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writingforfishes · 2 months ago

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Otto and Atticus Part 10: Back Inaction

HAS IT BEEN A MONTH?!

Heck.

Well, here's a little something that I've been busy over-producing from when I lifted something wrong a few weeks ago and had to baby myself back to well.

Just imagine if I'd had a dorky tall dude to push away the affections of due to my inadequacies, instead of doing it all by myself anyway.

I'm just letting this story go so I don't obsess over the words anymore. It may be clunky and wordy, but if I stare at it any longer, I'll probably keep making it worse.

Atticus is in an arousal haitus during this. (I also just got done with one of those.)

Fast hiccups.

Otto getting annoyed by his hiccups.

Adjacent talk of Otto's recovery struggles.

Back pain.

Rejecting comfort.

Procrastination and issues with time management.

Massage (non kinky)

Detailed body talk (not related to genitalia)

Otto being a grumpy sleepy boy.

Atticus being a grumpy sore potato.

Being serious for a second.

Inadequacies with being taken care of.

Frustrations at growing old and being seen as old (so mild agism and something that could possibly be seen as ablism, though not intentionally).

Lots of teasing to cope.

Otto being a nerd.

Atticus being a dork.

Author trying reeeal haaard to let this go without another edit session!

Atticus hissed as pain shot from their buttox to the base of their spine. All they had done was pick up a can from a grocery bag on the floor and put it in the pantry. Seemed bad posture had caught up with them. The can was a metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back. Atticus, in the role of the camel, was not amused.

Otto paused in putting away groceries to shoot them a questioning look.

“You good?” he asked, blindly putting the last frozen item in before closing the top door of the fridge and coming over to his partner’s hunched form, their hand latched onto the door jamb of the pantry and taking shallow, then deep, breaths.

“Mm...not so much…” Atticus replied. They hobbled away toward the couch and sat down on the cushions gingerly.

Though initially Atty had allowed Otto to help them that day, all of Otto’s attempted administrations of care had been brushed off every day after. (Though not in an unfriendly way. More in a “nah, I’m good, don’t worry about me, I got this, ooh look a bird!” way.)

Atty had taken copious amounts of Ibuprofen throughout the week. They applied heat and ice and did stretches and exercises, but the muscle strain was taking forever to heal on its own. They had even started adopting some of Otto’s Pilate’s exercises after seeing the similarities of them to the physical therapy recommendations online.

Still, the pain persisted.

What Atticus really needed was rest. But with an upcoming deadline and having to write furiously to get it done on time, rest was in short commodity. Otto realized this and respected the reason Atty was denying his offers of care. Though, admittedly, he felt a bit helpless for it. Watching his partner in pain while writing at his desk in a chair he was well aware was not exactly ergonomic was mildly distressing.

But, with teeth gritted, the writer charged through the story using the pain to inspire and empathize with their characters. Finally, after 5 days, the writing piece was complete. And, with a heavy-handed tap on the send button, Atticus collapsed back in the ill-fitted office chair they’d occupied during the spree. They’d only taken breaks in their furiously charged writing spree to attempt to use the bathroom, ice, heat, and stretch their back. (And, at Otto’s insistence, they also took breaks to eat. Though they frequently brought food with them to the desk.)

“Really loving this procrastination for my personal growth journey, but I could do without the stress it causes!” they exclaimed.

Otto, from the direction of his work bench, chuckled.

“You done?” he asked, hopefully. Perhaps now he would be allowed to care for them more than making food and giving monologues on various topics he’d distracted them with while they’d attempted to ease their pain.

Atticus gave a whimper and a nod in response.

The writer’s eyes were closed. Their hands clutched their lower back while still sitting in Otto’s office chair. Their fingers gripped the soreness that had only abated enough to withstand during the week they’d tried to ease it amid their furious attempts to make up for lost time in writing a manuscript they should’ve had done a week ago.

Atticus startled at Otto’s voice that had somehow gotten so close that it was right behind them as he spoke.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked. He didn’t miss the wince that came from the jump of their body and felt a bit guilty for causing it.

Atty opened their eyes to look back and up at Otto, his kind face giving a warm smile down at them.

“‘Sokay,” they lied.

“Mm,” Otto said a bit curtly. “So...if I asked you right now to walk to the kitchen, bring me something from the bottom cabinet, and walk back here you’d be perfectly fine and pain free?”

Atticus considered it before lying again, “Yup!”

“Go ahead, then,” he said, crossing his arms.

A beat passed between them, a bit of a stare down.

“Pssh! Dude! You have two legs and are up. You go get it!” Atty said, attempting to diffuse with humor.

Instead of laughing, though, Otto circled to face them and bent down to lock eyes with his partner in front of them. It was a stare that almost made Atty squirm. There was a deep honesty in those eyes, an intense interest and even more intense emotion.

There was also seriousness in those eyes that Atticus usually tried to avoid at all costs until they could no longer ignore it. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to be genuine or truthful that they avoided the seriousness, but for lack of wanting to reveal themselves out of instinctual protection.

Atticus did trust their partner. They didn’t trust themselves.

“Atty...” Otto started.

Atticus could’ve lost themselves with just that nickname and how it was said. Otto had an alarming ability to coat the simplest of words in an emotional subtext that could drown a sane person. For a person like Atticus, who considered themselves by no means, sane, it just made it a little harder to breathe. Otto had their attention.

“You have cared for me more than once when I was at my worst. It’s obvious you’re in pain. Why-why won’t you let me care for you now? Is it pride? Do you...not trust me?” Otto asked. The ‘why’ was a stutter, not a hiccup.

The clock maker took the tips of his fingers and ran them along Atticus’ hairline. He shifted an errant curl up into its usual place. A soft breath was drawn from the writer as he found the buzzed part of their undercut and pulled the pads of his fingers over it softly.

“Noooo…” they said like a whine when he asked about trust, “I do.”

Atty countered those dark brown eyes with pinched brows and narrowed eyelids. They held their lips tightly against each other and sighed.

“I’m just...embarrassed,” Atticus finally admitted under his scrutiny.

Otto, still on his knees in front of them, scrunched his eyes up and shook his head, incredulous.

“Why?” he asked genuinely. His eyes widened as he asked, and his brows edged up his prominent forehead in confusion.

Atticus had seen the clock maker in ways so much worse than a strained back, so Otto was truly befuddled at the reason for the embarrassment.

Atticus sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically.

“I-I don’t like needing to be cared for. I...feel like a burden, y’know? I don’t know how to act like someone who...who needs to be helped! My mom never...I loved her, and she loved me but...my mom didn’t really know how to treat me when I was sick. I’d feel...guilty for it happening. I don’t know why, so don’t ask me!

“And...I threw my back out while picking up a can! Less than a pound! It’s just...all so demoralizing and insulting and stupid and...I’m ooold and I don’t want to-to need anyone and...I—ugh!” Atticus exclaimed and buried their head in their hands.

Otto slowly coerced Atticus’ hands from their face and cupped their cheek in his hand in replacement. He was smiling again, soft and sweet. He was annoyingly understanding. Atty was always prepared to be a terrible person, but Otto never let them. His patience was very frustrating in that way.

“I get all of that. Trust me. But...I guess there have been too many instances in my life where I literally didn’t have a choice but to let people take care of me,” he said. “The number of times I’ve been at my worst have been more than I would ever want to admit. And, I guess, through that I learned some humility? Which is annoying. It doesn’t really help the guilt and shame go away but at least I know what it feels like to think you’re a burden on someone, and then find out that you’re not. A lot of people have convinced me of that. Margie. Mark. You,” he said, with a nod to Atticus. “And...it doesn’t always stick. I still have moments where I have a really hard time letting people take care of me. But I guess I’ve sort of had to be taken care of more so...I have more practice? Kind of?”

Otto shook his head with a sardonic chuckle and a shrug.

“But, throwing back one of your very apt observations from your birthday on which, remember, you were right because it was your birthday,” Otto continued, “allowing me to take care of you is a gift to me. It isn’t a burden, but something I look forward to providing, okay? And...so...I want to provide it!”

“Dammit,” Atticus ground out through their teeth. “I hate how good your memory is.”

Otto did laugh in amusement this time.

“Yeaaaah,” he drawled, “it’s a real drag, huh? It’s your fault for being so damn poignant.”

“Ugh, I really wish I was less insightful!” Atty agreed, grateful that they were back to lighter dialogue.

Otto smiled and held each of Atticus’ hands in his own.

“So, can you please let me care for you now? Cause, man, watching you suffer through this week has been a special kind of torture. Not to mention that chair hurts my back, let alone what it must feel like for you!” Otto said.

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with this chair? We need to get you a new chair…” Atticus mumbled before turning back to Otto’s waiting face. “Okay, fine. Take care of me. Or whatever.”

“Ooh, reign that enthusiasm in, Atty!” Otto said, smiling.

Atticus rolled their eyes in response.

Otto had obviously been planning to be Atticus’ knight in shining khaki ever since they’d hurt their back. He had a plan. The first part of that plan was a long bath soaking in Epson salts. The clock maker had even gotten a small bath pillow for Atticus to lay their head on while they luxuriated in the tub. He lit a candle, of all things, that smelled of lavender and vanilla. The writer didn’t even know that Otto had allowed a candle in the house; his nose was so sensitive to perfumes and powerful scents. As such, the candle was successfully mild in its odor, just enough to flavor the air.

Otto left Atticus to soak while he went downstairs and fixed dinner. Just as the water started to cool and Atty was about to get up Otto arrived with a towel and helped them from the tub. And, as their back gave a spasm from the change in position, Atticus was extremely grateful he was there.

“You okay?” Otto asked as he supported them.

“Yeah. Just one fucking back spasm away from chopping the whole spine out,” Atty grunted. They huffed at the edge of the tub until the pain ebbed.

“Mmm, don’t recommend it,” Otto said with humor.

“I dunno,” Atty continued bitterly, “politicians seem to do fine without one for the most part.”

“Wow. Okay! Pain makes you even more cynical than normal. Good to know. Afraid you’re stuck being a writer, though. Suffering for the art and all,” Otto said watching Atticus gingerly towel off as he handed them underwear, a white shirt, and their favorite pair of grey sweatpants.

“Yeah, choosing honesty over deception has been a real drag,” the writer said.

“Tell me about it,” Otto had agreed before walking his spouse downstairs.

To their credit, Atticus only faltered once, having to let Otto support them. However, every step triggered shoots of pain up their lower back and in one butt cheek. Being a pain in the ass and having a pain in the ass were two very different experiences, they were realizing. They quickly decided they preferred the former.

The writer took a moment to muse how on earth they’d scaled the steps without Otto behind them as support before now. Was that a testament to tenacity or idiocy? Both, at this point, seemed likely.

Dinner had been prepared. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. As much as Atticus and Otto’s childhood had differed, they both had memories of their parents preparing tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. It’s why Otto had ordered the same meal at the food market in the Antique’s Mall a month ago. Happy memories were spare for him and marrying them with moments he wanted to find joy in was very therapeutic.

Comfort food was also essential when someone didn’t feel well; Atticus more than appreciated the gesture. They spooned the warm liquid into their mouth noting the spices floating on top that their mom’s Campbell’s brand fare never contained.

“Ooh, it’s a little spicy,” Atty had said after taking a few spoonfuls.

“Too much?” Otto asked with some worry.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Just unexpected. Mm, do we have crackers?” they asked.

Atticus allowed Otto to retrieve the Ritz crackers. They allowed Otto to do the dishes. They allowed Otto to put a Tiger Balm brand menthol patch on their back to ease their pain. They allowed Otto to give them a massage on the couch. Or, more accurately, Attics allowed themself grace from doing things that would cause pain, and Otto was more than willing to support that decision.

This last one, allowing Otto to give them massage, Atticus saw as extremely self-indulgent. Otto was more than happy to oblige, though. And Otto was, innuendo jokes aside, extremely skilled with his hands. He had actually hoped Atticus would request a massage. The writer had massaged him quite often after more intense or longer hiccup attacks. Disregarding even that, both of them were very familiar with when the other would benefit from the easing of muscles by proffered massages, kink moments aside.

For his part, Otto enjoyed Atticus’ body. He enjoyed the freckles that powdered along their shoulders and down their arms. He loved feeling the soft sides of their waist and lingered admiringly at the dimples above their butt. There was nothing sexual about this kind of touch. No arousal happened from either one of them during the massage. (In fact, Atticus was in a bit of a hiatus from their arousal reaction from hiccups, so not even the regular forms of excitement would be happening this night.)

When Otto had first given Atticus a massage at the time they had started to explore each other’s bodies, he was terrified he would hurt them. Atty was slight beneath his hands which seemed so large compared to their body. But when the writer scoffed as he tentatively ghosted his fingers along their skin, that he didn’t need to treat them like some porcelain doll and that they were tougher than they looked, Otto took note. What he discovered, quite surprisingly, was that they were right.

Their body may have been small, but it was made of denser muscle than it seemed. The softness of their curves gave way to cords of knotted muscle that actually took some effort to break through. Atty was also communicative if he’d pushed too far. This gave him confidence and he treated his partner less like a breakable commodity and more like a person with autonomy who was simply a different shape and size. The novelty of them being such wildly different sized bodies faded quite quickly after this realization. (Barring when they attempted to kiss each other while standing, Atticus needing something on a high shelf, or cheap shot jokes about height during banter.)

The couple ended up one on top of the other on the couch. Otto had reclined against the couch’s arm with a pillow underneath him and offered Atticus to lay with their back top of his belly and torso, their legs between his, and a pillow at their lower back. The writer sighed, sinking into the softness of his midsection and relishing the feeling of menthol on their back from the patch. Otto offered a small pillow to put at their neck so it would have support. Atty melted in even further at the comfort. When Otto kissed their head, his spouse made a very contented noise in the back of their throat that encouraged a chuckle from him.

“You feeling okay?” he asked. Otto had brought out a book to read above them and raised his glasses at the small face leaning back to look at him.

The soft sounds of an orchestral record took the space of sound between their words.

“Mmhm. Yep,” Atty said.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked.

“Feels tight but it doesn’t hurt as much. I smell like an old man, now. The Tiger Balm. But it feels really good,” Atticus admitted.

“Good,” Otto replied, smiling.

“What’re you reading?” they almost cut themselves off with a sizable and audible yawn. They felt Otto stroking their hair affectionately.

Atticus had not been getting the best sleep. They had been tossing and turning in the loft bed instead of their shared bed because they didn’t want to disturb Otto with their movements. None of it had made for consistent or fulfilling rest.

“‘T’snot Melville again, is it?” Atty followed up with before Otto could answer.

“No…” Otto said in faux offense, “Hawthorne.”

“Nerd,” Atty teased.

Otto snorted with a laugh jostling Atticus’ body.

“Oh crap, did that hurt?” Otto thought to ask after watching Atty readjust themselves after his laughter.

“Nah,” Atticus responded, but caught the doubtful eye of their husband above them. “Seriously, this time. Just kinda bouncy and soft. I promise you didn’t hurt me. Go back to reading your fancy novel. I’m gonna...not fall asleep.”

Otto watched the writer pull the blanket from off of the back of the couch and shrug it onto their shoulders, adjusting again against his body with a small grunt.

“Are you comfortable?” they suddenly asked him. Otto smiled.

“I’m good,” Otto responded, easily. He’d propped himself up on the pillow, it supporting his neck and back. Holding the book aloft wasn’t much of a challenge as he’d rest it on the back of the couch while reading. Though he might get a little warm having Atticus laying on him, it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience if Atty was able to get some good sleep out of it.

