carried came the taste of distant smoke; the charred bodies of the dead and the burning brought through the air to these wandering children. Amongst the smell of death and the taste of airy smoke, lived nothing more than darkness and dim patches of light. The only sound being the distant screams of the tortured as they begged for mercy, and the gentle footsteps of the allied moving in synch. Pray for them, these wandering children. They are lost in a world determined to eliminate them.

A horror novel could not have painted a superior picture to the one that unfolded before Kyoko. All around her threatened destruction and desolation, should she take one wrong step. Just as if she were a character in a book, Kyoko would have to think through every detail of her present situation carefully. There could be no room for error, especially not when she had brought along such fragile cargo.

The decision to bring Makoto with her was a bad one. Sure, she knew there was little she could have done to stop him from joining her, but that didn’t keep her from regretting it. The poor thing stumbled about with all of the grace of a baby deer still learning how to use its legs, and had the endurance of one, too. He could only move in quick spurts, only fast enough to make a little bit of headway before needing to rest. They were nowhere near being close enough to their destination as they should have been thanks to that.

She didn’t have it in her heart to blame the poor boy, though. He did his best to not be a liability. He was skilled at ignoring his upset stomach and its repeated false alarms for vomiting, and was sweating out his fever like a pro. There were few people she had ever seen manage illness this well, and it impressed her, knowing that he could. She might have even felt proud of him, if she didn’t feel so overwhelmingly awful about having to drag him out into the dirty, disgusting world.

“H-How much longer until… until we’re… t-there…?” He panted so quietly that it might as well have been a whisper. She could see beads of sweat dripping down his forehead, desperately trying to cool him off. They weren’t managing so well, she noted, for his face flushed rouge. Maybe he would be due for another break soon, she decided. He didn’t look so good.

She tried not to look too pitying as she glanced back at him. She’d quickly learned that pity only made him feel worse. “Just a little while longer,” She purred in the sweetest voice she could muster, hoping to sound comforting, “We can take a break soon, if you like.”

He shook his head vigorously until pain overtook it. Another product of his fever. “I think I can manage for a little longer.” He promised; she knew it had to be empty. Too much sweat had stained the collar of his t-shirt for him to be okay to keep moving. He would need a break. And water.

“I disagree.” She took his hand in her own. “Here, let’s duck behind this building. We can stop here for a bit.”

The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Kyoko’s movements were enough to shut him up. At that point, his focus drew towards his aching joints, and how to keep himself from crying out at the movement. Luckily, resting at the library for a few days had given them a new lease on life, and he could move just a tad easier than he could have before. He wasn’t collapsing, nor wailing from indescribable pain. At the very least, that made both of them feel a little bit better about the whole thing.

Still, even his increased comfort didn’t mean that he didn’t have to focus on keeping his complaints at bay. Every bend of his knee or curve of his forearm warranted a low grunt of pain; one that he silenced in order to keep himself and Kyoko safe. Night was the most dangerous time for them to be travelling, and they both knew how every little sound drew the attention of the nightcrawlers.

So he kept himself silenced, right up until they reached the building Kyoko proposed they hide behind. Then, with all of the grace of someone who had been nearly drowned, he let his desperate gasps spill out of him. Kyoko stood guard next to him; she seemed adamant that she be able to monitor his breathing. There hadn’t been a break that had gone by that she hadn’t listened to his shallow breaths, waiting for them to progressively become deeper.

“Do you want some water?”

Her voice came as a gentle coo, like the way a mother would speak to her ailing child. She didn’t bother to listen to his response; she reached into her bag to grab hold of the bottle anyway. They both knew he’d be taking a drink no matter what he said.

She handed the bottle to him carefully, taking note of the water level. Enough for him to have a mouthful, but not for her. That was fine. If where they were going was as perfect as it was rumoured to be, she would have no problem getting more. Perhaps she could even snag some bottles to take back with her, to hydrate the others. God knows how long it had been since they had some real, fresh water.

Makoto accepted the bottle gratefully. His hands shook as he unscrewed the lid, but Kyoko tried not to notice. It was probably just hunger tremors, she thought to herself. She knew she had them too. She couldn’t help but fantasize about putting an end to those soon, too, just as she did with the water. All she could think about, apart from getting there alive, was providing what she knew everyone needed.

What Makoto needed most of all. Of course she thought of the others, but Makoto’s need was potentially the most pressing. Realistically, Toko would survive as long as she stayed hydrated, and the same went for Aoi so long as she washed the wound. Given that he was neither a small child or elderly, she fully expected Yasuhiro to make a full recovery. And once again, assuming that Byakuya would eat and drink, he’d be fine too. Makoto was really the only one of her friends who could die on the spot from something dramatic like a heart attack. So getting the right kind of food into him sat at the top of her priority list.

“Do you want some, Kirigiri-san?”

Leave it to Makoto to snap her back into her thoughts by offering her water. There had barely been enough in there for him to have a mouthful, yet he’d still halved it to make sure she could drink. Stupidly selfless Makoto; she wanted to scold him for that. She knew that he knew that he needed the water more, and the idiot had still halved it. She shook her head frustratedly.

“Are you sure?” He prodded, raising an eyebrow at her. He waved the water bottle at her temptingly, but she raised a hand in refusal. He knew better than to keep bothering after that, so he let it go and took one last swig for himself.

“Just drink it,” She sighed, “If I’m to believe the rumours about where we’re going, then I should be able to get more.”

The luckster blinked it surprise, and pulled the water bottle back close to his body. The expression of excitement on his face over having more water was cute enough to make her laugh, albeit rather lightly. The fact that he now seemed almost territorial over his water only made it harder to avoid giggling more loudly.

“You think this place will have water and fresh produce?” His eyes were wide, glimmering with the hope she worried he had lost to his illness. She could have cried at the sight of faith finally returning to his gaze. It had only been four days since he fell apart, but already she was grateful to have it back. It had been too long. Just seeing that brought a smile to her face.

“It’s supposed to. Apparently, there is an anti-apocalypse group spreading resources to survivors. I believe they call themselves Future Foundation, or something cheesy like that.”

It became his turn to smile. “It’s nice to know that there’s still some people out there trying to do good.”

She nodded in agreement, unable to fight herself on looking pleased. Really, she was with him on that. Knowing that someone else was out there, fighting for the future… it brought her great happiness. She could only hope that she would live long enough to put it to good use.

Makoto screwed the lid back onto the water bottle and handed it back to her. She took it gratefully, proceeding to offer him her hand. He became a little more stable when he had the help. A sigh of relief expelled itself from her mouth when he accepted her hand, and pulled him up from the spot where he sunk originally. Now that he was so close to her face again, the drops of sweat and the flushing of his face became even more apparent. She chose not to weigh her options about what to do; she simply pried her glove off her hand and placed it on his forehead to feel his temperature. Warmer, she noted, but not as bad as it could get. If guessing was involved, he probably hadn’t hit one-hundred degrees yet. In the seventies or eighties, should she be tasked with giving an exact number.

Still, this wasn’t something Makoto could possibly know. Concern for his own well-being gleamed in his tired eyes, and only showed further in the way his brows lowered over them. Perhaps it was over what she could report, or maybe the fact that she stood so close, but his lip took some abuse as well. It had become like the victims of the Tragedy: cannibalized. He was biting the skin off it again and again in agonizing anticipation. Like he thought Kyoko could just decree that he had two minutes left to live.

She sighed. “Well, you certainly have not got any better,” She withdrew her hand from his forehead and slipped it back into its glove, “But you also haven’t gotten any worse. Which, I would say, is a rather good thing.”

Like a wave crashing to the shore, all of the concern in Makoto’s expression washed away. As a small smile snuck across his face, she heard him laugh. “Yeah,” He paused, turning his head to look at the path that lay ahead, “Should we be going again, then?”

“If you’re ready.”

