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buckysgoldenheart · 4 years ago

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Unexpectedly Bitten

Vampire!Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Your ex gets into some trouble with Vampires, and his mistakes lead the bloodsuckers back to you. After seeing you, one vampire gets a little attached and he’s taking his time deciding what he plans to do with you, but whatever it is, you’re not afraid. In fact, you might just be a little attached to him too.

Warnings: cursing, smut, violence. (Count on spelling mistakes or repeating words too often. it’s very likely.)

Notes: Folks I did my very very best. I am so bad at chaptered fics, it’s insane. But I tried. As always, Let me emphasize this: there is little rhyme or reason to the way this story is broken into parts.

This is a Vampire!Henry x Reader story where each chapter, while chronological, is a different conversation or event during the course of their evolving relationship.

Words: 1606

Part 7: Change

You were breathing. That’s what Henry kept repeating in his head when he relived that horrible night in his sleep. His body would shoot out of bed, drenched in sweat, and he would have the agonizing thought that he failed. But then he would look to his left, and there you were. You were breathing.

His days were filled with watching you to constantly reassure himself that he hadn’t lost you forever. Every time your breath hitched in your sleep, his did as well. Every time he nearly dozed off in his chair, he shook himself awake for fear that the change hadn’t fully taken hold; that maybe he was too late after all.

“She doing any better?” Henry nearly leapt from his seat at Chris’s voice. His friend walked over after shutting the door quietly behind him.

Henry ran a hand down his face. He needed to relax. He was getting jumpy. “Shouldn’t be much longer.”

Chris pulled another chair up to Henry’s side and joined in monitoring the rise and fall of your chest. “Are you alright? It’s been a while.”

“This is my fault,” Henry rubbed at his brow with a groan. “I cut it too close. It’s taking too long for her to heal.”

“Do not hate yourself for this, Hen,” Chris said, lightly slapping his friend on the back. “She’s alright. I would’ve done the same if I still had a pretty little human I was so desperately in love with.”

“She’s not human anymore.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

Henry shook his head, denying his friend’s answer to feel the full weight of disappointment in himself. “Elias seemed to think the same, but…not from the same perspective.” He took a deep breath as he remembered the look in the Lord’s eyes right before he broke your neck. There was pity there; acknowledgment of a loss he knew Henry would not get over for centuries, if at all. “He didn’t think I would turn her. He left her body there, knowing I could turn her before it was too late, but he was so sure I wouldn’t. Why, do you think?”

“Henry,” Chris whined with irritation. “Don’t start—”

“Because we don’t subject the ones we love to this life,” Henry said as he stared at you, then he looked to Chris. “You never turned Amara. You loved her as a human until she died because you knew she would be miserable if she were like us.”

Chris swallowed the pain; the discomfort in his gut at the reminder of the woman he would’ve crushed mountains into rubble for. “I agree, this is not an ideal life, but…take it from me. When you’re in love with a human, there is nothing more painful than seeing them age without you.” The blond cleared his throat, and his voice shook slightly as he continued. “I couldn’t give Amara a normal life. I couldn’t marry her or give her children untainted by vampire blood like she wanted. So, I honored her wishes and let her go on to find that human she married. But don’t think for a second that if someone killed her when she was mine, that I wouldn’t have bitten her to save her too. It’s not wrong to save the ones we love, Henry.”

Henry grunted like the stubborn mule both you and his friend knew he was.

“Look, Amara is not Y/N,” Chris said, pushing his friend to see the best in the choices made the day you died. “Y/N was the first human to love a vampire in centuries. She saw you as more than what you are. Do not take advantage of that gift. She is now like us. You can have her forever. There was a time when I would’ve given anything to have the same.”

Henry rose an eyebrow. “So, I’m being an unappreciative prick, is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Chris smirked, taking a drink from his glass, and standing. “But I won’t hold it against you.”

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

You woke with a massive arm draped over your abdomen. It felt like a heavy brick and you couldn’t get enough air, so you blindly shoved at it until lifted. The bed shook as you deeply inhaled, swallowing oxygen the way you would if your head just broke the surface of the ocean and you could finally feel the air on your skin.

“Oh, thank fuck,” You heard whispered from your left as two massive hands cupped your cheeks and turned your head. “Open your eyes, baby.”

You tried and winced when the tiniest bit of light seeped in, slamming them shut again to avoid the headache.

“It’s ok,” The voice said. “It’s ok. Try again, just take it slow.”

You did as asked, bracing yourself for the pain of it but powered on, blinking a few times until your view came into focus. “Henry?”

Your voice was gravelly and felt itchy in your throat, but by the way Henry’s face lit up, it might as well have been the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Hey,” He smiled, running a hand over the top of your head. Tears welled in his eyes; the blue orbs darting all over your face as he stroked your hair. One of the droplets fell on your cheek and Henry quickly kissed it away.

His lips were warm, and you sighed into the feeling, suddenly sinking into the curve of his body as it lay against yours. “I feel like I died and rose again,” You groaned as you stretched your limbs the best you could, testing their limits to alleviate the stiffness.

“You’ll feel better soon.” Henry kissed your forehead. “It just takes a little time.”

You tilted your face back from where it was pressed against his hard chest to look up at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

He grew uneasy, averting his gaze and shifting his body awkwardly without removing his arms from around you. “The, uh…transformation takes—”

“Transformation?” Your torso rose, surprisingly not aching the slightest.

Henry leaned up as well and cupped your cheek, savoring the feel of your skin in case you tried to kill him. You would have the strength for it now if you planned your attacks strategically. And if you hated him, he would accept your decision. He was selfish, after all, but he couldn’t let you go.

“Baby, you…you did die.” Your eyes widened and Henry internally cringed. “Elias killed you, and I bit you on, um…” He grabbed your wrist and brought it up to your face. “I bit your wrist. I changed you”

And sure enough, there were two faint dots on the inner side of your wrist; the marks shimmering to perfectly match the small cut on your finger.

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

You looked at him. “Why?”

Henry moved to lay on his back. You could tell he was avoiding your eyes; that he was scared of your reaction to his next words. Crawling on top of him with unexpected ease, you straddled his waist and planted your hands firmly on his chest. You pressed down lightly, giving him a little jolt, when he had still hadn’t answered.

His eyes locked with yours and he wrapped his fingers around your forearms to keep your steady above him. “I just didn’t want to lose you. I’ve never been that scared in my life, and it made me—"

“No.” You shook your head. “Not why did you do it. I meant, why are you sorry you did? You want me, don’t you?” You didn’t ask for reassurance. You knew how he felt, but you wanted him to see that changing you was the only option if he wanted to be with you; and him wanting to have you would never be something you could punish him for. Being like him did not terrify you. It didn’t shock you into silence. Honestly, you didn’t feel all the different.

He sat up until you were face to face and wrapped his arms around your waist. One hands fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine. “More than anything.”

“Henry, I had nothing for me in that life,” You said as your hands settled on his shoulders. “Nothing.” Tipping your head down, you connected your lips and he moaned so deep his chest vibrated against yours.

“You’re really ok?” He asked when you pulled apart.

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” You said.

A small laugh came out in the form of a puff of air, then he tucked his head down until his cheek was resting against your left breast. He sighed, but it came out more like a moan. “I love that sound.”

“You can still hear it?”

“Only when I’m this close,” He said, nipping at the skin and nuzzling into your chest. “You’ll just have to tell me how you feel about me from now on.”

You smiled, but then your face fell serious. “Henry?”

“Hmm?”

“What now?”

He pulled back as he took in a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. “Now the change fully takes hold. Your eyesight will increase, you’ll get stronger every day, your fangs will come in soon, and you’ll hate it because you’re going to be biting your tongue fifteen times a day for about a week.”

You grimaced, but chuckled.

“There are a few other things, but we’ll deal with them as they come, not now. Other than that, not much else,” He said, framing your face with his hands. “You’re mine now, baby. And I’m yours.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.” He grinned and pressed his lips to yours.

---

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valdomarx · 3 years ago

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Entry, Descent and Landing

Stargate Atlantis, McKay/Sheppard, time loop, 6k, rated M

Also on AO3

“The gate’s not working,” Rodney huffs, entering the mess with a scowl on his face. He's clearly personally offended by this turn of events.

“Eh, I’m sure you’ll fix it.” John currently has more pressing issues to consider, like whether he can reasonably have fruit loops for lunch or whether he should eat some vegetables like an adult.

He picks up the fruit loops.

“I’m serious!” Rodney is all fidgety, talking and waving his hands instead of eating, and that’s never a good sign. “There’s something very wrong with it, and I have no idea why.”

John raises an eyebrow. It’s not often that McKay admits there’s something he doesn’t understand. And without the gate, they are vulnerable.

Regretfully, he puts the fruit loops back. “Alright. Why don’t you show me what the problem is?”

The gate will accept an address, and it spins and dials as normal. But when it should open a wormhole with a whoosh and a ripple of blue light, it simply stops dead. The lights fade out and it shuts itself off.

Huh.

“It’s been like this since we tried to dial New Athos for a check in.” A frown creases Rodney’s forehead. “Hand me that scanner, will you?”

They spend the day poking and prodding at the gate and the control consoles - or, more accurately, Rodney pokes and John swings his legs off the side of the console and provides unhelpful but, he thinks, amusing commentary - but there’s nothing to indicate a problem. No fried circuits, no missing components, none of the usual error warnings which appear when the gate runs into a problem. It just… doesn’t work.

They work through the afternoon, and by the time eight p.m. rolls around John is ready to call it a night and start again tomorrow. But before he can suggest they get some dinner, the gate whirs to life and begins to dial.

“Did you do that?” he asks Rodney, but he already knows the answer is no by the look of confusion on Rodney’s face.

The gate spins as if to dial but it doesn’t connect. It merely sits there, illuminated but inactive, and then -

John wakes up in his quarters.

That’s weird. He’s disoriented, and woozy, and he feels a headache creeping at the back of his skull.

He shakes it off. He probably just needs some food. He heads to the mess and is sitting down to eat when -

“The gate’s not working,” Rodney huffs.

John squints at him. “Again?”

“What do you mean, again?” Rodney waves him aside impatiently. “There’s something very wrong with it, and I have no idea why.”

A cold chill settles at the bottom of John’s stomach. “I know, Rodney. We had this conversation yesterday.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we didn’t. The gate only stopped working today.”

Rodney insists that he has no memory of the gate breaking, and neither does anyone else they talk to. It's like the previous day has simply disappeared.

The more he insists that he remembers it, the more Rodney turns from dismissive to concerned, until he marches him down to see Carson and okay, that's not the worst idea under the circumstances.

Carson checks him over, determines he's physically fine, and tells him it's probably just déjà vu. But that can't be right. It was so real.

Rodney keeps shooting him these worried looks, and that's definitely not helping. So he brushes it off and suggests they get back to fixing the gate. It is, after all, still broken.

They spend another few hours on that, opening up the consoles in the gate room and looking for any faulty hardware. Soon enough it's dinner time, and he's going to suggest heading to the mess when the gate spins up again, and oh shit -

He wakes up in his quarters. He frantically scrambles for his watch and sees that it reads two p.m.

This is definitely not déjà vu.

He heads straight to the gate room. The gate techs are antsy.

"Sheppard, you're here, good." Rodney enters, a tablet tucked under one arm. “We've got a problem. The gate’s not working."

They try to fix the gate again, with no more success than the last two attempts. John keeps checking his watch.

Maybe it's different now. Maybe he's changed enough to stop the day repeating.

At exactly right p.m., his sunny, perhaps delusional, optimism is shattered.

The gate starts dialing.

He wakes up in his quarters.

He sends Rodney off to consult with Zelenka and takes matters into his own hands.

He tries everything he can think of to dial the gate - dialing different addresses, dialing it at different times, even removing and replacing the control crystal in his famed “turn it off and turn it on again” approach to computer repair - but nothing works.

He tries taking a puddle jumper and flying out to the mainland, and into space, and as far around the planet as he can get. No matter how far he travels, at exactly eight p.m. he resets and wakes up back in his quarters.

Six hours is simply not enough time to solve whatever the hell is going on here

He tries explaining his situation to Elizabeth, to Teyla and Ronon, to Lorne, to Carson. Even when people are willing to entertain the notion of a time loop, no one knows how to address the problem, let alone suggest a solution. At best, they seem to be humoring him. At worst, they seem to think it’s his apparently inevitable slide into paranoia.

After trying everyone on the base he has even a passing relationship with, he gives up telling anyone. They can’t help him.

He overrides the city’s power usage limits and tries to dial up Earth. The gate still won’t dial, and he overloads the ZPM, and the entire city is plunged into darkness.

He wakes up in his quarters.

He used to love it here, his own little corner of the strange place that is his home. Now it feels like a prison.

He tries to make contact with the Athosians, or with the Manarians, or even with the Genii. But without the gate, his radio transmissions will take years to reach them. He sits by the radio anyway, listening to the crackling static and waiting for a reply he knows will never come.

Maybe he's trapped in a virtual reality, or his mind is being probed by aliens. It wouldn't be the first time.

Maybe none of this is real.

He stands on one of the city’s most distant piers, staring out into the ocean. It’s quiet here, now he’s turned off his radio and tweaked the lifesigns detector so it can’t track him. He watches the waves, the same today as they were yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. He considers his options.

He puts a gun to his temple and counts down from five.

He wakes up in his quarters.

He bangs on the lab door and tries one more time to convince Rodney to help him.

“A time loop is not impossible,” he grits out. “It happened at the SGC.” He knows Rodney has read the file.

“That’s because there was an Ancient artifact involved.” Rodney sounds haughty. “Have you touched any strange Ancient artifacts recently, Colonel?”

John breathes between clenched teeth and shakes his head.

“So. Time just spontaneously started resetting itself, did it?”

“How should I know? All I know is that I have woken up in my quarters a hundred times by now, and every day at eight p.m. the loop resets itself.”

“Why are you the only one this is happening to?”

“I don’t know!” he yells. “I have no idea what terrible sin I’m being punished for here! I’ve made my share of mistakes in my life, but nothing that deserves this.”

Rodney stops moving and looks at him -- really looks.

“Jesus, Sheppard.” Rodney’s brow creases. “You’re not okay, are you?”

John slumps. He can’t summon the energy to deny it. “Not even remotely.”

For some reason, this seems to be what pushes Rodney into taking him seriously. He nods, once, sharply. “What can I do to help?”

He looks at his watch. It’s ten minutes to eight.

“Tell me a secret,” he says.

Rodney gives him a disdainful look. “What is this, a tween girls’ slumber party?”

He grits his teeth. “I spent the entire day trying to convince you what’s happening to me is real. I don’t have time to do that every loop. I need you to tell me something no one else knows, so next time I can convince you I’m not crazy or playing around and we can fix this.”

He sees Rodney’s mind working. He can tell he knows John is right and he’s considering options of what to tell him: details about his childhood, his research, his time here on Atlantis, and discarding each one. For all his faults, Rodney does not dissemble. His life is an open book, and for this to work John needs to know something truly private.

“Alright,” Rodney says eventually. He tilts his chin up and straightens his shoulders like he’s bracing himself for incoming fire. “When I was fifteen, there was a boy at school a couple of years older than me. His name was Mikey Haynes.”

“Have you touched any strange Ancient artifacts recently, Colonel?” Rodney asks with the same look of superiority he always has. “Because that’s the only way-”

“McKay,” he interrupts.

“- and why would you be the only one affected, that doesn’t make sense-”

“Rodney!”

Rodney stops. Something in the tone of his voice has broken through.

“I know about Mikey Haynes,” he says.

Rodney goes very pale and John can feel the anxiety radiating off him in waves.

“How do you know that name?” his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because you told me, Rodney. In the last loop.”

For a few seconds Rodney stares at him, eyes wild and arms wrapped protectively around his chest. Eventually he gives one, sharp nod.

“Alright. You’re stuck in a time loop. What are we going to do about it?”

He has that conversation with Rodney every single loop. It is, without exception, the worst part of each one. Even feeling himself die wasn’t this awful.

He and Rodney have run every test they can think of. He’s been subjected to medical tests and genetic tests, they’ve scanned him for nanites and viruses and alien mind control, and they’ve turned up nothing. He is, by all accounts, completely healthy -- other than the fact he’s reliving the same six hours over and over and over and over.

“Maybe the problem isn’t with me,” he says. He chews over the idea and it seems plausible. “Maybe the problem is with the city.”

“What?”

“What if I’m not the one being looped through time? What if you are, and I’m the only one who’s aware of it?”

“So you’re sane and everyone else is crazy?”

“Yes.” He folds his arms over his chest. “Maybe my ATA gene gives me some protection against the effect, I don’t know.”

“Your magic genetics strike again.”

He ignores the griping. “If I’m right, the problem is even worse than I thought. The whole city, even the whole planet could be stuck in the loop. What’s happening to our allies while we’re stuck? How far have the Wraith advanced across this galaxy without us to keep them in check.”

Rodney swallows, the gravity of the situation finally hitting him.

“There must be a clue in the city sensors,” he says, pushing bits of drone aside to access the whiteboard in his lab. “If the reset is at the same time, there might be a preceding energy burst we can detect.”

