#like your father being diagnosed with a terminal condition

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

.

[kikyoupdates]

Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑢𝑒

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

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People always liked to go on about how everyone was born equal, but you couldn’t help but strongly disagree.

Certain individuals, from the moment they first opened their eyes, were already at a staggering disadvantage. This was especially true in your case, having had a traumatic birth that had resulted in you being separated from your mother and confined to the ICU for several weeks on end. Honestly, the doctors didn’t think you would make it. Your parents told you that even they were at a loss, and had no choice but to prepare themselves for the worst.

You were born sick, and weak, and your life was a series of seemingly insurmountable obstacles.

At the age of six, you were admitted to the hospital for a case of acute pneumonia. They didn’t think you’d make it then either, but against all odds, you prevailed.

At the age of ten, your appendix ruptured, and you went septic after a botched surgery that resulted in an infection. Again, your parents had to prepare for the worst.

At the age of eleven, you developed a persistent fever that had you bedridden in the hospital for nearly two weeks. Same story.

Thirteen, liver infection.

Fourteen, diagnosed with generalized anxiety disorder. Big shocker there.

The list regretfully went on and on, to the point that you could hardly even keep track of all the suffering you’d endured in your admittedly short time on Earth.

Then, finally, the big one.

Age eighteen, officially diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. Which in hindsight, wasn’t too surprising, given how weak your body was. It certainly explained your tendency to get sick so frequently. You were actually a bit frustrated that they hadn’t tested you for something so important earlier.

Autoimmune disorders were a “big deal”, if the way the doctors broke the news to you was anything to go off. Naturally, you weren’t thrilled about it, but you figured you would suck it up and endure, do your best and keep fighting. It wasn’t fair that others were perfectly healthy while you were in constant pain, but you knew there was nothing you could do about it. You just had to stay strong and believe in yourself. It was still manageable. You were still here, alive and kicking.

But then...

“We’re afraid your condition is terminal,” one of the doctors confessed with a weary expression. You remembered the way your parents gasped, how your mother instantly broke into tears and had to find comfort in your father’s arms. You didn’t react the same way they did. Actually, you were still having a hard time wrapping your head around all of this.

Terminal, as in... fatal? You were going to die? For real, this time?

You didn’t cry, even with your parents sobbing behind you. Part of you was still in disbelief. It didn’t make sense. You’d been to hell and back so many times, fought off death with all you had, only to be told that it was all for nothing? You were going to die, and it was completely and utterly unavoidable.

Somehow, you mustered up the nerve to ask. “How much longer do I have?”

They were hesitant to give you an answer and told you that these sorts of things weren’t quite so easy to predict. It all depended on how quickly your symptoms worsened. Truthfully, you preferred it that way. You didn’t want to have an expiration date on your life. It was too cruel a notion for you to bear.

And now, here you were. A twenty-year-old confined to a hospital, gritting your teeth through each torturous day, when you should have been living out the best years of your life.

“Man, that game was fucked,” you sighed, sliding your laptop out of the way. There was very little you could do in your tiny hospital room, but thankfully you were allowed to keep electronics like your laptop, phone, and mini consoles. Lately, you’d been really into dating sims, and the last one you’d tried out was certainly... unique, for lack of a better word. It was a darker genre than you weren’t usually partial to, part of this recent “yandere” fad—meaning that all the love interests were basically batshit insane. And while the endings were questionable at best, you couldn’t deny that it had done a good job of keeping you entertained.

Apart from playing games and streaming other forms of entertainment, you also liked to look up college courses online and teach yourself different parts of the syllabus. You knew it was probably pointless. You weren’t even enrolled in college, since you were too weak to keep up with the course load, and odds were that you would’ve died before your graduation date anyways. It was a morbid line of thinking, for sure, but you didn’t want to waste even more of your parents’ money, no matter how desperately they insisted that it was perfectly fine and you should do what made you happy.

You liked learning on your own, so it wasn’t that bad. This way, you were free to study whatever topics interested you, instead of being restricted to a set program. Even though you were completely hopeless and didn’t have a body fit to repay society, it was nice to imagine that you would have been a knowledgeable, resourceful worker. The kind of person others would turn to if they ever needed help, instead of being the one who was always on the receiving end of someone else’s goodwill.

“Did you finish that game you’ve been playing?” your mom asked, gently ruffling her fingers through your hair.

“Mhm,” you nodded. “It was high-key messed up.”

“Really? What sorts of things happened?”

“Eh, you know. Violence, murder, assault. Just your run-of-the-mill dating sim.”

She scrunched up her nose. “Are you sure content like that is good for keeping your mood up?”

“Oh, definitely,” you grinned. “It was tons of fun.”

“I guess I’m too old to get it,” she sighed. Beside her, your father chuckled and handed you a plastic bag full of snacks.

“Dropped by the supermarket and picked out the ones you like,” he said.

You smiled and eagerly took the bag in your hands, ready to dig in, but your expression sank at the sight of the contents inside. “This is all healthy garbage,” you whined. “You’re such a liar! I can’t stand this junk. Can’t believe you would tease me like that.”

“I wasn’t teasing,” he sweat-dropped. “You had them before and you said they were edible!”

“Edible doesn’t mean I like them... oh boy,” you said exasperatedly, shaking your head. Well, whatever. You didn’t have it in you to stay mad at either of your parents, who were practically saints for having cared for you tirelessly all this time. You did wish that you could eat some palatable food from time to time, but your stomach was so sensitive that it was probably better to play it safe.

You reluctantly opened up some of the snacks and started munching on them unenthusiastically. As expected, they tasted pretty bad. Still, you tried to keep a smile up for your parents’ sake.

“They’re not too bad,” you lied. “I think they taste better than last time.”

“Really?” your father beamed.

“Yes.”

 No.

“Well, that’s good.” He gestured towards the large windows across from your bed. “Did you have a chance to go outside today? Or are you not feeling well enough?”

“Some fresh air will do you good,” your mother offered encouragingly.

“Maybe later,” you said, though truthfully, you just didn’t have the strength. Every day, you somehow felt worse than the last.

It was becoming quite clear that you were nearing the end, and no matter how desperately you tried to put on a brave face and laugh it off, the idea of dying terrified you.

But you didn’t want your parents to know just how awful you felt. It wasn’t fair to them to act all depressed after all they’d done for you. At the very least, you wanted the last time they saw you to be a happy occasion.

Since you were too exhausted to go outside, you suggested staying in today and playing some board games. You usually won, whether it was because you were actually good at the games or your parents were letting you win, but you must’ve been even more out of it than usual this time. You could hardly hold the pieces in your hands without your fingers trembling uncontrollably.

“Here, sweetie,” your mother frowned. “I can help—”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, forcing another smile. You took a deep breath and finally managed to set your piece down on the board. “There. Ooh, I can buy Illinois Avenue. Yes, please.”

Your parents both exchanged worried glances, but you did your best to ignore them. As much as you did love them, you wished they would do a better job of hiding their concern, especially when you were trying your best to stay positive.

The game ended with you placing last, which was a fitting parallel to your weakening state. You were actually rather competitive. If you didn’t feel like your life was literally being sucked out of you right now, you might’ve been a bit more annoyed with your loss.

Regular visiting hours were almost over, but your parents did their best to stay the night at the hospital as often as they could, even though they were both juggling full-time jobs. Still, they needed a break too. All they ever did was push themselves to earn enough money to pay for your bills, or stay by your side and look after you.

“We’re going to go grab some food from the cafeteria,” your father said. “Be back in a bit, okay?”

“Take your time,” you smiled weakly.

A few moments later, the door closed behind them, and you finally allowed yourself to unravel. Keeping up the brave façade was immensely tiring in and of itself, not to mention the amount of pain you were already in to begin with.

You pulled the covers up over your face and quietly sobbed. God, it hurt. Everything hurt. You couldn’t do the things that came so easily to most people. You couldn’t function the way you were supposed to.

“I’m scared,” you whimpered. “So scared..."

Even just getting the words out was proving to be a herculean task. You could feel your breathing slowly getting heavier as your vision began to blur. Ah. Maybe this was it. You’d been clinging to the last bit of strength you had earlier when you were with your parents, but you just didn’t think you could do it anymore. You were tired. Too tired.

The room began to spin in an array of dizzying colors. Then, you stopped being able to see at all. You no longer had the strength to hold your eyelids up. It was completely dark, and your body was somehow burning and ice cold at the exact same time. You had no idea how quickly or slowly time was passing, only that you were running out of it.

You were going to die. Right here, right now. Already, your life was flashing before your eyes. It was true what they said, then. You were reliving so many memories in such a short span of time. Regretfully, almost all of those memories were painful ones.

I’m dying. I’m really dying.

Terror couldn’t even begin to describe the emotion you felt right now. Even though you knew it was pointless, you still tried to fight it, gasping for breath as long as your body would allow it.

“Please, not yet!” you choked out. “I’ll do anything to stay alive. I don’t care what it is. I don’t care what I have to do. Just please... let me live.”

It was a pathetic plea for help, especially when you knew that no one would answer you.

Except someone did answer you.

“Really? You’ll do anything?”

You could hear a voice resounding in your head. You couldn’t tell if it was real, or if you were losing your mind because you were dying, so you just sniffled and sobbed more frantically.

“Anything,” you mumbled weakly. “I don’t care how much I have to keep suffering. As long as I get more time.”

You knew it was futile—after all, you were only imagining all this. Still, the voice was comforting in a way. At least, even if it was just your imagination keeping you company, you wouldn’t have to die all alone.

A few more moments of quiet struggling, and your senses finally gave out. The last thing you heard was that strange voice again.

“Your request has been approved. Your world will now be reset. Good luck.”

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[edelgarfield]

god tw personal family medical issues

my mom said some completely wild shit to me last Sunday and I want to vent about it, but what she said was so absolutely unhinged that it requires like 5 different layers of context before I can even BEGIN to unpack what she said and it's like. I want and need to reach out to people and vent about it but I don't even know how to start that conversation with anyone who isn't already up to speed on my nightmare of a family.

so. my dad is sick, he's been sick my entire adult life with a degenerative disorder but he recently got diagnosed with cancer.

here's the thing. there is zero emotional intimacy in my family. we do not talk about feelings. we do not rely on each other. we do not talk about anything other than shallow surface level topics.

that degenerative disorder my dad has? the only reason I know what it is is because I went through his medicine cabinet back in high school. he has never once in the 10 years he's had it sat me down and said "by the way I'm sick and my condition is called X." even though he is clearly, visibly, provably getting worse over the years he has not and will not talk about it. I don't know what his prognosis is. I don't know what his current treatment plan is. I don't know what things he can and can't do on his own.

he is treating his cancer the exact same way. he didn't tell me he even had cancer until two days before he started chemo. I do not know what type of cancer he has. I do not know how bad it is. I do not know what treatment options he's pursuing. whenever I ask he and my mom dodge the question.

that is an extremely quick and dirty summary of what's going on.

so my mom and I were going to a play on Sunday. as we're getting out of the car my mom out of nowhere says "you know you're going to be rich?"

I have no idea what she's talking about and say as much. she starts complaining that my dad's mom updated her will to split my dad's share of her money between me and my brother and my mom is upset that none of it is going to her.

already. this is such a wild and out of touch thing to complain about. like do you want me to sympathize with you bc you think you deserve a bigger share of some future money that hasn't even happened yet? I'm just flabbergasted as my mom goes on to ask if I'm going to take care of her when she's old. again. wild.

I'm like "what about dad? shouldn't he be upset that he's getting cut out?"

and my mom turns to me with this look of condescending pity and says "[Dad's mom] is going to outlive him, why do you think she updated the will?"

GEE MOM I DONT FUCKING KNOW. NOBODY TELLS ME SHIT AROUND HERE.

this is the first time I'm hearing about my grandma updating her will. this is the first time I'm hearing that my dad apparently has TERMINAL CANCER.

and instead of telling me any of this directly like a normal fucking person my mom slides it into the middle of a conversation of her complaining about not being in my grandma's will.

(sidenote: immediately after she dropped this bombshell I replied "okay, well when dad dies you'll get his money" "dad isn't as rich as his mom" so like. classy all around)

like what the fuck is wrong with you??? there are so many things wrong with this conversation I don't even know where to start. do you think I'm going to care about some imaginary money when my dad is APPARENTLY dying? do you think I'm going to feel sorry for you that you're not getting a cut when you're already set up to live an extremely comfortable life?? why are you jealous of your CHILDREN when this is literally just a consolation prize for having a DEAD FATHER.

if you gave me unlimited attempts to try and guess how my mother would choose to tell me my dad was dying I could not have come up with this in a million years. among all the possible ways you could have chosen to tell me my dad is dying how did you invent a completely new one that's more audacious and absurd than all the rest? it is truly astounding the lengths that my parents will go to avoid showing a single iota of vulnerability. why are you like this? if there was literally any time in your life to at least PRETEND to be a normal family it would be now. my parents can only reveal extremely important, heavy information when it's bracketed by the most absurd conversation you've ever had.

and here's the thing: my mother is a notoriously unreliable source of information. she exaggerates, dramatizes, misremembers, and if all else fails just straight up lies. this would not be the first time she has told me someone is dying because that's more attention grabbing than "they're very sick"

(one time my mother insisted to me she was dying, when I asked if she was serious she said yes. I asked her to please tell me the truth because I was genuinely worried she insisted no really she was dying. I went to my dad and he said no, she's not dying, she had a very bad sinus infection)

so I have no idea whether my dad is actually dying or whether my mother is exaggerating what the doctor said bc she's apparently allergic to just telling the truth. and I have no way to confirm bc my dad will not talk about his illness with me. so I'm just stuck, worrying with no answers & no idea when/if answers are coming. I have no idea how bad my dad's sickness is, I have no idea if it's terminal and how long he has left if it is. for all I know it could be two months or two years.

and it doesn't get better! it's only going to get worse from here as my dad gets sicker and dies (if he does), they're not going to suddenly start keeping me in the loop. they're not going to suddenly start comforting me. I'm always going to be the last to know and I'm always going to be told in the most confusing, awful way possible.

this is just such a perfect snapshot of what my childhood was like. my family is the place where emotions go to die. my own mother can't even be bothered to provide the tiniest sliver of comfort or support when she tells me my DAD is DYING. where do I get it, then? if my own fucking family won't comfort me then who will? no wonder I'm so fucked up, no wonder I'm so desperate and starved for affection because I went practically 13 years before I even knew what affection was.

[ourmawgeemoments]

This girl is really new at this tumbler thing so I have asked some friends to drop me a word or ask me a question so I have a topic and the word I got is, Mawgee. No question, just the word.

It is a unique word, made up, much like the word "olebagitis" which plainly describes a condition that my peers and myself occasionally deal with. I like made up words, they are hella descriptive. More on my most popular made-up word later. For now we focus on Mawgee.

I am of the era where friends would gather around the kitchen table with a beverage that was appropriate for the time of day, while we visited with each other. If the visit was during school hours we generally had coffee and made plans. Who was working when, who was picking the kids up from school and most importantly, what we were going to do on the weekend.

Whatever we did on the weekends, it likely involved babysitters and adult beverages. Those coffee visits determined who was hosting dinner, whose house the kids were going to and most importantly, if we were going dancing or sitting around a bonfire telling stories and putting the world to rights. Life was good.

There was one night in particular where we learned about a friend who was diagnosed with a terminal illness and that got us talking about what we would do if it happened to one of us. One of my friends daughter and my son were inseparable from a very young age and she suddenly became very serious and said "if anything happens to me I want you to take my daughter as your own". I said that I felt likewise about her and my son.

Time passed, the kids grew up but not apart. They promised each other at a tender age that they would be each others date at their graduations and that promise was kept. Their respective boyfriend and girlfriend were warned and accepted that they would be sitting that evening out.

