#juvenile medical god

[pekoechu]

Spending friday/saturday/sunday in a pain flare so bad all I could do was curl in bed and cry only to wake up today so much better but I'm mad about it because I see my rheumatologist today :/

[jaggedamethyst]

when matt murdock has allergies…

pairing: matt murdock x reader (not gender specific in this one)

content: matt has allergies and has to tackle every day life without his senses. one shot, angst (i guess)

notes: this is my first official post (omg?) it may not be great, but i hope to get better as i post more. this one is a bit dramatic but i mostly read angst to feel something so it had to be done. 💋 also i have sinus issues and cannot function so he’s a direct representation of me ty. 🥹

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Matt has allergies. He figured that on top of balancing his firm, relationships, and his night time activities, that telling people he had the occasional sniffle was just juvenile.

Trivial, meaningless, and stupid. Whatever negative adjective he could muster up wasn’t enough to describe how pointless it felt to explain himself to everyone he came in contact with.

Having become reliant on other senses to become his sight, the “occasional sniffle” was anything short of minor. As mucus filled his sinuses and blocked his ears—sound became substantially more quiet. Distance was hard to measure. The inevitable fatigue he felt increased all sensations Matt felt—skewing his perception of the everyday item. Usually perfectly tempered coffee now left blisters on his tongue. His soft bed sheets feeling like sandpaper. His nose constantly swollen and red with the many smells of New York streets. His respiratory problems became eras of overcompensation—using one sense here, another there, and none working.

He was always willing to put in the work, to compensate, until it came to you. An immediate wave of defeat washed over him when he couldn’t sense you.

You with an amazing smile he loved to illicit.

You with a laugh so sweet he could almost taste the hint of saccharine.

You with the soft skin, riddled with divots and creases he’d long committed to memory.

When Matt couldn’t sense you, couldn’t compensate and make you smile, hear you laugh, or feel your skin…he wasn’t himself. It seemed counterintuitive to give up, when in all other areas he’d worked so hard to keep up. But with you, the current came. Tides of disappointment and anger continued to sink him further.

When you eventually arrived to his apartment, Matt remained motionless. You both knew that was unlike himself.

It was easy to let your empathy wash over you, to let the tears come knowing someone you love is suffering. But to let that feeling grasp you was to drown, and what good is that to someone already fighting the tides?

You quickly sprang into action, looking for the medication you knew worked best for him. He didn’t take it yet, you knew. Matt was in self destruct mode.

As you softly approached the couch, hand outstretched, his lack of reaction struck you. To Matt, the cushion beside him dipped, the filling scratching at his ear drums like the incessant rats that ran the street. Your hands, enveloping his cheeks with an otherwise soothing touch, felt like two ice packs—endlessly cold from the harsh weather outside.

The chill traveled to his own hands. Then, a slight sensation he could only assume was an affirming squeeze. The frost of your hands subsequently moving up to his mouth, giving him something. He couldn’t care enough to resist if he wanted.

Matt let the idea of you be his Moon—controlling his ocean of emotion and pulling the tides back slightly. Hearing you continue to mumble to him was a tranquility that saved him time and time again.

Matthew couldn’t hear you, but he knew that everything would be alright. The bliss of rest quickly approach and with it, a prayer to God that he would be reunited with his love again.

[court-jobi]

Learn by Doing

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work or Hirune's gorgeous art))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero (fem)reader)

Words: 4.4k

Rating: T+

Warnings: ANGST/COMFORT, canon-typical fights mentioned, light injuries, minimal pronouns used, big feelings turned big confessions, reader is not very demure/mindful in this one and that's refreshing to me, Hizashi Yamada is a good friend, emotionally constipated Aizawa needs a hug

Summary:

You’re in trouble with just about everyone, in some way. Mixed reviews at best… but no doubt in trouble with your agency, the damage control unit, and most notably– Shouta Aizawa. You can look the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission in the face should you ever royally mess up; but not a disappointed ‘Zawa. 

In the moment, you expect to have to avert your sights from his trademark flat look of disapproval. But instead, you are honed in– finding him more raw than ever before. Turns out, Aizawa wasn’t just angry: he’s scared. He’s an angry crier, and that scares you straight. 

A/N: Omg I've been sitting proofing this one for so long, trying to get it right, until... i just needed to release it to the hounds of the internet. Just some friendly neighborhood AngstZawa for your viewing pleasure.

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Back in your beloved UA building, you expect Shouta Aizawa to start up the lecture you’re due for, but still- nothing from him. 

No word when you rejoined the team outside the raided building. No word when you received mixed praises of success from your superiors: who might have given all glowing remarks if it wasn’t for your unorthodox way of earning them that had them worried there for a moment. There’d be more investigation and potentially some penalties for tonight’s actions, even if the result was overwhelmingly positive. Though through each step of your mission debrief, Aizawa was dead quiet.

Not a single word from him -even out of comfort- when you got checked over by the medics on site, and nothing still on your drive back to UA courtesy of an equally tense Hizashi Yamada, who could no doubt feel ‘the energy of the studio’ tonight.

Hizashi looked at you sympathetically between the surface level chatter you two share in the car. Behind his aloofness behind the wheel, you gathered there wasn’t much he could say to appease the storm that he knew might be looming behind Aizawa’s nearly shut eyes. Per usual, said hero remained like a mouse in the backseat, his silence blaring loud. The twinkle in Hizashi’s eyes offered only the unspoken wish that you’d be patient and keep your pretty chin up. You relied on this energy, because it stems from a lifetime of knowing Shouta Aizawa and carries confidence, and have to trust in that history- even if you held a healthy amount of nerves from his silence that you’re certain is burning a hole into the back of your head in the car.

‘Zashi would ordinarily have said a quick ‘good luck’ once you parked… if ‘Zawa wasn’t waiting right outside your door, for you. This time, you merely gave a muted word of thanks and got on your way from the passenger’s seat.

The uncomfortable quiet remains when Yamada heads to the teacher’s lounge while you and your co-teacher head back to the dorms to check on the students and head to bed yourselves. However, when Aizawa veered to the South A tower -toward his classroom- he paused and checked for you in his peripheral– the unspoken command to follow rings loud and clear.

Even though you obeyed with a step behind him, your spirit was hardly calm like the night air around you. Aggravated by your still present headache, your pulse keeps thumping in your ears as you step through the still, minimally-lit hall. 

Aizawa opened the door to his room, holding it for you, while turning his head back down the hallway- away from your face as if he couldn’t spare the glance. 

God, this silent treatment. It’s juvenile, you’d think, if he didn’t radiate so much stern control that unnerved even the most upright student.

But the minute the door closes with his lock to seal you both in, Aizawa’s trademark drone returns– lethal as ever.

“You've sure got a lot of nerve, Miss America.”

Finally. 

You can take the dig at what reputation precedes you. At the end of the day, Aizawa tends to hear you out, no matter the tone, so you’re simply glad to be on talking terms again.

…but that doesn’t mean you’re entirely passive. You’re known for your sugar and spice. Unable to curb your attitude, you make no attempt to hide how much his pouting annoyed you, 

“Had enough of my chatty time-out, huh?”

“I find berating anyone when they’re already down to be cruel and ineffective,” Aizawa merely shrugs his coat off, then nods to the desks facing him at the front of the classroom. “But to say you don't need to get a firm talking-to would be delusional.”

The knocking around you received is a wound enough, so you’re thankful he doesn't mean to pour lemon juice right on it with a snappy reflex of ‘you should have been more careful’, with regards to your scrapes. But quite the long debrief awaits you now, nonetheless.

No, you know the events that got you to the point of overextension and liability must have been the bigger concern: 

"Look I get it,” you finally settle on the lip of the desk, Young Ojiro’s. “To you, that was a hothead move. But I've been around the block with ops like this, it’s far from my first...” 

You stress that your ‘nerve’ was not misplaced while Aizawa rounds his desk to loosen and stow his capture weapon.

“-but you saw on those cameras, they were teetering Iseri and Koshito too close to the edge- I couldn't just--"

"Both of whom are plenty prepared for these situations."

“But they’re kids-”

“They graduated four years ago, and have been in the pro circuit for the last three. They're not UA students anymore, and certainly not our direct reports. Those were the roles assigned in the mission terms, and you signed them.”

The shortness in Aizawa’s voice ignites so many things in you. Namely, outrage. Being shut down and interrupted has been -and continues to be- a big temper trigger for you.

But you remember, above everything else you know of the teacher: facts over feelings is the tactic that’s going to land with him. You had to lean into the rational side of things in order to explain yourself. 

The truth was, you were afraid he wouldn't trust you again. 

Over the last two years, you've trained with these students together. This year’s class is particularly promising -and challenging- due to the ridiculous amount of villain interferences you've faced as a staff… that you've faced together. More than any other sidekick, any other partner, Aizawa has been your anchor in all the ways that matter- even those unspoken.

Thankfully he’s in a listening mood now, and you hope it’s enough of an opening to talk this out. Since reapplying some eyedrops, Aizawa is solely set on figuring out what was wrong with his goggles. He’d gotten smacked around a good bit, too, though not as harsley as you. He’s scraped along his good cheek just a touch from a square hit to the face, though the poor lackey who chose to come at him with cheap moves didn't fare as gently. 

You train your volume down a pitch, seeking out a more tender part of the man before you. A still, small hope holds true that he could follow your line of reason enough to not dismiss you entirely. You couldn't bear that thought. 

"You trusted my judgment and I clearly see that I broke that... but I did nothing to put anyone at risk outside of myself, and when I see another way that can spare others, I take it. Without the visual outside, without any signal, I couldn't see any other ways to follow the plan, or else I would have done it,”

You press on, joining him in front of his desk now. Things are improved, him speaking to you, but not perfect. He’s not looked you in the eye in hours. So, you’d make yourself impossible to ignore. 

“I went off-book, and I acknowledge that. But please know that I don’t go rogue for nothing. Not because I feel like it, certainly!”

Still, no response. 

You flick at the still itchy residue from the butterfly bandages stretched taught at your temple and cheekbone. 

“You see this and think that's bad.. Imagine watching me pulling moves like that five years ago when I thought I was hot shit, n’where that would have gotten me…”

Aizawa’s jaw worked as he clasped and unclasped the hinge on his specs.

Unnecessary; they’re not broken badly. Anxious? Surely not.

“Aizawa, please say som-"

The goggles resound with plastic clatter on the table; its owner rounded the corner with blazing irises, and not one lit by any quirk. 

Aizawa in all his intimidating glory came close fast while leaving a desk’s distance between you, his eyes turning from anger- to fear- to utter heartbreak.

"There were other plans. There will always be alternatives. Solutions that don’t involve anyone, if you’d just slow down for a second to think.” 

“What solutions?!”

“They called Oversight in- who brought drones. He was on call the whole time,” Aizawa fired anger in short, perfect jabs, “Or did you ‘forget’ reading that, too?”

You’re put on notice quick.

“Wh– he was?”

“He took point on leveling tactics for the building. The city came with artificial reinforcements, too- diversions he created and leased to them for reconnaissance, tech designed to work on command without room for any human error,” Aizawa finally grits out his impeccable perspective, 

“We knew your radio went down, and we knew we had to get you help or else you'd be blind, so we called in  failsafes– but your blasting through going a mile a minute the moment we lost contact was far from rational. You didn’t even give us a chance to try and help.”

Shame bubbles where indignancy once filled you. 

You speed-read through the mission brief- overly confident, perhaps, and missed- -honestly, a key detail that might have changed everything. You’re clearly not used to serving on a team this large, this wide of a support net, and it shows.  Hyper-independence was costly now.

“...I.. didn't hear that.”

“No you didn't,” Aizawa answered cooly and aired his grievances further,

“You look at what's right in front of you, but you've got these blinders on, and that's one of the most dangerous things you can do in battle. You’re part of a team now, but you’re still acting like a vigilante. That’s reckless, no matter how seasoned you are. Think about Kaminari: you think he doesn’t look around before he sets off thousands upon thousands of volts in every direction before he acts? Or that Todoroki doesn’t consider if his ice is going to freeze out any bystanders or harm himself in the process? Each one of their actions can be costly: to those around them, and themselves.”

You swallow your idealistic pride beating beneath your chest, because you know he’s right. 

On that exposed open platform of the building, you’d been so worried about who had been close to the edge, that you tried to divert all attention to yourself in order to get them away from that precipice.

Your actions, your ‘diversion’ resulted in a tousle that: yes, gave the younger rookies a better chance at a safe exit, but landed you square in the trap yourself, and in limited range to the still-fighting thug who was not just caught, but pissed.  You’d also created more work for the Net Hero below to cast a gridlock wide enough to grab the villain effectively. 

As a long-distance fighter, those were poor odds you subjected yourself to. You’re lucky to have gotten out as smoothly as you have.

“I know that. And I am sorry–” you gestured to your own new set of blooming bruises for good measure, “-- and I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson… That’s how you say your students learn best, right? ‘Learn by doing, learn what stings’?”

–Aizawa’s upper lip jolts in a scowl. Wrong thing to say.

“That’s not a win,” Aizawa threatens lowly. “No one in their right mind would be celebrating something like this. Injuries happen, but they shouldn't be needless.”

You wince, torn between guilt and annoyance again. 

“Yeah, well, I get it’s needless now, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know. At some point, we have to call mistakes what they are, and leave it, right?” 

“This is too important to drop,” Aizawa growls, “and I won’t, until I know you understand. This isn’t a test, this isn’t for a grade. This is serious. You’re getting hurt over it.”

Your defense was wearing thin, but you stood your ground. A more sassier remark would have been along the lines of dooming yourself to the ‘stupid Americans’ club till you’re inevitably deported- but that would be too emotional of a response, and not helpful. A fool’s hope was all you could carry now. 