“What good will that do?” John is too tired to think straight. “I know when the loop is going to reset.”

“Because if we know what type of energy it is, we can understand what’s causing it.”

John throws up his hands. Sure, why not. It's not like he's in a hurry or anything.

Rodney pokes through the sensor data, making little hmm noises which he finds unreasonably aggravating.

“See!” Rodney has his smuggest expression on, the one that simultaneously says I told you so and I know you find me charming. “Here, just before the gate failed to connect, there’s a small anomaly in the readings. It looks like… Interesting. It looks like ionizing radiation.”

“What does that mean?”

Rodney’s brow creases. “I’m not sure. There’s a spike of gamma and X-rays as the gate tries to connect. But I have no idea what the source is.”

John barely has time to let out a frustrated breath before the loop resets.

He hurries back to Rodney’s lab and points him to the sensor data.

“Interesting,” Rodney says again. “It looks like ionizing radiation.”

John exhales. “Yeah. You said that last time.”

He doesn’t need to eat, or sleep. His body resets with every loop. And yet, his mind has frayed. He hasn’t rested in so long, his thoughts are a jumbled mess.

He takes a loop off. He goes to the gym and spars with Ronon. His muscles are fresh but his strategy is a disaster; Ronon unsurprisingly wipes the floor with him. All the same, it feels good to stretch and move; to worry about avoiding a flying elbow instead of his sorry fate for a while.

Then he has dinner with Teyla. He doesn’t know how many loops it’s been since he ate, and even though he doesn’t need the sustenance he realizes he has been missing the sensory experience of it, and the camaraderie of a shared meal.

He tells Teyla about the time loop, casually, like it’s not a big deal, and she doesn’t seem convinced he’s telling the truth but she doesn’t dismiss the possibility out of hand either, and he loves her for that.

“If that were the case,” her head tilts to one side, thoughtful, “it would be a kind of opportunity, would it not?”

He squints. Nothing about this feels opportune.

“If time were to always reset itself, you could do anything you wish, without having to consider the consequences.” She shrugs. “Many have wished for such a chance.”

Huh. He never thought about it that way before.

Next loop, he steals a jumper and takes it for a joyride, zipping away from Atlantis and out into the solar system.

He pulls a reckless slingshot maneuver around the third planet out and is sent hurtling toward the star at the heart of the system, traveling so fast the jumper shakes and rattles even with the inertial dampeners. Elizabeth screams at him over the comms and he flips them off.

He approaches the sun at breakneck speed and the temperature in the cabin begins to rise. He swoops low into the sun’s corona, arcs of plasma leaping up around him, even more wild and ferocious than he expected. The sensors scream out warnings about hull temperature and radiation levels and he ignores them, absorbed in the way the jumper dives and banks.

He plunges closer, seeing the star’s surface bubble and erupt, then pulls up in a wild loop and swings down closer still: through the corona and into the chromosphere, the space around him transformed into wild hues of pink, shot through with filaments of white hot gas which snap and twist around him.

In the moment before the jumper is destroyed, as alarms blare and the air rushes out through cracks in the hull, his vision is filled with the surface of the sun. It is entrancing, covered in cells of red and orange and yellow, molten and changing and blindingly, blindingly bright.

He records a message for his father and uploads it to the queue to be sent back to Earth. “Dad,” he begins. “I want you to tell you something, something I’ve been meaning to say for a long time. From the very bottom of my heart: Go fuck yourself.”

He knows it’ll be heard by the gate techs, if not the entire expedition. That somehow makes it even more satisfying.

He finds Cadman.

“You’re an explosives expert, right?”

“Technically it’s high temperature and energetic materials technology,” she grins, “but close enough.”

“Awesome. Where do you keep the good stuff?”

She raises an eyebrow.

“You know. The really fun explosives they don’t let the field teams use.”

“Oh, that good stuff. Right this way.”

They spend an afternoon testing the structural integrity of the city’s farthest piers (not as good as you might think), seeing what happens when you strap C4 to a naquadah generator (an extremely large explosion), and enjoying the simple pleasures of tossing prototype grenades into the ocean (the water sprays rainbows across the sky as it is thrown miles into the air, and it falls on them like rain as they laugh).

Cadman barely needs any convincing.

He tells Lorne that he’s gay. Lorne doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yes, sir,” he says, entirely unperturbed. “I figured.”

He leaves a message for Nancy.

He tells her he’s sorry, that he knows he was a bad husband, that it wasn’t fair the way he treated her. He tells her that she deserved better, that he wishes her well, that he hopes she’s happy, and he means it.

He feels lighter the moment he's finished. He wonders why he never did this before the loop.

He’s struck by a genius idea, and he busts open a few locks and drags the ascension machine out of storage. Sure, it nearly killed Rodney, but maybe he’ll get lucky. Nothing to lose at this point, right?

The moment the light envelops him, he knows he’s made a terrible mistake.

Within minutes his skin is peeling away to reveal hard, blue scales beneath. The sunlight becomes unbearable. He turns the lights out and feels his way by sound instead.

He doesn’t remember much beyond that. There are only brief flashes in his mind: cold metal beneath his claws, horrified screams reverberating in a corridor, the effortlessness of scuttling up the side of a tower, the crunch of bones cracking between his mandibles.

He locks himself in his quarters for a few loops after that.

After a while his guilt is outweighed by his boredom. He picks up the guitar that has been primarily decorative thus far and learns to play Folsom Prison Blues.

Time keeps dragging on, indeed.

Eventually, as seems to be inevitable, he ends up coming back to Rodney.

"Sheppard." Rodney gives him a quick nod. "What can I do for you?"

There are a million answers to that question, and none of them are appropriate for work.

He considers the juxtaposition: Rodney's cool greeting with the way he's bouncing on the balls of his feet, all coiled excitement and nervousness. That's how Rodney often is around him, now he thinks about it.

Is it interest or intimidation? Fondness or annoyance? He's never been good at parsing emotions, and that's been a frequent source of frustration. Now it's particularly acute.

"You want some coffee?" Rodney offers, like an olive branch. "I'm sure we've got a clean mug around here somewhere."

John does not want coffee.

How many times has he thought about this? Too many to count. And how many more chances will he have?

What the hell, he thinks. Teyla was right. He'll never get a better opportunity than this.

He steps forward and puts a tentative hand around the back of Rodney's neck. He hears his breath catch. He rubs the soft hair there between his fingers, watches the blush rise on his cheeks. It's an enticing look.

Slowly, carefully, he leans in and kisses him, uncertain even though he knows the loop will reset, because this is bigger than some silly irresponsible behavior; this is him putting his heart in Rodney's fidgety hands and hoping against hope it won't be crushed.

For a moment Rodney freezes, and John is already formulating frantic apologies when Rodney mouths, "Oh god, finally," against his lips and wraps his arms around his shoulders, yanking him closer and kissing him hot and hard.

It's easy as anything to slip his hands under Rodney's thighs and to lift him onto the workbench, even while Rodney attempts to distract him by unbuttoning his shirt and biting a line along his collar bone.

He fucks Rodney over the bench in his lab, and next time on a balcony overlooking the city, and after that on Elizabeth’s desk. He learns every inch of his body; the soft plump of his thighs, the way he likes to be jerked off nice and slow, the sensitive patch of skin behind his ear.

For loops and loops, he does nothing else. Rodney never turns him down, not once. No matter where he is or what he’s doing, he’ll drop everything to be with him, and John has no idea what to make of that.

(Yes he does, but it's too big and too terrifying to look at directly, so he puts it aside.

It can wait. He has nothing but time.)

The first time he gets Rodney to fuck him, he bursts into fat, ugly tears afterwards and Rodney wraps a blanket around him and pets his hair. They stay like that for hours, Rodney holding him and for once not speaking, letting the waves of need and desperation and loneliness ebb and flow as they will, giving the simple comfort of his presence.

Sometimes he tells him about the loop, sometimes not. It doesn’t seem to make much difference to Rodney. Even when he explains nothing, just walks up to him and kisses him, Rodney kisses him back just as hungrily as ever.

And when they’re not fucking, they’re talking. He learns that Rodney has always wanted to learn to paint. He misses his cat (no, really. It’s not funny.) The one person on the base he is most afraid of is Elizabeth, because he secretly suspects she might be smarter than he is.

John tells him about why he doesn’t talk to his family, and about how out of place he always felt in the military. That he likes turkey sandwiches because they’re what his college roommate made for him when he first left home and had to learn to get by on not much money.

Each day, he learns more about Rodney and shares more about himself. And then the loop resets, and he has to walk into the lab and see Rodney regard him coolly and say, “Sheppard,” like that’s all they are to each other.

He misses him, and that sounds insane because he's spent practically every waking hour with the man for what must have been weeks. But he is moving forward and Rodney is staying still. Every time the loop resets, they drift further apart.

He stops sleeping with Rodney.

He gets back to work.

He pulls up the city sensor data and brings it to the lab.

“Here, look. You said before there was a radiation spike.”

Rodney drums his fingers against the tablet. “Yeah, there is. And it looks,” he squints, “sort of familiar.”

“What could cause that?”

“A million things. Radioactive materials. Black holes. Coronal mass ejections. Lightning, if there’s enough of it.”

“Wait, wait wait.” Something important scratches at his mind. “Coronal mass ejections, as in, from stars?”

“Yes. The magnetic fields inside a star shift as material moves in its interior, and when a prominence is formed and collapsed, the star releases a burst of plasma.”

He snaps his fingers. “That’s it! The sun in this solar system, we know it’s periodically unstable, right? And it’s even more active than usual right now.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

He thinks of the arcs of plasma he saw as he dove the jumper into the sun’s corona and decides against trying to explain that. “It’s not important. But we know the stargate has sent Earth teams through time when the wormhole passed too close to a coronal mass ejection, right? What if our stargate had the same problem?”

“That might send whoever was traveling through the gate through time, but it wouldn’t make time loop.” A light flickers in Rodney’s eyes. “Oh! Oh! Unless that’s why the gate failed. It tried to send an outgoing wormhole at the exact moment that the sun’s activity peaked. When the wormhole hit the coronal mass ejection, it bounced back to its origin, carrying its energy with it. And that would mean…” He taps frantically at his tablet. “Right! That spike of radiation is the effect of the outgoing and incoming wormholes colliding, forming a resonance wave. All that energy is forming ripples which must be throwing us through spacetime.”

“Great! So can you fix it?”

Rodney blinks. “I’m not even sure I can model what’s happening, let alone fix it. The mathematical equations alone will be weeks of work.”

“We don’t have weeks, Rodney. We have -” he checks his watch, “- just over half an hour before the loop resets and we lose everything.”

Despair starts crawling up his spine, but he shouldn’t have underestimated the sheer stubbornness of Rodney McKay.

“Well then.” Rodney sits him down and shoves a notebook and pen into his hands. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn some math and help me to remember.”

This is his routine now: Wake up in his quarters, run to the lab, talk Rodney through the problem as fast as he can, get lectured on astrophysics and mathematical modelling until he feels like his head is going to explode, repeat.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

He gets the basics down quickly but there are still pages and pages of math for them to solve, and nowhere close to enough time to figure it out in one loop. So he learns, and remembers, and does his best to save himself.

Rodney explains it well when he’s not being a jerk, and John starts to understand why he likes this work.

He hasn’t done this much math since college, and it’s not as awful as he remembers. There’s a kind of beauty to it, actually, a balance of all the relevant variables quantified and described, their relationships mapped into symbols and equations, the logically clarity of a necessarily true fact.

“See, this variable here, this represents the duration of the outgoing wormhole.” Rodney taps the whiteboard. John stares at the way his hands dance over the numbers. “And this one here, this is the distance between Lantea and its sun...”

Each loop, he learns a little more. Eventually, he understands the equations Rodney has been scribbling for the past god knows how many loops.

Now they just need to actually figure out how to solve them.

“That equation is wrong.”

“What? No it isn’t. I worked that out myself.” Rodney is glaring at him like he insulted his mother.

“I’m telling you, Rodney. Look.” John uses the cuff of his shirt to wipe out a corner of the equations scribbled on the whiteboard. “This is assuming we’re still operating in base 10, but we know the gate operating system is partially in base 16.” He adds in the corrected figures as he goes. “So we need to convert it to polynomial here and here before we can compare the output to the data from our solar radiation readings, then we can figure out the coronal mass ejection’s effects on both the gate and our computers simultaneously and allow for the difference.”

Rodney is squinting at the whiteboard. “That’s… Huh. That might actually be right.” He steps closer, running his fingers beneath the figures John has changed. Then he wheels and rounds on John.

“You,” he says, pointing a finger at John’s chest. “You are a genius.”

And then he’s grabbing John’s shirt and hauling him close and kissing him, wild and messy and with great enthusiasm.

And John had told himself he wasn’t going to do this any more but this is different, Rodney had kissed him this time, and with the way Rodney’s hands are scrabbling at every piece of skin he can reach he doesn’t think he could stop himself anyway.

Afterwards, once they’ve wasted far too much of this loop to get any productive work done, John tells Rodney about all the times that they’ve done this before, and that this is the first time Rodney has been the one to instigate it.

Rodney shrugs. “What can I say? A man who knows his math really gets me going.”

John hides a smile. “You only want me for my brain, huh?”

“Yes,” Rodney says, like that’s obvious. He breaks into a grin and runs a hand through John’s hair. “And the hair, of course. That’s very important.”

“Mmhmm.” John stretches lazily across the sofa in the corner of the lab. “And the rest of me?”

Rodney gives him a sly look. “I guess that’s alright too.”

And then Rodney is giggling as John wrestles him to the sofa as well, and he’s all flying elbows and poking fingers until John gets him pinned beneath him, both of them sweaty and out of breath from laughter.

Oh, thinks John. So this is what happiness feels like. He’d almost forgotten.

The loop is about to end, though this one feels different.

They're lying squashed together on the too-small sofa, inelegantly draped around each other, when Rodney takes his hand. “You have to tell me,” he says. “We’re about to reset, and once we've fixed this and I've forgotten again, you have to tell me how you feel.”

His gut churns. It’s so much simpler to be together when he doesn’t have to think about the consequences.

“Promise me,” Rodney says. “It’s not fair that I should finally get what I’ve wanted for so long, and not be able to remember it.”

He thinks about how he feels each time Rodney is reset: the loss, the ache of it. He tries to imagine what it would be like to have those experiences erased entirely.

“Okay.” He squeezes Rodney’s hand. “I promise.”

“That’s it!” Rodney beams at the whiteboard, covered from top to bottom in dense equations. “I can’t believe we got that done so fast.”

John lets out a sound that might be considered a laugh.

“Ah.” Rodney looks at him sideways. “You’ve been working on this for a while, huh?”

“You could say that, yeah.”

“Well, good news. Now we’ve got the wormhole modeled, we can feed this data into the dialing device and reset the gate manually.”

“And that will stop the loop?”

“I sure as hell hope so, because it’s the only idea I’ve got.”

“Terrific.”

John makes a conscious effort to stop his leg from bouncing anxiously as Rodney loads up their data into the dialing device.

He checks his watch. It’s three minutes to eight.

This is going to work. Right? This has to work. He’s put everything he has into this fix and he honestly doesn’t know if he can cope with looping one single time more.

(He’s thought that so many times before. And yet, here he is, still, willing or not.)

“We need to get the timing just right,” Rodney informs the gate techs. He’s taken over the gate room and thankfully the entire base has learned not to get in McKay’s way when he has that steely look in his eye. “We need to engage the program at exactly the moment the incoming wormhole is set to arrive.”

Two minutes to eight. Adrenaline surges, and he wants to run or to fight, but there’s nothing he can do except watch the furrow in Rodney’s brow and the agitated tapping of his fingers against the Ancient keypad.

“Alright, Chuck, ready on my command.”

Rodney’s got this, he tells himself. They’ve got this.

One minute to eight.

“Now!” Chuck sits up straighter, focused on the instruments in front of him. Rodney taps at the keypad, attention narrowed down to the rapidly scrolling code on his screen.

The lights flicker, spluttering overhead and casting the gate room in an eerie disjointed light. The gate starts to rotate, the screeching noise louder than usual, the illuminated symbols seeming to glow more brightly.

There is a moment of absolute stillness, and then -

The whoosh of the outgoing wormhole connecting is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. He can get out, he can be free, he can live. He doesn't have to be alone any more.

Blood rushes to his head in great waves and makes him dizzy, like this might all be an illusion, like it might disappear at any moment.

He checks his watch. It's two minutes past eight.

He lets out a hysterical peal of laughter, staggers away from the gate controls, and passes out.

He wakes up not in his quarters. The antiseptic smell of the infirmary is the sweetest breath of fresh air.

Elizabeth insists he needs medical supervision, but there's no chance of keeping a hoard of curious scientists away from an oddity like the man who looped through time. So he's in an infirmary bed being gently grilled about the experience by Zelenka, who has apparently been elected their representative.

Elizabeth does her best to project an air of calm as she asks, "Is there any way to know how long we were looping for?"