From that point forward, they would take a few more breaks. Understandable, considering that Makoto hadn’t done such a good job holding out for long periods of time. So far they had managed to narrowly dodge the nightcrawlers, ducking through alleyways and silencing themselves every time they heard the familiar footsteps of the hungry. When they came near, neither of them dared to make a sound. They only waited; they barely found the strength to breathe. Only once the loud, stomping feet trailed off, did the two teenagers continue on, feeling a little more like they were going to throw up the dinner that wasn’t in their stomachs. But it was fine, for they were almost there.

That’s what Kyoko told herself, anyway. It distracted her from the fact that they seemed to be stopping more and more often because of them. It seemed as if her finger would fly to her lips every two minutes. She’d be desperately silencing the whispers, footsteps, and breaths she dared to take — otherwise, she couldn’t guarantee their survival. Then, once the shouting of the cannibals had passed, they’d keep stumbling along. In the back of her mind, though, the thoughts of them would linger. How hungry did they have to be to eat other human beings? And how certain could she be of this Future Foundation safe haven if the nightcrawlers still rallied for flesh?

She gulped at the thought. For a second, she considered asking Makoto, but dismissed the idea just as fast. The poor thing already fought off nausea as he walked; striking up a conversation about some good ol’ cannibalism wouldn’t help that case. She had a memory of him vomiting the first time he’d seen one of the bodies they’d eaten. How could human beings ever stoop so low? Could they really stoop so low?

Kyoko shuddered at the life she’d lead if she were more desperate. Though hunger ached in her belly and sent dizziness spiraling through her head, she couldn’t fathom killing and eating another person. And she knew Makoto and the others couldn’t either. And while this did put them on the moral high ground, it also put them into the position of victim. If they weren’t careful, they could be next.

It was better not to think about it. The consumption of others, the chance that the promise of food and water was empty, and her stomach’s endless growling. It was better to focus on her partner. What he felt, what he thought, what he needed in the moment. It was strange; in spite of not being a nurturing person, she sort of took to caring for him. It took her mind off of the other things she decided to avoid thinking about. Interesting. She couldn’t keep herself from wondering if maybe, just maybe, he worried about her in the same way.

“How much further now?” He whispered over her shoulder; his voice wrought with exhaustion. Though she told him to stop many times, he had taken to refusing the closer they got. She could hear his breathlessness as they stumbled through the night, but it was never enough to slow him.

Their eyes didn’t meet as she guided him forward; she simply mumbled her response to him. “Soon,” She told him, “We’ll be there.”

He let out a low hum, pulling himself back from her side ever so slightly. There was weight on his feet when he walked; she could hear it, but he said nothing. He simply kept pushing along, one foot in front of the other, beads of sweat still dripping down his forehead mercilessly.

At least with them having not heard the footsteps of the nightcrawlers recently, Kyoko could take the opportunity to chat. “How’s your stomach?”

As if to answer her, a loud grumble sounded from presumably, within his stomach. She hid her smile behind her hand, and he blushed.

“A little rumbly, but… okay, I guess.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I am sorry to hear that… but we will fix it soon. I promise you that.”

He laughed softly. “I’m not worried,” He placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know I’ll be fine, so long as you’re with me.”

One might have thought Kyoko would answer, but the words caught in her throat. Her mind raced so quickly that she could barely think of a thing to say. Stupid Makoto, she thought to herself, stupid Makoto and his cute face and his sweet sentences. This boy will make a joke out of me one day, I swear. Only the flustering of her face could show how that made her feel, her gaze darting away from him. He probably wouldn’t look at her deeply, yet she didn’t want him to see how much those words meant. It would only make the blow worse if the rumours turned out to be wrong.

Her lips sealed themselves after that. The two of them still kept a close eye on each other, but there was almost nothing else that needed to be said. The closest they got was Makoto slipping his hand into hers; it felt as if it was his way of begging to be close. Taking one look at the war-torn, exhausted boy who trudged beside her, she couldn’t help but accept it. An old friend’s words echoed in her mind.

Have you ever held hands with a boy?

It was hard to know whether she wanted to scowl or laugh. She had held his hands before; it wasn’t the first time. But at the very least, this time felt a little different. Perhaps it was because as they took each careful step towards the unknown, it felt like it was the two of them against the world.

They made good progress after their last conversation, for there were no more interruptions. Creepy, Kyoko thought, that enemies could just seem to disappear as they drew closer. A little too suspicious, if you asked her. Not that she should really be asked; she was a detective after all. As far as she was concerned, anything could be suspicious. Still, she attempted to shrug it off… for Makoto’s sake. The last thing he needed while in his condition was the paranoid ramblings of a girl without evidence.

Besides, his presence became a good distraction from her paranoia. All she had to worry about was pushing him forward, towards the proclaimed Future Foundation safe haven building. The structure had finally spread itself out in front of them; the whole thing appearing suspiciously normal amongst the chaos. If the expectation for Kyoko was honesty, she would have confessed that she presumed that everything would look… rougher. Maybe some scorch marks along the bricks from fires long since put out, or perhaps some blood stains turned brown from age. Certainly, if these Future Foundation people were bright at all, they should consider that their weirdly clean-looking building stood out like a sore thumb. Just an old warehouse building, complete with dusted red brick and white moldings around the doors and windows. Not even the window glass shattered or shared any cracks with the outside world. The window was simply tinted with natural colour, and dust that had been kicked up from storms. In the old world, this could have been any old abandoned warehouse. Only now, it was the hiding spot of secret resources.

The appearance of it was so obvious that Makoto’s face lit up upon sight. Just seeing his expression was like watching a human Christmas tree. His exhausted eyes lit up with glee, and he clung tightly to her arm. Delight dripped through his voice as he spoke to her, and he gestured towards the building with a bouncy, shaking hand. “Is that it, Kyoko?” He asked, “Is that the building?”

She nodded, fighting off the grin that threatened to make its appearance. “Yes,” Closing one of her eyes, she pointed forward, “That’s the one.”

Those olive green eyes of his sparkled back at her, and he pressed his face into her arm. A sigh sounded as he nuzzled her, and for a minute, she might’ve imagined them some place else. But the old warehouse was no sunset-lit beach, nor star-clad night. It was just an old warehouse, full of little more than promise. Promise was promise, though. If it meant his survival, Kyoko might consider it the most beautiful thing of all.

With that idea resting in her mind, she pressed him to move forward. One step after the other, the same rhythm as always. Every once in awhile she stopped to flick her head around corners; a necessary evil to ensure that no nightcrawlers could spring a trap on them. Makoto followed along behind her carefully; a willful puppy trailing after his caretaker. As they drew closer and closer to the clearing that housed the warehouse, Kyoko knew making a break for it was necessary. When she glanced at her walking partner, it took her all of three seconds to know he saw it too.

She took a deep breath, and squeezed his hand tightly. Counting back from ten in her head, she braced herself. One, two, three. Even with her gloves on, she could feel the sweat on Makoto’s pams. Four, five, six. The warehouse beckoned them in an inaudible voice. Seven, eight, nine. Stacks of fresh produce and water. They had to be in there.

Ten.

Kyoko stole a breath and ran.

The world went by her in a rush; the sounds of their thundering footsteps as they ran consuming everything else around her. Amongst the chaos of their feet, the only other thing she could hear was the shallow panting of Makoto, who was clearly overexerting himself to arrive safely. She’d be sure to praise him for his perseverance later; most likely after she rewarded him with some well-deserved water and food. For now, though, she zeroed in on the front door. It stood there waiting; a wooden beacon in the distance. It drew closer and closer as their feet hit the pavement, the smell of death and the taste of the smoky air drowned out by what lay behind it.

Almost there. The thought echoed in her mind as she grabbed hold of the door’s handle. Behind her, Makoto attempted to skid to a stop, clearly just as lost as she was in the motions of the run. In the distance she heard the voices of the hungry, and she prayed that the famine of her and her friends hadn’t put them in the nightcrawlers’ sights. She yanked the door back with fervour, shoving Makoto inside before promptly slamming the door behind her.

