#i was in there for a week and ill continue partial hospitalization for a few weeks

[flamboyant-king]

Hey babes, sorry I've been dead, but I coulda been literally dead if I had not gone.

I didn't hurt myself and we're still figuring things out. I would love to share but I've already forgotten what I've learned. I hope I get more guidance and time for healing and learning on how to lead my life in a better direction than where I was. But that takes time and effort.

I hope to get some rest, get some support, and get it together. But right now, I don't think it's healthy for me to worry about art in the way I do now. I may not express it here, but trying to maintain my art endeavors/projects while there's so much bullshit going on backstage is not helping me. Especially since I'm not even obligated to do so. But trying to force myself to do something I am currently unable to do will just make me feel worse. I'll follow my dreams and passions one day, but I've been putting off the healing process for years.

So I guess it's better to get better now so I can get the ball rolling again. Why drive on a flat tire?

[mourning-star-daily-comet]

UPDATE: the offical police report of the wilson/claire case has finally been released. i'll link it here, but i don't think it explains everything, since a good amount of the details have come from witnesses and locals that havent been contacted by the authorities regarding the story. so, for continuities sake, i'm gonna give a final summary on here before i close out their case on this blog.

the timeline i've put together relies partially on an official statement released by claire (who still refuses to provide a last name to the public, and has no official documents connecting her to any identity living in mourning star), who has initiative to lie. however, i matched her story up as many other sources as i could, so i'm pretty confident on this being correct but just keep that in mind.

after meeting him in september at a party, she and nicholas began spending a lot of time together. claire states that he faced severe struggles with his mental health including attachment issues- he was "so sad, all the time. he couldn't stand to be alone. i didn't know why."

claire had always had many dreams of what she calls 'a bigger life', which she often told him about but he did not share. but due in part to his anxious attachment disorder, she was eventually able to convince him to run away with her so they could be 'together, away from their small town', as she claims.

the details are fuzzy at this point, as she seems to contradict herself often in regards to the actual murder, but she claims she had reason to believe that Sears was attempting to attack her, and that she alone acted on self-defense. there are no witnesses to this other than nicholas who is not providing a statement; however, the lack of a murder weapon points to the idea that it was not premeditated, as the death was caused by sudden blunt force trauma.

she then claims that, very soon after the murder, Wilson started to fall sick and needed lots of treatment. this allegedly led claire into a cycle of systematic robberies, which she used to 'care for him'. this is also proven by the fact that he was found to be suffering from an unknown illness, in addition to his various injuries, upon rescue. she also claims that she stole a car belonging to a local, who does not want to be named at this time, because nicholas's had been crashed and the winter was too harsh for them to survive in the cold.

her story then details their living in the woods and how he was "barely concious through the whole thing. like- [she didn't] even think he realized he wasn't at home". this leads officials to believe that the entirety of their time spent running from the police was planned and carried out by claire, without wilson's discreton at all.

when questioned about his injuries, she states that she returned to the car they had been staying in to suddenly find him in his current condition. from there, she tried to drive him to the hospital, but he alledgedly attempted to climb out of the moving car. "he had been hallucinating the past few weeks. i think it was from fever, or dehydration? something. probably a mix of things. but he'd been really sick. [...] i think he saw something and left [the car], i found him away from it. i really don't know what happened." she never mentioned any plan of hurting him in her confession.

nicholas, however, has refused to speak on his side. he has recently been discharged from the hospital, but despite being questioned he has not made any statements.

so there you go, that's all i know. if you have any last questions, you can ask me, but i'm not sure how many more answers i can give.

[life-with-my-three]

After the past 5 days, I swear I need a holiday or at least a few months worth of sleep.

Not ready to go into Friday/Saturday, but since then Sunday Hattie’s PEG became partially dislodged. We tried to get it in a few times at home but because the last couple of times it’s taken a general anaesthetic and scopes we then had to make the 1.5 hour drive to the children’s hospital. Luckily it went back in fairly easily on this occasion.

Monday, Hattie was fine, went to kinder, came home and was still being her silly self. Then suddenly started vomiting, which continued every 15 minutes all night.

Vomiting continued on Tuesday, made contact with her treating team at the children’s hospital, as it was something we were warned to keep an eye on with her PEG issues. Nope, she started throwing fevers, and kinder contacted me and let me know that another child had vomited at kinder today so there seemed to be an illness going through. They knew we still weren’t sure if it was PEG related or gastro. After this news, speaking to Hatt’s treating team, and added symptoms we decided it was gastro/stomach bug. Yay!

We went to give her a cool bath and realised what we thought was a mozzie bite earlier had turned into welts covering from her lower back down to her thighs. When you’ve seen your child almost die multiple times it’s hard not to jump to panic that she’s going to die! So we took her to urgent care, by which time she also had welts over her arms and legs.

Yep, this was unrelated to both the gastro and PEG issues, so poor darling has managed to cop three different medical issues in three days, the last being an allergic reaction.

We have no idea what she’s allergic to, as she’s only had hydralyte and paracetamol all day and both she’s had before. So will have to keep an eye on environmental contacts also in the coming weeks.

[thekavseklabs]

Apologies for extended inactivity. Some real life shit is happening and will continue to happen, I will explain under the cut but I warn that it's some heavy shit and I've been seeing others on my dash dealing with similar worst case scenarios so tread carefully for your own health please

In short, my Grandma is almost certainly dying. At first, the health decline was slow, something was mildly wrong with her heart, doctors fixed it and sent her home, and then it happened again a couple weeks later, and then it happened again a few days later, and then it started and didn't stop, didn't respond to treatment at all. After some more time in the hospital they finally got it to stop and sent her home, but mere days later something else happened and she collapsed, hit her head and blacked out. She spent a few weeks in the hospital, recovered, and once again went home, but now in a wheelchair.

A couple days ago she made the mistake of getting up, fell again, and this time it was a lot worse. Two ribs broken, one cracked, and one lung partially collapsed and leaking. Will she recover from this specific incident? Maybe. Will she stay ill, will she continue to worsen? Doctors say yes and I'm inclined to agree. I am not alone in this- Grandma is in a bleak state of mind herself, she seems very firmly aware that this is bad. I hope she gets better, but... Yeah.

Please be patient with me. Thank you.

[wrappedinamysteryy]

An unbearable sorrow (based on a true story)

Penned by @ wrappedinamystery (Instagram)

There was a woman, Maimuna. She was married, but she had no children, and her spouse had no connection with her. She lived in Bahrain for years and earned her livelihood by doing domestic jobs. Until one day, an Indonesian woman approached her and handed her something...something that permanently changed her life… a baby. For some reason, the baby's mother handed up her own baby to Maimuna and returned to her native country. And from that day itself, Maimuna took care of that baby. She named him Abrar. According to her, he was a beautiful baby. She fed, nourished and gave him the provision of all his necessities. She looked after Abrar for eight years. Until one day...when she was admitted to the hospital and Abrar was in the waiting area. On that dreadful day, a suspicious nurse inquired, "Whose child is this?" The nurse inquired because the child's physical features, skin tone, behavior, etc. were diametrically opposed to hers (Maimuna). Maimuna, being truthful, stated that a woman gave me this child and then left the country, and that I have been taking care of him ever since. The nurse contacted the child protection law/police and told them of the situation. After a while, the authorities arrived at the hospital and seized the apple of Maimuna's eye...Abrar. She has tried tirelessly since then to reclaim Abrar. She screamed, wailed, and begged the legal authorities. Bring me back my Abrar, I don't need anything else; just give me back my Abrar," she pleaded. There were other things she did that jolted our worlds. Something I don't feel comfortable discussing on this platform. It is personal, yet heartbreaking. However, the authorities were unable to help her, since Bahrain's government is very strict with its laws. They would not even let her see Abrar. After years of grieving, she was diagnosed with a range of health problems, including heart disease, kidney failure, diabetes, etc. She grieved for her Abrar till she became partially blind (her sickness also led to her partial blindness), but this did not stop her, and she was still reluctant to give up on her Abrar. She continued to weep, cry, and shed tears for her beloved Abrar. Her health began to deteriorate after a few months. She was admitted to the hospital. Even yet, she would tell anyone who came across her to take her back to Abrar. After a few months, officials and law enforcement decided to send her back to her motherland, Bangladesh, for additional treatment because her health was getting progressively worse. She declined, stating, "I would not travel anywhere without Abrar." I will jump out of the plane, but I will not go without him. Everyone knew it would be impossible to return her to Abrar. Because it is not her own child. As a result, they decided to sedate her and send her back to Bangladesh for further treatment. She somehow woke up from her sleep and compelled the officials to let her miss the flight. She missed the flight, and she was taken back to the hospital. She was still crying and saying that all she wants is to be reunited with Abrar. Her health began to deteriorate a few weeks ago, prompting her to return back to Bangladesh. Her final words in Bahrain were to help her in reuniting with Abrar, but her wish was not fulfilled. And then she boarded the plane and was hospitalized in Bangladesh.

She died a few hours ago due to her illnesses, but I have a feeling that her grief for her Abrar eventually chose to have mercy on her and bring her death. All she ever wanted was to be reunited with her beloved Abrar.

- I personally do not know this her. But my dad and his colleagues knew about her. They did everything they could to help her reconcile with Abrar or at the very least help her get proper treatment for her deteriorating health. But it was all in vain.

Tonight, I'm typing this to inform you of this woman. A mother who adored a child who was not even her biological baby. A woman who grieved for a child she loved so dearly to a point that brought her death. May Allah forgive her shortcomings, protect her from torment of the grave and grant her Jannat-ul Firdaus. And May Allah reunites her with her beloved child someday in the hereafter, in Jannah. Aameen.

Her loving, compassionate, and beautiful soul will be remembered.

PS, Maimuna and Abrar are not their real names. I used different names for the sake of their privacy.

[aliendes]

Natural Borns - Prologue

ahhh finally posting this fic that I’ve had a bare-bones outline for, for over a year. I absolutely adore the idea behind this fic and the world that I am creating for it. If you like what you read here, please follow my blog for updates. My goal is to update this series at least once every two weeks, but I will likely post the first few chapters in the next couple of weeks. I look forward to growing this au, reblog if you enjoy! 

dystopian!au / futuristic!au 

Series info/genre: Angset, fluff, (possible) smut NSFW due to darker themes Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual) Warnings: this series will have different trigger warnings listed for each chapter (if there are any), but as a whole, this series will include violence, mentions of depression & other mental illnesses, cursing, abuse, drugs/alcohol, some shitty medical descriptions because i am NOT a doctor, self-esteem issues, fluff, and possible smut in future chapters (but that’s undecided). i will add more warnings/tags in the future if there are any. Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it? Word count: 1569 (future chapters will be longer, this is just a prologue!)

In a world where social status is determined by looks, it’s beneficial to have the label ‘designer baby’. 

In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are now what society considers a ‘designer baby’. This term designer baby, coined in 2051 when scientists in Sweden successfully incubated a baby to term by splicing different genes together, is what people call babies born in a lab. It is commonplace now for people to walk into a lab, go through a catalog of traits, pick out their favorites, pay a high price tag, and wait about 9 months for their baby to fully incubate. Then they can take their new bundle of joy home without all the pain (and sometimes heartbreak) of a pregnancy and labor. Most expecting mothers never go through pregnancy anymore, and labor and delivery wards have become nearly obsolete in the richer areas of the world. In their place, companies began to spring up on nearly every street corner that allowed hopeful parents to pick out their future offspring. 

The process was actually incredibly simple. Scientists are able to take the DNA of both prospective parents, and splice their genes with other genes of their choosing by removing certain markers for things like eye color while not compromising the parents original DNA structure, and create a zygote in a lab. After about 9-10 months of incubation, this zygote will eventually become the perfect baby, or at least, those parents' version of the perfect baby. The only reason the practice took so long to take off was because of the many protests and movements that took place in the late 2000’s. After the first designer baby was successfully ‘born’, people began to protest the process, saying that it was ‘messing with fate’ and that people shouldn’t have that much power over other humans. After decades of fighting and protests, the first designer baby company launched in 2108, in Seoul, South Korea. Since then, there have been smaller groups and nonprofit organizations that try to fight against gene splicing, but it is mostly accepted worldwide. 

Always at the forefront of technology, it was no surprise that the first designer baby company was in Seoul. Hundreds of years later, the largest population of designer babies and companies still reside in Seoul. Over 75% of the population of South Korea is made up of people who were created in labs and have the perfect balance of genes. Some call the country the most beautiful place on Earth. 600 years ago, people would say that because of its rich culture, and scenic countrysides. Now, it’s because the citizens are nice to ogle at. 

Designer babies are so common in South Korea, that schools, office buildings, and even entire apartment complexes were built for them. In today’s society, your job, your relationships, and your status is determined by how beautiful you are. It’s easy to tell who is a designer baby and who isn’t. Most people born in labs have distinct features, mostly from the same pool of genes. You see, after a while, scientists started running out of natural DNA to use that people still thought was unique enough. Now, most designer babies have features that stem from the same catalogs, as they are the most popular. Sure, they’re pretty, but they’re beginning to look a lot alike. 

Part of the reason natural DNA is so hard to find now, is because a lot of designer babies end up procreating with what scientists dubbed ‘natural borns’, or people with 100% natural DNA, and so most people's DNA is muddled throughout generations. These people are not good candidates for gene splicing as the outcome is not easily controlled. Coming across a true natural born is extremely rare these days and the ones you do find are almost always average looking in society's eyes, so labs don’t bother trying to splice them. It’s not that there are NO natural borns willing to give up their DNA. Companies have applicants all the time, what with the hefty sum they pay their donors, but most do not make it past the application stage once said companies determine their genes unusable for various reasons.

Another problem laboratories run into is the willingness of participants in donating their DNA. The process isn’t as simple as a cheek swab. Once applicants learn about the often painful procedures involved in donating, they tend to back out before signing a contract. These contracts, depending on the company, usually requires the donors to live on company property until they have successfully spliced their DNA. This process involves the donor to take different cocktails of drugs, be put under anesthetic, and be poked and prodded by scientists for weeks at a time. It isn’t the most comfortable thing to go through, but they’re often offered substantial compensation, especially now with the shortage of true natural borns. Some larger companies have been accused in the past of abusing their donors, locking them in prison-like cells and depriving them of food and water, treating them as nothing more than a business transaction, which has also caused natural borns to stray away from donating.

Finding natural borns, or at least partial natural borns isn’t all that hard, though, as most natural borns live in smaller communities outside of larger cities. Because the population of designer babies only continues to grow, most employers no longer hire average looking people. There are even separate schools and hospitals that cater specifically to natural borns, often run by natural borns, since there are a significant portion of designer babies who do not socialize with naturals. Naturals are often considered low-class, and are looked down upon by those in high society. The crime rates against natural borns is becoming increasingly high, which has unfortunately pushed a lot of them outside of metropolitan areas. This resulted in a new social hierarchy where natural borns are at the bottom of the food chain, often poor or even homeless, struggling to find jobs. 

In recent years there have been more protests and rallies ran by both designer babies and natural borns who believe in rights for everyone, they are humans after all,  to try and fight against the discrimination that is heavily ingrained in today’s culture, but not much headway has been made yet. Currently, all world leaders and politicians are designer babies, so going up against them hasn’t been the easiest. 

Because protests are happening more often, companies are having to be even more discreet when it comes to ‘scouting’ potential candidates for donating DNA. They’ve become more desperate to find the new and innovating genes, something unique and different that will drive business in time where labs are a dime a dozen and new genes are hard to come by. 

You would know all about that, though. You are living in a small rural town outside of Seoul with your mother and father, both natural borns. Your family has owned a peach farm for the last few decades and makes enough money to upkeep the small orchard by selling to local markets and restaurants. You’ve been approached multiple times by companies, offering enticing amounts of money to you and your parents, promising things like apartments in the city, college tuition, and fancy cars, if you sold them your DNA. You were a true natural born, a rarity, especially in Korea. Not only did you have pure DNA, but you were unique. You weren’t average looking, no you were ethereal, gorgeous, spectacular in many people's eyes. Not for the reasons that you would’ve liked, though.

People only wanted you for your DNA. Whether it be companies who wanted to splice your genes, or other natural borns who wanted to court you and keep you for themselves, breed you and sell their children off to make a quick buck. It was sick, and that’s why your family kept you close. After you graduated high school, you didn’t attend university and didn’t get a job. You stayed on the farm and helped out your father in the orchard. You knew the dangers of the big companies and citizens alike who only wanted to use you. It made you wary of people, shy, and sometimes insecure about your own person. Your parents did their best to keep you safe, shield you from the horrors of the world, and make sure you felt loved. But oftentimes, you felt lonely, left out, especially when you didn’t have many friends. You felt like an outsider, and even though you were considered incredibly beautiful, you didn’t feel like it.

Growing up wasn’t the easiest for you, having gone to a poor, all natural born school from preschool until you graduated. You didn’t have many friends, most of your classmates bullied you, telling you that you didn’t belong there, that there was no way you weren’t one of those designer babies from the big city and that your parents were lying to you, or you were adopted and didn’t know. These comments were hard to hear, but in the end, you know the truth. You are a pure natural born, and your parents loved you and would do anything to protect you.

But when a mysterious company won’t leave you alone about donating your DNA, you start to question your parents protectiveness over you. Among other things, your biggest question was; what made you so special? 