Shortly after that my friend was diagnosed with early onset dementia and ended up in a home with no memory of her daughter. Those were tough days. Unbeknownst to me, my friend told her daughter about that campfire promise that we made to each other all those years ago and just before my friend passed away, her daughter became pregnant.

On the day she shared her news with my son and I, she reminded me of that promise and formally and emotionally asked me if I would be a grandmother to her child. I loved that girl with my whole heart and didn't hesitate, I was honored that she asked and instantly agreed. My son beamed with pride to become this child's uncle and what a loving uncle he is.

So, I have a chosen daughter and a beautiful, strong minded (like her mother) granddaughter! Then came a fairly simple question that caused a great deal of thought. That simple question was "what do you want to be called"?

My granddaughter has a living grandmother on her fathers side and my friend also deserved the title of grandma or granny or Nana, so what would be appropriate for this situation?

Someone suggested gma, kind of an abbreviated grandma, I didn't like it at all so it was time to find a made-up word and it didn't take very long for me to switch it up so that I can introduce myself to you and whomever comes along as Mawgee.

I am honored and delighted to be called Mawgee by my beautiful daughter, my son-in-law and cannot wait until my darling little Miss P starts talking so I can hear her call me by my chosen name!

I am so grateful every day for this gift of love that my friend bestowed upon my son and I and truly wish that everyone could experience being chosen in this way 💝🌻💝

[amicidomenicani]

Question Dear Father Angelo, I opened your website and went on reading your responses to a wide array of questions, and I found a lot of consolation from them even though they were not directed to me. For this reason I am about now to open up my heart to your discernment. I lost my father to a lung tumor about ten months ago. Being a physician myself, I was the first to make the diagnosis, which was later confirmed by the instrumental tests which also revealed the severity of the condition (inoperability, terminal stage of the illness…).  From the very beginning I shared with my dad both the pain and the truth (within the limits of his acceptance, never telling him that his pain would grow worse, I never told him for instance that there was nothing the official medicine could do, and that he had two or three months to live; I tried to keep his hope alive, and we said to each other that we would face together whatever would come our way). Let me first say that because of my job I live in another town, and that my dad moved in with me at the time of the diagnosis, so he could continue with the diagnostic process and the treatment, which, sadly,  was only palliative.  I had the privilege to assist my dad through his weakness and frailty, with all the highs and lows that came from an extremely stressful situation. With the palliative treatment, associated with prayers and more natural supportive care (diet, medical herb extracts), “miraculously” the illness that had seemed to be unstoppable was eventually controlled and a chemotherapy session could be executed that improved somewhat his respiratory problems, and we managed to go on for nine months in fairly acceptable living conditions. During these months my dad drew closer to prayer, an often silent prayer because, being a man from the south, it was difficult for him to vocalize his thanksgiving to Our Lady with the rosary,  but I noticed that when it was time to say the rosary with us (me and my mother, who never stopped praying), even if he was lying in bed in the grips of the constant pain that began to torture him, he asked to be helped to the armchair and attended the rosary and the blessing given by the priest on TV, and then he went back to bed.  Eventually it became necessary to admit my dad into the hospital, the same one where I work, and in the last days of his earthly life, that unfortunately ended in the hospital, I know that he spoke with the priest there.  He talked with him about what weighed on his heart the most, and he looked more serene, and often sent for him. My dad died of a cause not directly related to his illness, because of a fall followed by a massive cerebral hemorrhage. The last day of his life, while I was dozing on and off, a voice woke me up telling me to run to the hospital because “that fall was not a trivial one, it was not the usual fall…” I heard this very clearly and rushed to the hospital long before the start of my shift. I could only see my father for a moment, he did not respond to me as usual; I had to diagnose a sudden cerebral condition, and I realized that we were close to his passing. I can’t describe the excruciating pain for the sudden separation that was to happen a few hours later; I watched over my father for about six hours, that’s how long his coma lasted, I couldn’t talk to him but I caressed his hands and face all the time, while I tried to impress in my memory his scent and his warmth, with tears running down my face, feeling my heart tear open; at three I heard the bell toll, and I remembered Jesus’s promise and started praying the chaplet of the divine mercy so that my father could be received in the arms of the merciful Jesus, and I immediately felt peace… the pain was still there but more “suave”, less like a boulder. I apologize for dwelling too much on this, but after some time I started having doubts that my father may not have had time to prepare for a good christian death with al

l the sacraments, I don’t know if he was able to confess and receive Jesus, and I wonder if it is OK to think that the fact that he accepted his pain with dignity (my father never swore at God for what happened to him, and even began developing an attachment to our mother Mary to whom he prayed to alleviate his pain) may have been instrumental in saving my dad’s soul… I always pray for him and ask to hear that he is fine and may come to see God’s face. What do you think, father Angelo? Did God’s Mercy save my dad? Thank-you. Priest’s answer Dear friend, 1. There is every reason to hope that your father was saved. He welcomed the priest and our Lord said “Whoever receives you, receives me, and whoever receives me receives the one who sent me” (Mt 10,40).. 2. He drew closer to prayer. And by drawing closer to prayer he grew closer to God. 3. He showed an attachment to our mother Mary, asking her to alleviate his pain. Who knows how many times he said “Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and in the hour of our death”. Would our Lady, whose love for us exceeds that of all mothers in this world, not listen to him? 4. You recited the chaplet of the Divine Mercy at three, trusting in Jesus’s promise. Jesus’s promise is flattering: “It pleases Me to grant everything they ask of Me by saying the chaplet” (Diary 1541) “. Moreover: “Whoever will recite it will receive great mercy at the hour of death… Even if there were a sinner most hardened, if he were to recite this chaplet only once, he would receive grace from My infinite mercy” (Diary 687). 5. “At the hour of their death, I defend as My own glory every soul that will say this chaplet; or when others say it for a dying person, the indulgence is the same. When  this chaplet is said by the bedside of a dying person, God’s anger is placated, unfathomable mercy envelops the soul, and the very depths of My tender mercy are moved for the sake of the sorrowful Passion of My Son” (Diary 811). When hardened sinners say it, I will fill their souls with peace, and the hour of their death will be a happy one… Write that when they say this chaplet in the presence of the dying, I will stand between My Father and the dying person, not as the just Judge but as the merciful Savior” (Diary 1541) 6. True, this is a private revelation.  But it describes nicely how divine mercy works with all of us up until the very end of our life.  We should therefore trust that the Lord granted your father the grace of repentance even if he did not receive the Sacraments. Wasn’t the fact that he sent for the priest repeatedly a tacit plea to receive the goods that priests carry with them, particularly the remission of sins in confession? 7. Having said all this however, do not relent with your suffrages. I like to cite the Catechism of the Catholic Church:”Communion with the dead. «In full consciousness of this communion of the whole Mystical Body of Jesus Christ, the Church in its pilgrim members, from the very earliest days of the Christian religion, has honored with great respect the memory of the dead; and 'because it is a holy and a wholesome thought to pray for the dead that they may be loosed from their sins' (2 Mac 12,45) she offers her suffrages for them» (Lumen Gentium, 50). Our prayer for them is capable not only of helping them, but also of making their intercession for us effective” (CCC 958). I gladly join with you in this prayer of intercession: to help your father, and to be helped by him. I remind you to the Lord and I bless you. Father Angelo 20 January 2017 | A priest answers - Liturgy and pastoral - Pastoral section

[marvalouslynerdish]

time for the speculation corner~~ (pulls down the projector screen)

now let's make this clear this is all gonna be purely speculation and theory crafting with what information/sub-text we have and with that said let's analyze~

now this is just one thought but even though they gave her the parasite, it might not mean they took an interest in her; merely they say her as a candidate for the parasite. why? well there's a few idea.

first there's her father, we don't know who he is, so maybe he's important or just a normal person either way; we do know that he was the one that signed marie up for the villain camp when she was young, we don't know how young she was but since this place sounds almost like a summer camp we'll guess that she might have been 8-13 in age. why would this guy sign his kid up for a special class/camp like this? well that's where the first few lines come in and the implications that come with it, quote: "my father told me that i would stop being scared and getting so sick, because when i was little i got sick a lot".

this shows us that before marie had the parasite she got sick a lot and that could mean that as a kid marie's regular body was not in good shape, that could mean many things; her body was weak and got ill from lack of white cells or something, she was a sickly child, she had a disease or genetic abnormality, but the worst case scenario was that she was diagnosed with a terminal condition.

since marie only mentions that she remembers as a child she got sick a lot, it's likely that her father never really told the full story of her condition and it's not hard to see why; if you were a parent would you tell your child the awful truth about why they got sick so much, probably not because you love them and want to tell them that they will get better and everything is gonna work out fine, so part of the reason on why marie ended up with the parasite was because a desperate father was looking for a miracle cure to save his daughter and that would be a tragic background for why she became mawrasite.

but as we know with this world, it doesn't seem like you can just hand out a "miracle cure" so easy, no matter how or what that "cure" will be and that's where the camp comes in. at a villain camp she runs into a guy with a crow face and hat (kinda sounds like a plague doctor almost) and since we know black hat owns this camp; there's always an ulterior motive with him.

marie says that she and some other campers were given a series of games that were suppose to help them be less allergic, which could mean they were exposed to things we can't really comprehend for nefarious purposes whatever the case though; marie says that she thinked she won but for all we know she 'passed' or qualified for the next phase, god it's like a twisted version of steve rogers origin but if he was bonded to the venom Symbiote, hell it might have even been a trick since next thing she knows or remembers (but not to well) she's feeling tired and in a room with mr crow and other people and then bing bada boom she's got a parasite in her now, making her the mawrasite we all know today. whew~ i think i've covered just about everything so we'll end this here. but we'll end it with one last thing~

the moment she got back from camp was probably the most tear-jerking moment in marie's dad's life. . .

*sitting on a couch tapping his foot nervously cause the camping trip is over and he doesn't know if things turned out alright" the door creaks open. . . . "dad i'm-" (monster yell!) "aaahhh!!" (he gets up quickly to see what's going on at the front door) the parasite attached to her stomach is behaving a bit rambunctious "no! hey! down boy! don't do that; behave yourself!" it's lashing it's tongue out and making noises. marie looks to see her dad standing in front of her while she trys to tame/handle the parasite. "hey dad, sorry if he scared you but i'm still getting used to him and he's still getting used to me", parasite screeches a bit. "hey! no! that's my dad you're yelling at, so you be nice to him, heh heh sorry i guess i brought a pet back from camp huh~", "but i had a really great time! i met some neat people there and i didn't even get sick while i was there isn't that cool! after i got this parasite i climbed up a tree, went for a swim but it was kinda hard with- (chomp) hey watch it that's the coat rack-" (as she talked, he just. . . looked at her, she was full of energy, she was smiling; sure there was now an enormous life-form attached to her but. . . there she was) "oh yeah so dad remember when-" (he comes up to her and hugs her) "ah? dad?" (he starts sniffling a bit) "hey dad? are you ok? why are you crying?", *i'm fine sweetie i just. . . really missed you while you were at camp*, "aw dad i missed you too" (she hugs back. . . but then the parasite acts up again and opens it mouth) "WHOA! NO! DO NOT EAT DAD! DO! NOT! EAT! DAD!" (she rolls on the floor trying to get it under control while the father wipes his eye) "so like i was saying, *rolls* you know how i wanted to talk to you about being a villain one day *rolls* well i think i might be able to be one with this guy here; if we get along with each other *rolls* i even got a name at camp! they gave us some names as a reward for being the best campers there! *hold the parasite in place a bit* so when i grow up i'm gonna be mawrasite! (she gives a toothy smile) *ha ha, that sounds great marie~ after all; you got your whole life ahead of you~" (both chuckle before the parasite gets loose from marie's grip and then both father and daughter try to grab hold of it, in a small panic; but still happy together)

and because of how much of a weeb i am, roll credits song!

I low-key think illuminarrow teaming up with mawrsite is what saved her life, considering the hat seem to like her or whatever reason. They did give her a whole parasite in her origin.

I agree. These two probably need each other to get through this crazy villain world. And I wonder why the Hat has interest in her.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “What Death Tastes Like” Part 3

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 1      Part 2       Part 4       Part 5

You’re done sampling the food that J brought over, quite annoyed he lied about the crepes; it was probably the only reason why you opened the door for him. Or maybe it was a different motive that you don’t like to think of because… what’s the point anyway?

“Crane said he added a new ingredient to your capsules,” The Joker brings it up. “I have no idea how he was able to get Cromyxillium since it’s just in experimental phase; I suppose he has awesome connections,” your guest chews one last bite of cashew salad.

“I know, he texted me but I didn’t answer back… I’m mad at him… I’m mad at everything these days,“ you admit and The King of Gotham piles up the empty styrofoam boxes, calculating how much money Scarecrow spent on a product that might be able to improve your condition.

Y/N watches him absent minded, too preoccupied with her problems to realize The King of Gotham is attentive to her words.

“I used to help my dad develop my remedy, still nothing works and he entirely immersed himself in this ridiculous task of saving me from terminal cancer. He ignored Evelyn for weeks until she left: she understood what he was doing up to a certain level; when it became an obsession…” and you sigh, aggravated by your father’s stubbornness. “I told him he has to patch up their relationship; I don���t him to be all alone after I’m gone…” you sulk and J grabs the containers, dumping them in the trashcan near the table.

“Yeah, Crane will probably be very lonely without you…” and J stops his innuendo when he comprehends how it sounds. “On a positive note,” The Clown Prince of Crime stretches, “I’m actually here to ensure you’re ok taking the capsules containing the new ingredient. Your father asked me to and I am notorious for being this…this selfless person ready to offer my services,” J over exaggerates his ability to sympathize with your situation. “He also warned me not to try anything funny. I don’t understand why I’m not allowed to share any of my funny jokes; doesn’t make any sense,” the distorted interpretation of your parent’s threat almost prompts Y/N’s smile.

“You probably pushed for this visit, taking advantage of the fact that me and my dad had a fight, hm?” you bluntly describe the truth and J can’t defend his absurd statements because your cell phone starts ringing; you glare at the screen, debating if you should answer or not.

“Is that him?” The Joker inquires and you nod a yes while deciding to accept Scarecrow’s call.

“Hello…” you sneak out on the patio as J figures he should walk to his car in order to retrieve the duffel bag fixed in advance for his sleepover.

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

Your conversation lasted for about 20 minutes thus The Joker jumped in the shower lacking any type of permission from Y/N; perhaps it could be the reason for your abrupt intrusion in the cozy bathroom.

“Can I take a shower with you?” he hears your question and for once J is uncertain of his reply, yet he is not the kind of person to show reluctance no matter the context.

“It’s your place, isn’t it?” he grumbles and distinguishes your silhouette beyond the steamy glass panels quickly stripping your clothes.

The Joker continues to scrub his skin, undisturbed by your request: he simply doesn’t care if you join him or not.

“I’m using your stuff,” J announces and your arms suddenly hug him from behind.

“You can use whatever you want,” your lips kiss the dragon tattoo on his back a couple of times and he doesn’t even turn around to peek.

“I gotta wash my hair,” he mutters and you brush your lips against his shoulder, sweetly offering:

“I can wash it for you.”

“I got it!” Y/N’s demand is cut off immediately; you’re so humiliated by his lack of interest you curse the dumb choice of being so straightforward: it’s not the first time he shows zero attraction towards his daughter’s best friend.

Your arms release the embrace and The Joker reprises his important chore while hearing you fumbling with toiletry items: you are finishing off your routine at an increased speed, willing to exit out of there as soon as possible.

A few minutes of silence, then The Clown Prince of Crime finally pronounces an insolent remark:

“I hope you saw a naked man before, Y/N! I don’t wanna be accused of traumatizing you. If it really makes you feel better, you can wash my hair.”