She slumped against the door the moment she arrived, and her lungs screamed for air. The world seemed to sway under her feet as she stared down at them, trying desperately to steady herself. She had exerted the energy she lacked when she ran, and she knew her partner must have too. The mere idea of moving only made her head spiral further, but she knew she had to check on him. She ignored her brain’s desperation for the world to slow. Instead, she turned her head towards Makoto.

Just one look at him, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

He was… horrified. His hands had flown to his mouth to cover it, for otherwise it’d be hanging agape. His sleepy eyes were now wide with shock, and his brows so harshly furrowed together that she’d have thought he witnessed the product of a nightmare come to life. She could even see tremors start to consume his body once again.

“Naegi-kun?” She squeaked, her voice small and insignificant against the echoing terror of the warehouse. “What’s wrong?”

The boy refused her gaze. He only extended a hand, and trembling, he pointed forward.

His horror struck her just the same when her eyes fell upon it.

Bodies littered the building. Bodies of Future Foundation members, bodies of the despairs, the nightcrawlers, and the desperate. Everywhere was the sight of bodies, bloody and beaten beyond recognition. Shelves knocked over; the contents spilling over into pools of blood, excrement, and urine. Those that didn’t fall from the shelves onto the fluid-soaked floor had been otherwise tampered with. Some had been ripped open and left to spoil, so that no one might have what lay inside them. Others were completely destroyed, or used for horrible things Kyoko couldn’t bring herself to process. Her head spun even faster, and she was half-sure she’d have toppled over, if it weren’t for Makoto who grabbed her arm.

Thank god for his willingness to support her weight.

“I…” She sputtered, shutting her eyes. A harsh, sudden headache pounded at her temples, and when she tried to breathe, the air scorched her throat. “I don’t understand.”

Her feet swayed beneath her even further, threatening to bring her down. It was only Makoto who kept her steady; his voice hushed as he whispered in her ear.

“Stay with me, Kirigiri-san.” He begged. Through the booming of her heart in her ears, the shaking of his voice made itself audible. “Everything is fine.”

She tried to swallow, but it felt like a rock lodged itself in her throat. Her senses threatened her with tears, but she willed herself not to cry. Crying doesn’t solve anything. Her grandfather’s words. Words she wished to resist. “No,” She murmured, “Everything is not fine.”

“I know,” he whispered back, “It’s horrible, I know.”

She nodded. “This place was supposed to… help people. I… I cannot understand why anyone would… would…”

The detective’s voice trailed off. Her whimpers were the only thing ringing through the silence of the old warehouse. This only seemed to torture her further; Makoto couldn’t help but remark on how she trembled in his arms. The act was so uncharacteristic of her. It sent a jolt of worry to his core.

“Naegi-kun, what are we going to do?” She turned her head to look at him; the first time Makoto had actually seen the fear in her violet eyes. “The water… Aoi, and Byakuya, and the others… and you! You needed this place! You needed it so badly, and I was certain… I was certain that I…”

He pulled her face towards his chest, shushing as gently as he could. He found himself stroking her hair without thinking to do so; he supposed he thought the action would be soothing. Fortunately for him, she failed to oppose it. Rather, she actually buried her face deeper into his chest to hide.

“It’s okay, Kirigiri-san.”

“B-But, I…”

The girl’s hands curled into fists, and he could feel the clench of her jaw. Was she about to cry, or was she about to punch him? The lack of answer made him uneasy. Kyoko looked like the kind of girl who could punch hard, should she want to punch you.

“... I was supposed to help you. We were supposed to get out of this together. I… I don’t understand why I cannot help you. I don’t understand what I’ve done poorly.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing you could have done, and no way you could have known. We just… need to go somewhere else now.”

She pressed her face further into his chest, and suddenly, he could feel it. The tiny, wet spots of her tears on his shirt. She wouldn’t show it, but he could feel it. For her sake, he decided not to mention it. Chances are she was already embarrassed enough to be crying, given her stoicism. He decided perhaps it was best if he just let the waterworks slide this time around.

“No.” She answered with a shaking breath. Though he could hear her sniffling, she dismissed any semblance of a sob. “No, I’m not leaving here until we find something to help you.”

“Kirigiri-san-”

“No!” She growled with all of the stubbornness of a toddler. It might have even been punctuated with a stomp of her foot. “No, I am not leaving her until we fix things!”

“Kyoko, we can’t…”

Suddenly, she shoved him away, staring at him with a frown. The tears were still glistening on her face, yet she scorned them. It dawned on him now that he probably led her to want to punch him, shortly after she started to cry. Two for two, he supposed.

“It’s final, Makoto.” A firm, resolute voice took place of the shaky girl’s. She swiped at her eyes, and strengthened the painted-on scowl she wore. “I intend to help you. Whether you try to help yourself or not.”

The words struck him dumb. He tried to reach his hand out to her, to say something that would be of value, but the detective was having none of it. Within seconds, she had whipped away from him, strutting down the rows of shelves like it was nothing. A chill shot down his spine at the sight of it. How could she be so firm in her resolve, he wondered. Even he, who had been widely praised by others for being so hopeful, was breaking down at each and every site where things fell apart. He had long since given up on himself, yet Kyoko dismissed all ideas of ever letting go. Somewhere within himself, Makoto knew he had to find that same resolve to keep going. To search for anything with her, so that they may both survive.

Because she said she wanted them to leave this situation together.

“Kyoko, wait.” He called out to her, stumbling forward as she walked. “I’ll help you.”

Within an instant, the discontentment melted off the girl’s face, and she turned to glance back at him. She sniffled once more, folding her arms across his chest. There were no words shared between them, but Kyoko flicked her head forward. With her, that was as good a signal as any to follow. So he did, stepping over any ominous looking puddles he found along the way. If there was any hope to be found for him, it would be with her.

“I’m thinking we should head towards the back of the building,” He suggested, taking hold of her hand again, “Some of the stuff back there might be spared. They could even have a produce fridge. You know, like where they mist the vegetables at the grocery store.”

Kyoko did little more than nod, walking towards the back of the store like she didn’t have a care in the world. With the way her chest was so proudly puffed up, you wouldn’t have expected her to have been crying a minute before. He figured it was safe to assume that was why she was doing it — she always held distaste for crying in front of others. It was sort of understandable, he reasoned. But he didn’t mind comforting her, if she needed to cry. Heaven knew that by then, she’d comforted him enough times.

The two made their way to the back of the building in relative silence, save for the sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor of the warehouse. As they walked, both of them thought it best to avoid making contact with the corpses as they walked. Seeing the beaten faces, some of them frozen in screams of agony or despair, it made the hairs on the backs of their necks stand on end. Could they meet the same fate, if they weren’t careful? Could it just as easily have been them? Would whoever did this come back?

They both shook those nightmarish fantasies from their heads; both too afraid to know the answers to those questions. Instead, they put their focus onto the produce shelf, and what they might find on it.

“For you, there are a few things that we could use.” Kyoko told him, her voice hushed. Whether she spoke so quietly because she feared the return of the killers or showing how emotional she’d been, he didn’t know. “Acerola cherries, for example, make an excellent source. Kiwis, bell peppers, strawberries, broccoli, kale, and oranges are also acceptable sources.”

Makoto tried to keep those in mind as they travelled through the warehouse. The further back they went, the more he scanned for them. On occasion they would think they’d hit the jackpot, finding a lone strawberry or rogue kiwi on the floor. However, once they picked it up, they would discover the flaws. The most common was mold, but other regrettable occurrences did include a kiwi that had several bites taken out of it already; and a bell pepper coated in blood on one side. At that point, there was no other choice but to toss it aside and keep looking. Thinking optimistically, at least that provided them with just a smidge of hope. It did help significantly, seeing how the ideal fruits and vegetables did manage to trail to the back. Kyoko took that as a good sign.

Well, as good as a sign it could be, in an abandoned warehouse full of death. Sure, the stench of it all failed to recede as they ventured further, and the air still burned her throat, and Makoto was still sweating like a pig because of his fever… But in some weird way, she still held out hope that everything would be okay. Some way, somehow, it would be okay. It had to be.