To be continued...

[detroitbydark]

Chapter 11

Characters: Fox/Mouse (reader), appearances from Hound, Thire, Rule, Mace Windu, Yoda, and Padmé Amidala.

Warning: angst (y’all want me to hirt you right?)

A/N: so get ready to read nearly 6000 words of Fox’s self loathing, the CG being supportive vod, Jedi being Jedi, and Mouse being hurt yet again.

Current

The choices had been fresh ink or gut-rot barracks hooch. Fox chose the ink.

He’s down in the levels, he can’t remember which one exactly, far enough from prying eyes and questioning vod, that was all that had really mattered. The artist, a pantoran with a nice portfolio, was busy laying out the design. He can feel the cool transfer as it’s pressed over his heart and he drags in a ragged breath. This was penance. This was the closure he needed. He’d messed up. For two weeks he’d messed up and now any chance he had was gone along with her.

“You wanna talk about it, man?” The tattoo artist asks as he peels away the flimsy leaving the outline on his skin.

“No”

Two weeks earlier

Fox hates the sterile smell of the hospital, the beige walls, the gleaming metal all around. It reminds him of Kamino and a medbay he’d spent more than enough time in. He was never quite as strong or quite as fast as the other CCs in his batch, men that would go on to bear monikers like Gree and Bly and Wolffe. He made up for it in other ways. His mind was sharp, quick to come to a plan of action, he could think on his feet.

He remembers Sargent Kal coming into the CC classroom one day for a talk on urban combat- something that had piqued CC-1010’s interest from the word go- and how by the end of the lesson he’d ended up the star of the day. His observations as they’d talked through scenarios had left Kal remarking that he was “Sly as a Fox” and that the Triple Zero would be a good place for the likes of him. He was only the second in his batch to earn a name and he wore it around like a badge of honor.

Now he didn’t feel so honorable or so sly. He felt a lot of other things though. The psych droid, a loathsome device of he'd ever seen one, had talked him through what had happened in the Supreme Chancellor’s suite. It had questioned him over and over, maybe expecting the answers to change, about what his part in the assassination of Sheev Palpatine had been. He was tired. He wanted to wrap himself around his cyar’ika and pretend the whole day had been a nightmare.

That was impossible, she was somewhere else in the hospital being treated, shoved into a bacta tank. It had only been Rex’s firm voice that had convinced Fox to let the medic’s anywhere near her. When he’d let them take her limp body away from him-

Fierfek.

The handprint- a bloody partial across the left side of his breastplate, was still there.

“Commander Fox” a familiar voice cuts through the silent world of the room“ Much to think about you have“

He recognizes the Jedi Master, Yoda, immediately. There was no one else the ancient green Jedi could be mistaken for.

“I prefer to not“ being around a force wielder was not high on Fox’s current list of things to do.

“Such Is life”

“With all due respect sir,” he can hear the petulance in his own voice but he has neither the energy nor will to rein it in “I didn’t ask for this life.”

“But given to you it was, nonetheless. Choices you must make with what to do with it.“

Fox is quiet and the small Jedi Master matches it until the door opens again and General Windu joins the pair. Fox meets his gaze and the Jedi nods solemnly.

“Much discussion Master Windu and I have had these last few hours-“

“So it’s back to Kamino then? Reconditioning or Termination?” Fox can’t hide the bitterness in his voice. He doesn’t want to. He wants the world -or at least the two Jedi in the room- to see his pain. To feel it like he was.

Yoda sighs and moves to him, walking stick clicking in time with his steps. He hops up on the cold metal table next to Fox in a way that makes Fox think that the walking stick was not really necessary. He fights the urge to move away.

“A great disservice has been done to you, Commander. No, Kamino is not where you belong, deserve punishment you do not.”

The words burn. Fox is trapped between relief and a slow simmering rage, one that demands he be punished for his inability to protect those most vulnerable. First Fives. Now Mouse. He failed because he was weak-

“Stop” General Windu’s voice is firm. The look on Fox’s face must read pure terror because the Jedi huffs softly, “I don’t need to see inside your head to know what you're thinking. It’s all over your face. Do you know the kind of power Sidious possessed? To fight off that kind of insinuation would have been nearly impossible and that was before the chip-“

“The chip?” Fox attempts to rise to his feet but three green fingers press down on his arm. He looks down at the tired, ancient face of the Jedi Master and sits back down. “What of the chip? What has it got to do in all of this?”

The answer is simple. Everything.

Fox sits in cold shock as the Jedi describe to him what they’d learned of Palpatine’s- no, Sidious’ plans for the clone army. He stops them once to go to the bathroom and vomit. It wasn’t just Tup and Fives and him. It was all his vode. The entire clone army programmed to turn on their leaders, their friends with the utterance of a single phrase. He thinks of the hints Bly had made about his Jedi when they’d last spoken.

For a moment it’s more than he can fathom, and he holds a hand up for quiet. The Jedi allow it. He gives himself a minute, just one, before he pulls himself together, before he sits up straight and pushes the anguish, hurt, and the dirty feelings deep down.

“What now?” The implications of what has happened are finally becoming clear “The Republic can’t know the truth. There’ll be chaos in the streets. They’ll turn against the clones entirely” Fox worries more for his brothers than ever before. If the citizens knew…

“Correct you are, Commander” Yoda agrees..

“It needs to stay under wraps. The only people that will ever know it was anything other than an sudden death by natural causes will be us and the others that were in that room. Skywalker, Captain Rex, and-“

“Don’t say her name” it comes out as a growl, “leave her out of this.”

“There she was, Commander. Secrets she must learn to keep.”

Fox’s nails bite into the palms of his hands, “you won’t-“ he can’t bring himself to say the words.

“We will not force thoughts into her head.” Mace clarifies. “From what I’ve heard of her I think she’ll understand our reasoning for secrecy. Her injuries will be said to come from a mugging. You’ll fill out the report. Wrong place wrong time”

Wasn’t that the truth.

Fox nods slowly, “and what of my brothers?”

“Come out the chips must.” Fox flinches when a green finger taps at his temple, “but uncomplicated and quick it is.”

“We will let it be known that the chips are faulty and to continue to use them puts the clones in danger of having unforeseen medical problems.” Mace’s eyes narrow as Fox scoffs. He raises a brow challengingly, “do you think they’d rather know that they were all ticking timebombs? That at any moment they’d be triggered into mindless killers? Pawns?”

A tense moment passes with the two men glaring at one another. Of course Fox doesn’t think that would be any better.

“We’ll begin rotating troops through the nearest medical units capable of removal immediately.” Mace explains. “We can have the entire Coruscant Guard done by the end of the week and it appears with minimal down time. A day, tops.” He explains.

A quick nod is all the acknowledgement Fox can muster. He doesn’t like the idea of keeping the Guard in the dark and he hates having them undergo any medical procedure even more. He wasn’t the only clone who had lingering emotions when it came to the medbay, not by a long shot.

“I’ll go first.”

The Jedi at his side makes an agreeable hum. General Windu nods.

“As I would expect a good leader to do.”

Fox isn’t sure how much he buys into their approval.

13 days earlier

The official story was that Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine had succumbed to a sudden illness. The holonews was ablaze with stories: from the official release to the tabloid fodder. Fellow politicians waxed poetic on him as a man and a leader, someone who stepped forward when the Republic was in its darkest hour to take control of the chaos.

It was said his last words were, “and sorry I couldn’t give more for my people and the galaxy.”

If Fox’s eyes rolled any harder he was sure they’d fly from his head and ping around in his bucket. Sidious was dead. He didn’t deserve the adoration of billions or the high honors of his burial. He was a hu’tuun. The skanah was better suited as feed for the carrion birds than the marble burial chamber he’s laid to rest in with military honors provided by clones he’d have used as weapons against the very Republic they swore to protect.

10 days earlier

Four days without Mouse and Fox feels twitchy. It’s been over a year since he’s gone more than two days without laying eyes on her. Knowing that she was recently released from the bacta tank doesn’t make it any easier. He’d not wanted to see her floating in the tank for a plethora of reasons, the least of which was his own guilt. That didn’t stop him from setting up a guard rotation at her door as soon as he was cleared to return to duty. It also didn’t stop him from demanding regular updates on her care from the kits he was setting up at her room.

Ryk had been present when she’d been taken out of the tank and said she’d seemed in good spirits as she’d slowly come too.

Wren had gently indicated that she’d love some company while she was on bed rest.

Rule had given him a look that screamed, ‘don’t be a scum sucking piece of nerf fodder.’ As he’d explained that Mous’ika had been asking for him.

She’d been asking for him. Even after everything she wanted to see him.

And he couldn’t do it.

He’d made his way twice to the nurses station before turning and making an excuse to leave.

He couldn’t look at her. Sidious’ words still swirled in his head. even though General Yoda had reassured him that he was no longer under the sway of the Sith, the thoughts still lingered.

You were supposed to use her to fuck your baser urges out.

She’s using you to obtain a foothold in the guard.

She’s fooled you all.

The underlying message was unmistakable.

Why would anyone choose to care for a clone?

Fox almost wishes the headaches would return so he could focus on the pain in his head vs. that dull empty ache in his chest, a black hole behind his rib cage, but he hasn’t had one since both the Sith Lord and the chip were removed from his life.

9 days earlier

Bail Organa is voted into the Chancellorship by an overwhelming number of his peers.

It’s the best choice, as far as Fox is concerned. With Senator Amidala announcing a leave of absence to give birth to the best guarded secret since the clone army, it’s the only choice Fox finds acceptable.

Not like anyone would ask his opinion.

Organa is a good man, even if he is a politician. He’s only ever looked out for the Republic, never given in to self indulgent whims, never taken more than he deserved.

Fox touches the fresh scar on the right side of his head gently as Holonet News continues to replay the new Chancellor's inauguration from earlier. Barely more than a week and everything has changed.

General Windu was correct, medical had been able to get through the entire guard in rapid fire. All of his men were sporting matching scars, many were more than a little curious as to the actual reason their chips had been removed. He’s both insanely proud and horribly frustrated at the theories being bandied about. Some far too close for comfort.

They can never know. Nobody can ever know.

But somehow Bail Organa knows.

He’s only had one meeting, early this morning before the inauguration, in private with the new Chancellor but he’d alluded to things that left Fox speechless. He’d known Bail to have friends in high places, but he hadn’t realized how high.

“Think he’ll do better than the last one?”

Thire hovers in the doorway, unmoving until Fox inclines his head toward the open seat across his desktop.

“Can’t be any worse.” There’s no humor in his tone but Thire huffs out a quiet laugh.

There’s a lag in the conversation, not like one has truly begun, and Fox takes a breath before setting down his datapad and flicking the holo off. “How long have we known one another?” He asks looking up at his lieutenant.

“Long enough.”

“So, you and I both know that you're here for something else and It's not just to make quips about the new Alor.”

“I suppose that’s true” Thire’s face gives nothing away. Fox liked that about the shock trooper. He was reserved, yes, but also pragmatic. A problem solver, not ruled by his emotions. Which was all well and good but something about the way he’s staring makes Fox feel like he’s the problem needing solving.

“Spit it out.”

“Go see her.”

Fox raises a brow in his vod’s direction. “Is that an order”

“Respectfully sir” the corner of Thire’s mouth quirks almost imperceptibly before it falls away.

The little shit.

In reality, Fox had known this one going to come from one of his men. He’d expected Rule or Hound, the more brash and aggressive boys, to be the ones but Thire is not a complete shock. He’d never seemed particularly close to Mouse but the lieutenant did play things close to the chest.

“She had a nightmare last night while I was on watch. Woke up crying your name.”

Inside Fox crumbles. No amount of talking to a psych droid was going to fix that feeling. No amount of time would make him feel ok about what he’d allowed to happen to the woman he loved. Thire continues.

“A clone's lot is not much. They decant us. They train us. They ship us out to fight in their war. We live, maybe. We die, more likely. Nothing is given to us.” Thire runs a hand over his head, fingers scratching at the crown. “Sometimes though, a di’kut like you gets a break. That woman in that bed cried in my arms. Talked to me like I was you for over an hour and I let her. You know why?”

Fox has to unclench his jaw, work past the jealous ache rising up in his chest to respond, “why?”

“Because it’s the closest I’ll ever have to feeling that kind of emotion. I’m not ashamed to say I pulled your girl into my lap, held her close and said soft things I didn’t even know I knew into her pretty hair until she calmed down. I was happy to pretend to be your atin’shebs but you know what the real kicker is, Vod?”

Fox’s hands are like vice grips on the edge of his seat, knuckles pale white as a shinies armor. The thought of Mouse hurting is one thing, but to have someone else be the one to comfort her? It tears at him. “What?” He asks through gritted teeth.

“When she calms down she says, “I know you're not him. Thank you for letting me pretend for a minute”.

7 days earlier

He pretends like he doesn’t know where he’s going. Like talking to the kriffing psych droid really had him so out of sorts he didn’t realize he was getting on a turbo lift and heading up three flights after his appointment.

He tries to act like he doesn’t know his feet are carrying him to the room with the familiar red and white sentinel outside the door.

Rule quirks his helmet before snapping to attention.

“Commander Fox, sir?”

“At ease Sargent.” It's late, well past visiting hours but the few sentient nurses and the droids assisting them make no move to rush him along. Perks of the armor.

Rule relaxes and glances through the small transparisteel window on the door behind him before turning back.

“She just had some medicine.” He explains, “pain was getting pretty bad again.”

Fox’s bucket hides his cringe, allowing him to outwardly remain impassive and aloof, his voice even as he asks simple questions about visitors and any possible issues arising.

“No problems here sir. I think I heard her Doc say something about discharge tomorrow. She’s doing ok” what isn’t said hangs in the air.

She’d be doing better if you were with her

“That’s good. That’s good” Fox agrees, readily avoiding the things left unspoken. “Have you been relieved for dinner?”

“I have a ration bar in my pack sir.”

“Do I need to say it?”

The sunny tone of Rule’s voice tells him everything he needs to know. He can imagine the shit eating grin that accompanies it. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir?”

A quick glance up and down the hall shows nothing but gleaming white tile. No staff. No visitors. No one but Rule to bear witness to his moment of weakness.

“Take the night off Sargent. I’ll cover the watch.”

He stares at the emotionless visor for a beat waiting for his kit to argue, for him to make a smart comment.

It doesn’t happen.

Rule rolls his shoulders, stretching slightly as he makes his move past Fox. At the last second, Rule's hand shoots out, resting over Fox’s vambrace. The moment lingers without either speaking until Rule gently pulls the Commander in and knocks his bucket against Fox’s, pressing his forehead to his Commander’s.

Fox, claps a hand behind the sargents head and they sit there frozen for a moment in time, Rule offering more comfort in that one gesture than he’s felt in days. A Keldabe kiss to ease his fragile psyche.

“Alverde.” Rule offers quietly when the pair finally part.

“Sargent” Fox gives a minuscule nod. “Enjoy your night.” He watches the youngster head down the hall until he turns a corner and is gone from sight.

Fox manages to avoid looking in the room for five minutes exactly. He’s able to fight off the pull to enter it for another twenty. The draw of her is too much in the end and he finds himself slipping into her room before the first thirty minutes are even past.

The lights are low and the monitors and electronics surrounding her hum and buzz steadily. Everything is white and stark. His cyar’ika is nearly the same color as the sheet she lays under.

She looks small, and so achingly fragile Fox is afraid the weight of his look alone will break her. She shivers lightly and he lurches into motion, dragging the itchy comforter over her legs and tucking it around her shoulders. Her body stirs as his gloved hand grazes along her cheek.

He freezes as her eyes flutter open. Her pupils aren’t quite right. It seems to take her a moment to piece together what’s going on but when she does the realization that washes over her is visible.

“Fox” his name sounds like a long lost friend rolling from her lips. She struggles to sit up. A look of pain flashes across her face as she twists under the blankets.

“Stop that” he demands impotently, his gloves moving to press gently against her chest. “you’re going to hurt yourself.”

She blinks owlishly up at him in the way only a person on good pain meds can, like she doesn’t quite understand what’s been said and she’s not sure whether she should comply or question it. It’s somewhere between bemused and scared.

He cups her cheek in his hand, “easy precious girl.” He soothes. Mouse relaxes into his touch as his gloved thumb rubs softly. Her eyes flutter shut and he can feel the soft sound she makes against his palm.

This was already far past what he intended. He just wanted to see her, to prove to himself she was really alive and in one piece despite him.

Now, he finds himself already slipping into old habits.

More focused, her eyes open. Her hand slips up and grips his vambrace. Slowly she pulls his hand away from her face. She lets her fingers slip down into and through his. Her voice is thick with sleep when she speaks and Fox has to lean in to hear her.

“I knew you’d come”

Of course she had. Fox wonders if she knew him better than he knew himself. This was always going to happen no matter how many times he’d lied to himself. He pulls his hand away. Mouse’s hangs empty in the air for a moment before she sets it down over her chest.

The quiet burr and hum of the monitors around her are the only sound between them until he reaches up to his bucket and lets the seal pop with a soft hiss.

Her eyes scan his face as he sets the helm off to the side. There’s a question there he can’t decipher. “What can I do?”

A harsh laugh escapes Fox’s lips and Mouse frowns at him.

“I think you’ve done enough, cyar’ika.”