No smarty pants attitude rendered upon him and J gazes where you stood only to notice you’re gone: after quietly tiptoeing out of the shower, Y/N took her medications and prepared for the night ahead; she plans for J to sleep in the second bedroom at the small cabin, thus she will spend the night on the couch in the living room, watching TV until she’ll doze off.

“Miss Crane,” The Joker emerges from the bathroom in a t-shirt and shorts. “Are we cuddling on that couch or do we have further arrangements?”

“Spare bedroom,” you grouchily mumble, getting comfortable under the blanket.

“I thought we’re cuddling buddies,” he pretends to be offended at your affirmation mostly since pushing the limit is encoded in his wretched DNA.

“We’re not cuddling buddies!”  

“My bad,” he grins. “I guess I was misled by your actions at the mansion.”

He has such a nerve bringing that up!

“I’m not the type of person to force myself on women,” The Joker innocently informs, “but can I watch TV with you? I’ll camp on the floor by the sofa which is my way to hint I need a bunch of soft blankets to pile up so I won’t break my back. I mean, it’s not very nice of you to deny me access on the couch; must I remind you I granted you free passage in my bed when you asked for it?”

“Are you for reals?!” an increasingly fuming Y/N shrieks slowly rolls out of her relaxing nest. “You were horrible to me and then tried to make it better just because you worried I’d tell Emma or my father! Well, rest assured: I’m not a snitch! You truly don’t have to extend your good will to such lengths on my account! It’s not necessary, ok?! You don’t have to drive here to bring my capsules, you don’t have to bring me food. You don’t have to do anything!!”

“Watch your tone!” J growls, displeased with your feisty attitude. “Do I have to remind you who barged into my privacy to take a peek at me naked?”

Your eyes are big at his derogatory insinuation: he’s playing stupid regarding the incident.

“I barged into your privacy?!” you shout, aggravated. “How can…”

“Umm…” The Joker interrupts, “…your nose is bleeding.”

You didn’t even detect the blood trickling down your skin and you touch it, confused. The King of Gotham watches you a few hesitant steps before you unexpectedly collapse to the ground. “Hey!” his voice echoes in and out. “Hey what’s wrong?... … Can you hear me?”

There’s this high pitch taking over your mind and you can barely discern bits and pieces of a conversation J is carrying with your father. You’re not even aware you’re in a moving vehicle, that’s how much you lost grip on reality.

“What’s in for me if I bring her over, huh?”

“I compensated you!!  Two Nightmare ampoules, a small fortune on the black market! Get off your fucking high horse and bring me my daughter, would you?!” an exasperated parent admonishes.

“Maybe I will stop the car and let nature follow its course,” The Joker fights back Scarecrow’s affront, yet your dad has plenty on his plate .

“If you do such a thing and she dies, I’ll hold you responsible and trust me when I say you don’t want me to hold you responsible!!!” the serious ultimatum prompts your chauffeur to take a sharp turn on Highway 68. “Am I on speaker?” Jonathan checks without given his apparent opponent a chance to rationalize his behavior.

“Yes!” J snarls, pissed at the stupid rescue mission entrusted to him.

“Y/N, hang in there! I’ll get stuff ready by the time you arrive, alright?” Scarecrow encourages his daughter, afraid of the severe consequences of the experimental drug she ingested.  

“Mmmm,” you moan in your daze, not being able to respond.

“Keep her alert; we can’t have her sink into a coma! I have to formulate an IV mixture to flush the Cromyxillium out of her system!”

“She’s completely out!” The Joker states although there’s nobody at the other end of the line anymore. “Who’s we anyway?!” he huffs and elects to give it a go regardless. “Y/N, how many kids we would have had if we were married?... … … … … I think the precise answer is at least 4, am I correct?” J blabbers on since you don’t engage in the conversation. “Great…I’ll be held liable for your demise,” he bites his lower lip, vexed things didn’t shine too bright for him; in fact, no matter how hard The Clown tries the blame it on somebody else, he dug his own hole on this one.

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

You’re not sure how long you’ve been in the darkness, but the sharp poke in your arm makes you groan in pain.

“I’m sorry honey,” your father whispers. “We have to keep the IV for an hour, then I can take the needle out.”

“D-daddy…” you find the strength to stammer. “Am I… am I dying…?”

“No… No… I won’t let you die…” Scarecrow kisses your forehead, upset you don’t seem fine at all. “It’s my fault, I didn’t think you’ll have a reaction to Cromyxillium, not the way I bound the particles with the rest of the molecules.”

“You didn’t test it?” The Joker intervenes into a dialogue he should steer clear off.

“No, I didn’t have time to test it!” Jonathan hatefully stares at the man he wishes to strangle on the spot. “I don’t have time for anything!! Do you understand? My daughter is dying!! I’m not even that kind of doctor yet she’s breathing nevertheless due to my capability of manipulating compounds! Y/N would be 6 feet under with traditional chemotherapy, which proves I am doing a few things right!!! If Emma was sick, I’m certain you wouldn’t run your mouth like you do now!”

J wiggles in his chair, definitely about to erupt at Crane’s justified tirade.

“I’m so cold…” you utter, the ruckus adding to your general discomfort.

“That’s normal, it means the intravenous remedy is working; I’ll bring more covers,” Jonathan strolls out of the room only to gasp upon his return: J is snuggling with you, totally oblivious to your parent’s stupefied question: “What the hell are you doing??!!”

“I got off my high horse and I’m keeping her warm,” J stresses the importance of his random deed. “It’s not cheap thought! I demand…”

“You demand nothing!” Scarecrow covers you with more layers, irritated The King of Gotham has the audacity to milk out benefits in these circumstances; the latest wants to protest Jonathan’s vehement denial while not being conceded the prospect of such luxury:

“Dad…” you reach out your left hand and he sits by you, keeping the shaky fingers on his face. “Did… did you call Evelyn?” you barely blink, exhausted from the intensive treatment.

“I will…”

“You have to; I don’t want you to end up alone… She loves you… You could have more children with her… or at least one more…”

Jonathan Crane inhales, flustered his daughter is worried about him when she should worry about herself.

“I could have more kids, but don’t you know you’re irreplaceable?” he kisses your wrist and pretends to brush off the agony building up in his heart. “Don’t cry honey,” he wipes your tears, then casually shoves The Joker’s arm since is wrapped around your waist. “Your help is no longer required,” Scarecrow hints and his advice falls on deaf ears: J has important news that might switch the balance in his favor.

“I also called Emma on my way here to report about Y/N’s ordeal; she’s cutting her trip to New York short and I received strict orders to make myself useful until her arrival. Now, unless you want to deal with another pain in the ass besides your offspring, I suggest you tolerate my presence!”

Jonathan curls up in a ball on the vacant side of your bed, relieved to see you’re napping. "I didn’t feel the urge to punch someone in ages!” he sneers.

“Likewise!” The Joker barks too from behind your shoulder. “How come she passed out again?” he switches the subject and Jonathan explains without any trace of enthusiasm.

“I included a serum that promotes nice dreams in her IV bag: she’ll be in a deep sleep and envision things she likes.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. I’m sure I’ll pop up in there then,” the excited Clown Prince of Crime emphasizes to your father’s disapproval.

“I said things she likes!”

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

10:12am

“Hello Miss Crane,” you are greeted as you narrowly open your eyes; it takes a minute to recollect from the dizziness and confusion of last night’s episode.

“Where’s my dad?” you lick your dry lips, noticing J by the windows.

“At the lab; he’s consulting with some doctors or whatnot and left me in charge,” he effortlessly forges half a truth with half a lie.

“Where’s my phone? I want to talk to him.”

“I think I left it at the cabin, I was in a hurry to get you here.”

“You drove me?...” you skeptically interrogate.

“Yeah, you don’t remember?”

“No…” you stretch while touching the band aid placed where the needle used to be. “Where’s Emma?”

“On her way back to Gotham; she called several times and tried talking to you but you were out.”

“Was I?...”

“U-hum,” J shakes his head. “I reckon she promised she’ll assist with your birthday party next week and she’s terrified you’ll kick the bucket in the meantime. She didn’t precisely articulate these sentences, but I‘m her dad: I can read in between the lines,” the proud Joker blurs out, loving the shocked look you display. “Am I invited to the celebration?”

You signal a no and he’s not discouraged by your vehement denial.

“Can I bring Mara?”

“Absolutely not!!!”

“Oh, so I’m actually invited but not her?”

He takes advantage of the speechless Y/N, setting up the stage for his own benefit:

“I can work with that,” he glares at you, gratified. “However, I can’t show at a party without a date; it’s not dignifying for a man of my social status. This leaves us with only one solution.”

“NO!” you protest because you can estimate his proposal.

“Cool, then we have a deal Miss Crane: you got yourself a date!”

“I already have a date!”

“Who?”  The Joker smirks. 

“Sam is my date for my birthday.”

“Sam as in Bane’s son?”

“Yes,” you squirm under the blankets, uneasy at the concept of having J as partner for the upcoming bash.

“Pfft,” he huffs. “That’s a huuuge load of baloney,” your own words from last night are used by the obnoxious green haired menace. “I’ll pick you up Wednesday at 3pm, ok?”

“The party is here at my house!”

“Ok, then you pick me up at 3pm.”

“I’m not picking you up!” you scoff at his nonsense.

“Damn, you’re hard to negotiate with,” The Joker scratches his chin. “Fine, I’ll bring myself here.”

You contemptuously stare at him, appalled he keeps on insisting when you declined his plan. On top of everything, the whole universe is getting the confirmation today that Jonathan Crane’s genius is frankly skipping a generation since you enunciate:

“Don’t be late!”

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me ON Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[voltage-vixen]

Tears from the Terminal (Request)

(This is an AU story featuring Ayumu Shinonome from HLITF) (WARNING! This is an extremely angsty story, so please read at your own risk.)

“Wait, please come back,” Shinonome cried out while chasing after MC, “I thought you felt the same way!” MC ignored him and continued to run back towards her dormitory, ignoring the concerned looks her classmates were shooting her. “Damn it,” he cursed as he pounded his fist against the wall. The two of them had just finished their most recent mission, and he was grateful to the higher powers that both him and MC had returned home alive. He had vowed that if the pair survived the assignment, he would promote MC from her current role as his girlfriend, to officially become his wife. Shinonome already had everything planned out for his proposal.

Later that evening, he was going to take MC to the special place where he buried the time capsule. He was going to declare his undying love for her, while getting down on one knee and putting a ring he spent hours picking out on her finger. She was going to be overjoyed and cry tears of happiness, all while agreeing to spend the rest of her life with him. At least, that’s how the scene had played out in his mind. Shinonome had asked her to met him on the roof of the academy, and from there he was going to set his plan in motion. However, when he tried to greet her, MC reacted unexpectedly by pushing him away. Her words cut through his heart like a knife, when she screamed that she no longer loved him. That led to her running away, and him pondering where he could have gone wrong. Didn’t she share the same feelings he did?

Shinonome tried several attempts to reach out to MC, but she had made it very clear that she didn’t want anything else to do with him. Even though it meant his world would come crashing down, he reluctantly decided to respect her wishes. One night he caught the bullet train and stood outside of her parent’s house, where she had moved back to live. She had resigned from her position in the PSD, and he assumed this was part of her “fresh start” MC claimed she had been looking for. The weather perfectly reflected his mood, and the rain began to pour down while he watched MC from the window. “Goodbye my love,” he whispered to himself, before making his return to Tokyo.

-Almost one year later-

“Don’t worry about dinner Sachi,” Shinonome informed her, “I’ll pick something up on my way home.” “Alright, sounds like a plan,” Sachi cheerfully replied, “I love you.” Shinonome didn’t bother responding and hung up his phone. While he was mourning the loss of his relationship with MC, he had discovered that Sachi was also suffering from her own heartbreak. They had reconnected and help supported each other through this difficult time. This eventually rekindled some old feelings that had once been present, and they were now engaged to be married. Despite that they were soon to be joined together in holy matrimony, Shinonome still was in love with MC. His proposal to Sachi was done out of guilt, and a fear he had of being consumed of loneliness.

He began to shut down his computer for the day, and he couldn’t help but feel that someone was watching him. Looking up, he saw that Goto was staring at him. Once Shinonome made eye contact with him, Goto quickly turned away and tried to busy himself by reading the file he had in his hands. Now feeling suspicious by Goto’s strange behavior, he decided to walk over and investigate what the cause could be. “Evening Goto,” Shinonome said with a nod of his head, “Something on your mind today?” Although it was only for a brief, he noticed that Goto had a hint of hesitation in his eyes. He could see the internal battle of confliction that Goto was fighting with for some reason, but Goto had eventually decided to confess.

“It’s MC,” Goto quietly responded, “She’s- she’s not doing well.” Shinonome’s face turned pale, and he felt like time had slowed down, and everything was happening in slow motion. Goto waited for Shinonome to say something, but spoke up when he saw that the hacker had frozen in shock. “I only found out by accident, and I had promised MC I wouldn’t say anything,” Goto began to explain, “But she found out she was diagnosed with a terminal illness. She knew you would support her no matter what, so she wanted to try and give you a chance at a happy and fulfilling life. That’s why she pushed you away that one day on the roof.” The men stood there in silence for what seemed like hours, until Shinonome shoved Goto back against the wall. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Shinonome shouted. Event though he was pinned against the wall, Goto didn’t put up a fight, and stood there until Shinonome let him go.

Shinonome collapsed to the ground, and a single tear ran down his cheek. “Why didn’t she tell me?” Goto extended his hand to Shinonome, and helped him stand back up. “She’s been admitted to the hospital in Tokyo,” Goto told his junior, “If you have something to say, now would be the time to say it. Goto’s words of encouragement were more than enough to give Shinonome the push he needed. He soon found himself sprinting down the hallway, and Goto watched on while saying a prayer that his colleague would make it there in time. “Good luck Shinonome,” Goto softly stated.

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

“Get out of my way!” Shinonome snapped at the poor nurses making their rounds. Traffic had been horrible, and he had been trying his absolute best to see MC. Judging by Goto’s tone, it seemed like MC’s condition was critical, and he couldn’t spare a precious second. He had finally made it to her room, when he saw her parents huddling her younger brother outside of the door. Her mother looked over at him, and began to sob even harder. MC’s father gave him a sad look, and ushered his family away. Shinonome had a bad feeling about this, but nonetheless, he pushed the door open to find a solemn looking doctor standing beside an unconscious MC. The doctor had been writing something down, but looked up when he heard him approach the bed. “I’m sorry,” the doctor offered, before bowing his head and leaving the room.

“No,” Shinonome began to rage, “No. No. No. NO! NO! NO!” He ran over and grabbed her hand. Shinonome gasped out loud, when he felt the cold, lifeless hand in his. “Wake up,” he ordered the woman who was no longer able to hear him, “Damn it, stop playing games MC!” Pushing his forehead against hers, he gently nuzzled her head. His head sunk down to her chest, while he frantically searched for her heartbeat, or any other sign of life that she may have. It never came though, and Shinonome had now started to reach the conclusion that she was really gone. “You left me again MC,” he wept not caring who saw him, “The only person in the world that I would ever truly call my partner, and you decided that it was time for you to leave.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the engagement ring he picked out for her a year ago. Regardless of his current relationship status, he never once stopped carrying MC’s ring. Slipping it on her finger, he admired the sight, and caught a glimpse of the future he would never get to experience.

“When you left this earth, you took my heart with you,” he painfully admitted, “Wait for me in the afterlife, because I will always come and find you, no matter how far you go. You left me once, but I won’t let you leave me again.” The severity of his words, made the room even chillier, and he left her room with the intent on following through with his final promise.

Feel free to check out my Masterlist!

@agustd54, @hazel2daiki

[frangipanidownunder]

Threads: fic

This is for my anon who asked for some season 11 hurt/comfort angst a while ago. And also for @reasonandfaithinharmony who wondered what went through Mulder’s head after he found out that Scully was in remission. The fic is long so it’s under a cut and it does cover a lot of ground, timewise. 