“Kay,” they said lazily and turned their head again to get more comfortable.

A long while after Atticus had fallen asleep Otto marveled at how incredibly still they had been. Usually, they’d have turned at least once by this mark. This was probably an indication of how tired the writer was. They’d been asleep for a little over an hour without so much as a twitch.

Atticus had even fallen asleep with their glasses on. But as their head never turned enough to knock them askew, Otto decided not to remove them for fear of rousing them.

Otto was happy, also, that the heat from Atticus’ body wasn’t too overwhelming. It’d helped that he’d laid down in his boxer shorts and white t-shirt. He was only a little warm, but he hadn’t even started sweating. It was a relief not to have to deal with the heat, though he would’ve stayed regardless.

He suddenly felt gas rising up his chest and worked hard on letting it out as softly as possible to not disturb his spouse who slowly rose and fell with the movement of his body’s breath. He’d had the hiccups once today. It wasn’t anything special. Atticus teased him a bit on some of the sounds, able to be more natural with the occurrence during their break from feeling arousal from them.

The hiccups had been a little forceful, but sometimes they were like that. And, as usual, they’d lasted around ten minutes after his first sip of coffee before trailing off. That had been hours ago now.

But feeling his body jerk with a shock he started second guessing his culinary decision to spice the tomato soup he’d made as much as he had. He wasn’t lucky enough to have that be a single and, as many of his cases went, it started rapidly.

He tried to muffle the sounds by closing his mouth and putting a hand over his mouth but realized by doing so he was increasing the movements of his body which was visibly, at this point, jostling his partner. Otto tried letting the sounds out, then, but:

“Hup!-hu’up!-hulp!-huck!...hulp’m!-mk!-mmp!-MMP!” Otto groaned. It was a no-win situation. As expected, Atty shifted on his stomach.

Atticus became conscious to the feeling of a soft insistence of attention at the base of their spine. Fluttering thumps hit their body rapidly as their head seemed to jostle backwards. They blinked their eyes open and took a deep breath trying to make sense of the stimulus.

“S-sorry,” Otto’s voice vibrated on Atticus’ head through his chest as he spoke through the volley of hiccups that attacked him. “They-hup!-they jus-huck’m!-just started. Mk! I guess I-hick’m!-guess I should’ve b—been lighter hup!-lighter on the spice. Hip!”

“Aww,” Atticus cooed sleepily. “You have them again.”

Atty remembered the case from the morning. It was a pretty forceful attack from what they recalled. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d gotten them again, especially after the spiciness in the soup. But it’d been a few weeks since he’d had anything more than his morning cases, and even those had been sparse.

However, the day after they’d gotten back from the Antique’s Store had been littered with short cases. His diaphragm had apparently been quite offended with Otto’s antics in inducing and worsening the case and it wasn’t done grumbling from the first day of events. It had been a somewhat exhausting day for both of them. Atty’s new vibrator had gotten a pretty good workout, to be brief.

But now, in a hiatus of arousal, Atty simply rubbed Otto’s thigh in sympathy of the hiccups he had now.

“Y-you okay? Hmp!-I’m not—not rocking h’uck!-rocking you too much? Hm’k!hmk!hup!-uh,” Otto asked placing his hand softly on Atticus’ chest. The writer put their hand on top of his and rubbed it affectionately.

“No, I’m fine. It’s kinda like a...massage chair. Like a soft pillow hitting my back randomly. Not unpleasant,” they mused.

Otto laughed, shaking his belly with it and increasing the speed of his hiccups. He waited a few seconds before talking, but the hiccups had only slowed down a little.

“Glad I can h’mp!-b-hup!-be of huck’m!-of se—service.MMK!-uh!” Otto said and felt Atticus’ hand stroking his again and sighed as much as he could.

Atticus then breathed in a yawn and stretched, joints popping a little as they reached their arms up past Otto’s head and back down as the clock maker dodged the wayward hands with a smile Atty couldn’t see.

As the writer woke up a little more, they squirmed against Otto’s body, satisfied that their back was not near as sore as it had been previously. Still feeling the enthusiastic hiccups from behind them, they started to be more aware of where their body was and how that might affect their partner.

“Hey, are you okay with me here? On your belly, I mean? I’m not making it worse, am I? Or painful?” Atticus worried.

“I don’t-himp!-I don’t think s—so. Hmk!huck’l! Th-mk!-they aren’t pul-hup!hup!-ling thei-hnk!-their punches but hmp!-but you—re not m-making it wo-hurp!hup!mk!hmp!-worse! Shit. Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth.

“You need to get up and cure them?” Atty asked. They pulled their head back to look at the vision of the upside-down head of their husband as it jolted with more hiccups with a look of concentration. The head shook ‘no’ in response and gave Atticus’ forehead and little peck before being jolted back again with another spasm.

“L—let’s see if hmk!hmk!-if they go hup!-go away on—on their own first. HU’UP!” he said and covered his mouth again at the loudness of the last hiccup.

Atty couldn’t help but laugh a little followed by a sympathetic face.

“Welp,” they said with a huff after a moment of riding the spasms of Otto’s diaphragm, “I need to pee.” Their back was fine, but their bladder was definitely being tested by the movements.

“You hup!-you n-need me to huck!-to help get hyup!-to the restroom?” Otto asked as he provided assistance to them sitting up, noticing the strain on their face.

“Nah,” they said with a grunt when they were finally upright. They gave his stomach a little pat and rub. “Poor guy. Um-no, I’m gonna use the guest one down here.”

Again, with some effort and help from Otto, Atticus finally found themselves standing, more or less. It was more of a near standing position as they leaned forward a little before slowly straightening their spine with a breath.

“You-huck!-you in hlmp!-in any p-huck-pain?” he asked.

“No,” Atty grumbled back. “Just stiffness more than anything.” They hissed. “And, okay, a little pain. I’ll grab an Ibuprofen after going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll ge-HUP!-get another pa-hilp!-patch,” Otto said, getting himself up with a hiccuping grunt from being in one position for so long.

“Sounds good,” Atticus said with a nod and an awkward hug to their husband who was now standing beside them.

“Calm down,” Atty whispered through Otto’s stomach to his diaphragm. They felt the motions of Otto chuckling in response and his hiccups quickening in response to that. “Stop that. I’m not that funny.”

At this, Atticus proceeded to scoot along to the guest bathroom as Otto desperately tried to hold in more snickering at their slow progress. The amusement tickled him unexpectedly. The way Atty held their back as they tried to stand up straight by activating their core was too reminiscent of the quintessential elder and, though Otto was hardly amused by the struggles of the elderly, the glare Atticus gave him served only to increase his mirth.

His hiccups, obviously, increased because of this and Atticus pronounced their lips with a harrumph.

“Forget what I said, diaphragm! Do your worst!” they said, entering the bathroom with a flair of attitude that sent Otto into more giggles and sacrificing him to the shortness of breath that came from rapid-fire hiccups.

When Atticus exited the bathroom, they could hear Otto’s hiccups from the kitchen and made their way, albeit slowly, to see their husband with a large white patch, destined for their lower back, on the surface of the kitchen island. He was bent over to his phone, which was also sitting on the island, reading something off the screen. One hand scrolled as the other pressed against his chest buffering against the barrage of hiccups he was still experiencing.

It was only at this point did the writer notice it was dark outside the windows. It made sense that it had gotten late, but it threw them off a little to suddenly notice it was nighttime.

“Hey-hmph!” Otto said, finally noticing them. “S-sorry, was just hup!hup’k!-just ch-checking some hmk!-some appointments.” He jolted with another cluster of two, silently.

Despite their chagrin at his teasing earlier, Atticus gave him a look of sympathy. It might not have been the worst case of hiccups Otto ever had, but they still looked pretty powerful.

“C’mon,” he continued, gulping another hiccup down and holding the patch by its edges. “Let’s hup’k!-g—get this on. Hmk!”

Atty was silently grateful that they weren’t aroused enough to physically react to the attack. The kind of hiccups Otto was letting out were the exact kind that got them the hottest. They couldn’t imagine the pain if their back had felt like clinching or arching in arousal.

“Then I can hum’k!-I can hel-mk!-help you do-hup!-do some light stretches, hmk-hmk!-uh, if you want HUP’K!” Otto said, blowing some air out of his mouth with mild frustration amid a few more hiccups.

Having a kink made it impossible not to be completely unaffected by the subject of the kink no matter the libido level at the time. But Atticus’ arousal stayed at a low buzz instead of spiking and, as that was the case, Otto’s arousal never blossomed to either increase or interact with his hiccups.

As such, Otto seemed to react to his hiccups in a way that seemed more likely how he interacted with them before. He was mildly annoyed when they interrupted his speech, and he got a little frustrated as he had to navigate his words and breath around him. He was still mostly unbothered by his hiccups regardless his arousal level, or Atticus’, but it getting near bedtime was making them seem a bit more of a nuisance than normal.

“Doing light stretches might help, if you’re up for helping me,” Atty responded. They gave a soft smile as they watched him carefully peel the paper from the side of the patch protecting the adhesive.

The writer then stood with their shirt hiked up as Otto lowered to his knees to have a better angle at placing the patch where it needed to be.

Amid sounds of hiccups, Atticus heard Otto fussing behind them. They felt his fingertips ghost their lower back, then leave. Atticus felt the plap of the menthol infused patch against their skin and then it was removed again.

“Shit,” Otto whispered as he stifled another cluster. Four hiccups hit him and quick succession as he once again had almost lined up the patch to his partners back before “hmk!huck’m!hilp!mlk!” caused the patch to go askew again as his hands lost their steadiness.

If he hadn’t been on his knees he might’ve had a little more control over the situation. Or perhaps not. For the most part, his hiccups were pretty par for the course, but those deep ones seemed to come out of nowhere and jerk his body more than he expected.

Thank goodness he hadn’t had these when working earlier today. He might’ve had to abandon any repairs until he could cure them.

The more frustrated he got the more disruptive the hiccups seemed. Though he always got a little grumpy come bedtime, the hiccups were exacerbating it.

“Cra-hu’uck!-crap,” he muttered as his hands jolted again and folded the patch in on itself. “C’mon...HUP!-uh...”

“You good back there, bud?” Atty said over their shoulder. They couldn’t turn too far to look behind them due to pain and stiffness, but Otto saw their profile and a glimpse of their eye from the corner of their glasses.

“Yeah j—just can’t get hu’up!-get this th-hip’m-thing on str-hmp!hmp!-straight-HMPK!-ugh!” Otto groused.

Atty wasn’t sure if he’d groaned because of the hiccups or because of the issues he was having with the patch.

“You know, as long as it’s in the right vicinity I don’t really mind how it looks. Also...we don’t really straight in this house so slap that baby on however it goes, huh?” Atty said, hoping to lighten the mood.

The writer got a scoffed laugh as a reply and, they thought, that might have to be enough. Regardless, Atticus finally felt the soothing coolness of the patch cover their lower back and heaved a sigh as they felt Otto’s fingers smooth it out and reveled in the delicate touch. They turned around to face him as he stayed knelt on the ground in front.

“You tired?” Atty asked softly as their arms propped on his shoulder and their hands encircled his neck.

“A little,” he admitted as his head was thrown back in a “hrmk’l!hrk!” and he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry hrmk! I know I g—get grouchy. HUCK’M!hmk!hlp!mmk!-huck!”

“Those things aren’t helping, I guess,” Atty noted to his hiccups. “They starting to bother you?”

“Uh-HUP’K! Heh! Sorta. They’re j-hulpk!-just annoying. HMMK!-Mm, not painful, th—though,” he said a little sheepishly.

Atticus pulled him closer with that admission and hugged his head to their chest as they rested their head on his.

“My poor guy,” they cooed. Then their voice got a little deeper and sharper. “That’s what you get for laughing at your poor partner at how they walk when they’re in pain!”

“Ah!” Otto exclaimed, laughter muffled into their body, “Tou-hup!hup!-t—touch-hip!hmp!-touché! Dammit!”

Atticus was back to rubbing his back in their embrace, him on his knees making the writer feel more than adequate to envelop him in their arms.

“Okay, I’m gonna take some Ibuprofen and maybe you should try and get rid of those? They sound like they’re getting worse.” Atty suggested.

“Yeah g—good idea HUP-uh,” Otto said and grabbed onto the kitchen island to pull himself up with a wince. “Oh! Hoop!” He grabbed his knees, the tissue around his patellae offended by the pressure put on them.

“Nuh-uh!” Atticus announced as they watched him struggle from their place in front of the cabinet the couple kept medicine in. “None of that! Only one of us can be down for the count at a time with old people pain! I already called lower back. You can have knees next week.”

“Heh hup!” Otto said with a small smile. “I’d hurmp!-I’d rather n—not. Hmk!-uh. I think I’m-hmp!hmp!-I think I’m good.”

Atticus watched him as he put the back of his hand over his mouth to cover a small burp followed by another cluster and finally lower that hand with a sigh onto his chest as he reached for the apple cider vinegar.

Ever since Rose and Bill had introduced them to the potential magic of a gulp of apple cider vinegar, as opposed to the three-step solution they’d used before, it was always a first line in curing Otto’s hiccups. If that didn’t work, then sugar, salt, and lemon resumed their position to be one of the more reliable cures. And if that didn’t work, which it usually did, waiting it out was the only other option. It was rare that they had to wait, but it had happened.

Atticus leaned against the counter as they watched Otto take a swig of the vinegar and wince, shaking his head, before swallowing it.

“Good?” Atty said, trying to keep the humor out of their voice. They smiled in amusement, though.

“I can still...sort of f—feel them. Yeah,” he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and sighed, jolting a little with another silent hiccup. “But I don’t think they’re go—O—nna last for much longer.”

“You sure?”

Otto nodded assuredly, the curls that had started to frizz on top of his head bobbing a little with the enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a yawn that ended in another silent spasm. They had certainly calmed down, so Atticus nodded. “Hey, you want me to—to help you stretch before bed, n—now?”

“Yeah, let’s try that,” the writer agreed.

Otto unfolded the bench from his Pilate’s machine and helped Atticus on it.

“I wanna try some pa—assive stretches with me assisting. You game?” Otto asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“J—just don’t let me push past the point of—of pain, okay?”

Otto handled one of Atticus’ legs and folded it up, their foot on his abdomen, as he leaned closer and pushed it toward their torso gently.

Atty chuckled. At Otto’s questioning look and pause in movement they shook their head.

“I’m fine, it’s just I can feel your tummy flutter on my foot when you, um, hiccup. It’s funny,” they said.

“Guess my diaphragm i—is giving you a food massage, too!”

“It’s working overtime,” Atty noted.

“Tell me ab—about it!” Otto groused with a shake of his head.

By the time the stretches were over, though, Otto’s hiccups had finally given up and Atticus’ back felt better than it had all week.

“Hey, what do you want to do for your birthday next month?” Atticus asked as Otto led them back up the stairs so they could sleep with Otto for the first time in days.

“I dunno. Haven’t really given it much thought…” he admitted.

Otto helped Atticus into the bed as he turned off the lights and settled in, himself.

“Hm. Well I’ll have to think of something amazing on my own, then,” Atticus said.

They snuggled into their husband as he laid down next to them. Then they hissed in discomfort at being on their side and relented to sleep on their back, instead, Otto’s arm moving to embrace them.

“I trust you will,” Otto said. “But...you know...it’s definitely not going to be as good as a banjo clock.” It was obvious he was teasing.

“I knooow. You really fucked up the precedent with that one, you know? Damn your kind heart,” they said.