“Fox-“ it’s a scolding tone that holds no weight when she looks like a battered doll in a too big hospital bed. She closes her eyes when he doesn’t give in and offer her more.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge of it. “I just wanted to make sure you were, ok. Alright?” He holds back from touching her again. It takes an enormous amount of will.

“I’m ok, Fox. Because of you.”

It’s a lie. All of it. It can’t be anything else. “You're in a hospital bed,” he growls, pushing up to his feet and stalking toward the window. He can’t look at her. “You spent days floating in bacta. You-“

“I’m alive.”

“That’s not because of me.”

He hears the ruffle of sheets as he looks out over Coruscant. The lights of the buildings and speeders in the sky lanes, like stars in the polluted evening light.

“Fox-“ her hand touches his arm and he spins to steady her. Anger swells up in him.

“Kriff- Mouse, get back in bed” he orders lowly, “you’re going to get hurt.”

She sways gently on her feet in the too big hospital gown but her jaw is set, “will you listen to me?”

“Will you get back in bed?” Fox pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath before looking at her again. “Get back in bed and I’ll listen. Please.”

Mouse stands, arms crossed, glaring pointedly. Fox has had enough. Quick and smooth like a tactical insertion he scoops her up. Mouse makes a small noise as his arms slide behind her knees and his other arm cradles behind her shoulders. She breathes heavily as she looks up at him.

“You’re going back to bed.” He covers the small room in just a few steps. When he goes to set her down she slips her arms around his neck and holds on for dear life.

“I’m not getting back in that bed unless you come with me.”

“You’re not in the position to make demands.” But that’s a lie because, with him, she was always in the position to make demands. She just never had to.

“Please, Fox. I just want one good night. You can leave as soon as I'm asleep.”

It’s hard to say if it’s the tired tone of her voice, the smell of her skin so temptingly close, or just his own beaten down need to be close to her, regardless Fox gives in.

“The armor stays on.” He says as he settles into the bed, he tries to keep his boots off the bed the best he can. Mouse curls tighter against him. It can’t be comfortable against the plastoid but to look at her he’d never know. One hand rests along his jaw while the other wraps around his back keeping him from easily disentangling himself.

Fox can’t help himself as he slips one glove off and cards his fingers through her hair, stopping every so often to work out a tangle. Mouse sighs against him.

“Precious girl,” he hums lowly as her fingers trace along the stubble at his jaw, “go to sleep.”

“You're going to leave once I do.”

“Yes, that was the deal.”

“You’re not going to come back.”

Again, he’s struck with how well she knows him. “No, cyar’ika. I’m not.”

6 days earlier

His knuckles are wailing in pain and it feels so kriffing good. His hands, wrapped in protective tape are held tight and safe as he tenderizes the heavy bag in front of him. A low, guttural growl works its way up from his chest with each landed blow.

It’s the first time he’s felt in control in days. Even if it only lasted for his duration in the sparring rooms he didn’t care. When he closes his eyes he doesn’t see Mouse at the end of his blaster, the way her body recoiled and convulsed at the first shot. He doesn’t hear the scream that rips through her when the second bolt burns through her side. He doesn’t dwell on the voice in his head demanding the kill while Fox did everything to drag his near perfect aim away from center mass.

He pictures Sidious’ face on the bag and the pile of sloppy mash his fists were making it into. There’s catharsis in the exertion that a psych droid couldn’t give him.

“Commander, sir?”

Fox turns to see Hound stripped down to just his black under armor pants. He was a burly boy as far as clones went, thicker and more muscular through the torso, next to Hound, Fox looks almost lithe.

Fox pants lightly as he dips to grab a bottle of water and straighten back up. “What can I do for you?”

“I- do you need to-“

Fox watches as the man chooses his words carefully, finally gesturing first toward the mat.

“You wanna go a few, rounds? Looks like you could use it?”

A roll of tape is flipped through the air in answer. Hound catches it smoothly, giving Fox a happy grin as he begins wrapping his hands.

5 days earlier

There’s a neat hole in his wall, fist sized and fresh, less than a week old. Fox pretends like he doesn’t see Chancellor Organa eyeballing it with some amount of apprehension. What he can’t pretend is that a visit from the newly minted Chancellor to his office isn’t a surprise.

“Commander, you can drop the title with me.” The Chancellor says for the second time since his arrival.

“Sir, it’s frowned upon-“

“-not by me”

Fox huffs and closes his eyes to hide the roll of them. “Ok, fine. Can I get you something to drink? Some caf?”

Bail waves off the offer, “I won’t be long and it looks like you're woefully underserved.” He tips his head back toward the door and the empty desk.

A bristle of irritation tingles down Fox’s neck. “She was in the hospital. She was…” the words trail off. Part of protecting his little Mouse was keeping her involvement in the Sidious event quiet.

“I know, Commander.” Bail says quietly, “we share a friend on the council who’s made me aware of many interesting things.”

It feels like he’s being baited. He likes to think Organa wouldn't try to try to weasel information from him but his trust is a very delicate thing at the moment and he’s not willing to give an inch. His loyalty is to his men and the republic, after that only one other person had earned any devotion from him and that was not Bail Organa. At least not yet.

“If there’s anything I can do for her, anything she needs we can make that happen.”

Fox glances at the picture on his desk. It had come by courier earlier in the day. It’s been neatly matted and framed to be hung, a children’s drawing of a small green twi’lek child and him holding hands. He’d stared at it on his desk in silence for far too long before he felt something ugly bubble up. Now he had a hole in the wall. He hoped the picture would cover it.

Fox continues to look at the picture. He needs a second to pretend like he knows what Mouse needs. He doesn’t listen to the nagging voice inside of him saying it to him. He hates that voice, would smother it if he could.

“She needs time to heal.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Thank you.”

Earlier this day

“Senator Amidala” Fox greets the senator at the door, “this is a surprise. If I keep receiving politicians in my office I’m going to have to have it made more suitable.”

The senator gives him a bright smile, “it’s good to see you Fox.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, “it’s good to see you too Padmé.”

They were friends, of a sort. They’d seen enough together that Fox would gladly file her under battle buddies in his short list of friends. She looks lovely, as always, absolutely glowing. Her hand rests softly over the growing baby bump she was now proudly displaying.

“You look wonderful. Congratulations on the coming Ik’aad.” He offers gesturing toward her belly. His eyes linger and he remembers laying Mouse across his bed, placing kisses in a ring around her naval and imaging what it would be like someday when he-

Fox gives his head a quick shake and refocuses on the senator.

“Thank you.” He watches her eyes travel to the child’s drawing on the wall behind his desk before returning to him. “And how are you doing?”

“As well as can be expected. Chancellor Organa keeps a busy schedule and he’s insistent that I go with him. He’s got a lot of ideas and he asks my opinion. It’s different… but it’s nice.”

Padmé slips into the chair across from him.

“That’s wonderful” but she doesn’t sound like it’s wonderful. She sounds like she was here on a mission that he hasn’t been briefed on. He raises a brow at her. They’ve known each other long enough that she should know to just come out with it.

“We’re leaving for Naboo today. I want to have the baby in the lake country. It’s beautiful and peaceful.” She lets out a tired laugh, “and far away from the prying eyes of the holonet news.”

“They’ve been very… interested in you as of late” he offers diplomatically.

Another small laugh, “to say the least” Padmé sobers. “I just wanted to make sure you were ok with her going?”

Confusion must show on his face. Her?

Padmé frowns gently, the look of pity is out of place on her serene features, “you weren’t told, were you?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to speak clearly.” Fox tries to bite back the tension but it slips into his voice.

She says Mouse’s name. Her real name.

“The Chancellor asked if we would take her with us. That she needed a place to finish recovering.” Padmé is watching his face. She’s trying to gauge his reaction.

He tries to give her nothing.

“She’s an amazing woman. She said if she went then she had to be useful. She’s going to be my assistant while I’m on leave-“

Fox holds up a hand. “She’s excellent at what she does. You’ll never be in better hands.”

“What about you?”

“I’m not her keeper. Mouse deserves to be safe and happy.” He shoots her a forced smile. “That’s not with me.”

Current

He had the rancor etched into his arm after Thorn had been killed in action on a mission Fox was supposed to have led. It was an inside joke they’d heard as shinies. Something about a Jedi and a rancor walking into a cantina. He can’t remember the punchline. It wasn’t funny anyways.

The Pantoran works the needle over his freshly shaven chest. Back and forth, outlining and filling. Pressing the ink into his skin to permanently mark him with another mark of regret, penance. Everytime he looks in the mirror, stripped down from his armor and his blacks he’ll see the reminder of what never was supposed to be, the thing that he went after when he knew it wasn’t allowed. The love that nearly destroyed the person he cared for beyond all others.

“So, this picture is pretty wicked” the Pantoran says conversationally. He glances back and forth from the reference picture Fox gave him, a partial hand print pressed against his armor, the fourth and fifth finger only partially visible and the heel of the hand smeared red. “Was it done in ink?”

“No. Blood.”

The Pantoran makes a sound of understanding. The buzz of the tattoo gun fills the quiet.

Seconds, minutes, hours it’s all the same as Fox sits still as stone in the chair, the press of the needle intimately familiar.

He thinks of Mouse on a shuttle to Naboo.

This was what he’d needed. Mouse far away, somewhere safe. Somewhere no one could hurt her. Where he couldn’t hurt her. No matter what he’s told he still doesn’t believe there isn’t something in him that can be persuaded, to be flipped on, that won’t harm her.

He needed to focus on his job, his men, the Galactic Republic. There was no world in which he and Mouse would work and it was better that she wasn’t there to know that.

“Alright, mate.” The Artist sets the gun down and claps his hands once before rubbing them together. “You’re all set. Why don’t you take a looksy in the mirror while I grab the bacta gel and a dressing?”

Fox nods and pushes himself up. His back is stiff from laying still and he takes a moment to stretch and twist before stepping in front of the mirror. His eyes trace the ink. It’s a perfect replica of the picture, deep vibrant red fingers pressing into his armor, only now pressing into his heart. A reminder of what happens when he becomes selfish. When he wants more than the greater design allows for.

“It’s perfect.”

[suckmysupernatural]

I Got You - Chapter 7

Word Count: ~2k

Pairing: Professor!Dean x Reader

Warnings: drinking, light smut

Summary: Y/N is used to dealing with her drunk boyfriend, Brandon. That is, until returning to college after a five year sabbatical. Y/N decides to take a fun history class and she ends up meeting Dean, or rather Professor Dean.

A/N: Getting down to it folks!! Tomorrow I will be posting the last chapter + the epilogue!! 

Series Masterlist

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

Since the breakup with Brandon, you and Dean had been spending more and more time together. The next semester was a week away and both of you were getting ready. You had gone over to Dean’s apartment the night before, taking your computer with you. You were looking at textbook deals online while Dean edited his syllabus. The two of you barely talked, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, you were simply enjoying one another’s company. 

Over time, your feelings for Dean had only grown. You wanted to tell him that you were ready to try a relationship but had decided to let things progress naturally. Things between you and Dean were good, and you didn’t worry too much about the semantics. 

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

It was mid-afternoon when you heard a knock at your door. You didn’t even need to look to know it was Dean. By now, you had learned to recognize the way he knocks. It was firm but not demanding. He didn’t hurry or knock excessively, just enough so you would hear. You open the door with a smile.

“Why hello, neighbor,” you greet him, stepping back as to let Dean in. 

“Hey, I don’t have time to come in, but I wanted to ask a question. I’m going to pick up Sam at the airport. He decided to visit before I had to go back to work. We were gonna go out tonight, and I was wondering if you wanted to come along? I wanted to ask in person cause I realized I wasn’t sure if you drank. Like, I know you told me you’d had drinks before, but I didn’t know if your recovery included alcohol or not,” Dean said, slightly rambling. 

“I would love to meet your brother and go out tonight. Yes, I drink. Some addicts don’t because they’ll just become an alcoholic too, but I’m okay with alcohol. It’s a different feeling, not one that I crave,” you told Dean. 

“Well, okay,” Dean said, rocking on the balls of his feet, “meet us in the lobby at 8?” 

“Sounds good, Dean.” 

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

It was 7:00 when you started to get ready. It was rare that you went out anymore, so you were excited to get a chance to dress a little nicer than your usual loungewear. Opening your drawers, you grabbed a pair of panties and a bra that made you feel sexy. Sure, no one was gonna see them, but it made you feel confident. You pulled out a pair of light blue jeans, knowing that they made your butt look good. It took some time to pick out a top, settling on a loose grey tank top that showed just the slightest amount of cleavage. Over the top, you shrugged on a fitted army green jacket. 

Making your way into the bathroom, you put on a touch of makeup and fluffed your hair. You felt as good as you looked. To finish your look, you grabbed a pair of black booties and black purse, shoving your phone and wallet inside before heading out of your apartment. 

You took the elevator to the lobby, spotting Dean and his brother, Sam, instantly. Dean had told you that his brother was tall, but you didn’t realize that he was going to be that tall. You were already more than a head shorter than Dean, so compared to Sam, you were basically an ant. 

The moment Dean noticed you, his eyes lit up. He always found you beautiful and tonight was no exception. Your confidence showed through in the way you held yourself, and Dean found it incredibly sexy. Walking up to him, you flashed a smile. 

“Hello, boys,” you greet. 

“Hey, you look g-good,” Dean said with a slight stutter. Sam gave him a nudge, getting his attention, “Oh, yeah! Y/N, this is my brother, Sammy. Sammy, this is Y/N.” Sam stepped forward, reaching out a hand. 

“Sam,” he corrected, giving his brother a look. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam,” you emphasize, “Dean never shuts up about his little brother.”

“Likewise. Dean never shuts up about his…” Sam tried to search for a word to finish the sentence. Dean took the opportunity to interrupt.

“Well! You guys ready to head out?” he asked, slightly more chipper than he usually was. Both you and Sam chuckle. You both agree and follow Dean’s lead out the door and into the impala. You went to sit in the backseat, Sam interjected.

“You can sit in the front, Y/N,” he offers. It was apparent Sam was trying to be polite in front of you.

“I don’t need as much legroom as you do, don’t sweat it,” you laugh. Sam gave you a small smile before climbing into the passenger seat. Dean was the last into the car, glancing into the rearview mirror. This is the happiest he had been in a while, spending time with his two favorite people. Sam visited every once in a while, only staying for a few days at a time. Dean wanted to make the most of it.

It didn’t take long to reach the local bar and park the impala. The three of you entered the bar, and luckily it was only partially full. You sat down at a table while the boys went to get drinks. Unsurprisingly, it only took a couple of seconds for you to be approached by a drunken asshole.

“Hello, pretty lady. Whatcha doin’ over here all by lonesome?” He winked, leaning in towards you and invading your personal space. 

“I’m not by my lonesome,” you roll your eyes, “see those two guys at the bar? Tall, muscled, attractive? Yeah, they’re with me.” The man’s eyes widened at the sight of the brothers. You giggled as the man scurried away, seeing that the boys were on their way back.  

“What was that?” Dean asked.

“The guy was trying to pick me up, but don’t worry, you two handsome gents scared him off,” you smile. The brother’s exchanged a look, obviously proud of themselves. Dean slid into the booth next to you, handing you a rum and coke, while Sam sat across from the two of you. 

“So, Sam. Tell me about yourself. Dean has told me a lot about you but I’d rather hear it from the horse’s mouth,” you say. 

“Well, I’m a defense lawyer. Most of my clients are mentally ill. I try to get them the help they need, not jail time,” Sam shrugs, “I doubt Dean told you, but I had a little stint in a psychiatric hospital when I was at Stanford. The other patients I met, a lot of them had been in jail before being diagnosed. I want to help prevent that from happening to others.” 

“That’s really amazing, Sam.”

“Sammy here is the best of us,” Dean grins. You knew that Dean had helped raise Sam, so it was no surprise that he had some fatherly pride. Sam blushed, looking down at the beer in his hand. This was a regular occurrence between the brothers, as Dean loved to boast about his little brother. 

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

The three of you talked for hours, knocking down a few more drinks in the process. Dean stopped after his second, knowing that he would be driving Y/N and Sammy home. He knew that he could probably handle more, but it wasn’t worth the risk. He didn’t need to drink to have fun, especially not with the company he had. 

It was close to midnight when the three of you piled into the impala, heading back to the apartment building. You invited the boys back to your apartment to keep hanging out, but Sam declined. He was tired, deciding to call it a night. What you didn’t notice was Sam giving Dean a look in the elevator. Dean rolled his eyes but got the message; Sam approved of you. 

Walking into your apartment, you threw your purse on the kitchen table. Both you and Dean took off your shoes before sitting. 

“Sam is great. I can see why you talk about him all time,” you give Dean a warm smile. Dean returned right back. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you got to meet him. That he got to meet you.” 

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“Well, I think you’re pretty damn special,” Dean shrugged, tapping his fingers on the kitchen counter. He looked into your eyes, and you could swear that time stood still. 

“Hope it’s the good kind of special,” you smirk.

“The best kind, sweetheart,” Dean said, his eyes boring into yours. Standing from your seat, you walked over to Dean.

“I think you’re pretty special yourself, Winchester,” your voice was soft but steady. You straddled Dean slowly, never breaking eye contact. Dean’s breathing slowed as you wrapped your hands around the back of his neck. Leaning in, you brought your lips to his. Dean immediately responded, deepening the kiss by wrapping one hand around your waist, the other on the back of your head. 