You studied Aizawa for anything that would level out his respect for you- praying he held any. –you square yourself before him after as deep a breath as your winded lungs can give you– 

“I was wrong,” you pressed the point once again, “I overlooked key information that would have impacted my actions. I can -and will- learn from this and do better, and even do my part in meeting with more of our allies so I can work with them, not around them. Get all the information, and actually use it... And I don’t have to stick my dumb ass out on the line like a rookie, with shit like that.”

Aizawa agrees, but doesn’t look altogether happy about your apology.

“Any of those steps would have sufficed- if you truly couldn’t stick to the plan…”

You’re waiting for a final lesson learned, but receive a strange pang of emotion from Aizawa’s firmly set stare–

“But plans may still fail. You’re going to have to go off-book, it’s inevitable. I’m not slighting you for that. But if there’s one thing you have to keep at the front of your mind, it's that there’s only one you.”

You’ve been guarded this year. On edge, day after day, by threat of attack at all hours. You accepted this role as a teacher to help bolster the faculty’s support staff of heroes with the rising crime rates, but have come to enjoy the job on a much deeper level- in a way you wouldn’t have experienced without Aizawa specifically at your side…

This feeling -safety, even in the most uncertain circumstances- radiates from him whenever you’re together. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing; you don’t have to be in pressing danger or fight-or-flight to feel it. It’s a constant hum of assurance from Aizawa that settles your spirit and draws you to him. 

By action, he never pronounces his entrance or use flamboyant body language; rather it’s his subtle and meaningful motions that aim to soothe.  With his words, he says what he means, and doesn’t sugar coat things– and by that very token, you know even the kindest of affirmations that come out of him must also be true- few and far between as they are.

Those signs are all subtleties that point to a very private person. Ultimately, if you did not know him so well by daily interactions, you may never have picked up how a man like him truly feels. 

Only right now, you can’t help but see it. Every emotion he’d hold inside is palpable. He does feel very strongly, and you’re gifted by its raw power: even as you are the sole audience for such a show.

There’s something in his eyes that’s not so much angry, but pained. It’s rearing up like wings to make itself appear bigger than it is, but also to shield away from unwanted eyes. It forces you to stare back, and not look away. Demands you attention, because this matters.

It’s scared.

“I know you don't give a damn what you think of yourself,” he says cautiously, “but the rest of us do care what happens to you-”

The words your nursing friend had said at the hospital tending to your most recent injuries. That this is beyond a dauntless streak of selflessness, but that your life has value and meaning. Aizawa must not have been ignoring you fully earlier. Hearing him say this proves that he had overheard you both after all– and to an extent agrees. 

Damn, your pride doesn’t like hearing that. And damn your self-deprecating sense of humor: the one that’s not-so-funny to the Japanese populace, apparently. 

You cross your arms, a flit of sarcasm dripping as a defense mechanism:

“Ok, Doc– I get it–”

“I’m not Doctor Mori.” Aizawa snapped, void of patience. “Or your darling Suzuki for that matter.”

Your two best friends, the latter whom you share a group chat with who will also not be happy hearing what's happened to you today. Neither would negate anything Aizawa has told you so far. In fact they'd agree, wholeheartedly.

Furthermore, they know what he means to you, too. Beyond your hero work, beyond your classroom partnership… 

They know Aizawa makes your world go ‘round. You practically set your clock to his time, so that you might be in sync and have something reliable in your life. You learn from him, you thrive by him, you're thankful for how you've grown and how you continue to feel when he looks your way. It's all genuine, and you appreciate that in a level that's perhaps become more than that of friends. 

Guilt twinges the strength left in your words, 

“I know you're not… your say matters, too.”

“Well your actions sure as hell aren't matching. You say my words have weight? Then you listen to me now.”

Aizawa flares his sights at you, rounding the last tabletop between you as he does so.

“I don’t expect half measures from you and I would never ask that of you. I do believe you are a great hero, and I believe you’re going to give your all, don’t misinterpret that. Never doubt that. But for whatever it's worth- if it even means to you what it means to me- you don’t just have a circle of people who want you and need you… who doesn’t just see you as another name on a mission roster, or just an asset to a team… But there are people who hate watching you dance with danger like it’s something only you can do, not when you have someone who will be at your side.. As we fight it together.”

Before irritated disbelief could settle across your face– Aizawa’s fight-worn hands that had laid fisted by his side flew up and cupped the base of your skull.

Aizawa’s eyes sting red with tears; wet emotion bared in your presence for the first time. 

“You are my breath,” Aizawa manages your name desperately, “My anchor, and my light, and you’re holding what little heart I have left, and I can’t lose you.. to this.”

–his words had you shocked speechless. Your heart could break itself looking back in those eyes. 

You sense the hurt bursting from the seams right in front of you– hurt that had rendered him silent for much of your journey back here. You can't imagine having been the one who scared him this much, someone you truly believed was immovable. 

Aizawa’s given you something far more important than a down-to-earth talk. It’s a beautiful confession you never saw coming.

Your hand cups his wrist back gently, its tendons tremble underneath you. He asked you to call him by name, so you would.

"Z-. Shouta..."

His eyes shut, and he falls forward, his forehead to yours. Containing tears within, Aizawa steeled his deep voice again:

"I have these nights… nights with dreams so bad, I can't wake when I want to. And then others, where I never want the good dream to stop. You're in both, and that scares me to no end."

His fingers bear down on the hastily thrown-on menthol patch you'd not get spent the minimal seconds it takes to affix straight. He feels the raising bump under the pads of those fingers, feeling evidence of your recklessness yet again. 

“I lived a life without you. It feels so long ago now...after we met, after you stood by me at city hall–I don't want anything less. Never again. I just want you to be more careful about these things."

Tears pricked yours, too. Never would you have imagined a close call would have affected him like this. Out of the hundreds of nights you’ve rounded up villains together, you’d broken the final straw of his resolve.

He cares. He cares for you. You dare to think he may love you– and found this as his way to say it. 

"I was- I really didn't-- I'm sorry, Shouta. Please..."

His eyes opened at your voice calling.

"Then promise me."

"Promise?"

"Promise me you won’t take these risks again. Not alone. Not when you have someone in your corner... Someone who can help you see past the hurt, the vengeance– whatever is going through your head that you’re thinking you need to prove. We can make something better from it. Smarter. I’ve walked that path; I know it well.”

You nod in his hold; your oath back to him, as he lays it all out. Were this a written love letter, you’d memorize every line. 

“-but promise me you'll never scare me like this. Not when it’s avoidable. Don’t ever do this again."

Aizawa’s voice fell to a choked whisper by the end. The last window of his strength crumbled like settling dust while his thumbs scroll your temples reverently.

You swallow tensely, nodding all the quicker, 

"Yes, I promise, yes.” You’ll fuck things up differently, sure, but not like tonight’s show of heroics.

Aizawa shuddered; it sank in. "Thank you."

Still, you made it your job to make him believe, so you lifted up off the desk to stand before him. Fighting the burn in your arms was a worthy cause when rising to hug him– and rewarded you instantly as he reciprocated. You relished in the feeling, the warmth from his breath on your neck, how securely his arms held you tight, the caring hand that fisted the back of your hair in an intimate gesture. 

There was nowhere else you'd rather be. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes close in his hold. You’d tell him someday, but you’ve dreamt of him to, though not so heartbreaking in memory, as he shared with you. Many of your dreams settled on moments just like this; tame, warming fantasies that you wished you could share with him as a break from the chaos. Because he deserved softness, too.

And here he was: hugging you. You smile. Shouta Aizawa -man of a thousand sleepless nights- is fucking hugging you. Hizashi will never believe this.

You felt the change the minute your name crossed the line of Aizawa’s lips. His shoulders sagged and he pressed into you, his hands loosening and patting your hair, the fierce nature in which he'd captured you melting into a protective caress.

The man’s face still sunk inwards, weary as he met your eyes. Where was that look coming from? He seemed so worried, like he wanted to say something but was trying hard not to. His gaze darted to your lips to your cheeks- basking in every bit of this moment, like he'd never get the chance to be this close again.

Hearing his inhale at the touch, your hand smoothed over his heart, purposefully, lovingly. Eyes locked, you tipped your head to the side and lifted your chin to be clear to him- an invitation. The corners of his mouth lift. 

I feel the same, you want to cry to him. But with his emotions still sitting under the surface, you will yourself to be the strong one.. just for a moment longer. You’ll share your vulnerability once the pain meds wear off.

Aizawa met you halfway in one fell swoop. Still tender from your fight, you brought his lips to yours to seal in the promise made. 

This kiss was more than you imagined. Impossibly gentle lips, dizzying warmth, the lowest of hums leading into it. Had he been angry, it might have been a growl, but you’re sure you would've jumped on it anyway. The energy he gave into this first kiss caught even you by surprise.

After another drawn out press, you bowed your foreheads together and took in shaky breaths.

"Wow,” you sighed out a smile.

He whispered the awestruck wonder back, and drew you right back in.

Parting after several rolling kisses later, you saw him clearer, sporting that Totoro smile at your blissful face. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," Aizawa spoke into your ear, still holding you close, but mindful of the tender parts you winced at.

Careful of the taxed weakness in his elbow, you carefully massaged up his arm gently, “Sorry I had to piss you off to get it~”

He chuckled breathlessly, feeling soft enough to nuzzle your cheek. You laughed at the roughness of his scruff on yours. It’s so comfortable with him like this. felt up his chest slowly while you had the chance. He took a deep breath at the sensation. 

"Guess this means you’re putting in your name as ‘that someone’? Do this together then?" You gestured with your shoulder between you, working out the words, “I mean, I should hope so– you just kissed the daylights out of me."

Aizawa brushed some hair away you'd nervously let forward. He seemed cool as ever, but spoke gently with you. 

"I wasn't so sure someone like me could feel this way about someone like you. So yes. I'd like to see where this could go,” Aizawa centered back to meet you with level calm. “I think.. what we have to start with, works. Don't you?"

You smiled sweetly and nodded with confidence. How things will look for you from this point on will simply build on the foundation you have. That all can be learned. Finessed. You braved a smile and assured him, despite the nagging fear you felt you caused;

"I won’t let you down, ‘Zawa."

His eyes almost rolled shut into a breathy chuckle.

"You know, I adore you. So damn much." He captured your lips again in a couple long kisses. You hummed in between them, drowned out by his own possessive trills back as they echoed into your shared mouths.

You gave a breathy little giggle in happiness and trailed your fingers over the edge of his jaw, caressing the stubble of beard. 

“Guess I have added incentive to stick around then.”

“Oh, you are. And you’re going to have to face the music with the city task force come Monday.”

–Ah yes, this felt more normal. The king of rational thought swooping in to burst your bubble. But… you suppose you rely on this too. All part of the Eraserhead package deal.

You’ll take it; along with your consequences.

“Ugh shit.”

“Told you so.”

Planning out your next steps in Aizawa’s homeroom, as a team, went well for the remainder of your time propped up at his desk… until you got distracted again. This new dynamic between you will be sure to prove tempting, you fear, as inevitably your reputation for being a horrific flirt started getting the best of you when Aizawa stuck his hair up to get back to work.

Unfair, how good he looks when he’s angry. Even worse when he looks back at you, in love.

[americas1suiteheart]

I have something called Juvenile Myoclonic Epilepsy that I was diagnosed with when I was 15 which isn't caused by flashing lights or strobes, but rather hormones. So, I decided to do something with a reader that is epileptic, just not with something exactly like mine. Enjoy!!

I Won't Tell, I Promise

James Wilson x Epileptic! Reader

Summary; Y/n has been working at Princeton for 4 years, hiding her epilepsy in fear of losing her job. But what happens when an episode comes out of no where?

Notes; Everyone I've met and told I have epilepsy always thinks it's light sensitive, but it's not. I wanted to kind of have this as a thing to give a bit of what it's like dealing with that stigma.

Warnings; Foul language, mentions of taking prescription drugs, epileptic episodes, angst.

Word Count; 4,230

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You've been working at the Princeton Plainsboro teaching hospital for a short while so far.

Before Prinston, you worked at a hospital all the way over in Oklahoma City as a nurse, then to Chicago as a doctor.

You probably would've never gotten this job if you mentioned what would be considered a "safety concern", to anyone.

You were diagnosed with Myoclonic Epilepsy when you were 17 and though it was said to be hormonal, it still hasn't gone away 26 years later.

"It'll go back to normal, just give it time, it usually goes away by your 20s," the neurologists and your mother constantly reminded you that. And nearly 30 years later and they were wrong.

That's what upset you the most. The fact that they assured you that it would go away and you would no longer have to take anymore of the god damn medicines or switching them constantly. They lied to you.

But, no use in moping about it. It is what it is. This problem, this disorder, is what pushed you to do what you do now. Neurology.

The doctors and neurologists could never figure out what was "wrong" with you. Countless tests, week long EEG's, CT scans, blood tests and draws, more brain scans, everything you could think of. Nothing.

No tumors ever found, nor any family history of it.

You'd just figure it out yourself.

Being in the medical field for almost 20 years has just earned you one of the larger titles.

Dr. Y/n L/n | Head of Neurology.

You had your own office on the floor where all of the MRI and CT machines resided. Made recently for you.

You just got that title just a couple months ago, and man was it difficult.

You had to take an extra dose of medicine due to the amount of stress and lack of sleep you were getting. And you weren't about to give that title you worked so hard for up.

Maybe (you knew it was,) mixing one of the strongest medications with another concentrated one was a bad idea.

750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam 3 times daily. On top of vitamins due to deficiency.

Now, that high of a dose of the Levetiracetam was already bad enough, but mixing it with the Lamotrigine made it worse. But you couldn't have an episode on the job. You feared that if you did, you would lose not only your title, but your job, and at the worst, your medical license.

You just couldn't risk that.

"...Y/n? You okay? Can you hear me?" A hand waved in front of your face with a couple snaps, trying to get your attention

Now see, that was the tricky thing with epilepsy. Absent seizures. You never knew if you'd just spaced out or had another small seizure.