Zelenka pushes his glasses up on the bridge of nose. "It is hard to say for certain, but extrapolating the current season based on the length of the days, we must have lost around six months."

"Six months?" Elizabeth turns to him, aghast. "John, I can't even imagine."

She means well, but he can't handle pity right now. He plays it off casually, with a wink and a smile. "Trust me, you don't want to." He swings his legs off the side of the bed and calls out to Carson. "Doc, I'm good to leave, right? Pretty sure I'm healthy as a horse, and I've given the research team plenty of material to work with."

Carson looks him over, takes in the weary lines of his shoulders, and eventually nods. He always was perceptive. "Aye, alright. But stop back in tomorrow for a checkup."

"Sure thing. Now if you'll all excuse me, I'm looking forward to a well deserved night off."

He is looking forward to a night off, but the very last place he wants to wake up tomorrow is in his quarters. He'd sooner sleep on one of the piers, or in the locker room, or on a hive ship. Anywhere but there.

But there's another option. Or at least, there might be. So he finds himself fidgeting outside Rodney's door.

The door opens while he's pacing back and forth in the corridor.

"Sheppard?' Rodney blinks at him. "I was just on my way to find you. Earlier you seemed… so I thought… well, this must have been hard for you. What are you doing in the hallway?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Instead he considers.

Rodney's hair is mussed, the way it gets when he's been deep in thought and running his hands through it. His fingertips are pinching together, a hum of low-grade anxiety that surrounds him whenever he has to confront emotional situations. He's wearing an old grey hoodie, one of his favorites because it's soft, even though he thinks it makes him look dumpy (it doesn't. Or maybe it does, but it doesn't matter, because it's comfortable and warm and it smells like Rodney. John knows because he's stolen it tens of times. It's one of his favorites as well.)

John knows him, knows every part of him, and he's so close he could reach out and touch him, but he's a million miles away as well.

"... John? Do you want to come in?" Rodney's face pinches into a concerned frown. "We don't have to talk, if you'd rather not."

He could walk away. Turn on his heel and leave, never mention any of this, let the whole incident fade into obscurity. But he's so close to having what he wants: something new, something familiar, something beautiful.

He takes a breath. Here is his chance. Now or never.

"Actually, I think we should talk." He lets himself smile at the precious memory, one perfect moment crystallized like a diamond from months of crushing pressure. "I made a promise."

#stargate atlantis #mcshep #my writing

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lillywillow · 4 years ago

Text

From Russia With Love

Summary: When Steve and Bucky investigate an old HYDRA base left over from World War II, they find something nobody could have ever predicted... A pilot from the legendary 588th night bomber regiment frozen in time.

Word Count: 2117

Square Filled: Military Base

Pairings: Bucky x Female Reader

Warnings: WWII warfare, slight angst

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: Although I will be using real historical people and events, some of the names and actions I will be using are fictional. The 588th night bomber regiment were an all female squadron from Russia in World War II. They were given hand-me-down men’s uniforms and poor, outdated equipment. Their planes were not designed for combat. The planes let out a whistle as it idled through the sky which the German’s thought sounded like a broomstick, giving them the nickname ‘Die Nachthexen’ or Night Witches.

Germany, 1944. Three Polikarpov U-2 biplanes move silently through the night sky, their engines cut at the behest of the navigators. A soldier was making his rounds about the perimeter of the base when an unearthly scream pierced the air. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around. Suddenly, a shadow of a plane darkens the ground. The soldier abruptly realised what was happening.

“Die Nachthexen!” he screamed. The base was rapidly brought to life with activity when the air raid siren wailed. Soldiers rushed to man the anti-aircraft guns as the Night Witches dropped the first bomb. Two of the planes broke formation to draw away the ground fire as the third dropped the next bomb. The last plane made a sharp turn and was able to drop the last bomb on the base. With their mission complete, the engines went back on and the planes headed home to Russia.

Out of nowhere, a German fighter plane appeared. The biplanes were slower but their much smaller size gave them an advantage in the fact they had a tight turning ratio but for one plane, it wasn’t enough. One of the pilots cried out in pain as a bullet grazed her arm. The canvas wings of the plane were ablaze, there was no other option but to bring the plane down. The navigator held the pilot’s shoulders to steady her as they crashed into the ground.

Dazed by the impact, the pilot held her head, feeling something wet and warm drip down her face. She turned behind her to check on her navigator whose head was slumped to her chest. She reached for her hand.

“Yelena... I’m sorry...” Black spots swam in her vision before the darkness took over.

...

Germany, present day. Steve and Bucky were called on a mission to investigate what was possibly a HYDRA base left over from WWII. On their way in, they noticed the remains of a downed plane a few miles out from the base that nature had taken over in the course of sixty years give or take. On the surface, it had the hell bombed out of it. Steve managed to find a charred door in amongst the wreckage and went in, Bucky following behind. Underground was a rabbit warren of rooms and passageways, their secrets lost to time, waiting to be uncovered.

“We should split up,” Steve said, getting out his flashlight. Bucky nodded and got out his own. The duo headed in, checking each and every room for anything that might be of HYDRA origin.

This place gave Bucky the creeps and bad memories began to invade his mind; memories of when he lost his identity of Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes and given the new one of The Winter Soldier. Room after room they looked in until Steve found something.

“Buck, you gotta see this...” Bucky made his way to where Steve called him to and whatever he was expecting, this was not it. The room was still lit with sickening fluorescent lights. In the back corner, there were two pods. One was empty, whatever test subject it held was long gone. The other had a woman still cryogenically frozen inside. Bucky placed his right hand on the glass.

“She’s just like me...”

“Think you can make sense of these?” Steve asked, holding up a dusty file written in German. Bucky picked them up and read through the notes. It stated the woman’s name and why she was there. There was also information on a second woman, presumably whoever was in the second pod. Apparently, they were going to be used for a programme akin to the Winter Soldiers or the Red Room but the project had been scrapped and only one of the subjects was moved.

“I’m going to let Fury know what we’ve found.” Steve headed out to make the call but Bucky stayed behind. He couldn’t leave this woman all alone now that he knew she was there.

...

Feeling a pounding in your head, you opened your eyes. Slowly, you sat up, looking around. You appeared to be back in your base. Funny... you didn’t remember making it back. The last thing you remembered was crashing after completing a mission. Was a rescue sent out and that’s how you got here? You spotted another woman in one of the other beds. Steadily, you got up and went over to her.

“Come on, Yelena. We’ve got another mission,” you said, shaking her shoulder. As she sat up, you immediately noticed that this was not your navigator.

“You’re not Yelena...”

“No, I’m a new recruit. My name is Natalia Romanova,” she replied in Russian.

“Well I hope you’re a quick study, Natalia. Major Bershanskaya will not make things easy for you. Now get ready. Training for you starts now.”

As you got dressed, something struck you as very odd. Your uniform fitted perfectly like it was tailored for you and your boots weren’t oversized. It set off alarm bells in your head but you didn’t want to frighten the new girl. As you headed out, you saw an officer standing and waiting for you.

“Who are you?” you asked, confused as to why this man would be here, especially one who looked so high up in command. Something else that you noticed was that there were planes around the base.

“I’m your new commanding officer...” That did it. There was no way your commander would leave her girls. You managed to snatch his sidearm but even faster, Natalia had you in a headlock, one hand holding the wrist you held the gun.

“Who are you?! Where am I?! What have you done with Yelena?! Where is my navigator?!” The pair exchanged a look and conversed in English, something you didn’t understand.

“I can explain everything... just give me the gun,” the man prompted. Slowly, you handed him the sidearm which he put away and Natalia let go of you.

“You have been asleep for over sixty years...”

“What?! How?! We... we were just there... and... Yelena! Where is she? Is she okay? Is she safe?” The pair exchanged another look.

“You were the only one we found in the base...” You broke down sobbing and straight away the man held you up as you trembled. He rubbed your back and stroked your hair which you found strangely comforting. How could you have been asleep for sixty years? It was only hours ago you were flying to drop bombs on German bases.

...

A few hours later, you were sitting by the window of the room which had been set up for you thinking over all the new information which had been given to you. They had given you new clothes but the only ones who spoke your language were the ones you met at the fake base camp. Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“May I come in?” A male’s voice asked.

“Yes...” The man who you came to learn was named Bucky walked in with a plate of food.

“I thought you might like something to eat...”

“I’m not hungry...”

“I know what you’re going through but you still need to eat...”

“How could you possibly know what I’m going through?! Do you know what it’s like to be with friends one minute and find out they’re all gone?! To wake up in a strange place with strange people?! To have no idea what the hell is going on?!” He was quiet for a few moments.

“Actually... I do.” You were taken aback from his response. Bucky sat down on your bed and began telling you his life’s story.

He told you about his best friend Steve who always used to getting in trouble. He enlisted in the American army the moment he could. His time in the Howling Commandos. About how he fell off the train and became a weapon for HYDRA for decades. As he spoke, his eyes began to ghost over, reliving the old memories that you could see were haunting him. You sat next to him and held his hand. Bucky hastily wiped his eyes.

“What about you? Tell me your story...”

You smiled softly. You told him about your father who died defending Osowiec Fortress and how it inspired you to fight for your country. When the call went out for women to fly bomber planes, you and your best friend Yelena Belsky both applied and got in, you as a pilot and she as a navigator. You flew many sorties together. Your commander Major Yevdokiya Bershanskaya was stern but fair with you girls but taught you everything you knew. You spoke about your last mission, the one you were on when your plane was shot down.

Bucky listened to your every word, looking at you with total admiration. Most of the men looked at you with pity or distain. You couldn’t help but blush a little under his intense gaze.

“I, um... I think I’ll have something to eat now,” you mumbled, taking the plate he brought with him. “Thank you...”

“Anytime... if you ever want to talk, you can always come to me. Nat should be available too...”

“I appreciate that.”

To Bucky, those memories were a lifetime ago but to you, they were only like yesterday. It somehow felt good to share those stories with someone who understood what it was like to go through the same thing you were.

...

The months flew by and before you knew it, a year had passed. Between Natasha and Bucky you were now fluent in English. They taught you hand to hand combat and other things you would need to join The Avengers, although, you were pretty much an ace pilot when it came to the jets. Natasha became your best friend and you frequently spoke in Russian with her. You formed a bond with Steve too once the language barrier came down, sharing war stories with each other but the person on the team you were closest to was Bucky. He taught you a lot over the months and it wasn’t long before you started dating. It was inevitable.

...

One night, you were standing on the balcony, looking at the moon and thinking about that fateful night you were assigned to bomb that base all those years ago. You wondered if your friend was dead or alive. The team had told you they would help you find her, searching all HYDRA archives they came across and Bucky helped you to follow every lead. Your heart hoped for the best but you knew to expect the worst.

“Hey, Doll.” You turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway. He walked over to you and put his arm around you, kissing your head. “What’s on your mind?”

“Yelena... I can’t help but hope that I’ll find her one day. She was like my sister. Natasha has been wonderful, you all have but it’s hard being stuck in the past...”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky muttered softly. “You know... it’s been just over a year now since we met...”

“So it has,” you wistfully replied. “Time sure flies...”

“It sure does... and I don’t want to waste any more of it.” You looked confused as Bucky pulled away from you.

“When I was called on that mission to uncover an old HYDRA base, I never thought I would meet the love of my life. You’re one of the bravest, strongest, most incredibly women I know. Will you marry me?” Bucky got down on one knee and presented you with a beautiful ring. You couldn’t help but tear up.

“Yes, Bucky, I will!” Bucky smiled and stood up, sliding the ring on your finger and kissing you.

Who knew that a German base lost to time would connect two military personals so perfectly together?

#ssb2021 #military base #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #natasha romanoff #Proposal #WWII #Night Witches #588 #HYDRA #Marvel #marvelfanfiction #Night Bomber #Fighter planes #biplanes #all female strike force #history #from russia with love #Sabaton

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mirclealignr · 4 years ago

Text

sad smiles and false truths - chapter seven

Harry x reader & Draco x reader

series masterlist!

warnings: swearing, wearing draco's clothes, flashbacks in italics, maybe a little dialogue heavy, sorry! anything else lemme know!

word count: 3000+

---

You awoke to emptiness beside you, Draco’s warmth having left with him. After rolling onto your back to stare at his ceiling, fiddling with the sheets, you thought of the events of the previous night. Why did you let yourself endure it? Harry was still on your mind, pressed into your heart. Still he remained etched into your being, the letters of his name bleeding out from within you. But cuts could heal and all you could wish for was that they wouldn’t leave any scars.

And then Hermione, poor, sweet Hermione, who had done nothing but love Ron Weasley from the background. Her heart must have been breaking as much as yours had been, but still she would have a glimmer of hope. Yours had ceased to brea, for it had been toyed with too long. It was indisputably broken now. But you had a new glimmer of hope, one that did not rely on Harry Potter.

Draco.

Now that you thought about him, you wondered why had he left you there all alone. You had never slept so peacefully as when you were beside him, safe within his arms and between his sheets. Something about him soothed you, though he was a tormented soul, he seemed a beacon in the emptiness. The door creaked open.

“Sorry, I didn’t know if you liked coffee or tea. I brought hot chocolate, thought that was the safest option,” Draco smiled, noticing you were awake, holding two steaming mugs in his hands.

He was dressed just as he was yesterday, all black as if he were attending a funeral. Perhaps he was. You smiled, taking a mug from his grasp and letting the contents warm you.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

One simple gesture and it was more than Harry had ever done for you, really.

“One of us is always crying when we see each other, this is a nice turn around,” you said, bringing the mug to your lips to test the heat.

“I like this much better,” he smiled, sitting down on the chair beside the bed, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Actually, yeah. Talking about makes it real.”

You needed to remember it was real.

You told Draco everything, from the very first night you were crying to Ginny and Harry, Ginny insulting you, Harry breaking you, the events at Hogsmeade and the lack of those that followed. With each passing second, Draco’s scowl deepened, as if he hadn’t hated Harry enough without this information tipping him over edge. You managed not to cry thinking of it all and reliving every moment as you explained yourself to Draco.

The argument was fiercely stomping through your head, the words you had said, the words Harry had said, so luckily for Draco he got a word for word account. He laughed bitterly at your words and scoffed at Harry’s. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t say anything, he just listened, listened until you’d completely exhausted the subject.

But you felt better afterwards, as you hoped this exercise would achieve. Every thought that was plaguing your mind had been released, let go of and washed away. They weren’t yours anymore and the world could do with them as it pleased. It wasn’t your concern any longer and that was unimaginably liberating.

“I hate him,” Draco stated simply, “I mean it, it’s such an overused word that it’s lost its meaning, but I genuinely hate him.”

“I don’t know I-”

“And the fact you don’t makes me hate him more.”

“I do right now, but I won’t always,” you admitted, “But, me aside, do you want to talk about it?” You asked.

He’d heard all about you and you wanted to return the favour. Desperately. You wanted to help him the way he had helped you, if he’d let you. He’d hardly slept, you could see that from the dark circles under his eyes. He wasn’t happy, you could see that from frown lines in his skin.

“I want to, but not yet,” he grimaces. What would the difference be from now or later? But that could work both ways, what was the difference in telling it later and what was the difference in listening to it later? So, later it would have to be.

“Whenever you’re ready,” you smiled encouragingly.

“Breakfast will be over in an hour or so, won’t your friends be wondering where you are?” He questioned you, standing up and taking your mug.

“I guess. I was wondering, do you mind if we keep this secret for a while?” You asked sheepishly, hoping not to offend him.

That wasn’t your intention nor the reason you wanted it kept secret. But you didn’t want any judgement, or for anyone to jump to conclusions. No lectures, no comments on what you were doing. It was your life, and you’d no idea what Draco meant to you yet, but you weren’t giving him up. That wasn’t up for negotiation.

“No, not at all actually. I don’t mean that I don’t want people to know we’re friends, but just not right now,” he said.

You bit your lip to suppress your smile. It was like your minds were intertwined, different roots but still striving for the same sun.

“Great, do you mind if I keep the sweater for a while?” You smiled, wrapping yourself in a hug.

His mouth dropped open a little as if he was about to protest but he shook his head, “It was made for you,” he hummed, opening the door to leave you while you changed.

Why not let people guess, let people make assumptions? The mysterious sweater upon Y/N Y/L/N. Funny, because the school could actually blow up over something as small as a sweater. You opened the door (having folded Draco’s sweats and placed them on the bed) and left his room behind, his sweater still upon your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered in his ear, kissing him lightly on the cheek.

The hint of a blush ghosted over his cheek where you’d placed your lips, causing the eruption of a new species of butterflies in your stomach. These butterflies fluttered for someone else.

—-------

Leaving the Slytherin common room with a genuine smile upon your face, you skipped out of the dungeons and up the stairs to the Great Hall. You hadn’t thought of how you were going to explain to Hermione about your disappearance when she needed you. You’d never returned to the dorm room last night. You needed a plausible lie just for a little while before you could tell her the truth. And a perfect answer to your question appeared around the corner from the Great Hall.

“Luna!” You waved her over, capturing the blonde’s attention.

“Hello Y/N,” she beamed.

“Would you be willing to tell just a little white lie for me? It wouldn’t even need to be told if no one asked you.”