The two of you clung to one another, not wanting to part. You shrugged off your jacket before pushing Dean’s past his shoulders. Dean’s hands wandered to the hem of your shirt, looking at you. You nodded and he pulled the shirt up over your head. Leaning his head down, he left kisses along your collarbone. You exhaled at the action, tilting your head back to allow him easier access. 

You helped Dean rid himself of his shirt, taking in the sight before you. You ran your hands along his chest, your bottom lip in between your teeth. You looked into Dean’s eyes, which were full of lust. He stood, gripping your thighs to keep you pressed against him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, letting him carry you into your bedroom. 

He slowly lowered you onto your bed before standing upright to look at you. It didn’t take long before his pants were on the floor, his hands moving to remove yours. 

“You are beautiful,” Dean whispered. You could feel a blush creep onto your cheeks, watching as he lowered himself to kiss you again. He began to trail kisses down your neck, stopping at your sternum. You arched your back, allowing Dean to unhook your bra. He continued kissing down your stomach making his way to your panties. He slipped them off of you, maintaining eye-contact. 

He raised himself back up, kissing you deeply. You let your hands wander his body, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, helping him out of them. Dean caressed your face before kissing along your jaw. You put a hand between the two of you, guiding him to your entrance. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“I’m on the pill,” you tell him, your voice soft. Dean gave you a smirk, leaning down to nibble on your ear. Your eyes couldn’t help but flutter at the action, letting out a whimper. 

Slowly, he pushed into you. Letting out a moan, you looked into his eyes. Rocking into you, Dean’s ministrations were gentle. He wanted to worship you. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to reach your peaks. Dean withdrew and laid next to you. He ran his fingers through your hair, and you couldn’t help but smile. 

“You make me happy,” you whisper, rolling to your side to look at Dean.

“That’s all I want to do,” Dean responded. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in close to him. You wrapped an arm around him and rested your head on his chest.

Soon, both of you fell asleep, happy in each other’s arms. 

[afni-fics]

In Hindsight: Chapter 6: Eight Years Ago... One Bad Day

In Hindsight: Chapter 6: Eight Years Ago... One Bad Day by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

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Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: 9-year old Tim Drake had been staying with his parents, Jack and Janet, for the better part of three weeks following the hospitalization of his grandmother due to a serious illness. While he loved having this rare extended length of time with his Mom and Dad, he still missed his Nana, their home, and his friends in the neighborhood. She'd been in the hospital so long... She should have been getting better soon... Then they could both go home while Mom and Dad went on their next archaeological trip.

However, all it took is one bad day to change the course of his life.

Click... Whirrr...

Click... Whirrr...

Click... Whirrr...

Nine-year-old Timothy Drake looked at his mother expectantly as she picked up one of his Polaroid photos that had finally finished developing.

Janet Drake's eyes brightened as she looked over the photo her son had taken of the ancient Mesopotamian vase she'd unpacked from her most recent archaeological dig with Jack. She beamed at her child with undisguised pride. "This is really good!" 

"Really?!" Tim asked, his blue eyes brightening with delight as he watched his mother tape the photo into place alongside her notes cataloging the vase in her work journal. He slung the camera around his neck by its strap and crawled over to where his mom welcomed him over with open arms so he could get a closer look at the page with her notes, written with an graceful cursive hand. Janie tugged him into an easy comfortable hug as soon as he was within reach, nuzzling his hair affectionately until he pulled away giggling from the ticklish sensation. "Momma! Stop!" 

His mother's smile was full of love and mischief, but she finally relented. "Oh fine!," she said with a heavy amount of faux drama in her tone and an obvious pout as she release her grip to allow him to pull away.

"Really?" Tim asked, his head tilted to a curious angle.

"Mmmm... Nope!" was all the warning Tim got before Janie pounced again and pulled him into another nearly smothering hug and kissed the top of his head, causing him to shriek with delighted laughter as his weak attempts to escape were completely ineffective. In the end, fighting his mother's affection was not something he had it in his heart to do for very long. Eventually, their laughter died down as he laid down with his head on his mother's lap, sighing with contentment as she carded her elegant long fingertips through his hair.

As much as he loved living with his Nana, Tim cherished these special moments alone with his Mom that were so few and far between year after year. His parents were out of the country so much because of their work. Normally when they were back in the country, it was only for a week or two at most.

"What's going on here?"

Both Janet and Tim froze when a new voice joined the living room. The two looked up from their places on the floor at Jack Drake, who was leaning against the doorway.

"Oh, hi Dad!" Tim said cheerfully with a more demure smile as he sat up to address his father, not noticing how Janet's hands stayed wrapped subtly around him, continuing to hold him close.

"Just cataloging the latest shipment from our last dig," Janet said impassively with a slight shrug of her shoulders and her expression aloof. "Timber was helping me with photographs for the journal."

Jack regarded the several Polaroid photos resting on the table with the Mesopotamian vase. "Is that a fact?" he asked as he sauntered into the room, getting closer to the two of them.

Even as Tim unconsciously leaned closer to his father, sitting up straighter and drawn out of his mother's embrace, Janet pulled her hands reluctantly back into her lap, one hand folded neatly over the other, while her sharp blue eyes stayed on her husband and watched every move he made.

There was a tense moment of silence in the air between the three of them as Jack picked up one of his son's photos to review. His eyes flickered between the vase and the photograph. "Not bad," he finally said with a small smile of approval. "The image is in frame and in focus, the balance between light and shadow isn't bad, and the quality is fairly decent for a simple Polaroid." He handed the photo to his son, who regarded him with wide-eyed amazement. "Good job."

"Wow! Thanks Dad!" Tim said brightly, practically glowing at the rare praise. Marginally, Janet relaxed the tension in her hands and released the breath she'd been holding.

Jack nodded. "C'mon over here. Let me show you what else to take pictures of on a piece like this." 

For about twenty minutes, Jack had his son's undivided attention as he instructed Tim on what details deserved close-up shots on the vase and several other pieces Janet had unpacked earlier. He also offered several detailed critiques on a couple of earlier photos that had not turned out well at all, explaining exactly how he thought they went wrong and how to avoid such errors in the future. If the boy had wilted a bit under the heavy-handed criticisms, his father didn't seem to notice.

All the while, Janet was silent and off to the side as she busied herself with unpacking the other boxes and making her notes, though she kept a weather eye on both her husband and her son. 

As Jack was helping Tim line up a new shot of a statue that Janet had just unboxed, a phone rang. Jack reached into his pocket and glanced at the screen. "I need to take this," he said as he rose to his feet and made his way out of the living room. While Tim's focus was completely absorbed on the statue he was photographing for his father, Janet's eyes followed Jack until he was completely out of view. Only when he was gone did she fully relax.

For about ten minutes, all was right in their world. Tim was happily snapping photographs without a care in the world. Janet was watching over her son with a content smile on her face as he occasionally came over to share his better shots with her for the journal.

Everything was fine.

Then everything wasn't.

"Janet," Jack's voice cut through the peaceful quiet of the living room. Both mother and son looked up to see him standing in the doorway again. This time, he did not re-enter it. There was also something in the tone of man's voice that seemed... off. "We need to talk."

Tim, who'd been kneeling beside his mother, pressed against her side as they compared which photo to add to the journal next, noticed Janet stiffen at the sound of her name. "Momma?" However, when the boy glanced at her face, her expression was reassuring as looked at him and stroked his hair. 

"It's alright, Timber," she said softly before pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Then she glanced around until she zeroed in on a small crate that was opened, but hadn't been unpacked. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Favor?"

Janet pulled the crate closer. "This box has a bunch of broken pieces that we think makes up flat relief sculpture." She reached in and pulled a shard of red stone about the size of Janet's palm that had the partial image of what looked like a lion's head. "Can you unpack this and see if you can't start fitting some of the pieces together? I know how good you are with puzzles." She smiled at her son.

And Tim smiled back with a nod. "Okay!"

As soon as she knew her son was preoccupied, Janet rose to her feet and followed her husband out of the living room.

   Piecing together the relief sculpture kept Tim busy for quite awhile. He didn't realize how long, though, until his stomach rumbled. The boy lifted his head from the halfway completed puzzle and blinked owlishly at the clock sitting on a nearby end table. It was at least a good hour past their usual lunchtime and neither his mother nor his father had returned to the living room yet.

Sitting back on his heels, Tim looked around uneasily. The spacious room suddenly seemed too big, too cold, and too quiet for just him. He was suddenly reminded of how different his parent's spacious immaculate, almost antiseptic English manor-style house was from his Nana's smaller, Victorian-styled cottage. Back there, every room was filled with signs of life. Nana's knitting or sewing projects sat on the sofa or at her favorite window seat. Music from the radio or a show on the TV was filtering in from one room or another. Tim's toys and books were scattered haphazardly here and there. The wonderful aromas of homecooked meals or baked goods were always wafting on the air. 

Suddenly, Tim felt very homesick. He loved his parents very much, but he really didn't like their home, especially when he was alone.

"Mom? Dad?"

There was no answer to his nervous calls.

His interest in the relief sculpture completely gone for now, Tim got to his feet and tried to ignore the queasy feeling in his stomach as he walked out of the living room and into the hallway. 

"Momma?"

Tim wandered down the hall, peeking into the adjoining rooms but not seeing his parents anywhere. They weren't in his father's office or the kitchen or the dining room. A momentary spike of fear stabbed through the boy's heart. 

"Did they leave me?!"

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it into the furthest recesses of his mind with a shake of his head.

"No. If they left the house the security system would've beeped. It always beeps if someone goes in or out."

Tim finally noticed his parents' bedroom at the far end of the hallway, just across the hall from his own bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and light from the room cut into the dimly lit hallway. And, much to the boy's relief, he heard the sound of voices coming from inside.

"Mom? Dad?" 

Tim knocked on the door before entering, but the action also served to nudge the door further open inward. Normally he wouldn't dare to intrude upon his parents in their bedroom and invite his father's ire, but he was too uneasy and desperate to not be alone in that great big house anymore.

Unfortunately, the uneasy feeling did not dissipate once the door was open. 

Jack and Janet were both in the bedroom, but something was very wrong. His mother was in his father's arms, sobbing softly with one hand clamped over her mouth to muffle the sound even as Jack stroked her hair in a comforting gesture. He did spare a quick glance at his son, eyes narrowed slightly with irritation for a split moment at the unexpected intrusion before disappearing with a blink into a more neutral expression.

Tim would've been immediately cowed by the brief look his father shot him, except he was more alarmed by the state his mother was in. "Momma?! What's wrong?!" Despite his own growing distress, Tim didn't dare enter the bedroom without being invited. He looked immediately to his father. "Dad?!"

Jack sighed as he glanced away from his son, turning his visual attention to the still crying woman in his arms who was trying desperately to regain some semblance of self-control. "It's your grandmother," Jack said distantly. "I just got a call from the hospital."

"Nana?" Tim whispered as he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably, and the earlier queasiness in his stomach intensified. "Why did the hospital call? Is she still sick? Does she have to stay longer?"

"Oh baby," Janet whimpered as she turned her red-rimmed eyes to Tim. She pulled herself away from Jack's embrace and reached out for her son. Jack stepped back as the boy cautiously walked into the room and reluctantly filled the space in his mother's arms. 

After Janet gave him a small nod and motioned with her eyes toward the door, Jack nodded back and exited the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Though the heavy wooden barrier muffled most of the sound, he knew the moment his wife delivered the tragic news to their son, a completely indifferent expression on his face to the sound of his child's heartbroken sobs as he walked back to the living room to finish the last of the cataloging that had been interrupted. 

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: I took the title of this chapter "One Bad Day" partially from a concept introduced by the Batman storyline "The Killing Joke". The idea is that all it took was "one bad day" in their respective lives to create both the Batman and the Joker. Of course, Bruce Wayne's "one bad day" was the murder of his parents. Who knows what Joker's true "one bad day" was, though there are several possibilities in canon.

In this AU, Tim Drake's "one bad day" was when he was told his grandmother had died and he was suddenly and cruelly ripped from her care and forced into the care of his parents, not knowing his father was a manipulative abusive liar. If it hadn't been for that event, Tim would have never been set on the path that would lead him to becoming the third Robin and joining Bruce Wayne's war on the crime and all the grief that followed him afterwards.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

[troybeecham]

Today the Church remembers St. John Chrysostom (c. AD 349 – 14 September 407), Archbishop of Constantinople, Early Church Father.

Ora pro nobis.

He is known for his preaching and public speaking, his denunciation of abuse of authority by both ecclesiastical and political leaders, the Divine Liturgy of Saint John Chrysostom, and his ascetic sensibilities. The epithet Chrysostomos means "golden-mouthed" in Greek and denotes his celebrated eloquence. Chrysostom was among the most prolific authors in the early Christian Church, exceeded only by Augustine of Hippo in the quantity of his surviving writings.

John was born in Antioch in AD 349 to Greek parents from Syria. Different scholars describe his mother Anthusa as a pagan or as a Christian, and his father was a high-ranking military officer. John's father died soon after his birth and he was raised by his mother. He was baptised in AD 368 or 373 and tonsured as a reader (one of the minor orders of the Church).

As a result of his mother's influential connections in the city, John began his education under the pagan teacher Libanius. From Libanius, John acquired the skills for a career in rhetoric, as well as a love of the Greek language and literature.

As he grew older, however, John became more deeply committed to Christianity and went on to study theology under Diodore of Tarsus, founder of the re-constituted School of Antioch. According to the Christian historian Sozomen, Libanius was supposed to have said on his deathbed that John would have been his successor "if the Christians had not taken him from us".

John lived in extreme asceticism and became a hermit in about AD 375; he spent the next two years continually standing, scarcely sleeping, and committing the Bible to memory. As a consequence of these practices, his stomach and kidneys were permanently damaged and poor health forced him to return to Antioch.

John was ordained as a deacon in AD 381 by Saint Meletius of Antioch who was not then in communion with Alexandria and Rome. After the death of Meletius, John separated himself from the followers of Meletius, without joining Paulinus, the rival of Meletius for the bishopric of Antioch. But after the death of Paulinus he was ordained a presbyter (priest) in AD 386 by Evagrius, the successor of Paulinus.He was destined later to bring about reconciliation between Flavian I of Antioch, Alexandria, and Rome, thus bringing those three sees into communion for the first time in nearly seventy years.

In Antioch, over the course of twelve years (386–397), John gained popularity because of the eloquence of his public speaking at the Golden Church, Antioch's cathedral, especially his insightful expositions of Bible passages and moral teaching. The most valuable of his works from this period are his Homilies on various books of the Bible. He emphasised charitable giving and was concerned with the spiritual and temporal needs of the poor. He spoke against abuse of wealth and personal property:

“Do you wish to honour the body of Christ? Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad. He who said: "This is my body" is the same who said: "You saw me hungry and you gave me no food", and "Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also to me"... What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with golden chalices when your brother is dying of hunger? Start by satisfying his hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well.”

His straightforward understanding of the Scriptures – in contrast to the Alexandrian tendency towards allegorical interpretation – meant that the themes of his talks were practical, explaining the Bible's application to everyday life. Such straightforward preaching helped Chrysostom to garner popular support. He founded a series of hospitals in Constantinople to care for the poor.

One incident that happened during his service in Antioch illustrates the influence of his homilies. When Chrysostom arrived in Antioch, Flavian, the bishop of the city, had to intervene with Emperor Theodosius I on behalf of citizens who had gone on a rampage mutilating statues of the Emperor and his family. During the weeks of Lent in AD 387, John preached more than twenty homilies in which he entreated the people to see the error of their ways. These made a lasting impression on the general population of the city: many pagans converted to Christianity as a result of the homilies. As a result, Theodosius' vengeance was not as severe as it might have been.

In the autumn of AD 397, John was appointed Archbishop of Constantinople, after having been nominated without his knowledge by the eunuch Eutropius. He had to leave Antioch in secret due to fears that the departure of such a popular figure would cause civil unrest. During his time as Archbishop he adamantly refused to host lavish social gatherings, which made him popular with the common people, but unpopular with wealthy citizens and the clergy. His reforms of the clergy were also unpopular. He told visiting regional preachers to return to the churches they were meant to be serving—without any payout.

His time in Constantinople was more tumultuous than his time in Antioch. Theophilus, the Patriarch of Alexandria, wanted to bring Constantinople under his sway and opposed John's appointment to Constantinople. Theophilus had disciplined four Egyptian monks (known as "the Tall Brothers") over their support of Origen's teachings. They fled to John and were welcomed by him. Theophilus therefore accused John of being too partial to the teaching of Origen. He made another enemy in Aelia Eudoxia, wife of Emperor Arcadius, who assumed that John's denunciations of extravagance in feminine dress were aimed at her. Eudoxia, Theophilus and other of his enemies held a synod in AD 403 (the Synod of the Oak) to charge John, in which his connection to Origen was used against him. It resulted in his deposition and banishment. He was called back by Arcadius almost immediately, as the people became "tumultuous" over his departure, even threatening to burn the royal palace. There was an earthquake the night of his arrest, which Eudoxia took for a sign of God's anger, prompting her to ask Arcadius for John's reinstatement.