When Samantha broke her collarbone, Fox had done what his mother asked and grabbed the pale shawl draped over the high-back chair at her dressing table. In the light it seemed to glisten. It was silky soft between his fingers, sliding through his grasp until he felt the tassel strands. He threaded it back and forth through his closed fist, developing a comfortable rhythm as he walked back to the hallway where his sister was howling. Reluctant to part with it, he wondered why his mother felt the need to wear something so exquisitely beautiful just to ride to the hospital. It was only when she wrapped it around his crying sister’s shoulder to hold up her arm that he realised it was to be a sling. Under the red gaze of his father, he felt so dumb, blinked away the sharp stab of tears.

His gut iced with guilt. He’d helped Samantha up on to the rope swing. He’d teased her about not going high enough. Later, his mother gave him the shawl to hold while they went for x-rays and he scrunched it to his face, inhaling the smell of her perfume to cover the cloying taste of hospital antiseptic in his throat.

***

Scully had woken uncharacteristically late. She’d missed the first coffee of the morning. He’d checked on her a few times but she lay curled on her side with the covers hiding her face. When she did join him, she complained of feeling achy and cold.

              “Your face is a little flushed,” he said, buttering her toast.

              She pushed the plate away and sipped her coffee. “I’m not really hungry.”

              “I’ll grab the groceries. You go back to bed.”

              Her gentle snuff told him that she might just do that and he dropped a kiss on her head. She coughed quietly into her hand and he plucked a tissue from the box. She smiled up at him with red-rimmed eyes and pressed it to her nose. He thought of the shawl, something he hadn’t remembered in years, and as he drove down the gravelled path he wondered where it had ended up. He imagined it folded into a box along with his mother’s perfume dispensers and the ornate gold brush and mirror set. Items too personal to either sell or to keep on display. Those boxes were probably in the attic, decorated with cobwebs. He thought he should do something about that. Get up there with Scully one weekend and clear it out. Maybe, he mused as he pulled into the parking lot, the attic was like the mind. Too much clutter wasn’t any way to live.

              During the night, Scully’s coughing grew worse. She shivered next to him but her skin was on fire. Her breath was bitter as she struggled to breathe, rolling from side to side to get comfortable. Through chattering teeth, she self-diagnosed flu – the sudden onset, the fever, the muscle and joint pain. He wanted to take her to the emergency room but she shook her head before hacking into her pillow.

“Sleep,” she whispered. “Just let me sleep.”

In the morning, her chest rose and fell with each shallow inhalation and the rattling wheeze had him dismissing her weak protests in favour of driving her to the hospital right then. She sat in the passenger seat barking out coughs as the scenery passed in a blur as ghostly-grey as her skin.

The waiting room at the ER was stuffed with people. Vomiting babies and old men clutching their chests were promptly triaged. The drunk and drug-affected were left to yell and abuse. Middle-aged FBI agents sat on the floor.

“Scully, who do I need to arrest to get you seen?”

Her head sank further into the crook of his shoulder so that her chin dug into his collarbone. He pulled her hair away from her face and she coughed so hard that she couldn’t gulp in enough air between rounds. She slumped across his chest, letting out a soft gurgle.

“Nurse! Someone! My wife needs help.” He laid her across his thighs and thumped his fist against the wall behind him. “Now!”

***

He was allowed to visit Samantha after her surgery but there were no chairs to sit on. His mother was sleeping in the only one. His father had pushed him through the curtains and walked away, muttering about how he couldn’t stand hospitals. Just standing there, behind the curtain, made him feel powerless. There was a busyness to the place, a hum of activity outside, but inside the small patch that was his sister’s cubicle there was a muted stillness. It made his own body thrum with a need to move. Yet he was stuck to the floor, unable to work out what he should do. Talking seemed so fruitless.

              “Fox, did you bring me anything to eat?” He looked at his sister, pale against the starched pillow, her arm balanced in a fresh white sling. There was a tray across her lap containing the cold remnants of meat and vegetables. “The food here is disgusting. Mom said you’d bring me some Twinkies.”

              He shook his head and held out his hands. “Dad didn’t tell me.” Their mom twitched in her sleep, sending her purse falling to the floor. He picked out her wallet and took some coins. “I’ll go find something.” At least he could feel useful.

              When he came back with an armful of candy bars, Samantha was asleep and his mother was straightening the green blanket at the foot of the bed. She looked down at the packets in his hands and tutted.

              “She’ll be home tomorrow. But there’ll be no more horseplay, do you understand? Your father is very disappointed. We both expect more from you, Fox.”

***

The doctor glanced over Scully’s chart and hooked it back over the end of her bed. Skinner followed him out of the room and left Mulder in the weighty silence of a room where, once again, Scully’s life hung in the balance. Pneumonia.

              His nails dug into the sagging skin on his cheeks as he balanced his elbows on his knees. An all too familiar pose. Time passed in unrecognisable beats meted out with each pulse and bleep and wheeze from the equipment keeping her alive. Somewhere in his fatigued brain he figured she was owed a longer life, given all the air that had been pumped in to her lungs previously. He couldn’t muster up the energy to even snort out an ironic laugh. What he wouldn’t give for a roll of her eyes and an impatient, ‘it doesn’t work that way, Mulder.’

She told him once, with a flirty tap to his tie, that she was immortal. His willingness to believe in anything had long since departed. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to grab at that younger man, that over-confident fool who trusted no-one and everyone at the same time. All that he succeeded in doing was grasping hold of unwanted memories.

***

His rage when he saw her, uncovered on that gurney, eyes taped shut, was white-hot. It burnt through his veins so that he couldn’t process rational thought. Later, after the humiliation of being physically removed from the room, that rage pulsed through his blood dosing out a regular reminder of what he had to do. If she died, if Scully fucking died, because of his quest, he would go out all guns blazing, taking anyone and everyone with him.  

              He remembered that feeling being so powerful that he found it suffocating. It was a weight in his chest, pushing outwards and inwards with enough pressure to make him feel that exploding or imploding were equal possibilities. He could have ended Cancer Man’s life with single shot, but he’d prickled at Mulder’s gossamer conscience with his ‘you can kill me now but you’ll never know the truth.’ He could have turned that gun on himself.

He could have stayed in his apartment and delivered terminal intensity. Instead, he sat at Scully’s bedside and waited in the strange silence of her room. Sometime during the night, a nurse brought him a blanket. A heavy knitted one with a satin edge that he rubbed between his finger and thumb until morning.

The apartment was as wrecked as his soul. He sunk to the floor and wept like he hadn’t since the Christmas of Samantha’s disappearance, when her absence that day was louder than her presence had been.

He’d given up. He’d poured out his soul to Scully as she lay in there. He’d denied it for too long. Melissa at least had the grace to accept the obvious. She was dying. Scully was dying.

But that was too late, wasn’t it? Now, it was the safest thing to do. To admit to someone how you felt when they were never going to respond. Just like telling Samantha he loved her and missed her when she’d gone. Just like his father saying he still loved him as he was walking out the door.

When the phone rang, his heart flipped in his chest then plumbed to the depths of his guts. Even though clinically she might have been considered dead, until that moment, Scully was still that naïve, sceptical, eager young woman who’d crept into his heart and refused to move. Hearing the dreaded words meant she’d be locked there, forever young. In the microseconds it took for him to decide to answer the call, he’d mentally flicked through all the times he wished he’d just taken her in his arms and kissed her instead of debating with her, dismissing her or ditching her; he’d wished a thousand times over that he’d sent her away after that first case; he’d ploughed through the different hair styles, suits, smiles she’d worn. He’d wished he’d never met her.

“I’m here,” he said. But he wasn’t. He was already thinking of who he could take down with him. He was checking out. He was dying.

***

The thing about hospitals is that they hold in life and they let it out. Births, life-saving surgeries, miracle recoveries, code blues, morphine overdoses under the guise of keeping a patient comfortable, priests offering consolation through the last rites. They hold in grief and they let it out. Mulder was suspended in that dichotomy too. Holding in hope and letting it out in fearful fits of rage. There was no change in Scully’s condition. As grey dawn seeped through the grey window blinds, no change seemed good; as midnight crept past with the bleep and rush of the machines breathing for her, no change was untenable.

              Sometime during the third night a nurse covered him in a heavy warm blanket. The days were getting shorter, colder outside, he supposed. But time has a way of contracting around you, when your heart is being slowly crushed. He twisted on the seat and the blanket slipped. He brought it up under his chin, tried to find a position that didn’t cramp his back and neck, ran the ribboned edge between his fingers as he watched Scully’s face, looking for nuanced differences in her lips, her eyes, her cheeks. Her arms were untucked and it hit him that she might be cold too. He pulled himself out of the seat, let his blanket fall to the floor and called for the nurse. While he waited, he knelt next to her, holding her hand. The weight of it all, the constant dread, the lack of sleep, the helplessness, pushed his head down, and his hot tears flowed as his lips settled on the back of her hand.

              Skinner ordered him home. Drove him there.  

              “I’ll go back, you sleep. I’ll call you if there’s any change. If you don’t hear from me, I’ll pick you up at four.” He laid a hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “Eat something too.”

Mulder had long since come to recognise this as Skinner being caring. He showed his heart by being practical. He and Scully were quite similar in some ways. Scully would have done the same, the food, the rest, all the things the doctor orders. But he was not the one who’s sick. There was no way he was going to lie in their bed, their comfortable but empty bed, and sleep while his wife is on a hospital gurney.

              He climbed to the attic, rubbing the back of his neck as the dust motes danced in the slant of sunlight from the small, square window. On his ascent he was of a mind to tidy, throw away the mess, clean up his life. But sitting among the crates and piles and oddities he was in a mind to preserve. It was like the hospital, he thought. Holding in and letting go.

It took him a while to understand he was looking for his mother’s shawl. The human brain is undoubtedly a complex organ, but the human mind is unfathomable. Scully was suspended in some otherworld, so sick her body had shut down, but he was looking for his long-dead mother’s shawl. If he were to analyse his own psyche he would probably conclude that the item was a shield, a way to wrap something nostalgic and comfortable around his body to block out the fear of losing Scully. His fingernails were black with grit and dust, his muscles bunched in his shoulders sending a throbbing pulse down his spine. He opened crates and shoe boxes and plastic tubs. He found books and files and greetings cards and photos. He chuckled and he wept. But he didn’t find the shawl.

There were boxes high on a shelf. He moved the step ladder, disturbed a mouse that scurried into a shadowy corner. He checked his cell again. Nothing. The waiting was always the worst. Time, such a feature of his life, stretched out to fill dark places. When she had the seizure last year, he didn’t have to wait too long for her to wake, but there had been too many other hours wasted in that suspended, desperate place. He pulled down the first box and it tumbled out of his grip, landing with a dusty crash on the floor. The first item that spilled loose were medical records and X-rays. And just like that, he was back at her bedside, kneeling on that cold hospital floor, sobbing silently around her hand.

***

Her face was beyond pale, red-ringed eyes sunken into her head, cracked, dry lips. She looked like one of the creatures they’d spent years chasing only to have them disappear into the shadows. She could have been a phantom, a ghoul, a spirit. But she wasn’t. She was flesh and bones, stricken with a deadly disease and she was disappearing in front of his eyes. He was supposed to be dead. He was the one who had disappeared into the shadows, had slipped into her room to see her, to talk to her. To talk, once again, when it was too late. His habit of opening his heart when all was lost had struck again. He wept against her hand as though his tears could enter her body like a lifeforce. His teeth scraped her skin and it tasted papery, flaking against his lips. Peeling her life away.

              He didn’t know how long he’d been there, pressing her hand to his mouth, sobbing. But he knew his futile tears, hot rage and self-hatred needed to be channelled. Her death would invade his body like the cancer had hers, it would live in his veins and destroy him but it would also give him power to act. To end the blind quest he’d been on.

              As it turned out, all that incandescent anger seeped from his pores when he heard the news of her remission. The chip worked. He sat at her bedside as she told him how the doctors were mystified.

              “I can’t believe it,” he said.

              She wrapped a thin arm around his neck and pulled his head to the crook of her neck. Her bony frame dug into his face but he didn’t care. He felt instantly lighter, muscles unclenching, nerves flittering back to life. The numb edges of his being sharpened like her chi had flowed into his veins. They fused at that moment. She clung to him, clawing at his back as she sobbed. He clutched her body to his wondrous at the joint beating of their hearts. A miracle.

And it didn’t truly sink in for days. He walked around light-headed, repeating the mantra ‘she’s in remission’ over and over. It sounded surreal. His brain knocked against his skull when he repeated the words, causing him a fleeting lapse in consciousness. The very idea of her being healthy and whole felt like sighting a UFO or cryptid; it left you feeling buzzed, body pulsing with energy and yet there was that slight element of doubt. What if it were fake?

For nights, he slept with a tee-shirt of hers that he’d taken home with a bundle of other clothes to wash for her. He hadn’t washed it, instead slipping it under his pillow to inhale the scent of her, a reminder of her return to him.

 ***

The files and X-rays didn’t fit back into the box the way they had before. He struggled to slot the boxes back onto the shelf. He pushed and slid and rearranged but all he succeeded in doing was unsettling more thick and tangled cobwebs so they covered his hair and made him cough.

              He slumped to the floor and stretched his legs before him. He’d recovered nothing of value, nothing that he was looking for. He had simply accumulated a mountain of stuff to throw away. But he knew he wouldn’t. Holding on. That’s what he was impelled to do. He set his head against the wall desperate to sleep but resisting it for fear of slipping back into the miasma of memories that shadowed his mind. He reached his arm sideways, hairs sticking to the brickwork. He tapped against a box that was pushed against the wall. The lid slipped off and he walked his fingers up the cardboard and inside. Photo frames, something cold and metallic, intricately patterned, a trinket box maybe? A soft, cool padding at the very bottom, sleek to touch. He wrapped it around his hand. The shawl. He knew it before he saw it. It slithered out of the box and he pulled it to his lap, letting its heavy weight fall through his hands as his weeping echoed through the attic.

              His phone buzzed in his pocket, startled him. Skinner.

              Scully was sleeping again by the time he got there, but she’d woken briefly earlier.

              “She knew who I was,” Skinner said, patting Mulder on the shoulder as he sank into the chair next to her bed. “She’s going to be okay, Mulder.”

              Her hand fitted into his palm perfectly, made to measure. He nodded up at Skinner, watched him leave, listened to the sounds of the room. He watched the rise of her chest, stronger now. The way her mouth flickered at the edges, her eyes fluttered under her lids. She was dreaming. He hoped fervently that it was a happy dream, a safe dream.

The shawl rested on his lap and he looked down at it, silvery strands glittering in the soft light. He thought of his mother, his father, his sister. The way grief was woven through his life, like the threads in the shawl. But every now and again, there were brighter moments, the silvery strands that made life worthwhile.

Scully shifted, her head turning to face him. She opened her eyes, blinked slowly. She sniffed quietly as he moved forward, noses bumping. Her voice was stuck in her dried-out throat so he got her some water, held the paper cup to her lips, lifted her head from the pillow. She sipped and it looked like it hurt.

“I’ll get the nurse, Scully,” he said but she gripped his hand and pulled him back down. The shawl fell to the floor. She saw it, brows crinkling. He shifted the chair closer to her, scooping up the shawl and burying it in the gap between the bar of the bed and her body.

“It was my mother’s,” he said and she closed her eyes. Her arm moved slightly so that he was sure she could feel its softness. She strained to open her eyes again, move her mouth to respond. He laid two fingers over her lips and shushed her. A tear slipped from her eye, her fingers stroked the shawl, letting the fringing slip between them.

“Sleep now, Scully,” he said. “I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

[sirro85-blog]

Humans are Weird: Mental Health

Trigger Warning, probably.