“Is this lie going to hurt anyone?”

“No.”

“Then yes.”

“Okay, if anyone asks if I was with you last night, say yes,” you instructed.

“Okay,” she shrugged.

You trailed behind Luna into the Great Hall, close enough to make it seem as if you were coming together–anything to make the lie more believable. Hermione’s eyes found your own and locked you in a tight embrace, a suffocating one, and your guilt began to fester. Harry was there too and had the audacity to look frustrated with you too.

“Where have you been?” Hermione scolded you.

“Sorry, I stayed with Luna last night,” you fibbed.

“Why?” She asked.

Your eyes flickered over to Harry’s in amusement. He hadn’t said anything? Coward. “Are you alright?” You asked her, realising that Ron wasn’t with you this morning.

“So you care now?”

“Hermione,” you pleaded, tilting your head.

“I’ve actually got to go to the library,” Harry interrupted, leaving you behind.

Whether it was the awkward altercation with Hermione that led him to leave or just your presence in general you weren’t sure, but thank Merlin he had.

“I’ll tell you everything once I hear you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there last night. There’s no excuse but I’d like to explain if you let me,” you reasoned with your best friend, reaching your hand across the table.

She took it within hers, smiling at you as her resolve thinned, “Oh, fine,” she rolled her eyes good humouredly, “There’s not much to say really. I think you know the feeling well. I was sitting at the bottom of the stairs when they stumbled in, sucking each other’s faces off. Well, I was obviously angry and I made that clear,” she laughed, but you could see the sadness behind it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not knowing what else to say to her–there wasn’t hardly anything to say, and you knew this because you’d been there. You were there.

“Not your fault.”

“I’m sorry on his behalf, he’ll realise he should be soon enough,” you smiled, mirroring the words she’d once said to you.

It seemed so long ago now, that morning in the Great Hall when Harry had corrected your analysis of soulmates. How stupid you’d been to even think he couldlove you after that circus act.

“And you?”

“I broke up with Harry last night,” you revealed.

Hermione’s eyes widened a little from your confession. She probably never would have expected you to be the one to do it–no one would have, you were the one in love after all. Before she had a chance to speak, you filled her in on all the details of last night and why you hadn’t gone to her afterwards. She forgave you, of course, once she understood. Draco was still kept secret, your secret, even from Hermione.

“Y/N, I’m really proud of you. Harry is…well he’s an idiot. He didn’t see what was right in front of him and when he did, he took advantage of it, of you. You need to put him behind you,” she said firmly.

“You’re right now and you were then.”

“As always.”

“Of course.”

—

“Hermione, it’s just you and me, you don’t need to dress up,” you groaned, waiting for her impatiently.

“Fine,” she mumbled through the closed door, opening it and standing in the doorway with a questioning stare.

She was wearing a jumper and jeans, just the same as you, and she looked perfectly fine for a shopping trip.

“Why did we put this off to the last minute?” She asked, tears virtually forming in her eyes from the pure lack of organisation.

“Because we like the adrenaline rush?” You asked, smiling innocently.

Stupidly, you’d put off dress shopping until the day before Slughorn’s Christmas party and now you were traipsing off to Hogsmede last minute, in hopes that there were still some decent dresses in stock. Pretty idiotic for the two of you, but you’d been so busy with heartbreak, avoiding a certain pair of boys, and school, that you couldn’t bring yourself to think of such inconsequential things.

It had been nearly a month since your messy break up with Harry Potter. It hadn’t been quite as awful as you had expected, he’d kept his distance and neither Ron nor Hermione brought it up very much. In fact, all Ron ever really talked about was Lavender Brown. Which, in turn, meant all you and Hermione really talked about was Lavender and Ron. Of course, there was nothing wrong with Lavender at all, other than the fact that was incredibly annoying and a little immature, but you were really angry at Ron, not her.

The two of you were dreading Slughorn’s Christmas Party; Harry would be there with a date, and Cormac was escorting Hermione. You hoped Harry’s date wasn’t Ginny (her and Dean had broken up not too long ago), you wanted Harry to at least wait a little while for yours and Dean’s sake. Ginny and Harry were truly made for each other. You hadn’t had the chance to speak to Dean yet, but you would, for both of your closures.

The agony that attached itself to Harry was dulling with each passing day, and finally it was becoming bearable. This development was almost entirely down to your own strength, as unfortunately, you and Draco had only seen each other once more in the entire month. Together in the Astronomy Tower one night, when the two of you felt like the world was enclosing around you, trapping you inside, you found relief in each other’s company. When you were together, the world seemed to expand, letting a little more air in and a little more breathing space.

“Is your constellation up there?” You asked, looking up to the sky.

Draco looked up too, searching the vast skies for his namesake, “Yeah,” he replied, moving closer to you and pointing up to the sky, “It’s there, see? There’s the dragon’s tail, and then his head,” he showed you, dragging his finger through the air.

It began to reveal itself to you with Draco’s instruction, becoming more clear to you as it took shape. It was nice that he knew his own constellation, you wondered how many people he had shown it to. You wondered who had shown him first, picturing little Draco tugging on his mother’s or father’s arm with childlike glee.

“A dragon. Does it mean anything to you?” You asked, looking at the Draco that roamed the earth rather than the one millions of miles away.

“No, dragon’s are a myth.”

“I think it means something.”.

“How?” He questioned, looking down at you.

“You’re strong and fierce,” you began, watching him shake his head in disagreement, “You are Draco, you are. And in some cultures, they’re supposed to bring good luck,” you smiled.

“I don’t know about strong, but I definitely don’t bring good luck–in most cultures they mean evil. You probably shouldn’t even be here talking to me,” he cringed, and suddenly he felt as far away as his constellation.

“I disagree. Talking to you makes me forget, it makes me feel…lighter,” you consoled him. What was he so afraid of?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. So, what do you say, will you be my good luck charm?” You asked him, smiling widely.

“Yes, I’ll do my best.”

Walking into the little clothing shop in Hogsmeade, you and Hermione immediately began to file through the dresses on offer. You skipped over the red and pink ones, grimacing as the fabric brushed over your fingertips. It was winter, and that always made you think of darker colours, despite the holiday that came with December–you wanted something fitting. Black seemed to glum and purple… not you.

“I like this one, what do you think?” Hermione asked, pulling a pink, sleeveless dress from the rack and golding it up to herself.

It was perfectly Hermione. Pink had always been her colour, which she’d proved to the entire year at the Yule Ball a couple of years ago.

“I think you’ll look stunning in that,” you complimented her.

Turning back to the rack of dresses, something buried beneath the others captured your attention. You pulled it out, admiring the dark green dress, sleeveless like Hermione’s, but from the shoulders to the top of the chest was green lace that created delicate, intricate patterns. It was tight at the waist secured with a green bow and then flowed down from the hips. IIt was lower at the back, and the hem of the dress held the same green lace as the top. It would make quite the statement.

“I would warn anyone else against that dress, but something tells me you’d look absolutely wonderful in green,” Hermione smirked mischievously.

“Slytherin’s colours.”

“Who cares? It’s just a colour.”

But it wasn’t just a colour, just the same as red wasn’t just a colour, it was house pride. The statement it made was perhaps one only you’d know the meaning of. People may choose not to listen, but it wouldn’t lessen the noise. Green it would have to be.

After paying for your dresses, you and Hermione headed out and strolled back to the castle. The dresses were neatly placed in your drawers to await their time to shine at the party tomorrow night.

“I can’t believe you asked Cormac,” you whispered, giggling.

Hermione lifted the covers over her face in shame, “I know. All I could think about was annoying Ron. Merlin, I’m so stupid,” she laughed, “It’s going to be awful.”

“I know, I can’t wait,” you squealed.

“Oh shut up. I still can’t believe you’re going with Blaise.”

“Hey! Blaise!” You called for him, having captured a glimpse of him around the corridor. He turned around, giving you a once over before stopping, “You’re going to Slughorn’s Christmas party, right?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Well, I was wondering, now it would just be as friends mind you, but do you want to go with me?” You enquired, cringing.

“With you?” He asked, astonished, an indistinguishable expression upon his face. You didn’t answer him, only continued to stare at him expectantly, “I don’t see why not,” he regained his composure, not that he’d lost much of it, “You aren’t asking Draco?”

“It’s hard to explain,” You shook your head, “Plus, I’ve always wanted to know why you were glaring at me through the entire dinner party, maybe I’ll get my chance to ask you,” you grinned.

His lips tugged into a little smirk, “That’s nothing personal, it’s just me,” he assured you, “I’ll see you there,” he added, walking away to continue whatever you’d interrupted.

Both you and Hermione had been intent on annoying the boys who had broken your hearts it seemed.

“You know,” she started, “I didn’t think about this before, but that dress will certainly have something to say with Blaise as your date,” she grinned.

“Shit, you’re right,” you sniggered, muffling your giggles with your hands.

“I can’t wait!”

And you couldn’t either.

the dress I imagined

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #harry potter #draco fic #draco fanfiction #draco fluff #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco x reader #draco x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #sad smiles and false truths

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lunetheaveragefan · 4 years ago

Text

one day...

Hey! It’s time for chapter 6! This chapter also deals with some heavy things as well, so be mindful of that (as always, more details in the warnings). Anyway, that’s all, so enjoy the chapter!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of homophobia, bullying, suicide (hanging), suicide attempt (overdose), and self harm; mentions of Remus and Janus; swearing

Word Count: 1933 words

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CHAPTER SIX

Roman bites his lip and looks around. After standing awkwardly in the middle of the cafeteria for too long for his liking, he finally spots Virgil, Roman, and Patton sitting at a table in the back corner of the room. Relieved, he makes his way towards them.

Virgil sees him coming towards the three of them, and, to Roman’s surprise, gives him a small smile. Patton must see this, because he turns around and spots Roman as well. He’s more openly enthusiastic and waves, a big grin lighting up his face.

Sliding into the open seat next to Virgil, Roman says, “It’s weird to be eating this early. I’m not used to it.” Patton chuckles.

Virgil, always one to get to the point, asks, “So. Why’d you stand up for me?” Roman bites his lip and thinks, Dammit. I was hoping he forgot. He didn’t want to tell them. No one, even Patton, knew why he’d suddenly become so averse to bullying after being one for years. Everyone most likely thought he had a change of heart somewhere along the line. And he had, in a way. But there was more to the story.

There is always more to the story.

“Well, uh, you see…” Roman stammers, trying to get himself together. He took a deep breath before continuing, “Well, back in middle school, right after I came out, my dad was such an asshole about it. He didn’t want to accept or respect that I was gay. He said -- and did -- a lot of things. I realized sometime in July that he was being a bully, and what he was doing wasn’t so different from what I had done. And I don’t want to stand around watching someone get beat up the way I was by him, you know? I don’t want to sit around, knowing I could do something, and then have to live with that regret for the rest of my life.” It’s only a half truth, and a shitty one at best, but Roman’s too scared to talk about what really happened.

He doesn’t want to relive the worst, most terrifying days of his life. Really, who would?

Patton, who’d already heard about what had happened the summer before freshman year a million times, still starts tearing up. What a sap, Roman thinks, but it’s a loving remark. He knows that he wouldn’t be near as happy, nearly as accepting of himself as he is now without Patton.

There’s not much of a reaction from Logan; just a small head nod and a slightly reassuring smile. But it’s more than Roman was expecting from the serious boy, so it throws him off. What throws him off more, however, is Virgil’s face.

It’s very skeptical, eyebrow raised, eyes drilling into Roman’s, almost as if he’s trying to see the lie just by the force of willpower. To Roman, it seems like he might be pretty close. No matter how much he wants to break eye contact with Virgil, he can’t. There’s something about it that draws him in, that’s electrical.

To Roman’s relief, Virgil looks away first, but only to roll his eyes.

“Oh come on, Roman,” Virgil scoffs. “I can smell a half-truth or lie or whatever the hell that was from a mile away. Now, that all may be true, but there’s more to the story. So cut the bullshit and start again. Besides, I’ve already heard that whole story. That’s not your big secret. Enlighten me, why don’t you? What would be so bad that the great Roman Princeford would have to hide it?” Resting his chin on his palm, Virgil smirks, an obvious challenge. He wants to see if I’ll break. Give in. And honestly, I don’t know if telling or closing off would be letting him win.

“Hey, now, Virgil,” Patton says, always the peacemaker. “Let’s be nicer—”

“No, no, it’s fine, Patton,” Roman interrupts. “He’s right. I-I can’t keep avoiding this.”

Dread settles in Roman’s stomach as he steels himself to tell the story. Ignoring Patton’s concerned, “Kiddo…” he begins.

“Well, I guess the right place to start is with saying this: I have a twin brother. Remus.” Breathe. “He’s-He’s special, I guess. His mind is...twisted. Dark. He likes things that aren’t really...well, good or happy. And I never minded. He was still my brother, demented as he may be.

“My parents, though...they thought something was wrong with him.” Breathe, Roman. You can do this. “They sent him to therapist after therapist, psychologist after psychologist. Gave him pill after pill, but nothing ever worked. He kept on being the same crazy Remus. So they just...gave up. On him and his future and their...their love for him, I suppose.

“But I never did. I tried to be there for him. I went to every performance he was in, I went to movies and football games with him. But it was harder as I grew up because suddenly, my parents decided that since Remus was a let down, a...a failure-” Come on! Don’t cry. It’s fine. You’re fine. Safe. “-that meant I had to make up for it. If they couldn’t have two normal sons, then one of them better be, had to be, pretty goddamn exceptional.

“So we grew apart. Remus found a boyfriend, Janus, who could take him to movies and football games and go see his performances. And I kept on being the glory child for my parents. And everyone else, it seemed. I didn’t know that he was getting bullied until...until it was almost too late.”

The images rise in his mind: The hospital room, sterile and white, and the boy lying still under the sheet. The rope, tied with a near perfect circle at the end, hidden in the back of his closet. The blood pooling, staining the carpet red, gushing from the slashes on his arms. The way he looked when he woke up, the disappointment clear on his face.

Remus, cold, pulse so slow Roman was sure he was dead, and the bottle of pills on the nightstand.

Roman forces the sobs back down his throat.

“Remus attempted suicide, and I didn’t even know he was hurting. He survived, of course, but just seeing him in the hospital, after...it hurt. A whole fucking lot. And so I swore to myself that I would do whatever I could to prevent that from happening to anyone. No one should have to look down at someone they care about, love, and hope with all they have that they survive. Knowing that someone tried to...to kill themself? That they genuinely thought it was the best option? It’s the worst feeling in the world. And I don’t want that for anyone.” Roman swipes at his eyes, only to find a single, hot tear creeping down his cheek. Quickly, hoping no one noticed, he wipes it away.

Blinking until he feels back in control of his emotions, Roman looks around. Patton, of course, is a sort of wounded puppy, concern in his eyes, and a hand over his heart. Logan has been sombered by the story, more sadness than Roman expected showing on his face. But curiously, Logan’s eyes aren’t on Roman; they’re on Virgil. And when he looks over, Roman sees why.

Virgil has tears streaming down his face. A hand is over his mouth, shaking slightly. His other hand clutches his wrist, so hard, the skin around his fingers is turning white. The two sit there for a moment, staring at each other. Abruptly, Virgil throws his arms around Roman and hugs him tightly.

“I’m-I’m so sorry,” Virgil says in between sobs. After the shock has passed, Roman wraps his arms around the other boy. The hugs lasts long enough for the butterflies in Roman’s stomach to become full-fledged birds of prey.

Finally, when Virgil pulls away, Roman offers him a small smile. To his surprise, Virgil returns it. Roman isn’t sure if he should ask Virgil about his reaction to the explanation or not, but Patton saves him from overthinking it.

“So the musical is coming up…” Patton prompts, clearly trying to change the subject. Thank God for Patton, Roman thinks. I don’t want to think about all that anymore.

“Yeah!” Roman replies, pasting a smile on his face. “You guys are all coming, right?”

Patton, looking scandalized, says, “Of course we are!” before correcting himself by saying, “Well, I am at least.”

“Personally, I’ve never understood the whole theatre thing,” Logan adds, “but I suppose, as your friend, I should come support you, so I will be there.” Patton smiles widely at that, causing a small chuckle from Roman. Patton’s always bugging me about confessing my feelings, yet here he is, keeping his crush to himself.

“And Virgil?” Roman asks, trying not to get his hopes up. He’s probably not going to want to come. Hanging out with me at school and studying is one thing, but this would be a clear admission of friendship, something he most definitely does not see me as. Why would he—

“Of course I’m coming,” Virgil says, wiping away his tears. “You’d have to be pretty stupid to thing I would miss it.” He gives Roman a gentle, friendly punch in the arm, and despite the lingering sadness from his earlier confession, Roman beams.

Trying to hide his overwhelming happiness, Roman simply states, “Cool.”

The rest of lunch, the four make conversation about meaningless things: upcoming tests, funny memories, disastrous family get-togethers, and the like. When they get up to dump their trays, Roman leans over to Virgil and whispers, “I apologize for making you cry. I didn’t think it would affect anyone that much.”