Peace was short-lived. A silver statue of Eudoxia was erected in the Augustaion, near his cathedral. John denounced the dedication ceremonies as pagan and spoke against the Empress in harsh terms:

"Again Herodias raves; again she is troubled; she dances again; and again desires to receive John's head in a charger", an allusion to the events surrounding the death of John the Baptist. Once again he was banished, this time to the Caucasus in Abkhazia. Around AD 405, John began to lend moral and financial support to Christian monks who were enforcing the emperors' anti-Pagan laws, by destroying temples and shrines in Phoenicia and nearby regions.

The causes of John's exile are not clear, though Jennifer Barry suggests that they have to do with his connections to Arianism. Other historians, including Wendy Mayer and Geoffrey Dunn, have argued that "the surplus of evidence reveals a struggle between Johannite and anti-Johannite camps in Constantinople soon after John's departure and for a few years after his death". Faced with exile, John Chrysostom wrote an appeal for help to three churchmen: Pope Innocent I, Venerius the Bishop of Milan, and the third to Chromatius, the Bishop of Aquileia.

In 1872, church historian William Stephens wrote:

The Patriarch of the Eastern Rome appeals to the great bishops of the West, as the champions of an ecclesiastical discipline which he confesses himself unable to enforce, or to see any prospect of establishing. No jealousy is entertained of the Patriarch of the Old Rome by the Patriarch of the New Rome. The interference of Innocent is courted, a certain primacy is accorded him, but at the same time he is not addressed as a supreme arbitrator; assistance and sympathy are solicited from him as from an elder brother, and two other prelates of Italy are joint recipients with him of the appeal.

Pope Innocent I protested John's banishment from Constantinople to the town of Cucusus in Cappadocia, but to no avail. Innocent sent a delegation to intercede on behalf of John in AD 405. It was led by Gaudentius of Brescia; Gaudentius and his companions, two bishops, encountered many difficulties and never reached their goal of entering Constantinople.

John wrote letters which still held great influence in Constantinople. As a result of this, he was further exiled from Cucusus (where he stayed from 404 to 407) to Pitiunt (Pityus) (in modern Georgia) where his tomb is a shrine for pilgrims. He never reached this destination, as he died at Comana Pontica on AD 14 September 407 during the journey. His last words are said to have been "δόξα τῷ θεῷ πάντων ἕνεκεν" (Glory be to God for all things).

John came to be venerated as a saint soon after his death. Almost immediately after, an anonymous supporter of John (known as pseudo-Martyrius) wrote a funeral oration to reclaim John as a symbol of Christian orthodoxy. But three decades later, some of his adherents in Constantinople remained in schism. Saint Proclus, Patriarch of Constantinople (AD 434–446), hoping to bring about the reconciliation of the Johannites, preached a homily praising his predecessor in the Church of Hagia Sophia. He said, "O John, your life was filled with sorrow, but your death was glorious. Your grave is blessed and reward is great, by the grace and mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ O graced one, having conquered the bounds of time and place! Love has conquered space, unforgetting memory has annihilated the limits, and place does not hinder the miracles of the saint."

These homilies helped to mobilize public opinion, and the patriarch received permission from the emperor to return Chrysostom's relics to Constantinople, where they were enshrined in the Church of the Holy Apostles on AD 28 January 438. The Eastern Orthodox Church commemorates him as a "Great Ecumenical Teacher", with Basil the Great and Gregory the Theologian. These three saints, in addition to having their own individual commemorations throughout the year, are commemorated together on 30 January, a feast known as the Synaxis of the Three Hierarchs.

O God, you gave your servant John Chrysostom grace eloquently to proclaim your righteousness in the great congregation, and fearlessly to bear reproach for the honor of your Name: Mercifully grant to all bishops and pastors such excellence in preaching, and faithfulness in ministering your Word, that your people may be partakers with them of the glory that shall be revealed; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

[blog-cosmosuniverse1]

Study: COVID Shot Enhances Delta Infectivity

Analysis by Dr. Joseph Mercola Fact Checked

September 06, 2021Download PDF

Story at-a-glance According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, people who got the COVID shot early are now at increased risk for severe COVID disease This may be a sign that antibody dependent enhancement (ADE) is occurring, or it may simply indicate that the protection offered is limited to a few months, at best Recent research warns the Delta variant “is posed to acquire complete resistance to wild-type spike vaccines.” This could turn into a worst-case scenario that sets up those who have received the Pfizer shots for more severe illness when exposed to the virus To “stay ahead of the virus,” the Biden administration is now considering recommending a booster shot five months after the initial two doses rather than waiting eight months, as previously suggested Israeli data show Pfizer’s shot went from a 95% effectiveness at the outset to 39% by late July 2021, when the Delta strain became predominant. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s expectation for any vaccine is an efficacy rate of at least 50% compared to placebo

The official COVID-19 vaccine narrative changes rapidly these days. It took just one month for it to go from “if you’re vaccinated you’re not going to get COVID,”1 including the Delta variant,2 to “people who got vaccinated early are at increased risk for severe COVID disease.”3From the get-go, I and many other medical experts have warned of the possibility of these shots causing antibody dependent enhancement (ADE), a situation in which the shot actually facilitates a cascade of disease complications rather than protects against it. As a result, you may suffer more severe illness when encountering the wild virus than had you not been “vaccinated.”While we don’t yet have definitive proof that ADE is occurring, we are seeing suspicious signs that it might be. Data showing those who got the shot early this year are now at increased risk of severe infection could be such a sign. At bare minimum, it’s an indication that the protection you get from these shots is very temporary, lasting only a few months.This makes sense when you consider they program your body to produce just one type of antibody against a specific spike protein. Once the spike protein, or other elements in the virus, starts to mutate, protection radically diminishes. Worse, the vaccine facilitates the actual production of the variants because it is “leaky” and provides only partial ineffective immune protection.Natural immunity is far superior, as when you recover from the infection, your body makes antibodies against all five proteins of the virus, plus memory T cells that remain even once antibody levels diminish. This gives you far better protection that will likely be lifelong, unless you have impaired immune function. Real-world data from Israel confirms this, showing those who have received the COVID jab are 6.72 times more likely to get infected than people with natural immunity.4,5,6CDC Admits ‘Vaccine’ Immunity Doesn’t Last In an August 20, 2021, report, BPR noted:7“’The data we will publish today and next week demonstrate the vaccine effectiveness against SARS COVID 2 infection is waning,’ the CDC director [Rochelle Walensky] began … She cited reports of international colleagues, including Israel ‘suggest increased risk of severe disease amongst those vaccinated early.’Fear not, the same people who tried to sell Americans immunity through a jab and promised to hand back the freedoms they impeded on have a plan, and they’re not leaving much room for personal choice.‘In the context of these concerns, we are planning for Americans to receive booster shots starting next month to maximize vaccine induced protection. Our plan is to protect the American people and to stay ahead of this virus,’ Walensky shared …The CDC director appears to all but admit that the vaccine’s efficacy rate has a strict time limit, and its protections are limited in the ever-changing environment.‘Given this body of evidence, we are concerned that the current strong protection against severe infection, hospitalization and death could decrease in the months ahead. Especially among those who are higher risk or those who were vaccinated earlier during the phases of our vaccination roll out,’ Walensky explained …Starting September 20, Americans who completed their two doses of the Pfizer or Moderna vaccine at least eight months ago will be eligible for a booster shot. The goalposts back to a ‘normal’ society continue to be moved further and further. When will Americans, especially those who complied with initial vaccinations, have had enough?” Data Reveal Rapidly Waning Immunity From Shots Indeed, Israeli data show Pfizer’s shot went from a 95% effectiveness at the outset, to 64% in early July 2021 and 39% by late July, when the Delta strain became predominant.8,9 Meanwhile, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s expectation for any vaccine is an efficacy rate of at least 50%.Pfizer’s own trial data even showed rapidly waning effectiveness as early as March 13, 2021. BMJ associate editor Peter Doshi discussed this in an August 23,

2021, blog.10By the fifth month into the trial, efficacy had dropped from 96% to 84%, and this drop could not be due to the emergence of the Delta variant since 77% of trial participants were in the U.S., where the Delta variant didn’t emerge until months later. This suggests the COVID shot has a very temporary effectiveness regardless of new variants.What’s more, while Israeli authorities claim the Pfizer shot is still effective at preventing hospitalization and death, many who are double-jabbed do end up in the hospital, and we’re already seeing a shift in hospitalization rates from the unvaccinated to those who have gotten one or two injections. For example, by mid-August, 59% of serious COVID cases were among Israelis who had received two COVID injections.11Vaxxed Over Age 50 at Increased Risk for Serious Infection Data from the U.K. show a similar trend among those over the age of 50. In this age group, partially and fully “vaccinated” people account for 68% of hospitalizations and 70% of COVID deaths.12

[misssophiachase]

With or Without You

For Klaroline AU Week - Day 4 - Enemies to Lovers

Rebekah is diagnosed with a virus and sent to the hospital for observation. To help stop the spread, the two people closest to her in the past two weeks need to self-quarantine. The problem is her best friend and her brother can’t stand each other. Forced to live in the same house, will they kill each other or do something entirely different before 14 days is up?

(Please note: I realise this is a difficult time and the subject matter is serious but this drabble is designed to be just a bit of fun during a tough time.) 

“I can’t live with or without you.”

Day 3

“Honestly, Kat, I’m not sure if I can last much longer,” she groaned. “He sings in the shower, badly. he leaves the toilet seat up constantly and don’t get me started on his remote control form. He switches channels that fast I feel like I’m at a rave.”

Caroline lived in Los Angeles with Rebekah Mikaelson, they’d been friends for years. Her brother had shown up recently from London, where he was based, only for Rebekah to develop the virus. She was going to be okay but had been sent to hospital purely for observation purposes meaning they were imprisoned together as a precaution for fourteen whole days. 

To say she wasn’t coping was an understatement. 

“So, you haven’t had sex yet?” She asked matter-of-factly. Even though she was currently staring at Caroline through a computer screen, she still had the annoying ability to cut straight to the awkward part.

“Kat! She hissed, looking down the hall to check he wasn’t listening. “Your inappropriateness knows no bounds even via Skype.”

“The way I see it is the sooner you have sex, the frustration you feel towards each other and the situation will dissipate. And who knows? If the sex is good you’ll not only have something to do to pass the time but you’ll also be getting your required cardio.”

“Seriously,” she growled. “Is sex all you think about?”

“About 90 per cent of the day,” she quipped. “Tell me you have a better idea?”

“Ah, not to sleep with him because he’s an arrogant asshat who thinks the world revolves around him?”

“I don’t think, love, I know,” he called out. Unfortunately, she chose that exact moment to turn around and copped an eyeful.

“Wow, does he work out?” Kat cooed, obviously she’d had the privilege of seeing him too dressed only in a white towel tied low on his hips, his bare chest and six-pack on full display. Caroline felt her mouth go dry and was struggling to form words he looked that delicious. 

“If you use all of the hot water again, Mikaelson, I swear I’ll come in there and..” she paused, realising what she’d alluded to.

“By all means, love,” he murmured, the dimple in his left cheek making an ill-timed appearance. “Maybe that way we can conserve water.”

“You are unbelievable,” she muttered. “Not if we were the last two people on the planet and we had to repopulate the earth.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me, Forbes,” he chuckled, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“You are so screwed figuratively and literally, ” Kat laughed. Caroline didn’t respond knowing her friend was right. 

She should have hated him, in fact she had since they met eleven years earlier. Caroline had befriended Rebekah during sophomore year at high school. They were both cheerleaders and had bonded over music and drama club. 

Rebekah was new to her school, so too her brothers Kol, Elijah and Niklaus. The first two were polar opposites personality-wise but she got along with them famously. The problem was with Niklaus, or Klaus as he liked to be called.

They’d clashed from the outset. It started with a few stray insults and developed into more insults and pranks. Apparently everyone thought it was a passing phase but it wasn’t ending anytime soon. 

However, being locked up with him in quarantine was doing all sorts of strange things to her. In fact, she was experiencing all these not-so innocent urges. She wanted to blame it on Kat’s innuendo or that fact he swanned around the house barely clothed but there was definitely something bigger at play here.

Day 5

“She keeps making me watch all of these bad movies, only cooks meals with weird and unidentified grains and apparently the living room is her personal gymnasium,” he complained. 

Klaus Mikaelson didn’t do roommates and there was a very good reason why. He liked his space and he liked walking around partially naked but suddenly he was thrown into this quarantine situation which was a complete minefield. 

“I said I’d only take this Skype call if you didn’t complain about Caroline Forbes, Niklaus, but yet here we are again,” Enzo growled. “You two need to get a room and pronto.”

“We have rooms, in fact, we have a whole house of rooms and yet that still isn’t enough distance between us,” he muttered. “I am going to go crazy locked up in here with her.”

“And the best dramatic Oscar performance goes to...”

“You would feel exactly the same way, Lorenzo,” he argued. “Caroline Forbes is nothing but a spoilt princess who thinks the world revolves around her.”

“I don’t think, I know, asshat,” she drawled finding her way into his room while repeating his sentiments from two days earlier. No doubt just to push his buttons that much more. 

What Klaus wasn’t expecting was for her to look so wet doing it. Yes, she was wearing yellow, rubber gloves but her white t-shirt was soaked through revealing a very lacy bra and some rather pronounced nipples no doubt due to the temperature. 

“Holy...” Enzo murmured before Klaus shut his laptop with a bang. He figured it was the least he could do to protect her innocence and it had absolutely nothing to do with jealousy whatsoever. Or that’s what he told himself.

“You’re here in my room...wet,” he mumbled, trying to look anywhere but exactly where his eyes wanted to go. 

“I’m trying to clean up after your lazy ass,” she groaned. “You do realise how germs spread right? Maybe if you took better care to clean up after yourself then we wouldn’t be experiencing our current predicament.”

“I’m aware of our current predicament, trust me,” he shot back. “Since when did cleaning end in a drenching. I know you like me, Forbes, but I can see everything.” She looked down in complete shock, his comment having the desired effect.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, pulling off her wet gloves and throwing them in his direction before leaving his room, no doubt to change her top. 

“I’m the one who’s spreading germs?” He cried out, attempting to remove the dirty gloves from the bed. 

Klaus and Caroline had never gotten along in the eleven years they’d known each other. Klaus decided from the outset that Rebekah truly was evil bringing her into his life and home. Caroline had this annoying ability to get under his skin and Klaus unfortunately let her.

His friends and brothers told him it was because he liked her deep down. Sure she was hot. there was no denying that, but he’d prided himself on maintaining his distance. Well, that was until he was forced to live in such close quarters for two whole weeks. 

His willpower was waning and Klaus wasn’t sure he could go the distance.

Day 7

“Would you stop switching channels so fast, it makes it a little difficult to see what’s actually on,” she offered, rolling her eyes as she said it. 

They were seated on the couch, the long, uneventful days were taking their toll and the fact they still had another week to go wasn’t doing much for their morale. 

“There’s nothing on so it doesn’t really matter,” he replied in frustration. “I’m so bored! And if you dare suggest cleaning again I will confiscate your rubber gloves.”

“Well, what else is there to do?” She mumbled. “And please spare me from running around the place half naked again, I’d like to keep down my dinner.”

“Come on, you secretly love my naked form,” he smirked. Her tell-tale blush was giving her away instantly. “You know I’m not that bad once you get to know me.”

“Funny, the past week hasn’t unearthed any new or redeemable features that I can tell,” she answered. 

“Just so you know those little insults of yours don’t offend me in the slightest bit so please just give it a break, Forbes.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do to pass the time?” She asked, obviously not realizing just how loaded her question was. 

They were seated on the couch, only a few feet apart, if either of them were to just lean forward they could do something really stupid. Or really fun, depending on who you asked. 

“Fine,” she said, reading his mind. “But if we do this, don’t think this means I like you in any way, Mikaelson,” she clarified.

“The feeling is mutual, trust me, sweetheart,” he agreed. They paused momentarily almost as if they were thinking about the very prominent line they were about to cross and weighing up the pros and cons. 

It didn’t take much consideration as he pulled her greedily towards him so she was straddling his lap. Caroline never knew just how crimson his lips were from this vantage point, Klaus was thinking the same about her blue eyes.

He ran his hands along her cheek, his thumbs rubbing circles over her skin. Her heart was racing and given she was practically touching his chest she knew his was too.

There was no going back.

His lips found hers, slowly at first almost like he was taking his time to discover every inch of her mouth. She moaned against him as his tongue dipped into her warmth. She tasted like a heady mixture of mint and chocolate from dessert and now Klaus had tasted her once he wasn’t ready to give her up anytime soon.  

Caroline grasped his neck, her fingers playing with the stray curls at the nape as she melted into his kisses. Klaus knew it wouldn’t be long given just how much he’d wanted her all these years.

He stood up, and wound her toned legs around his waist, careful not to break contact. They made their way quickly to the bedroom excited for what was in store. 

Turns out the sex continued longer than seven days and also out of quarantine. In fact, the sex turned into dating and the dating turned into an engagement. At their wedding, Kat, Rebekah and Enzo regaled the guests with stories about how they got together when they were forced together in lockdown. 

Who said quarantine was necessarily a bad thing?

[bcbdrums]

My Heartbeat

Have a smol Drakgo fanfic.  This is related to another fic I have written.  It’s kind of a spoiler so I won’t mention until the end.