"Oh, uh, sorry. Yeah, I just spaced out for a second, my bad." You respond, forcing a smile with a chuckle.

"Oh, good. Thought I lost you there," Wilson says, putting his hand down and taking another bite of his salad.

Your watch begins to beep, indicating it was time to take the second medication of the day.

One in the morning, one during lunch, and one at night, taking each one with water and food.

"Um, give me a second, I gotta go get some water real quick. I'll be right back." You awkwardly rush.

"Don't worry, I'll get one for you. I've gotta throw my trash anyways."

"No, Wilson. Really it's fine I can get it," You began to panic. Don't panic.

"Then I'll go with you," Wilson smiles, getting up with his trash.

You mutter out an "Okay."

'He's going to ask about the pills. I've never taken my meds in front of anyone before. What do I say?' You began to freak out even more. 'What if he sees them and tells Cuddy about them? I'll lose my job.'

Technically you weren't supposed to supply your own medication to yourself. That's how House got in trouble. It's not like I'm abusing them, though. Right?

"What's that timer for?" Wilson asks.

"Well, sometimes I'll be working and I'll forget to grab lunch, so I don't want to forget to eat, y'know?" Liar.

"Oh,"

You continued walking in an awkward silence before you quickly went to the food bar and bought a bottle of water.

"You left me, what was that for?" Wilson chuckles with a hand on his hip.

'Do I just tell him? He'd be the first to know apart from my family or friends back in my hometown. No one since I left there knows about it. But I could trust him.'

"Uh, well.." You begin.

"Wilson! Come here!"

You turn around to see House marching (or trying more so,) toward the two of us.

"House-"

"Shut up, I need you. You can talk to Ms. Addict later."

'Shit, did House know?'

"Excuse me, what did you just call me?" Unbelievable.

"..real bold coming from you, House." You continue.

"At least I admit it! You’re exactly like me!" House shouts as he walks away with Wilson.

"What do you mean by 'Ms. Addict?'" Wilson asks, you being able to hear him as he walks away with House.

'If House knows, will he tell Wilson? Shit, more importantly, will he tell Cuddy?'

You sigh as you walk out of the cafeteria and go down the stairs to your respective level and enter your office.

"God, I've gotta stop this shit.." You say, picking up some x-rays of brain scans.

The patient was an 8 year old little boy. He was experiencing small seizures regularly, without any family history of seizures or epilepsy diagnosis'.

He'd been in the hospital for nearly a week now, countless tests were run, and he'd been attached to an EEG machine to see what would spike when he had an episode.

'Shit.'

You looked more closely at one of the radiographs. On the right side of his temporal lobe there were two black masses, most likely tumors, which looked to have been roughly 5 to 6 inches in size.

"Fuck.. Fuck, what do I do with this." You began to panic. There shouldn't be masses like that. This could just be something wrong with the machine, right?

You can't just stand there. You had to say something.

'Wilson,' You thought to yourself.

He would be the one to go to. You could only hope that they weren't cancerous tumors.

You gather up the rest of the radiographs and make your way out of your office to go to Wilson's, hoping that House was finished doing whatever he does, and that he would be in there.

"Hey, Dr. L/n, I was wondering if you have any updates on Noah yet?" The boy's mother stopped me in my tracks.

"Oh, good afternoon, Mrs. Pieters. I was actually just looking at Noah's radiographs now. I'm going up to Dr. Wilson's office right now to go over them with him, so the final results should hopefully be out soon," You explain anxiously, still trying to sound as professional as possible.

"Oh wonderful! Once again, thank you for putting Noah in your care. You have no idea how lucky and relieved we feel now." She replies, a big smile on her face.

You feel so bad...

"Of course, Mrs. Pieters. Noah's health is one of my top priorities right now, and I couldn't be more happy to help. If you don't mind, though, I really need to go over these with Dr. Wilson right now."

"Of course. Sorry for keeping you," She apologized.

You wave her goodbye and rush to the stairs to reach Wilson's office.

You urgently knock on his door, waiting for a response, yet none came. You knock once again, and still no response. "James, are you in there? There are some radiographs I need to show you,"

You wait more, and still no response. Maybe House or Cuddy know where he is.

You go next door and open House's door, not even bothering to knock.

There House sat, throwing and catching his oversized tennis ball.

"What the hell-"

"Do you know where Wilson is?!" You cut him off in an urgency.

"He's probably in the bathroom touching himself, I'd check in there if I were you," He says sarcastically.

Oh..

"I'm being serious, House!" You roll your eyes and shout in frustration.

“Why, do you want to finally confess your undying love for him?”

You look at House with your mouth agape, looking like a fish out of water trying to create a response that wouldn't make you seem flustered. “I-”

You figured it would be near impossible to have an actual serious conversation, though not that you wanted one, with House. “I’m just gonna go ahead and go to Cuddy’s..” You sigh, frustrated with the time you’d just wasted trying to talk to him.

“Fine then! Be-” House shouts before you shut the door on him, silencing whatever bullshit he was going to say to or call you.

You make your way to Cuddy's office, looking at the radiographs on your way to make sure they really were something to be concerned about, though you would still look them over no matter what.

You knock on Cuddy's door and barge in, the same way you'd just done with House's. "Cuddy, have you seen Wils-" You say, stopping as you see Wilson standing at Cuddy's desk, going over some files.

"Oh my gosh, thank god. James, please, I need your help and time just for a moment," You plead.

"James? I got upgraded to James now?"

"Not the time now, Wilson,"

"Can you two do this somewhere else?" Cuddy says, a tinge of annoyance barely clear.

You leave Cuddy's office with Wilson following behind.

"What is it I can help you-" He says before you urgently (rudely,) cut him off.

"It's about Noah's MRI and CT scan results," You sigh, sadness in your voice.

Wilson's face softened, "Please tell me it's good,"

You pull up the radiographs and show them to him, not being able to see it all that great.

"Let's go to my office,"

You and Wilson make your way into your office, you put the pictures onto the intensifying screen and take a look at them once more, that feeling in your stomach getting deeper.

Please don't let it be bad..

"Those black masses right there at the temporal lobe, do you think those are.. tumors?" Your voice shakes.

Wilson inspects the pictures and points out the same two that you feared.

"Th-these ones?" Wilson questioned.

You nod your head.

You were horrified, but at the same time, you were anticipated. If these were the cause, then you would know why this was happening to him, unlike you with yours.

Wilson lets out a deep breath and turns to you, "We're going to have to run some more tests.. these are.. definitely tumors, but we don't know if they're cancerous..."

You sigh and rub your hands over your face.

Wilson walks to you and rubs your back with one hand, and places the other onto your shoulder.

You shiver at his touch, you began to feel dizzy and after taking your hands away from your face, you see black auras begin to obscure your vision.

And then, you blacked out.

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

Your head was pounding and your tongue was swollen. You looked around you in confusion as you found yourself laying on your side.

Where am I?

A hand ran through your hair as someone softly assured you that you were okay.

You get up before quickly falling back down to the floor.

"Hey, hey, L/n, just- sit back down. You're okay," a familiar voice assured you.

You blink slowly.

"Hey, look at me, look.. What's my name?"

You look at the male, his face becoming more familiar, though not enough until a couple seconds passed by, him staying patient with you.

"Wilson?" You slur.

"Good- um, what's your name, now?"

You felt like you were going to vomit. Your head was still spinning, though you were starting to become more familiar with your surroundings,

"Y/n? What happened?" You groan.

"Y/n, you just had a seizure.."

Those five words sent you into shock, though now it was beginning to quickly rise up to a panic attack..

"What?"

You put your head into your hands and brought your knees to your chest, a lump began to form in your throat and tears welled up in your eyes, "No, no, no, no, no, oh god, no..." You sobbed. You let yourself stress out enough to the point that you had an episode after not having one for nearly 6 months. You were doing so good. God there's no way you're going to ever drive again.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay, Y/n." Wilson tried to assure you as he patted your back.

"No, no it's not okay.. shit," You choke up.

You wipe the saliva off of your mouth, presumably from spitting up during your episode.

You rock yourself back and forth, head still in your hands.

Wilson stayed quiet. He had no idea what to say, but you preferred that he didn't. You needed some silent time to gather your mind together.

"God.. fuck, I'm so sorry, James. You shouldn't have had to deal with that.." you exhale and apologize, afraid to even look at him.

"Y/n, don't- don't apologize,"

"You're not going to tell anyone are you? Please don't tell anyone, please, Wilson," You pleaded, tears welling up again at the thought of losing your job.

You didn't know that House had already known before. House had overheard you when you were speaking to Noah that one day, and then found out how much you were taking a day, earning your new nickname 'Ms. Addict'.

Him being the huge blabbermouth that he is, he obviously felt the need to tell Wilson. Wilson didn't know if he told him because he had some sort of worry for you, or if it was just him being an asshole, but by God was he glad that House told him.

"I won't tell, I promise." Wilson said as he wiped the tears away from your face, cupping it with his hand.

You melt into his touch and sigh.

"How.. how much Levetiracetam have you been taking..?" Wilson questioned.

You look at him in confusion, "What? What are you talking about?"

"Your meds.. how much of them are you taking?"

House.

"House- House told me, just earlier today," Wilson admitted hesitantly.

House!

“I’m gonna kill him!” You suddenly shout in a fit of sudden rage.

You get up only to fall once again, not just triggering your vertigo, but also making the previous dizziness you’d just had only mere minutes ago worsen.

You grab onto the nearest table to stable yourself, stumbling around as you try to pathetically attempt to speed walk.

 “L/n– L/n hold on just– Y/n!” Wilson says anxiously.

“Fuckin’ asshole, I’m gonna kill him.. How does he even know?” You grumble to yourself.

You stumbled around the workplace, bumping into things and nearly dodging others, looking like a lunatic disguised as a doctor, or to be more accurate; House.

“Y/n!” Wilson calls out to you, catching up to you far more quickly than you had been “speedwalking”.

He stops you, getting ahold of your left arm and goes in front of you, grabbing your other arm after successfully stopping you from even taking one more step.

“L/n, don’t. I know he’s an asshole but let's just go back to your office so we can sit you down, and then talk about this, okay?”

You were upset, and overwhelmed. He was right. You should go back to your office, sit down, have some water, and focus on Noah.

Noah..

You nod at him and turn around to make your way back to your office, one of his hands on your back and another out in case you fall.

He was so.. caring. You’ve never had someone care so much for you. You haven’t had that in years, you’d forgotten just how nice it was to be cared for, even if it were in upsetting circumstances such as now.

You smile to yourself as he helps you to your office chair, thanking him.

Wilson pulls up a stool in front of you, “L/n, are you okay?” He questions, taking your hands into his own, warm and calloused.

“Yeah, I guess I just freaked out a bit. I’m alright,”

“How much medicine have you been taking, L/n..” Wilson asks concerningly.

You sigh. You didn’t want to admit you had a bit of a.. problem with substances, specifically your prescribed ones. God, I really am House..

“Uh,” You look away from him. You were more than ashamed of yourself. There was a reason the drugs were controlled, because they were addictive..

It had gotten to the point where you depended on them too much. The Clobazam wasn’t even necessary, either.

“750 mg of Levetiracetam, 370 mg of Lamotrigine, and 50 mg of Clobazam.” You mutter.

“750 of Levetiracetam??”

“Yeah.. three times daily.”

Wilson sighs and lets his head fall low, muttering something to himself.

“L/n, you could overdose on just the Levetiracetam and Lamotrigine together twice, maybe even once! But you're mixing it with the Clobazam, too? Three times a day? Who’s prescribing you this much medicine?!” Wilson was genuinely concerned for you, he didn't mean to sound or come off as angry or upset, but that’s definitely what he sounded like.

"Myself," You looked at your hands, his were still holding yours.

"..I'm sorry but- I couldn't risk having an episode, especially not here. If- if anyone else found out I thought I might lose my job or- or my medical license, I can’t risk that, I- I worked so hard for this title, I can’t let it be taken away because of some stupid-” You started to get worked up and hysterical. So much build up just over the years of not telling anyone your worries, not even your parents or friends from home, all of it just spilt out in front of Wilson.

Wilson gets up and pulls you into a tight hug, stroking your hair as his chin rested on to of your head. “I won’t tell anyone, and I promise you, I absolutely promise you that you won’t lose your job if anyone else finds out,”

You tense up, but the sound of his heartbeat so close to your line of hearing made you relax into his arms, wrapping your own across his torso.

“I don’t know about you, but this is one of the first times that I’ve ever been happy that House is an asshole. I’m glad he told me. I’m glad you’re safe.” Wilson continued, holding you closer to him.

His overwhelming affection and concern began to make you tear up. He actually cared for you.

And though House would never admit it, so did he.

You began to cry into Wilson’s lab coat, still not letting go of him in fear that you would lose him forever if you did.

“I care for you, Y/n. I never want you to feel this way.”

He didn’t even care that you were dirtying his coat with your own tears and snot, he only cared for you at that moment.

“Oh, you finally found him. Did you find him in the bathroom touching himself like I said he was? Is that why you’re crying? Do you need a hug from me, too?” House says sarcastically as he barges into your office.

You take your face out of Wilson’s coat to scowl at House. “Fuck off, Greg..” You sniffle.

“House, it’s really not the time for your shit, and that’s a highly innaproppriate thing to say- wait, where did you get that from?” Wilson says, pulling away from you.

“I’ve heard you,” House ‘whispers’ very loudly.

House hobbles over to you and stares for a few seconds before ruffling your hair, making it messier than it already was before.

“Addict,”

“Says you, asshole,” You respond, trying to smooth out your hair for it to look decently.

“..Uh, how did you know? About my..” you continue.

“You have really gotta start being more quiet when you talk to your patients about stuff like that, it was hard not to hear you blabbering to that kid. Do you just do that with all of them? Pretty wreckless if you ask me,” House responds.

“And my medication?”

