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cafeinthemoon · 4 years

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The Leaves of Her Garden - Chapter XVI

Title: The Leaves of Her Garden

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Madara Uchiha x reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 3163

Chapter (s): 16/?

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Interlude, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 🖤 | ▶▶

Chapter XVI - The Week Before the Travel

If you thought your life has been through enough changes the moment you arrived at the Uchiha compound, the week before your husband’s farewell came to show you that there’s nothing that has already been through many changes that couldn’t be transformed a bit more.

The mornings were reserved to your shinobi training. You always used the same place of the day you learned how identify your chakra pathway, the garden. You liked it for its quietness and privacy: it was like whenever you were there, you could never be interrupted by someone or something unexpected. It seemed to work as a fence to another world, where time stopped just for you two.

Your progress came faster than you were expecting. Yes, it’s true that you were far from becoming a skilled shinobi like the ones you met there, but what you were capable of doing now were impressive when you considered that you were an adult who never had any preparation until then.

After learning how to control your chakra, your first challenge was to practice with kunai. When Madara put a blade on your hand for the first time and explained what you were supposed to do with it, you couldn’t feel anything but the uncomfortable weight of the weapon; you almost told him you didn’t want to hold anything like that again, but since you were going so far and you asked for that, you couldn’t look behind. When you found out you could transfer your chakra the kunai, holding it became strangely easier: your hand no longer trembled and you felt at will to throw it at the closest tree. The first time you did it, you ran to look at it closer and were surprised of how deep the blade entered the wood.

You then started to train your defense: for now, it was better for you to learn how to protect yourself and avoid conflicts, just as you wanted in the first place, and Madara stated that this part of your training would make things easier when you started to learn attack methods. This time you felt less difficulty to adapt because of the previous session you had before the ceremony; you also noticed the difference between striking using your chakra and just relying on your physical strength: your movements were more fluid, faster and well led. You felt less tired at the end too.

You were almost happy with your results when Madara decided to include the kunai in the process.

- But you almost don’t use any weapons when you’re fighting – you protested, using the vision you had with Hashirama as a parameter – Besides, if I won’t be attacking anyone I don’t need to know everything about a weapon right now.

His response was to laugh and disappear, taking the spot behind you right after; he held you neck and you felt something cold touching your skin. It didn’t take too long for you to recognize the sharp texture of the kunai. You froze.

- I forgot to say that these weapons are not only used for long-range attacks – he whispered to you – It’s not uncommon that a victim find themselves exactly like the way you are now. And what would you do in such state?

- I…

- It’s better to learn how to avoid it, right? – he replied for you – Besides, not everybody has the luxury of obtaining success in fights with their bare hands. For most shinobi, it’s unrealistic.

Yes. You almost forgot that, just like the Senju head, the Uchiha one was not a common man. Maybe if you had more contact with common shinobi you could have developed comparison methods that would sound more fair. But you didn’t say that to him. You just nodded and continued your training.

Later, by noon, it was the time when you were taken back home to clean yourself, eat and have a time to rest. You wouldn’t see your husband for a long time then: as the head of the clan and being busy with the preparations for the travel, spending the mornings with you was the best he could do for you now. Not only this, but you also thought that it wasn’t healthy for a girl to spend too much time in the company of a man, even if this man was as close to her as a spouse; you needed the company of other women too, and common people who had nothing to do with war and politics.

Fortunately, Ayane and Aiko kept visiting and taking care of you after your marriage, and while you developed an even closer friendship with the first, you started to see the second as a new mother life has decided to give you. Being with them, talking, eating and even working together (because after your insistence they allowed you to perform some of the house tasks) was refreshing; the moments you spent with them were of pure and simple joy, and worked as a period of rest from the intensity of your husband’s company.

One day, when you and Ayane were walking at the house’s surroundings, you finally had some time to continue that conversation you started when you were preparing for the wedding.

- So, y/n-sama… I hope everything went well during the wedding night.

There was no embarrassment in the girl’s words, so you felt at will to speak. You smiled and, before you noticed, you were speaking much more than you thought you would.

- Well, I… I don’t even know how to explain this to you! It was strange and incredible and… – you sighed and turned to her – Beautiful. At first, when you left me in that room, alone, dressed for the night, I was scared. I went to the porch to take some fresh air and to observe the stars. After some minutes, he came. I turned to him and it was like... I mean, now I was a married woman, about to be taken. I never felt the reality of my new condition so deep as during that moment.

You lowered your tone, and a sort of sadness was sensed in your words as you relived those memories.

- Do you remember the state in which I was brought here? I was still grieving the loss of my mother, and just lost my job and my house. But now I was given a new family, protection and a home. I wasn’t expecting this. It was so overwhelming that I started to cry.

You paused, trying to process your feelings. Ayane encouraged you.

- And what did Madara-sama do when he saw you crying?

A smile grew on the corner of your mouth and you sensed your face warming up.

- He hugged me and took me inside. He told me not to thank him with tears. I thought about that. He was right, you know? It was not the time to cry. Not anymore. He closed the porch’s door behind us and was going to start to touch me, but I was so nervous that I flinched at his first movement. He noticed it and told me to sit on the futon. He went there too and spent some time in silence, doing nothing, just looking at me. It was… unsettling, but not entirely bad. It was... – you sighed – Oh, it’s so hard to explain!

Ayane smiled.

- It’s alright. I think I know what you trying to say.

You felt relieved to see you were making some sense despite the confusion inside your head. This gave you the courage to continue speaking.

- You know how intense are Madara-sama’s eyes, Ayane. Every time he looks at me, I feel like all my clothes are nothing, because he’s looking inside me. As if I was naked from body and soul. That night it was the same sensation but deeper, so that I wasn’t sure I would be able to stand it. That was the first time something like this happened to me. It was scary to think that from that moment, I was going to be the wife of man capable of such thing.

You laugh at yourself at this.

- Tell me. Are all the Uchiha like this?

The girl laughed hard at your question.

- Well, none of them are exactly like Madara-sama, of course, but all of us who are Sharingan bearers have some intensity in our eyes. But I think that since you already experienced the strongest Sharingan of our time, you’d have no problem handling the other ones!

You smiled and were about to tell Ayane about the experience with the Mangekyo Sharingan, but something held your tongue. You somehow sensed that it was not the type of thing you should tell other people, no matter how close was your friendship with them; that was a pure, unique sign of intimacy that didn’t belong only to you, but to Madara as well. Something only for you two. You decided to tell part of the story then.

- There was a moment when he talked to me about his life – you started – He said he already experienced fear and loneliness. He told me he understood how I was feeling and that the best thing he could do for me was to share his experience. And it worked. Somehow our feelings started to blend as one, and I was no longer afraid. I finally let him touch me.

Ayane’s curiosity was only excited with this strange narrative of yours. She came closer to you, whispering as if someone could appear and interrupt the conversation at any moment:

- And how was it?

You looked at the sky when you replied.

- It was… wonderful. In a strange way. At first I was uncomfortable, and even thought I was going to get hurt, but little by little I got used to it. I felt like I was not alone anymore. I felt I was part of something again. Visible. Desired. I felt… safe.

- That is quite an explanation, I must say – she replied with a smirk – And then, what happened?

- Well, I felt a bit tired and ended up taking a nap – you laughed – But he took care of me when I woke up and spent the night by my side. It was weird, because I am not used to sleep with other people so close to me, but it was good.

You decided you were away from the house for too long and started the way back, hurrying up before a worried Aiko could go after you.

***

Your life was not only training and talking, of course.

Following the protocols established when you accepted the role of Sachiko, you had studying sessions about History, Politics and Arts to improve your intellect. Since you were used to a routine of books and research thanks to your experience as governess, it wasn’t that hard to stay for a couple of hours occupied with them, but when the evening approached you couldn’t resist to a period of rest. Aiko would bring you tea and food, and you either stood with her talking about your day or listening as she told you stories of her youth, Ayane’s childhood or important things you were supposed to know about the Uchiha, or went to your room to draw or play the koto while you waited for Madara to come back.

You skills with the carbon were developing in a satisfying rhythm now that you had more time to dedicate yourself to this pastime and less anxieties clouding your mind. You made countless sketches and finished many of them in the evenings when you were alone after the women left and before your husband arrived. Your memories, the people you’ve met and the places you’ve been – the entry of your first house, destroyed by war, the house of your adoptive mother, your room there; your lost friends, your mother, your student, Izuna, Aiko, Ayane, Madara; the garden you were training with him, the forest, the river – all was turned into art.

You also composed new songs or parts of songs for your koto when you weren’t feeling like drawing. You wanted to show some of them to Madara; they were better than that one you’ve wrote for your student, which was never played by you again.

You weren’t sure of how or why, but even before you could see him inside the room, you always felt the moment he arrived; you weren’t able to explain exactly how it happened, but you could feel what it seemed to be a sudden change in the air whenever he came around. You have noticed this trait since you met him for the first time, but it was like after your training sessions your capacity of feeling it has increased. You’ve been willing to talk to Madara about this strange sensation, but you didn’t know how to introduce the subject.

He would always come to see you by night, after finishing his activities and taking care of himself. He used to find you immersed on the strings of the koto or sitting on the couch, a drawing on progress on your lap. You always waited for him to start the conversations; despite the intimacy you managed to build in those few days, you still sensed you couldn’t invade some parts of the territory that belonged to him: if he had to tell you something about it, he would do by himself.

On the other hand, he was always interested in how you spent your days when you were not with him: he would approach you and sit by your side, surrounding you with one arm, and listen to you while observing your drawings or the way your fingers would slip through the instrument’s strings in an unconscious manner as you spoke; from time to time, he would use your pauses to make a specific question for something you didn’t explain so well or forgot to say, but most of the times his questions were directed to how you felt about the things you saw or what you thought of the situations you got through. It was strange in the first days, for you never were the type of speaking your mind so easily, but Madara had a way to find out the things he wanted and his questions were made in a smart, assuring manner, so you never felt forced to tell him anything. As time passed, you noticed that those direct talking about your feelings made you more good than if you kept all of them to yourself.

After those conversations, you would organize your things in the place of the room you reserved for them and prepare to go to bed. Sometimes you would spend a moment alone at the porch, but there were nights when the breeze were too cold for one to stand there for a long time, so you just let Madara close the door and went directly to the futon.

***

He took you most of the nights during that week. None of those times were exactly like the wedding night, but in all of them there was something you enjoyed most, whether it was the way he took care of you right after, how he allowed you to sleep in his arms or the things he said while touching you, praising your body, the smell of your hair or your voice when you said his name. At first you were afraid that you would always feel the same discomfort of the first time, but it didn’t happen: as time passed, it was like your body was slowly adjusted to his, and your pain diminished until it was almost gone. Between those nights there were one and another when he came later and you ended up falling asleep on the couch; there was a time when you thought you were carried by someone at some point of the night, but you weren’t sure if it was a dream or not until you woke up next morning on the futon and saw that your husband was already gone.

An important change that occurred was that instead of limiting himself to touch you, Madara taught you some of the things you were supposed to know as his wife, such as how to use your lips, your hands and even your voice to give and gain pleasure. For he was your first man everything was new to you, which sometimes led you to some uneasiness or doubt whenever something seemed too strange to you, but here you ended up knowing another side of Madara: he was an excellent communicator; none of these things were shameful or to be treated with secrecy, and neither he wanted you to see them as such, so that he would always speak clearly about his wishes and fantasies while encouraging you to speak about yours; he also sensed whenever you felt uncomfortable with something, even when you didn’t speak. It wasn’t the case that you had thought so much about these things before meeting him – you naturally knew it would be expected if you ever became someone’s spouse one day, but the thought was too vague until then; you were never too worried about it. However, now that staying with a man was a main part of your life, you started having ideas. It was a side of you haven’t discovered yet. And not only you, but Madara was more than pleased to know about this side.

There was a night when he noticed you were urging to tell him something, but refused to speak. You were already lying on the futon, your back turned on him, when you felt him surrounding your waist with his arms; soon you felt a soft kiss on your shoulder.

- You want to tell me something, don’t you? – you heard him whisper – What is it? Is there something bothering you?

Your face warmed up with the question.

- Not bothering me. It’s just that…

You sensed his arms tightening their grip.

- I see… – another kiss, longer and warmer – There is something you want to do.

You didn’t reply. His leg entwined with yours, his knee between your thighs. You were almost lying on your stomach, his body heating up your back, his nose smelling your hair, his hands starting to come and go all over you.

- Don’t be shy, girl. If there is something I do not approve, it is false modesty – he approached his lips from your ear, his voice so low you’d swear you were hearing it in your head – The rest I can handle.

You smiled and finally told him what you had in mind. It was funny that once your thought were turned into words, it seemed something simple, even silly, compared to some of the things he taught you. Still, he showed immediate interest and helped you with everything you wanted.

#madara #madara uchiha #madara fanfiction #madara x reader #naruto fanfiction

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ahlis-xiv · 3 years

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journal 50.4

G’raha sat alone, semi-hunched over a piece of parchment as he worked. Although he did not show it, the drafting he ambitiously began was nothing short of a place between fascinating and downright tediousness. The solution to tempering that nestled within his mind and finding a proper way to convey it into some sort of physicality that others could understand took time and a level of focus that brought him back to his Studium days.

He did not mind the effort, really, yet part of him couldn’t help but feel he could be applying himself to something else...namely figuring out why his dear friend decided to depart in such a hurry without so much as a word.

G’raha sighed, and scratched out part of the formulae he attempted to use as a proper proof. It wasn’t correct or, rather, not good enough, and he knew it: it almost felt like he had to somehow invent a whole new notation and he was second guessing every attempt. That, he knew, was as strong a sign as any that he needed a break.

Abandoning his work for the more welcoming sight above Mor Dhona proper, he took to his usual perch and leaned over the ledge to watch the activity below. Ever since he arrived there—since waking up, really—G’raha found the habit of people-watching a welcome one when it came to clearing his head. It had also been an old habit as well from his time as the Exarch. It was difficult at times to not be reminded of it when he went there to be alone--not that it troubled him, but rather his thoughts inevitably wandered to those he had to let go. To old friends and, naturally, to her.

What would Lyna think, he wondered. Of everything? Despite assurances, both given and told to own self, he knew it was a question not quite answerable. He was unfettered, free—free to live the life he wished. A second chance. Yet something gnawed away at his heart that only grew in the wake of what occurred in Ala Mhigo. And the Warrior of Light was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t wish to admit it, but that this point most of all prickled his thoughts. She had been wounded in the confrontation: not severely but enough to warrant considerable healing, namely for her arms. She berated herself for not properly handling the situation, that it was foolish to not deal with Fandaniel and his summoning there and then somehow. When the dust settled with wounds seen to and mended, she slipped away and out of his reach.

G’raha’s hands clasped together in front of him, fretting as his anxiety swelled. Ahlis said many things in the aftermath at the menagerie; much of which he knew was said in a fury he rarely witnessed. He also knew he ought to not dwell on it, as it was not directed towards him—but it felt personal, watching the anger and the walls that suddenly erected around her, forbidding his approach. Surely she knew, she must’ve known that he cared—that they all cared? G’raha understood what it meant to seek solace, to lick one’s wounds after a poor bout in battle, yet to shut him out? Why?

He huffed a frustrated growl, and pouted to himself. This is not about you, G’raha, his more sensible self spoke in his mind. It did little to help when he knew naught what to do with his...feelings, with no soul to utter them to. For the moment, all he had in certainty, was himself.

Looking above to the darkening sky, stars were beginning to sparkle in the deep blue, the gloom weak and unable to hinder their shine. He hoped that wherever Ahlis was, and however she felt, that her safety was sure and her healing swift.