“It really is a heavy burden to bear,” he said, dramatically.

“You’re so brave,” Atticus agreed.

“I know,” he said with a smile and kissed his partner on the forehead as they cuddled as far into his body as their back allowed them to squirm.

#minors dni #hiccup kink #hiccups kink #hiccups #hic fic #non kink blogs do not reblog #otto and atticus #hicfic #ottocus

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cityandking · 5 months ago

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spark enough to last the winter

branwen + star wars au. 2.6k for hypothermia prompted by @forcekenobi. sabine and middy belong to @snapdragonling. set loosely after this meeting. // angst prompts

Of all the ways to go, it wasn’t the one Branwen would have bet on—though stupidly, on an uninhabited world should probably have been somewhere on the list, given the sort of shit they got into these days. It wasn’t even the worst way to go, objectively speaking. It was only a little inelegant for her taste. She’d have been irate about it if she’d had the energy to spare, but irritation fueled no fires and didn’t help much with the snow or the wet or the smoldering crash pod she’d left three klicks back, dug into the icy crust of one of the planet’s massive oceans.

The cliffs hadn’t looked that far from back there, when it had been the choice between waiting for the pod to sink through the thick sheet of frozen whitecaps to the waters below or find some modicum of shelter among the rocks. Now, three klicks closer to shore, she’d realized that was because the cliffside was so fucking huge that her sense of scale had simply given it up as a bad job and fucked off, much like her rations pouch and the handy little emergency transponder she’d lost down the trough of one of the massive frozen waves.

At least she'd had the good sense to turn it on before it had gone fumbling from her numb hands. Not that it would do much good. Things had fallen apart in a spectacular fashion back on Abregado—as they often tended to do when one mixed good honest business practice with the tight squeeze of Core corruption—and they’d been forced to split and reconvene. Which was fine; the backup plan to get to Eriadu had been straightforward enough, except that the Luckrunner was with Sabine, and Enikö was somewhere in the bowels of the spaceport, and Bran’s clever ploy to hitch a ride with a crew of Barabelian longhaul shippers running the Rimma Trade Route had hit a snag when one of them found her napping in the cargo hold. It was thoughtful of them to have provided an escape pod, of course, and she’d been sure to tell them so after letting loose their cargo of live Gedonian ground weevils and fighting her way through the mess to commandeer the pod on their behalf.

So really, it was her own damn fault she’d ended up on some ice encrusted backwater halfway out of the Mid-Rim, a few hours and a prayer away from freezing to death.

"Suppose you'll say 'I told you so,'" she said to no one, or thought she said anyhow. Her lips were numb and her face stiff, and it was impossible to hear herself think over the howling gale, much less speak. And there wasn't going to be anyone around to say I told you so anyway, because of the uninhabited frozen tundra planet situation.

Staring death in the face was, as it turned out, a fairly bleak and lonely exercise.

She couldn't say how long it was before she reached the cliffs, only that she knew she had to make it, and so she did. Her feet were leaden in her shoes by then, and her hair had soaked through with snow and frozen again, so that it made a sort of ticking, tapping sound when the locks swung together. She'd even worked up something of a sweat, more than a little overheated in the standard-issue emergency parka she'd found under the jumpseat, and the only thing that kept her from taking it off was a sour, spiky voice in the back of her head that sounded remarkably like Sabine, muttering, Don't be an idiot.

"I'm hardly the idiot," Branwen retorted, struggling to catch her breath. The wind howled even worse here, butting up against the rocks and looping back on itself, but there was bare stone too, and when she squinted she could just see a ledge at about the height of her head, sheltered from the worst of it. As good a place to collapse as any.

Sure, snorted the Sabine-voice. That's why you left the nice cozy crash pod to walk across half an ocean.

"I did not. There was the thing, you know, with the." She waved a hand, then thought better of it when her grip slipped a little on the stone wall and she nearly went tumbling down again. Instead she wedged a foot in further and heaved, forcing herself up over the lip of the ledge to sprawl onto her back.

With the what?

"What? Oh. I don't recall." Just breathing hurt, though she couldn't say if that was from the landing or the cold. Pins and needles inside her lungs, throat aching. Cold, probably; she didn't think anything was broken. She blinked up at the cliff, the massive unending spur of craggy, wind-washed rock. It wavered a little above her, and she flinched automatically, but nothing fell, not even a stone.

Don't just lie there, said the Sabine-voice, peevish. You dragged yourself all the way up here, at least use the shelter.

"You've really got a way with words, love." Still, it took her another handful of heartbeats to shiver herself upright and tuck into the crevice she'd been aiming for. With her back to the stone and her knees draw up tight, the wind wasn't nearly so bad. Her head fell back against the cliffside, heavy, and it probably ought to have hurt a bit but she didn't feel much of anything besides the chill.

Well done, said the Sabine-voice. Now what?

What an excellent question. "Can't say."

Excellent plan.

"I don't see you offering suggestions."

Not nodding off, maybe.

Oh. Branwen blinked her eyes open with a mild sort of surprise. She had been a bit dozy, hadn't she? Bad idea, that; she remembered that much from her Academy training. For a moment she fumbled to pinch herself, but she couldn't feel her fingers nor her arm through the layers of cold and standard-issue parka, so that was a bit of a nonstarter. She peered out at the frozen ocean instead.

At least it wasn't storming, not really. The wind was horrible, of course, and the clouds were low and thick, and the snow pattered down in bursts, but everything was mostly just... there. It was even a little beautiful: the white, the silver, the endless ice-capped water as far as the eye could see. Not the worst place to go.

"Suppose I should have held on tighter to that transmitter," she said, mostly to have something to say. "Going to make it mighty difficult to find me."

What happened to believing in our mystical Jedi powers.

"It's hardly magic," Branwen huffed. Her breath puffed up in front of her, but even that was cold. She'd stopped shivering, she noted distantly; likely she ought to have been more troubled by that than she was. "Anyway, I don't think your life sensing bit works if I'm dead."

Maybe you should try a little harder to keep alive then.

"I'll see what I can do."

What she could do wasn't all that much, though. She pulled her arms and legs in tighter and tucked her chin down, bundled as small and warm as she could manage, but it made little difference. Her body was a distant thing, heavy and icy and dragging, and it was monstrously hard to keep her eyes open. The frozen sea danced and dimmed in front of her, and that was only partly her fading vision—it would be night eventually, and the cold would creep in and steal her away into sleep.

"It's a pity, though," she said, mouth pressed against her knee. "I did rather think you'd be with me, at least."

She felt the sigh at her ear, breathless, and Sabine said, Me too.

Bran smiled. It wasn't much of a smile, but she felt it anyway—and a touch of warmth too, somewhere deep in her chest. It was barely anything, a echoing memory of an ember, but in the overwhelming cold, it burned merry and bright.

This time, when her eyes drifted shut, Sabine didn't prod her about it. If she let herself drift, Branwen could almost imagine she really was there—a slight touch against her arm, the feel of someone wrapped around her, keeping her sheltered from the wind and the cold.

"Keep talking," she said, a senseless mumble of wasted breath. "Tell me a story."

That's your job, Sabine grumbled. But then she said, Fine. Once upon a time.

Bran would have laughed if she'd had the energy for it. Instead she only listened to the voice on the wind, carrying words she couldn't hear. Outside it roared and whined, and light flashed, and maybe there would be a storm after all. It didn't matter. She was hardly even cold anymore—only tired, so tired, and full up with Sabine's voice, a thread of warmth spooled up inside her, the last flicker of a dying star. It was a small comfort to have Sabine's presence here at the end, and Sabine's hands on her frozen cheeks, and Sabine's eyes glaring at her, and Sabine's expression twisted up with desperation as she shouted over the wind, "You bloody idiot, wake up!"

"Oh," slurred Branwen, pleased. "You're here after all."

"I'm going to kill you," said Sabine, and then behind her was Enikö too, wasn't that lovely, and a small, bright-eyed woman in a garishly orange jacket, and that was... No, wait. What?

"Oh," said Branwen again, less pleased and more confused, sluggishly trying to put two thoughts together and coming up with six, or perhaps negative one. "Sorry. What's going on?"

"Stop trying to talk," said Sabine, who was not telling her a story nor wrapped around her nor a voice in her head, but a real and solid thing, nose and cheeks pink and eyes dark and sharp as knapped flint. "And keep your damned eyes open. Kid, the medbay—"

"Yes," said Enikö, and his head disappeared, and Branwen tracked him blearily to a familiar bulwark of silver metal parked precariously on the ice, which was even more confusing. What was the Luckrunner doing here?

"This can't possibly be the afterlife."

"Stop talking," Sabine said, sharp with something that must have been exasperation but looked surprisingly like fear. "Just— Let me work."

Bran had no idea what she meant by that, but then came a wash of— She didn't know the word for it. It was the feeling of the jump to lightspeed, and also the shape of her mother's smile, and also the everyday wonder of waking up to Sabine lying next to her. It was the first sip of Corellian brandy and the relief of seeing Enikö step out of the caves on Ilum with a crystal cupped in his palms and the adrenaline rush of a close escape. And it was the world entire, the whole of the galaxy, and also the simple, familiar feeling of Sabine's hands against her face, one with the Force, buoying her.

Branwen stopped talking. There was nothing more she could have said.

It took all three of them to help her down from her craggy ledge—Sabine and Enikö and the bright orange-jacket woman they'd collected along the way. The medbay was ready for her when they got her into the ship, and she was grateful to miss the sting and stink of the bacta when they slid her into the tank, and afterwards she slept long and hard and woke to Sabine at her bedside.

She looked as though she'd fallen asleep, head hug low, except her eyes were open and bright and sharp when Bran met them, and all the clever things she'd meant to say evaporated on her tongue, and in their place Branwen said, "Are you alright?"

"You're asking me?"

Branwen gave her a look, pointed. She looked like she hadn't slept—which was not an unusual look for her, but was more unusual these days. Sabine shook her head and snorted, then shrugged as though heaving off some great weight.

"I heard you," she said, blunt, and made a face that Branwen couldn't read. "Felt you. When you were down there. In the Force."

"Oh. That's... unusual?"

Sabine snorted again, which was a yes. Branwen hummed and sank back against the pillows.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Branwen turned the idea of it over in her head, but she knew little of the Force, and minded its meanings even less. If Sabine said it was strange it was, but it wasn't exactly her strangeness to bother about.

The harried, hunted glint in Sabine's eye, though—

"I'm alright," she said. "It was an impressive rescue operation."

Sabine made another face, a worse one, and Branwen struggled to sit upright. Sabine grumbled at her and helped with the pillows anyway, and Branwen caught her hand before she could pull it away.

"If it's a bad thing, the Force bit—"

"It isn't." She took a deep breath, bracing. "I— It reminded me of— I would prefer not to feel that again."

Branwen took a long, careful breath around the sudden, welling grief. It was a familiar thing by now, and only half hers—but the trouble with loving a Jedi was that it was impossible to only love one of them alone, when they were too tangled in each other to ever be wholly unraveled.

"I'm sorry." She meant it, deeply and fully.

Sabine nodded, and then she said, "It will happen again."

Branwen couldn't deny that. It wasn't just them, after all. It was them and also the deal Branwen had made to a man with a starbird patch on his sleeve that echoed the symbol of the Order, wings raised in flight. The promise to strive for something better than any one of them. That part Branwen wasn't sorry about.

"I'll be more careful."

"No you won't."

"Of course I will. No more solo escape pods."

"If that's your way of warning me next time you'll be exiting a ship without an escape pod—"

"I think they call that disembarking. Most people do it after landing."

"You're not most people."

"How sweet of you to say," Branwen preened, but then she sobered and squeezed Sabine's hand. "Turned out fine, yeah?"

"If you call six hours in a bacta bath fine."

"Could have been worse." Sabine had been in far worse positions, Branwen didn't point out—that was ammunition for another time, not now, not the sliver of tender fear being so cleanly, clearly offered. "A dashing Jedi came to save me."

Sabine didn't roll her eyes, but somehow she perfectly gave off the impression that she could have, and still might. Warmth flashed in Branwen again, a deep and welling and endless thing, spark enough to tide her through a year of winter nights.

"And I supposed Nikö was there too. And— I feel terrible, I didn't catch her name. The orange one. Are we picking up strays again?"

"Hardly we," Sabine said. "The kid made a friend."

Branwen's eyebrows climbed up into her hairline. "Oh?"

"Ask him about it," she said, but her expression was all smugness, which was a delight. And to think, she could have missed this.

"I will. Help me up? I'd die for a cup of caf."

"Please don't," Sabine said, but she eased an arm around Branwen's waist and helped her out of the medbay and into the galley, where Enikö and the orange woman—whose name was Middy, who had helped them off Abregado, who had a familiar sort of keenness about her—waited for them.

#my god they're in love #mine; writing #mine; branwen #branwen #r: sea and salt #.au #.star wars au

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troutfur · 1 year ago

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Friendly rivalry between alderpaw and needlepaw in an au where clans are friendly and collaborative with eachother.

I'm writing this preamble before writing the ficlet so I don't know how much of this is gonna reflect on it, but I do want it to be known that my immediate thought seeing this prompt was not to focus on the Needlepaw and Alderpaw of it all but rather on the aspect of the Clans being friendlier and more collaborative.

See, half because a while back my friend group got really into thinking about shipping dynamics based on Ursula K. Le-Guin short stories and half because that's what I was reading about for my class on anthropological theory I have thought about the idea of Clans as a type of moiety that evolved out of a gradual cooling of the political tensions at the creation of the Clans.

I usually group the four forest clans into two sets of two based on the alliances towards the end of TPB, LionClan with WindClan and ThunderClan and TigerClan with ShadowClan and RiverClan. I'll have to brainstorm a name for what the two larger Clans with ShadowClan and ThunderClan on one side and WindClan and RiverClan on the other as their halves would be.

(Want to see me overcomplicate your AU premise? Check my guidelines and give me your prompt! You may just be the one chosen next.)

“Alderpaw, come on!” Molewhisker stopped to encourage his panting apprentice. His trudging step and panting tongue betrayed right away how over-exerted he was from the exercise. Or it would if he didn’t look positively ragged, with fur sticking out everywhere and leaves and even bits of grass caught up all across his pelt.

His siter had convinced her own mentor and Molewhisker to make the trek to ShadowClan camp into a training exercise, though perhaps that’s too strong a word for how easily Cherryfall jumped on the idea. Alderpaw would be lying if he were to say he didn’t resent that about his sister just a little bit for how she had made a trip he was already dreading all the worse.

He understood, of course, the need to do so. It was as vital for a warrior of any Clan to get to know their sister Clan as it was to get to know their own territory and their own prey. But nothing he’d heard about their siblings from the other forest had been the least bit encouraging.

After every single gathering the senior warriors would return complaining about Consul Rowanclaw’s inability to keep the peace among his crowd, especially after the kits from their unusually fecund year had begun into apprenticeship. Most of ThunderClan held no particular love of his father but considering the alternative they dreaded the coming year when Consul Bramblestar would have to step back as Brambleclaw, letting Rowanstar enact his year of primary leadership.

When Alderpaw finally came to rest, almost collapsing without a care for the fact the floor was strewn with endless pine needes instead of the more familiar leaf litter, his peace was short-lived for he was soon faced with an unfamiliar silver-gray she-cat making faces at him. “This is a ThunderClan cat?” she said with an eyeroll as she turned around and slapped him across the face with her tail. “And I thought this was going to be a challenge.”

“The real challenge is going to be having to live with them,” another one jeered.