“You’re not as sneaky with it as you think. Maybe being more open about it would raise less flags. You just might actually be worse than I am, Ms. Addict.”

Wilson stood aside, watching the interaction between his best friends. They hated eachother, but cared for eachother at the same time. He smiled at the scene.

“Whatever,” You say as House leaves your office.

“You two are an interesting pair,” Wilson chuckles.

“He’s a child.” You roll your eyes and smile.

House pops back into your office, sticking only his head in through your doorway. “Druggie addict.” and he disappears once more.

“There’s my point being proven,”

“Oh, I never doubted you,”

You look up at Wilson, with him looking back down at you.

You took in his features for a good couple of moments, 

his thick brows were one of the most noticable features of his, in the best way possible in your opinion at least. You could never imagine him with what people would concider “normal proportioned” brows. They sat atop those puppy dog eyes that held a sort of tired softness to them, you could just get lost in them forever. A single section of hair seperated from his usual kept up hair, laying on top of his forehead. His smile. My god, his smile was so nice.

“What?” Wilson lets out a breathy laugh.

“Nothing, you just look nice today,” You reply back before getting up out of your chair in your best efforts, successfully making it back to Noah’s Radiographs.

“Thanks, you do, too,” He stood next to you at a closer proximity than before.

You and Wilson looked closely at Noah’s Radiographs for a few minutes before Wilson declared, “I don’t think you have to worry about these tumors too much, they look benign to me. We just need to remove them and Noah should be fine,”

You let out a sigh of relief. Noah was an amazing kid. You have no clue what you would do if you had to give news that he had something that could possibly be a cause of death. At least you found the reason for his.

You lay your head on Wilson’s shoulder and smile, “Thanks, James.”

He brings his hand up to grab your waist, pulling you closer to him and laying his head onto yours, “Thank you for letting me help out with him. He’s lucky to have you,”

“..though, I think I would be even luckier to have you, Y/n.” Wilson continues.

Wilson had always been good with his words when he wanted to. They always came out to be smooth, yet not too vulgar or forward. Thats exactly what it felt like now. It felt genuine, it felt like it actually came straight from the heart, and now you felt like yours was about to practically beat out of your chest.

“I think you would, I’m just special like that,” you giggle.

Wilson raises his head off of yours and looks at you, taking in how beautiful you looked before placing a small kiss to your head.

You grin, practically from ear to ear and lift your head off of his shoulder to press a kiss to his cheek, only for him to lift your chin up. You two were practically teasing each other, for as when you went to close the gap, he lifted you up and carried you to your office chair bridal style and sat down with you in his lap, now closing the gap himself as he spun around in the chair with you.

You smiled into the kiss and you could feel he was too.

This would be one of your most memorable days ever, in so many ways. Not only because of Noah, but because of this moment with James that you would never imagine would happen to you in a million years.

Its not to early to think to yourself or say, you love him.

You love James Wilson, and you would scream it from the top of your lungs so everyone else could be reminded of it.

You were in love with him, and he was in love with you.

[gunnrblze]

Reunion pt. 2

Continuation of my silly fic

CW: more suggestiveness, fighting the urge to add smut to this lol. reader is gender neutral in the first part, but is she/her now

You’d always thought florescent lights were a bit much sometimes, but now that they were blaring right above your line of sight? You wanted to stab someone over it.

It was difficult to hear, too many people talking, too many machines and noises whirring in the distance.

What you could feel though, was an ache at the back of your skull, dull when you’re still, but sharp if you shift your head the right way on whatever piece of shit cot you’ve been laid on. You assume you fell and hit said noggin when whatever the fuck happened in the forest, happened.

Not that you can remember much yet, all you know is that the Generals murder boys showed up and then you got knocked off your one-way piggy back ride. Which worries you, is Beanie still alive? What about the rest of the circus?

With the way the lights are fizzling above you on the ceiling, the vague smell of medical supplies, and the fact you can feel that big cut on your hip bandaged up now instead of trying to kill you softly with its song…you’d wager you’ve not been captured by the Feds.

Maybe this is the ‘base’ your saviors kept speaking of, something you’d only believe when you really saw it…just in case they’re actually some band of fuckwads posing as a militia and not real soldiers. People are weird, can you really blame yourself?

“She’s awake” a voice somewhere off to the left, or maybe the right, called out. Your brain was a little too hazy to recall if you knew the voice, but as soon as Papa Smurf came into view, you felt some kind of relief that maybe the rest were okay too.

Not that you gave too much of a shit about them, yeah? I mean, you don’t even know them, they could’ve killed you, they could kill you. They just plucked you up off the floor and said ‘come with us’ like that’s a normal thing to do. Who even are they? You have one real name out of the five, but ‘Hesh’ surely to god isn’t the man’s government name-

“How do you feel?” His voice snapped you out of whatever train of thought you were riding. You blinked what felt like a hundred times before you could make out his form standing to your left. He wasn’t really as old as you acted like he was. Maybe early 50s, but he could still take you down as well as the rest, if not better due to what you imagine is well honed experience he has.

You still weren’t too interested in speaking very much to them. Maybe it was juvenile, or maybe your brain was just lacking, unable to figure out what to say in this situation. You relented a little though, giving a shrug and a mumble of something that sounded like ‘fine’. Why was your mouth doing that? Why did it feel so weird to speak?

“You’ve got a mild concussion, and a knocked out tooth” Geriatric explained when he saw what must’ve been confusion on your face.

Oh. A knocked out tooth. Naturally, of course. Whatever, it could surely be worse than a missing molar.

“We patched up your hip. That’s a nasty cut you got, a bit infected, we’ll have to keep an eye on it” he added, which wasn’t a sentence you liked very much. Not because of the cut, you weren’t sure you cared about that anymore. But because they wanted to keep an eye on it? They’d keep you?

Suddenly you felt like a stray mutt. Found wandering in the broken rubble of that office building, feeding on scraps of food because what the fuck else is there to eat in a bombed out wasteland?

You supposed you could get past that degrading feeling. If, and only if your presence didn’t continue to feel like a liability. You’d fight for yourself again, continue to scavenge for food like an animal before you played house, or military, you guess…with people who wished that their dogs nose hadn’t sniffed you out in the first place.

You wouldn’t be following them around like a stray if they’d complain about it, you knew that for sure. Not that they had complained, as a matter of fact, nothing had happened, they were actually rather nice. You were kind of just imagining all this-

“You gonna tell us more about yourself, kid? How the hell did you make it out there? You know where you’ve been?” Geriatric decided to flash bang you with three questions at once.

You gave another shrug, why did it feel like you couldn’t talk? You weren’t exactly scared of them anymore. They clearly didn’t want to hurt you, not at the moment, at least. Why did you feel so petulantly reluctant to explain yourself to people that had actually helped you considerably?

You decided to suck it up, and explained through your molar-less, iron tasting mouth, that your family died way back when, you somehow wandered into No Man’s Land, you’ve been getting by well enough, etc, etc, the usual.

Now he was being silent, which you almost thought was funny, except for the way that he looked at you like you’d told him a lie. Anxiety set in for a moment, and you felt like you were being cross examined now.

“You just stumbled into No Man’s Land? How’d you get past the wall?” He asked a little more quizzically this time. His arms were set firm across his chest -big arms for an old dude, you couldn’t help but notice- and his face was stone cold. Not your favorite look from American Dad, so far.

You figured if any time was the time to talk, it was now. After realizing what the fuck he meant by the wall, you relayed that you simply crawled underneath it. A divot in the ground that someone had clearly took a moment to dig out. You hadn’t thought much of it, you were more so concerned with not becoming one of those red berets next kill shots.

You remembered it better than you thought you would though, given your concussion. Which lessened your anxiety a bit, he’d probably hate it if you couldn’t even explain that part…

Except, that didn’t quite mean he believed it yet. Back to square one. Your head throbbed and your gums were still a little bloody. The infection in your hip stung and the lights were still caving in on you as you laid in the fuck ass military issue cot. But none of it mattered when you had him looming over you, asking questions like you were an X-File and he was just waiting for Scully to show up.

“You crawled under the wall, huh? And didn’t get caught by any Fed soldiers?” Geriatric asked, his tone almost harboring a little, amusement? It was hard to tell with the way his gaze made your body feel so cold, despite being somewhere near California in June.

You simply nodded though, because…yeah. That’s quite literally exactly what happened. He knew you were a civilian, if that much wasn’t glaringly clear, so maybe he’d also come to understand that you had little idea what the fuck you were doing.

You were both surprised when you suddenly spoke up unprompted and asked about the others, if they were alright. You’d remembered how this all happened, what led up to being knocked off Beanies back, and you couldn’t help but wonder where they were. He raised an eyebrow, but seemed willing enough.

“Hesh is alright, took a bullet to his vest, that’s why you fell down with him” He starts, immediately making more sense than you thought he’d give, seeing as they all seemed to be quite secretive. Hell, you only knew Beanie, Hesh’s, name anyways. That seemed to bother you a bit, not even knowing their names.

“The rest are okay. You two are the only injuries we have right now. He’s been patched up and is resting, which is what you’re gonna do, too” he added. Which again, you weren’t exactly a fan of because what the fuck happens after you rest up?

What will they do with you? They won’t put you back in No Man’s Land, of course, but you have no where else to go. That’s how you ended up here, on this scratchy cot, after the fucking Misfits picked you up by the scruff of your neck like a feral alley cat.

He seemed to smell the confusion and slight fear on you, and during what you imagine is a rare event, seemed to stall with having an actual course of action. So you opened your big mouth up instead. Explaining that you have no where to go, so they might as well just dump you now, get it over with.

You felt stupid when you said anything to them, like you were a toddler learning how to string meaningful sentences together for the first time, so you didn’t feel any more idiotic than you perpetually did after saying that bullshit.

But the way he raised his grayed eyebrow again and looked down at you like you were not as old as you actually were…didn’t help the feeling.

“Don’t worry about that right now, you have to rest up and get cleared from that concussion before we ‘drop’ you anywhere” he said simply, like that would make you feel better. Like the pat on your shoulder would make you feel better instead of making you flinch.

He walked away though, so what choice was there?

You glanced around now that you could see and think better. Stashed away in some room that was supposed to be a makeshift medic-like setting. The walls were gray and so was the vibe, apparently. Not that you’d expect the croaking soldier on the cot adjacent to you to be having a good time with that stab wound it appears he took to the gut…

You were just about to get settled into your spiraling thoughts when an unfamiliar voice appeared on your left. This guy was, naturally, just as big, but had a more athletic looking build. Brown eyes that were more amber than anything, and not nearly as imposing an energy as some of the others. Looking at Baldy for that one.

“Hey, I’m Kick” he tried to give you a smile.

Ohhh. So getaway guy does exist.

You almost felt the desire to return the smile, but you couldn’t. So you gave a nod instead, which seemed to satisfy him enough. He asked how you felt, your point blank response of “Shitty” got a little chuckle out of him. Why was he charming? He’s like Beanie, you suppose, a smile that can go a long way. A smile that you enjoyed seeing since you hadn’t really seen anything in a while.

Your lack of recent human interaction was still confusing your hormones…

He very clearly wanted to ask questions about the elephant in the room, how the fuck are you still alive? But he appeared to have enough decorum to make it seem like bringing it up was your idea when he worked it into the conversation.

But you had nothing much to say. By the skin of your teeth, is how you survived and out-hid the Feds thus far. A yipping and wailing German Shepard who somehow smelled you from too far away, is how you’re alive and on this cot rather than wondering if you’ll find a shelter hidden enough to sleep in tonight.

It appears he’s just as smart as his friends, because he doesn’t push. Just looks at you like you’re some sort of miracle. Really, you’re totally flattered and all, but you can’t quite stop and pat yourself on the back yet for making it this far, when you still have so far to go.

He wanted to let you rest like Geriatric, so he left. And you did not watch his ass in those tactical pants as he went. A nurse-medic-doctor-‘I have some kind of medical knowledge’ person came over to tend to your hip wound. Peeling back the gauze made you hiss, looking down at the gross slice wound made you wince.

Definitely more infected than you thought it’d gotten. Perhaps that’s what the pills they were shoving in your hand were for. You cared so little you didn’t even ask about what you were swallowing.

You laid down again, trying not to tear your hair out of the root due to the way the lights continued to buzz above your head. It wasn’t loud, but it was loud enough for your concussed ass brain.

Apparently these people catch on quite well, you couldn’t ever think of knowing simple army soldiers that had so much interpersonal skills. Weren’t they usually a little dumb? But you’d be damned if you didn’t see Beanie himself spawn at your side with a pair of earplugs. You were beginning to wonder if maybe you would rather be left alone, respectfully.

“We don’t have many of these, but they should help” he said simply, rather than addressing literally anything else that’s happened. You took them though, cracking a real little smile because Jesus fucking Christ if you had to hear a gun go off one more time…

You gave him a once over, noticing the slight raise of bandage near his ribs underneath his deliciously too tight t-shirt. He noticed, because of course he did, and ensured you he was fine. It was all rather normal feeling, for a beyond abnormal situation.

You popped the earplugs in, sighing and trying not to move your head wound on the thick fabric of the cot because Christ on a bike that shit stung. You felt a little more comfortable blurting out a ‘what happens after this’ to him rather than his elder, for some reason.

That seemed to be the question of the hour, though, because he kinda just gave you that knowing look. You figured he’d half ass some kind of reassurance, but instead he asked about the half broken radio in your bag.

Your bag. Your radio. Your stuff. Where’d they even put it? They went through it?

“You have a lot of loose ends in there, why were you carrying all that stuff around?” He’d continue. He wasn’t wearing his little namesake, you just noticed, and you accidentally admired how silly yet handsome he looked with a buzz cut.

Which was also a bit too obvious on your end, so you opted for explaining that you were trying to fix the radio. You used to fuck with them in your spare time, good with technology type stuff, etc etc. Which piqued his interest enough to ask how good you were with radios.