---

Ahlis suddenly grasped the pillow within her bare arms as a sneeze escaped her nose and immediately regretted it.

“Bless you, dearest,” Aymeric spoke above her, his hands gently working her back’s aches and pains into a soothing massage.

“Augh, no,” she said, voice muffled by soft cotton where she shoved her face into it. The great debate of whether she should lift her head up or not kept her in place, lest she reveal a potentially not-so-graceful mess. “I think I ruined it.”

Wordlessly and only with a soft chuckle of amusement Aymeric rose to retrieve a handkerchief as if reading her mind in her current discomfort. When he returned Ahlis was already sitting up, the pillow still pressed to her face. He did not know how to assure her that there were far worse things that could ruin one’s bedding, but seeing the flushed look upon her face while she cleaned herself as discretely as possible encouraged him to say nothing.

“Are you feeling better?” Aymeric asked, once she seemed satisfied to show herself, the pillow and handkerchief no longer covering her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Ahlis spoke, relief entering her voice. “I am sorry, about this, though.” Her hands still held onto the pillow until he reached for it himself, lightly tossing it aside and back onto the bed.

“It is of no consequence. My home is yours, including the aforementioned pillow.”

That made Ahlis laugh, as he hoped it would, and Aymeric took this moment to join her again, sitting side by side upon the edge of the bed. It was useless however to ignore the wrappings around both her palms and forearms, both of which had been kept out of sight when lying on her stomach. Catching his glancing eyes, Ahlis took that moment to adjust her bandages.

“The pain is mostly gone. Now it’s just itching,” she spoke, more annoyed than in any sort of true discomfort. “New skin takes some getting used to and breaking in, imagine that.”

“May I see it?” Aymeric asked after a moment’s pause, his voice careful in its near-whisper like intensity.

For a second, she hesitated. Unraveling them didn’t hurt much anymore, so when she did reveal the newly healed burns that rested beneath she didn’t hold back in extending her arm in front of him. If only her heart that thumped heavily in her chest agreed! Nerves, however troublesome they proved to be, would do little in assuaging his concern.

“There you are,” Ahlis said with an exuberance she hoped sounded sure and confident. “It’s not so terrible now, aye?”

It was not her intent to fool him, rather, it was better than the ire she felt deep within at how it happened, and better still than to appear caught off-guard or foolish to have been struck at all by such an injury. It had been a mistake, one that could’ve gone even more horribly wrong in an instant if not for…

“Oh, Ahlis...”

Her thoughts stopped, everything stopped. She was helpless as she watched the shock that touched his eyes turn to despair, to pain that flowed into the tenderness that came with his touch as he cradled her wrist to his cheek. There was a knot of scarred tissue just below where his lips met her skin; the first kiss was given there, then another just above it towards her palm.

Such sensations, intensified against her freshly healed wounds, rendered her voice frozen within her throat. It was almost too much; she released a heavy, shaky breath that gave him pause, and Aymeric turned to look upon her so intensely, so painfully, she dared think she might cry herself.

“It’s fine,” she found herself saying, finally, unsure if it truly was after all.

---

Later, long after they had gone to bed, she would wake to see the stars out in the beyond just outside the window, the silhouette of spires cutting across the dark. A rare, clear night in the city. Gripped by the sight, she stole herself away to find a place to write...

Evenings have proven to be the best, and only time, to write clear-headed these days. As if I do not need sleep.

The itching has finally subsided enough to carry on without thinking about it and now I can finally sit for half a bell to write while at the same time not wishing to scratch my skin off. I’ve had lacerations, all manners of bruising and concussive injuries. I’ve even been shot at! But note to self: never get fucking burned like that again.

I’m going to kill that bastard with his own medicine, and I will enjoy it

[there is a drawing here of a figure in a robe with a sword skewering it all the way through, who is also on fire]

The healing has progressed as it will, and I trust Krile and Alphinaud’s hands more than any other—although granted my sourness over it all could have been a little less scathing, I guess.

But what can I say, a lot of bullshite has been happening these days. I’m getting a mite bit enraged that these Ascian arseholes aren’t leaving me alone, and yet I am not entirely surprised. It’s not over until it is over.

gods when will that be never ah ha ha ha

In the meantime I have made good on my own promises to make my own self comfortable as best I can, heal as best I am able, and spending what time I can in Ishgard. The others are probably wondering when I’ll return to the Stones but until G’raha outlines our approach on implementing proper protocol on the tempering solution I honestly don’t want to hear about anything else. Alisaie should be helping, I am sure, as is Alphinaud too I think. It’ll be fine! And fast too.

I mean I would help more too but I don’t have a crazy as all hells academic background as they do seven hells I’d love me a curriculum found in the Studium within those stupid halls and their even stupider “zero involvement” stance on bloody everything

share your goddamn science you twits

I am far more tired than I thought. But! I am also finally able to think about the impending reconnaissance we’re bound to have soon once Thancred and Urianger return.

if something happens with them I swear to ever loving shite I am going to boot them back to the First with my fist

Without my Stupid! Arms! Annoying me!

OH is that little

[the writing stops here with an ink blot, as if the pen was dropped and left there, the smeared and distinct shape of a cat’s paw crossing part of the page]

#my writing #the journals #this got way longer than I thought but I did it!#big thx to em for helping me edit this bless and thank #I enjoyed this even if it was difficult to write #hey I finally got some g'raha writing in AND some kinda fluffy angsty stuff? yeeee #; final fantasy xiv #patch 5.4 #shadowbringers #reading for maint har har

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flyonthewallmedstudent · 4 years

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Watching House as a Physician. Season 2 Episode 3. Infectious diseases & Respiratory.

Welcome to another episode of medicine done badly. I’ve been watching House on Amazon prime. Got the subscription during the pandemic, as like everyone else, I’ve garnered an online shopping habit now.

Alright. In the opening scene a young roof worker falls off the roof presumably due to acute shortness of breath. i.e. trouble breathing. (why do we use the term shortness of breath? it’s the english version of the greek term dyspnoea - the actual preferred language of Western doctors. Fuck do I know why we like Greek and Latin so much. Moving on.) Then cut to Dr. Cuddy examining him in the back of the ambulance.

This would never happen in real life. Yes you can be on the scene and handover to the paramedics or EMT when they arrive as a doctor. But they would take over. I personally wouldn’t have the balls to look after a patient in a different environment, different resources and field I’m not familiar with. You can have field Emergency docs - but requires different training.

Also, ethically, you’re not meant to treat family or friends. Dr. Cuddy later in the episode gets a bit emotionally involved - this is why we don’t treat people close to us. We lose objectivity. We make mistakes. And you see later see Cuddy do some pretty bad ones.

I feel like much of this episode is not really IM. THere’s less differential diagnoses being made. More side tracks into trauma, emergency, intensive care or vascular surgery.

Anyhoo. Trauma and emergency would manage the fall and post fall traumatic injuries. And the trauma protocol was either not shown or completely off in this episode. Surgeons don’t seem to exist in House, at least not very much. Similarly, no other doctors exist except surgeons in Grey’s anatomy. Also you can’t clear a C Spine clinically, which is what Dr. Cuddy does in the back of the ambulance. You’d need a CT first and clearance both radiological (by a radiologist) and a clinician.

Aaaanddd, you can’t just listen to the chest and go no pneumothorax (air in lung or collapsed lung) - yes it’s reassuring, but again you’d need imaging to confirm this, given how serious a condition this is. It is realistic to consider in the setting of a fall, particularly if there are rib fractures that can puncture the lung.

Once the more critical injuries are managed, we would look after the IM side to things.

So. Finally.. differential diagnoses.

Takes what seems and feels like days before they finally sit down and go through differentials. Really not much on that white board. Dark fingers, broken ribs, fever and lung infiltrates. Time line’s not clear on when he developed the fever.

Presenting complaint isn’t really addressed. It could be: - Dyspnoea, leading to the fall, he’s requiring O2 via nasal prongs, which suggests that he’s hypoxic (this is definitely odd in a young guy who’s normally very physical fit if he works as labourer). so much to unpack here, but they never get into this well. Post fall, Cuddy notices his ring and pinky finger becoming dusky, which becomes very central in this episode. Very few things would cause this. pains me that they do no differentials on a white board for this alone.

Then a lot of throwing around medical terms.

PTT prolonged and Fibrinogen off. These are markers of your coagulation pathway and signs that you’re not forming the clots the way you should if you have an injury. DIC is also thrown around. What is DIC? Disseminated intravascular coagulopathy. Certainly severe sepsis and trauma can cause this and lead to severe bleeding. It will throw off your coagulation pathways (things that stop bleeding). It’s not common. I’ve treated it once, while I was rotating in ICU, it is not standard ward medicine practice. Standard therapy is fresh frozen plasma (FFP) and even large metropolitan hospitals only have a limited supply. It’s a huge concern for surgery and post-op (as you patient will just not stop bleeding after you cut them open, and if not treated, potentially bleed to death). Cuddy mentions ARDS. Acute respiratory distress syndrome, it could be a complication, but it’s not a cause. Again, falls more into the realm of critical care (a la ICU). However, patient had SOB prior to the fall. Finally HOuse makes the observation. of “what if he was sick before he had his run in with gravity...” Everyone jumps to Pneumonia. And this is where it gets confusing. If he was unwell, the minute he entered the emergency department with a fever and hypoxia, they would have worked him up for any garden variety pneumonia, bacterial or viral. Cultures would have been sent and imaging. Any young hypoxic patient would prompt a closer look at the chest. And no one waits that long to start antibiotics - “sepsis kills” is a slogan often used around hospitals. You have to initiate empirical therapy within 30 mins, to reduce mortality and morbiditiy.

Ordering an Echocardiogram (USS of the Heart) also makes no sense in the context of a lung infection. I would order one, but not to look at the lungs.

Then there’s the most unrealistic thing about this series. Doctors breaking into patient homes.

It is however, a good way to showcase social history. It’d be boring to watch a doctor ask the patient outright about their living situation etc, but it’s far more interesting to see exactly how they live. We try as much as possible to illustrate to each other and ourselves what the living environment and working environment of our patients are like.

In the context of infection, a good social history can point out exposure. As they exemplify by showing dead rodents and mould. This leads to 2 further differentials: Rat bite fever (caused by streptobacillus, something you’d see in the US, but probably not anywhere else), it’s an unrealistic differential in general. And the 2nd is aspergillosis. Okay.. So aspergillus is a mould commonly found in our environment. In fact it’s everywhere around us.

THere’s few times when it’s an issue. It is a concern in respiratory syndromes like asthma or bronchiectasis. And also as an opportunistic infection in immunocompromised individuals. in the context of asthma, it’s not so much the aspergillus itself that causes issue, it’s our body’s over reaction. It’s a hypersensitivity issue that causes inflammation in the lungs or a pneumonitis. We even gave it a name. Allergic bronchopulmonary aspergillosis. It’s still badness, but it doesn’t happen that quickly. We also have specific tests for this, which were obviously not considered in this episode of medicine done badly. In the immunocompromised host (steroid therapy in transplant patients or those on chemo, etc.), you can get the invasive mould as an opportunistic infection. I don’t really understand why they think it would be the case here. Also, killing the bug with heavy duty anti fungals will only give more issues rather than do anything. They start him on amphotericin. this is not standard practice. And now it flips to why amphotericin is not standard practice or first line treatment for invasive aspergillosis. The patient has now become anuric (not making any urine). (First line drug by the way is voraconazole, superior efficacy in trials with a lower mortality rate and ADRs) Also, note that they have just jumped straight to dire renal failure from the amphotericin. No work up. That said, heavy drugs like amphotericin are often a cause, but It’s often temporary with the appropriate supportive measures (stop insulting agents, give hydration, monitor fluid balance), reversible, even if you require temporary dialysis or haemofiltration. Anyways, would get into AKI another day, that’s a whole other post in and of itself. Then his hand is apparently “dying.” There’s pain on light touch, but it’s not a cold, pulseless limb. Or discoloured. doesn’t add up. This now enters vascular surgeon territory. Again. It’s interesting that there’s never any referrals to any other teams. If he has good circulation, I would imagine they would try to save the hand and consider other differentials.

The only time I can think of an emergency amputation in this situation is necrotising fascitiis. That’s the only thing that would occur that rapidly AND necessitate losing tissue or limb. With a young person who’s this ill, there’s often multiple subspecialties involved by this point. I’m also surprised he’s not in ICU.

Then there’s a buncha filler scenes of the cast of house getting emotional. Ho my god, they’ve taken the hand of a young 20 something physical labourer. Indeed, this is badness. Unlike House, we actually are trained to always consider how a patient’s illness impacts their activities of daily living and livelihood.

I find the general population assumes that we practice medicine in a vacuum, we merely treat the clinical illness and ignore everything else. They imagine that we all must be like house.

Actually we try to put things in perspective as much as possible and knowing our limitations in this area, we often enlist the help of friends - physiotherapists, occupational therapists and social workers. They never exist on TV or on the movies. Ever. Unless it’s to portray how terrible it is to be a social worker. From time to time in this episode, Cuddy laments that being chief of medicine is too administrative and she hasn’t been a doctor in years. That also doesn’t happen in real life. If you’re chief you’re still a doctor. You have admin shit to do deal with yes, but you still practice. It’s like being chief resident, in all the TV shows with one of these, you still seem them working as residents, be it scrubs or grey’s anatomy.

Back to the differential. They finally get to endocarditis. Culture negative to be precise. That indeed would explain the bilateral dusky fingers that led to unnecessary amputation. Septic emboli.

Going to stop here, more out of exhaustion now. I’ve created quite a lengthy post. Happy to reblog thoughts on culture negative endocarditis on request later. This is a worthy topic to study up on for students or residents. At least review Duke’s criteria and think about your clinical features like Roth Spots and Janeway lesions or Ouch Osler’s nodes.

The ending is also a far fetched connection to make, but is one that we would consider. In fact, we would ask in detail every time from day one - have you had any exposure to animals. It’s very rare to see someone so young be that sick out of the blue when you’re immunocompetent and have no underlying predisposing conditions. If there’s no focal source, then we would even ask about injectable recreational drugs, exotic travels, sexual health.

Most of the time, patients that sick are honest to their doctors.

But what about..

Frankly, much as we lie as humans, when our lives our on the line, we’re generally pretty honest (sometimes too honest) with the people we want to save us.

Any patient who is young and comes to hospital requiring inpatient admission, they’d be investigated by subspecialties with expertise in certain areas such as infectious disease. The dept of infectious disease would either be home team, or all over this patient as they special in the realm of both common and rare infectious diseases, culture negative endocarditis would have been considered before a hand amputation.

The term, “department of diagnostic medicine is laughable,” particularly when they consider it the only department in the world in the show.

In actuality, it’s a department that is universal and exists everywhere. it’s Internal medicine. Dr. Vivek Murthy, the next surgeon general (and also the last one under Obama) is an internal medicine physician. Ken Jeong of Community and the Hangover fame is also a physician of internal medicine.

Beginning to get the sense that most episodes are going to end with a diagnosis that is either infectious disease, rheumatology or haematology. But generally those tend to be most interesting and give the most plot twists or meaty differentials V.s. a stroke or acute myocardial infarction is fairly straightforward to diagnose.

This is a very twisty episode in all the wrong directions.

Dyspnoea is a very common presenting complaint. There’s a properly done approach to this in the podcast by the Curbsiders by the way.

#medblrs #medblr

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fanficsandfluff · 4 years

Text

Hannibal: A Little Less Different

This fic can also be found on my AO3, where it was first posted, here.

As much as I adore all the art that’s out there for Hannigram, I really don’t feel comfortable writing for them. So instead I chose my other OTP, Will and Beverly! I seriously love their dynamic. So, enjoy!