“They’re even worse at the gathering,” a third one of the apprentices piped up. “All goody two-paws trying oh so hard to impress their mentors. It’s sickening really.”

As they each took turns hurling insult after insult, Alderpaw could hear his sister swishing her tail across the pine needle cover. He knew that kind of look on her face, eager to jump to her own defense, and by extension that of her kin and Clan. But she also looked to her mentor who had not yet done anything about the insolent apprentices in spite of the authority conferred by her rank even over the youth of another Clan.

With a subtle eye signal from his sister and a tap of her foot, Molewhisker sprung into action, bringing the apprentice currently taking his turn at a jab under his grasp.

“Are we done with this distraction now?” The other apprentices tensed seeing the warrior currently grasping their friend but as Cherryfall flashed her claws they backed down.

Molewhisker released his grasp on the apprentice and soon enough Cherryfall was instructing everyone on the training exercise they would be performing together. “Don’t you think just because you have them to intimidate them that I’m going to go easy on you,” the silver-gray molly said to Alderpaw.

Just his luck that he had been paired with her of all possible cats...

#aside but I feel this fandom is sleeping on using Roman terminology for their AUs/rewrites #I have pioneered it with augur AUs use of augur and patrician #but we need more centurions and imperators and consuls and senators and all the rest #maybe even an augustus or a princeps #warrior cats #wc #warrior cats au #needletail #alderheart #once again a prompt that goes completely against the spirit of what was intended #sorry y'all #gonna update my log tomorrow for now I sleep

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whatevergreen · 1 year ago

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That binge drinking episode I had last Thursday/Friday has set off an horrific series of anxiety/panic attacks.

Relaxation techniques do not help at all in this (and often don't anyway. Stress/anxiety has been wrecking my life since age 12). Sitting down and watching a film has made it even worse. And as for trying to sleep...

Sleep is impossible. I feel wired. My whole body feels weird. I feel both exhausted and yet as if I could power half the planet.

I'd literally be better off running down the road screaming. Which I don't feel like doing at 3:34am.

Exercise really does help, but again it's 3:34am

To be blunt: jacking off often helps a lot, especially before sleep, but on this occassion has actually made it worse.

I've ended up drinking more alcohol (the first time since Friday). A shot. Which sort of helps but sort of doesn't. But I got desperate.

Part of this is no doubt happening because the binge drinking episodes are screwing up the Citalopram medication which often doesn't seem to do a lot but believe me the difference is very clear when this happens (or when I don't take it properly).

I'm beginning to suspect that bouts of binge drinking interspersed with 1-2 weeks of not drinking at all is actually far worse than trying to drink normally between binges. And obviously I need to try and stop the bouts of binge drinking or I'm going to have to stop drinking alltogether.

These periods of not drinking at all are attempts to get the binge drinking under control, but it's absolutely pointless because rarely does a week pass without something setting me off. Unless I find a way to control how I react to certain extreme stress/anger inducing incidents - especially unexpected ones... I'm doomed.

I have noticed that it usually helps to drink a "normal" amount the following day after bingeing, and then stopping alltogether for a while, rather than just stopping dead. As far as the hangover goes, it did help this time as usual. But this is not a hangover problem.

It may be because this is the worst incident I've had in months despite not even being the most I've drank. Nothing like.

At one point I drank the equivalent of at least 1 litre (2 pints) of whisky in 6 hours. But... I interspersed this with coffees, juices, and food including chocolate.

Last Thursday I panic drank half a bottle of whisky and 2 pints of 8.2% cider in less than 3 hours with no other drinks or food until after.

It was horrendous. My memory was mostly wiped out. I could barely stand. I couldn't urinate. I collapsed in bed at about 8pm after a dinner I could barely eat. I didn't wake up until around 7am and couldn't initially work out what was going on.

The actual hangover lasted a day or so. The nightmare has been these extreme anxiety/panic attacks which have become worse and worse since.

If you have problems with stress/anxiety: alcohol is not the answer long term. It can help up to a limited point, but do not go beyond because you'll end up like me or worse.

#drink #stress #anxiety #mental health

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littlespace-imagines · 2 years ago

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Broken Dreams pt. 3

Warning Pt.1 Pt.2

Pairing: Cg!Jason the Toymaker × little reader

Contains: very dark, abusive themes, forced

Littlespace, kidnapping, toxic cg/| dynamic, unhealthy relationships, humiliation as punishment, time confusion

*This is very different from my regular stories on this account, please exercise caution*

**Ageregression and Littlespace will never be sexualized on this blog**

It was finally the weekend, I had work on Monday and all my errands for the week had been completed so I was finally able to stay in and just relax. I decided to grab a glass of wine and read a bit, as I was in the kitchen preparing my charcuterie board of fruit, cheese, and crackers I heard my phone ding. I went to check it and saw it was only a notification one of my friends had posted something to their story I briefly considered messaging them before deciding that I deserved some time by myself and clicked my phone off, then as I sat down in my comfiest pajamas and opened my book the plush bunny caught my eye, I grabbed it off the table and moved it to the couch where I felt it would be a bit more comfy.

As I sipped my wine and red I could feel myself getting sleepier and sleepier,

"This wine must be stronger than I thought." I thought aloud before deciding to take a nap, this is my relaxing day after all so surely catching up on missed sleep counts as relaxing, I chug what's left of my wine and make my way to the bedroom. It wasn't long before I was drifting off to sleep.

I woke up with a big stretch, I noticed that there was no light coming in through my blinds. I got up and made my way into my living room and turning on the lights, I saw my book, the remains of the cheese and fruit and empty wine glass. I gather these objects to put them where they go, it's at this moment that my ears pick up on a low noise.

I go as silent as possible trying to listen.

What is that?

It sounds so odd, there's music and a voice but they don't go together.

It's not a song.

I walked back towards where the noise was coming from, I freeze at my bedroom door and then my blood goes cold.

I never shut my bedroom door.

I left it open.

Someone else shut my door.

My hand flies up to my mouth as I clamp my hand over it I slowly back away from the door doing my best to not make a single noise. I slowly make my way into the kitchen to get my keys only to find them missing, so I grab a hoodie and slip on my shoes before opening my front door and running out not caring if it alerted the person, I ran towards the woods just behind my apartment complex, it's not long before I can hear them chasing me, maniacal laughter and gasping breaths from behind me feel my ears as I run. Tears slipping down my face in panic.

THUD

I was caught and pushed down, my whole body hurt, my knees were skinned and bleeding, my captor rolled me over onto my back and I stared up at him in disbelief, he was wearing a mask and hoodie and I couldn't find any features on his face,

"I've got you now." He says before pulling his fist back, I brace for impact fearing the worse.

"No!" I scream and sit up, I wait to be hit or something but it never happens, I open my eyes to find myself in my bedroom again, this time there's a bit of light pouring from my blinds, I jump out of bed and run crying into my living room before collapsing on the floor, I hadn't had a nightmare that vivid since I was a child.

#littlespace fanfiction #x little!reader #xlittle!reader #little!reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x little!reader #creepypasta x y/n #jason the toymaker x reader #jason the toymaker #jeff the killer x reader #eyeless jack headcanon #slenderman x reader #eyeless jack x reader

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andrewlovely · 7 months ago

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Sam Bankman-Fried

[I don’t know if my thoughts about Sam Bankman-Fried ultimately amount to an exercise in casuistry or just to an honest consideration of the other side. But writing about this case led me to some interesting reflections on the nature of justice in modern human society, as well as to questions about the hidden, perhaps even taboo realities of our financial system.] I've been reading about the case of Sam Bankman-Fried and I've yet to see any definitive proof that he was guilty of willful intent to defraud. Everything about his profile confirms eccentricity, naïveté, ignorance of how the world actually works, negligence, worldly incompetence, and recklessness, yes. But even recklessness does not necessarily indicate an intent to defraud; it may merely be indicative of a person oblivious to the realities of the world and maybe even of a person almost unfathomably foolish - but a criminal actor with evil intent this makes not.

There have been many criminal actors with clear and willful intent to defraud, but they mostly took advantage of poor and middle class working people, so naturally they never saw the inside of a prison cell, and they probably never will. Sam Bankman-Fried didn’t swindle a bunch of poor people out of their hard-earned money; if he had, he wouldn’t be in prison right now. No, he just played a bit too fast and loose with a bunch of rich people’s money. Now, he didn’t intend to lose their money, and he certainly didn’t intend to steal their money, but he effectively did. He lost a bunch of rich people’s money. And that’s why he’s in jail right now. That was his real crime – let’s be real here.

But how could someone so sharp and capable also be so reckless and foolish at the same time? Surely he must have known what he was doing.

In the 2023 film Oppenheimer, Matt Damon's character General Leslie Groves often wonders how J. Robert Oppenheimer, someone so obviously brilliant otherwise, could be so oblivious to so many aspects of human society and everyday interpersonal relations. Casey Affleck and Robert Downey Jr's characters detect or suspect something more sinister in Oppenheimer, but they're actually just projecting these malignancies onto him from within their own corrupt and sadistic worldviews.

People wonder, "How could he be so stupid?" Whether it's Oppenheimer giving an interview to Boris Pash and openly divulging information that could make him the target of a DoD investigation, or Sam Bankman-Fried giving open interviews soon after the collapse of FTX and repeatedly incriminating himself with idiotic statements, people might say, "What a stupid Russian mole!" or "What a dumb financial criminal!" respectively, but could they actually be assuming, or worse, projecting criminal intent onto these individuals when there is none? After all, a person who continues to make self-incriminating statements to both the press and to the authorities, is this the mark of a criminal mastermind, or the sign of a hopeless fool? The US government wants us to believe that Sam Bankman-Fried is both, but I find this conflation to be incongruous.

There are two kinds of people who do not remain silent when they clearly probably should: foolish criminals and the even more foolish innocent. The US government has tried to portray this guy as some kind of an evil genius, some kind of a nefarious puppet master, but I just don't see it. I don't see a person who was operating in bad faith. I just see a person who was probably insulated from the everyday realities of the world his whole life, and who was almost unfathomably oblivious to those realities and their dangers. Clearly he ran his companies in an almost unbelievably idiotic and reckless fashion, but willful intent to defraud this makes not. Criminal negligence also carries penalties, but far less severe. I also find it interesting that Bankman-Fried was arrested in the Bahamas the day before he was scheduled to testify before the U.S. House Committee on Financial Services. A cynical person might conclude that they didn’t want him to testify. Well, why not? After all, it would save them the trouble of having to extradite him from the Bahamas, and unless he planned on pleading the fifth for every committee member’s question, his testimony could only work against him in a court of law.

I suppose an even more cynical person might conclude that the authorities did not want to give Bankman-Fried any opportunity to rebut or clarify any of his replacement’s (FTX bankruptcy CEO John J. Ray III) scathing indictments and accusations of him before the American public.

A still even more cynical person might notice the benefit that Bankman-Fried’s arrest in the Bahamas and subsequent extradition to the US would have for the prosecution’s case, as it might help to create the appearance of absconding and evading justice on the part of Bankman-Fried, while arresting him in the capital after his testimony to the U.S. House Committee on Financial Services would not… reinforce the desirable narrative. In fact, it might foil it completely.

Yes, a skeptical person might find it curious that Sam Bankman-Fried was not allowed to testify before the American public in an official capacity which would allow him to give detailed and extensive answers to every question, as well as to offer rebuttals and/or clarifications to any one of his replacement’s criticisms. Were they worried he might “muddy the waters” or “corrupt our minds”? So low is their estimation of the American public’s critical faculties and powers of discernment, that he could not be allowed to testify?

A discerning person might stop to consider that if the prosecution felt that Sam Bankman-Fried’s testimony before the American public might hurt their case, then maybe they didn’t have such a strong case to begin with! Or maybe his full testimony would have been detrimental to other interests, such as the law firms which oversaw FTX’s bankruptcy and raked in exorbitant fees, especially considering that Bankman-Fried would have been able to respond to his replacement’s criticisms on the spot, as well as answer any questions from the members of the House Committee – a House Committee whose opening statements did not indicate an honest intention to seek out the truth, whatever it may be, but rather projected a need to reinforce a specific narrative right from the get go – as if the truth had already been decided. FTX customers would have undoubtedly been interested to hear about the astronomical fees the law firms overseeing its bankruptcy were charging – drawing from funds which could have been used to recoup investors’ losses. Again, there was a narrative here that did not want to be disturbed.

I find the prosecution’s manipulation of appearances to be most cynical of all, what with the needless extradition of Bankman-Fried from the Bahamas (which no doubt must have cost taxpayers a good chunk of money) and the effective barring of Sam Bankman-Fried from testifying before the House Committee on Financial Services. And in cases like these, I always wonder, if the prosecution’s charge is truly so noble, so steadfast and true, then why resort to such scummy tactics? Why go to such great lengths to make things appear a certain way, when the truth is supposedly so self-evident?

A wise man once said, "In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity."

I don't know if Sam Bankman-Fried's conviction is a testament to his actual guilt so much as to the tendency of conventional people to see guile and malice in the hearts and minds of those they cannot understand, or simply do not like.

It's understandable that when so much money is lost, people want to feel like "We found the one responsible! We found our man!" But the fact remains: if you're hit by a car in which the driver wasn't paying attention, you can't charge the driver with vehicular homicide in the first degree. You can charge him with involuntary manslaughter, yes, which can also carry heavy penalties, but you can't charge him with vehicular homicide in the first degree just because there's a public outcry for swift punishment and severe penalties. That's not justice.

And ultimately, going beyond even the legal implications, a car with an absent driver is almost the same as a car with no driver. Then who is to blame? People struggle to accept this ultimate reality, which is why it is not reflected or considered in our legal system.

The reality that at times there is no one driving our car, and likewise that we are often surrounded by driverless cars, this makes us profoundly uncomfortable. Yet this is probably closer to the truth; the idea that every single car always has its corresponding and accountable driver is simply more practical and appealing to us. It allows for a functioning society but it isn't necessarily rooted in truth.

We collectively accept this conventional conception not because it's true, but because it allows us to function. This is a nuance that I think most people ignore, or are not even aware of. Hence why so many people are possessed by an almost sadomasochistic zeal for crime and punishment, thinking that this is justice.

No, justice is much more delicate than that - a higher virtue which requires careful thought and honest deliberation. True justice should never be a means by which the collective can seek out its scapegoats and its sacrificial lambs, in order to project all its own sin and iniquity onto the blank slates of the gifted airheads, and exorcise its demons through the slaughter, torture, and bloodshed of those same empty vessels. The wicked are often so eager to get to Hades they kill every psychopomp on the way there! This is not justice; this is the blood ritual of a death cult.

True justice is restorative and rooted in community and goodwill; in other words, it is a thing foreign to the modern human being of the polis, and native still only to the numerous indigenous tribes scattered across the globe. It has become a thing foreign to us and twisted, perverted. Sadomasochistic. A poor substitute indeed... an unconvincing imitation.

But anyway, I digress...

In terms of the Sam Bankman-Fried case, which I must emphasize do not necessarily relate to the more general reflections on the nature of justice I just expounded on, the questions I'm left with are:

a) How much of this was the result of what some might call "hostile takeover" tactics on behalf of Binance, and would FTX have collapsed if not for all its customers trying to withdraw all their funds at once?

and

b) How many companies/institutions have had similar holes in their accounting that were never exposed because all their customers/constituents never tried to withdraw all their funds at once?