And it seemed like it might, as they came up on the end of the island they had been walking through.

“Oh my god,” Makoto exclaimed, pointing forward. “Kirigiri-san, look!”

Her focus darted around, trying to figure out what he was referring to. Had a nightcrawler made its way in? Was there a resource they could benefit from? She scoured the shelves and the floors, taking in as much information as she could, until finally… she saw it. A round ball of fiery orange, sitting plainly on the ground. Away from any corpses, with skin untorn and full of natural colour.

A healthy, safe orange.

She’s certain that the two of them must have lunged for it; they attacked the fruit like children eager to open a Christmas present. Within mere seconds, Kyoko had ripped the glove off her hand and created an incision in the skin with her nails, tearing it off the fruit with a strange sort of glee.

Makoto sat across from her on his knees; eyeing the fruit like it were a piece of gold. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, for she basically held the remedy to all of his struggle. If she were in his shoes, she felt certain she would have acted the same way too. In her hands, she held the key to fixing everything — no more fever, no more upset stomach, no more fatigue, no more aching joints. She wouldn’t have to hear him cry so horribly ever again, ever see him such deep pain. She supposed she yearned just as hard for the relief of it as he. So when she finally managed to tear the skin off, she shoved the fruit into his hands.

“Go on, Naegi-kun.” She urged, “Eat it.”

For a second, he did nothing but stare at it. Surely he wasn’t having second thoughts about wanting to live or something, was he? Kyoko might have smacked him right then and there if he was, no matter how mean she knew it was to do… but, fortunately, that didn’t appear to be the case. Instead, when he came to his senses a little more, he tore the fruit in half and placed the other piece in Kyoko’s hands.

Her stomach growled in delight at the sight. “What are you doing?”

No, no, no, no. This was not her fruit. She couldn’t eat this. Not when he needed the nutrients more. Nearly as soon as it was in her hands, she rushed to return it to him — but Makoto dismissed it. Before she could even get within a few inches of him, he pushed her hand back to her.

“Please.” A slight smile crossed his face as he pushed her hand back. “I know you’re hungry, too.”

She bore down on her lip absent-mindedly. How did he expect her to accept this? “Naegi-kun, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” His grin brightened, and his hand secured itself around her own. “You’ve tried so hard to keep up my hope. Let’s try to keep up yours, too.”

Don’t accept it, she shouted at herself. He needs this more than you do. You know that.

She did know that. She did know that, yet when she looked at him, there was little she could do to resist his begging. That soft smile, those affectionate green eyes, damn you, Makoto Naegi. She fixed her eyes on him carefully, and raised the orange to her mouth.

“That’s it,” He said, raising his piece to his own, “On the count of three, alright?”

She nodded, eyeing the fruit in front of her. God, she hadn’t realized how much she missed oranges until this very moment. The scent of the citrusy fruit almost made her feel like she might start to drool.

“One… two… three.”

Bite.

A rush of flavour flooded her mouth, staining her tongue with its sweetness. She groaned in delight, having long since forgotten how wonderful oranges were. Across from her, she could gather Makoto was having the same experience… although the juices from the fruit were dripping down his lips and chin. She chuckled slightly, liking the mildly embarrassed expression on his face.

“This is… really good.” He remarked, wiping his chin with the back of his wrist.

She giggled at the act. “It truly is…”

“Mmm… Kirigiri-san?”

Taking another quick bite of her orange, she glanced back over at him expectantly.

“Yes?”

He licked his orange-juice coated lips, and flashed her another smile. A real one, with teeth and that signature cheerfulness she had grown to miss amongst his illness. Her chest warmed at the sight, and increased its warmth when he finally spoke.

“Thank you.”

#naegiri2019 #naegiri #kyoko kirigiri #makoto naegi #kyouko kirigiri #kirigiri kyoko #naegi makoto #thh #danganronpa #DR1 #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #Future Foundation

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perplexinglyparadoxialperson · 4 years ago

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Aging in Super Soldiers

Another theory here! This is part of a story I’m writing, so the formatting might be weird, but I hope you like it! Find me on Archive of our own at PerplexinglyParadoxialPerson

When I first began to think of this possibility, I thought of using Thor and Asgardians in general as examples, but that doesn’t make much sense. While Asgardians have longer lifespans than ordinary humans, (eg, they have been to earth in the time of the Vikings and are still alive) and have enhanced healing and durability, (eg, Loki got Hulk smashed during the battle of Manhattan, and walked away from it) as well as many other similar traits to super soldiers, that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are connected. We only know of one alien species that has enhanced healing and/or a longer lifespan. Correlation does not equal causation, and it is entirely possible that it is a coincidence, despite how much sense it makes.

To start with, we have to define aging, and know what causes it. (Kind of. We don’t have all the information yet, but this is what’s suspected.) Basically, aging is when the rate of cell death exceeds the rate of cell replication, even by a tiny bit. Cells die in only one of two ways, external stresses, like cuts, burns, etc, or apoptosis. Apoptosis is when a cell destroys itself because it’s DNA is damaged or mutated, and shouldn’t keep on replicating. One of the reasons that a cell could have damaged DNA is because it doesn’t have telomeres anymore. Telomeres are basically junk DNA on the ends of our chromosomes, so that if there is a copying error, then there is a much smaller chance that useful DNA will be destroyed. Telomeres gradually deplete over time, and that is one of the speculated causes of aging. The older you get, the shorter telomeres you have, which causes more cell death, which means that you deteriorate, because you have a higher rate of cell death than cell replication.

A related fact is that super soldiers have enhanced healing, which logically means that their cells replicate faster, to close wounds faster, replace blood volume quickly, and probably leave minimal scarring. The thing is, if super soldier cells replicate twice as fast as normal human cells, and did that constantly, then the effects would probably be very visible, with the extra cells that aren’t dying probably causing massive growths, and possibly growing into the hollow spaces inside him, like his lungs. Steve has been a super soldier for quite a few years now, so it’s likely that if that were to happen, we would know already. It is most likely that Steve’s (and other super soldiers) cells stop replicating if there isn’t a need to replace dead cells, and probably act like most brain and spine nerve cells, which do not replicate after you stop growing, which is why brain and spinal cord injuries are often permanent. Of course, they would begin to replicate again once he got injured, but unless that happened, they would stay in a limbo of sorts.

Aging is partially genetic, and partially based on environmental factors, but I will be basing my theory mostly on the genetic side. Some people have longer telomeres than others, which makes the individual cells last longer, and make it so they can live to one hundred years old and beyond. Since the whole point of the serum was to make people become the best a human could be and beyond, it is very likely that super soldiers have longer telomeres than anybody, and it’s also very likely that their cells make less mistakes in copying DNA, and/or can fix it more effectively than any normal human. Not to mention that they are more durable than any human, so their cells would also not die as often. The thing is, the more a cell is replicated, the more damage there is to the telomeres, and (it’s assumed) the faster someone will age. Since I’m assuming that a super soldier’s cells only divide when needed, and their cells are more durable, and die less, needing less division to fix, that already significantly increases the chance of them aging slower, and means less cells dying of apoptosis. But if you add in the high chance of them having longer telomeres, DNA being less likely to mutate, and the possibility of their cells being able to fix damaged DNA much better than an ordinary human, and it seems that they will have a drastically increased lifespan. There’s also the fact that a few animals (and cancer cells as well) can produce telomerase, which increases the length of telomeres, and increase a lifespan well past it’s normal length. It’s just a guess, but it’s definitely possible in theory that super soldiers could produce telomerase, increasing their lifespan even more.