Pairing: Will & Beverly (platonic)

Words: 2075

~~~~

It wasn't so much shame as it was embarrassment that Will Graham felt while sitting at FBI headquarters mere yards away from the morgue. Or was he closer than that? Yardage didn't matter. A probe was gently stuck into his right ear, bringing Will back to this present moment momentarily. It was an uncomfortable sensation. This physical reminded him of why he doesn't like doctors. Why take the physical at FBI headquarters, one might ask?

Will got hurt on their last catch. It was no one's fault, Will tried to reassure. There was a fleeting moment of uncertainty where Will experienced time-lapse, and he fell into a ditch. That was the first instance. While facing off with the killer, he was thrown into the corner of a mantle. Scathed but alive, that's what Jack called it. As much as Will demanded he be given leave to go home and heal, Jack wanted to make sure there was nothing more seriously wrong with him. It was his leg and back right behind his ribs that were the main sources of pain. Typical injuries and soreness, in Will's head. But Jack gave him that look and, well, here we are now.

"Lie down for me, please."

Beverly's calm voice resonated in Will's head as he obeyed her instruction. He'd just gone through the vitals checks, passing each with flying colors, he was sure. Will shivered when his bare back touched the icy metal table. Now he felt like he belonged in the morgue. A very corpse-like feeling encompassed him as the metal chilled his skin and likewise, he warmed the metal.

"Will."

Will's eyes focused on Beverly. She clearly had just said something to him and had gotten no response.

"I said loosen up a bit."

"The table's cold."

Beverly smirked, "I saw you shiver. Relax."

"In this position, am I wrong to have a fear that you'll start cutting into me?"

"Your only fear right now should be not listening to my instructions."

Will smiled. He was put at ease. Beverly rested her hands on Will's belly and started pressing around. Will could feel her cold hands through her latex gloves, but that wasn't his only thought as he sharply inhaled and grunted. Beverly paused and looked at Will's face. Having not worked as frequently with living subjects, she feared she was being too rough. She was checking for injury, after all, so maybe she hit a sore spot. She proceeded with slightly gentler touches. But again, Will tensed.

"You can let me know if I'm hurting you," she rested her hands on the table as she looked down upon Will's pale upper body.

"No, you're not hurting me. I'm sorry. Continue."

Beverly massaged just under Will's ribs and that one got him to shoot up from his prone position, arms coming forward to protect. Beverly stared with an agape mouth and was about to send him to the hospital for intense organ displacement when she heard a small titter.

New shivers coursed through Will's upper body and he made shy eye-contact with Beverly, "I'm ticklish," he admitted.

Beverly's look of utter alarm placated to a kind of smugness when Will came clean.

"Well, better that than injury. Lay down, I need to finish up," she let Will lay down once more before she continued. No organ swelling or odd lumps, though she did get him to giggle. When she felt just behind his right set of ribs, he winced from pain this time. Assessment with that finished, Beverly then rolled up Will Graham's pant leg and brushed her fingers around his leg. Swelling under his kneecap.

The crime scene investigator lifted Will's leg and rotated his ankle, "Does this hurt?"

Will responded, "It's uncomfortable."

Beverly finished her physical examination and peeled off her gloves after instructing Will to get dressed.

"Am I dying?"

"Not this time," she responded with her usual wit. Will liked that he could talk to Beverly like this. The jabs, the morbid humor. They bounced off each other well.

"Bruised ribs, swollen knee, and twisted ankle. Nothing a little R&R in bed can't fix," she gave her analysis to Will, "I don't know how well you're gonna adhere to my prescription."

"I'll do my best."

"I think I'm going to have to check up on you."

"Well, aren't I the special patient."

Beverly grinned, "Goodbye, Will."

"Goodbye."

~~~~

It turns out Will didn't listen very well, after all. Two days passed and he was keeping up with his day to day activities, concordant with his sleeplessness. He walked the dogs, worked on flies, thought about death and destruction and loneliness and mental illness... all of Will Graham's greatest hits.

He was rightly a little surprised when a knock came on his door on a sunny winter morning. He expected Alana, or Jack, or even Hannibal. They frequently checked on him; and it was always a worrisome house call. They'd be concerned about him or if it was Jack, he'd be picking him up to consult on the newest grisly murder. No one ever checked up just... cuz.

"Hey," it was Beverly who greeted Will when he opened his door for her.

"Oh," he sounded surprised because he truthfully was, "Hi," he looked past Beverly, thinking there was someone else with her.

"Can I come in?"

"I need house calls now?"

Beverly and Will exchanged small smiles. He stepped aside to let her in. She stepped inside and placed a hot coffee on his desk, "I didn't know how you liked it. I deduced no sugar, dash of milk."

"You would be almost correct. I like one sugar packet," he lifted up the coffee in his hand and took a sip.

Beverly groaned and snapped her finger, "Ugh! So close. I figured someone unstable might not want sugar."

"As in not want joy?"

"As in don't overanalyze coffee preferences."

Will smiled at that. Beverly walked around his home, taking a look at the bits and bobs of the place that made it home. She leaned down and pet a few of the dogs that brushed against her boots.

After Will took one more sip of the steaming, bitter coffee, "Can I ask why you're here?"

"We haven't had a new case since the last one, and no one's heard or seen from you since. I figured you needed something to think about."

"You figured I needed someone to talk to."

"That too," Beverly took a seat on the ottoman of a sofa chair. Winston came over and rested his chin on her lap.

"You're not a dog person."

"You can tell?" Beverly rested a gloved hand on Winston's head and gently pet it, "I always believed dogs gravitated towards people who they knew were uncomfortable around them."

Will smiled and he took a seat in the chair adjacent to Beverly, "To torture them?"

"To tease, or to convert."

"Is Winston converting you?"

Beverly set her coffee down on the floor carefully and removed her gloves. Once she did, she gave Winston a full petting and scratching. Will looked on.

"Thank you for the coffee."

"You're welcome," Beverly tucked some hair behind her ears after Winston trotted away from her to go to his dog bed, seeming proud and accomplished, "You haven't been relaxing very much, have you?"

"I'm doing the best I can."

"I don't want to be your nurse, I really don't... but if Jack needs you back in the field, he's gonna want Will Graham at 100%."

"That sounds like an impossibility. Will Graham has never performed at 100%."

Beverly watched how Will's eyes looked nowhere towards her. They didn't seem to focus on anything.

"Will you let me take another look at you?"

"You think you missed something?"

"No, I just want to do a little checkup. See how things are healing."

Will took another big gulp from his coffee and he walked over to his bed and sat at the edge of it. Beverly followed him and sat beside him.

"This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly looked at Will's face, his striking jawline. He was right. It wasn't. She cared about his wellbeing, physical and mental. If she could pay him a visit under the guise of medical work, then so be it.

She slipped her hand under Will's sweater to find the tender spot at the back of his ribs. The second her fingers made contact with the skin, Will gasped and he flinched.

"Your fingers are very cold."

Beverly grinned, "Being inside your icebox of a home isn't exactly helping," she teasingly traced her nails towards the front of Will's ribs and gave them a scratch. The consultant forced out a sputtering breath.

"I will repeat myself. This doesn't seem like protocol."

Beverly couldn't not smile now. She had Will here, in the safety of his own home, his dogs all around him, and now she was present. She needed to act on this, she may never get another opportunity to do so. Will froze, as did Beverly's hand. She kept her hand just barely touching Will's ribs, still under his thick sweater. It was just this extra pause of anticipation that bubbled up in Will's chest and he giggled sporadically when Beverly dug in. Will wiggled like a worm on a hook, unable to escape Beverly's hand.

"You're not a very good patient," Beverly teased and she introduced her other hand in the mix, all ten nails scratching and digging against Will's soft, tense skin. Will threw his head back as a louder laugh ripped through his lungs and he fell back onto the bed. It was very cute, Beverly couldn't lie.

"Beverly! B-Bev-- wahahait!" Will giggled away. He wasn't trying to shove at her attacking hands, nor really try to protect himself. It seemed all he was managing to do was wrap his arms loosely around his middle. Beverly was still able to access every curve and protrusion on Will's torso.

Beverly tried squeezing instead, and she latched onto both of Will's sides, allowing her thumbs to do most of the work digging into ticklish muscle. Will spasmed and he rolled side to side, his elbows pressing into his sides more now to try and lessen the sensation.

Will Graham's laugh was nothing like Beverly imagined. She didn't imagine it much, mind you, but she did think about it more than once. His laugh was deep and steady. Nothing she did really changed its pitch. Beverly scritched her hands to Will's belly and that's the first time Will reacted strongly to her tickling. He grabbed her wrists with his hands and tried pushing them out from under his shirt.

"Noho more, please," he giggled, face flushed red.

"You don't want a repeat physical?"

"More than anything, no."

Beverly shot her hands onto Will's belly again, even with him holding on, and she poked and clawed at anything she could. Will belted out more laughter. He snorted when Beverly scratched a nail around his bellybutton. When Will was snorting more than actually laughing, Beverly felt she betrayed him enough. She relinquished her ticklish hold on his bare skin and slipped her hands out from under his sweater. Will was panting on his bed, the tip of his nose having turned red from the fit of laughter.

"Is... Is it bad if I say I never want you as my doctor again?"

Beverly chuckled and she tucked hair that fell in her face behind her ear, "You're a pretty fun patient, I might have to recommend that we keep seeing each other."

Will smiled without provocation now and he sat up, "I really don't want to know how you're so good at that."

"Eldest child. Had a lot of practice."

Will looked at Beverly and his lips were quirked upwards. He had a friend in Beverly. It warmed his heart, almost more than the tickling warmed his body.

"Thank you for bringing me company. Just... don't tell anyone about... all of this."

Beverly smiled and she nudged Will's shoulder with her own playfully, "Wouldn't dream of it. Being ticklish definitely conflicts with your whole unstable, outsider persona."

"How so?"

Beverly considered it, "It makes you a little less different."

Will appreciated that statement. They sat in silence for a few extra seconds. One of the dogs jumped up onto the bed and made itself comfortable.

"I think I should take a look at that ankle now."

#hannibal #hannibal tv #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal fanfic #will graham #beverly katz #will graham and beverly katz #will graham & beverly katz #will and beverly #ticklish!will #ticklish!willgraham #lee!will #lee!willgraham #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle fanfiction #platonic #fluff #tickles

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frickyeahfanfic · 5 years

Text

prompt: “I don’t want to hurt you”-”you won’t.”

pairing: general hux x reader

summary: you are a medic aboard the Supremacy and General Hux comes in one chaotic day for you to stitch up his wounds. (PRE TROS)

EDIT: want some backstory? check out RESIGN

word count: 1746

warnings: a little intense, you gotta take care of his owies so

__________

White coats darted past you as you made your way down to the entrance of the medic wing of the Supremacy, your datapad balancing carefully in your palm. It was a particularly busy day; more than enough stormtroopers and officers had made their way to seek medical attention. You barely had time to figure out what was going on outside of the sterile haven, but you knew something had to do with the resistance fighting against the First Order.

You datapad chimed happily despite the chaotic setting. Someone was requesting medical attention, and only high ranking officials had the authority to contact you, the lead surgeon. You had to push oblivious nurses and doctors aside to avoid crashing into them, knowing that whoever was behind the door was seriously injured, or needed attention quick.

Just before you could take a step closer to the entrance, General Hux stumbled through.

The General looked awful. His face was bruised, lip and nose bleeding profusely. The orange hair on his head was disheveled, but you could see a spot that was matted down with blood. His greatcoat was torn almost in half, and gashes were visible on his back as he staggered past you.

“General!” You gasp. His head snapped to you and he placed a gloved hand on you for support.

“Take me to your next available room,” He snarled through bared teeth.

You snap your fingers and a medic standing by scurried over and stood by Hux for support, following you down the hallway to an operating room. The medic left Hux’s side and helped you prepare the room, and scampered out when the General was on the table. Without speaking, you hooked him up to an IV, administered some basic medication to and started examining the damage.

“What was it this time,” you say, typing on your datapad hurriedly.

“Same as last time,” he muttered, tugging on the IV mischievously.

You nodded and put the device down, reaching for a syringe on a cart beside you.

“Flip over.” You demanded, a finger twirling in the air indicating the command in case Hux didn’t understand. As he was adjusting his body you noticed the intensity of the wounds on his back.

“Shirt, off.”

“Would you quit bossing me around, Doctor?” Despite his complaint, he unfastened the clip on his waist and stripped off his shirt. He held the bunch of clothing with one hand as the other hit a button to recline the hospital bed.

“Would you quit getting beat up, Sir? I’m kind of getting tired of always having to stitch you up.” You retaliated, taking the garments from his hands and placing them on the counter behind yourself.

He placed his forearms underneath his face to cushion his head, and so he could still talk to you clearly. “This is your job, isn’t it? I could very quickly relieve you of your position…”

“We both know you could never do that. After all, sir, you don’t trust anyone but me to do surgery on you,” you reminded him, a domestic tone engulfing your voice.

He humphed, a sound of defeat.

In the medic wing of the ship, you were the general. You commanded your fleets of nurses and fellow doctors. You ordered and directed the chaos that was your job, your life. And in your territory, the General was submissive. It brought you so much pleasure knowing that, besides Kylo Ren or the Supreme Leader or whoever was above him, Hux was at the mercy of your decisions. It was an eloquent balance, and a trust bond was built between the two of you. General Hux learned very quickly that in order to keep you around for his own sake, he had to actually be nice and learn to respect you. He trusted very few people in the galaxy, but you had saved his ass enough times to earn the confidence of the General.

You waved a syringe of something in from of his face, that was sure to knock him out cold for a few hours. “I’m gonna drug you. You’ve got a lot of damage on your back and stitches will have you out and about in no time.”

He propped himself up with one arm. “No, I don’t have enough time for that. The Supreme Leader needs me to go back immediately, I can’t have my men without a leader while the Resistance re-coups. Surely they are planning something devilish.”

“They won’t have a leader if you’re too busy in pain. I’ll put you out for a bit-”

As you moved the syringe closer to his neck he grabbed your wrist tightly. “No.”

“But,”

He didn’t let go of your arm, instead, he squeezed it tighter. A warning. “That’s an order, Doctor.”

You withdraw your hand and place the hypo back onto a tray. As you fumbled with the organic thread used to sew wounds and gashes, Hux clutched the pillow he put underneath his head. He was going to fight the pain.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” You hesitated when you saw his chest rise and fall faster than most of your patients. You hadn’t recently operated on someone conscious since your time as a field surgeon, the graphic scenes and messes you had to clean up scared you to the point of resigning and taking the position as lead surgeon.

“You won’t. Just do it quickly. I have work that needs to get done.”

It would definitely cause a great amount of pain to Hux, especially because any shock had been worn off and the numbing meds that you gave him surely wouldn’t cover the excruciating torture that a needle and thread caused.

And it would definitely cause a lot of pain to you. Not physical, just emotional. You didn’t like seeing people in pain, that’s why you because a surgeon to operate on sleeping people.

You quickly grabbed a sterile rag and ran it over the gashes, and he shuddered, knuckles going white on the pillow he was grasping. After applying some antiseptic, you began the tedious work. Stitch after stitch, the General hissed and groaned, face pressing deeper into the cushion.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered several times in the procedure, especially after tugging the thread tightly over deeper areas.

In reality, the only way he made it without passing out was the gentle grace of your fingertips, brushing softly against the skin on his back. And the way you muttered under your breath while you worked was like a song lulling him to sanity while enduring the pain. Yes, you had occasionally given him a bandage or administered some sort of antidote to him, but he had never experienced the true beauty of your labor consciously. Yes, it was painful, but it was peaceful.