Virgil replies, “Oh, it’s okay. It just hit a little too close to home, that’s all. I’m fine now.” The smile Virgil gives him does reassure him. And for once, Roman doesn’t spend all his time thinking about what Virgil could possibly mean by the story ‘hitting a little too close to home,’ mostly because all Roman can think about is the feeling of Virgil’s arms wrapped around him and his small, yet no less meaningful, smiles.

It’s this he’s thinking about after school when the musical director says, quiet loudly, “Roman!”

Blinking repeatedly to dispel the distracting thoughts, he peaks around the curtain and asks, “Yes, Mr. Halter?”

“That was your entrance.” Roman winces.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He hurries out to his spot on the stage, fixing his costume.

Mr. Halter sighs and says, “Roman, that’s the 5th time you’ve missed an entrance just today. What is going on? The play is on Friday. We don’t have time for messing around or distractions.” His face is filled with disappointment, but also concern. Roman figures it’s because he never messes up this much, especially when the performances are so close.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more focused. Just have a lot on my mind.” Roman flashes a winning smile, and Mr. Halter looks relieved.

“Good. Now, let’s start with Ana’s line right before Roman’s entrance.” Roman and the rest of the cast and crew nod and get in their respective places. Back behind the curtains once again, Roman thinks, Goddammit, Virgil. You just keep on messing up my life. The thought, however harsh it seems, is filled with something awfully close to love.

But Roman knows he can’t keep dwelling on that almost-love, or at least not right now. So he shoves all thoughts of Virgil from his mind and steps into his character and out onto the stage.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #prinxiety #logicality #deceit x remus #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

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loquaciousquark · 4 years ago

Text

Cut for talk of COVID and irresponsible failure to social distance (my own). Also, some updates on what’s been going on here for the last month or so.

part one:

Very very long story that I am truncating as much as possible. As you all know, I am an optometrist and professor. When we shut down in March, our university made a huge, painful shift to remote learning and our student clinic ceased operations altogether. Neither students nor faculty saw patients from March 15 - the the middle of May. At the end of May, faculty began seeing patients directly in an extremely reduced schedule, and at the beginning of June, we began adding in very limited numbers of students in a rolling schedule that minimized exposure to all involved.

Three weeks ago, my dear friend Jasper contacted me and said that an old friend of hers, whom I will call Carol, was in dire straits after losing her job overseas. Carol has an extremely rocky history: a terrible car accident that left her legs and feet permanently damaged which directly led to a very bad divorce, significant student loan debt (just shy of six digits I think, compounded from the accident, since she used her student loans to pay her medical bills--for anyone reading this, do not EVER EVER EVER DO THIS--student loans are never touched by bankruptcy declarations and you will owe them until you die), and something of an inability to put down roots. She is an English teacher who has taught and traveled all over the world: Prague, Bahrain, Czech Republic, Los Angeles, Rio, etc.

When I first met her about ten years ago, she had come back to Alabama from Prague because a job had fallen through. She was completely broke and living out of two suitcases and a carry-on. She lived with us for three months for free, sleeping in Jasper’s bed because we had no other room for her, and eventually got a job in Boston and moved on. She lasted--I think--about two months in Boston before quitting and taking a job in the Middle East.

On top of her student loan debt, Carol also has significant IRS debt and is in debt to several of her friends. Over the last few years, she took several ill-advised positions overseas back to back without ever consulting a lawyer on her contracts, and did not realize until recently that one of her positions classified her as an independent contractor instead of an employee, so she owed US taxes on all her income for that period of time. Her most recent job in Prague she lost in February because she filed her visa (again, without a lawyer) incorrectly, and what should have been a brief three-week stay outside of the country became a six week stay on the couch of strangers in the Czech Republic while she waited for her visa reapplication to process. However, it was denied, and then COVID hit, and she returned to Alabama with only a portion of her possessions and tons of important paperwork left behind in her Prague apartment. She then unfortunately had two emergency surgeries on her stomach for an acute, unpredictable medical issue, and while she is well healing now, it also added on another forty thousand dollars of medical debt to what she already owed.

She stayed with her mother and sister while she was recovering from the emergency surgeries, but her family is emotionally abusive and very unkind to her, and after a few weeks she left their home and went to stay with Jasper. However, Jasper is also 8 months pregnant with her fourth child, and they both knew it was a temporary thing. Jasper knows that I have a large home with several spare bedrooms, and asked if I would be willing to host Carol for a period of time while she got back on her feet. I knew what I was agreeing to when I said yes, and Carol and I settled on a period of two months. She has now been here almost three weeks.

Frankly, I do not like Carol very much. We are unbelievably different people in every way--personality, temperament, proclivity to crying in front of other people, hobbies, interests, religion, all of it. She is a very nice person, and I think she truly does mean well. But she is the most emotionally needy and energy-sapping person I have ever met, and I cannot tolerate her company in more than small chunks. It is not possible to hold a conversation with her about any subject tangentially related to her difficulties; if I try to sympathize with her loans by mentioning my own, she shuts me down by saying at least I will have the chance to ever pay them back. If I just try to listen without commentary, she’ll wrap herself up in her own stories and talk for hours without ever needing more than “mm”s and “hm”s and my undivided attention the entire time.

She will often work herself up into sobbing tears over her situation(s), and she always informs me immediately of any new development in any of her numerous trials: which are usually negative, considering the situation, and usually resulting in more tears. She has cried on me probably more than a dozen times since she moved in, and she wields “I love you” like a weapon, more to hear the validation of the response than to truly express the sentiment. She constantly asks for advice on her situation but does not listen to any of it--seems more to just want to relive each tragic detail of her life over and over again with an audience, wondering why she’s continually “screwed over in her life.” (Really, really poor financial decisions and constantly trusting her own “intuition” over getting competent legal advice before signing contracts, are I think the biggest contributors.) She has told me so many private details about her personal views, relationships with her ex-husband and mother and sister, her financial choices, and her extensive travel and job history over the last few years that I probably know her history better than my own at this point.

I think she thinks by sharing so much that she is justifying to me her need to stay with me. What is actually happening is that I am forced to help shoulder this enormous emotional load that compounds my own mental health problems I’ve been having since all this started. I have told her more than once that she does not need to justify herself to me and that my home is open to her for two months, no strings attached. I believe she is making all the steps she needs to and do not need reports on her daily activities to “pay” for her lodging or electricity or internet or whatever. This has changed the behavior a little for the better but not stopped it.

There are moments that are not bad. As I have mentioned, she does mean well and want well for most people. She likes Hamlet and loves Jasper, who is extremely important to me. But she is extremely difficult to be around in so many other ways, and the way she constantly exclaims over how we basically think alike on all things (absolutely untrue) makes me think she either will not or cannot read my reluctance to engage on any of these topics.

(An example: I was watching footage of the SpaceX launch and despite my feelings on Elon Musk, really excited about the implications for space travel. She came in, and after misunderstanding for some time that I was not watching Space Force with Steve Carell, decided that the SpaceX program was morally bankrupt, obviously borne of shady backroom government deals, and everyone involved should have used the money to solve world hunger instead. For the record, she had not heard of the shuttle launch, SpaceX, or Elon Musk at all before the seeing the footage.)

(She also until last week had not heard of Playstation, Xbox, streaming as a concept, or any game more modern than the original Mario. Trying to order a grocery delivery online was an excruciating torment for her [took her over four days to get through selecting the items, selecting allowable replacements, and actually paying] and I will not ask her to do it again. She frequently makes comments about video games being a waste of time, and when she sees children playing outside, comments on how glad she is they are not inside playing video games. She doesn’t seem to realize her comments are a direct commentary on me; I think she genuinely does not understand that those games are what I am playing most of my free time.)

Right now, everything seems to hinge on her passing some teacher recertification tests next week and the week after. She spent $150 to give herself less than a week to study from scratch for a test she described as the hardest she’d ever taken. There were several other dates later in the summer she could have chosen, and her deadline is December, but she picked the soonest option for reasons I can’t fathom. She is also in the process of trying to get a car--right now I’m driving her everywhere--and she was ready to hand over $3800 yesterday for a ten-year-old Hyundai with a check-engine light on without even thinking of getting any kind of inspection. She is far more concerned with the color and “energy” of the car than its function, and would not have even checked the headlights and blinkers if I hadn’t prompted it.

She will be here another five weeks or so. We move around each other now better than we did before, and I hope it will continue to improve. But it’s a lot like a rock grinding a groove in the streambed from the repetitive friction, and it’s not the struggle I wanted to be having right now.

part two:

As I mentioned above, Jasper is having her fourth child in a month or so. One of her friends, someone I don’t know, contacted me and said she wanted to do a drive-by “baby sprinkle,” where no one gets out of their cars. You drop off the gifts, talk to the recipient a few minutes from the car window, and move on. I told her that I work in health care and am exposed to patients, so that sounded good to me.

The shower was this morning. Carol and I got up and drove the thirty minutes to Jasper’s house. There were four other families in cars right around the corner, and the “hostess” gave us all balloons to tie on our side mirrors. She told us we would drive around the corner, drop off the gifts, and loop around. Jasper’s husband would arrange for her to be in the front yard at the right time.

Cute enough. We go around the corner with little honks and Jasper sees us and starts crying, and it’s all wonderful and emotional and a fabulous surprise and I’m genuinely excited about it. And then people start parking and getting out of their cars, and Carol and I start looking at each other. They’re full families, too--three of the other moms brought all their kids, and soon enough they’re playing with Jasper’s three boys in the front yard and coming up asking to pet Hamlet through the car window. No one was wearing masks.

And what’s worse, when they all started looking at us expectantly through the car window, we didn’t know what to do. They were handing Jasper her gifts and obviously settling in for a good long chat; the women were hugging, talking about how they are “so over this COVID stuff, please come visit soon,” and Hamlet of course recognizes his original owners in Jasper and her husband so he’s freaking out, and after a few moments, we decided to just get out of the car.

It was the first time I really felt the social pressure to participate in an event I wasn’t comfortable with. I have no issue maintaining my social distance and my mask and my handwashing at work because that is where I have the position of authority, and I have the responsibility to model it for the students and patients--but here, I was a guest at someone else’s house at someone else’s event, and I really, really felt how they might perceive me as rude. While I didn’t know the other women, my relationship with Jasper is extremely important to me, and I didn’t want to make this special event for her difficult in any way.

So we got out of the car and joined the group. I tried to keep my distance as much as possible, especially since I had Hamlet on the leash and there were a half-dozen small children around, but at least twice I looked up and there was someone right at my elbow, and we made small talk for five minutes or so before either she drifted back to the group or I moved Hamlet into the shade away from the rest.

Cars drove by and slowed down more than once to look at us. Jasper’s husband made a comment about rolling his eyes if he saw their family on Facebook that evening. The women planned play dates, all standing very close together, and Jasper opened her gifts (that part was excellent). All in all we were probably there about twenty minutes.

I should mention that on the drive there, we passed a public park that has a very pretty waterfall right next to the road, and there were probably a dozen families out playing. There was a festival/outdoor market right outside the the park that had a sign up about social distancing, but the fifty or so people we saw shopping there were not adhering in any meaningful way. No one wore a mask.

And what annoys the bejeezus out of me is that I didn’t either. I didn’t even think about it until after we finally got back in the car to drive away. This is the first social event I’ve gone to since the first week of March, and while I wear masks for eight+ hours every day I go in to work, it didn’t occur to me even a single time to put on even my little cloth one that I keep in the car until we were driving away afterwards. I was so flummoxed by every little thing happening differently than I expected--people getting out of cars, how surprised I was by my own susceptibility to not rocking the boat, how normal everyone else made it to stand so close they could bump elbows so that Carol and I became almost excluded from the circle--that it never once crossed my mind. I know masks are more for the protection of those around you, not to keep you from catching what other people are carrying, but I could have set an example. I could have been the health professional I should have been in the moment.

I’m just so disappointed in myself. Disappointed in my own carelessness, irritated that I didn’t say anything, continually frustrated in a deep, gut-wrenching way by the whole situation that requires this in the first place. Bewildered that so many people are “back to normal” while this thing is still spreading, and in brutal honesty wishing I could be like them and just give up the fight myself. I’m not even mad at them. I WANT TO BE THEM. Why am I continually bothering to care and sanitize and mask and stay at home when no one else is? Literally no one would judge me in this state for it more than I’m already being judged (in most cases impersonally, though I felt the potential for it today in specific) for still watching the recommended guidelines.

I am really, really sick of this. I am so sick of feeling alone in this (of being alone in this, and Carol doesn’t count). Hearing other people saying “there there, you’re doing the right thing” honestly makes it even worse. I want people to stop patronizingly telling me to do things I already know are the right thing to do. I want other people as mad as I am that I can’t do the things I want to and need to do instead of being endlessly patient and noble about all the lives they’re saving by staying home. I’m top-of-my-head-blowing-off furious that so many people are shrugging and saying “well this is just the way it will be forever and alas, so it goes” and acting like those of us who did the right thing and cancelled our plans and our trips and our visits to dear friends but who are mad about having to do it are overreacting. I’m so fucking mad about it. I’ve stayed home for two months and I’ve isolated and I’ve quarantined and my hands are cracking from the constant sanitizer/washing at work and except for today I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do for this, and I don’t want to do it. And seeing people be so heroically virtuous and longsuffering on Facebook feels as alien and upsetting to me as the people who go to the beaches with a hundred of their closest friends.

That’s probably unfair in myriad ways. I’m really too angry, including at myelf, to soften it right now.

I want a vaccine and I want to be back in my classroom teaching to fifty faces instead of a screen in my living room, and I’m honestly freaking sick of waiting at home for them to figure this out. And watching everyone else move on with their lives back to the normal I would kill to have is just one more crack in the dike.

#quark rambles #this got really personal and mad #so sorry about that #coronavirus for ts #covid-19 for ts #quarantine for ts #carol #jasper #long post for ts

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ripley95 · 4 years ago

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Echoes of Old Embers

Chapter 8

Pairing: F!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: T

Chapter length: 2.9K

Story Synopsis:

After surviving the war, one of Shepard’s biggest regrets was rejecting Kaidan at Apollo’s. Fate has a way of bringing Jane and Kaidan back into each other’s lives. A misunderstanding with his family makes Kaidan and Shepard relive old history and question where they stand.

Link to Chapter 1 on AO3

Chapter Synopsis:

Shepard has some bonding time with all of Kaidan’s sisters, leaving her with more regrets. Shepard and Libby work through their differences.

Link to Chapter 8 on AO3

Tumblr Links:

Read the chapter here below the cut:

Raiya and Shepard made their way upstairs after finishing their coffee on the porch. Raiya still hadn’t elaborated on her plan to get Shepard on Libby’s good side. The house was still silent. None of the other Alenkos had woken up yet. Shepard was starting to fear that Raiya was about to wake Libby up to moderate some harsh discussion between the two of them. Sometimes the direct approach was the best, but Shepard wasn’t too keen on the idea, scared that waking her up in such a way would do nothing to sway Libby. Her fears were quickly alleviated when they ended up in front of Maisie’s door instead.

Raiya barged right in without so much as a single knock, and sat down gently on the bed next to Maisie.

“She sleeps like a rock, so hopefully she’ll want to wake up,” Raiya said, looking at Shepard before prodding her sister on the shoulder to no avail. “I’m sure if she knew Commander Shepard was in need of her help, she’d be more interested,” Raiya said, with a raised voice this time, while fully shaking Maisie’s shoulder this time.

“Uuuggghhh,” Maisie said, while rolling over, still not bothering to open her eyes. “Someone better be dying,” she groaned out.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m afraid not.”

“What do you want, then?” she said, basically slurring her speech with how tired she was.

“Jane’s here, and we need your help.”

Her eyes jolted open, and she looked towards her doorway to see Shepard standing there, waving as a greeting. Maisie promptly sat up, wondering what was going on.

“What is it?! What do you need?”

“Do you have any of that hair dye left?” Raiya asked, pointing to Maisie’s hair.

“Hair dye? That’s it? That’s what you had to wake me up for?” she asked, clearly irritated.

“Sorry. I know it doesn’t seem like something worthy of being woken up for, but I didn’t want to use any without your permission, and we’re kind of on a time crunch.”

Maisie looked over to Shepard now, with an entertained grin on her face. “Why? Trying to disappear from the Alliance, so you can run off with Kaidan or something?” Clearly, her imagination had already run wild with ideas.

“Jeez, Maisie, why are you always so dramatic?”

“I’m not dramatic,” she said, looking scornfully at her sister. “You’re just boring.”

Shepard held back a laugh, contemplating once again what a life with siblings must have been like. It was certainly interesting from this side of the conversation, at least.

“So, if it’s nothing so dramatic,” she said with an emphasised distaste of the word, “what was so dire that you had to wake me up?”

“You saw Libby yesterday. She was practically seething at Jane.”

“You could say that again.”

“Yeah, well, the wedding is tomorrow already, but I think I’ve figured out a way to extend an olive branch.”

“By dying Shepard’s hair?”

“Well, Libby’s problem with Jane being here is that she’s too recognizable, and she doesn’t want the attention taken off of her on her big day, right? So maybe if we make her not look so much like ‘Commander Shepard,’ Libby won’t have to worry about that.”