Pretty good was your final answer. You didn’t quite feel like talking about godforsaken radios right now, what with the lights blaring and the exhaustion catching up to your brittled ass body. You weren’t sure how malnourished and dehydrated you were, but you could feel the weakness. He seemed interested enough by you, though, you just didn’t have half a mind to ask about your belongings after taking those meds.

It felt almost too perfect when he explained that they’ve been having issues with their comms system lately…

That maybe you could take a look at it once you healed up more, maybe you could fix it. That if you did, you’d have a place to stay, food to eat.

You wondered whether or not Junior had ran this thought by Senior yet. If he was just planting the idea to help you out, so you didn’t face whatever fate you’d end up with once you didn’t have a need to laze in their cot anymore.

Because you couldn’t really foresee the rest of his buds wanting to actually take you in, whatever the fuck that really meant, here. You were a civilian, who maybe posed a bit of use to them. But that didn’t feel good enough, you wagered. Not during a time like this. Don’t they have people for this stuff?

You shrugged, not wanting to ask why he cared so much about your wellbeing. Maybe he’s just a good guy, a good soldier, but you both knew you had little place here. He seemed to just be trying to carve one out for you. And as much as you appreciated it, you still didn’t like the whole idea of being any kind of burden to these people

He gave you a pat on your shoulder too, like father like son, and told you to get some rest and think about it.

You did think about it. Thought about how fucking stupid it’d be if you tried to fix a military communications system. You liked tinkering with radios and what not, desperate to get a signal for even a sliver of music to grace your ears if you could. But you didn’t know as much as you suddenly wished you did.

So you opted for lying on your squeaky cot, feeling the burn of the stitches on your hip, the ache of the gash on the back of your head. And the buzz of the florescent lighting above you.

The earplugs did help a bit. And you fell asleep sooner than you thought you would. To the nice relaxing sounds of sick, groaning soldiers, and whatever the flying fuck was happening on this base.

And naturally, that damned dog again.

[automatonne]

Ooh, how about big boi TFA Grimlock? Your choice what you want to talk about, but I’m leaning towards the noms…

Y’all are coming out swinging with the good options! I’m loving it!

VORE HCs FOR GOD’S PERFECT DINOSAUR-SHAPED IDIOT

He is not the brightest bulb in the drawer. This is obvious. But he was originally programmed to show off the might of some of Earth’s first great hunters, and that programming hasn’t exactly left him.

On the island he and his fellows are sequestered on, he usually makes a meal of deer and similarly-sized animals.

He has a pretty strong prey drive. It’s not a great idea to randomly start running around him. He will pursue. Hanging around smaller bots is also a big source of temptation for his more bestial programming, given that the species on which he was based likely preferred to go for juveniles of larger species. They are, well, perfectly bite-sized.

Thankfully, anybody on the receiving end of being eaten by this oversized idiot has the advantage of his teeth NOT being that sharp or horrible. (It’s the bite force you gotta watch out for.) He’s actually quite capable of scooping something into his mouth with the gentleness of a golden retriever being handed an egg.

The problem is that he really, really has to set his mind to that, and, frankly, there’s not a lot of mind to set there.

Surprise! He’s actually usually on the end of the softer variety noms, when it comes to sapient beings! Just because he’s the strongest and a brute doesn’t mean that he’s out purely to destroy and kill, no matter what he says.

To be more specific, it’s usually scooping up littler guys to hold them in his mouth so he can transport them somewhere safer. Like a crocodile. (It’s just that he might accidentally swallow them because he’s a loudmouth and wants to talk, and he didn’t think about that. Oops.)

He has had to have the Earth team’s medic remove some bots from his tank many, many times. Unscathed, a little traumatized, and extremely annoyed. ‘Lock says they shouldn’t have taken up so much room in his jaws, then.

He can’t run very well if he gets top-heavy. Too much prey and he falls right over onto his front (watch out, he’s a big guy), groaning and complaining.

“UGGGGHHHHH. ME EAT TOO MUCH.”

He will insist that whomever is coming to get the little guys out make the hurt go away. They are not amused. He might get a pity pat on the belly from Bulky.

(His tail thumps happily when his tummy gets attention.)

Sometimes, he finds himself absentmindedly gnawing on the tails of his fellow dinos sometimes. They do not like this.

[modernmanblues]

chances

CH 6: KISS OF LIFE

plot: American photographer Leah Walker is ecstatic when she's presented with the opportunity to spend the summer of 1975 in Stockport, UK to take photographs of local English groups. Given her history of taking photos of big acts such as The Rolling Stones and The Doors, she is taken by surprise when told that her first clients will be the up and coming Manchester-based group, 10cc, who have kept a low-profile until recently, after gaining worldwide stardom from their hit I'm Not In Love. Leah knows little about the group and gets acquainted fairly quickly, but what she doesn't know is how much trouble she's about to get herself into with the group's beloved lead guitarist, Eric Stewart. She has all summer, come to think of it. The possibilities are endless.

themes: big fat snogging xxxxx, cuddling, slow dancing, brief hospital scene, mild medical terms, alcohol

a/n: In light of my recent engagement, I would like to dedicate this particular chapter to the love of my life, my soulmate, my dear future husband, Keith Stewart (his middle name, not surname btw. would be a comical coincidence, wouldn’t it?). Thank you for proofreading this chapter for me, darling, you’re the best! And, i love you very very much xxxxx

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

I stir awake into consciousness as I feel firm, spindly fingers gently caressing my hair. I open my eyes gently to meet his, ocean blue gazing into velvet brown and I promptly come to my senses. Eric..you’re back. Oh thank goodness you’re back..

The thought brings a massive smile on my face as I study him with eager eyes. I hope I am simply not dreaming..I stray away from this dark intrusive thought to prevent it from tainting my bright mood.

“Good morning, princess.” His warm, mancunian brogue is so comforting to hear.

We continue to lay on our sides, amusing ourselves in mutual gaze. He takes me aback as he traces my jawline delicately with his thumb, and transitions swiftly to his index finger to do the same maneuver on the bridge of my nose. He showcases his trademark juvenile smile, which never fails to lure me into this wave of tranquility that has become all too familiar to me.

“Good morning, Eric. How are you feeling?” I peer into his eyes adoringly. I feel myself smiling with demure.

He hoists himself up with one arm, wincing as he guards the center of his torso.

“Fuckin’ hell..this pain..” he mutters.

I sit up quickly to stabilize him. My expression turns somber as I watch him writhe in pain.

“Eric, I should ask the nurse for your pain med—” I stand erect, but he clutches my arm deftly, preventing me from going farther.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he gawks at me with a sultry expression.

“Come sit with me, please.” He orders sternly.

We simultaneously assume a seated position on the edge of the bed, he gapes at me with delight, appearing to be on the verge of laughter.

“What is it, Eric?”

He glances at the bed then cranes his head towards me again. The smirk on his face is rather criminal. I am suddenly presented with the most absurd intrusive thought.

“Eric, we didn’t..did we..? Oh god..” I gasp faintly, my face growing flushed at the thought.

He cackles at my remark, shaking his head. I need you to explain yourself now, Mr. Stewart..

“No Leah, I’m not that kind of guy. Sure I’m a rockstar, but I’m the polite type at the very least. You see, I would’ve asked for your permission first and most importantly, I like my woman awake when I make love to her.”

I have no words. He carries on.

“I was just thinking..would this technically count as our first time sleeping together?”

The temperature on my face continues to rise. I feel a lump going down my throat. The audacity…and the bastard even looks bloody proud himself for saying that. He’s back from the dead alright. I finally generate a response.

“I beg your pardon?” I hope he’s joking. “I’m afraid I don’t unders—”

“Well it appears that you and I slept on the same bed last night, Leah.” He maintains the smug look on his face as he fixes his gaze on me.

“So it does…but that doesn’t necessarily mean that we actually slept together, does it…?”

He leans into me, nudging my arm.

“I’m just teasing you, love.” He chuckles.

We hear the sound of the door opening then closing, followed by echoed footsteps.

“The troop has landed!” Kevin’s voice reverberates around the room.

Eric and I are beaming with glee as we witness the brigade that is, Kevin, Lol, Graham and little Dieta marching in as a unit.  

“Daddy! Oh daddy…” Dee runs up to Eric and throws herself into his arms. I can feel the child’s anguish in her tone, and I am rather disheartened to see her tears beginning to saturate Eric’s hospital wardrobe. Eric winces from the girl tackling him, doing his best to fight through the pain.

“Easy, petal...there, there daddy’s okay now…daddy’s here, daddy’s okay…” He scoops the little girl up in his arms and soothes her with a quick peck on the forehead, combing her long brunette hair with his fingers.

“Y-you’re okay n-now, d-daddy?” Dee sobs through her words.

“That’s right. Daddy’s strong as a bull again, and I’m afraid I haven’t told you today, but I love you very much darling.” He plants another kiss on her forehead.

Strong as a bull, eh? Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you boy? 

I decide to catch up with the three lads as I leave the father-daughter duo to bond for a bit.

“Leah! How are you, girl?” Lol scoops me up in a massive embrace. He is ever the charmer.

“Feeling much better now.” I smile daintily, squeezing him gently in return. I lock eyes with Graham, feeling my cheeks warm up insidiously.

I carefully break away from Lol’s hold and steadily make my way towards this stunning, god-like creature named Graham Gouldman, who was undoubtedly bestowed the most ravishing façade.

“Hello, Graham.” I greet him warmly.

“Hi, Leah.” He gazes at me admiringly, noting the subtle twinkle in his eyes, “you deserve knighthood for your sheer heroic efforts in saving our Eric.”

Our Eric? Well, that’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Graham leans into me and plants a tender kiss on my cheek. He smiles at me meekly the moment he peels away. My face grows markedly flushed at this gesture. I place my hand on my cheek, astounded by Graham’s forwardness.

“Leah babe.” Kevin toots from the corner.

My instinct drives me to fall into Kevin’s arms immediately. He welcomes me with a warm, affectionate embrace. We peel away from each other’s hold.

“Kev, so good to see you.” I smile through my words.

“Likewise, lovely.” He peers into my eyes with sheer fondness.

“Can I join this little love fest?” Eric purrs behind me, startling me as his hands perch over my shoulders.

My reflexes trigger me to immediately turn around and face him.

“Eric..hi. Um..” I chuckle, biting my lower lip as I notice him searching for my eyes.

“Why did you abandon me?” He mutters under his breath.

“I didn’t abandon you. I wanted to leave you and Dee to it.”

“Right. But you didn’t have to leave my side, you know.”

I let out a gentle laugh, bringing my hand to his cheek and caressing it gently.

“I’m glad to know you’re feeling okay.” I smile at him sheepishly.

“As long as you’re around, I know I’ll always feel okay.” He kisses the groove of my palm delicately.

“Well hello! You are looking super this morning, Mr. Stewart!” the nurse chirps as she closes the door behind her, marching in with Eric’s food tray.

“Never felt better, nurse.” He smiles at her then at me boyishly.

“Well, that’s good to hear then. I was just coming in to deliver your breakfast tray and to check on you,” The nurse gushes, her eyes skimming between Eric and the rest of the guys, “ I didn’t realize you were going to get this much attention today.” She giggles ecstatically.

“I might need a bit of morphine again, nurse.” Eric retorts, wincing as he guards his torso.

“It’s a good thing I came in. I’ll be back with some pain medicine. Nice to see you all.” She leaves us with a genial smile before exiting the room gracefully.

“Mmm..don’t you just love nurses?” Lol is nearly swooning.

“Don’t you just love your wife?” Graham retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes playfully and shaking his head at Lol.

“Aye, Angie’s the best wife a man could ask for!” Lol proclaims firmly.

“So why do your eyes travel elsewhere, Lol?” Eric is playfully stern, raising an eyebrow at his mate.

“Oh come off it, lads. You all know no girl will ever come between Angie and I.”

“Hello, I’m back.” The nurse walks in swiftly carrying a small syringe.

“Mr. Stewart, might I suggest that you have a seat or lay down for a bit while you wait for this medicine to take effect. It tends to make people a bit drowsy.” She says this matter-of-factly.

 “Oh right.” Eric obeys the nurse’s orders and returns to sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Hello there!” Dieta chirps from where she is seated adjacent to Eric, waving ecstatically at the nurse.

“Well hello to you, lovely. What’s your name?” The nurse beams at Dieta.

“I’m Dieta Stewart and this is my daddy, Eric Stewart.” She places a hand on Eric’s shoulder.

“And that over there is my mummy, Leah Stewart!” Dieta points to me, giggling almost menacingly.

My jaw drops to the floor instantly. This child…ever so cheeky just like her father.

“What’s your name, miss?” Dieta asks politely, tilting her head slightly. Charming.

“I’m Charlotte. But most people like to call me Charlie.”Charlotte glances at Dieta adoringly as she prepares to give Eric his medicine.

“That’s a pretty name, Nurse Charlie!” Dieta chirps joyfully.

The child watches attentively as Charlie deftly flicks the drug-filled syringe before delivering the antidote through Eric’s vein.

“May I ask what’s that you’ve got there?” Dieta gazes up at Charlie with hopeful eyes.

“Oh, this is just a little pain medicine. It’s going to make your daddy’s pain go away.” Charlie smiles adoringly at the child.

“Could use some of that myself, if you know what I mean.” Kevin mumbles audibly from the corner, snickering with Lol as he nudges him.

 “You must be a proud father, Mr. Stewart.” She says with a teethy grin, disregarding Kevin’s remark and glancing at Eric while attaching her small apparatus to his intravenous line.

 "Um…Mr. Stewart? Are you alright?” Charlie repeats herself, seemingly concerned that Eric now looks a bit stupefied.

 Eric has grown silent, his eyes widening as he maintains a fixed gaze on the syringe. His face suggests fear.

“Leah! Leah! This is—" Eric cries out in agony, barely finishing his sentence. He begins to hyperventilate.