It was finished sooner than Hux had anticipated. You slathered on some gel, presumably bacta, and wrapped gauze around his back.

You tapped him gently on the shoulder to stand, but he was already sitting up, knowing that the gauze was the final step. As you take off your gloves that were marked with Hux’s blood and remove the scrub cap and mask on your head, he stood up and wandered to the pile of new clothes on the counter that a nurse had delivered during the procedure. As grabbed the undershirt you froze.

“Wait, Hux,” you said, quickly placing a hand on his arm before he lifted his arms over his head.

He stopped, raising an eyebrow at the slip of professionality. “Yes, Y/l/n?” He responded, dropping protocol.

You take his undershirt from his hands and bunch it up carefully, pulling at the collar slightly. “Let me help you.”

“I’m not a child,” he objected, but bowed his head so you could slip the shirt over his shiny orange hair. You circled him and continued pulling down the shirt carefully so that it didn’t take off any of the bandages.

He slipped the buttoned shirt over his sleeves and you stood in front of him, buttoning up the front carefully. It was tedious work, wiggling the buttons just right so that the extra flap of fabric hid the details, but you’d rather him not do it. The less movement he had to do, the better.

As you fumbled with the top buttons, Hux was transfigured on your face. He had been watching you as you dressed him, and had no problems with the proximity of your body to his. As you smoothed the starched collar down, you caught his gaze and quickly avoided eye contact, fluster evident in the warmth of your cheeks.

He caught your chin in his hot fingers faster than your brain could process. The heat felt like a hot rod of iron pressing against you, no doubt the warmth was caused by the clenching of his fists during surgery. Hux’s hand firmly, but not harshly, pulled up, forcing you to crane your neck and look into his eyes.

“Thank you, Doctor.” His breath tickled your lips. Your eyes darted back and forth between his, searching for a reason behind his behavior. Yes, he was acting like his normal, dominant self with his hand gripping your chin, but the words that tumbled out of his mouth were soft and gentle. “I know you know better when it comes to medical care, but,”

“You’re irrational. I know General.”

The names you called each other reflected poorly the intimate moment of the two of you standing so close. His face was inches from yours, your hands still pressed on his collarbone.

“I need to get back to the deck. Ren is most likely having a fit,” he whispered, but making no effort to move away and out the door.

“It’s probably chaos in the emergency wing, I haven’t checked there all day,” you replied casually.

“I’ll see you around then, Doctor,” he muttered.

“Guess so-”

Your reply was cut short by Hux closing of the distance between your lips. The kiss was desperate, fueled by the tension the moment. His hand slipped to your cheek and then to your neck, tugging you towards himself.

There wasn’t enough time to continue. He needed to get on his way. Hux pulled away forcefully, leaving you to stumble forward from the loss of contact.

“Be safe,” you said, glued to the disinfected tile as he started towards the door. He stopped at your words and turned slightly on his heel, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

Hux smirked. “If you are going to be the one to fix me up, maybe I won’t.”

#hux x reader #hux x you #general hux x you #general hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux x reader #general hux #armitage hux #hux #star wars fanfiction #star wars au #freak yeah fanfic #general hux imagine #armitage hux imagine #general armitage hux

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purplesurveys · 4 years

Text

1096

survey by doedear

When you get an account for something, what's the first username you try? It depends on what I’m signing up for. For social media and informal sites I use the same username I’ve been using for like a decade now just because it makes it easier for me to remember; for more professional websites I use my first name, my middle initial, and my surname.

What do you think might be someone else's first impression of you? The most common impression is quiet and aloof, which I’m honestly fine with.

Is texting having a negative or a positive effect for social relationships? I appreciate that it makes staying connected with my loved ones a lot easier, but I disagree with how it’ll sometimes be used to deal with situations that are ideally handled by person, like breakups or serious arguments. In other words it can definitely have both; it depends on how it’s used.

Would you be okay with a friend wanting to date one of your exes? I might have a personal problem with it, but it’s not like I would do anything to prevent it from happening. I would not be in the place to do so. I will probably distance myself from that friend though, just so that I don’t have to get updated on what’s going on between them.

Have you ever been addicted to something other than a drug? No.

Have you ever been addicted to a drug? Nope.

Do you like macadamia nut cookies? Sure, though I really ever only eat one kind; Starbucks has a dark chocolate macadamia cookie that I like to get from time to time.

What kind of accent do people typically have where you're from? Philippine English, which I’d say sounds a bit similar to American English, excep for the small differences here and there of our differences in pronunciation.

Bruno Mars - fail or win? He’s a win for me. When it comes to Top 40/pop music, he has always been one of my honest favorites. Have kind of a crush on him too lol, so there’s that.

Can you sleep without a fan on? During this time of the year, yes. It doesn’t last that long since Philippines was never meant to be a cold country, though.

Does history interest you at all? It really does; I can watch, read, and go to museums about it all day if I could. It was also my favorite class and it was the subject I could rely on to have good grades in and pull my average up, hahaha.

What's something you wish you could do-over? As much as possible I don’t really think of this as I don’t see the point in focusing on situations that are already done and over with. But if I had no choice, I’d pick the time I was a college freshman and make myself less-breakdown-y and less-depression-y.

How many times a day do you apply deoderant? Once, at the start of the day.

Have you ever tried any drugs? Other than caffeine, no.

What caused the most intense physical pain you've ever felt? The time I accidentally ripped my earring off and permanently disfigured my piercing. Also, when I touched a plugged-in clothing iron thinking it wouldn’t be hot enough.

Do you like those Sperry Top-Sider shoes? They’re actually pleasant to look at, yes. I’d buy a pair for myself.

Can you wear shoes like that without getting blisters on your ankles? When I’ve worn them like 5 times already, yeah. I always get blisters with newly-bought pairs, though.

Would you agree that dark chocolate tastes like rotten chocolate? Uh, no? That’s some poorly-made dark chocolate you have.

Do you touch your lips when you're nervous? I have other habits.

Do you think you can read other people's body language well? Yeah. This is on surveys a lot...

Are you a good driver? I’mmmmmm honestly a little reckless because my temper is shortest when on the road lol. But since I’ve driven the longest out of all my friends and have grown used to parking in tricky spots, changing lanes, overtaking, etc., they all still prefer to ride with me.

Did you pass your driver's test the first time you took it? Yes. I think he passed me out of sympathy though (because I did terrible and we both knew it), because failing me would’ve taken so much more time on my end and theirs. And in the Philippines, getting things over with matters more than quality control haha.

Would you rather be involved in a watergun or a paintball gun war? At this point maybe a paintball gun war, since I’ve been to many water gun fights before.

Is your hair in layers or is it all the same length? It’s the same length. I haven’t had it layered since the 5th grade.

Is there anyone who you're afraid to be in a car with, if they're driving? A friend who’s new to driving, like Jo or Angela.

What's a quick fix for a bad hair day? I just dab my hair with some water at the sink; it’s usually able to do the trick and make me look prepared when I’m unable to take a full shower.

Do you enjoy flying or do you get scared? The idea of accidents and crashes scare me, of course, but I try not to let it ruin my experience of flying and traveling.

Be honest. Do you like making other people feel jealous? Sometimes but it has waned more as I’ve gotten older. It has just started to mean less and less through the years and as my priorities change.

Have you ever purposely made someone of the opposite sex jealous? No. When it came to Mike, I didn’t really flaunt my relationship since I felt bad for him.

Are you addicted to shopping? Nope, but I can definitely see myself being if I ever decide to make it a weekly habit.

Do you always wear mascara and eyeliner? I never wear either.

Do you have any huge hoodies lined with snuggly fur on the inside? No, and I can tell you that is uncommon to see here because that sounds insanely warm to wear.

Is there anything you do, kind of habitually, that's completely mindless but helps you think? I don’t think so. I’m not sure I understood the question, either...

Do you like headphones or ear-buds more? Earbuds. Headphones undeniably have better quality, but they’re bulky.

What's your favorite winter sport? I don’t watch or play any.

What's something you're very good at? Meeting deadlines. I never miss one.

Where do you spend the majority of your summer? At home? ...Where else am I supposed to spend it in? Haha.

Who do you usually spend the most of your summer with? My family. I don’t have any yearly practices set every summer.

How old were you and where did you go on your first real date? I was 16; it was a quaint, Italian-American restaurant in Greenbelt.

Have you ever had a bonfire on the beach at night? I don’t think so. I would love that experience.

Do you like sour gummy worms? Yeah. I like the more gelatinous kind than the gummy candies with sour powder on them, though.

Have you ever helped a complete stranger with anything? I’m sure I have, but nothing super specific is coming to mind at the moment...just little things like holding the door open for someone carrying a heavy bag, cleaning up the plates and utensils on my table so that the server won’t have to do much work, teaching a stranger the COVID safety protocols before entering an establishment if they look confused, etc.

Would you pick up a hitchhiker if they seemed harmless? Probably not.

When playing a sport, are you more focused on winning or having fun? Winning, which I know doesn’t make me the best person to play with so I prefer to watch by the sidelines anyway. I do have fun playing table tennis though :)

Who's the last person who gave you a piggy back ride? Gabie.

Who's the last person that you gave a piggy back ride? I’m lighter than everyone else I know so I’ve never given one.

Rock, paper, or scissors? I switch it up every time.

Would you be bothered if your boyfriend liked to bite you? No. I liked lightly biting my ex as a show of affection and just to get her attention whenever I wanted to be playful.

Are you any good at dancing? No. I’m good at memorizing routines, but could never do them on my own.

Even if you aren't, do you like to dance? Only by myself.

What makes you feel the most 'alive'? New places and new experiences.

Whose conversations do you appreciate the most? Angela and Hans.

Is there anyone's advice you value enough to take against your own judgment? Gabie. At least in the past.

How often do you get the opportunity to be completely alone? Very seldom, which is why I try to give it to myself every weekend as a reward.

Do you like being alone or does it drive you crazy? I appreciate if I’ve been around people for too long, but I also shouldn’t have too much of it.

Do you have a trampoline? No.

Do you get nervous when driving in convertibles, knowing that if you flipped, you'd be screwed? I’ve never had this concern because I’ve never driven in one.

What's your favorite Pixar movie? Toy Story, of course.

Are you capable of successfully lying to someone you love? I guess, but I’ll hate doing it.

Who do you adore? Angela’s mom.

#survey #surveys

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apple-grass-and-smiles · 4 years

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Anakin Skywalker and Gifts

Hi, welcome to another round of my Star Wars thoughts. Ever since the Phantom Apprentice aired I’ve been thinking a lot about Anakin and the gifts he’s given people. As a person who spends his entire life with relatively few possessions he can call his own, it is logical to assume that physical gifts are especially meaningful to Anakin. Over the past few months, I have also been thinking a lot about how Anakin is defined by the women in his life more so than the men (male characters often act as a foil to Anakin, which is a meta of its own about Anakin and his more stereotypically feminine characteristics). Then, because my brain does that, it felt logical to analyze Anakin’s gifts that he has given the women in his life and how those physical tokens represent his relationship with them. Below I’ll go over gifts Anakin gives Shmi, Padmé, Ahsoka, and Leia in roughly chronological order. (There’s also a TL;DR at the end if you want the short version.)

Shmi and C-3P0

The gift Anakin gives Shmi is a partially-finished C-3P0. He states in TPM that he is building Threepio to help Shmi and when Anakin leaves, Threepio acts as his stand-in (something that is a bit of a trend for Anakin). Anakin knows that his mother’s life is difficult and that the best thing he can give her is someone who will help to ease the burdens she carries. By leaving Threepio with Shmi he is doing his best to ensure that 1) someone will be there to take care of her the same way she always did for him and 2) that she won’t be alone. While we don’t see much interaction between Shmi and Threepio in Legends or canon, it is easy to assume that, especially in the early times after Anakin left, Threepio was Shmi’s main companion and tie to her son, so Anakin’s gift is more a surrogate son and constant companion than a protocol droid.

It is also worth noting that while Anakin clearly didn’t want Threepio sold (he says so in TPM), the droid could have been sold and brought Shmi money if that was what was needed. You could claim that Anakin also left some financial security and a better chance at Shmi buying her freedom by leaving Threepio; this just has less canon support.

Padmé and...

The Japor Snippet

Anakin gives Padmé tons of gifts over their time together. The first, and most frequently referenced, is the japor snippet. Anakin tells Padmé exactly what this gift is supposed to give/represent for her (good fortune and a reminder of him). From an out-of-universe point of view, the snippet also acts as a great visual symbol of Anakin and Padmé’s relationship. You see it a lot in ROTS as a marker for when Anakin and Padmé get to be themselves instead of their public personas. Ultimately, Lucas uses the snippet as a visual shortcut to remind us of the love between these two and Anakin’s intense infatuation/love/devotion for Padmé. For simplicity’s sake, and in hopes of keeping this from getting too long since the japor snippet’s symbolism can easily be an entire meta on its own, I’m saying that it represents good fortune and Anakin’s enduring devotion to Padmé.

C-3P0

This is a gift that is really only explicitly stated (to my knowledge) in Stover’s ROTS novelization. He writes a scene where Anakin passes Threepio onto Padmé very early on in their marriage as a “devotion-gift”. He explains that he can’t really keep Threepio because he’s a Jedi and that even if he could it wouldn’t make much sense for a Jedi to have a protocol droid. When “giving” Threepio to Padmé, Anakin explains that he “didn’t have many friends when [he] was a kid...so [he] built one”. In this case, Threepio once again acts as a stand-in for Anakin when he is away, but this time the droid is more of a friend than a helper or son like he was for Shmi. Anakin knows he can’t always be there for Padmé so he passes along his childhood friend and one of his greatest creations to her so that she can always have a friend with her.

His Lightsaber

This scene is great because once again Anakin lays out exactly what this particular gift represents. He repeats Obi-Wan’s mantra that the lightsaber is a Jedi’s life before handing it over to Padmé. There’s really not much to explain here, but this does create a nice parallel once Anakin gives Ahsoka her lightsabers, which, partially, symbolize him giving her her life/ability survive. Here he puts his life in Padmé’s hands as a sign of trust and devotion and later he will hand Ahsoka her blades to get across a similar message.

His Padawan Braid

Honorable mention to this *maybe*-kind-of-canon gift that features in the 2003 Clone Wars and the Stover ROTS novelization. In both pieces of media, Anakin gives Padmé his Padawan braid almost immediately after being Knighted. In Stover’s book, he says that the braid is a devotion-gift to Padmé and the “one thing that [Anakin] truly owned, that he had earned, that he was not required to renounce. One gift he could give to celebrate their love.” There are lots of things this gift could represent (I personally lean towards that it suggests that while he has devoted the past decade to the Jedi, he plans to give his future to Padmé), but since the braid really has no presence in things that are undeniably canon that I know of, we’re keeping this short and literal and saying the braid equals his devotion to Padmé.

Ahsoka and Her Lightsabers-

At this point I think there have easily been thousands of words written about Anakin giving Ahsoka back her lightsabers and all of the ones I have seen are stunning. In particular I want to point out Dave Filoni’s interpretation of what the lightsabers, and the fact that Anakin modified them to be blue, represent:

“Him tinkering with her lightsabers while she is gone shows that he was always thinking of her. And the lightsabers are then a representation of her in the story, and his thoughtfulness regarding her.” -Dave Filoni (transcript taken from here and the quote is in this video)

So, for Filoni and I blue lightsabers equal a representation of Ahsoka’s role in Anakin’s life. If you want to read more about this idea, I’d strongly recommend these: meta by @soccialcreature and @novaewalker, fic-like meta by @cross-d-a, and meta by @meandmyechoes. They all say what I’m thinking much more succinctly and clearly!