“Hmm. Yeah, okay, maybe that’ll work.”

Shepard still hadn’t even gotten a word in edgewise, but she had to admit that the idea sounded promising. At the very least, it wouldn’t hurt anything, so it was worth a shot.

“Great, so do you still have any?”

“Psht, of course.”

“Well, can we use it?”

“Use it? Come on. I’ll even do it for you,” she said as she flung the covers off of herself, shoving her way past Shepard, still standing in the doorway.

She walked across the hall, into the bathroom, and started rummaging around in the cupboards, Raiya and Jane following after her.

“Oooh, I think you’d look good with this,” she said, holding up a box of what looked like the rest of the blue dye she must have used in her most recent colour change.

“The point is to draw less attention to her, Maisie. Don’t you have anything a bit more basic?”

“Ugh, yeah, fine,” she said, going back to the cupboards to rummage around again. She stood up with a box in her hand, showing them the new option. “Here. I think this is about as opposite as it’s going to get while still looking natural.”

“I think that’ll work,” Shepard said, taking the box and turning it over in her hand, sounding pleased. “How long does this stuff last, exactly?”

Maisie laughed at that, eliciting a slightly worried gaze from Shepard.

“Oh, you’re serious? It’s permanent, so until your hair grows out.”

“Of course it is,” she said, slightly exasperated, handing the box back to Maisie. “Oh well. It’s not a big deal. I really don’t like the thought of ruining Libby’s wedding, so whatever it takes.”

“Well, if you don’t like the colour, we can always dye it blue after the wedding,” Maisie said teasingly as she opened the box.

As she studied herself in the mirror, Shepard had to admit it was a pretty substantial difference. She was rather pleased with the outcome, hoping it was enough to make Libby feel better.

“It looks good,” Raiya said from behind her.

“Yeah? You don’t think I’m too recognizable still?”

“I mean, you do have a pretty recognizable face,” Maisie said.

“People only really know you as a soldier, though. Maybe with some makeup and a dress, most people won’t even notice,” Raiya said.

“Hopefully,” Shepard agreed.

“My husband will be arriving later today. I didn’t get a chance to tell him that you were Kaidan’s date, so he can be our first test subject to see if this might actually work,” Raiya said with a laugh.

“Ooh, that’ll be fun,” Maisie said from behind them, as she started cleaning up all the supplies. “Make sure I’m in the room for that!”

“Sure thing,” Raiya said with a smile.

“I think I actually forgot you were married,” Shepard said, looking back towards Raiya.

“Yeah, almost 8 years now. He’s a teacher. He’s set up a school closer to our house. He’s trying to provide structure for all of the kids in town again since the war ended, so he wanted to wait to come here until a little closer to the wedding. He’ll be bringing Austin, too.”

“Your son?” Shepard asked. She vaguely remembered Kaidan telling her something about a nephew during their time together on the Normandy.

“Yup,” Raiya said with a smile. “But anyway, I think this could do the trick.”

“Unless people are a little too curious about Kaidan finally bringing someone home that they start asking a ton of questions,” Maisie said.

“I guess that’s a possibility. At least this is something, though, right? Maybe it’ll at least make sure the ceremony goes well since people won’t get a chance to mingle until the reception for the most part.”

“It’s not like I’m going to introduce myself as Commander Shepard at a wedding,” she cut in.

That made Maisie laugh. “Could you imagine? That would be hilarious. That is a good point, though. We didn’t even know you by your first name, so if you introduce yourself as Jane, maybe this actually has a good chance of working.”

“See, now we just have to get Libby on board. I’m sure she’s awake by now. Probably best to rip the bandaid off and get it over with, right?”

“I’ll go check if she’s up,” Maisie said, running over to her door and knocking urgently, Raiya and Shepard following after.

“What?!” came a yell from the other side.

“It’s Maisie, can I come in?”

“Yeah, fine,” they heard from the other side.

Maisie opened the door, and all but shoved Shepard into the room before closing it on the two of them.

Shepard heard a “Wow, Maisie, really?” from behind the door, followed by a “Yeah, it’s better to let them deal with it by themselves.”

Shepard would have preferred to deal with this herself anyway, but she might have liked a smoother entrance. Now she was left a little dumbfounded, standing by the door. Libby was sitting in front of a vanity, putting makeup on. The commotion made her look in the mirror towards the door to see what was going on. Shepard made eye contact with her through the reflection and gave a subtle wave.

“Um, hi,” Shepard said, still caught slightly off guard. “Sorry about that, but I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute. Not exactly the way I would have gone about it, but here we are.”

Libby took a good look at Shepard through the mirror before letting out a sigh and turning around. “Yeah, Maisie can be... forceful,” she said, pointing towards the end of the bed, her way of telling Shepard she could have a seat.

Shepard smiled in acceptance, and went to sit on the bed across from her. She was pleased by the fact that Libby didn’t sound too annoyed.

“Did you do that for me?” Libby asked, pointing to Shepard’s hair, immediately recognizing the gesture.

“Yeah. Listen, I really feel like I need to apologise. I never joined the Alliance intending to be in the spotlight. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that I’m this public figure, especially when I’m just trying to live my life, you know? The last thing I ever wanted to do was ruin your wedding.”

Libby shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re the one apologising.”

“What?”

“Oh, come on. I think we both know I was pretty terrible to you yesterday.”

“I think I just took everyone by surprise.”

“You’re too kind. I know it wasn’t my finest moment. None of this was your fault. There’s no excuse for me being so standoffish. I’m sorry about that. My reaction wasn’t even really about you, to be honest.”

Shepard nodded slowly, accepting the apology, sensing the tension easing between them slightly. “Wait, so are you telling me I did this for nothing?” she said, pointing to her hair, laughing.

That elicited a laugh from Libby, too. “Well, not for nothing, I guess. I appreciate you wanting to make a peace offering. And honestly, I could see that creating less of an upheaval throughout the wedding, so I’m still grateful that you did it. I’m just sorry that you felt like you had to,” she said, a little more solemnly.

“Don’t worry about it. I can always change it back or let it grow out. It’s just hair dye. It’s not a big deal.”

Libby forced a smile at that.

“Hey, I know we only just met, but if you want to talk about it, or need extra help or anything, I’m not just here to be a bystander.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her hands. “It’s just that nothing about this wedding is going how I expected it to. I think seeing you yesterday was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

Shepard nodded, perceiving that there was a larger issue going on. “I can understand that. But hey, you don’t owe me an explanation. I know this must be a stressful time for you.”

Libby huffed out a sigh. “You could say that again. And I may not owe you an explanation, but after the way I treated you yesterday, I kind of feel like that’s the least I can offer you. You probably didn’t know this, but I was supposed to be getting married the same week the reapers landed.”

That suddenly made a lot of sense. Of course, all of her original plans would have gone flying out the window.

“The whole family was here. Kaidan was even in Vancouver for work, and the timing was perfect since he wasn’t assigned to be off-planet for a while. It was going to be the first big family celebration since Raiya’s wedding. Dad was here…” she trailed off.

And of course, now he wasn’t. Shepard hung her head, understanding the significance of everything that had changed for Libby.

“Derek, my fiancé, enlisted almost immediately after the reapers landed, otherwise we might have just eloped. He and my dad were both shipped out so quickly, we didn’t even have the chance. Obviously, Derek made it through to the end of the war just fine, but we ended up holding it off for so long now. Things have been rough with the rebuilding efforts, and Derek has been shipped out on duty more often than not, making it hard to plan anything. Kaidan was missing for so long, and Dad’s status was officially changed to KIA. The entire family was so distraught that we didn’t particularly feel like having a wedding for a while after the war.”

“But then when Kaidan finally made it back,” Libby continued with a smile. “Everyone was so happy. There was finally a reason to celebrate something again, and I kind of thought that a wedding was a perfect excuse to get everyone together and be happy for once. But nothing feels happy right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m still thrilled that Derek and I are finally getting married. We’ve been waiting for so long. But nothing else feels right about it. It feels so trivial to be doing something like this when the galaxy is still rebuilding. It feels wrong, trying to celebrate when there are people that were supposed to be here, but aren’t. Dad should be here,” she said, letting out a sigh and rubbing her forehead.

“Obviously, none of this is your fault,” she amended quickly. “But I guess something about seeing you felt like it was just another wrench being thrown into my plans. It really shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. I think everything’s just been getting to me. I haven’t seen Derek for months. He wanted to help with all of this, but we decided it would be nicer to spend quality time together after the wedding rather than wasting all of our time together planning it, so we timed his leave around that. I miss him. I miss my dad. With the weight of it all… well, I guess I just overreacted,” she said as she turned back toward the vanity, looking regretful.

“Libby,” Shepard said softly to gain her attention again. “I know nothing I can say can fix everything you’re going through, but I think if there’s one lesson that we can all learn from this war, it’s that we shouldn’t squander these chances to celebrate the good things in life. I didn’t know your dad, but he seemed like a good man who valued his family more than anything. I know this is easier said than done, but I think he’d want you to be happy and enjoy your life.”

Libby nodded, and turned back towards the vanity. Shepard took that to mean that Libby likely wanted some privacy, so she stood up from the bed. Before moving to leave, she went to put her hand on Libby’s shoulder as a sign of comfort.

“You don’t have to feel guilty for being happy about something so important to you.”

Libby looked up at her in the mirror and gave her a weak smile. She squeezed Shepard’s hand with appreciation.

Jane took that as her cue to leave. Right as she was about to go through the door, Libby spoke up one last time.

“Thanks, Jane,” she said, watching Jane’s face through the mirror.

“Any time,” she said genuinely. “And hey, if this doesn’t do the trick,” she said, pointing to her hair, “Then I’ll just excuse myself to try to make things as easy for you as possible.”

Libby huffed out a laugh as her smile turned into something more authentic. “It’s okay, Jane. I’m not going to make you do that, even if you do cause a scene.”

Shepard nodded in acceptance. She was glad that Libby wasn’t actually mad at her, at least.

“No hard feelings, I hope?” Libby continued.

“Of course not. I’m just glad we got to clear the air.”

“Thanks for the talk,” Libby said. “Damn, you really are diplomatic, aren’t you?”

Shepard grinned. “So I hear.”

“Well, I appreciate it,” Libby said in thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” Shepard said, taking that as her cue to leave, closing the door behind her to grant Libby some privacy.

As she closed the door, she stood in front of it silently in contemplation. It was good that she managed to fix so much, yet she was worried about the ever-growing hole she was digging herself into with everyone thinking she and Kaidan are in a relationship. It was almost easier when she thought that Libby and Raiya really didn’t like her. It would have been so much more simple to go back to her life without Kaidan, thinking that his family at least wasn’t fond of her. But now their whole mishap had gotten so out of hand. Libby was apologising, and Raiya was giving her a second chance. Kaidan’s family was nice. Too nice. She could already feel them weaselling their way into her heart just like he had. It was bad enough having feelings for Kaidan, but now she could feel herself beginning to care about his whole family.

‘It’ll all be over soon,’ she reminded herself, as she finally decided to move somewhere that wasn’t right in front of Libby’s door. One way or another, it was true, and that damn saying would become her mantra.

#f!Shenko #f!Shepard/Kaidan Alenko #f!Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #mass effect #fanfiction #mass effect fanfiction #mini slow burn #angst #friends to lovers #accidental dating #my fic on tumblr #my writing

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mr-entj · 5 years ago

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Brain-Based Descriptions of the 8 Jungian “Types”

A piece my former professor published on MBTI, cognitive functions, and his study I participated in 10 years ago.

____________________

By Dario Nardi

This is based on the blue “Brain Basics” foldout by Radiance House. (Www.RadianceHouse.com)

In his seminal work, Psychological Types, Dr. C.G. Jung described 2 attitudes (Extraverting and Introverting) and 4 “mental functions”: Sensing, Intuiting, Thinking, and Feeling. Together, they give what he called 8 “Types”. Today, we can use more appropriate terms like functional patterns or cognitive processes. Notice the terms are verbs. His is a process model, not a trait model. Since then, people have offered many variant definitions and created assessments, most of which are peculiar to the creator, speculative, and not research based. In my own work since 2006, I have correlated the Jungian processes to biases and patterns in neocortical (brain) activity using EEG technology. Subjects complete a 1-hour protocol of 20 diverse tasks (meditating, math, memory, etc) while monitored by EEG. And of course, we do our best to confirm their best-fit personality profile using common definitions. Here is an overview of the neocortex and definitions of the 8 cognitive processes.

BRAIN BASICS

Your brain consists of many small modules linked in networks. Each module is a neural circuit that helps you do a task. Some tasks are concrete, such as recognizing faces, hearing voice tone, and moving a hand. Other tasks are abstract, such as evaluating ethics, adjusting to others’ feedback, and mentally rehearsing a future action. There are easily five-dozen modules just in the neocortex, which is the brain’s outermost, thick layer and seat of consciousness. The big figure below is a bird’s eye view of the neocortex. It highlights key modules. We each prefer some modules over others. We differ by the tasks we enjoy and how well we do them. You might take a moment to explore the big figure to identify aspects of yourself.

We enjoy different competencies. For each of us, modules activate with a different degree of stimulus, competence, motivation, and energy level. If we look at the average brain activity of two people over an hour, you may see that their favorite modules are similar, near opposites, or somewhere in between! When different, those people’s personality profile, behaviors, and self-experience differ greatly too. In fact, we can dig deeper to look at underlying brain networks (using computer-aided analysis of EEG data), and confirm the biases are longterm rather than a result of just a 1-hour protocol.

In addition to favorite brain regions and networks, there are whole-brain patterns. For example, the brain can get into a state of “ﬂow” where all modules are in synch. Or it might show a chaotic brainstorm. There are more patterns, and we human beings are pretty diverse. Situations may prompt everyone’s brain differently. Take a moment to reﬂect, when do you get into your “zone”? What is it like when you are at your most creative and productive?

To meet our needs, the brain’s elements work in concert. As an analogy, if a module is a musical instrument, then the brain is a symphony orchestra that affords complex performances. Research suggests eight ways the brain (specifically, the neocortex) works in concert. These eight are highly effective and sustainable, though we necessarily come to rely on some more than others. You will find descriptions of these 8 below.

FOUR EXECUTIVE STYLES

Before we get into details about all 8 cognitive processes, let’s break things down more simply into 4 executive styles.

Two Processing Circuits: To start, there are 2 circuits in the brain to process incoming stimuli. One circuit is faster. It sends sensory data directly to the front of the brain, our executive centers, to quickly act on the data. This is a more extroverted style. A second circuit is slower. It sends sensory data to the back of the brain, to link with memory and information processing centers, to compare, contemplate, and collate the data before moving it on to the executives. This is a more introverted style. There are other ways extroverts and introverts different, such as high versus low gain: Given a certain environment, an extrovert may easily find it too quiet and want to “dial up” the stimuli, whereas an introvert may easily find it too noisy and want to “dial down” the stimuli. Suffice to say, everyone uses both fast and slow circuits, and Jung himself described each person has having 2 functions in awareness, one for extroverting and a second for introverting, to make a well-rounded adult.

Two Executive Centers: We have 2 main executive centers: a “goal-focused” left pre-frontal cortex and an “open-ended” right pre-frontal cortex. Different activities light up these regions. For example, when you make a decision, craft an explanation, or focus to shut out distractions, the left goal-focused executive gets active. Or, when you engage in brainstorming, monitor a process, or reflect on yourself, the right open-ended executive gets active. Very nicely, these two executives correlate well to Jung’s functions. Jung described Thinking and Feeling as “rational” or “judging” functions, which definitionally fit well with our left goal-focused executive. And Jung described Sensing and Intuiting (aka “iNtuiting”) as “a-rational” or “perceiving” functions that definitionally fit well with our right open-ended executive. In his framework, Jung viewed balanced adults as having both kinds of functions, just as all people use both their left and right pre-frontal cortex, and their left and right hands, but invariably with some bias for one over the other.

Now we can bring together Extraverting-Introverting and Left-Right pre-frontal bias to get 4 executive styles:

Expedite Decision-making: Proactively meet goals. Often look sure and conﬁdent. Organize and ﬁx to get positive results soon. (More goal-focused, more extraverting.)

Refine Decision-making: Clarify what’s universal, true or worthwhile. Often look quietly receptive. Trust their own judgments. (More goal-focused, more introverting.)

Energize the Process: Seek out stimuli. Often look random, emergent, and enthusiastic. Attend to the here and now. (More open-ended, more extraverting.)

Monitor the Process: Reﬂect on data and perceptions. Often look focused and preoccupied. Attend to reference points. (More open-ended, more introverting.)

You might take a moment to consider which style is more like you, and more like a spouse, colleague, or boss. Remember these are about habitual biases, not boxes, so feel free RANK the styles 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th rather than pick one.

EIGHT COGNITIVE PROCESSES

We can get more detailed. People’s brains tend to differ in two more ways: people versus thing preference, and abstract versus concrete preference. These are not absolute, simply biases.