#thoughts #Sam Bankman-Fried #Andrew Lovely #Andrew Eugene Lovely #questions #considerations

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strawb3rrybumbl3b33 · 8 months ago

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Ripped Apart - Peeta Mellark

Warnings: badly described panic attacks, grieving/depression, possible swearing I don't remember. Not proofread.

Desc; When Peeta gets put into the games, Aurora is thrown through a loop

Authors note; be kind please, I haven't written anything in like nearly a year. Feedback is appreciated but please don't be a dick

Aurora wasn’t sure which idea was worse; her name being called to go to the Hunger Games or Peeta’s name being called. She kept anxiously glancing around the square, looking for Peeta. But she was too short to see over the other girls. She fidgeted with her hands, picking at her skin. Effie Trinket moved across the stage, and every girls breath seemed to stop in unison.

She walked back across the stage to the microphone. “Primrose Everdeen.”

Aurora, and all the other girls around her visibly relaxed. All the girls except one. Primrose’s sister - Katniss, if Aurora recalled correctly - dashed through the other girls, shouting. With the commotion, Aurora stepped out of the line a little to get a look at Peeta. He met her eyes and gave her a semi-reassuring smile. She could tell he was scared though, she knew him better than he knew himself, afterall.

Katniss finally got to make her way on stage and Effie moved across the stage on the other side. Loud tap tap taps as she moved center stage again. She paused, cleared her throat and announced, “Peeta Mellark.”

Aurora felt like her whole world just collapsed. She could barely breathe, her anxiety going into overgear as Peeta walked up to the stage and stood next to Effie. She was smiling. How could the woman possibly be smiling while Aurora’s whole world was falling apart. She felt like she was going to pass out. She started a breathing exercise Peeta always did with her when she got this bad. It helped a little but watching Peeta disappear into the building it got worse again. Today could’ve been the last day she sees him alive.

She and his family were able to go in and see him. After his family, she rushed in. Upon seeing him, she collapsed into his arms. Literally, falling to the ground and hyperventilating. Peeta sunk to the ground with her.

“Hey.. Hey, it’s okay. Breathe with me, alright?” He said sweetly, starting to take slow breaths.

Through sobs, she followed his example. Slowly calming down to just cries. He just held her tightly, knowing this could be the last time he ever got to hold her.

Time passed in a blur to Aurora as Peeta departed and got onto the train. She swore her heart broke even more at the sight. Peeta looked so excited. But Aurora knew him. He was always good at lying. She guessed it came with the territory of having a bad home life.

She felt like she'd be physically ill. She ran home and to her room. her parents didn't even bother to check on her.

A few days later, the tributes had their grand reveal but she didn't watch. Even if she wanted to, she physically couldn't convince herself to get out of bed. Her heart was out in the capital being paraded around like a prize pig before its slaughter. Doing anything made her feel ill, even just laying there. But it was much better than sitting or standing. Occasionally her mom would make her get up and eat and bathe. But Aurora would just immediately go back to rotting in bed. A little while in, her mom got sick and it left her to take care of the house.

While out to scrounge up what she could for tonight's supper, she heard gossiping.

“Have you seen Peeta and Katniss?”

“I'm so obsessed with them! Did you see his confession? He's so sweet. I hope they kiss!”

Aurora felt her heart squeeze. She slipped into an alley to calm her breathing, tears starting to fall. It was stupid, really it was. But hearing her crush of twelve years liked someone else? That hurt.

She gathered what she could find for soup and ran the rest of the way home sobbing. Dinner was late that night, but not forgotten.

It didn't get much easier, as much as Aurora tried to fake it. All her days started to blend together into a disassociated blur.

That is until there was a knock on her door. She opened the door, expecting one of her moms friends or something. Her eyes widened in surprise at the familiar cropped blonde hair of her best friend.

“Peeta?” She said in disbelief, tears immediately blurring her vision.

“Hey.” He said in a breath, a big smile on his face.

“You won?” She asked, still not convinced he was real.

A nod, then he opened his mouth. Aurora didn't care to hear it. Much like before the games, she collapsed into his arms and sank to the floor. She sobbed and sobbed, soaking his shirt. But he just kept holding her as close as he could.

They sat there on her porch together in silence, drinking in each other's presence.

#peeta #peeta mellark x oc #oc x canon #the hunger games

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flannelepicurean · 1 year ago

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Mmmmrrrrgggghhhh okay. So. I generally don't like talking about weight, when tied to health things, in general, but I feel like it's important to boost stuff like this. Because the way people talk about bodies, and weight, and fat, is absolute bullshit in general, and it reminds me a whole, whole bunch about the ways in which I've struggled with mental health issues, and the ways in which that has gone hand in hand with stuff that's affected my body, and I just....turn into a 3-D Celtic knotwork when this shit comes up.

I spent a bunch of my life being really underweight, because I was either so goddamn depressed I couldn't do more than force myself to drink three glasses of milk a day to keep my body functional on a basic level, or so buzzing with manic energy I couldn't sit still long enough to eat. I've legit collapsed and gone to the ER because of this. But people around me still made really unhelpful comments about my body, and ignored the shit I said about my mind and my emotions, and the old, "You need to JUST [insert dismissive advice here]," rolled in over and over and over.

After I had a baby, and went into severe postpartum depression and anxiety, and my OCD went into the goddamn stratosphere, and the pandemic hit and isolated us all in the house together for two fucking years, I was the heaviest I'd ever been. The BMI scale (unreliable, I knew) told me I'd tipped over the line into Obese, and I got even more depressed, but I was determined to do something about it.

And I tried. And I tried. And I tried. And it took forever. And it was extremely non-linear. And it was never enough. And I was never happy. And I just kept being super depressed.

And then I got sick.

My meds got fucked up, and I went into a bipolar episode bad enough that I had to take two fucking months off work, after trying to keep it together for six goddamn weeks while things spiraled worse and worse real fucking fast. I couldn't tolerate ANYTHING. Light. Sound. Textures...And tastes. Sugar, salt, acid, spices...all of it hit my senses like a blast of rock salt from a shotgun. Like a medieval peasant being killed by a Sour Skittle, if I tried even the blandest tomato sauce. And it made me want to throw fists. And I couldn't sit still.

More than a year ago, and I still can't deal with a lot of flavors, and I still can't eat more than two fists' worth of food at a go, so I gotta just eat like seven small meals a day and a few snacks here and there. I eat on a hobbit schedule.

I lost weight. Got back down to numbers on the scale I hadn't seen in decades, that had been "target" and "goal" and a fucking dream of the future, when I was actually trying. And I felt like shit. People in my life tell me things like, "Well, eating that way is actually healthier! Spacing it out is better for you! Oh, it's great that you don't really eat sugar anymore!" And it makes me want to scream, because it feels like that, "Well, that trauma made you stronger!" bullshit.

And you know what? I'm still sick. There are a bunch of mystery fucking problems going on with my body and my mind. And I've been eating "right," more than ever before. I've been taking in way more fruits and vegetables and whole grains and complex carbs. I drink a cup of coffee and half a glass of unsweet iced tea a day, and the rest is water. I've been exercising more than ever before. I'm steady maintaining a weight that's probably pretty "healthy" for my age and size and all that. AND I FEEL LIKE TRASH.

So like...yeah. It pisses me off when people moralize weight and fatness and food and dieting and shit, and dismiss and discount and demonize all the complex realities that actually go into what human bodies look like and how they work. And it may be a privileged thing to say, and I will fully acknowledge that, but having anyone applaud a weight loss that came out of this much suffering, even after I fucking explain that shit to them, burns me up. Not just because of what it means to me and reflects about my experience, but because of the attitude it reflects for the whole subject in general. That something that painful, that traumatic, is an acceptable price to pay, an acceptable way to get to a new baseline.

Fucking awful.

Just found out that the dietary calorie is still measured by burning food in a "bomb calorimeter" and then measuring the heat produced. There's no solid evidence that this method is at all equivalent to how our bodies process food (an entirely different chemical process from combustion), the accuracy of this system has been disputed for as long as it's existed, and there are no available alternatives

There are 4800 calories in a kilogram of dry sawdust even though wood is completely indigestible to humans, because calories don't measure nutritional value, just how well something burns

Nutritional "science" is pure bullshit

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givemea-dam-break · 4 years ago

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yes i am back because why the heckity heck not lolol okay so im thinking maybe viggo or ryker messes with reader's head too much (theyre a dragon rider too) when they were captured and then the dragon riders rescue them BUT now they keep to themselves, avoiding everyone INCLUDING THEIR DRAGON (ANGST) and astrid is like "ive had enough of this" and catches them off guard when theyre having dinner with everyone. reader very casually dropping the head messing part as they eat and then moving on (1)

Everyone is still in shock and reader wishes them a good night and goes to their hut but before they could enter, astrid flying next to them and is like “you know you dont hv to keep it to yourself” and then fluffy comfort? No pressure to do this obviously only if you want to. but please tc of yourself! get a lot of rest! exams can tire people out so so much and i dont wnat you to get hurt - LJ <- that’s the rest of the request for those wondering :)

a/n: I would be more than happy to do this! It’s such a good concept and I love fluff with Astrid <3 and thank you! that means a lot especially with how stressful things are with covid but don't worry :) i don't typically like romanticising things like this so it will be written more to support the victim (the reader in this situation). if any of you have gone through any forms of emotional manipulation, i am so so sorry and i will always be here for you to reach out to Warnings: mentions of emotional manipulation, mild angst, implications of anxiety Words: 1.2K Gender-neutral reader

You should trust me. Your eyes strain to look out of your hut's window, the sun blindingly bright. There's not a cloud in sight and the sky is a vibrant blue, which reflects onto the bay. The waves brush onto the sand softly and you almost want to go and stand in it, listening to the sounds of birds and dragons and the waves. That would definitely help. Grabbing a fleece, you hurry out of your hut and towards the bay. The water is cool as it washes over your feet, retreating back into the bay after a second before returning again. The continuity and familiar pattern of it all helps calm your heart rate and your franticness. The sea is familiar. You like the sea. "Y/n?" a voice says. "Hey, are you wanting to go for a fly?" You freeze for a second before turning around. Astrid is walking towards you, braided hair swinging softly behind her back and her arms crossed over her chest. I'm only doing this for your own good. "I, uh, I'm not feeling too good," you say. "I came out for some fresh air, but I think it's making things worse." Astrid hesitates. "Oh, um, do you want me to take (dragon's name) out so he gets some exercise?" "That would be great." Your heart pounds in your chest. Your legs feel weak. "Thank you. I'm going to get back to my hut and try to sleep." "Get better soon," Astrid says as you pick up your boots. You nod before hurrying off, now actually feeling sick. Collapsing on your bed, you take a deep breath. Your hands are trembling, your heart is racing. Should you have said that? What if Astrid hates you now? Have you upset her? None of them trusts you, not like I do. "Y/n?" you hear Astrid say from beyond your door. "How are you feeling? (dragon's name) is getting agitated from not seeing you all day." You turn over in your bed but stay quiet. "Can I come in?" You hear the door handle jiggle, then the sound of your door pushing open. You immediately shut your eyes and even out your breaths. Maybe if Astrid thinks you're sleeping, she'll leave. Maybe the bucket next to your bed will convince her even more that you're feeling sick. Footsteps come closer, then there's a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, y/n?" You stay still, eyes clamped shut. Astrid sighs and removes her hand from your shoulder. "Another grumpy dragon for me to deal with." The sound of her footsteps recede and the door shuts. Outside, you can hear Astrid talking to her dragon, Stormfly, and then the flapping of wings as she flies away. You sit up and breathe out a sigh of relief. I'm helping you, can't you see that? Your breaths are short and sharp as you make your way over to the tall hut where you all usually eat dinner. Unfortunately, you have to eat and you're not sure you can get out of eating dinner with everyone. You don't have a choice but to go. "Y/n!" Hiccup says at the sight of you. "We've not seen you all day. How are you feeling now? Astrid says you've been feeling ill all day." "Yeah, I'm okay," you say, grabbing some food. You situate yourself a little bit away from the others, sitting back against the wall as you pick at your food. You can feel the eyes on you, but you don't look up. Something compels you not to. They don't care about you the way that I do. The second you go back to them, you'll just be shunned again. Do you want that? "You must've gotten a bug or something," Fishlegs says. "You don't look sick." You feel a jab in your stomach, knowing someone will pick everything apart. What will happen then? Will they hate you for lying? Will they send you back to Berk, or to some completely different island? Will they send you back to him? There's a strange tension and you're worried that you're not the only one to feel it. The twins aren't joking around as much; Snotlout has been quiet for far too long; Hiccup and Astrid have both been studying you. The attention makes you squirm. "Where were you last week?" Astrid asks, her tone the slightest bit aggressive. "Without (dragon's name), too. You never told us." Your heart feels like it's going to break out through your ribs. Your mouth has

grown dry, your hands tremble to the point where you have to put down your plate of food. "A supply run," you say. "I did tell you." Astrid hums a reply before going back to her food. They don't trust you. Not one bit. But I do. "What was the name you kept saying in your sleep?" Astrid asks, mostly to herself, but loud enough for people to hear. "Grimborne?" "Grimborne?" Hiccup spits out his food. "As in Viggo Grimborne?" "Why were you in my hut while I was sleeping?" you demand. Astrid's eyes narrow on you. "Checking how you were doing last night. You've been acting strange. You still are. What's happened to you? You haven't spoken to us properly in days, you've been avoiding us. Gods, you've been avoiding your own dragon!" You shrug. "That's what happens when you get manipulated." Snotlout chokes. "What?" Astrid frowns. "What?" she repeats. "That's why I was saying his name," you say, staring at your food and trying to keep your voice calm. "That's where I was." "He kidnapped you?" Tuffnut asks. "Cool! I want to be -" "Shut up!" Fishlegs says. "This is serious." You shrug again, putting your food down and standing. "I'm going to bed," you say. "Goodnight." "Hey," Astrid says, standing to try and stop you. "Wait -" But you're already gone. They lie to you, they always do, and you're going to accuse me of lying? Your hut is just in eye's sight when Astrid catches up to you. She grasps your wrist, pulling you back and stopping you from carrying on. "Y/n," she says. "I didn't know." "Yeah, no one did," you remind her. "And for a reason." Astrid stares at you and you can't meet her eyes. "You didn't - you don't have to deal with this on your own. We're all here for you. I'm here for you. Why didn't you come to me?" "Some things are easier on my own," you say. "And I'm - I'm not ready to talk about it." "That's okay," Astrid says. "But, when the time comes, let me help you, okay? I'm sorry for being snappy, I'm just concerned." "And you need to know everything," you say as a weak attempt at a joke. Astrid smiles softly. "My door is always open, all right? Come to me when you're ready." You take a deep breath. All the voices in your head are screaming at you not to trust her - that's what Viggo told you to do. He had drilled into your mind for days that your friends are not fit to be trusted, that they're bad people who will turn around at any given chance and deceive you. The worst part was that you believed him, and some part of you still does. "I'll try," you say. "That's all I need to hear."