FFn Link

AO3 Link

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My Heartbeat

Soft. Warm. The barely perceptible, but rhythmic and steady pulsing beneath his hand. Her heartbeat.

It was his anchor as he lay beside her, his eyes frequently closed during the long hours as he stayed with her in an attempt to comfort her—physically, mentally, emotionally... He didn't dare leave her side unless he had to.

His hand flat on her chest, feeling the slow, gentle beat of her heart, let him know that for the moment at least she wasn't panicking. But he knew what was in her mind, for it was the same thing that had been in his constantly for the past six weeks.

A hiss from her lips caused his eyes to open the second before her entire body winced in pain, her knees drawing up farther, her arms hugging her middle tighter, and her face twisting into a grimace. He kissed her bare shoulder repeatedly as she rode the wave of pain mixed with nausea, a symptom that had become a constant presence in her body. It kept her mostly bedridden for the past several weeks, and so he had resigned himself to the same. The pain was bad enough to endure; he couldn't bear the thought of her being alone in her fear.

Suddenly the warmth of her chest beneath his hand vanished as she rolled to the side and vomited into the bucket set next to the bed for just that purpose. He was on his knees in a flash, holding her hair back and rubbing her arm as she expelled only bile, for there was nothing in her stomach to actually throw up. She hadn't been able to keep food down for weeks.

When she was finished, he held the glass of water for her to swish her mouth clean and she spat that into the bucket as well. He considered encouraging her to drink, but the pained look on her face told him it would have to wait.

As soon as she was re-settled, he wordlessly left the bed to take the bucket to the industrial-sized sink in the lab to clean, as had become their routine. But not before setting up the backup bucket for her.

His steps were brisk as he hurried to complete the task, his head down and his brow furrowed in worry as he thought about the way her clothes hung loose on her body and how her hip bones seemed to be jutting upward more prominently when he watched her laying on her back.

As he cleaned the bucket he decided to bring up going to the hospital again. He thought he could convince her this time, but...he dreaded the emotional stress it would bring her, if he took the tactic that he thought would work. And he knew that being in the hospital would only add to her fear and stress, thus potentially making things worse.

It was a problem that seemed to be without a solution.

After returning and setting the bucket back next to the bed, and noting the backup bucket was still clean, he returned to her side where she had resumed the familiar position of trying to moderate her pain. Knees drawn up, forearms wrapped around her middle, head on the pillow with her tangled hair splayed in every direction, and her eyes closed with her face frozen in a permanent grimace of pain.

She looked so...helpless.

He carefully crawled back onto the bed next to her so as not to jostle her and make her pain worse, and when he lay down he kissed her shoulder repeatedly as he replaced his hand over her heart. After a few minutes of the slow, lazy kisses he shifted up onto his side and leaned partially over her. Her eyes slid open, and he hesitated just enough for her to see the sympathy in his eyes before he kissed her lips.

Time slipped away as they kissed, the soft and slow caresses a shared comfort that they both sorely needed. He longed to take her in his arms and bring her small form close to his and perhaps strengthen her through his soul... But such poetic things were only possible in imagination.

A hiss of pain escaping her lips parted them, and he stared down at her in worry as she blinked through the wave of nausea and discomfort. Her eyes pleaded with him as he remained hovering over her, their faces mere inches apart. It broke his heart and gave him the final push to make the suggestion, as there was nothing he could do to help her.

"I think you should go to the hospital," he blurted out.

Her gaze slowly focused as she writhed. She shook her head. "No. If I go in...they won't let me out."

He lifted a hand to slowly stroke her cheek, her skin hot and clammy to the touch. "Why not?"

"They'll just want to keep running tests... They'll try to analyze my powers, to see how they affect me and how they'll...how..." She trailed off as her throat constricted and her eyes started filling with tears.

Drakken sat up and slowly gathered her into his arms. She shook slightly from the pain of the movement, but soon her arms were around him and clinging to him as she cried into his shoulder.

The fear they both felt was tangible at almost every moment. Even when she felt up to getting out of bed and he could coax her into a walk for exercise, he knew...it was always on her mind. And he feared that the level of stress she was under would be just as harmful as her powers could be. But her inability to eat was the first and most important priority.

"But Shego... You've barely eaten in weeks. You're losing weight. The hospital can give you nutrients through an IV. It's not as good as real food, but since you can't eat—"

"I don't want to go!" she said desperately. "You know they'll run tests. And...if they find something..."

Her tightening throat cut off her words again, and he rubbed her back as she clung to him. He understood her fear. On the one hand, a hospital could give them constant status updates...and then if something was really wrong they could potentially know about it while there was still time to do something. But on the other hand... They could discover that everything they were hoping for was just a dream, and nothing more.

He dreaded the day they would be met with the cold, Earth-shattering truth that what they so desired was impossible—they couldn't have children. And he knew that Shego blamed herself, as much as it was an equal possibility that the loss of their first child may have been due to his mutated genetics; he couldn't dissuade her from the idea that it was just her. And her constant illness through both pregnancies only served as 'evidence' in her eyes.

He began kissing her head and rubbed her back as she continued crying into his shoulder. She had been more stressed that week than usual, and he didn't want to bring up what he was sure was the reason why. It was the seventeenth week—the same week that they had lost their first child. And now they were at the same threshold for the one currently growing within her. There was no way of knowing of course if there was anything special about that week. They didn't even know why they had lost the first one. But he understood there was a psychological fear that she was dealing with, however unscientifically based it may be.

He hoped that when the week was past she may be able to calm down, but he feared she would only get worse. In the rare moments he wasn't at her side, he had been researching and he knew that stress was the last thing a pregnancy needed. Not to mention malnutrition.

He gently drew her head back and her wide, frightened eyes met his, searching for something. After a moment she looked down, her face twisting in embarrassment and anger, no doubt with her own weakness. His heart broke.

He kissed the tears from her cheeks as she tried to control her labored breaths. And then she kissed him hard, just for a moment as she suddenly winced in pain, and then doubling over she turned to throw up nothing over the side of the bed again. Drakken pulled her hair back and covered her body with his protectively, hovering close to her heaving back. When her breathing began to calm she pushed against his back and then rolled to the center of the bed, he moving ahead of her. She leaned shakily on her side, staring at nothing, her eyes wide with dread.

He watched the trembling of her shirt over her chest with every heartbeat, slowing gradually as her vision began to refocus. He rubbed her arm ever so lightly as she swallowed and mentally shook herself of the emotions she was fighting. She looked up at him slowly.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No," he said quickly, gathering her up into his arms. "It's okay to be scared."

He felt her shuddering breaths against his chest as she held on tight. And for a moment he let himself feel it too. The dread of losing another child... Something they hadn't even been sure they wanted until they'd found themselves pregnant the first time. And now they wanted it so desperately it was almost painful. But...he needed to be strong for her. So he swallowed down his own fear and set his mind to solving the problems that he had some control over.

"Shego..." He leaned back and held her shoulders as she looked up into his eyes. She must have read what he was about to say because defiance suddenly sprang up in hers. But he was putting his foot down. "You have to get nutrition somehow. If you can't eat, then...the baby won't get any nutrients either. And then none of the rest of this will matter."

He saw in her eyes, reluctant as she was, that she knew he was right. And regardless, he was resolved. Even if it meant taking her to the hospital against her will. He wasn't going to lose their second baby just because she was too sick to eat. Not to mention...he was starting to fear losing her too.

"Okay. I'll try to eat something again," she said uncertainly.

"Good." Drakken stood up and stepped around the bed, scooping her up into his arms since walking while sick always meant a pause to throw up at least once. He also leaned down for her to grab a bucket in the event of such a problem on the way to the kitchen.

"Drakken..." she murmured as she set her face against his neck, her fingers lazily clinging to the bucket handle as it swung and bounced off his leg.

"Yes?"

He stopped walking as she lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes searched his, but for what he wasn't sure. He continued on more slowly as he watched her and waited. She glanced down a moment, appearing sad before she looked back up. They reached the kitchen and he took the bucket from her and set it on a chair.

"If...if we can't do this...are you going to be okay?"

Drakken's lips parted in silent surprise as he stared into her worried eyes. Had part of her fear throughout the weeks been for him?

"I know...you're trying to be strong for me, but I know that...this means everything to you. And if we can't...I still love you."

She slid out of his arms to stand in front of him as he continued staring at her in shock. Was she worried that if they couldn't have a baby that he wouldn't...want her anymore?

He watched her cheeks color as she looped her arms around his neck and spoke softly and shyly, but a bit desperately. "I love you...with all I am."

"Oh...Shego," he said in the split second before he kissed her. His arms locked tightly around her as he attempted to kiss away every fear and worry about their relationship that she had. The thought that he might leave her...for anything... But worst of all, the realization that she was insecure about their relationship.

If she weren't sick, he would carry her back to bed and prove his love in as many ways as she needed. He settled for proving kisses instead, his lips moving against hers powerfully until the salt of her falling tears joined the sweetness of her lips. And it wasn't until he felt her melting in his arms that he scooped her up again and brought his lips higher to kiss her closed eyes.

"Oh Shego," he murmured. "Darling..."

She slowly leaned away, a small smirk having found its way to her face.

"'Darling'?"

He blushed. He did often call her that and more, but just in his head...

"Dumpling?" he tried.

Her smirk grew. "Nostalgic..." she said with a nod.

Her arms tightened around his neck and he felt a grin coming to his own lips as he finally saw a hint of peace in her eyes. He took a breath and let spill many of the things that often ran through his head when he looked at her.

"My queen. My angel. Goddess. The most perfect woman to have ever existed."

Her smirk bloomed into a full smile, and he continued rambling on as he set her down on one of the bar stools before turning to the fridge.

"Sweetheart... My pearl... My jewel..." he said with a grin as he began gathering ingredients and piling them around the blender. "Babe... Hot tamale..."

Shego almost giggled at that one, but then her smile vanished as she held her stomach and doubled over, one hand gripping the counter as the other held her stomach. Drakken watched her for a moment until he was sure she wasn't going to need the bucket, and then he started up the blender.

Shego watched him with interest as she slowly recovered her good humor, her hand not leaving her stomach as she blinked at him. He finished blending the ingredients and then poured the mixture into a pot on the stove, after which he immediately began washing the blender.

"Keep going," Shego said quietly, her voice belying the pain she constantly felt.

Drakken thought of the other things he called her in his mind as he washed the appliance. "My star... My sunshine."

He nearly wiped his soapy hands on his pajamas, forgetting he wasn't wearing an apron. He wiped them on a dish towel and then stirred the broth he had made, smiling in satisfaction before opening the freezer and taking out a Tupperware of homemade ice cream. He set it on the counter in front of Shego with a spoon, and then followed it up by pouring a glass of coconut milk he took from the fridge.

"Ginger?" Shego asked, cautiously picking up the spoon.

"Yes. Eat a little of that first. If you can...keep it down, then we'll try the broth."

"Okay..." she said uncertainly, putting a tiny sliver of the ice cream on the edge of the spoon.

Drakken watched her slowly eat the sliver, tensing as she did so as if the minuscule amount of food would instantly cause her nausea to worsen. But after several seconds, it didn't. She took another small sliver onto her spoon.

Drakken turned the broth on the stove down to a simmer and then moved to sit beside her, setting a supportive arm around her. As he watched her nervously dissolve the second sliver of ice cream on her tongue, a thought occurred to him.

"Maybe...I could work some of my connections. And instead of going to the hospital, we could bring the hospital to you."

She looked at him in a mixture of curiosity and fear. But she put another sliver of ice cream on her spoon.

"Just...an IV, so you can get some more nutrition. And...maybe an ultrasound machine?"

Shego looked up and away at nothing. He watched the emotions play across her face as all the possibilities ran through her mind.

"We wouldn't...have to have anyone here. I can set it all up myself. And I know how to insert an IV—"

"Drakken... Okay."

He studied her expression as she looked at him. She still looked afraid, her tangled hair falling across her face as she gazed at him and struggled to make trust the dominant emotion in her eyes.

"My dream..." he said as he brushed her hair back. Her smile slowly returned as he offered more pet names. "My heartbeat... My world."

"I like those..." she said with a small smirk. "But how about...just 'dumpling' for when you feel like you need a pet name, and...'darling' in public, to rub our happiness in people's faces?"

Drakken grinned. But the moment of peace was broken as Shego grimaced and whirled around to hold her face over the bucket to throw up nothing again, the spoon gripped tightly in her shaking fingers as she retched. Drakken grabbed her hair and held it, wrapping an arm around her to support her as her legs began to shake.

As soon as she was done, he picked her up again so she didn't have to worry about standing. She hissed in pain as she tightened in on herself and leaned into his chest, her head falling on his shoulder. Drakken sighed and picked up the bucket, prepared to head back to their bedroom.

"Shego—"

"Put me down," she said shakily. "You're right. The baby needs to eat. I want to keep trying the ice cream."

He carefully set her back on the bar stool and after replacing the bucket on the chair he sat next to her. She put another sliver of ice cream on the spoon that she'd managed not to drop and then let it dissolve on her tongue. Drakken gently rubbed her back as he watched her struggle, helpless for what to do next.

As her shaking began to still she looked up at him, the familiar fear and worry evident through the pain in her eyes.

"We'll be okay, Shego," he said with authority, though he was sure his voice was shaking. But then through the fear, love began to shine in the green depths of her gaze.

"Drakken... Call me something sweet again," she said softly, a tiny smirk turning up the corners of her mouth..

He leaned closer to her and held her tighter as she put a slightly larger bit of ice cream on her spoon.

"My world... My heartbeat."

She licked the ice cream off the spoon and then rested her face against his.

"My love."

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This fic was a distant sequel to my fic, “Rekindling.”  Thanks for reading!

[hyungwonmyheart]

Of the Sun - Six

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Seonghwa / Female Reader Genre: Fantasy!AU (D&D inspired) Words: 3,915 Tags: dungeons & dragons, fantasy!au, high-elf!Seonghwa, human!reader, dragon!Yunho, secrets unfolding, fluff towards the end Summary: This part of your journey finally leads you to Yvemoore, the very place where you and your companion, Seonghwa, had business to attend to. Little did you know, the person you were both looking to find...was one in the same. A/N: I know it’s been months since I updated this, and anything for that matter, I’ve just been trying not to rush myself anymore. Anyway, I had fun with this and I really enjoyed bringing in a new character! And there are more adventures to come!

It was late. Dusk had quickly approached in the mountains, and the cold weather was setting in. In the last town, Seonghwa had bought you a new coat, one fit for the temperature as you traveled further north. Being a sun elf, Seonghwa wasn’t partial to the cold, but this was where Yvemoore was located and the place holding the business you both had to attend to.

You trudged along the road, but soon you saw looming silhouettes of large buildings through the trees. Your heart was pounding as Yvemoore grew closer. You readjusted the bag on your shoulders and pushed through your weariness, walking even faster than Seonghwa.

Seonghwa noticed your determination now that the city was in your sights. You had been traveling nonstop for two weeks, only resting in the evenings.

You would have been there sooner, if not for the ten days you spent mentally recovering from the shock of your bandit incident. It had taken some time to feel normal again. Yeosang helped with that, as he became a fast friend during your stay. Seonghwa had been your rock, of course, and you had accepted reality with their help. It was hard to say goodbye to your new friend, but Yvemoore was waiting for you.

When you entered through the city gates, your eyes lit up at the sights. The street lamps were glowing brightly, town guards were stationed on various corners, and the nightlife was bustling. You came upon a street full of bars and hotels lined up, with entertaining melodies and savory scents filling the air. A small group of young ladies, dressed warmly and stylishly, passed by a bar only to attract some hoops from a few men standing outside. The women rolled their eyes and continued on their way.

You had never been to such a large city; it put the last one to shame. You really felt like a small town human. You clutched the hilt of your sword. It gave you strength, and a reminder of why you came here. He said he could be found on Marigold Lane. You searched the street signs as you strolled through, fascinated the more you walked. Seonghwa seemed to know where he was going, though. His steadfast pace was heading in a particular direction. That’s when you saw it.

MARIGOLD LANE.

Peering down the rather wide road, it looked like a row of businesses, each with two floors above them that seemed to be where some people lived. But where will I find him here? He didn’t specify...That’s so like him, you thought haplessly as your eyes roamed around. You noticed a tall figure walking out of a shop and locking its door.

Everything felt as if it were moving slowly around you as your eyes honed in on the person’s face.

If you were paying attention, you would have seen Seonghwa open his mouth to say something along the lines of, “Yun--”

Within seconds and without regard to your lover, you were bolting down the cobblestone street and screaming, “YUNHOOO!” You tackled them into a tight hug, causing them to drop their keys.

The figure seemed stunned for a moment, as was Seonghwa. He was frozen in his tracks a few yards away as he watched you pull back from the person and grin up at them.

A young-looking man with stark white hair was smiling down at you once he got a good look at whomever had approached him so...rambunctiously. He said your name in surprise before bringing you back into another hug. “It’s so good to see you,” he cooed before his eyes drifted to the elf. He tensed in your arms. Suddenly putting you at arms’ length, Yunho moved away and held out a friendly hand towards the other male. “Seonghwa! You came!”

You turned your head as you were left alone to watch the two greet each other. You blinked in confusion. “You two know each other?!” You gaped.

“I should be saying the same,” Seonghwa said, voice lower than usual.