I bolt my way towards him, clasping his clammy hand. He’s grown noticeably pale.

“Eric honey, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay. This is going to take the pain away.” I chant.

He continues to sit in silence, appearing like he’s seen a ghost.

“Go easy on him please.” I gape at Charlie with pleading eyes.

 "No worries, love. This is morphine, it’s quite potent so it will have to go in slow, it will be gentler on his vein.” Charlie smiles at me gingerly. Her words are reassuring.

 “No..no..no..” Eric’s voice quivers as he murmurs under his breath, closing his eyes shut. I begin to notice a tear trickling down his angelic face.

I maintain my grip on his hand, gently caressing it with my thumb. She begins to push the medicine through slowly.

“Half the medicine is in and I’m nearly finished here, Mr. Stewart. You are doing fantastic.” The nurse’s words seem to be providing Eric a bit of solace, he’s become more at ease as the medicine takes effect.

“Right. I’m all done here. That wasn’t too bad, was it?” The nurse beams meekly as she detaches the syringe from Eric’s IV.

“Well then…” Eric breathes a sigh of relief. “Sorry, I just…I don’t like medicines..”

Well you certainly didn’t think twice about sniffing up that cocaine…Seriously, I’ve had my urges to slap this guy.

I brush his hair delicately with my fingers. “You did so well, darling.”

“That’s right. Now you’ll be pain free for a bit. Which, that reminds me. The doctor has orders for you to be discharged from the hospital today. All your vital signs and labs are stable now, the doctor has said you are healthy enough to go home.” Charlotte says this in a rather business-like tone.  

 “Well that’s great news, isn’t it?” Lol states jovially.

“Best news of the day, Nurse Charlie.” Eric winks at her.

 And he is quite the expert at woeing the ladies, isn’t he? I want to roll my eyes at him.

“Right. Well, let me get your discharge papers together and um…” Charlie looks at Dieta from the corner of her eye, beaming at her.

She squats down to be at eye level with the young lady.

“…since you’ve been such a good little girl for your daddy. How about a nice little treat? Ice lolly, perhaps?”

“Oh that sounds fab!” The girl chirps ecstatically, craning her head towards her father.

“Daddy can I have an ice lolly, oh please daddy! please please!” Dee tugs on Eric’s wardrobe gently.

“Alright, but you’re only getting one. Don’t want you spoiling your appetite, you’ve got breakfast waiting.” Eric’s hands glide over his food tray. His paternal side never fails to shine through, and he isn’t afraid to show it.

“Yipeee!!” Dee exclaims.

“Right. Be right back.” Charlie marches off daintily, and with sheer nursing confidence. We watch as she disappears from our line of sight.

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

I have graced the basement foyer with my presence standing in utter silence as I become completely engrossed in the intricacies of this fascinating wall decor flaunting before me that is, the gold disc awarded to 10cc’s The Original Soundtrack record. I carefully study each groove on the gold vinyl, enchanted with the way it shines everytime I shift in different angles. My eyes dart towards the brief passage written at the bottom of the framed display which reads:

 …Stewart and Gouldman’s passion, heart and soul coupled with Godley and Creme’s incontestable humour and wit gave birth to this star-studded masterpiece. The Original Soundtrack brings about a conglomerate of emotions to its audience, providing a rather unique and stimulating experience to both the avid and fleeting music listener. Simply put, it is playful, silly and romantic. These are just some of the nuances that give perpetual appeal to these so-called Darlings of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Truly, a record that is decades ahead of its time.

My attention is suddenly shifted to the muffled sound of music seeping from the recording studio. My efforts in guessing the name of the song are disrupted the moment I catch a glimpse of Eric in the studio appearing rather haggard and slightly unkempt. His black dress top is unbuttoned halfway, tucked lazily under the hem of his jeans. The signature brown leather belt hugging his waist. He clasps his hands together as he rests them on his abdomen, elevating his legs and leaning them against the audio console. He furrows his brows, immersing himself in every aspect of lyric and sound. So this must be what so-called rockstars do in their spare time.

I remember the actual purpose of me coming down here, that was to perform a welfare check on Eric. It’s as if he had been waiting for me this entire time, he swivels open the door immediately. He coolly brings his arm up, leaning it against the doorway while he rests his opposite hand on his hip. My eyes dart toward the dark patch of hair on his chest, and the five o’clock shadow that’s beginning to grow flushed against his delicate jawline. His smirk darkens insidiously the longer he ogles me.

“Well, doesn’t this look familiar?” He gapes at me with a dark, sultry expression.

“How familiar?” I tilt my head to the side, gazing at him with unremitting charm.

Our ears are greeted with the sweet, gentle sound of Paul McCartney’s crooning in the track My Love, resonating from the turntable. I feel the mood changing between us. We’re becoming engulfed into a more intimate atmosphere.

Without saying a word, Eric extends his hand out to me, inviting me to come inside the studio. He shuts the door gently. I take his hand and follow his lead. We stand eye to eye in the heart of room. He carefully guides my arms up and nestles them over his shoulders. My eyes drown in his as I wait patiently for his next move. He proceeds to place his hands on my waist. His hands emit a generous amount of warmth which sends a mild tingle through my spine. My eyes have not yet abandoned his, a promise we have both made silently to each other at this very moment. I decide to break the silence as we both begin to sway sluggishly to the music.

“You were supposed to ask my permission for this dance, you know.” I giggle subtly.

“Oh dear, where are my manners?” He retorts with gross sarcasm, grinning widely.

We mind each other’s steps as we gain some momentum in this performance.

“I like this song.” I shift to a more serious tone, maintaining my gaze on him.

“Leah, can I say something to you?” The smile on his face vanishes suddenly.

“Anything, Eric.” I peer into his velvet brown doe eyes.

And my love does it good…McCartney’s creamy vocals continue to fill the room with comforting ambiance.

Eric twirls me carefully, laughing gently as he watches me with eager eyes. I risk falling by sinking into his arms only for him catch me on time. I face forward, smiling menacingly at the dirty trick I’ve just done. I gasp faintly as I feel Eric delicately nuzzling his nose against my temple then gradually down my cheek, planting a gentle kiss on my face. His scent, the potent fusion of whiskey and aftershave. Will this man ever learn?

“I don’t recall whether you gave me the kiss of life while I was dead, but tonight I want to return the favor by doing this.”

He catches me by surprise when he leans his face into me and joins his lips with mine. He peels away briefly, expelling his breath. I stand before him appearing aghast. Again, I have no words.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” His soft, gentle voice caresses my senses.

Eric leans in once again and surrenders another kiss. He brushes his upper lip with my lower, adding some tongue in between. I moan softly, melting into his arms while I mirror his lip movements. Our momentum intensifies as we become absorbed into this tongue, lip and heavy breathing ecstasy. Our hands fumble in each other’s hold, struggling to keep them in place.

“Lord have mercy..,” he says breathlessly as he peels away from me to gasp for air.

“Easy, love..” I mutter breathlessly, biting my lower lip.

Eric’s face grows more noticeably smug as his eyes dart from me to whatever is piquing his interest behind me.

“Whatever you do..” Eric brings my hand up to his face and kisses my knuckle tenderly.

“..do not turn around.” He smiles at me cheekily.

“What? What do you me—” My instinct tells me to turn around immediately only to discover the most shocking revelation, and the source of Eric’s distraction.

 My eyes widen in horror as I peer through the soundproof glass window and find Dieta lurking in the recording room, giggling as she flicks her polaroid camera, blinding Eric and I with its flash.

“Right, you. Come out of there at once!” Eric scolds his daughter lightly.

Dee’s doe eyes expand in plain shock, veiling her mouth with her hand to conceal her embarrassment. Caught red-handed.

“NOW.” Eric’s declares in a louder tone, leering at Dee sternly.

The girl obeys her father’s command and bows her down as she exits the recording room, approaching us cautiously.

“Sorry, daddy..” Dieta blurts out weakly.

“Come here, you.” Eric releases me gently and reels his daughter into his hip feebly.

“Now how long had you been lurking in there, hm?” Eric tenses his jaw as he cranes his head down, eyeing his daughter with a forgiving stare.  

“A while.” The girl gazes up at her father innocently, presenting him with a few polaroids.

Eric accepts the images and shuffles through them one by one, his expression changing from dismayed to delighted. He glances at me then back at the photos.

“Come have a look at these.” He curls his lips in amusement.

I step in closer to marvel at the portraits myself and much to my surprise, I see that this little girl has captured three of the most intimate moments that happened between Eric and I this room.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Eric’s jaw tenses as he gazes at me to watch my reaction diligently.

Unsurprisingly, I become captivated at the photo of the two of us studying each other’s eyes. I see so much fondness, adoration and compassion between us both, it’s rather riveting.

“You took all these photos, Dee?” I gape at the girl adoringly.

“Who else would have taken them, ma’am?” Dee chirps cheekily, batting her eyes at me.

“Be nice, darling.” Eric scolds gently.

“They’re so good.” I grin widely at the girl, squatting down to meet her at eye level.

“You know. I have been looking for another apprentice to fill in for me from time to time. I think you would be a good fit.”

Eric squats down with me, placing his arm over my shoulder. His eyes glide from me to Dee, then back towards me.

“Do you really think that’s a great idea, Walker?” Eric chuckles.

“Eric, your daughter has so much potential. These photos look exquisite, one could easily think they were taken by a professional. She clearly has an affinity for photography.”

I gaze into his eyes intently, “And I can see where she gets her prodigious talents from.”

Eric’s eyes twinkle as he gawks at me with blatant ardor, beguiling me with his million dollar grin.                       

“You’re a charmer aren’t you, Walker?” He purses his lips shyly.  

“Anyway, any plans this afternoon?” He suddenly switches subject.

“No why do you ask, Eric?”

“Would you care to join Dee and I for afternoon tea?” His face brightens as he awaits my response.

“Oh please please PLEASE say yes!” Dieta pleads with her eyes.

“I would love to join you both.” I retort delightfully.

“Beautiful. It’s a date then.” His soft tone tingles my eardrums.

It’s a date then.

________________________________________________

<<previous chapter

please visit my masterlist if you would like to see some of my other work :)

[decora-kai]

I been doing some thinking, about chronic illness and shit. I haven't gotten a diagnosis for anything yet, so I'm left to search for myself. I wonder if I might have fibromyalgia, Juvenile Arthritis or Pots. But recently, one of my friends caught COVID and it turned into long COVID. He has similar symptoms to me but not exactly the same. It's just making me theorise if potentially I have Long COVID, or if I had long COVID and it triggered the existence of something else.

The only thing is, I know that no medical professionals seem to take me seriously. Coming back to my point on my friend, In school, he has a newly adjusted timetable that allows him to only do half days, instead of a full six hours. I'm not sure if he is professionally diagnosed with Long COVID or not, but I really wish I was also able to have half days as sometimes, I just cannot go through with my day due to the pain I'm in or the fatigue I have. But I'm not diagnosed, which means I either have to have my parents backing me (and they are but they wouldn't back me so much as to allow me accomodations within school unless I'm diagnosed) ot get diagnosed which takes God knows how long. I don't want to seem like a lazy bitch because I literally don't even appear to be in pain to almost everyone, I mask it very well and I feel as though if i do try to get benefits in school without a diagnosis, i will be seen as a faker or just trying to skip school.

Luckily, my 8 week period of the exercises is nearly done, so I'll be able to tell my physio that it hasn't helped and has actually made me feel a bit worse and hopefully then I'll be closer to a diagnosis

[laufire]

it's very funny (read: not funny) how after the new 52 reboot, dc altered two of my favourite first meetings (you know how much I care about first meetings) in a very similar war.

first you have batman incorporated vol. 2 #2, that more or less reproduced the first meeting between bruce and talia in detective comics #411 in a few flashbacks (league dude fighting it off with ra's kidnaps talia, bruce is fighting it off with him and ends up wounded and in her medical care, etc. the flashback doesn't include the very best part of the first meeting, at the end of the story, so: read 'tec #411 it's great. there's a facsimile reprint coming on march if you think you'll be into it). but then... makes it as if that meeting, and talia falling for bruce during it, was all orchestrated by ra's.

then you have red hood and the outlaws vol. 1 #0. its first sin is that it changes bruce and jason's first meeting completely: instead of occurring on the anniversary of the death of bruce's parents, involving a kid showing the gumption to steal the batmobile's tires and making bruce laugh in such a momentous anniversary... it's just batman catching jason as he tries to steal some prescription drugs (not even for his now presumed dead mother) from leslie's clinic. then it commits the BIGGEST sin of saying this was all... orchestrated by the joker, who one day saw jason and decided to manipulate his whole life (taking dad away, faking mom's death, putting him outside the clinic) to make him, somehow, become batman's sidekick.

in the first case, I don't mind it as much, if only when compared to the other. it annoys me that talia's feelings are rewritten as the result of manipulation, but a.) ra's is a mastermind type, so they're not just elevating his character for no reason, and b.) given this is the very comic that made talia a rapist, I'm gonna pick my battles. plus I only recently read 'tec #411 so as much as I love it, it's not part of my Psyche the same way batman #408 is lol.

but the second one profoundly aggravates me lmfao. first, because of just how much I love their new earth meeting!! lobdell's version focuses on what a lot of writers afterwards have tried to use to smear jason's name, aka, "he's just some juvenile delinquent". he's also made jason part of a gang, when new earth!jason clearly had very clear lines about what he was willing to do (boost what he needed to survive) and what he wasn't (becoming "a crook", joining ma gunn's gang).

and like... to be blunt, in no logical universe seeing some rando steal from a clinic would make bruce up and make him robin. it's the sequence of "shameless enough to go for the batmobile" + feisty against bruce + "ready to prevent crime on his own when it looked like batman wasn't going to" that did it. of course making any random kid robin wouldn't be logical anyway lol, and bruce's own loneliness was the deep motivating factor... but one of this versions make jason distinctive, someone who WOULD trigger bruce's baby robin fever. and the other is generic and makes me feel pretty sceptical about the whole thing.

and that's not even getting into the joker's supposed role in all this because FUCK THAT. good GOD do I hate the idea that the freaking joker is some super genius mastermind playing five dimensional chess with the bats and orchestrating events years in advance. my first story really reading joker was aditf. the guy beats robin to near death (which he manages thanks to the element surprise, deceit, and having goons help him), blows him up to hide the evidence because he's scared of what batman would do to him, then immediately admits he killed robin to taunt batman the next time he sees him. I can't ever buy him as anything other than a coward dumber than a bag of rocks that just Does Random Shit to people who can't fight back because he's a sadist, and gets away with it because unlike the people he faces, he has not an ounce of sense or morals or apprehension that could stop him. I'm not gonna lie and say I've ever enjoyed the joker as a character (I think he's trite and uninventive and his utter lack of inner life bores me), but this turn has made him completely unbearable, and his continuing survival all the more inexplicable the more dangerous he gets.

tl;dr the new 52 tried to fix a lot of shit that wasn't broken but these two examples make me want to ask for financial compensation.