The other angle I want to point out is written about beautifully by @gffa here. Basically, the lightsabers come to represent not just Anakin’s role in Ahsoka’s life, but also the Jedi and the home and people Ahsoka desperately wants to return to. Lightsabers have always been the symbol of the Jedi both in- and out-of-universe. As has been mentioned and shown countless times in canon, lightsabers are also a symbol of a Jedi’s ability to survive (”This weapon is your life.”) and Anakin giving Ahsoka back her lightsabers is ultimately what keeps her alive throughout the Siege of Mandalore arc and her leaving one of them behind is what sells the story of her death, protecting her from being hunted by the Empire for a while.

Ultimately, the lightsabers are full of symbolism, but it is most worth noting that they represent: 1) Anakin caring/thinking about Ahsoka, 2) the Jedi and Ahsoka’s chance to return to them and Anakin, and 3) Ahsoka’s ability to survive the events that will follow.

Side note: I think it is also worth noting that Anakin tried to give Ahsoka back her silka beads at the end of the S5, but she turns them down. I’d argue that while the lightsabers stand for the Jedi as a group, the beads were a symbol of Anakin asking Ahsoka specifically to come back as his Padawan. When Anakin offered the silka beads he wanted Ahsoka to come back and to have nothing have changed, which is why she has to turn them down. The lightsabers are an open invitation to rejoin the Jedi when she is ready and a promise that he will accept her back whenever and however she chooses to return.

Leia and Luke-

This one is a bit tricky. Leia obviously doesn’t have a great relationship with Anakin and Anakin doesn’t ever get a chance to develop a meaningful one with her. However, I think Leia is fundamental in understanding Anakin and that’s why I felt it was important to include her in this. She is probably the character who Anakin would say is the best representation of his legacy since she manages to symbolize so many parts of what makes Anakin Anakin. (She is a blood relative to Shmi and Padmé and therefore representative, at least in appearance and genetics, of them; she has a lot of Ahsoka’s personality; if you stick with Stover’s ROTS then she’s the child that Anakin sensed was focused on since he didn’t sense Luke...; she’s a great amalgamation of traits and people that defined Anakin.) While we never have an obvious moment where Vader hands over a gift to Leia the same way he does in all the examples above, I would argue that Anakin’s gift to Leia is the most meaningful one of all: he gives her Luke.

People have pointed out over the years (I tried to find the posts about it but couldn’t; if you find one, please let me know) that Leia must have been thrilled to learn Luke was her brother because a twin meant she had family again. Luke is one of Leia’s best friends and a source of hope for her. Legends, and possibly canon that I don’t know about, has moments where Luke helps Leia to find the strength and peace to finally be able to forgive Vader for the horrible things he did to her and that helps her to be able to be happier and more fulfilled. This is definitely the most abstract of all the gifts, but I think it is important to recognize Luke and the love, forgiveness, and peace he brings into Leia’s life as the one gift that Anakin gave his daughter. He gave her so much pain, but also a person to help carry her through it, which is ultimately what all of his gifts have been about. Luke and Leia are the culmination of Anakin’s attempts to give companionship and love to the women he loves most in the galaxy.

TL;DR-

All of Anakin’s gifts to the women he loves are meant to represent something more abstract/deeper he wants to give them. Shmi gets Threepio who acts as a surrogate for her missing son and also provides much-needed help. Padmé gets multiple gifts from Anakin: the japor snippet (representing good fortune and her relationship with Anakin), C-3P0 (to be her friend when Anakin is away), his lightsaber (lightsabers equal the life of the Jedi they belong to), and his Padawan braid (open to interpretation, though I think, and Stover implies by calling it a devotion-gift, it’s a sign of him devoting his future to her). Ahsoka gets her lightsabers from Anakin, which represent that she will always have a place with the Jedi, the place she has in his life, and her ability to survive. The modification of the colors signify that he has continued to think about and care for her while she has been gone. Finally, Anakin gives Leia her twin brother, who helps to fill Leia’s need for family and brings additional peace, forgiveness, and joy into her life. All of these add together to tell a story of Anakin trying throughout his life to pass along love and his companionship to the women that mean the most to him.

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madamslayyy · 6 years

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Log Cabin and A Brewing Fire (Trevante Rhodes x Reader)

Pairing: Nebraska Williams (Trevante Rhodes) x Reader.

Warning: Suicide mention, Dark Themes, Depression Themes, Angst

A/N: Hey y’all, so I don’t know if y’all remember Trevante’s character in that dumbass Predator movie but he play Ex-Commanding officer Gaylord ‘Nebraska’ Williams. If you haven’t seen the movie I won’t spoil it for you but I took that character and his back story and kind of twisted it for the purpose of this story (ps there are no aliens or anything here, the events of the movie never happened, i just used his character and backstory). THIS IS SLOW BURN!!! I plan for it to have a couple more chapters, at least 3 more and maybe a little epilogue. Not gonna drag it out like my Untitled Series (lol remember that fossil 🤣🤣) but it’s gonna have some build up. Really sad themes in here so please be cautious. Also let me know what you guys think and if y’all would like to see more of it ! Anyway i hope y’all enjoy it🥰🥰🥰

Well today was the day. You were getting a roommate. A real roommate. But not by choice.

Your Uncle and last close relative you had left, was an army general, and his Lieutenant, his number two, the young man he’d always seen as something akin to a son... put a bullet in his brain.

It tore your Uncle apart. Your Aunt was barren and the two never looked into alternative methods to have a child.

By protocol, the Lieutenant was supposed to be dishonorably discharged from service but your uncle had managed to pull a few strings and get the boy a temporary leave of absence. And that’s where you came in.

Mental health was something you’d struggled with your whole life. Finally, on the verge of a mental breakdown, you left the city, opting to move into a cozy small cabin on the edge of a little New England town. You had a job at the local museum by day and that helped cover most of your bills, your Incle quietly taking care of the rest. You were happy here. And healthy. It finally put you in a place to heal without the expectations and constant showboating of modern society. You’d found your peace at last.

And your Uncle knew it. And he hoped it would do the same for his favorite soldier as well.

You’d been nervous at first, having never had an actual roommate before, let alone a suicidal, male ex-soldier with PTSD that could probably snap your neck like a twig given the slightest inclination. All concerns you’d brought to your Uncle who’d assured you “The kid wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless that fly was himself.”

So you’d trusted that. He was set to arrive today. You’d spent the entire weekend making sure your home was spotless and that his room would have everything a guest would possibly need. You knew how hard it was to bounce back from a dark place and environment was one of the greatest impacts.

At 13:00 sharp, your Uncle was pulling into your driveway, as punctual as ever. He exited the vehicle first, pulling you into a hug. You could see he’d aged considerably since the last time you saw him, his hair beginning to show small sprouts of grey on the sides.

“Uncle Raynard, long time now see,” you smiled. He and your Aunt lived nearly two states over so it was rare you’d go to visit, especially by yourself.

“Y/N, you’ve grown since the last time I saw you,” he chuckled, laughing as you rolled your eyes. You’d been the same short height since you were in middle school.

“Did you have a safe drive over?” You asked, watching as the other car door opened.

“Eh, we got a little rain once we hit the highwa-“ your uncles words began to fade into the background as you watched one of the finest men you’d ever laid eyes upon step out of the passengers side of the your uncles Cadillac.

Smooth, dark skin, full lips, incredible physic, thriving beard, and he was tall to top it all off. Your confusion was off the charts. This man looked like th poster child for Black Male self care and self love. For him to look like that and not want to live, you knew whatever was eating at him sure as hell couldn’t be skin deep.

“Ah, took you long enough. Y/N, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant Gaylord Williams, Williams this is my pride and joy, my niece Y/N.” The lieutenant dropped the suitcase he was holding in one hand and held it out to you, his other hand carrying an enormous duffle as if it was as light as a grocery bag.

“Most people just call me Nebraska,” he said shaking your hand. His voice matched his build and features perfectly: deep, sensual and sincere like his words were going straight through you.

“Ne-bras-ka,” you said in a bit of a daze as you shook his hand slowly. You could see the veins trailing up his arm.

“Thanks for uh... for having me,” he said with downcast eyes. You could see he was obviously a little uncomfortable with the whole thing.

“Of course, any thing for Uncle RayRay,” you said flashing a smile at your Uncle.

“Well I’d love to stay longer but the roads are supposed to ice over from that rain later tonight and I’m trying to get home before then. Anything you need before I take off?” Your Uncle said giving you one last hug.

“I’m think I’m good. Be careful on the roads. Gotta get back to Aunti Mae in one piece.”

“Course, nothing less.” He turned to Nebraska, “Anything you need before I go, Lieutenant Williams?”

“No sir,” he said raising his arm to salute your Uncle but Raynard pulled him into a hug instead.

“It’s gonna be alright, son. You’re gonna get through this.” He said to him, holding him tight. He tensed for a moment before hugging your uncle back. You smiled at the scene before you, seeing Black men openly support each other in cases such as these was a rarity. Mental health was a touchy subject to begin with and most opted to ignore it rather than combat it.

“You two be good and I’ll call when I make it back home,” and with that your Uncle drove off, leaving the two of you standing there awkwardly. You just realize how bitterly cold it was outside.

“Well you must be freezing, let’s get you inside,” you said holding the door open for him.

“Need any help with your bags?” He glanced over at you, purposely looking down as if to reference your short statue before continuing inside. Apparently he wasn’t much of a talker.

“So you’re room is going to be upstairs if you’ll follow me,” you led him to the room across the hall from your own. You’d been using it the last couple of months as sort of a green house where you grew all of your plants because it had an enormous window allowing for plenty of sunlight to stream through however you’d cleared them out and arranged them throughout the rest of your home so they’d still thrive outside of the room, only keeping a few in there that were especially sunlight dependent.

“Here we go. Need any help settling in?” He shook his head no looking around the room.

“Alrighty then. Anything I can get you? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Tea? Fresh-squeezed orang-“

“I’m good,” he said in a small voice. It almost sounded unnatural coming from him because his voice had such a deep timbre to it.

“Okay well I’ll let you settle in and come back to check on you later.” And with that you tiptoed out of the doorway

God he was so.... mysterious? Was that even a good word to use? It wasn’t really much of a mystery what he did, you knew and he knew you knew too, maybe that’s why it’s so awkward? Maybe he was just reserved? Shy? No, he’s in the army, they don’t get the luxury of being shy. Quiet? No they don’t get to be quiet either. Serious? Yes that’s it, he’s just a serious man and that’s what’s making everything so tense. Well that and the fact he put a bullet through his- okay no, nope we’re not gonna keep dwelling on that. He’s here now and he’s alive and that’s what matters. He’d probably rather forget that whole incident by now so you should go ahead and try to put it out of your mind as well.

Your mind was racing and you hadn’t even been paying attention to where you were going but had somehow ended up in the kitchen. You figured now was as great a time as any to start on a late lunch. But what should you cook for him? You couldn’t just make lunch for yourself, that’d be rude, especially on his first day. Maybe something Italian, everyone liked Pasta right? What if he didn’t eat meat? Or cheese? What if he was vegan? You knew some militants kept very strict diets and you’d hate to put him in such a compromising position. So you quickly decided to get to work and began cooking at once.

~*~

About an hour later you were almost done cooking when you realized you hadn’t heard a peep from Nebraska this entire time. The house was made of wood and would creak the second anyone put the slightest amount of weight on it, especially someone his size, yet you’d heard nothing.

You quickly ran upstairs, panic beginning to settle in as your thoughts took a turn for the worst. You swung the door open to see him on the bed fast asleep. He hadn’t changed clothes or even bothered to get under the covers. His bags were untouched in a neat corner of the room and he slept with his feet still firmly planted on the ground as if he had been sitting on the edge of the bed and simply laid back.

You didn’t mean to stare but this was the first time you got to actually appraise him without those intense brown orbs staring back into you. If you thought he was beautiful before at a glance then up close he was down right gorgeous. Even in his relaxed state, his arms rippled with veins, his swollen muscles making him look absolutely sculpted. You took note of his full lips, slightly parted in slumber. He was a silent sleeper, he didn’t snore or actually really move at all. It was almost as if he were.... dead.

The last thought seemed to bring you back to reality more as you remembered why you’d rushed up here in the first place. Now you were faced with the decision of waking him up from his nap or letting him sleep through to the evening.

You decided against the latter and moved towards him about to shake his shoulder when you paused. He was a military man, there was no telling what type of things he’d seen or reflexes he had. You decided to take a few steps back.

“Nebraskaaaa?” You cooed. He didn’t even twitch. You decided to grab one of the pillows off the bed and nudge him gently with that.

“Nebraskaaaa,” you cooed again, a little louder this time. His eyes fluttered open but he didn’t move. He simply stared at you, his eyes red from sleep.

“Heyyyyy....” you trailed off awkwardly, setting the pillow down, “lunch is um... lunch is ready.... if you’re hungry that is... or not.... either way it’s ready...”

“Yes ma’am,” he groaned, his voice thick from slumber. You could have fainted right there.

“Okay so I’ll see you down there then?” You realized how stupid that sounded the moment it left your mouth and mentally cringed. You couldn’t control your word vomit around him and that was presenting itself as a growing problem.

Luckily he didn’t seem to pay it any attention as he stood up, stopping at the doorway extending his arm in a swooping motion.

“Ladies first,” Okay maybe he was trying to kill you. Or maybe you were so accustomed to men having the manners of a bent spoon that you were just overthinking. Either way you had to get a grip on this or risk ruining all your best underwear.

“Thanks,” you said walking past him with your head down. Maybe if you ignore how fine he is, you’ll idle down until you’re used to it. That was going to be your plan. Just wait it out, eventually his looks won’t phase you. Or his voice. Or manners.

You made it downstairs and began to set the table. It took less than a minute because with only two people there wasn’t much to set. Nebraska stood staunchly at the doorway as if he were unsure what to do in this situation.

“You gonna sit down?” Wow that sounded rude. You couldn’t win for losing today, maybe it’d be best if you just didn’t say anything again ever.

He sat down without a word and you began sitting lunch on the table. Once everything was complete you stood proud of your creations.

“So I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary restrictions so I made Vegan Lasagna and Greek Salad hold the feta. Of course if you’d like feta I have that too, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstepping. I kn-

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said lowly causing you to falter in your rant.

“Oh... um..... I.... don’t mind. I cook for myself all the time anyway and there’s always extra so there’s really no change. Besides, I want you to feel at home here. And nothings says home like a home cooked meal.” You chuckled lightly. He said nothing. You were beginning to think maybe this stoic nature was his everyday personality and not just shyness.

The two of you ate in silence even though neither of you ate very much. You were to nervous to really eat and mostly picked at the food on your plate. He slowly ate his own portion, neither of you really putting a dent in anything.

When he finally finished, he rose from the table and headed towards the sink.

“Are you finished as well?” He asked reaching for your plate.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” you said handing it to him. He eyed the near full plate of food before dumping it in the trash and washing all the dishes. You began putting away the leftovers. When there was nothing left to do, you both kind of stood there in a thick silence.

“Thank you.... for the meal. And your hospitality,” Nebraska nodded towards you, before heading back upstairs towards his room.

You decided to do a bit of reading since you had time to pass this Sunday evening so you curled up on one of the plush chairs in your living room and started reading a new book by one of your favorite authors. It wasn’t newly published of course but it was new to you because you’d never read it.

You weren’t sure if it was the snow trinkling outside the window next to you, the comfortable silence in the house, or the exhaustion from preparing for a new guest but you’d fell asleep within ten minutes of sitting down, your book long forgotten.