Kizidan watched as the humans danced, the music was like nothing she had heard before it was pleasant but she had not joined in, it appeared you needed to know the steps and most of the dances had names. She watched as Major Kovac spun Captain Becca in his arms, her feet lifting off the floor, the dance ended with the couple close to her, Kovac kissed Becca and held her face between his hands, "ahh lass, you're my joy" he said softly before leading her from the floor. Diminutive when compared to most human's Kizidan felt especially small around the Major and his Captain the Major stood close to 2m tall and while the Captain was a head shorter she was still taller than most of her gender and a sizeable number of the male soldiers.

Kovac stroked Becca's neck and bent to kiss her before walking away, Becca watched him for a few moments and then turned to Kizidan and smiled, "enjoying it?"

"Very much, I've never seen a celidh before...I've never seen Kovac smile so much either."

Becca grinned, a disturbing trait of humans, "Don't let Kovac hear you call it a ceilidh, he'll give you a lecture, " she put on an accent similar to Kovac' "it's no a ceilidh, naebdys singin' it's a dance." She turned to look at him as he collected drinks, then she drained her own, "whatever it is, he is happier, it's a hard time of year for him it's nice to see him smiling."

"Why is the time of year difficult? To my knowledge you do not hibernate, nor are you seasonal breeders." Kizidan extended her crest in confusion.

"No, not the season...it's an anniversary of sorts, I probably shouldn't say but as it's the worst kept secret on board: Kovac lost a wife and son when he was younger, it was a transport accident, he was deployed his first ever posting, she was at home with the 6 month old and...Very sad, now he's...well he's never been a cheerful person but now...well he's in a serious job so I can't tell if he's permanently low level depressed or if he's just a proper grim bastard."

"Depressed...he's In a lower position? He's the highest ranking officer amongst your human unit, I don't understand."

"Oh god, look it's a mental health condition, or a mental ill-health condition, I'm not sober enough to explain ask me tomorrow Kids," Becca looked over to see Kovac approaching, "I'll get him to dance with you, he'll teach you the steps."

The following morning Kizidan found Becca exiting the gym, she was with Frank one of the older medics who gave Kizidan a nod and left for the medical wing.

"Morning Kids, how are you doing?"

"I'm well Captain, thank you for asking, I was hoping you could explain more of what you said last night, I did some reading on the subject of 'mental ill-health in humans' it seems a chemical imbalance in the brain can cause a variety of problems in humans, all of which would be terminal in Forell such as myself."

"I'll be honest Kids you've already explained about as much as I know," Becca replied, "I'm not sure I can be much help."

"No, I've spoken with the SMO and I have an understanding of the medical issues, I wanted you to build on idea of Kovac's health being caused by a single event. In what i read it is often a longer term cause."

"Fuck Kids, you're asking big questions here, look Kovac was an orphan and grew up inn the kind of poverty someone like me can't imagine, maybe he was always unhappy and that event tipped him over the edge, I don't know, I met him at the military academy and he was a grim bastard there but he was fucking sunshine compared to now," she sighed, "I don't really get it, if you want to learn more go for it but, in my experience the books don't match up with my own experiences."

"You are familiar with mental-ill-health?" Kizidan asked.

Becca shifted her feet, "i need some protein, let's get to scoff."

10 minutes later Becca was chewing some dried meat and Kizidan started her questioning again, "you implied you had first hand knowledge of mental ill health."

"Well, yeah, I mean the reason I'm a rank below the Major is I spent a year in bed wishing I was dead but too numb to do anything," Becca covered her face with her hands, "I met a guy, my perfect hero, we got pregnant, I nearly carried to term and in the final few weeks I had a problem the baby died and I had a still birth, I nearly died and when I was better my perfect hero was gone, left me to it." Her voice took on a monotone, detached quality, "I took it hard, it brought up a lot of rejection shit from my parents, 'why don't people want me, why do all men hurt me?' you're vulnerable to this stuff when your father is abusive and your mother blames you for it...Well we're down the rabbit hole now, I'd survived the stuff my father did to me, I'd put myself back together and made a life and that life had tried to kill me and I broke, I mean if I could have got out of bed I'd have ended it but even that was too much effort and besides I couldn't imagine putting others to the trouble of cleaning me away, I didn't think people would care but they'd have to dispose of the corpse and I wasn't worth that, eventually I felt a bit better and as days went past I managed to move and then exercise...now, it's still hurts but I'm 5 years healthy and provided I can maintain a healthy diet and exercise I seem to manage good mental health." Becca peeled a banana and broke it into pieces, she carefully spread almond butter onto thin slices of apple and sandwiched the banana between two apple slices, she popped this into her mouth, then started again on another.

"One shrink I saw told me I had ptsd another severe fugue state...something, but the first one diagnoses everyone with ptsd and the other guy is convinced that Kovac has anxiety and I've never seen the Major so much as look concerned let alone get anxious, guy's chill is legendary, personally I think I had severe depression, but I guess I was catatonic so who knows"

"PTSD?"

"Post Stress disorder, no, traumatic stress post, bloody hell, Post traumatic stress disorder, basically an event happens and you have issues resolving how you feel about it and that means it's hard to recall it without reliving it."

"It's a memory issue?"

"No, not really it's like you don't just remember it, you relive it, with all the terror and fear and the horror of the experience. I know Pants suffered with it, she saw some of her old unit go down in an ambush, she woke up screaming a few times when she first got to us, I know Wolf helped her a lot, I'm not sure how."

"It sounds as though your mental stability is a fragile thing." Kizidan observed.

"Well people are different, some poor bastards are born with problems, some develop issues for one reason or the other, trauma physical or otherwise can cause problems, they don't always cause these problems...Kovac has taken 6 rifle rounds to the chest, his body armour caught most but some got through, he lost a rib as a result, he's died on the table after a haemothorax, that was when he was shot another time. Yet he's still a combat soldier, he's remarkably sanguine about his injuries, we can all break we don't all break the same way or for the same reasons and we don't all mend the same way."

Kizidan gave a trill of disbelief, "You humans have this reputation of invincibility and invulnerability in the galaxy, yet you make yourselves sound so fragile."

"We are fragile, that's the problem we can break, horribly so but we are also durable so we survive the breaking and then, well then we have to learn how to survive with all our damage. That's our real strength, our ability to endure, to just keep going."

[turnsoutnoonewasexaggerating]

AU where Neil was dying all along

• Guys I thought of something angsty • So you’re all gonna have to share the pain with me • So what if Neil had some kind of terminal illness; found out about it too late for it to be anything but terminal from never going to the hospital when with his mother (this is like pre-Milport but post Mary’s death) • This is some kind of terminal illness that doesn’t actually effect him physically that much yet (let me have this; Andrew got magic meds so) • Neil has to break out of the hospital with his drugs after his diagnosis (who knows why he was there to start with) and runs, ending up in Milport • He only plans to stay a night but then he’s like ‘fuck it I’m gonna die anyway’ • And joins the Exy team • Events continue as canon until Kev, Wymack and Andrew come to meet him • Neil doesn’t run from Kev this time, which is lucky because if Andrew had hit him with the racquet he might have broken one of Neil’s weakening bones • Instead he straight up is like ‘huh you don’t remember me’ because he’s already a dead man walking and he doesn’t care so much about the truths spilling out of his mouth like rips in his duffel bag • 'what are you talking about’ • 'Nathaniel at your service’ (snarky bastard) oh and Kev remembers that name even if he doesn’t remember Neil’s face. Neil’s not surprised • Kev tries to persuade Wymack and Andrew to just leave, freaking out, while Hernandez is like 'I didn’t know your full name was Nathaniel???’ 'I prefer Neil’ • Andrew is curious. Kevin seems scared but Andrew’s pretty sure it’s for “Nathaniel” not because of him • Still, Andrew’s never had the luxury of accepting only being “pretty” sure • Course Wymack still persuades Neil to come to Palmetto, especially when Neil explains he knows Kev coz he played at the Nest when he was little until his parents split and he left with his mum • It’s basically the truth • When he arrives at Palmetto Kevin is shook • 'What the Hell are you doing your father is still looking for you-’ in angry French ofc • 'I know. I reckon I’ve got a good year or two before he gets out on parole and turns up to kill me’ • Kevin thinks he’s absolutely insane, but then he doesn’t know that Neil’s going to die long before his father turns up so it’s a fair assumption • Neil dissolves his declining amount of meds in his water bottles and that is all he drinks which makes it rather difficult for Andrew to drug him (good thing too, who knows whether dust would’ve reacted with his meds) • Neil eventually clocks on at the sixth drink Andrew tries to offer him, and says Andrew can have the truth without the drugs thanks • Andrew doesn’t care about being called out but if Neil starts yelling about it someone might be good enough to call the police and then he’ll be fucked • He agrees, and Neil offers him the same truths he does in canon basically • Andrew offers to protect Neil in return for him keeping Kevin here. Neil doesn’t need Andrew’s protection, but just in case his father gets out on early parole or something, he accepts the deal, knowing Andrew won’t let him help with Kevin if he thinks Neil is doing it for free • He knows him so well already • Continue as canon except it’s his medical bills Riko throws in his face instead of his names at the banquet. • Not explicit enough for anyone else to get it but Neil is panicked • He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be allowed to play if they knew he was dying and Exy is the only thing he wants to live for (oh honey child you have no idea what’s going to hit you) • Again, continue as canon • Drake happens • Neil sees Andrew’s scars and wishes he had a choice about dying • Easthaven, and Neil goes to Evermore, and it’s only two weeks but it’s two weeks without his meds and Neil is ridiculously weak • He explains it away by trauma making your immune system weak but Abby takes one look at him and knows it’s bullshit • She diagnoses him correctly and is like Neil what the fuck • Neil explains to her that he was terminal long before the Foxes, and he just wants to play Exy as long as he can • Abby is heartbroken • She has to tell David because they have to decide whether it’s safe for him to keep playing, but at Neil’s request she doesn’t tell him that Neil’s terminal • She replenishes his meds from the hospital but you can’t just go off them without consequences and Neil’s lost a lot more than two weeks off his lifespan • Abby thinks, if he stays on the meds, he’ll make it till the end of the year, but probably not past the summer and no one knows how much of that he’ll be able to play for • Somewhere before Andrew comes back from Easthaven, Riko gets word to Kev about Neil’s condition • Predictably, Kev freaks out, talking about how it’s hopeless and he might as well just go back to the Nest • This is where Neil and him have the conversation about Kevin being afraid to take his future 'you have a future, why won’t you just take it’ • Kev is suitably ashamed • He also thinks Neil should tell Andrew. Neil, being oblivious, doesn’t know why • Continue as canon • Wymack asks Neil to be the vice-cap next year. He doesn’t know how cruel he’s being but Neil can’t breathe • That is all he wants, everything he can’t have • He calls Andrew, and that time on the roof Andrew kisses him but this time Neil actually fully means his yes, not having a mental breakdown, because knowing you’re going to be killed vs actively dying does wonders for Neil’s introspection • For the money for the car, Neil asks Andrew to stop smoking instead of getting rid of the cracker dust. Andrew refuses, but Neil just asks him to have less cigarettes then (I am not saying Andrew starts vaping because he does not because Andrew is actually cool but he does agree to cut his cigarette intake down to just the one a day he shares with Neil on the roof) • Kev is more protective of Neil, desperate that no accident is going to take Neil before his illness • Andrew notices, coz he’s not an idiot, but he doesn’t know how to ask about it. For all he knows it’s just companionship from both now knowing what being in the nest is like • Besides, it’s like every day that Neil grows weaker, Kevin grows stronger and more confident, so Neil’s holding up his end of the deal • As Neil starts getting the countdown, he also starts coughing up blood, which he thinks is very poetic • Abby tells Neil the game on the day he will get a 0 in his countdown is going to have to be his last • Neil realises Andrew’s going to think he didn’t protect him properly even if Neil dies of his illness not his father • Neil persuades Andrew to break their deal the night Kevin comes home with a new tattoo, the proof that Kev doesn’t need him anymore • Quietly, in French, Neil thanks Kev for doing this before he dies. He knows the Foxes are going to be OK now • Kevin is already drunk and Neil’s words tip him over into full misery • 'what did you say to him? Could be useful to shut him up’ Asks Andrew • Neil flinches and Andrew is Concerned • 'Neil I’m taking a turn.’ • Neil looks at his hands and he doesn’t want to answer but he’s not about to start lying to his greatest regret, his best mistake • 'I told him thank you. For proving that he doesn’t need me anymore. For doing this now.’ • 'You were desperate to break our deal. Why?’ • 'It’s not your turn.’ Neil says eventually, and thinks that tomorrow, after the game, he’ll tell Andrew why, and he’ll tell him that he’s leaving. He doesn’t want to drag the Foxes through his death when they’ll have already lost the season. He’ll just leave, and only Andrew, Kevin and Abby will know he’s never coming back • The game happens, and Neil and Kevin are crazed on the court, Neil the most, knowing this is his last of the game that had always meant more to him than surviving. He plays with every inch of his being, even though they don’t need a massive points difference because, they don’t know it yet, but they’ve already lost the season. He plays for the game that brought him to the people that taught him what it was to live, to feel alive, to have friends and a family • To have Andrew, kisses and trust and keys and honesty • The call comes when he’s in the lockerroom and Neil just wants just another ten minutes, please, just ten minutes to say goodbye • He thought he’d get to say goodbye • The riot and Lola and the dashboard lighter, a cleaver, his father’s smile, 'I didn’t want time to take you out peacefully after all the trouble you caused me’, gunshots and coughing up so much blood Stuart thought he’d been caught in the crossfire, weak weak weak but clinging on, clinging on to say goodbye • He can’t get out of bed but he makes Browning bring the Foxes to him because Browning knows he’s on borrowed time and if he wastes it with useless posturing, Nathaniel might not get the chance to testify against his father • Andrew’s first in through the door, a livid bruise on his face that matches the look in his eye • 'Terminally ill?’ Are his only words and Neil is confused even as the other Foxes trail in, trying to understand what the problem is • 'You hate me, remember? I’m nothing. I didn’t think you’d care’ • Andrew wants to kill him, Andrew wants to tear him apart. He is losing everything, nevermind nothing. Neil is the one candlelight in his dark corner, and it turns out the candle has been running out of wax all along • Kevin has a bruised throat and grief striken eyes but he’s been hardened to this outcome since January. Something Andrew will never forgive him for • Abby and Wymack fought on the bus journey over, Wymack sick to his stomach as he thinks of the look in Neil’s eyes when he’d offered him the vice-captaincy • In the end, it was Neil’s choice • The Moriyamas can’t kill Neil now, so Neil tells the Foxes and the FBI his full story, his voice becoming quieter and wracked with coughs the longer he talks • He signs a few documents for the FBI and even Browning isn’t enough of a dick to ask him further questions in the time he has left • Neil asks Browning for something quietly, out of earshot of the Foxes, and Browning agrees, and leaves the room • The Foxes crowd around his bed. Nicky is already sobbing, but it’s quiet in a way Nicky never is. He latches onto one of Neil’s hands and refuses to let go • Matt has silent, less frequent tears falling softly into Dan’s hair where she’s tucked against his side, standing vigil at the end of Neil’s bed • She’s the one to ask how long he’s got, but it’s Abby that answers because Neil’s saving the last of his energy for more important words • 'A couple of hours. They offered to overdose him to save him the pain, but Neil wanted to say goodbye’ • He smiles tiredly at them when these words get a heartbroken response • 'You got with Andrew knowing you were going to die what kind of sick bastard does that?!’ Aaron finally bursts out, and it takes a lot of effort for Neil to loll his head to look at him • Andrew, who’s been stood at the back of the room, leaning against a wall but not taking his eyes off Neil, stiffens as the others exclaim at this new information • 'This was nothing.’ Andrew says, coldly. 'I made it nothing.’ • 'I was supposed to have a couple of years.’ Neil explains. 'But with the Nest and now this,’ And God if that isn’t the last thing Andrew wants to hear, that Neil didn’t only get hurt for him, but willingly took years off his lifespan on a fool’s mission that didn’t change anything- • Andrew leaves the room. • 'Tell him about Katelyn’ is Neil’s parting advice as Aaron follows • 'I’d say I’d make a fashion line in your honour Josten but the irony would be too much’ Allison says • She’s the last person to make Neil Josten laugh. One of the first too • 'Look after them?’ Neil asks of Renee, and her face is pained as she nods. Neil raises his free hand to touch hers with visible effort as she stands to leave with Allison. 'Look after yourself too.’ • 'It has been an honour to be part of your family.’ She says in return, knowing he won’t want her prayers or acknowledgement of the afterlife, but that he’ll get the former anyway. • She leaves because she doesn’t think she can stand to watch another death yet, at least not one she hasn’t inflicted. Besides, she has a feeling she needs to convince a certain blond to return • 'I’m expecting the Exy team to be fucking good by the time I get up there.’ Dan says, finally, and Wymack nods his agreement gruffly. • 'Take them to the championships.’ Neil replies. • Abby breaks at this point. She starts apologising to Neil, telling him she should have taken him off the court earlier, given him more time, worked out his illness earlier • Neil waves her off. 'Taking me off the court would’ve killed me faster’ and if that’s not dramatic Josten he doesn’t know what is • It’s at this point that Browning comes back • He has the papers all prepared for Nathaniel Wesninski to legally change his name • They look at him questioningly but Neil can’t summon the strength to explain as he scrawl his name across the paper painstakingly slowly • 'He said he wanted to die as Neil Josten. And he’s also made sure that your team has to be under FBI protection by telling you the same information as us. Sneaky bastard; he knows we have to protect witnesses.’ • 'I don’t want you to go.’ Matt bursts out, honestly and brokenly, incapable of putting on a brave face because God fucking damn it 'It isn’t fair! You’re my best friend I can’t-’ he chokes off and Neil grins, all teeth, returning the sentiment even as he begins to feel death creep into the room • 'Tell him.’ Neil breathes out in French, eyes flickering to Wymack. Kevin pales but nods stoically. Crossing his arms and taking the same posture as Wymack, it’s clear to see they’re related • 'Next year, the pro league award for the best striker will be called the Josten Cup.’ Kevin replies in the same language. It’s so typically a Kevin comfort that Neil almost smiles. He must have called in a lot of strings for that. 'Renee and I are working on getting Jean out of the Nest. I will make a deal with Ichirou. I’m the better striker.’ He asserts, and then shudders. 'But I can only hope to half the man you are.’ He cuts himself off, frowns at the floor, and speaks again. It takes everyone a second to realise it’s because Kevin needed to compose himself. 'You would’ve been Court.’ • Andrew bursts in before anyone can respond to that, and the relief that floods his features when he sees Neil’s eyes are still open shows how out of control Andrew still is. His eyes burn as he takes everyone in • 'Get out.’ No-one wants to leave, Matt and Nicky plant their shoes to the floor until Neil shoots them a look. 'I’ll call you in when we’re done.’ Andrew gets out through gritted teeth and eventually they go. • Andrew doesn’t come closer to the bed • 'You stupid fucking junkie.’ He hisses and Neil smiles lazily. Andrew stalks forward, hands shaking even as they are curled into fists • 'Yes or no?’ he bites out when there’s only an inch between their faces • 'Yes.’ Neil breathes out, because he doesn’t think Andrew will appreciate the irony of saying always. Andrew’s hands are gentle round Neil’s wrists as he guides them into Andrew’s hair in a way his lips are not • Neil tastes like blood and death but there’s something that’s still solidly loudmouth runaway, loudmouth fox, fierce and bright and so fucking alive that Andrew almost forgets they’re on his death bed • 'I was going to tell you after the game.’ Neil says against his lips. Andrew doesn’t reply, but the shakes wrack his whole body now. Neil moves his fingers listlessly in Andrew’s hair because that’s all the movement he’s capable of. 'Thank you.’ • 'For nothing?’ • 'For nothing.’ Neil agrees • 'Just don’t die.’ The words burst past Andrew’s lips without his permission, his control so shot it might never have existed. 'Just don’t fucking die Neil. Just stay.’ He knows this is something he can’t ask for. Whatever you’re willing to give, Neil trusted him not to ask for anything Neil couldn’t give him but Andrew doesn’t want anything else. • 'I’m staying.’ Neil promises. 'I’m staying right here’ • The others trickle back in • Nicky doesn’t make it back to Neil’s bedside, his legs failing him when he sees Andrew has taken his place at Neil’s hand, he just wanted his cousin to be happy, he just wanted- • Matt and Dan clasp Neil’s free hand between them as he’s propped up on his pillows by a sobbing Abby and a humbled Kevin • Wymack places a fatherly hand on his shoulder, and squeezes lightly • Neil takes them all in. His Foxes, his family • His gaze rests on Andrew last • 'Staring.’ Andrew whispers • Neil smiles and dies, the sunrise lighting his hair like fire