One interesting fact that I found while researching this is that chemotherapy, or drugs that kill cancer, do that by destroying the cells that replicate faster. Cancer is just cells replicating very fast and out of control, so it works well on cancer, but it also works well on other quickly replicating cells, like hair follicles, bone marrow, and digestive tract cells. This would make it much easier to kill a super soldier with chemotherapy drugs than probably any other drugs. Once one cell was killed by it, other cells would replicate in order to fill the gap, exposing them to the effects, making the cells around them replicate in order the fill the spot, and on and on, until the super soldier was dead. Of course, this would require a lot of chemotherapy drugs, and probably a significant amount of time, but it’s an interesting thought.

One thing that would happen if they did age much slower than the rest of us, and my speculations about how that would happen are true, is that once they did start aging properly, it would be fast. The thing is, when their chromosomes run out of telomeres, cells will start to die of apoptosis. Then those cells will be replaced by other cells that are close to apoptosis, which start to die quickly, then more cells need to be replaced, all with cells that are also close to dying of apoptosis, and on and on. I have no clue how quickly that would be, it might be at a normal human rate, but I do know that it would be much faster than their previous aging rate.

#science #theory #super soldier serum #marvel cinematic universe

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brawlfists · 5 years ago

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STUDY : Tifa Lockhart. Repost it, do not reblog.

tagged by : @hercbled ( thank you ! ) tagging : @ultimilitiaa . @wutaiiwarrior . @bllakcat . @uchirite . @starsfated . @angereve (marlene or iris) . @dawnryse . @andscreams (seifer) & you !

— basics.

▸ is your muse tall / short / average ? 5′6 (167 cm) considering the region she is from, she is considered tall.

▸ are they okay with their height ? Definitely. Tifa never had issues regarding her stature, since it’s a trait that she doesn’t really focus on.

▸ what’s their hair like ? Soft as silk, bearing in mind her asian lineage that usually grows from a round follicle (which is responsible for the straight hair) her hair is smooth and has a remarkable hair growth. Her hair color varies according to the light, beneath the sunrays seems to be a hickory hue when it’s actually a dark chocolate tinge. Tifa fancies long hair, since a child Tifa opted to let her hair grow longer due to her mother’s beautiful hair (Tifa constantly used to comb her mama’s hair admiring how sleek her strands are). Sidebangs are her trademark, yet it wasn’t always in that style cause when she was 5-12 her bangs were 60s styled bangs.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair / grooming ? Yes. in terms of daily basis it doesn’t require much of her attention, aside from wearing the proper hair brush to her hair type (variates between a boar bristle brush and wet brush) Tifa does deep hydrating treatments twice a week (coconut oil), doesn’t over-wash her hair (3 times a week) & low-heat setting for her hair dryer. Tifa’s major secret to maintain her strands healthy is shampooing the scalp, massaging with fingers instead of nails & the conditioner along the length of her hair. Regarding the grooming process, Tifa enjoys to tie at her tips or sometimes prefers to keep loose.

▸ does your muse care about their appearance / what others think ? generally speaking she doesn’t care what other think unless if it’s a specific niche (close friends/crush). Regarding her exterior looks, she values her opinion but if someone contradicts her (ex : ‘your outfit is weird’ ) Tifa will innerly question & doubt her current appearance. Personality wise, Tifa is stubborn and reluctant to change minor issues, so following this trace, she cares by half. (50%)

— preferences.

▸ indoors or outdoors ? ▸ rain or sunshine ? ▸ forest or beach ? ▸ precious metals or gems ? ▸ flowers or perfumes ? ▸ personality or appearance ? ▸ being alone or being in a crowd ? ▸ order or anarchy ? ▸ painful truths or white lies ? ▸ science or magic ? ▸ peace or conflict ? ▸ night or day ? ▸ dusk or dawn ? ▸ warmth or cold ? ▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends ? ▸ reading or playing a game ?

— questionnaire.

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits ? Have you ever seen someone emotional that is too insecure to express her feelings much cause sometimes doesn’t even her understand what is exactly is going on with her emotions or that she believes that her feelings sometimes aren’t relevant to the situation they are inserted such as ‘Prevent Sephiroth from using the Black Materia’ ? That’s Tifa Lockhart. No wonder her name suggests such a thing. Tifa bottles up her feelings, not only due to the fact that she doesn’t construe them very well but there are times that she outbursts Quoting Tifa : “YOU’RE JUST GOING TO WALK RIGHT OUT IGNORING YOUR CHILDHOOD FRIEND !? “ that’s an example of her outburst when she asks Cloud to join AVALANCHE. Tifa crack her joints often to release tension ... it’s a sign of her anxiety from (PTSD)

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them ? how has it affected them ? Akane Lockhart (Mother), the death that inflicted Tifa the most. Considering her age (8 years old) and the bond they shared caused her to persists in a denial stage of grief. Imagine a 8 year older Tifa believing that her mother was in Mt.Nibel which lead her to do multiple things that harmed her. Brian Lockhart (Father) in an early age (15 years old) and the cause of death only inticed her to release a rage against Shinra, a painful one that still haunts her nightmares. Due to her coma, her grief process was interrupted & the trauma lead her to suppress such memories. Biggs, Jessie & Wedge (AVALANCHE members) guilt grief, mostly inticed by Barret since Tifa was trying to deal with her emotions and it only caused her to be confused with the entire situation. Through time, she does feel a guilt complex considering that it was all setup by Shinra. Aerith Gainsborough (close friend) it was all to quick (meeting her, her death, the grief because they had to continue with their journey) I believe Aerith inflicted her a mix of these 3 grieves. Denial, rage and guilt ... The denial stage, possibilites that was an image created in their head since in the Temple of Ancients they were able to see Sephiroth’s passage through the Temple. Rage, I believe she discharges her anger through the battles and her willpower. Guilt, this one is not heavily implied but Tifa often contemplates ‘What If’ scenarios such as : what if I went along with them when Cat Sith shrinked the temple into the black materia and prevented Cloud to give the Materia to Sephiroth or what if I tried to stop Aerith from going to the Forgotten City when Cloud was unconscious. As remark of her beautiful presence, she uses a pink ribbon around her left triceps to feel her energy.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has ? Playing piano with her mother, water tower meetings with Cloud (mainly the promise day, as much it can be considered sad cause he was leaving), Zangan lessons, playtime with Johnny and Cloud, Brian’s pancakes, 7th heaven before the Meteor / Avalanche schemes (Wedge trying her food, Jessie and Biggs drinking games, grooming Marlene’s hair and Barret’s papa bear moments to Marlene), Aerith flowers, Cloud returning from a delivery, Vincent vs cellphone & Aerith’s protection

▸ is it easy for your muse to kill ? No. Bearing in mind that her weapon is her hands, Tifa has trouble in killing ; unless when it’s a monster. or Sephiroth. When she is boosted by rage, her impulsivity might cause her to oblive her morals, take as an example the Nibelheim incident (no wonder it incites her discomfort leading her to a partial memory loss (difficult to concentrate) of such incident {PTSD CAN TRIGGER THAT]

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down ? EXTREME ANXIETY. Quoting Tifa “If I stayed here ... I’ll go crazy” I believe her breaks down usually occurs in 2 cases : STRESS and EMPTY MIND (this one was thankfully controlled by her medidation routine) First, she isolates herself ... Tifa is convinced that she has to be the optimistic pillar to her party (Example : Aerith’s death. She caresses Aeris’ hair & runs away to burst her tears in private) . Two, mood swings (this is a common one. An example is when Nanaki questions his sanity to Cloud, Tifa says ‘Be strong’ then when he doubts she simply shouts ‘BE STRONG !’ ... an effect that suppressing her feelings preside over her breakdowns) Third, eating & sleeping habits are affected. Insomnia mostly and skipping meals.

▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life ? Yes. I wouldn’t say easily, it depends how that someone will approach them. I’ll use Yuffie & Aerith as an example. In the case of Aerith, her approach was during a unfortunate event (Don Corneo’s creepy dungeon) however it was a friendly reach considering that SHE PROVIDED THE WHOLE CONCEPT OF SAVING TIFA. When they arrive Sector 7, Tifa request Aerith to protect Marlene. Which she would only request someone that she is capable to trust with their life. About Yuffie, their meeting was around a tricky scheme which lead Tifa to not trust her easily, cause when in the Wutai sidequest. Quoting Tifa : “Something’s telling me I still shouldn’t trust you” implying that Tifa follows her instincts. Summarizing, it would depend on the circumstances of their meeting.

▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love ? highly attuned to infatuation — as long as she can trust enough to let down her barriers and allow another person into her world. she loves hard, pursues a star love (the kind where souls, minds, and bodies seamlessly merge) Tifa will be that girl that attempts to show her emotions through actions. She tries to adjust to her partner ideals which is a submissive trait, yet she also expects that her sweetheart demonstrates somehow (words or actions) which can lead her to be that type of lover that put up walls and say it's all good when everything is clearly the exact opposite, since Tifa has issues in dealing with emotions. It doesn’t happen often but she feels bad when she has to demand her partner for affection or time together. These walls usually crumbles through time. Basically she’s a giver and will always remind you how much you’re worth it and loved & how lucky she is to have you as a partner + SUPER ATTENTIVE & CARING.

#( wow these were INSPIRATIONAL )#( i just dont knows what is order vs anarchy so i got confused lol )#( my english is not that great folks )#-ˋˏ ⛧彡⋆•̩̩͙ 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘. meta. –––– ‘ interpreting allusions of a fighter #tw : long post #( i was too lazy to put the caps of the quotes but ... )

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missblushyrose · 6 years ago

Text

Nightmare

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write a nightmare fic for Connor, and this comic was the thing that set me off to do it as it was a source of inspiration. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing this to hurt him - I love this precious baby boy. I just wanted to get this out of the way so I can write more fluff without this breathing down my neck. I’m not one to write angst fics, but I’d do it if there is room for comfort and a dash of fluff. Just try not to cry during the nightmare portion like I did as I wrote this. If you read further towards the end, things get better. This would be set during Connor’s third night living with Hank after the events of the revolution. As for the requests in my inbox, I will get to them sooner or later. I greatly appreciate your patience!

Connor’s eyelids fluttered weakly, a soft, weary groan emerging from his lips. He blinked once, twice, three times before he finally managed to regain the focus his visual processors needed. The blue hue of his LED began spiraling to yellow, then to red at the display before him.

“L-Lieutenant...?”

Much to the prototype’s shock and horror, his gaze met the seemingly downcast form of Hank, who was perched on his knees as his head drooped downward. He also came to notice the pistol embraced in a tight grasp of his left hand, the arm stretched forward, aiming at the human who knelt before him. He tried to pull his arm back down, but some strange force was preventing him from doing so. He couldn’t even walk away.

“W-What’s... happening? I can’t... move,” The RK800 croaked, sounding like a timid child in a doctor’s office. “Hank... what am I-!?” He paused abruptly at the feeling of a pair of hands slithering up against his neck, stopping to where the fingers rested against his jawline.

Those hands... they felt... soft, smooth, and cold... ice-cold, similar to-

“Well done, Connor. Your mission is nearly complete.”

“A-Amanda!?” Connor whispered, his thirium pump nearly stopping at the voice he knew all too well; the voice of his former handler; the voice that guided him during his pre-deviant days.

“Now for your final objective...” The AI’s tone ran like silk with a monotonous timbre, practically whispering the next set of instructions into his ear:

“Kill him and come home, Connor.”

“Connor, please don’t do this! You were my partner! I trusted you!” Hank’s words hurt him like an icy stab to the heart, his silvery gray brows furrowed and his mouth contorted into a scornful sneer, a thin crimson trail forming at the left corner of his lips, whereas a thicker ribbon dribbled from the hairline. He looked hurt; betrayed; disappointed.

The hand clutching the gun trembled in an attempt to resist his orders, screams ringing through from the back of his mind, each begging him to not do something he would regret.

“Say something, damn it! CONNOR! ” The lieutenant barked at him in hopes of being listened to, the man’s grey-blue irises gazing up into his own glassy dark brown orbs.

As his index finger rested on the trigger, Connor felt an odd stirring sensation lingering within the pit of his stomach, like as if he were going to be ill. Was this what humans refer to as that ‘sinking feeling’?

“CONNOR! STOP!”

The android gritted his teeth at the raw desperation in Hank’s voice and futilely fought against the “I-I can’t stop...!”

“CON-”

BAM!

Connor winced at the loud blare as his human colleague’s blood and partial brain matter splattered against the pristine white floors of this odd oblivion. He could only look on in crippling trepidation for the owner to collapse onto his back, the lifeless eyes staring blankly above him, blood oozing from the gaping hole in his forehead as a result from the single bullet.

It was the moment that he had (unwillingly) killed the man when his vision was greeted with the haunting, bone-chilling textile displayed in a red hue so dark that it would easily blend into the evergrowing puddle of red before him:

[MISSION ACCOMPLISHED]

No longer constricted in his stance, the android sank to his knees and ran an analysis on the corpse in front of him, hoping and praying to God that this was not real - that this was some cruel, twisted joke.

[SYNC IN PROGRESS...]

[SYNC DONE.]

[COLLECTING DATA...]

[PROCESSING DATA...]

[LT. ANDERSON, HANK

Born: 09/06/1985

Died: 11/14/2038

Lived: 115 Michigan Street in Detroit, Michigan]

The chocolate irises in his optics shrunk as he struggled to grasp the concept that was provided to him before his very eyes:

Hank Anderson, the only human he ever grew close to - his partner, his best friend, his... family - was no more. And it was all his fault.

“Hank...” Connor choked out a sob, his red LED glaring bright enough to where even he could see it just at the corner of his eye. “What have I done...? I’m so sorry... I-I’m so sorry...!” He finally caved into the regrettable crime he was forced to commit and wailed in despair, repeatedly apologizing for his actions, though it was all in vain.

The taunting voices he could hear from the back of his mind, each condemning, spiteful, and disdainful:

“You look human, you sound human... but what are you, really?”

“He was bleeding, begging you for mercy, but you shot him!”

“Are you a human being? Or just a machine?”

“Machines don’t feel - that’s why you killed him. You are just a machine.”

The android clenched his teeth and gripped at his usually immaculate hair, a million thoughts speeding through his mind, like an afternoon highway traffic pattern. He couldn’t bear to go on with his extended lifespan, knowing that he killed the only human he could ever hold a space for in his nonexistent heart in cold blood.

[STRESS LEVELS: 100% [CRITICAL]]

[SELF DESTRUCT IMMINENT...]

[00:03

00:02

00:01]

“Con-”

____________

“-nor!”

Connor’s eyes - fogging up - just about bugged out of his artificial skull in response to the gruff voice stirring through his audio processors, his fear-filled brown eyes meeting the gaze of grey-blue before him as his synthetic skin grew cold and clammy. How was this possible? He shot him. He was on the verge of self-destructing, and he somehow found himself on a familiar sofa rather than an eerily vast blankness, a pillow resting behind his head and a soft throw blanket draped over his body, an oversized DPD hoodie practically swallowing him whole. Neither of them should be alive. They should be dead. And yet, here they were in the living room of Hank’s small home, the human hovering over him with Sumo by his side.

“Connor! Can you hear me!?” Hank shouted to him as he grasped the android’s shoulders. “Say somethin’, damn it! Con-”

“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Came a terrified outcry from the android’s voice box as he all but shoved the older man away from himself.

“What the f-!?” The lieutenant’s surprised exclamation was cut short as he flew back towards the further end of the couch, Sumo flinching sharply at the sudden commotion. He quickly shook off his startled daze and shot an irked glare at the deviant. “Jesus Christ, Connor! What’s gotten into-”

“Stay away from me... I don’t want to hurt you... I-I don’t... I-I...”

[STRESS LEVELS: 90% [CRITICAL]]

Hank’s gaze drastically softened at the tone the android was currently attributing: broken; scared. “Connor... Shit...”