[fandom-space-princess]

An Audacious Undertaking, Even to God

Fandom: The Murderbot Diaries

Rating: Gen

Additional tags: Book 5: Network Effect, Book 7: System Collapse, Canonical Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Queerplatonic Relationships, 1 & 2 do still die but not for very long, 3 needs its friends back :( , studies in construct relations

Chapter: 1/?

Summary:

SecUnits are hard to kill, but it does happen. Unless... AU: through the combined efforts of ART & co, Three rebuilds and reboots One and Two. It isn't easy. Everybody has a bad time, then a weird time, then a better time. Is that the right order?

Read chapter below, or on AO3.

——————————

Designation: SecUnit-003 Barish-Estranza Explorer Task Group 520972

Status: piloting shuttle to network-external transport [vesselID(“Perihelion”), registry(Pansystem University of Mihira and New Tideland)]. Contact: UNAUTHORIZED.

Operational overview:

- Threat assessment: 64% immediate probability of harm to clients, 27% medium-term probability of harm to clients assuming pursuit of mitigation strategies

- Risk assessment: [additional data required]

- SecSystem access: OFFLINE

- HubSystem access: OFFLINE

- Deployment group status: SecUnit-001: OFFLINE; SecUnit-002: OFFLINE

- Performance reliability: 87% and falling

The transport completes the docking process for the shuttle without my input, which is for the best. My attention is divided. This is a violation of the protocols associated with both client retrieval and piloting. Under the circumstances, however, it is not a situation I am able to remedy.

(reinitialize from backup::failure::retry)

I have a number of responsibilities to fulfill. My primary duty is to ensure the welfare of my clients. (I have realized that even in the absence of punitive enforcement, I still accept and desire this to be true, which is a source of mild curiosity.) My secondary duties are laid out no less clearly, yet—

(reinitialize from backup::failure::retry)

—“Hello? Are you there?” The exterior hatch has retracted. Two humans peer inside curiously. The one who has spoken bears feedID(“Amena”), gender(female), note: juvenile. The other—feedID(“Ratthi”), gender(male)—moves tentatively toward me. These humans are not unknown: they feature in the memories shared with me by Murderbot 2.0. This is a relief. Nevertheless, I step out of the piloting compartment before they can enter, and attempt to gently herd them away. Based on the information I have about them, threat assessment deems them unlikely to panic in a way that would be detrimental to the safety of themselves or others. While I accept this knowledge as accurate, it is still better that they be encouraged to stay outside the shuttle.

(reinitialize from backup::failure::retry)

(performance reliability: 85% and falling)

Ratthi is speaking to me, introducing himself and Amena. He is very animated. He tells me that Perihelion knows I have disabled the governor module. He tells me they do not intend to hurt me.

The transport has different ideas. It establishes a private channel, which it promptly fills with vivid and comprehensive descriptions of the physical damage it will inflict on me should I attempt to threaten its clients, or itself.

(reinitialize from backup::failure::retry)

(failure::retry)

(performance reliability 82% and falling)

“All clients require immediate medical attention,” I tell them. “They have been implanted with technology of uncertain functionality, and may remain under hostile influence, or represent vectors of contamination. Temporary quarantine is recommended.”

Amena replies, but my attention is pulled inexorably elsewhere. I turn my focus on the open hatch, and the dim interior of the shuttle piloting compartment. 

(failure::retry)

In my periphery there is movement, and noise. Another human has arrived. The humans and Perihelion exchange information with one of the transport’s retrieved clients, Karime. I have drones recording this interaction for later review, but I am currently preoccupied with my other functions. My awareness of this moment feels very far away.

(performance reliability 77% and falling)

(failure::retry)

“Hey.” There is a human hand hovering near my elbow. Ratthi’s face swims into vision. I blink, and try to refocus my eyes. This is only partially successful. One of my drones descends out of its patrol pattern overhead, and I examine him more closely through its camera. His eyebrows pull together. “Are you all right?”

The transport is in my feed. I feel it bear down on me. I do not understand what it is, or the limits of its capabilities. I know only that its presence is massive and imposing, its agitation palpable. It likely still believes me to be potentially hostile. It should be terrifying.

If I had the spare processing capacity to consider it, it would be terrifying.

(performance reliability 72% and falling rapidly)

Perihelion: Your resource utilization is near maximum. What are you trying to do?

(failure::retry)

(failure::retry)

Amena’s voice comes from within the piloting compartment. She would have had to walk past me to get inside it. I must have seen her do so. I have no memory of seeing her do so.

“Oh, no… um, Arada? There’s a body in here.”

(performance reliability 64% and falling rapidly)

I start toward her. I have no idea what I am about to say until my buffer produces it: “Equipment maintenance is in progress. For your safety, please step back.” One of the transport’s repair drones shoves past me into the compartment, which interferes with my balance. I put a hand against the wall for support.

(failure::retry)

Amena: “Perihelion, this isn’t one of your crew, is it? This must have been one of the corporate hostages.”

Perihelion: No, Amena. This is a SecUnit.

(failure::retry)

My primary auditory input glitches, and their words become garbled. I lean against the bulkhead. Standing has become difficult, but I still have a responsibility to perform.

(reinitialize from backup::failure::retry)

(performance reliability 51% and falling rapidly)

And I am going to perform it, or be rendered nonfunctional in the attempt.

(critical performance drop::system restart)

——————————

[Before]

SecSystem: Ship status: on approach. Space dock arrival anticipated: 180 seconds. Tactical team deployment unit(s) acknowledge.

SecUnit-001: Unit acknowledge.

SecUnit-002: Unit acknowledge.

SecSystem: Baseship sentinel unit(s) acknowledge.

SecUnit-003: Unit acknowledge.

(While I do not resent guarding the ship, I have always disliked being the one left behind.)

SecSystem: Cold contact protocol in effect. Hazardous condition assessment: POSSIBLE/LIKELY. Backup to HubSystem external storage and mirror local copies to group.

SecUnit-001: Backup complete.

SecUnit-002: Backup complete.

SecUnit-003: Backup complete.

Though we are designed for redundancy with each other, not co-dependence, I have never functioned optimally when deployed separately from 001 and 002. I know this to be true for them as well. In the past, after activities that required splitting the deployment group, I have often reviewed their cached analytic data. Our performance individually and collectively is more reliable on average when we are assigned to the same task.

I try to avoid reflecting on why this is true. Idle reflection is counterproductive to the efficient performance of my duties.

SecSystem: Sentinel unit(s) resume patrol pattern. Tactical team unit(s) ready for deployment.

In the ready room that we share, 001 continues fitting its helmet into place. I acknowledge the alert to return to patrol. I must walk past them to reach the door and exit the room, and as I do so, I extend a hand loosely in their direction.

Tactile input is critical for calibration of construct balance and proprioception, among other core functions. We are expected to touch objects around us for many reasons, including ongoing orientation in physical space.

001 gently taps the back of my hand with its knuckles, tock-tock-tock. I reply once in kind—tock. 002 likewise repeats 001’s gesture as I move past, and again, I do the same: tock-tock.

I validate my expected sensor readout against the physical contact data, and log the results with HubSystem. There is an echo in the team feed as first 001, and then 002, do the same. And if we could achieve the same result by tapping a wall or a hatch… well.

On this choice, at least, our governor modules offer no feedback.

——————————

[dapper-lil-arts]

Hope im not bothering you too much with my pirate stuff, anyways, the rest of pirate Sunset and Twilight's crew is here!

If you're wondering what their roles are, Applejack's the ship's cook, Rarity is a mermaid that joined them in their quest for treasure, Rainbow Dash is the ship's demolition expert, Pinkie is the crew's entertainer, Fluttershy is the ship's medic, Trixie and Starlight are both ghosts that died when their ship was attacked by a Kraken, and eventually joined the crew after hearing they were looking for treasure, Spike is a juvenile Sea Serpent, and Discord is a Sea Serpent-like Storm God who lives deep beneath the ocean. As a fun little piece of trivia, i based off his mouth after a Fangtooth Moray.

Mermaid rarity supremacy!! hell yeah!! this is very cute and fun hehe. Yarr. I'm very glad more peeps have thought of pirate mlp stuff, I had a chapter on my multiverse fanfic regarding it. Plus theres an issue regarding it on mlp comics!

[maxisanangrywell]

back on my simon riley with rheumatoid arthritis shit.

so im getting checked out for juvenile RA, (cause if ur under 28 it's considered juvenile i believe) and its making a lot of things really difficult, so imma project on ghostie here for a bit.

TW: Stress, Stress Vomiting

Part One; Lightning

Ghost has good and bad days. On the good days, he gets to take his N-SAID, probably Celebrex, and it actually works. He doesn't get stiff much, and it doesn't feel like his hands are stuck in a really touch slime and he's trying to move them around.

On the bad days? God it sucks.

He cannot do paperwork. Holding the pen in the way he needs to sign off documents or write his own is genuinely painful. He has to force his hand open with the other when he has no choice but to sign the paperwork. (Or sometimes take his glove off and stick his hand under hot water until he can feel the stiffness recede enough to move it.)

He can still use his weapons, but it's a chore on the bad days. It's too dangerous, and so he's benched until he gets an all clear from medical as they're reviewing his x-rays to see how bad it's gotten.

He can't open soda cans anymore. Can't lift the tabs on soups or bean cans. He can't operate a can opener either. He has to get these things called Tab Buddies for the cans, and then if he has to use a can opener, he angrily passes it to Soap. (At that point, his pride is screaming at him to not eat anymore, but he needs to eat.)

They're still waiting on X-rays and he gets more imaging done, just to see truly how bad it's gotten. The positions they make him put his hands in are painful, and he feels tears prickle in his eyes as he clenches his jaw and grinds his teeth.

It keeps getting worse, and Simon quickly finds himself getting angry and depressed. Why him? Why now? He was on the top of his game, he had finally felt just a smidge of happiness, and now he had to dig up the birth certificate he never used and show it to the world the death certificate was simply for his job. To operate safely.

Now he doesn't have a job. His family is a bunch of soldiers who love their job and can continue doing it. He can't do what he loves, bringing terrorists to their knees and making them beg for the mercy they never gave others. The mercy he wouldn't give. Now, he has to confront his trauma and become a civilian. Figure out how to live with such a disability, he cannot preform basic fucking functions anymore.

How the fuck is he going to do this? If it's this bad within three years, and getting worse fast, how fucking bad is it going to be in the next year? Or next eight?

Was he even going to be able to use his hands in the next coming ten years?

Medical comes back with devastating news he knew from the get-go.

"Sorry Lieutenant, you're going to have to be honorably discharged. There's nothing we can do."

He doesn't get angry, he just feels resigned.

So, he gets discharged, and he's holding his head in his hands hyperventilating at 1 in the morning in his flat in Manchester. Crying, sobbing, beside his toilet with his mask across the tiled floor somewhere. The occasional sickness poured from his mouth into the toilet.

Fuck.

He's become everything he didn't want to be. Soon to be homeless, disabled, and how the fuck was he going to find work when fine motor skills is all he knows?

"Fuck me."

Comment on this Post if you want to be tagged whenever I post this AU!!

Pls like & reblog if you want to see more of this au. :) im really excited about this one, as the 141 are all going to have different chronic ailments. it's a story about hope and perseverance, with a little touch of romance and a shit ton of drama. Also.... Tommy, Beth and Joseph survived the Christmas Massacre, because I said so.

[beardedmrbean]

San Francisco 49ers first-round pick Ricky Pearsall was released from the hospital on Sunday, a day after he was shot during an attempted robbery in San Francisco's Union Square, the team said.

The 49ers posted on social media Sunday afternoon that Pearsall was released from the hospital as "he continues to recover from a bullet wound to his chest."

Pearsall, 23, was shot in the chest in San Francisco's Union Square on Saturday. San Francisco police said suspect attempted to rob Pearsall, which led to a physical altercation. They added that the 17-year-old suspect from Tracy was arrested but no formal charges were placed.

Both Pearsall and the suspect were transported to Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital for "further medical evaluation."

Erin Pearsall, the mother of the 49ers' rookie wide receiver, posted an encouraging update on her son earlier Sunday morning.

“First and (foremost), I want to thank GOD for protecting my baby boy,” she wrote on Facebook. “He was extremely lucky. God shielded him.”

San Francisco Mayor London Breed roamed Union Square on Sunday and reaffirmed that safety is of the utmost importance to her.

"We have had an increased presence of police officers in the Union Square area," Breed said. "Typically, on the weekends, there is an increased police presence, but in light of the events yesterday, we have increased it even more so to address some of the concerns people may have."

San Francisco Supervisor Aarom Peskin, whose district the shooting happened in, also spoke out.

"My thoughts and prayers are with Ricky and his family," Peskin said. 'We want him out of the hospital and back on the field, and I also want to commend the SFPD who were there in literally seconds. They heard the gunshots and apprehended the suspect as the suspect was fleeing."