[godesssiri]

Death Dying and Solarpunk

 I posted this a couple of years back but it never got many notes and I don’t think many people read it. But Solarpunk is a lot more popular now and I know that a lot of people have found my blog through Solarpunk so I decided to repost this because it is my opus.

I have a lot of opinions on the subject of death and dying so this will be a long post and I will need to break this subject into multiple parts - you have been warned.

First a little of my back-ground. I come from a tight-knit extended family and grew up spending a lot of time with grandparents, aunts and cousins. When I was 13 my Nana started ‘acting a bit funny’ - she had the first in a series of small strokes that left her in a home with dementia where she eventually died.  My Grandad and Aunty (my much loved great-aunt) also ended up in rest-homes dying slowly for years. My father died suddenly of a cerebral haemorrhage when I was 16. 4 years ago my Mum, step-dad and I bought a small 26 bed rest-home and we have averaged about 9 deaths a year.  I’ve been around death a bit. It blows my mind that I know people who are grown adults and have never experienced death.

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about dying a death and modern society and most of it boils down to: for the most part, we’re doing it wrong. Doctors treat the ends of our lives as something to be fought off with fire and pitchforks. They prescribe a pill for this and a treatment for that, and how can we prolong this person’s life? Not should we prolong this person’s life? Lives have been massively improved and extended with science but we are decaying organisms and there is only so much that can be done. There comes a point when quantity of life is irrelevant because that life has no quality.

The current generation that are in rest-homes are scared of death, for them it is a specter of their childhood. When they were young people died of infectious disease all the time, they died of what are now treatable diseases, they died in poor work conditions. People died in their homes and at their work - all of these people would have seen a dead body. These people grew up burying loved ones. They’ve spent their whole lives seeing death being fought and conquered. New medicines, vaccines, treatments, improved health and safety.  Death has been pushed back and fought off but now it’s coming for them in a way science can’t fight - natural death. Because it’s a specter, they’ve never talked about it with their families and the families don’t know what to do so they stick them in a rest-home and come to visit when they can then get outa there as soon as they can.  

For the generations after this one, death is a failure of the science they have lived with their whole lives. They haven’t had the childhood experience of death. Burying a loved one is an uncommon occurrence and it has become taboo. Nobody talks to children about death, nobody talks to each other about death. Unless you are diagnosed with a terminal illness nobody prepares for death.  Sick people are kept in hospitals and hospices, elderly people are kept in rest-homes and dementia units. We have put death in boxes. We need to get it out of the box.

So how do we do that? How do we start doing death right?

I personally plan to make sure everyone around me knows what I want for when I am dying and when I am dead.  I plan to sit down with a lawyer in a few years’ time and make a living will with instructions for what to do if I become incapable of making decisions. I will also sit down with a doctor and make a long term care plan so that as I age and things a breaking down I don’t get any treatments that I don’t want. If I am diagnosed with any form of dementia I want to be taken off all life prolonging medications and treatments. Let me have painkillers and medications to prevent anxiety and/or depression but nothing to prevent organ failure. I’ve had this discussion with my mother and that’s what she wants as well - I intend to make sure it happens. We really really need to have these conversations with our loved ones and in an ideal society it would be completely normal to sit down with your family and say ‘When I’m dying.......’.  Talking about dying needs to be normalized.

We also need to make death part of the community again. Let me tell you a couple of stories from my family’s rest-home. One of our staff members got married at the home, we have a lovely garden and she really wanted to get married in our gazebo so we hosted the wedding. We decorated beautifully; we had about a million flowers, my step-dad made butterfly cakes. One of the residents had been declining for a while and we didn’t really expect her to be able to participate but she bucked up for the day. She got dressed up in her best clothes (so did all the other residents), she watched the ceremony with her daughter, she scoffed a butterfly cake. I took a lovely picture of her daughter and her and their nice clothes. She died the next day. I was able to give her daughter that beautiful picture of the 2 of them.  We often have the local school choir come in to sing, good practice for the kids performing and lovely entertainment for the residents. One year in December they came to sing carols and we had a woman in her room dying. The family asked if maybe some of the kids could come into her room and sing for her? After talking to the teacher and explaining to the kids that this lady was not well and probably wouldn’t live until Christmas but that was nothing to be afraid of, it was completely natural; the kids went into her room and sang Silent Night. It was so incredibly moving and she was so happy. The kids felt incredibly proud that they could make her that happy. 

We try very hard to bring life into our rest home. Our nurse lives in a house at the back of the home with her family. She has a 14 year old and 10 year old and 7 year old. The kids are in and out of the rest home with their friends all the time. They run errands, stop and chat with the old folks, play with the rest-home pets, sit on the floor in the lounge and watch Disney movies with the residents. We have 2 cats and my mother brings her tiny dog, Lucy, into work every day. All of the animals have been left behind by elderly owners who passed away in our care.

In my ideal Solarpunk world hospitals, hospices and care-homes would be part of a larger complex that would also include crèches, classrooms (both for young children and also for continuing education for adults), community spaces and animal rescue facilities. The wider community, especially children, would be encouraged to come into the spaces inhabited by the sick and dying. It would not only help the people who were dying, giving them distraction and entertainment; but it would also help the young and healthy to accept mortality and see that death is a natural part of life and not a scary bogey man. It would give the dying a chance to pass on skills and stories, it’s amazing what you learn when you sit down and spend time with someone who is at the end of their life. Also in my ideal Solarpunk world being a hospice nurse would be as admired and aspirational as being a midwife. Whenever someone tells you they’re a midwife, or they want to be one, your immediate reactions is usually ‘Wow it would be awesome to see new lives come into the world every day’. It’s actually just as much of a privilege to help someone depart this life as it is to help someone enter it. I have been in the room, several times, with someone who is dying. It’s an indescribable feeling – I have actually felt their departed loved ones come to get them. Being able to help ease someone out of life and help their family through losing them is a huge honor and it is a job that no one starts out wanting (because we are taught death is scary) but once you’ve done it once or twice you recognize it for the miracle it is. Everyone talks about the miracle of birth but death is its own renewal and potential and celebration.

We’ve had some awesome funerals in my family. Does that sound odd? But it’s true. I have nothing but good memories of funerals. As much as I cried at the time, it’s the stories and the music and the coming together that I remember about them. It’s the tribute to a life well lived and the celebration of the love you feel for that person. I live in New Zealand and in native Maori culture it is traditional for the family to fill in the grave themselves. My family is white and I remember when we buried my Nana we were going to do the white thing and walk away after the service. My cousin Glen just stood by the grave-side and went: Nope. He has Maori cousins on his dad’s side and it felt wrong to him to walk away from an unfilled grave, luckily those cousins had come to support him and had done what they usually did for a funeral – turn up with a car trunk full of shovels. Our closest friends and family stayed when everyone else had left and we all took turns to help with the digging until we had filled the grave. It was like the service before had been the public expression of respect, open to anyone who knew Nana, but this was a private time for the people who really loved her and those who loved us and stayed in support of our grief.  We have followed this tradition for every person we have buried since.  We had Grandad’s funeral at a chapel that was just one street over from my mother’s house. All of our closest family gathered there about an hour beforehand; then we took a pleasant walk down a tree-lined side street to get to the chapel. There was something centering and sacred about walking with my family under those trees. After it was all over we went back to Mum’s house and had a barbeque in the back yard. We took millions of pictures and those are some of my favorite family photos – I think Grandad would have liked that the generations that had come from him and Nana gather together like that. Aunty’s funeral was all about the details. Mum picked out the bright blue coffin. My Aunty Judy found the purple suit Aunty was buried in. My cousin Becks made a powerpoint photo tribute. I chose the flowers. It was all organised by a funeral director but it really felt like we all had a part in making it special and exactly what Aunty would have wanted

Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living. They are a way of letting go. Cry, laugh, tells stories, pay tribute; and move on. A funeral shouldn’t be a somber affair, oppressive for those who loved the person you are fare-welling and awkward for those who didn’t know them as well. A funeral should have laughter and stories and music that the person loved. A chance to remember the good, forgive the bad and celebrate the time you had. I think a Solarpunk funeral would be a lot more DIY than commoditized, picked-from-a-brochure, funerals we see now. One friend or family member would do the flowers, another would do the music, another the food. The community would come together to support the loved ones of the deceased and to give them special memories of the day. And currently, funerals are expensive, often leaving a family in debt – if everyone pitched in then it could be done cheaply and not leave the family with a financial burden.

So now what do we do with the body? Did you know our bodies are chock full of toxins? Cremation sends those toxins into the air. Burial leeches them into the earth. Not to mention the crap that’s in chip-board coffins with their plastic handles. Permapunk pointed me in the direction of these awesome Mushroom Burial Suits which use mushrooms to help with decomposition and to process the toxins in our bodies so they’re not so hazardous. I’ve also come across these awesome Organic Burial Pods that turn your body into nutrients for a tree that is planted directly above. I think it would be great if you could combine the two so that the mushrooms process the toxins in your body and make it’s nutrients safer for the tree. I can imagine wonderful memorial forests where you could take your grandkids to visit your parent’s trees and watch them climb all over them, or you could decorate your sister’s tree with ribbons on her birthday, or you could watch your child’s tree blossom in spring. Or you could choose to be buried in a plantation and your tree could be harvested to be made into a special piece of furniture for future generations of your family (“Nice rocking chair” “Oh yeah, that’s Great Uncle George”), you could will that your tree be used in the building of a hospital, or a school, or a community hall – or whatever institution you would want to be a permanent part of, your tree could be pulped and made into books.

Let’s do death differently. Let’s make it less scary, make it part of the community. Let’s make funerals less of a drag and a burden and make them something you would enjoy attending and carry away great memories from. Let’s memorialize people in ways that contribute positively to the future, improving the environment and giving future generations something to enjoy.

[dominickjanj073]

Legalisation of Medical Cannabis in Arizona

"At the Tranquility in Medication Recovery Facility in Sebastopol, the wares on display include dried out cannabis - featuring brand names like Kryptonite, Voodoo Father and Train Accident - and also medical cookies ranged listed below a sign stating, ""Stay out of Reach of Your Mom.""

Several Bay Location physicians that advise clinical cannabis for their clients stated in current meetings that their client base had actually increased to include teens with psychological conditions consisting of attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.

"" It's not everybody's medicine, but for some, it can make a profound difference,"" claimed Valerie Corral, a creator of the Wo/Men's Alliance for Medical Marijuana, an individuals' cumulative in Santa Cruz that has two dozen minors as registered customers.

Because The golden state does not require doctors to report cases entailing medical cannabis, no trustworthy data exist for the amount of minors have actually been accredited to get it. But Dr. Jean Talleyrand, who started MediCann, a network in Oakland of 20 centers that license people to make use of the drug, claimed his team member had dealt with as many as 50 patients ages 14 to 18 who had A.D.H.D. Bay Location doctors have gone to the forefront of the strong argument about clinical marijuana, winning resistance for people with serious diseases like terminal cancer and also AIDS. Yet as these physicians use their discernment a lot more liberally, such assistance - also right here - may be more challenging to summon, particularly when it involves using marijuana to deal with teenagers with A.D.H.D.