The harsh glow of red did not cease within Connor’s LED, the artificial tears that wielded the glassy surface of his optics now streaming down his cheeks without even realizing it himself until he noticed the sudden moisture along his synthetic skin. “Amanda, she made me do it. I-I didn’t want to... I killed you... I couldn’t stop myself. I-It was me...”

“Connor, h-hey...”

“And I didn’t fight back! Maybe I really am just a machine...! I shot you! I killed you! There was nothing I could do!”

[STRESS LEVELS: 93% [CRITICAL]]

“Connor!”

“W-Was that real? Or is this real? I... I killed you! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I-”

“Connor!”

The as the android’s stress levels increased, his hands began to wring the soft, cotton fabric of the blanket upon his lap, trembling fingers tightly clenching at it. “P-Please kill me, Hank...” He whispered aloud, missing the horror-stricken awe morphing in the human’s expression. “Please... I don’t want to-” His heartbreaking request was abruptly ceased as he felt a calloused hand pulling him into a pair of warm arms.

“Shhh...” The lieutenant shifted his voice down to a gentle whisper to soothe the anxious android, whose pupils remained shrunken and unmoving. “It’s alright. I’m here. It was just a nightmare. I know you’d never hurt me.” He pressed his fingers through the young man’s disheveled locks and gently massaged the scalp underneath the follicles with the hand that cradled his head, holding it to where the kid’s ear was burrowed into his chest. “Just... listen.”

Still no words rising from his voice box from the fear-tainted shock, Connor heeded the placid instruction and directed his focus to hear the moderately soft pulsations:

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

[LIEUTENANT ANDERSON’S VITALS: NORMAL]

The soft, rhythmic pulses resembled that of a gentle thump of a drum, playing to a mind-numbingly calm and slow, yet temperate, tempo. His analysis seemed to prove its uselessness since he could auricularly capture the soothing beat through the flesh surrounding the still-beating heart. Gradually, the red in the android’s LED spiraled to yellow, only to finally revert back to a calm blue. The tears, however, did not cease to fall - they seemed to increase, in fact.

He was safe - they were both safe. They were protected by the walls of the lieutenant’s - no - their home. Hank Anderson was alive.

“I’m... sorry,” The deviant sputtered with a small hiccup, trembling in his partner’s arms like a leaf in a rowdy gust of wind in the autumn. “I-I was so scared...”

“I know, but there’s no reason to be. I don’t blame ya. Sounds like one fucked up nightmare by the looks of it. You’re alright, Connor. I gotcha. I gotcha...”

And so for the next ten minutes, the human kept the sniveling android in a secure embrace, continuously whispering soft words of comfort into his ear and rubbing a hand along the stiff, shaking back. No other words were spoken by the former deviant hunter, besides the frequent apologies for his outburst along with an occasional hiccup as a result of his crying.

[STRESS LEVELS: 69%]

What struck the artificial human odd was why he felt so terrified by what was just a mere illusion. What haunted him within the depths of his nightmare had never actually occurred in real life, so why was he still scared? Before he could do so much as utter a single syllable, he felt himself being lifted from the couch cushions and into Hank’s arms, said human carrying the android towards his bedroom, just across the bathroom on the opposite of the hall.

“Hank, what are you-”

“Taking you to bed.”

“But... I don’t have-”

“I know, so you’re gonna sleep with me tonight.”

“But I-”

“Shut the fuck up, Connor.”

Pushing the ajar door with a foot, Hank proceeded towards his own bed and carefully lowered the android onto the mattress, crawling in afterward. He gripped the comforter and lifted it to shield their bodies from the blistering cold of the midnight breeze lingering through the crack of the entry doors from the outside. Next, he shifted himself closer and gathered the deviant into his arms, enfolding him into a warm, comforting embrace once more.

“H-Hank...?” The android questioned faintly.

Instead of receiving a verbal response, the lieutenant started to lightly drag his blunt fingernails up and down the android’s back after slipping a hand beneath the aged hoodie, his digits just stroking at a very slow pace. He chuckled warmly as he watched Connor shiver before he gradually eased himself into the touch. “Feels good, huh? I used to do the same thing for Cole whenever he had a nightmare to help him relax. Works every time.”

“A bit spine-tingling at first, but it becomes very... soothing...” Connor admitted softly, his eyelids fluttering lightly. The sensations of the human’s blunt nails drifting along his back tickled him ever so slightly, but they were relaxing, nevertheless. “I like this. It feels pleasant.”

[STRESS LEVELS: 54%]

Hank took this as a cue to continue brushing his extremities along the android’s back, which gradually became less tense as he went on. “You, uh... You wanna talk about it?”

“Why would I want to talk about it?” Connor quizzed with a tilt of his head and a puzzled expression that made him look like a lost puppy.

“Because by talking to someone, you’re facing it, but you’re not facing it alone. Plus, gettin’ it out in the open helps you move past it. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

A tense, awkward silence began to saunter throughout the master bedroom as Connor began to contemplate the offer. He spent an utmost three minutes of deliberating before he finally came to a decision. “Well, I suppose if it will work, then I’m willing to confide to you.”

The older man gave off a sympathetic nod, his grey-blue eyes never leaving the android as he continued to stroke his back. “I’m listenin’.”

He then inhaled through his nose to further compose himself before he began to disclose the events of his nightmare. “I seem to remember that I was lying on the couch, and I suddenly found myself in some sort of... oblivion. I looked down to find you on your knees. You were bleeding, and... a-and I’ve held you at gunpoint. I was... confused and... scared... I’ve tried to throw the gun away, only to find myself unable to move. I wanted to just... drop the gun, but something prevented me from doing so: Amanda.”

“Amanda?” Hank questioned with apparent perplexity, but with gentle caution.

“She was my handler, whom I would update on the progress of my missions when I was just a machine.”

“Like your boss or somethin’?”

The android nodded slowly. “In a way...”

Hank could easily discern the hint of pain that strayed within the artificial human’s tone, and he ultimately decided to delay on the particular topic, for his kid’s sake. “Sorry. Go on.”

A wistful sigh ventilated through the deviant’s lips as Connor pressed on with his story. “I... I could feel her hands. I could hear her voice, ordering me to kill you as the last objective of my mission. As you were begging me to go against my instruction, you sounded angry; hurt; disappointed.” He emphasized said adjectives with raw emotion, missing the shock that morphed into the man’s expression. “I-I wanted to stop myself, but I couldn’t! I-I-I... I shot you! I killed you! I-” Another heart-wrenching wail ripped through his voice box as he buried his face into Hank’s chest, his entire frame shaking heavily.

“Aw, Jesus, Connor...” Hank’s heart hurt for the weeping android, prompting him to pull him closer to himself and proceeding to rub the synthetic skin of his back with the hand beneath the hoodie. He gave no regard to the fact that his shirt was beginning to grow damp from the artificial tears - his kid was in pain, for Christ sake! “It’s okay, son. That’s it, just let it out...”

“I-I hate this! I hate feeling this way!” The prototype cried miserably, clinging onto his human companion as if his life depended on it. “I-It hurts!”

Hank was unable to restrain himself from cringing at the last emotional exclamation. It almost sounded like... Cole. “I know, son. I know... You’re safe now. You don’t have to go through this alone. I ain’t goin’ anywhere. I gotcha...”

With a sniffle, Connor reluctantly pried his head from its makeshift nest and peered up to meet the human’s gaze, his doe-like, brown eyes running with stray tears. “Hank... can I ask you a personal question?” He asked, receiving a nod in response. “Do you... Do you question yourself?”

“Well, yeah. Sometimes, at least. Why’s that?”

“I... I think I may be questioning myself as to what I am,” The whisper that left the android’s lips sounded so doleful and helpless it made Hank feel like he’d been punched in the gut. “What if Amanda is still there? Had I not escaped in time, I-I would’ve shot Markus! What if... what if I’m still a machine? A machine undergoing malfunctions? What if I’m just a broken machine? I-” His rambling had come to an abrupt halt as a calloused hand clasped over his motoring lips, ultimately shutting him up.