Yunho let out a nervous laugh at the situation. “Wait, were you two traveling together?”

“Yes…” You both answered in sync before sharing a glance.

“I was just going out for a drink...Care to join me?” Yunho asked.

You went to accept until Seonghwa cut you off.

“I’d prefer to speak privately,” he demanded in that stern voice you’d grown to love.

Yunho fetched his keys from the ground and went back to the door he had just exited. “By all means.” He glanced over your face and reached up, caressing your cheek with his knuckles. “You’re freezing! Hurry, come inside.” He shot a smile over to Seonghwa as he began to unlock and open the door. “I know how much you hate being cold, too. Let’s get you both warmed up.”

You bounced inside and followed Yunho upstairs as Seonghwa relocked the door behind him. You didn’t notice the uncomfortable expression on his face; you were too excited to finally be reunited with Yunho. All you had endured had been for this moment.

Once up the stairs and into an ornately decorated living room, you shrugged off your hefty backpack and coat while taking a curious look around.

“I would have never expected the two of you to arrive at the same time...Together! How interesting!” Yunho exclaimed, going over to a fireplace to start warming the room up even more.

“Yes, this is very interesting, indeed,” Seonghwa commented, removing his own bag and trenchcoat.

You sat down in a chair near the fireplace. It was only then when you realized how cold you actually were. Your teeth chattered, and you fervidly rubbed your hands to warm them.

Yunho heard the noise and suddenly insisted, “You need a hot bath. How does that sound?”

You would have thought someone offered you a treasure chest of gold. “That would be lovely!” Bathing in cold streams grew old after such a long journey. Your eyes met Seonghwa’s gaze, and you were struck with a strange feeling. You couldn’t put your finger on it as he looked away to the fire. You felt bad for taking advantage of Yunho’s hospitality, and… “But I just got here. I don’t want to--”

“Hush,” Yunho said with a smile. “You’re not imposing in the least. After all, you traveled all the way here to see me. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once you’re done.”

You looked to Seonghwa again. “Is that okay?”

The elf shook his head, still staring at the flames. “It’s no problem for me. Go ahead.”

You gave a half-hearted smile, grabbed your bag, and followed Yunho to the bathroom. Then came the sound of water running before a door shutting. Yunho strolled back into the living room and gave Seonghwa a grin. “My dear, old comrade! It has been years since I last saw you...” He did a once-over of the elf and boasted, “and the years have been good to you!”

“Come now, you’re just saying that,” Seonghwa teased sarcastically. He sat down in the chair you vacated.

“I’m not! Trust me, a dragon knows beauty when it sees it,” Yunho said, pulling another chair over to the fire. He sighed in relaxation, yet couldn’t resist asking the question, “How did you meet her?”

“I saved her life,” came the monotonous response.

Yunho burst into laughter. “Why am I not surprised?!”

Seonghwa crossed one leg over the other and clasped his hands in his lap. “You two seemed chummy. I mean, she’s always been a chipper one...I’ve never seen her quite this enthralled, though. It’s strange.”

“‘Strange’? Well, we haven’t seen each other in almost four years. She was obviously looking forward to seeing me.”

“Really? It’s only strange because she never mentioned you.”

Yunho shifted in his chair. “How long have you been traveling together?”

“A few months,” Seonghwa told him.

A smirk came to play on Yunho’s lips, “I’m assuming you also didn’t tell her about me by her reaction. It goes both ways.”

Seonghwa wanted to tell him off, but held his tongue. He had a point. Nevermind that, he had to move on. “She said she was returning a sword to someone in Yvemoore. Why?”

“Why?” Yunho repeated.

“Yes. Why exactly did you leave your sword with her?”

“Hm? She didn’t tell you that either?”

Seonghwa shifted slightly, clearly peeved that you didn’t. He obviously wanted Yunho to get to the point and answer his damn question.

A smug look came to Yunho’s expression. He figured he might as well tell his former companion the truth. “When we first met about four years ago, she was living with a blacksmith and his wife. From what I understood, they took her in after losing her parents when she was too young to care for herself. I came to commission the blacksmith for a new sword.” He stared off into the distance, fondly recalling his memories. “She was a spitfire from the get-go. The weapon I wanted was to be made of a specific metal that could be found in a mountain nearby her town. She accompanied me to mine the ore; showed me where it was and the best way to get it. She knew a lot about the area, so we spent most of our time together while the blacksmith crafted my sword. I was there for six months.”

“That’s quite a long time to forge a sword.”

Yunho chuckled. “If I am to be honest, I stuck around longer than I should have. We had grown so close, and I didn’t want to leave her. She couldn’t come with me...you know that. Alas, the time came for me to continue on my travels, and I left my prior sword with her. I told her it could be a keepsake.”

“She said she wanted to give the sword back to you.” Seonghwa then inquired, “And how did she know she would find you in Yvemoore?”

“I learned of an illness spreading throughout her town. Her guardians succumbed to it. When I heard of this, I sent a message to her saying that I would be here for a while, if she didn’t get sick first.”

“I’m looking for a friend. They’re the closest thing I have to family now.” Your words from the day Seonghwa met you rang through his head. You had lost so much. Oh, how happy he was to be by your side, never to leave you lonely again. “Well, she’s not ill,” he reassured Yunho. “She made it here safely.”

“Thanks to you, old friend,” Yunho exclaimed, clapping a hand on Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Now. I have business with you that doesn’t include our little human.” He smiled kindly. Too kindly.

Seonghwa tensed, suspicious of his tone. “Why did you call me here?”

“Your parents have been trying to find you. They get quite upset when you go off on your excursions without having a way of contacting you besides through me.”

The elf rolled his eyes. “I do that on purpose.”

“They know you do,” Yunho laughed. “They wanted you to know your younger sister is to be married in four months' time.”

Scoffing at this news, Seonghwa moved to tap his fingers repeatedly on the arm of the chair. “You couldn’t have told me that in the letter?!”

“You wouldn’t have gone! That’s why I’m here to escort you!” Yunho chortled. He grabbed a nearby messenger bag and dug around to retrieve an envelope. He tossed it towards Seonghwa. “Here's the invitation I've been waiting to give to you for three months. Your presence would be appreciated.”

Yunho was a friend, but he was also an excellent swordsman amongst other things, as in being a mythical creature...Seonghwa would hate to have to fight him all to avoid his family. Letting out a huff of annoyance, he leaned back in his chair and frumped down a bit. “Appreciated? All I’ll be hearing is their nagging about how I need to find my own spouse.”

“They just want to see you settle down and carry on the family legacy. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to find your own sweet, elven bride?”

Seonghwa tensed, but figured now would be the best time to tell Yunho. “I don’t need an elven bride when I have a human one,” he bravely asserted.

As the seconds passed and those words sank in, Yunho’s eyes grew wider and wider. “Excuse me?!” The shadows cast on his face by the fire turned ominous.

“You heard me. ‘Our little human’ is ‘my little human.’”

“This better not be some game to you, Seonghwa, or else I swear to the Heavens that I will send you there,” Yunho said lowly, his demeanor suddenly dangerous.

“I assure you that she is the love of my life, and I want nothing more than to spend my days with her. She is in good hands,” Seonghwa informed him, earnest and true.

Yunho narrowed his eyes on the elf.

Seonghwa was left exasperated. Out of nowhere, all of his jealousy bubbled over. “I. Love. Her. How do I spell that out to you? Besides, you two were acting more like lovers than we were! How do I know you’re not going to take her from me?!”

There was a long pause. Yunho tilted his head. “What? Are you serious?”

“Yes! Tell me right now! What are your feelings towards her?!”

Yunho grew quiet, merely watching Seonghwa with dancing eyes. He’d never seen him so flustered before. He eventually stood from his seat and crossed the room, heading to a cabinet. Fetching two glasses and a bottle from within, he filled them with a dark liquor. "She merely intrigues me," he eventually said, coming back to offer Seonghwa a glass.

Seonghwa hesitantly took it, but watched Yunho carefully as he spoke.

"She's a resilient human. Strong, amusing, all around lovely. I fancy her, Seonghwa, but not in the way you seem to. And I would never dare take her from you if you love her as much as you claim." He lifted the glass to his lips and sipped slowly.

"...But you called her here."

"For her safety. It was the only way I could think to save her. She would be alone otherwise." Yunho lifted the glass to his lips before pausing to chuckle, “It’s not me you should be worried about, though. Wait until your family hears the grand news.” He sipped the drink.

A clear look of disgruntlement settled on Seonghwa’s features. “The expectations they have for my life are suffocating,” he grumbled. “Why do you think I practically disappear for months on end?”

“I’ve known your family long before your birth, and I know they have little restraint when it comes to voicing their opinions,” the humanoid dragon spoke, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze. “I feel I may understand you better than they do. You long for freedom, and yet you still do their bidding in the end.”

“Not always…”

“Oh? Tell me, when was the last time you defied them?”

Seonghwa shifted uncomfortably.

Yunho smiled knowingly. “Will you attend the wedding?”

“Seonghwa,” your voice fraily called from down the hall.

The elf leapt from his chair, gladly avoiding the rest of that conversation. When he appeared in the door of the bathroom, his face was ridden with concern. “What’s wrong?!”

You were clinging to the door frame with one hand while the other kept your body covered with a towel. “I’m lightheaded,” you murmured. “I think the water was too hot.”

Seonghwa kissed your forehead, bringing you into his arms. He glanced behind him where he knew Yunho was now standing. “Is the spare room upstairs all right for us?” He asked his friend.

“Of course,” Yunho answered. “Take her up while I’ll get an extra blanket.”

Helping you out of the bathroom, Seonghwa led you up the staircase to the third floor. On the left, there was a guest room with a large bed, wardrobe, and a few extravagant decorations. You laid down and immediately wrapped yourself in the linens already on the bed.

When Yunho had returned with another oversized blanket, he handed it to Seonghwa who in turn covered you from your neck to your toes. “Is that better?” Seonghwa asked.

You nodded. “Thank you both,” you whimpered, curling up into a ball on your side. The room had finally stopped spinning.

Seonghwa smiled in response, though his eyes were still troubled by your sudden frailty. Going from being so cold to overly hot could mess with a person’s body.

“Of course,” Yunho said, standing in the doorway. “If there’s anything else you need, just let me know.”

Seonghwa went to stand from leaning against the bedside when your hand shot out from the blankets and grasped onto his wrist. He looked at you in alarm.

Your bottom lip pouted. “Please don’t leave me,” you begged.

The chuckle that came from Seonghwa’s lips was involuntary and harmless. “I’m going to get your things and I’ll be right back, silly girl,” he cooed.

“I’ll grab all your things and bring them up. That way you won’t have to leave her side,” Yunho reassured him, immediately trotting downstairs.

Seonghwa sat down on the mattress and gently moved your hand from his wrist to interlock your fingers together. “Yunho must really care for you because he’d never do that for me,” he joked.

“Yunho’s like my big brother,” you mumbled. “He’s always had a soft spot for me.”

“Ahh, so you know that.”

“But yours is bigger, right?”

Seonghwa’s breath nearly hitched in his throat. Just what were you asking? “What?!”

“Your soft spot for me. It’s bigger than Yunho’s?” You opened your eyes and glanced up at him.

He now realized what he thought you were asking and what you were actually asking were two totally different things. “It is,” he said tenderly as Yunho walked back into the room.

Yunho set everything down at the foot of the bed with a heavy ‘thud.’ Going to the other side of the bed, he patted the top of your head and said, “We’ll talk in the morning. For now, get your rest.”

“Okay,” you answered. You squeezed tighter onto Seonghwa’s hand.

After excusing himself from the guest room, Yunho closed the door and his footsteps descended down the staircase.

You sat in silence for a while with your lover, but then it came time for Seonghwa to pull away. Before you could protest, he said, “I’m going to get you clean clothes to sleep in and change out of my own, okay?”

As much as you didn’t want him to move, you told yourself he wasn’t even leaving the room. He would be back in no time. “Nn,” you approved, retracting your arm back into the blankets.

Once he had disrobed and redressed both of you for sleeping, Seonghwa turned off the light and approached the bed. He buried his way into the covers and held you close. Your head rested on his shoulder while his arm was wrapped around you.

You had almost lulled off when he began humming softly. You thought back to the days following the bandit incident, when you were at your lowest point, and how he used to cradle you and hum this tune. You had been in such a strange state of mind that you never really paid much attention to it besides how soothing his smooth voice was. “You hum that tune a lot,” you uttered into the darkness.

Seonghwa twirled some of your hair with his fingertips. “It’s my favorite lullaby,” he informed you. A few seconds passed. You felt his chest swell with air before he began to sing in elvish. It was the same tune he would hum. It almost felt haunting, yet oddly calming, and you forced yourself to stay awake as it went on. This was your first time hearing his voice singing the words, and you knew that you were falling in love with him all over again.

You fidgeted with the blanket hem to stay conscious. When he finished and the silence filled the room again, you glanced up at him. “What does it mean...if you don’t mind me asking?”

He shook his head, as if it was absurd for you to insist he would mind. “In your language, it would translate to:

Quiet now, my darling child, For the time of slumber is upon you. Dream of fields with wildflowers, Trickling rivers, and the beaming sun. Run amongst the foliage of memories, Holding wisdom outweighing your years. Grow to be wise and cunning, Live with strength in your heart, As those have before you. Sleep well, my darling child, For your ancestors watch over you.”

You smiled as he explained the meaning. “It’s lovely,” you replied. “I never knew you could sing like that.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “I was formally trained in music growing up. It’s just not something needed for adventuring.”

“Singing always livens up an adventure!” You exclaimed. “How many times did you let me sing as we traveled, and yet you never told me you had such a great voice?!”

“You weren’t singing songs I knew!” He defended. “Besides, I’m not that good.”

“Oh, hush, you are!”

Seonghwa embraced you closer to his side, bringing your lips firmly against his.

Your heart nearly stopped in your chest as you felt the passion behind the kiss. You felt yourself growing dizzy again and forced your mouths apart before you got carried away. “Teach me the song?” You asked breathlessly. “In your language.”

A soft laugh escaped him as he abided by your wish to end the kiss. “I can do that,” he agreed.

Almost an hour had passed when Seonghwa finally told you enough singing for that night. You had learned most of the song, including what each word and phrase was, as well as the inflections you should use. You were actually picking up on it quite quickly, but he felt you growing tired again.

“But I want to finish it,” you whined through a yawn.

“Tomorrow, sweet-love.” When you lifted your chin for one last kiss for the night, he gladly obliged.

Your body grew heavy with sleep while Seonghwa stared at the ceiling for a long time. He couldn’t stop thinking about his discussion with Yunho. He hardly cared what his family had to say about him, but what he didn’t think he could handle was anything they had to say about you. You were the one he wanted to protect. And then, the thought of his younger sister’s face when he didn’t show up for the wedding--well, that also wore on his heart. He could put up with his family long enough to make an appearance, and then he would whisk you away to live happily ever after somewhere.

The more he thought of it, the more it was what he wanted.

Seonghwa knew the right thing was to introduce you to his family as his lover, as the woman he wanted to spend his life with. Hiding you would only show his cowardice. No, he was going to take you to his hometown to meet his family, and to have you on his arm at the wedding. He loved you more than anything he’d ever loved in his life.

You were going to meet his family, and they were going to love you, too.

[jamielea81]

Back to School

Chapter 1

Pairing: Professor Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Some cursing

Description: After taking years off of school, you finally decide to go back and finish up that degree.

Word Count: Approximately 1,800

A/N: Welcome to my new series Back to School! This is a professor AU with a twist. This series will be on the shorter side (no more than 10 chapters) and will be updated weekly. I’ve tagged those that have asked to be tagged before, if you would like to be removed just let me know. 

*Italics are internal thoughts.

Sticking out like a sore thumb wasn’t your idea of a good first day back to school. It was like high school all over again, but instead of wearing cheap clothes from the clearance rack while the other girls in school wore designer jeans, you wore business attire. Black pencil skirt, blouse, heels, makeup done up, that was your staple most days at the office. Students hanging around campus and in your first class were dressed in pajama pants, jeans, gym shorts and t-shirts. You were vastly over dressed, but it wasn’t your fault, you had to go back to work after your second class.

You had taken a few years off of school. Who were you kidding? You took 13 years off. It was always your intention to go back to college and finish up that degree, but life got in the way.

During senior year, you had gotten sick. It started out simple enough with pains in your stomach, but no amount of pain killers and rest could cure it. Once it was apparent you weren’t getting better, you made numerous trips to the health center on campus. They in turn referred you to the regional hospital that diagnosed you with an ovarian cyst. It was already quite large and your doctor recommended surgery as soon as possible. Two weeks later, you had the surgery to remove it. Because of the recovery time and the days you missed being ill, you had no choice but to take incompletes for all your classes that semester. Your job on campus was also terminated because you were no longer enrolled in classes.  

Life back at home with your parents wasn’t a breeze. After being away for nearly four years, it was quite the adjustment living under their roof once again. They encouraged you to take classes at the nearby University which you did, but you struggled. Driving into the city was a pain and finding parking was even harder. You stuck with one of the two classes you enrolled in and managed to finish it leaving eight credits to go.