"" The number of methods can one say 'among the most awful concepts of perpetuity?'"" asked Stephen Hinshaw, the chairman of the psychology division at the College of California, Berkeley. He mentioned researches showing that tetrahydrocannabinol, or THC, the energetic component in marijuana, interrupts attention, memory, and also focus - features already endangered in people with attention-deficit disorder.

Supporters are equally as adamant, though they remain in a distinctive minority. ""It's more secure than pain killers,"" Dr. Talleyrand stated. He and also various other cannabis supporters keep that it is additionally more secure than methylphenidate (Ritalin), the energizer prescription medicine frequently made use of to treat A.D.H.D. That drug has actually recorded possible side effects including insomnia, anxiety, face tics, and also stunted growth.

In 1996, citizens accepted a tally suggestion making The golden state the very first state to legalize clinical cannabis. Twelve various other states have done the same - permitting marijuana for a number of defined, major problems including cancer cells and HELP - but just The golden state includes the grab-bag phrase ""for any other health problem for which cannabis gives alleviation.""

This has actually left those doctors ready to ""advise"" cannabis - in the Alice-in-Wonderland globe of medical marijuana, they can not legitimately suggest it - with the leeway that some use to a bold degree. ""You can get it for a backache,"" stated Keith Stroup, the owner of the National Company for the Reform of Marijuana Regulations.

Nevertheless, increasing its usage among young people is debatable also amongst medical professionals that license clinical marijuana.

Genetics Schoenfeld, a medical professional in Sausalito, said, ""I would not do it for any individual under 21 unless they have a deadly issue such as cancer cells or AIDS.""

Dr. Schoenfeld included, ""It's detrimental to teens who persistantly use it, and also if it's being utilized clinically, that suggests chronic use.""

Dr. Nora D. Volkow, director of the National Institute on Drug Abuse, said she was specifically stressed over the threat of dependency - a risk she said was already high amongst teens and also individuals with attention-deficit condition.

Counterproductive as it might seem, nevertheless, people as well as doctors have been reporting that marijuana helps alleviate a few of the signs, specifically the stress and anxiety and also temper that so typically accompany A.D.H.D. The condition has actually been diagnosed in greater than 4.5 million children in the United States, according to the Centers for Illness Control and also Prevention.

Researchers have actually connected using cannabis by teens to increased danger of psychosis as well as schizophrenia for individuals genetically predisposed to those health problems. Nonetheless, one 2008 record in the journal Schizophrenia Study recommended that the incidence of mental illness among teenagers with the condition that utilized cannabis was lower than that of nonusers.

Cannabis is ""a blessing"" for some people with A.D.H.D., said Dr. Edward M. Hallowell, a psychiatrist who has actually written numerous publications on the disorder. Nonetheless, Dr. Hallowell claimed he prevents his people from using it, both since it is - mostly - illegal, as well as since his monitorings show that ""it can lead to a syndrome in which all the person wishes to do throughout the day is obtain stoned, and they do nothing else.""

Up until the age of 18, individuals requesting clinical marijuana should be accompanied to the medical professional's consultation and to the dispensaries by a moms and dad or authorized caretaker. Some doctors spoke with stated they suspected that in at least some situations, moms and dads were accompanying their kids primarily with the hope that medical consent would certainly enable the adolescents to avoid acquiring medicines on the street.

A current College of Michigan research located that greater than 40 percent of high school trainees had actually attempted cannabis.

"" I don't have an issue with that, as long as we can have our medical discussion,"" Dr. Talleyrand stated, adding that people need to have medical records to be seen by his medical professionals.

The Medical Board of The golden state started investigating Dr. Talleyrand in the spring, stated a board spokeswoman, Candis Cohen, after a KGO-TV report comprehensive suspicious techniques at MediCann clinics, which, the report claimed, had earned at least $10 million in 5 years.

Dr. Talleyrand and his team member are not alone in being willing to suggest cannabis for minors. In Berkeley, Dr. Frank Lucido claimed he was examined by the medical board yet ultimately not disciplined after he licensed marijuana for a 16-year-old child with A.D.H.D. who had actually tried Ritalin unsuccessfully and was racking up a document of small arrests.

Within a year of the new therapy, he claimed, the kid was improving qualities and also was also chosen head of state of his special-education class. ""He was telling his mother: 'My brain works. I can believe,'"" Dr. Lucido said.

"" With any medication, you weigh the benefits against the risks,"" he added.

However, MediCann people who get the permission must sign a kind listing feasible disadvantages of marijuana usage, including ""psychological sluggishness,"" memory problems, anxiousness, complication, ""increased talkativeness,"" rapid heartbeat, problem in finishing intricate jobs as well as hunger. ""Some people can become based on marijuana,"" the company additionally advises.

The White House's recent signals of even more federal tolerance for state clinical cannabis legislations - which pointedly excluded sales to minors - reignited the argument over medical marijuana.

Some advocates, like Dr. Lester Grinspoon, an associate professor emeritus of psychiatry at Harvard University, recommend that medical cannabis's stigma has much less to do with inquiries of medical efficacy as well as even more to do with its association, in pop culture, with illegal enjoyment as well as dependency.

Others, like Alberto Torrico of Fremont, the majority leader of the California Setting up, argue for more oversight generally. ""The marijuana is a whole lot much more effective these days than when we were maturing, and also too much is cbdforsalenearme.com being dispensed for nonmedical reasons,"" he said in an interview recently, candidly adding, ""Any kids being provided clinical cannabis is undesirable.""

As advocates of raised approval attempt to win assistance, they may locate their significant disagreements endangered by the dispensaries' lively ambience.

OrganiCann, a dispensary in Santa Rosa, has an Internet site advertisement listing the ""edible of the week"" - butterscotch rock candy - invitingly photographed in a present box with a bow. OrganiCann likewise offers a 10 percent discount, every Friday, for customers with a legitimate pupil ID."

[bxchanansbarnes]

For Bucky *** Part One

Summary: You knew you didn’t have much longer. You had a whole life ahead of you. But you would never get to experience it. He wanted you to live your life to the fullest. You would do that for him. You would do that For Bucky.

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: SENSITIVE SUBJECTS

Word Count: 3038

A/N: This is something that I wanted to do because of a friend who had recently lost a family member at a young age. If you are not comfortable with reading something of a sensitive and extremely touch feel, please do not read!! Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

You were only ten years old when you were diagnosed with your condition. You remember being at school, playing tag with your friends when without a warning, you collapsed to the ground. You remember the sight of your friends running to you, shouting Your name or the name of your teacher as you lay on the gravel. You were shivering, your blood running cold as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

You remember seeing your best friend above you, calling your name. His blue eyes were glossed over in fear, worry, and hurt as he held your body to his. “(Y/N)? (Y/N), what’s wrong?” His voice was distant, seeming as if he was in another world while you were stuck in this one. You struggled to keep your eyes open.

“B-Bucky?” you cried, as you searched for his eyes. “(Y/N), it’s going to be okay. I promise.” Bucky took your hand in his, squeezing gently. The next thing you knew the voices around you and the others sound had become muffled. Your breath was stuck in their throat as you began to panic. You screamed, begging for help, for a release from the pain you felt yourself enveloped in. No sounds left you lips. Your vision had gone blurry, until nothing could be seen or heard.

There was a slight moment of peace, a moment where everything was calm. Until you woke up. Your surroundings were glowing in white. You were dead. You had to be. You tried to sit up to further see what was around you.

“(Y/N)! Oh sweetie!” Your mother cupped your cheeks, tears rolling down her cheeks as she hugged you. Your father did the same as they held you close. You felt dizzy as you looked around the room. You were in the hospital. Something was missing. Bucky. “W-where’s Bucky?” you asked, your voice brittle as your parents gestured for you to lay back down.

“He’s in the waiting room with Steve. I’ll go get them.” You mother smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead as she and your father exited the room.

A few minutes later, your two best friends came into the room. “Hey.” You smiled weakly. You felt the cords on your face rub against your cheeks. Bucky sat at the edge of the bed while Steve came around to the side where window was.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked with a smile. He was always so caring and sweet. “I’m tired. I just want to go home.” You mumbled as you closed your eyes for a moment. You felt a hand take hold your left one. Opening your eyes, you smiled as Bucky held your hand in his. “Stay awake.” Bucky glared and pointed a finger at you playfully.

You spent a few days in the hospital, doctors and nursing coming in and out, asking you questions, making sure you were alright. Bucky and Steve came every day after school, filing you in on what happened at school, bringing games to play snacks you all knew you shouldn’t be eating or drinking.

Then the day came. The doctors had pulled your parents out of the room. You could hear your mother’s cries and your father doing his best to calm her down. “She’s just a girl!” she repeated. The condition was terminal. There was no cure.

Now here you are seven years older than you were. You were healthy, strong, beautiful, smart, funny, daring, kind; simply, everything you hoped you would grow up to become. You hadn’t had any major attacks in over three years. Three years is a long time. Could it be gone?

You were sitting in your U.S. History class, taking notes as your teacher lectured you about World War II. You looked over to the dark-haired boy that was sitting in the row to your right, up one desk. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he took notes. Bucky loved U.S. History. You would walk out of class and he would immediately start to ramble, making sense of the events. You would laugh and roll your eyes as his eyes glowed with excitement.

You always loved how passionate he was about the topic, especially when it came to World War II. He could never get enough of it. As if he knew you were looking at him, Bucky turned and smiled at you. You held eye contact with each other until Steve, who was sitting behind Bucky, tossed a balled-up piece of paper at his head. Bucky glared at the blonde-haired boy before he shook his head, turning his attention back to the lecture.

The bell rang and you gathered up your notebooks and other supplies, shoving them into your bag. Steve was in a hurry to get to his art class, saying that he would see you two after school. You and Bucky walked out of the classroom. He slung an arm over your shoulder. “I just really love history. Have I ever told you that?” Bucky chuckled as you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Hm… only about a thousand times.” You rolled your eyes sarcastically.

Bucky laughed as the two of you separated ways, him going to Gym while you walked into your English class. This is where your passion thrived. You could just sit down and write for hours, days even. You would get completely lost in your words. Whether it was a creative piece or a research paper, writing came naturally to you. It was as if you were in your own world.

You sat down at your desk next to your friend, Natasha. Your friend Wanda was sitting in front of you. As the bell rang, signaling the beginning of your seven period, you pulled out your notebook and iPad along with its keyboard. “Good afternoon, everyone. The day is almost over, but just stay focused for a little longer.” Your teacher smiled as went to computer. She quickly pulled up a PowerPoint.

She immediately started to introduce the topic of you next paper: a movie or book analysis. You smiled ad you start to jot down a few ideas of what you could center you piece on. Nat chuckled next to you. “What?” you asked as she and Wanda smirked. “Nothing. It’s just you’re always ahead of it. You know exactly what you want to right, where you want it to go, and how you’re going to get there. It’s cute.” You rolled your eyes whilst you laughed sarcastically.

After a few minutes into the lecture, you felt Nat tapping you on your leg. “What?” you whispered, doing your best not to get in trouble. Nat smirked, using her eyes to gesture towards the door, “Your boyfriend is looking at you.” You felt your cheeks heating up as your eyes met those baby blues one that belonged to your best friend. “He’s not my boyfriend.” You retorted with a scoff. You smiled at him, before he smiled back widely. His smile could make any girl swoon. His perfect teeth brightened the room as his eyes crinkled and hi nose scrunched up.

He was wearing a pair of black and white basketball shorts and a white tee rather than the pair of jeans and red Henley has he wore previously. His friend, Sam swung an arm around him with a smirk, saying something that made him shake his head. He flashed one last smile before they disappeared with the rest of his Gym class out of the building, most likely to the practice fields.

Wanda smiled, “He likes you.” “He’s my best friend!” you nearly shouted, quickly covering your mouth before you a few other students looked at you. “Come on, (Y/N). That makes it more certain. Think about it. You two know each other better than anyone else. Besides, I see how you look at him. Especially when you listen to his constant history rambling.” You smiled as you thought about the days and nights you would listen to his studying or facts that he had found on his own. “Yeah… he’ll never like me back. Even if I did like him.” Nat smiled, “He looks at you that same way. Like when you laugh or make a joke. Seriously, some of your jokes are lame as hell and just all around terrible Bucky always find humor in them. Even if he knows how bad they are he can’t help but smile at you.” You bit you lip to hid your smile. “He’s my best friend. He has to think I’m funny.” Wanda and Nat groaned.

The bell rang and the three of you packed your things into your bags before making your ways to your lockers. “I’ll see you two delusional weirdos tomorrow.” You chuckled, emphasizing ‘delusional’. Once you had parted ways with the other two girls, you stopped at your locker. You quickly span the locker until you had opened it. You sighed as you put in what you didn’t need and took out what you did.

You gasped as you felt a pair of arms wrap around you. “Guess who.” You heard the familiar voice laugh. “Ew! Bucky!” You wriggled way from the larger boy, “You’re so sweaty! That’s gross!”

Bucky pulled away, jaw hung as he feigned a look of hurt. “Aw come on, (Y/N). You know you love me.” He smirked, with a chuckle. You’re thought span back to your hushed conversation with Nat and Wanda in English. You rolled your eyes, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Barnes.”

“Uh, oh. She just used your last name. Someone’s in trouble.” Steve chuckled as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Ha. Ha.” Bucky smiled as he leaned up against the lockers, waiting for you to close it so the three of you could head home.

Once you closed your locker, you turned to the boys. “Ugh! Finally.” Bucky groaned sarcastically earning a gently slap to the chest from you. Steve shook his head, “Just kiss already.” You and Bucky both froze. He turned around, laughing as he took in the looks on both of your faces. Bucky shook his head before tugging on your hand to catch up with the blonde-haired boy that was almost out of the building.

The three of you had been walking for a while when you groaned. “What?” Bucky asked as you leaned against his shoulder. “I’m tired, and hungry. The usual.” Bucky smiled down at you as he stopped walking, and took his bag off. “Jump.” He said, bending down but until you were able to hop onto his back. His arms wrapped under your thighs. Steve grabbed his best friend’s bag.

“Steve can lift something heavier than a pound?” Bucky poked fun at the blonde. Steve laughed, “Jerk.” “Punk.” Bucky retorted. You smiled at your best friends as you buried your face into Bucky’s neck, closing your eyes. Steve looked you before looking back to Bucky with a knowing look. Bucky hadn’t realized that the corners of his lips had turned upward in a soft smile as he felt your warm breath against the skin of the back of his neck.

Before you realized it, the three of you had made it to your house. Steve took the key from your backpack, before calling out that you were home. No, they didn’t live with you, but there was never a time they weren’t here. If they weren’t here, then Nat and Wanda probably were. Sometimes Sam would come with the boys, or all six if you would be here. That was always a rare occasion. You prefer a small crowd, just a few people to talk to, study with, makes jokes and have a good laugh.

Steve set down his and Bucky’s bag at the door, before Bucky set you down on your feet. You slid your bag from your shoulders and placed it beside Steve and Bucky’s. The three of you walked into the kitchen. A pleasant aroma filled the air as you seen your mother cooking. You pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Steve snuck around and stole a roll from one of the bowl. “Steven!” your mother scolded him as she swatted his hand. The boys laughed as you and your mother rolled your eyes. “Boys.” You groaned sarcastically.

You heard the door open and you father walked in and let out a sigh. “Oh, no. Who are these people and why are the in my house?” Bucky and Steve chuckled, “Hi, Dad.” Your dad laughed, “Hello, kids I should’ve had.” You dropped your jaw, “Ouch.” Your father pressed a kiss to your hair. “Hey, Dad.” You giggled as he ruffled your hair. Bucky smiled as you smoothed it back down. “What?” you asked, a gentle smile playing at your lips. Bucky smiled before he shook his head.