When you woke up, it had to be late at night, the window beside you pitch black and covered in snow. You noticed the blanket you kept in a little basket in the corner of the living room was now draped across you. You knew you hadn’t grabbed it before you fell asleep so the only culprit had to be your new mysterious roommate.

You felt your stomach flutter at the sweet gesture. You silently scolded yourself about getting use to this type of thing. As soon as he got himself together and was army ready, he’d be gone and you’d never see him again. There was no use getting attached now if he was just going to leave.

~*~

A/N: So let me know what y’all think! I really did feel like Trevante Character in Predator was the only one actually fleshed out plus he was the only one who wasn’t just telling jokes and screaming. As always I’m tagging my usual Trevante gang, I’m so sorry if I forgot anybody, let me know and I’ll add ya to the list (best way is to let me know on my Trevante taglist post because I always check there first.)

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @queen-of-the-jabari @queennanayaa @clydevevo @queennanayaa @chaneajoyyy @killmongerthiskoochie @theunsweetenedtruth @blackgirloneshots @blmforeal @erikkillmongerstan @jozigrrl @quietstorm-73 @sailorsenshi420 @wakandamama @mxearth h @chefjessypooh @macfizzle @chasingsunlight @dameshaemonique @rubiesandravens @raysunshine78 @melaninmarvel l @melanisticroyalty @softnani @vibranium-soul @itstaliaduh @cinki-the-black-goddess @thehomierobbstark @darkangelchronicles @bartierbakarimobisson @doublesidedscoobysnacks @blackpinup22 @tchokemedaddy @clydevevo @amirra88 @labelletemps @wawakanda-btch

#trevante rhodes #trevante rhodes imagine #trevante rhodes x you #trevante rhodes x reader #predator #predator 2018

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paladin-lynx · 5 years

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Human SQUIPtober 2019, Day 6: SQUIP^2

Human SQUIPtober 2019 Day 6: SQUIP^2

Ships Involved: RiverWay (Two River SQUIP [River] x Broadway SQUIP [Ly])

Setting: AU where River and Ly somehow both became human after being SQUIPs for their respective Jeremys, and they now live together. They don’t quite understand how they can both exist, but it isn’t worth questioning it.

Trigger/Content Warnings: None

Author’s Notes: (I know it’s technically Day 7 already, but I got busy, so oh well.) I finally have an excuse to write something for this pairing! I think I tend to write my usual human Squip more like River than Ly, but it’s fun to mess with writing the two of them together. I’ve fallen hard for this ship, and I hope you enjoy! I know I rambled a bit in the beginning, but I just got a little too into exploring River’s mindset versus Ly’s.

Most people said that SQUIPs in themselves defied logic, so River had long since given up trying to figure out how everything had come to this.

Perhaps he’d been granted a second chance. Perhaps it was a punishment for failing his host. Perhaps it was some protocol that he had never bothered to read when he had his code. He didn’t know and frankly, at this point, he didn’t really care to try and solve the mystery, as much as he loved puzzles.

Ly was a whole other story. He wasn’t keeping himself up at night or anything of the sort to figure everything out, but he was definitely more intent on trying to connect the dots. Then again, it did seem like Ly in general had more energy and enthusiasm than River did. As adorable as it could be, more often than not it drove River up a wall.

While they had both once been SQUIPs and had a decent amount in common, in a lot of ways they couldn’t be more different. River was older in appearance than Ly, and to go along with it River felt he was more mature. He spoke more formally, dressed a bit more nicely, tended to act more stoic. River may have been human longer, but he was still adjusting to it after all this time. He had a habit of treating everything like a calculated process like he had before, although being human meant things tended to make less sense.

Ly, on the other hand, acted as young as he looked. He had fully embraced their change in form. He went out and explored the world, talked to others, attended parties, and River was quite certain he’d hooked up with his fair share of people – although he always stopped Ly’s ramblings about how he’d spent the night before it got to those details.

River had contemplated time and time again how Ly had adapted so much more easily than him. Did it have something to do with the 3.0 patch? There were plenty of bugs in River’s original 1.0 programming that had been fixed over time and corrected with Ly. The learning computer aspect had improved immensely, to the point that River wondered if it had gotten too good. River had tried connecting everyone in the school for the sake of making sure Jeremy had friends and the girl of his dreams for as long as possible. Ly, on the other hand, had realized a higher calling and had been intent on using Jeremy to take over the entire goddamn world, with Christine as a bargaining chip.

But with Ly’s upgrades, he’d had a better sense as a SQUIP of the human spectrum of emotion. River had seen it as a nuisance, an obstacle. Ly saw it as a tool. Maybe that was the reason he’d more quickly become used to suddenly having a real-life human brain upon deactivation and then, for lack of a better term, “reactivation.”

It had been long enough that River had moved past his guilt and sadness over having failed his one mission as a SQUIP. Over the years, he’d debated seeking out his Jeremy, but he had a feeling the boy would just shut him out. Actually, River wasn’t even completely sure he’d be able to find his Jeremy.

Because when Ly had suddenly showed up, rambunctious as ever and insisting that they become “roomies,” River hadn’t understood where or how or why. Because here was another young man who had once been a pill-sized supercomputer that had served one Jeremy Heere to get one Christine Canigula – River could still hear the way Jeremy would always dreamily sing-song her name – and had ultimately failed when one Michael Mell had discovered the secret of Mountain Dew Red. River’s Jeremy and the rest of the squad may not even be in this whatever-they-were-in. Ly’s might not be, either. It could be an entirely fresh start.

But it did seem that no matter the timeline or dimension or universe or whatever it was that allowed them to both end up SQUIPs for Jeremy Heere, fate had it set that they would fail. Perhaps because that failure would allow Jeremy to, in fact, end up with Christine and with a whole new group of friends, as well as a strengthened tie to his best friend. River and Ly had both wondered that if a new patch came out, if another SQUIP would go down the same prewritten route with another Jeremy.

River knew that, as comfortable as Ly was in his new skin, he still had his moments. River had had the time to grieve his past. Ly was still recovering from it. Perhaps it was his enhanced A.I. that had caused him to become more attached to his version of Jeremy, or maybe it was because his Jeremy just in general sounded more pathetic and so Ly had had to look after him more closely. River had been attached, too, but it was just a job. He had felt some semblance of betrayal when he had been deactivated, of course. Ly, though, had been more furious to mask the intense hurt he’d experienced. River knew he still sulked about it and that he tended to act casual about his Jeremy to hide the fact that, sad as it was, he missed his host.

River supposed it couldn’t be helped, though. He had times, too, where he wished he’d done better. SQUIPs were meant to fulfil their hosts’ goals, after all. Even if Ly had formulated objectives of his own, he in the end had still wanted to help Jeremy.

But even with his dramatic episodes, Ly seemed to have a better handle on being human than River. He was more outgoing and eager to take advantage of their resurrection, whilst River was still somewhat of an introvert. He preferred staying in and reading a book, versus Ly who would rather hit the town. Maybe it helped that Ly, with his younger attitude and hipper style, was more trendy-cool and could make the most of a confusing situation. He was probably better at pretending he knew what he was doing, with his natural charisma, although River liked to think he was also well-off in that department.

Although as annoying as Ly could be, with his stupid smirks and constant flirting, River supposed he was glad he had some company and someone who could actually understand what he’d gone through.

After all this time, River was just fine pretty consistently. But he still had moments when everything suddenly became too much. The phantom pains of being drowned in Mountain Dew Red, the terror of suddenly becoming human in an unfamiliar place, the unfamiliar sensations of having a physical body and a functioning mind, and everything in between. At times like that, he would just shut down. He’d find a quiet place to calm himself and just get away from the world, pretending none of it existed. He had a feeling, had he still been a SQUIP, such actions would lead to him suggesting going to therapy, but ‘do as I say, not as I do’, as the saying went. Ly had learned to leave River alone when he got into moods like that.

Today was one of those days. Everything had suddenly felt like too much, and River found himself out on the balcony of their little apartment, sitting on one of their cheap outdoor chairs with his legs pulled up to his chest. He felt like a petulant child when he got like this, but it was just how he dealt with it. The sun was starting to go down, and he just gazed out at the red bleeding into blue, trying to keep his mind blank. That wasn’t usually an easy task, though, given how River had a tendency to overthink and overanalyze regardless, and now he had all of the painful memories and uncertainties bouncing around in there, as well. He let out a heavy breath through his nose, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants as he sunk more into himself.

“…Riv?”

He’d been so caught up in thinking about not thinking that he hadn’t heard the balcony door slide open and River nearly jumped, glancing behind him. There was Ly, dressed so casually in shorts and a T-shirt while River was here in his button-up and khakis. It was almost a comical picture. At least they both had good hair. River wasn’t completely sure what to say. Ly usually steered clear of him when he got into slumps like this, but there he was with an unusually soft look of concern painted on his face.

“Did you need something?” he asked quietly, hating how tired his voice sounded. That had to be one of the worst feelings of all, being tired.

“Er, no, I just…wanted to check in on you,” Ly admitted, his tone almost embarrassed, like he knew he shouldn’t be intruding. River wasn’t annoyed with him, like he tended to be. He was more confused than anything else. “Do you need anything, like…I don’t know, water? Tea?”

River managed a little amused smile. “Worrying about me?” He couldn’t say he was entirely surprised by that. Bothersome as he could be, Ly had a tendency to help wherever he could. He was still intent on improving the world, even as a measly human.

Ly huffed, rolling his eyes. “If something happens to you, then the police could pin it on me.”

That pulled a little laugh out of River before he sighed, turning back to the lazily setting sun. He rested his chin on his knees. He often ridiculed Ly for how he tended to ‘perch’ on things, and here he was, with his feet on his seat like a cretin. “…I’m fine, thank you. You can go back inside to your…video games or Tinder or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Geez, I have some life, you know?” Ly jeered back, and there was a beat before he made his way over and sat down in the chair next to River’s. River debated telling him to go away, but he found he didn’t really have the energy to protest the company. Maybe he didn’t really mind it, anyway.

They sat in silence for a good few minutes before Ly scooted his chair closer to River’s, wincing as it groaned loudly against the concrete. River couldn’t help a tiny smile when he could practically sense Ly’s annoyance at the piece of furniture for ruining what he had probably hoped would be a moment. “Yes, Ly?” he prompted.

Ly hesitated still, drumming his fingers on his leg. “I know that you like to be alone when you…get like this, but you know it would help to…get it out of your system.”

River peeked over at his companion, raising an eyebrow. “And what made you decide to suddenly say something?”

Ly gave a small shrug, looking over at him. “I guess I got tired of watching you feel sorry for yourself.”

River bristled, his cheeks heating up. “I do not—”

“Okay, okay, then…whatever this is. I get it, you know? Maybe I got used to all of these changes more quickly than you because I was more used to everything beforehand, but it still wasn’t easy for me. Sometimes it still isn’t. But it’s…it’s been years for you, and yet you’re still here, falling into a mess at least once a month.”

“You’ve been keeping track?” River muttered.

Ly snorted. “Loosely. You still love sticking to a schedule.”

River chuckled weakly, going quiet again. He wasn’t really sure what to do. He didn’t feel like talking would help him, and even if he did attempt to talk, he had no idea what he’d say. Ly was definitely the more empathetic of the pair, but River was learning. He tended to leave Ly to himself when he had his own slumps, although every now and then he’d leave his dinner, a cup of tea, or some sweet piece of junk food outside his bedroom door in the hopes that he’d see it at some point. It wasn’t much, but he supposed Ly believed the thought counted, sentimentalist as he was. He knew River was trying and had his own little ways of showing he cared.

River sighed again, rubbing his eyes. “There’s nothing to speak about, Ly.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Mind your language.”

River could almost feel Ly rolling his eyes again. “Old man,” he teased, reaching over to give River a nudge, making River curl up a little more. “Come on. You know you can tell me anything. If it’s serious, I won’t make fun of you. You…you know that, right?”

River let out a breath, finally letting go of his legs so he could sit properly. Just as River had a soft core under his hard outer shell, Ly had a heart of gold often hidden by his immature actions. And River knew that Ly would steal the moon for him if he asked. They were connected in a way that no one else could possibly replicate or even comprehend.

“Of course I know that, love,” River murmured. They always pulled the pet names on each other because they knew it would either make the other melt or make him sputter in protest. But River’s voice was quiet and cautiously fond. He felt like he had walls up, like he wasn’t allowed to be open. He knew he was no longer a machine but damn, sometimes it felt easier to act like he was. “But you also know it isn’t that simple.”

Ly offered him a little smile. “I could help you, you know. With all of the emotions stuff. I’m no therapist, but we already know that you aren’t gonna be able to actually go to therapy. They’d throw you into the mental hospital on day one.”

River scoffed. “It would take more than a day,” he protested, but he did seriously mull over the proposal. Loath as he was to admit it, there were a plethora of ways that Ly was smarter than him. It probably came with having been a more advanced and up-to-date SQUIP, even if River had more experience being a living, breathing human out in the real world.

River paused. “…How would you help me, then?”

Ly hummed in thought. “Well, you’d need to tell me when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed, or confused about what you’re experiencing. Whenever you get like this, you just run from everything until you swallow it all down and can move on—”

River grimaced. “Please don’t phrase it like that.”

Ly snickered. “And you say I’m inappropriate. Anyway, as I was saying, you could tell me when you’re feeling something and I could just…talk you through it. There’s a big difference between knowing what an emotion is by definition and actually experiencing it. Although I’m sure you know that by now.”

River nodded silently. That was a titular statement for their existence if ever there was one. They had all the knowledge in the world in their heads and yet oftentimes they could feel absolutely clueless about how to deal with the world around them. It was the timeless ‘intelligence versus wisdom’ argument.

But River wasn’t sure he would be able to just tell Ly when he was ‘feeling something,’ because Ly was right: he would hide when he was overwhelmed, mainly out of pride. He was supposed to be above everything and he didn’t want to be seen so small, even if it was completely justifiable. Even if he had someone right there who was going through the same thing and constantly extending a hand to try and assist.

A SQUIP’s job was never done, was it?

Change was intimidating, but River was never going to learn if he didn’t get over his fears and insecurities and actually try to embrace it. He would probably make an idiot of himself along the way, but he supposed that was just part of the human experience. Sometimes you had to act a little stupid in order to achieve something. The universe was cruel like that.

Sighing, River tugged down the sleeves of his shirt, trying to get out the wrinkles. “…I suppose I can…try to let you know. But I make no guarantees.”

“Hey, that’s more than I expected to get out of you, so I’ll take it.” Ly chuckled and once again scooted his chair closer, and River knew what he was trying to do. After a moment of hesitation, he shifted so he could lay his head on Ly’s shoulder and shut his eyes as he felt an arm come to rest around his own shoulders.

Ly spoke after a moment, his voice gentle: “What are you feeling right now?”

River cracked open his eyes, noticing the sun was all but gone below the horizon, turning the sky pink and dark purple. He had to think before answering. “…Tired,” he finally confessed. “But…better. More relaxed. Er…thank you, Ly. I do appreciate your help.”

Ly grinned. “Glad to be of service. One of these days, I’ve gotta take you into town with me. You might actually enjoy yourself for once.”

River rolled his eyes. “Are you going to try to get me to hook up with someone?”

“Of course not, boo,” Ly all but purred, and River felt his cheeks go up in flames when Ly pressed a kiss to the top of his hair. “I’ve gotta make sure I’m your first.”

“Oh my God, Ly, shut up. And don’t call me that.”

“You know you love it.”

River just huffed and turned his face more against Ly’s neck to hide his darkening blush.

But he knew that, as always, Ly was right.