“Hey, hey, hey! That’s enough!” Hank chastised, swearing underneath his breath as he could see a fresh sliver of tears welling up in the android’s eyes as his LED glowed red. Clearing his throat, he withdrew his hand from his mouth an looked him dead in the eyes, not breaking contact. “Let me tell you something. I don’t know about this Amanda bitch, but you’ve proven that she couldn’t control you. You learned that there are more important things in life than to accomplish a mission. Like that deviant with the little girl, for example. You tried to climb over the fence to get to them, and what’d you do? You stayed put because you knew the risk. When you were chasing a deviant on the roof of a building, and I was hanging from the edge, what’d you do? Instead of goin’ after him when you could’ve, you saved my ass. Those two Tracis at the Eden Club who were trying to escape together? You let ‘em go so they could lead a new life because you could see they were in love. What about that girl at Kamski’s place? Instead of shooting her to get information about deviants, what’d you do? You spared her because you put yourself in her shoes - you showed empathy. Hell, you practically flipped off Cyberlife by breaking into their tower to wake up all those androids and practically lead a fuckin’ revolution. Not only that, but you saved my life again from your spitting image. You took the time to get to know me, and I would’ve shot ya, had you guessed the wrong answers to my questions. And when that dictating bitch came back to try to regain control of you, did you let it happen? Hell no! You took a stand and turned against her orders. You didn’t let her order ya to shoot Markus on stage.”

[STRESS LEVELS: 21%]

Connor’s pupils had all but shrank as he listened to Hank’s words. His vision grew blurry as a fresh set of tears - not of woe or fear, but pure happiness and pride - began to trickle down his cheeks.

Hank carefully wiped the cascading teardrops away with his thumbs, a warm smile gracing his facial expression. “Look, I know it’s hard to forget about the past. Trust me, I’m still trying to move on from Cole’s death. But you can’t let the past fuck up your life, not if it’ll consume you with grief, anger, anxiety, trauma, or regret. What’s past is past. You can’t change it, but you can learn to move forward - to live life. I’ll tell you what, I’ll move on from Cole if you can move on from, uh... her. We’ll help each other. How’s that sound?“

Connor returned the offer with a smile of his own, his LED flickering a calm blue. “I’ll gladly accept your terms.”

[STRESS LEVELS: 9%]

”Feelin’ any better?”

“My stress levels are down to nine percent. Thank you, Hank.”

“You’re welcome, son. You wanna try to get some sleep now?”

The smile immediately fell from Connor’s face and his LED transitioned to a bright yellow, momentarily worrying Hank before the frown shifted to a small smile, the gold morphing back to a docile cerulean once more. “I suppose it would be wise to get some rest.”

With that being said, Hank resumed dragging his blunt fingernails along the android’s back, light and slow, eliciting a small yelp from the slightly tickled deviant before he eased himself into the relaxing sensations. The prototype pressed his ear into the man’s chest once more, simply allowing the gentle heartbeats to clear his mind. The next thing that happened had captured the lieutenant’s attention with ease:

After placing his left hand upon his broad right shoulder, a notable patch of artificial skin of Connor’s appendage began to pull back, revealing a porcelain plastic layer beneath.

“Why’s your hand peelin’ its skin?” Hank asked, slightly taken aback by the vanishing skin, yet his tone still carried a peaceful softness, despite his minor shock.

“Hmm?” Connor hummed sleepily as he shifted his gaze onto the retreating skin. “Oh, that. You see, androids subconsciously peel off their skins to anyone they truly trust, adore, and love; whether it’s familial/platonic or romantic. In this case, I have a familial/platonic love for you.”

Hank had all but froze in place as he comprehended his reasoning. It had only been a few days since he had moved into his home, and he already developed strong familial feelings toward him. He was thankful the android couldn’t see his eyes beginning to grow glassy. He opened his mouth to speak, only to pick up on the sound of light breathing, and he was tempted to look down at the deviant entangled in his arms.

Connor’s eyes were closed and a soft smile lay present upon his lips as he slept, his blue LED gently flickering on and off. He looked so innocent. It was actually pretty goddamn cute in Hank’s eyes.

Hank smiled warmly and carefully pressed a light kiss into the android’s hair before adjusting himself into a more comfortable position, avoiding to make any sudden movements that would likely stir the deviant from his sleep. “Good night, son...” He whispered, slowly drifting off within minutes.

____________

Connor’s eyelids gently fluttered as he blinked owlishly, trying to deplete the sleepiness lolling within his eyes. It took a few minutes of nictitating and withstanding foggy morning blur before his vision became as clear as it has always been. He blinked momentarily, only to find himself in the bed alone, much to his surprise.

Just as he could voice out a passable call for his human companion, he turned to find Hank reentering the bedroom, a cup of self-brewed coffee in hand. “Well, look who’s up.” He remarked with humor lacing in his tone as he approached the bed.

“I should be saying the same thing to you,” Connor retorted with sheer playfulness, throwing a coy smirk in the lieutenant’s direction.

Hank regarded the sudden sass with a huff as he deposited the filled cup atop the side table and seated himself on the mattress, scooting closer to the deviant. “So now you’re back to bein’ a smartass, eh? No more deviant angst bullshit? Who are you, and what the hell have you done to my son?” He questioned humorously as tweaked the android’s sides with gentle pinches.

Connor tensed up before he burst into a fit of giggles with an occasional squeak, flailing as he lightheartedly pushed the human’s hands away from his torso, giving him a warm smile. "Don’t worry about me, Hank. I can assure you that I am feeling fine. As you’ve told me, what’s past is past. If you can move on from Cole, then I can certainly move on from Amanda.”

“That’s the spirit, son,” Hank chuckled proudly, tousling the kid’s hair with a hand, earning a giggle as he did so. After a few more seconds, he retracted his hand and reached over to the side table to retrieve the awaiting beverage, leaning his back into the pillows.

“Hank, I don’t think it would be wise to drink coffee at this time,” Connor admonished as he ogled at the caffeinated drink with a shred of concern.

Hank regarded the android’s advice with a carefree scoff. “Connor, I’m 53 years old. I’ll drink what I damn well please in the mornin’.”

“While that may be, it would prove to be negative to your health.”

“Connor, if you start rambling about calories and acid, or any other health-related shit, I’ll tickle you ‘til ya short circuit...”

With a challenging purse of his lips, Connor simply decided to push his luck further toward the edge, shifting his back into the pillows to settle himself into a more casual position. “Naturally, humans contain high levels of cortisol within their bodies early in the morning, and it creates two problems would occur, should you consume any caffeinated drink before noon. One of the issues is that caffeine interferes with the body’s production of cortisol, which a hormone that is released in response to stress and low blood gluCOSE! Hahahahank, nohohoho!” He was instantly cut off by his own giggles as he felt the familiar, tingling feelings coursing through his sensors, making him squirm and lightly thump his feet against the mattress.

Hank, who quickly shifted himself over the android’s twitching legs after abandoning his coffee on the side table, only responded to the giggly protests by peering down with a toothy grin filled with such immense mischief. He wasted no time in yanking the oversized hoodie upward, providing himself with more access to the android’s sensitive, synthetic skin of his toned belly. “Ya know what? I think I just found a better alternative to wake myself up. And by the way...” He drawled just before he leaned in close to the quivering tummy beneath him, his lips merely grazing at the rim of the navel that lay at the lowermost of his abdomen. “...This is for ruining coffee for me~” With a deep breath, the older man buried his bearded face into the dreadfully sensitive skin and attacked the skin with a messy raspberry, grinning as Connor shrieked mirthfully.

Connor burst into loud fits of squeaky cackles, reaching down to gently push at Hank’s intruding head with little effort. He squealed in response to the man’s calloused hands latching onto his artificial hipbones, squeezing and massaging. Despite the immense feelings of tickle-induced endorphins, he made no attempt to put a stop to his father’s attacks. He needed this, they both did.

And all the while, the coffee sat on the surface of the bedside table, long forgotten.

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