The five of you sat together and ate dinner before the boys helped you and your parents clean up. What gentlemen, right? Once the table and kitchen were all cleaned up, you and the boys headed up to your room, to get some homework done then just enjoy each other’s company.

You plopped down on your bed and took out your notebook. You were able to get the History out of the way as well as math. All you were left with was to start an outline of how you wanted to analysis paper to layout.

Steve had passed out on the chair in the corner of your bedroom while he was drawing in his sketchbook. Bucky was laying down on the floor on the left side of your bed, an arm hung over his eyes to block the light. You slid your iPad away from you as you let your body fall forward until you were laying on your stomach.

“Hey, Buck?” you whispered just in case he was asleep and so you wouldn’t wake up the blonde to your right. “Yeah?” he replied, sitting up from his previous position. “Do you ever just think about how you can plan out your whole life but no matter how hard you try, it’s not going to go how you thought it would?” you sighed, turning so that you could see his steel blue eyes. You didn’t have to say much more for Bucky to know exactly what you were feeling right now.

He took your hand in his, “Tell me about.” Bucky flashed you a soft smile. “I want to graduate high school. Move on to go to college, meet new people. I want to write. Whether that be creative or composition, I don’t care. I just know I want to make a difference with what I write. Then I want to get married, it wouldn’t have to be anything extravagant but enough for me and whoever I marry. Then we’d have a couple of kids and grow old. I want to do something great with my life. However long it may be.” You smiled sadly, as you described.

You looked back to those eyes. His smile was sad as he squeezed your hand. His eyes were glossed over, “You will.” You shook you head, “Bucky… it’s okay. I have a disease. It’s a part of who I am. I wouldn’t change that for the world. It’s made me appreciate what I have. More who I have. I have my parents. Steve, Wanda, Sam, Nat. I have you. I have a great life.” Bucky smiled as he stared into your eyes.  

You weren’t sure if he leaned first or if you did, but you knew your heart pounding out of your chest. Bucky’s lips barely brushed against yours before a yawn filled the air. You and Bucky pulled away to see Steve stretching. Thanks, Steve.

Bucky scratched his neck awkwardly as he stood up, “I should probably get home.” Steve nodded, “Yeah. I’m exhausted.” You smiled, “You slept the evening away Stevie.” He rolled his eyes, “It made me more tired. Gosh, (Y/N). I can never meet your standards, huh.” You threw a pillow at him before he slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll see you two tomorrow. I’m tired.” You yawned before laying down.

Bucky flashed lopsided smile at you before he walked over to the side of you best ad pulled the covers over your smaller body. “Goodnight, Doll.” Bucky kissed your forehead before Steve tossed the pillow you had thrown at him on your head. “You’re going to regret that, Rogers!” you groaned, your voice muffled by the pillow. Steve and Bucky chuckled as Steve turned your light off and closed the door, leaving you to fall in a peaceful sleep.

You shot up from where you lay. Everything was hazy and spinning. You couldn’t manage to get a breath of air, not matter how hard you tried to breathe. You sucked in quick, short breaths, begging for a relief from the suffocation that had consumed you. Your body felt sweaty and the room was humid. Your parents rushed into your room. You father scooped you into his arms as your mother held her phone up to her ear. The world felt like it was moving so quickly yet slowly. It made you sick to your stomach.

You father carried you down the stairs and out to the car. The Brooklyn breeze had no effect on you. Normally you would stand under Bucky’s arm, greedy for warmth of him; but in the moment, it was as if it hadn’t existed. You laid in the back seat, you mother cradling your head in her lap as you panted for air.

When you got to the hospital, everything was a rush. The last thing you could clearly see was the blur of dark hair. His hands were in his hair as you mother pulled him into a hug. He was terrified, shocked. Bucky couldn’t believe this was happening again. Steve ran in a few moments later, struggling to keep up with the more athletic boy. He was equally as horrified. “I shouldn’t have left her. I should have stayed a little longer.” Bucky said softly as he watched you being taken away. Bucky slid down the wall that led to the emergency room, “Please be okay. Please.”

Series Taglist ( OPEN ) :

[antons-yelchin]

Letters to Anton 2017

Here is a copy of my letter to Anton for this year’s Letters to Anton event. Hopefully we can make this a yearly thing. It was four pages long on regular notebook paper, so be prepared to read, a lot! If you want to participate in this this weekend, please use the tag Letters to Anton 2017 on all social media sites so all of us fans can see your letter. Yes, the word has spread to Twitter, Facebook and Instagram. So feel free to post there as well. Thank you all for having such a positive reaction to this and for those of you who participated. I know Anton would be proud to see a community coming together and uniting for such a sweet cause. And heck, maybe this tag might even reach his parents and they can find some peace and a bit of closure through us. So here goes nothing:

Dearest Anton,

I know it is strange writing you now, but I wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday.  I know you are not with us anymore and I'm so truly sorry for that. You were taken from us at such a young age, at the cusp of your career-changing move to director. You were so very talented, be it acting, music or your photography, and it hurts that such a bright star was put out much too soon. As a parent myself, it rips my heart out knowing your parents are still hurting. I am sure they have healed some, but with this being the first birthday you won't be celebrating, it's just re-opening the wound. And for the accident to have happened on Father's Day, I know your dad feels some kind of guilt even though he had absolutely nothing to do with the accident.

Honestly, I have a weird fascination with death for years now. So I did go over your 'Death Certificate.' It puts me at ease somewhat knowing the whole incident was very quick and that you did not really suffer. I can not even imagine the final thoughts that ran through your mind. I do not want to think about you being in pain or scared because that makes me cry just thinking about it. I remember a month or so before Star Trek Beyond was released to theaters, a promoted Facebook post was a clip of the movie where the escape pods were setting off away from The Enterprise and it showed a quick clip of you as the adorable Chekov with an expression of such distress. I remember making the comment that "This clip is making me anxious because if anything happened to Anton, I don't know what I'd do," and then tragedy struck. To say I was devastated is a severe understatement.

The day you were taken from us, I remember thinking it was some kind of spyware program, kinda like those weird quizes that use your Facebook profile to give you results, but it would use your recent search results instead, to create some kind of fake article. Then I just thought it was a hoax because it was so early in the morning and at the time only TMZ was reporting it and I couldn't find any more information about it. But within an hour or so, more legit news outlets began reporting on your death. And of course, TMZ was the first to post pictures of the scene of the tragedy. Seeing the crinkled fencing and the villain of this whole ordeal, your Jeep....that's when I broke down. I was crying and just repeating over and over "Anton's Gone!" and "Why?" I cried so much and so hard that I ended up vomiting and my lips started swelling up to where I looked like a Kardashian. I don't know why my lips do that when I cry a lot, but they do. I had only been home from the hospital for my heart condition for a little over a month. My chest hurt SO bad and it was hard to breathe at times, even when I stopped crying for a moment or two. I knew why this was happening so I did not go to the hospital for the pain. I just let it pass. Plus, they would probably lock me up in the mental part of the hospital for getting so manic over someone I did not even know. Even my psychologist now looks at me strangely when I mention it.

But that's the thing...I felt like I did know you. Through interviews, articles, etc, you were just so genuine, humble and down to earth. I felt like we all got to know you. It felt like you were so open with us, your fans. Know that we really, really appreciate that openness. I'm sure other fans will agree with me. Some would say myself and some other fans are obsessed or strange, but someone on Twitter put it into words perfectly: Thinking about how we mourn artists we've never met. We don't cry because we knew them, we cry because they helped us know ourselves.

Now for the tougher part of this letter. (WARNING: SUICIDE TRIGGERS) A few years ago, I tried to kill myself via overdose. As you can tell, I was unsuccessful. I don't see how between all the different medications I took and the large quantities that I took. But it was you who became my anchor and helped me through my recovery. I did not go to the hospital because there's always a stigma surrounding those type of hospital visits in my family. Two of my older siblings we both admitted to the mental facility at the hospital and they still haven't gotten rid of that stigma, even a decade later. So it took my body about a week to recover and during that time, I watched the first Star Trek movie and saw you as Pavel Chekov and I was hooked (On you and Star Trek). Then I grabbed Odd Thomas from a Redbox, not realizing you were in it, it just had paranormal stuff in it and that's my kind of thing. I fell in love and started going through your filmography and also retreated into the Odd Thomas book series. The only person who knows about this ordeal in my real life is my husband. But whenever I watched you, I would instantly feel better and you would keep the 'bad thoughts,' as I call them, away.

Skip to February 2016 and I'm admitted to three different hospitals over a month's time. I was diagnosed with Primary Pulmonary Hypertension and Right Side Heart Failure at the young age of 31. Pulmonary Hypertension is a terminal illness with no cure, just medicines that help improve your quality of life. I was the youngest case the doctors at all three hospitals had seen in their careers. Usually it hits around the ages of 50-60. It was so depressing being in the hospitals for so long. The first two weren't so bad because they were only 45 minutes away from my home and I knew my way around the areas they were in. But the third one was over two hours away and I did not know anything about the city and was definitely out of my 'safe zone' so my anxiety was peaking during that stay. And that hospital was the one I stay at the longest. I stayed in the NICU of Duke University Hospital in the same wing that heart and lung transplant patients are recovering and they have to stay there at least six months. I couldn't do that. The nurses told me they weren't used to a patient that was so self sufficient. But back to you. Luckily, I had several of your movies on my computer to keep me company and I found the movie Rudderless and between the awkwardly adorable Quinton and the music, it has become my favorite film of yours, followed by Star Trek, Odd Thomas, Hearts in Atlantis and Fright Night. I even purchased Cymbeline because Ethan Hawke was in it and he and Keanu Reeves are two more of my favorite actors after you, and finding out you were in it as well was a definite bonus. And it definitely made me blush with that one scene. The same thing happened with "Only Lovers Left Alive" and I had honestly rented it just to see Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston and then you pop up in it and I literally squealed with excitement. Man was I lucky. The movie with you co-starring with Robin Williams I have yet to watch because I took his death very hard as well. I had just barely recovered from that to where I could finally watch his movie again without tearing up.

I hope wherever you are, you are safe and happy. It may be a bit morbid, but at least you are in good company. 2016 was not a good year for celebrities. I hope you are having a blast with David Bowie, Prince and Alan Rickman, just to name a few artists in your company. Hopefully, you've reunited with Robin Williams and he's making you smile with his comic relief.

That is what I am really going to miss is that we will never see a new smile or laugh from you. But thankfully, we have a large archive to look back on. You had such a variety of films to choose from, and I'm so grateful for that. So many things to make me smile. I even have a life-size and mini cardboard cutout of you to keep me company when things really get bad. I've been trying to find someone or something else to get engrossed in, to be my anchor, but I'm not having any luck.

Some days are better than others. Some days I smile and laugh when I talk of you and some days I can't even think of you without breaking down. I know you would want us fans to be strong and to celebrate your life instead of being sorrowful over your death and I am trying to be strong. Truly I am. I have made several friends through my Anton Yelchin blog, one who has gotten very close with me, and I think you would be proud that we have come together on your birthday to celebrate your life, from all different ethnicities and backgrounds and social media sites. This day is your day, and always will be.

I don't know what to expect from the afterlife, but I think some how, a piece of you is watching over me, kind of like a guardian angel. And when times get really bad, to where I start thinking about suicide again, I turn to you to help me get away from those thoughts, because if I did do that, I might not ever get the chance to meet you. My lifespan has already been shortened as it is. And that doesn't bother me. Everyone dies, some sooner than others. But you shouldn't have died so soon. I found a stone that was on someone's grave online and it read: If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever. And I truly believe that. Between myself and all these other fans I've met, we would have made you immortal.

Thank you so much for being there for me when no one else was, even though you did not know it. I will forever be grateful for that. Thinking back to the final lines from Odd Thomas: This life is a boot camp and we must persevere to earn our way into the next life. If I live an average lifespan, I'll have another 60 years before I see you again. That will be a long wait, but I am a patient woman.

So until next time, rest well my dear Anton.

[darth-salem-emperor-of-earth]

#s 5-10 for Kirk please

Thank you for the ask! Time to dive in.

5. What’s their preferred profile, or class? Were they naturally inclined towards combat or technical skills? Were they a developed biotic, or did they first experience it with SAM?

Sentinel class– Kirk favors a mixture of of tech and biotic attacks and likes how well balanced the class is and offers a nice edge to his combat style, especially when he’s sniping. He really enjoys overloading his foe’s weapons while making them float haplessly in the air. 

6. Canon says they served in the Alliance before joining the Initiative, do you keep this canon, or have you made some changes? Explain their backstory either way.  

For Kirk, I am sticking mostly to canon but he did switch jobs to be closer to his mom once the diagnosis turned out to be terminal because he wanted to spend as much time with his mother as he could and be there for her in case she needed assistance with anything. So he didn’t spend as much time with the Alliance from the canon backstory.

7. Everyone’s got one… List their (or your) favorite powers, weapons, and armor sets. Any special reason for these choices?

Kirk loves his Black Widow sniper, made combat and his life much easier. And Overload is one of his favorite powers to use because it temporarily immobilizes his target, granting him enough to time to line up a shot. He also likes Singularity–allows him to take out a groups or several enemies at once so he and his squad can fire on them all at once.  

8. Its all in the family. Explain their relationship with Alec, Ellen, and their sibling. If you changed anyone’s names or added a different sibling in your canon, explain why.

In the later parts of his years, from college and beyond, Kirk has had a rather strained relationship with his father, for many times the two of them didn’t see eye-to-eye on certain matters, one of them not being there for Ellen Ryder until she was diagnosed and time with her was limited. With his mother, he was a big-time mama’s boy. She understood him better than Alec and they had a close relationship. When Kirk heard about her condition, he changed jobs so he could be closer to his mom and be there for her during her final moments. when she supposedly died, he was beside himself and wracked with grief. Only his sister Padme was able to comfort him at the funeral and eventually, after almost drowning in beer, he pulled himself back together and was determined to live on and make his mother proud, keeping her memory close to his heart. 

He is quite close to his sister Padme, they are two peas in the pod. When they were younger, they were joint at the hip, always wanting to do everything together. As they become older, they did activities separately but still had each other’s back. They share their love for science fiction and will defend the genre with their last breath (while acknowledging the flaws in certain Sci Fi books, movies, TV shows, etc). So harm one twin at your own risk, for the other twin will be running around the corner, ready to shank you or embed a bullet between your eyes.  

9. What’s their favorite memory they have of their sibling? Of their parents?

One of Kirk’s fondest memory with Padme is the two of them marathoning the Stargate series, including the movies. It was a long marathon full of sleepless nights. 

With his parents, one of Kirk’s favorite recollection is when his parents were teaching him how to shoot for the first time. His dad instructed most of the lessons and helped him find the right feel for certain weapons, but his mom offered different pieces of wisdom that are still ingrained in his brain, such as being mindful of his surroundings and the terrain around her, and trusting his instincts, his gut when he’s about to shoot. He believes this was the moment that sparked him to later join the Alliance. 

10. How have they dealt with the aftermath of Habitat 7? How deeply does this effect them?

He was shocked, to be frank. In the back of his mind, he always viewed his father as invincible, unable to die or be defeated. To hear of his father’s passing, after Kirk vowed to mend the strained bond between him and Alec Ryder, was a blow to him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth because he was too late to save his dad or tell that despite all their fighting, he still loved him. It reminded him of his mother’s passing, that life was too short. Yet what affected him worse was the notion that he would have to tell his still comatose sister about their father’s demise and doing that was harder to bear than hearing the news about the Pathfinder’s death. His sister didn’t get a chance to see him once more time or say goodbye, but he did and thus, he feels a little guilty.