#Human Squiptober 2019 #Be More Chill #BMC SQUIP #Two River SQUIP #Broadway SQUIP #RiverWay #this is so all over the place but i wrote it on and off for like six hours so it got messy lol #alas i still present it to you and hope you like it #i'm also sorry the text before the read more cutoff is so much i just couldn't find a better place to split it #without it being weird or misleading #writing #mine #BMC #SQUIPtober #lynx tales

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revenantscholar · 4 years

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Advice to a polytheist, 2

Almost always when people ask the question of whether they can work with different deities or pantheons, the first answer is yes, certainly. The question is not whether (yes-no), but rather how. Some deities will appear in the same ritual space, but others want distance from each other and different modes of worship. If you feel called to all of them, your task is to work with each of them separately for a while until you figure out which ones resonate with you the most.

Ancestry is important, but ultimately irrelevant in terms of the Gods. I work the most with Indic, Caribbean and Celtic ones, as well as Egyptian ones, occasionally, and I have lived in places where they originate, but I do not have the ancestry (except perhaps a little bit from many centuries ago). They don't care.

Given my own cultural and ethnic background, I should be working with Greek and Norse Gods all the time, but I do it only sporadically. Nevertheless, I have some twenty years of experience and I read a lot of primary sources (including classical Greek and at least some old Norse), so I feel quite confident in my ability to respond to you.

I find that Greek Gods have at least two modes of worship. In the most prevalent one, with statues, they tend to be demanding of space, attention and of proper ritual behaviour, so you have to pay attention to miasma, keep the space and your body clean, in other words, emulate at least some of the customs from the Antiquity. Aphrodite wanted to have her own space, far away from other Gods, and although I had a full ritual room, she preferred the bedroom. I find her rather overwhelming, since she has many hidden sides, even as a warrior, earthly, heavenly, etc, but I have some of the same reaction to Oshun, so it may be that I find that kind of femininity occasionally too intense (I am non-binary and bi and not fond of makeup). Try out working with Aphrodite by being respectful, giving her a lot of space, treats and meditating upon her, and you'll see if she responds.

The Greek gods are accustomed to attention, because they have been known for thousands of years now. Even during the Middle Ages and especially in the Renaissance period, there were stories about them, later statues, paintings, poems about them, especially among British, French, Italian, Spanish and German upper classes. They were never lost, so to speak, so they demand that bit of extra treatment... unless you worship them without images, eg you use a pile of stones for Hermes rather than a statue; then they are more primordial and raw and I actually like them that way. But go the conventional Hellenismos-inspired route first with Aphrodite and see where that takes you.

Now for the Norse ones. As a professional historian, you could say I work with the Dead all the time, and I have my own deities for that domain, but not Hel. Nevertheless, I respect her and I do not think she dislikes me, she might even welcome me reaching out to her, but I am not in that spot yet. I have worked quite a bit with Freyja and Odhinn, and perhaps in a weird way with Loki and his wives. My first step would be to meditate intensely upon Hel and about the symbolism and reality of organic bodies being fated to rot, even the most beautiful ones, and to give her some offerings.

Norse Gods enjoy the old rituals, too, but they are far less insistent on protocol than the Greek ones are. They are very much into the guts, the instinctual, the organic. Freyja is formidable, of course, ruling over love and sensuality, but also over magic and with her own domain of the dead, as you know. Yet, she has always been incredibly generous and joyful with me. I don't even have a statue of her, instead, I offer her my erotic experiences or an especially good meal, or I ask her for help with magic, or I simply envision her.

I recommend Freyja, Lady, Vanadis: An Introduction to the Goddess (2006) by Patricia Lafayllve; the book contains both the historical material and the UPG, which mirrors many of my experiences, and I firmly believe that if Freyja is welcoming to you, you should try approaching her. She is wonderful if she likes you. The Silver and Gold blog offers the ecstatic as well as the mournful times with Freyja, and I do recommend it as well.

So, to sum it up: Try out all three of them, but, crucially, give each of them their own space, physically if possible, and certainly mentally and emotionally. When you're with Hel, just focus on her. When you're with Freyja, just focus on her. When you're with Aphrodite, make sure her space is clearly marked off as her own.

It's all about respect and love, really. Give each one of them their own space and time and see how it develops. Don't be too hasty to reject any one of them -- remember that in addition to being persons and beings, they also echo aspects of you, and each one of us contains multitudes. Good luck.

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years

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Vital Signs, pt11

Word Count: 2061 Tags: @to-pick-ourselves-up-7 and @outside-the-government, @jimfromsales, @donnaintx, @enterprisewriting

I had hoped that life aboard the helicarrier would settled into the same routine as it had my previous deployment, perhaps with the exception of all the tetanus shots. It wasn’t to be. Something was up. My security clearance wasn’t high enough to be privy to all the details, and Steve wouldn’t offer any information, but the rumours got back to all of us that the facility that had blown up had not been an accident, but an attack. By an alien. And something had happened to Barton. Romanoff had been cold and aggressive in training that morning. I could tell she was upset about her friend, but we weren’t close enough for me to ask questions. Instead I focused on the lesson of the day and if she was maybe a little to rough with me, I knew it wasn’t personal.

“You should ice your shoulder this afternoon. It’s swelling.” She tossed a towel at me, and hit the locker room. I sighed and got on the treadmill instead.

The comm channel in the gym opened about 2km into my run.

“Richmond, we need you to assess a prisoner. Report to the bridge.” I hopped off the treadmill and took a quick shower before heading to the infirmary for my kit. When I got to the bridge, the motley assembly was seated around a strategic operations computer. I could have been a giant table top version of PacMan. I really didn’t know. Tony Stark, Steve, and Romanoff were there, but there was also another guy who looked so unassuming I could only guess that he must be Dr. Banner because there was also a guy with armour and a red cape sitting there, who I recognized from New Mexico. Coulson saw me and headed my way.

“Dr. Richmond, I think you’ve met Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers before. This is Tony Stark, Dr. Bruce Banner and Thor. Dr. Richmond is our chief medical officer on the helicarrier. She’ll be doing the medical investigation on the prisoner,” Coulson introduced me. Steve winked at me, which did not go unnoticed by Tony Stark. My gaze was drawn to the guy with the cape, and then back to Coulson.

“Thor?” I asked. “You mean, god-of-thunder-Thor?” Coulson nodded. I was just about to ask about the hammer, and spotted it sitting at his feet. Okay then. Fury approached and handed me some papers.

“You’ll need to follow protocol six. You are familiar with it?” He said. Protocol six was the ‘Physical Assessment of Norse Deities.’ I raised an eyebrow and glanced back at Thor. He didn’t look much like a prisoner.

“Sir?”

“Not Thor. I’ll have you escorted down to containment.” He turned away to call an agent to escort me. Steve stood and approached me. He leaned down and whispered something in my ear, I think hoping no one would notice, but Stark had been watching us since the wink, and I think was determined to find out what was up. He didn’t seem malicious, but more interested in what knowledge he could gain that would be useful later when he needed to make a joke. The few times I’d encountered Tony Stark, he’d struck me as having a wicked sense of humour. He raised his hand like a little kid who needed to be excused to the bathroom. Fury turned back to the table and sighed.

“Yes, Stark?”

“Uh, I think I just heard Captain America say something to the lady doctor about panties. Do we all get to see the lady doctor’s panties? She’s kind of cute.” I could feel my face colour instantly, and shot Steve a dark look. He at least had the courtesy to also blush. I found my escort and left the bridge. As we headed to the containment cells, I flipped through the paperwork Fury had handed me. Thor’s brother, Loki. That’s who I was supposed to be assessing. The containment bay doors opened, and I saw him standing calmly in the middle of a glass cell that was suspended in the middle of the room. The agent pushed a few buttons on the console and spoke.

“This is Dr. Richmond. She is going to assess you.”

“I’m afraid my body is a bit beyond Midgardian medicine,” Loki sneered. I rolled my eyes. Despite knowing he wasn’t, he still seemed pretty human to me. He had the look of a misunderstood poet to him, with his leather pants and dark hair. Pale, like he had an iron deficiency, but tall, so he couldn’t have been malnourished for long. The total package was pleasing. Handsome even, in a regal and elegant way. He definitely had the look of a prince to him, and I realized if he was Thor’s brother, he was one. The agent pushed a few more buttons on the console and dropped the barrier so I could enter. It hissed shut as soon as I was in the room. Yeah, that wasn’t unnerving at all.

“We have a protocol for that.”

“For Asgardians? I’m afraid that won’t help you either. I’m Jotun,” he informed me.

“I fail to see how that changes things.”

“I’m sure your protocol was developed after my brother was imprisoned here. We’re not the same.” The way he said protocol was oozing disdain.

“Regardless, I need to assess you.” I looked around the cell. The least they could have done was given me a table and chair, but the room was empty. I turned back to the agent who’d escorted me.

“I either need to take him to the infirmary, or you need to get me some furniture in this room.” The agent nodded and turned away. I’m sure he was having quite the conversation with Fury. He turned back and dropped the barrier.

“Fury said to escort you to the infirmary.” He put a set of shackles on Loki. I didn’t think it would stop him if he actually wanted to escape. The infirmary was cleared and put on lockdown, which probably would have done more to contain Loki if required. But he didn’t seem to want to go anywhere. I pointed at an exam table.

“Hop up, and remove your… is that armour or a coat? I need your arm bare, please.” I collected my blood draw supplies. He raised an eyebrow but complied. He leaned against the exam table and watched me, in unsettling silence. I prepped his arm, applied the tourniquet and slipped the needle into the vein. I filled the six vials needed for the protocol bloodwork, and a seventh just to be safe. Loki chuckled when I put the bandaid on the insertion site. He was looking at the blood vials. They all had frost on them, and the blood was crystalline inside them.

“Jotun,” I breathed, with sudden realization. “Of course, frost giant. You’re kinda short for a giant, aren’t you?” At least, I thought he must be short for a giant. He was definitely over six feet tall, but just. It didn’t seem very giant to me.

“I’m large where it counts, human,” he smirked. I tried to contain a laugh but couldn’t. It came out more like a snort, which would have been mortifying in any other circumstance. But because I wasn’t trying to impress him, it wasn’t the least bit bothersome to me.

“I’m sorry, were you trying to be seductive?” I met his eyes. Against the stark contrast of his pale skin, they were like ice. And intense. Everything about him was intense really. The way he stood just a bit too close, so he could look down on me, the way he held himself like he was better. He suddenly broke into a broad smile. I turned away to finish labeling the vials, and grab my stethoscope.

“Goodness, you’re the super soldier’s woman.” He stepped even closer. I placed my hand on his chest and pushed him back. When I looked up, I was looking at Steve. I shrieked and dropped my stethoscope. I pushed him back into the exam table.

“Stop crowding me.”

“Perhaps my charms will be more successful if I stay like this?” He smiled. It was weird hearing Loki’s voice coming out of Steve’s body. I ignored him and reached into his shirt to listen to his heart. I looked up at the clock while listening and when I looked back, thankfully he’d changed back into himself.

“That’s an interesting talent. Does it change your physiology, or is it just an illusion?” I asked. He tilted his head to one side slightly and smiled more genuinely, with less menace.

“It’s an illusion. You’re perceptive.”

“And can you actually read minds, or are you just perceptive?” I questioned. He didn’t answer. I continued with his vital signs, taking a blood pressure and temperature. Physiologically, so far, he seemed no different than a regular human. I said as much and he scowled.

“I will live 50 times longer than you. I can endure a beating that would kill a mere mortal. I have stamina and endurance that you could only wish for,” he spat. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

“I somehow suspect asking you to run on the treadmill to prove it would be beneath you. Remove your shirt and stand with your arms spread please.” I scribbled some notes in the chart. I had to hand it to him, he was compliant. He obviously felt he was just humouring me. Or was so arrogant that he thought I was enjoying the view. I mean, he wouldn’t really be wrong. He did have a kind of bad boy appeal to him. I would probably have been enjoying the view a lot more before Steve came into my life.

“Tell me, doctor. Is my temperature normal?” He asked. I looked at the note I’d made and nodded. “You should check again.” I picked up the thermometer and did as he’d asked. His temperature had dropped to hypothermic levels. Or what would be hypothermic in a human.

“Can you do that whenever you want?” I asked.

“Frost giant,” he answered, and showed his true form to me. His skin was blue and his eyes had turned red. I was completely intrigued and overflowed with questions for him.

“Your other look, is that an illusion too? Other than the external physiology, are you different in this form? Are those scars or are the ridges normal?” I ran my hand across the marks on his chest, and my fingertips froze. If it was possible to be giddy with discovery, I was. Suddenly, he was no longer the surly prisoner, but a puzzle. Well, he was still the surly prisoner, but the puzzle was more interesting. He shifted back to his Asgardian form and there was a flash of sadness in his eyes. It was quickly replaced by indifference.

“I could not tell you. I was raised in Asgard, and have no more knowledge about what’s inside of me than you do. As to the ridges, no, they are just part of what you called my external physiology.”

“Do you want to find out?”

“Find out what?” He asked.

“What’s inside of you.” I pointed at the MRI at the end of the infirmary. “We can look with that.” He looked curious and for a moment I thought he was going to allow it. But almost as though he remembered something, he suddenly shut down and went back to scowling at me.

“I have no use for your Midgardian quackery. We are finished.” He pulled his clothes back on and completely closed himself to me. It felt as though he had slapped me and I hoped it didn’t show on my face. I regained my composure and closed his chart.

“We are,” I agreed. He stepped in that hair too close again and looked down at me.

“I wonder how your captain would feel about how eager you were to disrobe and examine me,” he whispered. I closed my eyes and shook my head.

“Loki, you are a medical curiosity and I am a physician.”

“But I am also a man. And you are, at your essence, a warm-blooded woman.” He stalked away from me over to the agent who’d been stationed inside the infirmary and offered his hands for the shackles. And that quickly, he was gone.

#avengers fanfic #Steve Rogers x OFC

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drannafrost · 7 years

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40 Years On, Why We Don’t Know Much About Lyme Disease

As you may or may not know, Erwin Schrödinger examined not-knowing and truthfulness in what is commonly referred to as the “cat paradox experiment” (Barad, 2007, p. 275; Lindley, 2007, p. xi; Schrödinger, 1980/1983, p. 152). In this famous thought experiment, Schrödinger created the problem of a cat in a box with a radioactive source and a Geiger counter. In the course of 60 minutes, one radioactive atom may or may not be released. At the one-hour mark, the observer may actually witness a cat jump out of the box and appear to be alive and well. But is it? Direct observation does not and cannot tell the whole story.

Though some misunderstood the principle of the experiment as a kind of “blurring,” Schrödinger’s experiment instead suggested the presence of an unclear or contradictory reality, according to Barad (2007, pp. 275-278). Barad suggested that this unclear or contradictory reality did not mean that the cat was either: alive or dead; alive and dead; or partly alive and partly dead. To perceive the cat paradox in this way would be to engage in a binary affair. Instead, the cat’s fate was literally in an entangled state: the fate of the cat was entangled with the fate of the atom.

Further, what Barad (2007) found “most disturbing” (p. 280) about the cat paradox experiment was that it illustrated the nature of the transition of the state of the cat during the process of observation. The value of the object, therefore, was no longer one thing or another, but rather what Colebrook (2007) called “a becoming” (p. 78). When one can liberate lived experience from concept, reality becomes less about time and more about iterative transformation (p. 78).