#astrid x reader #astrid hofferson x reader #astrid hofferson #astrid httyd #httyd x reader #httyd fanfic #httyd fanfiction #how to train your dragon #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #hiccup haddock #rtte #httyd rtte #rtte x reader #race to the edge #givemea-dam-break

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datleggy · 3 years ago

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Totally random thought I had right as I am going to bed but ya know that show "I didn't know I was pregnant"? Buck would be on that show lol the boy is oblivious when it comes to his own body, so like I can perfectly picture him collapsing on the job one day wracked with pain, and then Hen is poking around his stomach where it hurts, her, Buck and Eddie packed into the back of the ambulance as Chim and Bobby drive to the hospital, and she gets out the stethoscope to try and listen for internal bleeding or anything but instead finds an infant heartrate and she's like "Buck, you're pregnant?" And he's like "uh, no? What the hell?" And then his water breaks and he tries to convince hen and Eddie that he had an accident bc even that would be a better alternative to suddenly figuring out he's about to have a baby???? What the fuck???? But Eddie holds his hand all the way through it and by the time they get to the hospital, Buck has a healthy newborn cradled against his chest, Eddie knelt beside him and alternating between kissing buck and the baby on the head, and observing the baby in disbelief. I can also picture Buck like, sobbing his sorry's to Eddie the entire time he's pushing, like "Eddie I swear I had no idea, if I had known, I would have told you!" And Eddie is just reassuring him the entire time like "don't worry about that now, Buck, just concentrate. No one is mad, okay? But you gotta focus on the- on the baby" and buck just sobs and nods and focuses on the delivery again. But for a good while Buck is in denial that any of this is happening and it takes a lot of convincing and encouragement from both hen and Eddie for him to start actively participating in his baby's birth. Anyways, random half asleep thought is finished sorry for the long ask hdshsjjsjdbsjsj

WELL SHIT ok so i actually love that show and i could see buck doing this lmao so i wrote a thing. also ignore all medical inaccuracies, this is my distraction from monday lmao let me have this wildly inept fic pls.

also just in case, it’s pretty brief, i think, but TW for talk of weight and weight gain

It's nearing the end of their shift now and Buck can almost hear his feet howling at him in pain. Today hadn't even really been all that busy, he thinks, annoyed at his own body's betrayal. He's not even thirty yet, but in the last couple of months he's felt as though he's aged about ten years.

He's put on a few pounds, which isn't too uncommon, sometimes Buck goes through stretches of time where he eats more carbs than he needs and works out less than he'd like and so a little tummy fat is to be expected.

It normally doesn't bother him, except that in the last maybe three months he hasn't felt like exercising much outside of work but he's eaten nearly everything in sight every night. He's up about fifteen pounds, which he wouldn't have even noticed, seeing that he does fluctuate at times anywhere between five to eight pounds over or under what he usually weighs, if it hadn't been for Chimney teasing him about putting down his third Krispy Kreme donut of the day and picking up a barbell earlier this morning.

Chim and Buck poke fun at each other all the time--it's a staple in their friendship and brother ship, in fact--and Buck had flipped him the bird, nothing new there. What had been new was the fact that he'd excused himself to the bathroom right after that and locked himself in a stall and bawled his eyes out as quietly as humanly possible.

Buck grimaces, embarrassed still, by the outburst, even if no one had been there to witness it. He still has no idea what the hell that had been about this morning.

Eddie notices the sour mood and pulls him in close. "Hey, you ok?"

Buck nods. "Yeah, just tired. Ready to go home--shit." Buck feels a shooting pain so intense his knees buckle and Eddie has to hold him upright to keep him from hitting the floor.

“Woah!” Eddie calls Bobby over, who’s closest, for help, “Buck? Buck, you with me? What’s wrong? What hurts?”

Buck just shakes his head and grits his teeth, the pain so debilitating he can hardly breathe much less speak.

The Captain is on his other side in an instant and together Eddie and Bobby help Buck towards the couch, where he collapses in a heap, throwing his head back and letting out an agonized whine. “What’s going on? Did he get hurt during one of the calls?” Bobby asks Eddie, frantic to help put a stop to this.

Eddie’s helpless, “Bobby I don’t know, one second we were talking about going home and the next he practically fell to the floor in pain.” he turns to face his husband, “Baby, I’m here, look at me, what’s the matter? What hurts?”

Buck’s face scrunches up and he finally exhales sharply, his grip on the couch cushions loosening, and he opens his eyes, wide like saucers, and says, “What the fuck was that?”

At this point Hen and Chim, as well as half the crew, have gathered around and Hen is quick to put on her doctors hat and try to sus out the problem. She makes Bobby step aside and Chimney hands her a stethoscope. “Buck, is it your stomach?” she asks, noticing the stiff way he’s holding himself around his midriff.

“I don’t--kinda? I don’t know. It was just like, this crazy wave of pain, almost like a cramp, but way worse.” he struggles to describe the feeling now that it’s more or less passed for the time being.

Hen had seen Buck wince when he’d been in the harness on the last call of the day, but he hadn’t said anything and she hadn’t thought too much about it until now. “Did you hurt yourself in the harness earlier? Maybe pulled something when we reeled you back up?” she asks, palpitating his stomach with her fingers, watching him almost retract from her touch.

“Maybe?” Buck shrugs uncomfortably, wincing when she hits a particularly sore spot.

Something about this feels familiar and strangely obvious, but Hen doesn’t understand why until she puts her stethoscope up to his belly to check for lack of bowel sounds, indicating maybe some internal bleeding or sorts.

Hen gasps out loud and sits up like she’s been smacked.

Eddie frowns. “What? What’s wrong? Is he gonna be ok?” He almost wants to snatch the damn stethoscope out of her ears and check for himself, his eyes darting between Hen and Buck nervously.

“Buck, you’re pregnant. And in labor, by the sounds of it.” Hen blurts out in disbelief.

“What.” Buck blinks at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop. This has to be a joke.

“I heard a heartbeat in there...” Hen informs them, still awed. “Buck, that was a contraction you just experienced.”

Eddie gapes at Hen and then at Buck. “You’re pregnant?”

Buck gapes right back at him. “No!” he denies, shaking his head incredulously. “That’s insane, I can’t be pregn--ah--” Buck leans forward in pain as another contraction begins. “Fuck.”

“Jesus, yeah, no you’re definitely pregnant,” Chim announces, “Your water just broke all over my favorite couch, bud. I’m getting the ambulance ready asap.” he says, before running to do just that, head reeling. He thinks about Maddie and when she gave birth to their daughter and how scared out of his mind he’d been and he sympathizes for Buck and Eddie, who up until now apparently hadn’t even realizes they were expecting...

Back at the lounge Buck continues to deny any of this is even happening. He whines into Eddie’s chest, “That’s pee, it has to be, because I’m not pregnant. There’s no way.” he lets out a pitiful whimper as another contraction begins and buries his face against his husband to hide the tears springing up in his eyes.

“Buck, son, we gotta get you to a hospital right now.” Bobby tries, running a soothing hand over the top of his head.

But Buck shakes his head no, shuddering out a sob. “M’not going.”

Eddie, overwhelmed, looks to Hen and Bobby for help.

“Buck, ambulance is ready to go, we need to move unless you wanna have this kid at the firehouse.” Hen grimaces. “I know you’re in pain and I know you’re confused and hurting, but we need to get you into that ambulance and now.”

Buck cries out when another contraction hits him and Hen gulps. “Your contractions are getting way too close together, we need to move.” she nods at her Captain and Eddie to help get Buck up and together the three of them manage to get Buck onto a gurney and into the waiting ambulance.

Bobby rides up front with Chimney, leaving Hen and Eddie to work in the back with Buck.

“Buck, you need to start getting ready to push, this baby’s coming.” Hen warns him, but Buck refuses.

“I can’t.” he sobs. “I didn’t--” he throws his head back, the pain lighting his nerves on fire. “I swear Eddie, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me.”

Eddie takes Bucks hand into his and brings it up to his lips. “I know baby, I know, you don’t have to worry about that. I promise. Nobody is mad at you, ok? I’m not. But right now you need to focus on pushing, you need to listen to Hen, ok? We’re ok, and you’re gonna be ok, but I need you to push, baby. I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Buck lets Eddie wipe away his tears, leans into the comforting touch, and nods shakily, exhaling. “O-ok, I’m--I’m ready.”

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

The baby is so very tiny in Eddie’s arms.

Olive Buckley-Diaz is born weighing exactly six pounds and two ounces.

Christopher, who’s curled up against Bucks side on the hospital bed after a very exhausting day, looks up at his Buck, his little brow still knitted in confusion. “So she was a surprise baby? And that’s how come you guys didn’t tell me about her?”

Buck tries not to laugh. “Yeah bud, it was a huge surprise to us, too.”

Eddie nods along, smiling fondly down at the bundle he’s holding. Her blotchy red face is slack in sleep and there’s already tufts of brown hair sticking up funnily on her head under her hat. “I still can’t believe you only gained like fifteen pounds during the whole pregnancy.” Eddie chuckles, “Or that you worked through the nine months, God Buck, when I think of the stunts you pulled during calls in the last few months alone I’m--” he shudders. “Actually I’d rather not think about it.” he sighs, “I’m just happy you’re both healthy at the end of the day.”

Really, it’s a miracle. The doctor had said as much after the delivery.

“To be fair I never got any of the other symptoms,” Buck shrugs. “I wasn’t nauseous, my feet never swelled, I don’t remember any weird cravings? And you said it yourself, I didn’t really gain all that much weight.”

Eddie leans down to kiss Buck’s forehead. “You should be on that show.” he grins.

Buck tilts his head.

“You know the one, the one Hen made us watch when work was slow that one time. ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’.” he teases.

Buck groans. “I regret all the jokes I made at the time. I totally get those people now. Pregnancy is weird.”

Christopher rests his head more comfortably against Bucks chest and smiles softly. “Yeah, but now our family’s even bigger.”

#mpreg #911 fox #i didn't know i was pregnant #i love that show #lol #ask #ficlet #writing #buddie #established relationship #buck #eddie #christopher #family

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valeskakingdom · 2 years ago

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Metamorphosis (part 26)

Scalpel" A male familiar voice resonated, but Scarlet saw nothing but any blurred faces and felt someone mad a deep cut right above her eye.

She didn't know who that guy was, she didn't recognize the people next to him, she had no clue where she was. When she saw something bright grey was moved closer to her eye, she noticed adrenaline was rushing through her veins and she started to breathe heavier and faster as if she was almost panicking. When she tried to move her arms and legs, she noticed she was tied up with any belts, which let her panic risen - but there was something she noticed. Her extremities were almost numb, she just felt something like a cribbling in her fingers and toes. In combination with the blurred vision and the dizziness, it felt like she was completely on drugs. What did they do to her? What did they inject her? And especially, who was that doing this all to her?

"Swab" He said again and someone else swabbed something from her face, maybe something like blood "That's enough" and she stopped.

"More morphine" She heard the male voice again "That alleviates the pain. And more chloroform. That might narcotize her a little more"

"Okay, Doctor Strange" She heard a female voice say and Scarlet felt some kind of mist was "Is that enough?"

"Yes, for now" Scarlet heard him say. So it was Strange. It was him all the time. That was a part of the therapy method he was talking about apparently. But how would a surgery help Scarlet getting more powerful? And this was the moment where she got it. Hugo Strange did exactly the same thing as last time - he was implanting a chip or any device in her head to control her, to exercise power over Gotham city. She had to stop it, but how? She couldn't move, she felt like she couldn't even speak - as if she was petrified. She had no chance against them now. She lost this fight.

"Doctor," Anothwr female voice said, it sounded like she was in a hurry "You need to come immediately! It's a code red!"

"Alright, Mrs.Peabody," He nodded, then he looked down to Scaret "Don't worry, Scarlet," She heard him chuckle "Soon you'll be a powerful and-..."

But before he could finish his sentence, she passed out.

***

"How are the vital parameters?" Scarlet heard a male voice asking someone else. She felt dizzy and knocked out. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe, she could barely see anything even, something covered her field of view. Even worse was, she couldn't remember anything. She couldn't remember where she was, who did this to her... nothing.

"She has a low blood pressure of 90/50 and a low pulse of 52." A woman said in a monotonous tone "She needs longer to recover than we've expected. The doctors said we can't fill her up with more medications. The side effects would be a too big risk for her recovery."

"What would be the side effects?" The male voice asked kinda concerned.

"A complete collapse of her circulation and eventual damages on several organs." Scarlet heard the female voice say. What did she mean by that? Would she die? Wouldn't she be the same anymore? Would she become a cripple? Or the opposite, a monster? Scarlet wasn't scared now, but she was confused and felt at a loss. She hated not to know what would happen to her, especially in a situation like now. She hated to be unable to move, to speak or even unable to think clearly. She was not herself anymore. They changed her, they did something to her that changed her.

"Including brain damage?"

"Especially brain damage." The female sighed "Our plan won't work out, Doctor. The healing process efforts too much time - and we don't have that time."

"Hm," You heard the male voice say, thinking for a while "Let her rest, I don't wanna cause any damages on her. We would sustain a too great loss, instead. Her mind is brilliant"

"Alright sir" The female voice said, probably nodding "When should the training start then?"

"Let's give her three weeks to recover. After that, we'll find out more" The male voice said and Scarlet heard him walk away.

***

It's been weeks after the incident. Scarlet hasn't fully recovered, yet, but enough to start with something like a training. This training included: mainly new modern combat techniques, but also it was a training for Hugo Strange how to control her and her strength through the implanted micro chips best. It wasn't just like last time, he modernized everything: more electro shocks, controlling all her nerve system and her strength through the chip, and he could control her emotions and parts of her acting. He could control her aggressiveness level, he could control her speaking - he could control basically everything, as if she was his living marionette.

"Test 2: Aggression Level." A female voice said through a speaker "Focusing on the wall, building up aggression" In this moment, as if someone pressed a button, a lot amount of aggression was rising in Scarlet's body - even more than the moment when Jerome died, even more than when she thought about her father. She didn't know where that come from, she didn't know how to handle it - but she couldn't control it.

"Clench your fists" the female voice resonated through the speaker, and again Scarlet instantly clenched her fists. She knew something was wrong, but she couldn't say what it was. Her body didn't feel the same anymore, it felt like it didn't belong to herself as if someone had the control over her.

"Damage the wall" the woman said, and with all her strength, Scarlet smashed her fist against the wall, that her knuckles cracked and bled and some bricks cracked and fell down from the wall. The pain Scarlet now felt was enormous. She was afraid her hand was broken or sprained. Her hand started to swell, it was pumping fast and heavy that it was even itching. She tried to move her fingers but every move was too much. Immediately after she moved her index finger, she was flinching in pain. It was barely to tolerate.

"I don't know what you're doing with me but I hate it..." Scarlet hissed with gritted teeth, then she looked at her hands. She suddenly saw a long scar on each of her forearms as if she was trying to cut her veins open and tried to kill herself. What did they do to her? For what did they cut her arms open? What this their to control the strength in her arms?

"It was your wish to become more powerful than all the others, remember?" A male familiar voice said with a slight chuckle "I just try to help granting your wish"

"You're trying to modify me in any monster you can control. You try to grant your wishes and not mine" Scarlet gazed at the speaker "Don't you think, things would become easier for you as for me when you show me some new tricks and I help you with whatever? It woul-..."

"You can save yourself all the time and trouble. Your manipulation skills won't work on me." It was Hugo Strange who you heard chuckle through the speaker, he was amused by her being all tough right now although she was at her lowest point right now - she was anemic, she was so alone that no one could help her, she wasn't even able to control herself through the surgery. Trying to manipulate him was just a desperate try to escape from this situation.

"Oh really?" Scarlet almost laughed maniacally, so many crazy thoughts crashed her mind all of a sudden, she had so many weird ideas what to do right now. She stared at her forearms, chuckling darkly for herself. If she can't escape the usual way, she'll try it in a more bloody and maybe a bit violent way. Why should she let him control her and become all weak? That's not her type. She instead would try to break free in any kind of way, even if it means to harm herself - and that's what she was doing.