Peskin initially confirmed the incident to NBC Bay Area on Saturday.

At a news conference on the night of the shooting, Breed, District Attorney Brooke Jenkins and police Chief William Scott addressed the public and said an investigation is ongoing.

Breed took to the podium to condemn the violence and said she is working with the DA's office to hold those responsible accountable.

"This is a terrible and rare incident in Union Square," Breed said. "I’m confident that our district attorney will take the necessary actions to prosecute this case. San Francisco has the lowest violent crime rate of major cities in the country.”

According to 2023 figures from the city, San Francisco saw a decrease in every major crime category tracked by the FBI in its Uniform Crime Reporting Program in that year's first quarter -- including homicide, rape, aggravated assault, robbery, burglary, arson, larceny-theft and motor vehicle theft.

Jenkins said her office is planning to file charges in juvenile court next week due to the suspect's age.

"It should be clear, the police department will do its job, and when that happens, my office will make sure that people are held accountable," Jenkins said. “This is a setback.”

Prior to the news conference, Breed issued a statement sending her best to Pearsall.

"This afternoon, there was an attempted robbery in Union Square involving San Francisco 49ers wide receiver Ricky Pearsall, and he was shot," Breed wrote on the social platform X. "SFPD was on scene immediately, and an arrest of the shooter was made. My thoughts are with Ricky and his family at this time. We will provide more updates, including on his condition, as I receive them."

49ers wide receiver Deebo Samuel took to social media and said Pearsall was "good" following the incident.

Leading up to game play, first-round receiver Pearsall missed the entire preseason due to a shoulder injury.

Head coach Kyle Shanahan described Pearsall's issue as a shoulder subluxation, which occurs when the ball of the shoulder partially slides out of the socket and then pops back into place.

"He did it in college, I think, his junior year," Shanahan said at the 49ers' preseason finale with the Las Vegas Raiders last week. "About 50% of the people coming out of college do that. That wasn't really the problem. He did it in OTAs for the first time with us. When you do that, it's tender. Then he redid it here a couple of weeks ago. It makes it tender, so you want to give him time to come back from it. It's probably happened to 80% of the guys on our team at some time. It's just a pretty normal thing."

According to Shanahan, the University of Florida alumnus experienced his latest subluxation on Aug. 6. He had previously suffered one during the offseason but continued to practice.

Pearsall, the No. 31 pick who was teammates with Brandon Aiyuk at Arizona State University before transferring, participated in six out of 19 training camp practices. However, he was unable to play in all three preseason games due to hamstring and shoulder injuries.

The shoulder injury kept him sidelined for 20 days.

[mint-icecreamie]

a-z of vocaloid related things

i got bored.

A:

vocaloids: ARSLOID, Aoki Lapis, ANRI, akita neru

songs:, aishite aishite aishite, ame to petra, aku no meshitsukai, ai no uta, aishiteitanoni, amedama, amygdala's rag doll, anonymous m, appetite of a people pleaser, antichlorobenzene

B:

songs: bitter choco decoration, bug, banana, bad∞end∞night, better off worse, binomi, blessing, brain fluid explosion girl, butcher vanity, butterfly on my right shoulder, baka baka baka!!, breaking things into pieces

C:

producers: chinozo, cosmo@bousou-p, crusher-p, circus-p, creep-p

songs: circus monster, court jester, cute na kanojo, candle queen, cocomelon, casino, 'cause i'm a liar, chelovek, cinderella, coin locker baby, cooler girl, copycat, cutlery

D:

producers: DECO*27, dennokop, daniwellp

vocaloids + utau: dex and daina, defoko

songs: dance of life, daughter of evil, dokuzu, DARLING, DARLING DANCE, Dear, disturbing chicken beets, drop pop candy, digital/physical heart, dizzy paranoia girl, denki yohou, daidaidai kirai

E:

producers: eve

vocaloids: eleanor forte

songs: enko shoujo, ECHO, egoist, ego rock, electric angel, encounter, erase or zero, EYE, ever∞lasting∞night

F:

vocaloids: flower, fukase

songs: failure girl, fake meme, fear garden, fire flower, flos, floating moonlight city, fox's wedding, fukkireta, feel empty!

G:

vocaloids - gumi, gackupo/gackpoid

producers: giga, glue, ghost

songs: ghost rule, god-ish, gomenne gomenne, goodbye sengen, gigantic otn, goodbye to a world, gracious

H:

producers: harumachigohan, hitoshizuku and yama, hachi

vocaloids: ✨HATSUNE MIKU!!!!!!✨

songs: heat abnormal, housewife radio, hello marina, haru no sekibaku, hatsune miku is going to beat you to death, hole dwelling, help me, erinnnnnn!!!, hiding from the truth, honey i'm home,

I:

producers: iyowa, inabakumori,

vocaloid: IA

songs: i nandesu, igaku, identity, i don't care who someone go out with me, ifuudoudou, i met an angel when i was down, i'm glad you're evil too, imigo no tamago, iNSaNiTY, it's a whole world

J:

songs: jinsei count, JOUOU, just a game, just a robot, just saying the body is honest, JUVENILE

K:

vocaloids + utau + cevio: KAITO, kasane teto, KAFU, kagamine rin, 🍌 KAGAMINE LEN!!!!!! 🍌

producers: kikuo, karikibear, kanaria, kid p, kawaii vocaloid

songs: kimi wa dekinai ko, kami no manimani, kokoro, konton boogie, kyofuu all back, kyu-kurarin, KING, koinu no carnival, kurumi ponchio, kara kara kara no kara

L:

vocaloids: 🍌LEN!! 🍌, luka, luo tianyi, leon and lola

songs: lagtrain, lost umbrella, lost one's weeping, love ka, lavie, lower one's eyes, liar dancer, lotus eater, last night good night, lightning hope, lucky me, lie lie lie

leek.

M:

vocaloids: megurine luka, MEIKO, moke, mayu, matcha kobayashi, miku, meme squad

producers: MARETU, mothy, mcki robyns-p

songs: migikata no chou, mesmerizer, monochrome dream eating baku, my r, miku, matryoshka, mind brand, m@gical cure! love shot!, miku no shoushitsu, medical anomaly

N:

vocaloid: neru

songs: nakakapagpabagabag, nazotoki, NAMIDA, newly edgy idols, nightmare, non-breath oblige, (not) a devil, novocaine, nyeh it's magic!, nyanyanyanya

O:

vocaloids: oliver, otomachi una

songs: okusuri nonde neyou, ochame kinou, okaasan, only somewhat seen, orange

P:

vocaloids: piko!

producers: powapowa_p, pepoyo, pinocchio-p

songs: plus boy, p.h, paradichlorobenzene, phony, patchwork staccatto, paiii sensation, paparazzi murder party, parasite, pascal beats, pathological facade, the peachy key, perfect nothing, propaganda

Q:

songs: queen, q-pole theory of evolution/Q極進化論

R:

producers: rerulili, ricedeity

songs: rabbit hole, rakuraku annrakushi, rolling girl, rin-chan now!, rainy boots, ready steady, realize, reckless battery burns, rendezvous, romeo and cinderella

btw ricedeity did animation for some mv's he pretty cool :D

S:

vocaloids: seeU, shian

producers: siinamota, sooichi, shikuira sougo, satsuki/32ki

songs: spice, seisou bakuretsu boy, sayonara hatsukoi, spider and the kitsune like lion, samsa, sand planet, secret garden, secret music, self inflicted achromatic, servant of evil, shinitai chan, shinkaisyouzo, shoujo rei, shoujo fuzei, SIU, snobbism, snooze, streaming heart, strobe last, strobe light, superhero, sweet devil

T:

vocaloids+utau: teto

songs: tsumugi uta, tawagoto speaker, tale of six trillion years and one night, telecaster b-boy, therefore you and me, tondemo wonderz, two faced-lovers

U:

vocaloids: una

songs: umiyuri kaiteitan, UTuber

V:

producers: vane lily

songs: villain, venom, vampire, vampire's∞pathoS

W:

producers: WONDERFUL☆OPPORTUNITY, wotaku,

songs: world is mine, white letter, why do i, white happy, where shall we go, witch hunt, wonder of wonder

X:

idfk.

Y:

songs: young girl a, yobanashi deceive, yoidoreshirazu, you are innocent monster, you are a worthless child, yababaina, yamiaka steroid, yamitsuki,

Z:

songs: zombie. (other than that i can't think)

i lost motivation halfway through and had to force myself to finish this ;-;

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Frankenstein

James Whale’s FRANKENSTEIN (1931, TCM) was among a package of Universal horror films that, along with more recent drive-in fare, played on late-night Saturdays in Philadelphia in the 1960s. At the time, I wasn’t all that impressed, and it’s taken me this long to catch up with it again. I think my initial problem was that the juvenile me expected more of a monster film. Over time, it seems to have moved further in that direction, but with the mantle of monstrosity shifting from Frankenstein’s creation (Boris Karloff) to Frankenstein himself (Colin Clive).

Under Whale’s direction and wearing Jack Pierce’s iconic makeup, Karloff creates a fully rounded character, an infant who doesn’t need an abnormal brain to turn to violence. He’s trained in it by his creator and Fritz (Dwight Frye, who’s quite good), Frankenstein’s hunchbacked assistant. Pierce’s makeup confines Karloff’s expressions to his eyes and the lower part of his face, but he works them to create subtle gradations that reflect his reactions to what to him are new phenomena. His gait is less the stereotyped lurching of later interpreters of the role than the hesitant first steps of a toddler. And his emotional reactions are also those of a child, played with a physical abandon made more surprising when you realize how constricting and painful the costume and makeup were. In contrast to Karloff’s surprising realism, Clive seems to be performing in the grand style reserved for Shakespearean productions in theaters seating thousands. It’s not just Mary Shelley by flashes of lightning. It’s Mary Shelley in one sustained eruption of sturm und drang. His cavalier treatment of others, which would become a standard trope of mad scientist films, is far from sympathetic, while his ultimate treatment of the life he created is downright inhuman.

Whale’s direction now seems subtly subversive (whereas his work on the sequel, 1935’s BRIDE OF FRANKENSTEIN, is brazenly so). Until the monster escapes, Whale shoots the scenes in the real world flatly. I don’t know if the early scenes of Frankenstein’s fiancée (Mae Clarke, whose performance made me wish I had a grapefruit handy) and best friend (John Boles) are from the 1920s play by Peggy Webling, but they feel stage bound. Whale pretty much shoots them straight on. It isn’t until Clive’s father (Frederick Kerr) shows up as comic relief that the nice people seem worth spending any time with. For the scenes in Frankenstein’s haunts — the laboratory, the cemetery and the medical school — Whale and cinematographer Arthur Edeson pull out all the German Expressionist stops (Whale screened key German silents while preparing this film). The camera slides and lunges, revealing dazzling angles and expressive compositions. In one sense, Whale renders Frankenstein’s scientific world queer; it’s an assault on the normal world of his family. But the queer scenes are so much more visually interesting than anything happening with the “nice” people, they end up being privileged. We’d rather live in the mad doctor’s world of gods and monsters than in the nice world of blandly concerned fiancées and friends. It’s only when the monster escapes that their world becomes as visually compelling as the doctor’s. The monster injects such a welcome note of queerness and, in Karloff’s performance, humanity it’s almost tragic to see him come to an end…at least until the sequel.

[crippleprophet]

Are there any keywords or special phrases that'll make folks listen to me? Cause I've tried telling people about how my spine feels like it's trying to rip itself from my back every single day and how that pain radiates into my legs and arms. But since I'm a minor all I get is "it's your posture :)" [I sit with good posture all dang day and nothing changes]. At this point I'm taking so much ibuprofen just to function that I fear for my organs. Anything I can do? I'm at a loss.

god, i fucking wish there was something that would guarantee that people listen, i’m so sorry you’re going through this. i don’t have the source on hand at the moment but as much as 80% of people have so-called “bad posture” and that many people do not have juvenile chronic back pain; something is very wrong and i’m sorry no one is taking that seriously.

back pain is classified into two categories: mechanical and inflammatory. mechanical could be something like a herniated disc, due to something like scoliosis, etc; it’s due to a trauma (as in injury) or genetic/environmental/etc factors that are affecting the position of the spine. mechanical back pain gets better with rest.

i unfortunately know too many experiences of egregious medical neglect in general and with scoliosis in particular to assume someone would have noticed that if you have it & communicated that with you, so tbh i’d see if you can find an explanation of checking for scoliosis signs (ideally geared towards healthcare professionals) and an observant, trusted friend and do that with them. other mechanical sources of pain are likely to be caught on an MRI, although no one imaging session is ever a 100% guarantee.

inflammatory back pain is what i’m more familiar with; this would be due to an autoimmune condition such as ankylosing spondylitis or axial spondyloarthritis secondary to psoriatic arthritis, crohn’s disease, etc. the key words you want to use if you think this describes your experiences are:

started gradually; got worse over time. (AS back pain is characteristically described as “insidious” for its gradual onset)

stiffness in the morning that lasts [duration longer than 30 minutes].

gets better with movement and worse with rest. (symptom summaries will say “better with exercise,” to which i say have you met a chronically ill person)

NSAIDs help. (this is just a point of diagnostic criteria, which in my opinion is bullshit because NSAIDs are hot garbage. you & others absolutely might have AS without NSAIDs helping)

any pain in your sacroiliac (SI) joint and/or gluteal muscles.

unfortunately, i have listed these exact symptoms to multiple doctors while having an existing AS diagnosis and been told nothing is wrong. there is no limit to how much they are willing to lie & gaslight you, and in many if not most cases, neglect is not preventable by the victim even if we present perfectly. the neglect & trauma you are experiencing are not your fault, and i am holding you in my heart & hoping that you receive the quality, compassionate, comprehensive care you deserve as soon as possible.