This understanding of transformation in relation to time, reality, and being is an excellent way to think about and transcend the binary affairs in lyme studies. The issue of serological testing is one binary affair that can subsequently lead people down a rabbit trail of other binary affairs, such as diagnosis, treatment protocols, and the issue of chronicity. Focusing on testing for now, serological tests look for antibodies, which is considered to be a sign of active infection. Therefore, some members of the lyme community interpret a negative test result to indicate that no active infection exists (Lantos, 2011, p. 790). To many in lyme studies, the case would be closed and patients “crying lyme” are actually suffering from another illness. However, physicians who disagree with the conclusion of these negative results may go ahead and diagnose and treat lyme disease anyway. They cite uncontrolled studies with high reporting biases for the reason why they cannot exclude the possibility that patients have lyme disease (Lantos et al., 2010a, pp. 3-4; Johnson & Stricker, 2010a, p. 1109). Ironically, those who interpret negative test results to be not-lyme point to those same studies as sufficient evidence—despite simultaneously believing case studies, anecdotes, and patient testimonials are sloppy and unscientific practices.

In any case, what many members of the lyme community from both sides of the issue of serological testing may fail to remember is that lyme disease in itself is untidy. For instance, consider one of the main sticking points surrounding diagnosis: active infection. Recalling Schrödinger’s cat paradox experiment, imagine that the cat is the lyme body and the radiation atom is a lyme pathogen. If the fate of the lyme body is entangled with the fate of the pathogen, naturally many questions arise: What exactly is active infection? How does active infection manifest or not manifest as observable sickness? Do the contents of a vial of blood drawn at one particular minute of one particular hour of one particular day indicate a definitive presence or absence of infection? Moreover, what is one to do with evidence that indicates that different labs yielded different results from the same specimen (Luger & Krauss, 1990, p. 762)? And what is one to do about evidence that showed the same lab can yield drastically different results from the same specimen (Bakken et al., 1997, p. 537)? Also, how do experiences, traumas, medical treatments, naturally aging biological bodies, sex, geographic location, environmental factors, and so forth, intra-act with the lyme pathogen over time? Like the cat in the box, at any given moment, the fate of the lyme body is in an entangled state with the fate of the infection.

To help flesh this out a bit more, it helps to explore one aspect of quantum physics known as a “quantum leap.” These leaps are not jumps in the sense that an electron moves from one orbit to another on one continuous trajectory; the electron does not move from a here-now to a there-then, as Barad (2007) put it. Instead, what makes the quantum leap “queer” (p. 182) is that no determinacy exists as to when and where the electron jumps, which makes “continuity and discontinuity . . . crucial to the open-ended becoming of the world,” Barad said (p. 182). In this way, lyme studies would flourish if it kept an open-ended attitude towards the lyme body and even the pathogens that infect it. Though technology and observation will help mysteries emerge, the body will always be there to lead the way through and make sense of them.

For instance, if one were to take a clinical history of a typical lyme body, one would often find a history of symptomatic flare-ups (U.S. Senate, Committee on Labor and Human Resources, 1993, p. 37). In my observations, many lyme sufferers experience on average about 10 years of illness with many flare-ups scattered throughout that time. Because the symptoms vary in intensity and length and appear as other diseases or illnesses, both medical practitioners and sufferers tend not to perceive all those episodes being part of a single disease. Usually, around the 10-year mark, these sufferers no longer have episodes of perhaps a week or maybe a month or more. Instead, their flare-ups become one, long continuous bout of symptoms. Having exhausted all other possible etiologies, bank accounts, physical strength, and relational capital, somehow they find the last-known person who seems to listen to what their body is communicating: the lyme-literate doctor.

In conclusion, transformation and quantum leaps in spacetimematter challenges the expectations about the certainty of lyme knowledge. As such, that a person can be suffering from lyme disease in spite of the pre-arranged script determined 40 years ago should be all the validation one needs for the insufficiency of current lyme knowledge.

References

Bakken, L. L., Callister, S. M., Wand, P. J., & Schell, R. F. (1997). Interlaboratory comparison of test results for detection of Lyme disease by 516 participants in the Wisconsin State Laboratory of Hygiene/College of American Pathologists Proficiency Testing Program. Journal of Clinical Microbiology, 35(3), 537-543.

Barad, K. (2007). Meeting the universe halfway: Quantum physics and the entanglement of matter and meaning. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

Colebrook, C. (2008). On not becoming man: The materialist politics of unactualized potential. In S. Alaimo & S. Hekman (Eds.), Material feminisms (pp. 52-84). Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

Johnson, L., & Stricker, R. B. (2010a). Final report of the Lyme disease review panel of the Infectious Diseases Society of America: A pyrrhic victory? Clinical Infectious Diseases, 51(9), 1108-1009. doi:10.1086/656690

Lantos, P. M., Charini, W. A., Medoff, G., Moro, M. H., Mushatt, D. M., Parsonnet, J., . . . Baker, C. J. (2010a). Final report of the Lyme disease review panel of the Infectious Disease Society of America. Clinical Infectious Diseases, 51(1), 1-5. doi:10.1086/654809

Lantos, P. M. (2011). Chronic Lyme disease: The controversies and the science. Expert Review of Anti-Infective Therapy, 9(7), 787-797. doi:10.1586/ERI.11.63

Lindley, D. (2007). Introduction. In W. Heisenberg, Physics and philosophy: The revolution of modern science (pp. vii-xxi). New York: Harper Perennial.

Luger, S. W., & Krauss, E. (1990). Serologic tests for Lyme disease. Archives of Internal Medicine, 150, 761-763.

Schrödinger, E. (1983). The present situation in quantum mechanics (J. D. Trimmer, Trans.). In J. Wheeler & W. H. Zurek (Eds.), Quantum theory and measurement (pp. 152-167). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. (Reprinted from 1980, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 124, 323-338)

U.S. Senate, Committee on Labor and Human Resources. (1993, August 5). Lyme disease: A diagnostic and treatment dilemma (S. Hrg. 103-265). Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office.

#intra-action #lyme disease #lyme studies #karen barad

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6four1-blog · 7 years

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June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.

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dduane · 8 years

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I'm writing a scene in my fanfic in which a sci-fi geek from Earth and a science geek from a magitech society compare notes on interdimensional transportation, and I thought it would be a nice tribute if the Earth geek mentioned the YW series as an example. Since the Errantry is down for maintenance at the moment, could you give me a quick rundown on how planet- or dimension-hopping wizardry works, just so I can be sure I get it right? Technobabble will do just fine, of course. XD

I’m having kind of a horrific day as regards Earth-based tech, so it’s a pleasure to deal with a different kind for a bit. :)

Worldgating, whether just planet-to-planet or dimension-to-dimension, exploits the same basic phenomenon. It’s all about wormholes of one kind or another, which are the simplest way to work one’s way around the small-beer issues of mere distance or the boundaries between universes. Convincing one piece of space that another one is right next to it is mostly math: solving for incidental local motion after the fact is way less complicated.

“Convince” is a key word here: both the strictly mechanical and the strictly wizardly modes of gating do this, though in different ways (and the wizardly one is more about persuasion. (No harm in remembering that the word “convince” has the old word for brute-force conquest at its root). Mechanical worldgating forces the issue with straightforward temporospatial equivalences in physics, and hence is colossally energy-intensive. Wizardry is a dodgier and less certain instrumentality for gating – space and time may decline to cooperate for a number of reasons – but lower in energy requirements, because, frankly, persuasion is more congenial to everybody involved than brute force. Even “insensate” matter prefers to be asked for consent, and to give it. And you really wouldn’t like subspace when it gets angry.

Many professional worldgating systems operate on mechanical versions of the equivalence protocols, and get around the energy requirements with big energy-harvesting systems like the SunTap technology, which stimulates and then cannibalizes the energy output of a nearby energetic star. (When we saw STAR WARS: THE FORCE AWAKENS, my immediate reaction to Starkiller Base was to snicker a bit and lean over to Peter and mutter, “Oh look, they bought themselves a second-hand SunTap.”) Others prefer the hybrid approach, and build systems that expolit both science and wizardry. This methodology is what the Crossings uses, having built itself in its earliest days on top of an already-standing worldgate; such are always more amenable when wizardry makes up at least part of the equation. The Crossings also has and uses a SunTap, since its star is high-powered and energetic enough not to mind the minuscule[for a type O giant star] power parasitization, and the two systems work more or less in parallel, with some interleave when high-traffic situations or other more complicated conditions require.

It’s perhaps a touch paradoxical that between-planets / “intraspatial” gatings require more computation and more energy than between-dimensions “extraspatial” / “extracontinual” transport. Separate universes (especially if they bubbled / spawned from common parent superstrata) apparently find one another easier to reblend with, even over vast interfaces, than separate parts of the same space. Possibly this is because time tends to run more or less the same way (regardless of direction) inside a given universe; and there may be something to the old saying that “time is Nature’s way of keeping everything from happening at once”: as it did, once upon a time, in this universe anyway. Different universes, when brought briefly enough into sync to allow passage, seem to be less fussed about the issue. Some philosophers here and there have theorized that the One Itself is only one of many, a bubble of singularity in a far vaster continuum of Deity than we’re at all capable of perceiving, let alone understanding; and that the snuggliness of universes is just a symptom of the greater truth that the Many like to get together for a chat now and then. But no one really knows.

…Philosophizing aside, hope this helps. :)

#young wizards meta #worldgating

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hypnokinkwithmrdream · 8 years

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NEEHU2:Notes on Consent/Negotiation

Posted to Fetlife 5/6/2011

I have been guilty in the past of trancing without the fullest negotiation. Usually it comes about because I recognize someone is already in a trance when I am talking about things I do, however I have been making an effort to actually reduce the amount of NLP based patterns in my conversation when I am not intending to hypnotize people.

Because I also teach trance, and present demonstrations, I often am trancing people in a group. This obviously is part of teaching hypnotism in that it is easy for an observer who is really focused on me and what I am doing to someone in a demonstration, to respond. Hypnosis shows rely on it.

Some of what I do also comes down to waking hypnosis and waking suggestion, things where I am communicating to the subconscious in a way that I feel will give me a better chance at connecting and achieving my goals or group goals.

There are also people I have tranced who I can trance quite easily, quickly and from a long way away. I also have been told that there are at least a few people who automatically trance when I am speaking in our Hypnoclub.

Therefore, I recognize the challenges of ensuring consent and negotiation are held before hypnosis and any other form of mind control play are conducted. Ironically one of my first instructions on hypnotizing people was to never use the word hypnosis or trance. That using those words created an element of fear. That since everyone tends to want to relax, focusing on comfort, relaxation, focus, clarity and such would be a better way to go. Only once the subject is down to around where Elman's definition of Somnabalism is (relaxed body, relaxed mind, selective thinking, ability to have amnesia/anaesthesia etc... ) should I anchor to the term trance or hypnotic trance, to let them know that this very comfortable and safe state is what we are looking for. Elman in fact was influential in how doctors and nurses communicated to patients outside of merely hypnosis, and he would have frowned on asking permission to hypnotize within the context of a doctor or dentist preparing a child or adult for a procedure. Erickson had no real ethical concerns on when he used hypnosis, and I believe much of what we consider foundations in hypnosis were done with a limited level of negotiation.

However, in BDSM we are expected to negotiate almost all physical contact. We negotiate any play, create a scene and then conduct ourselves accordingly with an understanding of safe words and every other capability to bring a safe scene that is also enjoyable. Obviously regular play partners who have worked out details can establish their own protocol of how to do this, but for strangers or people we are not used to playing with, we err on the side of caution.

There are a few things to remember:

Ask for consent to trance

Ask for consent to touch

Ask if there is anything you should know

Don't perform age regression (unless its specifically what your goals are in the trance)

Have an overall goal you can agree to.

Consider a time limit

Now this stuff is just basic. There are lots of rules. Negotiation could be intensely detailed. It could be "Wanna trance? Yeah! What do you want to do? Whatever turns you on! Where do you want to do it? Anywhere you take me!"

For me, I tend to avoid anything tricky in a trance including triggers. I tend to focus on what I call increased capacity, freeing up the channels and signals so that a person can experience their own self in a positive way more fully, and hopefully gain some additional resources. I also like to ensure that a person can trance more deeply and more easily, so I will encourage that. Last but not least I tend to reinforce the subconscious's responsibility and responsiveness to trance, with the understanding that the subconscious is capable of recognizing the boundaries and limits and rejecting them or bringing the subject out of trance without accepting any suggestions that do not fit their need.

Given that, unless i have prior permission, most of what I do is focused on working with the subject to accomplish those things. The more playful stuff happens with people I have talked to more. Since I tend to be very overt about what I am doing, I have yet to be told that I broke faith, but I always worry that I could have secondary unintended consequences, so I tend to do ecology checks during and after. I like to hear from people I have tranced. I like knowing what they liked and what missed. Often it helps me calibrate my own alertness ("I really wasn't under until you started talking about X"... Ah I noticed the change in posture at that stage. Thats a good cue...)

Now in a party, versus a structured workshop learning environment, there is a sort of aspect which I think makes things a bit awkward.

1. People stay in trance a long while in a play party. They are often fractionating or drifting. They don't come out as long as they are getting the right stimulation, and to some extent because they have given trust to the hypnotist that put them under, they are allowing themselves to operate with less critical faculty and inhibition. Because the hypnotist is expected to take care of them, they feel that anything that happens is inside that envelope. This may vary between subjects. Hypnotists are loath to remove a subject from a light trance since they are playing. However the scene has unclear boundaries in a physical sense.

2. People don't know someone is playing. The scene is going on the hypnotist lets the subject act out something, and people engage with the subject because part of the trance is that the person may respond to people in a different way. Then another hypnotist sees this friendly, perhaps hypersexual, perhaps obedient, person and waves a shiny or begins to engage. The hypnotist can't properly negotiate with this subject. The subject is already in trance. The subject may have some limitation on their conscious awareness and may in fact subconsciously be okay with what is happening.

3. Conscious and Unconcious are not always aligned. We tend to think that if someone says X then we can accept that as their feelings on something. Most hypnotists have had subjects who, when they relax and are free of fear and are trusting begin to ask for things that they had specifically put up as boundaries. It is easy for a hypnotist to rationalize "Well their subconscious is the boss..." But this is the same as making out with a drunk girl. Yes when she is drunk she wants to do that. Afterwards she is going to be upset.

4. Aftercare means making sure the subject is really back from their trip. It doesn't mean being comfortable, it doesn't mean letting them cool down. It means that you are absolutely sure that the person is NOT showing any signs of trance. This doesn't mean that they are untrancible, but triggers should not trigger. I saw at least one example of a subject who kept dropping when another hypnotist was talking about a trance where the same subject had been part of. It was a sign that no limitation on the trigger was placed there. That's poor work. There are some triggers that are meant to last, and should STILL be limited to when they hit. Because a tranced person can be as capable or more capable, you should insist on the subject getting out of trance honestly. I am not sure what tests there are for non-trance but it seems like anything I can think of could still happen in a trance, so you need to follow your instinct. Best effort. Explain to the subject that they should try to get to their clearest place they can given their physical and mental overall state, and that doing so will make it better for them to retain the good experience going forward (i.e. if you end the trance on a great positive note, why let the trance linger so that they can end up autosuggesting themselves into some uncontrolled state)

5. Anyone who does an unnegotiated pattern interrupt on someone they have no prior consent or relationship with is being abusive. That's all. Erickson may have gotten away with it, but in the BDSM scene, if you want to do something, even just to show off a new trick, say "Hey want to see a cool little trick. I will just take you down and bring you out. How about it?"

Don't walk up to someone you barely know and do a hand shake or fixation.

I am not 100% sure that I follow all these suggestions fully. I think there are times when I miss. I work on it but of course we all can be distracted by things and lose track of what we need to do. The important part is to recognize mistakes and move forward, rather than let those mistakes hold us back.

#Fetlife Hypnapocalypse #NEEHU2 #ConsentSplaining

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