With all her strength, Scarlet de-stringed her wounds to eventually have access to the chips that control her extremities. The pain she felt was unbearable, even indescribable - but she made it. With her fingernails, she ripped the wounds more open and searched for a little chip or something similar. The blood was literally floating down her arm from the wound - it wouldn't stop bleeding at all, it was almost like as if she had cut open her pulse veins.

But before she could find anything, electroshocks were sent through her head that elicited the worst pain she has felt in years. She was cramping in pain, pressing her hands against her head to suppress the pain while crying out. It was horrible, but what's even worse that she was reliving this horror scenario for the second time. This time though, the electro shocks were more intense, it now felt like her head was smashed against several walls and her skull was cracked open by thousands of elephants that tramped on it. At the same time she felt like being paralyzed, she couldn't move through the electro shocks, her muscles were twitching the whole time through she had no control over them anymore.

"You shouldn't do that, Scarlet" Hugo Strange's voice resonated through the speaker "I've been tweaking the technology a little. The more you try to fight back the more you will suffer."

"You think that will stop me?" Scarlet chuckled darkly "That just encourages me to continue." And again, she tried to pod the chip out of her wrist, even though the electro shocks were almost unbearable. It was hard for her, indeed, but she would never give up. Not even if she was about to die.

"Resisting doesn't help, Scarlet" Hugo Strange tried to warn her "Stop harming yourself and learn to accept it."

"I...will never...accept being your marionette." Scarlet hissed aggressively with gritted teeth and finally grabbed something that seemed to be a little chip or something like a plate. But when she tried to pull it out, the pain as the electro shocks just worsened that she immediately fell on the ground almost Bein unconscious. She was totally out of breathe, she couldn't move anymore since every move hurt so bad.

"But you have to, and you will" Scarlet could practically feel his devilish grin through the speaker, and this made her feel so much hate that she wished she could smash his brain in or hit with a hammer on his head several times. This man had to die, especially now after he showed it was fun to him torturing her. But how would she do that? She literally couldn't control herself and everything she was doing, he would notice.

"You will see I won't" Trembling and clenching her fists in anger, Scarlet hissed these words with a whisper still staring at the speaker "You will see you've made a mistake doing this on me"

***

Some days went by and the day arrived, where Scarlet was allowed to be with people again - but Scarlet didn't know it yet. She instead, sat all alone in her cell, looking at her bandaged arm. Why was Dr. Strange using her like a killer robot? Wasn't he working with the police together? And how would she get this technology away from her? She couldn't touch it without getting electroshocks. She could chop her arm off to destroy the technology - but no, that would seem way too desperate for her standards. She wasn't just any weirdo whose about to panic when things go wrong in their life. She needed to find another solution.

But hee train of thoughts was interrupted by heavy steps that were made on the other side of the thick metal door. It sounded like someone was walking towards her cell. Maybe a guard? Or even Hugo Strange again?

"I wonder how it will turn out today" she heard a guard say "The last times were extremely chaotic. I don't think she'll make it today"

"Me, too" another guard said "She's too verdant, yet. Dr. Strange doesn't really have her under control. In my opinion, she needs more training."

"Definitely" In this moment, the guards knocked at the metal door almost aggressively "Yo, Patel! Time to get up!" And so they opended the door slowly that it squeaked. Scarlet didn't move at all, she just gazed at the two guards instead. She had the urge to fight them two because she knew they would bring her back to Hugo Strange and this training room and there she would suffer from pain again.

"We said get up!" The other guard yelled.

"What if I don't?" Scarlet gave them a mischievous grin "You wanna press a button to harm me with electro shocks?" She wasn't scared of them at all, like what does Scarlet have to lose besides her life? Nothing, so why not playing a risky game then?

"A bit mouthy today, aren't you?" One of the guards chuckled and walked towards her with the other to grab her under her arms to get her up "Today is your lucky day, we'll bring you to the rec room"

The rec room... does it mean the training was over? Or does it mean the other inmates are now the objects she unwillingly needs to fight?And in the rec room she would see Andy again, the one who told her not to listen to him, the one who was right. She hated to admit, she should have listened to him. She should have stayed quiet and ignored Strange and his stupid babbling. What will he think of her now when he sees her? What will he do? Scarlet knew he was different from Jerome so she knew he wouldn't threat Hugo Strange. He would probably ignore Scarlet because he was so disappointed in her and would think she was no professional - well, in this case he would be right. She was none. She was gullible and naive like a fucking teenager.

They all went along the halls and other cells, downstairs and along more halls until they arrived the cell door of the rec room. Nothing has really changed ever since she decided to go with Hugo Strange. Several groups of inmates were formed that played some silly games - and then there was Andy, who sag all alone on a bench reading one of the books that were offered like the first they met when he was a newbie.

The good old horns were honking and the cell door opened - and there it was. When Scarlet walked her first steps into the rec room, you heard mumbling and gasping. You saw shocked and maybe even feared looks in everybody’s eyes. Apparently no one expected Scarlet would ever come back. When Scarlet looked at Andy, she saw his shock, maybe also relief and a little happiness in his eyes. But then he stood up, walking up to her and his gaze changed instantly. It was full of anger and madness, maybe also a little sadness and compassion. What changed his facial expression so much? Was it the fact that she made a false decision? Or was it the sight of her? With her bandaged arm? The scratches? And the blood? Was it the fact that he knew she wasn’t the same anymore?

“Andy” Scarlet said in almost a whisper, but he just stared at her still, saying completely nothing. It was like he was struggling with how to feel right now. It was like he was thinking way too much, and the way he thought was too chaotic and he didn’t know what was wrong and what was right “I’m-…”

“Don’t,” He suddenly said in a lower quiet voice “Don’t say a word. I’ll take care of you now. You’ll be alright very soon. Just trust me”

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amerasdreams · 1 year ago

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ha it is deeper. Those things make it better but the central problem does not go away even if I get enough sleep, even if I eat well, even if I get exercise.... sometimes going on a walk makes it worse because there is nothing else to occupy my mind. I make myself drink water daily and it doesn't get easier- I don't like water and I have to make myself drink it like medicine. It's become a habit but not a pleasant one, one i just do because i know i need it.

I like going on walks. I like seeing nature. Always have. So that's not hard. I do almost every day. I used to also do an exercise routine before my arm injury messed up my health. Finally after 4 years trying to get back into a mild version of it.

Hardest is sleep schedule.... I was basically going to bed at 11-12... but since I want to really get my business going and write and earn money and research and volunteer (and school.......!) I want to get up early. Plus since I got another cat I have to turn out all lights or he will start running around. He need to know his bed time so he will settle doen so i get sleep. Schedule creeps toward 11... but when I'm really tired it's easier to go to bed earlier. Eventually perhaps I will see 10 as NOT early. When it feels early it's when I think, just a few more minutes. Plus there is this want to have some time to myself that isn't scheduled....

Being tired is the worst (plus being hungry and hot-- if it's all 3 it's the bad trifecta and i can't be held responsible.... almost) because my feelings just get overwhelming.

But even on good days certain things can trigger bad thoughts. None of those things ^ help all the time. The same sort of thoughts are always there. And certain things tend to trigger feelings and reactions even if I am at "optimum " (which is more rare since arm injury-- that messed up my sleep, making it so sometimes I wake up in the night and can't go back to sleep. Plus I have sugar sensitivity-- can't eat much sugar or I will not sleep well. When I had arm pain it woke me up so much now my sleep still gets disturbed so i have to take more meds and get side effects!!!). Optimum for me is very limited compared to most people. Even when do all those things ^I can't accomplish things most people can. Things they can do easily.

That is the problem I can't get away from. I want to accomplish so much but in reality I can't even do normal things. Can't keep up with most people and they see me as less. Just by looking at me they they tell something is wrong with me. I don't see how this can change esp at this point (if it ever could... I was always this, and environment perhaps made it worse. Or better.... if I ever had actual trauma I would probably be totally mentally collapsed.... or perhaps I would have gotten tough and strong but I can barely envision such a thing if im actually honest w myself.)

I hate it when I have a problem and the answer really *is* "fix your sleep schedule, do some exercise, leave the house, and drink water" like fuck offffff I don't wanna

#Most ppl can do things when they don't sleep #I become a wreck.#Night #Ahahaha #Trigger #Tumrblr #And case in point #Cannot have a real relationship.

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

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White Lies (Pt. 13 of 21)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves X Reader

Word count: 2.7 K

Summary: Keanu found the girl almost dead, in the wrecks of what was once her car. While she was in surgery, stuck in a coma, he gathered the best doctors of New York to attend to her. They told him she is likely to have some kind of brain damage, what may lead to memory loss. And this possibility added up wit the fact that she's pregnant, made the council come up with an odd idea. They asked Keanu to pretend to be her husband, since the stress of finding out everything that happened could put the baby in danger. He reluctantly agreed, but only if she does has some kind of memory loss. He still goes she'll wake up soon, with her memories intact.

But when you finally wake up, there's nothing inside. You're quick to find your head is empty, void, like a blank canvas. The only thing that brings you some relief, that makes you feel less lonely is the mention of a husband. And you can't wait to meet him, because you know you can't deal with this by yourself.

<- Previous part (12)

Next part (14)->

{Keanu Reeves Masterlist}

{John Wick Masterlist}

Change Of Heart

“You and Daniel were in a relationship that ended sometime before we met,” Keanu says, gathering his stuff as you do the same, both starting to take the baggage to the living room. “He is Mrs. Davis' son, and I guess she didn't like much when you two broke apart.”

“And where is this Daniel now? I'd like to meet him if he's part of my past.” You stop by the door, as Keanu checks on his phone for the car he just called.

But he puts his phone away, eyes on you. “Daniel passed away a week before your accident.”

“Oh...” You whisper, looking down. “So that's why Lucia got so sad when I said we weren't considering the name.”

“Yeah.”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his weird expression, you step forward and tiptoe, placing a kiss on his lips. “Let's go home, babe.”

•••

Going back home happened without any incidents. But the next days were filled with medical appointments. You assure him you're fine, but Keanu seems to be in an urge to make sure you're completely fine. You try not to complain about it, but things get weird when you notice a strange expression on his face. For too many times to count you caught him looking like he was just about to say something, but for some reason, he gives up. It makes you confront him a couple of times, but he assures you he's just worried as the pregnancy goes on.

Some weeks go by, and you're getting impatient to find out the baby's sex. On your many ultrasounds, they're always on a position that makes it impossible to see it. But you're hopeful for today, and, as you lie on the bed with Keanu, your back against his chest, you take in the soft morning light.

Keanu has an arm around her waist, a hand caressing her belly. Her bare back keeps his body warm, and despite the constant feeling that time is running short, he places kisses on her neck.

He was supposed to tell her the truth weeks ago, the moment they got back from Miami, but he just couldn't. This went too far, he went too far. In every possible aspect. Keanu didn't only fell for her, but he was intimate with (Y/N) too many times to count, and that makes him feel more guilt than anything else.

Her second trimester is just about to end, and now, he's caught in between. Again, for the millionth time, Keanu is caught in between two feelings. His love and his morals.

In his defense, Keanu did try to break the news several times. The words, the destructive, dangerous words were at the tip of his tongue, ready to desolate his life. But they got stuck, and he was too weak at the thought of losing her. Of losing the baby that he loves so much. It doesn't matter how many times he reminds himself the kid isn't his, he's failing to get this fact to grow roots in his heart. Keanu loves the child as if it's his own.

Guilt threatens to devour him entirely sometimes, but right now, in this moment, happiness suppresses everything else. This is his personal paradise, with her, the baby, healthily growing inside her.

Keanu always wanted a family. Settle down, take less and smaller roles. But nobody ever made him feel like he could. Of all the women he dated, nobody ever made him feel like he would give up everything. He thought he knew what love was, and he thought it wasn't as strong as people say... But now, life proved him wrong. This is love, a wrecking ball that came and destroyed his walls, his heart, his wrong perceptions. If only it happened some other way. If he wasn't caught up in this web of lies.

Dr. Harris wasn't happy to know he was sleeping with her. (Y/N) told her, of course, and even though it was in her usual shy and reserved way, the psychologist got the meaning behind the words. And she confronted him, very harshly, and Keanu could do nothing but listen and agree. Because this is wrong. This is the worst kind of betrayal.

(Y/N) moves a little, breathing deeply as she wakes up. A hand finds his, pulling it to her chest, placing a soft kiss on his fingers. “Morning.” She whispers, voice still clouded by sleep. She's used to it now, Keanu is always awake first.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He replies, fingers caressing her chin. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, but I miss lying on my stomach.” She complains, turning around and snuggling into his chest. “What time is it? We have an ultrasound.”

“I know. And we should probably start getting ready.”

“Alright.” (Y/N) mutters, but doesn't give any signs she'll move anytime soon.

But he knows what today is all about, and it will certainly make her excited. “Hopefully we'll finally find out if this little one is Sophie or Liam.”

“Yes!” Immediately, she pushes herself up, an arm sustaining her weight as she looks down at Keanu. And he tries not to stare at her nude figure, even though this is silly compared to everything they're done. Still, he thinks he should at least try. “The baby must be in a good position today. I can't wait anymore.” With that, she's up, smiling as she makes her way to the bathroom.

And Keanu is left behind on the bed, surrounded by his bad decisions. Maybe this is the right time. Maybe, being this happy, she won't hate him so much.

With a lump in his throat, he goes on with his routine, until they're almost ready to go. Keanu waits by the bedroom door frame as she fixes her hair, the bathroom door half open. This is way too sudden, but if he doesn't do that now, if he waits any longer, he'll never be ready. He'll never be brave or strong enough to do this. He took too long already. Now, he can only hope, pray, that this will somehow end up the way he wants.

That he won't lose her.

The moment he sees (Y/N) walking out of the bathroom, Keanu gives a step forward, arms crossed, heart beating so fast it threatens to jump off his chest. The words are at the top of his tongue when his eyes take in her posture. (Y/N) holds the skirt of her blue dress up, all the way to the top of her thigh with one hand, and on the other, there's blood. Bright and red, staining her fingers and the palm of her hand. His eyes turn to her face, blank, scared as she looks at him.

Without thinking too much, his mind on the verge of collapsing, he forces himself to move, quickly making his way over her.

You hate the smell of the soap they have here. You hate this hospital and what it means when you're brought here. It's only far worse now. You're still trying not to burst into tears, trying not to break down again. There's no pain, so that's good. And no more bleeding, which is even better. The feeling you got when you found blood on your underwear was the worst thing in the world. For a moment, a desperate moment, you thought you were going to lose the baby. You wanted to yell, but you didn't have it in you.

If it wasn't for Keanu, you don't know what you'd do.

Now, still walking terribly slow out of nervousness, you leave the hospital bathroom, finding Keanu seated on the edge of your bed, already looking at you.

“Hi, beautiful.” He says, and you remember this was one of the first things he said to you. “Come and lie down. Why did you put the dress on again?”

“Because it's clean and I don't want to stay here.” Instead of doing as he said, you stand before him, your forehead on his chest. “I thought I was going to lose our baby.” Your voice cracks as some tears roll down, arms around his midsection.

“I already spoke to the doctor.” Immediately, you pull away, just enough to look into his eyes. “He assured me you're both alright.”

“Are you sure, Ke?” You plead, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I almost lost my mind.”

“He wants you to rest and that's all. He–” He's cut short by the door being open, and you see Dr. Wright and your obstetrician.