You found a job fairly quickly after a friend working in a call center gave you the heads up about an opening. It started as a fulltime position that summer, and you planned on going part time in the fall so that you could take a couple of classes to complete your degree. You ended up moving in with said friend at the end of summer. The money was rolling in as you turned out to be quite the sales woman. Deciding to take one more semester off to put some money in the bank, turned into a year off. Student loan bills started to arrive in your mailbox since you weren’t enrolled in classes. That one year turned into two. You moved out on your own. Took a new sales job with great benefits and a 401K. Two years turned into five. A job in middle management became available and you took it. Even though you were great at sales, you didn’t particular love it. Motivating others and knowing how to manage a team was more your forte. At that point you were doing quite well for yourself that school went on the back burner. Before you knew it, you were in your mid 30s worrying about a fifteen-page paper due at the end of the semester.

The campus is nice, as far as colleges go. It was also conveniently located thirty minutes from your home and office. Lush green lawns, loads of maple trees, benches and tables scattered along the wide walk ways. There’s a coffee shop in the student union, but you found a coffee cart located outside near a row of benches that faced a large water fountain in the center of the campus.

You acquired yourself a cup with two shots of vanilla. Grabbing a few capsules of cream and adding them to your cup, you planted yourself on an empty bench. You reached into your briefcase to grab out the syllabus from your first class, Economics in the Modern Age. There was no point in acquiring a backpack when you had only two classes and you had to get to work right after your second one. An hour between classes was more than enough time to look over your notes and get a cup of coffee.

“Can’t believe classes have started up again.” A deep voice in front of you said.

Looking up, the sun partially blinds your view. You put your hand up to shield the sun to get a better look at him.

“Sorry.” He says, moving about a foot to the right to block the brightness from your view.

And what a new view it was. Broad shoulders, dark blonde hair, nicely groomed beard, and those eyes. A poet could write several books about those eyes. He looked to be about your age, which was refreshing. Dressed in dark blue jeans, buttoned down checkered shirt and a brown sport coat over it. You were starring. Once you realized it, you looked down and quickly took a sip from your cup and nodded.

He stuck out his hand and you quickly set your cup down next to you on the bench. “Steve Rogers. History.”

“Ah, um, Y/N Y/L/N. Business administration.” You said, shaking his hand. His fingers fit nicely against yours. You really hoped he didn’t notice the blush.

“Do you mind?” He asked, gesturing toward the empty space beside you.

“Not at all.”

Be cool Y/L/N. Just because the hot guy wants to sit next to you, it does not mean he’s interested.

Going slow was never easy for you, which is why you were single. Your mind had a hard time differentiating between guys who were being friendly and guys who were interested. One would think with age and time, those kinds of problems would be sorted.

“Beautiful day.” You offered. Not really knowing what to say.

He hummed in response. “I’m looking forward to the cooler weather. I hate always feeling over dressed this time of year.”

You nodded. Giving him a small smile. “Same.” You said, gesturing to your long-sleeved blouse. At least you had opted to go bare legged. “It’s not so bad in the shade.”

This small talk is killing me.

Steve nodded his head. “How’s your schedule this semester?” He asked.

“Only two courses. Think I’ll manage.”

“Nice. I’ve got four, but two are twice a week.”

“Ouch. I’ve always hated those.” You replied.

He smiled. Eyes crinkly as he looked at you. “Why haven’t I seen you before?”

“I’m new here.” You said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Well, you can count me as your official welcoming party.”

You laughed. “I give you my thanks then.”

A small alarm sounded in your briefcase. Reaching in you pulled out your phone seeing you had twenty minutes until your next class. Not knowing where all the buildings were, you wanted to give yourself plenty of time to get there and hopefully find a seat in the back.

“I better get going.” You said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “It was nice to meet you Steve Rogers, History.”

He stood up as well, laughing hard, throwing his head back slightly. “You as well Y/N. I hope to see you around campus more.”

Your face flushed and you hoped he didn’t notice. “Hopefully.”

You quickly turned your back to him heading in any direction to get away from the handsome man. Not that you really wanted to run away, but you didn’t want to ruin something that hadn’t even started by saying something stupid.

After walking aimlessly for ten minutes, you consulted the campus map on your phone and started walking in the correct direction. You reached the History building with a few minutes to spare. The room wasn’t far down the hall and all rooms were numbered legibly. Finding the door was still open, you felt relieved. The room was a large lecture hall with stadium seating. Stepping inside you felt a small wave of panic as most seats were occupied with only a few open ones in the front rows and a couple single seats scattered in the middle.

Next week I am so getting here a half hour earlier.

You begrudgingly walked down the staircase, dodging careless backpacks left in your path. Sure, you wore heels daily to the office, but that was mainly at your desk or in a conference room, not down a large staircase with legs stretched out, ready to catch a victim not paying attention.

As you made your way down the steps to the mostly open first row, you couldn’t help but notice eyes on you. Instantly you felt self-conscious, thinking perhaps you had something on your face or coffee down your blouse. You took your seat and the eyes drifted away, back to their phones or conversations with the people they were sitting with.

They thought I was the teacher. That’s it, I’m changing at the office from now on.

You dug out a notebook and pen. Blue ink, not black of course. We all have our habits. You scribbled “History Beyond the Walls” on the front cover of the notebook. You picked the course randomly as you only needed a 200 level history class to complete the requirement for your degree.

The door in the back closed with a loud bang. A muttered sorry was heard and you, much like everyone else, turned around to see what caused the disturbance.

Whoa. Steve’s in this class.

You silently prayed that he’d take the seat next to you. Just for the camaraderie of adults going back to school, nothing more. Right? You continued to watch him descend the staircase hoping he’d see you. You subtly move your eyes to his left hand to check for a ring since you didn’t do so earlier. It’s naked which makes you smile. I suppose he could have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend.  

Shaking your head slightly to get out of your own mind, you go back to the intense eye contact that pays off as Steve sees you. His face is a mix of surprise and confusion. A small smile graces his face but it quickly fades. His eyes crinkle and small lines appear on his forehead. Head tilting to the side you hear a muttered “Y/N?” You give him a slight wave as he walks completely past you, setting his bag on the desk at the front of the classroom. Now it’s your turn to be confused.

Steve turns around and looks at you briefly before scanning the rest of the room.

“I’m Professor Rogers. Welcome to History Beyond the Walls.”

Well, shit.

Tagging: @thefanficfaerie @humandasaster @violetadefebrero @estillion14 @xxloki81xx @lookwhatyoumademequeue @thefandomzoneisdangerous @tanelle83 @symonlyjen5 @niaese @lilypalmer1987 @unlcvings @linkingdolans @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @allaboutthebooz @joannie95 @chita0027

[newstfionline]

Thursday, February 25, 2021

COVID-19 cases falling (nearly) everywhere (Foreign Policy) New COVID-19 cases and deaths have dropped worldwide for the sixth consecutive week, according to figures compiled by the World Health Organization. The WHO recorded 2.4 million new cases last week, a drop of 11 percent compared to the previous week. The 66,000 deaths last week represented a 20 percent decline. Five out of the six WHO regions now show a consistent downward trend in new cases, although the trendline in the Eastern Mediterranean region remains flat due to continued case increases in Iran and Iraq.

Not to be sniffed at: Agony of post-COVID-19 loss of smell (AP) The doctor slid a miniature camera into the patient’s right nostril, making her whole nose glow red with its bright miniature light. “Tickles a bit, eh?” he asked as he rummaged around her nasal passages, the discomfort causing tears to well in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. The patient, Gabriella Forgione, wasn’t complaining. The 25-year-old pharmacy worker was happy to be prodded and poked at the hospital in Nice, in southern France, to advance her increasingly pressing quest to recover her sense of smell. Along with her sense of taste, it suddenly vanished when she fell ill with COVID-19 in November, and neither has returned. Being deprived of the pleasures of food and the scents of things that she loves are proving tough on her body and mind. Shorn of odors both good and bad, Forgione is losing weight and self-confidence. “Sometimes I ask myself, ‘Do I stink?’” she confessed. “Normally, I wear perfume and like for things to smell nice. Not being able to smell bothers me greatly.” A year into the coronavirus pandemic, doctors and researchers are still striving to better understand and treat the accompanying epidemic of COVID-19-related anosmia—loss of smell—draining much of the joy of life from an increasing number of sensorially frustrated longer-term sufferers like Forgione.

Biden to order sweeping review of U.S. supply chain weak spots (Washington Post) President Biden on Wednesday will formally order a 100-day government review of potential vulnerabilities in U.S. supply chains for critical items, including computer chips, medical gear, electric-vehicle batteries and specialized minerals. The directive comes as U.S. automakers are grappling with a severe shortage of semiconductors, essential ingredients in the high-tech entertainment and navigation systems that fill modern passenger vehicles. Biden’s executive order, which he is scheduled to sign this afternoon, also is aimed at avoiding a repeat of the shortages of personal protective gear such as masks and gloves experienced last year during the early months of the coronavirus pandemic. The president’s order, which had been anticipated, represents the partial fulfillment of a campaign pledge. But mandating a government study will be the easy part. Extensively modifying U.S. supply lines and reducing the country’s dependence upon foreign suppliers—after decades of globalization—could prove difficult and costly.

U.S. seeks to return to U.N. human rights body (Reuters) The United States will seek election to the U.N. Human Rights Council later this year, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken said on Wednesday, marking the Biden administration’s latest international re-engagement. Blinken, addressing the council by recorded video, said that President Joseph Biden’s administration would work to eliminate what he called the Geneva forum’s “disproportionate focus” on U.S. ally Israel. The council, set up in 2006, has a stand-alone item on the Palestinian territories on its agenda every session, the only issue with such treatment, which both Democratic and Republican administrations have opposed.

Freedom of speech the real issue in Spain (Washington Post) Thousands of protesters have taken to the streets in some of Spain’s largest cities every night for a week, often clashing with police. In Barcelona on Saturday, authorities said they detained 38 people and recorded injuries among 13. The anger of the young protesters is centered on the arrest of a man who until recently was an obscure figure: Pablo Rivadulla, a rapper better known by his stage name, Pablo Hasél. But the demonstrations are about far more than one man’s arrest, speaking to growing concern inside and out of Spain about the effect of the country’s anti-terrorism laws and lèse-majesté statutes circumscribing the freedom of expression.

Covid inspires 1,200 new German words (The Guardian) From coronamüde (tired of Covid-19) to Coronafrisur (corona hairstyle), a German project is documenting the huge number of new words coined in the last year as the language races to keep up with lives radically changed by the pandemic. The list, compiled by the Leibniz Institute for the German Language, an organisation that documents German language in the past and present, already comprises more than 1,200 new German words—many more than the 200 seen in an average year. It includes feelings many can relate to, such as overzoomed (stressed by too many video calls), Coronaangst (when you have anxiety about the virus) and Impfneid (envy of those who have been vaccinated). Other new words reveal the often strange reality of life under restrictions: Kuschelkontakt (cuddle contact) for the specific person you meet for cuddles and Abstandsbier (distance beer) for when you drink with friends at a safe distance. The words also capture specific moments during the pandemic. For example, Balkonsänger (balcony singer) is someone who sings to people from their balcony, which was popular during the spring lockdown. Hamsteritis, referring to the urge to stockpile food, was also commonly used at the start of the crisis.

China uses patriotism test to sweep aside last outlet for Hong Kong democracy (Washington Post) Serving as a district councilor in Hong Kong means addressing everyday concerns such as pest control, traffic issues and helping elderly residents pay bills. One of the few perks of the modest office is having a say, alongside tycoons and Beijing loyalists, in choosing Hong Kong’s leader. On Tuesday, Hong Kong’s government announced that anyone running for these local positions will need to be a “patriot”—meaning they must swear loyalty not to their constituents but to Beijing and the Communist Party—as China moves to quash the territory’s last avenue of democracy. The changes, which are expected to be introduced to the legislature—where there is no viable opposition—next month and become law soon thereafter, will trigger the expulsion of several young pro-democracy councilors, even if they read the oath as instructed. Disqualified candidates will be barred from running in any elections for five years. With Tuesday’s announcement, the councils, the only fully democratic body in Hong Kong, fall in line with China’s broader reshaping of a city once known for its boisterous political culture as democratically chosen representatives are replaced with Beijing loyalists.

The Mekong River (Nikkei Asia) There are 60 million people who live along the lower Mekong River, and they were in for a rough surprise in early January when China drastically cut the discharge from the Jinghong Dam in Yunnan Province. The “tests”—which were slated to end January 24—entailed cutting the flow of the river from 1,900 cubic meters per second to just 1,000 cubic meters per second, but the final day of tests came and went and the volume is still down. That this occurred in the middle of the dry season was particularly rough for Thailand, Cambodia, Laos and Vietnam, countries that depend on the river. China has begun to draw international ire over their management of the river, which it has built 11 large dams on.

A Digital Firewall in Myanmar (NYT) The Myanmar soldiers descended before dawn on Feb. 1, bearing rifles and wire cutters. At gunpoint, they ordered technicians at telecom operators to switch off the internet. For good measure, the soldiers snipped wires without knowing what they were severing, according to an eyewitness and a person briefed on the events. The data center raids in Yangon and other cities in Myanmar were part of a coordinated strike in which the military seized power, locked up the country’s elected leaders and took most of its internet users offline. Since the coup, the military has repeatedly shut off the internet and cut access to major social media sites, isolating a country that had only in the past few years linked to the outside world. The military regime has also floated legislation that could criminalize the mildest opinions expressed online. So far, the Tatmadaw, as the Myanmar military is known, has depended on cruder forms of control to restrict the flow of information. But the army seems serious about setting up a digital fence to more aggressively filter what people see and do online. Such a comprehensive firewall may also exact a heavy price: The internet outages since the coup have paralyzed a struggling economy. Longer disruptions will damage local business interests and foreign investor confidence as well as the military’s own vast business interests.

Iraq’s struggling Christians hope for boost from pope visit (AP) Nasser Banyameen speaks about his hometown of Qaraqosh in the historical heartland of Iraqi Christianity with nostalgia. Before Islamic State group fighters swept through the Nineveh Plains in northern Iraq. Before the militants shattered his sense of peace. Before panicked relatives and neighbors fled, some never to return. Iraq’s Christian communities in the area were dealt a severe blow when they were scattered by the IS onslaught in 2014, further shrinking the country’s already dwindling Christian population. Many hope their struggle to endure will get a boost from a historic visit by Pope Francis planned in March. Among the places on his itinerary is Qaraqosh, where this week Vatican and Iraqi flags fluttered from light poles, some adorned with the pope’s image. Francis’ visit, his first foreign trip since the coronavirus pandemic and the first ever by a pope to Iraq, is a sign that “You’re not alone,” said Monsignor Segundo Tejado Muñoz, the undersecretary of the Vatican’s development office. “There’s someone who is thinking of you, who is with you. And these signs are so important. So important.”

Syria’s economic woes (NYT) In a private meeting with pro-government journalists, President Bashar al-Assad was asked about Syria’s economic meltdown: the currency collapse that has gutted salaries, the skyrocketing prices for basic goods and the chronic shortages of fuel and bread. “I know,” he said, according to two people with knowledge of the discussion. “I know.” But he offered no concrete steps to stem the crisis beyond floating this idea: Television channels should cancel cooking shows so as not to taunt Syrians with images of unattainable food. As the 10-year anniversary of Syria’s civil war looms, Mr. al-Assad’s most immediate threats are not the rebel factions and foreign powers that still control large swaths of the country. Instead, it is the crushing economic crisis that has hobbled the reconstruction of destroyed cities, impoverished the population and left a growing number of Syrians struggling to get enough food. Food prices have more than doubled in the last year. The World Food Program warned this month that 60 percent of Syrians, or 12.4 million people, were at risk of going hungry, the highest number ever recorded.

The Deadliest Middle East Construction Project Since The Pyramids (The Guardian) On December 2, 2010, FIFA announced that Qatar would host the 2022 World Cup —- a first for a Middle East nation. Over the next ten years, thousands of migrant laborers from India, Pakistan, Nepal, Bangladesh, and Sri Lanka came to Qatar to work on the elaborate preparations for the world’s biggest football tournament. Sadly, during that period at least 6,500 of those workers died, according to an analysis by the Guardian. The findings were compiled from government sources, and mean that an average of 12 migrant workers from the five South Asian nations have died each week since the announcement was made. The total death toll is significantly higher because the figures don’t include deaths from other countries like the Philippines and Kenya that send large numbers of workers to Qatar. Also not included are deaths occurring in the final months of 2020. More deaths have undoubtedly occurred since preparations for the 2022 tournament continue.

The value of housework (Foreign Policy) In a landmark ruling, a Beijing divorce court has ordered a man to pay his wife for five years of unpaid housework during their marriage. The award does not amount to much, roughly $1,100 dollars per year, but marks a new era in Chinese divorce law after the government introduced a new civil code. Under the new code, an aggrieved spouse is entitled to seek compensation if they shouldered more domestic responsibilities—with no prenuptial agreement necessary. The case follows a similar one in Argentina in 2019, when a divorce court ordered a husband to pay his wife of 27 years $179,000 in recognition of her unpaid domestic work. According to Organisation for Economic Co-Operation and Development (OECD) figures, Chinese women spend roughly four hours per day on unpaid work—with their U.S. counterparts clocking in nearly the same amount. American men are closer to closing the gap than Chinese men, however. American men spending about 2.5 hours per day on unpaid labor, while Chinese men spend just 1.6 hours.