For example, there is a module that aids us in identifying stuff in our environment. Some people invest more in identifying lots of people’s faces and emotional expressions, whereas other people invest more in identifying makes and models of cars, computers, or other objects. Of course, everyone does both. But like handedness, where we use both hands, there is bias and have a preferred hand that plays a lead role in many activities like writing.

For as a second example, there is a module that is home to lots of “mirror neurons”. This module tends to get active when we do something concrete like observe and mimic a person’s actions, perhaps to learn a skill. It also can get active when we do get abstract and imagine if we were another creature in a galaxy far far away. Everyone can do both, but we have biases that are likely do due a combination of genetic tendency and habits from culture and physical environment.

There are many other examples. We don’t need to go into them here. Suffice to say, there is evidence to support the kinds of variations and biases that Jung observed among people.

Without further ado, let’s look at the 8 processes. As you explore, keep in mind you likely have preferred one or two from an early age, and may now be reasonably proficient with as many as 5 or 6 as an adult, at least enough to keep up in society, in relationships, and on the job. I have numbered the processes for convenient reference. They do not actually come in any particular order! Each comes with a name like “Active Adapting” and a broad cognitive process such as “Immersing in the present context”. Finally, each comes with a code such as “Se” (meaning extroverted Sensing) that links to Jung’s framework in Psychological Types.

1. Active Adapting (“Se”): Immerse in the present context.

Act quickly and smoothly to handle whatever comes up in the moment. Excited by motion, action, and nature. Adept at physical multitasking with a video game-like mind primed for action. Often in touch with body sensations. Trust your senses and gut instincts. Bored when sitting with a mental/rote task. Good memory for relevant details. Tend to be relaxed, varying things a little and scanning the environment, until an urgent situation or exciting option pops up. Then you quickly get “in the zone” and use your whole mind to handle whatever is happening. Tend to test limits and take risks for big rewards. May be impatient to ﬁnish.

2. Cautious Protecting (“Si”): Stabilize with a predictable standard.

Review and practice to specialize and meet group needs. Constant practice “burns in” how-to knowledge and helps build your storehouse. Specialization helps you reliably ﬁll roles and tasks. Improve when following a role-model or example. Easily track where you are in a task. Often review the past and can relive events as if you are there again. Carefully compare a situation to the customary ways you’ve come to rely. In touch with body sensations. Strong memory for kinship and details. Rely on repetition. Check what’s familiar, comforting, and useful. Tend to stabilize a situation and invest for future security. May over-rely on authority for guidance.

3. Timely Building (“Te”): Measure and construct for progress.

Make decisions objectively based on measures and the evidence before you. Focus on word content, ﬁgures, clock units, and visual data. Find that “facts speak for themselves”. Tend to check whether things are functioning properly. Can usually provide convincing, decisive explanations. Value time, and highly efﬁcient at managing resources. Tend to utilize mental resources only when extra thinking is truly demanded. Otherwise, use what’s at hand for a “good enough” result that works. Easily compartmentalize problems. Like to apply procedures to control events and achieve goals. May display high conﬁdence even when wrong.

4. Skillful Sleuthing (“Ti”): Gain leverage using a framework.

Study a situation from different angles and ﬁt it to a theory, framework, or principle. This often involves reasoning multiple ways to objectively and accurately analyze problems. Rely on complex/subtle logical reasoning. Adept at deductive thinking, deﬁning and categorizing, weighing odds and risks, and/or naming and navigating. Notice points to apply leverage and subtle inﬂuence. Value consistency of thought. Can shut out the senses and “go deep” to think, and separate body from mind to become objective when arguing or analyzing. Tend to backtrack to clarify thoughts and withhold deciding in favor of thorough examination. May quickly stop listening.

5. Friendly Hosting (“Fe”): Nurture trust in giving relationships.

Evaluate and communicate values to build trust and enhance relationships. Like to promote social / interpersonal cohesion. Attend keenly to how others judge you. Quickly adjust your behavior for social harmony. Often rely on a favorite way to reason, with an emphasis on words. Prefer to stay positive, supportive, and optimistic. Empathically respond to others’ needs and feelings, and may take on others’ needs as your own. Need respect and trust. Easily embarrassed. Like using adjectives to convey values. Enjoy hosting. May hold back the true degree of your emotional response about morals/ethics, regarding talk as more effective. May try too hard to please.

6. Quiet Crusading (“Fi”): Stay true to who you really are.

Listen with your whole self to locate and support what’s important. Often evaluate importance along a spectrum from love/like to dislike/hate. Patient and good at listening for identity, values, and what resonates, though may tune out when “done” listening. Value loyalty and belief in oneself and others. Attentive and curious for what is not said. Focus on word choice, voice tone, and facial expressions to detect intent. Check with your conscience before acting. Choose behavior congruent with what’s important, your personal identity, and beliefs. Hard to embarrass. Can respond strongly to speciﬁc, high-value words or false data. May not utilize feedback.

7. Excited Brainstorming ("Ne"): Explore the emerging patterns.

Perceive and play with ideas and relationships. Wonder about patterns of interaction across various situations. Keep up a high-energy mode that helps you notice and engage potential possibilities. Think analogically: Stimuli are springboards to generate inferences, analogies, metaphors, jokes, and more new ideas. Easily guess details. Adept at “what if?” scenarios, mirroring others, and even role-playing. Can shift a situation’s dynamics and trust what emerges. Mental activity tends to feel chaotic, with many highs and lows at once, like an ever-changing “Christmas tree” of ﬂashing lights. Often entertain multiple meanings at once. May ﬁnd it hard to stay on-task.

8. Keen Foreseeing (Ni): Transform with a meta-perspective.

Withdraw from the world and tap your whole mind to receive an insight. Can enter a brief trance to respond to a challenge, foresee the future, or answer a philosophical issue. Avoid specializing and rely instead on timely “ah-ha” moments or a holistic “zen state” to tackle novel tasks, which may look like creative expertise. Manage your own mental processes and stay aware of where you are in an open-ended task. May use an action or symbol to focus. Sensitive to the unknown. Ruminate on ways to improve. Look for synergy. Might try out a realization to transform yourself or how you think. May over-rely on the unconscious.

Further Exploration

You can read more in the following references: “Neuroscience of Personality: Brain-Savvy Insights for All Types of People”, “Our Brains in Color”, and “8 Keys to Self-Leadership”. Or if you prefer a free online 1-hour video, you can find it here:

https://vimeo.com/user40810588/review/143815719/c69a1060ef

Here is an assessment built around the Jungian functions, validated on 3000 people:

http://www.keys2cognition.com/explore.htm

You can find a complete list of references to my neuroscience of personality work here:

https://www.facebook.com/notes/dario-nardi/neuroscience-of-personality-resources/10155730683011216/

#mbti #myers briggs #cognitive functions #intp #infp #intj #infj #entj #enfj #entp #enfp #estj #istj #estp #istp #esfj #isfj #esfp #isfp #te #ti #se #si #ne #ni #fe #fi #mine

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a-byronic-heroine · 4 years ago

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Full Name: Sca’ir Gyda’i Wenwyn yn Barod

Meaning: Scorpion with its poison tail aloft

Nickname/Alias: Kly

Title: Former consort to King Auberon

Gender: Female

Orientation: Pansexual

Species: Aen Elle

Occupation: Sex worker

Marital Status: Widowed

Immediate Family: Her father (deceased)

Infancy: Kly’s mother had complications during Kly’s year long gestation. Kly wasn’t absorbing nutrients from what her mother ate, instead leeching off her life force, showing a propensity for magic even then. Her mother never really recovered and thus died shortly after giving birth. Kly was very small and frail when she was finally born. She was, for the most part, raised by a caretaker, as her father wanted nothing to do with her.

Childhood: When Kly’s magical talents began to manifest, she was sent to the Aen Saevherne. This was her purpose for being born, as breeding is very selective and intentional among the Aen Elle. Everyone is born with a duty in mind. She spent the majority of her life with the Aen Saevherne, being conditioned into a child soldier and tactician. She and many other children endured abuse and torture under the guise of training. Many didn’t survive the process. They were deemed weaknesses and failures. Failure wasn’t an option.

Adulthood: On the cusp of her adulthood, Kly underwent her tests to become a fully fledged Aen Saevherne. However, her beliefs regarding the Hen Ichaer and her inability to use and create interdimensional portals led to her failure. She was now without purpose, as she’d failed at the thing she’d been born for. She was dumped into the military ranks after that, serving under her father, a General. When Kly’s father was killed during a skirmish with the unicorns, she was left orphaned. Her noble family ended with her. To keep up appearances and use Kly politically, King Auberon forced her into being a consort. By this time, he was too old to be interested in any sort of sexual relationship and he wanted no child with her because of her failures. Auberon was completely withdrawn from his duties, so Kly was left to run the kingdom while he forced her to create illusions for him, allowing him to relive past memories.

It wasn’t until Crevan and Eredin brought the human girl Ciri to Tir na Lia that her life began to change drastically. By this time, she had taken on all political duties to compensate for Auberon’s apathy towards ruling and towards his people. She vehemently disagreed with the idea of using Ciri as a vessel to reintroduce Elder Blood to the Aen Elle line. However, Auberon was willing to consider the idea. The fact that he was so openly willing to give the human girl a child and not her made her more bitter than ever. Unable to impregnate Ciri, he was given an aphrodisiac laced with poison, killing him. A coup was taking place, so, knowing she would likely be blamed or killed, Kly took the royal torc’h and fled. She used a random interdimensional portal and ended up stranded on the human world.

It took her several years to adapt and blend in with the other species, but once she did, she worked mostly as a travelling healer. However, she spent much of that time barely surviving, never escaping poverty or danger. It wasn’t until a brothel offered her a deal that she saw a way to advance in the world she found herself in. Her aptitude for illusions came in handy here, as she could trick clients into thinking they had amazing sex when in fact they just sat on a bed for an evening. However, the Wild Hunt still searches for her and what she took from them.

Enemies: Eredin, Caranthir, Crevan (Avallac’h) (she considers him to be the one responsible for the king’s death), the Wild Hunt in general, humans, unicorns

Health: In Tir na Lia, Kly is considered a healthy, fertile female of reproductive age. However, in the Aen Sidhe world, she has no immunity to the foreign bodies there. She’s extremely susceptible to illness and gets sick easily. If she’s not careful, a simple cold could kill her.

Allergies: She’s severely allergic to wyvern blood. Anything with wyvern components in it that she ingests will cause anaphylaxis.

Mental Health: For the most part, Kly has adjusted to living in the Aen Sidhe world. Even to becoming a second-class citizen instead of being royalty. She can sometimes become paranoid and has problems with self loathing and failure and making personal relationships and connections with others.

Attitude: Look up bitchy ra.cist in the dictionary, and you’ll find the entire Aen Elle species. Kly is no different. Like most of her kind, she is very haughty and stuck up. Even among her own kind, she had a reputation for being a cruel tyrant. She has improved since becoming stranded on the Aen Sidhe world, though she still struggles with it. It’s hard to see humans as slaves and less than animals when she lives among them and starts caring about them.

Wardrobe: When she works, Kly wears very elf-inspired clothing. It’s always a light material and is revealing without being completely obscene. Outside of work, she usually wears commoner’s clothing. Whatever will help her blend in. Back on her world, she always wore very elaborate, ornamental clothing and armor. She had a massive wardrobe befitting her station. Because of the tropical climate, the clothing was sheer and flowing.

Mode of Dress: Kly wears her clothes like she’s in a second skin. She has learned to appear confident even if she may not be and carries herself and her wardrobe in that same fashion whether she’s on the job or wearing peasant’s clothes.

Grooming: She’s very picky about her hygiene and grooming and is rather demanding when it comes to maintaining it. She keeps herself very clean, bathing at every opportunity, and she keeps her hair and skin well kept even when she finds herself in less than amicable circumstances. Back home, her grooming regimen could take hours, but now she doesn’t have such a luxury as time.

Scars: Kly has a raised scar on her throat from an assassination attempt. She also has a burn scar she got from frostbite when she came in contact with the White Frost.

Posture: She carries herself as one of noble birth and high rank which is considered unusual among Aen Sidhe elves and common folk in general thereby giving her away in many cases. She walks confidently, like she owns the very ground she walks on and is considered graceful.

Scent: She smells like black currant and vanilla

Makeup: She wears eye kohl and blush when she works. Sometimes she will use a glamour if she has blemishes or bruising. Outside of working, she usually prefers to go without makeup or other painting. Sometimes she will use magic to hide her ears or make them look human while she’s traveling.

Possessions: Kly has everything she owns in a single bag so she can easily run if the Wild Hunt catches up to her. She has several books, some clothes, a small amount of money and the torc’h she took when she left her world.

Skills/Talents: Kly is a master when it comes to illusions. She can trick the mind and body into feeling and/or seeing almost anything. She’s also a skilled healer.

Pet Peeves: Humans

Flaws: Kly is stuck up and will underestimate all other races. She has problems being sincere or getting close to others. She has very limited physical strength and stamina to speak of when it comes to combat, and her use of magic is limited on the human world because it lacks the magical resources the Aen Elle world has.

Languages: Ellylon, Common, Nilfgaardian and some Elder Speech (whatever correlates or is similar to Ellylon)

Education: Kly was essentially raised as child soldiers are. She endured a great deal or abuse and torture under some of the wisest of her kind to become an Aen Saevherne. Even though she failed her tests to become one of the Aen Saevherne, her education is very advanced and nuanced. She’s skilled in healing and illusion magic, military strategy, her kind’s history, the lineages of her people and eug.enics as those subjects are expected to be known among the Aen Saevherne.

Morals: Kly has no morals. Morals were beaten out of her at a young age. All she cared about is the well-being and advancement of her people. However, the longer she lives on the human world, the harder it is to be so cold and cruel.

Fears: Kly fears capture by the Wild Hunt, as she knows that they will kill her if they find her. There have already been a few assassination attempts by Aen Elle spies. She also fears the White Frost. She saw its destructive abilities first hand as a child and it traumatized her. It’s why she hates being cold.

Guilty Pleasure: Sweets, animals

MBTI Personality Type: ESTJ

Enneagram: The Achiever

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

#original character #witcher verse #character sheet #edited/redone for more accuracy and detail

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thethistlegirl · 5 years ago

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It’s horrible, I feel like a kid in a 🍭 store, Cornelian choice : 🏹 for Ronin 💔 for John 🔬 for Mac in what if I fall 🍄 your Mac in Wunderkid And you, what would you choose, because it’s not you’re « only » the writer that you don’t have to choose what you like or would like to write/read 🥰

This is SO late, but I hope the length makes up for it!