“First of all, you must know the baby is alright.” Dr. Williams says as she comes closer, a tablet on her hands. “Sometimes, such discharges happen, mostly as you progress from the second to the third trimester.” She kindly smiles. “Everything you two need to do is keep up the good job. Make sure to rest, eat healthily, and exercise. But I'll recommend you to lie down for the rest of the day, ok?”

“Ok.” You quickly agree.

“It would be good to avoid surprises. The bad ones at least.” Dr. Wright adds, oddly staring at Keanu. But that's normal, he still needs to look after you, so some things are directed to him. “But we have good news today, right, Dr. Williams?”

“Yes.” From under the tablet, she takes a picture from the ultrasound and hands over to you. “The baby was in a good position and we already know the sex.”

“Oh my God.” You exclaim, smiling for the first time since the incident. “What is it?”

Dr. Williams smiles, exchanging a glance with Dr. Wright. “Mr. and Mrs. Reeves, you'll be having a baby boy.”

“It's Liam!” You yell, throwing your arms around Keanu again. “I was right!”

“You were right.” He agrees, a second before you kiss him, not minding the audience.

“Well, you're free to go home. And call me if you need anything.” Dr. Wright says and the obstetrician agrees before they both leave.

At least something good happened today. You'll finally be able to paint the blank white walls of the baby's bedroom, and buy what you still need.

“I was right.” You repeat, smirking at Keanu. “But we can try again and maybe it'll be a girl. I mean, if we ever spoke about having more than one kid.” Blushing a little, you bite your lip. There are still a lot of things you need to be updated on, and you still get a little sad when it happens.

“I'd love to have more kids if that's what you want, sweetheart,” Keanu says and you smile, kissing him again. “But now let's go home. You need to lie down for the day.”

“Can we stop and buy the paint for Liam's room? We already know the color so it'll only take a minute.” You know you have to rest, but you can't help but feel excited for finally being able to finish off the baby's bedroom. “Please? I'll stay in the car.”

Keanu gives you a look because sometimes you don't always do as you said you would. “Fine, but you won't be painting anything. I can do it myself.”

Nodding, you watch as he takes your bag and guides you out of the hospital room you hate so much. Hopefully, there will be a day you won't have to keep coming here, not because of some incident and not for any appointments.

You did wait in the car this time, and as much as you wanted to hit the mall and buy everything blue and green, Keanu forces you to give up the idea and head straight home. And when you get there, you have his undivided attention. He doesn't only make an incredible lunch, and an incredible dinner, he gives your legs a massage, and it takes a lot of effort to just lie down instead of jumping on him. But this is peaceful, slow, and sweet.

In the weeks that follow, nothing bad happens. You feel great, but you also heavier. Liam is growing fast, and you can't wait any longer to meet him. And neither can Keanu. He gets even more protective with time if that's even possible. And after you almost slipped in the shower, you're not even allowed to shower by yourself. Of course you pretend you're annoyed, but the truth is that you love it.

Despite feeling uncomfortable during this period, Keanu makes everything perfect. There are still no signs you'll get the memories back, and that's a fact now, but you'll follow your psychologist's advice. And Laura's advice, since they're pretty much the same. Living in the past will only get in the way of what's happening now. You have an amazing husband, who loves you deeply, and a child on the way. The present is wonderful, and you won't let anything ruin it.

You're around week 37 now, marking it on the calendar on the fridge door, a hand on your back as you make your way to the kitchen table. Keanu is still upstairs, and you take this chance to pour some honey on your plate. You're still eating the awkward combination when he comes to the kitchen, and you try not to let him see. But Keanu sees everything, and when he takes his place across from you, you feel his eyes burning.

“What?” You innocently ask, shrugging your shoulders.

“Are you eating bacon with honey?”

Biting your lip, you raise an eyebrow at him. “I happen to love honey. And bacon. So it makes sense.” He giggles and you kick his leg under the table. “Don't mess with the pregnant lady.” Warning him, you push the plate away. “I'm done anyway. I'll move to the couch if you don't mind, my back really hurts.”

“Sure. I'll join you in a bit.”

“Ok.” Dragging yourself to the living room, you lie down, hands on your swollen belly. You're almost drifting off to sleep when you feel Keanu sitting down, lifting your legs so he can move closer, caressing your thighs. “Ke, I'm huge.” You complain, eyes on the bump.

“You're beautiful.” Bending down, he places a kiss on your exposed belly, since you have the shirt pulled up. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Yeah, I doubt that.” Pouting a little, you try to hold back the giggle when you see his eyebrow raised.

“I would love to show how beautiful I think you are, but Dr. Williams told us to give it a little break.”

“Don't even remind me.” You never complained about anything with your obstetrician, but when she told you and Keanu should probably avoid sleeping together, you had to speak up. Even though your cheeks were burning. But in the end, you did comply. And you wouldn't have much of a choice anyway, since Keanu does everything the doctors say. “I heard your phone beeping. Everything alright in Arch?”

“Yes. That was just Lucia.” He says, obviously a little annoyed. “She just moved here. She's renting an apartment not so far away.”

“What the hell.” Sighing, you roll your eyes. This woman won't leave you alone, it doesn't matter what you say. “Why is she doing that? Isn't it obvious we don't want her around?” A couple of weeks ago she showed up again, and another argument happened. Keanu had to kick her out because the recommendations were that you shouldn't be put under any kind of stress.

“She loves you and the baby. That's why she wants to be around.” You don't get it. Keanu doesn't like her either, so why does he still speak like this?

“I know you can't stand her, you don't have to fake it with me.”

“But this isn't about me, sweetheart, it's about you and the people who were in your life before.”

The kindness in his voice makes you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You're amazing, did you know that?” Placing kisses on his face, you smile. “I love you. I'm worried to death and I'm trying not to get anxious with the labor, but you're making everything perfect. You're the best husband I could ever have.”

“I'm just trying to be the husband you deserve.” With a hand caressing your cheek, Keanu kisses you full on the lips, and you take no time before kissing him back. You don't know what you'd do without him, but luckily, you won't ever have to find out.

@multific @inumorph @aestheticallywinchester @bvbwestfall @liviiii98 @allie1804-fan @gian-giannina @playboygeniusphilanthropist @partypoison00 @mariafetamina @fortheloveoffanfic @trin303

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #john wick imagine #john wick fanfiction #john wick #john wick x reader

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mytwistedhome · 4 years ago

Text

Pomefiore and Ignihyde when they find out you have Anorexia

Trigger warning to anyone who suffers with an eating disorder!!

I decided to write these headcanons because I've been having a really tough two weeks, and thinking of the twst boys makes me happy...

I hope this can maybe bring comfort to someone else, or at least provide some bit of entertainment. My intention is not to cause harm or trigger anyone. That is the last thing I want.

Other dorms will be coming as well! I already started working on all of them, but I just haven’t finished them. They will most likely be posted the next time I have a bad day //

One more quick thing: I will be posting requests this week! I’ve already broken several promises that I made in regards to the time I’d post, and I feel horribly guilty. I’m sorry for the wait. I know I shouldn’t tell you to expect something on a certain day and then delay it for weeks. I should be honest about my efficiency, and I am sorry.

I'm also sorry for not responding to message (this applies to all my blogs...) I see them, but then forget about them, and then cower away because I feel like I'm already too late. I hope this little apology is enough to suffice... I'll apologize properly to every person when I find the courage. I know I shouldn't be doing this to people who've been kind to me just because I feel unwell. Please know that I am very sorry, and I'm trying to be more responsible and less careless to those around me.

💜

Vil Shoenheit

So that's why your skin is so dry and you have bags under your eyes

He scolds you at first. He believes that you’re starving to get a good figure, and he tries to inform you that doing so is unhealthy and that being malnourished actually makes a person quite ugly.

As if you haven’t already heard all this before

You try to tell him that you’re not doing this to look good. At least, not anymore. Sure, it started out as a way to lose weight, but it soon became an obsession much more meaningful than beauty or weight-loss.

He doesn’t understand. Why would you deliberately hurt yourself like that? Especially when you’re aware of all these negative outcomes?

Nevertheless, he is still very worried about you

He wouldn't normally concern himself with such a personal problem, but he would feel so guilty if he just stood back and watched you whither away

So, he does, indeed, go out of his way to try and help you

He finds a psychology book about eating disorders in the library, and he reads it in its entirety

He is... quite disturbed. He never imagined that you could be suffering so badly.

He's smart enough to realize that he, himself, can't do anything to make you better

He encourages you to seek professional help, and he even searches for phone numbers you can call and therapists/counselors close by of whom you can see

You are really touched by his efforts to find help, and you promise him that you will see one of the counselors he recommended

But... several weeks go by, and you haven't done anything

Vil grows furious. Don’t you want help!?

He takes your lack of seeking help rather personally... He went out of his way to provide with the things he felt that you really needed. Don’t you appreciate that? Don’t you care about yourself? What more do you want him to do?

You try to tell him that you don’t want him to do anything, that you’ll find help when you’re ready--

Vil isn’t buying that

What does “ready” mean, anyways? When you’re already in the grave?

He’s a bit harsh on you... He points out the patches of dry skin along your neck and chest, the way the hairs of your arms always stand on end from goosebumps, the metallic taste in your mouth...

Are you happy with those things? Do you really want to live this way?

You try and try to explain to him that it’s hard to get help and go back to eating normally

It spirals into an argument...

Vil is done with this. He did what he could and got you the resources you need to begin recovery. Once you decide to get help, he will be there for you. He will be there whenever you reach out for support, comfort, or care. But, until then, don’t talk to him about it. Don’t complain about your misery until you have sought proper help. It’s your fault at this point, isn’t it?

Rook Hunt

He had noticed that you were very quickly losing a lot of weight

He was concerned, but he never imagined that the problem could be something so serious

You're actually surprised with just how much he's concerned. You thought that if there was anyone to romanticize such a disease, it would be him

But he seems to know more than you thought about such disorders

He begs you to get professional help, and he is quite a bit more pushy and earnest than Vil is...

You try to explain to him that no doctor or therapist could ever help unless you were READY and WANTED to be helped

Well, he doesn't understand why you don't want help

He's pushing and pushing you... begging you to seek a professional

You get so frustrated that you turn and leave. He just doesn't understand!

And now Rook is even more distressed. How will he ever get through to you? How can he ever help you?

Now, every time he sees you, he looks at you with such sorrow

He sadly remarks upon how your beauty is fading... and how he fears that your life may be fading as well

Your heart aches to hear such sincere worry... Your chest feels tighter than it normally does as you crumble with guilt

You promise yourself you'll get better... Just so you won't have to see Rook with a horribly sad expression whenever he passes you

You start eating more in front of him to ease his worry, which does work a little bit

You add about 400 more calories to your usual intake--enough so that your "recovery" becomes visible through the way you bounce with energy

But you stay up late at night, running laps and doing situps to burn off some of that intake

And you keep losing weight

In fact, it's worse now because your body is aching from the unfamiliar intake and exercise...

Well, at least you look better

At least you have Rook fooled

Or so you think. It'll only be a matter of weeks before he catches onto your schemes and grows so distressed once again

He tries to sit you down and have a talk with you... He just really wants you to get help

Epel Felmier

Poor Epel finds out after he witnesses you collapsing in the middle of the hallway when no one else is around

He panics and rushes to your side, trying to see what is wrong and how he can help you

You blacked out for several seconds, which is why you collapsed, but even though you have your vision back, everything is still very cloudy and you are too weak to stand up

This makes Epel panic even more

You try to calm him down, despite your weakness

"it's okay, Epel...! Just get me something to eat. Please, I need something to eat. Hurry!"

He is a bit confused, but he does what you say, and he rushes off to find you some food

While he is gone, you try to stand, but to no avail. Your stomach aches with hunger and you are cold all over. Your body just feels so miserable

He rushes back to you with an apple and places his hands on your shoulders in concern as you quickly eat it down

That apple... It's the best thing you've ever tasted, but it's gone too quickly, and your mouth waters for more as the last bites slide down your throat

Although it was small, it still gives your body such a blissful burst of energy. All your senses are ignited now that you have finally eaten something after such a long fast, and your head is hurting far less

You stand up and smile at Epel, thanking him graciously before turning to leave

Uuuhhhhh.... What was that?

You suddenly collapse on the ground and then are all better after eating a simple apple?

No way is Epel going to let you go just like that. He holds you back, demanding an explanation, for it surely seems you know quite a bit about this bizarre thing that just happened

You try to tell him it's nothing, just a strange thing that happened this one time

Well, then, how did you know how to fix it by eating something?

You quickly lie and tell him you get dizzy sometimes and fall due to low blood sugar

Well, now your story is inconsistent

He presses you for the truth, growing rather angry

His harsh tone begins to scare you, and you tell him... You tell him that, sometimes, you go days without eating, and it of course causes you to grow so weary that you faint

You watch as all the frustration quickly rushes away from Epel's face, leaving his eyes wide and mouth hanging open in shock

"That... That's really unhealthy..."

Oh, great. Not this speech again

But, it actually isn't a lecture about how this is such a "dangerous diet"

Instead, Epel pours out all his concern with a sad look upon his face

He knows that he can't do much, but he assures you that you can come to him if ever things become too tough to handle

You're touched by his offer, and you thank him for his understanding

But, now, everytime he's around, he watches you with care to see if you're doing alright and to make sure you don't fall over again

You hadn't expected him to worry this much...

If Epel ever thinks that things are getting out of hand, he will likely go behind your back to someone who can help for your sake

💙

Idia Shroud

He really wishes that he hadn't found out because now he can't stop worrying

This is the kind of thing that would just be easier to ignore and shut away from his mind

But how could he possibly ignore something as serious as this?

He keeps telling himself that this isn't supposed to be his issue

But... It is his issue, isn't it? If you ended up dying and he knew all along about your suffering yet did nothing to help, than that would mean that he aided in your death, right?

He's really starting to panic. He doesn't what you dead. Not at all

But... What is he supposed to do???

He calms himself down and tries to think

Perhaps if he built you a mechanical body that didn't need food this whole thing would seize to be a problem...

No, bad idea

Well, that will be his last resort if nothing else works...

He messages you and tries to plead with you to please just eat and take care of yourself...

You message back, explaining to him that it really isn't that simple

He decides to ask why you're doing this, and he tries to show through his words how much he really cares

You feel comfortable enough in telling him some of the reasons why you think you started, and why it's now so hard to stop and all you want is to continue with it...

Idia is happy that you were able to open up to him this much, but what is he really supposed to do with this information? He's no therapist...

Well, being vulnerable with you emotions and talking about the problem is at least one step in the right direction, isn't it?

Idia continues to try to be a source of comfort for you, while also encouraging you to seek proper help

Ortho Shroud

Oh, no... He can’t help you with this, can he?

Why can’t he help you? Why won’t you get better?

Surely nii-san programmed him with something that could help you...

Right...?

RIGHT!?

Why aren’t you better?

Why are you doing this to yourself!?

Ortho is a mess... so distressed. He can’t understand--he doesn’t have the capacity to understand such a disorder, and he is so frustrated that nothing he does is helping!

And he does everything

He exhausts himself trying to “fix your mind”

His eyes are wide, yellow irises shaking with misery

Knowing that you are willingly hurting yourself actually traumatizes him...

He can't wrap his head around such an awful mental illness. To him, it looks as though you're really trying to harm, hurt, and even kill yourself by your own accord

Something must be wrong with your brain, but he just doesn't know what!

The poor child is so upset. He's panicked and worried sick

And now you feel even worse

Sorry for ending on such a horrible note... I was originally going to have all the dorms, so Diasomnia would’ve come and saved the day, but I just didn’t finish them.

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