🏹 used for target practice for Robin (For clarification this is pre-novel when Robin is still with the agency that trapped him in a contract and the team who was using name magic to control him)"Staking a vamp isn't as simple as it looks on TV," Michaels says. Robin watches the man lay out a series of stakes on the table in front of the new cadets. "Okay, choose your weapon."The cadets by and large reach for the stake that most closely resembles the classic horror movie weapon, a rounded stick with a pointed end."And, you're dead," Riverdon says dispassionately. "That's an antiquated weapon that's as unreliable as a flintlock. Welcome back to the dark ages of hunting, everyone."Most of the cadets appear shamed into silence."She's right," Michaels says. "This kind of stake is almost never used in the field. It's only viable if your vamp is already so incapacitated they're not moving." He sets aside the handful of round stakes. "Basically, this is the kind of thing you tend to see most when you're taking it off vigilante hunters. In a pinch, if you've run out of standard issue weapons, making something like this might be a trick to fall back on, but I wouldn't recommend it."Riverdon picks up a long, flat stake. "You probably won't see this one a lot either, since it's never used outside of legal executions." She bends it forcefully, and the wood cracks. "It's narrow so that it slides between the ribs and offers virtually instant death, but it's also fairly fragile. Impractical for field work.""This," Michaels says, gesturing to a small pile of the third and final type, "Is the field stake." Robin is quite familiar with that kind, he's made plenty of his own. The stake starts out with a long diamond cross-section, but every hunter shaves theirs down to fit their own hand. Generally, the grip area is smoothed but with a wide section at the very end so that the hand won't slide off the end of the stake, the tip area is shaved narrow, and the middle of the stake has the wider-angled parts of the diamond shape sliced down. The result is a stronger stake that is still capable of penetrating between the ribs. "Knowing what stake to use is only half the battle," Michaels adds. "Since a vampire can only be truly killed by a penetrating stab to the heart, you need to know exactly where and how to strike, so that the stake bypasses the ribs and enters the heart." He glances at the assembled class, then at Robin. "There's no way to accurately learn the feel of this on a training dummy. You'll use them to test the force and pressure you'll need to use, and learn the location of the ribs, but for learning to hit the right areas of the body on a moving target, you'll need a moving target."Robin can tell some of the cadets are getting uncomfortable, knowing where this is going. But most of them look totally unfazed. "Who's first?" Michaels asks, and a burly looking guy steps up, picking up one of the stakes. "Alright, a vamp is coming at you, what are you gonna do?" Robin knows what this means. He fakes a lunge at the cadet, who sidesteps his movement and then digs the stake in under Robin's outstretched arm. Robin winces as the point of the stake jabs into his side. That was a hard blow. He can feel the broken skin, the faint trickle of blood starting to slip down his ribs. He bites his lip and glamours the evidence. There's still an hour left of this class. And causing trouble will mean a punishment so much worse than a few more overzealous cadets' stakes. 💔 broken promise for John He said he was never gonna use the kid's true-name. He'd promised the kid, he'd promised himself. And now here he was holding Robin's limp body in his arms, the true-name stinging on his lips like poison.He tries to tell himself that it was the only way. That if he hadn't taken control, he'd have had to kill Robin, and he couldn't do that. Couldn't hurt the kid even as his hands closed around John's throat. It wasn't Robin trying to kill him, but it would have been Robin who died when John slammed a stake into his chest. And he couldn't do that. Not when there was another way. That doesn't change the fact that the last thing he promised the kid before he was taken is the first thing John has done to him since they found him. He doesn't know all of Robin's history, but he knows enough. And using his true-name...well, he'll be lucky if Robin ever wants to look at him again. Still, the kid will be alive for that to be an option. He carries Robin out to the waiting medics. The kid is so light and fragile, he feels like he could shatter if John handles him too harshly. How he didn't see that the kid's heart is as fragile as his body John doesn't know. How he managed to ruin everything with careless words.Although nothing about today has been careless. John may not have known what he was doing when he turned Robin's true-name into a joke months ago in Maira's office, but he knew all too well what he was doing today. And he knew that if he lost the kid's trust forever, it was better than taking his life.So why does he feel like using Robin's name tore out a piece of his OWN soul?🔬 lab rat for Mac in what if I fall He shivers, wrapping his wings around his shoulders. If he's caught, things will be BAD, but he's just so cold. And then the door slams open. Doctor James stalks in, his coat billowing around him like his own set of wings. Mac jumps and folds his own behind him, hoping James hadn't seen."We are on a DEADLINE." James strides up to the head night scientist and grabs the collar of his coat. "WHY do I not have the subject's test results?""We...didn't run the tests. The subject is sick. Not functioning at optimal capacity. I didn't think you'd want to take those reports to the board.""Well, I have to take them something. How fast can you turn them around?" Doctor James asks."A few hours, if I push the night staff.""Get him out and do the tests now. Have them on my desk by morning." James turns to the cage where Mac is huddled, shivering and sniffling. "And stop playing with your wings. Those are tools. Not security blankets." Mac struggles to his feet when the cage door opens and he's pulled out. His whole body feels stiff and shaky. He's not sure he can stand, let alone fly. But if he fails, he'll be sent to the Basement. And no one comes back from there. He flexes the muscles in his wings, trying to warm them up. He can't fail. He can't. 🍄 poisoned for your Mac in Wunderkind Mac sets down his drink after a small sip. These fancy parties always have the worst tasting things. Mac guesses they're supposed to be for cultured, refined tastes. He'd take a beer by the fire with his teammates over this stuff any day. He hopes their target won't be too concerned about his lack of enthusiasm for the beverages. After all, the guy's here to buy a set of classified documents from someone he thinks is an agency sellout. He tries not to jump when a voice comes from his elbow. "Enjoying the party?"Damn it he really hates being snuck up on. He disguises his moment of panic before turning around. "I'd enjoy it a lot more if I had some cash to spread around and impress some of those lovely ladies." He makes a pointed nod in the direction of the bar. Riley turns around with a drink in her hand and waves. Pretending to flirt with her has never gotten any less weird. Especially not now that she's his actual sister. At least she's pretty cool with it. "You have the documents?""You have the cash?" Mac says, turning around. Or trying to. The room kind of feels like it's spinning. "Actually I have something better." The man's voice sounds like it's coming through a tunnel, and Mac frowns. "The antidote to the poison you just ingested." The drink. Damn it. Mac stumbles, leaning heavily on the stair railing to keep himself upright. Is it just the shock, or does this poison really work this fast?"See, I need a little insurance policy. I have someone who is going to verify that these codes are genuine. If he does, then you get the antidote. If he tells me you're setting me up...well, then, you won't live long enough for your little plan to succeed." Mac grits his teeth, reaching into his pocket for the papers. He knows his team heard all of that. Now he just has to hope they find a way to fix this before it's too late. And you, what would you choose... ⛈ bad weather for Riley in Pre-series WunderkindJack wakes up to the sound of rain on the roof, the crash of thunder shaking the ranch house, and the sounds of soft muttering from the room next door.He long ago stopped being able to sleep through the sounds of storms. He's learning not to be able to sleep through the sounds of his partner in distress. He crawls out of bed, grabbing his jacket from the chair beside it, and steps carefully across the hall. Momma's probably still asleep, no reason to wake her.

He knocks on the door. Startling agents, especially ones who are probably either in a nightmare or waking up, is a bad plan. Riley might only be as big as a soaked kitten, but she's got some scrappy fighter in her, and even with one shoulder out of commission she's not someone he wants to tangle with.

"Who is it?" The voice is shaky and a little wet.

"Jack. Can I come in?"

"Okay."

He pushes open the door and steps inside. Lightning flashes, showing the room in sharp blue and white relief. Riley is huddled at the end of her bed furthest from the window, blanket pulled up over her head. He can see the white of her sling and the shimmer in her eyes.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" He's pretty sure he knows what she's reliving. The bomb blast that threw her across a Venezuelan street...and killed two families in an apartment building. The first time Riley's been up close and personal for the casualties of an op gone wrong.

She shakes her head. "It's really loud."

"Yeah, this old house is anything but soundproof," Jack says. "You know what I do when I need to drown it out?"

"N-no..."

Jack grins. Another gullible one. He sits down on the bed and breaks directly into the first of the Metallica songs he knows by heart. He knows he can drown out the thunder.

There will be time to talk about the trauma. About the damage and the scars this job leaves in its wake. About how Riley is going to have to learn to live with the body count on ops sometimes. About how to move forward.But for now, he just has to make things a little better, get her out of the bad place in her head, because that's no place to be for the kind of serious conversations they need eventually. And from the way Riley is shaking her head at him and his singing, he's succeeding. Just a little. And that's okay.

#MacGyver #magic & silver #macgyver au #wunderkind

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prorevenge · 6 years ago

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Revenge on a University Teacher

Hello Reddit, I would like to start off with this is my first ever Reddit post, so accept my apologies for poor grammar, or if any etiquette is broken unknowingly. I was reliving this to a few friends who pointed me here to tell this tale. Of course names are changed for privacy reasons etc. If any YouTube videos are made of this story please link them as I love watching Reddit YouTube content. With that out of the way lets begin.

I graduated university a few years ago and this story comes from my first year from my degree. I was in a Business degree course having enjoyed studies of Business in school and enjoying researching business related topics in my own time. Before I go further I should disclaim I am Autistic, this will be important later. It also explains why what I consider an interest in business for me, may be considered an obsession by others. I am considered high functioning, whilst I occasionally struggle in social situations, it mainly comes off as me being rather blunt.

So for the degree we had several classes, every class makes up a portion of the overall grade etc. In the first year we had no choice in regards of classes, the majority of the classes were really fun and engaging. My teachers were very supportive to me and my classmates were too. I felt I belonged at university, whereas I hated school with a passion. At university I could study and argue points beyond a linear construct of a syllabus. Basically I am trying to say so long as you could prove your argument with academic credibility, you could make it and that debates were fruitful. I also had good relationships with my support worker who is there to aid disabled students and my personal teacher, someone every student is assigned who is head of a specific degree/discipline.

One class however was horrid. On the first day of class the teacher, who we will refer to as Mrs. B came into the class and we all had out or laptops or notebooks. She began scrawling what I could only describe as hieroglyphics on a whiteboard. It looked like algebra, only worse. I have never been good at Mathematics, breaking the age old, Autistic=good at math stereotype. I was just typing notes blindly trying to write everything down but it made no sense to me. At the end of the class I introduced myself and explained I had a learning disability and that i might need some help going forward. She seemed dismissive saying "Its okay this stuff is easy you would have learn't in high school" and then abruptly left.

A few weeks past and I was taking down all the notes and still not understanding it. I logged onto the student portal website. It was there all our content was hosted e.g. assignment briefs, reading lists, points of contact etc. I was confused to find her class was the only one with nothing in the reading list. Every other class had several textbooks, journals and other sources students could go to for extra information/clarification.

After a class one day I went to Mrs. B and asked if there was any reading material e.g. textbooks I could read so I could try to understand said theory as there was nothing on the student portal website. She said in a very confident manor "As I said to you before, this is high school level stuff, anyone would be able to do this, simple work". I explained I struggled at math in school and that as a older/mature student my school days were almost a decade ago. She shrugged and left the classroom, and I was feeling very frustrated.

In any other classes if I didn't understand something from a lecture, I could look it up in the textbooks, online etc. to get a different perspective. If I still didn't quite understand I could go to a teacher and ask. They were happy to help me as they could see I had attempted to understand said theory.

During one of the classes I raised a hand and asked a question about a value of a letter 'X' as I didn't understand a certain equation. Mrs B looked at me smirking saying it was "simple" and asked if anyone else in the class was confused. No one else raised a hand or spoke so she continued. At the end of class I went to lots of classmates asking for their help. They confided in me that they also didn't understand that class, but were afraid to speak out.

This carried on for a month or so with me asking for help, writing the notes blindly etc. until we were given our first official assignment. What I did work wise I was not proud of, however in my defense with not understanding the content I was just trying to cobble something together.

I would email Mrs B asking to clarify bits, ask for help, my emails would be read (read receipt) but not replied to. I asked her about office hours, to which she replied "I don't do that". For context office hours are time where teachers allow students to come to them with anything e.g. academic problems, questions, career options etc. All teachers offered them...just not her.

I tried to hand in the work online. Our university has a policy all work must be submitted online for cheat detection software and many other reasons. Mrs B told us she would only accept paper versions and that the online portal was not to be used. When myself and other students questioned her she needed to see the work and its true potential and left it at that. So we complied, printed and handed into Mrs B on time.

A few weeks later in class she calls out students to collect their assignment papers, with grades. The thing is she reads them out not by name, but by grade order. We were all shocked. It meant the sooner your name was called out the higher your grade, and the longer you waited, the lower your grade would be. I waited and waited until I was called forward. I was very anxious and went back to my seat, I tuned out of the class and read over the paper. I had just scored a pass mark, but I was pissed off. Mrs Be had written comments such as "shows no understanding of the content", "no efforts made", "poor aptitude of the relevant theories". At this point I was shaking with anger. I marched out the class she asked "where are you going?" I didn't say anything, I didn't stop. I knew if I did I would have got angry.

I immediately went to see my personal teacher and support worker, it took them a long time to calm me down and said they would look into matters. After that I went to speak to classmates who were read out before me asking if they could explain the theory. All of them explained they had no idea how they even passed, let alone get a high grade. Keep a side note of this.

A week later Mrs B comes into class looking agitated proclaiming a reading list of a single textbook was available on student portal much to the relief of other students. She also exclaimed she would now offer office hours for students with the same level as enthusiasm as someone would have for watching paint dry.

Unfortunately the book was not in our university library and we would have to buy it ourselves, which all students know, textbooks new are very pricey. I bought the book, but it made little difference with my lack of understanding. I spoke to classmates who did the same, they too didn't understand it, it felt like the book and the class were completely different.

The office hours were another thing, I asked when I could see her, she informed me her next available spot was in three months time. I asked a classmate to ask her, she told him she could see him that afternoon, another classmate was told it was a four month wait. Something was a miss.

She also exclaimed some students were struggling with "basic high school math" and she would put some basic math on student portal website. The problem was she photocopied them from a book, the pictures were bury so even if they did have useful content, they were illegible.

Shortly after this we had an exam on the subject, again I was worried I had no idea what to expect. I was in a different exam room to the other students as I get support in exam conditions as I struggle with some aspects of reading (I am also mildly dyslexic) so get a reader support worker. Part way through the test Mrs B comes in and asks if I am okay. I was a bit shocked, I never had teachers in a exam before. But maybe this is how they do tests at university? I stated honestly I understood nothing despite buying the textbook, despite coming to see her, despite seeing my support worker and despite consulting with my classmates. Mrs B then proceeds to tell me the answers. Stunned I say "what". She orders me to write, I look over to the support worker who's jaw has dropped. Mrs B leaves and the support worker stops me and says "I have to report this" I acknowledge and the test is stopped. Afterwards I speak to other students. Other students with special needs she came and told the answers to, but not to other students. I was very concerned and confused and unsure what this meant for my grade.

Months passed again of the same old, I would furiously take down notes blindly, my classmates and I in a state of despair. However, one day I asked another question in class and Mrs B in a very snarky tone said something along the lines of "your the only student who doesn't get this simple equation" she looks out to the rest of the class stating "everyone else gets it". Slowly, one other student says "I don't" then another, and another. I was reminded of the famous 'I am Spartacus' bit. She looked mad as 28 students of a 30 student class raised their hands and objected, saying they didn't get it. Mrs B looking pissed stopped the lecture stating we couldn't behave so she wouldn't teach and left.

A few weeks later Mrs B gave us what would be our final assignment for the class. She explained we had to write a report on a choice of reports as to how they use, whatever algebraic theory we were meant to understand and we had to do this in groups. In the assignment brief we were meant to write the report on the report but we weren't allowed to cite the original report. We asked Mrs B for clarification. She explained it was "academically lazy" to cite any of the reports directly and that instead we had to find the original citation from the report and cite that. Making it a lot more work. We spent the next week just panicking, the reports were so confusing, there was no 'easy' one to chose from.

All of this bubbled up, in all my other classes I was achieving high grades like 80% / 90% average, despite this, this class so far I was barely passing at 40%. The whole thing lead to a very bad mental health crisis, I won't get dark here. It lead to intervention from local government mental health services.

After this myself and classmates arranged a meeting with high ups at the school to discuss our issues. Up till now we had done all informal process of talking to the tutor, reading the textbook and this new assignment was very, very hard.

At this meeting, they asked why we wanted to see them. We explained it was about the class as a whole and the second assignment. They looked confused citing there was no second assignment. We gave them the brief. These higher academics, professors etc eyes widened. They told us there was to be one assignment and one exam. They asked to see the reports we were to analyse. One of the professors mouths dropped, the suspense and silence was palpable. They explained to us the reports we were to analyse would be set for masters degree or PHD students, and that 1st year undergraduates were not expected to meet this level of work. They told us to cease the work immediately. They told us to put together a formal complaint and showed us the paperwork (single A4 sheet) to submit.

Moments after leaving the meeting a email went out to the whole year group from one of these professors citing work on that assignment was to stop immediately. Mrs B replied all stating students could still do it for extra credit. The professor replied to all students stating that was false, and that she needed to meet him immediately. To any other student they must have thought what the hell was going on, to me though I was just singing internally, but I was not done.

The complaint, I went to homework on. I filled in all my academic notes, all the emails I ever sent her in this report. I went to classmates for witness testimonials for what she did in class. I approached and got a statement from my exam support worker, and a copy of some classmates exams who got a high grades. Reading the tests I noticed we had similar answers to my work and that of other students. The grading was sporadic and random to be polite.

For example one of the answers to a question was 4X. I wrote 4X and got 1 point, my classmate wrote 4X and they scored 3 points.

I then discovered something very interesting.

When searching her name online, I found she was being paid by our university to do research into methods of using mathematics to make relative decision processes in a business environment. I decided to look into some of the aspects of that particular research grant and noticed they were very, VERY similar to the work she had assigned us in our unapproved assignment 2. With this I added this into my complaint report and decided to copy into my report the contact details of the funding bodies included (mainly European Union grant sources due to my country) which included what repercussions would come about if funds were used improperly.

Over a week I collated my masterpiece, what should have been at most a 3 page report was now a fully bound 120 page complaint report with an appendix, contents etc. in full academic report style.

I had some friends in a law degree go over it and advised me to seek compensation of some sort due to my mental health crisis as a result of Mrs B. So I enclosed my request for some gesture of good will to be made by the university, I was not specific as although I was high on the adrenaline of getting back at Mrs B, I was still battling with newly diagnosed depression (thanks Mrs B). I submitted it, having it bound specially for the occasion.

Two weeks later all classes with her were cancelled. Not just for our classes, but University wide.

It turned out she broke a lot of academic rules. Mrs B had forged exam results, bullied an international student (or as I thought, was being racist) and many other things.

It was revealed she was using students to aid her in research she was being paid to conduct, which was the nail in her coffin. In other words, she was being paid to do research, and passing said work onto her students, without disclosure, consent, compensation (as she was being paid to do it) etc. It was a massive no no in not only our student body but other teachers as well.

She was dismissed/fired with all professional accreditation lost. In other words, no way of coming back to the field of teaching/academia.

All students got a automatic pass and a portion of our student loans repaid as compensation.

We lost many battles, but we won the war.

I still battle with the depression to this day, but I graduated with first class honors. So I guess I wasn't that stupid after all. I am fine now, happily in a great job, with a great wife and kids.

(source) story by (/u/SWBuilder12)

#prorevenge #by /u/SWBuilder12 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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